"Bowen." A familiar voice drifted over to me.

My eyes flew open. At first, I didn't see anyone in the dark room. But as my eyes adjusted I spotted a body crouching in the far corner.

I wanted to scream, until I realized it was Peter, sitting on the floor clutching his knees to his chest.

Sliding out of the bed I walked over to him, wondering what on earth he was doing on the floor.

"Peter?" I asked softly. A smile stretched across my face.

His head shot up so fast that I stumbled back a bit. His eyes were blue but different than the calm milky color I was used to. Instead, they were bright, the whites of his eyes glowing in the darkness.

"The devil lives in him," he muttered, so quiet I almost didn't hear, and then in his normal voice said, "I'm sorry."

My smile wavered, "What do you mean? Why are you sorry?"

"I'm going to kill you." The words shook, and then he whispered, "The devil lives in him."

"No you won't, just calm down, and stop saying that," I demanded.

"He will," he sobbed, and then again, in a small voice repeated, "The devil lives in him."

"Randall?" I asked.

He shook his head wildly and then threw himself forward onto his hands and knees.

"No, no, no, no," he said, crawling towards me, "the devil lives in him the devil lives in him the devil lives in him..."

He said the words until they were nearly indistinguishable.

I stepped back, not knowing what to think about how erratic he was being. I'd been so happy to see him, but something was wrong.

"What wrong Peter?" I raised my voice at him, hoping he would snap out of it before I ran out of space to back away from him.

"Never say his name." And with that, he collapsed onto the ground and the light in his eyes died like when you click off a TV. Straight to black.

I stood there in silence, staring at his limp body.

But suddenly his head shot up, black eyes staring into mine. And with a smirk, he lunged for me.

I woke up sweating, even though I'd fallen asleep on top of the covers.

The ring was so cold it practically burned. I adjusted it, the icy metal slid easily up and down my clammy finger.

I flipped on the bedside lamp and took a few moments to breathe. Why did my brain feel the need to terrorize me, wasn't my reality bad enough?

Getting to my feet I checked around the room again, just to make sure. I didn't need an unhinged Peter jumping out at me anytime soon.

I wanted to see him more than anything, but not like that.

When I was done checking around the room I peeked out the door. There weren't any men standing guard much to my relief.

I descended the stairs, stepping lightly and swinging my head around to make sure there weren't any creepy guards watching me.

I figured I should start with the room from yesterday. There might be clues if nothing else.

The door was propped open, and I didn't hear any noise coming from inside.

I peeked in and had to stifle a gasp. There was a man lying on the floor, his arm completely torn from his body. I vaguely recognized him as one of the silent guards.

I was about to abandon the mission and go check somewhere else when I caught sight of a figure with familiar white hair, facing towards the opposite wall. Which only propelled me to leave faster.

I took a step back, but before I could get any further I heard a soft, "Hello, sweetheart." Coming from inside the room, and my chest got tight.