'Fuck.'

The woman suddenly lunged forward, her nails slicing a deep gash across the top of his chest.

"Fuck!"

Emerson staggered back, slamming into a metallic supply shelf and then somehow managing to duck beneath another swipe as boxes and random supplies rained down on them from the higher levels. A particularly heavy box smashed into the woman's forehead, giving Emerson the chance too...

'Fuck!'

The woman was directly in front of him. He could only go backward.

Without giving it a second thought, seeing as his fucking life depended on it, he spun around and unceremoniously shoulder-checked the already wobbling supply shelf behind him. Pain screamed through his right shoulder.

'Sorry, scapula, ole' buddy, ole' pal, but I may just die in a second, so kindly shut the fuck up.' Perhaps it was due to shock, blood loss, and low blood sugars but he felt like his right arm gave him the peripheral nervous system equivalent of a thumbs up.

The shelf groaned and scraped across the sheet vinyl flooring before catching its back edge and collapsing against the adjacent shelf, causing it to collapse into its neighbor like dominoes.

Emerson scrambled over the collapsed shelving like a madman, scattering clear bins everywhere and throwing Grab Bags filled with pill bottles, blankets, fluid warmers, and sterilizers blindly behind him in the general direction of the raving force of nature.

His heart was almost beating out of his goddamned chest as he basically dove headfirst over the edge of the final shelving unit and sprawled across the floor. He swore unintelligibly after landing and banging the ever-living fuck out of his elbows and knees, but quickly recovered and started prone-crawling on his forearms. He heard snarling, scratching, scraping, and ripping plastic close behind as the collapsed shelves creaked and shifted under the woman's weight as she probably crested the edge like he did a few seconds before.

'Holy shit-fuck that burns,' He almost laughed. Why was it funny? Hell if he knew.

'So, this is compartmentalization, shock, and adrenaline, huh? Is there a name for that? Probably.' Something roughly grabbed at his shoes. He lashed out with his feet, and hit something soft, and the next kick merited a wet crunch.

He reflexively looked back at the sound and regretted it almost instantly- his shoe had broken her nose, crushing the previously cute thing into a black, bloody mush.

'Wait, black blood?' His brain slowly processed what he was seeing. And that was when he saw something impossible.

The wet cracking sound came back as her nose wriggled and shifted back into place. As perfect and cute as before. The bloody smears remained, and the woman locked her bloodshot eyes with him and snarled, exposing sharp canines extending beyond the other teeth.

‘Noses don’t do that!’ He flipped around onto his butt and leaned back on his elbows, placed both feet together, and kicked out like a horse. His boots caught her square in the stomach, eliciting another crack as her bottom ribs shattered and caved into her abdomen. The woman howled in agony as she careened backwards into the shelves, slamming the back of her head into a shelf. A dull metallic reverb echoed throughout the storage room.

Emerson didn’t stick around to see if that would slow her down because he truly, deeply, from the bottom of his fucking heart, believed it wouldn’t.

He scrambled to his feet and somehow slipped, barely managing to catch himself by throwing out an arm and pushing off to get back on his shaky feet. He vaguely felt something warm and wet soaking both his hands but didn’t pay it much attention as he limped on his good leg toward the exit door.

‘Get to the hallway, call for help. Get the help, call for the hallway.’ He repeated the mantra to himself as though it were the holiest of shields- all the pain would disappear once he got out of the room. There would be people. There would be safety. He would survive this. He was going to be fine.

His left shoulder weakly slammed into the door- he patted himself on the back for using his less injured shoulder. The door shook in its frame but remained closed.

He gave a low, frustrated shout and pushed off the door with his right hand, leaving a short, bloody smear. Grabbing the doorknob with his left hand, he twisted, and the following click might as well have been St. Peter calling his name because he wrenched the door open and fell into the hallway onto his hands and knees. The empty hallway.

His ragged breath tore at his burning lungs; all he could hear was the roar of his pulse.

He tried to look around, but everything was blurry.

He sat back on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. Sticky warmth.

A guttural roar exploded through the corridor.

That sound sent a twinge down his spine, and he despite his numerous injuries and pain-addled mind, he regained a moderate amount of energy and clarity as his instincts kicked into overdrive. And he knew he only had moments before she was on his ass again.

“Gah! Jesus-fuck-margarine,” nonsense rolled off his tongue as he climbed to his feet using the wall as a support. Fire seared through his muscles and glass stabbed at his joints.

‘Pain is just weakness leaving the body, kiddo.’ His father’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Fuck you, old man,’ Emerson hissed through gritted teeth, dragging himself along the wall. Blood slowly dripped onto the shiny, colorless floor.

“The only thing… leaving my body, right now… is blood! And I… fuckin’… need that shit!” He gasped out.

‘Keep moving. You’re going to be fine. Everything is fine. This is fine.’

Emerson squinted further down the hall and saw an old friend- the placard for ‘radiology’ above a set of polished wooden double doors. There were always lab technicians on duty, or at the very least a station nurse for 24-hour emergency admissions. There was hope! People meant safety.

“One foot, two foot, red foot, blue foot- don't slip on the blooood.” he whisper-sang to himself, holding onto the hallway railing with a white-knuckled, death-grip. He somehow managed to cross over half the corridor's length in a dazedly focused state. Until he decided to look back.

‘Where- ‘

The supply room door violently burst open in wretched screech of protesting metal- slamming into the wall hard enough to break off a hinge and crack the adjacent drywall like an egg shell. The woman blurred through at the same time, releasing a bloodcurdling scream, shoulder-checking the opposite wall.

‘A woman after my own heart,’ Emerson thought, whipping back around and shuffling like a zombie on steroids.

The sounds of ripping, dry tearing, and snarling echoed down the hall as Emerson imagined what the scene looked like behind him, but he didn’t dare waste time to confirm his failing brain’s imaginings.

‘She must’ve gotten stuck!’ He had time. The double doors were right there! He took another shaky step, his knee almost giving out- it may as well have been across the world.

He groaned with frustration and frantically looked around for something, anything! Anyone!

‘How can no one hear what’s happening?! Wait-’

And that’s when Emerson put two and two together to come up with five.

Supporting even more of his weight on the wall, he dug into his pant’s pocket and retrieved his phone, which he then promptly threw down the hall in an overhead throw that sent agony down the right side of his body and nearly dislocated his right shoulder.

The phone struck one of the double doors and chunks of the screen flew off as it dropped to the floor like a stone, but he’d done it, the sound was loud, obnoxious, obvious, and the door rattled slightly. Nothing happened.

That’s when he realized the battery was full and he could’ve simply called 911. Resisting the urge to facepalm using the wall, he continued moving toward the double doors.

That was when the wall finally gave up and the snarling woman freed her bloody shoulder. She immediately spun around and saw her prey, trailing warm, delicious blood as it hobbled away from her. The Beast roared; the woman screamed and charged.

The hairs on the back of Emerson’s neck stood on end as he first felt her gaze lock onto his back, then his blood ran cold as her scream pierced his ears.

‘So, this is how I go out, huh?’ Emerson closed his eyes and relaxed. It was a good run.

“Um-whoa! What’s going on out here?!”

Emerson’s eyes flew open in a panic when he heard Liam’s voice- His coworker had turned the corner behind the woman and now stood there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

The woman immediately came to a quiet stop- her shoulders shaking, head twitching and chest heaving. The hallway descended into an eerie silence. She slowly turned bloodshot eyes onto the small man, her lips twitching. The Beast smelled blood closer, it heard a heartbeat, it felt the distance. The Beast roared; the woman screamed; Liam screamed.

She was on him in a flash, and both went down in a flail of limbs and shouting. Blood sprayed across the wall, and the woman leaned down and bit into his throat.

“No!” Emerson shouted hoarsely and almost pushed off the wall to go help Liam but found that even now, he just couldn’t move anymore. He was tired, so, so fucking tired. It was difficult to keep his eyes open now, forget running to the rescue.

“Fuck!” He weakly bashed the wall with a fist.

He leaned his weight against the wall and released the tension in his shaking legs, letting his destroyed body slid down to the floor. And that’s where he remained, leaning the side of his head against the wall, his eyes barely held open as he imagined Morpheus’s hand hovering over his right shoulder, ready to whisk him away from the pain to the land of dreams. Or perhaps nightmares.

But for some reason, that hand remained unmoving. And Emerson watched with clinical detachment as Liam’s screams turned to sporadic gurgling, his arms weakly batting at her arms and shoulders, his legs twitching and sliding chaotically in thin pool of blood.

His struggling soon stopped entirely- the sounds of heavy gulping filled the corridor.

Some muffled sound came from behind him.

“Oh my god…” a horrified woman’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears.

“Oh my god!” a blue blur flew past his peripherals.

Head lolling, Emerson’s bleary eyes tracked the person until they slowly turned into the blurry form of a woman with short, mousy brown hair. She ran straight toward them and kneeled beside the murderer, placing a hand on her shoulder.

‘Bad... idea…’ Emerson cobbled together in his fading mind.

“Ma’am! Ma’am-Miss are you…? Wait, wh-“

The woman’s question turned into a scream just before a bloody hand grabbed her face and slammed the back of her head into the wall, knocking her out, or probably killing her, instantly. More gulping, more wet crunching.

Emerson completely placed his back against the wall and tried to keep his head up but found it extremely difficult, as though his chin was magnetized to his chest. So instead of fighting it, he let his eyelids snap shut, and went limp against the wall.

A hand fell onto his shoulder.

Emerson's eyes slowly opened.

He was in his childhood bedroom. Golden bars of afternoon sunlight spilled into his room through the white shutters over his windows. There was his small wooden desk and chair. His wardrobe stood against the opposite wall

His short legs dangling over the edge of his comfy bed, with his hands in his lap. He was looking down at the thick, brown carpet. His eyes were hot, puffy, and stung, and his cheeks were wet with tears. He couldn't remember how long he had been crying.

“Who was it this time?” a deep, baritone voice calmly asked from beside him.

Emerson angled his head away- he didn't want his father to see him like this. It was all his fault. Again. Why couldn't he just let things go? Why did every single gaze feel so... judgmental?! They didn't even have to say anything and he already imagined they thought the worst of him. Teachers. Friends- bestfriends even. Why was he like this?

His father sighed and let go of Emerson’s shoulder, then got off the bed and sat on the floor beside it so his head was level with the covers. He spoke while looking forward.

“...Did you try what we talked about?”

Emerson squeezed his eyes shut tighter and shook his head. He felt a small headache at the base of his neck.

“How come?”

“Scared...” Emerson sniffled, his small hands squeezing into fists.

“Why?”

“Because it was scary!” Emerson angrily shouted, pounding the side of his bed with a fist. The throbbing ache slowly became more pronounced, crawling up his neck like a spider.

His father let out a small laugh.

“Well, did you try imagining them in their underwear?"

Emerson didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So he opted to shove his father's big, stupid head with a palm. The pain grew sharper- now at the top of his head. His entire body hurt, especially his shoulders.

"Stop! This is serious..." Emerson laugh-cried, and although he didn't sob or laugh, his tears did fall that much harder.

"Alright, alright, sorry kiddo." His father lightly placated him before returning to his thoughts.

"Hm... well, how about this..." His father theatrically snapped his fingers, and knowingly nodded.

Emerson looked at his father- he was curios. But he also didn't want to get his hopes up. Then his father actually turned, angling himself to look up at Emerson- his deep, grey eyes boring into his son's lighter ones.

A sudden, sharp pain blossomed on the right side of Emerson's neck. It was difficult to describe the pain, because it almost instantly became a warm, soft pulse of pleasure that radiated through his body.

He started feeling tired. He felt like yawning- but his mouth wouldn't move. He felt like stretching his sore body and crawling beneath the warm, comfy sheets- but his arms and legs felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds.

“What if I told you the secret to happiness?" His father asked, a warm smile reaching his eyes. Emerson felt an incredibly compelling sense of deja-vu. This was important- he wanted to hear this, he needed to hear this.

Emerson wanted to nod. Wanted to say something. Wanted to do something. Anything.

His vision was growing blurry-darkness creeped in at the edges. He couldn't make out his father's face anymore; he was so tired.

He could tell his Father's lips were moving as he said something.

The room was gone. There was only an endless darkness.

He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe.

Then he was falling.

Falling.

Falling..

Falling...

Into a cold, empty embrace.