For the rest of that night and the next, I repeated a similar schedule between my bedroom and the lounge. Read, eat, sleep. Alone. Neither boy left their room. I grew more anxious as the week went on. I feared that Nate was withering away in his bedroom, or worse. It's been a week since I've been away, six days since Chris came. With only a day of the bet to go, I couldn't wait.

I really should have.

I knocked on Nate's door. No reply. I knocked again. Silence.

Giving up, I returned to my bed. I sat, restless, for maybe a minute.

'That's it, I'm done waiting,' I thought to myself, pushing myself up and marching steadily toward the room at the end of the hallway. Without knocking this time, in fear that I would hesitate and lose confidence, I turned the doorknob.

Pushing the door open proved to be a challenge, as a toppled over dresser blocked the path. I managed to shove it open enough barely slide my body through. I hadn't been in Nate's room before. It was strange for sure. What I observed was from the little light that shone through the doorway. What appeared to be claw marks lined the walls and patches of carpet were torn up from the foundation. My foot hit something metallic. I picked it up with curiosity; it was the interior door handle, crushed to the point of being nearly indistinguishable. I felt along the wall for a light switch. The light fixture flickered on. A broken desk and what was probably a bookshelf lay in pieces, scattered across the room. I stepped on the occasional newspaper clipping. All were about the city, rates of crime and police efforts to clean up. There was no bed, but in the center of the room lay a cabinet, fallen over. On the far wall appeared to be a small armory, laying in a pile under the hooks from which a handful of weapons normally hung. Near this was a wooden target with sharp wooden steaks protruding the center. Getting closer, I realized the wood was cut into the shape of a man, but his head had been torn off.

How did I not hear any of this happen? I questioned myself, concerning all of damage.

Another notion came to mind; there was no Nate. With one way in and out of the room, my eyes settled on the only option. I neared the cabinet cautiously. It was eerily coffin-sized, making my stomach turn. In one swift movement I pulled the handles to reveal its contents.

In an immediate response and nearly faster than my eye could comprehend, Nate appeared, having pushed himself to his feet. He crouched in the makeshift coffin and hissed. Eyes crimson, fangs fully descended, his pale skin was taunt over the bones of his face. He was more of a vampire than I'd ever seen him. Before I could react in surprise, I was shoved onto the wall. Nate loomed over me, teeth bared.

"You don't have to do this, Nate," I whispered, my voice choked up.

His hand clinched over my own mouth. Thinking it was the end, I braced myself, eyes closed.