Ron
"I know where she is."
The words echoed in Ron's skull like church bells in a canyon.
He lunged forward—"Then TELL me!"
But the figure was already fading. Like smoke in reverse, folding inward and vanishing without a trace.
"NO—" Ron shouted into the emptiness, breath heaving. "COME BACK! TELL ME!"
Nothing.
Just silence.
That same oppressive quiet that always followed him now.
It filled his chest until it burned.
He swore and threw the nearest thing—his pillow—across the room.
It hit the wall with a disappointing whump.
He dragged both hands through his hair, fists tightening, breath shaking. "I don't care how ancient you are, you cryptic oversized hood ornament—JUST HELP ME."
Still… nothing.
Eventually, his body gave out before his rage did.
Ron slumped to the bed, curled inward, and let the exhaustion drag him under.
---
Samantha
The mornings came slower now.
But the haze had begun to lift.
The meds hadn't changed, but Samantha had—like her mind was learning how to swim through the fog.
Like it was fighting back.
And she wasn't alone anymore.
There was someone new.
Kayla.
She was a young nurse, maybe twenty-four, with bright brown eyes and a ponytail that never stayed neat.
She treated Sam like a person. Like a teenager, not a label.
"You're a lot more sane than the others," she'd said with a teasing grin one afternoon, sneaking Sam an extra cookie during group snack time.
"I'm starting to think someone filed the wrong paperwork."
Samantha had snorted. "Tell that to my mom."
They shared a look.
Kayla didn't press.
That alone made her trustworthy.
They talked more each day—about books, bad cafeteria food, Kayla's dream of traveling, Samantha's vague memories of freedom.
It helped.
The loneliness didn't scream quite as loud when Kayla was around.
---
Nightfall
But tonight felt wrong.
Her room was cold.
Too cold.
Like the day it all started.
Samantha pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, breath puffing in the chilled air.
No noise. No footsteps.
Just... presence.
And she knew.
He was here.
She didn't look up.
Didn't want to.
She didn't need to see him. She felt him.
Her hands trembled under the blanket.
"Leave me alone," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Time stretched thin.
And then—
He spoke.
"He's coming."
Her heart nearly stopped.
She looked up, eyes wide—but he was already gone.
Like he'd never been there.
The room returned to silence.
Only one thought echoed through Samantha's mind:
Who the hell is 'he'?