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Chapter 1

A Nightmare in Paris

So there I was spending my first Saturday night in Paris across the street from my creepy boss’s flat. Yes, I was, in fact, smoking a cigarette.

Earlier in the week, he approached my desk and had left an overly sticky Post-it Note with an address and a poorly written description. He didn’t say a word. He left a note on my desk without saying a word. The poorly written description read something like this: “Anniversaire, Cigarette, Taste.” Whatever the fuck that meant? Like I said, it was a Monday. I had landed the night before at Charles de Gaulle, and I was exhausted. I acknowledged the note and put my head down for the rest of the week. I was kind of an introvert, but I was good at my job. I guess that was why I took the offer so quickly.

The firm had just transferred me over from New York. I was their top editor. This transfer was something of a promotion, at least that was what I thought. Yay, me. Too bad they couldn’t have paid for my flight, although the flat they supplied was lovely. Anyways, the week flew by, and Saturday rolled around. It was precisely 10:04 p.m. when I entered my boss’s place. The door was unlocked to his building, and thank God for the elevator. He lived on the seventh floor, and I was wearing a skintight, slim black-and-gray leather dress. Sexy, right? When choosing my outfit earlier, I hadn’t set my mind to whether I was aiming to be sexy or sophisticated. So take me as you like.

The elevator opened, and my inner monologue stopped. I heard one ring, and I reached the seventh floor. I stepped out onto the level, and the porcelain floor reflected nicely against his polished piano-black doors. On his door, there was a note. This one was written quite beautifully, and it wasn’t overly sticky. This note read, “Entre La Deviance.” Honestly, it had just occurred to me. I have been living in Paris for a week, and I don’t understand any French. Had I even ventured anywhere other than the office and my place? I grabbed the door handle, and I entered. The piano doors swung open to an entryway of mythological magnitude. Wow.

This flat was a masterpiece—porcelain floors, twilight drapes, pairing excellently with the midnight bar and bar top. Everyone attending was dressed for pleasure. It was a masquerade for some; others, well…I saw thongs and bow ties. As my eyes made their way through the densely packed room, I saw pretty much every piece of skin you could imagine. I would go no further. I wondered then if I had just stepped into some orgy, but that observation proved all too real as the night went on.

Everyone’s gaze quickly darted away from me as I took my second step. I guess I wasn’t worth that much attention. I kept my head down and dashed to the bar. I looked at the strapping young man serving my food and beverage and said, “Vodka Red Bull.”

And he said, “Non.”

“What the fuck do you mean non?”

With his sexy, annoyed tone, he spoke, “Mademoiselle, we have beer and wine. No alcohol.”

I responded apologetically and took a glass of red. I sipped the surprisingly delicious wine and took my glass and winked at Mr. Non. Before I moved to the perfect viewing point, I wrote down my number on the cheap napkin; I don’t think he would text me.

So I darted off to the window in the corner, and I decided to, quote, unquote, “people watch.” It was the only activity I could think of without entering this…I still wasn’t quite sure what this was. The view from up here was beautiful, at least from what I could see down the street. The higher you were in Paris seemed to be the exact place anyone would want to be. This corner, besides the splendid view, was perfect for my situation. I could have a presence without being present. The girl in the corner—absent, but present. As I cowered in my corner and sipped moderately, albeit quite excessively, a coworker noticed me awkwardly squeezing myself into the edges. We exchanged the firm head nod. You know, the “Hey, I work with you, but don’t know your name” one. I raised my hand awkwardly and waved hello. She was beautiful, and she was fast approaching. I had to think fast, so I shifted my right heel forward and tried to appear sexy. What that movement did was entirely subjective. To me, that movement was powerful. She noticed.

“Really?”

“What?”

“I saw you do that.’”

“Do what?”

“Shift your heel forward to place your very sharp, very sexy hip forward so you could show me your paraphernalia. I’m Sonja, by the way.”

I think I’m in love.

“Oh, that, I was just…oh, never mind. You caught me.”

Sonja now stood directly across from me, and I stared. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“So are you going to tell me your name?”

Oh my god, I had forgotten entirely about my name. I had to regroup for a millisecond because my inner devil was still drooling over this gorgeous and intelligent woman.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Melanie.”

Oh god, I’m terrible at this. What the hell was I thinking, trying to get this girl’s attention? She’s reaching out, like right now. Oh my god, she’s touching my hand now. My hand is approaching her lips. She’s kissing it.

“Enchanted, Melanie.”

“Oh, you as well, I guess?”

She knew I was very awkward, but I think she liked it. The conversation began when she mentioned my dress, and we started talking. Work never entered the discord, thank God. The night went on, and I didn’t even notice the room filling with more people. It was 11:30 p.m. I guess Parisians party late.

Sonja and I sat on that corner and chuckled, and we began to posture ourselves against each other. I think it was the sexual tension building. Anyways, the clock struck midnight, and the door swung way wide open. I couldn’t believe my eyes; it was a sea of prostitutes flooding into the room. My eyes sprung free from my slightly drunk facial expression, and I was shocked. Sonja was not. A swarm of absurdly beautiful women had come bursting into this party, and everyone was casual about it.

I felt sick. I deduced that I had too much to drink. Then my mind began to wander more, and I questioned, Where was I? I needed to use the restroom suddenly. I apologized to Sonja, and I quickly took off to the nearest washroom. Well, first, I had to get through this onslaught of beautiful Frenchwomen. As I pushed my way through the waves of women, I began to spin. The world was disconnecting itself from my head, and I was wondering if Sonja had drugged me.

No, that couldn’t be. I had my drink in my hand the whole time. I even went to the bar to get it myself. Focus. Find the washroom and recollect. Finally, after swimming through a sea of skin and lingerie, I had found the restroom. I breached into it like a SWAT team during a drug bust. I quickly hauled myself toward the toilet, and I tried to hurl. Nothing. Nothing came out.

The world quickly stopped spinning, and I was utterly confused. Did I just have a panic attack? Now I didn’t feel sick at all. Okay, settle down. Let me look in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, and I recognized her. Okay, so I’m not drugged. I’m slightly drunk. That’s a plus. I splashed some water on my face, and I grabbed those soft towels my boss had left out. Then I looked in the mirror one more time, just to be sure.

Everything appeared okay, so I exited the washroom. And there he was. Pierre, my boss, was wearing a Venetian Carnival mask, a dashing tuxedo top, and no pants or underwear. Hanging in between was a very large, um… Give me a moment. I’m still…uh…never mind.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about it.

Don’t—

“Melanie, right? You got the note. You read the note. You came. Well, I’m not sure if you came yet, but we can fix that.”

“Hi, Pierre. So I’m going to ignore the”—I coughed—“the elephant in the room and just imagine you with pants on while we’re having this discussion.”

“Melanie, do you not like? I am panting less for you, no? My note, uh, it was an invite for sex.”

“Oh. Pierre, I’m terribly sorry, but I thought this was just like a work party, and then I saw the strippers…wait, sorry, prostitutes. Then I see this. I mean, it’s wonderful. Do not let anyone tell you different, but I think I better go.”

Then it was silence. The very awkward stares raged on. Then I finally spoke, “I’m going to go out for a cigarette.”

I might have shouldered my well-equipped boss on the way out, and I continued toward the door. As I grabbed the handle, the door swung open, and another surprise awaited me. Standing directly outside Pierre’s entry was a leather-clad dominatrix and a very scary-looking Siberian tiger on a chain. This could not get any weirder. Seriously.

“Bonsoir, Je crois que—”

“I’m terribly sorry, but English?”

“Ah, Americain. I’m here for the party, darling.”

“I figured. It’s not my party, so I’m just going to let you in.”

“I would sincerely hope so, darling. Too bad you’re leaving. You look like you taste good.”

My face scrounged, and I darted for the elevator. The tiger growled, but the dom didn’t let it growl again. The trick? A leather whip to master its startling movement.

As I waited for the elevator, I tapped, and my mind raced. What was I experiencing?

I really needed that cigarette.

The elevator dinged, and I hopped in. Seconds passed. Well, I didn’t really know how long, but that was what it felt like. Dropping in seconds. The elevator. Whoa. As I reached the ground floor, I moved toward the door and prayed another tiger would not appear behind it.

Oh, thank God there wasn’t. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I struggled to find the pack of Camel in my purse. My hands shakingly grabbed them, and I flicked my lighter so fast that the black putrid and oh-so-delicious smoke ignited and plastered itself into my lungs. Heavenly—the only way to describe it.

As I puffed and inhaled, I started to look around. It was my first Saturday night in Paris, and it was off to a roaring start. Company orgies, prostitutes, masks, leather, and even a tiger. Yes, it was quite the roaring start. Anyways, I was looking at the streets laid before me, and it seemed I had a choice to make. There was a fork on this road, and I could go either left or right. Today felt like a left kind of day, so I took a left. I figured tonight couldn’t get any weirder, so I began walking. The cigarette quickly disintegrated in my shaky hands, and I wished I had brought a jacket. It was now 1:15 a.m. The noise from the streets was still exceptionally busy. As I exited onto the main road, lights bombarded the hazy mists pouring from the sidewalk, and I felt like Marilyn.

Except my dress never flew up. Instead, I just saw the pile of cigarette butts lying in the gutter and tossed my own into it. Might as well make my mark now. So I assumed I was in the Sixth Arrondissement based on the signage from the city markers. The green block read Les Boulevard Saint-Germain. It sounded familiar in my head, so I kept on heading down it. The night was beautiful, and the air felt clean. Cars grazed by, but there wasn’t any honking. Not like New York, at least. The little cafés and stores along the way looked amazing, and the night’s earlier festivities almost began disappearing from my memory. That was until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I quickly turned around, and there she was. Sonja had followed me out of the party. She must have seen my incident with Pierre.

“Hi. You ran off without saying goodbye. I hope you are all right.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, I didn’t feel so good. I think I needed the night air.”

“What are you doing right now? I know a place. We can go there.”

“Are…are you asking me to go to your place?”

“Oh, non. Jusque un café, ma chérie.”

I was so relieved. A proper date.

“Un café, that’s coffee, right?”

“Oui, my little one. Come follow me.”

She grabbed my hand, and we began walking down the street. It was warm. She was…she was almost everything I imagined Paris to be. She was glowing, smart, sexy, and just everything and every emotion at once. Sonja…

We halted and turned left down to a red-lighted sign. It read Café. She squeezed my hand, and she looked at me. She asked me to wait for a couple of minutes while she ran in to see if it was okay for the two of us to drink coffee outside. I let her hand go, and the thought to have another cigarette appeared in my head.

I lit up, and I waited. A minute passed, and there was Sonja, right on time. She had two cafés in her hand, and she sat down at the cute, little table under the red neon. I sucked like hell and threw whatever wasn’t used to the street. I took a seat next to her, and she grabbed my hand again.

“Melanie, I know we just met, but may I kiss you?”

I blushed. I leaned in. It happened. Wow.

“That…”

“My place?”

I replied with the only French I really knew, “Oui.”

She dropped two euros on the table, gripped my hand tight, and pulled me up. Sonja told me her flat was only a block away, and we hurried there. We stopped to kiss a few more times in between. I couldn’t help myself. It was this attraction. We reached her building’s doorstep, and she was giggling. I reached into my purse to pull that old crumpling bag of cigarettes one more time for the night, and Sonja grabbed my hand.

“Upstairs. You can wait. I’ll let you have one of mine after.”

“After what?”

“After I go down on you.”

I pressed my hand against the door to open it as fast as possible. Sonja pressed the button on the dial as we were pressing against each other’s face with our tongues. That familiar ding struck, and we practically stumbled into the metal cage. The second ding struck, and we stumbled out one more time. She rummaged through her purse without taking her eyes off me, and she found the keys to her place. She inserted them, and she looked at me while doing so. Her tongue was moving in a manner that was so provocative that I’m hesitant to describe it here.

The door opened, and I saw her fling her bag onto the couch. She motioned her fingers for me to come inside, and I did. I stepped inside, and the lights still weren’t on. It was okay. It was always better when they were off anyways.

She reached for my hand one more time, and I grabbed it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move from behind one of her drapes. It quickly approached and struck Sonja’s head without thought. Before I could let out even a squeal, I felt blood rush to my head, and it all went black.

People describe the taste of blood as copper mostly, but tonight, I tasted a hint of tin. Don’t ask me how I know the difference, but I do. That was my lip bleeding by the way. The room was still dark, but I could see glimpses of the horizon drawing out across the closed drapes. My hands were tied behind my back. Everything hurt. My legs were tied up as well. This chair felt old, but… I then felt the skin behind me. I hope it was Sonja. I began thinking, and I tried to wriggle my toes. Okay, that’s good. My senses are reconnecting. I don’t know where the assailants are, or that’s what I assume they are. I hope they won’t torture us. Please just let it be a house robber. Please.

Then I heard it. It was this noise, like tick, titch, tick, titch, tick.

Someone was either approaching or watching. It was just too dark for my eyes to see. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t feel the pounding. It was this fusion of adrenaline and overwhelming fear that was feeding my drive to stay awake. Stay awake. I must stay awake. I think if I can nudge my chair and wriggle Sonja and I loose, then…

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Well, well, well. Melanie Percourt. It’s been too long, sweetie. You never even told me you were running off to Paris. Was New York not good enough for you? Did you even think about me while you were wandering the streets of Paris?”

No, no fucking way. Absolutely, no fucking way. There is no way in Sam Hill this bastard knows I’m here.

“Donny…I don’t know how you got here or found out where I was…but, Donny, I need you to listen to me. You have to let me go. You have to give my friend leave as well, okay? We can take this somewhere else…just not here. Please.”

I smelled those old cigars he would always smoke back in New York. Donny was complicated. He and I were together for some time. I thought we were going to get hitched a few years ago, but things changed. He moved into my line of sight. He looked the same—the same strange scar down his left eye, the same posture that took me off my feet, and those bright baby-blue eyes, the eyes of a scoundrel-to-be.

“Melanie, I don’t think you have much of a say here, darlin’. You see, I have answers to the questions pouring out of your stupid hole from a few seconds ago. You see, I don’t want to be the asshole who never explains how he never found you.”

“Donny, please.”

“Melanie, shut the fuck up! You don’t get to speak.”

I was sweating, and the ties around my feet and legs were steeping in the brewing sweat. I was scared now. Donny, my schizophrenic, drug-abusing, asshole of an ex, was here about to do God knows what to Sonja and me. Then I heard another voice enter the fray.

“Take a step back now, boy.”

There was another voice—dark, deep, creamy. I think the stranger was black. Then I felt touch. It was cold. It felt almost cruel. He made his way around to my line of sight, and he was tall. Not just tall but tall. His accent, I would guess African, but I didn’t want to guess wrong. I think I’m just going to listen now.

“Melanie Percourt graduated Princeton with a master’s in English literature and communications. Lost her mother at ten from a drunk-driving incident. Lost her father at twelve to a suicide. Grew up in Brooklyn Orphanage. Taken in by the Devorahs. Then sent to school abroad—England, finishing school. She graduated and returned to the city that birthed her. Now after four years at your firm, you have achieved this promotion and moved once again. Now it’s Paris. Where to next, little one?”

He knew everything about me, and for some reason, that didn’t seem scary. You could practically decipher all that about me from the Internet. I was more scared of Donny than him right now. This tall man was the only thing holding Donny back.

Okay, let’s see if he would listen.

“Thank you for reading my life story back to me, but will you please let the woman behind me go. If this is a revenge deal or the normal ex-boyfriend jealousy, then she shouldn’t be a victim. I know you’re a good person deep down, and you don’t want to harm this woman.”

He stared soullessly. His eyes were melting into my skull. The visions were… I felt like sleeping suddenly. Did he inject me with something? Suddenly, the edges began filling in, and I was helpless. What did I say? Oh no. Open. Open. Please…

It was pitch-black.

I was alone. This place, it was neither cold nor warm. I couldn’t feel the wind. I couldn’t feel…

“To think that you’re alone in here is very unwise, little one.”

“Mister, please, I didn’t do anything wrong. I just left, okay? I left New York because I was tired. I was stressed. I was only there because of him, and I felt like I had to be with him. He was…Donny was broken. I felt like I had to fix him. No one else could. So I put up with it. I put up with the nights he didn’t remember hitting me or the nights he raped me, and I lay there because deep down, I just wanted to make him feel better. I…I had to leave. I had to just start somewhere no one knew me. Tonight, I thought I was back into the thing I thought I had escaped. I guess that was the panic attack talking. Then I met this girl, and she was everything that Donny was when it all started. Started so long ago now it seems…”

The entire time I was pleading to this soulless…this man, he approached without a sound. His hands held behind his back with strength and reserve. And then he had finally reached me just floating in this pool of…nowhere. He had contacted me in nowhere, and he looked. As I pleaded and poured my soul unto him, he just stared. In his hand, he held a pendant. There was a decorated skull with a long silver chain. He moved it up to his lip, and he spoke, “Melanie, wake up.”

Then I was back. I could see the lights pouring in from the curtains. I was lying in a bed; I was no longer tied up. I glanced around, and the room appeared…it appeared to look as it should be if Sonja and I…

Sonja, where was Sonja?

“Sonja!”

Suddenly, next to me, a rustling appeared, and I prepared for the worst.

“Yes, what is…whoa. Vous-êtes bien, Mélanie?”

Oh my god, what was that?

“Sonja! Oh, I’m sorry. Umm, do you remember much from last night?”

“Oui, mi amor.”

“Oh…” I was utterly confused. “What do you remember exactly?”

So she began explaining, and everything appeared perfect. Perfect, as in once we got back to her place, we made love all night and woke up with a bit of a hangover. No assailants, no questioning, just nothing. What was wrong with me?

We took it slow. She mounted me. She looked compassionately down at me, and she began to touch. I…

“Melanie, are you sure?”

Yes, I needed this. I needed this release. It was the stress. It’d been building since I left New York. That was just a dream. There was nothing to be worried about. So I pulled her waist to mine, and the morning went by. It was Sunday. We didn’t need to do anything but lie here.

It was 5:00 p.m. We were still in bed. Sonja made coffee and ran to the boulangerie and brought us some great food. I was still shaking up from last night’s dreams. What did I experience? I mean, it was so real.

Sonja entered back into her bedroom, and she told me that she had work in an hour.

“It’s okay, Sonja. I’ll be fine. Can…can I see you later?”

“Oui, ma cher. I would love to see you tonight. I’m off at midnight.”

“Okay, I’ll shoot you my address.”

“Parfait.”

Sonja jumped onto the bed and kissed me goodbye. That was my queue to go scavenge whatever was left of my Sunday evening. I gathered my stuff, and it smelled like her. No blood either. Whew. I blew Sonja a kiss goodbye, and I left.

Out on the street, I reached into my bag to grab those old Camels, and I felt something that shouldn’t be in my pocket. I pulled it out, and there it was…another note. Listed was an address. Nothing else. How did this get in here? Did Sonja put it here? Well, I could look up the address on my phone, so that was what I did. Apparently, it was a building near Les Champs-Élysées. Hell, I had a few hours before Sonja came over, and she’d already seen me at my worst, so I might as well explore this note.

I was on the metro, but I didn’t remember walking down into the subway. There was music playing in my ears, but I didn’t have earbuds in. Also, I was the only one in the metro.

“Hello?”

No response, just this music and the train tracks.

Am I going insane?

The metro reached my stop, and I exited. No one, absolutely no one, was in the metro. Is there some national holiday or something? Okay, let me just get to this address and see what the hell is going on. As I walked out of the underground, I noticed everyone was wearing the same type of mask from my boss’s party last night. Was there a carnival in Paris? As I began walking, the map on my telephone alerted me to go five hundred feet northbound, and I should reach my destination. I made a 180-degree turn, and I saw the building number. I walked toward it, and in the doorway, there was a man.

“Hello, Melanie. I hope you found my note. Tell me, did you experience strange occurring last night?”

I didn’t want to answer. I just wanted to turn around before another nightmare unleashed itself unto me. But I couldn’t turn around; I was compelled to listen.

“Melanie, my name is Mr. Jacket. I am an acquaintance of your ex-boyfriend, Donny Blaze. He wanted to see where you ran off to. Now, Ms. Percourt, I normally do not take cases like yours, but…”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘cases’?”

“Yes, my dear. Please allow me to explain.”

He clicked his fingers. Again, the world faded along the edges, forming into cascading black waves. I was in nowhere again. This time, I sat at a table. There was a chessboard on the table, and the figurines were designed to look like people in my life. I wanted to scream, but I was compelled not to. Then I heard his voice once again.

“You have been marked, my dear. I am here to collect. You escaped. Plain and simple. You escaped when you shouldn’t have. You thought you could leave your old life behind, but you must have forgotten about the night you originally met me? I assume that’s why the days have been so foggy since I have returned to collect.”

I couldn’t speak. My mouth opened, but my voice sent no sound forward. The thoughts in my head were nil. I was listening, but I didn’t want to hear.

“Would you care for me to refresh your memory?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Very well then.”

This felt like a dream, but I knew it was a memory, and I was living it again. Donny and I were in Grand Central Park. He was holding my hand, and I was bundled up from the cold. He was the opposite; his hand was running solely with heat. It was sweltering, but I wouldn’t let go. He was all I have. As the freezing chill blasted against our faces, I remember us sitting down on a bench overlooking the little lake. The water was frozen over, and birds were playing on the twigs that were frozen facing upward. My hand was still touching Donny’s, and I could see him reaching into his pocket. This was the moment. He was pulling out one of his needles and that cursed little bag out from his jacket pocket. He’s going to shoot up. I decided that I needed to tell him to stop. I moved my other hand over the bag and needle and told him, “Another time, hon. Not here, please.” He nodded. He put the bag back into his jacket, and we got up. Time then froze. I was back at the lake. Donny’s gone, and I was alone.

Mr. Jacket appeared on the icy lake. He was just standing there…soullessly.

“I’m giving you a choice, Melanie. This was the moment. Memory moves in many absurd ways. In one, you never halted Donny from shooting up. He coerced you into taking some just to please him, and you stuck the needle through. Unfortunately, the dose Donny picked up earlier had been laced with rat poison. You two were strung and broken, your life dwindling on edge in Grand Central among the frozen and forgotten things. This memory you just experienced, this is how you wished it would’ve happened. Donny died that day. That was no mistake. He overdosed right next to you. A bad batch. The wrong tincture. You left yourself there in the city, and you haven’t looked back since. You left yourself in the cold, despite you waking. Isn’t that why you left in such a hurry? You felt as if you outran something you weren’t supposed to. The promotion at random? Pack up and go? Tsk, tsk, tsk. My poor girl, you truly don’t remember.”

I was helpless. This memory had turned into a nightmare, and it was slowly coming back to me. Wait, the stranger said he was giving me a choice. Thoughts began returning into my psyche, and I could speak again.

“You said there’s a choice… What is it?”

He stood there, and he formed a menacing grin. His body was gliding closer and closer to me as I stood, knowing I couldn’t escape this. He was now in front of me, looking down, and he lifted his finger to his lips.

“Wake up, Melanie.”

The edges began coming back, and color flooded in. I was back in Paris. I was in my flat. I was sitting with a cup of coffee. The bowl, it was chilling to the touch. How did I get here? Then I heard that all-too-familiar sound.

Tick, titch, tick, titch.

He came from the kitchen corner, and Sonja was in front of him. I spotted a sharp object steered toward her back.

“This is the choice, Melanie. I’m collecting on a debt owed today. It’s going to be your life or hers. She will never remember any of this if you choose yourself. If not, then she dies, alone and cold with a needle in her arm, just like Donny.”

“I don’t understand… Why are you doing this to me? I never did anything wrong.”

“No, no, no. Melanie. Can’t you see? You did. You left. You left yourself on the bench. You left everything behind because you thought you could escape. There is no escape for you, dear. The past has come to collect. Think, why have I shown you all these things? Just think for one clear moment…”

A wave of memories came flooding back into my mind, and now I saw what I did. That day on the bench, I never told Donny to put the bag away. He and I both shot up on that bench. He died, and I survived. I should’ve never survived. So the reaper was here to collect. Now I know. I guess I lived past my time. I looked to the soulless man, and I understood. It’d all been a dream, except I lived it as a death wish. I was never in Paris; I was merely a ghost roaming long streets. I was never here because I was still in New York. I died on the park bench in New York. Now I’m in hell. A prolonged stay. Now I’m given an ultimatum.

“Take me. I know I’ve done wrong. I left selfishly. Let Sonja go, and you can have me.”

They stood there. Less pressure was applied on the knife to Sonja’s back.

“What’s the difference between a dream and a nightmare, Melanie?” the soulless man asked.

“I…I’m not sure. I think a dream is how you wish the world to be, and a nightmare is how the world really is. Heh. So this is—”

“No, it’s not that or the other. Melanie, look at me. Say goodbye to Sonja. Then you and I are going to go for a walk.”

“Okay.”

I walked up to them as he let the blade go from his hand. Sonja unfroze from his grip and rushed to me. No words needed to be spoken, and I kissed her with what was left of me. She gave me the same look she did at the party last night. I hope I’d always remember that.

“Good night, Sonja.”

I followed Mr. Jacket out through the door, and it was white. I didn’t know what was beyond, but I’d always remember the extra time I had here.

“Good night, world.”

Fin