Rody's breath came in ragged gasps, each one burning in his chest as he struggled to find a way out of the blazing inferno. The fire had consumed everything in its path, reducing the elegant bistro to a hellscape of flames and smoke. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood, searing metal, and something far worse-charred flesh.
His hand clutched the jagged remains of the wine bottle, sticky with Vincent's blood. It dripped onto the floor, leaving dark red stains that quickly dried in the heat. Vincent's body lay crumpled on the cold tile, his once pristine chef's coat now soaked in crimson, spreading out in a pool that reached Rody's feet. He was motionless, his eyes wide open, frozen in a final expression of shock and pain. Rody could still feel the resistance of Vincent's flesh giving way under the force of his hand, the shattering of glass as it broke skin and sinew.
For a moment, Rody stood there, paralyzed by the enormity of what he had done. The man who had tormented him, haunted his nightmares, and turned his life into a twisted game of survival, was now dead by his hand. But instead of relief, all he felt was an overwhelming, suffocating sense of dread. The flames encircled him, an angry beast ready to devour everything.
"Gotta get out. Gotta get out of here," Rody muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. He turned toward the door, his hands trembling as he tried to push it open. It didn't move. Panic set in as he yanked on the handle, the metal searing hot under his touch. It was locked, trapping him inside the very nightmare he had tried so desperately to escape.
"No... no, this can't be happening," he whispered, the rising terror choking him. He scanned the room, his eyes wild, searching for the key that would set him free. But the flames were too fast, swallowing everything in their path.
With a sickening realization, Rody knew the only place left to check was Vincent's body. He turned back, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to do it, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to run. There was nowhere to go. Vincent held the key to his freedom, even in death.
Stepping cautiously over the fallen beams, Rody approached the lifeless figure of his tormentor. The flames cast eerie shadows on Vincent's pale face, his features unnervingly calm despite the brutal violence that had ended his life. Rody hesitated, bile rising in his throat as he knelt beside Vincent. His hands hovered over the man's bloodied chest, unsure where to begin.
"Come on... just do it," he urged himself, closing his eyes tightly as he reached into Vincent's pockets. His fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and blood, as he searched desperately for the key. But there was nothing. He tried the other pocket, then the one after that, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the truth: there was no key.
Before he could comprehend the full weight of his situation, the ceiling above groaned ominously. The wooden beams, weakened by the fire, gave way with a deafening crack. Rody had no time to react as the roof collapsed in a storm of debris and flames, plunging him into darkness.
---
Rody's eyes snapped open, his body jerking awake as he gasped for air. His heart pounded in his chest, the memories of the fire still vivid and terrifying. But the suffocating heat, the choking smoke, the relentless flames-all of it was gone. In its place was an unfamiliar calm, a serene quiet that was as unnerving as the fire had been.
The room around him was soft, almost delicate in its design. Cream-colored walls, faint floral patterns, the scent of fresh linen mingling with something faintly floral. He was lying in a bed, the sheets cool against his skin. This wasn't the bistro. This wasn't the hellish place where he had just fought for his life.
His confusion deepened when he felt the weight against his side. Slowly, hesitantly, Rody turned his head, his breath catching when he saw who was beside him.
