Beneath the Silence

The dream always began with silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the thick, smothering type that presses against your ears like a pair of hands. Bella stood in a narrow room again…if it could even be considered a room. The walls flickered like an old film reel, shifting from gray to black, stretching and tightening as though breathing. The air tasted metallic. A faint dripping echoed somewhere behind her. Then she saw him. A figure stood at the far end, his outline blurred, his face hidden in shadow. Something about his posture was wrong; tilted, broken, as if gravity treated him differently. He lifted his head. That’s when she saw the X. Carved brutally across the forehead. Dark, deep, almost glowing. Her stomach twisted as her gaze dropped, another X was carved neatly across the tops of his feet. The same strange, almost italicized shape. A grotesque calling card. But here… it felt alive. The figure took one slow step toward her. Then another. The dripping grew louder. And louder. “Bella” A whisper; soft, familiar, like breath against her ear. She reached out instinctively, not sure why. The lights snapped off. Something cold brushed her arm. And she jolted awake. Bella inhaled sharply, sitting upright in her plush bed. Her sheets clung to her skin, damp with sweat. The room around her, a beautiful modern apartment overlooking the city skyline; felt unreal for a moment, like she hadn’t fully surfaced. She blinked at the ceiling. Then, at the soft lavender candle she forgot to put out. Then finally, at her phone. October 10. Again A small, tired laugh slipped out of her. “Perfect.” Exactly ten months. Exactly the same nightmare. Always on the 10th. Fear did not spiral through her. It never did. Fear was something she had learned to fold, flatten, and fit neatly into a box inside her chest; a box she never opened. The X mark imagery lingered behind her eyes. She sighed and pushed her hair back. “It’s just the case file,” she murmured to herself. The one dropped on her desk ten months ago: the case with photos she wished she could unsee. Victims marked with a clean, Italicized X carved into flesh by someone with too much time and too little conscience. Her mind was probably replaying it. Stress. Overwork. Nothing more. It wasn’t her fault her brain insisted on dramatizing it. Trauma didn’t scare her. Nightmares didn’t scare her. Oversleeping did. She checked the time again and groaned. She was late. In minutes, she was moving through her apartment; sleek marble floors, soft lighting, touches of quiet luxury she had worked hard for. Her childhood had been the complete opposite, but she didn’t think about that now. Her phone buzzed. Chloe (younger sister): “Ateeee can you pleaaase bring pancakes today? I told everyone in my dorm you make the best ones ” Bella smiled; wide, helpless, and affectionate. She absolutely did not have time to cook. “Well,” she murmured as she grabbed her coat, “what she doesn’t know won't hurt her.” She would pick up pancakes from that overpriced brunch spot on Hillside Avenue, put them in her own Tupperware, and Chloe would beam like sunshine. Her two best friends also texted: Ava: “Good morning, superstar. Don’t forget we are carpooling later.” Taylor: “Hey babe, don’t skip breakfast again. Not all of us can survive on iced coffee and adrenaline.” Bella typed warm replies as she slipped on her heels. By the time she locked her front door, she looked every inch the woman the city knew her as; steady, brilliant, kind. The courthouse awaited. Today’s docket was full. And somewhere inside, another suspect was about to learn exactly why Bella Hart was the rising star of criminal defense; a woman known for dismantling testimonies and tearing holes through alibis with surgical precision She stepped into the elevator, flawless and composed, her nightmare tucked neatly back into its box. Outside, the city pulsed with life. Inside her, something quieter pulsed back.