The Nostradamus File

CHAPTER NINE

Nick dreamed.

He's in the village again, where a child will die. On the right are the flat roofed houses that will turn into platforms of death for his Marines. On the left, more houses and a patchwork of ramshackle bins and hanging cloth walls that make up the market. Flies buzz in clouds around meat hanging in the butcher’s stall.

He hears a baby cry. He always hears the baby cry, somewhere in one of the houses, a thin, frightened wail. The street is deserted.

The enemy rises up on the rooftops and begins firing, like always. The market stalls turn into a firestorm of splinters and plaster and rock exploding from the sides of the buildings, like always.

A child runs at him from one of the houses, yelling that God is Great. He can't be more than ten or eleven years old. The boy cocks his arm back and throws the grenade. Nick's rifle kicks back in a quick 3 round burst and the child's face disappears in a plume of blood. The grenade drifts through the air in slow motion…everything goes white…

"Nick!"

Selena's voice woke him. They were in a hotel in Paris. He sat upright, heart pounding as if it would smash through his ribs. He wiped his hand across his face, rubbed his eyes. The dreams had come back, more frequent since the attack on the old Project building. Always some variation of the same dream, reliving the day he'd almost died. The day he'd shot a child.

Selena stood naked by the side of the bed. She didn't look happy.

"Why are you out of bed?"

"You hit me in your sleep, thrashing around. I got out of the way."

"Oh, hell. I'm sorry."

"You have to do something about this. It's getting worse. We've talked about it before. You have to see someone."

Nick was silent.

"I know you don't want to talk with a therapist. But you have to do it. For both of us. You have to see someone."

"All right. I'll think about it."

She sat down on the bed. "Promise me, Nick. Promise you'll do it."

"I said I'd think about it."

"Promise you'll do it."

There was something unspoken in her voice, a warning.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do it. After we get back." He looked at the clock. "It's too early to get up," he said.

She moved next to him. "We don't need to get up."

She touched his face, ran her fingers over the stubble.

"I don't think I can go back to sleep," he said.

"We don't have to sleep."

Selena moved her hand down his side, feeling the old scars, the legacy of war written on his body.

"Besides," she said, "if you're not asleep, I don't have to duck."

He looked into her eyes, felt the smooth curve of her hip.

Later, they slept.