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Dedication

For Mom and Dad—

For trusting in my dreams and teaching me to follow them

You have always been superheroes to me

December??, 2016 (I assume)

Dear Mark,

I’ve been here, in this place, this prison, for god knows how long. A month? Maybe more? They kept me unconscious—in a coma—for a few weeks and I’ve been awake now for … well, at least a week, I think. And, according to her, to Director Wadsworth, they’re going to keep me here. To make sure I heal. What a crock of shit.

Wadsworth also said you brought me here. I know that’s not true. I know you wouldn’t do that.

But the whole thing’s … hazy. Is this what you felt like, when you were here? Like time was slipping through your fingers, like you were existing outside of it all? Existing outside yourself?

Everything hurts and I’m fucking handcuffed. That’s how I know you didn’t bring me here. It had to have been them—Dr. B. and Sam, the people who love you so much and hate me more. You would have known what this place would do to me and you wouldn’t subject anyone to that. Not even your worst enemy. Not even me.

I should have listened better when you talked about it.

I don’t know why I’m even writing this like the AM will let me have a pen pal—even though they’re the ones that gave me the marker and paper, like they’re waiting for a confession to appear. I know that they’ll probably read anything I write down. So I’ll keep my escape plans in my head, just in case.

For you AM lackeys who read this when the drugs kick back in … that was a joke.

I know I’m not getting out of here alive.

I

EMPTINESS

AUGUST 24TH, 2016

There’s something in the corner. Something enormous and breathing. Air rattling through its lungs, claws scraping the floor of this deep and dark void. Something hides. Something waits.