Chapter 21 – A matter of choice

Maya stares at her reflection in the mirror—now identical to herself, without distortion or visible strangeness. Hugo no longer grips the back of her neck, but his arms are still wrapped around her, his face nestled against the hollow of her throat, his warm breath brushing against her skin.

She sways. The room seems to spin around her, her balance so unsteady she no longer knows if she’s still standing or if her own body has already abandoned her. Even breathing feels unreal, mechanical. And yet, beneath this tidal wave of uncontrollable sensations, a cold calm settles within her.

She understands. Everything.

The puzzle pieces finally fall into place, revealing a terrifying truth—one that somehow makes sense. The answers that once seemed out of reach, absurd, now carry a crushing clarity.

All around her, a muffled cacophony hums, a collective murmur of whispering voices. They come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, filling the space like a tide of sound. Voices of men, women, children. Young and old, broken, full of tears or fury.

The voices of the dead.

Instinctively, she reaches out with her mind, and one voice rises above the chaos: a man weeping, begging. Then a woman, screaming in agony. She trembles as she listens, realizing that if she wanted to, she could hear them all—could separate each one, as if they were speaking directly to her.

Her knees buckle, and she lets herself sink, her legs giving out beneath her. Hugo moves with her, as if anticipating her collapse, his face lifting from her neck, his hands still resting gently on her. She slumps onto the edge of the couch, her arms falling limply at her sides, her eyes staring into nothingness.

Her face remains frozen, weighted by gravity, every muscle pulled down under the burden of what she has just understood.

Hugo kneels before her on the floor like a priest before a goddess and watches her intently. Then he bursts into uncontrollable laughter, almost hysterical, its echo slicing through the room like a taut string snapping.

His eyes gleam with a dangerous mix of triumph and madness.

“You know! You know now, don’t you? You finally understand? We’re made for each other!”

He grabs her face in his hands—his fingers cold but firm—forcing her to meet his gaze. He looks like an ecstatic child discovering his favorite toy. He runs his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the last salty traces of her tears.

His eyes burn with a vivid light—a feverish glow she recognizes with horror.

And as he peers into her, she knows he sees that same light reflected in her own.

“I know how alone you must’ve felt,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with a poisoned tenderness. “Alone and misunderstood by all those lesser beings… those pitiful creatures too blind to see what you are. They can’t understand. They don’t want to believe—unless it benefits them. And that… that’s where our power lies. Can you imagine it? Your abilities… and mine. The whole world would be ours. At our feet—those poor, crawling souls, begging for just a taste of what we could offer them.”

The memories crash into her—sharp, brutal—like shards of glass driven into her mind.

She sees the little girl she once was, pointing at invisible presences the adults couldn’t see. The laughter. The disbelieving stares. The reprimands. She had stopped. She had buried it all, denied it all.

But after what she went through at the Sea View Hotel, that burning ache of loneliness had returned—sharper than ever. The police hadn’t believed them, her friends and her, because of what she had tried to say.

Hugo’s words haunt her because they echo a truth she doesn’t want to accept: no one wants to believe—unless it serves them. She thinks of Ryan Rand. Of Ashford. And she sees, in Hugo’s smile, that he knows she understands.

“You’ll never be alone again, Maya,” he promises, his tone smooth, almost gentle. “You’ll never feel shame again. You and I… together, we can create new bodies, just for us. I’ll never have to fight for control again. And you… your powers will be limitless. The dead will obey you, eager to fulfill your every desire. We’ll be… unstoppable.”

“New bodies?” she breathes, her voice cracked, almost inaudible.

She frowns, despite the confusion clouding her thoughts. A discomfort rises in her chest. Sara’s photographs resurface in her mind, dragging a fresh wave of nausea with them. Another surge of voices floods her thoughts, making her dizzy, disoriented, unable to think clearly.

“Your body… mine… united… Creating empty vessels, ready to be inhabited…”

The weight of his words crashes down on her. A flicker of understanding breaks through—and with it, unspeakable horror. She grasps what he’s proposing, and every part of her recoils.

When he leans in again, lips reaching for hers, she turns her head at the last second. His mouth brushes her cheek. The rejection throws him off, just for a heartbeat—a shadow of anger crossing his face. But he contains it, his expression softening almost instantly as the sound of muffled crying echoes from the next room, plaintive and low.

Hugo smiles, that near-ecstatic look returning to his face.

“Ah… I see. Still a bit too soon. That’s alright. We have all the time in the world now. But listen… Your gift is awake!”

He straightens suddenly, excitement lighting up his features, and reaches for her hands to pull her to her feet.

She follows with a slow, almost mechanical movement, her body acting while her mind drowns in a whirlpool of confusion and constant whispers. She trails behind him out of the room, her gaze vacant, her thoughts scattered beyond reach.

She suddenly recognizes the library, realizing they had been in one of the smaller adjoining parlors. Hugo guides her with strange insistence, glancing repeatedly over his shoulder, that mad grin still stretching across his lips.

Each time he looks at her like that, a shiver of unease runs through her, but she can’t shake it off. The voices keep whispering—relentless—a cacophony of anguish and terror coming from every corner, every shadow. Why won’t they stop? She can’t think anymore. Everything is blurred. Her mind is full—too full.

Hugo stops at the door to the next room, opens it with theatrical flair, and gestures for her to step inside with an almost grotesque flourish. A blast of icy air rushes out, like an invisible blade slicing her skin. The room looks nearly identical to the one they just left.

Ashford is there, kneeling before an open window, her hair disheveled and plastered to her face with sweat and pain. A large bump swells on her forehead, bruised and dark, the discoloration spreading beneath her eye.

Her wrists are bound with a curtain cord, so tight her hands look pale—almost blue—and another cord gags her mouth. Despite her vulnerable position, she struggles, desperately trying to free herself.

Her face changes the moment she sees Maya. A flicker of hope breaks across her bruised features—but it fades just as fast when Hugo enters behind her and shuts the door with a grim snap.

He approaches slowly, almost like a predator, then wraps his arms around Maya once more, resting his chin on her shoulder, his hands lightly gripping her arms.

Then, in a low, cruel whisper, he murmurs into her ear:

“Look what I found… hiding in her office like a filthy little rat…”

Ashford, breathing shallowly, lets her panicked gaze flick between Maya and Hugo, desperately trying to understand what’s happening.

Maya watches her, lost. A wave of buried memories and emotions surges through her. She remembers… She resents her. She hates this woman. And yet, the once-burning hatred now feels blurred, almost muffled by an inner voice.

Anger… that’s bad, isn’t it?

The voices won’t stop swirling in her mind, their tones rising into a sharp, whining crescendo.

Hugo releases Maya and steps slowly toward Ashford, his expression shifting—darker, more dangerous. He leans over her, towering above her, a cruel smile twisting his face.

“She hasn’t been a very good egg, oh no, no, no,” he sneers, his voice slithering like venom. “She tried to outsmart us. But now the timer’s up. They’re all the same, you know, the ones who try to control us. Weak. They think they hold the power… but they couldn’t be more wrong. We’re the ones in charge.”

With a brutal gesture, he rips the gag from her mouth. Ashford gasps, struggling to breathe, her panic palpable. She squirms, desperate to explain herself.

“It’s a mistake!” she cries, her voice broken and uneven. “A terrible mistake! We only wanted to learn from you, to understand how it works! To allow more of your kind to join us! We have… so many Prime Candidates, ready to receive—”

But Hugo bursts into laughter, a mocking, scornful sound that cuts her off mid-sentence.

“And trap us in another cage of flesh? Make deals for our gifts and lock us up like genies in their lamps? You hear this, Maya?”

Ashford, desperate, turns to the young woman, her eyes filled with tears, pleading.

“Maya, please, you have to help me. He made me come here, made me open the window so I’d freeze to death. He’s going to kill me! Please, I beg you, I swear everything I’ve done is for the greater good of humanity!”

But to her own surprise, Maya responds—this time with a conviction rising from somewhere deep within her, stronger than the chaos of voices in her head.

“No…” she murmurs, her voice growing steady. “Only for your own good…”

The words hit Ashford like a blow, and she freezes, frantically searching for something to say, her eyes darting between Hugo and Maya.

She knows she’s trapped, exposed—and Maya feels it.

For the first time, she sees this strong, arrogant woman completely shattered before her. And a part of her… likes it. She likes seeing Ashford suffer. The voices in her head wail, sob, plead. Maya wants them to stop. To vanish. To leave her alone. To stop crushing her.

Hugo, still standing behind Ashford, watches the scene unfold with a satisfied smile, savoring every second of it. Maya, fists clenched, drowns in a torrent of conflicting emotions, unable to tell whether the pain she’s about to inflict on this woman feels right—or not.

“I want her to suffer.”

She doesn’t even recognize her own voice—raw, hoarse, heavy with a fury she never thought she could speak aloud. But the anger is there, burning—fed by pain, betrayal, and the memory of Annie.

Annie.

Annie is dead because of her. And nothing—absolutely nothing—can erase that. Not even blood.

When Hugo hears her words, he beams with joy, euphoric. It’s as if he’s waited for this moment his entire life.

“I knew you’d say that…” he exults, bouncing slightly as he approaches her.

He leans down to pick something up from where it rests against the wall behind her, and when he straightens, the bat is firm in his hands. He steps closer, vibrating with anticipation, and rests his forehead against her temple with a twisted kind of tenderness.

He inhales deeply, as if trying to soak in her scent—her presence.

“I’ll tear her apart for you… slowly… and then…” he whispers, his voice low and laced with dark promise, “…when we’re alone and quiet…”

Maya feels his warm breath against her skin, and her entire body goes rigid under the intensity of his closeness. He doesn’t bother to hide it—his hunger, his need to possess not just her body, but every piece of who she is.

She can almost feel his thoughts—his consuming obsession wrapping around her like smoke. But inside her mind, the voices rise like a storm—howling, screaming, warning.

Then, slowly, Maya places her hands on the bat. She pulls it toward her, catching Hugo’s surprised gaze.

“I’ll do it…” she murmurs, her voice eerily calm. “I want to do it…”

For a moment, Hugo freezes, as if the meaning of her words hasn’t sunk in yet. Then his face lights up with an even greater delight. He steps back, surrendering the weapon to her, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He retreats just enough to get a full view of the moment, that cruel smile still carved into his face.

Maya walks toward Ashford, her silhouette dark and imposing against the cold light streaming through the open window.

Ashford, still on her knees, begins shaking her head wildly, trembling with panic.

“No… no, no, no… please…” she whimpers, her face twisted with fear.

“You had none for Annie.”

“Annie?” Ashford stammers, her eyes narrowing in panicked confusion. “Who is… Annie?”

Those words ignite something in Maya. A fire. She feels the rage rising in her—raw, searing, uncontrollable.

It takes every ounce of strength not to raise the bat and strike this woman with all she has, right here, right now. The voices in her head swell into a discordant scream, and then—suddenly—a single voice emerges from the chaos.

“Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.”

Elias.

Then another…

“It’s a choice, darling. It’s your choice.”

Granny?

Maya looks up instinctively, her eyes drawn to the open window.

There—just for a heartbeat—she sees a familiar figure. A silhouette that vanishes almost instantly, dissolving into the cold air. And that’s when she notices something she hadn’t seen before:

A sigil. Carved into the wooden window frame.

Jimmy.

“I want her untied,” Maya says suddenly, her voice firm, slicing through the silence.

Hugo blinks, startled.

“What? Why?”

“Where’s the fun in it otherwise?” she adds, forcing a slight smile.

He laughs softly, savoring this new game between them.

He moves behind Ashford, and Maya follows, still gripping the bat, which she gently lays on Ashford’s shoulder— a silent warning. The psychiatrist sobs, trembling, unable to move. Maya knows she’s probably seen what Hugo did to Jeffrey— and that thought alone is enough to paralyze her.

Hugo, with exaggerated slowness, begins untying Ashford’s restraints. His fingers linger deliberately, as if he’s savoring the power he holds. The woman, too terrified to react, only lets out trembling pleas. Finally, he steps back just a little, positioning himself between Maya and the window.

She knows he won’t go any farther. That sigil carved into the wood would likely burn him if he did. So he stays there, smile still glued to his face, waiting for what he believes will be a memorable show.

Maya stares at the back of Ashford’s head. She knows exactly where to hit. One well-placed blow would knock her out—maybe even kill her, if she put enough force behind it.

And she wants to. Oh, God, she wants to. The hatred she feels toward this woman is so intense it makes her tremble.

But…

“It’s a choice, darling. It’s your choice.”

“We’re not the same, Hugo,” Maya murmurs, her voice sharp in the silence. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

And before Hugo can react, she spins around and slams the bat down hard onto his leg. A sickening thud echoes through the room, followed by a scream of raw, piercing pain. Hugo collapses backward, his body crashing against the wall near the window—Right where the sigil awaits him.

The sound that rips from his throat is inhuman, a mixture of rage and unbearable agony. The sigil flares with blinding light, and Hugo is pinned to the ground by pain, unable to move.

Maya doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Ashford under the arm and, ignoring her hysterical sobs, drags her toward the door. Dropping the bat behind her, she moves faster than she thought possible, her heart pounding in her chest. They leave the library, putting distance between themselves and Hugo’s monstrous screams.

Maya rushes down the long hallway leading to Ashford’s office, breath shallow, every sense on edge. When she reaches the half-open door, she notices Jenks is gone. Her stomach twists.

Did Hugo get rid of him while she was unconscious?

She shakes her head, silently praying that isn’t the case. But there’s no time to dwell on it.

Ashford, still in a full panic, keeps running, her footsteps pounding through the manor’s corridors. Maya watches her flee, heading straight for the building’s main entrance, her panicked whimpers still lingering in the air.

She doesn’t try to stop her.

She’s already spared her. Let her take care of herself now.

Hugo’s hoarse, guttural screams still echo from the library. Maya knows she doesn’t have much time before he manages to pull himself far enough from the wall to break free of the sigil’s influence. Her legs move almost on their own, carrying her into Ashford’s office.

The room is in disarray, but Maya doesn’t care. She starts searching the desk with frantic urgency. The whispers of the dead continue to swirl in her mind—chaotic but ever-present. And then suddenly, one voice cuts through the noise.

“Second drawer on the left.”

Maya freezes, her hand mid-air. Then, without a second thought, she yanks the drawer open—nearly tearing it from the desk in her haste.

Her heart leaps when she sees several phones neatly lined up inside—

Including hers.

“Thank you!” she calls out to the air, addressing the disembodied voice without even trying to understand.

She grabs her phone, her fingers trembling with adrenaline, and bolts out of the room without losing a second.

“MAYAAAAAAA!”

Hugo’s voice explodes like a thunderclap—distorted, a mix of pure fury and deep, aching pain. The guttural scream echoes, almost animal, so raw with grief it nearly shatters the heart. But Maya has no time to let the emotion in.

Without hesitation, she bolts, her feet pounding against the floor as she races toward the main entrance, flying down the hallway like an arrow. At the base of the grand staircase, she throws a quick glance around. She has to find Jenks, Camille, and Harriet.

The whispers rise again, guiding her mind.

“Upstairs… hidden.”

She doesn’t stop to think.

She charges up the main staircase, taking the steps two at a time, her breath ragged, syncing with the thud of her footsteps. Her heart hammers in her chest as she reaches the upper landing and bursts into the hallway.

Where now?

A woman’s voice, faint, almost pleading, reaches her.

“Help… help me…”

She freezes, eyes scanning for the source of the call. And that’s when she sees it.

A white mask, motionless, staring at her from the crack of a door further down the hall. Her blood turns to ice. But still—she recognizes the shape.

“Simon?”

The door slams shut, the mask vanishing behind it like a shadow. Maya stands frozen for a heartbeat, her pulse thundering in her ears—but a scream snaps her out of it.

“Oh my god… Maya!”

She whirls around and sees Camille, standing in the doorway to Harriet’s room. The girl’s eyes go wide, disbelieving. Maya rushes toward her, and Camille quickly pulls her inside, slamming the door behind them.

With frantic hands, she shoves a heavy dresser back in front of the door before turning and throwing herself into Maya’s arms.

“We thought he got you for good!” she sobs, her face buried in Maya’s shoulder.

Over Camille’s shoulder, Maya spots Jenks sitting on the bed, his face twisted in pain, blood streaking from a wound on his cheekbone.

Harriet, hands on his shoulders, tries to steady him, clearly worried about his condition.

“You’re hurt, Inspector!”

“It’s Maya!”

He straightens up abruptly, nearly stumbling, closely followed by Harriet, who looks just as immensely relieved to see her. He steps toward Maya, his eyes filled with both confusion and relief, and in a desperate impulse, he pulls her into his arms.

She feels the warmth of his embrace, the pressure of his arms wrapped around her, and for a moment, she closes her eyes, moved by the simple affection in the gesture.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Then, as if struck by a flash of clarity, he pulls back sharply, his hands resting on her shoulders, his eyes searching hers with intensity.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks finally, his voice tight, almost broken, as if he dreads the answer.

Maya parts her lips, ready to speak, but stops cold, her gaze drifting slowly from Jenks to Harriet, then to Camille.

The words slip away from her, as if the weight of what she needs to say is too heavy to push past her lips.

How could they possibly understand what she’s uncovered? The right words to explain that she’s like Jimmy and Hugo completely elude her.

No… not like them. Exactly like them.

Harriet would never be able to accept even a simplified version of what’s happening here—she’s already struggling just to grasp the reality. Camille had been possessed by one of the victims of that evil entity.

Learning that Maya shares something so intimate with their tormentors could terrify her beyond reason.

And Jenks… She doesn’t even dare imagine his reaction. He’s sacrificed everything to save them—and without even knowing it, she’s no longer the Maya he chose to protect.

A dull pain crushes her chest, forcing her to look away. They’re not ready. She’s not ready. They have to know—but not yet. Not here.

“I’m fine,” she says in a neutral tone, hiding the storm in her mind. “And I’ve got good news.”

She holds up her phone. Camille’s eyes widen, and a muffled cry of joy escapes her lips as she slaps her hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Her eyes shine with hope.

“Oh Maya, you’re a genius!” Harriet exclaims, her shoulders sagging with relief, as if the entire weight of the night just slipped off her.

Maya hands the phone to Jenks, who stands frozen for a moment, his gaze flickering between her and the device, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Then slowly, a broad smile spreads across his tired face—so genuine it almost hurts to look at.

“Take a second to rest. I need to figure out how to phrase this or my boss is gonna fire me after this call. Feels like we’re finally at the end of all this mess.”

Maya feels a flicker of guilt watching him walk away to tap at the screen.

If only he knew just how much of that mess she really is.