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Chapter Thirty-Nine

Calum

The lullaby that wakes me is soft at first, carried on the whispers of the wind through the cracked windowpane.

It drifts into my consciousness like a ghost’s breath, pulling me from the restless haze of half-sleep.

I sit up abruptly, my body coated in a slick sheen of sweat, the air in the room suffocatingly dense.

The melody is familiar, but I can’t place it—a gentle, haunting tune that sends a shiver crawling down my spine.

“Annabel?” My voice cracks, barely above a whisper.

The cottage is silent except for the faint, repetitive creak of the rocking chair in the corner.

It’s moving on its own, swaying forward and back with an eerie precision, as though guided by invisible hands.

My pulse quickens as I throw off the covers, my bare feet hitting the icy wooden floor.

The rocking chair stops the moment I approach, the lullaby cutting off mid-verse, leaving an oppressive void in its wake.

I can’t tell if the chair was a figment of my imagination or another fragment of her lingering presence, but I don’t care.

I turn to the wall of paintings that dominates the studio.

They’re scattered across the space—propped against walls, hung haphazardly, some even leaning against the furniture. Every single one is of her.

Annabel in the garden, her head tilted back in laughter, sunlight spilling across her black hair.

Annabel at the cliffs, her face turned away, watching the horizon like a secret she’ll never share.

Annabel drowning, her body floating lifelessly among jagged rocks like Ophelia, enchanting even in death, the sea foam tinged with crimson.

Each portrait is a confession, a scream of my obsession, my inability to let her go.

I approach the most recent painting, the one I started two nights ago in a fit of delirium.

Her expression here is darker, her lips parted as though caught mid-accusation.

Her eyes, hollow and sorrowful, seem to pierce through me.

Around her neck, the locket gleams—an anchor, a mystery I can’t unravel.

“Please,” I whisper, my fingers brushing against the canvas. “Just tell me what you want. Tell me how to make this right.”

The room doesn’t answer, but the weight of her absence feels heavier than ever, pressing against my chest like a vice. My gaze drops to the locket. I trace its outline with trembling fingers, the cold paint against my skin a sharp contrast to the firestorm raging inside me.

“You always wore it,” I murmur, my voice cracking. “What does it mean, Annabel? Why won’t you tell me?”

The room seems to exhale, the temperature dropping another degree.

My breath fogs in the air, and I turn instinctively toward the mirror.

It looms at the end of the hallway, its surface fractured and distorted, the cracks spreading like veins.

The symbol etched into the glass has faded, but I can still see its faint outline, like an echo of something sinister.

I know what I have to do. My legs feel like lead as I move toward the mirror, the shadows around me deepening with every step. The lullaby starts again, soft and mournful. I reach the mirror and stop, my reflection staring back with eyes that aren’t entirely my own.

“Annabel,” I say, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my throat. “If you’re here, if you can hear me… please. Show me.”

The glass ripples, a faint shimmer spreading across its surface. My reflection blurs, the image distorting until it’s no longer mine. Instead, I see her.

She stands behind the glass, her face pale and luminous, her hair a wild halo around her.

Her lips curve into a small, sad smile, but her eyes burn with something darker—anger, longing, despair.

She reaches out, her fingers pressing against the other side of the mirror, and I do the same.

The moment my hand meets the glass, the world tilts.

I’m no longer in the cottage.

I’m standing beside her.

The air is thick with the scent of salt and decay, the ground beneath my feet soft and damp.

The ocean roars in the distance, the cliffs jagged silhouettes against a storm-gray sky.

Annabel stands beside me, her gown billowing in the wind like smoke.

She’s more beautiful than I remember, but there’s something off about her—a shadow that clings to her, an otherworldly glow that makes my stomach twist.

“You came,” she says, her voice light but edged with something sharp. She cradles her belly, and my breath catches as I realize what I’m seeing.

She’s pregnant.

“How…?” The word barely escapes my lips, my mind spinning with possibilities. “Annabel, what is this? What’s happening?”

She turns to me, her smile softening into something almost tender. “You always said you’d follow me anywhere, didn’t you, Calum? Even into the dark. ”

“This isn’t real,” I stammer, my chest tightening. “It can’t be. You’re—you’re gone. You drowned.”

Her laughter is light, almost musical, but it chills me to my core. “Is that what you believe? That I simply slipped away, swallowed by the sea?” She steps closer, her hand reaching out to brush against my cheek. Her touch is cold, like frostbite, and I flinch.

“Annabel,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I tried to save you. I?—”

“You tried to own me,” she interrupts, her voice suddenly harsh. “You and Jonathan, both of you, pulling at me like I was some prize to be won. Do you know what it’s like, Calum? To love and not be free?”

“I loved you,” I insist, the words tumbling out in desperation. “I still love you.”

She shakes her head, her eyes filled with an aching sadness. “You loved the idea of me. The version you painted over and over, perfect and obedient, untouched by the flaws you couldn’t bear to see.”

Her words hit like a blow, and I stagger back, my knees nearly buckling. The wind picks up, whipping around us, carrying the sound of the lullaby on its icy breath.

“You never saw me,” she continues, her voice rising. “Not really. You saw what you wanted to see, what you needed to see. But now…” She gestures to her swollen belly, her fingers curling protectively around it. “Now you’ll see the truth.”

The ground beneath me shifts, the cliffs trembling as though alive. The roar of the ocean grows deafening, and I feel myself being pulled toward the edge. Annabel watches me, her expression unreadable, as I fight to keep my footing.

“Annabel, please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make this right.”

Her gaze softens for a moment, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine. “Finish it,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the chaos. “Finish the painting. Finish the story.”

Before I can respond, the ground gives way beneath me, and I’m falling, the world dissolving into darkness. The last thing I see is her face, her eyes burning with an intensity that sears into my soul.

I wake sprawled on the floor in front of the mirror. My head throbs, and my body aches as though I’ve been battered by the storm. The lullaby is gone, replaced by an oppressive silence that feels heavier than any sound.

I sit up, my hands trembling as I push myself to my feet. The mirror is intact, its surface cracked but no longer glowing. My reflection stares back, gaunt and hollow, but the symbol is gone. For now.

The paintings are exactly as I left them, but they feel different somehow, as though they’re watching me. I approach the most recent one, the one of Annabel with the locket, and my heart sinks.

Her belly is swollen now, just as it was in the vision. The locket gleams brighter, its shape more distinct, and the symbol is etched into its surface, sharp and unyielding.

“Finish it,” her voice echoes in my mind, a command I can’t ignore.

I grab my brush, my hands steady despite the chaos in my mind. The paint flows easily, the image coming together with a clarity that feels otherworldly. Her face, her eyes, her unborn child—it all takes shape before me, each stroke a piece of the puzzle I can’t yet solve.

When I step back, the painting is complete, and the weight on my chest lifts slightly. But the questions remain, pressing and unrelenting. What will it cost me to uncover the truth?