The quiet in Chloe's car is suffocating, thick with unspoken fear. The warmth of the car's heater does nothing to thaw the chill that's settled into my bones. My hands are still shaking, my heart racing as the events of the last hour replay in my mind over and over.

The shattered mirror. Tyler's voice. The way the air seemed to come alive, like the apartment itself was closing in on me. It all felt so real, so immediate, but now that I'm sitting here, in the safety of Chloe's car, I feel like I've crossed over into a different world. A world where things like this don't happen, where the supernatural isn't lurking in every shadow.

But the terror hasn't left me.

Chloe hasn't said anything in a while. She's gripping the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles are white, her lips pressed into a thin line. I can see the fear in her eyes, the confusion. She's trying to hold it together for my sake, but I can feel the questions bubbling under the surface.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"Ettie, what is this? What's happening to you?"

I wish I had an answer. I wish I could tell her something that made sense, something that would help her understand what I've been going through. But how do I explain something that I don't even understand myself?

"I don't know," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I don't know what it is. But it's not Tyler. Whatever's in that apartment, whatever's been pretending to be him... it's not him. I don't know what it wants, but it's been getting worse. Every day."

Chloe turns to me, her face pale in the dim light. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why did you shut me out?"

I shake my head, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settle over me. "I didn't know how to explain it. I didn't want you to think I was losing my mind."

"I don't think you're losing your mind, Ettie," Chloe says softly, reaching out to take my hand. "But we need to figure out what's going on. We can't just—pretend this isn't happening."

I nod, but the truth is, I don't know where to start. The more I've tried to understand, the more tangled everything has become. Every clue—the letters, the photos, the voicemails—has only led me deeper into the nightmare. I'm terrified of what I'll find if I keep pulling at the thread. Terrified that whatever this is, it's far more dangerous than I realized.

Chloe glances out the window, staring up at my apartment building as if she's expecting to see something lurking in the shadows. The tension between us thickens, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air.

"We need help," she says finally. "Someone who knows about this kind of stuff. Paranormal stuff. There has to be someone out there who can figure this out."

Paranormal stuff. The words feel absurd, even after everything that's happened. But what other explanation is there? It's not just my grief anymore, it's not just hallucinations. Chloe saw what happened in the apartment. She felt the presence, the malevolence. This thing—it's real. And it's not going away on its own.

I don't know what terrifies me more—the idea of facing whatever this is, or the possibility that it can't be stopped.

Chloe's phone buzzes, cutting through the silence. She glances at the screen, then back at me. "There's a psychic I know—she helped my mom a few years ago when we were going through... stuff. I don't know if it's legit, but it's worth a shot, right?"

I hesitate. Psychic? This whole situation already feels like a fever dream. But at this point, I'll do anything to get answers, anything to stop this from consuming me.

"Yeah," I say softly, my voice barely audible. "Let's try."

The drive to the psychic's place feels surreal, like I'm watching myself from outside my own body. The city lights blur past the window, the streets dark and empty, as if the world is asleep while I'm trapped in this nightmare. Max is curled up, his head resting on my lap. He's still tense, his eyes darting around, but his presence is the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.

Chloe doesn't say much during the drive, and I'm grateful for the silence. My mind is racing, spinning through everything that's happened in the past week. The memories of Tyler, once so comforting, now feel like jagged pieces of glass, cutting into me with every thought. I don't know how I got here—how I went from being a grieving girlfriend to someone haunted by the shadow of the man I loved.

***

When we pull up to the psychic's house, it's nothing like I expected. It's just a small, nondescript house at the end of a quiet street, the kind of place you'd walk past without a second glance. There's nothing strange or mystical about it, nothing that screams psychic.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I ask.

Chloe nods, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. "Yeah, I mean she helped my mom, so... it's worth a shot."

We get out of the car, and Max stays close to my side, his body tense as we walk up to the front door. My heart is racing, every step feeling heavier than the last. I don't know what I'm expecting—some kind of answer, some way to make sense of what's happening—but the fear of what I might find is suffocating.

Chloe knocks, and the door opens almost immediately. A 60ish long-haired Black woman stands in the doorway, her face warm and welcoming, though there's a knowing look in her eyes that sends a shiver down my spine.

"You must be Chloe," she says, her voice soft. Her eyes flicker to me. "And you must be Ettie."

I nod, too shaken to speak.

"I'm Natalie," the woman says, stepping aside to let us in. "I've been expecting you."

The inside of Natalie's house is simple, cozy even, but there's an energy in the air—something that makes my skin prickle, like the house itself is watching me. I sit down on the couch, Max settling beside me, and Chloe sits next to me, her hand resting lightly on my arm for support.

Natalie doesn't waste any time. She sits across from us, her eyes sharp, focused, like she's already trying to peel back the layers of whatever's happening to me.

"You're being haunted," Natalie says, her voice calm but firm. "But not by who you think."

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. Chloe's grip on my arm tightens.

"What do you mean?" I question.

Natalie tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "The presence in your apartment—it's not your boyfriend, Ettie. It's something else. Something that's been feeding on your grief, your vulnerability. It's using Tyler's memory to get to you."

My stomach churns, nausea rising in my throat. "But... how? How could something like that happen?"

Natalie leans forward, her expression sympathetic but serious. "Sometimes, when we're in deep grief, we unknowingly open doors. We create an opening for things to slip through—things that latch onto our pain, our longing. And once they're inside, they'll do anything to keep you trapped in that grief. It's how they survive."

I feel like the floor is dropping out from under me. The idea that something—someone—has been manipulating me, feeding off my pain, is too much to bear. My mind races, flashes of Tyler's voice, the letters, the photos—all of it. Was it all a lie?

Tears well up in my eyes, and I shake my head, refusing to believe it. "But the voicemails—the things I've seen... they felt so real. It felt like him."

Natalie's expression softens, but there's a gravity to her words. "That's how it works. It takes the things you miss most, the things you loved, and twists them until you can't tell the difference between reality and memory. But the longer it stays, the stronger it becomes."

I feel Chloe's hand tighten around mine, her silent support grounding me as my world spins out of control.

"What do I do?" I ask, my voice breaking. "How do I stop it?"

Natalie's eyes meet mine, and I can see the weight of the truth in her gaze. "You need to let him go, Ettie. You need to close the door you opened."

My breath catches in my throat. Let him go? How could I? Tyler was everything to me. Even after his death, he's been the only thing holding me together. But now... now I realize he's also been the thing pulling me apart.

"I'll help you," Natalie says gently. "But you have to be ready. This thing—it's not going to let go easily. It's going to fight you."

I swallow hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on me like a lead blanket. I've spent so long holding on to Tyler's memory, refusing to let go, even when it hurt. But now, I see what it's been doing to me. How it's been twisting me, breaking me.

I nod, though the thought of letting go feels like it might tear me apart.

"I'm ready," I whisper, even though I'm not sure I believe it.

Natalie stands, her movements slow and deliberate, and she reaches out to place her hand gently on my shoulder. "We'll start tomorrow. Get some rest tonight. You're going to need your strength."

As I leave Natalie's house, the night air feels colder, sharper, like it's cutting through the last threads of my denial. I know what I have to do, but the fear still lingers, wrapping itself around my heart.

Tyler is gone. He's been gone. And now, I have to let him go.

For real this time.