THE CRADLE CONSPIRACY by Robin Perini

through.
    Daniel closed his eyes, flashing on the nightmares, when the darkness had shredded his soul. She’d witnessed every horrifying moment of those first two weeks. She’d seen him shut down, responding to nothing and no one. She’d stroked his hair and whispered comforting words like she had when he was ten, and he’d broken his arm sliding into third base.
    She’d seen him stare at the room and not see the hospital, but the dungeon walls of Bellevaux.
    She’d held him when he’d cried out in pain during the night, in a despair so raw he’d possessed no control. She’d hurt for him when the orderlies restrained him to the bed while he screamed and swore like a crazy man. She’d pitied him, and he’d hated it, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
    The lowest moment he could remember was one horrible day. He’d thought he was better. The therapy session had gone well. He’d come back to his room, and she’d stood there, waiting for him, her hand adjusting the blinds with the cord.
    A lousy cord.
    The twined string had morphed into a leather whip. He’d lunged at her, death in his heart. She’d let out a small cry, and he’d come back to reality, but he’d seen her eyes, the second he’d recognized the fear on her face. Not for him. Fear of him.
    He’d seen that same expression when she’d looked at his dad.
    Something inside him had died in that moment.
    The sound of the shower ceased. Daniel stiffened, but Raven didn’t come out. He wanted to hang up and knock on the bathroom door to check on her, but she needed her time.
    And he needed to make his mother understand.
    “Mom,” he said slowly, “I’m like Dad. I know it, and so do you.” He couldn’t live with destroying his family any more than his father had. He had to protect them, even if that meant hurting them—and himself.
    Silence echoed through the receiver. He could barely make out a few shuddering breaths.
    “The dungeon still comes back, Mom. I see it, where it’s not. And the sounds. The screams. I live through that time every night. Even during the day. Just like Dad.”
    “But do you believe what you see is real?” she asked, her voice trembling with the question. “Do you think you’re actually there?”
    “It feels real,” he said. “The stench. The pain.” He rubbed his wrist. “I still wake up screaming, as if the whip is cutting into my back.”
    She bit back a small sob. “God, son, I want to kill the man who hurt you all over again, but that’s a nightmare. You can’t control it.” She paused, and Daniel gripped the phone even tighter.
    “Daniel, when you’re awake—when an episode hits—do you believe you are in that dungeon in Bellevaux?”
    He rubbed the scar on his cheek, then thrust his fingers through his hair. “Sometimes. Sometimes I have to fight really hard to remember, but mostly I have a double sense, and I can figure out where I am.”
    He heard a soft sigh. “I talked to your doctor,” she said. “PTSD has a spectrum. You’re not where your father was. Aaron couldn’t tell the difference between the past and present. Ever. He was lost. You’re not.”
    Daniel gripped the windowsill hard and breathed in the cool evening air. He wanted to believe her. “Dad was okay sometimes,” he whispered. “I remember.”
    “I know,” she said. “Those days gave me hope, but they never lasted. Even years later, your father still couldn’t find his way out of that mental hell. He couldn’t bring himself back to reality. You can. That means you can regain your life.”
    “But—”
    “You are not like your father. At all. You already have a control he never did.” Her voice took on an edge he hadn’t heard since one of his sisters hadn’t come home by curfew one night. “Believe me. You are my son, and I will fight you for your survival.”
    Unable to keep still, Daniel rose, then paced back and forth, his mind whirling.
    “Honey, come home. Try it. Your sister’s getting married soon.