Mary!

"Impossible... Jassie can't be gone," I whispered, disbelief coursing through my veins like ice. Shawn's revelation felt like a tempest, swirling chaos and dread deep within me. My thoughts were a haunting cacophony, visions of specters clad in red, their sinister grins parading through my mind, leaving a trail of cold fear.

"Yamna, are you listening?" Shawn's voice pierced the fog of my shock, a grounding force despite the grim news he bore. It was his touch, firm and unexpectedly gentle despite the callouses earned from battles fought and burdens borne, that anchored me back to reality. His concern flickered through his steel-blue eyes, a stark contrast to the world-weary warrior I knew.

Jassie's fear of the supernatural had driven her to flee to her hometown, seeking refuge from unspoken horrors. Yet, the cruel hand of fate hadn't spared her from its touch. "How did Jassie meet her end?" My voice trembled, barely a whisper, as if the very question might summon the ghosts that haunted our dreams.

Shawn's brow furrowed, the weight of the story he bore etched deep within his gaze. "They say she was possessed by a madness on her journey home. A frantic escape from the train's embrace, only to meet death's cold clasp beside the track. Her last words were a plea, a desperate echo of our darkest fears," he said, his voice a grave melody.

The mention of those final words, a desperate "Save Me," sent a shiver down my spine. They were the same words Jassie had scrawled during our ill-fated dalliance with the supernatural, a game that now seemed a harbinger of tragedy.

As Shawn delved deeper into the mystery, a part of me rebelled against the narrative unfolding. "Do you believe there's a connection? Between the ghost in crimson and the fates of those girls?" My heart was heavy with unspoken accusations, each thought a betrayal of the memories of those we'd lost.

Shawn understood the turmoil within me, his intuition cutting through the haze of my doubts. "It seems the ghost's vengeance might be tied to their fates," he mused, the glow of his cigarette casting shadows that danced like spirits in the dim light.

Noticing my discomfort, he discarded the cigarette, a small act of kindness that felt like a balm to my unsettled soul. "You have a keen mind, Yamna. Far beyond your years," he complimented, his smile a rare glimpse of warmth in the cool twilight of our conversation.

In that moment, amidst the swirling fears and the shadow of loss, a flicker of connection sparked between us, a bond forged in the crucible of shared sorrow and the unspoken promise to unravel the mystery that lay before us.

As the pieces of our puzzle began to align, revealing a picture darker and more intricate than we had dared to imagine, a sense of urgency gripped me. Rising abruptly, my hands found their way to the table with a force that echoed through the silent room, drawing the curious and startled gazes of those lost in the digital world around us. My cheeks warmed with a sheepish smile under their scrutiny, but my focus swiftly returned to Shawn, my voice laced with a gravity that the situation demanded. "Shawn, remember how narrowly Susan escaped that night? Now that she's out of danger, do we dare to hope she's safe from the ghost's wrath?"

Shawn, pulled from his thoughts by my sudden movement, seemed to snap into action, his resolve hardening. With a decisive motion, he abandoned the video investigation, the USB drive now in his grasp as he led us swiftly from the room, our steps echoing with purpose.

Our destination, as I had guessed, was the hospital where Susan was recuperating. The sight of her, seemingly peaceful among a small group of vigilant classmates, offered a fleeting sigh of relief. Yet, the shadow of danger, the thin veil between life and the spectral, hung heavily over us. Shawn, ever the strategist, borrowed a laptop from a classmate, his movements precise as he sought to unveil the truth hidden within the digital confines of his USB.

As he loaded the contents, I watched Susan, her presence a beacon of innocence amidst our storm of fears. Shawn's approach was gentle, yet underscored with an urgency as he presented the laptop to Susan. "Susan, can you look at this? Tell us if you recognize anything."

Her struggle to sit up, to confront possibly her own fears mirrored on the screen, was palpable. Then, her reaction—a mix of recognition and terror—sent a chill through the room. "Have you seen her before?" Shawn asked, his tone steady, betraying none of the unnaturalness of our query.

Susan's response was a torrent of panic, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to deny any knowledge. "No, no, I... What is this? That night... I don't know her, but please, make it stop..." Her pleas, a mix of denial and fear, underscored the gravity of what we faced.

In that moment, the lines between our world and the one beyond seemed perilously thin, our quest not just for truth, but for safety in the face of an unseen menace. Shawn's and my glance met, a silent acknowledgment of the journey ahead, our resolve intertwined with the fate of a friend caught in the crossfire of a spectral vendetta.

Susan's distress was palpable, her emotions frayed at the edges, leaving us in a precarious position. Shawn, with a gentle tact that belied his rugged exterior, made the decision to retreat, signaling me with a conspiratorial wink as we exited the ward. Yet, instead of departing, he claimed a solitary vigil outside her door, the orange glow of his cigarette a lone beacon in the dim corridor.

"Heading back isn't an option for me tonight. Susan knows more than she's letting on, but she's teetering on the edge. I'll stay, keep watch. You should get some rest," Shawn stated, his voice a mixture of concern and resolve. His protective stance sparked a twinge of worry within me, not just for Susan's safety, but for Shawn's as well, and, selfishly, for my own.

Retreating to the dormitory, the weight of the evening's revelations bore heavily upon me. Jenny was there, a comforting presence trying to soothe Yamna into sleep. Yamna, caught in the maelstrom of our investigation, remained oblivious to the dangers that encroached upon us. My thoughts were a tangled skein of fear, guilt, and unresolved questions. Cristina's gruesome fate, Susan's mysterious coma, Jassie's tragic death—all roads led back to Susan, our only link to unraveling this nightmarish puzzle.

As dawn crept over the horizon, a call from Shawn shattered the fragile peace of the morning. His voice, crackling with excitement and urgency, pulled me from the grip of despair. "Yamna, you need to come over. Something's happened—a breakthrough! Susan's been talking in her sleep, and it's a name we've never heard before: Mary."

Rushing to the hospital, my mind raced with possibilities. Was Mary the key to understanding the spectral woman in red who haunted our steps? Shawn's discovery rekindled a spark of hope, a clue that might lead us through the darkness that had enveloped us.