shoulder once.
I feel the walls crumble around me.
I grip the handles of the wheelchair, trying to hold on as I process.
My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing ragged, as I try to rationalize who I just saw. Or at least, who I think I saw.
No, it can’t be.
What would he be doing here? There’s no way he’d know I’m a patient here, would he? It’s impossible. I refuse to believe he’d go to all these lengths to find me.
I slam my eyes shut, shaking my head as I try to pull myself together. In doing so, my mind automatically replays what I just saw.
There, in the clearest picture in my mind, is one of the Savages. In the flesh. It was him. I know it was. The second I saw the back of him, I had this feeling, but as he turned the corner and I got a glimpse of his profile, there was no mistaking the planes of his face or the confidence held in his broad shoulders.
That couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it?
Was I…hallucinating? I mean, they do have me on plenty of drugs, so it’s possible, but it looked so real. Hell, it felt so real.
Even if it were him, I try to rationalize what he would be doing here. I can only imagine one reason and just thinking about it sends a shiver of dread down my spine. He is back to finish what he started. That has to be the reason.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away. I chalk it up to me being crazy.
It’s not real.
It wasn’t him.
I have to believe that, or I’ll really start to go crazy in here. Maybe I was so focused on the night in question, I was starting to see things.
God, I hoped not.
The rest of the tour is much of the same, and quite honestly, it doesn’t inspire much confidence. I still don’t feel safe here, and I sure as hell don’t think I belong here. There is an obvious difference between the patients and me here in this facility.
Why am I the only one who can see it?
I try to push thoughts of the Savages and a possible doppelgänger out of my head, but it is an impossible feat. Every corner we turn, it now feels like I am being watched, but when I look around, there is never anyone there. I am being paranoid, I know this. I just don’t know how to make it go away.
All I know is I need to find a way out of this hellhole as soon as possible.
Past
Warmth vibrates recklessly through my veins thanks to all the alcohol I’ve consumed tonight. The party is still in full swing, Summer’s still on her childish bullshit, Vincent, Marcus, and Zach are scouring the crowd for who they want to fuck tonight. And Trent, he’s nowhere to be found.
My cell dings with a notification. My vision splits on the text message, telling me I’ve drunk way more tonight than I should’ve. It takes me a while to read it, but when I finally do, I toss my cup somewhere on the ground and shuffle toward the clearing of trees where everyone’s parked.
The jet is ready for takeoff.
My football buddy, Simon, offered to give me a ride earlier, since he’s the only person in all of Ferndale who doesn’t drink or do drugs. He’s the only fucker with his head on straight. I can finally get away from the bullshit for at least a few weeks before I leave this shit town for college, then hopefully, for good.
As I stumble through the woods, leaving the party behind me to get to Simon’s car, I spot a hunched form up ahead, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in moss, mostly hidden by the foliage surrounding it. My feet slow to a stop next to the person who’s hunched there, and when she turns, taking notice of my presence, my brows droop.
“Madison?”
She swipes at her cheeks. “What do you want, Sebastian?”
I could easily walk away, but for some reason, I don’t. I take a seat on the bark of the trunk next to her. She stiffens but doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing. Just trying to figure out why you of all people are crying.”
She turns to face me, angry eyes drilling holes into me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “You always seem happy. Like you got it all figured out. I mean, you can be a real bitch sometimes, but