The same nightmare haunted me again.
I was sitting under a bridge with a syringe in my hand, ready to inject when I saw a familiar figure—Dad. He came closer and knelt down. He looked weak. Seeing his pale face and lifeless eyes, which foretold death, made me feel sick.
"Dad? What are you doing here?" I asked.
He snatched the syringe from my hand and threw it into the river. I didn't even hear a splash. The river was far from us, and from a distance, one could think it wasn't even there.
Something dripped onto my forehead. "Maybe it's rain," I thought. I wiped the spot and noticed it wasn't clear like a raindrop, but red—blood. Fresh and warm blood.
I looked at my father. There was no change in his expression.
"It's not your time," he said.
"Not… mine?"
I had no idea what he meant or why he was speaking in such a calm voice.
"I don't intend to die," I said.
He grabbed me by the neck and started choking me. "The fog swallowed my father, and when it cleared, he was gone. In his place stood Malachai,his hands tightening around my throat, while the other four burst into laughter and sipped their beers.
I heard whispers growing louder, until they became overlapping voices, turning into sentences that drove me insane. I couldn't see who was speaking, but each voice layered over the other.
"What are you gonna do now, huh?"
"Lay him down."
"Where?"
"On the bed. Hurry up!"
"Faster, we don't have time."
"Our sweet Mike."
"I can't wait to get inside you."
I woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. My sheets were soaked. My pillow was sticky and wet, like a tsunami had hit it.
I took a deep breath and exhaled through my nose.
***
It's been a few days since I met Tom Holden.
We have a meeting scheduled for today, and I want to make a good impression. I looked into everything to be sure it wasn't a scam. He turned out to be a real person working for a legitimate agency, and I could relax knowing it was all true.
During this time, I hadn't heard from Malachai.
But I had received messages—from James.
It felt suspicious. He was asking how my day was, what I was doing in the afternoon, and whether I'd recovered from my illness (I never told him I was sick). Malachai must have told him.
But what was James's interest in asking me all these things?
I got dressed and left my room to see my mom. She's been getting better lately—smiling more, talking about things that slowly turn into laughter.
There's a growing hope that I'm getting my mom back.
"I'll be back late tonight," I said with excitement in my voice.
She was in the kitchen, eating cheese sticks. She asked me earlier if I could go buy them, and I ran out the door right away to get some.
She got up and walked over to me.
"My little boy is becoming a model," she said, trying to kiss my cheek.
"Stop it, don't act like you're a grandma," I replied, glancing at the time on my phone. "I have to go. I'm gonna be late."
***
It'd be really shitty if I didn't make it on time for the first day. You can't show up late—especially not for a job like this, where not everyone gets a chance.
I ran for a while. It felt like I'd just finished a marathon and my lungs were about to give up. When I finally got there, I didn't expect the building to be so big. It looked much smaller in the photo.
It was a plain white place, nothing fancy about it—random passersby or tourists wouldn't even guess an agency worked out of here.
It's a completely new place in Willow Hollow, so not everyone knows about it. I didn't, either.
When I walked in, aside from Tom and a couple of photographers, there were two girls. They kept sniffling, and I could only assume why. Judging by what I saw, I had a feeling they were on drugs.
One was a blonde, the other a brunette. When they noticed me, they smiled and stepped toward me.
"Hi, I'm Michelle," said the brunette.
"I'm Cassie," the blonde added right after her.
They had young faces—probably my age—but something told me they weren't actually eighteen like me.
"Mike," I said after a second.
"So, you're new here?" Michelle gave me a once-over, head to toe.
"Yeah, and honestly, I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing," I laughed nervously.
"Don't worry, we'll help you," they both said at once.
"So... you guys are models?" I asked.
One part of me wanted to run and never come back, but another part said to stay.
"Sort of. Sometimes we're photographers too, but that's just occasionally. Actually, they don't really let us shoot very often," said the blonde with a high-pitched voice.
"I see."
The conversation wasn't really flowing. I tried to start topics, to break the ice. If we were going to work together, I wanted to make a good impression. But we kept answering in one-liners.
I could feel myself blowing it.
***
Tom had disappeared about fifteen minutes ago, and I started wondering where he'd gone.
"Where did Tom go?" I asked Cassie, since she was more talkative than Michelle.
"Once you're here longer, you'll understand."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know… drugs, and maybe other stuff," she giggled. "If you want, I can hook you up. I've got some amazing stuff—you might like it. Just a question though, have you ever tried it? You don't look like someone who does."
"Umm… No. I haven't," I reply.
I get flashbacks from my dream—the syringe.
I'm scared that if I tried it, it wouldn't stop at just once.
"Do you want to?"
"No, I don't," I say quickly.
"Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."
Cassie turned her head away from me.
Behind me, I heard a door open.
Someone walked in.
Cassie turned back and immediately ran up to the guy, jumping on him.
I slowly turned around to see who it was.
My breath caught in my chest when I saw the familiar face.
It was Ryan.