Chapter 03

Liza's POV

I awoke to the sound of wind rustling outside. Sitting up, I glanced around, feeling disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings. Everything seemed off, and I couldn't shake the odd sensation. Turning my attention to the remnants of a forgotten meal, I noticed it's dried. I sighed and peered out the window, heavy wind was blowing, giving me a message that it's gonna rain again tonight.

I rose slowly and made my way to the mirror, observing my tired reflection with swollen eyes. With a weary sigh, I retrieved the cold food and placed it in the microwave, craving the warmth it promised. While it heated up, I checked my phone and discovered the welcome news that school was closed tomorrow due to the heavy wind. Relief washed over me, grateful for the unexpected day off. I needed one. The microwave's bell chimed, signaling that my meal was ready. I retrieved it and began to eat, savoring the comforting warmth amidst the unsettling stillness of the wind outside.

With food in hand, I wandered through my silent house, the heaviness of solitude pressing down on me. Inside, a tempest raged, swirling emotions clouding my thoughts and denying me peace. The day's events are playing over and over in my mind. It was a strange sensation—I didn't feel the usual pang of guilt but anger. She had come seeking my help, yet I couldn't bring myself to offer it. Her demands felt like accusations, as if she expected me to be at her beck and call. If only she had approached me with warmth instead of entitlement, maybe things would have been different. But her insistence left me feeling wounded and conflicted. I kept thinking about the earlier event and I found myself looking at the weather from my glass window. It was dark outside but not too dark. Trees and the cliff of the mountains were visible.

As I raised a spoonful of food to my mouth, my gaze fell upon the car parked in my garden. The spoon froze in midair as confusion washed over me. How on earth did it end up there? The doors were securely locked, and there was no way a car could have entered without my notice. With a growing sense of unease, I turned to call the authorities. After the events of last night, I couldn't risk venturing out alone and unarmed. But just as I was about to make my way to the telephone, I hesitated, a sudden chill running down my spine.

My eyes widened as I glanced back at the car, my heart pounding in my chest. The number plate read '1010,' sending a shiver down my spine. With a sudden sense of urgency, I took a step back, my gaze locked on the ominous vehicle. Without a second thought, I dashed upstairs, leaving my half-eaten meal behind on a nearby surface.

Racing into my bedroom, I frantically scanned the room until my eyes landed on the book lying on the table. Snatching it up, I flipped through its pages with trembling hands, desperation mounting with each passing moment. The sound of my own heartbeat filled my ears, drowning out all other noise as I searched for answers within the pages of the book.

Reaching the page I sought, my eyes widened in disbelief, and an audible gasp escaped my lips. The book slipped from my trembling fingers, landing with a soft thud on the floor. I swallowed hard, my palms slick with sweat, as a wave of dizziness washed over me. In that moment, it felt as though the world around me dissolved into nothingness, leaving me suspended in a void of uncertainty and fear.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," I placed my hand on my forehead, "It can't be. This isn't possible! How can it be possible?!" I looked down at the novel and gulped hard. His voice from last night rang in my head.

"I'm Adrian Scott. And I need you to send me back!"

The number plate the car had is the same as the number plate of Adrian's in the book. Is it some kind of joke or just a coincidence?

I nodded, "Definitely a coincidence!" I told myself. But deep down, doubt gnawed at me, refusing to be silenced. I picked up the book, determined to reassure myself by returning to the page to recheck the number plate. However, when I flipped to the page, it was no longer there. Panic surged through me as I realized the car had vanished, leaving behind an empty space.

Gathering my resolve, I flipped to the first page of the book once more, but as I looked up, the ground seemed to shift beneath my feet. Adrian was gone, just like the car, leaving nothing but an empty space in his wake.

"Oh my fucking God!" My world shook. I felt lightheaded. I couldn't grasp it. "Is-Is it true? Is this really happening? I actually summoned a fictional character into the real world?" I slammed my palm on my mouth, my eyes wide and shocked.

An hour had passed, the book lying on my bed as I stared at it without a flicker of movement. My heart rate had returned to normal, and the gravity of the situation began to sink in. I had unwittingly summoned a fictional character into the real world, and now he is in jail. The book, it seemed, possessed a strange power to bring its characters and contents to life.

As I grappled with the enormity of my mistake, a sense of urgency gripped me. I wasn't supernatural; I had no idea how I had managed to perform such a feat. But one thing was clear—I needed to rectify it before things spiraled out of control. If Adrian and his car are out, who knows what else from the book would follow?

I rose from my seat, determination coursing through me as I gripped the book tightly in my hands. Descending the stairs, I made my way to the kitchen, the weight of the book a constant reminder of the task at hand. With a steady hand, I ignited the stove, the flames dancing eagerly as if sensing the impending sacrifice.

As I lowered the book onto the flames, my heart raced with anticipation. But to my astonishment, the flames failed to consume it. I increased the heat, desperate to see some sign of destruction, but the book remained untouched, its pages unscathed by the fire.

Frustration bubbled within me as I retrieved the book, disbelief washing over me. Refusing to give up, I attempted to tear its pages, but they resisted my efforts with unyielding strength. In a last-ditch effort, I reached for my ink box and poured its contents onto the book, hoping to mar its pristine pages. Yet, to my dismay, the ink simply slid off, leaving the book untouched and unharmed.

Shocked by the book's resilience, I couldn't help but recall how it had remained unharmed even when submerged in water. Did this mean it was truly indestructible? The realization sent a chill down my spine. If the book couldn't be harmed, then how could I ever hope to undo what I had unwittingly set in motion?

No! There has to be a way.

"I'M NOT SICK!"

His voice rang in my ear again and I saw no other option.