“Where is she?” Jack said, struggling against his handcuffs.

“Shut up,” Stangle said. Rising from his chair, he stepped to the bedside. Jack snatched the phone from Stangle’s hand. It wasn’t a conscious choice. His hand reached out before he realized what was happening. There was no time to delay, Ann was locked in a box. He could not sense her. He remembered the sound of rushing water just before losing contact with her.

“Hello? Officer Stangle?” The woman’s voice sounded distant on the phone.

“Hello,” Jack said, holding the phone to his ear, twisting away from the officer. He kicked his feet at Stangle, pushing him away.

“Mr. Blackwell?” The voice on the other end took on a controlled tone.

“Where is Ann?” Jack asked.

“Give the phone back to Officer Stangle, please.”

“Give me the phone right now!” Stangle roared. He wrapped his fingers around Jack’s throat while he grabbed for the phone, knocking it from his hand. It bounced to the floor with a sharp crack. Stangle’s fury pounded into Jack’s mind, painting his vision red and sending shots of adrenaline through his own body. He twisted out of the officer’s grasp and wrapped his free arm around Stangle’s neck, pulling him close. He was just able to grab the man’s belt with his handcuffed hand, pulling the large officer completely on top of him.

“You have no idea what I am,” Jack hissed. “The monsters I’ve hunted.” He did not know if he meant the terrorists from this life or something from another. Stangle’s anger fed the rage growing inside him. It was a familiar rage and would build, he knew, until only violence would satisfy it. Before, the voice would feed the rage, whispering in his ear, “kill them, hurt them, they are sheep, they do nothing but take…” but now, Jack heard only the beat of his own heart pounding in his ears, his own anger building, not some demon’s.

Jack wrapped his legs around the man’s thighs and held him in place. He slid his handcuffed hand from the officer’s belt to his pistol, pressing through the retention safety on the holster. He wrenched the 9mm free and pressed the barrel of the weapon into the officer’s bulging stomach. Stangle fell still on top of him.

“Get off,” Jack gasped. The weapon felt heavy in his hand. Stangle pushed himself off the bed.

“Reach slowly into your pocket and pull out your keys.”

Jack fought to keep his voice level as the blood slammed inside his veins, a mighty drumbeat throbbing in his ears. He wanted to lash out, to send a round tearing through this the man’s ample flesh. The power of death held in his hand was overwhelming. A single pull of his finger and… he imagined entry holes blown into the officer’s shirt and the explosion of crimson blood. He shifted the weapon to his free hand, taking a deep breath as Stangle pulled his keys out. I will not, he thought, there is no demon inside me. “Now slowly, with your right hand, reach over and unlock my handcuff,” he said out loud.

Jack held his wrist out as far as he could. Stangle’s hand shook as he fit the key into the hole. Stangle’s fear fed his need to hurt the man. This sheep. This human. He pressed the weapon’s barrel into the side of Stangle’s thick cheek, feeling the man tremble under the barrel.

“It’s not me,” Jack said, gritting his teeth. Stangle looked at him with just his eyes, not daring to move his head. The flesh of his cheek puckered around the cold steel. “You’re not in there, demon.”

“Please,” Stangle whispered.

Jack looked deeply into the man’s eyes and felt his terror rush through him. The old demon inside him would have relished the sensation. He saw himself then, through Stangle’s eyes. A man whispering about demons, pressing a pistol into another person’s cheek. Why was this rage filling him? The voice no longer whispered murder into his mind. He had lived with it for at least fifteen years, though. What was he now, without that struggle? How would he fill this new void? Not with more violence and killing.

“Step back,” Jack said, sitting up, staring into the man’s wide eyes. Whatever annoyance and loathing he sensed from the man before disappeared, replaced by terror. Jack slid off the bed. “This is your second chance, Stangle. I’m not going to kill you, and you will lose your self-loathing after this. This is your rebirth. Put down the junk food, enjoy your family, your life.”

Stangle nodded, staring at the gun, body relaxing. “Think about what you're doing,” he drawled, hands in front of him.

“Don’t speak,” Jack said, pushing his will into the other man. What was he doing? Assaulting a police officer, escaping custody, and starting a manhunt. It was done now, though, and Ann was somewhere in a box. He had to see it through. It wouldn’t be the first time he was behind enemy lines, just the first time it was in his own country. He would have to evade capture long enough to find her. He stepped to the foot of the bed and motioned for Stangle to walk forward. “Sit on the bed.”

“You can’t—”

“Do it,” Jack said, emphasizing his words with a twitch from the handgun. He tried to will the officer to obey. After a moment of hesitation, Stangle took slow steps to the bed and eased himself on the mattress. Jack clamped the handcuff on him and stepped back, lowering the weapon.

“There,” Jack said, “it’s done.”

He spotted his clothes on a chair in the room’s corner. Laying the gun on the windowsill, he pulled on his dark blue t-shirt and black cargo pants, his wallet, and keys nestled in the pockets. He wondered where his phone was but didn’t have time to search the room.

“Sorry, I have to find Ann,” he said, as he slipped his hiking boots on. He picked the officer’s phone up from the floor and pressed it to his ear.

“What can you tell me about Ann?” Jack said.

“You stay right where you are!” The woman’s voice shouted back at him, all evidence of control lost.

“I just want—”

“Don’t move! You don’t leave that room.”

Jack hit the end button and shoved the slim white phone into his pocket. He picked up the handgun and in one motion pulled the slide back, caught the round that flew out, and ejected the magazine, letting it fall into the same hand. He placed both on the table beside the bed. Never taking his eyes from Stangle, he pressed the slide release and pulled it back, then forward, separating the weapon into two parts. He placed these beside the magazine and bullet.

“Who—”

“Sorry. I’ll call the detective when I know something, I’ve got the number.”

Stangle didn’t move. Jack strode to the door, but turned back, tossing the handcuff key onto the bed, just out of reach. A moment later he was walking swiftly down the hallway, willing himself not to run. Nurses and doctors looked past him, focused on their duties. As he got close to the elevator, the doors slid open. A woman stood inside, gasping for breath. A thin sheen of sweat covered the caramel skin of her face. She wore a disheveled gray suit, and her black hair fought to escape a hair tie behind her neck. Jack stared into her eyes for a surprised second before they both leaped into action. He sprinted down the hallway to the left, pounding through the first double doors he came upon. The detective lunged out of the elevator after him.

Jack found himself in some sort of lab with tables and equipment lining the walls. He ran to another door at the back of the room. He was through it just as he heard the detective burst into the lab behind him. This new hallway had beds on both sides, some occupied by sleeping bodies and some empty. He ran toward an exit sign. The detective pounded into the hallway behind him, double doors swinging wildly in her wake. At that moment, two firm hands grabbed him and jerked him through another doorway. Jack pulled away and saw that it was a young man in a red-striped shirt. His volunteer name tag was blank.

“Follow me,” the kid said. He stared at Jack over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. His dark hair, cut into a bowl shape, shook when he talked.

“Who—”

“I can get you out.”

Shouts rang out in the hallway behind them. Jack nodded, and the kid darted through the small room and out into a narrow corridor, towards another door. Jack raced to catch up. He chased the kid through winding hallways and twisting stairs until he found himself in a parking garage with no sign of pursuit.

“My car is over here,” the kid said.

Jack struggled to keep up, the sudden flight leaving him light-headed and dizzy. And it felt like fire was raging through his veins. He stumbled into the passenger seat of the gray hatchback as the kid started the engine. White spots floated across his vision and his shoulders slumped. The kid put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and whispered something.

“What?” Jack asked, “Who are…” The last thing he saw, before tumbling down into an abyss of silence, was the kid’s worried expression.

***

“Jack, there you are. Where have you been?” Ann asked, sitting up in bed. Her bedroom was dark with just a sliver of silky moonlight slicing through the pale sheer curtains. She was wearing white cotton pajamas.

“I’ve been looking for you, Ann,” he said in a gravelly tone. A moment ago he had been overtaken by complete silence and darkness, hadn’t he? He glanced at his surroundings. “Are we in your bedroom? Where’s the kid?”

“Where are you, Jack?” Ann asked.

“Something is wrong,” Jack said.

He reached out and touched her hand. He could feel warmth, but the sensation of touch was distant somehow. He could feel her fear, it was vivid, but the part of her that nestled in the back of his mind was still missing.

“We should probably get to class,” Ann said. Confusion rolled out of her in swirling waves of purple and red.

“Wait—” Jack said.

“I have to get to class,” Ann said.

The bedroom melted around them, replaced by the empty, ruined, classroom. Desks lay scattered, some standing, some overturned. Textbooks littered the floor. Black scorch marks twisted up the walls and across the linoleum like spiderwebs. The splintered door and a smashed laptop lay at his feet.

“Jack, where are you?” Ann asked.

She cast a panicked gaze around the room as if she couldn’t see him standing in front of her.

“I’m here, Ann,” he said softly, taking a step toward her. Her fear flowed out all around him, black misty tentacles. “I won’t leave you,” he said, trying to wave them away.

“Jack,” she said, eyes finally locking onto his, “we shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Jack said.

“Are we dreaming?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said.

“I think we both are,” Ann said.

“It feels like the In-between, but it’s,” he paused, searching for a word, “not as sharp somehow.”

“Your thoughts are in my mind, the exact words,” she said. “But you aren’t settled in like you were before. I’m not sure where you are.”

“I know,” he said. “I can feel and see your emotions, but you aren’t a resident like before. It must be the water flowing over your box.”

“How do you know about my box?”

“I was with you earlier. I heard everything. If any of this is real. Maybe it’s all a dream.”

“Why water?”

“It blocks our abilities, I think. It happened to me in the shower.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know I’ll explain later,” he said, taking her hand. “When I find you.”

“Millae came to me,” Ann said. “She said I had to find her to remember more.”

“Then maybe we are in the In-between.”

“She said the In-between was her realm, and I was on the way to my dream. She said you’re coming for me.” She looked around the room with wide eyes, as if Darean was going to leap out of the shadows. “They’re going to hurt me.”

“I’m on my way.”

“They’re going to do something to me. I’m in a silk dress.”

Ann looked down at her body, a tight silk dress clinging to her curves where comfortable pajamas had hung loosely a moment before. The dress was white, with a black dragon running down the side, and a low cut back that stopped at a point just above her tail bone. The dragon’s head ended in a snarl at her thigh. Its tail wound up her body and twisted under her arm, along the edges of the low-cut material, and down to the small of her back. The hem of the dress stopped mid-thigh with a slit, creating a dramatic contrast of white silk on tan skin. Jack stared at the curves of her muscles. Sudden goosebumps on her thighs made him imagine what her skin would feel like under his fingertips.

“Jack,” she said, her voice husky and surprised.

“Whoa,” he said.

“You’re thinking—”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jack said, tearing his gaze away to stare at a random spot on the wall. He shook his head, trying to clear the image of her curves and crevices out of his mind.

“This place is intense,” he said, “and you’re wearing…”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ann said, looking down at the dress again.

She raised her eyes back up to him, frightened, and her clinging white dress instantly became white pajamas once more. Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly as if exhaling the lust that suddenly filled his body.

“I’ll find you,” he said. “Tell me everything you know.”

“They want to find the Isle of Song,” she said. “And if I can’t tell them how to find it, I think they are going to bleed me dry. Darean said something about giving my blood to the horde and then evolving me to serve.” Her voice trembled.

“I was arrested, but I escaped, I’m…”

Ann was fading, he could see through her to the wall beyond.

“I’m coming, hold on!”

A blinding light pulsed between them.

“Hurry, Jack,” she whispered.