It's normal, he told himself.

It was normal for him to have nightmares of his job every night. Ever since he.. killed, Garret Jacob Hobbs---ever since he watched crimson red blood spew from Abigail's throat the very same day, he found himself burdened.

Burdened by the weight of terrifyingly persistent nightmares; forced to relive the memories of each and every crime scene he visited. They all seemed so.. vivid. So, so.. real. He wasn't a killer---he wasn't a monster. It wasn't his fault those girls died; it wasn't.

Yet, their vengeful spirits seemed to haunt him in his sleep. This.. talent, this ability---it woke something up in him. Something worse than those spirits, something.. sinister. But, he held himself back. Even as the urge grew stronger by the day, he held himself back. He didn't bother asking for help; he didn't need it.

Or, so he told himself.

Now, as Will sat on his bed---small droplets of sweat trickled down the expanse of his back, leaving a nasty stain on his shirt to be dealt with later. He ripped the fabric off of his body, throwing it to the floor in a small fit of frustration. He ran a jittery hand through the tresses o his sweat-slick hair, letting his eyes drift over to his charging phone.

He didn't need help, he'd convinced himself. But, god, he needed you.

With an alarming haste, he grabbed his phone. He rummaged through his contacts, looking---searching for your number. The moment he caught sight of your name, he didn't waste a single second.

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, he pressed the 'call' button, bringing the ringing phone up to his ears. Relief washed over him like a huge tidal wave as your voice rang through his ears - a comforting warmth, wrapping around him like a fuzzy blanket on a cold winter night.

"Will? It's pretty late, are you alright..?" you asked.

"I.. I'm fine," he responded back in kind.

"It's.. it's just.."

"I need you."