I take a step toward the door, the journal trembling in my grip. The whispers churn in my head, their urgency gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. "Fine," I mutter, the words slipping past my lips before I've even decided to say them. My voice cracks in the stillness. "Fine. I'll let you in." Joel's face tilts slightly to the side, surprise softening the lines of his worry. "You'll let me in?" he repeats, as though I'm dangling a lifeline just out of his reach. I nod, my throat tight. "But only for a minute." His hand moves instinctively toward the doorframe, but he pauses, watching me warily through the window. The whispers don't like this. They hiss like embers flaring to life, their disapproval scorching the edges of my resolve. Don't. Don't trust him. I grip the hammer tighter, its weight familiar and comforting. My fingers tighten until they ache. "Don't touch anything. And don't… don't try anything." Joel's eyebrows knit together, but he nods. "All right. No tricks, Adam." I move to the barricaded door, yanking at the nailed planks with sudden force. The old wood creaks in protest, each board giving way reluctantly. My hands shake as I work, the hammer biting into the nails with dull, reluctant groans. Joel watches through the window, his face tense with something unreadable—concern, maybe, or fear. The last plank falls to the floor with a sharp crack, and I step back, chest heaving. The whispers scream inside me now, a thousand voices in overlapping chaos. I reach for the doorknob, my palms clammy against the cold brass. With a deep breath, I pull the door open. Joel steps inside cautiously, his eyes scanning the room as though he's walked into the den of a wild animal. The silence between us is oppressive. Joel looks at me, his mouth opening to speak, but the words falter. His eyes shift to the hammer still in my hand. "Adam, you're shaking." I ignore him, turning toward the door and slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the frame. I grab the nearest plank and press it back against the door. Before Joel can say another word, I drive the first nail home, the sound of the hammer ringing like a gunshot in the cabin. "Adam…" Joel's voice wavers. "What are you doing?" I don't stop. The hammer swings again and again, each nail sinking deeper. The whispers quiet, as if waiting to see what I'll do next. "Adam," Joel says, more urgently now. "You're nailing the door shut. While I'm still inside." "That's the point," I snap, glancing over my shoulder. His expression is guarded now, his worry etched deeper into his face. "I don't need anyone else coming in. I can't let them in." "Who? Who can't you let in?" "They're watching." My voice is sharp, cutting. "You wouldn't understand." Joel takes a cautious step closer, his hands raised. "Okay. Okay, I won't argue. Just… take a breath. Talk to me." I let the hammer fall to my side, my breathing uneven. The words churn in my throat, heavy and bitter. "You think I'm losing my mind." Joel doesn't answer right away. He shifts his weight, his gaze gazing toward the journals scattered on the floor. "I think you're… overwhelmed. You've been out here by yourself for too long, Adam. Let me help." "You can't help me," I say, my voice rising. "You don't even see it. Look!" I gesture wildly toward the journals, the open pages crawling with the symbols that are etched into my brain. "Tell me you see it now. The proof. The marks. Everything." Joel steps cautiously to the nearest journal, crouching down. He squints at the pages, his fingers brushing lightly against the paper. "Adam…" he says softly, and something in his voice makes my chest tighten. "There's nothing here. Just your handwriting. Notes." "Liar." The word escapes before I can stop it, harsh and venomous. My grip on the hammer tightens as I take a step closer. "You're lying." Joel looks up at me, his jaw tightening. "Adam, I'm not lying. I swear. Look at this." He holds up the journal, tilting it toward me, and for a moment, doubt lingers in my mind. The symbols. They're still there. Writhing. Pulsing. Real. At first, they crawl across the page, sharp and jagged, but as Joel holds the journal toward me, they flicker—morphing into the notes he described. My breath catches. Then, just as quickly, the symbols reappear, twisting and alive. I can see them, clear as day. But Joel doesn't. My knuckles whiten around the hammer. The whispers return, low and coaxing. I take another step forward, the hammer heavy in my hand. Joel's eyes glimpse to the movement, and he straightens, his expression shifting from concern to alarm. "Adam," he says carefully, his voice steady but tight. "Put the hammer down." "You don't believe me," I say, the frustration boiling over. "I think you're scared," Joel says. "And I think whatever's happening in your head is trying to push me away. Don't let it, Adam. I'm here to help you." The whispers rise, louder now, screaming inside my skull. I raise the hammer slightly, the weight of it grounding me, steadying my shaking hands. Joel's eyes lock onto it, his posture tensing. "Adam," he says softly. "Don't do this." I take a step closer, the lines between reality and delusion blurring with every passing second. The whispers are deafening now, their voices melding into a singular, relentless command. Joel's hands rise cautiously, his palms turned out in a pathetic gesture of peace, but I can't trust the mask he's wearing. His expression—etched with pity, confusion—only enrages me. It's fake. He's fake. "Adam," he says, his voice slow, careful, like I'm some kind of wounded animal. "You don't have to do this. Whatever you're hearing, whatever you're seeing—it's not real." My hand tightens around the hammer. The metal feels alive in my grip, humming with purpose. I raise it, the motion deliberate, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Joel's eyes widen, panic flashing across his face. "Adam—" I swing. The hammer arcs through the air, the movement fueled by desperation and fury, but Joel ducks at the last second. The hammer crashes into the coffee table instead, splintering wood and sending shards flying. I stumble forward, unbalanced, my legs buckling beneath me. Before I can recover, Joel lunges, his arms wrapping around me in a crushing hold. The weight of him drives me to the floor, my head snapping back with a jarring crack. Pain explodes behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I thrash beneath him, wild and feral, my limbs flailing as I claw at his arms. His grip is iron, pinning me down. "Adam, stop!" Joel's voice is frantic now, his breath hot against my ear. "You're going to hurt yourself! Just stop!" The words ignite something primal in me. I twist violently, sinking my nails into his forearm. He yells, his grip faltering just enough for me to wrench free. I shove him off with a guttural scream, scrambling to my knees as he staggers backward, clutching his arm. The whispers roared in approval. I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. The impact sends both of us sprawling, the floorboards groaning beneath our weight. Joel fights back, his hands grappling with mine as we roll, a chaotic tangle of limbs and raw aggression. My fist finds his face—once, twice—each strike fueled by a frenzied desperation to silence him, to end this. "Adam!" he shouts, his voice muffled through the blood now trickling from his nose. His hands latch onto my wrists, trying to hold me back, but I'm stronger. I'm driven. The hammer lies just out of reach, its cold steel glinting in the dim light. My eyes lock onto it, and I lunge, fingers grasping at the handle. Joel realizes my intent too late. I swing blindly, the hammer catching him on the shoulder with a sickening thud. He cries out, his body jerking from the impact. "Stay down!" I roar, raising the hammer again. He grabs at my arm, his strength surprising me, but I'm too far gone. I drive the hammer into his side, the dull crunch of bone reverberating up my arm. Joel gasps, his face contorting in pain. But he doesn't stop. With a burst of strength, he shoves me off, sending me sprawling onto my back. The hammer clatters to the floor. Joel scrambles to his feet, his breaths ragged, blood smeared across his face. "You're sick, Adam," he says, his voice shaking. "You need help." "I don't need help!" I scream, grabbing the nearest object—a shard of wood from the broken coffee table—and swinging it wildly. Joel ducks, the shard missing him by inches. He tackles me again, his weight crushing me against the floor. The world tilts, spinning with a nauseating intensity as we struggle. My vision blurs, dark spots creeping at the edges. Joel pins my arms, his knees digging into my ribs. "You're not yourself," he says, his voice strained. "I'm trying to help you—" "Shut up!" The words rip from my throat, raw and animalistic. I slam my forehead into his face, the impact sending a sharp crack through the room. Joel recoils, blood gushing from his broken nose. I take advantage of his daze, twisting beneath him and grabbing his head. The whispers rise to a fever pitch. My hands tighten around his hair, and I slam his head into the floor. Each impact sends a dull, sickening thud through the cabin. Blood smears across the wooden planks, pooling beneath him. Joel's struggles weaken, his arms falling limp at his sides. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I lift his head one final time, the world narrowing to this single moment, this single act. I slam his head down again, and everything goes still. The cabin falls silent, except for the pounding of my heart. I sit back on my heels, staring down at Joel's motionless body. Blood drips from his temple, streaking across his pale skin. His chest rises and falls faintly, but he's out cold. My limbs feel heavy, trembling from exertion and adrenaline. I grab Joel under the arms, his dead weight dragging against the floor as I haul him toward the basement door. The trail of blood smears behind us, vivid and grotesque against the floorboards. The basement yawns before me, dark and cold, its air heavy with damp rot. I pull Joel's body down the stairs, each step a monumental effort. His head lolls to the side, leaving a streak of red on the wooden steps. When we reached the bottom, I let him fall unceremoniously to the floor. My chest heaves as I stumble toward the wall, grabbing the rope that hangs coiled and waiting. My hands shake as I tie his wrists, the rope biting into his flesh as I secure him to the thick beam in the center of the room. I step back, staring down at him, his head slumped forward, blood dripping steadily onto the concrete floor. My vision wavers, exhaustion threatening to consume me, but I can't stop. Not yet. I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the cold, unyielding beam beside him. The whispers swirl around me, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby. But as the adrenaline fades, their words feel less like comfort and more like chains tightening around my chest. Joel's unconscious form is slumped a few feet away. Blood streaks his face, vivid against the pale pallor of his skin. I can't look at him. I won't. Instead, my gaze shifts around the basement—the jars of dried herbs, the faint scent of damp earth, the wooden shelves that Lily had insisted on organizing herself. Lily. Her name is a soft ache in my chest, a wound that never heals. I close my eyes and let the darkness envelop me, pulling me into a memory that feels like a lifeline. It was spring, the kind that fills the air with the scent of new blooms and warm earth. Lily sat beneath the old oak tree behind the cabin, her legs tucked beneath her, a well-loved book in her lap. Her fingers toyed absentmindedly with the edge of the page as her other hand cradled a delicate porcelain teacup. The light caught in her hair, a cascade of dark waves that framed her face like a portrait painted by nature itself. I watched her from the porch, my hands still dirty from fixing the loose hinges on the garden gate. She hadn't noticed me yet, lost in her world of words. The soft breeze played with the edge of her dress, the fabric swaying like it, too, wanted to be close to her. "Adam, you're staring," she called without looking up, her voice teasing but gentle. I smiled, wiping my hands on a rag. "Can you blame me?" She finally looked up, her eyes meeting mine, sparkling with amusement. "Flattery, Mr. Whitlock? What did you break this time?" I laughed, stepping closer. "Nothing's broken. I just needed a moment to admire my wife in her natural habitat." She set the book down, her lips curving into that smile—the one that made the world feel right. "Well, since you're here, join me." She patted the ground beside her. "We can solve the mysteries of this story together. Though I warn you, the protagonist is giving me some competition for your attention." I knelt beside her, the grass cool beneath my knees. "The only mystery I care about is how I got lucky enough to end up with you." She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed pink. "Stop it, Adam, or I'll start thinking you want something." "I do," I said, leaning closer, the warmth of her presence wrapping around me. "I want to freeze this moment forever." Her laughter was soft, musical, as she took my hand in hers. "You're silly, Adam. Moments aren't meant to be frozen. They're meant to be lived." The memory fades, dissolving into the cold reality of the basement. My eyes flutter open, and the dim light presses against my vision like a dull ache. The scent of tea lingers, faint and impossible, but I can almost taste it on my tongue. "I miss you, Lily," I whisper, my voice cracking. My hands clutch at the floor, the concrete rough beneath my fingertips. "I don't know how to do this without you." The whispers stir faintly, an undercurrent to my grief. She's still with you. You just have to see. I glance toward the shelves lined with her jars and dried herbs. For a fleeting moment, I imagine her standing there, her hands moving deftly as she prepared one of her remedies, her brow furrowed in concentration. My heart twists painfully. "I'd give anything," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Anything to have you here." Joel groans softly, stirring against his bonds. The sound pulls me back to the present, the weight of what I've done settling heavily on my chest. I glance at him, the memory of Lily's warmth juxtaposed against the violence I've just committed. For a moment, I hate myself. But then the whispers return, soft and insistent. I close my eyes again, holding onto the memory of Lily like a lifeline, even as the darkness tightens its grip. My breathing slows, uneven but steady, as my gaze drifts across the room. The air feels heavier now, laced with a strange expectancy, like the silence before a storm. And then I see it. The rabbit. It sits just beyond the beam where Joel is tied, its form bathed in the faint light spilling from the overhead bulb. It isn't like before—no black tar oozing from its lifeless eyes, no twisted, rotting flesh. Its fur is pristine now, soft and unblemished. But the eyes—those voids—are still empty. No, not empty. They glint faintly, catching the light. Crystals. The sockets are filled with glimmering crystals, refracting the dim light in tiny, beautiful patterns. My throat tightens, and a sob claws its way to the surface. "No," I whisper, shaking my head. The tears come faster than I can stop them. "No, this can't be real." The rabbit tilts its head, watching me. The crystals catch the light again, refracting it into dazzling fragments that fill the dim basement with fleeting brilliance. My hands tremble as I clutch the floor, every inch of my body fighting to hold itself together. The rabbit hops closer, slow and deliberate. Each soft thump of its paws against the concrete echoes in my ears, louder than my ragged breaths. I don't move. I can't. I'm frozen, transfixed by the impossible thing before me. It stops just inches from me, its small body warm and still in the cold air of the basement. My chest heaves as I reach out, my fingers hovering above its back. "Lily…" The name escapes me in a broken whisper, unbidden and unstoppable. I run my fingers through the rabbit's fur, soft as silk beneath my trembling hand. The warmth of it spreads through me, a strange, fleeting comfort. But then the fur begins to fall away. Each stroke of my hand leaves bare skin in its wake, the fur dissolving into fine ash that drifts into the air and vanishes. My fingers tremble as I keep stroking, unable to stop, the warmth fading with each pass. The rabbit doesn't flinch or move. It just stares, its crystal-filled eyes shimmering like twin galaxies. I lift it carefully, cradling its fragile body in my hands. The ash drifts around me as I bring it closer, holding it level with my face. The crystals in its eyes glint, dazzling and hypnotic, and I can't look away. And then they change. The crystals shift, their facets softening, deepening. They blur into something familiar, something that makes my chest tighten painfully. Lily's eyes. Warm, deep brown, flecked with gold. The same eyes I lost myself in so many times. The same eyes that always held so much love, so much life. "Lily?" I choke, my voice cracking as tears spill freely down my face. The rabbit doesn't move, doesn't blink. It just watches me with those impossibly familiar eyes, filling the hollow void in my chest with a warmth I thought I'd lost forever. Joel groans. The sound is faint, barely a whisper, but it cuts through the moment like a blade. My body tenses, and I glance toward him. When I look back, the rabbit's form is already shifting, pulling away. It wriggles free from my grasp with a sudden burst of energy, landing softly on the floor. "No! Wait!" I cry, lunging for it, but it bolts toward the stairs, its movements quick and deliberate. The fur that had dissolved into ash is gone now, and its pale, fragile body almost glows as it bounds up the steps. I scramble to my feet, stumbling forward. My fingers brush the edge of the stair, but the rabbit is already at the top. It pauses for a brief moment, turning back to look at me, Lily's eyes still gazing out from its face. My heart twists painfully. Then it's gone, disappearing into the shadows above. I sag against the stairs, my knees hitting the wood with a painful thud. My chest heaves as I fight to steady my breathing, my hands trembling with a desperation I can't contain. My eyes stay fixed on the dark void at the top of the stairs, willing it to reappear. Joel groans again, louder this time. I turn slowly, tears streaming down my face as I look at him. His head lolls to the side, blood smeared across his temple. He stirs weakly against the ropes, his eyelids fluttering. "Joel…" My voice is soft, trembling. "Joel, did you see it?" He doesn't respond, his movements sluggish and unfocused. I crawl toward him, my hands clutching at the floor as I close the distance between us. My voice cracks as I ask again, desperation bleeding into my words. "Did you see it? The rabbit. Joel, tell me you saw it." His eyes blink open, unfocused but searching. He looks at me, his expression a mix of confusion and fear. "What… rabbit?" he mumbles, his voice weak. I slump to the floor, my hands clutching my head as fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "It was real," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "It had to be real." The faint sound of Joel's labored breathing fills the silence as the weight of the moment crushes me. The rabbit's absence leaves a hollow ache in its wake, but the memory of Lily's eyes lingers, burned into my mind like a fading echo of something I'll never have again.