Sinead was covered in sweat when she awoke. Her heartbeat was fast in her neck. As she gathered her thoughts, flashes from her dream leapt through her memory, but it was all too patchy to remember fully. She remembered a kitchen, colorful scenes, and tea? Alarmingly, too, she had this strange sense of dread, or, fear? She couldn't fully place it. She swallowed, and realized her mouth was bone dry. Desperately, she sat up and grabbed her water cup from her bedside table, quickly gulping down five or six swigs before noticing something odd.

  Her clock was off. Not flashing, like the power had flickered during the night, but off. She craned her neck and confirmed it was plugged in. She considered the possibility it had died, but Vince had bought it when they moved in, and it hadn’t been that long.

  She sat the cup down on the nightstand, and then laid back on her elbows, still surprised at how hot she had gotten during the night. When she looked up at the ceiling, she noticed that the fan was off, too.

  That was more peculiar than the clock. Neither Vince nor Sin had turned the fan off but once or twice since they made this their home; it was a comfort thing. It kept the air from getting stale, and they both ran hot typically.

  Sinead furrowed her brow, then glanced over to see if Vincent was awake. Immediately upon laying her eyes on him, she knew something was wrong. Vi was propped up in bed, glasses on, phone in hand, but his neck was cricked backwards, his face towards the ceiling in what looked to be an incredibly awkward and uncomfortable position. His mouth was hanging open limply, his skin white and lips pale.

  “Vince?” Her voice cracked, and Sinead immediately leapt out of the bed and ran to his side, instinctively checking for a pulse. To her relief, he had one, and he was breathing, but he wasn’t responding to her touch. She shook him, shouting his name, and nothing happened. She shook him harder, and his head dropped to the side, like dead weight.

  “Vincent stop it right fucking now!” She screamed. She wasn’t sure if he was playing some fucked up prank on her or not, but it sure as hell wasn’t funny.

  Sinead reached over and braced her knuckles against his sternum, and began to rub them into his chest as hard as she could. She had seen it on a paramedic show, and if the person was truly unresponsive, even something that uncomfortable couldn’t wake them up. He didn’t move. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Frantic, she grabbed his phone from his hand to call 911, but it wouldn’t turn on. It must have not charged. Undeterred, she raced to the other side of the bed, picked up her own cell phone, and pressed the power button.

  Nothing happened.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” She knew there was nobody to hear her shouts. She threw her phone to the ground, paced back over to Vince's side, and checked his pulse again. It was still there. Desperate to get help, she quickly grabbed a hold of his legs and yanked him with all her force down in the bed to straighten his neck. She struggled to prop a pillow up behind his back so he was on his side, but knew it would help her feel even a little better about leaving him to get help. She bit her lip hard, taking one more look at him, before sprinting to the front door and bolting outside.

  Her neighbors, Claude and Becky, were almost always home. They were a retired couple—Claude from the Air Force, and Becky, an old wedding planner—and spent their free time doing puzzles and watching shitty news on their decades-old television. Sinead would always wave at them if she ever saw them out walking, but as she approached their door with panic, she realized she hadn’t ever had a full conversation with either of them.

  It didn’t matter. Vince was. . . She didn’t even know what was wrong with him, only that it couldn’t be good. Sinead bounded up the front steps, rang the doorbell, and then knocked five times firmly on their wooden blue door.

  Deep breathes, deep breathes, it's going to be fine. They’re going to help, and you’re gonna practically forget about all of this tomorrow. Sinead doubted herself with every second that passed with no answer. She had seen their white Toyota Corolla parked in the driveway, and knew they shared the car, so they had to be home. Growing frustrated, Sinead thundered her fist on the door six times and then rang the doorbell twice more.

  “Hello?” She called out, and was sure they heard her now. But almost twenty seconds went by, and still, there was no sound of movement. Now she was starting to really panic. Out of ideas, Sinead walked two steps left and cupped her hands against the window, peering inside. When she spotted them, she felt bile rise in the back of her throat.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Both Claude and Becky were sitting in separate chairs in the living room, necks craned back, mouth’s hung open, skin pale and white.

  Sinead’s eyes and mouth dropped open and she stepped back so far she almost fell off the porch. “No,” she whispered to herself. “Wait, no.” What the fuck is going on?! She spun on her foot, jumped down the stairs, and ran back to her house. Out of breath, pumped with adrenaline, she found Vincent laying in the exact same position she had left him in, and drool was dripping out from his limp cheek. “Vi! Stop this!” She cried, grabbing his bicep. He rolled limply onto his back. “Wake! The! Fuck! Up! Vincent!” She shook him hard, so hard that his glasses came off his face and tumbled to the blankets beside him. She stepped back, her efforts unsuccessful, and a deep sob escaped her mouth. None of this made any sense; the phones, the clock, the neighbors? Was she still dreaming? In her moment of weakness, she raised her fist and swung it down to his chest. And then, her other fist. She punched again and again, blinded by tears, and all that came out of her gaping mouth was anguished cries. Vincent remained, unchanged, unmoving, completely still.

  Sin refused to believe it. She hurried to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and splashed her face with cold water for over a minute. Her nose and cheekbones went numb, and as she stared at herself in the mirror, her face red and splotchy, she could see Vince’s completely static body on the bed behind her. She had to get help, if not from Claude or Becky, than from somebody else.

  She turned the tap off, ran through the room, past the bed, and tore through the front door. This time, Sinead ran left instead of right. The house on the other side of them had just been bought, so neither her nor Vince had introduced themselves. She wasn’t discouraged. Instead of trying the door, she trudged through the overgrown lawn to the side of the house where there was a window low enough for her to look into. She peered in, but saw nothing but a washer and dryer. She considered breaking the window, but voted against it. There is going to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this fucking shit. She knew it would just complicate things if she broke into someone's home, even if she was running out of options for Vince.

  As she hurried her way to the back yard, she was suddenly aware of how quiet it was outside. There were no cars going by, no sirens, no distant lawn mower, not even construction from the new houses going up in the neighborhood behind them. A shiver crept up her back, but she persisted on, finally making it to a sliding glass door. After peering through, the familiar taste of bile returned, but this time, it spilled out.

  There was a body.

  Blood.

  A shotgun.

  Someone had shot themselves.

  Sinead vomited into the grass behind her until she dry-heaved, and then spit four or five times to rid herself of the taste. The emptiness that now plagued her stomach made its way into her chest. Her denial of it all was starting to fade into a sick realization that perhaps she wasn’t really dreaming.

  She resolved to make her way back to Vince, perhaps try to flick the breakers on and off, or throw ice water on his face, but when she made it to the road, a sound caught her attention. Crying. Scanning the road, she spotted a white suburban with its windows rolled down that had rolled its front right tire up onto a curb. Somebody was crying, it sounded like it was coming from inside the car.

  By the sound of it, Sinead guessed it was a fairly young child, and her suspicions were confirmed fairly quickly. When she made it to the vehicle, she first peered into the back seat, and buckled in was a young boy, probably four years old, his face bright red, smeared with snot and tears. His cries were shrill and unrelenting, and Sinead probably didn’t help the situation much when she stepped up to check on the driver.

  A small red-headed woman, maybe in her mid thirties, was slouched in the driver’s seat, face turned crookedly at the sky, mouth hanging open, with skin so white it was almost translucent. Sinead wanted to throw up again, but she was completely empty, and knew that there were bigger things to worry about now. She peered again into the rear seats, the boy pulling at his brown curls and kicking his feet, and then peered back at the driver. If this is a fucking dream, please let it end soon. She couldn’t take much more.

  “Heyyy,” Sin cooed, pivoting towards the child, “It’s alright, there, heyy it’s okay!” Just her attention alone seemed to lower the boy’s shrieking, but the tears kept plummeting over his round cheeks and onto his now very wet shirt. Sinead reached gently and slowly inside the door through the window, unlocked it, and then swung it open. “Hey there buddy,” she said, almost whispering now. He quieted down as if to listen to what she was saying. “My name is Sinead, what about you?”

  Sinead worked carefully, unbuckling the seatbelts around his chest and waist, glancing feverishly at the woman slumped in the front seat. She assumed it was the boy’s mother.

  “M–m–” The boy couldn’t get much out between cries. She lifted him from the seat, careful not to hit his head on anything, and placed him on her hip before shutting the door and starting back towards her house. As she walked, she bounced the kid gently on her arm, and didn’t even realize she was humming until she made it to her front door.