Chapter 4

Mark wasn't buying Jack's story.

He kept calling, texting. "Jack, I'm really worried about Emily. This isn't like her."

"She'll turn up," Jack would say, his voice tight.

One afternoon, Mark showed up at the apartment unannounced.

"I need to talk to Emily, Jack. Or at least see that she's okay."

Jack blocked the doorway. "She's not here, Mark. I told you, she left."

"Then let me look in her studio. Maybe she left a note."

My little studio, my sanctuary, filled with my drawings, my paints, my dreams.

Jack hesitated.

From my vantage point, I saw Mark's eyes narrow, catching the flicker of fear in Jack's.

"What are you hiding, Jack?"

"Nothing! She just... she took everything personal."

The lie was clumsy, desperate.

The faint, sweet, cloying smell of decay, despite Jack's efforts with the air freshener, was beginning to permeate the apartment, especially near the basement door.

Mark sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

Jack paled. "Old pipes. This building is ancient."

He finally let Mark in, but steered him away from the basement.

Sophia emerged from the bedroom, wearing one of my silk robes.

She smiled sweetly at Mark. "Oh, hi Mark. Jack, honey, who's this?" As if she didn't know.

"Mark, this is Sophia. A friend."

Sophia's smile didn't falter. "Emily talked about you. She just... she needed a break, I think. She was under a lot of stress."

Her words were smooth, practiced. Reinforcing Jack's lie.

Mark looked from Sophia to Jack, his expression unreadable.

He didn't push further that day. But the seed of suspicion was sown.

I watched them, a cold fury building within my ethereal form.

They thought they could just erase me.

Jack started drinking more. Alone, late at night, after Sophia was asleep.

He'd sit in the dark living room, a bottle of whiskey his only companion.

Sometimes, he'd stare at the basement door.

He was scared. Good.

He should be.

One night, I focused all my will.

The small, framed photo of me and Jack, taken on our first anniversary, smiling and happy, fell from the mantelpiece.

It shattered on the hearth.

Jack jumped, spilling his drink.

He stared at the broken glass, his face ashen.

"Damn it, Emily," he whispered. "Stop it."

He thought I was haunting him.

He had no idea.