As green eyes turned to grey, Maddy dropped his hold on the man, cradled his hand against his chest, and placed his good hand over his mouth. Something strange wafted off of him and tickled Maddy's nostrils, something that human scent didn't possess…Nor, alive Strange Folk. Maddy wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or scream. His breaths came in ragged gasps and his body wouldn't stop shaking. He tried to stand but his knees buckled and he nearly landed on the body.

Maddy's head hovered just above the stranger's face. The skin slowly turned into the texture and color of a rotted peach, his sagging features were bruised and blackened by an unknown perpetrator. Maddy's gaze naturally aligned with the dead pair of hues. They were the color of thick grey clouds filled with heavy rain. There was no sunlight, peaking through, no warmth, just Maddy's own reflection. Maddy gasped, startled by the image of himself in death. The sight made his heart constrict in his chest, and a wave of nausea washed over him.

He squeezed his eyes shut trying to regain his composure, but something stirred deep within his mind, a memory trying to surface, but it was as if he was subjugated to find the different notes in wine. Maddy pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth trying to grasp at it, to hold onto the fragments of his past, but they slipped through his fingers and dissolved away.

And then a new form of panic seized him as he caught a fragment, a single note, a feeling: This wasn't the first time he had looked death in the face.

Maddy's eyes snapped open, if he didn't get up now, he would surely be sick.

He scrambled off the man's body, his head spinning and his hand still burning. He ran to the back of the diner, his vision blurring as he stumbled through the kitchen. He reached the sink and plunged his hand into the bucket of industrial cleaning solution, the icy water sending a brief respite to the pain in his hand, but doing nothing for his flip-flopping stomach.

He looked down at the bucket and furrowed his brows. His hand was seemingly unscathed. There was no redness or blisters, despite feeling as if he had tried to play catch with a baseball made of white, hot ember. He gritted his teeth as the pain was quickly returning and panic came banging against his chest in the form of a rapid heartbeat. With his good hand, he fumbled for his phone in his pocket, his fingers trembling so badly he could barely dial Dee's number.

When Dee didn't answer, he felt his heart drop to his stomach all over again. He brushed his hand through his hair and pulled at the roots until it hurt. His fingers tapped aggressively against the glass screen of his phone as he sent rapid-fire texts to Dee. He didn't want to call the police, they would ask him questions he couldn't answer. They would bring up dark memories he didn't wish to remember. He tried Dee's cell again while looking over at the body splayed out on the floor. He let out a curse before hanging up and calling the emergency number. The operator answered, and Maddy managed to stutter out a garbled plea for help.