Supernatural thriller | Rising fashion influencer Rhea is gearing up for her runway debut, but her perfect world is upended when she finds herself haunted by a ghostly doppelganger.
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Twenty-four-year-old Rhea Patel has it all-the career in fash...
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The lights came back on, but instead of the brightly lit white room of the photography studio, the light brightened the hospital room and bed where my body lay. Fresh vases of bright flowers accompanied the posters and pictures made by my fans.
Even the potent smell of roses filled my nostrils and flushed out any trace of the astringent sterile smell of the hospital.
I stood, tempted to walk toward my body, with tubes hooked up to it leading to machines and monitors, but as I stepped toward the scene, the entire room glided back as if on a conveyer belt. No matter how fast or slow I walked or ran, the entire room shifted, keeping one step out of my reach.
My body lay motionless on the hospital bed except for the steady rise and fall of the abdomen with each breath. The more I looked at it, the more I realized how translucent it had become. How much time had passed? How long has my body been lying there?
With the thought of being alone in the room, the door to the room opened. Beyond the open entry was still, quiet and the same blackness that constantly enveloped me. It was only when Joselyn walked through that I could make her out, appearing like a beautiful bridesmaid carrying a bouquet of red roses through the fog.
My heart skipped a beat in excitement, and I could have sworn the machine connected to my body spiked in rhythm, too.
"Jos?" I called out, but of course she didn't acknowledge me.
She shambled to the edge of the bed to sit. She didn't seem to notice how the wrinkled white sheets beneath were visible through the limbs of my body. With her head down, tears glistened on her cheek, and she stared at the monitor and the lines and numbers that scrolled across the screen. "Why, Rhea? Why you? Why now? You had such a wonderful future ahead. I can't believe that was taken from you."
I nodded, agreeing with her when she muttered, "He belongs in jail for what he did." She caressed a rose petal with her fingers, nearly plucking it off absentmindedly. "I know you probably can't hear me, but I want you to know that your fans miss you. Hell, I miss you. I'm sure Nolan misses you, too."
"No. Nolan can rot in hell." I sneered at her comment. Didn't she know? Hasn't what he's done made headlines by now? I searched my mind for an explanation, but couldn't come up with anything to explain why she would say such a thing.
"I hope they find the guy who hit you and shove his car up his ass for leaving the scene." She wiped the flowing tears from her rosy, red cheeks with her bare palm like a toddler. "This world is so fucked. But don't worry, I'm sure Nolan's looking down at you, giving you the strength to pull through and fully recover."
"Looking down on me? Are you kidding?" I couldn't stop my head from shaking in confusion and disappointment, even as she pulled a torn sliver of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. "So, Nolan is really dead?" I asked her, knowing she wouldn't respond but couldn't help speaking it aloud. "He died? How?" I had hoped she would've known the truth, or at least suspected it, but she seemed oblivious to the entire situation.
