The Eleventh Hour (FINISHED)

22 - It's not who... it's what

Meadow blinked...

Another dream... about the ocean.

She hadn't had one of these since she was nine.

She stared off into the violent waves as they crashed up shore of the beach, wondering why it was so memorizing.

The colors... so blue and white... and violet. Like the night sky.

It was beautiful and gorgeous... she wanted to... to wander in and feel the waves on her skin.

And she watched as the water moved up and down, the foamy liquid being washed away with the next wave.

"Come..." a voice whispered, making Meadow's brows draw together as she gazed up.

For some reason, she stared back at the ocean, knowing it was coming from there.

"I can't walk in," she argued to no one in particular. "I'll drown."

"Come..." it said again, voice echoing through her thoughts like an enchanting angel. "Come with me. To the ocean. Where the Gods are at sea."

Meadow's brows drew together.

She felt like she heard that before.

"What do you want?" she asked the voice, gazing around to find the beach completely empty.

"To save you," it said. "To protect you."

"From who?"

The waves got harder, now flowing at her feet. "Don't argue, Collins. Come in here with me. It's not as cold as it looks."

"Who are you?" she said.

A pair of white eyes appeared from a tall wave. "Your savior."

She took a step back. "But... I don't know you."

"You will. Just come to me."

She shook her head, backing away as something hollow filled her gut. "No."

The white eyes narrowed. "You resist now, but you won't be able to forever, Meadow."

What did that mean?

"Come..." it said, "come with me. To the ocean. Where the gods are at sea."

"No!" she said again, covering her ears. "Stop saying that! It's annoying!"

"Is it annoying?" the voice said again. "Or is it messing with your pretty little head?"

She blinked, something cold swelling inside her. "What are you trying to do?"

"I want you here with me," he stated. "It's warm under here, I promise."

There was an edge to his tone that made her uneasy.

"I don't trust you," she stated.

It's eyes narrowed. "You will die, Meadow Collins. I will get in your head, and I won't stop until your under the waves, and then I'll get my rush that I've been needing since you were ten."

"You're SICK!" Meadow said, stomach turning. "Who even are you?"

"Thequestion's not who," it stated, "it's what."