“Yeah, but it doesn’t always have to be you,” Leo said in a soft, concerned tone, the one I knew where it was headed. “Man, when’s the last time you went home? Like home, home?”
I glanced at him through the mirror, meeting my reflectionstaring back…damp hair falling over my brow, my headphones hanging around my neck, and eyes that looked more tired than I remembered.
“Mom’s fine,” I muttered. “I’ll call her after the weekend.” He doesn’t buy it, but he lets it go.
He was my oldest friend among the rest. We met when we were 12, just a few years after the incident, and he was the first person who believed the strange kid who could see and sense things that weren’t there. Marcus and Jay came along the way. We met in college, and somehow, telling them about the gift over a very cheap blunt made it easy for them to believe me.
I slung my gym bag over my shoulder and walked alongside the guys, the four of us still running on post-workout adrenaline and caffeine that probably wasn’t good for our hearts. By the time we stepped outside, the world had gone soft with midday light. The parking lot was almost empty, the silence broken only by a few distant voices and the steady hum of the highway. The air stung against my skin, crisp with Christmas cold, but we were still laughing, loud and careless, like the years hadn’t touched us.
“New year, new me,” Marcus cheered, raising an imaginary glass.
“New year, same dumb jokes,” Leo fired back.
I leaned against my truck, smiling. It was stupid, how excited full-grown men were about their planet finally completing its turn around the sun, but it was good, and it felt good.
Jay slapped my shoulder. “Don’t get lost chasing any ghosts tonight, man.”
I opened the door and tossed my gym bag inside. “I don’t chase them, Jay,” I said, sliding behind the wheel. “They chase me.” I winked, and we laughed.
“Bro, your birthday’s in less than a week,” Marcus pointed out. “You’re not spending it chasing or being chased by ghosts again.”
“Might end up celebrating with the ghosts instead of you lot,” Ilaughed.
“You say that like you have a say in this,” Leo replied.
That earned us another laugh, one last round echoing across the lot even though it faded quickly once everyone went toward their vehicles. They waved as they all began to drive off, headlights blinking out one by one until I was alone in the parking lot. I sat there for a moment, letting the music fill the air, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel. My playlist was halfway through an old Arctic Monkeys track when the phone on the dashboard started buzzing. A random number…no message, no contact photo, just the faint buzz of the screen against the console.
I should ignore it, maybe wait until I had gotten home, because the last thing I wanted was having a long conversation over something that was probably going to be another sleepless night, over something like a raccoon in someone’s attic. But the moment I look at the number again, really look at it, and a chill runs down my spine. Not out of fear, or worry, more like recognition, a tingle of some sort, a tug in my chest, the kind I’ve learned over the years not to question.
So I took a deep breath, then answered. “Hello?”
But I got nothing, just slow, uneven breathing. I straightened in my seat. “Hello?” I repeated, gentler this time. “You’ve reached Damian Hale.” Still nothing, except the faintest sound, like a stifled whimper that escaped by accident. It was a woman.
“Hey,” I said, lowering my voice. “You don’t have to say anything yet. Just…breathe. Can you do that?” The line crackled, and I could hear her trying to control her breath, small tremors hidden beneath the silence.
“I’m not here to judge,” I continued quietly. “Whatever it is you think you’ve seen, whatever’s happening, you’re not crazy for calling.”
There was a pause, followed by the faintest whisper, shaky andtired “…You believe me?”
I smiled to myself. “I wouldn’t have picked up if I wasn’t going to.”
That got her, and the next breath she let out was softer, almost relieved. “I…I wasn’t sure you’d answer. I almost hung up.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” I leaned back against the seat. “Why don’t you tell me your name first?”
“Oh right,” she giggled, so lightly I almost missed it. “Elena.” There was something about the way she said it, hesitant, almost like she was unsure of it herself, that pulled something in me.
“Elena,” I repeated, tasting the name. “Pretty name.”
A tiny laugh escaped her, a little nervous but real. “You sound like the type that says that to everyone who calls.”
I chuckled. “Only the ones who breathe like they’re running from something.”
Then the silence returned again, but not as empty. “It’s been…strange lately. I don’t know how else to say it,” she said calmly.
“You can start anywhere,” I encouraged. “Whatever comes first is more than enough.”
So she did. Her words tumbled in fragments at first, from the quiet family house, to the storms that didn’t match the forecast, then the way the air sometimes shifted at midnight. She didn’t mention fear outright, but it laced every pause.
