Her phone buzzed in her hand. Unknown number. She answered without thinking. “Lilian,” a voice said. It was Ken. Calm, almost tender. “Where are you?” she cried. “I told you, Lilian,” he said softly. “You can’t run from what’s inside you.” Stop saying that! What do you want from me?” “I just want you to finish what you started.” The call ended.
She stared at the phone screen until it went dark. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped it. Then she heard it — footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She turned. The hallway was empty. Her chest tightened. The air thickened. A shadow stretched across the wall — tall, familiar, unmistakable. Ken’s. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.” The shadow moved closer, though the space behind it was empty.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor. The screen flickered, casting weak light across the tiles. For an instant, she saw him — standing in the doorway of their bedroom, his face pale, eyes hollow, water dripping from his clothes as if he’d just come in from the rain.
“Ken?” He didn’t speak. He just looked at her, expression unreadable. She took a step back. “You’re not real.” He smiled faintly. “You made me real.” She covered her ears. “No. No, I didn’t.” He took another step. “You wrote every word. Every fight. Every silence. You gave me life, and now you want to erase me?” Tears streamed down her face. “I never meant for this.” “But you did,” he said softly. “You wanted to know what would happen if love turned to horror. This is it, Lilian. This is the ending you built.”
The lights flickered again — brighter this time — and when they steadied, he was gone. The door behind her creaked open. She turned, her breath shallow. The hallway beyond was empty.
She grabbed her suitcase and ran. Down the stairs, across the lobby, out into the gray morning. The city was quiet, washed clean by rain. She got into her car, threw the suitcase into the back seat, and started the engine. The tires screeched as she pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, the apartment windows glimmered faintly. For the first time in months, she felt a flicker of hope. She drove until the buildings grew smaller, until the city faded into open road.
When she finally stopped at a gas station two towns away, her hands were still trembling. She stepped out of the car, breathing hard, the cold air biting her skin. She looked around — empty road, silent pumps, the hum of fluorescent lights. She almost laughed. “I did it,” she whispered.
Then she saw it. On the passenger seat, her phone screen lit up on its own. A new message. No name. Just the words: “You can run. But I’m the part of you that always follows.” Her stomach dropped. Another message appeared. “Look in the mirror.”
She turned slowly toward the gas station window. Her reflection stared back — her own face, pale and wild. But in the glass, someone was standing behind her. Ken. Smiling.
The phone buzzed one more time. “See? We’re still together.” The screen went black. Lilian’s scream broke into the cold air and dissolved into the wind.
The gas station lights hummed behind her as dawn tried to lift itself over the horizon. The air smelled of wet asphalt and cold oil. Lilian stood frozen beside her car, watching the window where her reflection had smiled back with another face beside it. For a long time she didn’t breathe. When she finally turned around, there was no one there—only the empty road, still slick from rain.
She drove without direction. The highway unfurled before her like a ribbon of forgetting, gray and endless. Each mile thinned her thoughts until only the essentials remained: breathe, steer, keep going. The farther she went, the more the landscape blurred into sameness—fields, trees, an occasional sign pointing to towns whose names meant nothing.
She stared at the phone screen until it went dark. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped it. Then she heard it — footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She turned. The hallway was empty. Her chest tightened. The air thickened. A shadow stretched across the wall — tall, familiar, unmistakable. Ken’s. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.” The shadow moved closer, though the space behind it was empty.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor. The screen flickered, casting weak light across the tiles. For an instant, she saw him — standing in the doorway of their bedroom, his face pale, eyes hollow, water dripping from his clothes as if he’d just come in from the rain.
“Ken?” He didn’t speak. He just looked at her, expression unreadable. She took a step back. “You’re not real.” He smiled faintly. “You made me real.” She covered her ears. “No. No, I didn’t.” He took another step. “You wrote every word. Every fight. Every silence. You gave me life, and now you want to erase me?” Tears streamed down her face. “I never meant for this.” “But you did,” he said softly. “You wanted to know what would happen if love turned to horror. This is it, Lilian. This is the ending you built.”
The lights flickered again — brighter this time — and when they steadied, he was gone. The door behind her creaked open. She turned, her breath shallow. The hallway beyond was empty.
She grabbed her suitcase and ran. Down the stairs, across the lobby, out into the gray morning. The city was quiet, washed clean by rain. She got into her car, threw the suitcase into the back seat, and started the engine. The tires screeched as she pulled away.
In the rearview mirror, the apartment windows glimmered faintly. For the first time in months, she felt a flicker of hope. She drove until the buildings grew smaller, until the city faded into open road.
When she finally stopped at a gas station two towns away, her hands were still trembling. She stepped out of the car, breathing hard, the cold air biting her skin. She looked around — empty road, silent pumps, the hum of fluorescent lights. She almost laughed. “I did it,” she whispered.
Then she saw it. On the passenger seat, her phone screen lit up on its own. A new message. No name. Just the words: “You can run. But I’m the part of you that always follows.” Her stomach dropped. Another message appeared. “Look in the mirror.”
She turned slowly toward the gas station window. Her reflection stared back — her own face, pale and wild. But in the glass, someone was standing behind her. Ken. Smiling.
The phone buzzed one more time. “See? We’re still together.” The screen went black. Lilian’s scream broke into the cold air and dissolved into the wind.
The gas station lights hummed behind her as dawn tried to lift itself over the horizon. The air smelled of wet asphalt and cold oil. Lilian stood frozen beside her car, watching the window where her reflection had smiled back with another face beside it. For a long time she didn’t breathe. When she finally turned around, there was no one there—only the empty road, still slick from rain.
She drove without direction. The highway unfurled before her like a ribbon of forgetting, gray and endless. Each mile thinned her thoughts until only the essentials remained: breathe, steer, keep going. The farther she went, the more the landscape blurred into sameness—fields, trees, an occasional sign pointing to towns whose names meant nothing.
