The house was too quiet. You’d been calling his name for ten minutes, checking every room twice.

The bathroom mirror was shattered, hallway rug kicked sideways and folded on itself.

You turned the corner and found him crouched by the front door. His fingers trembling on the barrel of the rifle and it made you freeze in your spot. His eyes locked onto you like a scope finally snapping into place — this wasn’t your Simon.

His face twitched, a flicker of confusion and then fury. “They got to you,” he hissed out. “You’re not real!”

You hardly had time before the butt of the rifle cracked against your temple and the world lurched sideways. You hit the floor hard, vision going black.

When you came back to, the house was empty and the front door hung open wide. Your head was throbbing and the taste of metal swam in your mouth. It took you a second to regain yourself before you grabbed your keys and started driving. The roads were empty, dark, every tree feeling like it was closing in on you.

With the window rolled down you called out his name again, night air knifing across your face. No answer. Just the buzz of insects, the rustling of night time animals and then—

BANG.

Sharp. Echoing. Somewhere to the left, into the woods. A flock of birds exploding out of the trees and scattering like debris. You hit the brakes, gravel kicking up beneath the tires.

You scrambled out of the car and he emerged from the woods like a ghost. He was staggering, shirt soaked in crimson; and his face was slack with shock.

He looked down at himself like he wasn’t quite sure how the blood got there, gun dangling from his hand; still warm.

“I’ve been shot—“ his knees buckled, hand pressing into the meat of his side; liquid seeping through his fingers. Bright, red and real this time.

“I’ve been shot! Medic! I need a medic!” He choked out, fingertips digging into the flesh as he gasped out for air.