Chapter 2 #2
I stop screaming. Suck in air. My hand over my mouth.
Alex in the bathroom. Looking at me. Confused.
But—
But Alex is also in my room. The light spills from my bedroom behind her. Movement sounds drift through the walls.
Which means the shadow in the bathroom isn’t—
I scream again.
Alex rushes from my bedroom into the bathroom. “What? What happened?”
That is indeed Alex. The real Alex. Solid Alex wearing her sleep shirt and glasses and looking at me like I’ve lost my entire mind.
Which means the shadow I saw was—
“I’m never sleeping again.” The words come out flat. Certain.
“What did you see?” Alex presses. She’s moves closer. Sitting on the edge of her bed now. Serious.
“I don’t know.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember.
Trying to see it again without actually seeing it.
“A woman. I think. Dark grey. Like smoke. But she was black at first—solid black, like a silhouette—then she turned grey. Like she was...” The words tangle, refuse to form properly.
“...fading? Coming into focus? I don’t know. ”
I open my eyes.
Alex’s brow furrows—not disbelief, concentration.
“I agree,” she says quietly.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“I felt her too.” Her words land flat, certain. “In your room. Heavy energy near the closet. Cold spot by the bathroom. She’s angry.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”
“Why are you scared?” She tilts her head, genuinely confused. Like I’ve just told her I’m afraid of puppies.
“I—” I pull the blanket up to my chin. “Well. It’s a ghost.”
“I mean, that’s one opinion.” She disagrees with me so sweetly it shakes everything I thought I knew. “But that’s not really an answer.”
We usually steer away from this conversation. Have an unspoken agreement not to go here.
Ever since that one time when she swears she saw my dad sitting at our kitchen table. We were sixteen. I didn’t talk to her for a week after that.
The memory hits me sideways. Alex at sixteen, crying, telling me she saw him. My dad. Sitting at the kitchen table in their apartment.
Just sitting there. Smiling at her. Then he was gone.
I’d called her a liar. Said she was cruel. That she was using my grief against me for attention.
I didn’t mean it. But I said it anyway.
We didn’t speak for a week. The longest week of my life.
When we finally talked again, she didn’t apologize for seeing him. Just apologized for telling me.
We agreed never to talk about it again.
“I don’t know,” I answer finally. Ready to face this conversation. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.
Alex flicks off my bedroom light but leaves the bathroom light on. The door cracked. Light spilling into her room like a nightlight.
She climbs back into bed, movements careful. Her mouth pulls down at the corners.
“Why.” It’s not quite a question. Not quite a demand. Something in between.
My heart gives a heavy thud.
“Why what?” I ask, even though I know damn well what she’s asking.
“Why do you act like they’re monsters when they’re just... people. Dead people who need help. Who are trying to tell you something important. She’s not here to scare you, Dylan. She’s here because you’re the only one who knows she existed.”
Dead people.
My throat closes. My stomach turns over.
“Because last time you saw a dead person, I called you a liar.”
She goes very still. “Dylan—”
“I was sixteen and hurting and you told me you saw my dad and I—” I can’t finish. Can’t say those words again. “I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for eleven years. But I can’t—I can’t do ghosts, Alex. I can’t.”
“This isn’t about your dad,” she says quietly. “This is about a woman who was murdered. Who needs help. Who chose you.”
“Maybe she chose wrong.”
“Or maybe she chose the only person who actually gives a shit. The only person who’s been trying to find out what happened to her.
The only person who wears her ring and calls her Dahlia and refuses to let her disappear.
Because that’s what women do when the system fails—we haunt each other until someone finally listens. ”
The ring burns against my chest.
“I don’t know how to help her,” I whisper.
“Then learn.” Alex’s voice cracks. “Because she’s not going away, Dylan. And neither am I. But I can’t keep watching you shut down every time the world doesn’t make sense. Sometimes things are just... inexplicable. And you have to trust that anyway.”
“I’m trying.”
“Maybe you should listen for once.” She turns away. Lies down. Faces the wall. “I’m sleeping now.”
The words land. Hard.
For once.
Like I’ve been ignoring her for years. Like this isn’t the first time she’s tried to tell me. Like every joke and deflection has been building to this moment.
“Alex—” I start.
“I’m sleeping.” Flat. Final.
“Don’t do that.” My voice cracks. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not shutting you out.” She doesn’t turn around. “I’m just done talking to someone who won’t listen.”
That one hurts. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Now she does turn. Just her head. Just enough that I can see her face in the bathroom light. “I saw your dad, Dylan. When we were sixteen. And you called me a liar.”
My throat closes. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did.” Her voice breaks. “You said I was using your grief for attention. Do you remember that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” She’s crying now. “Because you didn’t just call me a liar. You made me doubt myself. Made me think I was crazy for eleven years. And now it’s happening again—I’m seeing things, feeling things, and you’re making me question whether I can trust my own instincts.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy—”
“Then what?” She sits up fully now. Faces me. “What is it, Dylan? Because I’ve been patient. I’ve let you avoid this for eleven years. But she’s here. In your room. Trying to tell you something. And you won’t even try to listen.”
“I can’t.” The words rip out of me. Raw. Honest. “I can’t, Alex. Because if ghosts are real, then my dad is really dead. Not heaven-dead. Not watching-over-me dead. Just... gone. An echo. And I can’t—” My voice breaks. “I can’t handle that.”
Neither of us speaks.
“Okay,” she says finally. Softer. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I get it now.” She lies back down. “I don’t agree with it. But I get it.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’m furious.” But her voice has lost its sharp edge. “But I’m also exhausted. And you just had a paranormal panic attack. So I’m tabling the fury for tomorrow.”
“Very mature of you.”
“I know. I’m basically a saint.” She pulls the blanket up. “A very tired saint who needs sleep before she says something she’ll actually regret.”
“As opposed to all the things you just said?”
“Those I meant. Tomorrow-fury will be mean.” She pauses. “Bring coffee as tribute.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Deal.”
“Just... think about it, okay?” Her voice gentles. Exhaustion weighing down each word. “Think about why she’s reaching out to you specifically. Why Dahlia needs you to hear her.”
Dahlia.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay.” She pulls the blanket higher. “Now actually let me sleep.”
The silence that follows isn’t comfortable. But it’s not hostile either. Just heavy with everything we’ve finally said.
I lie there. Staring at her back. The curve of her spine in the dim light.
Six inches between us. Feels like six miles.
I reach out. Slowly. My hand hovering over her shoulder.
“Don’t,” she says quietly. Not mean. Just tired.
I pull my hand back. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She doesn’t turn around. “But sorry doesn’t help Dahlia.”
The words hit harder than anger would. Because she’s right.
“What if I can’t hear her?” My voice is barely a whisper. “What if I’m too broken or too scared or too—”
“You’re not broken.” Alex sighs. Shifts. Still not facing me. “You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But Dylan—” Her voice gets softer. “—she’s scared too. And she doesn’t have anyone else.”
The ring pulses warm against my chest.
“How do I listen?” I ask the darkness. Ask Alex’s back. Ask whoever might be listening.
“Stop deflecting. Stop making jokes. Stop being afraid of what it means if it’s real. Just... be quiet. And pay attention.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I lie there. Staring at her back. The space between us still wide but not insurmountable.
I could be honest. Could tell her why ghosts freak me out. Why the idea of my dad still being around, still watching, still here but unreachable makes me want to claw my skin off.
But I already did that. Already ripped myself open and showed her the wound.
And she didn’t fix it. Didn’t tell me it would be okay. Didn’t promise me my dad isn’t really an echo.
She just told me to try harder.
And maybe that’s what I need to hear.
Maybe Dahlia needs me to try harder too.
I close my eyes. Try to quiet my mind. Try to listen the way Alex does. Try to feel whatever it is I’m supposed to feel.
Nothing.
Just my own heartbeat. My own breathing. My own fear so loud it drowns out everything else.
I can’t do it. Can’t hear her. Can’t feel her.
She’s trying to tell me something.
And I’m too scared to let her in.
“Dylan?” Alex’s voice cuts through the silence. Quiet. Not angry anymore. Just tired.
“Yeah?”
“You’re doing that thing where you spiral very loudly in your head.”
“How do you even know that?”
“I can hear you not breathing. It’s very aggressive.”
Despite everything, I huff a laugh. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just stop spiraling.” She shifts, still facing away. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Together?”
“Obviously together. You think I’m letting you ghost-hunt alone? You’d end up joining her.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.” But there’s warmth in her voice now. That Alex-warmth that means we’re okay. “Now actually sleep before Dahlia gets annoyed with both of us.”
“You think she’s annoyed?”
“Dylan, you’re wearing her ring and ignoring her messages. Of course she’s annoyed.”
“Ghosts don’t get annoyed.”
“This one clearly does.” Alex pulls the blanket higher. “Now sleep. We have a murder to solve and a ghost to listen to and I need at least four more hours before I’m functional enough to deal with any of it.”
“Dandelions?” I whisper.
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Dandelions.”
The space between us feels smaller now. Still there. But crossable.
I still wasn’t truthful.
Because if ghosts are real, then that means my dad never showed up to say goodbye to me.