The next morning, Evelyn woke with mud on her feet.
She didn't remember leaving the bed.
Didn't remember walking.
But her soles were dark with earth. Her nightshirt smelled like rain.
Elias was still asleep, arms curled around a pillow like he was holding something that had long since slipped away.
She stood at the bathroom sink, washing off the mud.
And there—just behind her in the mirror—Lenore smiled.
"You're sleepwalking into me."
Evelyn didn't answer the ghost.
She didn't scream.
Didn't flinch.
She just stared at her reflection and said:
"Then let's walk all the way in."
They drove west that day, as far from the ruins as they could.
Past fields.
Past towns with broken neon signs and abandoned playgrounds.
Evelyn stared out the window. She traced circles on the glass.
"You never told me how she died," she said.
Elias didn't look at her.
"She bled. A lot. Said the child kicked too hard. But I think… she tore herself open. From the inside."
"Was it yours?"
He hesitated. "No. But I would've kept it anyway."
"Why?"
His hands tightened on the wheel.
"Because it was hers."
That night they stopped at a roadside inn. One room. One bed.
The silence between them was thick with things not said.
Evelyn sat at the edge of the mattress, brushing her hair. Long, dark strands fell over her shoulders like a curtain.
Lenore's hair.
She knew that now.
The ghost hadn't stolen her form—she had shaped Evelyn's. Slowly. Intimately. Like a sculptor with flesh.
Elias spoke at last.
"You've changed."
"Would you still want me if I hadn't?"
He looked at her. Carefully.
"I don't know."
She nodded.
"I think I would still want you if you were a monster," she said.
"Because you already were once. And I loved you anyway."
He didn't deny it.
Didn't argue.
Just came to her.
Kissed her softly, like a confession.
Like guilt.
Like prayer.
Later, as he slept, she got up and walked into the hallway barefoot, the floor cool beneath her feet.
She didn't need a mirror anymore.
Lenore walked beside her now.
Not as a ghost. Not as a voice.
But as a presence—just a few layers under Evelyn's skin.
They reached the vending machine. Evelyn pressed her palm flat to the glass.
Inside, the candy bars twisted. Melted. Bloomed into black roses.
Lenore laughed softly.
"You're learning."
Evelyn smiled. "I thought you wanted me to forget myself."
"No. I want you to remember what you are when no one's looking."
"What we are."
She returned to the room.
Elias still slept.
And as she slid into bed beside him, she whispered into his ear:
"I'm not afraid of her anymore."
He stirred. "You should be."
"No," she said, pressing her lips to his throat. "You should."
She dreamt again.
Not of fire.
Not of the cradle.
She dreamt of a room made entirely of mouths. All whispering the same name:
Evelyn. Evelyn. Evelyn.
And just once—
Lenore.
Then silence.
Then laughter.
When she woke, the sheets were damp with saltwater.
Elias was sitting at the desk, watching her.
His eyes were rimmed red.
"Where did you go last night?" he asked.
"I never left," she said.
He shook his head. "I saw you. In the parking lot. Talking to nothing."
She sat up.
"That wasn't nothing."
Elias's voice dropped.
"Then who was it?"
She smiled.
"Me."
[End of Chapter 16]