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The murmur of the heart monitor drew Aaron from a heavy sleep, and for a moment he had forgotten where he was, finding unfamiliar walls and shadows made by bright lights coming through large windows.
“Chase?” he whispered into the dark, remembering just as quickly that his boyfriend had been sent away for the night.
Tammy and I will be in the car, right out there. I’ll make sure I can see your window.
He rolled his head sluggishly towards the glass and looked out into the night sky. He looked at those street lights as tall as trees and the floor he was on was quiet.
His mind started to replay the last nine years, everything that had led to this moment—with him broken and bandaged and confined to a bed. The death of Bailey. The murder of Andy. His own brush with death. It all played out on a loop.
He hated thoughts of blood and bone—the flashes of death and horror, and the memory of being so close to it; being so close to something he thought was more ghost story than slasher, and finding out it was so much more tangible than he had ever first conceived.
The years he spent punishing himself and the times when in those moments all he knew was the comfort of sharp objects. It meant nothing. It helped nothing.
Cutting himself; desperate to release a pain that was buried so deep within, that he had been certain that Bailey was somehow living beneath the surface. It had all been useless. Bailey Nguyen had never been one with him. There had been no transference from Bailey to him. It had just been the guilt and his insufferable need to carry the responsibility for everything and everyone else.
Bailey was dead and gone. He was buried deep within the earth, nearly two hours south from where he now lived. Bailey was not his truth; he was not an extension of him. It had been nine years and he needed to start letting it go.
He had held onto Bailey Nguyen for so long. He had clung tight to his corpse like one would drag a dead horse. He had carried that devil on his back for nearly a decade. Whoever killed Andy, whoever it was that had almost killed him, it wasn’t Bailey Nguyen risen from the grave. He knew Bailey—this stranger—knew him, looked a lot like him, and his voice was eerily similar; but it wasn’t him.
His lids fluttered in the darkened room, as Aaron continued to try to shake the effects of the morphine. He looked up and saw that the bag looked more like a deflated pouch of Capri Sun, his veins having sucked up all of that fluid and pain killer.
Something flat and hard was poking his left thigh. It took him a moment to find it and pull it out from beneath the white covers.
Chase’s cellphone.
He remembered that Chase had slipped it to him when they had said goodbye—though now he could not place how long ago that was or how many hours had passed.
A horrid dread crept inside as he looked around the room. It wasn’t over. Whoever his stalker was he was still out there—plotting—waiting—hoping to catch him at his most vulnerable.
Exactly like he was at that very moment.
As if planned, as if perfectly timed, all of the lights in the hall shut down, followed by the heart monitor. A few seconds later, dim blue lights switched on and the monitor lit again, continuing with its beeping as if nothing had happened.
“Hello?” Aaron called out into the dark, listening to it, trying to discern any other sounds than the beeping beside him. Aaron felt for the numerous patches and wires on his chest and stomach, snapping them off and reaching for the I.V.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a thick door opening and skirting shut, somewhere close to his room.
“Shit!”
Though it could have been an orderly coming to check on the patients, his gut told him otherwise. It was Death. He could feel it just as he had known the previous afternoon that if he went out by himself he would run into the bastard who took Andy’s life.
He ripped the needle from his arm and a thin stream of blood seeped out from the puncture, creating a thin red line down his arm. He sat up and rushed out of the bed, holding tight to the phone and tip-toeing cautiously across the tiled floor in gray hospital socks which were padded on the soles.
The blood ran down the palm of his hand and dripped from his middle and index finger and dotted the floor beneath his feet.
Aaron threw the door to his room wide open, and as far as he could tell, either everyone was asleep or something else had happened. He began to step out, when the effects of the morphine came back to him and he lost his footing, falling to the floor and feeling the injury to his ankles in vivid strain.
In the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something familiar and imposing, blacker than the shadows and coming towards him. The sweat began to bead down his face, resting on the tip of his nose, and his eyes grew large as he met the thing straight on.
He was like a statue come to life, something carved to be intimidating, and in the shadowed pale blue light, beneath that thick, damp chin-length black hair was the face of a Five n’ Dime phantasm with a morbid, toothy laugh.
The neck and armpits of his hospital gown became dark and damp with sweat, and his body trembled as he watched the shape get closer.
Gotta move. Gotta move. Run. Run. Run!
Aaron began to back away with his hands and feet, feeling something sting and pull on his skin. Finally, he got himself up off the floor, and began to run, limping in pain as all of his weight came down on his ankles.
He had to ignore that now. There was no one around as far as he could tell, and the fourth floor reception desk was all the way around the corner from the stairwell where this guy had just come from.
Aaron turned a sharp corner, and for a moment, a sense of displacement set in, and the hospital seemed to vanish, as if swallowed by the shadows, and what was left was that long ago corridor in the eighth grade hall.
He glanced behind him, and that shape—that phantom killer—pursued him calmly, and it was as if Bailey had survived that day, and everything that Aaron had known was suddenly turned on its head.
He’s dead, he reminded himself. It isn’t Bailey. Bailey is dead.
A collection of elevators greeted him finally, and he smashed his fingers into the ‘up’ button.
“Attention, Saint Joseph’s staff and patients,” an intercom had clicked on and a woman’s voice made its way through the airy dark. “We are experiencing some electrical issues, but don’t be alarmed; we have everything under control and maintenance is attending to the problem. We should have it resolved shortly.
“There is a backup power system in place for situations just like this, and all equipment and elevators should be working just fine. If you are experiencing any issues with your machines, please call your floor’s front desk immediately.”
The sleek metal door slid open and Aaron raced inside, his finger punching the button for the floor above him.
As the door began to close Aaron glimpsed the stranger—his stalker and Andy’s killer—turn the corner and stop, watching as the door shut between them and Aaron began to cry with relief as the elevator began to travel to the next floor.
The light blinked and the elevator stopped, pulling open and revealing another, dark quiet hallway. He didn’t bother to get out. He knew from every movie he had ever seen that this guy already saw which floor he was going to and was probably making his way up there right now via the stairs to finish the job.
“Fuck that!”
Aaron slammed his finger into the button marked with the number ‘one’ and the elevator closed just as he heard the sound of the stairwell door opening and clicking shut.
He didn’t get far. The elevator came to a sudden stop on the fourth floor and the door slid open.
“Attention, patients and staff: maintenance has turned off the elevators until further notice to ensure everyone’s safety.
“Please use the stairs at either end of the halls on your respective floors if you need to move about, but we encourage all of our patients to relax and stay where you are. Someone will be with you shortly,” the same woman suddenly announced.
Aaron ran into his room and shut the door, propping a chair up underneath the metal knob, and clutching tightly to Chase’s phone. The balls of his feet ached from all of the running and he was certain that he had torn some of his stitches, but that didn’t matter now. His wounds could wait.
Aaron grabbed the iPhone and made his way into the bathroom, pressing in the lock, the sound of it clicking into place was the best thing he had heard in the past fifteen minutes.