Simon was in the club, with the deafening music pounding in his head. He walked to the center of the dance floor, searching for the redhead among the flashing lights.
But there was no one.
The music roared, the spotlights spun, but the club was empty. Not a single soul.
A chill ran through Simon. That space, always so full of life, now deserted, tightened his chest, as if something terrible was about to happen.
He explored the place, even venturing into the kitchen, a restricted area he had never entered.
Suddenly, the lights went out. Darkness enveloped him, dense and impenetrable.
Simon stumbled, groping his way forward until a faint reddish glow in the distance guided him back to the dance floor.
There, at the bar, with a drink in her hand, was the redhead.
Her hair shone like a beacon in the gloom, standing out in the blackness of the club.
"Where is everyone?" Simon asked, sitting beside her and accepting the glass of liquor she offered him.
The redhead let out a bitter laugh, tinged with sarcasm.
"Everyone? It's always been just you and me here," she said, downing her glass in one gulp. "The rest was always an illusion."
Simon felt a knot in his throat, his mind reeling. He had never considered that, in this dream, the only real ones could be those aware of its unreality.
His heart pounded, trapped between doubt and fear of what those words implied.
The redhead gathered her hair, tying it into a ponytail with a black brooch. The same brooch Simon had found in his backpack and given to Katherine, thinking it was an insignificant trinket.
Seeing it now, glowing in the dim light, gave him a pang of guilt.
His pulse quickened. Though he wanted to deny it, he knew that brooch had something strange, almost supernatural.
She noticed his gaze and sighed with exaggeration.
"You know? I thought it would be nice if we both had one of these," she said, pointing to the brooch. "But you disappoint me... Imagine giving something I gave you with so much affection to someone else."
Simon frowned, his suspicions confirmed. This girl had found him outside the dream.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice tense as he took a sip of his drink.
The redhead shot him a piercing look, her deep eyes glinting with an unsettling spark.
"Is that your way of asking my name?" she retorted, standing to cross to the other side of the bar, rummaging through the bottles.
"You know what I mean. How the hell did you find me?" Simon insisted, struggling to control the panic urging him to flee.
"Not a fan of names, I see..." she murmured, still digging through the shelves.
Frustrated by her evasions, Simon stood and observed the club closely. Despite the darkness, he noticed the place seemed pristine, like new, contradicting the weathered sign he had seen earlier.
"Fine... Let's play your way," Simon said, leaning back against the bar. "What's your name?"
Amid the clinking of bottles, a soft laugh escaped the redhead. She grabbed a sparkling bottle, placed it on the bar, and returned to her seat.
"Finally, you take the time to ask... How long have we known each other? Six years?" she said, opening the bottle with a pop that sent the cork flying.
Simon turned, looking at her with a frown.
"These dreams started just a year ago. It's impossible."
The redhead poured two glasses, the sparkling liquid emitting a faint, almost white glow.
"The dreams are new," she said, with a nostalgic smile. "But me... let's just say I found you six years ago."
Simon felt a chill. His logical side told him it wasn't possible, but for some reason, he believed her.
And there was only one way she could have been with him all that time without him noticing.
"You're a ghost," Simon whispered, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "You're the cause of these dreams."
Simon looked at the drink in front of him with unease, its faint glow suggesting it wasn't ordinary liquor.
After a few seconds of silence without a response, he raised his gaze, ready to confront the source of his recent misfortunes.
But the girl was no longer there.
Simon turned from side to side, but around him was only darkness, faintly dispelled by the glow of the two glasses.
The light faded, the glasses flickering until they went out, leaving everything black.
Simon closed his eyes tightly, his heart pounding like a drum. He tried to wake up, imagining his bed, the sound of the fan in his room. But a low hum filled his ears, and an invisible weight pressed on his chest, as if the dream were holding him.
When he opened his eyes, the club was gone. Only an infinite black void remained, where he seemed to float without ground beneath his feet.
In front of him, far off, was the redhead, the light of her hair the only source of light in the place.
Simon approached hesitantly, thinking of fleeing, but knowing it was impossible.
As he got closer, he had to stifle a scream. Her pajamas, soaked in blood, replaced the black dress. A knife protruded from her side, and the metallic smell of blood made him dizzy. But she looked at him with empty eyes, as if pain didn't exist.
"My name is Clara," she introduced herself, taking a step forward.
Simon stepped back, terrified.
"You're bleeding..." he replied.
Clara looked at her clothes, a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, before forcing a smile.
"It's nothing... This is how I really look," she explained.
The space around them filled with lights that spun rapidly, like fragments of a broken memory. The lights settled, weaving shapes, until a small apartment appeared around them, identical to Simon's, but with clean walls, elaborate decorations, and impeccable order.
There, in front of the entrance, Clara lay on the floor, using her arms as a pillow, watching Simon.
"Ten years ago, right here, I was killed," she said with a sad smile. "But I didn't entirely leave. Six years ago... I found you."
She brushed the knife at her side, slightly cutting herself on the blade.
Clara's gaze hardened, as if making a crucial decision.
"I want you to do something for me," she declared, with a seriousness that sent chills through Simon. "If you do it, you'll have all the money you need."