Ralph hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob. Would he trigger a bomb? Was Heather planning to ambush him? Perhaps a vicious dog lurked inside, or worse, a hidden body, framing him for murder?
The horrifying possibilities spurred a sudden urge to flee. Yet, knowing he had nowhere else to go, he reasoned death was preferable to continued struggle. Gritting his teeth, he opened the door.
To his surprise, the apartment was silent. He fumbled for the light switch, revealing a sparsely furnished space—sofas, tables, and chairs, but no television. The bedroom contained only a simple bed. He'd never seen such an empty apartment; lacking kitchenware, a refrigerator, or washing machine, it served only as shelter. Still, it was enough.
After a thorough inspection—two circuits of the single-bedroom apartment with a toilet—he concluded it was unremarkable. "At least I have shelter," he muttered, relief washing over him.
Sleepiness overcame him as he relaxed. He removed his soiled jacket, splashed water on his face, and lay down, quickly falling into a deep slumber.
He dreamt Alexander mocked him, joined by other jeering relatives and former friends. A thick mist muffled his desperate cries. Then, he saw his mother.
"Mom, tell them you gave birth to me! I'm a Russell! Alex faked the DNA report, didn't he? Tell them!" He pleaded, collapsing at her feet.
Margaret leaned down, a slight smile on her face. She gently caressed his cheek. Then, her expression hardened. With a vicious slap and a hard kick, she spat, "Go away! You're not my son, you bastard!"
"No, no, no!" he screamed, jolting awake. Bright light flooded his vision; his breath hitched. The nightmare felt terrifyingly real.
"You're awake," a gentle voice startled him. Heather sat on the bed's edge, watching him quietly. "Are you all right? Did you have a nightmare?" She reached out a hand.
Ralph recoiled instinctively, refusing her touch. Heather's gaze softened with understanding; she withdrew her hand. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. I just wanted to see if you were okay."
He shook his head, sighing, exhaustion evident as he propped himself up on one hand. "I'm fine," he mumbled.