Please, let me die.
All night it had worsened, but David’s resolve to withstand it had withered with the sunrise. Hours of unexplainable, knee-weakening pain, like a fist punched through his chest, gripped on his heart, tugging. With each labored, excruciating second, the invisible pull crescendoed, sharpening to a diamond point.
Find the mist.
He didn’t understand.
Find the mist.
Why was this happening?
Find the mist.
Whenwould it end?
Find the mist.
Where was the closest gun? He wanted out of this misery. From the cold tiles of his ensuite bathroom, he staggered to his feet. His hands and legs shook, but he managed to gather enough strength to stumble into his study.
His gaze bypassed the overstuffed bookshelves and zeroed in on the small desk.
With a few grunts, he extracted the pistol he kept buried in a drawer beneath tomes on psychology and memoirs of survival, but as soon as the thought of merciful death formed, his hand spasmed. The weapon fell to the floor, same as it had the handful of other times he’d grown this desperate for freedom.
He fell to his knees, digging his fingers into his damp hair.
Why. Why? Why!
How was it possible to live through such pain? His heart was being excised from his body one vicious yank at a time.
With deep breaths and eyes closed, David fought to will the pain away with determination alone, but concentrating only sharpened it, cutting fine-edged incisions into his nerves, tugging, tugging, tugging.
Find the mist.
Two heartbeats passed.
Fuck it.
David leapt to his feet and darted from his bedroom. If the pain wanted to pull, then he’d let it. It could take him wherever it wanted.
He stumbled gracelessly down the ridiculous main staircase. His father had erected his residence in the middle of nowhere, the better to hide himself from prying eyes. His business stayed in the cities—Sacramento, San Francisco—while his home was a fake ranch far outside of civilization.
Bursting through the front door, David ignored the bright morning sunshine and security cameras and ran. The claws inside raked deep, wrenching on his ribs. He tripped in his effort to keep up,flying down the long asphalt driveway at a full sprint. Sweat soaked the collar of his T-shirt.
The pain blunted as he answered the tug.
Find the mist.
The guard at the compound’s exit saw him coming, and David slipped through the iron gates swinging open. Asphalt gave way to grass as he launched into the forest surrounding the estate. His feet snatched up distance and threw it behind him. The forest darkened.
David dared not slow lest the agony return.
Eventually a wall of mist rose, wringing anxiety from his psyche like a sponge, but the adamant pain forbade him to stop. David dove in without caring what existed on the other side. It couldn’t be worse than the pain. Even hell was better than this.
Lungs afire, legs wobbling, mind on the verge of insanity from the sheer amount of torture, he ran.
It could have been seconds or hours before the mist thinned. From one step to the next, the shroud opened, and David fell to his hands and knees on the other side.
The pain evaporated.
