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Summary
Travis often dreams of her.
Well, dream might not be the best word for what he sees when he closes his eyes. Nightmares would suit it better.
Sometimes, he doesn’t even have to be asleep to feel the cut of glass in his palm. The old, silvered mirror clutched tight enough to draw blood as the snarling beast above him tore at the flesh of his forearm.
A crack of the shotgun bathed the room in light, and when his eyes opened, Laura Kearney sat in his lap. While most of her was bathed in the blood of the bestial form, her lips were painted red with his.
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