The ink was slightly smudged, as if the writer's hands had been shaking. Lou's eyes traced the jagged script.
"To my dearest sister, Rachel,
Months ago, I spoke to you of my dreams. Those suffocating nightmares that haunt me the moment I close my eyes. You told me they were just shadows, but you know as well as I do that the things I see have a habit of coming true.
Like Mrs. Aldrich. I saw her being devoured by her own hounds two days before it happened.
I saw the blood on the cobblestones before a single tooth touched her skin.
I told you the nightmares were fading, that I was finally finding rest. I lied, Rachel.
I was a fool to underestimate the rot in my own mind.
I see them in broad daylight now. "Visions," some might call them, but they feel more like a curse. I see spirits maybe ghosts, I think. Drifting through the streets of Ypisti.
Yesterday, a woman in white stood in the corner of our bakery. I pointed her out to Albert, but he saw nothing but empty air. He called me a lunatic.
Perhaps he's right. I fear my mind is finally shattering under the weight of these hallucinations.
I tried to persevere as you asked. I tried to be strong. But I cannot live haunted by these omens of death.
Last night, the dream claimed Albert. It was horrific, Rachel. A carriage.The horses panicked and trampled him into the dirt. I saw the wheel crush his skull. I don't know when it will happen since my dreams offer no dates or mercy, but I know he is going to die.
I am terrified. I cannot tell Bellarmine, he already carries enough of our burdens. I am afraid that if I stay, the dreams will eventually show me you and him.
I cannot bear to see your deaths played out behind my eyelids.
Please, forgive my cowardice. I must end this before the madness takes me completely. I pray to the Supreme God that we might reunite in a kinder life. I love you both.
Your loving brother,
Klaus."
_______
Lou stared at the signature, his thumb brushing over the jagged ink.
"'Your loving brother, KLAUS!'" He read the name aloud.
"If you loved your siblings so much, man, why the hell would you do this to them? Did you think leaving them a corpse and a snapped rope was a gift?"
He subconsciously reached up, his fingers ghosting over the raw welt on his neck. The physical evidence was undeniable.
The kid had really tried to check out. And for what? Nightmares? Spooky lady-ghosts in the bakery?
Phew!
"So he saw visions. A prophet of doom who couldn't handle the spoilers," Lou muttered, pacing the small space.
He tried to be judgmental, but then he remembered the stories from back home.
The veterans who came back from the front lines with eyes that looked like they'd seen the end of the world.
PTSD wasn't a joke.
If you see enough blood and watch enough friends turn into memories, your brain eventually snaps. Some people go mad. Some people choose the rope.
Lou drew a long, hard breath, forcing the panic back down into his stomach.
What kind of supernatural mess did that 'Blind Star' ritual throw me into? I asked for luck, not a front-row seat to a psychological horror film.
He carefully folded the letter, the paper crisp and accusing, and shoved it deep into his pocket.
He thought about tearing it up, destroying the evidence of Klaus's "weakness", but he couldn't.
Those visions were part of the system of this world now. He needed to study them.
But right now, he had a much more immediate problem: the giant, red rope mark around his throat.
He began fumbling through the meager pile of Klaus's clothes.
A scarf. I need a scarf. Do people even wear scarves in the 1700s? Or is that just for French poets?
He ransacked the small chest, but came up empty.
No luck. Of course not.
Left with no choice, he grabbed a ragged, yellowing undershirt from the bottom of the pile. With a grunt of effort, he ripped a long strip of fabric from the hem.
He wound the makeshift bandage around his neck, tucking the ends in tight. It looked suspicious, but it was better than the alternative.
Suddenly, the floorboards outside groaned. Thump. Thump. Footsteps were heading straight for his door. Heavy enough to be purposeful, light enough to be feminine.
That must be Rachel.
Lou froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Great. Level One: Don't let your sister find out you're a transmigrated ghost in her brother's suicidal body. Good luck, Lou.
Knock. Knock-knock.
Lou scrambled to adjust the makeshift scrap of cloth around his neck, intending to wait a few beats to compose himself.
But the door didn't wait for his permission. It swung inward, and Rachel stepped into the dim light of the room.
She was only a year older than Klaus, already at the traditional "marrying age," and she carried the signature Timbolt look. She had thick, dark hair and an air of quiet resilience.
Back in school, she'd been the sharpest of the three, with a mind for history and a terrifyingly good grasp of economics.
But the "economy" of the Timbolt household had been a cruel teacher; it had cut her education short before she could ever really begin.
Now, her only escape from the suffocating grip of poverty was a wedding ring.
A city doctor had taken an interest in her. He was a charming man with a stable practice.
She'd accepted his hand, and in a year's time, she was scheduled to trade this drafty room for a life of middle-class decency.
She was the family's one golden ticket out of the poverty.
As Lou looked at her, his heart did something strange. It flooded with a warmth that wasn't his.
To the original Klaus, Rachel was a sanctuary. He had burdened her with every fear, every nightmare, and every secret, knowing she would always listen.
Bellarmine was the iron pillar of the family. He was serious, overworked and stern, but Rachel was the heart.
She stopped at the foot of the bed, her brow furrowing as she took him in. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, swept over his disheveled hair and the pale cast of his skin.
"You look like you had a rough night, little brother," she said, her voice laced with that familiar mix of worry and exhaustion. Then, her gaze snapped to the yellowed fabric bunched awkwardly under his chin.
"What on earth is that on your neck?"