Chapter 23
Rami's POV
I’m sprinting down a darkened road, running from something. Though I don’t know what. The street lights behind me begin to darken, one by one; each making a loud clunk as it shuts off.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up straight, warning me that I’m in danger. When I reach for the strand of crystals from Yasmine, my hand comes up empty.
I glance down at my bare chest to find it covered in scratches. At first, I assume they’re from brambles and branches caused by my retreat. But their uniformity in width, the depth of each cut, and the fact that they’re in a pattern of four scratches make me think it’s from a hand.
The jagged and bloody marks cause the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. And I know I have to get the fuck out of here. And fast.
My heart thunders in my ears, and I pump my legs even harder. Anything capable of making such deep wounds is not something I would like to meet. Especially not in the dark.
When the tension in the air lessens around me, I risk slowing down like the world’s worst horror movie character. Bracing my hands on my knees, I pant heavily in a sad attempt to catch my breath. It also gives me a second to take in my surroundings.
I stand up straighter and strain my eyes to see through the thick fog blocking my view beyond the sidewalk. Perhaps those are trees in the distance? But the more I concentrate on them, the more they vanish from view.
Looking up and down the sidewalk, it appears as if it’s never ending.
A chill runs up my spine when I realize there’s a lack of obvious landmarks so I don’t recognize where I am.
“Fuck,” I mumble, running my hand down my face. “I must be dreaming.”
“Rami.” The sinister whisper makes goosebumps pebble up the flesh of my arms. “Rami.”
When the scary as fuck voice says my name a second time, I continue my trek down the sidewalk.
“Rami.”
My power walk turns into a jog with the repeated whisper growing in volume. Over and over again, eventually sounding more like a chorus of voices. The sound is filled with a promise that no matter how fast I run, it’s fruitless.
“You can’t escape me,” it says, as if it can read my thoughts.
That sets me into a full-on sprint again. Dread stitching through every cell. My breath comes in panicked gasps, not nearly enough to provide my brain or my muscles with the oxygen they need. There’s only one thing on my mind as I push my muscles to the brink.
Don’t. Stop.
My foot catches on something, sending me sprawling toward the ground.
The roughened concrete rapidly gets closer.
I wrap my arms around my head to protect it as best as I can.
Landing with a loud oof I slide for at least ten feet before I log roll to a stop.
I brace myself for the pain that never comes, and when I inspect my naked torso, only the scratches from earlier greet me.
Checking to see what I tripped over, I watch raptly as the stone sinks back into the ground so that it’s level with the others once again.
The game has been rigged for me to lose, no matter what I do.
Twenty feet from me, movement steals my attention. I have to squint into the darkness to see the silhouette stalking toward me. The humanoid-shaped, shadowy figure takes slow, but sure steps toward me. Horns come into view about the time a deep growl rumbles from its direction.
And I know I’m fucked.
“Mine,” it rumbles, reaching out toward me.
Its long talons scratch my arms when I throw my arms up into a weak shield.
A scream lodges itself in my throat as I shoot upright.
As I blink back into consciousness, Adriel’s clearing steadily comes into view.
My hand flies to my bare chest, sticky with sweat, and absent of my necklace.
Flying up from where I had fallen asleep last night, I go in search of my T-shirt to find it and the necklace Yasmine gave me where I left them after I rinsed off in the cold stream.
I grab the necklace and slide it over my head. The familiar weight eases the tension in my shoulders from the eerie dream. Dropping to the ground, I pull my knees to my chest and hug them tightly. I close my eyes and rest my chin on my knees as I focus on my box breathing.
In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three.
It takes four rounds before my heart slows, and my body feels lighter than it has in a long time. It allows me to take in the splendor of the colors and pollinators around me. The sheer number of colors still mesmerizes me.
Pushing up to standing, I walk Adriel’s perimeter several times to loosen the last vestiges of the tightness in my joints. The darkness of my dream refuses to ebb away entirely.
Realizing I won’t be able to focus on schoolwork, I decide gardening is the distraction I need.
Though, thanks to my hotspot and working in low-power mode, I’ve been able to keep up with it easily.
It has been the best form of busyness that has prevented me from spiraling into anxiety over what I can only assume will be a shitstorm when I return home.
After nearly a week here, I will continue to push off that encounter for as long as I can.
I’m certain Grandma Julia’s mood has only gotten worse in my continued absence.
And with Adriel at my side, at night at least, I find I don’t miss the real world. Being with him is easy.
I plunge my fingers into the loose soil, where we left off the night before, and get to work. The mundane routine quiets the inner voice, allowing me to remain focused; only taking breaks for a sip of water or a snack.
After almost four hours of work, I stand up and push against my sacrum to bend backward and stretch out my back. The pop feels so good I moan a bit.
At the little stream that runs along Adriel’s territory, I dip my hands into the cool water to rinse off the dirt.
Cupping the water in my hand, I rinse off my forearms too.
When I get to my right forearm, I hiss as I rub the dirt and water against an especially painful part.
Turning my arm, my eyes catch on the seven-inch scratch along the outside of my arm.
The world around me spins as my dream rushes to the forefront of my thoughts once again.
The shadowy figure scratched me.
“But it was a dream,” I mumble, trying to remind myself.
This can’t be real. Though there’s no amount of water that can get rid of it. The scratch is actually there, and it’s now aching dully from the harsh cleaning.
Jumping back to my feet, I pace the perimeter over and over again. My mind acting more like a broken record as I attempt to make sense of everything.
The more I try to picture the creature from my dream, the fewer details I can remember. Very similar to what happened when Grandma Julia and I were fighting. I swear an obscure shadow was standing behind her.
Shaking off the absurdity, there’s no way it’s the same thing.
“Nope, not possible,” I snap at myself. “But…” I pause my pacing and run my fingers through my hair for the millionth time. “Nope. No. Not possible.”
And we’re back to a broken record.
What’s happening to me?