"Hush little children,
Now please close your eyes.
Your loved ones are waiting,
They're ready to fly.
But be careful you must,
For darkness does lie.
Stray not from the path,
Once slumber you find."
The world around me flickers in and out of darkness. My breathing becomes erratic as I take a few more steps backward, tightly closing my eyes and trying to tune out the song engulfing me on repeat.
"No no no no, this isn't happening . . . fight it, Blair. Wake up," I hiss through clenched teeth. I'm desperately hoping that my worst fear is not coming to life. I haven't seen him in fifteen years, and I had lured myself into believing that fifteen years would turn into the rest of my life.
"Blairrr . . ." His smooth voice calls to me even closer than before. I shake my head rapidly through closed eyes, too terrified to open them, overwhelmed with dread at the thought of facing him. God, this must be how my targets feel when I coax them out of their dreams.
He always said he'd come for me again one day, I was just hoping I would not live to see it happen.
"It's time to open your eyes, little one," his voice gently brushes my ears, but I still don't want to believe this is real. It can't be. I frequently have nightmares that I always wake up from, but this one is different. I don't think I can wake up this time.
"Look at me Blair," he demands, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.
"You're not real. This isn't real," I whisper, clenching my fists.
"The more you fight it, the worse it will get," he says coldly. I choke back the dryness in my mouth and begrudgingly open my eyes only to have them widen in shock. I am standing in the middle of the street about three blocks away from where I fell asleep. I have no idea how I got here, but I know that I'm not alone.
Standing about ten feet away in the center of the road is a tall man with slicked back hair, dressed in dark grey slacks and a matching button-down. He grins ravenously, and his white teeth glow in contrast to his black eyes.
Orias.
"It's been a long time since we've spoken, child," Orias says, his frigid words hanging in the atmosphere with looming dread.
"Not long enough," I say, trying for an air of confidence I don't feel. I want to draw my knife from its holster, but I am afraid to make any sudden movements.
"On the contrary, it's been far too long. I've been waiting for the proper moment . . ." He shrugs, nonchalant.
"Get to the point, Orias. Why have you decided to show up now?" I demand, my bravado undermined by the slight crack in my voice.
"There is no 'now,' child. You've never left my sights. I've been watching your every move. I know how you operate, how many you've killed, who you've killed, who you've let live. I know everything." He smiles. My heartbeat quickens as I stare into his lifeless, ebony eyes for several long seconds. Those eyes make me feel as if I'm at his mercy and ten years old again.
I make a split second decision and shoot my right hand to my thigh, drawing my knife. Without hesitation, I hurtle it towards Orias. The blade flies true, impaling Orias in the center of his chest. I exhale through my nose, a tiny sliver of relief flooding my mind.
But my relief fades quickly as moments pass, and his grin does not falter. He looks down at the handle of the knife then slowly pulls it out of his chest. I forget to breathe. He rotates the blade in his palm for a moment and studies it with curiosity. Then with a slight laugh, he blows a single breath, disintegrating the knife in a cloud of grey dust. He wiggles his fingers and the sooty remains of what used to be my best throwing knife drift to the ground through his fingers. I take an unsteady step backward and shake my head.
That's not possible.