"Caoimhe Nic Cárthaigh," he rasped, his voice a dry, echoing whisper that seemed to slither into my very bones. He held my gaze, his crystalline eyes unwavering. "You nearly succeeded in your millennium-long game of hide-and-seek, but alas, you faltered in the nine hundred and ninety-ninth year." A cruel smile played on his lips. "I offer you a reprieve. Return what you have stolen, and I may, may, spare you your miserable existence. Do not believe that your tampering with the temporal threads will shield you from my wrath. Your new playthings, your 'family,' your 'companions'—all will be consumed in the conflagration of your failure." Each word was a chilling pronouncement, a death knell that seemed to shrink the world around me, compressing it into a suffocating void. Then, a sudden, deafening silence. My vision began to blur, the edges of reality dissolving into a hazy darkness. A flash of steel, a searing pain—a spear, materialized from thin air, grazed my cheek. I screamed, my body convulsing, and with a jolt, I found myself gasping for air in a sterile, white hospital room, the phantom spear still burning against my skin.
Was it a dream? Or… what the hell was that? My heart was pounding like a drum solo, each beat louder than the last, as I tried to piece together the fragments of what had just happened. Andrew was there, looking way too relieved, and the doctor, bless his soul, was trying to talk me down, like I was some kind of wild animal.
"What happened? Why am I here?" I asked, my voice a panicked whisper. "You were brought in by Julia," Andrew said gently, his hands cupping my cheeks. They were warm, grounding me, and I sagged into his embrace, clinging to him like a scared kid. Everything that had happened, the chilling voice, the spear, it was all too much. I was terrified.
The doctor, his brow furrowed with concern, asked me to recount what had occurred. I coughed, rubbed my eyes, trying to force the fragmented memories into a coherent narrative. I told him everything: the unsettling feeling in the store, the repeating streets, the man with the golden eyes and the chilling voice.
"But," he interjected, his voice gentle but firm, "your friend Julia told us a different story. She said you were acting erratically after she dropped you off. You started screaming, refusing to go home, and then you simply collapsed. That's when she brought you here."
"That's… that's not how it happened," I croaked, my voice high and strained. "I saw what I saw. It felt… too real to be a dream."
Andrew sighed, running a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth. "Look, babe," he said, his voice heavy. "We think… we think you might be sick." He paused, his gaze shifting to the doctor. "The doctor says… he thinks you might have a mental illness."
"I don't!" I snapped, my voice rising in panic.
It started pouring, a steady drumming against the hospital windows as they escorted me to the car. Andrew and I sat in silence, the rhythmic whoosh of the wipers a stark contrast to the turmoil in my head. He started the engine, the low rumble a temporary distraction. A gentle tap on my arm pulled me back from the swirling thoughts. "Has anyone in your family ever… experienced anything like this before?" he asked, his voice soft, probing.
"Babe, I'm not sick," I insisted, my voice still rough, thick with exhaustion and disbelief. "I know what I experienced. It was too real."
"Yes, you are," he countered, his brow furrowed with concern. "Your voice is already hoarse. How long has this been going on, Jessica? Why didn't you tell me?"
His questions, laced with doubt and a hint of accusation, ignited a spark of fury within me.
"Piss off!" I exploded, the word raw and sharp in the confines of the car. I had no idea why that outburst ripped from me, but the silence that followed in the car was thick enough to choke on. We remained that way until we finally pulled into the driveway. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and a deep chill seemed to settle in my bones, clinging to me even as I tried to burrow under the blankets later. I blamed it on the dampness, the lingering cold from the hospital, but a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. It felt like more than just the weather. Andrew hadn't said a word to me since my outburst. Part of me felt guilty for snapping, but another part seethed with resentment. Was he really so quick to believe I was losing my mind, to just leave me alone with this terrifying feeling?
****
Sleep was a distant luxury. My mind raced, replaying the golden eyes, the chilling voice. Finally, I gave up and sat on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room amplifying my anxiety. I glanced back at Andrew, sprawled out and breathing deeply, utterly oblivious. "Psst. Schizophrenic patient?" I whispered to the empty air, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. A seed of doubt, tiny but insidious, began to sprout in the darkness of my mind. What if…? What if they were right? What if this was all in my head?
I crept down the stairs, each step slow and hesitant, like a thief in my own home. Every flicker of lightning outside painted the shadows into monstrous shapes, making my heart stutter in my chest like a frightened child.
The air was bitingly cold, a stark contrast to the relative warmth upstairs. I felt exposed, fragile. "Focus," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible. "Nothing's after you. It's just your mind playing tricks, okay?" I poured a glass of water, my hand trembling slightly, and gulped it down. I lowered my head, bracing myself on the cool countertop, trying to steady my breathing. When I looked up, a dark figure stood at the far end of the counter. Panic seized me, a raw, primal fear. I recoiled, stumbling backward and crashing against the refrigerator. A sharp pain shot through my wrist as I landed hard on the cold kitchen floor.
"Ow!" I gasped, clutching my throbbing wrist. My gaze remained fixed on the figure, the man from the street. "W-w-who are you? Why are you after me?" I stammered, my voice laced with terror. He remained silent, his golden eyes fixed on me with an expression of distaste, as if I were some insignificant creature caught in a trap.
"Answer me!" I yelled, my voice cracking with fear and a desperate surge of anger. His eyes lost its golden light, turning into a clear silvery-gray colour like the moon as he inhaled deeply, and an unnerving silence fell over the room, as if the very air had been sucked away. His exhale was slow, deliberate, and with it, the sounds of the rain and the distant night rushed back, sending a fresh wave of chills down my spine. He narrowed his moonlight eyes, stepping away from the countertop, allowing me a full, terrifying view.
"Jessica, wasn't it?" he began, his voice smooth yet carrying a sharp edge, underscored by a thick Irish lilt. "Did you truly believe you could run and embrace this… pathetic existence? Or are you merely attempting to blend in with those afflicted by the fog of lost memories?"
"Why are you following me? Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling.
He cast a dismissive glance around the living room, then with a flick of his wrist, ghostly black figures oozed from the shadows. Bioluminescent teal orbs pulsed within their forms, casting an eerie, unsettling glow throughout the room. I scrambled to my feet in a surge of panic as one of the spectral creatures solidified directly behind me, its cold presence a palpable threat.
"Let's have a quick chat, shall we?" he purred, a hint of amusement in his raspy voice. The man then casually lowered himself onto thin air, and with a ripple, a grand throne of dark, polished wood, adorned with intricate silver carvings, materialized beneath him. In the blink of an eye, the familiar living room had vanished, replaced by a vast throne room. Ancient tapestries depicting scenes of mythical battles hung on moss-green walls, illuminated by flickering torches in ornate sconces. The very air hummed with an old, powerful energy. I found myself inexplicably kneeling on the cold stone floor before him, a posture of utter subservience, while he lounged on his throne, legs crossed, his long, elegant fingers interlaced.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. My wrist throbbed with a dull ache, and a paralyzing fear rooted me to the spot. What is happening? Where am I? Am I going to die? The questions swirled in my mind, a chaotic storm that threatened to overwhelm me. A wave of dizziness washed over me.
"Don't you leave me too quickly now," he urged, his voice laced with a playful menace, snapping me back to the oppressive reality. "If I'm not mistaken, you are Caoimhe Nic Cárthaigh. Your memories seem to have taken flight. Makes my work all the more… efficient, wouldn't you agree?"
I clutched my injured wrist, a futile attempt to quell the throbbing pain. "What are you talking about?" I pleaded, my voice trembling. "Please, just tell me what's going on. Stop speaking in riddles." My head pounded, each throb echoing the frantic beat of my heart.
"You have been diagnosed with… Schizophrenia, wasn't it?" he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "An illness that makes a person believe something out of the ordinary is existent, and then everyone around you thinks you're in need of a doctor because you… are… crazy." His lips curled into a smug smirk. He chuckled softly, and in a blink, he was kneeling in front of me, his presence radiating an unnerving power. My heart leaped into my throat, but I was frozen, every muscle in my body seized by terror.
"Caoimhe… or Jessica, if you prefer," he continued, his moonlight eyes piercing mine, "I want you to help me achieve my dreams. Your… unfortunate memory loss is rather… convenient for both of us. And don't fret, I will ensure you return to your mundane existence before anyone questions your sanity… or reality itself."
"Why would I help you do anything?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely a whisper.
His smile vanished, replaced by a chilling intensity. He leaned in, his face mere inches from mine, his gaze like burning coals. "Because, my dear Caoimhe… you and I both know… you don't have a CHOICE!" he declared, the words a low, menacing growl. He stood up, casually walking away from me and with a bold voice he said, "Good bye for now." And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he was gone, the opulent throne room dissolving back into the familiar, rain-streaked kitchen. I was left kneeling on the cold tiles, my wrist throbbing, the lingering scent of ozone filling the air, and the weight of his impossible words crushing me.