Now or Never

The seconds crawled by. I kept staring at the door, as if sheer will could make it open—or make the silence speak.

But nothing happened.

The footsteps didn't return. No shadows moved under the door. No voice called out. Whoever had been there… was either gone or waiting.

I didn't know which unsettled me more.

I lay back slowly, my muscles taut, the sterile mattress beneath me cold and unfamiliar. My eyes stayed trained on that door, half-hoping it would open, half-dreading what might be on the other side if it did.

And then—

The handle turned.

I flinched.

It was subtle, barely a click. But I heard it. Felt it.

The sound of the mechanism shifting landed in my gut like a stone dropped into water. I sat up slowly, eyes locked on the metal knob. It turned halfway, then stilled.

No one entered.

I waited.

Still nothing.

The hairs on my arms rose. A shiver slid down my spine. Not from the cold. This was something else—something primal. The way animals pause when the wind changes direction.

"Hello?" I tried.

My voice came out small. Useless.

There was no reply.

The door stayed shut. The handle unmoving now, as if the earlier motion had been a mistake. Or a warning.

Eventually, I lay back down, but sleep didn't come.

Not right away.

I drifted in and out of restless thoughts—half-memories, half-fears. Jason's voice haunted the corners of my mind, not loud but persistent. "Then we start with memories," he'd said. As if naming the pain made it easier to carry.

He didn't understand. Not really.

You don't carry this kind of pain. It carries you.

I must've dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, the room was dimmer. The harsh lights above had softened to a low hum, casting long shadows that curled along the corners.

The door was still closed.

The notebook lay untouched.

But the stillness in the air had shifted again.

This time, it wasn't heavy. It was hollow.

Emptier than before.

I sat up, slow and deliberate, ignoring the tight pull in my side. Pain licked up my ribs like flame to dry paper, but I welcomed it. It made me feel real.

Alive.

Sliding my legs off the bed, I planted my feet on the cool floor. The cold bled into my skin, grounding me more than anything else had since the doctor left.

I stood, pausing for a breath that didn't come easy. Then I stepped forward.

One step.

Two.

Three.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the door. I hesitated—not because I was afraid of what was behind it, but because I wasn't sure what version of myself would open it.

Then, slowly, I turned the knob.

The door creaked open—

The hallway beyond was dim.

Not empty—but dim. The kind of half-light that cloaked everything in shadow, making the walls feel too close, too quiet. My breath caught in my throat. The air was thick—heavy with something unspoken. The kind of silence that felt... watched.

I stepped forward slowly, each movement deliberate. My bare feet touched the cold floor like I was walking on glass. I glanced left—nothing. Right—nothing.

But I knew I wasn't alone.

The door behind me clicked shut.

I jumped.

A gasp clawed its way up my throat—but I swallowed it. No alarms. No flashing lights. Just that awful, stretched silence. Waiting. Like the building itself was holding its breath.

Or watching to see what I'd do next.

I took a step. Then another.

Pain seared through my side, sharp and mean, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. My hospital gown clung to my back, sticky with sweat. I passed door after door—some fogged over, others cracked just enough to hint at life beyond them. But no one came out.

No voices. No footsteps. Just me.

I turned a corner.

And stopped dead.

A figure.

At the far end of the corridor. Motionless. Facing away.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Jason?

My lips parted, but I couldn't speak.

I blinked—

Gone.

Gone, or never real.

My chest tightened. My limbs screamed to run—but I forced my feet to move, faster now, the corridor narrowing with every step. Lights flickered overhead. The walls felt closer. I found a door. Stairwell.

Tried the handle.

Unlocked.

Relief crashed over me so fast it almost dropped me to my knees.

I slipped through, pulling it shut behind me with shaking fingers. The stairwell was a tomb—cold, dark, and smelling of mold and metal. I gripped the rail and forced my body downward, each step a small war. My breath rasped in the silence. My side burned. But I kept moving.

One floor passed. Then another. My vision swam, but there—light.

A door. And beneath it, the warmest gold I'd seen in days.

Dusk.

My palm trembled on the handle.

Please be real. Please be out.

I pushed.

The door creaked open—

And the world tilted.

Trees.

A forest clearing, wild and untamed. No buildings in sight. No road. No traffic. Just dirt, tall grass, and shadows licking at the edges like the world was unraveling.

The air hit me—damp, cold, real. I choked on a sob.

I was out.

But only for a second.

Movement.

Across the clearing, something shifted—fast and sharp, slipping between the trees.

A figure.

Watching?

Following?

I stumbled back, heel catching on a root. My hands splayed to break the fall, dirt biting into my skin. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

I scrambled to my feet.

And ran.

Because something was out here with me.

And I wasn't supposed to get away.