Serial Killer (Part III)

A/N: Read Part I Here
          Read Part II Here

There is a squelch of boots on mud, and pain flashes through the back of my head. It burns white-hot and until I feel nothing except cold ice in my veins instead of blood.


 

When I come to, I find myself on a bed, dressed in jeans that bring back fond memories, and a well-worn t-shirt that doesn’t quite fit right. It hangs on me in a way that tells me it doesn’t belong to me, but it feels comfortable enough for me not to hunt something else down. The bed is springy and soft, and the pillow I lift my head off smells faintly of deodorant and pine-shampoo.

I don’t feel myself rise, but I do, and I find myself walking calmly through the corridors, feet bare and denim pants cut off at the knees. Laughter, I think to myself, is what I hear when I pass by a door, and I stop at it, though the disconcerting tug in my gut tells me to move on.

Finally, when I reach the last door in sight, I pull it open, and I see nothing but blue and brown and green.

I step out, salt in the air and cold, wet wind ruffling my hair. Movement on my right makes me shift, and I see a dark-haired, lanky-looking man. He’s smiling at me, like he knows me, and though my mind doesn’t know who he is, my body does. Mindlessly, I step towards him, accepting the hug he offers though I don’t yet know who he is, and what he means to me.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,”

His voice sends chills down my spine in the best of ways, and the twinkle in his darkening eyes makes me finally regain control of myself. “Who’re you?” My voice is nervous, but he smiles back jovially.

He pulls me to a bench, and pats the spot beside him when he sits.

“Don’t worry, mi amor,” Golden light reflects on his eyes beautifully as I lean with some kind of familiarity against him.

“We’ve got nothing but time,”

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