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The cemetery where Malik trapped me surrounds me. The large, ominous stones lay slanted on the aged ground. The orb bobs in the distance, and it soon sways right, directly into the opened door of the mausoleum.
Opened.
I take a step back, a twig crunching beneath my boot.
Oh, no. Fuck no.
I spin around, ready to forget the entire thing—the train, the light, everything—when my face slams into a cold, wet stone.
No, not a stone. A body.
I shriek, falling back over a tombstone and flat onto my back.
Mist falls atop my face, dripping mascara down my temples. I blink through the drops of water, staring up at the dark figure on top of me.
"Malik?" I whisper. "What're you doing here?"
"I should be asking you the same question," he murmurs, like it's not the middle of the night in the rain and fog, in the middle of a cemetery.
I roll over, my fingers digging into the wet dirt beneath my hands and shoving myself to a stand. I brush my dirty hands on my skirt. "Didn't you hear the train? Or see the light?"
He shrugs. "Yes."
I rub the dirt and water from my bare thighs and step toward him. "Yes? What—" My eyes widen. "What the hell?" His eyes, white as a thick, milky cloud. He is possessed, I realize. Whatever darkness hovered on the edges has swallowed him completely. This is not Malik, it cannot be Malik.
Though, the face is the same, save for the eyes.
His voice is the same.
So much is the same, but I can feel it from here. This man, standing in front of me, is not the same man that I've known over these past few months.
No, he is so, so much different.
"Hello, Vera." His voice changes, his own voice graveling out, but a darker, more sinister voice rolling beneath his, and my jaw drops.
"Malik?" I take a step forward, getting directly in his face. I can feel his hot breath brush across my cheeks, heating the coolness on my skin.
"It's me, little sister. Whether you'd believe it or not, it's me." This time his voice is predominately his own, and I can't help the heat that floods my belly.
"Where have you been?" An intimacy curls in my voice, and I bite my lip to cover my wince. I hate him, and his words are almost always cruel. He doesn't deserve my worry, yet I can't help the concern that fills me.
"Living."
I blink at him, my fingers brushing his drenched shirt. "Outside?"
He shrugs again. Blinks. The whites of his eyes remain, eerie and so damn uncomfortable.
I take a step back, remembering where I am. I shouldn't be here. Malik shouldn't be here. "You should come home. It's cold outside."
"I'm fine."
I take another step back, and he curls his fingers into my skirt, pulling me toward him. I grab his hand, attempting to push him away, but his grip is too firm, and I can't get him to release me. "Let go of me. If you don't want to come home, fine, but I don't want to stay in the cemetery."
"You came all this way just to leave? Don't you want to hang out? Visit?"
"Come home and we can talk. We don't have to talk here."
His free hand comes up to the back of my head, and he curls his fingers into the base of my skull. "Maybe here is the best place to be."
