Rachel’s cup shattered on the floor. She stood up abruptly. Her lips were pale.

“What… Whose nails were those?” she asked.

Rachel seemed to have lost control after the question. She threw off her jacket and ran outside frantically.

She was terrified for me, fearing I was dead. Or worse, still alive and suffering.

I cried out with my arms wide and tried to stop her. She was all I had left. “Don’t go, Rach. Please don’t ...