Page 28 of At the Mercy of Midnight
The mattress screeched as she lay down, though was surprised by its comfort. It took only moments for her mind to descend into slumber.
Amelia stood in a place that should not exist.
The air was thick, pressing against her skin like unseen hands, cold and weightless. A vast expanse stretched out, neither sky nor ground, only an endless sea of swirling darkness threaded with veins of eerie, purple light. The world shifted as if breathing, the shadows writhing and curling around her feet like a dense mist.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled in a low, resonant sound that set her bones aching.
Amelia stepped forwards, the ground shimmering beneath her boots. The light pulsed in response to her movement, dimming, then surging back to life. Every step felt unsteady, like the ground was made up by something shifting constantly, a live organism beneath her feet.
Then, she heard it.
A whisper, barely audible, curling around her like a serpent.
Amelia.
She turned sharply but found nothing. Just shifting darkness and that endless, pulsing glow.
The whispers grew, a chorus of voices. Some familiar, some foreign, all tangling together in a chilling melody. They slithered through the air, words dissolving before she could comprehend them.
One voice stood out starkly.
Amelia.
Her heart clenched. She knew that voice.
“Silas?” Her voice was swallowed by darkness, but the whisper returned, closer this time.
Find me. Help me.
A gust of wind rushed past her, and the shadows moved. They surged upwards, twisting into shapes. Figures, almost human, but stretched and hollow. Eyes like fractured glass glowed within faceless forms, and they each turned towards her.
She stumbled back.
The whispers surrounding her sharpened into a relentless hissing noise, and her heart thundered.
The shadows lunged for her.
Amelia gasped herself awake, the remnants of the dream clinging to her skin like ice. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, the whisper of his voice lingering in her ears.
Disoriented, she sat, looking around her dimly lit room.
A dream.
One that had felt unnaturally real, the deep voice belonging to Silas had been like a call for help. Not just calling.Begging. The echoes of it sent a shiver down her spine, skin feeling cold. Amelia checked her watch. It was just past eleven, the seconds ticking towards an approaching midnight. She sighed and shifted to the edge of her bed, laying her hands across her knees.
The panic lingered, heart still beating too hard. She had the urge to check on him, to be sure that Silas was unharmed, strange as it was. Amelia turned her hand over and stared down at the cut on her palm.
“What are you doing to me?” she asked accusingly.
Unable to shake the feeling, she stood and shrugged on a jacket before stepping out into the dark hallway.
Amelia didn’t bother to knock as she reached for the door handle. It creaked violently on its hinges as she pushed it open,stepping inside with the urgency of someone about to deliver world-altering news.
“Finley—”
Amelia froze.
Silas stood in the middle of his room, shirt halfway over his head, muscles flexing as he yanked the fabric free. His bare chest, marked with faint scars and a dark, sprawling tattoo across his left side, captured her attention. The lamp on the nightstand cast a golden glow across his skin, shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his abdomen.
