It was hungry for me.
I ran.
I dashed through the front door and threw myself down the stairs.
Could I outrun the oozing goo? What was its range? At what distance would I be safe?
Turns out, I couldn’t run away fast enough.
The rushing slime chased me down the stairwell. An angry monster, nipping at my heels. It wrapped around me, lassoing my arms, tangling my legs. Mercilessly, it pulled me back up the stairs. It was more powerful this time, even more present. Nearly sentient in its intent.
I pushed, trying to turn a hand corporeal so I could grab on to the stair railing, anything to hold myself in the present.
Nothing.
It was like trying to move a mountain with one finger. I pushed and pushed but nothing budged. Either my body was still spent from the night before, or something about the Chucky-slime blocked me.
The oily sludge sucked me upward. Through floors and the wooden door. I undulated and twisted, trying to break free.
Nothing stopped it. Relentless.
I whooshed into the apartment, scrambling frantically to avoid being sucked down. The scar loomed—a black, malevolent maw.
Shapes roiled inside it.
“HELP!”
Branwell and Dante were already on it. Branwell slapped Chiara, trying to bring her out of her trance.
I was fighting with everything I had. Swimming desperate strokes. Getting sucked inside the rift would be bad. I could sense it in my ghost bones.
My clothes pulled against my body. One boot worked its way free, popping off my left foot and flowing into the open scar. My right boot soon followed.
I couldn’t remove my clothing myself, but for some reason, I was fully physical to the Chucky-slime. It made no sense.
And still I struggled to break free.
My body felt stretched, as if on the edge of a black hole. The event horizon.
“Chiara!” Tennyson yelled.
He lifted his sister’s body, placing her between me and the scar.
I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to tell her I loved her.
I wanted to be the man who could propose to her. Create a life together. Grow old with her.
Instead, I slid through her.
Bones. Flesh. Blood.
Like everything else in my life, slipping away.
Chiara mia, I am so sorry.
I closed my eyes, anticipating the worst.
