We woke up to the smell of breakfast, with the familiar sight of Angie bustling around the kitchen, and a new addition—Alyssa. She seemed so different now, lively and talkative, helping Angie without hesitation. The timid, frightened girl I first met was gone, replaced by this energetic kid. It was a relief, in a way, but it also nagged at me. Why had she changed so quickly? I tried to shake off the thought as I sat down to eat, but my gaze kept drifting back to Angie's neck. The dark bruise was still there, more noticeable now. It gnawed at me, making it hard to focus on the conversation.
I was careful, though—careful not to let anyone notice that I was staring. Angie seemed unaware, laughing as she flipped pancakes and teased Alyssa about how much syrup she was using. Lucas, sitting beside me, was engaged in his usual playful banter with Alyssa across the table. His voice was calm, steady, like nothing was out of the ordinary. But I couldn't shake the unease creeping up my spine.
The café's front door chimed, breaking the usual morning chatter. I glanced up to see Diana strolling in, her steps lazy, her expression groggy.
"Ugh, so lazy," she grumbled, plopping down in the chair beside me without ceremony.
"Morning," I said, though my voice was distracted. Something caught my eye—there was a dark spot on her forehead, just like Angie's bruise. I couldn't help but stare, my chest tightening. It was the same shade, the same unsettling smudge, like a shadow clinging to her skin. Again?
"Can I have breakfast here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
"Sure, there are some extra pancakes. Help yourself," Angie called from the kitchen, her back to us. "Hey there, cutie," Diana greeted, reaching out to pinch my cheek, her usual playful smile in place. Lucas made a low, irritated noise next to me, but she just winked at him.
I forced a smile, but my eyes kept flicking back to that dark spot on her forehead. It felt like the room was closing in around me, the voices at the table muffled by the pounding in my ears. I was trying so hard to act normal, but the knot in my stomach was growing tighter.
Diana's playful demeanor shifted slightly, and she tilted her head, noticing my distant stare. "Hey, cutie, you're zoning out again. You sure do that a lot." Her tone was light, but there was a trace of concern in her eyes.
"Ahh, sorry," I mumbled, forcing myself to look down at my plate, but the words came out hollow. My fingers twitched at my side, restless, the urge to reach out overwhelming. Before I realized what I was doing, my hand moved, inching toward the dark spot on her forehead.
My fingertips brushed her skin, barely grazing the bruise. It felt cold. Wrong.
Suddenly, Diana jerked back, her eyes wide as she swatted my hand away. "Hey, what are you doing?" she said, half-laughing, half-startled. Her reaction sent a jolt of panic through me, and heat rushed to my cheeks. I yanked my hand back, my heart pounding.
"I-I'm sorry!" I stammered, bowing my head in embarrassment. Why did I do that? My face burned with shame, and I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes. It was like something inside me had taken over for a moment, something I didn't understand.
Diana rubbed her forehead, still confused, but she laughed it off. "You're a weird one, you know that?" she said, but her tone was light, like she wasn't too bothered. Still, the moment lingered, hanging heavy in the air.
I sat there, frozen, my mind racing with questions. Why had I felt so compelled to touch it? And why did it feel so… off?
Lucas scooted closer, his shoulder brushing against mine as he gave me a knowing look. The kind of look that told me he'd noticed everything, even if I tried to hide it. I forced a smile, one that I hoped seemed genuine, and went back to picking at my breakfast. He didn't say anything, but his presence beside me was reassuring, even though my thoughts kept circling back to the strange bruises and that unsettling urge I had earlier.
We finished eating in a comfortable silence, though I could feel Lucas watching me now and then, probably waiting for me to open up. But I wasn't ready—not yet. I needed to make sense of what was happening in my head before dragging him into it.
After a while, I cleared my throat and glanced toward Angie, who was wiping down the counter. "We're thinking of taking a stroll around town," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Just to stretch our legs."
Angie barely looked up, busying herself with the café chores. "Sure thing. You two go enjoy yourselves," she replied with her usual warmth, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside me. Her carefree attitude almost made me feel guilty for the strange suspicions I was harboring.
Lucas nudged me, and I took it as a signal to get going. We stood up, thanked Angie for breakfast, and headed for the door. As soon as we stepped out of the café, something caught my eye. The sun, dipping low in the sky, glinted off of something around Lucas's wrist. It took me a second to realize what it was—the bead bracelet we'd found in the old bag. The one with 'Lucas' name etched into it.
I stared at it, the sight of it both comforting and unsettling. Lucas must have noticed me staring because he glanced down at his wrist and then back up at me with a small, almost sheepish smile.
"Figured it couldn't hurt," he said, lightly rubbing the beads between his fingers. "Feels like it belongs here... with me."
I swallowed, unsure of how to respond. The bracelet felt like a tether—linking Lucas to his past, a past we still didn't fully understand. Part of me wondered if putting it on made things feel more real for him, like maybe he was trying to piece together the same questions I had. Who were we?
"Yeah," I mumbled, unable to tear my eyes from the bracelet. "It does look good on you."
---
The walk to the school was mostly quiet, the only sound coming from our shoes crunching on the gravel. Lucas and I didn't say much, but the tension between us felt different now—less about the weirdness of the town and more about something personal, something we weren't talking about yet.
The school loomed ahead, dark and empty. The weekend meant there wouldn't be any students or staff around to bother us, which was both a relief and unnerving in its own way. The place had an eerie stillness, like the entire world was holding its breath.
We slipped through the side gate, Lucas leading the way, moving with an ease that made me realize just how much he thrived in situations like this. His natural confidence was something I admired, especially when everything else felt so off-balance.
The bag we found earlier had led us here, though neither of us was entirely sure what we were looking for. Before we even got close to the school, Lucas stopped in his tracks. I followed his gaze, noticing a wide field stretching out beyond the school grounds. It was clean, the grass seems to be recently trimmed—a rugby field.
Lucas walked ahead without a word, his movements slower, more deliberate, as though the place tugged at something deep inside him. I stayed a few steps behind, watching him. His usual carefree attitude seemed to fade as he stepped onto the field, his hand brushing against the grass as he made his way toward the center.
At the edge of the field, lying an old rugby ball. Lucas bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn seams like he was remembering something. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the ball with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"This place," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the breeze. "It feels... familiar. Like I've been here before, you know?"
I walked up beside him, watching as he turned the ball over again. "You think you played here?"
"Maybe." He shrugged, but it wasn't casual. His shoulders were tense, and the easy smile he usually wore was gone. "It's weird. I don't remember this place, not really. But being here... it feels like something I should know. Like a part of me is tied to it."
He tossed the ball in the air, catching it in a way that was so natural, as if he'd done it a thousand times before. I could see the familiarity in his movements, the muscle memory kicking in. It was like the field, the ball, all of it was pulling at something buried deep within him.
"I… I think I used to love playing," he continued, his voice distant. His voice trailed off, and he looked out across the field, his eyes unfocused, like he was trying to grasp at a memory that refused to come. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent, just standing beside him as he stared out at the field. After a moment, he sighed, dropping the ball at his feet and giving me a small, tired smile.
"Anyway," he said, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Let's just get inside."
We made our way toward the school building, the weight of whatever Lucas had been feeling lingering in the air between us. It was subtle, but I could feel it—his unease, his struggle with memories that didn't quite fit, like puzzle pieces from another life.
"Hey, look over there!" Lucas suddenly pointed toward a small gap between two school buildings. I followed his gaze and saw what looked like a hidden garden. Curiosity pulled us closer, and when we stepped through the narrow passage, we were met with a burst of colors—rows of flowers, vibrant and alive in a way that made my heart swell.
"Hyacinths, poppies, red carnations, and daisies," I murmured, taking in the sight. "They're all so lovely."
Lucas chuckled beside me. "I see you're fond of flowers."
"Yeah, I think so," I admitted, feeling a strange warmth bloom inside me. "Just seeing them makes me happy."
"Heh, if I'm happy for the field, you're happy for the garden," he said, grinning at me. His words hung in the air, light but meaningful, like the easy camaraderie we'd fallen into.
I found myself smiling back, my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't quite name. The flowers felt familiar, comforting—like they had some secret meaning I hadn't yet uncovered.
After a quiet moment of just admiring the garden, we finally turned and walked toward the entrance of the school, leaving the flowers and their peaceful beauty behind.
As we stepped into the school, the field behind us, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were getting closer to something important—something neither of us was fully prepared for. And as we wandered through the empty hallways, Lucas seemed quieter, more introspective, as if the field had stirred something he wasn't ready to face.
As we wandered through the empty halls, the sound of our footsteps echoed, each step heavier than the last. Lockers lined both sides of the corridor, their dull metal reflecting the pale light seeping through the windows.
I noticed several club rooms along the way, their doors slightly ajar, giving me a glimpse of what life in this school might have been like. The students here must have had the time of their lives. I paused when my eyes caught a sign above one of the doors: Art Room. My heart gave a sudden tug, pulling me toward it almost instinctively.
I stepped inside, the faint creak of the door following me, and I hear Lucas' gradual footsteps. A gust of wind rushed past, carrying with it the scent of old paint and canvas, and it hit me harder than I expected. I stood there, frozen for a moment, looking around at the mess of brushes, unfinished paintings, and canvases scattered all over the room. The place was chaotic, yet strangely comforting, like I belonged here.
"It's… it's…" The words caught in my throat, and before I knew it, a tear slipped down my cheek. The feeling was overwhelming, like a flood of memories I couldn't fully access, but it was there, tugging at something deep inside.
Lucas, who had followed me in, noticed my tears and immediately looked concerned. "Max, are you okay?" His voice was soft, but filled with worry.
I wiped at my cheeks quickly, trying to shake off whatever had come over me. "Yeah, I'm fine," I whispered, brushing him off. "It's just… this room. It feels like… home."
Lucas looked around, and I could see him trying to understand. The room was a mess, with brushes lying haphazardly on the ground, jars of dried-up paint, and half-finished pieces of artwork everywhere. To anyone else, it might have seemed disorganized, even neglected, but to me, it felt alive.
I knelt down beside one of the easels, running my fingers over the edge of a canvas. "I don't know why," I said softly, more to myself than to Lucas. "But this place… it's like it's calling to me."
Lucas stood behind me, his presence a silent support. "Maybe this is another clue," he said gently. "Maybe this room meant something to you before."
I nodded, but the confusion in my chest only deepened. Why did it feel so familiar? There was something more here, something I couldn't quite grasp. The art, the colors, the brushes—it was as if they were trying to tell me something, something I wasn't ready to remember yet
Lucas stayed quiet, giving me space, and for that, I was grateful.
After spending what felt like an eternity in the art room, I finally stood up, wiping the last trace of emotion from my face. The connection I felt to the place lingered, pulling at me even as I reluctantly stepped toward the door. Lucas watched me closely, but he didn't push for answers. He never did. That was one of the things I appreciated most about him.
With a heavy sigh, I glanced back at the room one last time, the unfinished paintings and scattered supplies still tugging at me. But whatever answers were hidden here, they weren't ready to be found. Not yet.
"Ready?" Lucas asked softly, his voice calm but reassuring.
I nodded, though part of me didn't want to leave. "Yeah… let's go."
"Let's check here," Lucas whispered, stopping in front of a row of lockers. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the hall for any sign of life. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but there were no guards or security cameras—nothing to stop us.
We started opening random lockers, not sure what we were looking for. Books, jackets, notebooks—all things you'd expect to find in a school locker. But then Lucas stopped in front of one, his hand hesitating on the handle. The nameplate on the locker read Lucas in faded letters, as though it had been there for years. He frowned, casting a confused glance my way.
"We found it." he started, but the words trailed off. He shook his head and pulled the locker open.
Inside, we found a mix of items that were both familiar and strange. Paint tools, a stack of science books, and a well-worn jersey outfit. It was strange, though—everything seemed too personal, almost like it had been waiting for us.
Something about the locker unsettled me, as if the contents were whispering a truth I wasn't ready to hear. My chest tightened, a sharp pang shooting through me like a knife. I gasped, clutching my chest as a wave of dizziness hit me.
"Max?" Lucas's voice sounded distant, his face blurring at the edges as I swayed. The room spun, the walls closing in, and before I could react, everything went black. The last thing I felt was Lucas's arms catching me as I collapsed.
---
"Hey, hey Max," Lucas's voice pulled me from the swirling darkness. I squirmed, my body feeling heavy and sluggish as I slowly blinked my eyes open. My vision was blurred, but I could feel the heat of his panic, his hands shaking me gently. I groaned, the weight of my body sinking into something soft beneath me. A low moan escaped my lips, more from the comfort than the confusion, and I heard Lucas chuckle softly beside me.
"Enjoying yourself down there?" he teased, but I could still hear the edge of worry in his voice.
I blinked again, finally realizing my head was resting on his lap. Heat rushed to my face, and I quickly shot up, stumbling a bit as my surroundings came back into focus. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the schoolyard, painting everything in a warm, orange glow.
Lucas reached out, steadying me with a firm hand on my shoulder. "Whoa, easy there. You blacked out. What happened?"
I rubbed my temples, the faint ache in my head a reminder of what had just occurred. "I... I don't know," I muttered, trying to gather my thoughts. Flashes of the dream—if it was even a dream—flickered behind my eyes. "I think I remembered something. Or maybe I dreamt it. But it felt real."
He frowned, concern deepening the lines on his face. "What did you see?"
I swallowed hard, the memory still so vivid. "I was here, at the school. But it was different—like I'd been there before. Someone... someone was tagging me, pulling me toward this small garden between two buildings. I couldn't see who it was, but I could feel them... like they were guiding me."
Lucas stayed quiet for a moment, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on my arm. The gesture was calming, grounding me, but it did little to settle the storm of confusion raging inside me.
"And then what?" he asked, his voice softer now, more careful.
I shook my head, frustration gnawing at me. "That's it. I woke up before anything else happened. I don't know why... but it feels like there's something here, something I need to remember. But it keeps slipping away."
Lucas's hand moved from my arm to my back, his palm warm as he rubbed gentle circles between my shoulder blades. "Maybe it's not gone. Maybe you're just not seeing it yet," he said quietly, his voice steady in a way that soothed the edges of my anxiety.
But it wasn't enough to shake the feeling that we were running out of time—that every step forward only pushed us further into the unknown. I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my hair as the weight of everything began to press down on me again.
"We didn't find anything, Lucas," I muttered, the frustration slipping into my voice. "This was supposed to give us answers, but all I got was a stupid blackout. We're back where we started."
Lucas didn't reply right away, and for a moment, I thought he was letting my words hang in the air. But then he cleared his throat, his hand still resting on my back. "Not quite."
I turned to him, eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward, reaching into the locker we'd rummaged through earlier. After a second, he pulled out something I hadn't noticed before—a small, folded photograph. He held it out to me, and I took it with shaky fingers.
The picture was old, faded at the edges, but I could still make out the figures—a young boy, grinning wide, standing between two adults. A family. And behind them, a house. It was simple, with chipped white paint and a front porch shaded by tall trees. The boy had books tucked under his arm.
Lucas's voice was quiet, almost tentative. "Look at the house, Max. I think... I think this might be our next clue."
I stared at the photograph, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to make sense of it. The house—it was like a thread connecting something in the back of my mind, something that felt just out of reach
But I couldn't shake the frustration, the overwhelming sense that we were still so far from finding what we needed. "What if it's nothing, Lucas?" I whispered, more to myself than to him. "What if we're just chasing shadows?"
His hand gently squeezed my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine with that quiet, steady reassurance he always had. "It's not nothing," he said, his voice firm but kind. "We've got something now. And we'll figure it out. Together."
I swallowed hard, nodding despite the doubts still swirling inside me. I wanted to believe him—I wanted to believe we were getting closer. But the fear of what lay ahead still gnawed at me, refusing to let go.
"Okay," I whispered, clutching the photo tightly in my hand. "Let's figure this out."
---
Weeks had slipped through our fingers like sand, and with each passing day, the frustration grew. We had searched every corner of the town for the house in the photo—every street, every alley, every hidden pathway. But it was as if the house had vanished, like it was deliberately hiding from us. My patience was wearing thin, and I could see the same weariness in Lucas.
The sky was already dark by the time we returned to the café, our usual routine. Angie and Alyssa were busy, the low hum of conversation from a few patrons filling the space. I barely noticed them as we made our way upstairs. The cold weight of defeat hung over me, a constant reminder of how little progress we'd made.
I took my time in the bath, the water doing little to soothe my thoughts. When I stepped out, Lucas was already drying off, a towel slung loosely around his waist, his skin still damp from the shower. I froze for a moment, eyes catching on the sharp lines of his abs, the way his muscles shifted under his skin. Heat flushed my cheeks, and I quickly looked away, embarrassed by how flustered I felt. I tried to keep cool and shyly sat beside him, my gaze fixed on the clues on the floor, not daring to look his way. I heard him smirk.
"Like what you see?" Lucas's teasing voice broke through my thoughts, and I could hear the smirk in his tone. I fumbled for words; my throat suddenly tight.
"You're… imagining things," I muttered, not daring to meet his gaze. My face felt like it was on fire, and I wished I could disappear into the floor. But then I felt the warmth of his arm wrap around my shoulders, pulling me closer.
"Lu... Lucas!" I stammered, pushing him away, my heart pounding against my ribs. His laugh was soft but warm, and I couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips, despite the embarrassment.
He stood up, taking his time to dress before sitting back beside me on the floor, where I'd spread out all the clues we had. There wasn't much—just a few items, yet they felt like the only threads tethering us to who we might be. Two bead bracelets with "Lucas" and "Max" etched on them, a faded photo of Lucas with his family in front of the white house we couldn't find, Lucas's bags, and notebooks.
I stared at them, feeling the weight of something pressing down on my chest. It was strange—everything pointed to Lucas, to his life, his past. But for Max? There was nothing. No clear indication of who Max was before all of this. And then there was the question I couldn't shake, the one that gnawed at me late at night when the silence became too loud:
What if we weren't these two people?
"What do you think?" Lucas asked, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of uncertainty in it, like he was just as lost in his thoughts as I was.
I bit my lip, struggling to find the words. "Well… they're obviously acquainted," I started, my fingers tracing the edges of the bead bracelets. "The bracelets have their names. And they seem close. I mean, it's personal, right?
"Yeah," Lucas agreed, his eyes flicking over the notebooks and the bags. "They were probably in college, given the stuff we found. But…" He paused, glancing at me as if he could sense the hesitation in my voice.
"But," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper, "what if we're wrong? What if we're not these two people?" The question hung in the air like a weight between us.
Lucas's eyes widened, the realization hitting him as hard as it had hit me the first time I'd thought of it. He stared at the bracelets, the photo, then back at me. I could see the doubt flicker in his expression, like he'd been holding onto this idea that he was Lucas, that this was his identity. But now, uncertainty crept into his voice.
"You're right…" he muttered, almost to himself.
Silence settled over us, heavy and suffocating. My mind spiraled with the possibilities—if we weren't Lucas and Max, then who were we? Were we just clinging to these objects, desperate to make sense of a life that might not even be ours?
I glanced at Lucas; I saw the cracks in his usual calm exterior. His confidence, the easygoing demeanor he always wore, was slipping, and beneath it was the same doubt that had been eating away at me for weeks.
The question lingered in my mind, relentless: What if we're just assuming? What if we're chasing ghosts
The pressure was suffocating, the frustration clawing at my insides. I tried to push the thoughts away, to focus on the clues in front of us, but all I could see was how little we truly knew.
The silence between us stretched on, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. I stared at the clues laid out on the floor, my mind whirling, but it all felt like noise. No matter how hard we tried, it felt like we were missing something, and the thought that we might be chasing after someone else's life kept gnawing at me.
Lucas's hand lingered on my knee, his thumb rubbing small circles against my skin. It was a simple gesture, but it was enough to pull me out of my spiral. I glanced over at him, and our eyes met. His expression was softer now, like he could sense the storm brewing inside me and was trying to ease it
"Hey," he whispered, his voice gentle. "We're in this together. We'll figure it out… somehow."
His words were reassuring, but I could still hear the doubt lingering beneath them. We both felt it—that uncertainty creeping into every moment, making everything we thought we knew feel fragile.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in my throat. I didn't know how to express the turmoil inside me, how to explain the fear that maybe we were just pretending, grasping at anything that would give us a sense of identity. But before I could try, Lucas's hand slid from my knee to my arm, pulling me just a little closer.
His face was inches from mine now, his breath warm against my skin. There was something unspoken in the air between us, something we'd both been avoiding. My heart raced, a mix of anxiety and something else—something I hadn't allowed myself to acknowledge.
Lucas didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The look in his eyes said it all. His fingers brushed against my cheek, soft and tentative, as if he was waiting for me to pull away. But I didn't.
I couldn't.
Before I knew it, his lips were on mine. The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, like we were both unsure of what this meant. But then something shifted, and the hesitation melted away. My hands found their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
It was like the world outside—the mysteries, the confusion, the endless questions—faded into the background for just a moment. Right here, right now, it didn't matter who we were or what we were trying to figure out. There was only this.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless and slightly flushed, Lucas's forehead rested gently against mine. Neither of us said anything. There was no need for words. The silence between us now felt different—less heavy, more intimate.
Lucas smiled softly, his thumb grazing my cheek again. "You, okay?"
I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. "Yeah. Just… needed that."
He chuckled, his voice low and soothing. "Me too."
We stayed like that for a moment longer, just breathing, before Lucas stood up and tugged me toward the bed. "Come on, let's get some rest. We've been at this all day."
I followed him, feeling a strange mix of calm and nervousness settle over me. As we climbed into bed, the warmth of his body next to mine was comforting, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected.
He pulled me close, our legs tangling beneath the blankets, and I rested my head against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was soothing, and I felt myself beginning to relax, the tension in my body slowly easing.
"Goodnight, Max," Lucas murmured, his voice soft in the darkness
"Goodnight, Lucas," I whispered back, my eyelids growing heavy.
AI drifted into sleep, the constant noise in my head quieted. It wasn't gone, but for now, lying here with Lucas, it didn't seem as overwhelming.
---
The morning was calm, peaceful even, but I couldn't shake the feeling from last night. Every time I glanced at Lucas, my cheeks flushed red. His face mirrored mine—slightly pink, avoiding my gaze, yet betraying a soft smile whenever I caught his eye. I had never been this self-conscious before, and I couldn't help but wonder if everyone else noticed the subtle tension between us.
Angie and Alyssa, seated across the table, exchanged curious glances. Angie, in particular, wore a knowing smile. Alyssa, on the other hand, looked confused, trying to figure out what was happening.
"You two are unusually quiet today," Angie remarked, breaking the silence with a playful grin.
Lucas and I exchanged quick, awkward glances. I felt my face heat up even more, and all I could do was continue poking at my plate, trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. Lucas scratched his nose answering her. "What do you mean, Angie?" he asked, though it was clear we both knew exactly what she was implying.
"Oh, I see," Angie said, her smile widening knowingly. Alyssa looked back and forth between us, still utterly confused.
"I don't get it, Angie," Alyssa piped up, her voice full of innocent curiosity.
Angie waved her off with a laugh. "It's nothing, dear," she said, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. Alyssa, determined not to be left out of the loop, kept asking questions, but Angie cleverly changed the subject each time. Their playful banter was oddly comforting, and despite my embarrassment, I chuckled quietly at their antics.
Just then, the familiar chime of the café door sounded, and in walked Diana, dragging her feet as usual. She flopped down at the table with a dramatic sigh, her perpetual laziness becoming a running joke at this point.
"Ugh, so—" Diana began, only to be interrupted by Alyssa's cheerful voice.
"Lazy!" Alyssa giggled, causing Diana to grin.
"Well, at least it's—" Diana started again.
"Payday!" Alyssa shouted with a laugh. Diana ruffled her hair, and Alyssa's laughter filled the room.
"You know me too well," Diana said with a chuckle. "Anyway, nice gray sweater," she commented offhandedly, pointing toward Alyssa.
Alyssa blinked, looking down at her outfit in confusion. "What gray sweater? I'm wearing a pink one."
Diana's smile faltered for just a second, the briefest moment of hesitation passing over her face before she quickly corrected herself. "Oh, right. Sorry, nice pink sweater," she said, forcing a smile.
I glanced at Diana, feeling a strange unease at how she'd said it. She still has the dark spot around her forehead. The slip-up seemed innocent enough, but something about her reaction caught my attention. Why had she seen the sweater as gray? It didn't seem to bother anyone else, though. Alyssa and Diana quickly moved on, continuing their banter as if nothing had happened.
Lucas shifted beside me. His hand brushed against mine under the table, a subtle touch, but enough to pull me back to the present. I looked over at him, and despite everything swirling in my mind, his calm presence was reassuring. He gave me a soft smile.
---
The day felt endless as Lucas and I roamed through the town once again, retracing our steps in what felt like a futile search. With each street we walked down, hope slipped further from my grasp. The photo of the house—our only lead—felt like a distant memory now, and it was becoming harder to believe that we'd ever find it.
I glanced over at Lucas, his expression unreadable but his steps slowing, just like mine. "How long are we going to keep doing this?" I muttered under my breath, frustration gnawing at me. The town seemed to be playing tricks on us—no matter where we went, nothing felt right.
We were nearing the edge of town now, where fewer houses dotted the landscape, replaced by tall trees and overgrown bushes. I could feel the quiet pressing down on us, heavier and heavier with each step. Just when I was about to suggest we turn back, Lucas stopped dead in his tracks.
"Wait… look over there," he said, pointing past a cluster of old trees.
I followed his gaze and froze. Beyond the trees, hidden almost entirely by branches and undergrowth, stood a house. My heart leapt into my throat. There, behind the house, the tops of tall trees loomed over it—trees that looked strikingly similar to the ones from the abandoned forest park we had passed days ago.
"Is this...?" Lucas trailed off, but I already knew what he was thinking.
We moved quickly, the excitement of discovery giving us a second wind. The path to the house was overgrown, long grasses and weeds tangled around our legs as we approached. The closer we got, the more obvious it became that the house had been abandoned for some time. The front porch was nearly hidden beneath the wild grass growing around it, and the windows were grimy, giving the house an eerie, forgotten look.
"This is it," I whispered, more to myself than Lucas. The photo we had been carrying matched perfectly— the big trees behind the house and the white exterior that mold took over, except, of course, for the neglect that had overtaken the property.
Lucas stood next to me, silent, staring at the house as if waiting for something to happen. The place was desolate, but familiar somehow, like we were meant to be here. I couldn't shake the feeling that this house was hiding something important—something that could explain the strange happenings that had followed us ever since we'd arrived in town.
"We should check it out," Lucas said, his voice low but steady. He took a step forward, and I followed closely behind.
The door gave way with a soft creak, revealing the stale air inside, thick with dust and years of neglect. Lucas nudged it open further, and the smell of decay greeted us like a forgotten memory. Inside, draped sheets hid the old furniture like ghosts, the floor groaning under our weight, while cobwebs adorned every corner, thick as if spun in anticipation of our arrival.
We wandered through the dimly lit rooms, our footsteps echoing off the worn wooden boards. I kept stealing glances at Lucas, feeling the lingering tension between us, a silent thread connecting the night before to this moment. But now wasn't the time to focus on that. Something more urgent hovered in the air—something we needed to uncover.
The further we went, the colder the house seemed to become, the temperature dropping as we reached a back room. Scattered across the floor were remnants of a lifelong abandoned—an old photo album, pages curled with age, tattered books, and toys left in disarray, as though the occupants had fled in haste.
I ran a hand over a dust-covered mantle, the grime smudging under his fingertips. "This place… it's been empty for a long time," I murmured, my voice barely breaking the stillness.
"Max, over here." Lucas shouted.
I followed him to a stack of old magazines, beneath which a small, framed photograph peeked out. Lucas knelt, gently brushing away the layers of dust that clung to it. The image slowly revealed itself.
"It's them," I whispered, more to myself than to Lucas. "The family in the photo."
But there was something more—this time, there were more people in the picture. Two couples, a dog, and two kids, all gathered in front of the house. The black-and-white photograph had faded, but the details remained. One child had a distinct mark on his forehead, while the other wore a beret, both grinning up at the camera.
"Look at this," Lucas said, his voice soft with wonder. "There are more of them now."
I nodded, but suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over me, blurring the edges of the room. The floor felt like it was tilting beneath my feet. My hand instinctively reached for something to steady me, but before I could fall, Lucas was there, catching me. His arm was firm around my shoulder, steadying me as I blinked through the haze.
"This happened at the school, too," he said, concern lacing his voice. "You, okay?"
I swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yeah… I'm fine. Let's check upstairs."
We made our way up the narrow staircase, the creaks louder now as if the house resented our intrusion. At the top, a door caught our attention, the name "Lucas" etched into the wood. A chill ran down my spine as we exchanged a glance and pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was a mess of canvases—some half-finished, others smeared with vibrant colors, as if the artist had left mid-stroke. Lucas's eyes widened as he looked around. "Seems like this Lucas was a painter," he mused, running a hand over one of the canvases. I could only nod, the weight of the room pressing down on me.
We left the art-filled space and wandered to what must have been the parents' bedroom. Above the bed hung a large painting of the couple—proud, smiling, their eyes following us as we moved. Something in the image tugged at me, a deep, sharp pain radiating through my chest. I clutched at my heart as the room spun, dizziness overwhelming me once again.
And then, nothing.