Through a Glass Darkly
In a world where beauty promises everything, Eva hides a secret darker than the whispers of her destined fame.
New York City, 1954
Searching for Answers
Eva clutched her coat tightly around her, her feet shifting nervously on the uneven granite stones that paved the streets of Little Italy. The neighborhood was unfamiliar to her — its crowded streets, the constant motion, the mingling scents of food and smoke overwhelming her senses. Her stomach was queasy, like she was standing on the deck of a listing ship. She had never been here before; it was Doreen’s ideas. Eva was, just at the moment, uncharacteristically out of ideas, with nowhere else to turn.
Eva wasn’t used to feeling lost. Life had always seemed to conspire in her favor — modeling jobs would materialize without her even trying, invitations to exclusive parties slipped into her hands as if by magic, and admirers, men of status and wealth, would fall at her feet. She’d been the golden girl, always floating above life’s harsher realities, things just seemed to happen for her. The world bent in her direction, and she never had to fight for anything. Girls used to laugh and say Eva was a lucky thing, destined for Hollywood with her striking looks and effortless grace, and she’d smile that discreet, knowing smile — like the Mona Lisa — never confirming their words but believing every bit of it. She didn’t need to say anything; she was used to it, the whispers, the compliments, the way eyes followed her wherever she went, the leaden weight of their appreciation.as if the world had always been a stage and she its star. Even walking down the street, she could feel their gazes — men turning their heads, women casting sidelong glances — and it felt natural, like she had been born into this glow of attention, this unspoken promise that something grander awaited her.
Now, here she was, standing in this crowded, unfamiliar neighborhood, the crisp fall air biting at her cheeks. It was Doreen’s idea to come here, of course. Doreen always believed in things like psychics and séances, in the unseen forces that could be manipulated to gain control when life spiraled. Eva had scoffed at it, but now… she had nowhere else to turn. It felt strange — almost humiliating — that she, Eva, who had always found herself at the center of admiration, would be the one standing on a grimy street corner, waiting to see some psychic in a backroom parlor. It wasn’t like her at all. But since Rowland’s death, since the insurance money vanished, nothing seemed to go right. She felt desperate, her charm and luck slipping away, and here she was, looking for answers in the shadows of Little Italy.
She shifted her feet again, unease gnawing at her. The old confidence that had carried her through life was gone, and in its place was something she barely recognized: fear. Fear that maybe her luck had finally run out.
The sounds of the bustling neighborhood surrounded her, a jumble of rapid-fire Italian, the clatter of footsteps on the cobblestones, the distant honk of a car horn. It felt disorienting, foreign, as though she had stepped into a different version of New York. Eva’s heart raced as her eyes swept over the lively scene — old brick buildings with their faded shutters, laundry lines stretched between windows swaying in the cool breeze, and colorful awnings advertising imported goods, fresh produce, and local specialties. She had no connection to this place, no familiarity with its rhythms or secrets.
The vendors lining the street called out in Italian, hawking eye-catching bright, ripe fruit, baskets of vegetables, and fragrant bundles of herbs. Eva tugged her coat tighter around her as if it could shield her from the newness, the strangeness of the place. Her dark wool coat, once fashionable, now showed signs of wear — the fur collar worn, the hem frayed from years of use. Her low black heels were scuffed, the leather cracked from countless steps on less forgiving streets.
Across the street, an elderly woman sat on the stoop of a weathered brownstone, her sharp eyes tracking the movement on the street with a lazy, almost detached interest. Her scarf-covered head tilted quizzically as she watched Eva, her wrinkled face unreadable, though there was a faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Eva felt exposed under her gaze, as if the old woman could see straight through her nervous facade.
Shifting uneasily, Eva tried to ignore the woman’s silent judgment, but the feeling of being watched clung to her. Her eyes fell on two young men strolling past. They wore high-waisted trousers and crisp white shirts that emphasized their lean builds, their olive skin catching the afternoon light. As they passed, one of the men glanced at Eva, his dark eyes flashing with amusement. He elbowed his companion, whispering something quickly in Italian, his voice low but just loud enough for Eva to catch the lilting cadence of their conversation.
“Guarda quella donna lì,” the man murmured, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Cosa pensi che stia facendo qui? Vuole forse farsi predire il futuro?”
The other man chuckled, casting a glance at Eva as well. “Forse ha paura di quello che scoprirà,” he said, his grin widening.
Though Eva couldn’t understand their words, their tone and the way their eyes lingered on her sent a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She turned her gaze back to the shop in front of her, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling their attention left behind.
The sign above the narrow doorway read “Valentino’s Psychic Parlor,” its once-gold lettering now chipped and dulled by years of wear. The burgundy door beneath it was cracked and weathered, the paint peeling away in places, revealing the wood underneath. A faint glow from within the shop cast soft, flickering light onto the cobblestones, and the faint scent of sandalwood and incense escaped through the cracks around the door.
She had never been to a place like this before. This wasn’t her kind of thing. But Doreen had insisted.
“Eva, you look like you’re about to faint,” Doreen said, her voice cutting through Eva’s thoughts as she appeared beside her. Doreen, with her unflappable composure, always seemed so sure of herself, always in control. Today was no different.
Doreen was striking, as always — taller than Eva, with an air of confidence that made her stand out even in a bustling crowd like this. Her burgundy wool coat was perfectly tailored, flaring slightly at the waist, cinched with a thin leather belt. Her auburn hair, neatly styled in a sleek bob, peeked out from beneath her cloche hat, and her lips were painted in a deep, rich red that matched her coat. Everything about her looked carefully composed, down to the lace gloves on her hands and the pearls that gleamed at her ears.
“I don’t know, Doreen,” Eva murmured, her voice shaky. “Maybe this was a mistake. What if — ”
“What if it helps?” Doreen interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve known Valentino for years. He’s not some fraud, Eva. He helped me after Mother died. He can help you, too — maybe finally help you understand what happened to Rowland.”
Eva’s stomach twisted at the mention of her late husband. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse as she tried to hold herself together. Rowland’s death had been a mystery that gnawed at her, but she had never thought to seek answers this way. This place, this psychic — it wasn’t her idea. It was Doreen’s. Doreen had been the one to push for this visit, insisting that Valentino could offer Eva something more than the police reports or medical explanations ever could.
“They said it was a heart attack,” said Eva, for the millionth time, and for the millionth time…Doreen shook her head.
“He was a health nut. Something…isn’t right. Why didn’t he call an ambulance?”
“You know men,” said Eva, then shrugged. “I blame myself. If only I’d been there-”
“If we can just get in touch with him,” said Doreen. “It was always like that between us, when we were kids. We had a…bond. He said it was like an umbilical cord.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “If one of us was in trouble, the other one would know without anyone saying a word. Now I need that umbilical cord,” she stated, with determination.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Eva whispered, glancing toward the door again. The flickering light inside seemed almost too inviting, too much like it held answers she wasn’t sure she wanted to confront.
“Trust me,” Doreen said, placing a steady hand on Eva’s arm. “You need this. Valentino can give you what you’re looking for.”
Eva swallowed hard, the knot in her chest tightening. She hadn’t wanted to dwell on Rowland’s death, on the strange questions that lingered. But the dreams — the ones that left her waking up in a cold sweat, the ones that felt more real than they should — kept haunting her. It was as if Rowland was trying to tell her something, something she couldn’t quite grasp.
She glanced at Doreen, who stood calm and expectant, waiting for her to move. Doreen had been a constant since Rowland’s passing, always there, always supportive. But now, there was something in Doreen’s gaze that unsettled Eva, something deeper — an intensity that made her wonder if this was about more than just helping Eva.
With a deep breath, Eva nodded. “Alright. Let’s go in.”
The door creaked as Doreen pushed it open, releasing a swirl of sandalwood-scented incense into the cool air. Inside, the shop was dimly lit, its velvet curtains and tapestries casting shadows on the stone floor. At the far end of the room, seated behind a wooden table cluttered with candles, crystals, and tarot cards, was Valentino. He was tall, with dark, slicked-back hair and eyes that seemed to see right through her as soon as she stepped inside.
“Ah, Doreen, darling,” he said, kissing both her cheeks. Taking Eva’s hands in his, he smiled benevolently. “Doreen has told me so much about you. Now I see you are just as lovely as she said.”
“Thank you,” murmured Eva, wishing he would take his hands away. It was like the old days, the pawing director…she felt like a teenager again. Everything she married Rowland to get away from.
The air inside the parlor was heavy with the scent of burning incense and dried herbs. The thick smoke curled lazily upward, adding to the already strange, mystical atmosphere. Charms and talismans dangled from the walls, catching the light from the scattered candles, while low bookshelves lined the room, filled with old, leather-bound tomes. The floor was covered with intricately woven Persian carpets, their designs swirling beneath Eva’s feet as she and Doreen stepped farther into the shop.
Behind the beaded curtain at the back of the room, shadows flickered, adding an air of mystery to the already strange place. Valentino’s eyes never left Eva, as if he already knew everything that had led her here, to this moment. Everything felt deliberate, designed to make her question the world she thought she knew.
As Valentino settled into his seat, the dim light from the flickering candles seemed to pull in around him, casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His eyes remained fixed on Eva for a moment longer, as though he were weighing her presence, sensing something beneath the surface. Eva, feeling his gaze, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and she covered her unease by shifting and setting her purse on the floor at her feet. Her forehead suddenly felt damp, as though beads of sweat were bursting through the skin, like beads of condensate on a glass of water.
Valentino sat across from Doreen, his hands gently resting on the worn cards spread out between them. His voice was smooth, almost rehearsed, as he gave her a conventional reading — words of reassurance about her future, vague hints about a new opportunity, and a gentle caution about an upcoming decision. Doreen nodded along, her eyes wide with interest, clinging to each word. It was the kind of reading Valentino had given a thousand times, meant to soothe and satisfy. But when he turned his gaze to Eva, the atmosphere shifted. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers hovered over the cards, as if sensing something deeper beneath the surface. His usual composure faltered, and for the first time, he hesitated. There was something different about Eva, something that seemed to ripple through the room, and it made him pause before he spoke again.
After a pause in which the trio digested these pearls from the beyond, Valentino turned. “And you, Eva? What questions do you bring with you today?”
Eva swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight. She hadn’t planned to speak, hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so directly. The intensity of the moment hit her like a wave, and when she opened her mouth to answer, her words stumbled out awkwardly.
“I — I’m not sure, I just…” she began, her voice trailing off as her hands twisted together in her lap.
Doreen, sensing Eva’s hesitation, stepped in, her tone smooth and reassuring. “It’s about my brother’s death, Valentino,” she said, her words flowing easily where Eva’s had faltered. “There are still a lot of unanswered questions. And… there’s also the matter of a missing life insurance policy. We hoped you could help us find some clarity.”
Valentino’s eyes never left Eva’s face, and though he nodded at Doreen’s words, it was clear his attention was still on the widow sitting before him. Eva couldn’t shake the feeling that he could see more than she wanted him to.
He nodded once, slowly. “Ah, I see,” he said softly, his fingers resting gently on the table. “This is a difficult matter. Let us see what we can uncover.”
He moved with quiet purpose, his long fingers sliding toward the crystal ball at the center of the table. The ball itself was large, seeming to dominate the room now, as a spirit rising from a grave might command the attention of midnight grave-goers. Valentino began to focus on it, and the swirling mist inside it seemed to become more alive, more ominous. Eva felt a chill run down her spine.
Valentino’s movements were graceful and deliberate, his fingertips barely grazing the surface of the crystal ball as his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. He muttered something in Italian — words Eva didn’t understand — his voice low and rhythmic, as though calling something forth from the other side.
Eva’s breath hitched in her throat as she watched, unable to tear her gaze away from the ball. The swirling mist inside it began to shift, coalescing into shapes. At first, they were nothing but vague shadows, barely more than figments, but slowly, they started to take form.
“He’s coming,” Valentino whispered, his voice low and distant as though he were speaking from another place entirely. His brow furrowed, the muscles in his face tightening as he focused on the figure materializing inside the ball.
Eva leaned forward slightly, despite herself, her hands tightening around the edge of the table. The shape inside the ball grew clearer — broad shoulders, a face etched in shadow. Valentino’s fingers moved over the surface of the ball as if guiding the image into sharper focus.
“It’s him,” Valentino said, his voice soft but certain. “Rowland.”
Eva’s heart pounded in her chest as the figure solidified. She couldn’t really make anything out, except a darkish blur. It was surely a hoax, but she felt anxious nonetheless.
Doreen leaned forward, her excitement barely contained. “Rowland? Can you speak to him, Valentino? Can you ask him about the life insurance? What happened to it?”
Valentino’s eyes remained fixed on the crystal ball, his face tense as he watched Rowland’s form. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he hesitated before speaking again.
“He is here,” Valentino said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something darker. “But… he is angry.”
“Angry?” Doreen repeated, a note of confusion creeping into her voice. She glanced at Eva, who had gone deathly still beside her. “Rowland wasn’t an angry man.”
Valentino’s brow furrowed deeper, his fingers tracing invisible patterns above the ball. The mist swirled violently for a moment, and Eva felt the room grow colder. She swallowed hard, her chest tightening as if the air had suddenly become too thick to breathe.
“He’s filled with rage,” Valentino murmured, his voice low and tense. “There’s something unresolved. Something that deeply troubles him.”
Eva’s breath came in shallow gasps now, her hands gripping the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes darted between Valentino and the figure in the crystal ball, her pulse pounding in her ears. Rowland’s face twisted further, his expression one of accusation and fury.
“What is it?” Doreen asked, her voice urgent. “What’s troubling him? Is it about the insurance policy? What happened to it?”
Valentino remained silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he focused more intently on the image in the crystal. His face paled slightly, his lips parting as though he were hearing something only he could understand.
“He’s pointing,” Valentino said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s pointing at someone…”
Eva’s heart stopped. She could feel it — Rowland’s presence in the room, his anger radiating from the crystal ball. Her vision blurred as her mind raced, trying to comprehend what was happening.
“At you,” Valentino said, turning his gaze fully on Eva. “He’s pointing at you, Eva.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs. The room seemed to spin around her, the flickering candlelight growing dim and distant as the full weight of Valentino’s words sank in. Rowland’s face in the crystal — twisted with anger — was staring straight at her, his finger raised in a silent accusation.
Doreen blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he — ?”
But before she could finish, Eva shot to her feet, her face pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “No,” she said sharply, her voice shaking with panic. “This is nonsense. It’s all nonsense!”
Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stumbled back, nearly losing her footing in her haste to flee. The room seemed to close in around her, the oppressive scent of incense making her stomach churn. She could feel Valentino’s eyes on her, and Rowland’s — always Rowland’s — burning through the crystal ball.
“Eva, wait!” Doreen called after her, rising quickly, but Eva didn’t stop. She rushed toward the door, her mind racing, unable to process the scene she had just witnessed. She pushed through the beaded curtain, the sound of the beads clattering behind her like a final punctuation to the madness she was leaving behind.
Outside, the air was plentiful and sweet, and she sucked it gratefully into her burning lungs, but it did nothing to calm her pounding heart. She leaned against the side of the building, her hand pressed against her chest as if she could still feel Rowland’s accusing gaze.
Moments later, Doreen emerged from the shop, her face flushed, still bewildered. She hurried over to Eva, her voice calm but laced with confusion. “Eva, I’m so sorry. That reading was… strange. You’re taking it too seriously. It’s just a psychic reading — it doesn’t mean anything.”
Eva shook her head, her eyes wide and unfocused. “I just… I feel ill,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together. “I need to go home. Please, Doreen. I just need to go home.”
Doreen hesitated, glancing back at Valentino’s shop for a moment, as if the answers she sought were still waiting inside. But seeing Eva’s pale, stricken face, she sighed and nodded. “Of course. Let’s get you home.”
Without another word, she gently guided Eva down the narrow street, her arm wrapped around her sister-in-law’s shoulders, offering the only comfort she could as they left Valentino’s parlor — and Rowland’s spirit — behind.
Mysterious Events
Eva sat in the stillness of her apartment, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her face. The events of the evening replayed in her mind — a chaotic jumble of Valentino’s voice, Rowland’s furious expression in the crystal ball, and the accusing finger pointed directly at her. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the images, but they clung to her like shadows. Her stomach churned, and her pulse had yet to slow. Every sound in the apartment — creaks in the walls, the groan of the pipes — seemed magnified, too sharp, too loud.
With a shaky sigh, she finally lowered her hands and stared at the dimly lit room. It felt unfamiliar, as though something intangible had shifted within its walls. She wanted nothing more than to slip into the safety of her bed and forget the entire evening. As she stood to head to bed, a sudden realization hit her.
Her purse.
She had left it at Valentino’s parlor.
A fresh wave of panic rolled over her as she pictured it sitting on the table in the dim, smoke-filled room, forgotten in her rush to escape. She took a step toward the door, her first instinct telling her to go back and retrieve it immediately, but she froze.
No. Going back there tonight wasn’t wise. The thought of seeing Valentino again, of stepping back into that strange, oppressive space, filled her with dread. She couldn’t do it — not now, not after everything. Her pulse quickened at the mere idea of facing him again, of confronting whatever unsettling truth the psychic had claimed to see in Rowland’s ghost.
In the morning, she told herself. In the morning, when you’ve composed yourself. You’ll go back then.
For now, she needed sleep. Sleep and distance from that horrible place.
But sleep didn’t come easily. Eva tossed and turned in bed, the images from the reading haunting her mind. The night dragged on, her body exhausted, but her thoughts refused to settle. When she finally drifted off, it was into a fitful, restless sleep.
Strange Dreams
In her dream, she found herself walking along a lonely road, shrouded in mist. The air was thick, heavy with fog, muffling every sound except the soft crunch of her footsteps on gravel. The road stretched out before her, disappearing into the swirling gray mist, and though she didn’t know where she was going, she kept walking, drawn forward by some unseen force.
Suddenly, a voice called out to her from behind. “Eva.”
She froze. The voice was faint at first, almost as though it were coming from far away, but it sent a jolt of fear through her. She turned her head, but the mist was too thick, obscuring everything behind her.
“Eva,” the voice came again, louder now, more insistent.
A chill crept up her spine. She didn’t recognize the voice, but something about it filled her with a deep, primal fear. She quickened her pace, her footsteps becoming hurried, though she didn’t know why. The road stretched on endlessly, and the mist seemed to close in around her, suffocating in its thickness.
“Eva!” The voice was closer now, sharp with urgency.
Without thinking, she began to run, her breath coming in quick, panicked bursts. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the silence, but the voice followed her, relentless.
She ran faster, her heart pounding in her chest, but the voice pursued her, calling her name with growing intensity. “Eva! Stop!”
She stumbled on the uneven road, her foot catching on something unseen in the mist, and before she could stop herself, she tripped.
The ground came up fast, and she fell hard, her hands scraping against the rough dirt. Pain shot through her palms and knees as she hit the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs. She tried to push herself up, but her legs felt weak, her body trembling as the realization set in.
It was inevitable. There was no escape.
The voice called out again, closer this time, but now there was no softness in it, no warmth — only a cold, sharp demand.
“Eva!”
She scrambled, her fingers digging into the dirt, trying to pull herself up, but her legs felt heavy, useless. Her breath caught in her throat, and her vision blurred as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She could feel it now, the presence behind her.
Something was there, just beyond the mist. She didn’t need to see it to know. She could feel it.
“Eva!” The voice was right behind her now, and suddenly, she felt it — cold fingers, like ice, wrapping around her shoulder.
The grip was forceful, too strong for her to resist. The cold seeped through her clothes, chilling her to the bone as the hand tightened its hold. Her body froze, paralyzed by the icy touch, by the sheer force of the grip. She tried to scream, but her voice was caught in her throat, strangled by the overwhelming fear surging through her.
She twisted, desperate to break free, but the hand only tightened, holding her in place as if mocking her futile efforts. She could feel the coldness spreading, seeping deeper into her skin, the weight of inevitability crushing her as the darkness closed in.
Her scream finally ripped through the fog, loud and piercing, but it did nothing to free her.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over.
Eva jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing wildly in her chest. She sat up in bed, gasping for breath, her pulse pounding in her ears. The darkness of her bedroom was disorienting, and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was, the dream clinging to her like a suffocating blanket.
Instinctively, she reached for her shoulder, expecting to feel the cold grip that had seized her in the dream. But all she felt was the soft, loose contour of her satin nightdress, the fabric cool against her damp skin. She let out a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through her hair.
Her throat felt dry, parched from the scream she could still feel lodged in her chest. She needed water — something to ground herself, to bring her fully back into reality.
Still shaky, she slid out of bed and padded softly down the hallway toward the kitchen. The cool floorboards were a sharp contrast to the warmth of her bed, and the simple act of walking helped ground her, though her legs still trembled beneath her.
The apartment was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of the wall clock. She filled a glass with water, her hands still shaking slightly as she brought it to her lips, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat.
But as she lowered the glass, something caught her eye in the living room, something that made her breath hitch in her throat.
There, sitting on the small table near the door, was her purse.
The very purse she had left behind at Valentino’s parlor.
Eva’s breath stopped short, her fingers tightening around the glass in her hand as she stared at it, her heart pounding wildly once again. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It wasn’t possible. She was sure she had left it at the psychic’s shop.
And yet, there it was. Sitting quietly, as though it had never left her side.
Return to Valentino’s
Eva walked through the bustling streets, her heart pounding as a sense of dread clung to her. The morning sunlight was far too bright, too harsh, and each beam that cut through her sunglasses felt like a reminder that she couldn’t escape what was coming. Her tinted glasses shielded her eyes from the glare but did nothing to hide the mounting anxiety gnawing at her. She clutched her purse tightly — a small, worn leather bag, the edges frayed and the straps twisted from years of use. The purse, which had always been so familiar, now felt like a witness, a silent confidant to the strange events she was caught in. Eva found herself gripping it as if it could offer some kind of protection.
The businesslike click of her heels echoed sharply on the stone sidewalk, out of sync with the chaos swirling in her mind. She walked quickly, her posture slouched under the weight of her worry, glancing nervously from side to side as if someone might be watching. The world around her carried on, indifferent to her growing fear.
Housewives bustled past, clutching paper bags full of groceries, chatting with one another. Children played on the stoops, their laughter shrill and carefree. Eva winced, her fingers tightening around her purse, clutching it closer to her body as if it were a talisman, something to ground her. The rhythmic click of her heels punctuated the noise, a reminder of her growing desperation.
The scents of the city-the shrieking horns-the rising and falling of the voices around her-everything felt too sharp, too real, as if the world itself was pushing her toward Valentino’s shop. She turned the corner, and there it was, small and tucked away, as if it had been waiting for her, knowing she would return…the serpent’s den.
Eva’s steps slowed as she approached, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the comforting weight of her purse, and for a moment, she squeezed it tighter, as though it could offer her guidance, even as it carried the mysteries she could not explain.
With a deep breath, Eva reached for the door and pushed it open.
The familiar scent of sandalwood incense greeted her immediately, heavy and thick in the air, curling in tendrils of smoke from the small brass burners placed throughout the room. The parlor was dim, the light barely cutting through the shadows that clung to the corners, and Eva felt her pulse quicken.
As the beads of the curtain at the back of the room clinked softly, Valentino emerged, his expression calm and unreadable, as though he had expected her all along.
“Eva,” he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. “I thought you might return.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She hadn’t slept well, and the weight of the previous night hung over her like a cloud. She clutched her purse protectively, like a lifeline. “I left my purse here last night,” she said, her voice tight. “But when I got home… it was there. How did that happen?”
Valentino raised his eyebrows slightly, his calm expression shifting into one of mild surprise. “Your purse…” he echoed thoughtfully. “Yes, I remember seeing it after you left. I placed it aside, right here on the table, intending to keep it safe.”
Eva watched him closely, her nerves on edge. His eyes widened with what seemed like genuine astonishment as he continued, “But when I went to check on it this morning… it was gone.”
His hands spread in a gesture of confusion, and Eva couldn’t help but notice how fluidly his expressions shifted — from curiosity to concern to amazement. A practiced actor, she thought bitterly.
“You’re telling me it just disappeared?” she asked, her voice edged with disbelief.
Valentino leaned in slightly, his gaze intense but calm. “Objects sometimes move in this way, especially when spirits are restless,” he said softly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret with her. “I believe the return of your purse is a sign, Eva. A sign that Rowland’s spirit is trying to reach you.”
The mention of Rowland’s name sent a cold shiver through her. Eva’s breath hitched, and she clutched her purse even tighter, almost protectively. She wasn’t sure if it could shield her from the growing dread, but it was all she had. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Valentino stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, holding hers with an unsettling intensity. “Rowland is not at peace,” he said quietly. “There are things left unresolved. I believe another séance may reveal the answers you seek — the location of the life insurance policy, and perhaps the truth about Rowland’s death.”
Eva felt her legs go weak beneath her. The life insurance policy. The accusation of Rowland’s death. It all came rushing back, suffocating her in the dim, smoky room. Her mind raced, and she held the purse even closer, her fingers trembling. It was as though the worn leather contained everything — the secrets, the guilt, the fear.
“I don’t know if I can go through with that again,” she stammered, her voice barely audible.
Valentino’s expression softened, though his eyes remained sharp and predatory. “You must understand,” he said gently, “Rowland’s spirit knows what happened the night he died. He knows that you killed him.”
Eva recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. “That’s not true,” she whispered, clutching her purse so tightly her fingers ached. “I didn’t kill him.”
Valentino remained calm, though his eyes glinted with something darker. “Deny it if you must, Eva. But Rowland’s spirit knows the truth. His anger is undeniable.”
Eva’s mind spun, her grip tightening on the purse, as though its weight could ground her to reality. Valentino stepped closer, his presence looming larger. “But,” he continued, his voice soft but menacing, “there may still be a way out. A way for us to work together.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely able to get the words out. “What do you mean?”
Valentino’s smile curled slightly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “If we find the location of the life insurance policy, I want my share. Ten percent. And if you refuse to cooperate…” His smile faded, his tone turning cold. “I’ll take what I know to the police.”
Eva’s heart froze. “The police?” she repeated, disbelief flooding her voice. “You think they’ll believe you? About séances and spirits?”
Valentino shrugged, his expression as calm as ever. “Maybe not. But they’ll investigate. They’ll ask questions. They might even search your apartment. And they’ll make things… unpleasant.”
Eva’s pulse quickened, panic rising inside her. Valentino had her trapped, and he knew it. Her purse felt like her only shield, something to hold onto in this spiraling mess. She could feel his eyes on her, reading her every move.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked finally, her voice barely a whisper, clutching the purse as if it could protect her from what was coming.
Valentino smiled, his triumph evident. “Simple,” he said. “We hold another séance tonight. Rowland is angery, but truths are revealed in anger. I know how to work with these spirits. You get closure. I get my payment. Everyone walks away happy.”
Eva felt the weight of his words settle over her, pressing down until she could barely breathe. She had no choice. She took a deep, shaky breath, her chest tight with fear and resignation.
“Fine,” she whispered, holding her purse close. “I’ll do it.”
Valentino’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good,” he said softly. “We’ll begin tonight.” Raising his index finger to his mouth, he traced his bottom lip. “We’ll get Doreen. He might talk to her.”
“No,” whispered Eva. “I…don’t want her involved.”
“Look, Eva,” said Valentino, dropping his voice again. “I don’t think you understand. I’m the one in control now. We do this my way, or we don’t do it all. Do you understand?”
Eva felt rage welling up inside her. She wanted to yell and pound her tiny fists against his chest, wipe that smirk off his face…but she knew it would not change anything. She needed his help, and he was right. Besides, she’d handled Doreen before. It was just that she was tired, so tired and weak…she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. But you must, she told herself. Tie yourself to the mast. You can handle them, the both of them if you must.
“Alright,” she said quietly.
Valentino smiled broadly. “I thought you’d see reason,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
Fearing to extend the interview, Eva spun on her heel and marched back out.
The Séance
The room was heavy with an unnatural chill, the swirling mist in the crystal ball reflecting the flickering candlelight in strange, unsettling patterns. Eva sat across from Valentino. Doreen, seated at her right, observed with a strange intensity. Her brother’s death had left her desperate for answers, but her calmness in the face of the growing tension unnerved Eva. Doreen’s sharp eyes, fixed on the crystal ball, seemed almost too focused, too expectant.
Valentino’s low voice droned on, his words rhythmic and steady, summoning Rowland’s spirit. Eva’s hands trembled…she laced her fingers together to quiet the palsy. It would not do to appear worried. If she could make herself appear even a little bored…but she was not sure she could manage it. The air in the room had grown colder, the kind of chill that sank into her bones and made it hard to think straight. For the first time in a long time, she doubted her ability to pull something off.
“We call upon the spirit of Rowland. Reveal the truth to us,” Valentino commanded, his voice strong, filling the oppressive silence.
The mist inside the crystal ball churned violently, thickening until shapes began to emerge. Eva’s breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as Rowland’s face materialized before her eyes, twisted with rage. His eyes burned with accusation, and his mouth moved as if he were screaming, but no sound escaped. His rage was suffocating, and Eva recoiled, feeling as though his fury were aimed directly at her, tearing through her defenses.
Eva’s pulse quickened. Her gaze darted toward Doreen, but her sister-in-law remained still, her face impassive as she watched the scene unfold. There was something strange about Doreen’s posture, the way she sat with her hands resting so deliberately in her lap. Her eyes flickered toward Valentino, then back to the swirling mist, her expression unreadable. Eva’s stomach churned with unease.
Suddenly, from the corner of the room, Eva saw movement — something dark, something shifting just outside the reach of the candlelight. She gasped, leaping from her chair, her heart racing as she pointed toward the shadow. “What is that?” she cried out, her voice shaking.
Eva’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes darted to the corner of the dimly lit room, where the shadows seemed to twist and move with a life of their own. At first, she thought it was a trick of the flickering candlelight, but then, in the hazy darkness, she saw it — a shape, faint but unmistakable, the silhouette of a man looming just beyond the edge of the circle. Her heart raced, terror clawing at her chest as the figure seemed to grow more distinct, taking form in the shifting shadows. There was no mistaking it now: the broad shoulders, the familiar angle of the jaw, the hollow eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness. It was Rowland. She knew it, could feel the cold, suffocating weight of his presence filling the room. His outline was blurred, as if made of the very mist that had swirled in the crystal ball, but he was there — watching her, accusing her. Eva stumbled back from the table, knocking over the candles as she leapt to her feet, her eyes locked on the shadowed figure. He didn’t move, but the air around her grew thick and heavy, suffocating, like the blanketing humidity in a rainforest. “No,” she whispered, her voice shaking, but the figure remained, its silent, unrelenting presence pushing her closer to the edge of madness. It was Rowland, and he had come for her.
The table overturned with a violent clatter, candles spilling onto the floor and sending wax and flickering flames across the dark wood. The crystal ball rolled, hitting the floor with a sharp crack as it settled near the edge of the room. Valentino’s expression remained calm, but his eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity. Doreen barely flinched, only her lips tightening into a thin line as she watched Eva with growing tension.
“There’s something — ” Eva’s voice trembled as she backed away, her gaze fixed on the shadowy corner. She could feel Rowland’s presence looming all around her, oppressive and cold. The air grew even heavier, suffocating. It was as if the walls were closing in.
Valentino stood, slow and deliberate, his voice low and coaxing. “Rowland’s spirit is furious, Eva. He demands the truth. You know what you must say. You know why he’s here.”
Eva shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her vision blurring with the oppressive fear pressing down on her. “No… no…” she whispered, but the presence in the room loomed larger, almost as if it were enveloping her, crushing her beneath its weight.
Suddenly, Rowland’s voice echoed through the room, low and menacing, like a whisper from the grave. “You killed me,” the voice hissed, filling the space with icy accusation.
“What’s he talking about, Eva?” questioned Doreen.
“You see him too?” she gasped, but a quick glance in her sister-in-law’s direction confirmed this. Doreen was pale, confused…and waiting for an answer.
Eva’s breath hitched as she relived that night, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared into the shadows. “It was just a normal night,” she began, her voice shaky, almost whispering. “Rowland was sitting in his old armchair, reading the newspaper like he always did after dinner. Then, all of a sudden, he made this awful sound — like a gasp, a choke — and the paper slipped from his hands. I looked at him, and he was clutching his chest, his face turning this awful shade of purple. His eyes… God, his eyes were wide, full of fear. He was gasping, struggling for air, his lips going pale, his hands shaking so bad they could barely grip the armrests.”
Her hands mimicked his motion, clenching the air in front of her. “He tried to speak, tried to call for me, but all that came out was this horrible wheeze. I remember standing there, watching him… he was turning colors — purple, blue — and I could hear it, the rattle in his chest as he struggled for every breath.” She swallowed hard, her eyes still darting around Valentino’s darkened parlor. “He looked at me, his hand reaching out, begging me with his eyes to help. I could’ve done something. I could’ve called for help. But I didn’t. I just watched. I waited.”
Her voice rose again, trembling as she backed further into the wall. “He kept gasping, kept trying to breathe, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t! I got up and left. I left him there, like that, with the paper crumpled on the floor, while I walked out the door. I went to a movie…and then to a bar. I drank two whiskeys. When I came home, it was over.” Her voice cracked, panic flooding her face. “Now he’s coming for me. I can feel him. Don’t let him touch me! Please, don’t let him touch me!” She shrieked, clutching the sides of her head as if the memory itself was crushing her.
The confession tore from her in a desperate rush, and the moment the words left her mouth, the room erupted into chaos. The door to the parlor flew open with a loud crash, and two police officers stormed in, guns drawn. Eva gasped, stumbling backward as they rushed toward her, grabbing her roughly by the arms and hauling her to her feet. Her heart pounded in her chest, shock washing over her in waves. How had they known?
“Doreen!” Eva cried out, her eyes darting to her sister-in-law in desperation, but Doreen remained seated, watching with a cold detachment. Something flickered in her gaze — something hard and calculating. For the first time, Eva saw it clearly: Doreen had been part of this all along.
Valentino stepped back, his expression calm as ever, though there was an unmistakable air of satisfaction in his movements. “It’s over now, Eva,” he said quietly. “The truth is out. Rowland can rest.”
The officers forced Eva’s arms behind her back, slapping cold metal handcuffs onto her wrists. Her pulse thundered in her ears as the realization set in. This had all been a trap — a setup from the beginning. Valentino and Doreen had orchestrated the séance, pulling her into their web, knowing she would break.
“How could you?” Eva gasped, her voice hoarse as she looked at Doreen, pleading for some sign of remorse. But Doreen merely rose from her chair, smoothing her dress with a slow, deliberate motion. She walked past Eva without a word, not even a glance, her expression hard and unforgiving.
Valentino stood by, watching the scene unfold with a faint smile on his lips, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Now that the truth has been spoken,” he said smoothly, “The spirits will be at peace.”
The officers dragged Eva out of the room, her legs weak, her mind reeling. As they pulled her through the doorway, she cast one last glance back at the overturned table, the flickering candles, and the shattered crystal ball. The room seemed to pulse with the weight of what had happened, with the lingering presence of Rowland’s rage, but the truth was clear now. She had confessed, and there was no turning back.
As the door closed behind her, the cold air of the night hit her face, but it did nothing to numb the terror coursing through her veins. The trap had been sprung, and now there was no escape.
