Crash.

Scream.

Blood.

Pain.

Sirens.

Scream.

Silence.

The nightmare wakes me up violently, causing me to sit up and whack! Just like every other nightmare, it's never complete if I don't crack my skull on the top of my bunk. I cradle my head in silence, eyes closing once more. The medications aren't helping.

Four weeks after the episode, four months after the crash, the nightmares are just as terrible as ever. I know I was told that they would take a while to kick in, but it feels like they should have dampened something at this point. I'm almost convinced I'm taking sugar pills, some placebo effect attempting to take its place as medicine. The panic attacks, the nightmares, the episodes — nothing has gone down or gone away. I feel like I'm wasting my time on it all.

Then again, the doctor said it could take up to three months to take effect. That feels ridiculous to me — three months for a medicine to work? By now, we should have this stuff figured out.

With a groan, I sit up carefully and place my feet on the ground. My fingers find themselves running through my hair, playing with the strands to soothe my mild anxiety. It's an hour before I'm supposed to get up, my alarm clock reminding me so in bright red numbers, mocking me silently. Instead of laying back down, I decide to get myself ready for the day, taking my time with my makeup and hair. I wish I could do a french braid like my mother always did in my hair, but I never figured out how to do it myself. I could do something different, though.

As I style my hair, my mind wanders to the holidays. We had skipped over Thanksgiving this year since the guys had to work. They were gone all night and didn't arrive back home until early morning the next day. I still don't know their professions, and quite frankly, I don't want to. The shower incident was enough to scare me away from anything having to do with what they do for a living. It makes me wonder if Christmas will be the same way. Maybe they'll have the day off, and we'll all spend the holiday in blissful silence. Maybe they won't celebrate it at all. Maybe Kowalski will celebrate Charles Dickens instead of Christmas. Who knows around here?

Once I'm dressed and ready, my hair is done up decently for once, I pop my door open as silently as possible. I can hear the guys starting their little… training, or whatever they call it. They use one of their side rooms that I'm forbidden from entering to train these days. I don't want to disturb them — last I need is to be pinned again and trigger a panic attack of some sort.

As I'm brushing my teeth, the bathroom door opens. It was slow, and with a mouthful of toothpaste I attempted to say, "I'm in here!"

The door pushes open all the way, and Skipper is standing in the doorway. He's dressed already, a cup of coffee in his hand, a furrow in his brow to show his confusion. "What the hell are you doing up so early?"

I turn away to spit into the sink, washing it down the drain before speaking. "It's… just a nightmare again. Sorry if I interrupted anything," I say softly, my head down as my gaze focuses hard on the sink in front of me.

Skipper doesn't say anything. I hear him get closer before a hand places itself on my shoulder. He squeezes a bit, causing tears to spring to my eyes. I just want to hug Mom once more. I feel lost without her.

"She'd be proud, you know," Skipper says, before letting me go and walking out to leave me alone with my thoughts. I stay in there for much longer than I want to, just trying to pull myself together so I don't cry. I hate feeling like this. I hate feeling helpless.

I hate the constant hole in my heart that won't heal.

Before I know it, forty-five minutes have passed. Kowalski peaks into the bathroom to let me know the bus will be here soon, and I nod. Skipper must have told the rest of them that I wasn't having such a great morning.

"Here." Kowalski hands me a few granola bars from the cabinet with a smile. "I know it's not much, but this is something anyway. You should eat something before you go."

I nod and thank him, taking the granola bars and looking at them as he leaves. I'm not hungry right now, my stomach is too twisted in a knot. Instead, I put them in my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, leaving for the bus without a goodbye.

But yet, as I board the bus and sit in my usual seat, Skipper is still standing outside. He's still standing there, watching me, making sure I get on the bus safely. I close my eyes and put my head down, waiting for the bus to arrive at the school.

The last hour rolls around much faster than I expected today to go. My head has been in the clouds all day, and I know that more than likely I'm never going to remember all of what happened throughout today's classes. I could pick up relatively easily, though, if I paid attention tomorrow.

I walk into the classroom with a bunch of other kids, and it feels… off. I try to shake it off as a feeling of paranoia and sit down in my usual seat. But the feeling won't go away. It feels like something is missing, something is out of place. Looking around the room, I try my best to spot anything that would make me feel this way. Other than the fact that our teacher was gone, there was nothing strange about it. Maybe he was in the teacher's lounge.

I open my notebook to the last page, reading over the notes I'd written from yesterday to refresh my mind. The bell rings, and I continue to read my notes, trying to make connections in my brain to make sure I remember the information for the test.

"Hello, students."

My blood turns to ice as suddenly, my attention is no longer on the notes. I'm too focused on the voice, too focused on how I knew it. There was no way. My head picks up to confirm my suspicion that yes, this is the same man. The same creepy, sinister-looking, eyepatch-wearing man that I'd come across more than I'd like to admit. He's even wearing the bluish-grey suit he wore when we originally had met.

Though we had only come face-to-face twice, I had seen him everywhere. In the park, in the grocery store, in restaurants, in parking lots. All at a distance. There's no way one man can be this consistent in someone's life in New York. There's just no way.

"My name is Dr. Harris, and I will be your new science teacher. Mr. Engal, unfortunately, had to take an… extended leave." His smile feels cold, his eye darting around the room. "Now, I do understand that this is a chemistry class, but I have a few things in mind to teach you the ways of chemistry in a different sense." He stands in front of everyone, smiling widely. "I'm going to teach you how to build some things that will greatly benefit m— you, benefit you in life."

Everything felt wrong about this. He's teaching us to read blueprints of something that definitely felt wrong. I don't feel safe. Glancing up at the clock, I sigh inwardly as I know this is going to be a very, very long thirty minutes.

Should I tell Skipper about this guy? It can't be a coincidence that he keeps appearing in my life. It has to be strange that, almost no matter where I go, I see him at some point. This was getting ridiculous. But would he take me seriously? Is this the side effect of PTSD? Is this something my crazy imagination came up with? Knowing Skipper, he could react in one of two ways: completely flip off his rocker and go paranoid extreme, or brush it off and think nothing of it, telling me it's in my head. Both are an equal possibility.

As soon as the bell rang, I got up and headed for the door. It didn't matter that he was still talking, all that mattered was getting out as soon as possible.

I run to my locker and shove everything into it, stuffing my homework into my backpack to take home with me. I gotta get out, I gotta get out. Getting out of this building is the only thing that is running through my head as I walk briskly toward the entrance of the school. Rico is supposed to be meeting me today if he didn't get caught up in work. I'm glad, too, because I really don't want to take the bus today. I just want to be home and safe in my own room.

A hand on my arm rips me from my thoughts as I'm pulled into an unused room in the school. Something is going to happen to me, right here, right now. I'm going to be killed and thrown away, and it's probably by this creepy asshole that I can now put a name to — "Dr. Harris." Will anybody even notice I've been pulled away? Will I be able to scream? Most importantly, are my last moments seriously going to be in high school? What a shit place to die.

The lights flip on, and my suspicions of it being Dr. Harris are immediately put to rest. Instead of the tall and weird man borderline stalking me, I'm faced by a man with amber eyes, slightly messy dark ginger hair, and honestly, a small build for a guy. He's not much taller than me. I can tell that even though he's slim, he's definitely fit. His arms show that he's definitely got muscle, but he also has a lot of scars that almost distract from the muscles. I don't want to question them. His face is ashen as he watches me carefully, almost scanning my face, searching for… something. "Are you Liberty Peregrine?" His voice is higher-pitched, and the German accent that spills from his lips is actually quite surprising.

"Why do you need to know?" Well damn, Skipper's rubbing off on me more than I thought.

"I need you to relay a message to Skipper for me." I can hear the urgency lacing between the syllables of the words, and all I can do is nod. "Nothing more, nothing less." I nod again. "Tell him this; 'the dolphin is swimming the ocean.' He'll know what it means."

Should I be disappointed it wasn't something extremely weird, or glad? I can't tell at this point. "Okay, I will. But who are —?"

"No questions," he says to cut me off quickly. "Just remember those words exactly. Do not forget them."

And with that, he moved his hand so his thumb was under my chin, and pressed firmly. My world went dark quickly, consumed by unconsciousness.

I wake up sharply, immediately looking around to take in my surroundings. I'm in my room, tucked into my bed. The lights are out, it's dark outside, and the clock screams that it's a little past seven o'clock. I wonder how I ended up here.

The thoughts push past me, though — instead, I focus on what the German guy told me to tell Skipper.

The dolphin is swimming the ocean.

I don't know what it means; it seems like nonsense to me. But with Skipper being weird with his codewords and operations and all that weird shit, I know I have to tell him. It might be an emergency.

I get up and make my way out into the living room. Skipper is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, clutching a coffee cup as if his life depends on it. His knuckles are white from the grip he has on it — it makes me wonder how he hasn't broken the mug yet. He's staring off into space, his expression one of concern, eyebrows pressing together in a frown while he stares at the wall. In all the time I've been here, I don't think I've ever seen him so deep in thought.

"Skipper?" I try to keep my voice soft and low to get his attention without him flipping out and going commando on me. "You okay?"

He blinks back into reality, shaking his head as if he's trying to clear his thoughts. When he looks at me, a smirk claims his lips — though I notice his grip hasn't lessened at all on his mug. "Just fine, soldier. No need to worry about me."

I just nod, but I don't believe him. Something is bothering him, but I know I also won't get an answer if I say ask. So I just pretend. "Okay." Sitting down next to him, I clear my throat. "So… I need to tell you something. Someone told me to relay a message. Before you ask, I don't know who. Never gave me a name. He just told me to tell you something."

The grip relaxes on his coffee cup and he sets it down on the coffee table, turning his body to face me a bit more. "Alright," he says. "What's the message?"

"The dolphin is swimming the ocean."

I have never seen my father's face go so pale.