My heart pounded so violently I was afraid he would hear it. I slipped behind a row of plastic chairs, crouching low, barely breathing.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady.
Dave walked past the pavilion.
For a second, I thought he would turn.
He didn't.
Only when he disappeared toward the field did I allow myself to inhale. My fingers were trembling. I didn't know if it was fear… or guilt.
After making sure he was truly gone, I stood up and hurried back toward the pool side, pretending nothing had happened.
By the time I arrived home, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I threw myself onto my bed without changing and drifted into sleep almost instantly.
When I woke in the evening, the sky outside my window was painted in fading orange. I took a warm bath, letting the water run over me as if it could wash away the confusion inside my head.
After dinner, I sat on my bed and powered on my phone.
My gaze fell on the small folded paper on my desk.
Dylan's number.
Which I had initially collected from one of his colleagues after going back to the pool.
I decided to call him tonight, I dialed.
The first call.
No answer.
I stared at the screen.
The second call.
Still nothing.
By the third call, my chest felt tight.
He was always everywhere — by the pool, on the field, in the corridors.
And now that I needed him, he was nowhere.
"That annoying brat," I muttered under my breath, though the insult lacked conviction.
My mind drifted back to that morning during jogging.
Clover.
The way he had said my name and held my arms.
It had caught me off guard. That was the first time I had ever heard him call me that, do sound comforting.
So he knew my name all along.
Yet he always chose to tease me instead.
I remembered shoving him away when he approached me that day. The look in his eyes — not hatred… no pride... No fear.
Now I wondered.
Why he stopped coming to school?
Was he avoiding me?
Or…
Was he scared?
The last thought lingered longer than I wanted it to.
Sleep came slowly.
And when it did, it dragged me somewhere else.
I was inside my house.
Everything looked the same — the couch, the curtains, the faint ticking of the clock.
"Mom?" I called.
No answer.
"Dad?"
Silence.
"Helen?"
Nothing.
The air felt thick. Wrong.
Panic crept up my spine as I rushed outside—
And the world changed.
The house was gone.
I stood in a vast, barren land stretching endlessly in all directions. No trees. No buildings. No sound.
Just wind carrying dust.
I walked, calling out, my voice swallowed by emptiness.
My legs grew weak. My throat burned.
When my knees finally hit the ground, dust rose around me, crawling into my lungs. I tried to breathe but the air felt heavy, suffocating.
Then the scene shifted again.
A city.
Screams.
People running.
Something inhuman moved among them.
Creatures — tall, twisted, with eyes void of mercy — tore through the crowd. The sound of ripping flesh echoed in the air. Blood stained the pavement.
I tried to move.
I couldn't.
I fell to my knees as tears streamed down my face.
Helpless.
Morning light touched my eyelids.
I woke with damp lashes and a racing heart.
For a moment, I didn't know what was real.
My head throbbed. My thoughts felt tangled.
If this continued… I might truly lose my mind.
I stood under the shower again, letting warm water cascade over my body. It felt like the only thing grounding me to reality.
Mr. Gareth.
His library.
No one remembered him.
Not my parents. Not anyone.
It was as if he had never existed.
The only person who might know something was Dylan.
And he had vanished too.
I needed answers.
If my mind was playing tricks on me, then I would confront it directly.
After dressing in blue jeans and a red crop top, I tied my hair into a ponytail and adjusted my glasses.
Downstairs, my parents noticed my lighter mood.
We ate together quietly. For once, I felt almost normal.
Almost.
Afterward, I headed to the therapy center.
The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and polished floors.
After speaking with the director, I was assigned a therapist.
A woman.
That alone made me feel slightly safer.
Inside her office, I explained everything — the dreams, the changes, the fear of losing control.
She listened carefully.
She didn't seem to believe my story and I didn't tell her about the color changing of my eyes.
Finally I finished my story she looked at me in awe, I knew she was holding in laugher because my story seems ridiculous.
"Are you taking any medication?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Zolpidem. I started it when I couldn't sleep."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"Zolpidem can cause vivid dreams, hallucinations, and unusual psychological reactions — especially with frequent use."
Her explanation was calm. Logical.
Grounded.
"It's likely your symptoms are side effects. I recommend you stop taking it for now."
For the first time in days, something made sense.
A medical cause.
A rational answer.
I agreed.
After the session and a general examination, I left the hospital feeling… lighter.
Relieved.
Yet as I stepped outside, a strange chill brushed against my skin despite the warm afternoon sun.
For a brief second, I felt like someone was watching me.
I turned.
No one was there.
I told myself it was just my imagination.
And walked home.