The Sixth Sense

Chapter 3

Titus' POV:

Blam.

The door slams shut behind me, the sound reverberating through the empty hallway as I step into the house.

That sound—sharp and intentional—means only one thing. My father’s anger is simmering.

It doesn’t take much to guess why.

With all the chaos surrounding Rachel’s death and the rumors flying around town, of course, he’s furious.

People see Governor Bobby Albern as a respectable leader, a figure of authority.

But to me, he’s anything but...

Our so-called father-son relationship is built on control and intimidation. Violence is his preferred method of discipline, his way of forcing me into the perfect mold of his expectations.

Suppressing the urge to groan, I drag my feet toward his office, my dread growing with each step.

Three knocks—just as I was taught—before I push the heavy door open and step inside.

“Did you call for me, Father?” I ask, standing stiffly in front of his imposing desk.

He doesn’t look at me right away. Instead, he turns slowly from the window, his icy stare boring into me.

“Someone’s dead,” he says, his voice devoid of warmth or hesitation. “And I hear you’re involved. Care to explain?”

My stomach churns. “I’m not involved! I don’t even know why people think I am.” My voice is steady, but the tension in the room is suffocating.

His sharp eyes narrow, scrutinizing me. “So, the letter that girl left behind—was that fabricated too? It had your name on it.”

‘Damn it,’ I think, biting back my frustration. “I don’t understand why she mentioned me or what led her to do what she did. I barely knew her!” My words are laced with exasperation, but he’s unmoved.

“Don’t raise your voice at me!” he barks, slamming a hand onto the desk.

Though he hasn’t laid a hand on me in years—knowing I’ve grown too strong to tolerate it—the fury in his tone is still enough to cut through me.

“You’re just like your mother,” he sneers, leaning forward. “Weak. Pathetic. Both of you hurt people’s feelings without a second thought. I thought I raised you better than this.”

My fists clench at my sides as his words sting. “ENOUGH!” I snap, surprising even myself.

His eyes widen for a split second, caught off guard by my defiance. But then, anger flashes across his face. “How dare you—”

“I dare because I’m sick of this!” I interrupt, my voice rising with years of pent-up frustration. “I didn’t know her, and I don’t know why she put my name in her letter. But maybe, just once, you should stop blaming me for everything! You hate Mom, fine, but that’s your issue. Maybe if you’d treated her better, she wouldn’t have left. So stop taking it out on me!”

The room falls into a tense silence, the air charged with anger and unspoken words.

And then, like a whisper carried on the wind, a voice cuts through the quiet:

Poor Titus...

What?

The prince in school, but the truth is, he’s nothing but a loser.

My head snaps up, but no one else seems to hear it. The voice—disembodied, taunting—echoes in my mind.

“AAHHH!” A searing pain explodes across my shoulder, so intense it forces a scream from my lips. My vision blurs as the agony consumes me.

I’m here, Titus…

Who’s there?

The pain intensifies, and I collapse. The last thing I hear before slipping into unconsciousness is the faint sound of my own ragged breathing.

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Louisa's POV:

A pair of hands help me to my feet, steadying me as I struggle to regain my balance. My heart races, my mind reeling from what I just experienced.

I saw it—vivid and raw—Titus’s memory.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, still shaken. My legs feel like jelly as I stumble into the nearest chair. I glance up at the figure before me, my mind racing with questions.

Titus stands there, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.

He pulls up a chair and sits across from me, his body language tense but resigned.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice sharp as I try to process what I’ve seen. But my gaze shifts past him, landing on her.

The girl.

Not just any girl, though—her presence is different.

Faint but unmistakable.

“Not you,” I clarify, nodding toward the spectral figure hovering behind him. “Her.”

Titus’s eyes widen, realization dawning on him. “You can see her?” he asks, his voice low and uncertain.

The ghostly girl beams at me, her smile both warm and unsettling. “Interesting,” she says, her voice melodic yet tinged with sorrow. “You can see me.”

I nod, noting how Titus’s expression darkens.

It’s clear he’s been aware of her presence, but hearing her speak aloud seems to hit him differently.

“Why are you here?” I ask the ghost, my tone cautious.

She smiles again, this time with a heartbreaking sadness. “Because Titus and I belong together,” she replies simply.

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air. Titus looks down, his sorrow palpable.

I don’t know why she believes this.

From what I saw in his memory, he didn’t even know her that well. But here she is, clinging to him like a shadow he can’t shake.

“Can you help me?” Titus asks suddenly, his voice raw and desperate.

Help?

I blink at him, startled. “I... I don’t know how to help,” I admit. “I’ve only just realized I can sense them. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Titus leans forward, his desperation growing. “But you made them go away in the gym,” he says, his tone tinged with a glimmer of hope.

“What do you mean, ‘made them go away’?” I ask, genuinely baffled.

“There were two of them,” he explains, his words rushing out. “They were standing beside you. Before you fainted, I saw them scream in pain and disappear. That’s why I thought you could help.”

I stare at him, my mind racing.

Is that true?

Did I do something to make them vanish?

I’ve never heard of anyone with abilities like this—sensing ghosts, yes, but forcing them to leave?

If what Titus says is true, then there’s so much I don’t understand about myself. And if I have the power to help him, then I need to figure out how.

Because whatever’s happening to him—and to me—it’s bigger than either of us.

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