Part 48
(Alex's POV)
The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the trees still dripped.
Each drop hit the ground with the same rhythm as Adrian's pacing inside the house — back and forth, back and forth.
Alex could see him clearly through the window.
He looked different now.
Tense. Thinner. Hollow around the eyes.
She'd imagined this moment so many times — the point when he would finally understand.
When he would see.
But as she watched, something unsettled her.
There was no clarity in his expression.
Only confusion. Fear.
He was crumbling faster than she'd meant him to.
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Alex shifted her position in the brush, tightening the hood of her jacket.
From her vantage point, Leah was sitting near the bedroom door, crying quietly into her hands.
Alex turned the binoculars toward her, frowning.
"You shouldn't cry for him," she muttered. "You made him doubt himself."
Still, her voice didn't sound as certain as it once did.
She looked back at Adrian.
He was staring at the window now — straight at it.
Straight at her, maybe.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"You can't see me," she whispered.
But for a moment, she wasn't sure.
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When she turned on the receiver again, the room filled with whispers — fragments of her own recorded voice.
They weren't supposed to sound that close.
The delay between transmission and playback was gone.
It sounded like she was inside the house.
She pulled the headset away, her pulse quickening.
Something was wrong with the signal — or maybe with her.
A flash of lightning lit the sky; for an instant she saw her own reflection in the binocular glass — pale, wet, eyes wild.
She almost didn't recognize herself.
"It's fine," she told the night. "He'll understand. He just needs a little more time."
Her hand trembled as she reached for another flowers.
The petals were damp, bruised from travel, but still beautiful.
She touched them gently, as though they might calm her.
"One more reminder," she whispered, voice shaking. "Just one more."