Whether further complications of his concussion, or the beer, sleep came easily to him. His eyes went black.
He might have dreamed; at least, it must have been a dream, it was too strange otherwise.
The creak of his door stirred his mind at some point, his eyes flickering open to the dimness of the room, disorientation filling his mind. A whirring sound startled him. Jerking up in bed, he saw first the shadow of the wheels before seeing the face of the man in the chair. Stefan Hatcher, looking as pale as ever, emphasized by black clothes. He seemed to be formally dressed, almost funereal, but that made no sense. How was it possible Stefan was here, hadn’t he locked his door? Still, his presence was unreal, especially as the wheelchair came further toward him. He blinked, and seconds late
