Sleepwalking

By Taylin Clavelli

Devastated by loss, Matthew sleepwalks through life, existing but not living. Can someone rescue him from his waking nightmare and help him to live again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayward Ink Publishing
• Release date: Nov 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781925222159

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SLEEPWALKING

Taylin Clavelli

Part One—Matthew

I ENTERED the building with legs of jello, feeling sick. My stomach butterflies just wouldn’t abate. I shivered and trembled, though it was the height of summer. It had been two years since I’d set foot in the corridors of this old building, two years since I’d gotten the news that my husband had been fatally wounded while executing a warrant on a man suspected of running guns.

I stood there in the empty hallway, hearing nothing but the echoes of faraway voices as I faced the wall of fallen heroes. Looking upon his handsome face, he smiled into the camera, standing proud, his chest puffed out, showing off his uniform to its full potential. How I wished he were here now. Instead of just a photograph, with his badge below it.

Running the tips of my fingers over his outline, I remembered his strong muscles over my skin. How his body was so big he could totally encase me; it made me feel safe. How my splayed hand only covered half his shoulder. Hell, my thigh was the size of his bicep—and yet he handled me as though I was the most precious thing on earth, both in life and in bed.

I’d run my fingers through his cropped, straight black hair, scratching his scalp with my short nails, making him purr like a cat. He’d lower his lips to mine, devouring me before making passionate love to me. Even now, I can feel the strength of his body within me, and the feel of him between my thighs.

My heart ached. I couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t walk away. I stood, rooted to the spot, while all the stitches that held me together snipped open one by one, releasing all the memories, the pain.

Sam, I whispered, before I sank to the floor, sobbing.

Matthew?

The echoes of a recognized concerned voice pulled me out of my fog.

I ran my arm over my eyes, removing the tears. Commander Redman. I coughed, with a shuddering stutter. Sorry, I was on my way to collect some discovery on the Wainwright case, I said, before opening my eyes, which were sore from tears and the lids scratched by my jacket sleeve.

As I looked up, he crouched before me. Come on, son. Let’s get you into my office before the boys get back.

By ‘the boys’, he meant the men of his Narcotics and Special Investigations Division—or, as Sam always referred to it—NSID. The team Sam used to be part of. I knew from old what his words meant. They’d been out on a job and were due back soon. These ‘jobs’ could take several hours. They weren’t called out every day, but when they were, they were usually gone for a while. I found it weird how my brain snapped back into the ‘call out’ mode so easily. Sam and