Chapter 27
We stayed in the house, like it had always been ours, like nothing underneath it was waiting, like the walls didn’t hold onto things they weren’t supposed to. And maybe that’s the strangest part of it all, little Ghost… how quickly something stops feeling wrong when you don’t let it.
The bed I slept in was soft. Clean sheets, still faintly warm the first night, like they’d been used recently, like someone had just gotten up and would be back any minute.
I slept for hours. Proper sleep, not the kind where your body never fully lets go, not the kind you get in places like that cabin where every little sound keeps you half awake.
We didn’t talk about it much, we didn’t need to.
Zwierek handled everything the same way he always did, efficient in that way that made it seem like it had already been decided long before it happened.
Phones, messages, small details that would’ve slipped past anyone else, he covered all of it.
They were “sick.” That’s what people were told.
A bad stomach bug. The kind of thing people don’t question because they don’t want details.
And let’s be honest for a second, who the fuck actually wants details about someone’s stomach problems?
Okay, never mind, there are definitely some shady people out there who would, but you get the point.
He texted their colleagues, short answers, believable enough to close conversations quickly.
Even the kids, he replied just enough to keep it normal.
It worked. Days passed and nothing broke, no one showed up, and everything kept moving like it hadn’t been interrupted.
A part of me really wanted it to stay like that.
I started thinking about it a lot. What it would be like if we didn’t leave.
You’d like it there, I think. Not the basement, of course, but the rest of it.
The way the morning light came through the kitchen window, soft enough that it didn’t hurt your eyes when you’d just woken up. The way everything was already there. Food, warmth, space that didn’t feel like it was closing in on you. You’d fit into it too easily.
The smell started after a couple of days.
I don’t think we noticed it at first, or maybe we did and just decided not to pay attention to it.
It crept in slowly, like something seeping through cracks you couldn’t see, thick and sweet in a way that didn’t belong anywhere near something living.
Not rot immediately, no, that came later, but something heavier, something damp. After that, it changed.
There’s a point where it stops being something you question and just becomes part of the air. That’s what it did. As long as the basement door stayed shut, and the kitchen door too, it didn’t travel far. It stayed contained. Trapped down there with them. Which means they weren’t alone, at least.
There’s something almost a little poetic about that, isn’t there?
After everything, after the distance, the routines, the dinners that probably didn’t mean anything anymore, they ended up right back together.
There’s this line from a song, System Of A Down if I remember correctly…
damn, what was the lyrics now… fuck, I can’t remember.
Anyway, you should look it up, it’s quite fitting and really romantic.
They were basically living all metalhead’s own version of Romeo and Juliet.
Anyway, where was I?... Yes, that’s right.
I thought a lot during those days, more than I expected to.
Not about them, not really, they didn’t bother me.
It was more about everything else. Childhood has a way of sticking in places you don’t realize until much later.
Little things. Moments that don’t feel important when they happen but end up shaping something inside you anyway.
I used to think there was a clear point where things went wrong, a before and after, something you could point to.
But reality is not like that, it’s more spread out.
A series of small adjustments until you don’t recognize who you used to be.
I caught myself staring out the window more than once, not really looking at anything, just replaying things.
Rooms I hadn’t thought about in years. Voices.
The way certain words felt when they were said to you as a kid, like they carved something into you without asking.
It led somewhere, it always does. I found him in the kitchen one evening, leaning against the counter like he’d been there for a while, doing nothing in particular.
I didn’t think about the question before I asked it. It just came out.
“Did you ever find him?” He didn’t react immediately, just looked at me, head tilting like he was trying to understand what I meant.
“Find who?”
“My father.” The word felt strange, like it didn’t belong in my mouth. His expression didn’t change much. That was the first thing I noticed.
“No,” he said after a second. “I never said I would.” I frowned.
“You did,” I said, certain. “You said you’d look for him.”
He took a second before answering.
“No,” he repeated, and this time there was more force behind it. “I didn’t.”
For a second, I just looked at him. I tried desperately to make it make sense in my head.
To find something I could hold onto, something that could prove what he’d said.
But no matter how hard I tried, I found nothing, and the longer I sat there thinking about it, the less sure I became of what he had actually said. Was I going crazy?
“Can you?” I asked instead. “Find him, I mean.”
That got a different response. For a moment he almost looked interested.
“Most likely,” he answered. I nodded once.
“Let me know when you do.”
“I will.”
That was it, clean and simple. Like everything else, or maybe nothing else, had been lately. Funny, isn’t it? How easy things become when you stop fighting them. You’re still here, though.
I can feel your attention, little Ghost, don’t you ever forget that.
Still listening, still trying to understand me.
Do you understand what that says about you?
Don’t answer that, I already know. Because people like to believe there’s a line.
Something clear and clean, you cross it and everything changes.
Alarms go off, something inside you breaks or screams or begs you to stop.
It didn’t, that’s the truth.
It didn’t feel like falling, it felt like settling.
Like something in me had been restless for years without me realizing it, and then suddenly, it wasn’t anymore.
The days that followed blurred together exactly the way I expected them to, without any real resistance from me.
I think that was the first time it truly hit me how little I actually felt.
I was in a constant state of panic over the fact that I felt nothing at all.
I could justify Bartosz to myself somehow. I mean, all I’d really done was give him the same thing he’d given me, except instead of spreading it out over years, he got all of it in a single night. Sadly for him, it ended in death, but like Zwierek had said, death is merciful.
I had a harder time justifying Krystyna to myself, but at the same time I couldn’t deny there was a kind of poetic justice in her being choked by something she’d hungered for, for so many years.
Anna, the psychiatrist’s wife, was… technically not my fault. Zwierek was the one who lost his patience. At least that was one thing my conscience could stay clear of, one less thing for my broken moral compass to try and place somewhere.
The psychiatrist… I mean, looking at the bigger picture, I hadn’t really done anything to anyone that they hadn’t done to me first. Okay, he hadn’t literally given me a lobotomy, but he might as well have.
That was one of the things I struggled with the most.
When I looked at everything that had happened from the outside, I could understand how it must’ve looked.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew I should’ve been feeling something.
Maybe not grief or regret, but… something other than this overwhelming feeling that I was freer than I’d ever been before.
Nothing pulled me back anymore, and the worst part?
I didn’t miss it. You think you would’ve.
You’re sitting there telling yourself that, aren’t you?
That you would’ve felt. That something in you would’ve pushed against it.
Maybe. But I do think, little Ghost, that if you tell yourself that, you’re lying.
Because I can feel it. You’ve been in a situation before where you felt that voice of reason could disappear.
And when it does, it’s quiet, God, it’s quiet.
Like every unnecessary piece has been carved away until there’s only intent left.
I remember sitting at the edge of the bed one night, not even tired, just…
still, hands resting on my thighs, and there was this moment where I realized I hadn’t thought about consequences in hours.
And instead of panic, there was something else.
Relief.
You shouldn’t like hearing that and you definitely shouldn’t look the way you do right now.
Yeah, I see it. Because it’s not the violence that gets to you, it’s this.
The control, the certainty, the way there’s no hesitation left to interrupt it.
That’s what pulls you closer to me. You want to understand it.
No… that’s not right, you want to feel it.
Just for a second, just enough to know what it’s like to exist without that constant noise telling you who you’re supposed to be.
I can give you that, little Ghost. I told you, didn’t I?
That you should be careful with the way you keep listening. Because the longer you sit here with me, the harder it’s going to be to pretend you don’t understand. And I don’t need you to say it out loud, I can already see it.
You’re not scared of me, that’s the problem.
You should be, but you’re not. You’re curious.
And curiosity, it has a way of turning into something else if you let it linger too long.
Something warmer, more intense. So stay, just don’t lie to yourself about why you’re still here, little Ghost. You’re not listening despite what I am, you’re listening because of it.