The Hollow Man

The rain had not abated.

Elias stood in the doorway of the inn, his boots soaking up puddles on the wooden floor, his coat dripping onto the weathered planks.

The grizzled old innkeeper who had poured him drinks the night before, who had recognized his name, was still regarding him with narrowed, uncertain eyes.

"Do I know you?"

The words hung in the air like a loaded gun.

Selene's hand on his wrist was like steel.

Tight as a band around his wrist, tight as the words this is real.

He wasn't sleeping.

But Elias wasn't positive he believed it anymore.

The slow, seeping illness wrapped itself around his belly.

He had lived among men who hated him, envied him, and wanted to kill him.

He knew how it was to be pursued, hunted. But this?

This was different.

This was being rubbed out.

He grinned forcibly, though it didn't feel like it belonged on his face.

"Come on, old codger. I'm a friendly fellow."

The innkeeper squeezed his eyes closed even harder, as if scraping Elias's mind off the inside of his cranium.

His stubby fingers drummed against the bar, his forehead furrowed.

"Elias, yeah? That's what you told me your name was?"

Elias shivered in every limb.

"That is my name."

The innkeeper slowly nodded, but it wasn't recognition.

It was worse than that.

It was politeness.

The type of nod a man gives when he doesn't want to lie and tell you he's never seen you before in his life.

Selene tugged him back a pace, speaking low. "Elias, we have to leave. Now."

The tension in her voice caused his blood to run colder.

Selene wasn't the sort of woman to spook easily.

Elias moved toward the door.

The chill struck him like a blow, and he welcomed it.

The town was shrouded in rain, the streets half-swamped in puddles.

Lamps glowed feebly through the mist, their light smeared by the storm.

A trio of men walked by a couple of worn ranchers and a woman muffled in a thick shawl.

Elias recognized them. He was certain he did.

They had been at the bar the previous evening, drinking, laughing, and making reckless wagers over whiskey.

And yet.

As they walked by him now, their eyes glanced over him as if he were a stranger.

No hesitation.

No recognition.

No glimmer of recognition.

They gazed through him.

Elias took a quick breath. "Son of a bitch."

Selene already stood there, looking at him, her face tight.

"You see it now, don't you?"

Not just the innkeeper.

Not just bad fortune.

Everyone.

A ball of fear in his chest. He could sense the emptiness in him now, gnawing, digging deep.

"How bad is it?" he asked, keeping his voice light, as if this was just another gamble, just another card on the table.

Selene studied his face, the set of his shoulders.

"Bad."

"Define bad."

She hesitated. That alone told him everything.

Elias turned back toward the street.

The truth hit him in slow, crashing waves.

No more luck. No more easy wins.

No more being in the right place at the right time.

But this? This was worse.

Folks were forgetting him.

The amulet hadn't stolen just his wealth.

It had stolen something deeper.

The perception of him.

The memory of him.

And if it continued?

If it worsened?

Elias ground his jaw.

Then one day, even Selene might forget me altogether.

Selene took him away from the inn, down rain-slick streets, past alleys where shadows were too long, and past doorways where strangers huddled for the storm.

She didn't release his wrist.

Elias ought to have teased her about it.

He ought to have made some sloppy, cocky comment, something to clear the heaviness from his chest.

But he didn't. Because he wanted her to keep holding on.

"We need answers," she said finally, glancing up at him.

"We need to know exactly what Alistair did to you."

Elias exhaled, tilting his face up toward the rain.

"Well, seeing as how I'm suddenly a ghost, I'd say he did a hell of a lot."

Selene's grip tightened.

"This isn't just a curse, Elias."

He knew that.

He could feel it.

The amulet had been a burden, yes.

A weight at his neck, a shackle he had never made sense of.

But it had also been him.

And now that it was lost, fragments of himself were coming apart.

Selene dragged him into a narrow alleyway, out of the exposed street.

The rain drummed against the rooftops, trickling down in slow streams.

Elias rested his back against the brick wall, pushing a wet strand of hair behind his ear. "So, what then?"

Selene's eyes gleamed. "Now we go hunt Alistair down."

Elias gasped out a laugh. "And here I thought you'd stopped hunting men."

Selene folded her arms. "I have."

"But you'll make an exception?"

She nodded.

Elias sneered.

It was small and weak, but it was still a sneer.

"I feel special."

Selene threw him a scathing look.

"Don't."

Elias looked away from the shadows, back at the streets.

The lamplight made the shadows move oddly, stretching and twisting in ways they shouldn't.

He could sense something invisible pushing in, circling him like a vulture.

And he knew deep in his bones that this was only the start.

If they didn't get it fixed soon, if they didn't stop it…

He wasn't going to lose just his luck.

He was going to lose everything.

A Whisper in the Dark

A whisper sliced through the rain.

A low, curling sound, like smoke winding through wet air.

Elias tensed.

Selene picked it up too.

Her hand flew to the dagger on her thigh, her body bracing tight.

The whisper slid nearer.

Elias swiveled his head.

The alley was deserted.

Nothing but shadows.

Nothing but rain.

And yet.

The whisper returned. This time, it spoke words.

"Elias Thorne."

His heartbeat froze.

The voice was off. Low and warbling, as if it had been pulled through glass and gravel.

Selene moved into him, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body on his wet clothes.

"Elias," she said softly, "we have to."

The whisper spoke again.

"You were never free."

A blast of wind crashed down the alley.

The lanterns danced wildly.

Selene drew her dagger.

Elias tightened his fists.

The whisper wrapped around them like intangible fingers.

"The debt is not paid."

And then.

The rain ceased.

The quiet was abrupt.

Unnatural.

Wrong.

The street outside the alley had fallen silent.

The lanterns ceased to flicker.

Even the puddles were frozen, as if the world had stopped moving.

Elias's panting was cacophonous in the silence.

He pulled his eyes away from Selene's.

Neither of them stirred.

Then footsteps.

Slow.

Measured.

Echoing.

Something was approaching.

Elias grasped for his gun.

Selene leaned her back against his.

And the whisper spoke for a final time.

"You should have lost that night."

The quiet was broken.

And the world came rushing in with a scream.