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Cold hands moved up and down my bare torso, attaching something to my chest. It felt like a ghost was touching me, passing through or out of me. I didn’t know how this stuff worked.

Zia , my dear aunt, had warned me this would happen when I was a child. No wonder she protected the family farm from the dead.

What if I was now among them?

“Am I dead?” I voiced my concern, unsure if anyone would hear.

A weak attempt to swallow made me realize my tongue felt like sandpaper. Like I was back home, in the olive fields, the sun sucking the life right out of me.

“You were close, but no,” a familiar voice replied.

That’s exactly the kind of thing they’d say when you die, I thought, just to calm you down and make you accept it.

No. This wasn’t happening.

I tried to move, assessing my state, but the attempt was unsuccessful. The bright light above blinded me, yet I struggled to close my eyes to protect them. It was then that I knew something had gone horribly wrong.

What sort of hell was this?

Determined to regain control of my body, I lifted my limbs, hoping to crush the lightbulb in my fist. But despite the strength I summoned, I came up empty.

Why did it feel like ants were crawling up my arm? Their movements tickled my skin, followed by a sharp pain that resonated through my body.

Was I decomposing?

“Turn it off,” I grumbled to the one who had spoken earlier.

My muscle reflexes told me to turn my head left, but I couldn’t, despite my brain sending the commands.

“You’re up for all of five minutes and already grumpy.”

A voice I knew well joined the conversation from the opposite direction. The owner of it ranked very low on my list of voices I wanted to hear when I died. Or didn’t die. Who knew what was real and what wasn’t anymore?

The woman from earlier answered my prayers when she finally switched off the light. An angel, not a ghost. I misjudged her.

The room slowly came into focus. I wasn’t in a hospital, but in a room resembling one. Tucked in bed, I lay there, surrounded by two Galkins: Maxim and his sister-in-law Mila.

While I tried to make sense of the situation, Don walked in with Taya beside him.

An unexpected visit from him was always a cause for alarm. Someone must have fucked up. Royally.

I might be that stupid someone.

Upon seeing me conscious, Taya approached with caution. Maxim matched each of her steps with one of his own, reaching for the spot his hand so often occupied, eyes fixed on the very bed I lay in.

Was he guarding her? From me?

I laughed at the absurdity of it all. I couldn’t even control my own body. Not a single finger would move.

With a pointed look, she called him off, and the Russian’s steps halted midway as if an invisible barrier stood before him. Maxim never stopped staring, his posture daring me to move an inch toward what was now his.

What the hell was happening?

Taya neared the bed, about to explain, I was sure. Except the words came too fucking late. The image of her sitting on the bed beside me, her man’s protectiveness mirroring my own, created a déjà vu.

The realization hit me like a tidal wave. It took me under while the memories rushed back.

Men. Visions. Closet. HER.

Gasping for air, I choked on the emotions squeezing my throat.

“Alisa,” I whispered her name, a question and a plea in one.

Frantically searching the room for answers, I clung to hope. This tiny, little probability that would suggest none of this was happening.

I settled on the one I knew was always straightforward in her answers. But when Taya shook her head, sorrow controlling her features, I got my answer.

I gritted my teeth and let the anger pour out. The roar coming from me was a battle cry.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

THE END (FOR NOW)