Mr. Sandman

The streets are dark, the fog is hovering thickly a few inches above the ground, looking like clouds are falling from the sky. I'm wandering the streets, feeling deep down inside like I have lost something- something important, and I have to find it before it's too late. There! There's a glimpse of something just out of the corner of my eye, turning a corner and going out of sight. I hurry after it, trying to catch it, calling for it to slow down.
My baby sits peacefully at the end of the street, smiling serenly at me. His chubby arms reach up for me, and I take a step toward him. He faintly resembles Grant, but looks like my family, too- Grant's eyes are prominent in his face, giving him a sad, puppy dog expression, but his smile is all mine. "William," I whisper, and he smiles, gets up, and runs off in to the fog. "Wait!" I yell, running after him. He turns, not smiling anymore, and suddenly his eyes are Grant's, his face lengthening and thinning out from baby fat to a man's face, all strong jaw and cheekbones: Grant's face. He moves toward me, snarling like a nad dog that is about to bite, and I hurridly back up, knowing what is going to happen. In a flash, Grant is looking above me. I force my eyes open, just in time to see his hand descend, and the stars explode behind my eyes. I gasp, the pain magnified until it feels as if I strucck live wires to my tounge; then the world explodes into darkness again, and I open my eyes (correction, my eye, since my other one is swelling quickly shut) n time to see him unclench his fist and massage it.
"Why?" I moan, feeling hot blood running down my throat and clutching my hands to my mouth. "Why are you doing this?" The question is garbled by the blood, almost to the point of incomprehension, but I keep asking. Grant ignores me, hitting and slapping, beating me until I curl up on the ground in a ball, trying to keep my vital organs protected, knowing that he will kill me if this keeps going, and all the while begging him to stop.
I wake up slowly, aware first that someone is shaking me, secondly that I am crying. I can still feel the places where Grant's blows fell, and raise my hands to my lips, surprised that they come away clean, rather than spotted with blood. The room is pitch black, the color of the early, early morning after the moon has disappered and before the sun has appeared in the sky- what Jayson used to call the "in between hours" the times when anything could happen. Shadows sinisterly slide into the corners and behind the desk and I sit up, disoriented.
"Cillia, baby, you ok?" Jess is shaking me, rubbing my back in large, soothing circles. "You were crying. And screaming."
"Bad dream." I mumble, even now trying hungrily to remember how my baby looked in those too-few, precious moments before he changed into Grant.
"Do you wanna talk about it? Was it about...your anniversary?"
I roll over, burying my face into his warm, bare chest. "Yeah, I think. I was running...and saw the baby....and Grant..." I'm crying, sobbing unabashedly, like I've never cried, not in front of Jess or anybody. Jess, shocked, holds me close to his chest, murmmering soothing things into my hair. "He...hit me..." I choke out. "That's what I never wanted to tell you. But he did." Jess' body tenses, and I bury my face deeper into his chest, needing to get this out of my mind, at least to him, the one that I never lied to. "I thought, for a long time, that if I did everything right....if I kept him happy...everything would be fine, and he would stop. But he didn't. He never stopped. Not even when I begged."