Chapter 3
1255 Words
She heard the water running from the shower again, the sound echoing faintly through the walls like a siren’s call. But it wasn’t just the water. The low, velvety hum of a man’s voice drifted out too, soft and unhurried, the kind of sound that made her skin prickle and her chest tighten.
Alondra swallowed hard, her heart hammering painfully in her ribcage. She gripped the doorframe as if it could steady her. Why does that voice sound so real? So… alive?
She sighed shakily, trying to reason with herself. The strangest part wasn’t that she heard the voice. It was how it made her feel. As though she wanted to wrap her arms around the unseen owner and soothe away his sadness. But no. She shook her head furiously. She couldn’t afford such ridiculous thoughts.
Get a grip, Alondra. That’s a ghost in there, not some gorgeous, tragic man from a romance movie.
But what if…?
She froze, biting her lip. No! Stop it. That thing must’ve hypnotized you to lure your soul into the underworld.
Gritting her teeth, she stormed to her closet, each step faltering under the weight of dread. Her fingers fumbled as she yanked open a drawer and dug past folded sweaters and scarves. Where was it? Her hand brushed against smooth wood. Her grandmother’s crucifix.
It was carved from dark mahogany, its edges slightly worn from years of prayer, and blessed countless times. This little cross had kept bad luck and worse at bay. Alondra clutched it to her chest, willing her thundering heart to settle.
“This is fine. I’m fine. I just… need to help him move on,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She inhaled deeply. You’re not going to die tonight. Not when you haven’t even had your first kiss. Not when you haven’t had a boyfriend. Not when you haven’t even seen Paris.
Her throat tightened. “I’m too young for the afterlife. I still have dreams to chase.”
With her resolve hardened, though her legs still wobbled like jelly, she edged toward the master bedroom. The door loomed like the gateway to another realm.
“Oh God! May his soul find peace.” Her whisper cracked as she turned the knob.
The room was dim, bathed in the soft golden glow of a single lamp. She stepped inside, her breath hitching. The air felt heavier here. Warmer.
Then her eyes dropped to the floor.
A pair of leather shoes. A crumpled checkered polo. Pants folded haphazardly over a chair. A bag leaning against the nightstand.
Alondra froze.
These aren’t relics. These are fresh… real… alive.
Her stomach twisted. Her fingers tightened on the crucifix. This was no dream.
The water stopped.
So did the singing.
Silence crashed over her, deafening and oppressive.
Then—footsteps. Soft but deliberate, wet against tile. Getting closer.
Her body screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to obey. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, clutching the crucifix as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
She began to murmur prayers, words tumbling over each other in a frantic whisper. “Please, Lord, let this lost soul find peace. Don’t let him drag me to the other side. I’m not ready. Not yet.”
The bathroom door creaked.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying harder.
“Oh God in heaven, please let the soul of this dead man find peace.”
“Miss, what the hell are you doing?”
The voice wasn’t distant or echoing. It was sharp. Commanding. And terrifyingly… human.
Alondra’s eyes flew open.
And she saw him.
A man—no, a god—standing in the bathroom doorway. His skin was slick with water, droplets racing over firm, sculpted muscles that seemed carved from marble. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his sharp eyes—dark and intense—were fixed on her with visible confusion and irritation.
A single white towel clung precariously to his hips, doing little to conceal the powerful lines of his body.
Alondra’s jaw slackened. Her knees wobbled violently beneath her.
He was… magnificent.
Her heart stuttered. Her lungs forgot how to draw air. My God… is this even real? Or has he come straight from heaven to punish me for my impure thoughts?
She clutched the crucifix tighter, pressing it to her pounding heart. She didn’t want to close her eyes again. What if he disappeared? What if he was just an apparition, sent to torment her senses before dragging her soul to the afterlife?
If this was death… she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight it.
Her mind spiraled. He wasn’t an angel. No. He looked more like a sin—beautiful, f*******n, intoxicating.
Her fingers trembled. She whispered, her voice breaking. “Oh God… save me from temptation. Don’t let my soul fall to the depths of sin.”
The sound of footsteps. Closer. She felt his presence now—radiating heat and strength. Goosebumps flared on her arms as the air shifted with his nearness.
“Please don’t… please don’t!” Her voice was high, breathless. If he touched her, she was sure she’d faint.
“Miss, what are you doing here, and what are you kneeling there for?”
His tone was calm but edged with authority, as though he was used to being obeyed.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and whispered fiercely, “You should let your soul rest. You have to have peace of mind. You can’t stay in this world anymore. Just go with the light.”
“Light?” His voice lowered, rich with amusement and disbelief. She felt his breath, warm, clean, alive, against her cheek.
“And which light should I go to? The flickering one where you came from? Who sent you? Was it Cougar? Tell them I don’t need you here.”
Cougar? What cult is that? Is this a ghost mafia?
She swallowed hard, refusing to open her eyes. She couldn’t face it if he suddenly turned into a rotting corpse. “Uhm… no one sent me here. Just go to the afterlife. This is not the world you belong to anymore.”
A low, mocking laugh rumbled from his chest. The sound wasn’t cold—it was warm, too warm to be otherworldly.
“Miss, what world are you talking about? And what’s with the cross?”
Her eyelids fluttered open before she could stop herself.
“Aren’t you afraid of this crucifix?” she whispered.
His smirk deepened, a wicked glint lighting his eyes. “What do you think I am? A vampire? A monster?”
“No. Aren’t you a ghost? An evil spirit whose soul can’t rest? That’s why you’re haunting this place. I’m here to put your soul to rest.”
Her eyes betrayed her again, darting over his flawless face, down his neck, to the broad expanse of his chest.
Where did this beautiful man come from? Why did his body seem to radiate heat? Why didn’t he feel like a ghost at all?
And why. oh why, did she suddenly want to run her hands over those hard muscles?
But no. She couldn’t. She was still terrified that if she tried, her fingers would go through him. Or worse, he would vanish.
“Is that a new gimmick for your bar?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Bar? What bar?” Her voice cracked as confusion swirled with lingering fear.
- Writer
