Chapter Twenty-Six

The Nightmare

Concrete walls, harsh gray, pressed in, suffocating her with their cold, unyielding weight. The narrow halls stretched endlessly, folding tighter with every step. She ran, her chest heaving, her lungs burning. The thin, dry air felt like breathing through cloth, each gasp scratching her throat raw.

A sharp clang of metal doors echoed behind her. Too loud, too close.

They were coming.

She stumbled forward, bare feet pounding against the icy floor. Her soles stung with each step, the sensation grounding her desperation. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, they would catch her.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, panic clawing at her chest. She reached out, grasping for invisible purchase to propel herself forward.

They would find her .

They would drag her back.

She couldn’t go back.

The corridor twisted ahead, folding in on itself like a tunnel collapsing under its own weight. She turned sharply and slammed into a wall.

No, not a wall. Blue.

It was him.

A guard in a blue uniform loomed over her, his face massive and distorted, too close to escape. His grin split wide, rows of sharp, gleaming teeth stretching unnaturally.

Her scream tore through her throat, raw and primal.

W illow’s eyes flew open. Her heart slammed in her chest, an irregular drumbeat of fear.

She wasn’t in her cell.

She gulped in air, her chest heaving as reality crept back in, smoothing the jagged edges of the nightmare. Her fists bunched the quilt in her lap, and she realized she was sitting upright in her grandmother’s bed.

It was a dream.

She exhaled slowly, forcing her breath to even out.

The nightmares had haunted her for years. Thoughts of her grandmother had been her only solace in prison, her lifeline in the darkest hours. After Joan passed, her fragile refuge turned to thoughts of Dale, this property, and Max.

She was here now.

To push the nightmare further away, she latched onto the good memories she was making. Maybe someday, the past would stop haunting her.

Dale had made dinner the night before while she worked on a salad with fresh ingredients from the garden. The memory of the smoky grilled chicken made her mouth water.

They’d chatted as they worked, Dale’s voice steady and warm as he spoke about the greenhouse, the barn, and everything in between. She’d sensed his loneliness seeping into his words, a yearning for connection that echoed her own.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he’d asked.

Wine.

Willow had never tried it before. A former cellmate had once brewed some from stolen juice in prison. Several inmates got sick, but she’d only pretended to drink hers, blending in to avoid drawing attention. In prison, standing out wasn’t safe.

“I’d like to try a bit,” she told Dale, her honesty surprising her.

She rarely pushed the boundaries in prison. Doing so risked more time, and the thought of delaying her release date had terrified her. She had been careful, quiet. Trust no one, she learned early on. Her survival had depended on it.

Willow had served her sentence in full. She couldn’t vote or own a firearm, but at least no parole officer was breathing down her neck. Parole was the downfall of many inmates, especially those who’d spent most of their lives behind bars. Her sentence had been ten years, three in juvenile and seven in state, with no parole.

She and Dale had talked over dinner, her initial nervousness easing with each sip of wine. The tart, slightly sweet flavor had surprised her, and by the time she finished the glass, she found she liked it. Dale offered her more, but she declined.

“It’s different,” she said, setting her empty glass down. “I’ll have another one tomorrow night.”

“Just like Joan,” Dale said with a chuckle. “She wasn’t much of a drinker. I found a few bottles of wine in the house but nothing stronger.”

Willow had loved hearing about her grandmother. Being in her home made it easier to talk about her, and Dale’s stories filled in gaps she hadn’t known existed.

“I’ve told you how ornery she was,” Dale said with a laugh. “She didn’t like me asking personal questions. I learned more about her cleaning up this place than I ever did while she was alive. There’s stuff in the closet she left for you. Everything that woman did was with you in mind. ”

Sadness mixed with love flickered in his eyes.

Willow’s chest ached. She understood her grandmother’s orneriness now. It came from love and loss.

Joan had been her biggest advocate. Willow had barely known her before the trial, but Joan had sat behind her at every hearing, brushing Willow’s shoulder with steady, reassuring fingers whenever she stood. It was the first love Willow had ever truly known.

Her mother had been broken, often reversing their roles so Willow ended up caring for her. When the sentence came down, her grandmother’s rage had filled the courtroom. She was escorted out for yelling at the judge.

Her grandmother had been her first champion. Now it was Dale, and Willow realized how odd their situation was—two people tied together by one woman’s love.

After dinner, Dale assured her he was only a shout away before heading to his motor home with Daisy in tow, leaving Max behind.

Max followed Willow to the bathroom door, nudging it with his nose as she tried to close it. She laughed, remembering her grandmother telling her how Max had done the same to her.

He waited patiently until she came out, his short tail wagging as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Willow walked the house, turning on additional lights. Dale had told her to leave the front and back doors open, locking only the security screens to keep the house cool overnight.

She opened her bedroom window and double-checked the latch that secured the grill.

When she finally slipped between the soft covers, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. But the soothing rhythm of crickets and the faint rustle of the night eased her mind.

Then the dream woke her.

The previous evening’s memories calmed her now. She lay back against the sheets, her heartbeat finally normal. Max jumped on the bed and licked her square in the face, making her laugh.

The laughter turned into tears.

She snuggled against Max, wrapping her arms around him as sobs wracked her body. His warm breath fanned her hair, a steady reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

In prison, therapy had taught her that crying was healthy, but those women hadn’t lived behind bars. They could go home at the end of the day. Crying in prison wasn’t good. It made you vulnerable.

Here, she could finally let it out.

Her grandmother’s death had left a gaping hole in her heart, sadness a tight fist of grief with no way out. She cried for her grandmother and herself.

Her mother’s death lingered like a shadow; stilted memories better left buried. In the juvenile facility, her nightmares had been psychotic recollections of her father. Once transferred to State Prison, the nightmares shifted to her incarceration; guards she didn’t trust, women who wanted something from her, and the suffocating isolation.

If not for her grandmother’s letters and visits, filling the endless void of hours with love and encouragement, she might not have survived.

Now Dale had stepped into that same space with his calm demeanor and a promise of a place to call her own.

She squeezed Max tightly as the tears slowed. Her stuffed, leaking nose eventually demanded tissues.

She gave Max a gentle push. It did absolutely nothing. He licked her face, and to escape, she rolled in the opposite direction, nearly falling off the bed. Her feet touched the cool tile.

Max jumped down when she walked toward the bathroom.

Before she entered, a sound at the front door made her stop. Daisy waited behind the screen, giving a soft whine.

Willow veered to the door and let Max out before heading to the bathroom.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. The loose nightshirt she wore, a reminder of prison, hung awkwardly on her frame. She hadn’t touched her grandmother’s closet yet. Willow wanted time to sit and explore her personal belongings.

When she returned to the living room, the sound of barking drew her toward the screen door.

Dale sat on the steps of his travel trailer, his coffee mug in hand, watching the dogs chase each other across the yard. He turned and lifted his cup in greeting.

“Good morning,” he said. “Want to join me for coffee?”

“I’ll be right out,” Willow replied. “Let me get dressed first.”

She went back inside, pulling a clean shirt from the bag she’d brought from prison. She slipped into the jeans she’d worn the day before. They were her only pair. She would go through her grandmother’s clothes today and see if anything worked.

Eventually, she’d need to go shopping. Having Dale drive her around wasn’t ideal. She’d have to learn to drive so she wasn’t a burden.

Yesterday had been overwhelming. She’d barely slept the week before her release.

Today, she started with freedom.

Dale handed her a steaming cup of coffee when she joined him outside. “I didn’t know if you like it with sugar or black. I have sugar inside if you want to add it.”

Willow smiled softly. “Sugar was hit or miss in prison, so I learned to drink it black. I’d like to try one of those fancy coffees someday, though.”

She took a cautious sip, and her eyes widened as she met his gaze.

“This is the best coffee I’ve ever had. I don’t think I need anything fancier.”

Dale laughed, the lines of his face crinkling. “It’s nothing special, but I’ve had several cups of the swill they serve in jail, and even the dogs wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”

He stood and grabbed a lawn chair leaning against the trailer. “Sit and enjoy. There’s more coffee inside. Have you thought about breakfast?”

She shook her head and took another sip. “No, I’m not even sure what’s available.”

“We can tackle it together. I bought groceries, but I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

Willow shrugged. “Prison food was like the coffee and usually awful. I have no idea what I like.”

“We’ll fix that soon enough,” Dale said.

His calm presence gave her hope. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to think that there was a lifetime ahead of her.

“I want to learn to cook,” she said.

“Joan left you a stack of cookbooks. Once you learn, invite me over and I’ll be your first critic. I also wash dishes.”

He was teasing her, and she liked it.

“I usually take a short hike in the mornings while the weather is nice,” he said. “I found strange footprints down by the wash yesterday and want to check for more. Ranch locals sometimes wander through without realizing they’re on private property.

“I also find four-wheeler tracks now and then. It’s usually cattlemen checking on livestock. They have free-range out here. There’s a watermill that keeps the trough full not far up the road. The cattle walk through the property to get to it.”

He laughed. “Joan had a slingshot she used to chase them off. Her ammo of choice was marbles. She threatened me with it once.” Laughter filled his voice as he added, “She said the sound scared the cows away, but for me, she’d aim for my head.”

He paused, lost in the memory. Willow could see the fondness in his expression, but also the sadness.

Finally, he shook his head. “Those cows like to lean against the solar array, and they can cause damage. If it’s not one thing, it’s another out here.”

He took a sip of coffee, then glanced at her. “What do you say to a short hike?”

Willow hesitated. She wanted to ask him to stay on the property with her and not take his trailer away. It wasn’t fair of her to expect him to, and the words caught in her throat. Instead, she smiled and said, “That would be great. Do the dogs get to come?”

“I dare you to leave them behind,” Dale replied. “Joan should have some hiking boots in her closet. They’ll work until you order your own. Finish your coffee, and we’ll head out.”

Willow drank the rest of the coffee, savoring the warmth and flavor. When she finished, Dale returned to his trailer, and she stepped inside her grandmother’s house.

The scent of cedar and lavender hit her as she opened the closet door. She inhaled deeply, sadness curling tightly in her chest.

This was her grandmother’s space.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she forced them back. Dale was waiting, and curling up on the floor for another cry could wait.

The closet was long, narrow, and immaculately organized. Shoes lined the floor beneath the clothes rack. Willow walked deeper inside, scanning for the hiking boots Dale had mentioned.

Her gaze landed on the back corner, and she froze.

A gun was propped against the wall, its dark metal gleaming faintly.

Her heart slammed in her chest as fear gripped her. She couldn’t be near a gun.

The thought of breaking the law, of losing everything and returning to prison, made her stomach churn. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

For ten seconds, she couldn’t move. Then she turned and fled, forgetting the boots entirely.