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Please don’t lie to me.
It’s a useless plea, he knows it is, a stupid, desperate plea for this all to end, for it to be some massive nightmare that he’ll come out of sweaty and shaking but otherwise unharmed, with his dogs at his side and the gentle sound of waves lulling him to live, willing him to live. That’s what he wants, after all, isn’t it? To be alive? To be alive. To be alive. To be -
Alive.
Am I alive?
No, Will.
You’re not alive. You’re walking in your sleep. You’ve closed your eyes and you’re moving without knowing, without seeing, without breathing. You’re a ghost, a ghoul, straddling the edges of existence. You’re dreaming of dark truths and friendly lies, and even the grasp you had on the fringes of sanity is slipping. Can you feel it slipping, Will? Can you feel yourself falling? Feels like floating, at first, doesn’t it? Then you see the destination and gravity kicks in, hand in hand with fear.
You’ve seen the destination, haven’t you, Will? I can smell the fear on you. You must be getting close. Good. I’ll be seeing you soon, my friend.