Read previous installments of Myra here

“Breathe, Myra…”

The voice seemed far away and muffled as if someone were whispering to her from the depths of the ocean. Myra felt her stomach flutter with anxiety as she tried to look around the room, but a strong, meaty arm held her down. The smell of cleaning agents stung her nostrils, and the sheets beneath her felt rough.

“Don’t move too quickly,” he said. “You need to breathe.”

Myra tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her panic increased, making her heart beat faster. She heard a series of beeps that seemed to move in time with her pulse.

“She’s panicking,” the distant male voice said to someone Myra couldn’t see. “What should I do?”

“Give her another round to settle her down.”

Myra felt a tiny prick her in the crook of her arm. Her eyes went heavy, and soon, she was asleep.

********

“Myra,” Jay called as he shook her awake.

Her friend was above her, a worried expression in his eyes. Myra sat up. She was still in the entryway of Jay’s building. She remembered running to the door. A foggy dream of being in a bed somewhere else tickled at the edges of her memory. She must have been unconscious, her brain in a deep dream state.

Myra tried to stand, but her legs felt like her bones were removed. Jay supported her when he saw her wobble and then declared he was taking her to the hospital. Myra shook her head and mumbled “no” before running toward the exit.

“Myra!” Jay yelled. “Where are you going?” She didn’t answer him. She ran back to her apartment. To the place where all this madness began.

The police tape still clung to the door frame of her apartment entrance. Myra felt nauseated as she pulled the yellow and black barrier off and reached for the doorknob. With her free hand, she inserted the key into the deadbolt lock and turned it. She took a deep breath and walked inside.

The apartment was exactly as she and Jeanie had left it, but there was a heaviness to the atmosphere. It didn’t feel like home anymore. It was tainted, and the feeling of fear of being hunted in her own space clung to her like drenched clothing. As she moved from room to room, Myra saw flashes of that night. The intruder. Jeanie in pain. Being underneath the bed, too scared to breathe.

Myra felt the panic rising in her gut. She felt sick and ran to the bathroom, fearing she’d vomit where she stood. Once in the bathroom, the heaving stopped, and she sat down on the cold floor, desperately trying to calm her breathing.

Her phone pinged.

“Welcome home, Myra.”