Chapter Five: The Grave --
The cemetery stretched wide across rolling grassy knolls, the headstones jutting upward like crooked teeth from the earth. Brett parked his car at the edge of the lane, pausing before stepping out. The sunlight was bright, almost too bright, and he stood still for a moment, squinting into the distance as if bracing himself against what he was about to do.
With deliberate steps, he walked toward the large willow tree at the center of the field. Its long tendrils drooped low, casting a vast shadow across the ground. He slowed when he reached the edge of the darkness, his eyes narrowing. Something in him recoiled. He took a breath and stepped wide, keeping himself firmly in the sunlit grass.
The shadow rippled. Like water disturbed by a stone, it shimmered, extending outward. For the briefest moment, it reached for him. His chest tightened as he moved quickly past, his hand trembling as he steadied himself.
Finally, he knelt before two matching headstones. His parents’ names stared back at him, carved deep into stone, the date of death etched side by side: November 11, 1995.
Brett laid the flowers gently against the grave. His throat constricted, but the words came anyway.
“Fourteen years,” he whispered. “And I don’t know any more now than I did back then.” His voice cracked. “I had another dream last night. They’re coming more often these days.”
He closed his eyes, remembering.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. Candace and I are getting married.” His lips twitched into a small, pained smile. “I think you’d like her. She’s… nice. And she’s been good to me. So it’s time to move on. If I haven’t remembered anything by now…”
He trailed off. With a sigh, he pressed his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss toward the stones. Then he stood, walked briskly back to his car, and didn’t look back.
Chapter Six: The Woman in Black
Downtown bustled in its small-town way, not grand like Manhattan or Los Angeles, but still alive with movement. The five-story buildings leaned against one another, humble and practical, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, or at least thought they did.
Brett’s Audi slid through the slow traffic, his briefcase half-open on the seat beside him. He fumbled with the papers, shoving them inside as he steered one-handed.
The Starbucks sign ahead caught his eye, a promise of caffeine and reprieve. He flicked his blinker and turned, tightening his grip on the wheel as he stuffed the last of his documents into the case.
When he looked up—
She was there.
Julia.
Standing directly in front of the car, dressed in black from head to toe.
Brett slammed on the brakes. Tires screamed. The car jolted to a stop inches from her still figure.
Her face was expressionless, her eyes dark and lifeless, black wells that swallowed the light.
“Julia?” Brett gasped.
The blast of car horns erupted behind him, drivers yelling through their windows. He blinked, turning for a split second toward the noise. When he looked back, she was gone.
Panic surged through him. His gaze darted across the street.
There—at the corner. Too far away, impossibly far.
Brett shoved the car into park and jumped out. His shoes hit the pavement hard as he sprinted to the corner. Julia was already there, turning, moving faster than any human could. By the time he reached it, she had advanced to the next block.
She stopped. Turned.
Her face was still blank, her eyes void of life. Then her lips curled into a smile.
Brett froze.
The smile split wider, revealing teeth — dirty, jagged, razor sharp.
His breath caught in his throat.
Julia turned away and melted into the crowd.
Chapter Seven: Witness
Behind the counter at Starbucks, Lauryn hummed to herself as she poured milk into a paper cup. Her dreadlocks swayed as she moved, the vibrant beads clinking softly. She was the kind of woman who carried her own world with her, a whimsical flower child whose laughter usually filled the space.
But not now.
Her gaze drifted toward the window, where she saw Brett standing frozen on the corner, his eyes fixed on something unseen to everyone else. She watched as he stumbled back toward his car, his face pale, shaken.
A chill rolled through her body, an instinct she didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. Something was wrong.
Chapter Eight: The Phone Call
Brett gripped his phone tight, his thumb fumbling across the screen as he dialed. His voice shook when Candace answered.
“Candace? I just saw your mother. On the corner of Victor and Seventh. She walked in front of my car—”
On the other end, Candace’s voice was calm, puzzled. “Brett? Mom is standing right beside me.”
He blinked hard, staring at the empty street. “No. That can’t be. I almost hit her. She… she had these black contacts…”
“She’s right here,” Candace said.
And then Julia’s voice drifted through the phone, sharp and mocking. “So you finally cracked up, huh?”
Brett’s pulse thundered in his ears.
“Brett? Are you alright?” Candace’s voice was worried now.
His hand scrambled for the interior light switch, and the car’s dome light blazed brighter than any bulb had a right to. The flood of white calmed him, the suffocating pressure receding just enough to breathe again.
He forced a laugh. “No, no. I’m okay. It’s just stress. I mean, how often does a guy like me make history?”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.” He chuckled again, hollow, fragile.
As he hung up, his gaze drifted toward the Starbucks storefront.
Chapter Nine: The Doctor’s Office
The next day, Brett sank into the soft leather couch, his chest rising and falling with deliberate breaths. The office was immaculate, every object perfectly arranged: the framed degrees on the wall, the armchair across from him, the pinstriped suit of the woman seated within it.
Dr. Doreen Richards adjusted her glasses and studied him quietly, her presence composed but sharp.
“Any more dreams?” she asked. “Disturbing, reaffirming, or otherwise?”
Brett laughed without humor. “More than usual lately.”
“And how about the new job?” Her tone softened. “It’s not often someone discovers a new planet, right?”
Brett shook his head. “It’s… a solar system, actually. Nine planets. A sun. Just like ours. But I’m not at liberty to say more until the press conference.”
“Well,” Doreen said, “that leaves us very little to talk about—except…”
He cut her off quickly. “I saw my mother-in-law. Well, she isn’t my in-law yet. But she stepped in front of my car. I almost hit her. And she looked at me with these… dark eyes.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you speaking about a dream?”
His voice faltered. “No. I mean, yes. I— I don’t really know.”
Doreen leaned forward. “Brett, we’ve discussed your concerns about the marriage. Is it possible what you experienced was a psychological reaction to your upcoming nuptials? Perhaps you’re afraid this woman might try to take the place of your mother?”
His jaw clenched. “My mother’s been dead for fourteen years, eleven months, and twenty-one days. There’s not much of a place to take.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Her eyes searched his, measured and precise. “Do you remember anything more about that night?”
Brett flinched as if struck. The question opened something raw, a memory flashing too fast, too sharp. A glimpse of blood. A shadow. A pain too great to name.
The image slipped away as quickly as it came, but the silence lingered.
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