Supernatural thriller | Rising fashion influencer Rhea is gearing up for her runway debut, but her perfect world is upended when she finds herself haunted by a ghostly doppelganger.
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Twenty-four-year-old Rhea Patel has it all-the career in fash...
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As Rhea collapsed to the floor, with the soaking red washcloth cushioning her head, I rushed to her side. Instead of touching her, my transparent hands were unable to shake her awake like I wanted them to do. At the realization of my limitations, my anger boiled into an intense rage that I had no control over.
I howled, releasing a fraction of my frustration. "What's wrong you?" I shouted at Jos, but she didn't react the way I anticipated. I wanted her to scream in fright upon hearing my voice and cry out upon seeing the heated anger in my phantom face, but unfortunately neither occurred. She only stared at Rhea's collapsed body, wide-eyed from shock. Her chest heaving from the seizing panic she seemed to suppress.
Even now, she refused to dial an ambulance or call for any help. And the thought of her phone resting in her palm, slowly draining its battery and becoming a useless hunk of glass and metal infuriated me.
"Rhea?" Joselyn's voice came out low and breathy. "I'm fucked, aren't I?" She pressed her hand to her heart and stared at her scattered possessions that littered the floor. "We all are. Am I right?" She looked around the room. Was she looking for me? Was she talking to me in my ghostly state?
"What's the point now?" she went on. "Why even try when you're dying and Nolan's dead? I'm now part of it. Your fans will hate me. No one will hire me. What's the point?"
"What are you talking about, Jos?" I shook my head at her, the words seeping out through clenched teeth. "I can still make it. I can live if you help me. It's not over. It doesn't have to be the end."
"What's the point anymore?" She glanced back toward the grisly path of blood that led to Nolan's lifeless body. "What's the goddamn point?"
I sneered, watching her give-a-care meter drop before my eyes. "You coward."
"What's the fucking point, Rhea?" Her voice grew as she repeated the question as if she needed an answer. "Huh, you gonna answer me or what?"
She had been talking to me, the conscious, present, spectral form of the Rhea she knew. What did she expect me to say? It's better to be a half-ass hero than a selfish monster? I knew it was too late to convince her to do the right thing. I wasn't sure she recognized what the right thing was anymore, or even cared. The vacancy in her eyes told me her compassion and empathy had vanished along with her dreams of being an A-list actress.
She yelled again. "Answer me? I know you're here. I know you can hear me."
I stood from Rhea's side as she continued to lay laterally on the tiled floor. I moved toward Jos, only stopping when we stood nose to nose. Of course, she didn't react, which further infuriated me.
"If you were able to throw my stuff, you're able to talk to me," she went on. "Come on. Answer me."
All the pain and isolation I had kept pushed down and buried within for so many years, boiled to the surface. I couldn't keep it down even if I tried. I opened my mouth and allowed all my frustration spill out. "What's wrong with you, Jos? Get it the fuck together and pick up the phone. You've been by my side for how long, and suddenly that means nothing? You're just gonna let me die because of your nonexistent acting career?
