There is an unseen bridge that connects us from reality to dream.
There is a way to find who is dead, to search for who is alive.
There is a rope wrapping a soul to a body tight until grim reaper decides to break it.
This string, is a thread among y...
"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."
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The moon on that night shone brightly, but the stars preferred to hide behind the dark clouds that blanketed the cold night. The hospital hallways were too quiet so that the teenagers' conversation in room number 213 were echoing here and there.
"Josh Michael?!" Charlie gasped. He did not believe what he just heard, and continued with confusion.
"I think his appearance is to tell us something, or to remind us of something," Isadora assumed, "It might be related to the demon's next move."
"Uh, sorry for being stupid, but who is Josh Michael...?" Camilo innocently asked.
Charlie answered, "That's Sandra's dead son."
"Dead!" Camilo jolted. "How could he be dead?!"
"It happened ten years ago. I'm sure Josh was the previous victim of this demon," said Charlie.
"No, I mean, if he was dead by this demon does that mean Jimmy... will, too?" Camilo asked carefully.
The question astonished both Charlie and Isa. Their mouths were half opened, while their pupils widened, streaked by the line Camilo questioned that made them question the same. Unlike Isadora who went silent and sat still unmoved, Charlie directly left the room, scurried quickly to the room where Jimmy stayed. Camilo and Isadora were behind, chasing over his steps gently but in haste. When they arrived, Cam shouted to Charlie who had seen in front of the open door of the ward, frozen.
"How is Jimmy?!" Camilo yelled.
Charlie took a moment to respond, he was baffled. Isa and Cam reached the door faster than his answer, and did exactly what Charlie did in front of it, watching the empty bed and unplugged infusion. "We're too late."
"Sandra," Isa murmured, "She's the one who knows the chronology of her son's death. That might be Jimmy's death plan, too."
"So what, we're going home, walking? home is too far and probably Jimmy's gone somewhere now!" Camilo yelled. His head turned side to side. "We must call her from here."
They dashed to the nurse table, where nurses were in charge if some patient rang the bell attached to their bed. There was a lady with white uniform. Her eyes were nailed on the papers littered on her desk, assisted by extra tiny lighting on the table. The glasses that showed half part of her eyes were so thick. She glanced at them, but was ignored because their attention was placed on a wireless telephone on the other side of the table.
"What are you kids doing outside your room? Get rest, I will not guarantee your health because you kids are messing around in the middle of the night!" she nagged.
"Can we use your telephone? We need to call home immediately."
"Shh, Shh, Shut up!" she grunted. Her eyes went back to the paper, one of her fingers was fixing the position of the glasses. "You must be... Charles Johnson, sixteen years old, Isadora Monet, sixteen years old, wound in the head, room 213... Holy dear, why don't you just lay down on your bed? And the other one must–"
