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Thatcher should've expected this, especially from an alternate. Still, his mind was conflicted with mixed thoughts; confusion and fear. He stumbled backwards clumsily; his heart pounded heavier each second. His only support was the cold, cracked wall behind him. He could hear the pleads and apologies directed towards him but his eyes watered at the sight of the alternate whose face formed a triggering memory.
It was Adam. Or, was Adam. His once short, curly hair was longer, straighter and blond with brown roots and his paper-white skin had turned caucasian. His unhuman, misshaped eyes which once had black scleras and shining, white irises had changed into a naturally downturned shape with regular scleras and soft green irises. The alternate's voice had deepened drastically and continued his panicked apologies to Thatcher. Still, he couldn't process the boy's words of remorse when all he could hear was his own voice mimicked back to him. Adam was still unnaturally tall and skinny, but his entire face had changed. Leaving an uncanny mockery of Thatcher's own appearance staring back at him. Everything of Adam was gone.
.
.
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It was just like the Night in September, back in 1992...