I heard a shout coming from my daughter’s bedroom; it was a shrill and bone-chilling cry of terror, which made me to spring up immediately from my four-poster bed. I wore only boxers, but I didn’t give it a second thought as I dashed across the house towards her room. I ran up the staircase, and rammed her door open. What I saw froze me in my tracks.

Her room was ablaze, and so was she! Everything, from the curtains to the bed, to the furniture, and to her wallpapers was on fire. Except her face. She was crying as she came closer to me. Then she said, “You killed her, Dad. You killed mom!” And as I looked, her face was also engulfed by the inferno ravaging her room.

I howled in pain and anger, and the next thing I knew, I woke up. It was another nightmare. I was drenched in cold sweat, and was hyperventilating. This was the second time this month that the nightmare had come. It was either Cheryl, my daughter, or Anna, my wife, but the events were always the same—I was blamed for the death of my wife, which happened ten years ago.

I stood up, went to bathroom and splashed water on my face. I looked at the mirror and couldn’t recognize the person staring back at me; my eyes were bloodshot and hollow, and my face was harried, with my cheeks sunken. I was also sporting a three-day old stubble which added to the look of anguish I had. After that, I went back to the room, opened the mini refrigerator and took out my best friend, a bottle of whiskey. I fetched a glass, poured out a copious amount, and downed it in a single motion. As it went down my body, its warm glow revived me and added small comfort to my world of little comforts.

I looked at the alarm clock by the side stool and sighed. 5.36am; there was no need going back to sleep. I would not sleep again this morning. Moreover, I had some documents I had to go through. It was for an expansion bid by a rival agro tech company. I brought out the files and placed them on the desk, and went to work.

But instead of focusing on the job I had to do, my mind kept on wandering towards my dream, and the events that precipitated it. It was something I’d rather not think about, especially with the precarious nature of this deal. But try as much as I could, my mind remained fixated on that particular day, the day I went to hell and back. Without much fortitude, I let myself relive the horrors of that day.

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