Chapter Three: Echoes in the Dark
The wind moaned through the broken window pane, rattling the blinds like bones clacking in protest. John sat on the edge of his bed, his coat still on, boots muddy from pacing. The room was dim except for the weak glow of a desk lamp—its bulb flickering like it, too, was afraid of what was unfolding. The ghost sat across from him again, half-faded into the shadows.
Luna.
She didn't speak at first, but her silver-glow eyes were locked on him. Watching. Waiting. She could feel something stirring in him—old pain. Something he'd kept buried beneath sarcasm, lollipops, and late-night research for years.
John pulled a cherry lollipop from his coat pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it between his lips with a soft crack. He sighed.
"I started seeing ghosts when I was ten," he said, the words almost getting stuck in his throat. "That's when… Lillian died."
Luna leaned in, silently.
"She was my twin." He bit down on the candy a little, the sweetness biting back against the bitterness in his voice. "They said it was a surgical complication. Heart failure, sudden and quiet. But I knew something was wrong the moment I saw Voss's face. Cold. Too composed. Like he wasn't surprised."
He closed his eyes. "Two days after we buried her… she came back. In our room. Same pajamas she wore to the hospital. Barefoot. Her eyes weren't empty like most ghosts I've seen since. They were full of fear. Panic. She was trying to tell me something, but I—I was just a kid."
He chuckled darkly. "I screamed so hard I passed out. After that, it never stopped. I kept seeing her. Every night. Whispering, pointing, crying… but I couldn't understand. I thought I was cursed."
Luna's voice was soft. "You were just a child."
He nodded. "The adults didn't see her. Not once. My dad thought I was hallucinating. My mom blamed it on trauma. I was too young to put it all together, but I knew one thing—my sister was not at peace. And no one believed me."
He glanced at Luna. "They called me crazy. Shrinks. Meds. I was homeschooled for a year just so I'd stop 'embarrassing the family.' But Lil kept coming. And then… she didn't."
"You stopped seeing her?"
He nodded, slowly. "One night, she stood by the foot of my bed. Silent. Still. And she mouthed the words: 'Find him.' Then she vanished. That was the last time."
The lollipop clinked against his teeth.
"She died trying to expose something. Something he did to her. And for years, I was too afraid to chase it. But then the dreams started. Other voices. Other ghosts. People who had no one to speak for them."
He stood, turning to the board on his wall—a twisted web of victims, timelines, and unfinished lives.
"That's when I made the choice," he said. "I'd stop pretending to be normal. I'd help them. The living. The dead. The ones no one sees."
Luna smiled faintly. "That's why you're not scared of me."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not scary. Just glowy and opinionated."
She laughed—a musical echo that faded into the dark.
"I get the lollipop thing now," she added. "Keeps you from going nuts."
John smirked, spinning it between his fingers. "It's either this or cigarettes. Caffeine stopped working years ago. Sugar keeps me awake. Sharpens the edge. And it's less likely to kill me. Ironically."
Luna's laughter died slowly, replaced by a growing sense of unease. "Do you… think you can find where he's keeping me?"
John's face turned grave. "I have to."
He walked to the board again, tracing a line with his finger. "Voss operates like a puppeteer. Manipulates death, disguises bodies, erases identities. But he can't erase the energy. Spirits linger. Yours does because your body's not gone. He's trying to keep you in limbo, like a specimen in a jar."
She shivered. "I feel… incomplete. Like I'm floating without a spine."
He glanced at her, his eyes softer. "That's your tether to your body. As long as it's alive, part of you stays here. Which means we still have time."
"What will you do?"
He turned back to the map and tapped a red-circled location. "Tomorrow, I go to the precinct. Try to talk to the Chief Director. Tell them I have evidence—names, connections, cold cases reopened. I need clearance. Access to the Redwood Memorial archives. They won't like it, but they have to listen."
Luna floated to stand beside him. "And if they don't?"
His jaw tightened. "Then I'll go anyway."
The silence between them stretched thin. Through the window, the wind carried the faint cry of sirens. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. The city was restless. Just like its dead.
"I'm scared," Luna whispered.
John looked at her—truly looked at her. Not just as a ghost. Not just as another case.
"I know," he said. "But you're not alone. Not anymore."
He reached out instinctively. His hand passed through her, but she didn't fade. Instead, a shimmer of warmth clung to his fingers, like sunlight bleeding through water.
"You were never crazy, John," she whispered. "You were chosen."
His eyes welled up, but he blinked it away, biting into the candy like it was armor.
"I used to hate that word," he murmured. "But now? Maybe crazy's what it takes to stop a monster like Voss."
Luna faded slowly, the outline of her form dissolving into shadows, but her voice lingered.
"Then go. Be the kind of crazy that saves me."