Moonlight on Butternut Lake by Mary McNear

his doorknob, she found she couldn’t make herself open it. Now that she was this close, she could hear not just screaming, but actual words, too. Words like help and please. Come on, Mila, just open it, she told herself, and by some miracle she did. She edged into the room then and saw Reid was in his hospital bed, lit by the faint pool of light from a nearby night-light. He was quiet and still for a moment, and then he started to scream and to thrash around again.
    She reached for the switch beside the door and flipped it on, but the light didn’t wake him up. It did give her a better view of him, though, and she saw that he was drenched with perspiration and tangled up in his sheets. “ Help me, ” he said, his voice hoarse from screaming, and he struggled again, struggled so hard that it was almost as if he was drowning on dry land.
    Mila stepped closer. She could reach out and touch him now, if she wanted to, but the truth was, she didn’t want to, and what was more, she didn’t know if she should. She racked her brain, trying to remember if they’d ever covered anything like this in her home health aide class, but she came up empty. Just then,though, Reid made a screaming noise again, and the sheer desperation, and sheer helplessness of it spurred her into action.
    â€œReid,” she said softly, and she put a hand on one of his shoulders. “ Reid, ” she said, louder this time. “Reid, wake up. Please. I want to help you.” If I can help you. But he slept on, in his strange, combative sleep.
    She gripped his shoulder harder—it was encased in an undershirt that was soaked with sweat—and shook him, gently, at first, and then harder. “ Reid! Wake up! ”
    He jerked awake then and stared at her with unseeing eyes.
    â€œReid, it’s me,” she said, trying to sound calm. “It’s Mila. You were having a nightmare. I was worried about you.”
    Slowly, his eyes came into focus, but he was still breathing hard, and sweating harder. He looked around the room then, as if he’d never seen it before, and then looked back at her, and she could feel him mentally trying to place her.
    â€œMila,” she said softly, answering his unasked question. “I . . . I got here today. Remember?”
    He pushed himself up so that he was leaning back on his elbows, and he looked around the room again, and she got the feeling that he was making a conscious effort to come back here from wherever it was he had been before. It seemed to work, too, because when he looked back at her, it was as if he were seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time since she woke him up. “I remember who you are,” he said, his voice sounding dry and sandpapery. “But I don’t know why you’re in my room.”
    â€œI . . . I was worried about you,” she stammered. “I wanted to help you, I mean, I want to help you,” she said, correcting herself.
    He stared at her for another moment, then shook his head, as if she’d said something he didn’t want to hear. “Did I tell you youcould come into my room?” he asked, and his blue eyes were not only focused now but staring at her, in a cold, hard, flat way.
    â€œWhat? No,” she said, taking a step back from his bed. “You didn’t tell me I could come in here. You were asleep. But you were . . . you were asking for help, Reid. In your dream.”
    He made a motion with his hand, an impatient motion, as if he were brushing all her words away. “Look, if I need your help—which I don’t—I’ll ask for it. Otherwise, leave me alone.”
    She hesitated, shocked by the hostility in his voice. How could a man who barely knew her dislike her as much as he already did?
    â€œI’ll . . . I’ll try to leave you alone,” she said, willing herself to be calm. “But I have to do my job.”
    There was a pause. Then he said