Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

12. Maeve

Chapter 12

Maeve

“Who the hell does he think he is?” I grumble under my breath as I throw my clothes into my open duffel bag. “He’s just as creepy as this goddamn fucking hotel.”

My heart is pounding, adrenaline lacing my veins with false bravado after having Hazel pin me to the wall. I’m latching on to the least of my problems, too scared to focus my attention on what happened last night.

Now, in the blinding light of day, I can’t comprehend what came over me, what type of all-encompassing lust possessed me to do such a thing.

My core throbs at the memory of the faceless man fucking me against the wall, and I let out a small angry shriek as I throw some more clothes into my bag, incensed that I can’t stop thinking about it even now.

“I need to get out of this place,” I needlessly declare into the empty room. I can no longer avoid that what’s been happening since I arrived feels much too close to insanity.

And I can’t ignore it anymore. The way he was acting earlier … it’s as if I was seeing him for the very first time. I’m not su re if I loved or hated it. There’s also the unnerving feeling that Hazel is keeping something from me, and there’s more to these harmless ghosts than he boldly claims.

How do I explain the inexplicable shit that I’ve experienced?

If ghosts are haunting the hotel then how can I even discern what’s real?

What about the rest of the guests? Or even the staff?

“ Oh my god … ”

I stop in my tracks, my fist tightening around the pair of jeans I’m holding. A sickening sense of dread washes over me like I’m being drenched in a tub of acidic vinegar.

What if the faceless man was a ghost?

The thought triggers the suffocating hysteria that seems to always be just under the surface lately. I feel it grip my sanity, squeezing it like a ripe fruit as it turns into pulp under the pressure.

I shake my head vehemently, tears pricking my eyes.

Impossible.

There’s no way.

The anxiety climbs higher and higher up my throat as I zip up my suitcase and throw my duffel bag over my shoulder.

I’m leaving.

I can’t stay in this hotel a second longer.

I half expect Hazel to be standing outside my door when I open it, but the corridor is empty, and a confusing sliver of my psyche yearns to find him one last time before I run out of this place.

But I won’t.

Head down, busy looking up motels in neighboring cities, I start for the staircase at the end of the corridor. I’ve avoided taking the elevator as much as I could, not trusting the old thing.

Distracted, it takes me far too long to realize that I’ve been walking for longer than I should’ve—I should have reached the end by now.

I look up from my phone.

My stomach drops.

My breathing shallows.

I turn my head over my shoulder and see my hotel room door only a few steps behind me. “No,” I croak. “No, no, no, no, no.”

I begin to chant the loaded two-letter word, my quickening steps doing nothing to help me reach the end of the corridor. The walls expand, lengthening and lengthening, and no matter what I do, I can’t get further than three doors down from my room.

Now panicking, I drop my suitcase and duffel bag on the floor and start to run, the tears flowing and flowing and flowing just as fast as the corridor expands and expands and expands.

Hazel’s mocking voice begins to echo all around me as I scream, the panic soon turning into hysterics. “You’re not leaving this hotel anytime soon.”

I cry out for help but continue to run.

Run and run and run and run and run.

My lungs burn with the exertion.

I’m trapped.

I’m stuck.

I’ll die here.

I drop to my knees, the weight of my crushing reality—no, nightmare—too much to bear. I sob even harder. Louder. Slapping my palms against the carpeted floor, I let out a guttural scream. I sound barely human. I’m an animal trapped in a cage, knowing the slaughter is only a hair’s breadth away.

Then suddenly, the air turns cold.

The atmosphere shifts .

It wraps around me, drifting through the loose strands of my hair, and cooling my heated cheeks. It almost feels … alive. Like a visit from an invisible but familiar presence.

I stop crying.

I stop screaming.

My mind empties, and I’m suddenly unsure how I’ve ended up on the floor just outside my hotel room door.

I clear my throat and pat my cheeks dry.

I stand.

Pick my belongings back up.

And return to my room.