53

53
Later that night, long after Damien had gone quiet, I sat alone in the darkened living room. The journal lay open on my lap, it's pages fluttering like wings. The house creaked, the kind of sound that carried footsteps inside it.

I lifted my head and there he is again.

Nolan.

Standing just beyond the porch glass, his face pale under the glow of the streetlight. He didn’t move, just stared at me with eyes hollow and accusing.

My throat closed. I stumbled backward nearly tripping over the chair.

“Damien!” I shouted.

The moment I blinked he vanished.

Damien came running with gun in his hand. “What is it?”

I pointed at the porch, words failing me. “He was right there. Nolan. Right there.....”

Damien’s eyes darted to the glass then back to me. His expression was unreadable.

“Camille....,” he said softly, “there’s no one here.”

Tears burned hot in my eyes as I am heartbroken. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

He lowered the gun slowly, his voice a rasp. “I’m not but if you’re seeing Nolan everywhere… then either he’s closer than we thought or someone wants you questioning your sanity until you crack.”

“Or both,” I whispered.

For a moment, I realized just how much power Nolan still had. Whether he was flesh or phantom, he isn’t going to let me go.

And Damien... the only person left beside me, wasn’t sure if he is to believe me.

That night, as I lay awake listening to Damien’s restless pacing in the next room, one truth sank deep into me: I was on the edge of losing everything especially my mind, my sanity and my grip on reality.

But if Nolan is a ghost, I will drag him into the light, if he is really alive and the one behind all this, I will kill him myself.

~

Morning came like an unwelcome guest prying its way through the curtains and spilling pale light into the living room. I hadn’t really slept, my body had gone still for a while but my mind have been a relentless carousel of Nolan’s face appearing and disappearing, a phantom stitched into every shadow.

Damien stood at the window, his back rigid, shoulders drawn tight beneath his black T-shirt. He is probably keeping watch I thought.

I sat on the couch, Elise’s journal balanced on my knees, Asher’s note still folded neatly inside.

“Coffee?” Damien finally asked without turning.

I almost laughed at how normal the word sounded in his mouth..... Coffee, as if we were just another pair of broken neighbors avoiding eye contact after a shared tragedy but nothing about this is normal.

“No,” I said quietly. My throat is dry but I don’t want anything that would keep me awake more than I already was.

Damien nodded slightly, his reflection faint in the glass. “Suit yourself.”

The kettle hissed as he filled it. I closed Elise’s journal and set it on the table. My gaze wandered across the room, toward the hallway mirror. That’s when I froze.

He is there again, Nolan.

Standing in the corner not in flesh but in something close to it... his outline solid and his dark eyes fixed on me. My breath stuttered and my heart battering the cage of my chest. His lips moved but no sound reached me. A whisper without a voice.

“Camille?” Damien’s voice cut through it. I blinked and the corner was empty again. Just the pale outline of the mirror and the stale air of the house.

I swallowed hard. “Nothing.”

His brow tightened as he set the kettle down watching me the way one watches a wounded animal.

“You are seeing him again, isn't it?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer.

“Camille.” He came closer, resting a hand on the back of the couch. His eyes searched my face like he was looking for proof. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth. If I said yes, he’d start pulling away, thinking I'm insane and if I said no, he will know I'm ying.

“I don’t know what I’m seeing,” I whispered. “It feels real but....”

Damien stepped back. “This isn’t good. You’re not sleeping, you’re......” He stopped himself but the unfinished sentence burned between us.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said sharply, my voice cracking under the strain.

“Like what?” He asked.

“Like I’m.....” I cut myself off. Crazy. I couldn’t make myself say it.

Damien rubbed the back of his neck with frustration. “Camille, you’re seeing people who aren’t there. You’re waking up with knives in your hand, blacking out and losing time. And now Nolan....”

“Don’t say his name,” I snapped standing too fast. “You don’t get it. You didn’t see him."

“Yes I don't,” Damien shot back, his voice low but sharp. “That’s the problem.”

The silence after stretched long and suffocating. I stared at the man who’d been both protector, stranger, ally and suspect. His face was too calm like he have already made up his mind about me.

“You think I’m losing it,” I whispered, the admission tasting like blood.

Damien didn’t answer right away, that's worse than if he’d said yes.

Instead, he said, “I think you’re being pushed past your limits. Someone’s exploiting your PTSD, your blackouts, everything you’ve been through but if you keep spiraling like this...”

“Spiraling?” I repeated, my laugh brittle and bitter. “That’s what you think this is? A spiral?”

His eyes hardened. “Then what is it?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came. What could I say? That Nolan’s presence was more than a hallucination? That it might be a message, a clue or a warning? It sounded insane even in my own head.

“Forget it,” I muttered, moving past him. My hands were trembling as I reached for the doorknob.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“Air.” I answered.

Damien’s hand closed around my wrist before I could pull the door open. Not rough nor forceful but enough to stop me. His grip burned.

“You can’t just wander off when you’re like this,” he said tightly. “It’s not safe.”

I yanked my arm free. “And what Damien? You’re the safe one? You, with your secrets, your missing pieces, your name showing up in Ivy’s file like a ghost stamp? Don’t lecture me about what’s real and what’s not.”

For a moment, something raw flashed across his face.... guilt maybe or anger. He looked like he wanted to argue, to tear the words apart but instead he went still, his jaw working as he swallowed whatever retort had risen to his lips.

The restraint unsettled me more than if he’d yelled.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice cold. “Do what you want.”