Elle's eyes fluttered open, her vision blurry as the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room came into focus. She blinked rapidly, confusion swirling in her mind as fragments of memories began to surface. The faint hum of the machines around her offered little comfort. Slowly, the events of the past hours unfolded in her mind—the masked figure, the needle, Amadeo collapsing near the door.
Her breath hitched as panic took hold. She pushed herself upright, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs. "Amadeo!" she muttered, her voice trembling. "Where is Amadeo?" A surge of anxiety gripped her as she bit down on her nails, her teeth catching against the jagged edges. Her mind raced, desperately trying to piece together what had happened, but the overwhelming fear drowned out her thoughts.
Suddenly, the sharp ding of her phone interrupted her spiraling panic. The device sat on the bedside table, its screen flashing with a new text message. Elle's hands trembled as she reached for it, her nails leaving faint crescents on her skin. The message was from an unknown number. As her eyes landed on the image attached, her stomach dropped.
The photo was of her, right in that moment—biting her nails, her face a portrait of desperation and fear. Beneath it were the words: "Welcome to my kingdom again, my love."
A strangled gasp escaped her lips as the phone slipped from her hands, tumbling to the floor. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. Tremors overtook her body, and she clutched the edge of the bed tightly, her knuckles white. The photo, the message—someone was watching her. Someone was close.
Unable to hold it in, Elle screamed—a raw, primal sound that echoed through the hospital corridors. Within moments, the door burst open, and the staff hurried in, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. "Miss Elle! What's wrong? Are you alright?" one of them asked, stepping closer.
Elle's gaze darted to their faces, and her stomach churned. They were smiling—a sinister, unsettling grin that felt too deliberate. She froze, her nails digging into her knees. Were they watching her too? Were they part of this? She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring. No. It's not real. It's not real, she thought desperately.
"No—nothing," she stammered, her voice shaky and uneven. "I-I'm fine. There was a lizard. You can go."
The staff exchanged uncertain glances before retreating, leaving her alone once more. As the door clicked shut, Elle exhaled shakily. She clenched her knees to her chest, her body shaking. I need to leave. I need to get out of here, she thought frantically.
With trembling hands, she packed her belongings, her movements quick and disorganized. She pulled on a change of clothes, not bothering to fold the hospital gown. Without looking back, Elle darted out of the room and down the corridor, her breathing loud in her ears.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city, a cluster of police cars surrounded the twisted wreck of Amadeo's car. The flickering blue and red lights painted the scene in a surreal glow. Amadeo lay on a stretcher, his forehead bandaged and his right arm wrapped tightly. He was barely conscious, his breath shallow as paramedics worked to stabilize him.
"What's the story here?" one officer muttered to another, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. "Just a few hours ago, this guy called us saying there was blood on the walls of his house. Now he's apparently trying to kill himself? Doesn't add up."
The other officer shook his head, his expression grim. "It's like something out of a movie. Nothing about this makes sense."
Officers moved methodically, scanning for anyone who might have seen the accident.
"Did anyone witness what happened?" one officer called out, his voice cutting through the noise.
For a moment, no one answered. Then, from the edge of the crowd, a man raised his hand. His face was obscured by a scarf pulled up to his nose and the brim of his hat pulled low. The officers exchanged a quick glance before approaching him.
"Sir, what do you know about this incident?" one officer asked, his tone steady but pressing.
The man's voice was calm, almost eerily so, as he replied, "I saw him—this man. He drove onto the tracks and parked there. At first, I thought he'd move when the train approached, but he didn't. I screamed for him to get out, but he just… didn't."
The officer frowned slightly, jotting down notes in his notepad. "Was there anyone else in the car or around?" he asked.
The man shook his head slowly. "No, sir. It was just him. No one else."
The officer studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, thank you. If necessary, we may need you to come down to the station and provide a formal statement."
The man tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Of course, officer. Anything to help," he replied, his tone polite and cooperative.
But as the man turned to leave, something shifted. His posture relaxed ever so slightly, and a sinister smirk played on his lips. He reached up, tugging the scarf down from his face, revealing a sharp, angular jawline that glinted faintly in the ambient light. It was him—the same man who had stood motionless in the shadows at the crash, the same one who had called moments after the accident, uttering those chilling words: "The prey survived."
The officers, unaware of the duplicity, turned their attention back to the crowd, while the man disappeared into the shadows, his presence as fleeting as the whisper of a ghost.
As the ambulance doors slammed shut and the vehicle sped toward the nearest hospital, the officers stood in uneasy silence, their minds plagued by unanswered questions.