I was the one who killed him.
Perhaps in my mind, I had convinced myself that there was something I had missed, some detail I overlooked. But no. Despite my faint hopes, the memories I had long suppressed proved to be even more ruthless than I had feared.
The true cause of Aiden's death could only be attributed to me. No one else could have cornered him, pushed him to that edge—except me.
That recollection must be inextricably linked to the relentless nightmares that have plagued me these past few nights.
Aiden, I now know, must have died while cursing me, his voice filled with the venom of my own cruel words. Words of accusation, of pain, of calling him a liar.
"Then prove it to me."
Those were my final words, laced with a desperate defiance. Now I understand. Now that I can see ghosts, he suddenly appeared, haunting me, intending to prove his innocence, that he could really see ghosts.
