Dan's Room – Late Night
The walls of Dan’s room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening with every passing hour. He couldn’t escape the images that haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, they clawed at the edges of his mind, relentless, suffocating. The storm outside had picked up, its booming thunder a backdrop to the storm that raged within him.
Dan sat at his desk, the notebook open in front of him, though his hands shook too violently to write. He had been up for days, his mind reeling, trapped between reality and the nightmare world that seemed to consume him. The pages of the notebook were now stained with the sweat of his palms, the ink blurred from where he had gripped the pen too hard.
He had to stop this. He had to stop the dream, the visions, the truth he couldn’t escape. But the deeper he went into his mind, the clearer it became. He was running out of time, and the next victim was already too close—closer than he’d ever imagined.
Abigail. The name echoed in his mind, unrelenting. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, her terrified eyes pleading for help. She wasn’t just a part of the case anymore. She was his nightmare now.
Dan’s breath quickened, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He grabbed his phone, his hands trembling as he dialed Carter’s number again. But before he could press call, he hesitated.
What if Carter didn’t believe him? What if Carter dismissed him as nothing more than a paranoid wreck? What if he was wrong? What if he was just crazy?
The fear inside him twisted deeper, consuming him. The longer the case went unsolved, the more Dan’s nightmares seemed to take shape. The dreams weren’t random anymore. The figure with the red eyes—the man who stalked him in the dark—was always there. In the dream, in the train yard, in the shadows. Always watching. Always waiting.
And now, Dan was beginning to understand why. The man wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. He was a predator. A killer. And Dan was the prey.
The notebook fell from his hands, clattering to the floor as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. He had been holding onto this hope—that it was all just a dream, a series of disjointed visions, but now? Now it felt different. It felt like a warning.
The sirens wailing outside sent a shiver down his spine. It was like the city itself was echoing his fears. He had told Carter everything—he had shared the clues, but was it enough? Would Carter understand? Would he even be able to act on this before it was too late?
Dan stood up abruptly, pacing around the room. His thoughts were too scattered, too broken to make sense of. He could feel his sanity slipping, the nightmare closing in around him. His mind started to play tricks on him—the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the distant sound of a door creaking open. He turned, heart hammering, but saw nothing.
It was always like this, the line between dream and reality so thin that he couldn’t tell which one he was living in. And now, the fear was real. It had crossed over. He couldn’t escape. He was the victim now.
“Carter,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please... you have to understand. It’s all connected.”
But what if it was too late? What if he had already missed the signs, ignored the whispers of his own mind?
Dan sank back into his chair, his fingers running through his hair, his eyes locked on the map Carter had drawn—the map that now, in his mind, seemed to guide him, pulling him toward the inevitable conclusion. The train yard. The red-eyed man. The girls. Abigail.
And then, a thought hit him with crushing clarity: It’s not just the girls. It’s me.
The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. It wasn’t just that he was seeing the murders before they happened—it was that he was connected to them. The killer wasn’t just following a pattern; he was watching Dan, pulling him into this nightmare. It wasn’t just a case anymore—it was personal.
Dan's heart pounded in his chest. His head was spinning, the edges of his vision blurring as his breath quickened. The dream that had started so innocently, as just a strange pattern of visions, had grown into a prophecy of terror. A terror that was real.
The walls of his room seemed to close in on him, the storm outside suddenly too loud, too oppressive. He grabbed the notebook, clutching it to his chest as if it were his lifeline, as if it could somehow anchor him to reality.
“I have to warn him,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I have to tell Carter. Before it’s too late.”
The phone rang. Dan’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse pounding in his ears. He grabbed the phone without looking at the caller ID, desperate to hear Carter’s voice.
“Carter?” Dan’s voice cracked. “It’s happening. The nightmare—it’s happening. I can feel it. I think I know where he’s going to strike next. But—Carter... I can’t do this alone. Please, you have to help me.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Dan could feel the weight of the silence stretching between them, each second pulling him deeper into the abyss of his own fears.
“Dan…” Carter’s voice was low, hesitant. “I’m here. What’s going on?”
Dan closed his eyes, fighting back tears. The fear, the confusion, the pain—all of it came crashing down on him. “I’m not crazy, Carter,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I swear. This is real. I’m not just seeing things. I know what’s coming.”
He felt a tremor in his hands as he clutched the phone. His throat tightened with the weight of everything he had to say.
“I think I saw the next victim.”
* * *
