For a while there was Nothing, but aiva had grown comfortable in it.

She found herself once again in the body that was not her own—so quickly it jarred her sense into being. This time she remembered.

The dream did not start with the unknown street. It started with agony shooting up her back as the Knife was pulled from the body. The hauntingly familiar voice spoke to her as the body was kicked over. Numbness began it’s steady pulse through the limbs and she knew that he was dying.

The boy’s thoughts played rapidly through her head, flowing between hopes of anything to end te pain and his will to continue living. He grasped at his vitality madly. Aiva tried to help him hold on. Still he slid away, until there reached a point of acceptance. An instinctual calm settled over him that she couldn’t understand. She continued to fight even after the last breath left his lungs.

Despite the chill that overtook her in the now dead body that was not her own, relief crashed over her stronger than any guilt. At least it was over. She had witnessed this murder to the very end for whatever purpose; now perhaps she would wake up and stop reliving it.

But it was not the end. Shadows around her began to move. Fear overtook her mind. The killer was still there, waiting. The question of what he could possibly be waiting for tore at Aiva and the fact that he was still there watching from the gathering darkness set her on edge.

Out from the gloom behind the corpse something stepped. It was akin to a tall boy with gray skin. Something was wrong with its eyes though. They held no pupil within their forms and the sclera drowned out all other features. A certainty stole over Aiva and she could not stop the word that rose to the top of her thoughts as naturally as a fallen leaf upon water.

Death.

This was the boy’s Death.

Aiva felt a strange separation and saw an eerie hand, transparent and effervescent, rise to take hold of the Death’s. there was no time to process this. From the middle of the Death’s chest a silver blade appeared. Aiva shared the phantom’s anguish and watched in horror as a myriad of emotions passed over the previously blank façade.

The specter fell and turned to Nothing, Aiva along with it.

The girl’s consciousness had just enough presence left to send a last glare towards the killer who had a look of extreme concentration as he dug the Knife into his own forearm. Arcane light flashed around him, silhouetting everything, except his glasses which reflected that luminescence. She knew only the fear that gripped her heart. This Nothing felt perpetual, as if it would never let her go.

***

Aiva blinked her eyes rapidly against the fluorescent lights as a headache pounded cruelly behind her eyes and a buzzing echoed between her ears. Wondering where she was as she struggled with her memory, wrestling details to figure out what happened. She pondered how long she’d been resting though she could not recall having gone to sleep.

She looked around. Uncle Bridger and Aunt Taylor stood in a corner next to a large medical machine. Her Uncle was reading swiftly off a paper as it spewed forth data. The room she was in felt cold and clean, the metallic surfaces gleaming. A harsh chemical smell filled her nostrils and made her eyes sting. Wasn’t she in Great-Grandpa’s house? Surely there was no room such as this there.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Taylor looked up as Aiva shifted and the older woman smiled similarly to her mother’s before it had gone. Repulsed by it the girl closed her eyes.

“Oh don’t move Aiva darling!”

Confused, she tried to sit up, but felt multiple tugs at her temples and neck. Dizziness rushed over her as she pulled the wires off herself, finding more going down her arms and torso. The machine started to beep and whir in the corner.

Her aunt and uncle were upon her almost immediately, attempting to push her back into the hard cushions of the upholstered table. Sound muted in Aiva’s ears as a panic she wasn’t used too suddenly filled her, and she flailed, fighting back as best she could, trying to continually push back up into a sitting position, and ripping of more stickers connected to the cables even as they were pushed roughly against her. There were too many hands on her, their mouths were moving but Aiva could not make out the words through the rushing in her ears. She realized belatedly that it was the wheezing of her own breath.

A ringing is what broke through the strange bubble of anxious silence and uncle Bridger stepped away, sliding his phone from the pocket in his long white coat. She didn’t follow his conversation at all, but now that the odd pressure had broken around her she started to try and work on calming her breathing, coughing and still refusing to lay back down. Her body shook with the short spirt of exertion, but Aunt Taylor had not pulled her hand back.

Not until uncle Bridger snapped out a smart “Yes sir.” Over the phone. Her aunt looked over her shoulder as Bridger waved her away. “Don’t worry about hooking her up again. Father is ready for her.”

Relief so instantaneous was a cool balm against the residual dismay. She’d finally get to see her dad and find out what was going on!

Taylor walked back over with the smile still in place, even after she heaved a put-upon sigh. The girl couldn’t help but flinch even as her aunt spoke. “Aiva darling just take it slow.” She signaled to Bridge who flipped some sort of switch. The sound was immediately silenced.

Her aunt helped her up and she looked down at herself. Her too thin legs stuck out from beneath a paper gown, which crinkled as she moved. Her chubby hands looked strange against them.

So many half formed questions fought through the fog in her mind but Aiva wasn’t sure her voice would work so she simply waited for someone to explain what in the world was going on.

Aunt Taylor helped her down from the table and handed her some plain clothes that she wasn’t sure were hers. They left her alone to dress. Her limbs were heavy as she slowly slipped into the outfit. She rubbed a sore spot on her neck, blurry memories of Uncle Scott approaching her, something small and cylindrical held in his hand like a weapon.

Once dressed, Aiva was escorted through a hallway that she recognized on legs that shook. They were still in Joshua’s house somehow. Her wheelchair was nowhere in sight. Aiva wanted to ask for it but still did not trust herself to speak.

Her aunt lead her to a door. Barely any light penetrated into the room beyond. Aiva leaned forward and saw Nothing but dense gloom. Taylor gave her nice a push and the girl stumbled across the threshold, into the shadows.

There was a flickering candle atop a raised podium that seemed vaguely familiar. More recollections trickled back. A scene, played out almost like a movie. But even knowing what happened before did not answer any of the questions, which continued to pile up.

Great Grandfather Joshua stood behind the lectern, shadows throwing his wrinkled face into sharp relief. The grooves around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper. She was about to ask him the one question that teetered precariously at the top of her list when the darkness moved.

Aiva had a sudden feeling that there were more people in the room, though there was no telltale breath. She shrugged off the sensation of being watched with difficulty.

“Um, Gran—”

“Silence child.”

Shock kept her quiet and apprehension settled as a seed in her gut. More questioned formed. She was able to swallow them—his voice still carried an undertone of danger.

The door closed with a final click and the sound deadened instantly. A crushing quiet enveloped Aiva and she tried to find something to focus on. With the absence of sound, movement or light it was too much like a waking nightmare. Her head felt light, bigger than it was, and her palms were cold with sweat.

She felt like she might slip into the body that was not her own. Maybe she would figure out why the murderer’s voice was so familiar and why his face, when lit with the ethereal light, had needled her subconscious.

Those questions could stay unanswered: she didn’t want to know anymore.

Great Grandfather Joshua’s stern voice pulled her from her fears.

“Step forward Timothy.”