The hallway buzzed with lockers slamming and sneakers squeaking against tile. Conversations spilled into the air—snippets of gossip, complaints about the math test, weekend plans.
It was normal.
Too normal.
Hale walked slowly, his backpack suddenly feeling too heavy. He hadn't slept. Not really. Not after what happened.
Barney was gone.
He saw it. Felt it. That look. That moment. That hell.
But now, the world didn't care.
Students laughed. Teachers marked attendance. The sky outside didn't look any darker than usual.
Then Hale froze mid-step.
Near the corner, by the water fountain—
Barney.
Leaning casually against a locker. Hoodie half-zipped. That stupid band pin still on his collar. Same smirk. Same slouch.
But not the same.
Something deep inside Hale coiled, instinct screaming:
wrong wrong wrong
Barney's eyes lifted.
They didn't meet Hale's.
They slid past him.
As if Hale didn't exist.
Barney turned and walked down the hallway. Not a glance back. Not a word. Just that odd, stilted gait. Like someone was wearing him like a costume two sizes too small.
Hale's breath caught.
He turned to the girl next to him.
"Barney's back?"
She blinked, confused. Tilted her head like a dog hearing a frequency too high.
"Back?" she echoed. "He's been here all morning."
He nearly choked. "No... he wasn't. He didn't show up yesterday either."
The girl frowned. "You were out sick, right?" She tilted her head again. "You're probably just remembering it weird."
"I wasn't—" he started, but her expression had already smoothed over. Smile painted back on. Like she'd never said anything strange.
She walked off.
No one questioned it.
Hale stood there, surrounded by people, but completely isolated.
Like the world was continuing on a script…
And he was the only one holding the wrong lines.
In class, Barney sat at his usual desk.
Chewing gum. Doodling on his notebook. Laughing too loudly at something the teacher said.
Only Hale noticed that the pencil in his hand was moving—but not touching the page.
Only Hale saw the back of Barney's neck—where the skin didn't quite match.
A seam.
Barely visible.
Like something stitched shut.
That night, Hale didn't wait for 3:12.
He sat upright, watching the clock like it might lunge.
3:08.
3:10.
3:11.
And when the clock blinked to 3:12, he braced for it.
No screams.
No visions.
No blood-soaked walls.
Just…
Silence.
Not peace. Not relief.
The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. That makes you realize you're not alone.
He closed his eyes.
Barney was back.
But something else came with him.