Joe meets her gaze for the first time and sees how she knows what happened, the ghost of Wallace Wolfgang manifests behind her with a hand on her shoulder, his grey hair falling to his shoulders, his grey beard to his chest, and those eyes. Those icy, steel blue eyes.
Joe sprints down the tunnel and tries to outrun the voice, the cool, damp air washing over him and the mildew smell fading from his senses. Sweat runs down his neck and temples and gets in his eye, Joe wipes with the back of his hand and trips over a rock and falls to the ground, sliding a couple inches.
Cheryl releases Joe and backs away slowly, shaking her head imperceptibly; his eyes are bloodshot, and his pupils have dilated to a point far surpassing fear, his irises becoming hazel rings. Joe’s once smooth, rich, chocolate brown skin is the color of tree bark in the winter as all the life seemed to be drained from it.