Fear

36

I couldn't breathe. Every step I took down the corridor seemed to make the walls narrower, the lights harsher, the air thicker like the whole building was leaning in to crush me. The hum of the fluorescent tubes drilled into my skull. The concrete under my bare feet felt like ice, gritty with dust, scraping at my skin.

Tyler's voice still echoed in my head — calm, deliberate, cruel. 'Dylan's out.'

I'd tried to tell myself it was another one of his games, another twist of the knife to watch me squirm. But the way he'd said it... that smirk... it had been too confident. Too evil.

And now every shadow in this place looked like him. Every breath of air tasted stale, like he'd already been here. Every faint creak in the walls became his footsteps coming for me.

Part of me wanted to vanish — lock my door, curl up, and wait for the world to end. But that part was drowned by something louder: Tom.

He wouldn't know Dylan was out. He wouldn't be ready. I could still see the last time, the bruises, the blood, the way Tom had looked at me afterwards like he was ashamed for still breathing. If Dylan found him again—

No. I couldn't think about that.

I had to find him first.

But I didn't even know where his room was. I didn't know if he'd been moved, or if he was even in a room. What if Dylan had already—

My pace turned into a jog, then a run, my footsteps slapping against the concrete, echoing back at me in a way that made me feel hunted. The corridor stretched endlessly, door after identical door. No names. Just patient numbers I didn't recognise.

And then I realised something else — I didn't even know Tom's number.

I darted glances into rooms with open hatches — strangers, blank faces, wrong. Once, for half a second, I thought I saw Dylan's silhouette in the end-of-corridor gloom. My stomach lurched and I blinked, but it was gone.

Somewhere ahead, I swore I heard Tom's voice — faint, almost swallowed by distance. I broke into a sprint, panic clawing up my throat.

And then, a hand clamped around my arm, yanking me off balance.

"Emily!"

My body snapped sideways, and I peered up into James's narrowed eyes, his jaw tight.

"What's going on? Where are you going?" His voice was calm, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Let go! Let go of me!" I snapped, trying to rip free, but his grip just tightened. My pulse roared in my ears. I couldn't waste time here.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Please—" My throat was tight, my breath shaking, my eyes wide in fear. "I need to—"

"Emily." His tone was low, the kind that cut through noise. He searched my face like he could dig the truth out of me by force. But if I told him — if I said Dylan's name — it would make it real. And it would tell him I was scared. Really, really scared.

"Please!" The word ripped out of me, half-scream, half-beg.

"You're having a panic attack," he said. "I can see it all over you. Come on."

"No—" My voice cracked as he pulled me backwards. I dug my heels into the floor, twisting, clawing at his sleeve. "James, stop! I have to—"

"You have to calm down."

I thrashed against him, but he was stronger. Step by step, he dragged me back, his grip iron around my arm. My panic climbed so high it was almost dizzying — if I couldn't even stop James, how could I stop Dylan?

My protests dissolved into ragged gasps by the time he shoved the door open. He pushed me inside, the air stale and cold, and the sound of the door slamming behind us was like a lock turning on a prison cell.

I spun for the door, but his hands were already on my shoulders, steering me toward the table.

"James! No—"

"This is for your own good," he grunted, forcing me down.

For my own good meant no one was listening. For my own good meant I was alone.

My back hit the edge of the table, and I twisted, trying to slip away. He caught my wrists, forcing them down to the cold metal. His breath was fast now, but his movements stayed controlled.

"Stop fighting me."

The straps were waiting. He locked my wrists in first, the leather biting into my skin, the buckles creaking like bones settling into place. My chest heaved as he moved to my ankles, each click another coffin nail.

"You don't understand!" My voice broke.

"Emily—"

"No! You don't—he's—" The words tangled into sobs.

My vision blurred with tears, black spots dancing at the edges. Dylan's face grinned in the shadows above me, smug and certain.

"Who? Tyler?"

I shook my head violently, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. I pulled until my arms ached and the table rattled under me.

James stayed beside me, one hand pressing to my shoulder, murmuring steady nonsense I couldn't hear over my own heartbeat.

I saw Tom in my head — trapped in some room I couldn't find, Dylan's shadow spilling through the doorway.

"I have to save him..." I whispered, my voice breaking apart.

James kept talking. I kept breathing too fast. Every muscle in my body locked tight as the straps cut against my skin.

And in that moment, I knew — by the time I got out of here, it would already be too late.

There was the faint sound of a drawer opening. Metal rattling. My stomach dropped.

"Don't—" I rasped, shaking my head as he moved back into view with the syringe in hand. The light caught the clear liquid inside, making it look like glass. "No!"

"This is just to help you calm down," he said, voice soft but unshakable.

My head shook violently and wrists pulled against the restraints until they burned raw. "No! Fuck you! Fuck off! Get off me!"

He forced my head down, cheek pressed against the cold metal of the table, squashed by his palm.

Then the needle bit into the side of my neck, a cold sting flooding through me. I stopped breathing, tears in my eyes, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I wanted to shout, to fight, to run, but my muscles were already melting, my thoughts dragging within minutes.

His hand stayed on my head as my eyes blurred, his voice turning muffled and far away.

"Just breathe, Emily."

The ceiling swam above me, shadows curling in at the edges like tendrils, swallowing me, Tom, Dylan, all of it.

Then there was nothing.

-