Photos of Raven cover every wall—each phase of her life, from childhood to yesterday. Candle wax pools beneath every frame like an offering.
One wall is covered entirely in glass display cases.
Inside them:
A toothbrush.
A hospital gown.
A hairbrush with strands still tangled in the bristles.
A black sweatshirt that still smells like her skin.
My vision narrows. My pulse stutters.
He’s been building this for years?—
a place to remember.
To worship.
Toown.
And when I turn the next corner?—
a place to keep her.
The hallway is lined with patient-room doors.
One of them is newer. Reinforced.
The nameplate burned out.
But I know.
That’s her room.
She’s on the other side of it.
I step toward the door?—
and freeze.
Because the door opens.
And a man stands in the frame.
Wearingmy face.
Smilingmysmile.
But his eyes?
They’ve never been mine.
They belong to something I should’ve killed years ago.
He stands there like he’s welcoming me home.
