Florence pushed her palm deeper into the incision on Jack’s left thigh. The sweat trailed down Florence’s brow as she stared at Aisling. Florence’s shoulder blade stung with the back of her dress soaked in blood.

Aisling heaved. Her hands gripped her shoulders. The weight of her body leaned against the wall. She staggered towards the refrigerator, slamming her knuckles on top of it.

Yuze lay still on the floor, flat, facing the ceiling. Even Stella, Sam, and Jack did not show the slightest sign of movement from their bodies.

“Pardon me, what… secrets exactly?” Florence asked.

Aisling extended her index finger, pointing at one of the top corners of the room.

Florence turned in the direction where untangling cobwebs at the top corner of the room greeted her.

“Could you kinda see it? It’s right over there,” Aisling said.

“What is it?” Florence asked. “Please, tell me… it is the cobwebs.”

“Nope, squint your eyes.”

“Pardon?”

“Just do it now.”

Florence squinted in the direction that Aisling had pointed in. Florence’s heart skipped a beat. At the top corner of the room, the outline of a humanoid hidden behind a blurry curtain of hot air could be made. The humanoid dug its stabbing nails into the walls with its long limbs.

“Pardon me, when was it there?” Florence dragged her bottom and feet backward.

“It always had been there,” Aisling said. She dropped her hand down to her thighs. “Well, at least this is one of the many concerns.”

“How is this… thing here?”

“Not sure. But I doubt this is the only trick up the ghost sleeves we’re looking for.”

“How are you so certain that this isn’t a hallucination?”

“I’ve seen this since day one.”

“Pardon?”

Aisling coughed, falling onto knees with a thud. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen, spitting out blood onto the floor.

“Aisling, stay where you are,” Florence said. Her palm pressed down the incision on Jack’s left thigh. “I have to patch him up first… somehow.”

“Don’t worry about him. He is going to be fine,” Aisling said.

“How could you say that? He is going to pass away if I let go.”

“Then tell me why he isn’t bleeding.”

“Pardon?”

Indeed, the pressure pushing against Florence’s palm stopped momentarily. Even the blood did not leak through the gaps between her fingers. She slowly retracted her hand away from Jack. No drop of blood squirted out of the fresh incision on Jack’s left thigh.

“How?” Florence asked.

“Did you seriously not realize why this is happening?” Aisling slid onto her bottom, slumping her back against the wall. “Like, isn’t it kinda obvious?”

Florence closed her eyes, rubbing her temple. When did it occur to her before? The slow descent from the tenth floor to the street below as the wind whispered in her ears. And that bullet stopped for a second in front of her face at this chess tournament. Wait… was that because of…

“You.” Florence looked over her shoulder. “It was you.”

Aisling clapped her hand sluggishly. “Congratulations, you figured it out. Took you way too long.”

Florence scratched the back of her head. “I guess we’ll have to go now.”

“Yup.”

“But first of all we—”

“Fixed it already.”

“Pardon?”

“Jack’s wounds.”

Florence turned her head back to Jack. On his left thigh, the incision closed, forming a bright red scar. She pulled up his polo shirt. The lesions on his torso healed, leaving a hint of the claw injury inflicted on him. But at his lower back, a red eye tattoo on his skin stared at her.

Aisling coughed. “Look, it’s all healed.”

“How did… it… like… how?” Florence raised her eyebrow. “Is this you again?”

The clothes rustled, and staggering footsteps echoed behind Florence.

Florence spun around.

Aisling stood up, leaning against the refrigerator. She cleared her throat, slamming her chest.

Florence pushed herself onto her feet, trudging in heavy footsteps towards Aisling.

“The best case scenario is to leave, now,” Aisling said.

“You changed up your mind fast,” Florence said. She wrapped her arm around Aisling’s waist. “I remember that you were certainly insistent on not going out. Especially with those pink androids looking for us.”

“Well, things had kinda changed slightly after you mentioned her.”

“How are you certain that she is Jack’s daughter? It could be possible that someone else named Renee.”

“I’m just saying.”

Aisling coughed up blood, splattering it on her lips and the floor

A howl from the wind echoed.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

A screech rang behind Florence and Aisling.

Florence and Aisling wheeled around.

“How did… I mean, how did you get over there?” Stella waved her hands frantically in front of her. “I mean… you were like literally somewhere else… I think.”

“Pardon me, what happened?” Florence asked.

“Sorry… I might have… you know,” Aisling said. She cleared her throat, smacking her chest. “Sometimes that happens.”

Stella ruffled her hair, pressing her palm against her forehead. “Wait… did I lose my consciousness… again… I think?”

Jack stumbled onto his feet. He patted the scars on his torso and left thigh, playing static on the television monitor. Then he pumped his legs up and down.

“I might have forgotten to mention something,” Florence said. She inched her mouth closer to Aisling’s ear. “There is a red eye tattoo on Jack’s lower back.”

Aisling smiled, clasping her hands together. “Why couldn’t you say it sooner? At least now I know that he might be under control by the ghost.”

“When did you vomit blood, Aisling?” Jack rubbed his lower back. “And why do I’ve no recollection of that ever happening?”

Florence and Aisling stepped backward, inching to the opened door.

“Where’re you going? As I told you, you can’t leave,” Jack said.

Aisling reached for her empty sheath. “We’re just… wanna walk around… this room for a bit.”

Jack stuffed his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a dagger.

“When did… never mind,” Aisling said.

“Pardon me, how does a red eye tattoo get anything to do with this ghost?” Florence asked.

“I can’t tell if you’re being kinda dense or stupid.”

“You do realize that having a tattoo of a red eye does not equate to him being controlled by the ghost.”

“Fair enough. I guess he could be just being himself.”

Wet footsteps slapped the floor behind Florence and Aisling. A shadow seeped through the doorway and loomed over them.

“How about we ask him some questions?” Florence took another step back. “Just to be certain that it is actually him that we’re talking to.”

Aisling looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Don’t look back?”

“Pardon?”

“Just listen to me for once.”

“I will be looking then. In one.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Two.”

“Hey, can you hear me or what?”

“Three.”

Florence looked over her shoulder. Her muscles stiffened. Behind her, those bodies in army uniforms and helmets towered over her. The fractured bone punctures through their peeling skin. Open bayonet wounds spread across their chest without oozing blood. The droplets of water trailed down their fingers, splashing onto the floor.

“See, I told you,” Aisling said. She turned Florence’s head back to face forward. “Sometimes you never listen.”

Florence inhaled and exhaled. Her chest rose and fell. “How… did those bodies get there all of a sudden.”

“Are you guys done yet?” Jack pressed his knuckles on his waist. “Like… I mean, yes, you can pace around the room if you want.”

“Yup, we’re gonna do that,” Aisling said. She spun around, dragging Florence along.

The bodies parted, allowing Florence and Aisling to pass through the doorway.

“Any idea on what to do next?” Florence bit her lips. Her feet screeched across the floor.

Aisling shrugged. “I’m thinking here. Can’t really tell if that is really him?”

“How could you not know?”

“Either that or the ghost has good acting skills.”

The bodies tracked Florence and Aisling, trudging towards the lily painting on the wall. The splinters and pieces of broken dining table crunched beneath their feet.

Aisling slowed pace, stopping in front of the painting of a lily. “We’ve to somehow lose him.”

“How are we supposed to do it?” Florence asked.

“You might not remember it… but this is kinda a repayment for everything you did for me.”

“Pardon?”

Aisling jabbed her elbow into Florence’s stomach, pushing Florence backward.

Florence ripped through the layer of paper in the painting. Her skull cracked against the concrete. She rolled down the staircase, thudding on each step. Her fingers wrapped around the handrail, halting her fall.

The gravity pulled her down. Her grasp loosened on the railing.

She plummeted to the bottom of the staircase.

The wind whispered in her ears, rustling her hair.

The darkness swallowed her.

She landed on the cold floor of a corridor, kicking the dust up to the pipes on the ceiling. She coughed, waving her hand in front of her nose. An array of rifles and pistols loaded with magazines rattled on the birch cabinets caked in dust. The blood flowed down her face, sipping between each strand of hair.

A scream echoed through the staircase.

She got onto her knees and crawled to the stairs. “Aisling? Stella?”

A looming silhouette at the top of the steps descended, spiraling towards her. This shadow smashed onto Florence’s spine.

Florence gritted her teeth, falling flat on her belly.

Something thudded on her left.

She turned towards it.

Aisling clenched her abdomen, lying on her back. “I didn’t do it.”

“You landed on my back,” Florence said. “How could you say that you did not do it?”

“Look, it wasn’t my intention to do that.”

“But you certainly pushed me through that painting.”

A drenched footsteps descended the steps. Each droplet of water splashed on the concrete echoed.

Florence tilted her head up.

Those bodies in army uniforms and helmets cracked their knuckles and necks. They gripped onto the fractured bones, pulling them out of their pierced skins. Their empty eye sockets glared at Florence and Aisling. They chattered their teeth in unison.

“You’re not… him,” Aisling said. “Whatever kinda trick this is… I’m not… I’m not…”

“Him? Those are certainly bodies,” Florence said.

Aisling leaped towards the birch cabinet, snatching one of the rifles. She lined up the front and rear sights, bracing the butt on her shoulder. Aiming at one of the bodies’ foreheads. The muzzle trembled.

Click.

The bodies halted in their path.

But no bullets exited the barrel.

Aisling lowered the rifle in her hands. “We should run… now.”

The bodies groaned.

Florence and Aisling wheeled around, limping past dozens of firearms. Their breaths reverberated through the corridor.

The soaked footsteps slapping across the floor chased after Florence and Aisling.

Aisling gripped one of the birch cabinets on the side. She pulled at it, knocking it over. A thud echoed. The weaponry scattered.

The bodies tripped over the obstacles, smashing their heads onto the concrete. A crack came from their fractured bones. But they never stopped running at full speed, pounding their feet across the floor.

Florence and Aisling turned a corner in the corridor, limping past a rusted humanoid made out of metal.

Florence strained her legs and lost her footing. She scratched her knees and elbows against the surface and fell flat.

Aisling stopped, turning back. She wrapped her arm around Florence’s waist. Then Aisling carried Florence deeper into the darkness that embraced them.

The groans and moans followed them.

Florence blinked. Her feet dragged across the floor. The sweat covered her face, dripping down her chin.

The pipes rattled on the ceiling.

Muffled screams echoed.

“Great,” Aisling said. “Not again.”

The screws popped out of place, clattering on the surfaces. A metal clank crashed behind Florence and Aisling. A mountain of water splashed on top of them, pushing them away.

A foul ammonia odor filled the air.

Florence’s shoulder blade stung as a mass of liquid washed over her. The bodies’ fingers wrapped around her arms and legs, tugging her into the pool, forming beneath her.

Aisling thrashed with a dozen bodies’ hands pulling her, swinging the rifle. The butt splashed against the water.

“Pardon me, could you do it now?” Florence asked. Her face sank below the surface, submerged in the depth.

The bubble of air escaped through her mouth and nose.

The lights left the corridor, growing darker…

And… darker… until the passing of time stopped.