Chapter 6 The Midnight Call
The night doesn’t settle so much as stretch.
Eli takes the armchair in the living room, his long frame folding into it like the chair is unsure how to hold him. I spread an extra blanket over Maya on the couch, her lashes resting on her cheeks, her breaths deep and soft, unaware of the way the adults around her are unraveling.
We leave the TV off. The silence feels strange at first, too heavy, but soon it becomes its own noise. The tick of the wall clock. The hum of the refrigerator. The faint rustle as Eli shifts.
Outside, the wind brushes the siding in low sighs.
I sit at the end of the couch near Maya’s feet, legs tucked under me. My phone rests face down on the coffee table, dark and waiting.
“You should sleep,” Eli says quietly.
I let out a breath. “That’s adorable.”
His mouth twitches. “Close your eyes for twenty minutes. I will wake you if anything sounds off.”
“Nothing sounds on.”
Still, exhaustion pulls at me. My head aches at the base of my skull. I press my fingers to my temple.
“I will try,” I say.
“Good.”
Something in me loosens. I lie on my side facing Maya and let my eyes close.
The house breathes.
The world narrows.
I drift.
I do not know how long I am out when the sound pulls me back.
A vibration.
My phone.
I surface slowly, disoriented. The lamp is off now, leaving the room dim except for the faint glow through the blinds.
Eli is still in the chair, awake. He looks at me when I move.
My phone buzzes again.
I push myself up and reach for it. The screen lights my face.
1:17 a.m.
And a name.
Marcus.
I go still.
Eli sees it. His jaw tightens.
“Do not answer,” he says.
My thumb hovers. I should listen. But if I do not answer, he will keep calling. He will twist it into something he can use.
The phone buzzes again.
“I have to,” I whisper.
Eli’s eyes darken. “Speaker,” he says. “So I can hear.”
I nod and answer.
“Hello.”
There is a pause. Then Marcus’s voice fills the room, smooth and irritated. “Took you long enough.”
“I was asleep. It is past one, Marcus. What do you want?”
He laughs softly. “There she is. Always sharp when she feels guilty.”
My fingers curl. “What am I guilty of?”
“Having a man in the house,” he says. “With my daughter sleeping nearby.”
My stomach drops. “Were you here?”
Eli straightens, alert.
“I did not knock,” Marcus says. “I drove by. Imagine my surprise when I saw a familiar SUV.”
Heat rises in my face. “You have no right to drive by my house at this hour.”
“I have every right,” he says. “My child is there. With you. And with what exactly?”
“Watch how you talk about him,” Eli says, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.
There is a beat of silence.
“Well,” Marcus says, colder now, “I see you put me on speaker. Very bold of you, Seraphina.”
“Stop calling in the middle of the night. If you want to discuss custody, do it through your lawyer.”
“That would be simple,” he says. “But I wanted to give you a chance to fix this before it gets ugly.”
Fear creeps up my throat.
“Fix what.”
“The environment,” he says. “Your instability. Running off to that little house, refusing medication, surrounding yourself with trauma.”
“It is not crumbling,” I snap. “And I take my medication exactly as prescribed.”
“Do you,” he says. “Because I spoke to Dr. Keller.”
“You had no right.”
“I have every right,” he repeats. “As Maya’s father. As the one trying to keep her safe while you drift.”
Eli stands.
“You do not keep anyone safe,” he says. “You keep them scared.”
“Ah,” Marcus says. “The hero. Tell me, Eli, does it feel good swooping in after I did the hard work of breaking her in?”
I flinch.
“Enough,” Eli says quietly.
“You think you are helping her,” Marcus continues. “She hears things. Sees things. Imagines things. Like that old friend. What was her name?”
“Kahlia,” I breathe.
“Yes. Tragic. But you need to let her go.”
A cold wave moves through me.
“Why would you say that?”
He sighs. “You cry her name in your sleep. She drowned. You cannot keep clinging to a ghost.”
“She did not drown,” I say suddenly.
Everything goes still.
Eli looks at me sharply.
Marcus pauses. “What?”
“She did not drown,” I repeat. “The police said.”
“Oh, right,” he says quickly. “Found near the creek. My mistake.”
My heart stutters.
“You were not there,” I whisper. “You never knew the details.”
“I have to go,” he says abruptly. “Just remember this. I will not let Maya grow up in a house where ghosts feel more real than structure.”
He hangs up.
I stare at the phone until the screen fades.
Eli steps closer, careful. “He should not have this much access to you.”
I give a brittle laugh. “He has had access since I was nineteen. It does not stop.”
“He is using your diagnosis,” Eli says. “To twist everything.”
I finally look at him.
“Is he wrong?” I ask.
The question sits between us, heavy.
Eli moves closer. “About you feeling things. No. About what those feelings mean. Yes.”
He glances at Maya, then back at me. “Do you believe what you are seeing?” he asks quietly.
“I do not know,” I whisper. “The postcards. The attic. The drawing. I want it to be a trick. But part of me thinks what if it really is her.”
“What if this is not about her being angry?” he says. “What if it is about you facing what you buried?”
The room seems to tilt.
“I do not remember,” I say. “Every time I try, my mind hits a wall.”
“I know,” he says. “But walls crack. That is why it is surfacing now. Not because you are breaking. Because you are ready.”
“I do not feel ready.”
He gives a small smile. “Nobody does. But you are not alone this time.”
The house creaks. I tell myself it is just settling, but it feels like something exhaling.
I sit slowly. Eli lowers himself to the coffee table in front of me, close but not touching.
His presence feels like a question, not a threat.
My phone lights up.
A new voicemail. Unknown number.
“I did not hear it ring,” I say.
“Probably spam,” Eli says, but his voice is wary.
I tap the voicemail.
Static fills the room.
Then a girl’s voice, faint and shaking.
“Seraphina.”
Eli’s head snaps up.
My heart stops.
“Seraphina, please. You have to remember. He-”
The message cuts off.
No name. No number.
Just my name in a voice I have not heard in twelve years.
Kahlia.
The phone slips from my fingers.
Eli steadies it, his hand brushing mine.
“Sera,” he says quietly, “this is not just Marcus. It is not just your mind.”
He looks toward the dark hallway leading to the attic.
“Something does not want the truth coming out.”