I previously released a chapter 8, but ended up being unhappy with it. It was a dream sequence. I have included it at the end for anyone who would like to read it, but it is inconsequential to the story. When you see the asterisk in the chapter, skip down to "***DREAM SEQUENCE***" to read the dream in order with the rest of the story, then skip back up when you're done (or just read it at the end).

Fatigue plagued me. I had been trying intently to stay awake, but as we stumbled along, the reason why slipped my mind. Somewhere between leaving the apartment and lurching to the car, I lost consciousness.

It wasn't until dazzling lights assailed my eyes that I was roused from my sleep. I cracked my eyelids then quickly shut them again as the brilliance assaulted me. "Hnnng," I groaned, irritated by the interruption to my sleep.

"You're going to be okay," someone said. I wondered who they were speaking to.

"He needs a doctor! Hurry!" I wished the voices would hush. I was clearly trying to rest and they were making it a challenge.

I was being jostled, picked up and carried somewhere. I felt arms cradling me and then my tender back being set on a mattress. Finally, I could sleep.

###

*I saw a pale entity dressed in dark robes that followed me, peering behind corners and between crowds. It left me with a bleak, sinking feeling. Each scene I entered, it followed me closer. Part of me wanted to run away, but I had always found curiosity irresistible, so instead I followed. When the creature and I came face to face, I realized that I wanted nothing more than to escape. I wrenched myself backwards and, as if I had been underwater, pulled myself to the surface.

There was light, not the dismal, dim kind that had hung overhead a moment ago, but intense and glaring. Even behind closed lids, it ached, but there was a need in me that pushed me to wake so I squinted through the discomfort.

"Hmmmmmph," I felt a tingling in my side. Staring forward, I saw familiar rectangular panels that made up a ceiling. I would recognize those tiles anywhere. I was in a hospital again.

Still, my mind was clouded. How did I get here? I didn't remember the chemo session. "Uggghhhhhhh," I groaned even louder.

There was snoring to my left side. I craned my neck to look around the room. The blinds were pulled shut, but daylight seeped through the interstices. In the corner, on a reclined chair, lay my mother. She was on her side, mouth wide open with a line of drool dribbling down her chin and hands clasped beneath her head like a makeshift pillow. Her hair was a rat's nest and her glasses hung halfway off her face.

"Mom," I coughed. My mouth and throat were painfully dry. "Mom," I croaked louder. She mumbled something and stirred. "Mom!"

"Huh? What?" she shot up in her chair. I watched the recognition suffuse her eyes as she comprehended she was in the hospital room, and then when she turned her head and saw that I was awake, they filled with excitement. "Jake!" she scrambled out of her chair and rushed over to me. She bent down and kissed me on the forehead.

"Mom," I whined like a little kid.

She pulled away. "How are you feeling, honey?"

I took an inventory of my body. My back stung, my legs felt cramped, my side ached, and I was starving. "Hungry," I settled on telling her, "What happened?" my eyebrows furrowed as I racked my brain for the memory.

Her face fell. "You don't remember?"

I shook my head. "No."

"You were stabbed."

My brain paused momentarily, then began to race The memories flashed in my mind like a montage, clear as day. Shaw's. The phone call. Careening down the street. Being dragged down the alleyway. The knife piercing my stomach.

I reached my hand to my side and hissed in pain at the touch. I could feel the sutures in a line up my stomach.

"I remember now," I said somberly, "How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

Three days? Shit. I missed chemo.

"I'll get the doctor," she touched a hand to my cheek before leaving the room.

I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. They immediately drifted to Tracy. I could imagine her face, bathed in terror, as the assailant broke into the safehouse and she realized she was going to die.

No. I couldn't think about that. Think about Amy, I ordered myself. Amy, who had most likely seen me fragile and weak, lying in the hospital bed. Would she ever view me in the same way again? She probably knew that I had been overtaken by some common criminal. "Ughh."

The door opened. I swiveled my head to get a look. It was my doctor, Dr. Johnson, with his immaculately kept beard and permanently businesslike expression. My mom shuffled close behind. "Hello, Jake."

"Hey," my greeting was empty, my voice dead.

"Would you mind giving us a minute?" he directed the question to my mom.

She frowned. "I'll be right outside, sweetie," she told me.

"'Kay."

Dr. Johnson waited for the door to click shut before beginning. "How is your pain?"

"Not great," it wasn't the burning, all-consuming pain of the initial stab, but the aching was incessant.

"I can get you some medication for that. What is the last thing you remember?"

I wish I didn't have to think about it. "Going home."

He nodded. "Your friends brought you in. We had to perform surgery. The wound punctured your intestines. Things were touch and go for a while. You received seven stitches."

"Surgery?" I rubbed a hand on my forehead. "I missed chemo," I reminded him.

"You lost a lot of blood from the attack. We will have to put off chemo temporarily."

"No, you can't do that."

"I'm sorry. I know you want to continue as quickly as possible, but-"

"We can't slow down. I'm halfway done. We can't just let it get worse while I wait."

"It wouldn't be safe. We can return to the regimen as soon as possible, but it will probably take around a week.

"No," dread gripped my chest. The cancer would take its opportunity to fester while I lay limp and useless in bed.

"We're going to keep you for observation for a couple days."

"So you're just going to watch while it gets worse."

"I understand that this is hard," he didn't understand. He wasn't going through it. If he understood, he would let me continue. He breezed through the diagnosis, the effects, the chemo, unaffected. I was just another patient, just some guy. He'd seen it a hundred times, what did he care anymore?

"Whatever."

"An officer will need to take your statement."

I glared. "I am an officer."

"Regardless. If you would like, it can be one of your friends."

"Thanks," I said bitterly.

"A nurse will be in with your medication," he considered me one last time, then exited the room.

I was exhausted. I was physically fatigued, of course, but this was deeper. I was totally drained emotionally; I didn't know how many more blows I could put up with and continue to maintain my composure. Everything just kept coming, one thing after the next, with no time for me to catch my breath.

My mom strolled back in. "I called your friends. Everyone can't make it right now, but Amy and Gina are on their way."

Of course everyone couldn't make it. They were in the middle of work and couldn't drop everything for me. Half of me was irritated they didn't make the time, but the other half was relieved not to have to deal with it all at once.

"I was so scared," Mom interrupted my thoughts.

I didn't have the energy to reciprocate, to offer her the comfort that she was seeking. "I have to pee."

"I'll get the nurse."

"I don't need the nurse," I tried to push myself up, but the wound in my side screamed at me to stop. I flopped back to the bed.

"The doctor said you'll need a wheelchair for a few days."

Shame set in my stomach, right beside the ache in my side. There was no way I was using a wheelchair. I shoved myself off the mattress again with determination, fighting vehemently through the pain, and threw myself off the side of the bed. I immediately collapsed onto the floor, my wobbly legs unable to support my weight. The linoleum was an unforgiving surface and my already sensitive body throbbed on impact.

"Honey!" my mom exclaimed, reaching down to lift me, but not strong enough to do so, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

I didn't know where she thought I was going to go. I could try to crawl to the bathroom, but that was somehow more pathetic than the chair.

A nurse bustled in pushing a wheelchair. She was a hefty woman, tall and broad-shouldered. She parked the chair beside me and stooped to pick me up. She settled me in the wheelchair and rolled me to the bathroom. The worst humiliation yet was her lifting me and placing me on the toilet. "Can I at least pee by myself?"

She didn't respond to the ungrateful remark, only walked out and shut the door. I hid my face in my hands as I sat on the toilet. I stayed there, ruminating in the embarrassment, allowing myself to dwell in my angst, until there was a knock at the door.

"You okay in there?" my mom asked.

"I'm fine," I sighed and heaved myself onto the wheelchair. The arm jabbed my stab wound and I yelped, tumbling to the floor once more. The nurse burst in and huffed. She grabbed me, much less delicately than before, and sat me back in the chair. "Sorry," I muttered.

She returned me to the bed without another word. I hadn't meant to inconvenience her, as resentful as I was with the world, this behavior wouldn't get me anywhere.

I expected to be ignored by the nurses, like she would have spread the word I was a difficult, rude patient and should not be looked in on, but a male nurse dressed in teal scrubs entered and smiled, carrying a petite cup of pills and a cone of water. I accepted gladly, downing the pills and hoping one of them would stymie the pain.

When he left, Mom regarded me nervously. "It's okay, Mom."

"I love you."

Tears misted my eyes. "I love you too."

We waited together in silence until my mom's phone pinged and she announced that Amy and Gina were here.

The door creaking open announced their presence. I craned my neck to see them. "Hi," I forced a smile.

"Hi, Jake," Amy said.

"Jake!" Gina greeted enthusiastically.

"What's up, guys?"

"The others are stuck at work, but they'll be by today," said Amy.

"Yeah, of course."

"I've got your phone," Gina sifted through her bag and withdrew my cell, stepping closer and passing it to me, "I charged it."

"Thanks," I turned it over in my hands, "Look, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have left like that."

"We ambushed you," Amy said, "You needed time. I get it."

"Yeah…"

"Does it hurt?" Gina asked.

"It doesn't feel like a kiss."

"Touché," she rubbed her chin. I knew she was acting casual for my benefit, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I didn't need the reminder that everyone thought of me differently now.

"I'm supposed to take your statement," Amy shifted.

"Alright, let's get it over with."

"We'll go get some coffee," my mom and Gina shuffled out of the room, leaving Amy and I alone together.

Amy reached into her pocket and withdrew a pad of paper and a pencil. "I know you probably don't want to talk about this yet-"

"It's fine," I was beginning to wonder why I hadn't asked a random officer to do this. I had to recall in detail the disgraceful occurrence to the person I most dreaded telling.

Amy opened her mouth as if preparing to say something, then stopped. "You can go whenever you're ready."

I was never going to be ready so I might as well begin. "Where do I start?"

"How about after you left the bar."

"Okay. I left the bar… I was wasted. I couldn't drive and I left my phone so I walked home. It's only a few blocks to my place. I think it was between third and Jefferson, by the deli, the one that always smells weird," I couldn't make eye contact anymore so I returned my stare to the ceiling, "I wasn't paying attention. Someone grabbed me. If I hadn't been drunk…"

"It's not your fault, Jake."

I exhaled deeply, wishing that were true. Amy waited patiently for me to continue. "They pulled me into the alley, behind a dumpster. I couldn't see anything really. They were in all black, tennies and a hoodie," I swallowed and dug my hands into the sheets, pushing away tears. Amy touched my hand and I glanced at her sympathetic brown eyes. "They had a knife. They wanted my wallet and I gave it up, but then they asked for my phone and I couldn't… I didn't have it. I tried to fight them off and they tripped into me," I laughed humorlessly, "They didn't even mean to do it. I don't think they were ever even planning on it. If I hadn't done that," I didn't finish the thought.

"Jake-"

"They ran away. I was bleeding really bad, but I got home. You know the rest."

A heavy quiet filled the room, Amy registering the information and me simmering in the indignity.

"I was really scared," she said softly.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't face what happened to Tracy and I ran away. It was so stupid."

"It wasn't, though. I know things have been hard for you lately. I just want you to be okay."

My façade was breaking down with each remark. She had no clue what was making me act this way and she deserved the truth.

"I have to tell you something."

She tilted her head. "What is it?"

"I-"

Someone appeared behind Amy and I snapped my mouth shut. "Amy," Gina said, holding out a phone, "Holt wants to talk to you."

She looked at me regretfully. "I have to-"

"Yeah, no, you should take that," I couldn't believe how close I was to letting it slip. I blamed the pills and the exhaustion that was growing more intense with each second. I rested my eyes and allowed the fatigue to overtake me.

###

"Jake."

I groaned and tried to flip onto my side, but the immediate pain shooting through me quickly roused me.

"Yeah," I grumbled.

"Your friend is here."

I peered at my mom. The light outside was dim; it must be evening now. The medication had made me sleepy enough for an extended nap. "Who?"

"Charles."

"Hi, Jakey," he was standing on my other side.

"Hey, Charles."

"I'll leave you boys alone," Mom petted my head lovingly and wandered out of the room.

"How are you feeling?" asked Charles.

"Honestly? Like crap."

"I brought you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," the thought of food alone was enough to make me queasy.

He set it on the chair. "I'll leave it in case you change your mind. I heard you talked to Amy."

"Did you read the statement?"

He looked apologetic. "Yeah."

I sighed. "This is all so embarrassing. And on top of everything, I have to use a wheelchair."

"That's not so bad. I had to use a wheelchair when I got my tubes tied."

I snorted. "You're a man; you didn't get your tubes tied."

"Same thing. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Can you just not tell everyone?"

"Sure."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I'm not mad at you. We were just worried."

"Terry's gotta be pissed."

"He's not."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a little, but he'll calm down."

"Don't tell him, but I'm probably gonna go AMA. They want me to stay here for days, but I'm sick of this hospital," I wanted to bite my tongue, anxious Charles would notice the implication that I often found myself at this hospital, but he seemingly didn't catch on.

"I don't think that's a good idea, but I won't tell him. We're all here for you."

"Thanks," I paused, "I need to get back to work."

"I think you might be on desk duty for a while."

"No kidding," I wished things could be lighthearted, but it was like I forgot how to joke. My armor was chipping.

***DREAM SEQUENCE***

The colorful marketplace bustled with people all looking for a good deal. The vendors peddling their goods sat on the boardwalk edged up against the sand of the beach. I could smell the ocean, the fish that lay in baskets, and the spice of unfamiliar foods. The seagulls screamed above, eyeing the mackerel and tuna hungrily, but not daring to swoop into the crowd.

Charles skipped ahead of me; there was not enough room to walk side-by-side in the mass of people. He looked back to ensure I was still following and smiled. He said something, but I couldn't hear over the orchestra of voices.

A sharp high-pitched tone pierced my ears. It sounded like it was coming from a few paces behind me. I swiveled to find the perpetrator, but couldn't locate the source. Everyone seemed busy, wrapped up in their own worlds, no indication that any of them had made the offending noise.

Behind one of the merchant carts something strange caught my eye. There was a face peeking out. It stood partially behind the cart, bent sideways to see around it. It was hard to make out the features from this distance and between the incessant sway of the crowd. It was ghostly white. Its eyes were shadowed, like the black fur on a panda's face, only dark circles visible. The mouth was a straight line, like that of a cartoon. It wore an elongated, black trench coat that fell down to its feet and with sleeves long enough to hide its hands. Gigantic, black, pointed shoes peeked out from beneath the cape. I stepped forward to try and get a better view.

"Jake!" I snapped my head around when I heard Charles panicked shout. He stood facing me, with a man pointing a pistol at his head. Charles's mouth opened and he yelled, "Hurry!" but it was like someone else's voice coming out of him. My stomach twisted. I sprinted towards him, throwing myself at the gun-toting man and bringing him to the ground. The pistol spun out of his hand and across the boardwalk. I glanced over my shoulder at where the haunting figure had been, but it had disappeared.

…

The sky was turning sherbet orange, harbingering the onset of evening. I had to flow through the bodies on the sidewalk as they took little note of my existence, not bothering to move out of my way or stop when they nearly knocked into me. The street was packed with cars. A dozen yellow taxis interspersed in the cluster contrasted the mundane colors of the other vehicles.

Someone honked beside me and I nearly toppled over. It was strident and offensive and continued on-and-off. No one else even turned their heads at the sound.

I reached a corner and prepared to cross the street when a niggling feeling bugged me in my gut. I looked to the left and saw it: the eerie creature with its dark eye-holes and milky skin. It stood halfway behind a building, watching me, but its line of a mouth was slightly downturned now. It struck a deep discomfort inside of me. I began to stride towards it when a feminine voice beside me screamed, "Help! He took my purse!" My head shot to the side and I saw the culprit sprinting down the sidewalk. I took off, bleeding between heedless bodies. I saw him turn down an alley and I chased close behind. When I turned the corner, he was standing in a doorframe on the side of the building. Behind him, the room was pitch black. He looked remorseful and spoke, "He's not breathing," but it was the voice of a frightened woman. He stepped inside the building and the door shut behind him. I ran up to it, grabbed the door handle, and fruitlessly tried to pry it open. After a minute passed, I accepted defeat.

I stepped back and made a move to walk back from where I had come, but halted when I saw the pale almost-man staring at me. When it noticed that I had seen it, it ducked behind the building, out of sight.

…

Rosa and I stood beside each other in the bullpen, waiting for the elevator doors to open. Her arms were folded across her chest and she wore her signature leather jacket. She shot me a look when she noticed my ogling.

The doors opened and we walked in tandem. The metal doors slid closed and I pressed the button marked "1", eliciting a small ding. The room rumbled and then began to quake. The ding sounded again, but this time cacophonous and shrill, on repeat. I reached for the wall and clung while the floor shook beneath.

The sound grew louder. I attempted to cover an ear with one hand, but it didn't muffle the screeching.

Rosa stood still, arms still crossed, with a bored expression painted on her face. "What's happening?" I asked, but my voice was drowned out.

She twisted her head and looked into my eyes. "He might not make it," her voice was guttural and manly as though someone was voicing over her.

The convulsions abruptly stopped. I panted and tried to get a hold of my anxiety. The elevator doors glided open to reveal a floor I had never seen before. It had furniture that had been covered in white sheets, all the lights were off, and spiderwebs decorated the corners. "What is this place?" I wondered aloud. I moved out of the cab. Roaches scurried beneath the furniture when they heard my footsteps.

I rotated to look at Rosa, but she was no longer there, instead replaced by the spectral figure. Its frown is now deep and funereal. It was only a few yards away. I strode towards it, but the doors slid shut and the creature was gone once more.

…

I stood barefoot in the middle of my apartment. I rubbed my toes on the floor and felt the texture of the old carpet against my feet. Patterns of rectangles and rhombuses made from sunbeams breaking through the cracks of the blinds decorated the floor around me.

It was damp and humid. The smell of mold hung in the air. I held out a hand and felt the weight of the air against it.

There was a knock at the door in front of me. I stepped forward and opened it, revealing a somber Captain Holt.

"Captain?" he studied me silently. "Someone's been following me," I informed him. Initially, I was glad to have said it out loud. The situation had left me feeling alienated and endangered, but when he remained impassive, utterly unmoved by the proclamation, my heart sank. "What is happening?" my voice was small and scared. I was a child, unsure if I was about to be scolded, at the mercy of my parent's whim.

He spoke, "It's up to him now," but a woman's voice echoed from him.

"What is?" I felt desperate for an explanation, but he only swiveled to the side and walked away without another word. I swallowed and noticed how dry my throat was.

I closed the door and as it banged shut, the fire alarm began to scream. I clapped my hand over my ears, but it didn't soften the shrieks.

Through the noise, there was a pounding at the door. I felt there was something wrong on the other side - something unnatural that I didn't want to see, but with a shaky hand, I twisted the doorknob anyway.

The ashy being stood only a foot in front of me. I could see through the shadows that covered its eyes now. They were pitch black and brimming with tears. They streaked down the figure's face. Its mouth was no longer a frown, but open and shaped like a howl.

I resisted the urge to take a step back. We stared at each other for several minutes. As time passed, horror increasingly filled up those haunting pupils. The streams of tears that fell down its cheeks turned into rivers, then waterfalls. The bottom half of its face was covered in free-flowing tears.

It moved its head forward. I steeled myself, refusing to flinch. It raised an arm. The sleeve that covered its hands fell down and revealed a claw like that of a bird, but completely blanched except for the yellow-tinted talons. It smelled like burning.

It felt like my ears were bleeding from the fire alarm's wailing. Its claw encroached me, cupped and ready to place on my cheek. I was sick with fear and dread, but unwilling to waver. It wouldn't leave me alone until it did whatever it had come to do, so I had to find out what that was.

The claw touched me. It was scratchy and leathery; its fingers itched my face. The nails lightly scratched my cheeks as they ran across my skin, but it didn't hurt. The figure dipped down, its face nearing me with painstaking slowness. Its mouth broadened so that it no longer had a chin, just a massive, open gape. I watched as its eyes grew in its head. They widened, saturated with terror, until they took up half of its face.

I suddenly realized that it was scared - petrified - of me.

I ripped away, stumbling backwards, and the creature did the same. It fell back, nearly tripping to the floor.

I blinked and it was gone. I blinked again and everything was pitch-black. I blinked once more and finally saw the caustic light of reality as I woke.