CHAPTER 6:The Name Of The Dead

The name lingered in the air like a curse.

Laurence.

Evelyn’s translucent form flickered, the weight of the revelation pressing down on her like unseen chains. She had spoken his name, and with it, the truth had begun to unearth itself.

Azrael studied her reaction carefully. “So, your dear Laurence was the one who put you in the grave.”

Evelyn’s fingers curled at her sides. “I… I think so.” Her voice wavered. “But I don’t remember why.”

Azrael turned the locket over in his palm, then snapped it shut with a flick of his fingers. “Then we find out.”

Evelyn hesitated. The idea of digging further into her past, of chasing shadows that might lead to something far worse than she imagined, sent an unnatural cold through her. But she couldn’t stop now. Not when she was so close to understanding why she was bound to this place.

“Where do we even begin?” she asked.

Azrael smirked. “That’s the easy part.” He tucked the locket into the pocket of his coat and turned on his heel. “We ask the dead.”

Evelyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

Azrael glanced at her over his shoulder. “Ghosts talk, don’t they?” He gestured around the ruined mansion. “You’re not the only lost soul lingering in this rotting tomb.”

Evelyn frowned. “I… don’t usually see other spirits.”

Azrael’s smirk deepened. “Then you haven’t been looking hard enough.”

Before she could protest, Azrael reached into his coat and pulled out a small, jagged stone. It was deep crimson, veins of black running through it like lightning frozen in time. The moment he held it up, the air in the room shifted.

The temperature plummeted. The walls groaned as if something ancient stirred beneath them. Shadows stretched unnaturally, their edges curling like grasping fingers.

Evelyn shuddered. “What are you doing?”

Azrael’s eyes gleamed. “Knocking.”

A low hum filled the room, deep and resonant. Then—whispers. Countless voices, too many to distinguish, layered upon one another like overlapping echoes. The darkness thickened, pressing in from all sides.

Then, one voice rose above the rest.

“You dare summon us, devil?”

Evelyn turned sharply. A figure loomed at the edge of the room—more solid than a shadow, yet not entirely whole. It was draped in black, its face obscured beneath a hood, but its presence was suffocating.

Azrael tilted his head. “You sound displeased.”

The hooded figure did not move. “You tread where you do not belong.”

Azrael smirked. “That’s usually how I get things done.” He held up the locket. “We need information. About a man named Laurence.”

The air crackled. The hooded figure stiffened.

Evelyn stepped forward, desperate. “Please. He… he killed me.”

Silence. Then, slowly, the figure lifted its head. Beneath the hood, its face was hollow—empty blackness where eyes should be. But it watched her. Studied her.

“You seek the past,” it murmured. “But some doors should remain closed.”

Evelyn’s pulse—if she had one—would have quickened. “I need to know.”

The hooded figure was still for a long moment. Then, in a voice like rustling leaves, it whispered:

“Laurence Darrow.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. “Darrow?”

The name settled in her mind, cold and familiar. More pieces of the puzzle snapping into place.

Azrael nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The figure turned its hollow gaze to him. “You seek more than her past, devil.”

Azrael’s smirk did not waver. “You’re perceptive.”

The air pulsed, a wave of unseen energy pressing against them. Evelyn shuddered, but Azrael stood firm.

“The Stone of Immortality,” the figure rasped. “You walk a cursed path.”

Azrael’s smirk deepened. “Curses don’t scare me.”

The figure was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, it extended a skeletal hand toward Evelyn.

“You wish to remember?”

Evelyn hesitated. Fear coiled in her chest. But she forced herself to nod. “Yes.”

The hooded figure’s fingers brushed her forehead.

A flood of memories crashed into her like a tidal wave.

A grand estate. Dark halls lit by flickering candlelight.

Laurence standing over her, his hand gripping her wrist too tightly.

“You belong to me, Evelyn.”

Pain. Betrayal. The taste of blood in her mouth.

The glint of a dagger.

A final whisper against her ear—his voice, cold and full of certainty.

“No one else will have you.”

Then—darkness.

Evelyn gasped, stumbling back. She clutched her head, the echoes of the past still ringing in her mind.

Azrael caught her wrist, steadying her. “What did you see?”

She swallowed hard, her voice shaking. “Laurence… he didn’t just kill me.” She met Azrael’s gaze, her eyes burning with newfound clarity.

“He loved me.”

Azrael arched a brow. “That’s a twisted kind of love.”

Evelyn’s hands clenched. “He killed me because he couldn’t bear to lose me.”

The hooded figure’s voice was distant, almost fading. “Now you understand.”

The shadows began to recede. The air grew still once more. The figure’s presence thinned, dissolving into the void. But before it vanished completely, it left them with one final warning.

“He still lingers in the world of the living.”

Evelyn’s breath hitched. “What?”

But the figure was gone. The whispers faded into silence.

Azrael released her wrist and exhaled. “Well. That’s inconvenient.”

Evelyn’s mind reeled. Laurence was still alive. The man who had taken her life, who had whispered false love into her ear while driving a dagger into her heart—he was still out there.

Her hands trembled. “We have to find him.”

Azrael’s smirk returned, but this time, there was something sharper behind it.

“Oh, I intend to.”

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