Chapter 2

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Her bustled emotions were calmed by the familiar creak of her apartment door, an old beaten piece of wood that she had never bothered to change because of her lack of consistent income. The heat was broken, causing Alaria to rub her hands together roughly as a form of expressing her discomfort in the building- but nothing would ever be done about it. Simple things such as fixing the heater or adding a mailbox were never done by the landlord: an old man of 82 who wanted nothing but the money of his tenants.

Still, the woman refused to move. The creaking wood and broken appliances that came with her rent were a small price to pay in respect to the amount the old man wanted. Cheap enough that Alaria could go a few weeks without working and still be able to live there.

There were eight other people surrounding her, above and below, but her introverted nature only allowed her to become acquaintances with one. Nathaniel Dean, a post-joc in high school and college, now a failed lawyer that had tried to set up his own firm. She had taken pity on him when he introduced himself to Jeremiah and herself when he first moved in. And then he was there during Alaria's trials, and Jeremiah's death.

The woman sighed, placing her black purse onto the plastic counter and walking two steps to the only desk she had; a small piece of standing oak that had already withheld constant years of mishandling. The small laptop sitting on top was already bright with power, google opened and ready for her to type the questions it probably had answers to.

And yet her fingers hovered over the keyboard; Alaria had no idea where to start. Blue orb with transparent person. Yes, she'd start with that. Her pointer finger tapped the enter key, and an amount of 1,036,540 results appeared before her tired eyes. Although she felt the fatigue of her earlier panic weighing against her eyelids, they were willed open- the first click of an article signaling a sleepless night.

She knew some things, though. There was a woman involved- Dr. Christine Palmer, and a man named Stephen.

Later on, she would search the hospital's staff online and find some pieces of her puzzle. Stephen Strange was a neurosurgeon there for several years; only stopping because of nerve damage in his hands after a car crash. The website insinuates that he continued to remain on the loop of doctors and nurses, but his time of departure from the office time was exactly 455 days ago. He must have just recently returned.. but returned from where? And why as a ghost.. and then human?

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BEEP BEEP BEEP

Alaria startled at the abrupt sound, turning her head sharply to the small bedside table with the vibrating clock on top of it. The sound always reminded her of the heart monitor she paid so close attention to when Jeremiah was in treatment; the way it stopped beeping.

Her hand slammed down onto the top of it, standing straight and stretching for the third time that night. Morning knocked on the only window in the form of a bird, a snail's shell being broken for its breakfast. Now that Alaria recalled.. well.. she couldn't recall.

Frustration came out in a heavy sigh as she tried to remember things she had read. The only important information came from the name Jonathan Pangborn.. a similar case to Stephen Strange's; only- Jonathan had fully recovered, and Strange clearly had not. Luckily, Mr. Pangborn was also a local to the city, and the woman made plans with herself to pick up her courage and pay him a visit. After last night's research, his spinal chord injuries shown in his unlocked files were unrecoverable- and yet he had a blacksmith website that said it was updated 4 hours ago.

A trait of Alaria- to discover things, simply because she could never let them go. She had also done research on hallucinations, and experienced no other symptoms than the actual seeing part; even so, it was suspicious that Palmer should state to Alaria that it was a hallucination, especially when she had said nothing of it.

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