Chapter 4: Evidence and Echoes

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These fragments were chaotic and jumbled. Looking at the increasingly familiar face before me, my heart ached for no reason. The ache was sharp, like a pulled muscle that wouldn’t let go.

It was a pain so deep I could barely breathe, even as a ghost. My whole being ached for him.

Dr. Harrison should be my lover.

The certainty settled over me like a blanket. I reached for him, but my hand passed through empty air. The longing was almost unbearable.

I reached out to touch him, but before I could, he stood up, his eyes showing emotions I couldn’t understand. He looked haunted, as if he were holding back a storm. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but I couldn’t.

“Sam, show me the surveillance of Blair being thrown from the car and crawling back to the station.” He left this sentence, hands in his pockets, and walked out of the meeting room. That got everyone moving.

Sam nodded to the chief and followed. Her jaw was set, her eyes fierce.

Back in the office, Sam pulled up the footage of me being thrown from the car and crawling back to the station, then looked at Dr. Harrison, wanting to speak but hesitating. “The car had no plates. We can’t trace the owner. Throwing Blair there was clearly to provoke us. It must have been those monsters from Hanley Group. Blair must have discovered something, or they wouldn’t have tortured her for over thirty hours.”

Her voice trembled, but she kept her chin high. The kind of courage you only find when you have nothing left to lose. I admired her strength.

“I know. I know her better than anyone.”

His voice was soft, but the conviction in it was unbreakable. I felt a surge of pride.

I floated behind Dr. Harrison, watching him stare at the computer without blinking, unwilling to miss a single frame. He watched again and again, seeing me, naked and covered in wounds, thrown from an unmarked van. He watched as passersby surrounded me, but I held on, dragging my broken body, inch by inch, toward the station. He watched me reach the entrance, stretch out my hand, and die with my eyes open.

Each time he replayed it, I could see him flinch. It was like he was trying to find a different ending, but the footage never changed. The pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

“No wonder you only remembered the road to the station. That was your last obsession before death.” The reaper beside me sighed. For once, I saw an expression on his face other than nosiness. His eyes were soft, almost sad. I wondered if he remembered his own last moments.

The office lights were off; the only light was from the computer in front of Dr. Harrison. He sat there, unmoving, for a long time. I could hear the regret in the voices of the young officers outside. Their whispers floated through the doorway, hushed and reverent, as if afraid to disturb the dead.

“Doc and Officer Blair—so pitiful.”

“Yeah. I heard they even got their marriage license, just waiting for Blair to finish her mission and get married.”

The words stung, even though I couldn’t quite remember the details. The promise of a future, stolen by violence. It made my chest ache.

Colleagues came in waves to persuade Dr. Harrison to rest, but he never moved, never responded. He sat there until dawn. The night dragged on, the darkness pressing in. Only the computer screen lit his face, highlighting the grief etched in every line. I felt the weight of it all.

When Sam, hearing the news, stormed in, Dr. Harrison was still staring at the computer. Seeing his unresponsive look, Sam angrily slapped him on the head.

Her hand cracked against his skull, snapping him out of his trance. “Get a grip, Harrison!” The sound echoed, sharp and jarring. I winced in sympathy.

“Harrison, do you want to die? At this rate, before you catch those guys and avenge Blair, you’ll be dead. How can you...”

She choked on her words, tears glistening in her eyes. The pain in her voice was raw.

“I know what message Blair was trying to send us.” Dr. Harrison’s voice was weak. He glanced at Sam, then closed his eyes. His words cut through the fog, sharp and clear.

Sam was startled, then delighted: “What message? Tell me!” She leaned in, hope flickering in her eyes.

“She wanted to go home. She wasn’t crawling here. In her last moment, the direction she stretched her hand wasn’t the station. North. From that direction, keep going north—that’s her home. After her parents died, she was sent to foster care and never went back.”

His voice was thick with emotion, each word a struggle. The truth settled in the room, heavy as a thundercloud. I felt the weight of it pressing down on me.

Dr. Harrison lowered his head. When he opened his eyes again, they were red. He stood up, brushed past Sam, returned to the morgue, changed clothes, then took the photo frame from the table, extracting a key from behind it. His movements were deliberate, as if he were afraid the world might shatter if he moved too quickly.

With the key, Dr. Harrison left the station and drove north out of Maple Heights. The sky was still dark, the city empty. His car’s headlights cut a lonely path through the night. I drifted beside him, a silent passenger. My heart beat in time with the tires on the road.

I was really worried—this guy looked like he hadn’t rested for days. Would he get in an accident from exhaustion? But actually, I worried too much. He drove with a kind of grim determination, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The car drove for a long time, finally stopping at an old apartment building. The houses were clearly old, with ancient wires, peeling and rusty doors. A few elderly men and women sat at the stairs, fanning themselves and chatting. Their voices drifted up, soft and familiar. The kind of neighborhood where everyone knows your business, and nothing stays secret for long.

I followed Dr. Harrison as he walked slowly inside, turned into a building, climbed to the third floor, and stopped at a door. The faded “Welcome” mat and Christmas stickers made it obvious the place had been empty for a long time. The hallway smelled like dust and old memories. The door creaked on its hinges, protesting as he turned the key.

Dr. Harrison took out the key, inserted it into the rusty lock, and opened the door. He hesitated on the threshold, as if waiting for permission to enter. I floated past him, drawn inside by a pull I couldn’t explain.

I floated in after him. The moment I entered, I seemed to hear a deep voice by my ear, calling my name over and over. The memories hit me in waves—soft, warm, aching. I could almost feel the weight of my father’s hand on my shoulder, my mother’s arms around me.

“Jenny, look what Mom and Dad brought you!”

“Jenny, don’t be mad at us. Didn’t we explain? We didn’t mean to miss your recital.”

“We were really busy. As soon as work was over, we came back to be with you!”

“Alright, next time, Dad will definitely watch your dance performance. It’s a promise!”

...

“Jenny, hide in the closet. Don’t come out unless Mom calls you!”

“Jenny, remember, no matter what happens, Mom and Dad will always love you.”

...

The voices faded in and out, like a radio caught between stations. My chest ached with longing and loss. I wanted to reach for them, but they were already gone.

“Hey, hey! Why are you crying?” The reaper waved his hand in front of my eyes. The strange yet familiar voices and words made my heart ache. I blinked, surprised to find tears streaming down my face. Even in death, grief finds a way in.

I turned blankly to the curious reaper, wiped my face, and realized I was really crying. He looked at me with something like respect, as if remembering was the bravest thing anyone could do. I almost smiled.

“Did you remember something?” Looking at the familiar furnishings, I nodded. This should be my home. I took a deep breath—habit, not need—and let the memories wash over me.

I wiped away my tears and followed Dr. Harrison into a room. The room was simple—a wooden desk, a pink bed, the headboard full of stuffed toys, all covered in dust. It looked like a snapshot from another life, frozen in time. The air smelled of old perfume and sun-warmed sheets.

Dr. Harrison walked around the room, touching and looking, as if searching for something. The reaper was puzzled, following him around but clueless. He opened drawers, checked behind books, knelt to peer under the bed. The silence was thick with expectation.

“What’s he looking for?”

“He must be looking for something I hid.”

The answer came to me as if I’d known it all along. My fingers itched to help. I floated from the door toward Dr. Harrison, not noticing that I passed through the bed and knocked over a doll. The doll rolled under the bed. Dr. Harrison paused, bent down to pick it up, then seemed to see something and, ignoring the dust, knelt to pull it out.

The moment his hand closed around the doll, I felt a jolt of recognition. He reached beneath the bedframe, pulling out a small red cloth bag. My heart raced.

A red cloth bag was pulled from the bed frame. Dr. Harrison opened it and found a USB drive and a letter inside. The sight of the letter made my heart race. I knew, even before he opened it, that it was for him.

Taking out the letter, Dr. Harrison’s hands trembled uncontrollably. He ripped open the envelope and took out the letter, reading it. His eyes scanned the page, lips moving silently as he read. The room was so quiet, I could hear the soft hitch of his breath.

I didn’t need to think to know this was my final letter to Dr. Harrison. But I was also curious—what would I write to him? The curiosity was sharp, almost painful. I leaned in, hungry for answers.

So I leaned in.

To Harrison:

You didn’t expect it, did you? I actually wrote you a letter. Honestly, I never thought I’d write to you one day. I don’t know if you’ll laugh at me for using such an old-fashioned way.

But I can’t worry about that. When you open this letter, I should already be gone. Sorry I couldn’t keep our promise. That’s my biggest regret in this life.

I’m not someone who likes to say mushy things. I know you don’t like hearing cheesy words either. I know you’re a scientist, a staunch realist.

But Harrison, I still want to say—Only with you, I want a next life.

Harrison, remember our promise. Be worthy of your oath, of the badge on your chest. Meeting you in this life, I, Jenny Blair, have no regrets. Don’t dwell on me. Move forward, don’t look back.

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