All throughout the night, all he could do was toss and turn, the fight racing through his mind. One of the men came charging toward him. As he threw a punch, everything seemed to move in slow motion. William saw the fist coming, a blur past his head as he made a slight movement to dodge the attack. The attacker’s eyes locked on William, and he was suddenly in the perfect position. With a precise, almost practiced motion, William's fist descended, connecting with the man's face and sending him into unconsciousness in one smooth, almost surreal move.

The dream shifted, and the second man came into focus. Panic was etched on his face as he looked around for help, his desperation palpable. But while he was distracted, the scene replayed itself—William closed the gap, his movements swift and relentless. Each hit landed with increasing intensity, and the second man fell, bloodied and unconscious, like a scene on repeat from a forgotten nightmare.

The third man’s reaction was almost comical, a stark contrast to the violence. He turned and ran, his voice a faint echo in the dream, "Hell no, I am not dealing with this," his words fading as he disappeared into the streets.

Then came the final scene, the most haunting of all. The man holding Ruth, his voice a distorted shout, "GET THE HELL BACK OR ELSE," his hands wrapping around her throat. The memory grew hazy and warped, his threat lingering in the air, "I swear, if you don’t get back, this little girl will not see tomorrow." The scene replayed in a loop, Ruth struggling in his grasp, the sense of helplessness and fear mingling with the fragmented, dreamlike quality of the memory.

An overwhelming sense of anger overflowed from William even in this dream. As this sensation began to take hold, the scream he had heard so often in his nightmares pierced the air. It echoed around him, filling the dreamscape with chilling intensity. William looked around, trying to locate the source of the scream, but there was nothing visible that could have been causing it. He glanced at Ruth, who was still being held, but the sound was not coming from her. He knew instinctively that this scream was something else, something he couldn’t identify or understand.

In the next instant, William noticed Ruth starting to struggle. Her movements became more frantic, and then, miraculously, she broke free from the man's grasp just enough. In that split second, a surge of unprecedented strength coursed through William. He charged forward, his body moving with a speed and power he had never felt before. His fist connected with the man's face, and he felt the satisfying crunch of the man's nose beneath the blow.

The man crumpled to the ground, his grip on Ruth completely loosening. As the man fell, William felt the strange strength begin to ebb away. He started to stumble backward, the world around him blurring and distorting. The scream, which had been so loud and pervasive, began to grow fainter and fainter. It was as if the very fabric of the dream was unravelling.

When William finally hit the ground, the impact jolted him awake. He shot up from his bed, his heart pounding, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind. The scream had faded completely, replaced by the stillness of his room, but the sense of anger and the strange strength he had felt lingered, leaving him wondering if this was what had happened in the street last night.

William got out of bed, his usually tousled hair now in disarray, sticking out at odd angles as if it had withstood a storm. His movements were slow and deliberate, each step a reminder of the ache that pulsed through his body. The remnants of his turbulent dream echoed in his mind as he made his way to the bathroom, his thoughts a tangled web of confusion and lingering fear.

At the sink, he turned on the tap, wincing slightly as the cold water splashed over his hands. He noticed the cracks and cuts across his knuckles, evidence of the violence he had endured and inflicted the night before.

As he looked up at the mirror, his reflection stared back at him with one black eye, the bruise stark against his pale complexion. His hair, normally tousled, now looked more dishevelled than usual.

Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, his reflection betrayed the turmoil within. Dark circles underscored his remaining eye, a testament to the restless night he had endured. "What was that last night?" he muttered to himself; his voice hoarse with fatigue. "How did I do that?" The questions lingered unanswered, adding to the weight of uncertainty that pressed upon him as he tried to piece together the events of the previous night.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly got dressed and rushed to answer it. When he opened the door, there stood Ruth. Before he could say anything, she wrapped her arms around him, her body shaking with sobs.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said between tears, her voice trembling.

William, still shocked by the sudden embrace, gently patted her on the head, a soft smile forming on his lips. “No, you were the one who saved me. If you hadn’t come running to stop them, I don’t think they would have stopped.”

He guided Ruth into his apartment, not wanting to make a scene in the hallway. Once inside, he led her to the sofa and helped her sit down. Kneeling beside her, he asked, “Do you want coffee or a cup of tea? Have you eaten yet? I can make you something.”

“Just a cup of coffee would be great,” Ruth replied, her eyes still glistening with tears, but a small smile beginning to break through.

William nodded and headed to the kitchen. As he prepared the coffee, he glanced back at Ruth, who was slowly starting to calm down. The memory of the dream still haunted him, but seeing Ruth safe and beginning to smile brought a sense of relief. He returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to her.

“Can I ask you what happened to you last night, William? I have always known you to be kind and gentle, but last night you felt like ...” her words started to become more and more shaky while speaking.

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William interjected, his head bowed towards the floor, his hands clasped tightly together, trembling slightly. “I have no clue what happened. To be honest, I can’t even remember it. The last thing I properly remember is what that bastard did to you.” His voice cracked with emotion, his words heavy with guilt and frustration.

His hand clenched in anger at the thought of it, his knuckles turning white. He continued talking, but this time through gritted teeth, his voice strained with suppressed rage. “After that, I just keep getting flashes of it, more so last night in my dream. But to be honest, it didn’t even feel like I was in control; it was like someone else was in the driver's seat of my whole body.” His eyes darted around the room as he tried to continue, but his mind was racing with the memories of what had happened, each one a painful jolt to his consciousness.

Without realizing it, Ruth had put her hand onto his shoulder, her touch gentle yet grounding. When he looked up, he felt a breath of fresh air, a sense of calm washing over him as it usually did around Ruth. Her presence was a balm to his tormented mind. She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “You don’t need to explain yourself,” she said softly, her eyes filled with understanding and compassion.

Just as they were both finally calming down, William’s phone started ringing. When he looked down at who it was, he noticed it was his boss, but more importantly, he realized that he was late for work and that he had spent all his time talking to Ruth about last night.

As he rushed out, he threw Ruth his spare key, saying, “Don’t worry about leaving, but if you do, here are the keys to lock up. I’ll grab them from you later!” With that, William ran out the door.

As William hurried along his usual route to work, he passed the very street where the fight had occurred. It was there, amidst the hustle of morning commuters and the distant sounds of traffic, that he heard it—the scream from his recurring nightmares. His heart skipped a beat as he scanned the street, searching for any sign of distress. Yet, to his confusion, nobody else seemed to react to the piercing cry that echoed in his ears.

A shiver ran down his spine, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He hesitated, torn between the urge to investigate and the pressing need to get to work as he was already late. With a deep breath, he forced himself to ignore the chilling sound, pushing forward with determined steps towards his office.

Finally arriving at the workplace, William found his boss waiting impatiently, his expression a mix of irritation and concern. Without preamble, the boss motioned for William to follow him to his office, his tone suggesting there was something urgent that needed addressing.

When they finally reached Mr. Wright's office, the stern-faced boss wasted no time in addressing William. "Close the door and sit down," he instructed, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and authority. William complied silently, taking a seat with his hands clasped tightly between his legs.

Mr. Wright leaned forward slightly; his brow furrowed as he studied William's dishevelled appearance. "What the hell has happened to you, boy?" he asked, his tone a blend of genuine worry and disbelief. "You look like you've been through several rounds with the heavyweight champion."

William met his boss's gaze with a weary expression. "Yeah, after finishing late last night, I got attacked by some men outside the shop down the road from mine," he explained, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

The moment Mr. Wright heard William's account; his demeanour shifted subtly. "Are you blaming you getting attacked on me for keeping you late?" he interjected sharply, a hint of defensiveness colouring his tone. His eyes narrowed, awaiting William's response, the air in the office suddenly charged with tension.

“ No, I wouldn’t say that ! “ Exclaimed William. “Well good, Now go get to your desk you owe me time for being late today, so you’ll be staying late to make up for it.”

When William heard this his fist started to clench and he could feel his anger starting to well up. He could hear the faint scream starting to build. He took a breath and left the room and went to his desk. The scream kept there quiet but constant.

The scream grew fainter as the day went on, and the morning conversation started to fade into memory. William stayed later as instructed by Mr. Wright and finished out his day. Thankfully, it wasn’t as late, so there was still some sun while he was walking home.

On the way home, William decided to try a different route than usual, avoiding the street and, more importantly, the scream that still haunted him. As he walked, he passed what looked like a boxing gym. The thoughts of the fight grew stronger in his mind, and he decided to go in and have a look.

Inside the gym, the scent of sweat and leather filled the air, mingling with the rhythmic thud of fists hitting bags. The walls were adorned with posters of past champions, and the floor was scuffed from countless training sessions. A sense of raw, unfiltered energy permeated the space, making William's heart race with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

While he was taking it all in, the coach noticed him and approached. "How can I help you there, son?" he asked, his voice carrying both authority and warmth.

William looked towards the coach and saw before him an older gentleman who was shorter in stature. Despite his age, William could tell that he was a force to be reckoned with in his prime. The streaks of silver lining his thinning hair and the slew of scars on his face hinted at the many battles he had endured. His eyes, though softened by time, still held a spark of fierce determination.

"No, I’m just having a look," William stated, trying to leave as he hadn’t expected someone to approach him so quickly.

"Why don’t you try it out? You look like you need to let off some steam," the coach said, directing William to the large punching bag in the corner of the room.

William hesitated for a moment but then walked over to the bag. As he raised his fists, the coach noticed the cracks and cuts across William's knuckles. "Hold on a second," he said, heading over to a nearby bench and grabbing a pair of worn gloves. "Here, put these on. They'll help protect your hands."

William took the gloves, feeling a bit self-conscious, but grateful. As he put them on, he winced slightly, feeling the pain from the previous night's fight. Each punch sent a jolt of pain through his hands, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

Between punches and winces of pain, the coach stood beside him, offering words of encouragement. "That pain you're feeling. It'll help you grow and develop. Embrace it. Let it make you stronger," he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

The act of hitting the bag felt cathartic, a release of the pent-up frustration and confusion that had been gnawing at him since the fight. The coach watched him closely, nodding approvingly at William's form and intensity.

Despite the pain, William felt a sense of clarity beginning to emerge. The rhythmic motion and the physical exertion started to clear his mind, if only a little. When he finally stopped, his knuckles throbbed, and his body was drenched in sweat, but he felt a strange sense of relief.

"Not bad for a first timer," the coach remarked with a grin. "You’ve got potential, kid. Come back tomorrow if you're interested."

As William was leaving, he asked the coach his name, but the coach just said, “ most people now adays just call me coach so don’t worry about that”. The whole ordeal had got William’s pulse racing, the scream was still there before but he had noticed that after taking out the anger the scream had now become near completely gone from his mind. William decided that he would keep at this to help him figure out how he was able to do what he had done that night.