Over My Shoulder

Awakened

"Honey, wake up. Breakfast is made and Jonathon's waiting for you. You know he won't eat without you when you're here." Miya's voice, quiet in the darkened room, pierces my slumber. I groan inwardly as I force my eyes to blink open. I worked the night shift last night and had just laid down for sleep around seven in the morning. As if sensing my question before I could even open my mouth, Miya responds, pausing for a second as she glances at the clock. "It's 10:09. Now, I know you haven't been asleep long, but it's Saturday and your day off, which means you don't have to go in at all today. You can nap for a bit later, but you know Jonathon loves spending breakfast with you when he gets the chance. If you're too tired I can tell him lunch, or supper?"

I sit up and stretch, my muscles protesting at the movement. I rub away the crust that adhered to my lashes in my brief respite and barely suppress a yawn. 

"No, I'll be down in a few. Let me go wash up and get dressed." I find her eyes and hold them, the light blue irises dark in the shadows of the room. She closes the distance between us to give me a peck on the lips before exiting the room, her footfalls soft as she descends the stairs. 

My body begs for me to lie back down, the warmth of the covers beckoning sweetly, but I get up. The carpet muffles my steps as I head groggily for the bathroom connected to the room, the lights bright and blinding as I step through the doorway. Within minutes I have my face washed and teeth brushed. My lazy-boy pajama pants catch my eye as they hang halfway out of the hamper. I throw those on and find myself standing in the kitchen, the tiled floor cold against my bare feet. 

Miya comes over and pecks me on the mouth, her lips soft against mine, as I settle into my chair. A bowl of oatmeal is plopped in front of me, the ceramic bowl clanking noisily on the table, followed closely by a warm cup of coffee. My head is throbbing so I lift it to my lips and slowly take a sip of the warm caffeine. I stare across at Jonathon, my son. He's intent on his bowl, the mush like paste on his spoon. He glances up and meets my eyes with a smile. He doesn't talk much, if ever, so it's not a surprise that he's silent, but his smiles mean the world to me. I smile back at him.

"Alright, buddy. I'm here. How's your oatmeal?" He gives me a thumbs up and smiles around the glob of mush falling from between his lips. I smile back and lean forward on the table, my bowl untouched between my elbows. "Well, I'm glad mom cooked it up good. I'm hoping you're being honest, otherwise the tickle monster will have to come get you in your sleep tonight for making me eat it." I glance at Miya. She's leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in her hands and a smile on her face as she shakes her head at me. I shrug her way and wiggle my brow. She turns away, the smile on her face widening as a light blush spreads across her features. 

Jonathon lets out a breathy gust of air, his version of a laugh when he doesn't feel up to an actual one. The doctors say he's selectively mute and borderline autistic, and claim his behaviors are completely normal. It was hell to adjust to having a child that rarely talks, hates loud noises, hates being alone unless it's raining or he's coaxed with a past time, and more, but we managed. 

"Want the usual, bud?" He nods. "Alright. Well, let's see. I got to arrest some people who were rowdy, or obnoxious, and drunk, and I got to arrest a guy that hit some people. He gave someone a bloody nose. I got to pull some people over for going too fast. I had to catch a guy who ran after stealing some things. So, I got to use my lights and siren a lot, which you know is super cool." 

Jonathon's face is alight with delight and awe. He especially loves hearing about when I get to use the sirens. 

"Sounds like it was a busy night. Did you have fun? Stay safe?" Miya's voice is nonchalant, but her face is tight with concern. Her eyes search mine from across the room. I give a small smile and she grimaces, then smiles. "Better eat your oatmeal before it goes cold. It's no good cold. The tickle monster has no power here if it's your fault the food goes bad."

I smile at her while picking up my spoon, the weight of the oatmeal present in the spoon's head. I lift it to my mouth, chewing the mush slowly. It transforms in my mouth, bursting with flavor. Maple, sugar, honey, cinnamon, copper...copper? I look down at the bowl in front of me and leap backward. The chair clatters to the floor and the spoon falls from my hand, red mush splattering over the tiles. My cup of coffee spills all over the table, the black liquid slowly rolling off the edge of the table in a stream.

My mind races to comprehend what it is. It's not oatmeal, that's for sure. The consistency was chunky and liquidy, the color a medium red with darker hued chunks spread throughout, a few pink and purple bits floating freely. Raw meat juice that was drained into oatmeal or something similar? Was this a prank? An April Fool's joke? Did Miya tamper with it to get a rise out of me? Highly doubtful, but I couldn't rule it out. We've teased each other like that before.

A puddle of blood slowly trails towards my feet as I stare back down at the grounded spoon and try to make sense of it. I follow where it came from...and drop to my knees, my legs like jelly as I quickly crawl towards the body, a sob and plea working it's way up my throat. Jonathon, in his chair eating oatmeal a few seconds before I noticed what my bowl consisted of, now lay on the red-stained tiles, his neck spurting small streams of blood, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A warbled groan from behind makes me spin around, my hand sliding in a small stream of blood as I do so. My back smacks into the tiles.

Miya sways, her body doing small quakes, as pus-filled eyes bore into me, a groan working its way free as she stares. Her face is smeared with blood and bile, her eyes oozing green and yellow pus. A flap of her cheek hangs free, the muscle red beneath the pocked skin. 

Shock freezes me in place. Miya? What happened to her? She was drinking coffee, Jonathon was eating oatmeal. Now Jonathon is dead, his lifeless body draining on the floor, and she is, well, something. She's not dead, but she's not my Miya. 

"Miya?" The words are like a croak in my throat, the words scratching free. "Miya, are you okay?"

She flings her head back and opens her mouth wide as a screech works free. Her scream echoes in the kitchen and makes my throbbing head worse. 

She lunges forward, her fingers like claws as she reaches for me and.....

I jolt awake.