First Responder On Call. Melinda Di Lorenzo

a hundred?”

      Xavier leaned back and studied Remo’s face like he really had to think about it. “I dunno.”

      Remo suppressed a grin. “Is my hair gray? Or falling out?”

      “No.”

      “Is my face wrinkly?”

      The kid lifted a hand and pressed a finger to Remo’s forehead. “A little right here. The same kind of wrinkly my mom gets when she worries about me.”

      “Yeah, I’m a bit of a worrier myself.”

      “Do you have a boy like me at home, too?”

      “’Fraid not.”

      “How come?”

      “Well. For starters, I don’t have a wife.”

      “My mom doesn’t have a husband.”

      Remo couldn’t quite block out a trickle of interest at the statement. “No?”

      Xavier shook his head. “My dad isn’t in the picture.”

      It had the ring of something oft-repeated, and this time, Remo couldn’t stop a smile. “Well. I guess that makes you the man of the house, hmm?”

      “That’s what my mom says, too.”

      “Glad she and I agree.”

      The little boy’s gaze flicked toward the open doors at the back of the ambulance. “Is she okay?”

      Remo considered the question and how to answer it. Over the course of his career, he’d learned more than a bit about how to read people. Some wanted a gloss-over. Others wanted the worst case scenario presented in black-and-white. A kid, though, was a bit of a curveball. Protectiveness was a reflex, spurred on by the solemn, needy gaze zeroed in on him. No dad in the picture. Celia could be all the boy had. But Remo’s own history made it hard to tell a lie. The kid didn’t deserve it. Especially not if things took a bad turn.

      So he chose his words carefully. “She could be hurt, buddy. Car accidents are tricky. But those guys out there are experts. Do you know what that means?”

      “Kinda.”

      “Well, just in case, I’ll tell you, all right? It means they have lots of training for emergencies just like this one. They’re going to check her over really well before they load her up in here. Then they’re going to take her to the hospital, where they’ll check her over even more.”

      “Can I watch?”

      “At the hospital?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Probably not, kiddo. The doctors like to keep things pretty private while they’re doing their job. And the hospital’s like school—it’s full of rules and bossy grown-ups.”

      Xavier’s face fell. “Oh.”

      Remo gave his shoulder a squeeze. “But hey. There’s always pudding to sneak. And when they’re done, I’ll make sure you’re the first one to see your mom.”

      “You’ll stay with me?”

      “Sure I will. Unless you’d rather call someone else. Grandma, or a babysitter or something?”

      The kid shook his head. “I’d rather be with you.”

      “Then it’s settled. You and I will steal pudding, eat it until we feel sick, then check in on your mom.”

      “My mom says stealing is wrong.”

      A chuckle escaped. “All right then. We’ll ask the nurses if we can have some, and if they say yes then we’ll eat it.”

      A smile cracked Xavier’s face. “I like chocolate best.”

      “Me, too.”

      “I think they’re bringing my mom in now.”

      Remo turned his eyes to the door. Sure enough, Isaac and Tyler had the blonde woman on the stretcher, which they were wheeling closer.

      “You good in there, Remo?” called the younger EMT.

      “Yep. We’re ready for you.”

      “All right. Up we come.”

      With another reassuring squeeze, he tucked the kid in a little closer and gave his colleagues room to climb in.

      * * *

      Because of the ring, Celia was sure she was in a dream. It sat on her index finger, catching the light and sparkling in an unnatural way, especially considering all the darkness around her. But it wasn’t the unusual contrast that made her so sure. It was the fact that the ring was her own personal trick. Something she’d learned in therapy. A lucid-dream tool. She could see it. Feel it. And use it to protect herself from the onslaught of seemingly endless nightmares.

      When the counselor had first introduced the idea—a subtle implant in the back of her mind—Celia hadn’t bought the idea that it would work. In fact, she’d assumed it wouldn’t. But on the third night after the initial subliminal suggestion had been given, she’d been tossed into the throes of the familiar, terrifying dream.

      It was the same as always. The pause before she realized she had to run. Then her feet hitting the floor of the long, pitch-black corridor. Dread not just pooling in her gut, but overwhelming it and making her heart thunder so hard against her rib cage that it felt bruised. And of course, the fear was warranted. Because next came the furious growl from behind her. The bellowing of her name and the warning that she wouldn’t make it out alive. She didn’t have a name for who chased her—half man, half monster maybe. All she had was the belief that she would never break free. So she ran harder. But the effort lasted only a few seconds before she had no choice but to slow down. Under her aching ribs was something that forced her legs to cease their pumping. Something huge and cumbersome—an undeniably pregnant belly. Which startled her into stumbling and brought the man-monster so close that his self-satisfied laugh cast a breath over the back of her neck.

      But on that day...she’d known it wasn’t real. And while she couldn’t force herself into consciousness, the knowledge made the experience just palatable enough. It would end. She would wake. Life would go on.

      Just like it would at that moment.

      So in her present-day dream, Celia lifted her hand for a second to stare down at the shimmering stone and glittering gold. She acknowledged it with a resigned nod, then moved on. And it happened. The run. The never-ending hallway. The man, the baby, and the laugh. But strangely, it didn’t end in the same way it always had. Instead of the sheer terror and the awareness that her time was up Celia normally experienced, a light appeared. And the light became a door.

      Startled, Celia blinked at the newly added element. Then the chill-inducing laugh came again, and she realized that she might—for the first time ever—be able to escape it. As a contraction clutched at her abdomen, she stepped forward. The movement somehow brought the door closer to her, rather than the other way around. But she didn’t stop to question the phenomenon. She simply took advantage. She reached out her fingers, grasped the handle, turned it, and flung the door open.

      On the other side was a man. He had dark hair and kind eyes. And he was beckoning to her, his palm turned up and his fingers crooked.

      Celia didn’t even hesitate. Squeezing her eyes shut, she dived forward, swollen stomach and all, and let the strange man enfold her in a protective embrace. Behind her, the door slammed. She inhaled. His scent filled her nose. Clean and fresh, with no hint of cologne or aftershave. The smell was so real—so distinct—that Celia felt compelled to check again for the ring. And it was there.

      But when she opened her eyes, her senses were assaulted by something else entirely.

      Voices, churning all around her. Frantic, mechanical blinking. Over all that, the wail of a siren. And under it, a pervading disorientation and feeling of separation