252-555-1845:
Hi Andy it’s Kelle V. I hope you don’t mind I got your number from TJ Holland
His heart pounded in his chest. He’d been tempted to ask Kelle for her number at the end of the study session but chickened out. TJ was one of his best friends, but Andy had never told anyone about his crush on Kelle. His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the phone and began to type, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.
Hi Kelle it’s okay what’s up?
Hopefully that didn’t sound too excited or desperate. Yeah, he was overthinking this.
252-555-1845:
A few of us are going out after schl tmrrw Rocco’s Pizza wanna come with?
What? Is she asking me out?
Nah, it was with a group of people. Right? Regardless, he wasn’t giving up the opportunity to hang out with her again and have a conversation that didn’t revolve around AP Chemistry.
Sure sounds like fun.
252-555-1845:
Gr8! CU tmrrw. GL on your exams!
TY U2!
252-555-1845:
Thx
“Yes!” Tomorrow was going to be freaking awesome. He added Kelle to his contacts and put a heart emoji next to her name. Forgetting all about the hacker chat room, he grabbed a pen and pad and tried to figure out some cool things he could say to her tomorrow, jotting down a few that came to mind. Maybe, somehow, he’d find the courage to ask her out.
Gunfire echoed through the warehouse, deafening, each shot ricocheting off concrete and steel. The air was thick with the smell of nitroglycerin, sawdust, and graphite. Every breath was painfully sharp in his lungs as his heart pounded. Brian crouched behind a stack of crates, weapon raised, trying to zero in on where the shooters were hidden.
Then it came.
A bullet tore past his ear with a high-pitched whiz, so close it seared the skin, before slamming into the crate inches from his head. Splinters burst across his cheek.
Whiz. Thud. Whiz. Thud. Each one louder, closer, until his ears rang and the stench of stale sweat mixed with gunpowder overwhelmed him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t shout. His legs refused to work. His finger froze on the trigger.
You’re done.
The whisper came from behind him, low and certain. He spun, his heart lurching as a shot rang out, nearly bursting his eardrums.
But he wasn’t hit.
Oh, God!
Tess stood there, her eyes wide and pleading, hands reaching for him, though she seemed impossibly far away. The dim warehouse light fractured around her, turning her edges hazy, unreal, as if she’d been pulled into the wrong place, the wrong world. Panic etched across her face, her lips forming his name, but no sound came out. Then a bloom of blood spread across her shirt, dark and vivid against the pale fabric, soaking in a jagged pattern, like tendrils that grew longer with every breath she didn’t take.
Brian tried to move toward her, but his boots were anchored to the concrete. When he finally forced a step forward, the distance only stretched, each stride carrying him no closer. Her gaze became barren even though it stayed locked on his. She swayed, the crimson spreading faster, and then she began to fall.
“No!” The cry tore from his throat as he bolted awake, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. The sheets were twisted tight around his legs. His hand groped blindly toward the nightstand for his sidearm, but his fingers hit only his phone and alarm clock. His gun was in the drawer, hidden from view but easily accessible if needed.
He sat there, gasping for air, trying to separate dream from reality. The warehouse was gone. No gunfire. No Tess bleeding out in front of him. Just the steady tick of the ceiling fan and the echo of his ragged breathing. He glanced at the glowing red numbers on the clock.
Two thirty in the morning.
“Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.
