Chapter 13- Where The Dead Listens
1489 Words
Belle POV
She didn’t remember leaving the school.
Not the hallway.
Not the doors.
Not the moment her feet carried her past the gates.
One second she was there—surrounded by whispers, suffocating under memories that refused to stay buried—
And the next—
Silence.
Real silence.
The kind that didn’t belong in crowded spaces.
The kind that lived in places people avoided.
Places like this.
---
St. Paul Cemetery.
It stretched farther than most people realized.
Rows of headstones lined uneven paths, some straight and polished, others tilted with time, names fading into stone as if even memory had abandoned them.
The sky above was dull.
Clouds thick, unmoving.
The air—
Still.
Too still.
Belle walked between the graves without hesitation.
Like she knew exactly where she was going.
Like her body remembered something her mind refused to touch.
Her steps were quiet against the dry ground.
Measured.
Controlled.
Always controlled.
Until—
She stopped.
---
A specific spot.
Not marked differently.
Not obvious.
Just—
Familiar.
Her gaze lowered slightly.
Not to read the name.
Not to acknowledge it.
Just to… stand.
Her fingers loosened around the diary slightly.
Her breathing remained steady.
But her face—
Cracked.
Not fully.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough.
Because here—
She didn’t have to pretend as much.
Here—
The silence didn’t demand anything from her.
---
“I told you not to come back here.”
Her voice was soft.
Barely above a whisper.
And yet—
It sounded too loud in the stillness.
She didn’t know why she said it.
Didn’t know who it was meant for.
Him?
Herself?
Or something else entirely.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
That crack in her expression flickered again.
Stronger this time.
Pain?
No.
Not exactly.
Something more complicated.
Something unfinished.
---
The wind didn’t move.
The trees didn’t shift.
Even the air felt… paused.
Like the world itself was holding its breath.
And that—
That was when she felt it.
---
Something was wrong.
Not visibly.
Not obviously.
But—
Wrong.
It started small.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere.
A weight that hadn’t been there before.
Like the silence had changed.
From empty—
To occupied.
---
Belle’s fingers tightened slightly around the diary.
Her eyes lifted.
Slowly.
Scanning.
Left.
Right.
Behind her.
Nothing.
Just rows of graves.
Still.
Unmoving.
Exactly as they should be.
---
But the feeling didn’t go away.
It grew.
Quiet.
Persistent.
Like something unseen had settled into the space around her.
Watching.
Observing.
Waiting.
---
Her shoulders didn’t tense.
Her breathing didn’t change.
Outwardly—
Nothing shifted.
But internally—
Something sharpened.
Because she knew this feeling.
Not from imagination.
Not from fear.
From experience.
---
She wasn’t alone.
---
Her gaze moved again.
More deliberate this time.
More focused.
Searching between headstones.
Along the edges of the cemetery.
Toward the trees lining the far end.
Nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
No presence she could pinpoint.
---
And yet—
It was there.
She could feel it.
Like eyes pressing against her back.
Tracing every movement.
Memorizing every step.
---
Her jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
“Stop.”
The word came out quieter than before.
Controlled.
Not panicked.
Not afraid.
Just—
Certain.
---
Silence answered her.
Unbroken.
Unchanged.
---
For a moment—
She considered leaving.
Turning around.
Walking away.
Pretending she imagined it.
But she didn’t.
Because that wasn’t who she was anymore.
Running didn’t make things disappear.
She learned that three years ago.
---
So instead—
She looked down.
At the diary in her hands.
---
Not hers.
Never had been.
---
Her fingers traced the edge of the cover.
Worn.
Familiar.
Dangerous.
Because this—
This was the only thing she had left that connected to that night.
To him.
To the truth.
Or at least—
Pieces of it.
---
Slowly—
She opened it.
---
The pages were filled.
Not messy.
Not random.
But—
Wrong.
At first glance, it looked like writing.
Sentences.
Paragraphs.
Structure.
But when you looked closer—
Nothing made sense.
Symbols twisted into letters.
Letters rearranged into patterns.
Words broken into fragments that refused to form meaning.
Codes.
All of it.
Every single page.
---
Belle’s eyes moved across the lines.
Focused.
Sharp.
Trying to catch something.
Anything.
A pattern.
A repetition.
A clue.
---
“I know you didn’t write this for no reason,” she murmured.
Her voice softer now.
Less controlled.
More… human.
“You wanted me to understand.”
A pause.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the page.
“Then why can’t I?”
---
The wind didn’t answer.
The silence didn’t shift.
And the words—
Remained just as meaningless as before.
---
Her gaze moved faster now.
Scanning page after page.
Looking for something familiar.
A name.
A date.
A phrase she recognized.
But there was nothing.
Just codes.
Endless codes.
Like he had hidden everything on purpose.
Like he knew—
Someone else might read it.
---
Her chest tightened slightly.
Frustration rising.
Sharp.
Unwelcome.
Because she hated this.
Hated not knowing.
Hated the gaps.
Hated the way everyone else seemed so sure—
While she stood in the middle of it all, unable to even trust her own memories.
---
Her grip tightened.
The page crinkled slightly under her fingers.
“Stop doing this,” she muttered.
The words weren’t directed at the diary.
Not really.
They were directed at him.
At the past.
At everything that refused to give her answers.
---
“I was there,” she said, voice lower now.
Tighter.
“I should remember.”
---
But she didn’t.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
Just fragments.
Broken pieces that didn’t fit together the way they should.
---
Her hand stilled.
The frustration didn’t explode.
Didn’t overwhelm her.
It just—
Faded.
Like everything else did eventually.
Because emotions—
They didn’t stay long anymore.
Not with her.
---
She exhaled slowly.
Long.
Controlled.
Then—
Closed the diary.
---
The sound was soft.
Definite.
Final.
---
Her fingers lingered on the cover for a second longer.
Then pulled away.
---
“I’m tired,” she whispered.
Not physically.
Not the kind of tired sleep could fix.
The deeper kind.
The kind that came from chasing something that refused to be found.
---
The feeling—
Of being watched—
Still hadn’t left.
If anything—
It had grown stronger.
---
Belle’s eyes lifted again.
Scanning once more.
Slower this time.
More deliberate.
More careful.
---
Nothing.
Still nothing.
---
But the silence—
Was no longer empty.
---
She stepped back.
One step.
Then another.
Not running.
Not rushing.
Just… leaving.
---
Because staying here—
Wouldn’t change anything.
Wouldn’t give her answers.
Wouldn’t make the past clearer.
---
And whatever was watching her—
If it was real—
Would follow.
---
Or reveal itself eventually.
---
Either way—
She wasn’t going to wait for it.
---
She turned.
And walked away.
---
The cemetery swallowed the sound of her footsteps quickly.
Returning to stillness.
To quiet.
To nothing.
---
Or—
At least—
That’s how it looked.
---
Third Person POV
She had been there the entire time.
Not close enough to be seen.
Not far enough to miss anything.
Perfect distance.
Perfect angle.
Perfect control.
---
Hidden between the trees at the far edge of the cemetery—
She watched.
---
Her posture was relaxed.
Casual.
Like this wasn’t the first time.
Like observing someone from the shadows was as natural as breathing.
---
A mask covered her face.
Plain.
Expressionless.
White against the muted tones of the cemetery.
It hid everything—
Except her eyes.
---
And her smile.
---
Because even behind the mask—
It showed.
In the slight tilt of her head.
In the way her shoulders shifted.
In the quiet satisfaction that lingered in her stillness.
---
An evil smile.
Subtle.
Sharp.
Patient.
---
“She came back,” she whispered softly.
Her voice barely disturbed the air.
---
Her gaze followed Belle’s retreating figure.
Tracking.
Measuring.
Memorizing.
---
“She’s closer than I thought.”
A pause.
Then—
A quiet breath.
Almost amused.
---
“And she still doesn’t understand.”
---
Her fingers lifted slightly.
Brushing against the tree beside her.
Grounding.
Steady.
Controlled.
---
Just like Belle.
---
For a moment—
She didn’t move.
Didn’t follow.
Didn’t step out.
Just… watched.
---
Then—
Her head tilted slightly.
Like she heard something no one else could.
---
“Not yet,” she murmured.
---
And just like that—
She stepped back.
---
One movement.
Silent.
Seamless.
---
Gone.
---
No sound.
No trace.
No proof she had ever been there.
---
Only the stillness remained.
---
And somewhere—
Buried beneath layers of time, memory, and lies—
The truth waited.
Unseen.
Unspoken.
And very much—
Alive.
- Writer
