Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 36.
Fresh Air

Carrie arrived at the public park, where they agreed to meet, around three o'clock. She approached down the cemented path with careful stride or even looked somewhat embarrassed. Matilda hadn't been waiting long for her on that old wooden bench. She had sat there and used her waiting time to simply look at the other people who were hanging out there, as well as get some fresh air and think.

Chamberlain seemed like a pretty quiet and pleasant place, typical of small towns like that. Very different from Boston, no doubt. But she had quickly gotten used to city life, so she didn't immediately imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this.

But neither Chamberlain nor Boston was what was occupying Matilda's mind at the moment, but the young woman who was slowly approaching her. Or, specifically, the incident they had the other day at the junkyard. She was concerned with what she had seen in Carrie, but also the way she had reacted to it herself.

Matilda could be very bright, but she was still a girl who had just finished school and was a bit of a novice at that job. She had helped the Foundation before with other Shine children, but none like Carrie. She was definitely a case that deserved much of her attention, more than she initially thought. If that had happened to Matilda Honey four years later, she might have found a better way to calm things down. And equally, she would have known what to say that same afternoon in that park...

"Hello, Dr. Honey," Carrie said slowly when she was already in front of her. Matilda only responded by nodding her head slightly. She didn't even think about correcting her about calling her just Matilda. "Are you still mad about the other day?"

Matilda sensed quite a bit of fear in the way Carrie had asked that question. Apparently, what happened affected her as much or more than her. But it was difficult to know exactly what was bothering her: what she had done, or just the possibility of having annoyed the psychiatrist. It was probably the latter, but whatever it was, a vengeful attitude wouldn't help at all.

Matilda sighed slightly and then stepped to the side on the bench to make room for her. Right afterward, she felt the space with one hand to indicate that Carrie should sit down.

"I'm not mad, don't worry," she replied with a half-smile. "It's my fault for not being prepared."

Carrie nodded. She removed her backpack and sat on the bench next to Matilda, placing the bag on her lap and hugging it a little against her.

"How do you feel?" Matilda asked softly.

"Good… but something happened today…" Carrie whispered, her rosy gaze lowered as if she was embarrassed.

"With your mother?"

"No, no," Carrie was quick to reply. She lowered her face again, now her cheeks flushed. "Prom is in two weeks, and a guy invited me to go with him."

Matilda was slightly startled in surprise when she heard her relate this. She restrained herself for a few seconds so as not to overreact without trying.

"Really? That's great, Carrie," she murmured with moderate glee, though Carrie still kept her face down, and she looked apprehensive. "Or is it not?"

Carrie exclaimed a slight groan similar to pain, though perhaps it represented something closer to distress.

"I don't know… He's a cute boy, and he's always been very kind… unlike other people. But, I thought he already had a girlfriend, and even if he didn't... why invite me? I'm not very pretty, and I've never been to an event like that. Besides, my mother would surely go crazy if I hinted at it..."

This latest data didn't surprise Matilda, although it did sadden her a bit. She also did not usually go to proms, games, or similar events when she was studying. However, that had been her own decision, and she knew very well how frustrating it was when someone denies you to do something that you wanted so much. Mostly if it was your parents who did it.

"But do you want to go?" She asked thoughtfully.

Carrie hesitated a bit when answering but then gave a slight nod of her head.

"I didn't know how much until the possibility presented itself. But… I'm scared… What if it's all a bad joke?"

"Do you think that boy could be capable of that?"

"No... Or I don't think so. He is a good boy. But his girlfriend, or who I thought was his girlfriend... was part of..."

Carrie paused, unable to finish her sentence. But with that, Matilda got an idea of what she was trying to say.

"Was it one of the girls who bothered you in the showers?" Carrie nodded again. "Was she who uploaded the video?"

"I don't know… But she had always been nice before that, too."

She then turned to Matilda, looking at her with pleading in her eyes.

"What should I do?"

"I can't decide for you, Carrie," Matilda answered firmly. "You must choose whether or not you want to accept that invitation." Carrie lowered her gaze again; now, she seemed disappointed to hear that answer. "I can only tell you that you shouldn't be afraid to take risks. Life is full of them, and if you break down in front of everyone, you can miss out on seeing many beautiful things."

Carrie turned to look at her again shyly, but also intrigued by everything she said. Matilda smiled gently at her.

"And above all, you must stop allowing your mother to prevent you from enjoying such things. I told you before, but you'll have to learn to fly without her sooner or later. It'll be better for you when you get it done."

Of course, Matilda was speaking from her own experience. Perhaps because of this, she could not be considered entirely objective. However, in Carrie's case, she was convinced that everything would be better if she left that home so overwhelming and toxic to her. Going to dance would not be equivalent to making such a change, but it would be an excellent first step.

Carrie thought about it a bit. Her fingers were rubbing each other nervously on her skirt, and her hair fell over her face, hiding it. After a while of silence, a slight smile of joy crossed her lips. She turned to see her again, transmitting that same feeling.

"I think… I'll accept…" Carrie whispered slowly, somewhat doubtfully, although almost immediately, she took a much more confident stance. "I think I'll go to the prom..."

Matilda smiled at her and nodded in support. In addition to that, she allowed herself to place a hand on her shoulder, giving a couple of comforting slaps. Carrie didn't seem to mind this.

For years to come after that day, Matilda would always regret having encouraged that girl to go to that damn dance...

After they left Evelyn's room, Matilda took a second to calm herself and think about what had happened. He sat on a chair in a corridor where the psychiatric hospital's inner garden could be seen through the windows. In fact, there was not very far from her position, a door through which one could get out. The garden was much larger and more beautiful than Eola's. She had read this place was expensive and only received patients' cases in good to moderate condition. And perhaps because of this, they had the luxury of having somewhat more flexible facilities. Maybe that's also why Samara and her adoptive mother were taken to Eola and not there, even though Silverdale was closer.

She assumed in advance that the talk with Evelyn would not be entirely fruitful, but she was not prepared for the turn she had taken so suddenly. And once again, the same thought she had after talking to Anna Morgan came to her. It seems that everyone close to Samara, everyone who was supposed to love and care for her, inevitably turned their backs on her... or something much worse.

"A coffee?" She suddenly heard intoning next to her, making her jump with some surprise. Turning around, she saw Cole holding out a coffee cup with one hand while holding another for him. Had he told her he was going for coffee? If he did, Matilda could not recall hearing him. "I think it's better than the one in the other hospital."

Oddly enough, she wasn't quite in the mood for coffee now, but she accepted it anyway.

"Thank you."

Cole sat down in the chair next to her, and a short time later took a small sip from his own cup. He didn't seem happy or bothered by the taste of it, so the coffee at least shouldn't be bad. Matilda drank some of it too, and it was certainly not bad, but not great either.

"Are you okay?" Cole asked with some curiosity.

"Yes..." The brunette replied in a muffled voice. "It's just that a few days ago, I spoke to Mrs. Morgan, Samara's foster mother, and she also told me that I should kill her." A small gesture of irony escaped her at that moment, perhaps involuntary. "And her father, he wouldn't say it in those words, but I suspect he wouldn't be too sorry if that happened."

"Wow…" Was the sincerest expression of astonishment Cole was able to express.

"You said so." Matilda drank some more coffee before continuing; the second sip was a little better. "What worries me the most is that I don't know what will come for Samara from now on. I must admit that I had a very slight hope that Evelyn would be okay, or at least enough to receive and care for Samara in short to medium term. But that obviously won't be possible in any way. And going back to her adoptive parents seems no longer a very viable option; they probably no longer even want to receive her. And even if they do, I don't know what kind of life they can give her. I feel like she'll always be in danger of being hurt."

She snorted a little and then lowered her head reflectively.

"So," Cole began to pronounce, "if she ever manages to get out of that asylum, what awaits her? Back to the system? Go to an orphanage until she's adopted again?"

"That's if she can digest the truth that she's actually adopted. And those who were her parents for twelve years don't even want to see her anymore. And of course, if she doesn't find out that her adoptive mother is alive, mentally unstable, and wants her dead too."

"That's screwed up," the officer murmured quite casually.

"All of that will tear her apart, potentially causing a tremendous setback in her treatment. Besides, she is too old; do you know the chances she has that someone will want to adopt her? Especially with her track record."

"Not many."

"Exactly. And like the icing on the cake, even if we managed to find a family that would accept and adopt her, her ability is so unstable and dangerous that not just anyone could give her the care she requires. In conclusion, yes, everything is screwed up; wildly, very screwed up..."

Cole seemed surprised to hear her, so correct and neat, speak like that. That could only be a relative sample of the incredible frustration she felt at the time.

Matilda tipped her head back until it was flat against the wall behind them. She closed her eyes and began to run her hand over her face, rubbing it as if trying to relieve some pain. What would be Samara's future had already been a matter of consideration for her since that not pleasant conversation with Mrs. Morgan. But, apparently, she had forced herself to put the subject aside and not give it due importance until now. Only after talking to Evelyn did she become aware of how lonely that little girl really was.

"What am I going to do now?" She murmured slowly. "Seriously, I have no idea. I would accept any suggestions..."

Cole sighed a little and drank from his glass as he looked out the windows onto the patio. Just two or three patients were walking outside, each escorted and watched by a male nurse. There were four steel benches in the center of that green area, each with its back to the others forming a square, and having in the center, a small orange tree still growing. All four benches were empty at the time.

"Maybe you could adopt her," Cole suggested suddenly, taking his companion entirely off guard. Matilda opened her eyes again and turned to look at him in surprise.

"What?"

"Yes, why not?" The detective murmured, shrugging. "As Cody put it too, it's evident that you've grown fond of her. You care about her, and you went through something similar as a child, didn't you? Your foster mother welcomed you when you needed it most."

The surprise in Matilda's eyes grew even more prominent, bordering on discomfort. Her entire expression questioned him, without the need to use words: "How do you know about that too?" Cole noticed that and smiled a little nervously at her.

"I'm sorry, it's part of what I found out about you before I came here. But I guess it wasn't a secret, was it? Everyone knows you were adopted... although perhaps not precisely under what circumstances it happened."

Matilda could certainly not say that this was a secret, but she was a bit surprised that someone she had just met knew that piece of her story.

But, it was true; Jennifer Honey had welcomed her with open arms at the exact moment she needed her. Despite the suddenness of the request, not even leaving her much time to question herself if it was a good idea. If she hadn't, if she hadn't accepted her back then... what would have become of her? If she had stayed with her parents, and if she had run away with them that afternoon, she would definitely not be anywhere near the person she was at that time.

She knew in advance that everything she had achieved in her life from the age of six and a half, she undoubtedly owed it to Jennifer Honey. Although not many times had she pondered how difficult it must have been for her to make that one-minute decision.

But Matilda was not Ms. Honey. And her situation back then, although similar in some aspects, was totally different from what Samara lived right now.

"Adopt her?" She whispered slowly, as if hoping that pronouncing the idea in words would give it some kind of clarity, but it didn't. She started to shake her head quickly, tensing a little. "No, no, that wouldn't make sense. I'm not suitable for being a mother; I'm not ready for that."

"And your mother was ready back then?" Cole questioned, almost accusatory. "Also, you said it yourself, she is an old girl with a Shining that is quite difficult to control. There will be no way she'll find another family that can take proper care of her."

"Maybe, but... to say it would be unprofessional would be an understatement. It's absurd..."

Matilda crossed her arms apprehensively and turned away, almost as if offended… But in reality, it was not.

"Right, it was just an idea," Cole pointed out, shrugging. "Pretend I didn't say anything."

They were both silent, and almost at the same time, each took a sip from their respective glass of coffee. Matilda also glanced at the vents overlooking the garden, pondering deeply and rapidly on the possibilities.

"Although you are right," Matilda suddenly muttered after several seconds of silence, almost taking Cole by surprise. She spoke, staring straight ahead as if she wasn't really talking to him. "It'll be impossible to find someone who can take care of her better than I can. After all, it's my job to treat kids like her. And I have the entire Foundation to support me. And she likes me, right?"

She turned quickly to Cole for reassurance, although the officer hadn't actually interacted with Samara long enough to answer that question with absolute confidence.

"I think so," was all he allowed himself to say, but for Matilda, it was enough.

A curious trace of emotion, almost innocent, glimmered in the psychiatrist's eyes.

"It could work. I know all the latest about parenting, I earn pretty well, and I have a huge collection of books that any child would enjoy."

"Not any child," Cole whispered slowly, almost through his teeth, though Matilda still didn't hear him.

The brunette's emotion subsided a bit, and she was able to go on to review other aspects.

"But I'm hardly in my department, actually. I spend much of my time working in my office or traveling for the Foundation business, so I couldn't always care for her." She tilted her head to her left, searching for the logical side of her brain to give her some idea. "I suppose I could move back to Arcadia with my mother. She and her partner could give me a hand when I'm out. She has always been very good with children and has always wanted me to return there." Again the illusion rose but abruptly fell as if it were a roller coaster. "But what if something happens while I'm not there, and she ends up hurt?"

"Samara or your mother?" Cole asked, curious.

"Both..."

Matilda leaned her body forward a little and meditated a few more coldly. Samara's abilities were too powerful and too uncontrollable. It was challenging to give her the independence that a girl her age requires and deserves in those moments. At least in the first years, she would occupy constant care and vigilance before gradually releasing her to the world. That, if one day, they could really aspire to do that.

Was she qualified to give her all the attention that she required? And if she wasn't... who really could?

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, drawing an expression on her face, similar to what she would do if she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. And, in part, it was.

"No, it's too much responsibility," Matilda whispered softly. "Eleven told me that I must stop taking all these cases personally or believe that I have to solve them all. How happened with..."

She fell suddenly silent when she realized what was about to say. There was nothing really wrong with it, but feeling that thought coming to her, and just then… it made her stabbing pain more acute.

Cole looked at her curiously, as if waiting for her to finish the sentence. She didn't, but Cole didn't need it to understand her.

"How happened with Carrie White?" He asked in a serious voice.

Matilda was silent for a few seconds, and then she nodded her head slightly.

"How happened with Carrie White…" she repeated absently, almost automatically.

They were both silent again; neither seemed to want to say anything else. They had gone back to the beginning of the problem, and that only made Dr. Honey feel even more frustrated.

Cole glanced at her; she looked even more serious and concerned than before, and she was staring at the ground absently. In a way, she even looked somewhat vulnerable in those moments, perhaps even scared and confused. Like a real person, and less like the perfect ice girl everyone at the Foundation described.

The officer finished his coffee, and just after taking the last drink, he allowed himself the audacity to extend a hand towards Matilda and run it through her hair with some speed, tousling it a little. Matilda jumped in confusion at this almost childish act and quickly waved her hands away from her. Cole laughed amusedly while she looked at him with a hard, annoyed look. The officer's reply was simply to shrug his shoulders with a mocking gesture. Matilda stared at him, even more annoyed for a while, and then turned slightly away. However, even though she tried to hide it, Cole could tell that she was holding back not to laugh as well. That was more than enough for him.

His mother sometimes did things like that to cheer him up when he was too serious. Something spontaneous and random, like ruffling it, yelling, or speeding the grocery cart through the parking lot.

"Don't worry, Doctor," the officer murmured, giving her a little pat on the arm. "We'll see the best way to help this girl, I promise you. I haven't given up yet, have you?"

Matilda smiled slightly and then shook her head.

"Matilda," she muttered suddenly, taking the detective a bit by surprise. She turned to see him again, and to his surprise, she looked much more animated. "You can call me Matilda, Cole." His name seemed a bit difficult to pronounce, but in the end, she did. "I'm sorry for how I've behaved these days. But you're not as a nuisance as you seem." That last one was even jokingly mentioned.

Cole was a little taken aback by this sudden change and couldn't react quickly. When he managed to do so, the same affectionate smile returned.

"Neither you, Matilda," he answered wryly.

The psychiatrist patted her cheeks a few times with both hands as if trying to wake herself up and then sat upright in her seat. She seemed, apparently, much calmer.

"I'm sorry you couldn't get what you wanted from Evelyn," she commented. "Maybe when she calms down, we can try talking to her again."

"No, don't worry," the detective answered quickly. "I think we've disturbed her enough already. You were also right; I think he isn't aware of what she knows or does not know. It doesn't seem like we can get anything useful out of it."

Matilda stared at him somewhat skeptically. Was he joking? After all the insistence that they go there, mostly to talk to her? Cole sensed that sentiment emanating from her accusing gaze. Still, his only reaction was to shrug, perhaps a little nervous again.

"Are you sure?" She asked suspiciously.

"Completely."

Matilda shrugged, somewhat resigned.

"Okay. So, will you keep your word, and now you'll support me to do things my way?"

"A deal is a deal."

"I'll remind you that, don't hesitate," Matilda pointed out, again with a bit of humor. She then started going through her bag to get her phone out and check the time. "We can get something to eat before we hit the road to Salem. What do you say?"

"Sounds good," he replied cheerfully.

At that moment, he turned his gaze back to the window. Through it, he looked again toward the courtyard, toward the center of it, and at the four benches that were around that young orange tree. A moment ago, all four of them were empty. However, there was now a person sitting on the bench facing the building. He was a man with little dark brown hair and a stern face, dressed in a long brown coat. He was sitting with one arm on the back of the bench, staring straight out the window with a modest smile. But apparently, he wasn't just looking out the window: he was looking directly at him. The man nodded his head and raised a hand in greeting, showing that he had realized that he had also looked at him.

This did not confuse or scare Cole, as he actually recognized him almost immediately. He knew exactly who that person was… if he could still be called as such.

"But before we go, can you wait just a minute for me?" He commented to Matilda, trying to sound as natural as possible.

"For what?" She asked him, a little surprised.

"I won't be long."

Before Matilda could question him further, he stood up, walked to the door that led to the patio, and out of it.

He approached with a calm step towards the bench. The man sitting on it watched him, patiently waiting for him to get close enough. The detective stood right in front and watched him, with the joy with which one would see an old friend, but also with the apprehension that he would feel at the imminent arrival of the bad news.

"Dr. Crowe," Cole murmured by way of greeting.

"Detective Sear," the seated man replied, nodding his head. "You look good."

"You too, to be dead," he commented in a mocking tone, which seemed to cause the seated man, not an annoyance but also a certain degree of humor.

Dr. Malcolm Crowe, a child psychologist, was an old friend from Cole's childhood. He knew him when more than ever, he was being haunted by his ghosts, literally. Back then, he was his primary motivation to lose their fear and start using his abilities to help people, alive and dead. His guidance and advice helped him a lot, even though he was already a ghost when they met. Although, like many he had met up to that point, Dr. Crowe was unaware of his condition. Since then, he returned to appear before him from time to time, although it was never just to say hello.

Cole sat on the bench next to him and looked thoughtfully toward the building. He couldn't see Matilda from his position, but he wondered if she could see him. And if she did, what was she thinking he was doing?

"I saw my mother a few days ago," Cole whispered thoughtfully. "I hadn't seen her in six years, and she suddenly appeared to give me a warning. Did you come for that too?"

"Do you want me to do that?" Malcolm replied enigmatically. He was also looking up at the building. "She is a pretty girl."

Cole didn't have to ask who he was talking about; he immediately guessed he was referring to Matilda.

"I think so."

The doctor leaned completely against the bench and crossed his legs.

"You like her, right?"

"Don't start with that," the detective murmured, accompanied with a tiny nervous laugh. "I hardly know her, and she doesn't even like me very much."

"I think that's changing. Anna didn't like me much when we first met, either. But she changed her mind."

"I think she would like you."

"Maybe."

There was a short pause in which they were both silent, just staring straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts.

"You haven't been honest with her," Malcolm pointed out suddenly, almost like a scolding. "Even a moment ago. You said you wouldn't get anything from that woman. But not only did you get something: you are even more confident of your suspicion, aren't you? Maybe even you already confirmed it."

Cole didn't reply immediately. Indeed, everything was just as Dr. Crowe had said. That conversation with Evelyn revealed a lot more to him than Matilda thought. But he couldn't share it, or at least not yet.

"She already thinks I'm crazy for telling her that I talk with dead people. If I told her what I think is really going on with that girl…" He was silent, as if afraid to speak his ideas out loud. "Besides, she loves Samara very much. Nothing I try to say against her, she will take it well."

"Still, you promised that you'd find the best way to help her when you don't really feel that there is such a way, do you?"

"I think I got carried away with the moment," Cole said sadly. "I just wanted to cheer her up... But maybe I shouldn't have..."

Cole sighed, exhausted, and undoubtedly worried. He had been acting pretty calm and confident ever since he came to that side of the country. Still, the truth was that he had almost terrified himself as he got deeper and deeper into this case. And right now, Matilda wasn't the only one with no idea what to do next. Perhaps it would be best to talk to Eleven about it, but it would be until Matilda wasn't around to hear it.

"My mother said that if I continued in this case, my life and Matilda's would be in danger." He turned to Malcolm, seeking a bit of clarification. "Is it true?"

"I don't know," he answered in a solemn voice. "It doesn't work that way, you know. But I think you actually got involved in something really dangerous, Cole. And there's no way I'm going to convince you to back down, right?"

"You can try," Cole sneered, causing the doctor to smile in amusement. "But I think not. I have learned to commit to my cases to the end."

"That makes you a great cop. I'll be around in case you need help with something."

"Thank you. But I hope we don't get to that."

At that moment, Cole noticed that Matilda was leaving the building, and now she was walking towards them. He thought that she had indeed been surprised to see him sitting there, apparently alone. And when she was close enough, he could tell that she was looking at him with some confusion.

"What are you doing here, exactly?" She asked suspiciously.

"I just went out to get some fresh air and think."

Matilda stared at him, somewhat incredulous.

"And have you had enough air? Or can we go and eat now?"

"You invite?"

"Don't push. Come on."

The psychiatrist turned on her feet and was about to go back inside. Cole stood up and was still ready to follow her.

"Cole," Dr. Crowe called from the bench. Then he stopped for a second toward him. "Good luck."

The way he had said it did not please him too much. He didn't sound very optimistic or wishful; it sounded, indeed, more like a grim warning. Cole only nodded his head in response, and without saying anything else, he hurried to catch up with his companion.

When he turned to the bench one last time at the door, Dr. Crowe would no longer be there. But it wouldn't be the last time he saw him during that little adventure he had gotten himself into.

John Scott arrived at the hospital a little late that morning. He did not say hello to anyone; he just headed straight for his office with a fairly calm gait. His large size and lost gaze seemed almost to resemble the step of the Frankenstein monster advancing through the hospital corridors or at least more than one of those he crossed thought so. Those days he had spent going to the hospital practically when he felt like it. And, when he did, he would lock himself in his office and hardly speak to anyone.

He wasn't right, and everyone knew it except him... or maybe he knew it too.

That morning, after closing the door of his office behind him, all that spectral calm that accompanied him in the hall was gradually diluted. He didn't sit at his desk. Instead, he walked from one side to the other, around the desk, standing in front of the window without looking at anything in particular, and also passing his eyes over the books on the bookshelf, without taking any of them because he didn't really need it.

The wound on his hand ached, and yet he couldn't help the involuntary reflex to touch it, squeeze it between his fingers, and poke it over the bandage until it gradually turned reddish. It was as if he hoped that pain would somehow make him wake up from the lethargy he had fallen into. Because, indeed, that's how he felt: as if he were asleep, or at least about to wake up but not succeeding.

And the thirst... the devilish thirst that did not subside. He drank water all day without stopping, and it just wouldn't go away. And above all, it seemed to be accompanied by turbulent, and even disgusting, images about the ways he could resort to satiate it. Worryingly, the idea of inserting a piece of porcelain into one of his patients' neck to drink his blood like a fountain was not the worst of all.

His stoic countenance was slowly crumbling, and the steps he took through the small space of the office became more desperate as if he were a caged lion looking for some way out. Every time he passed the desk, he hit it with his fist, which of his injured hand, with increasing force. Until one of those was so strong that he felt tremendous pain in his fingers, which then went up to his entire arm. He groaned loudly and grabbed his sore arm. He looked at his hand and noticed that the bandage was soaked, and his knuckles had been scraped considerably.

His breath hitched, and his entire face flushed red. His mouth made a grotesque expression of despair. He began to slap his hand repeatedly against the desk, accompanied by a painful groan. Over and over, he slammed his fist against the hard surface, spreading his knuckles and breaking bones. When his hand no longer responded, he took hold of the wrist with the other, only to keep smashing it more and more. The desk had been dented, and it was completely red with his blood. His hand was also bathed in red, and his fingers were already crooked and shapeless at that time.

He stopped and fell to his knees on the floor, then collapsed entirely on it. It hadn't been the excruciating pain that had made him stop, but mere exhaustion. He lay there on his left side, breathing as if each inhalation made him suffer. He was totally lost ... he no longer felt like himself at all...

Then he felt the light footsteps of someone around him. But that was impossible; the door hadn't even been opened. He tried to look, but he was so exhausted that he could barely move his eyes. The only thing he could see at first was the white fabric of a long dress, which was dragging on the office carpet as it walked around, slow, very slow. That white figure seemed almost to glow, which from his blurred perspective seemed beautiful.

The stranger stood right in front of him and squatted down. Scott managed to lift his face just a little. And then, amid all that whiteness that enveloped it, he saw a very long hair black as night, falling like a waterfall, covering it completely. It was the small figure… of a girl… And among all those long black hair, he felt that he had seen her before.

"Sa... mara...?" He muttered weakly, though perhaps he hadn't really been strong enough and just thought he had said it.

That being tilted its face slightly to one side, and its hair fell in that direction. And it was then that part of her face was exposed, including her right eye, wholly gray and absent of any trace of life, adorning a horrendous face, dislocated... and dead.

Scott breathed more heavily and tried to scream. However, he didn't have the strength even for that. The thirst had become immobilizing...

END OF CHAPTER 36

Author's Notes:

—The character of Malcolm Crowe is based on the character of the same name in the movie Sixth Sense (1999), respecting the original film's events until the final moment of it.