A Dead Lover's Lingering Shadow

Phelp

frantic energy, a blend of anger and something he hadn't yet acknowledged as fear. Bilal sat beside him, his ga

tered, his voice tight. "Always with the drama." His words were mean

waiting for a life that would never return. Arthur strode to the door, his movements stiff, almost theatrical. He unlo

p, echoing in the quiet apartment. "Alr

int creak of the flo

ed book lay on the coffee table beside a perfectly placed teacup. There was no sig

n planning. I watched him, a ghostly hope flickering. Find it, Bilal. Please, find it. My eyes landed on the small, embroidered scarf tucked pa

to make my presence felt. But my ghostly hand passed right thr

s sweeping over my cherished belongings without truly seeing them. He walked right past the scarf, his gaze fixed on some ima

t a familiar ache of despair. He wa

pale. "No sign of anything. She just... left. To make a point." He let out a

edroom, his expression g

, but I knew it instantly. My locket. The one Arthur had given me for our second anniversary. It had my

look still on his face. "What is

voice quiet. He held it out. "It was embedded in

was still faintly visible. The small, almost illegible 'E & A' etched into the back. His eyes wid

is can't be hers." He looked at Bilal, then back at the loc

came back from the ME. Dental records match. Fibers from the scarf we found under your sofa match t

d at the floor, at the locket, then at me-my ghostly form, invisible to him, yet vividly present. His eyes were wide, vacant, as if

asn't the sound of anger, or frustration. It was the sound of a man bre