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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"Eyes wide open." The ethereal echo bounced around my surroundings, coming from somewhere far away yet nearby. The familiar tone of Nolan's masculine accent rattled around inside my head, yet blackness enveloped me in its icy embrace. I searched the darkness, struggling to see something, anything, that could act as my anchor.
Finally, blinding light stung my vision as my eyes snapped open to the recognizable hospital room. I now lay in the exact hospital bed I had seen in the astral plane and confusion hit me just as hard as the intense brightness. My senses adjusted to vivid florescent lights, the surrounding display of posters on stands and flowers in decorative vases, and that abrasive mechanical beeping next to me.
I turned my head to view the numbers on the vital machine, unaware of what any of the numerals meant. But I took note that this time the beeping was steady and robust unlike before, but it still rattled in my ears. Trying to get my bearings, I took in my surroundings, studying the dozens of fan-made prints, cards, and containers of flowers that crowded the unoccupied spaces of the small space.
The art and drawings varied in quality on the oversized get-well cards signed by many of the young women that called me their role model, inspiration, and aspired to be just like me. Some of their art drawn in pencil detailed majestic scenes of Nolan and his handsome bedroom eyes, holding me in his oversized, angelic-like wings. They had captioned other artistic renderings in the hashtag #RhelanNoMore, and even fewer mentioned Nolan at all.
The pain in my skull demanded my attention, and I reached up to examine the bandage wrapped around my head and questioned how long my body had been lying here since witnessing it from the other side.
I recalled first being frightened of the phantom that strangely looked like me, being in her body while navigating through the rehashing of the horrific experience of being brutality attacked by the man I loved. Just the thought of the diamond shaped glass trophy was enough to relive the horrifying moments over and over again in my head.
And worst of all, I had been forced to experience that very moment repeatedly from both perspectives, as a victim and a phantom witness. Both viewpoints would forever wound me far beyond the physical.
The last memory of my ghostly body nearly fading into nothingness hit me when the monitor's beeping reminded me of the warning of time quickly passing. The sudden fear of disappearing into nonexistence flooded my mind, and I lifted my hands to examine them, too. Counting each of my fingers repeatedly, I thanked the heavens they were no longer transparent and I was back in my physical body.
Even while lying in bed, the weight of my body sinking into the mattress brought on a physical, weighty sensation I had to become used to. I tried to lift my upper half from the mattress, hoping to sit forward and get a better look at the condition of my body, but decided against it after a sharp pain shot through my torso. Exhaustion washed over me at the thought of any exertion. I continued to lie in bed and scanned the room with my eyes instead, recognizing the elongated crystal vase with long-stemmed red roses extending from the top of it.
