When he gets back to his room, Ramón removes the other Band-Aid and finds that there's no hole anywhere on his neck. He takes another picture with his phone, but when he checks it, all he can do is shake his head in disbelief.

They're just hickies.

Ramón checks the picture he took earlier, and a wave of confusion washes over him; it matches the second photo.

There were bite marks on my neck before I went for breakfast. I saw them on my phone and in the mirror; I washed the fucking blood off my neck.

Am I losing my mind?

Ramón climbs into bed and begins rocking back and forth. And every so often, he touches his neck and feels no bite marks there. But Laurel's voice keeps ringing in his ear; his hoodie smells like her; he remembers the taste of her lips, and it sends a chill down his spine.

It was real—Laurel's real. I kissed her. She kissed me. We—

A knock on the door causes Ramón to freeze.

Did someone knock?

It happens once again.

I know I heard it that time—just like I heard Laurel calling my name. She wants me to find her again.

"Hey, man," Alex says, "it's just us—we brought some food since we didn't see you at lunch. We just wanted to say sorry for this morning."

Ramón doesn't respond.

"We know you're in there, bro," Jerome says. "Your Snapchat location is on."

So, that's how they found out I left campus.

"We'll come back later," Alex says. "The food's by your door."

Ramón waits until he doesn't hear any more footsteps or talking before getting out of bed. He walks to the door and lays down on his stomach to check if anyone's on the other side. But all he sees is what appears to be a brown paper bag.

He stands up and opens the door. There's a McDonald's bag with a drink beside it, and a yellow sticky note that reads, Sorry, bro. Ramón bends down, picks it up and smiles to himself.

Guess they're not that bad after all.

***

Dusk is fast approaching, and a dense mist is beginning to roll in. Ramón paces the floor, trying to make up his mind about what to do about the voice in his head.

I have to find out if she's real or if I'm—Laurel's real. We shared something beyond words—something I can't share again. I need to find her; I have to see her again.

Ramón rushes towards the door and stops abruptly.

I'll leave my phone behind; that way Alex and Jerome will think I'm here.

He plugs his phone in, returns to the door, opens it and looks around the hallway. There's no around, so he heads towards the back stairwell and slips out the back door. Ramón pulls the hood over his head, unlocks his bike and quickly rides away.

Eventually, Ramón reaches the meadow and the bench where he first saw Laurel in the moon's veiled glow. Part of him thought he'd find her there, waiting for him to come back to her. But his heart sinks; the bench is empty, just as he left it at daybreak. Out of the corner of his eye, Ramón sees the narrow path leading into a brooding cluster of trees.

I know it was there. I probably just missed it this morning.

On his way over to the bench, Ramón stops dead in his tracks, swearing he heard Laurel calling his name. But it was so faint and distant that he's not sure if the voice came from without or within.

Ramón leaves his bike beside the rotting, wooden bench, crosses the stream and enters the narrow path. As he presses through the trail overgrown with brown grass and choked by bushes, he feels a growing sense of Laurel's presence. 

The path ends, and clearing emerges. Far off to one side are the crumbled ruins of what appears to have been a large house. Overhead, a canopy of trees looms with crowding branches that block out most light. The ground is littered with dried leaves, and deathly silence hangs in the air.

Directly in front of Ramón is a solitary mausoleum made of stones that look black and burned. The fog shrouding the structure makes it seem more like a shadow than a building; Ramón's thumping heart echoes in his ears.

She's in there.

And with shaking steps, he approaches the tomb as scarlet leaves fall from the trees above. He stops inches away from the door, noticing that it's slightly ajar. A creeping coldness starts making its way into his hands.

I have to know.

The moment of hesitation evaporates, and Ramón pushes against the metal door; the old hinges creak and groan as the door slowly slides open. A rosy smell soon finds its way into Ramón's lungs; he breathes deeply, drinking it into his bloodstream.

As he approaches the large, stone coffin in the middle of the room, Ramón notices that the lid is slightly crooked, as if it had been recently opened. Tremors rattle every bone in his body as he begins pushing the stone cover off, sending a scraping sound reverberating through the air.

The lid hits the ground with a thud; Ramón's heart nearly stops when he looks inside the box.

Laurel. She looks just like she did last night...beautiful.

Her closed eyelids fly open, and Ramón jumps back.

"Come," she says softly, raising a pale hand out of the coffin.

It's real. She's real.

Ramón approaches, takes her cold hand, climbs in and lays beside her.

"Stay with me," Laurel whispers.

"I will," he mutters.

Suddenly, the stone lid flies off the ground and slides back in place. Laurel's lips find Ramón's, filling his mouth with a bitter taste that burns his lungs as the darkness envelops them in its frigid embrace.