Chapter 11: Shadows of the Past
1014 Words
The silence that followed the knock was more unsettling than the knock itself. Celeste and Ethan exchanged a glance, both frozen in place. The weight of the dagger in Ethan’s grip felt insufficient against the unknown threat lurking beyond the door.
Another knock. This time, softer, as if whoever stood outside knew they had already been heard.
Ethan moved closer to the peephole, his breath shallow. The man outside remained still, his posture eerily composed. The dim hallway light barely illuminated his features, but something about him sent a chill down Ethan’s spine.
“Ethan,” Celeste whispered, “don’t open it.”
He hesitated for only a moment before stepping back. “We wait.”
Minutes passed. Then more. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound of retreating footsteps echoed through the hallway. The tension in the air remained thick even as the sound faded.
Celeste released a shaky breath. “What the hell was that?”
Ethan placed the dagger on the nightstand, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. But I have a feeling this won’t be the last time.”
Celeste paced the room, her mind racing. “We need answers. If someone’s watching us, that means we’re getting close to something they don’t want us to find.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Which means we keep going.”
The next morning, the unease lingered as they sat at a quiet café downtown. Ethan scrolled through his laptop, searching for more about Pierre Duval, while Celeste absentmindedly traced patterns on the table.
“There’s almost nothing on him,” Ethan muttered. “It’s like someone wiped his existence clean.”
Celeste bit her lip. “Maybe there’s another way to find him.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
She hesitated before lowering her voice. “The dreams. The visions. They’ve always led us in the right direction before.”
Ethan exhaled. “You think we can force it?”
Celeste shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”
That night, they returned to the hotel and prepared to do something they had never attempted before—deliberately reach into their past lives.
Celeste lay back on the bed, closing her eyes. “Just relax,” she murmured, more to herself than to Ethan. “Think about Isabelle and Gabriel. Think about the night they were supposed to meet.”
Ethan did the same, slowing his breathing, letting his thoughts drift. At first, there was nothing—just darkness, just silence.
Then—
A flash of candlelight. The sound of hurried footsteps. A voice, urgent and fearful: They’re coming for you.
Celeste gasped, her body jolting as the vision swept her away. She was in a grand estate, running down a corridor, her heart pounding in her chest. Hands reached for her, but she twisted away, pushing forward. The scent of old books and burning wax filled her senses.
“Where is he?” she—Isabelle—whispered.
A woman’s voice, desperate: “You must leave now! If they find you—”
The vision shifted. A carriage ride through darkened streets. The distant toll of a bell. And then—
The river. Cold. Silent. Waiting.
She saw Gabriel now—standing near the water’s edge, his face tight with desperation. He paced, looking toward the estate. The wind howled around him, carrying his name in whispers. Isabelle… He clenched his fists, waiting, believing she would come. But then—the sound of hoofbeats, torches flickering through the trees.
“Find her,” a deep voice commanded. “She cannot reach him.”
Celeste felt Isabelle’s panic rising—felt her body being dragged backward, unseen hands muffling her cries. The world spun as she was thrown into a locked carriage, the doors slamming shut. Through the small window, she caught one last glimpse of Gabriel—his figure illuminated against the river’s glow, unaware she was just out of reach.
The scene darkened.
Celeste woke with a gasp, Ethan shaking her gently. “Celeste! Are you okay?”
She clutched his arm, her pulse racing. “Ethan… I saw it. I saw the night she tried to escape.”
He leaned closer. “And?”
Celeste swallowed hard. “She never made it to Gabriel.”
Ethan’s face darkened. “Then who stopped her?”
Celeste shuddered. “Someone powerful.”
A knock sounded on their hotel room door, making both of them freeze.
This time, it wasn’t forceful. It was slow. Deliberate.
Ethan exchanged a look with Celeste, his muscles tense. He moved toward the peephole, his breath shallow. When he looked through, his entire body stiffened.
“Who is it?” Celeste whispered, barely breathing.
Ethan’s voice was barely audible. “It’s the man from last night.”
Celeste’s pulse pounded in her ears. “What do we do?”
The man outside waited, his shadow stretching long against the dimly lit hallway. Then, he did something unexpected—he slid an envelope beneath the door and walked away.
Ethan waited until the footsteps disappeared before bending down to pick it up. The envelope was old, the parchment yellowed, sealed with a wax insignia neither of them recognized.
With shaky hands, he broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
There was only one sentence inside.
You are not supposed to remember.
The words sent a chill through Celeste’s spine. She looked at Ethan, whose grip on the parchment tightened.
“Someone knows what we’re doing,” Ethan said grimly. “And they want us to stop.”
Celeste’s stomach twisted. The past wasn’t just a mystery to be solved.
It was a warning.
As silence stretched between them, a flickering streetlamp outside cast shifting shadows across the walls. A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, making Celeste shiver. For the first time, she realized—they weren’t just chasing history.
History was chasing them. The wind outside howled, as if carrying whispers from the past, urging them to turn back before it was too late.
- Writer
