chapter seven

 

I used to think exhaustion had a limit.

 

Turns out ,it doesn’t.

 

I learned that the first week I started juggling two jobs: the café in the morning and the office-cleaning shift at night. My body felt like it was held together by cheap glue and stubbornness. My feet throbbed, my back ached so much,and sometimes my eyelids fluttered like they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to stay open or give up on life entirely.

But college didn’t pay for itself.

And life, apparently, enjoyed watching me sweat for every cent.

 

During the day, I served coffees to rude humans who thought “extra hot” meant “throw it at the girl with trauma,” and by night, I swept hallways, emptied trash cans, wiped desks in rooms full of tired fluorescent lights.

 

If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be doing this instead of preparing for university in the UK like Dad wanted… I would’ve laughed them right at their faces.

 

But life changes in the blink of an eye.

In a breath, in a scream,

In a fire.

The office building I cleaned belonged to some tech company that loved glass walls and uncomfortable chairs that looked expensive but felt like punishment. At night, the whole place was silent except for the  of air-conditioner that hums.

 

I pushed the cleaning cart down the dim hallway, the wheels squeaking like they were complaining as much as I was,maybe even more tired than I.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—another college emailing me the same line: Your application is under review.

I exhaled shakily. I had sent out twenty-five applications. Maybe more. I’d lost count after the fifteenth rejection. But I had to get in somewhere. I had to finish what my parents dreamed for me.

 

“Come on, Clara,” I muttered under my breath. “Don’t fall apart now”.

The empty hallway didn’t reassure me. It never did.

Because night shifts came with something worse than exhaustion.

Nightmares.

Not the kind you wake up from.

The kind that chases you.

Even awake.

I was wiping down a desk when I felt it again—that cold ripple down my spine, the one that felt like someone was watching me, it felt so cold at that instant

I turned around.

Nothing.

Just the reflections of bright, ghostly lights bouncing off glass partitions.

“Stop it,” I whispered to myself. “No one is here.”

But the unease in my stomach didn’t go away.

It never did.

Not since the plane crash.

Not since the screaming.

Not since the flames.

And especially not since the dream that haunted me every night.

*********

 

It always started the same way.

I was back on the plane, sunlight streaming through the windows, the air warm with laughter. Liam’s tiny hand was in mine.

“Clara, look!” he’d say, pointing at some cloud shaped like a dinosaur.

Then the plane would jolt.

Flames would burst.

My mother’s scream would echo.

My father’s arms would reach out for me.

But the worst part wasn’t the fire.

The worst part was Liam’s voice whispering in the dark afterward:

 

Clara… help me…

Every time I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, shaking so violently I thought my bones would crack.

Tonight, even as I cleaned, I could still hear him.

“Stop,” I whispered, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Please stop.”

But grief didn’t listen.

Nightmares didn’t listen.

The past didn’t listen.

I dragged the trash bag out of the bin with trembling hands, tied it, and walked toward the elevator. Halfway there, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I frowned. “Hello?”

“Miss Clara Langford?”

My breath stalled.

 

The voice was deep. Official. Heavy.

“Yes… this is she.”

“This is Detective Harper. I need to speak with you. It’s about your family’s plane accident.”

I froze in the middle of the hallway. The air turned cold, thick, suffocating.

“It… it wasn’t an accident,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Was it?”

There was a pause.

Not the kind that meant no.

But the kind that meant you’re smarter than you look.

“I’d prefer not to discuss this over the phone,” he finally said. “But there are inconsistencies in the crash reports. I’d like you to come to the precinct tomorrow.”

My knees felt weak. “Inconsistencies… like what?”

Another silence.

“Like someone may have interfered with the aircraft.”

My heart dropped so violently I felt it hit my stomach.

Sabotage.

Someone sabotaged the plane.

My family’s plane.

My mother’s scream echoed in my mind. Liam’s laugh. My father’s calm voice.

“Miss Langford? Are you still there?”

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes.”

“We believe someone wanted that plane to go down.”

I collapsed onto a nearby chair, my chest aching.

“Why?” I whispered. “Who would want to hurt us?”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Detective Harper said. “Please don’t discuss this with anyone.”

As if I had anyone left to discuss it with.

When the call ended, I sat there shaking, gripping my mother’s necklace in my fist so tightly it cut into my palm.

Sabotage.

Someone murdered my family.

Someone destroyed my world.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just grief burning inside me.

It was anger.

Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.

 

**************

When my shift ended at 3:34 a.m., I dragged my tired body home, the city lights was  blurry through my exhaustion. Mrs. Sharon’s apartment was quiet. Everyone was asleep. I walked quietly inside the house and ,I slipped inside my small room, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed.

 

For a few seconds, I let myself breathe.

 

But the moment I closed my eyes, the dream slammed into me again.

Flames. Screams. Liam calling my name.

I jolted awake, gasping, my hand around my mother’s necklace.

Enough.

I couldn’t handle the nightmares anymore. I couldn’t handle the fear.

Tomorrow I would face the detective.

Tomorrow I would find answers.

Tomorrow I would find out who destroyed my life.

I sat up slowly, letting the cool air brush against my skin.

For a moment, the apartment felt too silent.

Too still.

Then.

A soft knock hit my doorframe.

I jumped, heart racing. “Who—?”

Louis peeked his head in, his curly hair sticking up in every direction.

“I heard you cry,” he mumbled sleepily. “Do you want a cookie? Cookies make everything better Aunt Clara.

 

A weak smile tugged at my lips. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, then dragged his blanket back to his room.

The quiet returned.

But this time, it felt different.

As if something heavy lingered in the air. Something close.

 Like Someone is  watching.

I rubbed my eyes and turned toward the window.

 

My heart stopped.

 

Outside across the street under a flickering streetlight…

 

Then I saw  man ,

Tall. Still. Hidden in shadows.

Staring directly at my window.

At me.

His hands were in his coat pockets, his posture too calm, too intentional.

My breath caught.

 

Was he real?

Or was exhaustion making me hallucinate?

 

I stepped closer to the window.

The man tilted his head slightly,

As if acknowledging me.

Or trying to tell me something or give me a warning.

A chill raced down my spine.

“Who… are you?” I whispered in the air as if he could hear me.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t look away.

 

Then when the streetlight flickered again I blinked And he was gone.

Just like that.

Vanished into the night.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Was he connected to the plane crash?

Was he watching me?

Or was it all in my head?

I backed away from the window, Closing the blinds gripping my necklace.

Tomorrow I’d talk to the detective. Tomorrow the truth would begin unraveling.

But tonight?

Tonight the darkness felt alive.

And somewhere deep inside…

I realized something horrifying.

The plane crash had been only the beginning.