“Hyung? Hyung? HYUNG!” Zelo yelled and Yongguk jolted out of sleep immediately. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead as he stole heavy breaths of air greedily; his heart thumping madly.

The van was parked by some sort of chalet and everyone in the van was staring at him.

“You okay?” his best buddy – Him Chan asked, “you were screaming like mad in your sleep.”

Huh?

“I-I fell asleep.” He muttered lamely and the others rolled their eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I-I yelled in my s-sleep?”

“That’s what I said,” Him Chan said, concern replacing the exasperation in his face, “Yongguk, you all right?”

No, I’m not all right; he thought, feeling dread searing up from all over himself through inside out.

I feel sick.

I feel sick of not her, but myself.

How sick was I to dream of her disappearance even in my dreams?

How sick was I to fantasize her death like she deserved it?

What had she ever done to me to deserve that kind of gruesome death?

Am I going crazy?

She had never touched me, never called my name, let alone hurt me.

I am scarred, mentally, but not physically, by her gazes.

They were driving me out of my mind; no, they were turning me into a monster.

I had to find her.

I had to catch her.

I had to tell her to stop.

Once, and for all, before I turn into something uglier than in my nightmares.

Before I turn into a murderer.

*

“Alright, this resort is where you kids will be staying,” Manager Hwang said as B.A.P dragged their bulky suitcases from the car up to the porch of the wooden bungalow they were to be staying at. It was old, and the floor creaky, however, the wood was clearly oak from the eighteenth century.

Old, sturdy, heavy; but worth its weight in gold.

There were trays and china set with rich chocolate and cakes in the living room, as a welcoming tribute to the members and an elderly housekeeper smiled kindly at them from the foot of a fashionable winding staircase that split into two in the middle, leading to two corridors on mezzanine floor, which eventually re-connected into a round hallway of rooms. The furniture was classical in style, but very old and outdated, unlike luxurious European furnishings. The carpet had been patched and there were no lights, just sweet-smelling lamps which required lighting in the winter.

“This is Jiima,” Manager Hwang said, and allowed the individual introductions to take place between the boys and the housekeeper. “Even though she was born in Russia, she’s being working here for sixty years after her mother. So pay her some respect,” he added. She smiled at them warmly, despite the manager’s warning and the members warmed to her slightly.

“You guys can split up into groups any way you want. There are three rooms in the bungalow, large enough for ten people each,” everyone’s eyes widened, “and you’ll be filming for the Balmain Formal Wear CF in the ballroom next door starting tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes around at the younger members.

“Look, I want you guys to keep a low profile, okay? No wondering around after dark; if I see any articles popping up in the local papers,” he ran a finger across his throat, “capische?”

The group gulped and nodded mutely.

Yongguk turned to the window and looked out automatically as he always did in the dorm.

He didn’t know what he expected, but no one was out there.

Hopefully, he sighed, I’ll be able to sleep these nights before returning to Seoul again.

Before returning to those nights of fear...