The Vision
The clatter of keyboards and hum of printers echoed through the open office. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting pale light across rows of cubicles. The air was stuffy—laced with the faint scent of old coffee and overused perfume. Somewhere in the distance, a phone rang unanswered.
In the middle of it all, Valerie stood motionless at her desk, folders clutched to her chest, her dark brown eyes locked onto her supervisor's red, angry face.
"Are you even listening to me?" he barked, his voice booming across the floor.
She didn't flinch.
"I asked you, Valerie, what the hell you were thinking submitting this kind of nonsense? This isn't the kind of thing we send to the regional office. It's amateur work!" His tone was exaggerated. Loud. Purposefully theatrical. Every eye in the room had turned toward them.
Valerie clenched her jaw. She remained still, composed on the outside, but her fingers pressed tighter against the edge of the folder in her hands. She knew what this was. She'd done the work right. Every detail, every figure, every column was perfectly aligned. There had been nothing wrong with that report.
This wasn't about the work.
This was about him.
Ever since she'd politely rejected him two weeks ago—when he'd cornered her near the supply closet and suggested they "grab dinner, something private"—things had shifted. He didn't hide it. The smirks. The comments. The sudden piling of extra work. The tone he used in meetings, sharp and condescending.
Now this.
Humiliation.
In front of everyone.
"You think you're above protocol? You think because you've been here eight years, you can just bypass quality checks?" He stepped closer, his tie swinging slightly with his motion. "You're not special, Valerie. Don't forget that."
The words barely registered.
Because suddenly… everything changed.
Her chest tightened.
The room around her grew quiet—not gradually, but all at once. Like the sound had been sucked out of the air. The lights flickered. Her vision swam. The office floor, the desks, the voices—all gone.
Her knees nearly gave out, but she remained standing, as though held in place by something unseen.
Her eyes went glassy, her breathing shallow.
And then—she saw him.
Damon.
In his school courtyard, surrounded by teenagers.
He was in a fight—but it wasn't a fair one. She saw him dodge, move with a grace she recognized too well. Then— the beating. The blood. A knife flashing in the light. The pain in his eyes.
She gasped.
Her hand went to her chest.
The scene shifted—Damon on the ground. Blood everywhere. A girl screaming. Faces staring. A crowd of students frozen in horror.
Then—stillness.
He was no longer breathing.
And just like that—she was back.
Her body jolted.
The office returned in a blur of sound and motion. The buzz of lights. The clack of keys. Her boss's voice still barking in the background.
"...not even paying attention now? Jesus, Graves, do you need time off or something?"
She was covered in sweat.
Her hand trembled as she placed the folder down on the desk. Her eyes—wide, unfocused—stared past him. Past the room. Her breathing was shallow.
Her son was dead.
She saw it.
She felt it.
And yet… there were no tears.
Not one.
Her hands curled into fists at her side. She didn't even look at her boss as he kept ranting. Her mind was racing—but not with grief. Not with panic.
With something far older. Far deeper.
Because this wasn't just a vision.
This wasn't just a mother's instinct or trauma-induced illusion.
This meant something.
And she knew exactly what it meant.
She had always known this day might come.
And now that it had, her heart didn't break—it tightened with dread.
Something had awakened.
Valerie didn't hear her boss anymore.
The clamor of his voice—angry, filled with expletives and threats—was a distant echo in her mind. It all blurred together as her hands moved without thought, gathering her things, tucking them into her purse with a mechanical precision. The weight of her body felt wrong, heavy, like she was moving through water.
She didn't answer him. Not a word. She couldn't. There was nothing left to say.
You're fired, he had shouted. But the words had no weight.
They meant nothing.
Nothing compared to the vision she had just seen. The truth she had been forced to confront.
Her son. Damon.
She had to leave. She had to get away.
The elevator door slid open before her, and she stepped inside, her movements almost robotic. She pressed the button for the ground floor, the small 'ding' that followed sounding distant in her ears. As the elevator began its descent, she closed her eyes, gripping the railing tightly.
The cool metal bit into her palm, but she barely felt it.
All she could see was Damon. His blood staining the concrete, the vacant expression on his face as he was left in that cruel stillness. Her chest tightened at the thought, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. Forgetting her surroundings, her thoughts consumed her completely.
How could it be possible?
That was the question that kept gnawing at her insides.
Her mind kept circling back to that moment—Damon on the ground, the crowd frozen in shock. The girl trying to wake him, the blood spilling out of him.
It wasn't a glimpse into the future—it felt more like a memory, she had witnessed this many times before. She had seen this, felt this before.
Her hand tightened on the railing again, and the sharp pain in her palm snapped her back to reality.
No. Focus.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself as the elevator descended further. It felt like an eternity, and yet, the time seemed to stretch in a way that didn't make sense.
The elevator finally came to a halt, and the doors opened with a quiet swoosh.
Valerie stepped out, her legs unsteady, as though her body had forgotten how to move. The hum of the office building around her felt like a distant memory. People shuffled past her, none of them noticing the storm that was swirling inside her.
She didn't care.
She didn't care about the office, the ridiculous drama over a report she had gotten right. None of that mattered anymore.
What mattered was Damon.
Her son.
The one thing in her life that had kept her grounded, that had kept her moving forward after all these years.
Her steps quickened as she exited the building, the cool evening air hitting her like a slap. She barely noticed the world around her—cars passing, people huddled together at bus stops, the sound of children laughing somewhere down the street. She didn't care about any of it.
As she walked, she couldn't shake the weight in her chest, the sinking feeling that there was more to all of this. More than she was willing to admit. More than she could understand at the moment.
But one thing was certain.
She had to find Damon.
She crossed the street, the world moving around her in a blur.
How could it be possible?
That question echoed in her mind as the evening shadows stretched out before her.
She needed answers.
But there was something else nagging at the back of her mind, something she could grasp but she dreaded. It was a feeling—something deep inside that told her this wasn't just about her son. It was about something much bigger, something that had been waiting for the right moment to make itself known.
And whatever it was, Damon was about to be dragged into it.