Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
I always found it strange how being in darkness for long enough could drive someone to insanity, or complete nothing. It's like a force that swallows you whole, drags you down and takes a grip on all of your senses. Every flicker of reality that remained was somehow also just an abyss of nothingness.
Time didn't exist. I could try and count but it didn't work, I would never know if I was right or not. Even when I opened my eyes I couldn't see anything. Whatever thread connected me to reality disappeared completely. There was this unease, even though I was alone, there was always that feeling in the back of my mind.
A whisper somewhere else in the darkness, maybe it came from my mind, but it always caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand upright. The darkness got closer, and I would slip further and further into that void, that nothingness. I tried to hold onto reality but it loosened like grains of sand slipping through my helpless fingers.
The whisper grew into a deafening scream, drowning out any other thought. Every thought, every memory and every feeling was ripped from me, leaving nothing but a hollow shell in a vast expanse of nothingness. Eventually, I had to surrender myself to the darkness,
When the light hit my eyes again, it felt like someone was shining bright headlights directly into my retinas, trying to blind me. I felt like I could be sick. My bones felt weak, a nauseous shiver spread through my body, beginning in my throat and spreading through each limb, each finger, all the way down to my feet. It felt a little like I didn't exist. My senses went from zero to one hundred in only a few seconds, I felt something for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
Bright headlights hung from the ceiling, a faint buzz coming from them, annoying like an itch that could never be scratched.
There were hands all over me, dragging me, holding me, touching me. I didn't know where they were coming from, I couldn't see what was happening. My eyes still stung from the lights as they shone down on me.
The first scent my nose inhaled in what felt like forever was bleach, a mix of sterile products. The scent was all too familiar to the last time, and the time before, and every time before that. My feet half-dragged along a cold floor, I couldn't walk myself, and as I came to my stolen senses I became slowly more aware of what was happening.
They dragged me by my arms through the cold concrete hallway, the clean smell was also mixed with a rotten dampness, the buzz of the lights accompanied by the occasional dripping sound of water. Two doors were pushed open by the people on either side of me, and I was taken into a room. My hair hung messily over my face but I ignored it, not that I had my hands to push it out of the way.
A small noise escaped me when I was shoved down to sit on a chair, the metal cold against the bare skin of my thighs. Hazily I glanced down, seeing I had on a white gown with little blue diamonds—a hospital gown. My feet were bare and cold on the ground, my fingers wiggled to try and regain some feeling.
