She left La Push in pieces.
Now she's back-medicated, monitored, and haunted by more than just her past.
When Grace returns after six months in a psych ward, she wants one thing: peace.
But the voices in her head have other plans.
So does Paul Lahot...
I don't know when exactly I fell asleep. The lights were off. My head was full. And something inside me was... loud. Now, everything's quiet.
I'm standing in a hallway. White. Bright. Too bright. The walls are smooth, the lights buzz, somewhere water drips. I recognise this place - even though I couldn't tell you when I was here last. If I ever was.
A sign on the wall: "Station C."
The clinic.
I didn't know I still dreamed about it. In my memory, it had always been soft. A safe place. Quieter than home. Now it feels... wrong, different. Too empty. Too still.
I walk slowly. My socks slide across the floor. No voices. No footsteps. No sound at all- except the low, constant buzzing from the lights. And my footsteps.
Then I see her.
A girl. She's sitting by the window, knees pulled up, head resting on them. Her hair is dark and thick, soft curls falling over her shoulders. She doesn't move. Doesn't turn around. And yet... there's something about her I can't look away from. Still. Awake. Beautiful- in a way that hurts.
I stop walking.
My body reacts before I even understand why. I know her. I don't know how, but I do.
But the name won't come. Nothing does. Just this feeling. Longing. Guilt. And something like- Loss?
I try to speak, but no sound comes out. She doesn't turn. Not even when I move closer.
She's breathing. Quiet. Calm. And silent.
I sit beside her on the windowsill - without knowing why. The setting sun reflects off her dark skin. The glass is fogged up. It's almost dark now. Outside, there's nothing but cold, gray mist.
Time passes. Maybe a minute. Maybe an hour. Then she stands.
She walks down the hallway, where the lights flicker - slow, silent.
I try to follow her. But my legs won't move.
I call out - at least I think I do. But she doesn't hear me.
She fades into the mist like a shadow.
And I'm alone.
Again.
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I wake up gasping, soaked in sweat.
My heart's pounding. For a second, I have no idea where I am. Then I see the posters on the wall, the old lamp on my desk. My room. Home.
I take a deep breath. Too deep. My throat is dry. The blanket sticks to my back. It's still dark outside. Maybe 3:30, 4 a.m.
I try to breathe slowly, but I can't. I'm soaked. Everything feels gross, like I've been sweating for hours.
