The screen snapped me awake.

I wasn't sleeping exactly, but I wasn't fully present either.

There was more yelling, the sounds of footsteps pounding down the hall,

and an echo of the first scream that clawed its way into my ear,

thrashing like a trapped mouse.

I looked for an exit, I was in the library, alone, next to a cheerful fire inside a stone mantle.

The nearest door was directly across the room.

I couldn't remember if that was the exit to the hall,

or if it led deeper into a study, but I decided to chance it.

I collided with something the moment I stepped into the hallway.

We both went down in a tangle of limbs and curses.

The man I'd knocked over got up first and extended his hand.

Are you okay, Bruce? He asked.

For a moment, my mind was blank.

I didn't recognize the man, or even my name.

Then things clicked into place, and I took the offered hand.

Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that.

The man nodded.

He was maybe 50 or 60 years old, and dressed in a grey suit.

His hair was salt and pepper, and there were creases in his eyes that spoke to me

of decades spent squinting in the sun.

I knew his name, Peter, and that he was here for the same reason I was.

...