《Will You Listen to their Voices?》


 Chapter 1: The Bridge

    The wind howled across the desolate bridge, carrying with it the bitter chill of midwinter. Daniel Cross gripped the cold metal railing with both hands, his knuckles pale and rigid. Below him, the river churned in the darkness, its surface fractured by the faint glow of streetlights. The water seemed endless, a perfect void waiting to swallow him whole.


    He glanced down, imagining the weightlessness of falling..the brief, sharp sting of the wind against his face, the silence that would follow. He closed his eyes, steadying his breath. It would be quick, he told himself. No more sleepless nights. No more echoes of a voice he¡¯d never hear again.


    Emily.


    Her name was a wound that refused to heal. He could still picture her as she was on the last morning they¡¯d spoken, barefoot in the kitchen, pouring milk into her cereal, her messy brown hair framing a face too serious for a sixteen-year-old. She had been angry with him that day. He couldn¡¯t remember why, only that he¡¯d left without saying goodbye.


    I¡¯m sorry, he thought, his grip tightening on the railing. But apologies didn¡¯t matter anymore. Not when she was gone.


    The wind gusted harder, pulling at his coat, as if daring him to let go. He leaned forward slightly, the rush of fear and anticipation coursing through him. And then, through the roar of the river below, he heard it¡­a voice.


    ¡°Dad!¡±


    Daniel froze. The word wasn¡¯t sharp or accusing, but soft, almost pleading. He spun around, half-expecting to see someone standing behind him, but the bridge was empty. The sound of tires on a distant highway was the only noise beyond the wind.


    He shut his eyes again. You¡¯re hearing things, he thought. But then it came again, closer this time, tugging at the edges of his mind like an unspoken memory.


    ¡°Dad¡­ don¡¯t.¡±


    The voice was hers. He would have known it anywhere.


    ¡°Emily?¡± he whispered, the word catching in his throat.


    Silence. He turned in place, searching the shadows, but there was no one. The world seemed impossibly still, save for the sound of his own frantic breathing.


    ¡°Emily!¡± he shouted, his voice breaking, echoing against the steel and concrete. His cry was swallowed by the wind, and for a moment, he thought he had imagined it all....just another cruel trick of grief. But then, faint and trembling, the voice returned.


    ¡°Please, Dad. Stay.¡±


    A sob clawed its way up his chest. He dropped to his knees on the icy pavement, his breath coming in ragged gasps.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he whispered into the night. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Emily. I didn¡¯t protect you. I¡ª¡± His words collapsed into silence, and he pressed his forehead against the cold railing, tears streaming down his face.


    He stayed like that for what felt like hours, the cold gnawing at his skin, until the faint hum of tires pulled him back to reality. A pair of headlights approached from the far end of the bridge, their beams cutting through the darkness.


    Daniel stumbled to his feet as a car slowed to a stop beside him. The window rolled down, and a middle-aged man leaned out, concern etched into his features.


    ¡°Hey, buddy. You alright?¡±


    Daniel hesitated, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. He looked back at the river, the temptation still lingering, but something held him back.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said finally, his voice hoarse. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t seem convinced, but he nodded. ¡°Alright. Take care of yourself.¡±


    The car pulled away, leaving Daniel alone again on the bridge. He stared at the water below, but the stillness of it no longer beckoned him. Instead, Emily¡¯s voice lingered in his mind, soft and insistent.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Stay.¡±


    As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Daniel turned and walked away from the edge. Whatever this was, grief, madness, or something else entirely...he wasn¡¯t ready to leave just yet.


    The air felt different now. Cold, but not suffocating. The weight on his chest had lifted just enough to let him breathe, though the ache in his heart remained....a dull throb that seemed to pulse with each step he took. He didn¡¯t know where he was going, only that he couldn¡¯t stay where he was, not with the echoes of Emily¡¯s voice still vibrating in his skull.


    The sun had barely risen, casting long, eerie shadows over the empty streets as Daniel walked in a daze. The cars that had once seemed like an invasion of his solitude now seemed distant, their noise muted in his head. The world around him seemed... quieter than it should have been.


    He could still hear her. Faintly. Like a whisper on the wind, pulling him, guiding him. Stay, she had said. But what did it mean? Was she really speaking to him, or was it just his mind..clutching at straws, desperate for a connection he couldn''t have?


    As he walked, the memory of Emily¡¯s final morning played out in flashes. He could see her in the kitchen, frowning at something in her phone. They had argued then. About what, he couldn¡¯t remember. It didn¡¯t matter anymore. I should have known, he thought, as a pang of guilt surged through him. I should have stayed. I should have tried harder.


    His fingers were numb from the cold, but the rest of him felt detached...like he wasn¡¯t entirely in his own body. The world seemed to move around him without his permission, as though he were watching from the outside. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was the grief or something else, but it didn¡¯t feel like he was really alive anymore.


    That thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and his pace faltered. He stopped in the middle of the empty street, his breath fogging in the early morning air. Am I dead? he wondered. The idea seemed absurd, but it was one that had been growing in his mind ever since he woke up in the hospital. It had felt like he was caught in a dream..like he had slipped out of his life and into some kind of limbo.


    He shook his head, trying to clear it. The thought was too much to handle. He didn¡¯t want to think about it. I¡¯m still here, he told himself, but it didn¡¯t sound convincing even to his own ears.


    Suddenly, he heard something again...a faint whisper. This time, it wasn¡¯t just a voice. It was a presence.


    Turn around, it seemed to say.


    Daniel froze. He glanced over his shoulder, and there, standing in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, was an old man.


    At first, Daniel thought his mind was playing tricks on him. The man was hunched over, leaning heavily on a cane, his ragged clothes drenched from the mist that had started to settle in the air. His face was weathered, his eyes clouded by age, but his gaze was fixed on Daniel with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.


    The man didn¡¯t speak immediately, but there was something in his eyes that stirred a distant memory. Daniel tried to place it, but the harder he thought, the less sense it made. The old man¡¯s face was both familiar and foreign, like an image from a half-forgotten dream.


    ¡°Sir, Are you lost?¡± Daniel asked, his voice hesitant.


    The man didn¡¯t respond right away. He simply nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the question but not quite answering it. Then, in a voice that crackled with the weight of many years, he said, ¡°It¡¯s not your time yet.¡±


    The words sent a chill down Daniel¡¯s spine. He took a step back instinctively, suddenly wary of the stranger.


    ¡°W-What?¡± Daniel stammered. His heart raced as his thoughts swirled in confusion. Was this some kind of hallucination? Or was it something more?


    The man¡¯s eyes softened, a strange understanding flickering in his gaze. ¡°You can¡¯t end it yet. Not until you hear their stories.¡±


    The words hit Daniel like a punch to the gut. His mind reeled, trying to comprehend the meaning. The man¡¯s presence seemed to seep into him, a suffocating pressure building in his chest. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. But his legs wouldn¡¯t move. His body was rooted to the spot as if some invisible force held him in place.


    ¡°Stories?¡± Daniel repeated, his voice trembling.


    The old man nodded. ¡°The dead speak, you know. They always have. But few can hear them. And fewer still listen.¡± He paused, taking a shuffling step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°But you can, Daniel Cross. You¡¯re one of the few.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s breath caught in his throat. How did the man know his name? The word ¡°dead¡± echoed in his mind.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Daniel whispered, shaking his head, his heart pounding. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m not... dead.¡±


    The man smiled faintly, a sad, knowing smile that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°No, not yet. But you will be soon enough. You¡¯ve seen them, haven¡¯t you? The ones who linger. The ones who have unfinished business.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s stomach twisted. He didn¡¯t want to hear this. He didn¡¯t want to believe it. But the voice...the voice of Emily...was still in his head, clearer now, more insistent.


    Please, Dad. Listen.


    He closed his eyes, his hands shaking as the image of Emily flashed before him again, her face, her eyes, so real, so full of life.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± he finally managed, his voice hoarse.


    The old man tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question carefully. ¡°I¡¯m not the one who wants something, boy. They do.¡± He gestured vaguely, as if indicating the very air around them. ¡°The dead. They want their stories told.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s head was spinning now. This didn¡¯t make any sense. Was he losing his mind? Had his grief driven him to the edge of sanity?


    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t understand,¡± he muttered. ¡°What stories? Who are you? What do you want from me?¡±


    The man¡¯s face softened again, as if he were genuinely trying to help Daniel understand, but his eyes were distant, clouded with something Daniel couldn¡¯t place. ¡°I want nothing, boy. Only to warn you. The dead... they speak in whispers. And once you hear them, there¡¯s no going back.¡±


    Daniel swallowed hard. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was gripped by fear...real, palpable fear. Not of the bridge, or the river, but of what he might be becoming.


    He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man was already shuffling away, vanishing into the mist, his voice lingering like a fading dream.


    ¡°They tell the best tales, Daniel. They always do.¡±


    Daniel stood there for a long moment, alone, his mind reeling. The city around him felt even quieter now, as if the world had paused, waiting for him to make a decision.


    Finally, he turned and walked back down the street, each step heavy with the weight of what he¡¯d just heard. He didn¡¯t know what to believe, but something deep inside him knew this wasn¡¯t the end.


    It was just the beginning.


    (To Be Continued)

 Chapter 2: Listen

    Daniel stumbled back to his apartment, his mind still spinning from the encounter. The old man¡¯s words looped endlessly in his head, like a haunting melody that refused to fade.


    "The dead¡­ they speak in whispers. And once you hear them, there¡¯s no going back."


    His apartment was a small, cramped place in the corner of a decrepit building, as tired and broken as he felt. The lightly peeling wallpapers here and there, spider webs on each corner of the ceilings, dusted furnitures and dim light from a flickering bulb overhead gave it an air of abandonment, though he still lived there. Barely. He kicked the door shut behind him, the noise echoing in the stillness.


    He let his coat fall to the floor, too drained to hang it up, and collapsed onto the couch. His head fell into his hands, his fingers pressing into his temples as if he could squeeze out the memories threatening to overwhelm him.


    Emily¡¯s voice. The old man¡¯s gaze. The suffocating pull of the river.


    ¡°Just what in the world is happening to me?¡± he whispered to the empty room.


    The silence answered him, heavy and oppressive.


    For a while, Daniel sat there, unmoving, staring blankly at the stained coffee table in front of him. On it sat an old photograph in a cheap frame. His hand trembled as he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the glass.


    It is a picture of Emily, taken a year ago on her fifteenth birthday. She was grinning at the camera, holding a cupcake with a single candle on top. Her brown eyes sparkled with a joy he hadn¡¯t seen in so long, even before the fire.


    He traced her face with his thumb, his vision blurring with tears. ¡°I should¡¯ve been there,¡± he murmured. ¡°I should¡¯ve protected you.¡±


    The guilt was a living thing, clawing at his chest. He¡¯d spent months replaying every moment of that day in his head, searching for a clue, a sign...anything, just anything that could explain what had happened. But all he had were questions and an empty hole where his heart used to be.


    He set the photo down carefully, as if it might shatter under the weight of his sorrow, and leaned back against the couch. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, unfocused.


    And then he heard it again.


    ¡°Dad.¡±


    His breath caught, his entire body going rigid. The voice was faint but unmistakable. It came from somewhere close, not in his head this time. He quickly sat up, his heart hammering in his chest.


    ¡°Emily?¡± he called out, his voice barely more than a whisper.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Silence......


    He rose slowly, his movements cautious, as if afraid to disturb whatever presence might be there. His eyes scanned the room, searching for something...anything...that could explain what he¡¯d heard.


    Then he saw it.


    The photo on the table had shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the frame now tilted slightly to the left, as though someone had nudged it.


    Daniel stared at it, his pulse racing. He moved toward it cautiously, his hands trembling. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before picking it up.


    As soon as his fingers touched the frame, a sudden chill enveloped him, cutting through his skin and into his very bones. The air around him grew dense, heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.


    And then the whispers began.


    They were faint at first, a low hum that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, same moment. But they grew louder, overlapping, a chaotic symphony of voices, each one distinct yet indistinguishable.


    Daniel clutched the frame tightly, his knuckles white. ¡°What do you want from me???" he shouted, his voice cracking.


    The whispers stopped abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in their wake.


    Then, one voice broke through.


    ¡°Listen.¡±


    The single word is spoken clearly, firmly, with a weight that sent shivers down Daniel¡¯s spine. It wasn¡¯t Emily¡¯s voice this time. It is deeper, older, filled with a strange sense of urgency.


    Daniel¡¯s knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, the photograph still clutched in his hands. He is shaking now, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.


    ¡°I...I d<em style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif">on¡¯t understand,¡± he said, his voice barely audible. ¡°What do you want me for? What do you want me to do??¡±


    The room remained silent, but the chill lingered, pressing against him like an unseen force. Slowly, he looked down at the photograph in his hands.


    For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The image had changed. Emily is still there, smiling, but in the background, a shadowy figure now stood. It is vague, indistinct, more a suggestion of a person than an actual presence. But its eyes...or what should have been its eyes, were fixed on him.


    Daniel¡¯s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. He scrambled back, letting the photo fall to the floor. The sound of the glass hitting the wood jolted him, but when he looked again, the shadow was gone.


    He pressed his back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel his sanity slipping, the world around him unraveling.


    But beneath the terror, a seed of something else began to grow.


    Listen.


    The word echoed in his mind, steady and unyielding. If this was real....if he wasn¡¯t losing his mind....then what choice did he have?


    He had to listen.


    As the first light of dawn filtered through the grimy window, Daniel made a decision. He didn¡¯t know what was happening to him or why, but he couldn¡¯t ignore it any longer.


    If the dead wanted to speak, he would hear them.


    But he had no idea what truths they would reveal...or what it would cost him.


    (To be Continued)

 Chapter 3: Listen (Part 2)

    Daniel spent the next hour pacing back and forth his apartment, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The voices, the chill, the shifting photograph, it all felt unreal, like something out of a nightmare he couldn¡¯t wake from. Yet, the weight in his chest, the unknown feeling, the oppressive stillness of the room, made it all too clear that this was no dream.


    He couldn¡¯t ignore the voice anymore.


    ¡°Listen¡± it had said. One simple word, but it carried hundreds and thousands of implications. Listen to what? To who? And why him?


    He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers trembling as they caught on tangles. The urge to run, to leave everything behind, was overwhelming, but where would he go? Would even leaving everything behind stop the voices that he can now hear? There is no escaping this, he felt instinctively..not the voices, not the memories, not the suffocating grief that clung to him like a second skin.


    His gaze drifted back to the photograph lying on the floor. The frame facing down. He crouched down, hesitant, and picked it up again, the ground where the photograph fall is now with tiny powdered shards of glasses, he flip it and saw a jagged line splitting Emily''s face.


    The shadowy figure from before was gone, replaced by the familiar image of his daughter smiling brightly. For a moment, a wave of relief washed over him. Maybe it was all his imagination. Maybe his mind, fractured by grief and exhaustion, had conjured the entire encounter causing him to see and hear things.


    But as he stared at the photo back again, the faint whisper returned.


    This time, it was barely audible, like the rustling of leaves on a distant wind. It wasn¡¯t Emily¡¯s voice. It wasn¡¯t even the deep, commanding tone from earlier. It was something else..softer, more hesitant.


    ¡°Help me.¡±


    Daniel froze, his breath catching in his throat. The words were faint but unmistakable. He whipped his head around, scanning the room, nothing seem to caught his attention, nothing seems wrong, but he is sure he is alone.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± he demanded, his voice shaking.


    (Silence.....)


    He gripped the photograph tighter, his knuckles turning white. His heart hammered in his chest as he rose to his feet, every nerve in his body is now on edge. The voice had sounded close, impossibly close, as though it had come from within the room itself.


    ¡°Help you?¡± he said, his voice faltering. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t understand. Who are you? What do you want?¡±


    The air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. A cold draft brushed against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.


    And then he saw it.


    The mirror hanging on the wall across the room.


    At first, it appeared normal, just a simple rectangular mirror with a tarnished silver frame, reflecting the cluttered living space behind him. But as he stared, something shifted.


    The reflection of the room began to darken, the edges of the glass warping and twisting as though it were mixed in a blender. Shadows seeped into the surface, swirling and coalescing into a form.....a figure.


    Daniel was so overwhelmed that he forgot to instinctively breath for a few moments.


    It was a man. Or at least, it had been a man once. His outline was faint, blurred around the edges like an unfinished sketch. His face is gaunt, his eyes sunken and hollow, yet they burned with an intensity that pinned Daniel in place.


    ¡°Help me¡± the figure said again, its voice echoing faintly from the mirror.


    Daniel stumbled back, his pulse racing. ¡°Wh-What is this?¡± he stammered, his voice cracking. ¡°Who are you? How are you--¡±


    The figure raised a hand, silencing him. ¡°You can hear us,....right?¡± it said, its voice steady but tinged with desperation. ¡°That means you can help.¡±


    ¡°Help? Help with what?¡± Daniel demanded, his fear giving way to frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what¡¯s happening to me!¡±


    The figure tilted its head slightly, as though considering his words. ¡° Very few living can hear us, even then a handful listens. You must have been chosen,¡± it said simply.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Chosen???¡± Daniel echoed, his voice rising. ¡°For what? I didn¡¯t ask for this!¡±


    ¡°No one asks...¡± the figure replied, its tone growing softer. ¡°But you¡¯ve been given a gift....or a curse, depending on how you see it. You can hear us, so you can listen to our stories.¡±


    Daniel shook his head, his mind racing. ¡°Why me? I¡¯m no one special. I¡¯m just¡­¡± His voice trailed off, his gaze falling to the floor. ¡°I¡¯m broken.¡±


    The figure¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but there was a flicker of something in its eyes....pity, perhaps, or understanding. ¡°Sometimes, the broken are the only ones who can see what others cannot.¡±


    Daniel clenched his fists, his frustration boiling over. ¡°I don¡¯t want this,¡± he said, his voice trembling. ¡°I.....just want to be left alone.¡±


    The figure¡¯s gaze hardened. ¡°And what of those who can never be alone? Those who are trapped, forgotten, silenced?¡±


    The words struck a chord deep within Daniel, silencing his protests. He thought of Emily, her voice pleading with him to stay. He thought of the guilt that had haunted him ever since her death, the nagging feeling that he¡¯d missed something, failed her in some fundamental way.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.


    The figure¡¯s outline flickered, its form growing fainter. ¡°My name doesn¡¯t matter...¡± it said. ¡°What matters is my story. And whether or not you¡¯ll listen.¡±


    Daniel hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to run. But something in the figure¡¯s voice, its quiet desperation held him in place.


    ¡°What¡­ what happened to you?¡± he asked, his voice trembling.


    The figure¡¯s expression softened, and for the first time, Daniel saw something human in its hollow eyes.


    ¡°I was betrayed...¡± it said simply. ¡°Left to die. Forgotten by those I trusted.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s heart ached at the raw pain in the figure¡¯s voice. ¡°Why¡­ why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°Because you can change it.¡± the figure replied. ¡°You can uncover the truth. You can set things right.¡±


    Before Daniel could respond, the figure began to fade, its outline dissolving into the shadows.


    ¡°Wait!¡± he called out, panic rising in his chest. ¡°How do I¡ª¡±


    But the figure was already gone, leaving Daniel alone in the silent, suffocating darkness of his apartment.


    He sank to the floor, his head in his hands, as the weight of the encounter settled over him. He didn¡¯t know what to think, what to believe. But one thing was certain:


    The dead weren¡¯t done with him yet.


    .................................................................


    Daniel sat in silence, the weight of the encounter pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His mind raced with questions, but no answers came. The figure¡¯s parting words echoed in his thoughts, haunting and relentless.


    "You can set things right."


    He didn¡¯t know how to ¡°set things right.¡± He wasn¡¯t a detective, a hero, or anyone equipped to deal with this kind of insanity. He was just Daniel Cross...a broken man barely holding on to the scraps of his existence.


    But as much as he wanted to dismiss it all as some cruel hallucination, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was real. Too real.


    He dragged himself to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, his hands trembling so badly that half of it splashed onto the counter. He stared into the glass as if it might offer him some clarity, but all he saw was his own distorted reflection.


    And then, faintly, he heard the whispers again.


    ¡°Listen¡­ please¡­¡±


    The glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor. He stumbled back, his chest tightening as the voices grew louder, more distinct.


    ¡°Help us¡­ we¡¯re still here¡­ forgotten¡­¡±


    The whispers came from everywhere and nowhere, surrounding him, invading his mind. He clutched his head, trying to block them out, but they only grew more insistent.


    ¡°STOP!!!!¡± he shouted, his voice cracking.


    The voices fell silent, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. Daniel stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of ''the voices'' source.


    And then he saw it...a faint glow emanating from the corner of the living room.


    It was the mirror.


    The tarnished silver frame seemed to shimmer in the dim light, the glass surface rippling like water. Daniel felt his legs move on their own, drawing him closer despite every instinct screaming for him to run.


    As he stood before the mirror, the glow intensified, and the surface began to shift again. Shapes emerged from the swirling shadows, forming the faint outlines of figures.


    There were three of them this time.


    The first was the man from earlier, his hollow eyes filled with the same desperate urgency. Beside him stood a woman, her face pale and gaunt, her dark hair tangled and matted. Her lips moved silently, as if she were trying to speak but couldn¡¯t find the words.


    The third figure was smaller, frailer...a boy, no older than ten. His wide eyes stared at Daniel, filled with fear and a sadness that seemed far too heavy for someone so young.


    Daniel¡¯s throat tightened, and he took an involuntary step back. ¡°What do you all want from me?¡± he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    The man stepped forward, his outline flickering like a weak signal on an old television. ¡° Since you are one of those that can hear us..You¡¯ve been chosen to hear us¡± he said, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow. ¡°To bear witness to our stories.¡±


    Daniel shook his head, his breathing shallow. "Again with this? I''m tired of this mysterious cryptic responses...just why me?


    The woman¡¯s form flickered, her hand reaching out as if to touch him. ¡°Because no one else will listen..¡± she said softly, her voice breaking.


    The boy clung to her side, his small hands gripping her tattered dress. He didn¡¯t speak, but his eyes said everything...pleading, hoping.


    Daniel felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of their presence. He wanted to run, to escape this nightmare, but something deep inside him wouldn¡¯t let him.


    Daniel took a long deep breath. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡± he asked finally, his voice tho still trembling.


    The man¡¯s hollow eyes locked onto his. ¡°Tell the world our truths,¡± he said. ¡°Expose the lies that buried us. Only then can we rest.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s stomach churned. ¡°What lies? I don¡¯t even know where to start!¡±


    The man¡¯s expression darkened, his form flickering more violently. ¡°Start with me.¡± he said. ¡°My name....My Living name was Robert Langley. I was a soldier...a loyal one. But they left me to die.¡±


    The name hit Daniel like a punch to the gut. He remembered reading it in the unnoticeable corner of the newspaper years ago, a soldier declared missing in action during a classified operation. There had been a brief uproar, followed by silence. The world had moved on, and Robert Langley had been forgotten.


    ¡°So What happened to you?¡± Daniel asked, his voice barely steady.


    Robert¡¯s form grew sharper, the shadows around him deepening. ¡°I was a pawn in their game"  he said, his tone bitter. ¡°They used me, discarded me, and erased every trace of what really happened.¡±


    The woman stepped forward, her voice trembling as she spoke. ¡°I¡¯m Maria¡± she said. ¡°I died searching for my daughter...taken by men who promised help but only brought pain.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s heart sank. The boy¡¯s grip on Maria tightened, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.


    ¡°And him?¡± Daniel asked, his voice breaking as he gestured toward the boy.


    Maria¡¯s form flickered, her voice thick with emotion. ¡°His name is Peter. He doesn¡¯t speak anymore¡­ but he died waiting for a father who never came home.¡±


    Daniel staggered back, overwhelmed by the weight of their stories. Each one felt like a blow to his chest, their pain and sorrow wrapping around him like chains.


    ¡°How¡­ how am I supposed to be of help to any of you??¡± he asked, his voice cracking.


    Robert¡¯s gaze bore into him, unyielding. ¡°You start by listening. Truly listening. Our stories have been silenced for too long. You can¡¯t save us, but you can make sure the world knows we were here. Maybe also learn something from our stories."


    The shadows around the figures began to waver, their forms growing fainter.


    ¡°Wait! What''s going on to you all?¡± Daniel called out, panic rising in his chest. ¡°Wait! Don¡¯t go! I¡ªI don¡¯t know how to do this!¡±


    Robert¡¯s voice echoed faintly as his form dissolved. ¡°You¡¯ll find a way. You have to.¡±


    The glow from the mirror faded, leaving Daniel alone once more. He sank to the floor, his head in his hands, as the enormity of what had just happened crashed over him.


    The dead had chosen him to be their voice, their witness.


    And there was no turning back. Not after hearing what they have told him.


    (To be Continued)

 Chapter 4: The First Step

    Daniel sat on the cold wooden floor for what felt like hours....


    The silence of the room broke only by the occasional groan of the old apartment settling around him. His breathing had slowed, but his thoughts raced like a storm. His mind kept circling back to the faces he¡¯d just seen, the hollow gaze of Robert Langley, Maria¡¯s trembling voice, and Peter¡¯s haunting, wordless plea.


    For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder if he¡¯d finally lost it, if the weight of Emily¡¯s death had broken something vital in him. But no hallucination could feel this real. The voices, the mirror, the undeniable ache of their stories...they had left a mark on him too deep to dismiss as mere fantasy.


    Daniel remains lost and empty, slowly rose unsteadily to his feet and grabbed a broom to sweep up the broken glass from the kitchen floor. The rhythmic motion of cleaning was grounding, even as his hands trembled. He needed a plan, a starting point.


    Robert¡¯s name was the only tangible thread he had, but it was a fragile one. The news coverage of the missing soldier had been brief and vague, leaving behind more questions than answers.


    He rinsed his hands under the tap, the icy water stinging against his skin. As the chill seeped into his fingers, he forced himself to focus. If Robert¡¯s story was true, it wasn¡¯t just a tragedy...it is an injustice. Someone had orchestrated his death, erased his name, and left his soul to wander, unable to rest.


    On the other hand, there is Maria, whose daughter had been taken by ¡°men who promised help but only brought pain.¡± What did that mean? Was it trafficking? Exploitation? Daniel didn¡¯t know, but the thought of her desperation made his stomach churn.


    Peter¡¯s story was even more elusive, his silence looks natural considering his age and lack of social activities but that soulless silence is as loud as a scream. The boy¡¯s sorrowful eyes had seemed to hold a million words, all locked behind a door Daniel couldn¡¯t yet open.


    He sat at his small desk, its surface cluttered with unopened mail and half-finished notebooks. Pulling out his laptop, he opened a blank document and stared at the blinking cursor.


    ¡°Start by listening...¡± Robert had said.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The phrase echoed in his mind, both a command and a burden. Daniel hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Where did one even begin to tell the stories of the dead? He wasn¡¯t a journalist anymore.He¡¯d walked away from that life after Emily¡¯s death. But maybe, just maybe, this was something he could still do.


    His fingers moved tentatively at first, typing out Robert Langley¡¯s name. Beneath it, he added the fragments of information he could remember from their brief encounter:


    Name: Robert Langley


    Occupation: Soldier


    Cause of Death: Betrayed by his own


    Details: Left behind during a classified operation. The truth erased. More information to be added.


    He stared at the words, their starkness underscoring how little he truly knew. The man¡¯s voice had been steady, but there had been a depth of bitterness that spoke of unimaginable betrayal.


    Daniel opened a search engine and typed in Robert¡¯s name. The results were sparse, as he¡¯d expected. A few old articles mentioned his disappearance, but there was no follow-up, no closure. Clicking on one of the links, he skimmed through a report from nearly a decade ago.


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Sergeant Robert Langley, 32, was declared missing in action during an operation in an undisclosed location. The military has provided no further details, citing national security concerns. Langley, a decorated soldier, is survived by his wife and young daughter."


    </blockquote>


    Daniel frowned. A wife and daughter? The idea of them waiting, grieving without answers, filled him with a deep sense of unease. What had they been told? Did they know the truth, or were they living with the same sanitized lie the public had been fed?


    He jotted down their names. Caroline Langley and Lily Langley, before returning to his search. There wasn¡¯t much else to find, but he noted a few addresses linked to Caroline. If she was still alive, maybe she could help him piece together Robert¡¯s story.


    Closing his laptop, Daniel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. The weight of what he was undertaking pressed down on him like a vice. This wasn¡¯t just about Robert, Maria, or Peter. It was about something much bigger, a web of untold stories, each one demanding to be heard.


    He glanced at the mirror across the room, now dull and unremarkable. The thought of more faces appearing there sent a shiver down his spine. How many more would come to him, their truths buried and their voices silenced?


    As he sat there, the faintest whisper reached his ears.


    ¡°Thank you....¡±


    It was soft, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably Robert¡¯s voice.


    Daniel¡¯s chest tightened, and for the first time in what felt like years, a spark of purpose flickered within him. He didn¡¯t know where this path would lead or if he was even strong enough to walk it. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn¡¯t turn back now.


    The dead had chosen him to tell their tales and he decided to finally listen and see where things lead.


    (To be Continued)

 Chapter 5: The First Step (Part 2)

    The following morning came too soon, with rays of pale winter sunlight creeping through the blinds. Daniel had barely slept, his mind restless with questions and possibilities. He sat at his desk nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee, staring at the names on his laptop screen, Robert Langley, Maria, Peter.


    The silence of the room was oppressive, the kind that made him feel as though he wasn¡¯t truly alone. He found himself glancing at the mirror, half-expecting one of them to return, but it remained an ordinary pane of glass reflecting his disheveled appearance.


    He sighed and turned his focus back to his work. If Robert¡¯s story was to be the first thread he unraveled, then he needed to start somewhere... ''tangible''. The articles he¡¯d found were scant and cryptic, but they had mentioned Robert¡¯s family. Caroline and Lily Langley. The idea of contacting them felt intrusive, even reckless, but it also felt necessary.


    After another hour of digging, Daniel found a current address for Caroline Langley in a small town a few hours away. What surprised him is that, she¡¯d remarried, her name now Caroline Hayes. There were no mentions of Lily, at least none he could find publicly. Had she changed her name too? Or was there another, more tragic reason for her absence from the records?


    The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn¡¯t assume the worst...Not yet.


    Daniel grabbed his coat and stuffed his notebook into a worn leather bag. He didn¡¯t know exactly what he was going to say to Caroline, but he knew he had to see her. Even if she slammed the door in his face, even if she didn¡¯t believe him, he owed it to Robert to try.


    ---


    The drive was long and uneventful, the barren winter landscape stretching endlessly around him. He used the time to rehearse different ways of approaching the conversation, but none of them felt right.


    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Daniel Cross. Your dead husband spoke to me through a mirror and asked me to uncover the truth about his death.¡±


    ....Yeah, that wouldn¡¯t work.


    When he finally pulled into the quiet suburban neighborhood where Caroline lived, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets. Her house was modest, with a neatly trimmed yard and a single wreath hanging on the door. It was the kind of home that radiated normalcy, a stark contrast to the chaos roiling in Daniel¡¯s mind.


    He sat in his car for a few minutes, gathering his nerve. His breath fogged up the windshield as he exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. Finally, he stepped out, his boots crunching against the frozen ground as he approached the door.


    He knocked lightly, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he thought no one would answer, but then the door creaked open to reveal a woman in her late forties. Her hair was streaked with gray, her face lined with the kind of weariness that comes from carrying too much for too long.


    ¡°Yes?¡± she said, her tone cautious but not unkind.


    ¡°Caroline Hayes?¡± he asked.


    Her brow furrowed slightly. ¡°Yes. Who might you be?¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Pardon for the Inconvenience. My name is Daniel Cross,¡± he said, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. ¡°I¡ªI umm...need to talk to you about Mr. Robert.¡±


    Her expression hardened immediately. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think you¡¯re doing, but I have nothing to say about him. Please leave.¡±


    She began to close the door, but Daniel reached out, stopping it just enough to keep the conversation alive.


    ¡°Please,¡± he said, his voice desperate. ¡°I know this sounds insane, but I believe Robert¡¯s death wasn¡¯t what they told you. He needs your help. I need your help.¡±


    Caroline froze, her grip tightening on the edge of the door. For a long moment, she stared at him, her eyes searching his face for some hint of deceit or madness. Finally, she sighed and stepped back.


    ¡°You have five minutes,¡± she said, gesturing for him to come inside.


    ---


    The interior of the house was as unassuming as the exterior was, comfortable and clean, with family photos lining the walls. Daniel couldn¡¯t help but glance at them as Caroline led him into the living room.


    One picture caught his eye: a younger Robert in uniform, standing proudly beside a smiling Caroline and a little girl with pigtails. Assumed to be Lily. The sight of it sent a pang through his chest.


    Caroline sat down on the couch, her arms crossed defensively. ¡°All right. Start talking.¡±


    Daniel hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. ¡°I¡¯ve been researching Robert¡¯s case,¡± he began cautiously. ¡°The official story doesn¡¯t add up. I think¡­ I think there¡¯s more to what happened to him.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°And why would you care? What¡¯s your angle?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have an angle,¡± he said. ¡°I just want the truth. For him. For you. For Lily.¡±


    At the mention of her daughter, Caroline¡¯s expression softened, though her guard didn¡¯t lower entirely. ¡°Lily...our little sweetheart... she''s gone,¡± she said quietly. ¡°She died five years ago. Cancer.¡±


    The words hit Daniel like a blow to the chest. He hadn¡¯t expected that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said sincerely.


    Caroline nodded, her gaze distant. ¡°She always believed her father was a hero. It was the only thing that kept her going after he disappeared. I couldn¡¯t take that away from her, even when I started to suspect the truth myself.¡±


    ¡°What truth?¡± Daniel asked, leaning forward.


    Caroline hesitated, as if weighing whether or not to trust him. Finally, she said, ¡°I think Robert was set up. He was outspoken..too outspoken about some of the things he saw during his deployments. He wanted to go public, to expose some of the operations he thought were unethical. And then he was sent on that mission, and¡­ well, you know the rest.¡±


    Daniel¡¯s stomach churned. It was exactly the kind of betrayal Robert had hinted at, but hearing it confirmed made it all the more chilling.


    ¡°Do you know who might have been involved?¡± he asked.


    Caroline shook her head. ¡°No. But I do know one thing....whatever happened to Robert, it wasn¡¯t an accident. Someone wanted him gone.¡±


    Her voice trembled with anger and grief, and Daniel felt the weight of her words settle heavily on his shoulders.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to find out the truth,¡± he said quietly. ¡°For him. For you. For Lily.¡±


    Caroline looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ¡°I hope you do,¡± she said. ¡°Because he deserves better than what they gave him.¡±


    As Daniel left her house, the cold night air biting at his skin, he knew this was only the beginning. The dead had given him their stories, and now it was up to him to make sure they were finally heard.


    (To be Continued)