Scottie did not have one injury on his body except for the scar he got when he was eight from making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a butcher knife. All of the butter knives were dirty, and he didn't think of using a spoon. Plus, he took pride in being a very safe kid.

That scar needed nine stitches. The doctors didn't give Scottie any last night. Wouldn't have made a difference.

Scottie huffed in and out, supporting himself on his knees. As he did, the scar was visible on his left arm in front of Espy. What wasn't visible was the giant piece of coke bottle sticking out of his temple.

"Fuck you," whispered Espy. Scottie furrowed his brows.

"What?" he asked breathlessly, straightening his posture.

"This is not fair," she said with tears filling up in her eyes.

"Espy-"

"You're not real," she said, looking into his eyes and blinking away to keep her vision clear.

Scottie took a step closer, and with that, Espy took a step back. A flash of hurt crossed his face. "I am real-"

"I saw you die. You're dead. And I'm tired and my brain wants to pretend like you're still here. But you're not." Espy closed the door, but a shoe in front of the edge stopped it from blocking off from the outside completely.

Espy stared at his foot. It was wedged between the two pieces of wood, the two real pieces of wood. Espy edged her fingertips towards the end of the door. She felt the rough texture of dried paint on her skin. She pushed on the surface, but felt the way blocked. Scottie winced.

Her eyes locked with his. She took hold of the door and opened it to the point where it stayed on its own. She took slow steps toward Scottie, and with each step, his pained smile grew.

The two were close enough to where Espy's fingers would touch Scottie's with just the slightest movement. She raised her hand, and grazed Scottie's shoulder, then his cheek.

His touch was the same that she had felt the day before. The same that she had tried to hold onto. It was warm. Comforting.

Real.

Espy pulled Scottie in and wrapped her arms around him. He squeezed her as if she was about to sink to the ground beneath his feet, and she grabbed him as if this were the last time they would ever see each other. Espy let her tears fall, and Scottie welcomed his. The two pulled apart, and pressed their lips together. Once. Then twice. Then so many times that they couldn't keep track anymore.

Espy let go of Scottie's face and grabbed his hands. "I... how... how are you-"

"Alive? I have no idea," replied Scottie, trying to catch his breath.

"The glass, it went through... through... you couldn't have survived that?"

Scottie shook his head. "I don't think I did."

Espy stopped. "What?"

"I think I did die."

~~~

The two entered Espy's living room and took a seat on her couch. Espy gave Scottie a spare blanket and a glass of water, and Scottie slowly sipped around the ice that fell on his lips when he tipped the cup. The only sound that came out of his mouth were the clearings of his throat after drinking.

"So..." Espy started. She sat down next to Scottie on the couch. "What do you remember?"

Scottie shrugged. "Well, I remember when it happened. Actually, I remember everything before that too. But the cuts... they felt real. I felt the pain. I felt it stab me in my skin. And I remember seeing you. I didn't hear much. But I saw you screaming. I don't know what you were screaming at, though. And I remember him, just staring at me."

Espy furrowed her brow. "Who?"

"The kid. He was holding a coke bottle and just watching me. I think he was scared."

Espy scooted closer to Scottie. "He was hitting you, Scottie."

Scottie turned his head to face Espy's. "What?"

"The kid in the suit was hitting you. He hit your arm with the coke bottle and it smashed. And he got chunks of glass and kept going. He wasn't watching. I was screaming at him."

Scottie shook his head, running through the events of the previous night in his brain. He saw him, he was looking. He didn't see anyone come near him. Sure, it could've been him, Scottie wasn't exactly in a sane mind at that moment, but he could've sworn that he was a witness. "But..."

"Scottie..." Espy put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You went through hell. If I was in your place, I doubt I would've been able to remember anything. There were other witnesses. We'll figure this out." She grabbed his hand. "But for now, I'm just glad you're here."

Scottie stroked Espy's thumb with his finger. "Can I... stay here until school?"

"You're really going to school?"

"I need to talk to people. About what they saw or what they heard."

Espy wrapped her arm around Scottie. "You can stay here as long as you need to." Scottie fell into Espy, his head resting on her chest. His breathing started to break apart, and tears streamed down from his eyes. He grabbed Espy around the waist and held onto her. Espy did everything she could to not start crying as well.

***

Julian had never had such a bad dream in his life. Usually his nightmares consisted of spiders crawling all over his face, or suddenly being found at the top of the tallest cell tower in the world with no way out, or having the entire school in one room staring at him.

The last scenario was partly the same as his recent dream, but usually in those dreams, they weren't staring at him because he just murdered someone.

Julian woke up from his bed soaked in sweat. His head darted to his hands. No trace of blood was found on them. The feeling of rough, thick fabric was replaced by the soft silk bathrobe he was wearing. The sound of his Clair de Lune alarm filled his ears.

Julian stood up and checked himself in the mirror. He had definitely looked better. His silk bathrobe fell off of his shoulders, and his brown hair stuck up on its own. This happened whenever he had nightmares, and that was the worst part about them. His hair was impossible to fix to the state of perfection it was the day prior. No amount of gel and cream could bring back its natural shape.

He groaned. He grabbed his tooth brush and raised it to his teeth. He felt a sudden prick against his gum. Julian dropped his toothbrush onto the ground. He raised his eyes back to the mirror. His gum was bleeding just above his top two teeth. The blood filled the bone until it was no longer white, but resembled a rotting root.

The blood.

Blood.

Julian shook his head furiously and grabbed a cup of water. He poured it into his mouth and spit it back out. The red tinted liquid swirled down into the drain.

Julian had to hold onto the countertop to keep from falling. He stared at the bit of blood water that refused to go down the drain. His mind went back to when the boy had started bleeding. It started out small, then grew into a waterfall from his forehead.

He had to hold his mouth to stop from being sick. Julian cleared his throat forcibly, slamming his fists against the counter.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. He didn't kill anyone. Nobody died.

It was a dream.

Julian's conclusion was confirmed when he went to school and got not as much as a stray eye towards him. No matter how real it felt, no matter how much he felt in his heart that he had been there and the boy had really... been hurt, it didn't happen. It truly was just a nightmare.

And at least one good thing came out of that dream. If his subconscious was somehow correct, he knew who had been tormenting him for the past few weeks. He didn't know his name, but he sure as hell couldn't forget his face.

Julian opened one of his lockers and grabbed the math books that he had left in there. He felt no shove against his back. He smiled proudly, and shut his locker.

As per usual, the warning bell rang and barely anybody was seated in class, including their teacher. Julian made his way to his desk and sat down, opening their textbook to the section on Polynomial Division for their review that day.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Julian flipped around in his seat to see Estella standing 6 feet away from him. She looked as if she had just seen an animal get slaughtered right in front of her.

"Excuse me?" Julian replied in an offended tone.

"Did they let you go?" asked Estella, still in shock.

"Who?"

"How the fuck do you have the balls to come to school after what you did? You killed him, for Christ's sake! And you came to school?"

She was practically screaming at him. Julian had never seen her lose her cool like this. Everyone, including those coming into class late, had their eyes glued on the two.

Julian's heart stopped. He got up off of his seat. "Don't you come close to me!" Estella yelled. She took her bookbag off of her shoulders and held it in front of her.

"Who did he kill?" a frightened boy asked from near Julian.

"Prescott Greenway! At the theater! It was on the news!"

The same boy furrowed his brows at her. "Scottie's here today."

Estella lowered her book bag at those words. "What?"

"I saw him in the courtyard. He looks fine."

Miss Palmer stormed into the classroom. "Why could I hear voices all the way from the bathroom?"

Estella continued to stare at the boy. Her eyes flashed with disbelief, confusion, and even fear. "Miss Lancaster, take a seat, please."

After a moment's hesitation, Estella slowly joined Julian at the table. The two didn't make contact. Estella edged slightly closer to Julian.

"I know what I saw," she whispered. "I am not crazy."

"You sound pretty crazy to me." Estella forcefully pulled a binder out of her backpack and set it on his table. Julian continued to flip, trying to hide the dread that was circling around in his stomach.

***

Des bounced his leg faster than he could blink. The diner smelled of deep fry oil and recycled air, and despite the chattering groups around him, the only sound that Des was focused on was the radio in front of him. He wasn't sure why that diner decided not to play music, but no matter the reason, Des was grateful.

His car had a radio, and the hour and a half drive that led up to the pit stop at the diner was full of listening and waiting. Waiting for the story to be delivered on the news.

In the corner of his eye, Des saw a woman walking towards him. He flipped his head towards her. She looked like a zombie that got maybe twenty minutes of sleep. "Do you want something?" the waitress asked with about as much enthusiasm in her voice as the salt shaker across from where Des was sitting. Her pale fingertips wrapped around the blue pen that looked like it was in its last life. Grip it too hard and it would snap in two.

"Coffee," answered Des. He forced himself to make eye contact with the lady, while also listening to the words that the radio continued to speak. They were currently on the topic of what the top movies of the week were. Scream 2 was number one, then some movies called Flubber, For Richer or Poorer, and a third Home Alone movie.

The waitress' ocean eyes narrowed in exhaustion. "What kind?" she said, more like a statement than a question.

"Whatever you have." He wanted his conversation to be over as soon as possible.

"We have a lot."

"Black coffee. Hot coffee," he replied quickly.

"Now that wasn't too hard."

She turned around, and Des let out his breath. He turned his radio up. It was on an ad break. Des was close to chucking the damn thing out of the window beside him.

Des' phone vibrated beside him. He had gotten countless calls, some from his parents, others from his friends. He had ignored them all.

The phone vibrated again.

And again.

It went on for a good five minutes before Des gave in and checked the number. He dropped his phone on his table.

That wasn't possible. He... that number couldn't be calling him. It had to be someone else. Testing him. And if he didn't answer, he would fail.

Des slowly reached for the phone, but right before he could accept the call, the screen went blank. It was too late. The call had ended. Des had failed the test.

Another buzz, and this time, Des' finger raced for the accept button.

Hey.

Des felt every muscle in his body go still. The voice was soft, but easily recognizable.

You okay? You weren't in first period, so-

Des immediately ended the call. He threw his phone down onto the table and felt his fingers shake as they interlocked. The news drowned in his ears from the amount of thoughts that just poured into his brain. He smelled the coffee being set beside him but kept his eyes and hands locked.

Either he was going crazy, or that entire situation was even crazier than he had thought.