He woke up screaming. Not from pain.
Midnight had already passed. The room lay drowned in darkness, heavy and wrong. His sheets were twisted around his legs, soaked with sweat. His heart slammed against his chest like it was trying to escape.
This wasn't like the other times.
Not fragments.
Not symbols.
Not half-formed fear.
This time, it had been clear.
A human.
A place.
A death waiting to happen.
He couldn't stay in that room. Couldn't sit with the images clawing at his mind. His hands shook as he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his phone. He didn't even lock the door when he ran out.
Every shadow watched him.
Every passing car sounded like a warning.
The police station glowed ahead...bright, harsh, unforgiving.
Good.
He needed something real.
Inside, the lights stabbed his eyes. The smell of disinfectant and metal filled his nose. His words spilled out the moment he reached the desk, tangled and desperate.
"Please...I know this sounds crazy, but someone is going to die. Or maybe already has. I keep seeing things. It started with animals. Cats. Dogs. I thought it was coincidence, I swear I did...but every time I saw it, it happened. And now… now it's a person."
The officer barely looked up.
"Sir—"
"I saw it," he said, his voice cracking. "The place. The way it happens. I know it. Please. You have to listen to me."
Another officer glanced over, unimpressed.
"You're saying you saw a murder?" he asked flatly. "Where?"
He nodded too fast. Hope flickered in his chest.
Silence followed.
Then a short laugh.
"Look," the officer said, sighing, "you're tired. Or high. Or both. We don't chase dreams and feelings. Go home."
"I'm not dreaming," He whispered.
"Don't waste our time," the man snapped. "Come back when you have something real."
Real.
The word crushed him.
He backed away slowly, as if turning too fast might shatter him. Outside, the night swallowed him whole. His legs gave out and he leaned against the cold wall, gasping for air.
No one believed him.
No one would help.
And somewhere out there, something terrible was waiting...and he was the only one who could see it.
That was when something broke.
By dawn, his choice was made.
He packed light.
No notes.
No goodbyes.
He vanished.
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.
I had watched carefully. Waited for fear to turn into action. Waited for blood.
It never came.
No sirens.
No body.
No proof.
Confusion crept in first.
Then irritation.
Then panic.
I went to his place.
Empty.
Drawers half-open. Bed untouched. The air felt wrong...like a story that had ended too early.
He was gone.
The realization cut deep.
He ran.
After everything I gave him.
After everything I showed him.
My hands trembled. Rage tore through me, sharp and wild.
How could he leave?
How could he leave me?
I searched. Streets. Records. Traces.
Nothing.
It was like he erased himself.
Eventually, the anger burned itself empty.
I told myself I was finished.
I let him go.
I focused on my life.
I took the job I had earned long ago...work that demanded precision, silence, and comfort with things most people refused to look at. Government duty. Clean files. Gloves. Reports. Truth reduced to numbers and diagrams.
I became useful...Respected...Invisible.
Time passed.
I even made a friend.
My friend was steady. Grounded. Annoyingly moral. Being around him felt… human. For the first time, I understood why people sought connection.
I thought maybe this was enough.
Maybe obsession could die.
Then, on a routine field assignment, the crowd shifted...
And I saw him.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
The world snapped into focus so sharply it hurt.
Everything came back at once.
The hunger.
The rage.
The certainty.
He hadn't escaped me.
He had only delayed the inevitable.
And now...Now I knew exactly what came next.