If I Die Tonight

chapter three

I'm at someone's house.

It's actually a really nice house. Family photos line the cream-colored walls- baby photos, school portraits, family vacation memories- along with well dusted, shiny wooden shelves where small pots of flowers sit. Furniture is bright and modern, colors complementing each other in a way that only a professional designer could pull off. Turning slightly, my eyes scan the nice hardwood flooring, the light color of everything opening up the room. Even without the colors, though, it's evident that the house is big and spacious. There's quite a bit of furniture, but even with the hesitant steps I take, I'm able to freely navigate around, my fingers gently brushing against the leather of the couch, shivering at the cold feeling of the fabric.

It's quiet. My eyes flicker to the TV, seeing it on, but muted. The news is playing, a new reporter with a serious face talking at a rapid pace on the screen. I tear my gaze away from there to look to another door, making my way over there. My heart begins to pump faster- I hate these type of dreams. I hate when something jumps out at me. They're the worst. And what makes it all the more horrible is that it doesn't matter where I go or how safe a specific place feels- it'll always find me and... well, kill me.

I round the corner, my hand against the cold wall of the house, the other one pushing the door open. Walking into this room, it becomes much more than apparent that whoever owns this home is wealthy. The room is huge- white walls, arched and high ceiling, with the opposite wall from the door being all glass, revealing a large in-ground pool on the other side of double glass doors. Expensive-looking, modern couches surround a wooden, darker coffee table in the middle. The last room looked high-end but this... this is just a dream home.

I'm just about to take a step inside the room when I hear something, making everything inside of me freeze. Take a deep breath, I tell myself. I hear footsteps coming. They're slow, steady and rhythmic, and even though that should help my stress levels- they're not sporadic and unpredictable- and only manages to spike them up even more. God, I hate this. I hate these dreams so much.

The footsteps begin to get closer. I squeeze my eyes shut. Okay, I just have to wait a bit more. Just a bit more, whoever this is will kill me and I can wake up. I wait and wait, the anticipation crawling up my throat and suffocating me. My body is rigid as I listen to the footsteps coming closer and closer...

... And then getting farther and farther away.

I blink when I realize they've stopped completely. Oh God, are they behind me? But when I finally work up the courage to spin around, no one is there. I walk back out through the door I entered, my eyes scanning every bit of the room. I don't see much- just the same shelves, TV and leather couches. I take some time noticing the youth soccer medals for MVP around and a certificate for completing a level three guitar exam for the RCM. I shake my head, snapping out of it. Ever since I was seven I stopped running from death in my dreams, but whoever is in this house... I need to get away.

"Can I help you?"

I spin around so quickly I'm surprised my neck didn't snap. A boy stands there, brown hair tousled and almond eyes wide, frightened. He has a large black hoodie on and sweatpants roll at the bottom, his fingers nervously fidgeting with his drawstrings.

I'm completely transfixed with the boy, and not just because he's kind-of-sort-of-actually-really cute. But I've never actually been or met with another person in my dreams. Even if someone killed me, I'd never see their face- maybe just their hand if I'm lucky. Never has someone just appeared and talked to me, especially someone I don't know.

"Um," I swallow roughly, trying to find the words I need, but failing miserably when I choke out, "Can I help you?"

The boy is unimpressed and let's it be known with a raise of an eyebrow. "You're in my house. Are you Rick's daughter? Because my dad said that they'd be out for a while so if you're picking him up, I'd suggest possibly coming back at six."

"No..." I whisper. "Not Rick's daughter..."

The boy furrows his eyebrows this time, gulping. He looks just at unease as I do. He wraps both hands around his drawstrings this time. "Okay. Then is there something you need? How did you get in here?"

I don't get to answer him- which is kind of a relief, because I've never been good at sporadic lying- because suddenly a bang sounds from somewhere on the other house. The boy jumps, his eyes widening even more and his hands letting go of his drawstrings to wrap around his stomach, like he's going to be sick. "Are you here with... them?"

"Them?" I ask.

"Please, just leave my dad and I alone. We don't know anything."

"What are you talking about?"

There's another bang and the sound of something breaking, falling to the ground. The boy jumps again, paling and eyes widening even more. He yells out, "Stop! Leave us alone!"

The rush of footsteps only gets louder, though. The boy's hands shake and he takes a step backwards, head whipping around like he's trying to figure out where to go. "What's going on?" I ask him, my heart beat speeding up to dangerous rates. "What do they want with you?"

There's more banging- louder and closer this time- and eventually the boy jumps, ignoring my questions and sprinting out of the room. I watch him go, frozen in place and unsure as to what to do. I look towards the door, waiting for someone to come out, to kill me. But no one does.

I walk over to the door I had gone in before- to the room with a view of the pool and nice couches. But when I walk in, I barely notice those things. Because the only thing I see is the boy I had been talking to only moments earlier, bleeding out on the floor with a knife in his stomach and a still chest.

x

I wake up screaming for the first time in years.

My mom bursts into my room right away, trying to calm me down, but as soon as she reaches for me I scramble to the other side of my bed, reaching for my pillow and screaming into it. I can't stop- that was terrifying, completely horrific. I've never seen another dead body- it's not like I have out-of-body experiences where I see my own dead body- I just die. But this boy...

Thinking about it just makes me sick, to the point where I push my mom aside, rush to the bathroom and vomit. A shiver wracks my body, my hands are shaking and tears are pooling in my eyes.

"Holy shit," I hear Marty gasp out. My mom doesn't even bother reprimanding him for his language. When did he get here anyway? "Should I get a glass of water."

I'm not sure what my responds with, but I'm guessing it's a nod of her head because the next thing I hear is Marty's footsteps leaving the bathroom. God, just the sound of footsteps sends me back to that dream, back to that dead boy...

My mom's hand rubs circles onto my back until my body begins to go slack, the tension slowly seeping out of my limbs. I force myself to relax and take deep breaths, my mom taking the glass of water Marty comes back with (since my hands are still shaking) and making me take small sips.

"Okay," my mom murmurs once I finish the glass, pulling me up. "Come on, back to bed."

I blink. "I have school..."

"No, you're not going to school. Not after that. You're getting some rest."

The thought of sleep sends me back into a panic. I don't need sleep right now, I do not want another one of those dreams. "No, no, I'm fine, I don't want to rest-"

My mom just hushes me, leading me back to my room. I can't really put up much of a fight- my legs and still shaky and unsteady. I fall back against the mattress, Marty entering my room with the hot cup of tea my mom must have prepared for me this morning.

"I'm just going to make Marty breakfast and be right back," she tells me, bringing me the book I was reading and laying it on my lap. She kisses my forehead and leaves with Marty, who just sends me a reassuring smile before following her out.

I stare at the book on my lap, trying to pick it up and continue where I left off. But the image of the dead boy seems to be forever embedded into my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop thinking about it.

xxx

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