More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

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I awake suddenly from a nightmare.

I hardly know where I am. The room surrounding me is unfamiliar. I don't recognize the powder white walls or the dangling fairy lights that haven't worked in months. That moment of uncertainty, that lack of recognition, heightens the fear trickling over from the dream. It isn't until I reposition myself and spot a picture of my father taped to a mirror beside my bed that I manage to steady my pulse. If it weren't for the pouring drops of white light from the moon, or the flicks of scarlet from the nightlight below my window, I wouldn't have noticed. I thank the heavens and curl back up into a ball, trying to fight away the images but remembering them nonetheless.

The diner. It was dark. Empty. I noticed a draft of air first, how cold the room was, like the walls and windows and booths were mimicking the temperature of the tile. There were notes pinned to the leather cushions of every seat, each one more cryptic and vague than the last.

Why now?

That isn't true,

you

know?

Dig.

Yeah?

You should know.

Something.

  is.

wrong.

There was a tap on the glass. Two taps. A whistle and a laugh. The kind of laugh you ran from. The kind of tap that made you triple check the doors, to make sure they were locked, that the windows were shut. I saw the shadow that was beating on the glass. Its silhouette was touching the frame, bleeding through, mocking me because if it were to come inside I wouldn't be able to move. It knew I was stuck. I was stuck right here and there was nothing else that could be done about that. I realized the room was cold because the front doors were open. The shadow tilted its head and noticed when I did. The next moments became a game of cat and mouse, the cat preying and stalking the mouse that was left to wither in the trap. I looked down and saw that I had no feet. I was trapped. Something was wrong. It was coming. No, he. He was coming. My racing heart became a beat he danced to. There was a face but it was a face I didn't know, a bland face, one used for video game characters, the smoothed skin and straight lips. He just stood there. He mouthed that he was sorry.

Then, he was gone.

And that was when I woke up.

"Morning Olive branch," Vincent's voice is the sound of morning, of fresh oatmeal and blueberries and honey drizzled on top. I hadn't slept since waking up, too afraid I would fall back asleep and the shadow would be there, touching and taunting me further.

But I was okay now. It was morning time and Vince stood with his back to the cabinets, sunlight making the browns of his eyes a color of their own. A disguised shade.

"How're you doing?" My voice was groggy and defeated, and despite how exhausted I was, I still remembered what led Miles to leave the diner last night. I hadn't gotten the chance to properly ask him how he was.