Cowboy Like Me: Criminal Minds

Shadows

The air was heavy, thick with heat and the acrid stench of smoke. Sloane found herself standing in the hallway of her childhood home, barefoot, the cool wooden floor beneath her feet contrasting sharply with the growing warmth radiating from the walls.

She didn't remember how she got there, but everything about this place felt familiar—the creak of the floorboards under her weight, the faded floral wallpaper, and the flickering nightlight plugged into the outlet by her bedroom door. Yet something was wrong. The nightlight wasn't flickering because of an electrical fault. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and curling like living things, driven by a distant, glowing light.

Her chest tightened as the faint crackling sound reached her ears. Fire. She turned her head toward the source of the glow, and that's when she saw it—a line of flames crawling along the baseboards of the hallway. They were moving closer, creeping with a strange, malicious purpose.

She wanted to scream for her parents, but her voice caught in her throat. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Panic clawed at her chest. She tried to move, but her feet felt glued to the floor, as if the house itself were holding her in place.

Suddenly, she was no longer alone. Marcus appeared at the far end of the hallway, his figure silhouetted against the growing blaze. He looked older than he had been that night—closer to the age he would be now—but the cold, detached expression on his face was exactly the same. His eyes locked on hers, and a slow, chilling smile spread across his lips.

"You're too late, Sloane," he said, his voice calm, almost playful. "You always were."

She tried to speak, to ask him what he meant, but the words wouldn't come. He tilted his head, watching her like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, as if to drive the nightmare deeper, he raised a hand and pointed behind her.

Sloane spun around to find herself back in her childhood bedroom. The walls were ablaze, flames licking up toward the ceiling, devouring her posters and bookshelves. The air was stifling, thick with smoke that burned her throat and eyes. She turned back toward the hallway, but Marcus was gone.

"Mom! Dad!" she screamed, her voice finally breaking free. She ran for the door, but it slammed shut in her face, as if an invisible force had willed it closed. The doorknob burned her hand when she tried to grab it, and she stumbled backward, clutching Clover, her stuffed rabbit, to her chest like a lifeline.

"Sloane!" her father's voice rang out, muffled but urgent. "We're coming! Stay where you are!"

But the fire didn't wait. It surged closer, roaring now, alive and angry. The walls seemed to close in, the room growing smaller and smaller as the flames consumed everything around her. She looked to the window, but it was gone, replaced by an unbroken wall of fire.

"Sloane," Marcus's voice came again, calm and clear despite the chaos. She turned, and there he was, standing in the center of the flames, untouched by them, his face illuminated by their light. "You can't run forever."

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "You're not here. You can't be here."

But he only smiled, and the flames roared higher, swallowing him whole. The heat became unbearable, and the air seemed to vanish, leaving her gasping, choking. She fell to her knees, clutching Clover, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to breathe.

Just as the fire surged forward to engulf her, she woke with a start, her heart pounding like a drum. She was drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around her legs. The faint glow of the bathroom light cast soft shadows across the room, and Biscuit was curled up at the foot of the bed, his tail twitching in his sleep.