I awaken in a cold sweat and just as nauseated as I was in a dream. If I got out of bed any faster, I'd break something—either in the bed, or in myself. But I manage to get to the toilet just a moment before expelling the contents of my stomach.
Throwing out is disgusting, but it's a distraction from what made me throw up, at least.
I have to spend ten more minutes blowing out stray chunks of vomit and undigested lettuce out of my nose after this, but it's another distraction. Like the glass of water I drink, wishing it was vodka.
Unlike normal dreams, the one I saw doesn't hurry to disperse in my mind like a cloud of fog. It's as clear as any other memory, so the image of Rose's mutilated corpse stands in front of my eyes any time I blink.
I'd probably hear the sounds, too, if the place was quiet. But it's not. The insects in the night are louder than the birds were in the day. Something buzzes and clicks outside, like an overgrown cricket.
I get my headphones and turn on the cheeriest song I have on my phone. This drowns out both the insects and the memories, but even with the music, I feel freezing and alone as I sit in the bed and hug my knees.
Am I going insane, or is there something *other* going on? Dreams... Rose mentioned dreams. Are our nightmares a coincidence? Was what I saw just a fluke of my tired mind or its way to give me a signal?
Who was that man?
I have no answer.
I only slept for about four hours, but I am afraid to fall asleep again. Instead, I do my best to distract myself with a book and bright lights, wishing I had Rose near to hug me and tell me it's alright.
But everything ends eventually, and so does the night. Morning comes to me together with Agatha's perpetually annoyed voice.
"Wake up, Miss Alvarez! Wake up if you want to have breakfast, you hear?" she calls from below, shrill and loud enough to probably be heard from the street.
The mention of food just makes me sick again with the nightmare's images. "I'm not hungry!" I shout back.
"Suit yourself! I'm not decreasing rent, whether or not you eat your food!"
I huff, but finally get out of bed. After all this, my need to find Rose is even stronger than before, and I can't do it if I sit inside. As yesterday, I put on my hoodie and stick the gun in the inner pocket.
Then I get Jack's switchblade. At first, I want to just put it in my pocket, but something stops me. I pause, listening to my intuition, then slowly nod. A gun is better to protect myself in a fight than a knife, but if I get kidnapped, a knife is more helpful. I just need to hide it well.
After some consideration, I stick it in my bra. There's enough space between it and my breasts that it doesn't bring too much discomfort and doesn't stick out against my loose T-shirt.
I'm unsure where I'm going to go this morning. I remember our agreement with Hank, but everything in me screams against going to the town hall after this night. Though, when I see him reading a book on a bench near Agatha's house, I have no idea how I will explain the change of plans to him.
"Hey, pretty lady!" Hank notices me and stands up with a grin. "You are early. I was going to wait an hour before calling you down."
"And how long have you been waiting for me already?" I come towards him, tentatively smiling back.
Hank laughs. "No, I wasn't sitting there exactly for your sake, Maya. Reading books on fresh air is an old habit of mine, I just thought it'd be convenient to do that near your place today."
"It's still too early," I shake my head. It really is—my scratchy eyes alone and the slight numbness to my mind is another proof. What was it, nine in the morning?
"Early bird gets the worm." Hank grins. "But you are clearly more of an owl."
I nod and gather some courage. "Listen, Hank, about our agreement... I thought about it and decided that I should try something else first. I can go to the town hall on Monday," though the idea makes me cringe a little.
"Really? Are you sure?" Hank frowns and makes a small step towards me. "Is there something wrong? You look deathly pale."
My fists clench inside my pockets. "Just a bad dream. I'm fine."
"It must be stress," Hank nods and pats on my shoulder in a show of sympathy. "Well, if you don't want to come, that's alright. Frankly, I still don't think you can find your friend anywhere in Willow Creek. She has left, and I don't know where."
I lower my eyes and step back. Was Hank right? But I saw Rose's note... It's still in my pocket. This is not false.
"Does Willow Creek have a church?"
The question is as sudden for me as it is for Hank. His face contorts in something like fear, but smooths into confusion so quickly that I almost miss it.
"No," he shrugs. "Weird, right? Willow Creek was founded by not very religious people."
"So very much so that they didn't even build a church?" I shake my head, knowing deep in my heart that this is a bold-faced lie. "Yeah, that's weird. Um... Well, have a good day, Hank. Sorry again for the change of plans."
"Very well," Hank said and sighed. "Good luck with whatever you are going to do, Maya."
I wave at him and turn away. I am unsure yet, but I think I'm going to look for the church. Or at least, I think so until I suddenly feel a powerful arm encircle my throat and cut off my blood flow.
"Sorry, Maya... I think you really should meet everyone," Hank says into my ear.
I try to scream. I try to kick. This all is too slow—the darkness falls on me like a cold blanket. Too quick.
My last thought is that it's always the nicest people...