Chapter 3 By Green “You are one difficult man to handle.” A boot pressed down on one side of Eric’s bleeding head, pinning him against the cement. Blood dripped into his blurry eyes, from which he had only a view of his limp arm and his spear tossed aside. He was lying on his stomach, his breaths shallow and weak. Crimson wounds criss-crossed his back. They festered from the lashes of Freya’s black tendrils that were currently wrapped around his limbs and holding him down. He winced as the tendrils squeezed tightly. “Lucky for you,” said Freya, standing above him, “your new boy ran off somewhere and is probably out of the Dreamworld by now—if he’s smart. That means you’re no longer useful to me.” Eric grit his teeth in defiance. He mustered up his remaining strength to reach for his spear until one of Freya’s tendrils stabbed into the cement to cut him off. “You were always such a fighter, Eric.” She removed her boot from his head. “But you know better than that. Game’s over.” “Then kill me,” he growled hoarsely. Freya raised her arm, seething with those abnormal black coils, and Eric closed his eyes. JIMMY By the time I woke up and made it to Market Street, it was already early evening. In my defense, it only took so long because I was trying desperately hard—perhaps too hard—not to look like I had just woken up from a living nightmare. I didn’t rush but I didn’t daddle either; I did, however, look behind my shoulder. No one had come after me. Market Street was bustling with life at this hour. Cars and trolley buses clogged the road, people speed-walked over the zebra lines while others darted between the automobiles, the building lights began to shine against the darkening sky, and there was honking and shouting and bells from cyclists. I welcomed the noise because it made me feel just a tad bit safer, more blended. On the other hand, it made me overwhelmed. I was pretending to play “I spy” but with address signs as I
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