John Gavish’s POV
That night, after pouring my heart out to Graciela I couldn’t sleep well.
That was the one time I had actually acknowledged what had happened.
Pondering over and over about what could have been, sleep came to me at last.
Early next morning I woke up covered in sweat. Ugh these terrible dreams. Nightmares in fact.
It was similar to the ones before. After all, most of them seemed like different versions of the same scene. The same image. Twisted and turned but conveying the same thing. The same horrid disgusting feeling.
Scenes of Brianna’s House. Blood everywhere. Splattered like a painter splattering paint on a huge canvas. A pungent smell of some vegetable. Me retching my guts out.
And then just when I was about to stop thinking of my nightmare not wanting to be disgusted all over again, an image flickered.
She was there? Or was I just imagining it? How have I not seen her in this nightmare before?
And just when I was getting to analyse it further my eyes fell on the newspaper that lay on the couch.
Where was Theo?
“Here boy. Where are you?”
I ran around the house frantically looking for my boy. He’s never done this before.
Oh my god.
He has been dog-napped.