The Turning Page

Eight

I ran downstairs, to see Hope on the floor knocked out cold. I ran through the house, looking for the person who did this. I found nothing. After running through the house a few times, I saw that the door was still open. I still saw nothing, but a few tire tracks on the driveway and the street. Looking behind me, I saw Hope waking up. I smiled in relief.

Before I knew it, we were in the hospital, and I was sitting in the waiting room. I remember this place, from when I was in here when Adam got hit. I couldn't stop thinking about that night. Things flashing in my head. The way I was pacing. Back and forth. Sitting in the same room, in the same chair. Thinking the same thoughts I had that night, like what was going to happen after that.

Then it hit me. Mason wasn't out for killing me. He was trying to kill my friends, so I would have to live with that guilt. With that night flashing in my head to drive me insane.

I quickly pulled out my phone, and went into Adams room. I didn't care who tried to stop me, I was going to get past them. I got into Adams room, but I didn't know why I had my phone out, I wasn't going to call the police. Thinking back to that night, every night. On the road with Adam. Mason knew that Adam would push me out of the way. He knew I was going to London, so he followed me there too. He wasn't going there for me, he was going for Tony. To try to kill him, but then the guard came in, and starting shooting at him. He knew Hope would come to my house, so he could kill her. The thing I was asking myself was...Who was next?

"Casey"

I heard in a quiet voice. I immediately turned my attention to the door, but there was no one there.

"Casey"

I heard again, then I thought- no it couldn't be. I turned around to where Adams bed was, and there I saw him. Eyes open, sitting up, Adam. I knew it was just an illusion, so I rubbed my eyes and told myself that it was fake. Then I heard it again.

"Casey,"

Then I realized, it wasn't a dream, it wasn't an illusion, and it wasn't my imagination. It was him awake. I ran to his bedside, and kissed him. We just sat there for a minute, just staring at each other, with our foreheads pressed together. He had hand up against the back of my neck, and I had my hands on his face, like if we weren't going to let go of each other, and right now, I wasn't planing to. For now I wasn't going to let go of him, and by the look in his eyes he wasn't going to either.