As his eyes cast about the room, Jacob said, “I think the ghosts want you to keep yeeting yourself at the wall. Bro.”

Which was partially true. It wasn’t that Devorah wanted Brad to keep throwing himself at the wall, but she did want a reaction of some kind. An acknowledgement of her existence. For all that she had wanted to escape conversation with Bell, Devorah found herself missing a viewing partner.

Brad slapped his hands together. “You gotta be right, man! Maybe I have to level up, hit a the wall like sixty times for it to open up. Maybe even…” His face widened into a grin. “Sixty nine times!”

Brad held his hand out towards Budi, clearly expecting some kind of response. Budi slapped his hand down.

“No, I disagree. I think whoever is trapped here was indeed sending you a message, but was agreeing that it was time to stop,” Budi said.

Jacob considered the point, then conceded. “Yeah, you do look a little beat up, man. Maybe you can get through the wall another way? What if, instead of banging, you try small-scale carving. Like with a spoon?”

Budi gave Jacob a strange look. “You want to try carving into a wall with a spoon?”

“Yes,” Jacob said, his face starting to turn red. “Little by little, like in the movies?”

“Not to diss you, man,” Brad started, “but wouldn’t that take forever? I bet like, a knife would go faster.”

Jacob huffed. Oh boy. “I bet it would still get you to the other side faster than just throwing yourself at the wall! And it would get you less attention, too. Everyone in the house knows about the stupid shit you’ve been up to!”

Brad’s face scrunched up- he was clearly hurt. Both from Jacob’s words, and the many, many bruises painting his body. “Yo Jacob, it’s okay. You can chill, it’s no big deal.”

In Devorah’s experience, telling someone to calm down rarely had the desired effect.

“I am so chill right now!”

Brad and Budi exchanged a look. “Jacob, my man, you’re kind of turning purple. You okay, dude?” Brad asked.

“I just don’t get why you would call my idea stupid when you’ve literally been throwing yourself at the wall! Why even ask for my help?” Jacob yelled.

As expected- with the vein bulging in Jacob’s neck, telling him to calm down clearly did the reverse.

Brad put his hands up in surrender, and Budi stepped forward to talk. “We did not ask for your help, did we? And if you think it is such a good idea to carve into the wall with a spoon, why don’t you get one and show us the proper technique?”

Yeesh.

“Fine! Maybe I will!” Jacob stormed out of the room, dragging a reluctant Devorah behind him. Goodbye, Brad. Devorah hoped she could catch up on his antics again sometime soon.

“No hard feelings!” Devorah heard Brad call out after Jacob. It was too late- he was already marching down the hall, seemingly blind to the figures up ahead in the hall.

It looked like Kefilwe and Mathilde up ahead, examining some kind of portrait on the wall. Kefilwe turned her head to greet Jacob as he approached, but either he didn’t see her or he just ignored her.

Jacob ignored Kefilwe and Mathilde so well, he knocked into Mathilde as he passed, stepping on the hem of her habit.

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As Mathilde tripped forward, Jacob huffed out a small “sorry,” as Kefilwe gasped and pushed him to the other side of the hall.

“What was that fo-” Jacob started to yell and Mathilde fell towards the portrait. With a bang, she slammed into the gilded frame.

“Mathilde!” Kefilwe screamed. The nun turned to look back at her with scared, wide eyes. For a second, Mathilde struggled, twisting and turning, pulling. But she couldn’t move her right arm- the one that slammed into the portrait.

Devorah moved in to take a closer look- there was some kind of adhesive sticking her arm to the frame.

“Stay back!” Mathilde shouted as Kefilwe went to rush towards her. But it was too late.

For a second, there was the sound of something mechanical whirring up- perhaps gears turning, or something activating.

Then spikes burst from the portrait.

Jacob screamed, almost drowning out the slick sound of spikes bursting through flesh. From Devorah’s angle, it was difficult to see the extent of the damage, but two spikes went clean through Mathilde’s shoulder. Devorah distantly noted she was lucky- just a few centimeters to the left, and one would have gone through her neck.

“God have mercy,” Mathilde whimpered, wide eyed. Jacob was still screaming, gasping for breath, but Mathilde seemed strangely calm. Perhaps it was from the shock of it all, the adrenaline pumping through her to keep her upright.

The spikes that didn’t find a target retreated back into the portrait- the two buried neat in Mathilde’s shoulder remained. Blood trickled down her white robes, thankfully at a slow pace. Devorah hated to admit it, but in a way, this was one of the kinder traps that could be in the Champions’ League. The reason?

The spikes seemed like they would remain in Mathilde’s shoulder until she was wrenched away. That gave her a better chance against bleeding out.

Kefilwe managed the last few feet until finally, she was wrapping her arms around Mathilde, forcing Mathilde to look into her eyes.

Using her good arm, Mathilde hazily prodded at the spikes protruding from her body. “Oh dear,” she said, as if in a daze.

“Mathilde, are you here with me? Are you doing okay?” Kefilwe asked, terror casting a sad pallor over her normally warm face.

“I’m afraid I am quite injured. Oh dear,” Mathilde said. With every second, more blood trickled from her twin wounds. Her eyes were steadily growing more glassy. If it weren’t for the spikes, Devorah was sure she would have trouble leaning upright.

“Oh dear,” Mathilde said again, and gasped. It was likely that she still had adrenaline coursing through her and wasn’t quite feeling the extent of her pain yet, but the realization of her situation was likely hitting her. Jacob finally shook from his stupor and approached.

“Mathilde,” he said, tears welling up behind his glasses. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean it.”

“You are forgiven,” Mathilde answered.

Kefilwe’s eyes turned towards Jacob. Strangely enough, Devorah could tell she agreed with Mathilde. Jacob actually had been forgiven- not just by Mathilde, but by Kefilwe as well. How strange. If someone had hurt Anna, even if accidentally, Devorah wasn’t sure she would have been able to forgive. And definitely not so surely, so easily.

“Jacob, just… Can you get Nour?” Kefilwe asked. Jacob nodded, standing there. Kefilwe’s eyes sharpened. Ah, there it was. Kefilwe may have already forgiven, if only for Mathilde's sake, but that didn't mean she would stand for any chance of making her injury worse. “Jacob. Go!”

“Right, sorry, sorry. Really, I didn’t mean it,” he said again.

“Jacob!” Kefilwe nearly snarled.

“I’ll just-” Jacob pointed down the hallway, then set off in a run. Dragging Devorah along, of course. As she was pulled away, Devorah watched Kefilwe carefully prop Mathilde up. The gentle action, being swallowed up by distance and that spot growing further and further from Devorah, it made her wonder.

Was Devorah’s cohort the only ghosts in the house?

Mathilde would probably survive if Nour was as skilled as Devorah would have liked to believe. The nun was breathing, even if the pace came rapidly. Most of her blood was still in her body thanks to the spikes staying in. As long as she didn’t bleed out and go into shock, or develop an infection later, Mathilde would probably make it.

Devorah hoped so, if only for Jacob’s sake.

She wasn’t sure if an accident like that would be labeled as a murder, and cause an investigation, but if it was… Well. He was as good as dead. Devorah didn’t love the guy, but she didn’t want to see him dead.

Devorah didn’t really want to see anyone dead. Not anyone else, not anymore.

Seeing Mathilde, it made her wonder. Devorah thought her death was swift. Sudden pain, then nothingness.

What if she had just passed out? Gone into shock? What if there had been more? What if her last moments had been spent bleeding out, gasping? Reaching out for someone who hopefully couldn’t come?

What had Henry thought, as he watched Devorah die? Had he cradled her, as Kefilwe now cradled Mathilde? Had he ran just as Jacob was running now? Or had he done something else. Had he dragged Devorah’s body and staged it, making a game? A final puzzle to cap the season. One last mystery to be solved.

Devorah wanted to know.

For all that her bodiless body was shaking, and her breathless breaths were racing, Devorah wanted to know.

And when Jacob finally made it to Nour’s make-shift infirmary, Devorah watched as they hurriedly gathered supplies before Nour rushed to Mathilde’s side. One bed was curtained off- Devorah could make out someone’s form resting. Another bed lay open, likely soon to be filled by Mathilde.

Devorah watched Nour disappear, just as Kefilwe and Mathilde had, and she wanted to know. Had anyone ran too, when they saw that Devorah was gone?