A shrill scream woke Nick from his dream-like state. Sarah’s sister, Rachel, stood open-mouthed in the doorway. Nick thought she looked like a lunatic, pointing at him in that way, her eyes bulging. He heard his own deep voice, as though from a distance, shushing her, telling her not to disturb Sarah. She continued to yell, and as he stared at her, he slowly reached the conclusion she had jumped to.

“No.” he whispered. He looked back to Sarah, his eyes drinking in every detail of her face. He did not want to leave, but there was no way he could stay.

“I’m sorry, Rachel.” He stood and wiped his face with blood-soaked hands, then, pushing past the hysterical Rachel as he did so, sprinted out of the house and into the night.

He ran for what felt like hours, a dot of chaos through the peaceful streets, all the while excruciatingly aware that every frantic step was another between him and Sarah. Still, he forced himself to run until he reached his destination.

He rang the doorbell of his brother’s house several times and hammered on the door when there was no answer.

“Connor!” he yelled, his voice breaking through sobs. “Connor, please! Open the door!”

“Alright, alright.” A dishevelled looking Connor opened the door. The look of irritation on his face turned quickly to confusion, and then wide-eyed shock.

“Nick? What the hell?”

Nick allowed himself to be half-carried into his brother’s living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa, his head in his hands.

“Sara’s dead.” He choked.

Though his brother did his best to probe him for information for some time, Nick hadn’t much to give him. He told him all he could; how he had somehow ended up holding a gun; how he had found Sarah, cold and lifeless on the floor; and of Rachel’s arrival.
Later, finally alone in his brother’s bathroom, he allowed himself to break down. He watched tears stream down his face in the mirror. He could almost convince himself that Sarah could see him, even if he could not see her. Perhaps it was this belief that caused him to lean over and kiss his own lips with such conviction.

But the mirror was a cold, hard surface to touch.

The End

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