He Followed Me Home

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

The sound of men yelling roused Francine from her sleep a few hours later. She glanced at her clock and saw that it was nearly three in the morning. The yells grew louder. It sounded as if hundreds of men were crying out in the night. Suddenly loud, popping sounds filled the air as well. She could hear pain filled screams, frightened yells and desperate pleas resounding through the air.

What in the hell was going on? Francine jumped from her bed, convinced that something very serious was going on somewhere in the building. She ran into the living room to find that Janice was still sound asleep. Francine frowned, as her heart beat out of her chest and fear clogged her veins. Janice had always been sound sleeper but this was ridiculous.

A boom so loud she was sure the walls shook from its force, resounded through the air and Francine thought for one crazy moment that it sounded an awful lot like a cannon. But that was impossible wasn't it? The cries got louder but still Janice slept. Francine walked to the apartment door and peeked out into the hallway.

To her the sounds were deafening, heart wrenching and scary but no one else seemed to be able to hear them. The hallway was empty and everyone's doors were shut. Francine heard a familiar voice cry out in pain and she immediately ran to Wyatt's door. He was hurt and she had to get to him.

"Wyatt?!" she shouted as she pounded on his door. He didn't answer and the popping sounds and bangs grew louder and louder. Francine tried the door handle but it was locked. She was not big or strong in any sense of the word but right now she was filled with enough fear and adrenaline she could have lifted a mini van so kicking open the door wasn't very hard.

The moment she stepped inside his apartment the noises stopped. The night became eerily silent as if nothing had ever disturbed it. Francine looked through the glowing light of the streetlamps from outside and saw a person lying on the floor in the middle of the room beside the couch. Her feet seemed to move on their own accord as she crossed the room. She didn't need to be told who was laying here.

Wyatt was lying on his stomach on the wooden floor and there was something warm, wet and sticky beneath her bare feet. Her stomach turned when she realized it was blood. She didn't even think about what she was doing as she knelt beside him and grabbed his wool jacket to turn him over. He looked just as he had in her dream. His face was pale and colorless, his eyes were closed, and his lips drawn.

There was one major difference. This time she wasn't going to leave him. She looked down at his chest and realized that he had a hole through his ribs and blood was pumping from the wound, though not very strongly anymore since a giant puddle of the stuff covered the floor. She looked back at his face and with a shaking hand she reached out and laid her hand on his cheek, which felt cool to her touch.

It didn't truly dawn on her that she was touching him, after he'd sworn she wouldn't be able to. The only thought she had was that she had to somehow save him. She wasn't sure what was going on. She wasn't sure why she had heard the sounds of battle but she was sure now that's what the noise had been. She had no idea why a ghost was lying here bleeding on a dirty wooden floor. All she knew was that this was the man that she was fairly certain that she loved and he needed her.

"Wyatt... Wyatt, please wake up. Please don't leave me," she whispered as she stroked her fingers over his brow. She nearly cried out with both fear and relief when his green eyes flew open and locked onto hers.

"Franny... I can feel you."

Francine smiled and looked down at his chest to check his wound only to find that the wound was gone, as was the blood. His jacket was intact with no sign of the gaping hole that had been there before. She looked back up at his face. His color had returned and he looked healthy and well and he also looked shocked as he covered her hand, which was resting on his cheek, with his own.