Beyond The Sea Blue Light

Hold Me Close, Don't Let Go, Watch Me Burn

The hood is pulled off my face, light flooding in. I blink furiously, the bright light burning my eyes. I glance around the room as my eyes slowly adjust, making out the white walls and gray concrete floor.

No. The realization shoots through me as I fight against the ropes restraining me to the chair. No. This can't be happening. So many times I've dreamed of this place. The walls surrounded my nightmares, trapping me in, suffocating me. Never did I think I'd actually be back here.

"M-49," a voice says, cutting crisply through the air. I flinch at the sound, instantly reverted back to the boy who first arrived. A number, not a name. Diminished to something less than human. Weak, powerless. Something to be crushed under a heel of a boot, ground to shreds. Not me anymore.

"Did you miss it?" the voice continues. "Well, I missed all of you." A figure appears at the edge of my vision. I strain back, but I can't escape as he kneels in front of me, grinning.

"Did you?" Mr. Styles asks. "Because I really think you're going to." I shiver at the underlying tone of his voice. Vic's voice flashes in my mind, telling me what they did to him. Something bad, that's what.

Vic. He's going to be coming for me. So are Jack and Alex. I cran my neck, trying to see if I can catch any glimpse of them, but I can't. It's just me.

"Looking for your friends?" Mr. Styles asks, a smirk on his face.

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. "You'll never find them." It's a bluff, but it works since the grin slides off of his face.

"I'm going to give you one chance," Mr. Styles says. "Tell me where they are hiding and we will be nice, I promise." Like his promises mean shit to me.

I spit in his face. "Never," I hiss. "I'll never give them up."

Mr. Styles reaches up, calmly wiping it away on a white handkerchief.

"Well, that settles it," he says coldly. My cheek stings as he slaps me across the face. My head snaps back, my eyes watering as I flinch.

"Take him there," Mr. Styles says, grinning again. "I can't wait to see his reaction."

I stare at him in confusion as I'm hauled to my feet, the ropes restraining me cut. I rub my wrists, trying to get the blood to flow back into them as I'm shoved down the hallway—the familiar-looking hallway. No. It's the hallway. It's not a model, not a copy. I'm back in the Facility, the first one.

"We saved it just for you," Mr. Styles says, a smile on his face. I stare at him in horror as he opens the door to the hallway, shoving me inside. In front of me is the door to room five.

"No," I mutter. I've seen this room so often in my nightmares. "No." But they don't hear me, pushing me inside and slamming the door shut. It's just how I remember it, but empty. Vic's not here, I'm truly alone. I'm in my biggest nightmare.

"No!" I pound on the door. This can't be happening. I can't actually be here. I desperately pray someone will shake me awake and I'll be at home, in my room. This is a nightmare. Wake up, I tell myself. Please wake up. My whole body is shaking as I throw myself against the door again, feeling something crunch in my shoulder, but I don't care, throwing myself again and again against the metal of the door. I have to get out of here. I can't stay here—not alone. I can't be alone like this. Already, I can feel the walls threatening to suffocate me. I can hear my father's voice, hear his footsteps as I cower against the wall. I can feel the soft fabric of the velvet winter coat brushing against my cheek as I muffle my cries. He can't find me. He can't find me. I can hear the gunshots, see Vic as he falls to his knees in the middle of the field. But worst of all, I can see the gray walls, looming in every direction. I can hear the silence, pressing in on me, hands closing around my throat as the only sound is my heart thrumming in my ears and my breath coming in rasping gasps. I'm all alone now. I'm alone, trapped in the worst place I could ever be.

At last, I sink to the ground, wrapping my arms around myself as I sit in the middle of the room. Tears run down my cheeks, salty and stinging the small cuts on my lip. I don't bother to wipe them away, letting myself cry as I'm trapped in my nightmare. But it's not a nightmare. It's real.