The white walls of the hospital room weren't cold, but they felt like ice on my skin. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above as I blinked up at the ceiling. My body ached—every inch of it—but it wasn't the physical pain that consumed me. It was the memory of the knife, the look in Julie's eyes, the feeling of being hunted by someone who once smiled at me like a mother.
I shifted slightly, feeling the thick bandage on my stomach. The doctor said it missed anything vital. Just a stitch away from something worse.
My mom was sitting right next to me, clutching my hand like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. When she noticed my eyes flutter open, she gasped. "Emma… oh my God, Emma…"
"Mom?" My voice cracked. "I… I'm okay."
"No, you're not," she whispered, brushing my hair back. "You almost… she could've…" Her voice broke.
I didn't ask who. We both knew. Julie.
Suddenly, the door opened. Peter rushed in, his eyes red and tired. Chloe followed close behind, holding two coffee cups and a grocery bag that was almost bursting.
Peter's gaze locked on mine, and for a second, he couldn't move. Then, like something snapped, he rushed over and knelt beside my bed, grabbing my hand from my mom's.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know she'd… I had no idea she—Emma, this is my fault."
I shook my head weakly. "It's not. She's… she's not well."
Chloe sat beside me, gently placing a wrapped sandwich on the side table. "That woman's insane," she muttered. "But she wasn't always. Not when we first went to her."
I blinked slowly. "You saw her? After?"
Peter looked away, jaw clenched. "Yeah… We had to. We needed answers."
FLASHBACK TO JULIE'S HOUSE — THE NIGHT BEFORE
The door was already open when Peter and Chloe arrived. Julie stood in the living room, surrounded by half-packed suitcases. Her clothes were scattered across the couch and floor. She looked up when she saw them, mascara smudged under her eyes.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly.
Peter didn't wait. "What the hell, Mom? You attacked her! Emma—she could've died!"
Julie winced and sat down slowly on the edge of her suitcase. "I know. I know. I wasn't… I wasn't in control. I don't even remember holding the knife."
"That's not a good excuse!" Peter shouted.
Chloe touched his arm, trying to calm him, but he was shaking.
Julie stared at her hands. "I was diagnosed years ago. They called it dissociative episodes. Blackouts. Mood swings. But it's more than that. You wouldn't understand."
"Try us," Chloe said gently.
Julie looked up, tears in her eyes. "That dancer you're looking for… the one on the mural… the one you've been chasing?" She took a shaky breath. "It's me."
The air in the room died.
"What?" Peter whispered.
"I haven't aged since I turned thirty," she said, voice small and broken. "Not a single wrinkle, not a single year. Haven't you noticed, Peter? Your friends' moms—they've changed. I haven't. People think I get surgeries or creams. But it's not that. It's something else."
"You're saying you're immortal?" Chloe asked, eyes wide.
Julie didn't respond.
"I don't know what I am," she said. "I was a dancer at that theater. Decades ago. And I remember the day they painted that mural. But everything after that… it's a blur. Something changed me."
Peter sank onto the couch, completely stunned.
Julie stood up and zipped her bag. "I can't stay. I can't be a danger to you again. I've already hurt Emma. I can't be a mother like this. I don't even know what kind of… creature I am anymore."
And with that, she walked out. Just like that.
BACK TO THE HOSPITAL
"Then what?" I asked, voice dry.
"She left," Peter said. "Didn't say where. Didn't look back."
There was a long silence. I didn't know what to say. None of us did.
"I think…" Peter finally said, "...we've just scratched the surface, Emma. I think what happened to her… might be connected to us. To you."
I nodded slowly. I didn't have to say it. We all felt it now—whatever was happening to me, to Peter, to Julie—it was stitched together by something bigger. Older. Hidden.
Chloe stood and paced. "She said she stopped aging after that mural was painted. That's the same year you and Peter supposedly existed as those people in the picture. Maybe the mural isn't just art—it's a seal. Or a trigger. Or something magical that… bound you all together."
"That sounds insane," I murmured.
"So does a bleeding eye and telekinetic fits," Peter said softly.
Touché.
There was a knock on the door. A nurse peered in. "Sorry to interrupt. Visiting hours are over."
Peter gave my hand a final squeeze and stood. "I'll be back tomorrow."
He lingered a moment. Our eyes met. I nodded.
And as they left, I stared out the window, wondering where Julie was going… and what her past meant for our future.
Emma sat on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the window while Peter and Chloe stood silently beside her. The air was heavy with questions. Then, suddenly, her eyes shut, and she clutched the blanket tightly.
Another vision began.
This time, it was different.
The colors weren't dark or blood-soaked. They were soft. Bright. The air felt warm. Emma saw herself in a white dress, standing under a large tree. The leaves rustled like they were laughing. And there he was — the same boy from before — the one who looked exactly like Peter.
He walked up to her with the shyest smile.
"Is this where we always meet?" she heard herself say in the vision.
He grinned. "Every lifetime."
Then he took her hand. They sat beneath the tree. He kissed her forehead gently, then her lips. It was their first kiss. Pure, soft, innocent.
The scene shifted.
Emma was screaming. Her eyes were bleeding again, and people were running. She was angry. Furious. Unstoppable. Soldiers, torches, a woman screaming — and the boy, holding her shoulders, trying to calm her.
"Emma, breathe! Look at me!"
Her vision faded.
Emma gasped and opened her eyes, sobbing.
Peter grabbed her hand instantly. "Emma? What did you see?"
Chloe moved closer, worried. "Tell us."
Emma wiped her cheeks, tears still flowing. "I saw him again. The boy who looks like you, Peter. But this time... I saw our first kiss under a tree. And then... I saw me. Angry. Bleeding. People dying. I was hurting them. I couldn't stop. But he… he always calmed me. Just like you do."
Peter's hand tightened around hers. "What else?"
Emma looked away, voice trembling. "I had powers. My eyes could kill. I could move things... destroy things. Just by looking."
There was silence.
Emma picked up her phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed.
"Mom?"
Her mom's voice was frantic. "Emma? Are you okay? Baby, what is it?"
"Come here. Now. Please. I need to ask you something."
---
Half an hour later, her mother walked into the hospital room, her face tired, eyes red. Peter and Chloe stepped aside.
Emma sat upright. "What did you mean, that day... when you said I was never an ordinary kid?"
Her mom's face changed. Her lips parted, but no words came. Just guilt.
Emma's tone sharpened. "Tell me. Please."
Her mom sat beside her, holding her hand, trembling.
"You were... different, Emma. When you were five, a dog bit you. It didn't kill you, just scared you. The next morning, we found the same dog dead. Veins torn apart. And I knew. I just knew... you did it."
Emma's heart pounded.
Her mom continued, "Another time, you made your doll fly across the room. You laughed and said you were making her a fairy. But your eyes were bleeding, Emma. It terrified me."
Peter and Chloe stood frozen.
"And once," her mom whispered, voice cracking, "you were angry at a cat. You didn't touch it. Just stared. It started breaking — bones snapping — like something invisible was crushing it. And you... you were smiling. Like you weren't even you."
Emma shook her head, horrified.
Her mom looked at the floor. "I took you to doctors, healers, anyone. They all said nothing was wrong. So I tried to fix you myself. I made you soft. Kind. But it's always been there... inside you."
Emma couldn't breathe. Peter stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Her mom stood up, eyes full of shame. "I shouldn't have told you. I just... I'm sorry."
And with that, she rushed out.
The room fell into silence.
Emma curled into herself, trembling.
Chloe whispered, "You're not a monster."
Peter kneeled beside her. "You're you. You're Emma. We'll figure this out. Together."
But Emma didn't answer. Her past wasn't just haunting her anymore — it was starting to feel like who she really was.