Daniel sat on the cold wooden floor for what felt like hours....
The silence of the room broke only by the occasional groan of the old apartment settling around him. His breathing had slowed, but his thoughts raced like a storm. His mind kept circling back to the faces he’d just seen, the hollow gaze of Robert Langley, Maria’s trembling voice, and Peter’s haunting, wordless plea.
For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder if he’d finally lost it, if the weight of Emily’s death had broken something vital in him. But no hallucination could feel this real. The voices, the mirror, the undeniable ache of their stories...they had left a mark on him too deep to dismiss as mere fantasy.
Daniel remains lost and empty, slowly rose unsteadily to his feet and grabbed a broom to sweep up the broken glass from the kitchen floor. The rhythmic motion of cleaning was grounding, even as his hands trembled. He needed a plan, a starting point.
Robert’s name was the only tangible thread he had, but it was a fragile one. The news coverage of the missing soldier had been brief and vague, leaving behind more questions than answers.
He rinsed his hands under the tap, the icy water stinging against his skin. As the chill seeped into his fingers, he forced himself to focus. If Robert’s story was true, it wasn’t just a tragedy...it is an injustice. Someone had orchestrated his death, erased his name, and left his soul to wander, unable to rest.
On the other hand, there is Maria, whose daughter had been taken by “men who promised help but only brought pain.” What did that mean? Was it trafficking? Exploitation? Daniel didn’t know, but the thought of her desperation made his stomach churn.
Peter’s story was even more elusive, his silence looks natural considering his age and lack of social activities but that soulless silence is as loud as a scream. The boy’s sorrowful eyes had seemed to hold a million words, all locked behind a door Daniel couldn’t yet open.
He sat at his small desk, its surface cluttered with unopened mail and half-finished notebooks. Pulling out his laptop, he opened a blank document and stared at the blinking cursor.
“Start by listening...” Robert had said.
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The phrase echoed in his mind, both a command and a burden. Daniel hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Where did one even begin to tell the stories of the dead? He wasn’t a journalist anymore.He’d walked away from that life after Emily’s death. But maybe, just maybe, this was something he could still do.
His fingers moved tentatively at first, typing out Robert Langley’s name. Beneath it, he added the fragments of information he could remember from their brief encounter:
Name: Robert Langley
Occupation: Soldier
Cause of Death: Betrayed by his own
Details: Left behind during a classified operation. The truth erased. More information to be added.
He stared at the words, their starkness underscoring how little he truly knew. The man’s voice had been steady, but there had been a depth of bitterness that spoke of unimaginable betrayal.
Daniel opened a search engine and typed in Robert’s name. The results were sparse, as he’d expected. A few old articles mentioned his disappearance, but there was no follow-up, no closure. Clicking on one of the links, he skimmed through a report from nearly a decade ago.
> “Sergeant Robert Langley, 32, was declared missing in action during an operation in an undisclosed location. The military has provided no further details, citing national security concerns. Langley, a decorated soldier, is survived by his wife and young daughter."
Daniel frowned. A wife and daughter? The idea of them waiting, grieving without answers, filled him with a deep sense of unease. What had they been told? Did they know the truth, or were they living with the same sanitized lie the public had been fed?
He jotted down their names. Caroline Langley and Lily Langley, before returning to his search. There wasn’t much else to find, but he noted a few addresses linked to Caroline. If she was still alive, maybe she could help him piece together Robert’s story.
Closing his laptop, Daniel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. The weight of what he was undertaking pressed down on him like a vice. This wasn’t just about Robert, Maria, or Peter. It was about something much bigger, a web of untold stories, each one demanding to be heard.
He glanced at the mirror across the room, now dull and unremarkable. The thought of more faces appearing there sent a shiver down his spine. How many more would come to him, their truths buried and their voices silenced?
As he sat there, the faintest whisper reached his ears.
“Thank you....”
It was soft, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably Robert’s voice.
Daniel’s chest tightened, and for the first time in what felt like years, a spark of purpose flickered within him. He didn’t know where this path would lead or if he was even strong enough to walk it. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t turn back now.
The dead had chosen him to tell their tales and he decided to finally listen and see where things lead.
(To be Continued)