by R. L. Weeks
“I’m helping you.”
I scoffed. “You hurt me.”
He shrugged. “It’s necessary.” He looked behind him again.
I looked behind him too. “You’re nervous. You’re not usually. What’s happened?”
He sucked in a deep breath. “He knows you’re leaving. He won’t let you. You’re not safe. I need you to come here… to me. I can help you.”
I didn’t care. I ripped my hand from his. “This isn’t real. You are not real.” I turned and ran out into the hall.
I could hear his pleas for me to come back, but I didn’t care. I ran out of the rooms and down the blood-splattered corridor until something stepped in front of me – a black shadow, or so it seemed.
When his face came into the light, my heart stopped for a moment, and I felt myself wake up.
