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Sleep takes me like a riptide into deep waters.

One moment I’m staring at the monitor’s electric glow, the next I’m gone. The last thing I register: that damned cursor blinking in the dark, waiting for a reply that never came.

And then poof. I’m dreaming I’m at Heroes. It’s bigger in my dream. Dimmer. Everyone’s gone. Chairs stacked. Shadows long. The jukebox plays something slow and sad, a song I don’t recognize but somehow still know by heart.

She’s in here.

Not at the bar, no, but working behind it, where I should be. Moonlight catches the spill of her hair, ink-black and liquid. She pours with practiced grace. Not wine, but something viscous that catches the dim light like fresh arterial spray. Thick, red.

She raises the glass, meets my eyes across the empty room, and smiles.

But there’s no warmth in it.

Only hunger.

I try to speak, but can’t.

I try to move but stay rooted.

She walks toward me... no actual footsteps, just movement like smoke hovering over the floorboards. The glass never spills, either. Her eyes never leave mine. When she gets close enough to touch, I feel cold coming off her in waves; it feels wrong in all the ways that feel right.

“You followed me here,” she whispers.

I shake my head. I didn’t. No, I followed the clues here. There’s a difference, but I don’t say anything. Still can’t speak.

She leans in close, whispering, her lips brushing over my ear.

“And now you can’t leave.”

Her teeth flash. Not fangs, not exactly. Just… sharp-looking.

My eyes snap open. I gasp, choking on the night air. Sheets cling to my sweat-slick skin. My heart hammers against my ribs like something caged.

I lurch upright.

The monitor’s blue light burns my retinas.

AOL blinks back at me:

MoonDance77 - Offline.

But the dream lingers in a hint of perfume and blood.

And suddenly I realize, I’m not so sure I want her to log on.

Or if I want to fall back asleep again and let her finish what she started...