Ashes of reality

Chapter 3 - Step Toward the Light - Part 1

The handle gave way with a soft click - as if it had been waiting for this touch for a long time.

The door opened not inward, not outward - but into himself.

There was no darkness behind it.

There was silence. The kind that rings in your ears.

And then - light. Not bright, not warm, but dusty, like a memory.

He stepped inside - and as if slipped into another time.

The floor - wooden, creaking.

The walls - covered in faded dinosaur wallpaper.

A bookshelf:

"Robot Dog," "Night in the Forest," "I'm Not Afraid of the Dark."

On the windowsill - a plush rabbit with a torn ear. And milk. Spilled. Dried up. A sticky stain in the corner.

A sweet, almost sour smell - still lingering in the air.

He knew this place.

It was Jake's room.

The silence seemed to thicken - it pressed in, like deep water.

But he felt no fear.

Only... emptiness.

On the bed - a silhouette. Small, under the blanket.

He approached slowly, as if afraid to scare it away.

- Jake? - he breathed. - It's me.

There was no answer.

He sank to his knees, like he had - after.

After it had already happened.

When it was too late.

He placed his hand on the blanket - and pulled it to himself.

It was cold.

But underneath - there was nothing.

Only a pillow.

And a note:

"I waited, Dad. But you left."

Ethan didn't scream.

He simply forgot how to breathe.

Then - a step. Somewhere behind him.

He turned around.

And saw himself again.

But now - completely different.

Taller. Silent. In a black coat.

With a face carved from ash.

- Is this it? - Ethan asked. - Is this the end?

- No, - the double replied. - It's the beginning. If you choose to go on.

- But... Jake isn't here.

- He's where you left him. In reality.

And you? Where are you?

Ethan didn't answer. He looked at the wall -

and saw a door. Another one. It shimmered, like a mirage. Like a chance.

He approached the door.

The shimmering grew stronger, as if recognizing his approach. For a moment, he saw not wood on its surface, but water - trembling, transparent, reflecting not a face, but feelings. Fear. Hope. Regret.

He reached out - and the door jerked slightly, as if it were breathing. He touched it with his palm. Coolness. Pulsating, like a heart ready to burst into a run.

- Don't be afraid, - said a voice behind him.

But he didn't turn around. He knew: it was still himself. Another him. The one who knew more. The one who waited.

- There won't be answers there, - the voice continued. - Only the truth.

- What if I'm not ready?

- Then it will all repeat. Again. And again.

He closed his eyes. In his mind's eye - Jake. Small. In pajamas with a dinosaur. Looking up at him with that smile that makes any parent weak. Looking - and waiting. Not for explanations. Not for forgiveness. Just - presence.

Ethan opened his eyes, and stepped in.

The sensation of falling was soft, like a dream.

He found himself in a corridor - long, narrow, with many doors. The ceiling disappeared into darkness, the floor creaked, but not under his feet - by itself, as if the building was breathing.

One of the doors was ajar.

A voice came from within.

- ...and then he just left.

- Don't blame him. He got scared.

- He was always afraid.

Ethan stepped closer. He peered in.

The room was uncomfortably familiar.

A kitchen. An old table. A stained tablecloth. A woman - back turned to him. Hair pinned up, hands in the sink. Beside her - a boy. Small. Drawing on a sheet of paper. A house. A tree. And a caption: "mom + dad + me".

He took a step, and everything disappeared. Only the voice remained.

- This is you.

- You're looking at what you erased.

- And you must decide: leave it like this... or remember. Everything.

Ahead, another door shimmered. Slightly ajar. Ethan exhaled and moved forward. He pushed the next door.

The gap widened, letting him into a new fragment of himself.

The room was filled with dim, gray-yellow light, like in hospitals or dreams, where everything feels sterile and unreal.

A metal bed. An IV drip. A window beyond which there was no landscape - only whiteness, as if no one had ever painted the world behind it. On the bed - a man. Lying still, eyes closed. A bandage on his forehead, a wire, sensors.

Ethan froze. It was him. He slowly approached, looking at himself from the outside. Every movement felt wrong, as if disturbing the silence in which this man lived. His breathing was slow, almost weightless. Almost dead.

- Look, - said the voice behind him again, but now softer, almost with regret. - Here you are. The real you. Without masks. Without words.

Ethan placed his palm on the edge of the bed.

A sharp pain in his chest. Something between guilt and pity. He had been running from himself for so long. Hiding in images. In anger. In alcohol. In pain. And now, all that was left - was a body. Lying between worlds.

- Why are you showing me this?

- Because you must decide. Whether you'll stay in this body. Or return - to the one who might still be waiting.

- Jake...

- Yes. Him. He's still there.

But memory - it's fragile. He might forget. And you might disappear.

Ethan looked at himself. At that imprint of life that was surviving without him.

- And if I don't come back?

- Then everything will stay like this. You - here. He - there. And one day... he will stop searching too.

The door behind him began to close.

- Wait... - Ethan exhaled and rushed to the opening.

He made it. He slipped into the corridor - and remained on his knees, breathing heavily, as if he had just surfaced from deep underwater. The darkness around grew thicker. The walls closed in. One door remained. The very last one.

There was no handle on it. Only an inscription, as if scratched out by nails:

"Here begins everything you didn't want to remember."

He stood up, approached, and touched it. The door opened by itself.

Inside - there was no light. There was no form. Only sound.

At first - drops. Like from a tap in an old apartment, where time had long stopped.

Then - footsteps. Hollow, uncertain.

And a voice. Female. Quiet, but sharp, like a splinter:

- Drunk again?

Ethan froze. He recognized that voice immediately.

Ellison.

The room began to take shape.

The floor - black-and-white linoleum, with a broken cup on it. Milk with splashes of blood.

The walls - gray. Bare.

The woman by the wall - with disheveled hair, in a robe.

Nearby - he himself. The old one. Angry. Drunk. Mad.

- Don't... - Ethan whispered. - I don't want to see this.

- But you've already done it, - said the voice inside him.

He couldn't look away.

Every word of that argument - he knew it by heart. Every intonation, every jab.

It was their last morning. A few hours before the tragedy.

- You always run, Ethan. From everything. From yourself. From us, - she said. - But Jake... he sees everything.

He wanted to scream. Warn himself. Intervene. But he just stood there. A ghost without weight.

The scene continued. Suddenly, like a shot.

He grabbed her by the hand. She pushed him away. He yelled. And then - silence. Terrible, dead. Ellison fell, hitting her head on the edge of the table. Blood. Jake, hiding in the doorway. Ethan - standing in a stupor. No longer human. Already - an abyss.

The room vanished, like a burned photograph. Around him was the corridor again. But now the walls were cracked, smelling of smoke and iron.

Ethan stood, head lowered.

His shoulders shook. He didn't cry. Crying would have been easier. But inside him, everything was burning.

- Now you've seen everything, - the familiar voice said. - What will you do with it?

He raised his eyes. The double was there again. The same one - with a face made of ash.

- I... don't know how to live with this.

- Then die.

- I don't want to.

- Then go.

Before him - the door opened again.

But now there was no light behind it. Only reflection. A mirror. In it - himself. Tired. Empty. But alive.

Ethan stepped forward, into the mirror, toward himself.

He took a step forward - and the door seemed to sigh.

The shimmer disappeared. Only the wood remained under his palm, slightly warm, like skin.

He pushed it - and was inside again.

The kitchen, night.

The world froze, like on an old film: the flickering light of the bulb, the creak of the refrigerator, a drop of wine on the tile - ready to fall, but still hanging.

The smell - sharp, bitter. Wine and anger.

And something beneath it - nauseatingly sweet, like stale alcohol.

Ellison stood by the window, her back to him. She was smoking.

The smoke lazily drifted, dissolving into the darkness outside the glass.

Next to her - a glass. Half full. Just like her - half full of patience, half empty. On the couch - he.

Young, hunched. A bottle in his hand. His face drunk, angry, alien.

But Ethan knew: this was him. This was that night.

He took a step closer - but his legs seemed to sink into something viscous.

He wanted to scream: "Don't do it! Get up, leave! Stay silent!"

But his mouth wouldn't obey. Like in a dream.

Ellison turned around.

And didn't look at the one on the couch.

She looked at him - at Ethan, standing in the shadow, in the present.

Her eyes were alive. Deep. Tired.

- Do you remember how it all started? - she asked quietly - everything didn't start with shouting. It started with silence. You were silent for too long.

He trembled.

- I didn't want to... - he whispered.

- You did. You just didn't admit it. Not to me. Not to yourself - her voice was soft, but it sounded as though in an empty hall - do you think I broke? No. You were just waiting for me to fall - so you could fall right after. And then it wouldn't be scary anymore.

For a second, the room flashed - like photo paper under a lamp.

Ethan closed his eyes. And when he opened them - he was alone. The kitchen was gone. He was standing in emptiness again.

Behind him - only silence. Ahead - light. Not a mirage. Already real. Already honest.

...Ethan took a step toward the shimmering door - but froze.

From behind - a quiet voice:

- Dad?

He turned around.

Jake was standing by the wall. This time - not a silhouette. Real.

A T-shirt with a dinosaur, worn jeans. The left sleeve slightly rolled up.

He held in his hands the same little toy - with chipped paint and worn-out wheels.

He looked straight into his eyes. Without accusation. Without fear.

Only a question - the most terrifying of all.

- Why did you leave me?

Ethan tried to say something - his lips trembled, but no voice came.

A lump in his throat. Pain in his eyes.

He took a step, another. Jake didn't move.

- I... couldn't, - Ethan squeezed out. - I didn't know how...

He knelt in front of his son, his hands trembling.

- I'm sorry.

Jake looked silently. Then he reached out his hand - not to Ethan.

To the door. The one that shimmered, like a mirage.

- It's not for you. Not yet. You need to take something with you.

- What?

- Yourself. The way I remember you.

Ethan closed his eyes. It felt like something inside him had cracked, but not completely broken. He stood up, slowly, carefully, as if afraid of scaring not Jake - but himself.

The boy was still standing by the door, but no longer by the one that led "further," but by the other - the same one from the beginning. The one that smelled like rain. The one where it all started.

- I don't know what I was to you, - Ethan whispered. - But I know who I want to be.

Jake nodded, as if he had heard this before. Or had been waiting for it.

- Then go there, - he said, pointing to the door with the dull glass. - But only if you're not afraid to see the truth.

- And you?..

- I'll wait. Until you remember. Until you believe.

He stepped aside. The door opened by itself - without creaking, without a sound. Behind it - a gray room. Rectangular. Almost empty. Only a mirror. Big. Tall.

In it - not a reflection. In it - a scene. Ethan stepped inside.

He saw himself. Not in a coat. Not in the shadow. But as he had been that evening. Home. Anger. Ellison. And Jake - on the stairs. Huddled, like a small animal. Silent. Watching.

Ethan stepped closer. His heartbeat - dull, like a blow to the wall. He knew what would happen.

And this time - he didn't look away. He saw. He heard. He lived it.

And then - the mirror cracked. Thin, almost mournfully. The c***k ran from the edge to the heart. And stopped.

Ethan touched the glass. It didn't cut.

It breathed.

- I remember everything, - he said. - But now - I'm not afraid.

Behind him - Jake's voice again:

- Then you're ready.

The room didn't disappear immediately. It melted away, like frost under the morning sun. Gently. Slowly.

As if the reality he had created in his head had grown tired of holding on to him.

He stood in emptiness. No walls, no floor - only a muted glow, as if the space was remembering how to be a world.

Sounds came from afar: whispers of voices, the echoes of a siren, the breath of a machine.

- Dad?

Jake's voice - no longer ghostly, no longer childish, but real. Full of worry.

Ethan turned around - and for the first time, he saw his son for real.

Without the filter of memory. Without the distortions of guilt.

He stood at the edge of the world. In his pajamas. Without fear. Looking straight at him.

- I'm still here, - he said. - I didn't leave.

Ethan took a step. Then another. He felt how each step made something closer. The sensations were returning. His body felt heavier. The sound was growing. Something was pulsing.

- I want to come back, - he said. - For you. For her. For myself.

Jake smiled - and disappeared. Not disappeared like a ghost, no. He dissolved, like a photograph being placed in an album. Like a memory you are no longer afraid of.

Ahead, a door appeared. Simple. White. With a sign: Ward No. 17.

Ethan reached for the handle - and for the first time, he felt the cool metal with his palm. Real. Genuine.

He reached for the handle, but... something trembled in the air. As if the fabric of space had changed its mind.

Through the door - not a hospital room.

But a corridor. Simple. Too simple. The walls painted in gray-green, the floor - linoleum with cracks. A light flickered above. It smelled of bleach.

He entered.

Each step echoed like in an empty stairwell. On the left - an elevator door. Not working. On the right - closed doors with numbers. But one - was slightly open. Above it - a sign, written in childish handwriting:

"THIS WAY."

He inhaled. And entered.

There - was not a hospital room. But a school. Or its fragment. Dusty desks. Scattered notebooks. A blackboard, on which someone wrote with chalk:

"Remember why you were needed."

He walked past. And each step - a new scene: a playground, an alley, the first kiss, tears in the kitchen. Photographs, fragments, pieces of a life he tried to forget. A life he now had to remember. Because without it - he wouldn't leave.

He walked slowly, as if on ice, afraid to break the fragile balance between reality and what was "before."

One of the classrooms was open. Behind the desks sat silhouettes - blurry, like memories, faded by time. No one moved. Faces were turned forward, toward the blackboard, but it was empty.

He passed along the rows.

And only at the last desk - a boy.

Alive. Real. In a hoodie, with clenched fists.

On his knees - a notebook, in which he was drawing something with a sharp pencil.

Ethan froze.

- Jake?

The boy didn't turn around.

- It's me... Dad.

The voice sounded unfamiliar - dry, as if it didn't belong.

As if he had forgotten how to speak - or was speaking for the first time.

The boy raised his head.

His eyes - the same. But the look... as if he didn't believe.

- I know who you are, - he said. - But why are you here?

- I... - Ethan couldn't find the words. - I want to fix everything.

- What exactly? - Jake got up from his seat. - That you left? That you yelled at mom? Or what you did after?

Silence enveloped the classroom, as if the walls were listening.

- I can't change what happened... - Ethan whispered. - But I can choose who I am now. For you.

The boy stepped closer. And suddenly - touched him with his palm.

- This isn't reality, Dad. Here you can't save me. But maybe... yourself.

And he disappeared. Like smoke, like a dream.

Only the notebook remained. On the open page - a drawing. A door. And a signature in childish handwriting:

"You're almost there. Just don't stray from the path."

He stared at the drawing for a long time - as if hoping the lines on the paper would speak. Something stirred inside: not pain, no... more like memory. So old, it was dusty. Like an old photo, where you can no longer make out the faces.

Ethan ran his finger along the notebook. The paper was rough, warm - as if it had truly just been in Jake's hands. And suddenly - a slight rustle. Not a voice. Not a sound. But... movement. As if the space behind him had changed.

He turned around.

And there - again, the corridor. Not the one he came from. A new one. The walls were covered with gray panels, the ceiling low, the lights flickering as if remembering how to shine. The smell - sharp, hospital-like, with a faint hint of bleach and something sour, like a metallic taste on the tongue after a scream.

He left the classroom, leaving the notebook on the last desk. He took a few steps - and stopped. On one of the walls - a window. But behind it, not the street. A ward. Machines, hoses. And himself. Lying. With his eyes closed. He stared at himself. His chest rising slightly - rhythmically, but with some strain. The machine beside him clicked like a clock, counting not minutes - but possibilities. He looked at his hands. They were clean. No blood. No traces of mistakes.

- Almost there... - he whispered - to what?

A door appeared before him again. No handle. No frame. Just a straight line of light in the middle of the wall.

He remembered his son's words:

"Here, you won't be able to save me. But maybe... yourself."

He took a step. And then - in the distance - for the first time in all this time, a voice was heard. A woman's voice. Quiet. The one he feared to forget.

- Ethan?.. Can you hear me?..

His pulse slowed. Everything around him froze. He took another step - and the door opened by itself.

Behind the door - not light. And not darkness. Something in between. As if the fabric of reality here had become translucent. A room without corners, without boundaries. The walls appeared and disappeared like a mirage, reacting to his breath. It seemed that space itself decided - to be or not to be.

The sound of drops. Faint, but clear, like the ticking of time. And in the center - a chair. Simple, wooden, like from his childhood. With peeling paint and one wobbly armrest.

There was no one on it. But he felt a presence. Warm, like when his mother used to cover him with a blanket while he was sleeping.

- Who's here? - Ethan asked, his voice trembling.

Silence.

He slowly approached the chair and saw - on the seat was an object. A small, old toy. A teddy bear. Worn, with one eye. Exactly like the one Jake had when he was three.

He reached out - and at that moment, the chair trembled. No, not physically. It... came to life. From the air - like a ghost, like dust gathering into a shape - a silhouette emerged. Female. Translucent, like fogged glass, through which light could be seen.

- Allison... - he whispered.

She looked at him, not moving. Without reproach. Without anger. But also without forgiveness.

- You shouldn't have... - her voice sounded as if it was inside his head, not from the outside. - But you're here. That means you're still looking for a way.

- I want... - Ethan began, but didn't finish. Words - those always come later. Later than regret, later than pain.

She nodded and touched the bear. It disappeared.

- If you reach the end, you must know the truth. Not only your own.

She disappeared as quietly as she had appeared, and the chair became just a chair again. Ethan was left alone. But no longer the same as before.

A new door opened in the wall. A smell of rain and wet asphalt came from behind it. And he went there.

He stepped through - and the world around him changed instantly.

Not smoothly. Not gently, as before. But abruptly. Like falling in a dream. The floor hit his feet: wooden, creaky. Familiar. The smell - dust, books, old curtains. The feeling of coziness... and unease.

He stood in a room where no one had been for a long time. High bookshelves along the walls. On the floor - a carpet, with a faded pattern. And by the window - an old desk. A child's. His. The boy sat at the desk, bent over a notebook. His hair stuck up in whirls, his shoulders tense. He was writing something in small, hurried handwriting. The paper trembled from his breath.

Ethan recognized himself. Little. Lonely. Before everything. Before marriage. Before Jake. Before the alcohol. Before the destruction.

- You won't make it, - someone said from behind.

He's drawing...