Opening my eyes feels like trying to lift cement. My eyelids are heavy, my vision blurry, and my head throbs so violently I swear I can hear my pulse inside my skull. I blink a few times, trying to make sense of where I am.
A machine beside me beeps steadily.
The bed beneath me is stiff and uncomfortable, digging into my back.
A thin white blanket covers my legs.
I'm wearing a hospital gown.
Hospital.
I'm in a hospital.
For a moment, I can't remember why.
Then everything hits me at once — Sunshine, the blood, the tattoo, the scar, the fight, the darkness swallowing me whole.
My breath catches.
My chest tightens.
My fingers curl into the blanket.
The room feels too bright.
Too quiet.
Too clean.
Like it's trying to erase what happened.
The door opens.
A doctor walks in wearing blue scrubs and a white coat. His face is lined with wrinkles, his hair pure white, and when he smiles, his yellow teeth show. He looks tired. Or maybe I'm projecting.
"How are you feeling? You've been out for a while," he says, flipping through my chart.
"My head is pounding," I croak. My throat feels raw, like I swallowed sand.
"I'll have the nurse bring you something for the pain. Get some rest. I'll be back later to discharge you."
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
I close my eyes again, letting the darkness settle around me. My mind spins with everything that's happened in the past week. Megan. Candy. Sky. Sunshine. Four girls. Four friends. Four bodies. Four nightmares.
And now me.
I have clues now — more than before.
The man I saw… he definitely works out. His thighs were strong enough to crush someone. That tattoo on his leg — the dragon with the knife through its head — I've never seen anything like it. Maybe a tattoo parlor around here has seen it before. Maybe someone requested it. Maybe someone remembers.
Who the hell is behind that mask?
Why is he doing this?
Why us?
Why dancers?
Why my friends?
Each killing was different.
Each girl died in a different way.
Sunshine… I don't even know how she died. Strangulation? Blood loss? Shock? The ear? The bruises? The rope?
Either way, I need to find this fucker before he kills anyone else.
This is the fourth girl.
And I'm pretty sure I'm next.
Lost in thought, I don't realize someone has come in until I hear their voice.
"Hey."
I open my eyes and furrow my brows.
"Cody? What are you doing here?"
He smiles softly. "I work here during the day. I'm a nurse. I came to give you meds for your headache and get you discharged."
He hands me ibuprofen.
As he moves closer, I notice something on his arm — a scar.
Long.
Jagged.
Familiar.
My stomach drops.
Where have I seen that before?
Why haven't I ever noticed it?
I've seen him shirtless on stage.
I've walked in on him and Megan before.
I've seen his arms a thousand times.
So why does this scar feel like a memory trying to claw its way out of my brain?
"Earth to Molly," Cody says, snapping his fingers in my face.
I swat his hand away and swallow the pills dry. My throat burns.
"I'm ready to go home," I say.
He nods, hands me the discharge papers, and tells me he'll call me an Uber.
I wait by the entrance, leaning against the wall. My head still throbs. My body feels heavy. My thoughts feel tangled.
The hospital hallway feels too long.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Every footstep echoes like someone is following me.
When the Uber arrives, the driver steps out, leaning against his car.
My mouth drops open.
It's him.
The same guy I gave a lap dance to a while ago.
He's wearing cargo pants, but when he leans against the car, the fabric pulls just enough for the top of the tattoo on his thigh to peek out — that same dragon with the knife through its head.
My heart stops.
"Hey, you're Molly, right? From Fantasy?" he says, opening the back door for me.
I nod slowly, my throat tightening. I get inside, too scared to speak.
The entire ride is silent.
Dead silent.
Only the hum of the engine and the faint music from the radio fill the space. I stare out the window, trying not to look at him. But every time I glance his way, he's staring at me. Not blinking. Not looking at the road.
Just staring.
I swear we're going to crash.
I swear he's going to pull over and kill me.
I swear I can feel his eyes crawling across my skin.
The streetlights blur past the window.
The shadows outside stretch unnaturally long.
The car feels too warm.
Too quiet.
Too slow.
Something is wrong.
Something feels off.
Something feels unreal.
When we reach my apartment, I get out fast, not saying a word. I feel his gaze burning into my back as I walk to my door. Only when I'm inside do I hear his car speed off.
I drop my bag on the floor and head straight to the bathroom. I need to wash off the hospital smell. I need to wash off the fear. I need to wash off everything.
My paranoia spikes.
Every shadow looks like him.
Every creak in the walls feels like footsteps.
Every sound outside makes my heart jump.
I lock the door.
Then lock it again.
Then check the windows.
Then check the closet.
Then check under the bed.
Nothing.
But I still feel watched.
I run the water halfway, test the temperature, then sink into the tub. The warmth wraps around me, soothing my aching muscles. I let my head fall back, letting the water wash away the dirt, the sweat, the blood, the memories.
My eyes grow heavy.
My breathing slows.
My mind drifts.
The bathroom light flickers.
The shadows shift.
The water feels thicker.
The air feels heavier.
I blink slowly.
My vision blurs.
My thoughts slip.
I fall asleep.
---
I wake up to someone tying my hands up with a rope. I try to scream, but nothing comes out. My tongue—it's missing. My ears are ringing, and everything feels muffled, like I'm underwater. I can't hear him. I can only see him well barely see him.
A shadow.
A figure.
A monster.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing, water dripping from my hair and skin, splashing onto the floor with each step. My legs drag behind me. My head hangs. My vision flickers.
He carries me to my bed.
He grabs his knife and penetrates me with it. The pain of the blade going inside is to much I can feel the sharpness of it cutting my inside. He takes it out then pulls his pants down.
There's that tattoo again, the dragon with a knife sticking out of his head. I can't see his face; all I see is darkness. He puts his dick inside of me; at this point I'm so numb from the pain I can't even feel him inside. All I can see is his movements; he has one hand on my throat. I'm trying to gasp for air, but he's holding on too tight. He's moving his hips and moaning, enjoying the pain he is causing me.
I try to move, but it just makes him go even harder, my head slamming against the wall with each movement. Faster, faster, harder, harder.
He bites my lip, making it bleed, and grabs my breast with his other hand hard. He starts sucking my nipple as he's thrusting inside of me hard.
At first, it feels good the way he is sucking my breast; he's gentle with it, his tongue licking my nipple making it hard. He sucked it softly, playing with my other breast with his hand.
All of a sudden, I feel a sharp pain, and he bites my nipple right off, causing me to scream. Blood starts oozing out of me. He licks the blood and kisses my lips. I can taste the metallic on my mouth from it.
He thrust inside of me harder, if that's even possible. He does one last thrust before getting off me and taking the condom off. He shoves it in my mouth, forcing me to swallow it.
As I'm choking on the condom, he grabs me by the throat again, but this time with both hands.
My vision blurs. My body trembles. My lungs burn. I try to move, but everything feels heavy, wrong, unreal. His shadow looms over me, faceless, silent, impossible.
I see the tattoo again — the dragon with the knife through its head.
I see the scar on his arm — the same one I saw earlier.
I see the mask — blank, smooth, faceless.
I see death.
Darkness creeps in.
Everything goes black.
Cold.
That's the first thing I feel.
Freezing cold water against my skin.
My fingers pruned.
My hair heavy.
My body stiff.
I gasp and jerk upright, splashing water everywhere.
I'm still in the bathtub.
The water is ice cold.
My heart is racing.
My chest tight.
My breath thin and shaky.
I look around wildly.
No rope.
No blood.
No mask.
No tattoo.
Just my bathroom.
Silent.
Still.
Normal.
A dream.
It was a dream.
But it felt real.
Too real.
I climb out of the tub, shivering so hard my teeth click.
I wrap a towel around myself, fingers trembling, lips trembling, breath uneven.
My wrists ache.
Red marks circle them.
Like rope burns.
I stare at them, throat tight.
Did I do that to myself?
Did I fight in my sleep?
Did I imagine everything?
I stumble into my bedroom and pull-on clothes with numb, clumsy hands.
My body is still shaking — from the cold, from fear, from whatever the hell just happened.
I step into the hallway.
And freeze.
Something small glints near the bathroom door.
A necklace.
Megan's necklace.
The one she wore the night she died.
My breath catches.
I kneel slowly, afraid to touch it.
Afraid to breathe.
Afraid to move.
A few inches away, half-hidden under the rug—
Candy's bracelet.
My stomach twists.
I turn toward my bedroom, pulse hammering so hard it hurts.
On the floor beside my bed sits a tiny charm.
Sky's charm.
The one she never took off.
I back away, shaking.
Near the hallway wall, almost invisible in the dim light—
Sunshine's ring.
My knees nearly buckle.
Four girls.
Four items.
Four warnings.
I didn't find these.
Someone put them here.
Someone was in my apartment.
Someone was close enough to leave pieces of the dead for me to touch.
My breath stutters.
My vision blurs.
My mind spirals.
A sudden, violent pounding on my door snaps me out of it.
I jump so hard my breath breaks.
"Molly! Police! Open up!"
My heart slams against my ribs.
I rush to the door, hands shaking, voice cracking as I unlock it.
Two officers step inside, flashlights raised.
"Ma'am, are you okay? Neighbors reported screaming."
"I… I had a nightmare," I manage, breath uneven, body shivering.
They both exchange a look — concern tightening their faces.
"Let us check the apartment," one says gently. "Just to make sure you're safe."
I nod, hugging myself.
They start a real sweep — slow, methodical, checking corners, checking doors, checking windows.
One officer stops near the front door.
"Ma'am… did you see this?"
I blink.
A muddy footprint.
Small.
Precise.
Right beside the doorframe.
I didn't see it.
I didn't hear anything.
I didn't know.
"No," I whisper. "That wasn't there before."
The officer's expression tightens.
They continue searching.
The second officer pauses at the living room window.
"Ma'am… this lock is turned," he says quietly. "And there's mud on the sill."
My stomach drops.
They move down the hallway.
One kneels near Megan's necklace.
Another picks up Candy's bracelet.
Then Sky's charm.
Then Sunshine's ring.
All scattered.
All placed.
All wrong.
"Ma'am…" the officer says quietly, "someone was in here."
My breath catches.
"We're going to file a report," he continues. "You shouldn't stay here tonight."
I nod, barely breathing.
But where can I go?
Who can I trust?
Who is the killer?
And how long has he been inside my home?
---
She moves differently now.
Quieter.
Slower.
Like she finally feels the eyes on her.
She thinks she's alone in that apartment.
She never is.
She fights, too.
Even in sleep.
Even drowning in fear.
Even when she can't tell what's real and what's memory.
She pushes.
She claws.
She tries.
She always has.
She saw the mark.
Not tonight.
Before.
She wasn't supposed to.
She wasn't ready.
But she looked anyway.
She always looks.
She always sees more than she should.
So I left her reminders.
Not clues.
Reminders.
A necklace that should've been buried.
A bracelet that should've stayed on a cold wrist.
A charm that should've been sealed in evidence.
A ring that should've never left the morgue.
Little pieces of the girls she couldn't save.
Little pieces of the truth she keeps running from.
She thinks she found them.
She thinks she grabbed them by accident.
She thinks she caught me slipping.
She didn't.
I put them there.
I placed every piece.
I watched her touch them.
I watched her panic.
I watched her break.
She's getting close.
Closer than any of them ever did.
Closer than she should be.
Closer to me.
And she doesn't even know what she's walking toward.
She keeps pretending she's safe.
Pretending she's alone.
Pretending she doesn't feel me watching.
Pretending she doesn't remember.
She will.
Soon.
Very soon.
Because I'm not done with her.
Not even close.