Chapter 25: THE HALLWAY.

Chapter 25: THE HALLWAY.
It was past midnight, a little after twelve. I woke up naked, my skin damp with sweat, my body restless and unsatisfied. The sheets clung to me, cool against my overheated skin. I reached for my clothes, hoping the familiar fabric would ground me, but even as I dressed, a sharp ache of desire still pulsed through me.

I turned my head toward Darius. He lay there sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily, his presence a strange kind of comfort and temptation all at once. His body was beautiful, almost glowing under the dim light, and my gaze drifted against my will. His manhood stirred something in me, but I forced myself to look away, swallowing hard. I had to control myself.

I told myself I only needed water, just something cold to drink to soothe the dryness in my throat. But as I moved, my eyes betrayed me, flicking back to him. He didn’t stir. His breathing stayed steady. I moved quietly, careful not to wake him.

The hospital felt strange at night. The walls seemed too white, too still, like the air itself was holding its breath. I padded softly to the door, pressing my ear against it. Silence. Not even the faint shuffle of shoes.

“Are the doctors sleeping at this time?” I murmured under my breath. The sound of my own voice felt loud in the empty room.

Curiosity prickled at me. The hallway beyond the door was dimly lit, shadows stretching long and narrow, like fingers reaching for something unseen. I’d never been in a hospital that felt like this before sterile, but haunted by a kind of silence.

I turned back, searching the room for water. My throat burned. Finally, I spotted a small plastic bottle on the bedside table. It was barely filled, a swallow or two at most, but my need outweighed my caution.

I twisted the cap off. It was tight, making a soft crack as it loosened. I tipped the bottle back, the cool liquid sliding down my throat. It felt good too. It made me hungrier for more. But there was no more, so I set it down and climbed back into bed, curling up under the thin blanket.

Before letting myself drift, I checked the door twice. Locked. I remembered how I’d fallen asleep naked on Darius earlier, the warmth of his body against mine. Anyone could have walked in. Anyone could have seen. I couldn’t afford to be careless again.

The bed was too small for two, but we managed. I stretched my legs to the edge, trying to find a comfortable position, willing to sleep.

Then, footsteps.

Soft at first, almost imagined, but then clearer, slow, deliberate, pacing the hallway. My heart thudded. I pushed myself lower onto the mattress, every nerve on edge, while Darius slept on, oblivious.

The steps stopped right outside our door.

I held my breath. Who would be walking the halls at this hour? No one is normal. No one without a reason.

“People have a strong mind, working at this time without fear,” I whispered to myself, though the words did nothing to calm me.

The door handle rattled softly. Someone was there, leaning in. A shadow shifted under the gap of the door. Then, a face.

I froze.

The figure was peering into the room, but from my position low on the floor, I was invisible. They saw only Darius in the bed.

Slowly, carefully, I crawled toward the door, my body pressed to the cold tile. My instincts screamed at me to stay put, but curiosity and fear dragged me forward. I had to know.

The figure turned their head back toward the hallway, scanning. Watching. Waiting.

It gave me my chance.

I moved closer, inch by inch. My pulse was wild, my palms damp. The face was clearer now, faintly lit by the hallway light. And then recognition struck me like ice in my veins.

It was her.

The same woman who had been following me, the one who’d been in my periphery for days, watching, waiting.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I prayed she wouldn’t sense me, and wouldn't find out I was awake. If she did, she might break the door down. She might come in.

I shrank back, crawling to the side where the shadows pooled, trying to make myself small. Minutes passed, heavy as hours. She didn’t move.

Finally, she stepped back, retreating into the direction she had come from.

I scrambled for my bag, my hands shaking, and yanked my phone out. The screen lit up my face. A notification blinked at the top: 1 new message. Unknown number.

Something inside me sank.

I opened it.

“HEY DEAR FRIEND,” it read. “WATCH YOUR BACK. YOU’RE NEXT.”

The words burned themselves into my eyes.

I laughed once at a sharp, empty sound but my heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Fear curled cold in my stomach. My father had been kidnapped. Now someone was threatening me.

“What have I done wrong?” I whispered to the empty room. “Why me?”

The night stretched long and heavy, a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

I lay back down, eyes wide open, every creak of the building making me flinch. At some point, exhaustion dragged me under.

When I finally opened my eyes, sunlight was already pressing through the blinds, sharp and bright compared to the darkness of last night. For a moment I lay still, unsure if what I’d seen on the face at the door, the threatening message, had only been a dream.

But the unease in my chest told me it hadn’t been.

Darius was still asleep beside me, his body warm and calm, like nothing had happened. The hospital, however, was transformed. The silence of midnight was gone, replaced by voices, footsteps, and the murmur of activity echoing through the halls.

I slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake him. Something pulled me toward the hallway.

As I stepped outside, a noise caught my attention and a commotion at the far end of the corridor. A crowd had gathered, people pushing close, murmuring, whispering with fear. My pulse quickened, and I rushed forward.

When I arrived, I froze.

Police were there. Their uniforms stood out against the pale walls, their presence heavy. Nurses huddled together, eyes wide, whispering in shock.

“What happened?” I asked a woman standing near the wall.

She didn’t answer directly, just shook her head, her lips pressed tight. But another voice in the crowd spoke up:

“Three men. They were stabbed in their rooms. Found dead this morning.”

The words made the hallway tilt beneath me. I grabbed the wall for balance.

Three men. Murdered. Here.

My mind flashed back to the shadow at my door, the woman’s face peering in, the message on my phone. You’re next.

I swallowed hard. My instincts screamed that it was her. The woman who had been following me. The same one who had stood outside my room in the dead of night.

But I said nothing. Not to the police, not to the nurses, not to anyone. I didn’t trust them. I didn’t even fully trust myself anymore. My fear was too big, my suspicion too wide.

I turned and hurried back down the hallway, weaving through the crowd until I reached my room. Darius was still asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully. For a second I just stood there, watching him, aching with the thought of what could have happened to us.

I couldn’t bring myself to wake him, not yet. Not when the weight of the night still pressed so heavily on me. I sat down at the edge of the bed and let my thoughts spiral.

The message.
The murders.
My father’s kidnapping.

Every thread tangled into the same knot danger circling closer and closer.

We couldn’t stay here. Not another night. Not with death walking these halls.

I reached for my phone again, desperate to hear my mother’s voice, to feel some kind of connection. I dialed her number. It rang once, twice, then cut off. No answer.

I tried again. Nothing.

The emptiness in my chest deepened.

I turned my eyes back to Darius, lying there so unaware, so untouched by the horror that surrounded us. My heart clenched. If we didn’t move fast, if we stayed, I could lose him. And that thought was more unbearable than anything else.

Whispers escaped my lips before I realized I was speaking them aloud. “We can’t stay. We have to leave. They’re at our doorstep. If we wait, it will be too late.”

Darius stirred, his leg shifting under the blanket. My words must have slipped into his dreams, pulling him upward.

Slowly, he blinked awake, his eyes meeting mine.

“Good morning, honey,” I said softly, forcing a smile onto my face. I wanted him to see hope, not the fear clawing inside me.

He stretched, his voice still heavy with sleep. “Oh, you’re up already. Good morning.”

I reached for the sheet, pulling it over him to cover his nakedness, to shield him even from my own anxious eyes. But he pushed it away, sitting up and dressing with his usual ease. His movements were calm, unbothered, as if today was just another day.

I watched him, my smile lingering but trembling at the edges. I wanted him to feel safe, to be happy, even if I carried the burden alone.

He glanced at me with a small grin. “Why are you smiling like that?”

I shook my head, hiding the storm brewing behind my expression.

Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know about the footsteps in the night, the woman’s face at our door, the message that promised my death, the murders down the hall.

But he would.

I clenched my hands together in my lap, steadying myself.

Now, I thought. Now it’s time to tell him what he needs to know.