Larkin lay in the darkness, waking, then awake as she realized she had to pee. The house was dark, so she figured he was sleeping or just standing somewhere in that creepy way, so she went directly into the bathroom. She closed the door before she turned on the light. His clothes were hanging from the shower rod, but she didn't think anything of it. She peed, then drank water from the tap, using her hand as a cup. When she finished, she turned out the light, opened the door, and that's when she heard him. Soft, frantic grunts and a jerky, cloth-on-cloth swoosh came from the living room. She hesitated, listening as her eyes adjusted, then crept into the living room. He was asleep on the couch. His body was clenched; his arms rigid at his sides as he jerked and trembled. Even in the poor light, she saw the sweat on his face as his head snapped from side to side and the grunts hissed past his teeth. He was dreaming, she thought. Ohmigod. He was having a nightmare. She wondered if she should wake him. She couldn't remember if you were supposed to wake people who were having a nightmare or not. Maybe waking him would be bad.