it’s me. i’m not dead yet. - mack and sam
he's seen her all week in his dreams dying, dying, dying. after the first dream, he woke, heart slamming out a staccato pattern against his chest. in this one she was rising into the sky, limbs hanging loosely at her sides, a cascade of hair hiding her face. her figure silhouetted against the moon and then she plummeted. she hit the ground with a sickening crack of bones he can still hear with uncomfortable clarity.
seeing her here, in the flesh, living and breathing, is a shock to his system. he knew who she was, recognizing the woman in his dreams as the same woman from that cult documentary, but his visions and dreams are nonsense to him. at first he thought he was dreaming about marisol. that would make a little more sense.
"mackenzie," he says hoarsely, grabbing her shoulder. he tries to explain the dreams, the visions, the premonitions that haunt him in both his waking and dream life, but the only coherent thing that comes out of his mouth is: "you should be dead. you're dead." it's a loop he's stuck on until she cuts through it.
"it’s me. i’m not dead yet."
sam falls silent, the racing in his head coming to a screeching halt. a breeze blows past, picking up dust and dirt and trash in the diner's parking lot. a photograph, blown by the wind, comes to a stop at his feet and his heart lurches.
he bends down to pick it up, swallowing.
"but you will be soon. i think." he hands over the photo. it's taken from above, looking down at the two of them talking just moments ago, his hand on her shoulder. it's an impossible angle. the sky is empty and they're alone.
"it's watching you. it's interested."