vignette

Chapter 6 - The Encounter with a Ghost

I left Eliam standing in the ruined kitchen and drove through the darkness toward the apartment complex where I had watched Clara disappear. I couldn't wait until morning to open a bank box. I needed to look into my sister's eyes.

Building B was quiet. I slipped inside when a tenant exited the front doors and climbed the stairs to the second floor, scanning the numbers until I found 204—the apartment directly above the entrance.

My knuckles hovered over the wood for several seconds before I knocked three times.

Silence followed. Then, the soft rustle of movement on the other side of the door.

"Eliam?" a hesitant voice called out. "Did you bring the transfer papers?"

"Clara," I choked out.

A sudden gasp sounded from within. The lock clicked, but the door remained shut.

"Clara, open the door," I pleaded, pressing my forehead against the cold wood. "Please. It's Evelyn. I saw you today. I know you're alive."

The chain rattled, the deadbolt turned, and the door cracked open. Clara peered out, her hazel eyes wide with terror, her face ghost-white in the dim hallway light. When she recognized me, her lips trembled, and she stepped back into the shadows of the living room.

I pushed inside and shut the door behind me.

We stood three feet apart, separated by six years of silence, mourning, and unanswered prayers.

"You're real," I breathed, reaching out with an unsteady hand to touch her cheek. Her skin was warm, soft, real.

Clara broke into silent sobs, falling forward and burying her face into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her thin frame, clutching her so tightly that our ribs pressed together. We wept in the dim glow of her small apartment, a reunion born out of agony and stolen time.

"I'm so sorry, Evie," she sobbed into my collar. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to come home. Every single day, I wanted to come home."

"Why didn't you?" I asked, pulling back to look at her tear-stained face. "Why did you let us bury an empty box? Why did you let Mom and Dad die with broken hearts?"

Clara looked toward the small dining table, where stacks of medical documents and bank statements were scattered under a lamp.

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"Because if I came back," Clara whispered, "they would have finished the job. Not just on me... but on you, too."

***

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