Remnant
Who am I?
I tremble in the dark, curled in a ball, asking myself the same question I’ve asked night after night.
Who am I?
I’m nobody. An empty shell, a body without a spirit. I’m lost and alone, wandering unseen, unheard, without feeling in an unfeeling world. I’m bound to the night, as faceless as the shadows that consume me. My soul was taken from me, ripped away, stolen by a thief in the night. My heart still beats, my lungs still breathe, but they don’t give me life. I’m a clock with no hands, a flashlight that won’t turn on. A person with no identity. I’m numb, a condemnation worse than the anguish and despair that drove me to the dark in the first place.
I pull the bedsheet closer as I squirm on the floor of the storage room, trying to find a comfortable position against the walls in the corner. Ambient light from the hall sneaks between the edges of the locked door, casting an eerie glow among the shadows. The room isn’t much more than a large closet, housing a pair of standing shelves stuffed with bedding materials, thermometers, and cleaning supplies. But it’s enough to keep me hidden, especially since the sixth floor of the hospital doesn’t get much traffic overnight. It beats the sidewalk. It beats the homeless shelter, where I didn’t even last two nights. It beats the woods, which I will never set foot in again.
And the hospital is familiar. I know the layout inside and out. I know where to steal food. I know where the activity is and where it isn’t. I know how to move around unnoticed. Actually, that part isn’t hard, since I’m pretty sure I’m invisible. To people, at least.
No one is invisible to monsters.
As if my thought manifests itself, a cold draft tickles the back of my neck. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt, but that won’t help. It’s not the circulating air causing the prickly sensation on my skin. Something is here. Or, not exactly something. More like…
A presence.
I scan the darkened room, squinting to see what might be lurking in the shadows. “Who’s there?” A futile question when you’re being sneaked up on. The air grows colder, and I pull up the bedsheet, squeezing it tightly in my clammy hands.
A voice, chillier than the air, slithers into my ears. “Hello.”
My eyes pop open, even though I thought they already were. A woman emerges from the dark, with long brown hair hanging over a tattered gown and shawl. She’s shimmering, illuminating the mist surrounding her in a pale shade of blue.
A ghost.
Her face looks exactly like mine, as if I’m gazing at my own glowing reflection in a haunted mirror. Her face is gaunt, her cheekbones protruding through her translucent skin. Her nose is missing. Long strands of her hair somehow drift in the still air. I’m too petrified to move, but not too petrified to quiver.
The ghost glides toward me, flashing a wicked smile as she traces her fingers along the shelves. “What’s the matter? Are you frightened?”
She must sense my racing heartbeat. I search for the courage to reply, wondering if my voice will fail, the way it always does when I cry out during a nightmare. My throat manages a few hoarse words. “This is a dream. I don’t believe in ghosts. Especially my own.”
“Are you sure?” The ghost’s voice sounds exactly like mine. “Whose dream do you think this is? Mine, or yours? Maybe you aren’t who you think you are.”
Impossible. I have no idea who I am. I’d expect my own ghost to know that. I clench the sheet tighter in my hands. “You aren’t real.”
The glowing phantom stares at me, her hollow black eyes sunken into her ghoulish face. “What is real? Can you tell me? Maybe I’m real, and you’re not.”
Is there even a difference anymore?
The ghost glides nearer, her gown rippling in an invisible breeze. “Don’t you know who I am?”
The fear running like cold poison through my veins tells me the answer. There are many evil creatures in this world, but only one is obsessively devoted to me. Even though I already killed it.
The shimmering phantom slides her hand along my bedsheet, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m Liylah Flouwers. I live in Brisby, where I belong. Who are you?”
A hard swallow forces its way down my throat. I’ve asked myself that same question, and I keep insisting I don’t have the answer. Maybe because I’m in denial.
“Let me see if I can help you with that.” The ghost rubs her bony hand against her chin. “You escaped from the enchanted world of Sojor nothing more than a shadow of who you once were.”
I recoil, wishing I could shut out what I’m hearing, even though I’ve pondered the same thought myself, over and over.
“You can’t stand the light, we both know that. You spend your days searching for a salvation you’ll never find. And you’re desperate to find a way to restore your dark, magical power. Am I right?”
I lower the hood of my sweatshirt, suddenly uncomfortable wearing a shroud over my head.
“You’re lonely, isolated. Oh, and let’s not forget the swirling breeze that follows you wherever you go.”
“Go away.” My voice quivers as I shake uncontrollably.
“You’re cold all the time, aren’t you? Are you still telling yourself it must be an early turn of the season? Of course you are. Ghosts always see what they want to see.”
I shut my eyes, but it only makes me more aware of the chill emanating from the ghastly presence hovering over me.
“Nature shudders in your presence. So who are you, really? Who’s burning inside, searching for that dark power, willing to do anything to get it?”
I steady my jaw. “I am not Fierce.” My lips burn as the name slips past them. It’s the first time I’ve spoken it since I returned from Sojor.
“Really? Well, okay then. As long as you believe that.” The ghost sneers, baring her rotted teeth. “Maybe at least pull your hood back, then.”
I thought I had. I touch my fingers to my head and find I’m still wearing it. I’m afraid to lower it again.
“I brought something for you. A gift. Do you want it?” The ghost reaches inside the fold of her transparent gown, which washes over me—through me.
The hairs on my arms stand on end. “Leave me alone.”
The ghost laughs, sending a cold breeze against my cheeks. “Poor thing. You went all the way to Sojor to escape from yourself, and now look at you, all affright.”
“I’m going to wake up now, and you’ll be gone.”
“Shhhhhh.” The ghost raises a finger to her lips. “You’ll take that back once you see what I have for you. Are you ready?” Her black lips stretch into a wide grin, the way I imagine the devil would look, welcoming a lost soul to hell. She holds out her hand, and fresh blood oozes down her spindly fingers. A glowing glass shard protrudes from her gashed palm.
My shard.
The jagged fragment of glass is shaped exactly the way I remember. It emits the same soft glow it did the last time I held it, right before I buried it at the riverbank. My beautiful shard. I’ve missed it so much.
The ghost extends her skeletal hand, placing the glass within my reach. “I brought it for you.”
The glow mesmerizes me. The energy of the glass hums, making me warm inside. I want so badly to touch it, to feel the sharp edges against my skin, to sense the heat pulsing through my body.
“It won’t hurt, I promise. Press your finger against the glass, and at last you’ll be a real girl, just like you’ve always wanted.”
The shard’s energy entrances me, and I’m weightless as it draws me closer. I reach out my hand, then quickly pull back. “I’m afraid.”
The ghost unleashes a wicked laugh. “Oh, Liylah. If you can’t trust me…”
I reach again, pulled to the shard as if it were an enchanted magnet. Against my will—or maybe by the will of my subconscious—my fingers touch the glass.
A bright light fills the room. My face burns as if hot sunlight were blistering it. The searing pain spreads over my body as I writhe across the floor. I’m burning inside, and I cry out in agony. My clothes transform into black robes, which ignite into flames as the light from the glass grows more intense.
The ghost hovers over me. “Oh, I’m sorry. You really don’t like the light, do you?”
I’m on fire. My blood boils inside me. I’m burning, disintegrating, my skin turning to ash.
The ghost leans closer and whispers in my ear. “You were right before. Karma really is a bitch, isn’t it?”
I gasp as my eyes spring open. Only after my senses return do I realize I didn’t actually gasp—I screamed.
Someone might have heard.
With my stare riveted on the silhouetted door, I slide farther into the corner, only to realize my back is already pressed against the wall. One security guard, one bored staffer, one service person is all it would take to come in here and spot me. Then it would be a question of whether I’d be turned in to the police, or to I-Six.
My heart pounds. My body is drenched in cold sweat. I squeeze the bedsheet in my clenched fists and bundle it closer, grasping for anything to give me a sense of safety. I remain frozen in place, shivering like a cornered animal too weak to defend itself. I’m surrounded by darkness, surrounded by silence but for my clattering teeth. This is what I’ve become. Darkness and silence have become sources for both my comfort… and my terror.
The hall is quiet. No sign of commotion, no voices outside the door. Maybe nobody’s around. Or maybe I imagined my scream. I’ve lost all sense of what’s real and what’s imaginary. Then again, I’ve learned, quite acutely, that reality and imagination are the same thing. Just viewed from different angles.
I finally exhale. I’m safe—for now. Safe from capture, if not from hunger, if not from despair. If not from terror. I’d love to find comfort in awakening from my nightmare, like I did as a child. But I know better. There is no such thing as waking up. Dreams aren’t a fabrication, a fantasy cooked up by the subconscious that can be wiped away. Dreams are a gateway to a different, vivid perception of reality. And there’s no escaping reality. Four days ago, I eschewed that knowledge and made the biggest mistake of my life.
I never should have come back home.
