And they came after him.
They pedaled for a while; the church was just a few minutes away. They were having a conversation about Father Nicholas. He had spoken of his transfer a Sunday earlier. He was sent a letter transferring him to a church in the city.
Everyone knew how much he loved this church in the little town—it was his home. As long as Simon and Jessica could remember, he had always been there with them. Surely, everyone would miss Father Nicholas.
He had taken this one Sunday to share his final decision—decline or accept. Literally, everyone wasn't so excited, but they were happy for him regardless. He was already part of them, part of the town. A win for him was a win for them.
Simon was cautious of his environment as they biked to church. His eyes were fixated on her, and his senses were alert for any sudden change. She was ahead of him. He sure hoped they'd get to church safely. He just couldn't act like he wasn't bothered. He was being circumspect.
"Would you please slow down a bit? You're way ahead of me," he called to Jessica. He wanted to stay closer to her just in case anything happened.
"That's right, a race won't be bad, you know?" Her voice screamed mischief. He was agitated by her reply; that wasn't what he expected.
He had to think fast. Sudden flashes of his dream came wavering across his mind. He began panicking. He sped up, trying to catch up to her. She turned to catch his expression and saw him speeding. She thought he wanted to overtake her and take first place. She wasn't going to let that happen.
"You want a race, right?" she chuckled and began pedaling as fast as she could. She was way past him; he couldn't reach her at the speed she was going.
"Jessica!!!"
A voice thundered from behind, crashing into her like a wave of sound. It froze her mid-way, a sharp jolt of fear slicing down her spine. She halted in the middle of the road, breath caught, unaware of where she stood—only the echo of that voice ringing in her ears.
She turned, trying to trace the source of the voice—it couldn't have been Simon. That deep, terrifying tone didn't belong to him.
But there he was.
Simon stood motionless, a few feet from where his bicycle had toppled onto the road. His brooding eyes locked onto hers.
Jessica's heart skipped. "Was that really Simon?" she wondered, her mind racing. Something in him felt… different.
Confusion clouded her face as her mind scrambled to make sense of it all. What exactly was she trying to process? Nothing made sense. One moment they were racing—now Simon was off his bike, standing still on the other side of the road?
She blinked, trying to piece it together. She had been moving fast. The distance between them wasn't far now. Slowly, cautiously, she began walking toward him, still unsure of what just unfolded.
She stepped off her bicycle, one hand gripping the handlebars as she wheeled it beside her. The sunlight, breaking through the overcast sky, bounced off Simon's glasses, hiding his eyes. He stood completely still in the middle of the road—silent, unreadable, and unmoving as she slowly made her way toward him.
As she walked toward him, Simon began moving too—each step slow, dragging, like his body was reluctant to follow his mind. He was trying to shake off the remnants of a dream that had felt too real. The feelings he'd woken up with—cold, creeping dread and that unshakable pressure behind his skull—were no longer just in his sleep. They were here, heavy in his chest, clawing at his thoughts.
His heart twisted with unease. If something were to happen now, he wasn't sure he could protect anyone. The fear, the fog in his mind, the eerie wind—they were all converging at once.
It was a relief to see her walking down from the bike. It grounded him. Now, he just needed to stay calm. Think clearly. Find a way to prevent whatever this looming danger was.
But damn, why was his brain so painfully slow?
"Simon?"
He jolted back to reality. Just as he lifted his foot to take another step toward her, a sharp, unsettling breeze swept through the air. It came from her direction, carrying an unnatural chill that prickled his skin.
Her hair lifted with the gust, strands whipping across her face and veiling her eyes. She paused, lifting a hand to brush them aside, unaware—just like in his dream. Unaware of the sudden shift in the air, of the heavy pressure now creeping into the atmosphere like a warning.
Simon's heart thudded hard. He didn't wait. He quickened his pace, urgency building in every step. He had to reach her fast.
In an instant, a fast-moving 16-wheeler truck barreled toward her from behind. The chilling part was that it made no sound. No rumble, no warning growl of tires or engine. It was silent, unnatural, and swift.
Jessica remained unaware, still brushing her hair from her face, standing in the truck's deadly path.
Simon's walk snapped into a full sprint. His heart pounded, each beat faster than the last. But he knew no matter how hard he pushed, how fast he ran—he was only human. And the truck? Too fast. Too close.
The crushing thought of losing her, again, this time for real, wrapped around his chest like a vice. The fear, the helplessness—it was all-consuming. He wouldn't make it in time. But he didn't stop. He couldn't.
"I'm sorry, I can't save you," he choked out, voice cracking, eyes brimming.
Then...
Whoosh! The wind from a speeding truck slammed past him.
CRASH. It was a collision. His heart felt like it got punched from the inside.
Tears blurred his vision. He shur his eyes quickly.
"No... no, this isn't real," he muttered under his breath.
His knees buckled.
"What the hell did I just do?"
But he remembered.
That split-second instinct.
His feet had moved before his brain could catch up. Jessica, she'd been walking, unaware. The truck had come from nowhere.
And he'd lunged.
Grabbed her waist.
Yanked her off the truck path, just before the impact.
Now she was lying on top of him.
His back had slammed into the ground hard, but he didn't even feel it. Adrenaline was pumping like wildfire. His chest heaved, lungs clawing for air. His arms were still around her, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.
His body ached, but the pain didn't register. All he could see was her.
She looked okay. Physically. No bruises, no blood. But her face...
Empty.
Confused.
Lost.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around, like she was trying to piece together what just happened.
Just seconds ago, she'd been laughing, pedaling, tugging loose strands of hair from her face.
Then. Bam.
She was here. On top of him. Breathless. Stunned.
She was too shocked to speak. When she got her resolve, her eyes fell on Simon. He was watching her with a happy gaze.
"Why was he looking at her that way with tears?" she was so confused. She got down from him and took a standing position.
"Simon?" She pulled off the hair that fell on her face and tucked them behind her ears. She observed her surroundings. Her eyes caught a fast-moving truck fading in the distance. Her bicycle—a wreck—kicked off a great distance away. Her eyes—filled with lots of questions—fell on Simon again.
Simon stood up, dusted his shirt off. He was just glad he had saved her. Whatever means that was, it didn't matter now. What mattered was that she was safe and fine—just in shock.
"Now, where were his glasses?" He didn't know where they had fallen, yet, surprisingly, he could see clearly. That alone felt like a small breakthrough. Then he spotted them just a few steps away. He turned and walked toward them.
"Oh my God, Simon," Jessica cried, rushing toward him. Her eyes widened at the sight of his back. Bloodied, torn. The wound was deep, but somehow, he was still on his feet, walking like nothing was wrong. The sight shook her. How was he even standing?
He already had his glasses in hand when he heard her scream. Instantly, he turned back. Jessica stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Simon quickly wiped his face, clearing any trace of the tears he'd shed earlier. He slipped on his glasses and sprinted to her.
"What's wrong, Jess?" he asked, gripping her shoulders gently, his brows drawn in deep worry. He towered over her, searching her face for answers.
"Simon!" Her frail voice cracked.
"Are you alright?" He asked while looking down on her. Her eyes were fixated on his chest. She slowly looked up to meet his eyes.
"Simon…" Her voice was barely there. Thin, cracked, like it had fought its way through pain just to reach him.
"Hey—hey, Jess, can you hear me?" His hand found her shoulder, steady but trembling.
She didn't answer at first. Her eyes were fixed not on his face, but lower. Her breath hitched.
Then she looked up, finally meeting his gaze.