The Ghost Pattern

…10

Blake lay on his bed, watching her getting ready to join him between the satin sheets. His beautiful wife. His Adeline. She looked beautiful in the warm, dim light coming from their nightstand lamps; she was a vision. Long, sleek brown hair, bright, shimmering eyes, and a secretive smile, reserved only for him.

She came toward him in a flutter of silk and lace, and sat on the bed by his side. She reached out and touched his face, caressing it with frozen fingers. He took her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers gently, tenderly, warming them up.

“I love you, baby,” she whispered smiling, then faded away into the darkness that took over the room. He tried to hold on to her hand, but her fingers were slipping from his grasp.

Blake woke up screaming, covered in cold sweat. He jumped out of bed and his eyes fell on the alarm clock display: 5:02AM. He turned on the light and started pacing the room restlessly, trying to shake off the chills sending shivers down his spine and freezing the blood in his veins. The dream had seemed so real…

He threw on a T-shirt and went outside, on the penthouse terrace that overlooked Manhattan from 54 stories up, trying to slow his heart rate. The city looked its normal sleepless self, yet the bad feeling his dream had left wouldn’t disappear.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to shake away the memory of the nightmare, then resumed blaming himself. He should have insisted she take the personal jet; that’s what it was there for. Even if there was a conflict in their schedules, he should have been the one to fly commercial, not her. Or he should have insisted to charter her a plane. He was the president, CEO, and one of the major stakeholders of America’s second largest bank, goddamnit, and he should have done all these things and more.

Well, no point going over those things now… soon she was going to be home. A few more hours, and he’d board his jet to go meet her in San Francisco, and everything would be all right again. And next time, he’d know what to do, and he wouldn’t let her talk him out of it.

He took out his cell phone and typed a text message.

“Hey, baby, I know you're in midflight but I miss you. Call me when you get this.”