Dematerialized

Prologue

I am startled awake by a horrific scream.

Not again, I think to myself.

I rub my eyes and stumble out of bed. Quickly walking to the next room, I nearly run over the new kid. He flinches, eyes narrowing in on me. "Sorry. I didn't see you."

"Hey, it's not your fault." I reply.

In these few moments, I size him up. The bags around his eyes are obvious, his hair sticking out in random places. It's clear that he hasn't gotten much sleep in the time that he's been here.

He yawns. "What the hell is that?"

"Hey, man. Don't worry about it. I'll deal with it. You should get some rest. You've had a long day."

The terrible cries coming from down the hall fill the air once more. I look back into the newbie's eyes as they widen. I put my hand on his shoulder, causing him to pull back a little. I am immediately reminded of the times I comforted my sister after a nightmare. The fear in his eyes reflect what once was in hers. Only this time, the fear is because of something real.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. Tomorrow will be better, and if it's not, there is always another tomorrow, okay? So, don't worry about the yelling. . . I am going to fix it. Now, go to bed because you're going to need the rest. We have some training to start tomorrow." I force myself to reassure him with a smile, patting his shoulder. He nods, returning a slight smile back at me. The boy turns and walks back to his room, and I wait a few moments until I look away and begin to walk in the opposite direction.

At the end of the hallway, I stop and take a deep breath. I reassure myself with a nod and step through the door.

I look up at my friend on the bed in the corner. He looks worse than usual. He is holding his head in his hands, sweat from his forehead dripping to the floor. I hesitate. "Uh, Wes... you okay?"

He balls up his fists, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no, no..." He mutters until the words become inaudible.

After minutes of delirious nonsense, he begins to whimper. "There is no getting away."

I take a few steps closer, and Wes stops moving. "What do you mean?"

He hesitates, voice clearing. "Ever since I was. . . taken there, he's been in my head. Met, I- I don't know what to do. I don't think there's any other way to get out of this."

I shake my head. "There's always another way."

He lowers his hand and loosens his grip, revealing a spiny stem of some kind. "With one cut, I... could be dead within seconds. It could all be over, Met. I w-wouldn't be able to hurt anyone anymore."

My eyes widen. "God, Wes. No. Please. Please don't."

Wes' eyes gloss over, his voice becoming angry and conflicted. "It's me! I'm fucking up everything! It took me too long to realize, but he is watching us. Tracking us. He knows our plan, Met! It's not going to work."

Incredulous, I ask, "How. . .?"

His voice breaks. "Through me. Ever since that thing went inside me, they've been watching us. Studying our every move. Always one step ahead. All of the nightmares and the visions that he has shown me... it'll all be inevitable if you can't stop him. But how are you supposed to end this if I am. . . in the way?"

I slowly take another step toward him. "You- we will figure this out. You aren't speaking clearly. This is not going to help anything. We have to stop him together, okay? As brothers, like we always have. All of us; we can do this."

Wes' voice changes abruptly, becoming raspy and unfaltering. "No. This is the first time he has spoken clearly in a long time."

I take a step back, forcing myself to ready for an attack. My heartbeat quickens at an alarming rate as my hand reaches for the weapon at my side.

The jarring voice laughs harshly, Wes' face contorting into a sneer.

Suddenly, Wes inhales quickly, shuddering. He stutters, "It's my fault. It's all my fault."

"No," I say, slowly relaxing the the grip on my knife, hand shaking as I let it fall back to my side. I attempt to steady my heartrate.

"I hurt her, Met. I hurt her. I can't go through that again. I can't put her through that again."

He suddenly starts gasping and screaming again. I look away, waiting for his episode to pass.

When the torture ends and his breathing returns to normal, I walk over to him, reaching for his arm. But before I can touch him, his hand swiftly reaches up and closes around my wrist. I fall to the ground in pain, trying to force his grip off of me. Unfortunately, I have no luck.

Complete anguish floods through my veins as I writhe on the hardwood floor. Once again, screams fill every inch of the room. Only, this time, it's my own.

In this moment, I know I can slip through his hold, but I don't have the heart or the strength to even try.

Suddenly, the agony stops. He releases his hand from my arm, revealing a dark, bruised wring quickly forming around my wrist. Then, we lock eyes. I intake a hollow breath and wince from the aftereffects of the pain and the sight before me. His leafy green irises are streaked with red, the white of his eyes bloodshot.

The foreign voice from my lost friend penetrates my skull. "I am coming, Met."

A black tear falls down his cheek. As Wes' strength gives out, his gaze drops, and I can feel a dark void encompass my body.

Carthage is coming.