Dawn in San Francisco

After the hospital

Wendy sat in front of the TV in Kevin’s basement, trying hard to keep her eyes open. The bright light of the screen flickered in the edge of her vision. She didn’t want to sleep. She was afraid of falling asleep again and being trapped, or of this life turning out not to be true. Even though she knew that she had been under a spell, a part of her remembered this… other life. And she didn’t want to go back to it, because it hadn’t been very happy. Not dangerous like this current moment seemed to be, but not good either. She remembered the fights with Marco when they had dated, of losing her other best friend to a stupid argument, of hating the things she loved in this reality. It was a scary glimpse into what could have been.

She could feel herself slumping against Kevin’s shoulder. He was still awake, although his eyes were shut. The voices in the background burbled. They had been watching… a cooking programme? Or maybe one of those ones about redecorating houses. She liked those. It had just been something to try and take away the day they had. Part of her hadn’t wanted to, because doing something normal reminded her too much of the dream, but at the same time they had needed to get away from the weird and terrifying shit that came with associating with they queens. She still didn’t know what had happened while they were asleep. She hoped nothing had happened. She hoped that nobody would come back for him.

Maybe the people behind the disappearances and the weird hospital had just attacked them for the tablet. They had lost that during the kidnapping, so perhaps that would be it. Maybe they hadn’t known that Kevin set off the tablet. It might be OK.

She could still remember the other life. It was fading now. She’d had… a lot of boyfriends? But she hadn’t really liked any of them after while. They had all been missing something. She could feel her eyes shutting and she couldn’t stop them any more. Her head drooped on Kevin’s shoulder.

It should have been you, you know.



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