Читать книгу Cries In The Night - Debra Webb - Страница 10

She dreamed of the cemetery again.

A cold, steady drizzle fell in the dark October night. The full hunter’s moon seeped through the thick gray clouds, casting an eerie glow over the deserted graveyard. Acres of headstones protruded from the lush green grass like ugly yard ornaments.

Positioned around the newest of the graves were a dozen wreaths of varying sizes and shapes, forming a sort of temporary barrier from the harsh reality that lay beyond it. The carnations of one heart-shaped arrangement drooped with the weight of the rain and the passage of seven days since their cutting.

Melany pushed between the wreaths and dropped to her knees before the freshly turned soil. Her icy fingers tightened around the wooden handle of the shovel she held. Droplets of the unseasonably cold rain trickled down her cheeks. Her clothes were soaked through, but she no longer cared.

Nothing mattered to her anymore.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to silence the cries inside her head. Uncertainty shuddered through her, making her hesitate. The sound of her child crying echoed in the deepest recesses of her soul. Melany’s eyes opened abruptly and she jerked with renewed determination.

“I’m coming, baby,” she murmured. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Mommy’s coming.”

She plunged the shovel into the loose, damp soil with a vengeance. The sound of the metal sliding into the soggy earth made her flinch. Gritting her teeth, she flung the scoopful of soil to the side, then sank her shovel into the ground once more. She prayed for God’s forgiveness as she worked harder, faster.

She had to do this.

She had to know.

The shovel struck something solid. Melany sat back on her heels, the shallow, muddy walls of the grave on either side of her. A frown etched her forehead, rivulets of water slipping down the worrisome creases. This wasn’t right. How could this be right?

It couldn’t be.

She tossed the shovel aside, a new surge of hot tears blurring her vision as she summoned her waning resolve. A dozen questions flitted briefly through her mind despite her newly gathered determination. Why was the grave so shallow? Why was there no vault?

Melany almost laughed at the absurdity of it. This was just a dream, she reminded herself. She would wake up at any moment to the agony of not knowing for sure.

“No,” she said aloud, as if saying it out loud would make it so. “This has to be real.” She lifted her face to the rain for one fleeting instant and realized that she couldn’t stop now, even if it was only a dream.

She had to know.

Melany dug furiously with her hands then, pushing aside the shallow, remaining layer of earth. Her breath caught. The small, white casket felt smooth beneath her palms. All of her questions instantly flew from her mind. There was only the reality that she would soon know. A wounded moan tore from her throat as she leaned forward and pressed her cheek to the cold, slick surface. A wave of pain so overpowering she couldn’t breathe for a long moment washed over her.

“Oh, baby, baby, please forgive Mommy,” she mumbled between sobs. The haunting cries grew stronger inside her head, urging her on. She pushed herself up and scrubbed her face with the wet, muddy sleeve of her sweatshirt. Now, she told herself again. She had to know now.

She quickly shoved away more of the concealing mud. Her hands trembling, she released the tiny latches and lifted the small viewing lid with ease. Rain and mud splattered the pristine pink satin and lace interior during the five or so seconds it took Melany’s brain to assimilate what her heart already knew.

Her daughter’s coffin was empty.

Melany sat bolt upright in bed. She gulped in air, filling her starved lungs. “No!” she cried, then buried her face in her hands and forced away the last lingering remnants of the horrifying dream.

Her hair felt damp with sweat…or was it the rain? It was a dream…only a dream. Her baby was gone. A sob rose in her throat, then ripped out of her on a tide of anguish.

Her baby couldn’t be dead. There had to be a mistake. The dreams…the voices…it just couldn’t be.

She plowed her fingers through her sweat-dampened hair. She was losing her mind. She’d lost her baby and now she was losing her mind.

But what if she was right? She’d tried to tell them that her baby couldn’t be dead. It just wasn’t possible…she could feel her.

Melany blinked in the darkness of her room. Everything stilled inside her.

What if she was right?

Melany struggled from the tangled sheets and fumbled for the clothes she’d discarded a few hours ago. All she needed was a flashlight and a shovel and she would end this misery now.

Five minutes later, and armed with the necessary implements, Melany stepped out into the cold night air. She lifted her face to the steady drizzle of rain. Just like in the dream, she thought. But this was real. She took a deep, harsh breath and started toward her car.

“I’m coming, baby,” she murmured. “Mommy’s coming.”