Chapter 6: Cracked Frames

Elijah stood in the kitchen the next morning, staring at the coffee machine like it was a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve.

The sun was weak through the windows. Rain tapped lightly on the glass.

He felt off. Like his skin didn’t quite fit right. Like the air was too thick around him.

He didn’t sleep much. His dreams were strange. Sharp flashes. Heat. Screams. A hand gripping his arm. A voice calling his name not “Elijah.” Another name.

Adam.

That name kept coming back.

He didn’t know who it belonged to. Or why it made his chest feel tight.

“Coffee’s on the right,” Gabe said, walking in behind him.

Elijah jumped slightly, then stepped aside.

Gabe poured himself a cup. “Rough night?”

“Yeah.”

Gabe leaned against the counter, watching him. “Nightmares again?”

Elijah nodded slowly. “They’re getting clearer.”

“Anything new?”

Elijah looked at him. “There’s a name. Adam.”

Gabe froze.

He looked down into his coffee like it held answers. “You knew an Adam?”

“I don’t know,” Elijah said. “The dream feels… real. But wrong. Like I wasn’t me in it.”

Gabe didn’t speak.

Elijah rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever wonder if… maybe I wasn’t just lost after the crash? Maybe I was hiding?”

“You think you were running from something?”

Elijah looked down at his hands. “Maybe.”

Gabe stared at him for a long second, then nodded slowly. “Maybe we both were.”

Later, while Elijah was in the shower, Gabe went into the hallway closet.

He hadn’t touched those boxes in years. Not since the funeral. Most were filled with old clothes, photos, and letters he couldn’t throw out but couldn’t bear to look at.

He pulled one box out and opened it.

The scent hit him first paper, dust, and something like dried roses.

Inside were photos. Old ones. Him and Elijah. Smiling. Holding hands. A beach trip. A blurry kiss caught in the corner of a frame.

He picked up one picture a small one, curled at the corners. It was them on their wedding day.

Elijah had been laughing in the photo. Not smiling. Laughing. Head thrown back, eyes crinkled, hands wrapped around Gabe’s waist.

Gabe remembered that moment. Elijah had whispered something stupid just before the picture snapped. Something like “we look too serious.”

Gabe’s hands shook a little.

He dug deeper in the box. Found a small notebook. Black leather. Untitled.

He opened it.

Inside were short messages. Bits of writing. None in full sentences.

> "If I die before I come home, know I loved you more than I ever should have."

> "Don’t trust her."

> "The cabin. Burn it."

Gabe stopped reading.

His blood ran cold.

Who wrote this?

The handwriting… it looked like Elijah’s. But shakier. Like it had been written fast. Maybe while hurt. Or scared.

He turned to the last page.

> “Tell Adam I’m sorry.”

The notebook slipped from his hands.

He sat on the floor.

His heart was racing. His palms were sweaty.

Who the hell was Adam?

Why did Elijah write this?

Why was there a warning?

Elijah stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, hair still wet.

He found Gabe sitting on the floor, the box open, photos scattered.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Gabe looked up, startled.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, standing and kicking the box closed. “Just old things.”

Elijah saw the edge of a wedding photo, but didn’t press.

He looked tired. “I’m going out for a walk.”

“It’s raining.”

“I know.”

Elijah grabbed his coat and stepped outside, leaving the door open for a moment too long.

Gabe stood there, alone again.

The notebook was in his hand. Tucked tight.

He looked down at it.

Then up at the door.

And whispered, “What the hell did you get yourself into?”