10:21 PM — The Hillside Institute of Mental Health
Eva ran beneath the humming security lights, tears drying on her face in the cold wind. Her clothes were stained—dirt, blood, ocean salt. Her knuckles were bruised from pounding on the gates.
The intercom crackled.
"State your emergency?"
She spoke one word like a spell:
"Death."
11:03 PM — Admitted
The orderlies stripped her of everything—no jewelry, no phone, no pens. Not even shoelaces.
Eva didn't fight it.
She requested isolation.
She demanded the white room.
She begged.
"Put me where no one can find me. Not even it."
11:24 PM — The White Room
No corners.
No metal.
No glass.
No wires.
Nothing that could snap or break or strangle.
Just four padded walls, a rubberized cot, and the hum of artificial light.
Here, she thought, Death has no angles.
Eva sat in the center of the room, cross-legged, eyes wide.
She whispered the names.
"Rafi… Maya… Carmen… Jonas… Zeke… Imani… Mark… Suzie…"
Gone.
All gone.
Because of a vision.
Because of something she saw.
Because Death hated being seen.
Day One
The doctors came.
She said nothing.
They asked about the pier.
About the trauma.
About the blood.
She gave them silence.
They said the silence was healing.
It wasn't.
It was survival.
Day Three
Eva refused food unless it was sealed.
Refused to sleep unless the lights stayed on.
Her screams echoed through the padded halls at night—always after 3:00 a.m.
One nurse reported seeing her talking to the walls.
Another claimed she saw the room's temperature drop 10 degrees in seconds.
They dismissed it.
Eva didn't.
She felt it.
The presence.
The one that had followed her across states, through screens, through death and grief.
It was patient.
So was she.
Day Five
A new therapist entered. He had kind eyes.
Too kind.
He asked her about the pier again.
"Eva, why did you go there that day?"
"Because we were supposed to."
"And what did you see?"
Eva turned to him slowly.
Her lips cracked from dryness.
"I saw God blink."
"And?"
"Something slipped through."
Day Six
The walls bled.
Just for a moment.
The red faded like vapor before the nurse came.
Eva kept staring.
She felt the room breathe.
The ceiling smile.
Death was patient.
But even padded rooms have corners if you look hard enough.
End of Chapter Fourteen