← Previous |
Next →
Back to Fanfiction Page
Time is a strange thing. When boredom settles in, it stretches endlessly—but the moment it runs short, it disappears. Maya becomes painfully aware of this as she presses her trembling hands against Jimmy’s wound, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood soak into her skin.
With Jenks’s help, they’ve carried him through the hidden corridors to a slightly wider alcove, where they’ve propped him up against the wall. His head lolls to the side, his face twisted in pain, eyelids half-shut from exhaustion. His right arm—where the bullet pierced through—rests across his chest, stained with blood. His shirt has been hastily torn open, revealing two round wounds on either side of his bicep, from which bright red blood still trickles.
Jenks uses a strip of fabric to tie a makeshift tourniquet around the upper arm. Maya slips her hand into Jimmy’s, encouraging him to squeeze it to bear the pain. He obeys weakly, his damp, trembling fingers barely closing around hers.
Harriet and Camille remain frozen, their faces tight, blanched with worry and unease. It’s hard to ignore that the man collapsed before them—the one they’re trying so desperately to save—is the same man who haunted them all night.
Jenks finishes tying the tourniquet and wipes his forehead with a sleeve before straightening up.
“That’s all we can do for now. The bullet went through, but we need to disinfect and bandage the wound properly. Problem is, we’re out of time.”
“Isn’t there anything here that could help?” Maya asks, not letting go of Jimmy’s hand.
The inspector shakes his head.
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my room, but we need to get to Simon before the rest of Phoenix gets to him.”
“Simon first,” Harriet says firmly, then feels the need to explain. “I’m sorry, but Jimmy… Hugo…”
She searches for the words, then turns to Maya with a worried look.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know how you did it, but if he comes back…”
“He won’t come back.”
Maya gently squeezes Jimmy’s hand, searching his gaze. He blinks, dazed, and looks away, as if he can’t believe it himself.
“Don’t bother with me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Not worth it.”
“No.”
Maya carefully places his arm back against him before standing up. Jimmy lets out a muffled groan but doesn’t protest further.
“Inspector, we head straight to your room, then we go get Simon.”
“I don’t want to stay with him,” Camille says, casting a terrified glance at Jimmy, as if she’s expecting him to transform again before her eyes.
“He won’t hurt you,” Maya assures her. “He’s as much a victim as we are in all this. Stay with him, talk to him. Reassure him. Tell him it’s not his fault… That’s what will help him resist Hugo. That’s the key.”
“Peter wanted his mother’s love,” Jenks nods slowly, thinking aloud. “Follin, her recognition…”
“The Mr. Hall from Sara’s time had been disfigured in an accident,” Harriet adds, reasoning in turn. “He was obsessed with how women looked at him, with the admiration—or desire—he hoped to see in their eyes…”
“And Jimmy’s father wanted to be a famous magician, so admired… and Jimmy… probably the same,” Maya murmurs.
Harriet crosses her arms, skeptical.
“So you expect me to baby him and tell him everything’s going to be okay?”
“Harriet, please,” Maya steps closer, her gaze pleading. “Imagine waking up one morning and being told that a part of yourself was never really yours. That some of your abilities didn’t belong to you, that they came from an entity that’s haunted you your whole life. Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you that you’re not a monster?”
Silence falls. Jenks stares at Maya with intensity, then Harriet lets out a slow sigh and nods.
“Fine. But don’t take too long.”
“Come on, Maya,” Jenks beckons her and heads into the corridor.
Maya rushes back to Jimmy and kneels in front of him, gently cupping his feverish face between her hands.
“I’ll be back soon. Hang in there…”
“It’s… too… dangerous…” Jimmy groans, his voice hoarse with fever and pain.
“It’ll be okay, I promise.”
She jumps to her feet and hurries after Jenks.
“Is your room far, Inspector?”
“If this maze has any logic, we should get there quickly. But I don’t know where Simon is…”
“I’ll handle that…”
Maya takes a moment to pull out her small black sphere again, letting her gaze sink into it once more, trying to calm herself as quickly as possible.
The now-familiar whispers rise immediately, and to her surprise, she barely has time to think of Simon before an image forces itself into her mind almost instantly. Her powers truly are growing stronger.
“I know where he is… let’s go.”
They slip through the narrow corridors, running as fast as the space between the walls allows. They rush past a gutted room, sheets overturned, drawers emptied in haste. A little farther on, another mirror—and this time, they catch sight of the cause of the mess: three men in black, methodical and expressionless, meticulously searching the room. The same discreet symbol marks their dark sweaters. One of them is dumping a suitcase out onto the floor while another flips through a notebook with cold precision.
“They’re destroying evidence?” Maya frowns. “Why?”
“There’ve already been two deaths… maybe three. Ryan doesn’t want anything tracing back to him.”
“What’s he going to do to us if he finds us?”
Jenks doesn’t answer, and his silence says it all. He simply picks up the pace. When they finally reach the inspector’s room, everything still appears untouched.
“In the bathroom—quick! The cabinet under the sink!”
Maya doesn’t waste a second and rushes into the adjoining room. She opens the cabinet under the basin and grabs the small first-aid kit inside. Behind her, Jenks hastily gathers a few essential items and tosses them behind the secret mirror, more to keep them safe than out of actual necessity.
Then they both slip into the passage, shutting the mirror just as the bedroom door bursts open.
The three men in black step into the room. They sweep the space with their eyes, then begin searching at once. Jenks clenches his jaw, his fists tight.
“Fast bastards…” He exchanges a glance with Maya, then tips his head toward the passage. “Come on… let’s get Simon.”
They take off again at full speed, rushing through the maze of secret corridors, their shoulders and arms scraping against the rough walls in their haste. Jenks suddenly stops in front of another hidden mirror and swings it open to reveal a room bathed in strange silence.
The state of the place strikes them immediately. Every inch of the walls, the door, the floor—even the furniture—is covered in black writing, elegant and neat, a refined script with looping, feminine letters.
Maya expects to see ravings, incoherent words scrawled in fear or madness. But as she steps closer, she makes out sentences of stunning beauty.
Verses.
“Poetry?”
She runs her fingers lightly along a line drawn on the armrest of a chair.
“Like a sweet-apple turning red, high on the tip of the topmost branch. Forgotten by pickers.”
“Our new ghost is a poet,” she whispers.
“Where is Simon?”
Jenks sweeps his gaze across the room before striding over to the wardrobe, yanking it open. Nothing. He crouches and checks under the bed. Still nothing. They can already hear Ryan Rand’s men ransacking the neighboring room, their movements loud and frantic.
A sudden sound catches their attention. The faint hiss of running water. They exchange a puzzled glance. The sound is coming from the bathroom, where a flickering light glows beneath the door. Then, a woman’s voice begins to hum softly—a light, delicate tune.
Jenks places a hand on the handle and cautiously pushes the door open.
Simon is there, standing in front of the mirror, completely naked except for a towel wrapped around his head, as if to hold in dripping hair. He appears deeply absorbed in a strange routine, carefully applying cream or makeup to the blank white mask covering his face. His posture is relaxed, oblivious to the chaos outside, and he rolls his hips as though dancing.
Maya immediately averts her gaze, and Jenks steps forward confidently, grabbing a bathrobe on his way and quickly redirecting the young woman back into the bedroom with a swift gesture.
“Grab him some clothes and toss them behind the mirror. I’ll take care of the rest. Let’s just hope ‘madam’ isn’t too shy.”
She can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not—there’s a glint in his eye now, the look of a man who’s starting to grow accustomed to handling the improbable without asking too many questions.
Opening the first dresser she finds, she pulls out a few random clothes and tosses them unceremoniously into the hidden passage.
“Give me the key and go take care of Jimmy,” the inspector orders. “I’ll catch up right after. Oh—and Maya?”
The inspector pokes his head out from the bathroom door.
“You’re not a monster.”
Maya freezes on the threshold of the passage, her breath caught.
“I don’t know the full story of your powers,” he continues, “but even if it’s something like Hugo… you’re not him. You’re not a monster.”
Then he disappears behind the door.
Maya blinks, shaken, before giving a small shake of her head and stepping into the secret corridor. The first-aid kit clutched tightly against her chest, she walks quickly—but her mind clings to what she just heard.
He understood. Of course he understood. How long had he known?
A knot forms in her throat, and despite herself, tears well up—deep, raw, unexpected relief.
Maybe Jenks is right. Maybe she can still escape this fate, this life of being forever haunted by that… thing.
She quickly wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
No time to get distracted.
But as she quickens her pace, she feels… lighter. As if, for the first time in a long while, a weight has slid from her shoulders. And it feels good.
When she rejoins the others, Maya finds Harriet and Camille awkwardly crouched beside Jimmy. They look lost, trying to keep him awake but clearly unsure of how to help.
The man’s eyes are barely open, his head tilted to one side, his face drawn in pain, his forehead slick with sweat. His breathing is shallow and ragged, fighting to stay conscious.
The two women look up as soon as Maya appears, and their faces light up with clear, unmistakable relief.
“Where’s Jenks?” Harriet asks, anxious.
“With Simon. He’s helping him… get dressed. They’re not far behind.”
“I’ll go give him a hand.”
Maya nods, trying to appear calm, even as tension coils tightly through her muscles. Her gaze flicks to Jimmy, his face etched with pain, before she speaks.
“Camille, do you think you could try following the corridors? See how far Ryan Rand and his men have gotten? Just get a sense of where they are.”
Camille hesitates, her eyes darting toward Jimmy, visibly worried.
“You… want to stay alone with him?”
“It’ll be fine,” Maya replies with a gentle smile—one she hopes is reassuring enough.
The two women exchange a silent glance, linger a moment longer, then rise and slip away. Maya watches them vanish into the dark corridors, their shapes swallowed by the shadows. Once she’s alone with Jimmy, she kneels at his side, her gaze softening as she brushes her fingers gently over his shoulder.
Jimmy blinks slowly under Maya’s careful attention. She pulls what she needs from the first-aid kit, her mind focused entirely on cleaning the wound. As she applies disinfectant, he flinches in pain.
“Sorry…”
She feels clumsy. And yet, unlike the others, she knows. Looking at Jimmy, she can sense the difference—the fine line between him and Hugo, even though they share the same face. Jimmy’s eyes crease differently when he smiles. He doesn’t wear that cruel smirk, that sadistic gleam. His expression is soft, almost childlike.
He stares at her in silence, slowly propping himself up on one arm.
“You should… leave me… save yourselves… while he’s still gone…”
His voice is faint and broken, but every word carries a desperate clarity. He’s afraid of what might happen if they stay too long—afraid of what he might become.
Maya doesn’t answer right away, her hands still moving, focused. She remembers his words earlier that night, begging them to kill him. It feels like another lifetime now, as if someone else had spoken those words.
Will I end up like him?
If her powers became unbearable, if the entity inside her grew too strong, would she someday beg someone to end it too?
She shudders at the thought.
Her hand returns gently to his shoulder, and she turns to face him, her eyes filled with understanding.
“You don’t deserve this. It’s not your fault…”
Jimmy closes his eyes for a moment, as if the pain surging inside him becomes too much. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a weary sigh, surrendering to a truth he doesn’t want to believe.
“It is my fault… that I couldn’t control him, couldn’t stop him… Everything that happened… If I’d just been stronger…”
His words spill out in a breathless whisper.
Maya tilts her head, her gaze tender and compassionate. She exhales softly, and before she realizes it, her finger glides across his cheek, wiping away a trail of sweat—or perhaps a tear.
He seems startled by the gesture, as though the gentleness of her touch is a sensation long forgotten. He stares at her, lips parted slightly, afraid she might vanish.
“You were wrong…” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to be loved… I just… I just didn’t want my mom to be… sad anymore…”
A lump rises in Maya’s throat as his words reach her. So human, so heartbreakingly human—just the wish of a child who wants to ease his mother’s sorrow, who wants to see her smile, to be her little light. He and Rose had lived through such a hell with Hugo and all his violence.
How could a child so young understand the monstrosity of what was happening?
He couldn’t. He could only feel the pain, the fear, the dread that hung in the air around him. He didn’t have the words, but he felt everything. And in that emotional storm, the entity had passed to him.
“And for a while… it worked, didn’t it?” Maya breathes, leaning closer. “Your mother… she showed me.”
Jimmy’s eyes slip closed, as if trying to soothe the anguish tearing through him.
“After Harvey, she kept telling me… that she loved me. That what happened wasn’t my fault. That she should have protected me better. That she was proud of me. That she would always be proud of me. For a while, things got better. I made her happy. For a while, I could keep Hugo away because…”
“Because Rose kept reminding you how much she loved you.”
Jimmy slowly shakes his head, pain radiating not just from his injuries but from something deeper, something buried in his soul.
“I loved the stage, but I didn’t understand how much it exposed me… to criticism. Hugo used that. He slipped into the character from the show… and I lost control. I lost everything.”
Jimmy breaks down, his body wracked with sobs, his breath jagged and choked by the emotion finally pouring out. He no longer has the strength to hold anything back, his anguish escaping in shattered gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of a past too heavy to carry.
“She chose to kill herself… because of me… to escape what I’d become…”
His voice cracks on the last words, and Maya feels her chest tighten at the sound. A powerful urge rises in her, and without hesitation, she sets aside the medical supplies and gently wraps her arms around Jimmy. She pulls him close, cradling his head against hers, her fingers brushing along his back with infinite care.
He lets her hold him, clinging to her like a drowning man to shore.
“To escape Hugo, Jimmy… not you. It’s not your fault. You tried to stop him. I know you did everything you could to stop it…”
Her hand slowly moves to his wrist, her fingertips brushing over a faint scar barely visible against his pale skin. She knows. Rose showed her. Jimmy had tried to stop Hugo by ending himself. He’d believed it was the only way, the only path to end the suffering.
He curls into her, hiding his face in her neck, his burning tears sliding down her skin, his breath ragged. Maya tightens her arms around him, holding him firmly, as if to shield him from the pain threatening to consume him again.
And strangely, she feels… at peace. There’s no discomfort, no hesitation. Only this quiet certainty: by holding him like this, she’s helping him keep Hugo at bay. She’s helping him stay himself.
So she holds him for as long as he needs.
Minutes pass, long and silent. Slowly, Jimmy’s shaking subsides, his sobs come less frequently, and his breathing begins to steady. Maya feels him finally relax in her arms.
“It’s not your fault, James…”
A faint shiver runs through him. He stays still for a moment, then, his voice hoarse and heavy with lingering emotion, he whispers:
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time…”
He lifts his head slightly, eyes red and clouded with tears—but something else flickers in them now. Maya tilts her head, studying that face so familiar, yet so unlike Hugo’s.
“I can keep calling you that, if you’d like…”
She feels him hesitate, then nod slowly. He wipes the last of his tears away, drawing in a steadier breath. He straightens at last, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he looks simply… human.
“I might have an idea to keep Hugo at bay… for good.”
He takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremble in his voice.
He lowers his eyes briefly, then, with a hesitant gesture, pulls the journal from the back pocket of her jeans.
She doesn’t move, her gaze fixed on him as he quickly flips through the pages, stopping on the ones covered in sigils.
“They work. You saw it yourself. I’d already thought about carving them… straight into my skin.”
“You think that would stop him from taking control?”
“Only one way to find out, right?” he swallows hard, avoiding her eyes. “And we can’t risk doing it with just a pen. It can’t fade. But… I’d need one on my back, and…”
Maya stays silent for a moment, slowly beginning to understand.
“And… you… You want me to do it?”
He finally lifts his eyes to hers, his heart in his throat.
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Maya. Not you, not anyone else. If he can’t have you the way he wants… he’s going to do awful things. Please…”
He reaches for the med kit, takes out a pair of scissors, and holds them out to her. Maya stares at the object, her mind torn between reason and instinct. Her hand hovers above his.
“This is going to hurt, you know?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes.”
The silence between them stretches, thick with meaning. Finally, she nods.
“All right…”
She takes the scissors and sits cross-legged in front of him, opening the notebook to study the sigils she’ll need to carve. Jimmy, for his part, slowly removes his shirt, revealing skin marked with old scars—some faint, others more pronounced. Maya swallows hard. He’s already been through more than enough…
She hesitates, unsure where to start. Her eyes scan his chest, his back, searching for areas where the skin is too thin, too vulnerable. Finally, she chooses a shoulder, deciding to begin with a less sensitive area.
The first touch of the blade against his skin makes him shiver. She presses gently, tracing the first line of the sigil with the precision of an artist. Jimmy flinches, but doesn’t pull away.
His breathing grows quicker, more uneven, as Maya continues, carefully following every curve, every symbol. She wants to speed up, to shorten his suffering, but the designs are intricate—she can’t afford a mistake.
She moves to the second shoulder, then to his back. The curve of his spine forces her to go over some lines again, and this time Jimmy can’t stifle a cry of pain. His muscles tighten under the strain, and his fingers grip the sheets to keep himself still.
“Almost done…” she whispers, her throat tight.
The last sigil, the most complex, goes on his chest. Maya feels her hesitation return, but Jimmy nods slightly, lifting his chin in silent permission. This time, the pain is too intense to hide. His body tenses, and he lets out gasping cries, each stroke burning deeper into his skin. He clings to whatever he can—sometimes to her—and she says nothing, just continues, moving as fast as she dares without compromising the symbol’s power.
Finally, the last stroke.
“I’m done! I’m done!”
She drops the scissors immediately, as if that could undo the pain she’s caused. Jimmy leans back slightly, his breath ragged, arms trembling from the effort of not having fought back. Maya quickly grabs some disinfectant-soaked cotton and begins to clean the blood from the wounds.
“I’m so sorry…”
He shakes his head, breathless but resolute.
“No… thank you…” he murmurs between ragged breaths, his gaze locked onto hers.
Their eyes remain fixed on each other, caught in a moment that feels suspended outside of time. No words are needed. They understand.
Maybe because, for the first time, Maya is certain that behind those blue eyes, there is only him.
No shadow, no lurking presence waiting to strike from the dark. Just Jimmy—James—a broken man, but finally, entirely himself.
It’s unmistakable. A refuge. A place where, despite everything, they exist. Where they see each other, understand each other, accept each other.
The impulse comes suddenly, irrepressibly.
Maya leans in, her hands gently brushing his face, as if to make sure he’s real. And then she kisses him.
A simple touch. Light. Almost innocent. Like rediscovering a childhood love after too many lost years. A fragile moment, yet sincere. A breath of humanity in the midst of chaos.
Then, just as suddenly, Maya pulls back, her eyes wide, startled by her own action. As if she’s crossed a line she never imagined allowing herself.
Jimmy doesn’t move.
His gaze remains on her, a flicker of emotion crossing his pain-worn features. Moved. But he says nothing. He doesn’t need to.
The moment shatters abruptly.
Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway, announcing the arrival of Jenks and Harriet even before their figures appear. Simon walks between them.
Jenks scans the scene, his eyes pausing briefly on Maya and Jimmy. He makes no comment, but his silence says plenty.
́Then, in a neutral tone, he states:
“I hope you’ve still got some strength left, Maya,” he stops just in front of them, nodding toward Simon’s silhouette. “This one seems to have a story to tell.”