𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

X

This vision is different from the others. I'm still in the killer's body. I'm still seeing everything from their point of view. They're still wearing gloves. I still can't make out any identification. What's different is the way my next classmate is dying.

All the other times, it was physical. Choking, stabbing, beating up, etc. So why am I watching as they stir what seems to be a packet of nightshade into a beverage.One of the most poisonous plants in the world. I should know, for I've been taking bits of it everyday for therapy; for the practice of mithandirism. Just to see if it'd kill me like it does a normal person.

When the killer pours the substance–poisoned alcohol–into a small bottle of tequila, my stomach turns. But when he opens a door and goes outside into a familiar place I can't help but feel hopeful. Behind the boys' dorms, I realize. I recognize it so quickly because of all the times I've snuck into Henry's dorm. I hope he's safe.

A scratchy "Hey, man." pulls me back to the scene at hand. Whoever it is, they recognize them. Good to know.

The killer doesn't speak but he hands the boy—who I believe is Nick Beaumont, the heir of the infamous coca-cola company—the bottle of tequila. No. I want to fight, to find a loophole, to tell him not to take it. But as always, no one ever seems to hear my screams.

wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up, I demand myself. But I can't even shut my eyes. I can't even look the other way or black out the image of my classmate drinking himself to death. I'm forced to watch as he chokes until finally-

"Jane, wake up." I hear a voice say. And I do. My eyes bulge open and I wake up sweating, despite the colder weather. I try to even my breathing and block out the image I had just witnessed. Once I calm down, the first thing I can think of is; The security cameras. The back of the boy's dorms. Henry. I need to go to Henry. He can help me.

I get up, and even as I scan the room and find no one there I still can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me. After I change, I do a double take at the mirror. Blood. Blood is smeared across the mirror in patterns–no. In names. Victim names.

I watch as blood drips onto my vanity and watch my reflection very closely. Everything looks normal. Nothing is out of place. It's my face. My hair. My body. My features. I lean in, looking more closely and just as I decide that I'm looking too much into it, my reflection says, "Boo."

I jump back, startled and she laughs at me. "You're so weak, Jane." I glare at–well, at myself. "You wanna be one of them?" She asks, and I know what she's referring to. She's referring to all the normal people.

I shake my head. "No," I whisper.

"Yes." She yells. "Yes, you do. You want to be one of them. Don't even try lying to yourself. I'm you. Your head. I know what you're thinking. I know what you think when you're in a crowd full of people."

I close my eyes trying to shut her out. And it works, I think, because when I open my eyes I'm back in my bed. Still sweaty. Still in my pajamas I thought I had changed out of. Had that all been fake? Was that all a hallucination?

My gaze catches on the clock. 3 am. I can't afford to be scared of my own mind right now, it would be a waste of time. I need to go to Henry. He would make sense of the unsensible. I don't even bother getting changed this time and just head to him, knowing that he'd call me an idiot and tell me I was stupid but wouldn't tell me I was crazy.

After sneaking past all the newest security using secret pathways Henry has taught me, I'm finally at his door. I type in the code and walk in, all the lights are turned off. I call out for him, but I receive no response. I make it to his room and walk in, but the second I do so the door closes right behind me. I'm barely given a chance to defend myself before I'm shoved against the wall, his knee between my thighs and his arm against my breasts, holding me to the wall. His other hand pressing a knife against my throat, but as soon as I choke out a quiet "It's me." He lets it go. Completely. As if the knife offended him.