A flicker—too fast, too violent—blazed through her vision. She saw him pinning a girl against a wall, his weight crushing her fight. Her muffled screams. Fingers clawing at his arms. The terror in her eyes.
Another jolt. Another girl. A dim room. His shadow swallowing hers as she struggled beneath him. Alana felt the panic—not as a witness, but as if it were flooding straight into her bloodstream.
The scenes were fragmented, like shards of broken glass flashing in the dark. Each one hit her chest, stealing her breath, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She tried to pull away, but her body was locked in place, trapped inside the visions.
Then—black.
She snapped back into herself with a gasp, nearly stumbling out of his grip. The world around her returned in a dull, muffled throb: distant voices, footsteps. But her mind was a storm—crowded, chaotic, trying to make sense of what she'd just seen.
Seeing how quickly she stepped back from him, the stranger's smile slipped for a moment.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concern softening his voice.
Alana hesitated. Her throat felt tight. She forced a smile—thin, brittle.
"Yeah… sure. I'm fine."
But her eyes wouldn't stop searching his face, desperately trying to find something—anything—that matched the horror she had seen. A cruelty around the mouth. A shadow behind the eyes. A hint of the monster from her visions.
But there was nothing. Just a pleasant, almost charming smile.
That smile sent a cold ripple down her spine.
Her mind screamed at her to get away.
"It looked like he wanted to say more, but she cut him off.
"Thank you," she blurted, stepping back. "Good day."
She didn't wait for his response. She turned and walked fast—too fast—away from him.
By the time she reached the next street, she was practically running. Her mind was a whirlwind, tangled and choking.
Why was she seeing things? What was happening to her?
Had she eaten something bad? Drunk something poisoned?
Was she hallucinating? Dying slowly?
What if he poisoned me?
Her ex's voice slithered into her thoughts.
What if this was some twisted parting gift?
Had he finally done something to her?
Her breath hitched. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself.
As her thoughts crowded and collided, she crashed into someone—a solid thud of two distracted bodies meeting.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," the woman said.
They crouched at the same time, gathering books scattered across the ground. Alana reached for a stack, then froze.
The girl looked up.
It was her.
One of the girls from the visions. But younger—healthier. Innocent. The fear Alana had seen in those flashes wasn't anywhere on her face.
Alana's fingers went cold.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Alana whispered, abandoning the remaining books as she snatched up her bag. She stepped back, almost stumbling as she hurried away, leaving the girl staring after her in confusion.
Alana didn't stop moving until she reached home. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. The silence of the house felt too loud.
She went straight to the bathroom.
Cold water hit her skin the moment she stepped under the shower, shocking her nerves, grounding her. She let it run over her face, her shoulders, her trembling hands. Trying to wash away the images. The questions. The fear.
The shower didn't last long. Her mind was too unsettled to stay still.
She stepped out, dripping, not even bothering to dress. She took the eye medication the doctor prescribed earlier, hoping it would calm whatever was happening to her.
Then she crawled into bed, pulling the sheets close, convincing herself—forcing herself—to believe she wasn't going mad.
She just needed sleep.
Just sleep.
Maybe when she woke up, the world would make sense again.
For the next two days, nothing happened.
No visions.
No nightmares.
No strange flashes behind her eyes.
Nothing.
Alana stayed indoors, partly because she had no reason to go out… and partly because she wasn't ready to face the world again. She tried to convince herself it was rest—just rest—but really, she was hiding. Letting the silence of the house swallow the fear she'd been carrying.
On the second afternoon, she finally gathered enough energy to do something normal: laundry. The mundane rhythm of rinsing, wringing, and folding helped steady her thoughts. For a moment, she actually felt human again.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
She froze mid-movement, water dripping from her hands. It was the firm, steady kind of knock that didn't belong to a neighbor or a delivery person.
She wiped her palms on a towel and went to the door.
The taller one stepped forward with a polite nod.
"Afternoon, ma'am. I'm Officer Grant, and this is my partner, Officer Lewis. We're with the Gray Hollow Sheriff's Department."
The other officer tipped his head in greeting.
"Sorry to bother you. We're going door-to-door in this part of town."
Alana blinked. "Door-to-door for what?"
"A search party," Officer Grant explained. "We're letting residents know and asking for volunteers if possible."
"I… I'm sorry," she said slowly. "Who's missing?"
Realizing she was new, Officer Lewis reached into his jacket and handed her a folded flyer.
"Figured you hadn't heard yet."
Alana opened it.
Her breath left her body.
It was Anthony.
The little boy from the store.
The one whose face had haunted her dream—the dream she'd dismissed as stress, as some strange coincidence.
He was missing.