Without a doubt.
“Did you do that?” he bellowed into my face, close enough for spittle to hit my cheek. The rage radiating from him was a living thing.
His hand shook with fury as it clutched a crumpled letter. The paper was yellowed, the words typed unevenly. He shoved it into my face, forcing me back a step.
I looked down at the page.
Dear Police,
Please save us from Michael Winthrop. He is a monster who hurts
I couldn’t finish reading. My vision blurred. My lungs still screamed for air from the real world.
However, somehow, this man terrified me more than the hands strangling me in a basement.
My body trembled uncontrollably.
Just like in my other flashback, his hand flew. The slap cracked against my face, snapping my head to the side.
“DID YOU DO THAT!?” he screamed, his voice raw with rage.
I covered my ears with both hands, my teeth clenched against the sound. Still, I said nothing.
He spun away and stomped toward someone else—someone cowering behind him.
At first, I thought it was Cynthia.
Then he stepped aside, and I saw the child.
A little boy. The same one who’d played hide and seek with me in the garden.
The boy crouched against the wall, his knees tucked to his chest, his hands pressed tightly over his ears. His eyes were squeezed shut. Blood dripped from his mouth. A yellow stain spread across the front of his pants. A puddle of urine pooled beneath him as he shook.
“All right then,” the man growled. “If it wasn’t you, it was your stupid—”
“It was me!” I yelled, the words fighting through the invisible hands at my throat. “It was me!”
Just like in the dream, the man snapped around and lunged.
I spun and tried to run, but my legs tangled.
The floor came up fast. My knees hit first, then my chest, then my arms.
Concrete? No, wood! My brain scrambled for the details, but they slipped away in the haze of panic and noise.
Something clamped around my ankle.
His hands.
His grip dug deep. Hot. Callused.
“No!” I screamed, kicking, twisting. My fingers scraped uselessly across the floor as he dragged me backward.
My heels skidded. I couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t break free.
And then—
It sliced me.
