Flashback Chapter 2: One step closer.

Samantha

The day began like all the others.

Muted light filtered through the curtains.

The same tray of toast and too-sweet oatmeal.

The same quiet shuffle of slippers across waxed floors.

Only… something felt different.

Kayla hadn't come back in four days.

Not during meds. Not during group therapy. Not even in the halls.

And Samantha hated how much of her noticed.

How her brain had started listening for that familiar laugh. The smuggled gummy bears. The "I brought you a better pen" kind of small, careful kindness.

Kayla had made this place feel survivable.

So when a knock came at mid-morning, Samantha sat up fast.

Heart thudding.

And there she was.

Kayla.

Same warm eyes. Same loose ponytail.

But something was different in her smile. Smaller. Forced.

"Hey," Kayla said gently, stepping inside. "Can I… sit for a sec?"

Samantha blinked, already bracing. "What's going on?"

Kayla hesitated. "I came to say goodbye."

The words hit like a slap.

"…What?"

"I've been reassigned. Different facility downstate. They didn't really ask."

Samantha's breath stalled.

"No," she said automatically. "No, they can't—You can't—"

"I didn't want this either." Kayla sat down beside her. "But I couldn't leave without seeing you."

Samantha shook her head. "You can't leave."

"I'm not the one calling the shots."

The air in the room changed.

Colder. Not cruel—but empty.

Like something was leaving and taking the light with it.

"You said you'd help me finish the dumb crossword on the door," Samantha muttered, voice shaking. "You still owe me your travel list."

Kayla smiled sadly. "Still do."

Samantha looked away, folding her arms tight.

She didn't cry.

Didn't let herself.

Kayla stood up slowly, brushing a curl behind her ear.

She paused at the door. "I meant what I said, Sam. You're not crazy."

Samantha said nothing.

And Kayla didn't wait for forgiveness.

She just left.

---

Samantha didn't go to group.

Didn't eat. Didn't speak.

She crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over her head, burying her in silence.

But the cold returned.

Not sharp. Not biting.

Just… present.

She didn't need to look up.

"I don't want you here," she mumbled into the sheets.

The air didn't move.

Still, she felt him.

The hooded figure.

Not looming this time. Not threatening.

Almost… gentle.

And it was infuriating.

Samantha groaned and peeked out.

"I swear," she said, "if you're here to make me feel better, I'm gonna scream."

No response.

Just that same, steady stillness.

"I don't need ghost therapy," she muttered. "Or whatever you are."

Still nothing.

She let out a bitter breath.

"Maybe I am going crazy in this place."

She turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes.

But even then, she didn't feel entirely alone.

And somehow…

That made it worse.

---

Ron

"You cannot be serious with this outfit."

Ron zipped his hoodie with determination. "Mom. Not today."

"You look like a gremlin who lost a bet to a vending machine."

"Love you too."

His mom narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going, dressed like an urban myth?"

"I'm on a mission."

"Oh, Lord."

Ron grabbed his backpack and headed for the door.

"Ron, you're in high school. This whole undercover rebel thing is cute until you land yourself in juvie."

"Wouldn't be the first time I broke into a mystery," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing! Bye, love you!"

"Don't get arrested!"

"Not on the schedule!"

"And bring back eggs if you don't die!"

---

Outside, the air was crisp and clean—

The kind that made the world feel wide open.

Ron walked with purpose.

He'd studied the trail, memorized the security blind spots, watched the staff rotations from the ridge above the west wing.

He'd even built a cover story in case he was stopped—something about "volunteer work" and "uncle in administration."

He was ready.

Today wasn't about theory.

Today was about action.

He reached the dirt trail behind the facility.

Through the trees, the cold concrete walls loomed ahead—familiar now.

He knew every inch of this place from the outside.

But inside?

That's where she was.

And he couldn't wait another day.

He ducked behind the fence, heart pounding.

Slipped past the outer cameras.

Paused at the service door.

He touched the worn photograph in his pocket—the one of Samantha laughing like she wasn't haunted.

"I'm coming for you," he whispered.

"Just hold on."