Page 22 of Willing (The Un 1)

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They’re a living, breathing human being.

I manage to avoid thinking about all the strangeness happening, focusing on just being alert and aware of my surroundings.

Until I cross the street and reach the other side quickly.

Too quickly.

Again, I have the strange, unnerving feeling that I’ve somehow lost time. Like minutes of my awareness are slipping away from me.

There’s no way I was across the street a split-second ago and now I’m already on the other side…

There’s just no logical way. That’s over twenty feet.

Am I losing my mind?

Is my fear making me crazy?

God, what is wrong with me?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a few deep, steadying breaths. Willing my body to calm down.

If I just calm down, everything will be alright.

Everything will be normal again.

Mentally reciting every line of the prayer of protection, I ask Saint Benedict to grant me strength. To help me make it home safely.

Once my pulse starts to slow and all the sounds around me stop screaming, I open my eyes, exhale, and walk slowly up to the bus stop.

Purposely counting every step.

When I step up next to the bench to wait directly beneath the light of the streetlamp, the lone man sitting on the bench jumps up from his seat.

Shooting a worried look at me, he hastily snatches up his plastic grocery bags and starts running.

Thinking he must have seen something frightening behind me, I spin around, searching for the threat.

But there’s nothing there.

The street is utterly deserted, save for the occasional raccoon or rat.

Brow pinching in confusion, I turn back to the man and watch him run away. Every so often he glances over his shoulder at me, then he seems to run faster.

Running like his life depends on it…

Am I so frightening?

Glancing down at myself, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.

All my wounds from the sacrament have healed, and my clothes are clean because Father Dominic had me remove them beforehand.

Convinced the man must be looking at something else, I glance his way again.

Reaching the next intersection, his bags begin to split open, his groceries falling to the pavement, but he doesn’t stop to pick them up.

No, he decides to abandon them.

Throwing his bags down, he veers to the right and starts to disappear around the corner.

And I have the sudden, unexplainable urge to chase after him.

I’m convinced I could easily catch him.

I could pounce on him and—

“Hey! Are you getting on or what?”

Jolting in surprise, I turn toward the voice to see the bus parked in front of the stop with the door open.

When… how did I miss it?

“Well?” the bus driver asks, eyes glaring down at me beneath his bushy eyebrows.

When I don’t answer right away, he starts to close the door, the panel unfolding with a loud hiss.

Instantly coming to my senses, I cry out, “Wait!” and jump forward.

The door starts to open again, as if the bus driver expected my exact reaction.

“Hurry up!” the driver barks at me as I grab the rail and take the first step up. “I don’t got all night!”

Unlike the man who ran away, the bus driver doesn’t seem to be the least bit afraid of me. He just glares at me and mutters under his breath about me taking my sweet time like no one else needs to get home safely to their families, as I swipe my card and try to pick a seat.

The bus is almost completely empty. Only a handful of people spread out among all the seats.

I choose a seat close to the front, three rows away from the closest rider.

The moment my butt touches the seat, the bus jerks and rolls forward.

Almost at once, relief washes over me.

I made it onto the bus, and in a few minutes I’ll be home safe.

Where he can’t get me.

The entire ride passes by oddly quiet compared to the day commute, with an undercurrent of tension, but completely uneventful. Buried in their phones or looking out the windows, the other riders keep to themselves.

And no one looks at me twice.

When the bus finally reaches my stop, as much as I want to rush, I force myself to take it slow and count every step.

I don’t start running until my feet hit the sidewalk.

Then time slips away from me again.

The two blocks it takes to reach my townhouse from the bus stop is gone in a flash.

I reach my front door in what feels like a mere second. I just blink and suddenly I’m standing in front of it, as if I willed it to appear in front of me.

Too grateful to be freaked out, I grab the handle and push it open. Then I quickly step inside, slam the door shut, and lock it.

Once the lock clicks into place, I sag against the door in relief.

I made it.

Thank God and Saint Benedict, I made it.


Tags: Izzy Sweet, Sean Moriarty The Un Fantasy