The park is quiet, serene as it normally is at the late hours of the night. Even before Boomer, I would come here to just think or sketch, but now there is Boomer. He sits on the bench, watching me sketch, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. He is extremely close, so much closer than I should let him. But a part of me doesn't really want him to move away. His lips move to say something, but I can't hear him. They move again, still relieving no sound. I blink in response and his eyes narrow.
What's the matter? I go to question, but soon find that I can't speak either. I desperately try to produce words, voice my thoughts. Like he said, my thoughts are so important. He likes my thoughts. He told me he did... Boomer becomes more agitated as we sit in silence, the attempts to speak quickly diminishing to futility. I want to speak. For once I really do.
My gaze turns to the sketchbook in my lap and I perk up drastically. I can write. Quickly, I scrawl out a haphazard message in my curly font and angle it toward him. But he's no longer there. I glance around baffled. He had been there a moment ago...
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when I sense someone behind me. Slowly I make a move to turn, but stop short. An odd sensation washes over me. Have I been struck? It doesn't hurt, but black dots dot my vision. I've gone completely numb. Panicked, I move myself to face where I felt the blow. When my vision clears, I see Boomer, hovering just above the ground. His hand glows an intense indigo, far contrast from my soft powder blue glow. I reach behind my head and pull my hand away, willing myself to remain calm, but when I see my blood stained fingers I can't help but choke on threatening tears.
A smile twists Boomer's face, warping his features into anything but the new Boomer. Now all I see is the old Boomer, cocky, a little stupid, but still completely lethal. He lunges toward me, far faster than I can react. His hands lock themselves around my throat and tighten. I attempt to pull away, but his grip is too strong, overpowering. Even with my human strength. I try to squeak out Boomer's name, but then I remember no voice.
He glares up at me now, his once pale blue eyes, now completely icy and cold. This isn't the Boomer I know. I gasp for breath, desperately pulling at his rock hard fingers. But nothing. His grip is getting tighter.
I threw myself out of bed, urgently pulling at the sheets that had tangled themselves around my neck. I gasped shakily and glanced around my room. Bridget and Blaire slept soundly in their beds next to me, completely oblivious to my distress. As I raked my fingers through my damp hair, I tried to calm my racing heart. Why was I dreaming about that? Boomer couldn't turn on me, could he?
I sidled back under my comforter and shivered. Is that how it would end up if I trusted Boomer? Should I have ever trusted Boomer? I tightened the blanket around my trembling shoulders and sighed. My sisters were probably right. I shouldn't be messing around with Boomer. There are enemies in this world. And he was one of them. He was a bad person.