1

Callum MacDonnell woke up in a cold sweat and managed to stifle a yell at the last minute. He caught his breath, then rolled out of bed as softly as possible so as not to disturb Cat. Not easy at six foot five, and two hundred and fifty pounds. The light from the street tinted him the same shade of blue as his eyes, like snow under moonlight.

“You don’t really think I’m still asleep?” his wife said groggily from the other side of the bed. Catherine MacDonnell propped herself up on her elbows. “You were thrashing around like shark prey.”

“Sorry,” he said, and sat back down on the bed.

Cat hoisted herself up from the mattress and rested her chin on his shoulder straining to keep her eyes open. “Bad dreams again?” she asked, rubbing his back.

The same dream had plagued Cal for almost two weeks now. He tried to retain the peculiar details of his nightmare even as they dissolved into the ether of his memory. The lack of sleep affected him on patrol, and in New York City that could get a cop killed, especially in his precinct.

“Want to talk about it?” Cat asked.

“It’s probably just stress,” Cal said.

“Maybe you’re worried about the ESU exam?” She slid her fingers up to the back of his neck and kneaded the tension out with an aggressive thumb. Cal responded instantly. His shoulders dropped, his head bobbed to the side, and his muscles softened.

“No,” Cal said. “I’ll ace it.”

“Maybe you’re stressed because you’re having reoccurring nightmares.” She kissed his cheek.

Cal smirked. “You missed your calling as an analyst.” He let her dig into his neck and shoulders for a little while more. He’d been reluctant to discuss the dreams because of how strange they were-both in content and familiarity. “This dream feels like I’m living a memory,” he said to his wife. There, it was out.

That prospect brought Cat further out of her sleepy haze. “Cal, could it be you’re remembering something from before the accident? From your childhood?”