CH.20
### Chapter 20: Echoes from Across the Hall
The building was quiet that evening, the kind of quiet that settled thick in the air, like the calm before a storm. Across the hall from Celeste's apartment, Marisol Ruiz sat curled up on her worn-out couch, a chipped mug of chamomile tea balanced precariously on the edge of the coffee table. She had lived in this building for nearly a decade, long enough to see tenants come and go like the seasons, leaving behind faint echoes of their lives in the faded wallpaper and scuffed wooden floors.
But Celeste wasn't like the others. There was something about her that made her unforgettable, an enigmatic presence that lingered long after the briefest of exchanges. Marisol had first noticed her when she moved in several years ago—young, vibrant, her arms full of books and odd contraptions that Marisol couldn't even name. Back then, Celeste had smiled more, her laugh a sharp, clear note that carried through the walls. She'd had someone, too—a tall man with a kind face who always held the elevator door open and carried her heavier boxes. Ethan. Marisol remembered his name because Celeste used to say it so often, like it was a melody she couldn't stop humming.
Now, though, that laughter was gone. And so was Ethan.
---
Marisol sipped her tea, her gaze drifting toward the thin wall separating her apartment from Celeste's. She could hear the faint hum of machinery, a sound that had become so constant it was almost a part of the building's ambience. At first, she'd assumed it was some kind of lab equipment—Celeste had once mentioned that she was working on "something big," though she'd been vague about the details. But over the past few months, the sounds had changed. There were voices now, though muffled and distorted, like static on an old radio. Sometimes Marisol thought she heard Celeste talking, her tone sharp and urgent, as though she were pleading with someone—or something.
She never asked. It wasn't her place. But it didn't stop her from wondering.
---
That evening, Marisol's curiosity got the better of her. The hum had grown louder, more erratic, accompanied by faint pulses of light that seeped through the cracks around Celeste's door. Marisol hesitated, her hand hovering over her own doorknob. She knew she should let it go, mind her own business. But something about the light, about the energy vibrating through the floorboards, sent a shiver down her spine.
Gathering her courage, she stepped into the hallway. The light was brighter now, casting strange, flickering patterns against the opposite wall. Marisol could hear Celeste's voice more clearly—low and urgent, speaking in half-formed sentences that Marisol couldn't quite piece together. And then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The light faded, the hum quieted, and the building fell into silence once more.
Marisol stood there for a long moment, her heart pounding. She wanted to knock, to ask Celeste if she was okay, but something held her back. It wasn't fear, exactly—it was a sense of intrusion, like she was standing on the edge of a story that wasn't hers to tell.
---
The next morning, Marisol found herself lingering in the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Celeste as she left for whatever mysterious errands always seemed to keep her busy. When the door finally opened, Marisol almost didn't recognize her. Celeste looked... different. Her shoulders were straighter, her eyes sharper, as though some unseen weight had been lifted. She was still wearing her usual long coat and boots, but there was a new energy about her, a sense of purpose that Marisol hadn't seen in years.
"Morning," Marisol said, a little too casually as Celeste locked her door. "Headed out early today?"
Celeste glanced up, startled, as if she hadn't even noticed Marisol standing there. "Oh. Yeah. Just... something I have to take care of."
Her voice was even, but Marisol caught the flicker of hesitation behind her words. She hesitated, weighing her options. She could let the moment pass, or she could finally ask the questions that had been swirling in her mind for months.
"Listen," Marisol began, her tone soft. "I don't mean to pry, but... are you okay? I've noticed—well, heard—things. Strange sounds. Lights. If something's wrong, you don't have to handle it alone."
For a fleeting moment, Celeste's guarded expression softened. She looked at Marisol, really looked at her, and something unspoken passed between them. Gratitude, maybe. Or recognition.
"I'm fine," Celeste said after a pause, her voice gentler now. "Really. I just... There's something I have to finish. It's important."
Marisol nodded slowly, her curiosity unsatisfied but her instinct to give Celeste space winning out. "If you ever need anything, I'm right here," she said. "Even if it's just someone to talk to."
Celeste's lips curved into a faint smile. "Thanks, Marisol. I'll keep that in mind."
---
As the weeks passed, Marisol noticed the changes in Celeste growing more pronounced. The hum of machinery continued, but the tension in Celeste's demeanor seemed to ebb. She came and went with purpose, her movements brisk and confident. Marisol still didn't know what Celeste was working on—or what had taken Ethan from her—but she could sense that something was shifting.
One night, as Marisol sat by her window watching the city lights flicker in the distance, she thought about the people who had come and gone from her life. Some had left without a trace, their stories dissolving into the ether. But Celeste wasn't like that. There was a gravity to her, a sense of something unfinished. Marisol didn't know how the story would end, but she knew one thing for certain: whatever Celeste was chasing, it was worth the fight.
And across the hall, in a room glowing faintly with golden light, Celeste worked tirelessly, unaware that her neighbor was rooting for her all along.