Chapter 3: “The Nightmare And The Stranger”
1263 Words
AGATHA’S POV
I jolted awake in the dead of night, my body paralyzed. I couldn’t move—not even my lips. Panic surged through me as I fought to so much as twitch a single muscle, but it was futile.
Then, I heard a voice—a woman’s voice, eerily familiar. She whispered, her tone cold and sinister, “You will never escape from me.” Her laughter followed, low and mocking, echoing in my ears.
A single tear slipped down my cheek, yet I remained frozen, helpless. Her laughter grew louder, filling the silence like a cruel melody, until suddenly... it stopped.
Out of the darkness, a figure emerged—a man with a face I recognized. It was Caleb. Relief washed over me as I saw him. I smiled weakly, and he smiled back, warm and comforting. He came closer, wrapping me in an embrace from behind, his hand gently patting my head.
For a moment, everything felt right, safe. But just as quickly as it had come, the peace shattered. I woke up.
“It was all a dream?! ” I shouted in frustration, the disappointment hitting me like a wave.
CALEB’S POV
A few days had passed since my encounter with that strange woman. There was something unsettlingly familiar about her—her eyes. It felt as though I had seen them somewhere before. I tried to push the thought out of my mind and move on. Needing work, I reached out to Ace to see if he knew of any job openings. He mentioned a psychiatric hospital that was hiring. Without hesitation, I made my way there.
I was hired on the spot.
"Charlotte, assist him," ordered the hospital director.
“Follow me. I’ll give you a tour,” Charlotte said, her voice calm and welcoming.
“Oh, okay,” I replied, still processing how quickly everything was happening.
Charlotte guided me around the hospital, pointing out key areas and introducing me to a few staff members along the way. Her tone was warm, her smile constant. She seemed like a genuinely kind person, which put me at ease.
As we turned a corner, a group of patients approached us, giggling mischievously.
“Ms. Charlotte, is that your boyfriend?” one of them teased.
Charlotte’s face turned bright red. “No! He’s not! He’s just a newcomer,” she explained quickly, glancing at me nervously.
Even though I wasn’t looking directly at her, I could feel her gaze lingering.
“Don’t mind them,” she muttered, shaking her head. Then her tone shifted slightly. “By the way, we have a patient who was very famous back then.”
“Really? Who is it?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“Follow me. You’ll find out.”
She led me to a secluded corner of the hospital. When we stepped into the room, I froze. The man lying on the bed was instantly recognizable.
“Vincent Claire,” I whispered, stunned. “The famous French singer during the year of 2017.”
Vincent was asleep, his once-charismatic presence now subdued. Memories of Brielle flooded my mind. She idolized him, always talking about how she wanted to see him in person. He was the reason she moved to France, which ultimately led to the end of our relationship.
Despite everything, I didn’t feel angry. If Brielle were here, she’d be over the moon.
Vincent stirred, his eyes fluttering open.
“Mr. Claire, did you have a good rest?” Charlotte asked gently.
He nodded but kept his gaze fixed on me.
I stepped closer, unable to resist the urge to talk to him. Sitting beside Charlotte, I smiled.
“Mr. Claire, I’m a big fan,” I said, placing a hand over my chest.
He chuckled softly. “You look familiar.”
“Really? I thought the same when I saw you. I couldn’t believe it was really you.”
Charlotte’s pager beeped. “I’ll be back—the director is calling me,” she said before hurrying out.
“Take your time,” I called after her, though she was already gone.
“What’s your name?” Vincent asked.
“Han Kal-reb. But you can call me Caleb. That’s my English name.”
“Caleb,” he repeated with a nod. “I feel comfortable around you already. You seem like a good person.”
“Thank you. No one’s ever said that to me before.”
He studied me intently, as if searching for something.
“Is there something on my face?” I asked, self-conscious.
“No,” he said softly, gazing at the ceiling. “I just realized why you look familiar.”
“Why?”
“You remind me of my son.”
“I do?”
He nodded, his expression darkening. “But he’s gone now… because of their mother. She had dementia.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Dementia? What… what happened?”
“Due to their mother's dementia, every time she began hallucinating, she would blame our children and sometimes lash out at them. We have two kids, a boy and a girl. One time, during a hallucination, she targeted our son. In a terrifying moment, she grabbed a knife and, when they were alone in the house, took his life. We chose not to send her to jail because of her condition. Instead, we had her committed to a mental hospital, hoping that treatment might help. After years of being in the hospital, we thought she had healed. But sadly, she hadn't. This time, during her hallucinations, she turned her aggression toward our daughter, repeatedly assaulting her. As the situation escalated, I made the heart-wrenching decision to have her imprisoned for the safety of our family. She resisted, and in the end, she took her own life.”
Vincent’s voice broke, and tears welled in his eyes. I wasn’t good at comforting people, but I grabbed a tissue and handed it to him.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Claire.”
He shook his head. “No, don’t apologize. Honestly, I feel grateful. Being with you feels like seeing my son again.”
He placed a trembling hand on my cheek, and I froze. I didn’t dare move, afraid he might misinterpret it as rejection.
“My daughter would like you,” he murmured. “She’d get comfortable with you right away, just like I did.”
“I think I’d feel the same about her. She must be a kind person,” I replied, smiling to lighten the mood.
He chuckled softly. “I bet you two would become best friends.”
The door suddenly opened, heels clicking sharply against the floor. The sound was familiar. I turned and saw her—Agatha, the strange woman from that night.
She stood in the doorway, her piercing eyes locked on mine, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“I knew it,” she said, her voice dripping with confidence.
Confused, I stood up. “What are you doing here?”
Vincent looked at me, then at her. “She’s my daughter,” he said simply.
“What?!” I blurted, covering my mouth in shock.
“Why do you look so scared?” Vincent teased. “Don’t worry—she doesn’t bite.”
“I do,” Agatha interjected, her eyes still fixed on me.
“Mr. Claire, can I talk to your daughter real quick?” I asked, my voice tinged with unease.
“Sure.”
Grabbing Agatha by the arm, I pulled her out of the room.
- Writer
