Home For A Hero. Mary Anne Wilson

hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, flicking his eyes over her jeans and shirt.

      “I wasn’t sleeping,” she said, keeping her eyes determinedly on his face.

      “Well, then, good night.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

      She hurried to undress and got back into bed before turning off the light and pulling the blankets over her. She took several deep breaths, blocking out what had just happened, then finally closed her eyes. She just wanted to sleep—she was bone-tired—but couldn’t.

      The minute she shut her eyes, she could see Luke on the shore, a blurred figure in the fog and night. Then the man who had just left the room, his feet bare, his shirt undone, his chest naked, took his place. She tried to push the image away, but found she couldn’t. She missed feeling warmth at her back, arms around her.

      Suddenly she heard a thud from another part of the house, then silence.

      She rolled on her side, thinking about Luke’s isolation, and she realized she was just as isolated, only not on an island but in a crowded world.

      Closing her eyes more tightly, Shay told herself she was safe and warm here. She wasn’t in the water—or worse. Finally she let herself fall into the coming sleep, past dreams that flitted in and out of her consciousness but made little sense.

      “No! Don’t!”

      Shay was jarred from a deep sleep by muffled screams. At least she thought that was what had awakened her. “No, stop! Dammit, stop!”