Page 33 of Presence

Did I just… have a dream within a dream… within a fucking dream?

I wish I could put into words what I just experienced, but my mind feels foggy, splintered into pieces. I can remember bits and pieces of the dream, but other parts... they’re completely gone. Vanished. I’ve got chills. There’s something I should remember but can’t.

Why do I keep having these amnesia episodes? They should’ve stopped by now.

A loud ring echoes through my apartment. The doorbell. My legs tremble as I stumble toward it. Who could it be? What time is it, anyway? The blinds are shut tight, and the lights are on, making it feel like any time of day. No daylight peeks through the edges of the blinds, but maybe it’s just cloudy outside.

Fuck.

Part of me wants to ignore it, to hide from whoever’s on the other side. But the louder, stronger part of my mind insists I can’t hide. Not again.

Keep running, human, and see what happens. That’s what the dark voice told me in my dream. I feel like I did run, like I tried to escape more than once, and it only made everything worse. I can’t explain it, but... I can’t run anymore. Not like this.

I shake my head and reach for the door. Peering through the peephole, I take a deep breath to steady myself before opening it. Camilla stands in the corridor, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Claire, are you okay?” she asks immediately, her eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress. But distress is a sneaky bastard. It takes many shapes and forms, and once you learn to embrace it, you can hide it well. I don’t know why she’s here or why she’s so worried, but hiding is what I do best. I go for it almost naturally.

I am definitely not okay but she doesn’t have to know it.

“Oh, hey, Cam,” I say, burying the fear deep inside me. My dad always said I’d make a great actress if I wanted to. He didn’t realize I just enjoyed pretending to be someone else. I never liked myself. “What’s up?”

She sucks in a breath, pushes the door open wider, and steps inside without bothering to take her shoes off. She’s wearing a beige raincoat, unzipped halfway, and a floral blue scarf thrown haphazardly around her neck. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s not wearing any lipstick. This is so unlike her. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her without lipstick.

“Don’t do this to me,” she says angrily, pointing a finger at me as she storms past and heads deeper into the apartment. She throws her purse onto the couch and makes her way into the kitchen.

I stand there, unease gnawing at me, watching as she rushes from the kitchen to the bathroom, then into my bedroom. When she runs out of places to check, she marches over, nostrils flared, eyes locked onto mine.

“What happened?” she demands. Her voice, tight and urgent, makes my stomach twist.

“What do you mean?” I ask, panic bubbling inside me. But even though I feel it, I don’t show it. I hide it deep.

Camilla isn’t fooled for a second. “Don’t lie to me, Claire,” she snaps. “Spill the beans, or I swear, I’m going to whoop your ass. You scared the hell out of me! I thought someone had broken in! You were talking to someone, asking who they were, then you just panicked and hung up on me.”

Wait… what?

I blink, my mind whirring as I struggle to understand what she’s talking about. It’s the damn memory blank. Something happened that I don’t remember.

“When did this happen?” I ask, my throat tight.

Camilla’s eyes fill with concern. She watches me for a moment like she’s contemplating taking me to the hospital against my will, but then she takes a deep breath and answers my question.

“Like twenty minutes ago. I ran here as fast as I could, girl,” she says.

My stomach drops. “Who called who?” I ask, placing my hands on her shoulders, hoping I don’t seem completely unhinged.

“I called you!” she nearly shouts, shrugging off my hands. “Please, Claire, stop messing with me. This isn’t funny. Tell me what happened. You’re seriously scaring me.”

I swallow hard, trying to remember what she’s talking about.

Come on, Claire, think! You were running away from something, right? But what? The shadows? Crap! Phone, phone, phone…

Oh shit. The memory clicks. I remember the dream where I talked to Cam. That’s when the creepy voice started talking instead of her.

Did that actually happen? No… couldn’t have. That was just a dream, not real. Or maybe…

Words fail me. There’s not much to go on, but I’m sure—at least a part of my dreams were real. Camilla called me. Isn’t that enough of a proof that it happened? I talked with her.

Fuck, those things happened.

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