BETWEEN ME AND YOU

THE VEIL BETWEEN

Banjo barely remembered the drive home.

Rain lashed against the windshield, a steady hiss that drowned the engine’s hum. Kristine sat beside him, her face turned to the window, eyes unfocused. She hadn’t spoken since the flash inside the church, that blinding light that had twisted her features into someone else’s.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.The compass lay between them on the seat. Its glass face was cracked now, a hairline fracture that split the needle in two directions. It trembled faintly every few seconds, as if it still struggled to choose which world it belonged to.

Banjo gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles pale.

He kept hearing her voice,not Kristine’s, but the other one. Rico’s - Kristine.

"Help me… he’s trapped."

The words echoed beneath his head, repeating over and over, until he felt like he might just say them out loud with her. By the time they got home, night had settled in once more.

Kristine moved through the house like someone walking through a dream, touching furniture, pausing at doorways, staring at shadows as if listening. Banjo followed, afraid to leave her alone, afraid to touch her too long. The air around her felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. When she finally sat down, it was beside the window overlooking the garden. She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. The glass reflected her face, but for an instant, Banjo thought he saw two reflections: one slightly behind the other, moving a fraction out of sync.

He blinked hard. “Kristine,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed outside, where the rain had slowed to a mist.

“She’s close tonight,” Kristine murmured.

Banjo’s stomach tightened. “Who?”

Kristine’s voice trembled. “You know who.”

He crouched beside her. “You need to rest. Father Mateo said...”

“Father Mateo doesn’t feel what I feel.” Her voice sharpened, her fingers curling against the glass. “It’s like she’s underneath my skin, Banjo. Breathing when I breathe.”

He reached out, hesitant. “You’re scaring me.”

She turned to him, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t recognize her. Her eyes were darker, older somehow, filled with a grief that wasn’t hers. Then she blinked, and it was just Kristine again.

Banjo backed away, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t think straight anymore.

He went to the kitchen, needing something, water, air, anything that wasn’t filled with her voice. But even there, the silence pressed against him. Every sound... the drip of the faucet, the hum of the refrigerator, seemed to pulse with that same slow rhythm.

A heartbeat. The compass, he thought suddenly.

He returned to the living room, half expecting it to be gone. But it was still on the table, faintly glowing again. A soft, blue-white shimmer that painted the walls like ghost light. He stared at it, something hollow opening inside him.

“Why her?” he whispered.

The needle shuddered, then pointed directly at him. Banjo froze. Then faintly, almost kind, a voice brushed against his thoughts.

“She was mine before she was yours.”

He stumbled back, knocking into a chair. “No. No, she’s alive,she’s here.”

The voice didn’t answer.

Kristine stirred in the next room, murmuring again. Banjo rushed to her side. She was asleep on the couch, one hand clutching the blanket, the other curled around nothing, as if she were holding someone else’s hand. He sat beside her, watching her face twist in restless dreams.

“Rico,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t leave me in the dark…”

Banjo swallowed hard. “Kristine, it’s me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, but they didn’t seem to see him. “Banjo?”

“Yes. I’m right here.”

She frowned, confused. “You sound… different.”

He didn’t know what to say. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the room heavy with the scent of rain and candle wax. Then she reached for him, but when her fingers touched his, her expression changed. Her hand jerked back as though burned.

“It’s you,” she whispered. “You opened it.”

“What?”

Her breathing quickened. “You promised him. Before the wedding, in that old chapel by the lake. You said you’d never let me forget him. You said...”

Banjo’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Kristine, that was years ago. We were grieving, both of us...”

“But you said the words.” Her voice broke into a sob. “Forever binds forever. Don’t you remember?”

He stared at her, horrified.

He did remember;

It was a stormy night, three years back. The lake shimmered under the moonlight, its surface dancing with ripples. Just a week had passed since Rico’s funeral, and Kristine was utterly heartbroken. He had held her close as she cried, doing everything he could to keep her from shattering. He whispered words of comfort, trying to help her believe that she could find a way to carry on.

If I have to carry him with us, I will. Forever binds forever.

He thought it was just a comfort, a promise made in grief. But now…

“Banjo?” Kristine’s voice drew him back. Her eyes were wide, terrified. “He’s coming through. I can feel him.”

A cold wind swept through the room, though the windows were shut. The candles flickered violently, their flames bending toward her.

Banjo moved instinctively, pulling her close. “You’re not taking her,” he whispered to the empty air. “You’re not.”

The compass on the table began to spin, faster and faster, the glow intensifying until it filled the room with a blinding white light.

Kristine cried out.

Banjo clutched her tighter... and suddenly he wasn’t in the living room anymore. He stood in a field of mist. The air was thick, gray, and soundless. Somewhere far off, a single figure stood, a man, facing away, head bowed.

Banjo’s breath caught. “Rico.”

The man turned.

It was him, but not as Banjo remembered. His skin was pale as moonlight, his eyes hollowed with longing.

“You shouldn’t have promised,” Rico said softly. “It bound her to me.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Banjo shouted. “I was trying to help her move on!”

Rico stepped closer. The mist swirled between them like breath. “There’s no moving on from love like ours. She called to me... and I answered. But now… something else heard her too.”

Banjo shook his head, trembling. “Then let her go. Let both of us go.”'

Rico’s gaze softened. “I can’t. The door’s open now. And if I leave… what comes next will take her.”

The compass’s heartbeat echoed through the mist, louder, faster. Banjo reached out, desperate. “Then tell me how to stop it.”

Rico’s form flickered, dissolving at the edges. “You can’t stop what you began. But maybe… you can choose who stays.”

“What does that mean?” Banjo cried.

But Rico was gone.The mist collapsed, and Banjo was back in the living room, gasping for air. The compass lay shattered at his feet, its glow fading to nothing.

Kristine was still in his arms, but she was limp, her skin cold, her breathing shallow.

“Kristine!” He shook her gently. “Wake up!”

Her eyes fluttered open for an instant. “Banjo…”

He leaned closer, heart breaking.

“I saw him,” she whispered. “He said you have to choose.”

“Choose what?”

Her lips trembled. “Who you save.” Then she went still.

Banjo’s cry tore through the silence, raw and helpless. He embraced her against him, rocking her as the storm raged outside, thunder shaking the walls.

Somewhere beneath the noise, there was a faint, almost undetectable sound, is now become a steady rhythm. A heartbeat. But this time, it wasn’t the compass guiding her. It was coming from within her.