Jory shivers as he rolls over in the bed, his arm reaching for Peter. All he finds is empty space, and he grabs Peter’s pillow in one fist, pulling it into a tight hug as he curls into himself. “Peter?” he whispers, opening his eyes.
The room is empty.
Bright sunlight creeps through the closed blinds, and Jory watches tiny motes of dust dance in the rays slanting across the bed. It’s cold, too cold, and suddenly Jory feels alone and scared. The dream comes rushing back to him, the same one he’s had for a week now, the dream where he relives the accident over and over.
“Peter?” he asks again, raising his voice a little. He wants to feel strong arms around him, warming him. He wants to hear Peter whisper it will be all right now, everything will be fine. Where is he? Jory wonders, buryi
