Chapter 1
My body is frozen, locked, trapped. The darkness envelops me, but I feel it, watching, lurking. Realistically, I know I can move. Nothing binds me, restricts me. But its gaze pins me down. A being fabricated by my mind, haunting my sleep until I lay in terror, awake. My own fears hold me down, claws of ice biting into my flesh, though none of my skin is exposed except my head. I can’t move my head, but I can see most of my room in my peripheral vision. And there it is. There he is. The man, face obscured by a mask, eyes shrouded by darkness. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Never wavering. He just stands in the corner, watching. I don’t know when he first appeared, can’t remember. But he’s here, every night. He’s different, unlike the others created by my mind. They come and go, never constant. Be this one, he stays. Even when I can move, fall back to sleep, I still awake in the morning with the unsettling feeling of not being alone. Though, obviously, that’s not true. I live alone, and my vicious visions cannot harm me during the day. I twitch my finger, a small movement that reminds my body that it can move. I screw my eyes shut and turn my head, ignoring the fear that is coursing through my body. I just need to sleep, it'll be fine if I just sleep.
Morning doesn't offer much reprieve. I awake with a sense of unease, and I can't help but sigh. The constant fear and tension is exhausting. I wander out of my bedroom and into my kitchen, walking straight up to the fridge to grab a Monster. I wasn’t going to survive the day without it. I grab a Pipeline Punch, wondering briefly when I got so low on them. I crack open the can and take a sip before heading over to the pantry to deliberate what to have for breakfast. Deciding toast is good enough, I pop some bread in the toaster and scroll on my phone as I wait. Once the toast pops, I make breakfast and begin getting ready for work. I dress in casual shorts and t-shirt and head to work. My apartment isn’t far from work, so I walk through the bustling streets of Washington, D.C, the humid air making my hair cling to my skin. I can see the building even before I reach the waterfront. The Triskelion is an impressive structure, and I crane my neck to look up at it. That must have cost a fortune to build. Guess that’s a plus of being a secret-ish government agency. I walk through the front gate, flashing my badge at the guard on my way in. I head towards the lockers to change into my uniform, a black, long sleeved kevlar body suit with a tactical belt and a thigh holster on each leg. I place my guns in their holsters and pack my civies away in my locker. I head towards my office and begin going through paperwork. I get through a few when a call to a mission briefing is sent to me. I have an assignment.
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Twenty minutes tops, that’s what I was told. I was in and out in ten. The target is neutralised, the job is done. I look down at my hands, clasping them together to stop the slight shaking. I’m good at my job, I’m quick and efficient, but seeing lifeless eyes stare up at me is haunting, no matter how many times I see it.
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Walking through my front door feels me with a sense of unease. I feel like I’m being watched, though I know that’s not possible. I walk over to the kitchen sink to wash my hands before opening the fridge. I stare at its contents for a moment, trying to piece together a meal in my head. After staring at the eggs for a moment too long, I decide on scrambled eggs. I get that made and bring my plate over to the lounge room, sitting down and turning on the TV. I enjoy my dinner as I watch whatever nonsense reality show is playing.
But I feel it. A tingling down my neck. I try to ignore it, telling myself that it isn’t there. But it persists, the feeling of someone behind me, watching me. I give in, my head whipping around, desperate to find the source of my discomfort. There’s nothing, no one. I’m alone. I turn back towards the TV and try to pretend I no longer feel watched.
I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. I brush my teeth, shower, and get dressed into my pajamas, despite the neverending unease. I climb into bed and turn off the light, curling around my blanket. Sleep pulls at me, and my exhaustion from the day finally pulls me under.
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He’s here.
He’s watching.
Breathing.
No.
Not breathing.
He can’t breathe.
He’s not real
I am real.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
I CAN’T BREATHE.
I awake with a gasp, chest heaving as I try desperately to drag in a breath. Sweat runs down my body, soaking into the sheets below me. My eyes flit around the room, a panicked sweep of my surroundings. I nearly scream as my eyes lock onto him. He’s here. He’s here again, always, never leaving, never allowing me to rest in peace. My hand clutches at my chest as I continue to gasp for breath. My eyes don’t leave his form, his ghostly presence in my room. I can’t see his eyes, shrouded in darkness as they are, but I can feel his gaze. His piercing, unwavering gaze. I screw my eyes shut, turning my head away from him, attempting to escape his gaze. I curl my blanket around myself, despite the heat, as a protective barrier between me and the personification of death haunting in the corner. If I can just sleep. I go through my breathing exercises, remind myself he isn’t real. He cannot touch me, cannot harm me. He isn’t real. He’s as real as the monsters in my room as a child. If I just breathe. If I just ignore him. If I just pretend I’m asleep, then maybe, maybe, it’ll actually happen.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Maybe hours.
Who knows? In the haze of fear and exhaustion, I can’t keep track. He’s breathing, I can almost guarantee. But when I try to focus on the sound, it disappears. If only he would do the same. Free me from this endless cycle.
Eventually, the sheer exhaustion of it all pulls me back under for a restless sleep.