A shout startled me awake from a bad dream, heart pounding under my hand as I struggled to catch my breath. The cheerful ring of my cellphone completely caught me off guard. Then a scream from the living room followed.

Angry curses disrupted any semblance of drowsiness I may have had left as I held the phone to my ear with a tight grip. Apology after apology did nothing to soothe my neighbors as they all called at once. One threatened to call the police if I didn’t shut up. Like it was me doing the screaming and not a poor tormented lad having bad nightmares.

Days in advance I had told them I’d be taking in someone again, but did that matter now? Feck’s sake.

Night terrors. Dr. Brennan had informed me with that calm detachment doctors seem to practice as I signed James out. Had told me to position myself far away in the room for my safety. Told me not to try to wake him. Told me they could go away given time, but not anytime soon he guessed.

I already knew all that. He’s not the only one I’ve had over that woke me up screaming. He had started to sob and thrash the second night I was there to check on him. The nurse working the night shift was more shaken than I was about his screaming and thrashing. My gentle tone seemed to be working at calming him down, but then another nurse rushed in, and her voice had him panicking in his sleep.

This medicine was supposed to work. Maybe the dose needs to be adjusted? James has a fast metabolism apparently. It should have worked to some degree though. Given some sort of restfulness to his sleep that was miserable and often interrupted.

Leg finally situated after the calls had stopped, I carefully shuffled through the hall to the entrance of the living room. Like the one time I stayed overnight at the hospital, he was shouting in a language I didn’t know. Alternating between shielding his face and thrashing at whoever he dreamed about to keep them away.

“Is alright, lad. You’re alright,” I whispered.

He jerked his knees up to his chest. Shuddered as he covered his face.

“Нет… Нет…”

“You’re alright, James. Just a bad dream, lad. You’re alright.”

His breath stuttered over a broken sound before the tears started. He pulled himself into a tighter ball. An arm flailed out suddenly.

“Мне больно!”

“You’re alright, James,” I reassured again.

A car’s tires squealed in the parking lot. I clutched at my racing heart as it grew quiet. A loud thump stole my attention back from the window blinds. James had rolled off the side of the pull-out bed. There was a knife in his hand as he rearranged himself into a defensive crouch.

This… could be a definite problem.

“Is alright, James,” I said quietly. “You awake?”

“Я не понимаю.”

Alright, maybe not awake. His eyes being open doesn’t automatically mean the night terror is over. Just gotta take this slowly.

“Is alright, James. You’re alright, lad.”

He cocked his head at me. Inhaled sharply when I held up my hands.

“Not gonna hurt you. You’re safe here. Remember?” I asked taking a knee.

His eyes tracked the movement. Met my gaze for a moment. Then he was on his feet and shouting, knife swiping at the air wildly.

“Нет! Нет!”

“Easy, James. Is alright. It’s just us.”

He tripped over his feet as he hastened backward, retreating from phantoms. The knife slipped through his fingers as his shoulder collided with the floor. Half curling in on himself, he clutched at the metal shoulder instead and sobbed loudly.

I shushed him quietly. Reassured him as best I could. Kept myself low as I padded closer on my knees to get the knife out of reach. He flinched, ducking his chin to his chest and scrunching his eyes shut when I picked it up.

“Простите,” he croaked as more tears poured down his cheeks. “Простите. Простите.”

I tossed the knife as far into the kitchen as I could. Regretted the decision when it clattered loudly against the floor. We both flinched at the sound.

“бога ради. Нет,” he whimpered.

“You’re alright, James. You just need to wake up.”

His chest heaved as he choked on his next few breaths. Tugged at his hair roughly with his metal fingers. Repetitively knocked his temple against the floor lightly as he cried.

“это больно!” he suddenly shouted.

“Eto Bow Na? Eto Bowl Na?”

He repeated the strange phrase with a more frantic edge to his tone. I dove to shove my hand under the side of his head before he could slam it against the floor.

“James? Jamie lad? I don’t know what that means,” I told him as he struggled to take in a breath. “Eh to bowl na. What does eh to bowl na mean?”

Those miserable dream-hazed eyes opened to look at me. He patted his metal shoulder.

“Мне больно.”

“Shoulder? Shoulder pain? Work with me, James. What is me now boy na?”

He patted his metal shoulder and repeated the phrase. Closed his eyes when I set my free hand in his hair. I gently carded my fingers through the messy locks. Started humming a lullaby. He struggled to take breath as he sobbed.