"No! No!"
She was crying. And screaming. Made no difference whatsoever.
"Why are you crying honey? Don't you like it?" he whispered.
Her ear felt wet with every word he spoke. And she stopped listening. She fell back into old memories. The day they told her they were moving to a new and bigger and better house. How excited she was. The day they actually moved, and she first saw their new home, and she walked into her new room. It was such a bright day. Such a beautiful day.
She felt a sharp tug. He was dragging her back. He didn't approve when she locked herself in her head. He needed her to be present. And she was too little to put up a proper fight.
"No!" she screamed much too faintly.
"Yes," he whispered back.
*
She lay awake in her bed, under the covers. Peeping at the door, at the slit between the door and the floor, at the shadow on the other side. She knew the moment she closed her eyes, would be the moment the shadow waltzed in. And knowing who that shadow was, she knew what came next.
She forced herself awake. Biting her lips until she tasted iron. Clenching her hands until they felt wet. Seeing through the haze caused by the flood of tears.
"No," she murmured, like a chant. "No. No."
Wanting nothing more than for the night to be over. But time was frozen. She didn't a clock to tell her. The night would never end. She was certain of that. Not until she walked out or the shadow came in. And both headed toward the same end.
She didn't have anything to fall back onto this time. Not after that night. Not after she had seen the face of the monster.
Sleep reached for her stronger than ever. And she still wasn't able to put up a proper fight.
"Father," she murmured, as her eyes fell shut.
*
Outside the building, a young man with silver hair was sitting on a bench, drinking iced tea, and looking up at a balcony four stories up. It was the middle of the night. The lights were off all through the building. Everyone was asleep. Or was supposed to be. But he was certain there was one who wasn't sleeping tonight.
Rika. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he couldn't look away. And it wasn't her face or her exterior. It was more than that. It was deeper than that. It was what was inside. Buried in the depths. A secret she didn't want anyone to know. A secret she wouldn't share with anyone. A secret that made her, her.
She was like him. Broken. The fallen pieces were glued together, to make them look like them, but the cracks couldn't be hidden. Scars. They were inseparable from their identity.
But he had risen above that. And he wanted to see if she could too.
For now, all there was to do was wait. And that was the least challenging thing there could be.
*
When she opened her eyes, it was because she felt disoriented, like she wasn't in control of her body. And she wasn't.
She wasn't on her bed. But up against the wall. Dangling. Her feet high up from the floor. She was held by her neck, her back pressed against the wall so hard she could feel the skin scraping. And she was choking. The lack of air made her lightheaded and unable to exert any force with her otherwise free arms.
And holding her up was the shadow of her dead father.
His black slits looked into her eyes. An equally black grin lit up his face in a dark light. He was gasping from excitement, his chest heaving, his hands and legs trembling, and his lips were quivering. He leaned toward her, his face inches from hers. And he spoke in that same voice that haunted her nightmares, that she could never forget.
"Honey, how have you been? Missed your father?"
She wanted to shake her head. She wanted to scream, "No!" She would never miss him. She couldn't be happier that he was dead. Why couldn't he just stay dead?
"No, honey," he said, as if reading her mind. "You're just disappointed. That I've been away so long. That's why you're not thinking straight. That's all. But I'm here now. I won't be going anywhere. I won't be leaving you ever again. Aren't you happy? Of course you are. How could you not be? Father always was your favourite."
She wanted to say no. But she was fading. She couldn't feel the tears. Couldn't see past the haze. Couldn't fell her hands or her legs or the rest of her. She couldn't even see him, couldn't feel his hand pressing her neck, couldn't feel his cold breath, couldn't hear his dirty voice. She couldn't feel him. And that brought a smile to her face. And she could almost feel the smile.
*
The silver haired man was disappointed. He had had high hopes. Rika had been impressive. Having survived such a nightmare, she had picked herself up, made a life for herself. She had gotten so far. He really thought she would surprise him. That she would make it through.
She had surprised him. He didn't expect her to fall so easily.
He threw the empty bottle into the dustbin just behind him. And walked away into the night.
*
Wasn't his first time seeing a yellow tape. He hated what it meant. But he also had to admit that it explained a lot. Why Rika wasn't at the store. Why he felt such urgency. Why he saw her.
Rika was dead already.
He went in. Heading straight to the balcony that beckoned. He looked down, following the gaze that was aimed at the flat. And at the end of it, he saw a silver haired man.
*
He sat up, awake.
"Shade," he whispered.
He was immediately reminded of where he was. A hotel room, in Barrow city. It wasn't home. And he had forgotten to bring his book. He went over to the table. Found a pen and a notepad. And began drawing.
When he was done, all he had was a smallish face with silver hair. No eyes, no nose, no lips, no features at all.
"Not enough," he said.
He sat looking at the still incomplete Shade. And he knew what he must do.