Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
I grip the barstool tighter, feeling the blood draining from me as she looks me in the eyes, her own pale and lifeless. “Don’t believe him, Chloe Rose.”
I wake up drenched in sweat and alone. Trembling, I can hear the faint sounds of someone outside. I can’t help getting out of bed, my heart still racing as I check to see who it is.
Peeking through the blinds, it’s just two guys walking down the street. Guys I’ve seen before on the porch of a house down the street. They look like they’re on their way back from the liquor store, carrying bags full of large glass bottles. That would explain the noises I heard in my sleep.
I’m still shaking as I turn from the window and slowly walk back to the bed, my mind racing with the memory of the dream. Of the bar. Of Dave.
I reach out to Bastian’s side of the bed, but the sheets are cold.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I walk to the bathroom, my bare feet padding against the cold floor. The door’s partially open and it’s dark inside, but still, I push it open wide and flick on the light.
The brightness makes me wince, and I find it empty.
“Bastian?” I call out for him even though I know he’s not here. His place is empty.
Where the hell is he? The clock on the stove reads 3:46. “Where the fuck is he?” I mutter, still breathless from the fear that woke me. I’d rather focus on Bastian than on the night terror, but when I get to my phone that I’d left on the coffee table, my blood runs cold.
Dave now too. They’re going one by one.
I stare at the text message, reading it over and over.
Dave is dead.
I dreamed of it. And he’s dead. I’m so cold. I can’t feel anything but the horror I felt from the nightmare.
I don’t know how I’m still standing. The scream of fear is silent in my throat, but it’s there.
Tears prick my eyes and I can’t control the shaking. Adrenaline and the need to run kick in before I can do anything. It all happens so slowly, each level of despair falling on its own. Like dominoes. And between each blow, I reread the text.
Dave now too. They’re going one by one.
My knees collapse, and I drop the phone, pressing my hands together and begging them to stop shaking.
It was a dream. She’s not real.
It’s not real. Tell me the text isn’t real. It’s not true.
It’s just some asshole fucking with me. There’s no truth to it.
I swallow each of the thoughts, pushing my head into the carpet and trying to steady my head from spinning with the fear racing through me.
But how can it be a coincidence? It can’t. It can’t be.
It’s not real.
“Bastian,” I cry out for him like the crutch he is. The panic is slow to set in.
I know he’ll make it better. He’s a balm each and every time. He can make it go away.
But he can’t explain this. Nothing can explain this.
I reach for my phone and miss it, but then I grab it again, my nails digging into the carpet as I drag it closer to me. “Pull your shit together,” I mutter under my breath. I lift my gaze to the front door as I scroll for Sebastian’s number.
My body is hot, and tense and the fear threatens to consume me.
It’s locked. The door is locked.
Ring, ring, ring.
No answer.
I stare at the screen as if it’s lying to me. I don’t know how long I sit there on my knees, my ass on my heels as I stare at the fucking phone, hating it and hating this place and freezing. I’m so cold. I’m so fucking cold.
It was a nightmare, it’s not real.
I try again and get the same result, voicemail.
Swallowing thickly, I brave looking at the text message again.
I could ask who it is, but they won’t tell me.
I could ask for proof, but I don’t want to see.
Instead, I try Sebastian again because he’s all I have. And still, I get nothing. My heart races and the anxiety grows inside me, burning me from the inside out and nearly shoving me over the brink of insanity.
It’s okay, I tell myself as I rock on the floor. It’s okay.
It’s just a nightmare. Just a text.
Just another coincidence.
“Bastian,” I cry out for him and feel so unworthy. So unhinged.
Where is he?
He has to be with Carter, out on the edge of the city where there’s no reception. It’s my fault. I told him to go there. It’s my fault, I repeat to myself.
Finally, my body moves. I need to get dressed and go to him. I can’t stay here. I won’t do it. I need to tell him; I need to tell someone. I’m breaking down and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s real.