The idea of returning to Albie College in less than a week after that fateful incident sounds absolutely ludicrous, especially to a recently blinded film student like Andrew Coffey, yet here he is being led through campus with maybe hundreds of eyes scrutinizing him from every angle, their whispers only quieting whenever he passes near them.
“There he is.”
“Not so loud!”
His personal aide who had been assigned to him, Edmund, leads this now peculiar student through the parting onlookers towards his usual building; having his arm held while drawing this much attention isn’t something Andrew will ever get used to, nor ever want to. His other hand, in the meantime, puts his brand-new cane to use as he taps it on the ground in front of him, keeping a certain rhythm to avoid any obstructions.
“Why does he have a cane now?”
This continues up the stairs, into the corridors, and so on… it feels like forever.
“It’s him, the blind guy.”
“What’s he doing here?”
It’s even worse inside; with the enclosed walls, he can hear everyone’s chatters echoing back to him. “This is so humiliating,” he mumbles.
“The guy who was with Edge?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Don’t worry about them,” Edmund assures while patting him. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You’re doing good, so far.”
“The fuck happened to his eyes?”
“Is he blind now?”
“You think he can hear us?”
“Why couldn’t I have gone deaf instead?” he protests loudly.
Soon enough, Andrew is entered into his classroom that hushes upon his arrival. The room becomes so quiet and borderline claustrophobic that he could hear a pin drop, or even a pencil lead, as he is helped to his desk. He can only imagine what kind of glances his usual peers are giving him; it’s either pitiful, suspicious, judgmental, two of the three options, or all of the above. Regardless, he tries his best to ignore them.
Ms. Starling makes her timely entrance soon after.
“Good morning, class,” she greets rather hoarsely.
No one replies back—it’s no secret why.
Their lecturer takes longer than usual to set up her own desk, because she’d always be lightning fast from her tenure. “Before we begin…” she says a little distractedly, “… how is everyone feeling?”
Again, no one answers… all she gets are faint gloomy sighs, which she understandingly takes in stride.
The lady draws her attention to Andrew next, noting his dark and tinted shades. She can tell from the young man’s body language, his head down and facing away, that he’s trying not to get noticed any more than he has; she doesn’t want to maybe embarrass him, but it feels improper not to acknowledge him either.
She chooses her words carefully. “It’s good to have you here, Andrew.”
“T-Thanks, miss,” he drones back while still gazing away from her; with his shades on, no one can really tell what he’s emoting through his blank eyes.
Please, just get on with the lesson already.
Ms. Starling, having read his mind supposedly, hastily diverts her class’s attention to today’s lesson, which is more or less a casual revision of every topic they’ve covered this semester.
Andrew, silently appreciating this, attempts then to get himself focused while Edmund, who is sitting nearby in his corner, does whatever he can to assist him with his books and stationaries without it being too intrusive. It’s not that he’s ungrateful towards his personal aide; he just wants to maintain some form of independence without feeling so babied all the time. He keeps having to remind himself that this is only temporary.
This is only temporary…
Only temporary…
Because once he gets that surgery, this blindness will become the least of his problems… right? So why is he trying this hard to convince himself?
Banishing these thoughts, Andrew spends most of the class sitting passively like he always does. The longer this goes on, the less inclined he feels to bother engaging, even when his teacher does her absolute best to interpret the information to him.
Why am I even here?
Without his eyesight, joining a class about the visual medium of film and photography feels entirely pointless.
This is only temporary!
Even with the frequent reminders of his impending eye surgery, the brewing urge to pack up his things and storm out begins to overtake him.
I’m wasting everyone’s time here!
In light of recent events, there are less students than usual since the college decided to lift their mandatory attendance policy. Andrew Coffey, who has arguably the best reason to no-show, showed up anyway out of his father’s encouragement.
“Just give it a try,” he said. “You may surprise yourself.”
Yeah, right…
The only thing that ever surprised Andrew is how big of a disappointment he turned out to be, even long before the incident. No one else ever said this to him, though his dad maybe suggested it once but never stated it directly—he just knows it.
And now, having caused his best friend’s unproven demise, he has stepped beyond that to a consummate failure – maybe he deserves this after all.
Suddenly, he hears a loud shutter from two—maybe three —tables next to him. Some fool forgot to mute his or her phone before trying to sneak a picture of him; the sound of their guilty flinch confirms it… this is the last straw that finally breaks him.
“That’s it.”
Andrew shoots up from his desk, his chair shrieking, as he scrambles to clear everything into his bag. All heads snap to him, not that he cares anymore.
Edmund rushes up to him. “Andrew, what are you doing?”
“I can’t do this,” he whispers harshly. “Just get me the fuck out of here.”
“Andrew!” cries Ms. Starling, a hand on her hip.
But he ignores her—ignores everyone—as he slings his backpack onto his shoulder and storms out of the classroom with little to no regard for his own safety. Edmund shares an apologetic glance with the lecturer before chasing his troubled client out the door with his forgotten cane.
By some miracle or dumb luck, Andrew found the men’s bathroom without smacking headfirst into any walls or bowling anyone over in his blind march to escape the ever-looming microscope that he finds himself being scrutinized under.
Once alone, he slumps over a wet sink to catch his breath.
There’s a knock from the closed entrance. “Is everything okay in there?”
“I’m fine, Edmund,” he responds. “I just need a minute, alright?”
“Okay.”
His help remains outside as instructed—the boy needs some space, that’s all.
“It’s only temporary,” he whispers in front of the mirrors repeatedly.
He’s dead because of you.
“It’s only temporary.”
He should have just left you for dead.
“It’s only… temporary.”
You should have died instead of him.
“It’s only temporary!” Andrew raises his tone to fight his inner voice.
Why did he even bother with you?
“It’s only temporary!”
Edmund knocks again, visibly concerned now. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“I’m fine!” Andrew shouts unconvincingly.
His breathing grows rugged, echoing off the tiled walls and bathroom stalls; he can only imagine how paled and unflattering his reflection looks in the smeared glass in front of him… he can only imagine.
As the door squeaks open, Andrew swivels his head alarmingly.
“It’s just me,” assures Edmund while throwing his hand out.
Andrew sighs in annoyance. “I told you to wait outside.”
“I know, I know… but I’m just worried about you.”
The boy, narrowing his glare, turns to his personal aide accusingly. “So, I can’t even be left alone in a bathroom?? Is that what you’re telling me??”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he answers calmly. “Also, I have your cane.”
Andrew snatches the cane without thanking him before looping its strap around his wrist. He can feel his pent-up frustration boiling over, and he feels bad that this kind man is about to become the unfortunate target of his unwarranted fury… but it’s too late to stop himself now.
“The only reason you care is because you’re paid to,” he begins pettily. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t spare me a second glance, would you?”
Edmund just stands there, choosing not to answer.
“You’re thinking it, I bet.” Andrew continues despite himself.
“No, Andrew,” the man shakes, “I’m just here to help you.”
“Just here to help me!” Andrew waves a finger while stretching his face into a comical smile. “Thank you so much!”
“Look… I understand what you’re going through. You have every right to be upset.”
“Upset??” He laughs sombrely. “Whatever gives you that idea?? The fact that I’m blind?? The fact that I’m being almost micromanaged?? The fact that I’m being viewed under a fucking microscope by the entire town, plus the media?? The fact that I can’t even get through a single class without some asshole photographing me and likely posting it online??”
“What that girl did was wrong,” agrees Edmund. “You don’t deserve that.”
Andrew scoffs. “And how would you know that?”
More silence echoes through the bathroom until Andrew, having vented all his emotions, hangs his head shamefully. He is almost floored by this man’s patience; this Edmund must have dealt with plenty of insufferable clients before him.
“These things take time, Andrew.”
“I don’t have time,” he replies stubbornly.
“Yes, you do,” the man insists. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up.”
“Fine…” with another exasperated sigh, Andrew brushes past him, “… just give me some more space then.”
He exits the bathroom, feeling nothing but more disgust at himself afterwards.
Back on campus outside, Andrew, having found his way here by himself, happens upon a large gathering situated near the main entrance. Even though he wants nothing more than to just leave and disappear from the public eye for a while, his curiosity gets the better of him as he timidly approaches the flock—he must be stupid.
He briefly checks over his shoulder, wondering if his helping hand had followed him or not, before pushing his way to the front of this crowd to observe whatever is gluing their undivided attention… in his own way, of course.
He can tell from the static energy from the speakers that a couple of people, maybe more, are up on a podium to make a statement regarding Chord ‘Edge’ Castor; he owes it to his best friend to at least hear out what these people have to say about him, good or not. Like everyone else, he attentively waits until someone, an elder man, steps up to clear his throat in front of the microphone.
“My son, Chord,” he begins formally, “always liked to see the best in people just as much as he wanted to see the world.” Pausing while wiping his nose and eyes, he produces a photo. “He’s always been an opportunist, this boy. It never mattered to him how sane or ridiculous his ideas were, as long as he could use them to lift himself and others up.”
So, his father came to visit… makes sense. Andrew can only imagine how distraught he appears; his heart goes out to Mr. Castor and the rest of his family, assuming they are present as well.
The man continues, strengthening his voice now. “My son deserves to be found. He deserves to come home. He deserves to see more from this life we gave him. He deserves to achieve his goals and make his dreams a reality. And most of all…” his voice trembles with conviction, “… he deserves to see his friends and family again.”
Andrew feels his own throat tightening, his nose getting clogged, and his hands fidgeting awkwardly at their sides—what he wouldn’t do to reverse time.
“He’s an amazing boy, and I know how much he’s touched you all.” His tone lightens as he manages a sad smile towards his audience. “So, we owe it to this man to remain vigilant and not lose hope. We, as a tight community, should help and support each other in any way we can, because I know Chord would want that.” He pauses again, nodding, before concluding, “I would also like to thank the Port Rhapsody Sheriff’s Department in their ceaseless efforts to—”
“Wait, is that…?” A lady’s voice near the microphone interrupts him; Andrew can hear her pointing somewhere with her sleeve, which immediately alarms the boy. “That’s…” she clicks her fingers frantically, “… that’s Andrew!”
His stomach drops… Oh, shit.
This lady hops from the podium to grab Andrew’s shoulder before he can think to get away. “Please, tell me what happened to my son! You were with him that night, weren’t you??”
He stands rigidly, all eyes and cameras swerving to him now, as he is unceremoniously put on the spot by his friend’s mother, Mrs. Castor.
“Hon’, what are you doing?” Her husband rushes to intervene.
“He was there!” she insists, gripping the boy tighter. “He knows something that we don’t! I’m sure of it!”
Mr. Castor tries to pull his wife away, but she isn’t having it.
“Please, Andrew… if there’s anything you know about what happened to Chord, you have to share it with us!” She’s almost shaking him now. “He’s my baby!”
Again, the boy’s tongue seems tied at the moment. He can feel his temperature rising, and he’s sure it’s got nothing to do with the diffused sunlight shining down on them.
“He’s your best friend, damn it!” she screams.
Her husband doubles his efforts to restrain her. “Come on, please… not here!”
Andrew sucks in a breath while trying his absolute hardest not to fight out of this grieving mother’s hold… since a part of him feels that he deserves this thrashing anyway. He also knows that if he does anything else in front of the cameras, those troublesome reporters could spin whatever narrative they want out of him.
“Please, dear, you’re making a sce—”
“HE KNOWS SOMETHING!! I KNOW IT!!”
Andrew can only shake his head as he quietly says to her, “I… I’m sorry…”
“Mrs. Castor?” Another person steps in, a girl whose voice he recognizes instantly. “I know what you’re going through, but please let him go.” Her voice is calm, although strained as well, as she gently separates Andrew from the older woman.
“I’m really sorry about this,” apologizes the father while embracing his wife so she can weep into his arms. “Come on,” he whispers to her next, “let’s go home.”
Hell of a day, I’m having…
“Come on, Andrew…” the girl in question takes him by the arm, “… let’s get you out of here.” With some force, she proceeds to do just that while having to push back more badgering reporters. “No comment!” she keeps having to shout while Andrew’s lips remain sealed.
One question gets to him, however…
“Are you responsible for your friend’s death?”
He keeps his lips pursed, gritting his teeth while refusing to answer, until he is carried off to the exit away from the prying ears and onlookers. Once free, he turns to the girl in amazement.
“Alice?” he guesses right away.
“Yep,” she confirms rather exhaustedly.
He fades his smile while facing her fully. “How… how are you doing?”
Alice gives him a shrug while gazing away.
“Yeah, me too,” he sighs.
She then raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you sensed that?”
Andrew nods with a light smirk.
“Okay…” she smirks too despite herself, “… and, uh… how are you?” she asks back.
He shrugs while bouncing the handle of his cane. “Shitty.”
“Yeah, figures…”
The girl sighs, standing across her blind friend with her head slightly lowered. For a moment, she fidgets while biting her lip and making other sorts of noises with her tongue; she’s having a hard time figuring out where to take this conversation next.
Just then, an idea comes to her. “You want to grab something?”
“Like… to eat?” Andrew wasn’t expecting this.
“Yeah… you hungry?”
Andrew glances away, thinking on this offer, then chuckles warmly. “Sure,” he says with an enthusiastic nod, “I could eat.”
Her smile widens. “Great.”
Andrew can’t yet recall when he had last entered this diner, but he knows from its spacey interior, its scented air fresheners, and its overall relaxed ambience, that it hasn’t changed much since… at least, that’s what he assumes.
He and Alice find a window booth to sit at so they can take their order; she agrees even to pay for it all, which surprises him further.
“How much was it?” he asks guiltily.
Alice snorts to his question. “No need, it’s on me.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, okay… well… thank you.” Feeling stupid now, he falls silent again.
She cocks her head with a smirk of her own. “You’re welcome.”
Andrew doesn’t need a pair of eyes to ‘see’ that something is off about Alice’s demeanour, nor does it take a genius to figure out why; her kindness, while genuine, comes off as a little forced somehow, which has him wondering if she has her own agenda for bringing him here… or he could just be overthinking things as usual.
“So…” he begins with some hesitation, “… what have you been up to?”
“Me? Um…” she drums her fingernails on the table, “… I’ve been… losing sleep… missing classes… and, uh, browsing the internet for answers.”
He nods compassionately. “Anything come up?”
“No, of course,” she answers flatly, “but I keep checking and refreshing anyway.”
“Yeah, I get that…”
Alice studies this young man for maybe a minute until their food and drinks arrive shortly. “Thank you,” she says to the waitress.
“That was fast,” remarks Andrew.
The waitress, realizing his disability, unpacks the straw before putting it through the cap of his vanilla shake for him.
“I probably could have done that myself,” he states politely, “but thanks.” With a wink of goodwill, he raises the straw to his mouth. “I mean it, thank you.”
“No worries.” The waitress grins before leaving them.
After his first sugary sip, he sets his drink down with a hard sigh.
“What’s wrong?” questions Alice while unwrapping her own burger.
“Nothing, it’s…” he rubs his face irritably, “… I was such a dick to my personal aide earlier. It was in class.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I was just stressed out, and… I took it out on him.” The boy cringes visibly at this recent memory. “He didn’t deserve it, but I was so pissed off about everything.”
“It’s okay,” Alice tries to assure him.
“It’s not,” he argues before sighing again. “I hope he’s not too mad at me.” He takes another moment to gather himself before realizing what he had just shared with this girl. “Sorry, I… I don’t know why I told you that.”
“It’s okay, Andrew,” she repeats. “I’ve probably said worse things to other people than whatever you said to that man, so don’t worry about it.”
“Okay.”
Andrew, without much trouble, unwraps his own burger so he can begin chomping away at the tender meat, the melted cheese, the juicy pickles, and the flavoury mustard and ketchup inside the crusty bread rolls… Delicious.
“I’m thinking…” says Alice between mouthfuls.
Andrew, still chewing, mumbles attentively.
“I’m thinking about… doing some of my own investigation.”
This statement takes him aback—he almost chokes while swallowing. “You want to what?” He wants to make sure that he heard her correctly. “W-Why?”
“I don’t know…” she responds while taking a sip from her soda, “… I just don’t know if we can really rely on the PRSD to solve this investigation on their own.”
Andrew, now alarmed, tries to reason with her. “But it’s only been a few days.”
“That’s the problem.” She sharpens her tone considerably. “And he still hasn’t been found yet.” She takes another bite, a louder one this time.
On one hand, he can relate to where this young woman is coming from; after all, this is his best friend that they’re talking about, as well as her long-term boyfriend. The part that scares him, however, is how far she might be willing to take this.
“This is dangerous, Alice.”
“I know that.”
“And—but…” Andrew slumps back, shaking defeatedly, “… you’ve thought about this for a while, haven’t you?”
Alice hums, which he assumes is her nodding.
“And there’s no changing your mind… is there?”
“Mariah tried, so no chance.”
“How is she?” He leans back forward curiously.
“No idea,” shrugs Alice.
“Oh.” Andrew decides to maintain their main topic. “Do you even know what you’ll do?” he questions sincerely. “Do you even have a lead?”
“If I’m this obsessed… I know I’ll find something eventually.”
“Okay, well…” Andrew stammers for a bit while nodding profusely, “… if you find something, keep me posted. I may be able to help.”
“How?” the girl asks directly.
The doubt in her voice spears him through the heart… Ouch.
“I mean… don’t take this the wrong way, but…” she hurries to explain, “… I’m not sure what you’d be able to do, considering… you know...”
“My blindness?” Andrew clarifies for her.
She nods again. “And whatever confidentiality they made you agree to.”
“Good points, but even still…”
“I’ll keep you posted,” she concludes gratefully.
After a few more drinks and bites, Andrew lastly tells her, “I’m sorry.”
Alice eyes him puzzledly. “For what?”
“Just everything,” he shrugs.
“It’s not your fault.”
He accepts this response vaguely—he wants to believe her. “Thanks again for taking me here,” he says afterwards, mainly to distract himself.
“No problem.” She winks at him, somewhat cheered up by their exchange.
After all that had transpired, Andrew’s surprise dining with Alice came as a timely reprieve from an otherwise horrible day thus far, though he doesn’t expect that he’ll be getting another one anytime soon.
Later, after parting ways with his friend, he waits outside on the sidewalk, having called his dad in advance to pick him up. Now that he’s on his own, his ominous thoughts catch up to him once more, this time regarding that girl’s proposal. She said it herself that this case has made her stubbornly obsessed… so should he really just mind his own business and leave her to her own devices? What else can he even do?
He tries drifting from these thoughts, but there’s very little to distract him. In most cases, Andrew would have his phone out just to keep himself entertained during long waits like this, but for obvious reasons, he can’t be bothered anymore.
This is only temporary…
He focuses instead on the surrounding boulevard… the gentle breeze caressing his hair and skin, the trees brushing noisily, the casual passing of cars and pedestrians, the sewage flowing beneath their feet, and the fluttering of birds high above their heads. From all this, Andrew promises to never again take his eyesight for granted.
But something else, a particular sound that shouldn’t make his skin crawl, grabs the young man’s attention. He hears it across the road… an owl hooting; his recent experiences have made him rather hateful towards these otherwise docile creatures. This has to be a coincidence… yet there’s this unnatural feeling in his gut.
“Just ignore it,” he murmurs to himself.
Fortunately, a car pulls up in front of him, indicating that his dad had finally arrived. Quickly, he dives into the passenger seat and almost slams the door.
“How was your day?” asks the man.
“Fine,” answers his son while hurrying to clip his seatbelt on, “let’s just go.”
And so, they drive off back home.
In the days following the Black Forest incident, things have been nothing short of hectic for the Port Rhapsody Sheriff’s Department, particularly for one of their deputy sheriffs, Carol Marston, who isn’t used to having this much publicity in such a small fishing town; each time she enters or exits the precinct, she must constantly and exhaustedly wave off the press like a horde of mosquitoes.
“Fucking journalists,” she grumbles once the main doors are shut to them, giving her momentary relief from their incessant yapping and strobing flashes.
On their best day, the floors of this precinct would be kept tidy, its plain walls almost spotless—never mind a few faulty ceiling lights. But on this day, their base shows little signs of such decorum with bits of scattered rubbish and black marks nearly everywhere; in one of the waiting areas, some chairs are arranged crookedly.
There’s also a familiar musk hazing the air.
“This is a NO SMOKING area!” bellows the officer while storming through her busying colleagues—she’s in too grim of a mood for any bullshit right now.
Eventually, Carol reaches the sheriff’s office and sits herself in front of his desk. She massages her left temple, wanting to pass out from this stabbing migraine. Her face is reddened with bolder lines, her blonde strands in a sticky and squiggly mess.
“How did the search go?” questions the sheriff while raising his oily head from his paperwork. “Not well, I reckon?” he guesses from the woman’s appearance.
“No, sir,” she confirms with a stifled sigh, her eyes glazed in a thin line.
The sheriff leans forward, his badge glinting, while inspecting his deputy further. “Alright, tell me what happened,” he commands.
With another sigh, the younger officer runs her fingers through her hair as she begins to explain. “When we attempted to pick up our trail from where we left off… our dogs turned on us for no apparent reason.”
The man frowns. “How did that happen?”
“We don’t know,” she shrugs. “First, our dogs attacked each other… and then they attacked us.” She proves this by rubbing her bandaged arm in front of him.
“There has to be an explanation.”
“We’re looking into it,” Carol assures, “but it got to a point where we had to abandon our search just to get our animals under control.”
“So…” the sheriff laces his hands on the desk, “… which one of your K-9s was it?”
“All of them,” she answers point-blank.
“Bullshit.”
“I shit you not, Sheriff.” She points to the door behind her. “You can ask my crew, and they’ll all tell you the same thing. One’s even getting stitches right now.”
“Alright, I’ll bite,” says the sheriff while raising his hands lightly.
“It’s like there was something in the air that caused them to go frantic, because my Mars is the gentlest giant I know. She’d never hurt a fly… never.”
“And you’re sure of this?”
“I am,” insists Carol, widening her eyes now, “because as soon as we were out of that forest, our K-9s were all back to normal… they were frightened even.”
“Frightened?”
“Yeah… frightened to go back in.”
Absorbing this information, the sheriff leans back with his arms crossed and chin lowered. “And you’re telling me that these are your highest-trained K-9s that did this?”
Carol nods gravely, gazing downwards now.
“Shit,” the man concedes before wiping his face in frustration. “Just like the last team.” He thinks hard while drumming his fingers next to his golden nameplate, which reads Sheriff Henry Clarkson. “We need another solution,” he then states.
Right then, an idea pops into Carol’s head. “I have a suggestion.”
Clarkson returns his attention to the blonde woman. “Go on,” he urges.
“Since helicopters are too expensive for us, how about we hire a drone pilot to survey the forest?” She spreads her arms with a slight smirk. “I’m sure there’s someone in this town who’d be more than willing to volunteer.”
The sheriff presses a finger to his lips while pondering this idea of hers. He decides then to challenge her. “How would you be able to execute it?”
“Infrared,” she concludes.
This impresses him enough. “Alright then, see what you can do.”
Satisfied, Officer Carol stands up from her chair.
“But before you go…”
She pauses towards the door, looking back to her superior.
“… just keep a close eye on that Andrew.” He glares sternly. “Make sure he doesn’t leak any of that footage to the public, because that’s the last goddamn thing we need.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that final order, Carol leaves the office, her head throbbing less now.
After dinner, Andrew retires to his bedroom early—he is just about finished with this day and wants nothing more than to fast-forward to tomorrow with a good night’s sleep. He hopes, while tossing and turning under his blanket, that he won’t again wake up in cold sweat from another nightmare.
To his surprise and amusement, it doesn’t take much effort to start drifting off as it did the few nights before—it maybe has to do with his mental and emotional exhaustion… whatever the case.
Lying face-up on his pillow, he feels his eyelids drooping, unsure whether it’s his consciousness or subconsciousness fighting to keep them open—either way, he surrenders all his thoughts and worries, allowing his eyes to finally shut.
In most cases, Andrew wouldn’t know when he’d transition into one of his dreams, because he’d always find himself right in the middle of it without any recap—it’s funny how the mind works—whereas in this case, he can feel his consciousness drifting away ever so steadily.
This has never happened before… to be so conscious while this… magnetic force… tugs at him like a fishing hook—it’s not just from his head, but he can feel it through his entire body as well… this surging electrical current. There’s this whirring noise too… an invisible force pressing into his ear canals—it’s startling rather than painful, at least. It swells up… only getting stronger—he doesn’t know what else to describe this sensation as other than…
… some sort of ‘separation’ in progress?
That’s what his best guess is…
In a kneejerk reaction, the boy snaps his eyes back open… and is somehow faced with a clear view of his ceiling reflecting the bounced moonlight from his window—he blinks several times to make sure this is real.
It can’t be…
He can’t actually be seeing his own bedroom… can he? This is too good to be true. As he sits up, there’s also this indescribable lightness… like he could almost fly. This room of his… it’s far too detailed and accurate to be a dream, even a lucid one. Everything here is exactly where he remembers—from his desk, his wardrobe, his bedside lamp, and even his movie posters plastered across the wall.
I can’t actually be seeing again… can I?
But that’s not everything—something else in Andrew’s left peripheral catches his attention. There… just outside his window… a swarm of embers circulating their house—their colours, instead of orange like fire, are bluish white like the stars he would see on a cloudless night.
But where…??
He leans closer to the glass, his view unobstructed by his own reflection.
Where are these coming from…??
And why are they here of all places??
When he hops out of his bed, there are two more things, both bizarre, that he notices right away—the first, when he plants his feet on the wooden floor, is that he isn’t casting a shadow whatsoever… and secondly… his blanket didn’t move at all.
Something is definitely off…
An icy chill slithers through his spine as he gradually rotates towards his bed again… as a muffled cry is ripped out of his throat—he sees himself… still lying in bed and still fast asleep… his prone form casting his shadow instead.
The sight of this, with the embers still drifting outside, paralyses the ‘real’ Andrew for maybe a minute—he tries to compute this… to rationalize this… as he stares into the peacefully resting face of his physical form.
Am I… dead?
He inches towards himself—his chest is still moving, rising then receding.
Not dead? Good… but how…??
There’s another glow. At first, he thinks it’s reflecting from outside, but as he focuses closer to his own face, he quickly spots the source of this glow—it’s ever so faintly pulsing from his scar, the one on his forehead. This is the first time he ever sees it, the mark that was given to him by that monster—it’s vertically aligned and perfectly symmetrized between his eyes… almost to mock a third eye.
Even now, Andrew is still struggling to believe what he is witnessing until he comes to a petrifying realization soon after—he must be experiencing what many would call… an out-of-body phenomenon.
Essentially… he is a living ghost.
