11. Another day, Another life

My eyes snap open, and reality crashes down on me like a ton of bricks. I'm on the floor of my apartment, smack in the middle of a painted pentagram. My breath is ragged, my body slick with sweat despite the chill in the air.

Did I just… have a dream within a dream… within a fucking dream?

I wish I could put into words what I just experienced, but my mind feels foggy, splintered into pieces. I can remember bits and pieces of the dream, but other parts... they're completely gone. Vanished. I've got chills. There's something I should remember but can't.

Why do I keep having these amnesia episodes? They should've stopped by now.

A loud ring echoes through my apartment. The doorbell. My legs tremble as I stumble toward it. Who could it be? What time is it, anyway? The blinds are shut tight, and the lights are on, making it feel like any time of day. No daylight peeks through the edges of the blinds, but maybe it's just cloudy outside.

Fuck.

Part of me wants to ignore it, to hide from whoever's on the other side. But the louder, stronger part of my mind insists I can't hide. Not again.

Keep running, human, and see what happens.That's what the dark voice told me in my dream. I feel like I did run, like I tried to escape more than once, and it only made everything worse. I can't explain it, but... I can't run anymore. Not like this.

I shake my head and reach for the door. Peering through the peephole, I take a deep breath to steady myself before opening it. Camilla stands in the corridor, her eyebrows knitted together.

"Claire, are you okay?" she asks immediately, her eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress. But distress is a sneaky bastard. It takes many shapes and forms, and once you learn to embrace it, you can hide it well. I don't know why she's here or why she's so worried, but hiding is what I do best. I go for it almost naturally.

I am definitely not okay but she doesn't have to know it.

"Oh, hey, Cam," I say, burying the fear deep inside me. My dad always said I'd make a great actress if I wanted to. He didn't realize I just enjoyed pretending to be someone else. I never liked myself. "What's up?"

She sucks in a breath, pushes the door open wider, and steps inside without bothering to take her shoes off. She's wearing a beige raincoat, unzipped halfway, and a floral blue scarf thrown haphazardly around her neck. Her hair's a mess, and she's not wearing any lipstick. This is so unlike her. I can't even remember the last time I saw her without lipstick.

"Don't do this to me," she says angrily, pointing a finger at me as she storms past and heads deeper into the apartment. She throws her purse onto the couch and makes her way into the kitchen.

I stand there, unease gnawing at me, watching as she rushes from the kitchen to the bathroom, then into my bedroom. When she runs out of places to check, she marches over, nostrils flared, eyes locked onto mine.

"What happened?" she demands. Her voice, tight and urgent, makes my stomach twist.

"What do you mean?" I ask, panic bubbling inside me. But even though I feel it, I don't show it. I hide it deep.

Camilla isn't fooled for a second. "Don't lie to me, Claire," she snaps. "Spill the beans, or I swear, I'm going to whoop your ass. You scared the hell out of me! I thought someone had broken in! You were talking to someone, asking who they were, then you just panicked and hung up on me."

Wait… what?

I blink, my mind whirring as I struggle to understand what she's talking about. It's the damn memory blank. Something happened that I don't remember.

"When did this happen?" I ask, my throat tight.

Camilla's eyes fill with concern. She watches me for a moment like she's contemplating taking me to the hospital against my will, but then she takes a deep breath and answers my question.

"Like twenty minutes ago. I ran here as fast as I could, girl," she says.

My stomach drops. "Who called who?" I ask, placing my hands on her shoulders, hoping I don't seem completely unhinged.

"I called you!" she nearly shouts, shrugging off my hands. "Please, Claire, stop messing with me. This isn't funny. Tell me what happened. You're seriously scaring me."

I swallow hard, trying to remember what she's talking about.

Come on, Claire, think! You were running away from something, right? But what? The shadows? Crap! Phone, phone, phone…

Oh shit. The memory clicks. I remember the dream where I talked to Cam. That's when the creepy voice started talking instead of her.

Did that actually happen? No… couldn't have. That was just a dream, not real. Or maybe…

Words fail me. There's not much to go on, but I'm sure—at least a part of my dreams were real. Camilla called me. Isn't that enough of a proof that it happened? I talked with her.

Fuck, those things happened.

But if that's true, the last thing I need is for Camilla to find out. I can't pull her into this mess. I need to keep her safe. I might be dangerous for her. What if I hurt her, thinking she's just a shadow? If what I think actually happened, then I must've acted crazy.

So, I put on my best actress mask and force a smile, even though it feels like it's burning my face.

"God," I sigh. "I feel so stupid. I'm sorry it seemed that way. An elevator guy came over to use the bathroom and startled me. You know I don't have visitors often, and I freaked out."

There was something about an elevator guy, right?

Camilla eyes me for a moment, her expression caught between doubt and relief. Her tense shoulders start to relax, though the worry lines on her face don't completely disappear.

"An elevator guy?" she repeats. "Didn't they fix the elevator yesterday? You said there was a power outage and your phone died. Why would they be here again?"

I gulp, trying to keep my smile from faltering.

Whoa, okay. So the elevator guy was here, but it was yesterday? This just proves that what I dreamt actually happened, but now I know it didn't all happen in the same order. My memories must be all mixed up. I can't figure out what really happened and when...!

And a power outage? Is that why my blinds malfunctioned, leaving me alone in the dark? Was there a logical reason for it? So, the flickering light and the elevator guy were on different days, not today like the phone call with Camilla?

How long was I asleep? Was I even really asleep?

Shit, shit, shit. Clare, think!

"Right," I say, dragging out the word to buy myself time to come up with an excuse. "They needed to do a check-up and all."

Cam pauses, eyeing me to see if she buys my story. Somehow, she seems to.

"I see," she says.

I nod, relieved she's accepting my flimsy excuse, though guilt gnaws at me for not telling her the whole truth. "I know, I'm sorry for scaring you. I'll be more careful," I promise, hoping to ease her mind.

She picks up her purse, still glancing around the apartment as if searching for any sign of the chaos I'd described over the phone. She doesn't find any. But as her eyes wander around my flat, so do mine, and I don't like what I see.

There, at the shoe rack, are my black Converse. At the tip of them, where my toes should be, there's a dry, blood-red stain from jam. It triggers something in me, and the memory of running in the store from creepy people with even creepier faces washes over me. That happened in reality as well.

I'm so fucked.

"Well, I sure hope so," Camilla says, making me look at her instead. "But now I need to come up with an excuse for ditching Jackson. Again." She bats her eyelashes. "Don't worry, I won't tell him I ghosted him because my best friend is cuckoo. I'll figure something out. If he's still interested after all this, he's either a serial killer or it's meant to be. Those are my only two options."

I laugh, a short, strained sound, but it seems to satisfy her. Talking about her and Jackson feels like a conversation for another day. Another life, maybe.

I… I need to get back to Echo. I need him to protect me. I can't survive another nightmare. More importantly, I can't risk the shadows slipping out of me into the real world, messing with my mind, making me do things I'm not aware of. This is insane. Not to mention, terrifying.

But I can't just wait to fall asleep. What assurance do I have that the same thing won't happen again? I might be sleeping in my mind, but my body might be moving regardless. I need to make sure my body can't move. Tying myself up? No, that could go wrong in so many ways...

Fuck! What do I do?

As I watch Cam turn to leave, it hits me. There's one option that would ensure I stay motionless in my sleep. It would also knock me out stronger than anything else.

I can't be seriously thinking about this...

But I am. Meds. I need to medicate. I need to break my unbreakable rule and knock myself out. Only then do I have confidence that I won't lose it and hurt people. Or myself.

"Hey, Cam," I begin, biting my lip as she turns to look at me with those piercing eyes of hers. I trail behind her, feeling the weight of the lies I'm about to tell. But it's for the best, I remind myself. "Remember how we were talking about sleeping pills?"

"Yeah?" Her lips purse and her eyebrows knit together. She's suspicious. "What about it?"

"I think I might actually take you up on that offer," I say, trying to sound casual while masking the urgency inside me. I'm desperate, really desperate, but I'm doing my best not to show it. If there was ever a good time to showcase my acting skills, it's now.

Cam's mouth opens as if she's about to say something, then she just closes it, spins around in the hallway to face me directly, and puts her hands on her hips. She gives me a look like she didn't hear me right, but I know she did.

"Who are you and what have you done with Claire McClain?" she jokes, her tone light-hearted, though the worry in her eyes tells a different story. It's hard to meet her gaze and keep lying, but I tell myself it's for the best. For both of us.

"What can I say? Your ritual worked wonders on me. I don't know, I feel like battling my fears or something. That girl who was so scared of taking pills needs to go," I force the words out, tasting the bitterness in them. I wish they were true, but they're just a cover, a painful, ugly lie.

But Camilla buys it. Her eyes widen with surprise and pride flickers across her face as she nods thoughtfully.

"Wow, okay," she breathes out, clearly not expecting that from me. Honestly, neither did I.

Before I met Echo, the best thing I could imagine was to never meet anyone else besides Cam, ever. I didn't want anyone to see how fucked up I am on the inside. Fuck, I still don't. But now here I am, painting myself as some kind of rebranded version of Claire, ready to take on anything that's held me back.

It's pathetic, really, to lie like this, but I panicked, and now it's out there. And it works. Camilla's face lights up. If I weren't in such a mess, I'd hug her and cry because she's such a good friend.

Instead, I clench my fist, digging my nails into my palm to feel something else, and say, "Unless you think I'm overdoing it...? I don't want to dive in too deep, but I think I'm ready, you know? This thing with my mom has weighed on me for so long and…"

Low blow, Claire… Seriously, low fucking blow. Cam's been trying to get me to open up about my mother for ages. She wasn't pushy, just supportive and letting me know she was there if I ever wanted to vent. Now I'm just taking advantage of her kindness.

"No, no, no," she cuts me off. "You should definitely go for it. Normally, I'd be the last person to hand out pills. I'd tell anyone else to see a doctor, but..." She purses her lips. "I agree with you. Do it now that you're ready. Don't wait. And don't go to the doctor. I know how scary this must be for you…"

"I swear I won't chase them with whiskey," I joke, laughing nervously. Her eyes only widen. Fuck.

"Yeah, okay. I can grab some from my place. I'll bring them over tomorrow, okay?"

"Could you bring them tonight?" I press. Her eyes widen even more.

"Tonight?" she repeats, pausing. "Uh, yeah, I can do that. Looks like I'll be pushing Jackson's patience again," she jokes, though you can still sense her worry underneath. She agrees, showing her loyalty as she heads for the door. "I'll be back as quick as I can," she promises, her voice serious even though she's trying to keep it light.

I have to give it to her, she's a golden friend. Two hours later, I'm sitting on my bed, a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. The sun is still hanging in the sky, but I couldn't care less. All that matters is slipping into the dreamscape before that menacing force starts its torment.

I push thoughts of my mother aside, pop the pill, and chase it down with a quick gulp of water. I tell myself I do this for safety, for sanity. But deep down, I know it's mostly out of fear.

After all, I'm just a grown woman, petrified of the dark, seeking an escape.

Well, even if I wanted to stop it now, it's too late. The pill is swallowed, and the clock is ticking.