SOUL

visions

She was standing in the middle of a dark, quiet road, surrounded by nothing but thick, towering trees. The moonlight barely broke through the branches, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the gravel. There was a chill in the air, one that made her skin prickle, but it wasn't the cold that unsettled her. It was the silence—a heavy, unnatural stillness, like the world was holding its breath.

The scene shifted suddenly, and she was no longer on the road. She was standing outside an old, decrepit farmhouse, its paint peeling and windows dark. She could see Leo's car parked haphazardly on the gravel driveway, the engine still warm, the driver's door left ajar. Her heart raced as she looked around, knowing something terrible was about to happen.

She saw Leo, moving quickly up the creaky wooden steps to the front door. His expression was tense, determined, the light from his flashlight bouncing off the walls as he moved. He had his gun drawn, but there was a look in his eyes that scared her—it was a look she'd seen before, one that said he was ready to do whatever it took, even if it meant not making it out.

In the dream, she wanted to scream at him to stop, to wait for backup, to not go in there alone. But no sound came out, and she could only watch, helpless, as he pressed his shoulder against the door and forced it open, slipping inside.

Inside the house, the air was thick, almost suffocating. The walls were covered in dark stains, and the floor creaked ominously under Leo's boots. She could hear it now, louder than ever—someone was screaming, their voice raw and desperate, echoing through the halls. But the voice didn't sound right. It was distorted, almost like a recording being played on a loop, over and over again.

"Help me!" the voice cried. "Please, somebody help me!"

Leo moved quickly, his flashlight cutting through the darkness as he made his way deeper into the house, towards the source of the noise. He didn't wait for Harris or the backup team. He couldn't. The screams were too urgent, too real. He had to get there now.

Mary followed him, her legs moving as if they were wading through water, heavy and slow. She wanted to reach out, to grab his arm and pull him back, but she couldn't. She could only watch as he turned a corner, heading towards a room at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, and the screams were louder now, more frantic.

Leo kicked the door open, gun raised, and there he was—Jerry Wade. The man was standing in the center of the room, a twisted smile on his face, his eyes wild with a strange, manic energy. He held a knife in his hand, the blade glinting in the dim light, and behind him, a shadowy figure was bound to a chair, their face obscured by the darkness.

"I've been waiting for you," Jerry said, his voice low and mocking, as if this was all some sick game to him.

"Let her go!" Leo shouted, his voice steady but edged with fury. "It's over, Wade. Put down the knife."

Jerry's smile widened, and he tilted his head, as if considering the request. "You think this is over?" he said, almost laughing. "Oh no, Detective. This is just the beginning."

Mary's breath caught as she saw Jerry take a step forward, the knife still in his hand. Leo didn't hesitate. He fired, the gunshot echoing through the small room, and Jerry stumbled back, blood blooming across his chest. But he didn't drop. He staggered, his grin never faltering, and with a sudden, swift motion, he lunged forward, closing the distance between them in an instant.

Before Leo could react, Jerry drove the knife into his neck, the blade slicing deep. Mary felt like she was falling, her entire body cold with shock. She tried to scream, to call out to him, but nothing came out. She could only watch, frozen, as Leo's eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching up to the wound, trying to stop the blood that was now pouring out.