Ron
Dragging a dazed, exhausted girl through your front door at 2AM should've been harder than this.
But somehow, his mom had just blinked, glanced at the two of them—mud-caked, wide-eyed, and breathing like fugitives—and calmly said:
"Okay. Kitchen. Now."
Ron expected yelling. Maybe a dramatic faint.
What he got was orange juice, a bowl of rice, and a long, unreadable stare.
Samantha sat silently at the table, fingers clutched around the glass like it might disappear if she blinked too hard.
Ron's mom crossed her arms. "So. Want to tell me what's going on, or should I guess?"
Ron cleared his throat. "It's… a family thing. Complicated. She was stranded. It was bad. Real bad."
There was a long pause.
Then his mom exhaled. "You picked her up from somewhere awful. I can see it on her face."
She turned to Samantha. "Do you have a place to go?"
Sam didn't answer. Just stared into her juice like it might tell her the future.
Ron's mom softened. "Alright then. Guest room it is."
Ron blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I'll wash up some sheets," she said, already walking away. "You two—sleep. Shower. Whatever. But I want the full story tomorrow."
"Y-Yeah," Ron stammered. "Sure. Thank you."
She didn't turn back, but her voice echoed from the hall.
"And Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"If you ever sneak someone into this house again, at least tell me ahead of time."
"Yes, ma'am."
---
Samantha
The room smelled like laundry detergent and something faintly lemony.
Soft. Clean.
Too soft.
Samantha stood in the center of the guest room, barely able to move.
She didn't belong here.
This wasn't a place built for ghosts.
She glanced at the bed.
Clean sheets. Blanket folded neatly. A little vase of plastic flowers on the dresser.
Her throat clenched.
She hadn't seen flowers in… God, how long?
A knock on the door made her jump.
Ron peeked in, holding two mugs.
"Hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows. Mom's weirdly chill about people escaping institutions and crashing in her house."
Samantha sat on the edge of the bed, eyes blurry. "This is real, right?"
Ron hesitated.
Then crossed the room and knelt in front of her.
"It's real," he said. "I promise."
She took the mug. Her hands were still shaking.
There was so much she wanted to say.
But all that came out was—
"Why'd you come for me?"
Ron looked confused. "What do you mean? I told you I would."
"People say things. You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to."
She looked at him.
Like really looked at him.
And for once, the voices in her head didn't shout over it.
"You're a really bad liar, you know."
Ron grinned. "But an excellent outlaw."
They sat in silence for a while.
Just the hum of the heater, the taste of sugar and cocoa, the feeling of being somewhere safe.
Until the room got cold again.
Not the kind of cold from outside.
The kind that made the hairs on her arm stand up.
She looked up.
And he was there.
Him.
The hooded figure.
Standing by the window, like he'd always been.
Ron stiffened. "Oh no. Not this guy again."
Samantha stood slowly, mug forgotten. "You see him too?"
Ron nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. Real group hallucination energy. You kinda missed it cuz you were tied up with....stuff."
Samantha cringed at the word 'stuff' because surely stuff by normal standards didn't include patient uniforms and native pills.
Thank God that was in the past.
The figure still stood there. Silent as usual.
Something was different though. This time, the figure didn't vanish.
Didn't fade.
Instead, he raised both hands—
And drew the hood back.
---
They expected a shadow. A monster. A demon with glowing eyes and fire behind his teeth.
What they got was…
A man.
Maybe early twenties.
Tan skin. Pale, almost silver eyes.
Hair messy, jaw lined with a faint scar just beneath the ear.
He looked tired. Like he'd been walking a long time and hadn't slept in centuries.
Ron blinked. "Okay. That's illegal. You're hot."
Samantha elbowed him, eyes wide. "That's your takeaway?"
"I panicked!"
The man looked between them. "I don't have much time."
"You never do," Samantha snapped. "That's kind of your whole thing."
Ron stepped forward. "Okay. First of all—who are you? Second—why now? Why the face reveal? Why not like, I don't know, two weeks ago before we started losing our minds?"
The man hesitated. His voice was calm, but there was something in it—weight. Like every word carried consequence.
"Because now… you're ready."
Samantha narrowed her eyes. "Ready for what?"
The man looked straight at her.
"Ready to remember."
Ron's stomach dropped.
"What does that mean?"
But the figure—the man—was already backing toward the window.
"I'll come again," he said.
Then, he vanished into the shadows.
Typical.
Ron stared at the empty space for a long time.
"…You ever get the feeling we're part of someone else's really confusing dream?"
Samantha let out a long breath. "Every day."