Prologue
“...I’m warning you, her mind is not in proper condition...” — echoed a voice from afar.
“We don’t have time! She’s the only witness and is deeply connected to the case. Only she holds the truth!” — snapped another voice, strangely aggressive.
“She doesn’t remember anything! Pressuring her might only make things worse...” — insisted the first, with a calm, familiar tone.
“Alright! Look, I promise I’ll be patient. But let me try. It’s the only way!!”
...
She opened her eyes, alert. Her investigative mind — though shaken — had never failed her.
So that’s why they’ve brought me to this chair at this hour... Who’s coming this time? — she thought. It was the third... or was it the fourth time a new “guest” had come to ask endless questions.
Evelyn stared blankly at the perfectly white walls of her room at the Domus Mente Asylum, in her hometown of Ravenclow. So many things had happened in the past few months... or were they just days? She no longer remembered why she’d been thrown into that place. Only that she screamed — “I have two daughters to take care of!”
Who was with the children?
“...You need to get better before you can be a mother again, sweetheart. You’re not ready yet,” said the nurse kindly, eyes downcast, avoiding her gaze — a silence that betrayed sorrow.
She’s lying.
The voices in her head shattered any remaining hope of leaving that place. And the ghosts didn’t help either. She knew she wasn’t supposed to see people — especially women — drifting down the cold halls of Domus Mente, accusing her of abandonment... of running from the truth.
But what truth?! she would scream back, terrified and exhausted.
Then came the nurses, all too eager to relieve her from danger with soft voices and sweet eyes... and a syringe.
She opened her eyes again. They had arrived. Her gaze fell first on Dr. Felix Rowe — always respectful and calm, though now visibly tired. She knew some patients were more difficult than others, but not her. And his presence at this hour was suspicious. He never worked nights — only Monday through Wednesday and alternate Saturdays. She had memorized the routines of nearly every staff member who crossed her path. Her memory had always been good — and in that place, there weren’t many other things to focus on.
Something’s wrong...
She turned to the man beside him. His expression mirrored the doctor’s — but something about him was unsettling. He looked exhausted, cold, unfriendly... and yet oddly familiar.
Not someone she knew. Someone she recognized.
She closed her eyes again. Her head throbbed. The meds were clearly stronger today — and she had spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep. Whispers about her had circled among nurses and patients alike, but she hadn’t stayed awake long enough to catch the words.
“Dear Evie, so glad you’re awake! I heard you had a very sleepy day,” said the doctor, failing to hide that he already knew the reason why. “Feeling better?” he cleared his throat, then added, “I have someone I’d like you to meet...”
“Doctor, please — tell me why I’m in this sta—”
“Shhh...”
“No, no, dear. First — please,” he gestured toward the guest beside him, “let me officially introduce Detective Dorian Walsh. He has a few questions, if you’re feeling up to it...” — he gave the man a warning glance, as if reminding him to tread carefully.
The man remained silent. He seemed to wait — or perhaps search for the right words.
Evelyn was no fool. She was fully aware of her mental condition — and so was he. For a moment, it felt like they were already speaking — with their eyes. Deep inside, she somehow knew why he was there.
She waited. And then, finally, he said:
“Good evening, Mrs. Hartwood. I apologize for the hour, but it’s important that you hear me.”
He paused. Closed his eyes, as if he needed to speak to a child.
“Okay,” she encouraged him. He had already sparked her curiosity. She was wide awake. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
He shifted in his chair. Took three deep breaths. Three seconds each.
He’s meticulous, she thought.
“As I said, Mrs. Hartwood, I’m Detective Walsh, and I’m investigating a case... in which your help is essential.” He glanced at the doctor, who had begun to breathe more heavily. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“If I can help, I will.”
“What do you remember about Sebastian Al...”
He stopped. His eyes widened. He knew he had started wrong.
Across from him, Evelyn turned pale and, within seconds, began to scream and try to rise from her chair. Still under the effects of the sedatives, she collapsed clumsily back into it.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Hartwood...” — he tried to help her.
The doctor rushed to get more sedatives — which only made Evelyn more frantic.
“No!” — the detective stopped him. “She’s already heavily medicated. Just look at her.” He bowed his head, visibly ashamed.
“I warned you, my friend. Let’s leave it for another day and—”
“No!!” — he paced in circles. “Give me another chance. I know I can make her talk.”
The doctor sighed. He looked at Evelyn, who followed everything in silence — alert.
“She’s been through too much...” he hesitated. Then conceded, “Very well. But try something... gentler. I remember, when we were teens, you were good at telling stories. Why don’t you try a more... playful approach?”
That sparked something in the detective’s mind. He nodded, sat down, and turned back to her.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Hartwood. I was rude. First, let me say I’m a great admirer of your work. I’m a detective —” he said with a touch of pride, “— and I’ve heard plenty about your brilliance in solving cases. We’re from the same region, you know...”
For the first time, his “tough guy” mask slipped.
Evelyn studied him carefully — deciding whether to continue. Somehow, it felt... safe.
“Well then, you should know I was lucky. My very first case involved a victim of a globally hunted serial killer...” — she smiled. There was something comforting in that moment. “Even so, I never found him. But I did recognize his modus operandi. That helped the investigation.”
The two men locked eyes. It was the first thing Evelyn had said in weeks. Everyone had believed she’d lost all memory.
There’s hope, they thought.
“But you cracked the case and found the culpr—”
The doctor cleared his throat. The detective changed his tone:
“—found the solution to the crime. Brilliant work. What was she wearing again...? Hmm...” — he pretended to think, though he already knew.
Then everything changed.
Evelyn blinked hard — trying to suppress the rising panic.
Ghosts.
A woman in a pink hoodie, holding a silver heart-shaped pendant, beautifully handcrafted — stood before her. The pendant dripped blood. A deep cut in the woman’s chest revealed the absence of a heart.
What was the reason again...? Evelyn struggled to remember.
She lowered her head, covered her ears. The ghost screamed. Evelyn screamed too, begging them all to go away. They never did. Never.
The men stood — defeated. The detective ran his hand through his hair. The doctor moved to calm her.
“It’s alright... It’s alright...”
When the screaming stopped, Evelyn kept her head down, quietly crying. She was growing sleepy again.
The detective looked at her, and then at the doctor. Humbled, he muttered:
“My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Hartwood. I didn’t mean to upset you. I think it’s best if I go...” — he waited.
Exactly three seconds...
Then three more.
He took a deep breath and turned toward the door...
“Alannah Kavanagh...” — she whispered.
The detective spun around.
“What? Can you repeat that?”
“The name of the victim we were talking about.Alannah Kavanagh.”
