My head spun; my joints were locked, as if unwilling to move. I longed to sleep beside Leo after a perfect bath.
Yet I pushed myself for that final attempt. And what I discovered was far more shocking than what I had been searching for.
As I moved toward the room, I noticed footprints leading away from Leo, though he was lying beneath the blanket. The windows were closed, and no one else was present in our house. Then who—who had left those marks on the floor?
The footprints led to the hall, where I had been a while ago. I followed them, and another shock awaited me.
The shock was not a human face, nor a letter, but a chameleon watching me as if it had been waiting all along. It sat on the tree just beyond our balcony, shining like a jewel when the moonlight touched its scales.
I took a silent, steady step forward, desiring a closer look. The creature became alert and returned to its camouflage the moment it sensed me. My heart sank.
I truly wanted to see it more closely. That little fellow seemed unknowingly familiar, reminding me of someone from the past—someone I had cherished deeply.
After it vanished from sight, I walked back to my room. I longed for a warm bath to ease my stiff muscles and rusted mind, creaking with the rise and fall of thought.
"I might become a migraine patient at this rate," I thought while sitting down on the bed. "Ahhh… why is all this happening to me? Why?" I said in frustration, gritting my teeth. "Even my house is not safe now."
When I turned my head again toward those footprints, I could not believe my eyes—they were gone. Rage boiled inside me. I wanted to throw myself into the night air.
All the incidents since morning began roaming through my mind. My head was about to split apart when my phone suddenly rang.
It was Bella. She saved me once again from falling apart. I extended my hand toward the nightstand, picked up the phone, and answered.
"Hello! Bella, is everything alright there?" I asked hurriedly.
"Nothing is alright. Mrs. Wittman is still in OT," she replied in a whimpering voice.
"Why? What happened to her?"
"The doctor said she was poisoned," Bella whispered.
"What? But when? She didn't seem poisoned when I last saw her."
"No idea. But she was given the same poison as the mayor," Bella said in a low voice.
"How do you know about it?"
"I overheard two nurses whispering," Bella replied.
"Oh… So, are you staying there, or shall I pick you up?"
"Pick me up in the morning," Bella said.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Okay then, I'll call you later. Good night," Bella said sweetly yet firmly.
"Fine. Good night," I said, and hung up the phone.
At last, I decided to take a warm bath and rushed toward the bathroom.
The bath was more than water and soap; it was a quiet absolution. The warmth seeped into my rusted mind, softening the places where grief had lodged itself.
Each drop that slid down my skin carried away a fragment of the day's cruelty, until I felt less like a survivor and more like someone new refreshed, remade, as if the bad things had dissolved into the drain.
After this great and refreshing bath, I moved toward the bed and sank into it as if gravity had doubled. Perhaps this was what my body had been yearning for.
It felt as though each cotton‑filled layer within the mattress was massaging my back and shoulders, opening the gates of heaven for me.
I did not realise when the angels of sleep claimed me, carrying me into a realm where thought dissolved.
But even in that realm, shadows followed me. Sleep did not bring peace—it brought visions. The footprints I had seen earlier reappeared, glowing faintly against the floorboards of my dream.
I tried to follow them, but the darkness grew denser with each step I took. I could not see anything, yet I could still hear their sound.
They spread everywhere around me, their pace increasing with each moment.
After a while, it became so loud that my ears screamed in agony, as if the sound itself wanted to tear me apart.
A wave of memory rose, binding me in chains of regret and grief. "Why did you do that? You are the guilty one," the voice pressed into my ear like a blade. Terror held my eyes shut; I could not gather the courage to see the face of the one who spoke.
Suddenly, a ray of light appeared, spotlighting a chameleon. It gleamed like glass, its stare locked onto me as if it wanted me to follow.
I decided to move toward it. With each step forward, the footsteps weakened, fading into silence as though they were deliberately escaping me.
When I was a metre away, the creature became alert and vanished into thin air. Darkness returned, heavy and gloomy. I was only able to see myself.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. It was Bella's voice, faint but urgent: "It's not just poison… it's a disease, spreading."
My vision returned. I was standing in my hall. The walls surrounding me began bending inward, pressing toward me, wobbling like jelly as if they wanted to smash and swallow me whole.
I wanted to escape this torment, but some invisible shackles were holding me tight enough to stop to break through all this despair.
I was about to be consumed. Then, suddenly, I realised the walls had penetrated through me, yet I remained untouched.
My house shrank beneath me. I heard Bella's voice again, her hand extended, asking for help. I wanted to grab her hand and pull her out.
But all I could move were my limbs and elbows, like a puppet. I was stuck mid‑air, helplessly watching Bella shrink into that collapsing house.
Suddenly, my eyelids contracted. I was wide awake, back to reality. My forehead was covered with droplets of sweat, and I was breathing heavily.
I got off the bed, slipped my feet into slippers, and walked toward the bathroom sink. After reaching it, I splashed water onto my face, trying to pull myself out of the trauma of that dream.
Later, I drank a couple of glasses of water with the same intention. Yet the dream still overwhelmed me, as if it were warning me of something awful that might take place in the near future.
So, I walked to the window and pushed it open to catch some fresh air. A cool breeze drifted through, curling into the room like a silent intruder.
It carried with it the scent of night—calm yet restless—brushing against my skin.
"Now I am ready to go back to sleep," I whispered to myself, turning back toward the bed.
Beside me, Leo lay turned away, his face hidden in the opposite direction. I reached out, brushing a strand of his hair, remembering the days when he was born.
His head began to shake abruptly, jerking in unnatural rhythm. From his lips came a horrific giggle, echoing through the room like a sound no human should make.
Outside the window, the atmosphere thickened. The breeze stilled, and dark clouds gathered, pressing against the glass as though the night itself had turned hostile.
Within moments, storms arrived, transforming the steady breeze into gales.
Then, with a sudden snap, his head twisted—spinning a full 180 degrees until his face confronted mine.
He gazed at me with a haunting smile, the corners of his mouth stretched too wide, too deliberate. His eyeballs glowed red, bulging outward as if straining to escape their sockets, locking me in a stare that froze the blood in my veins.