Revisiting the Ghost*

The chair was cold, the kind of cold that didn't go away after a few minutes. Steven shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make him feel like he was sitting on a block of ice. Across the table, Dr. Barnett was arranging a series of tablets, her movements precise and deliberate. For a moment, it reminded him of his mother setting the table when guests came over. She always said it was important to present things properly, even if no one cared but her.

“Let's go over this one more time,” Dr. Barnett said. She didn't look up. “You understand the terms of the program, yes?”

Steven nodded, then realized she wasn't looking at him. “Yes. One hour. Any moment from my life.”

“That's correct.” She tapped on one of the tablets. “One hour, subjective time. You'll experience the memory as if it were happening. Full sensory detail, full emotional context. But it's not a time machine, Steven. You can't change anything. You're just… revisiting.”

“I get it.”

She finally looked at him. She stared at him with an intensity that made him feel like he was being dissected. “I don't think you do. This isn't therapy. This isn't closure. Most people think they want to go back, but when they do, they realize it's not what they expected.”

“I'll be fine.”

Dr. Barnett leaned back in her chair. “Fine.” She tapped another tablet, and a thin cable snaked out from the device, connecting to the port behind Steven's ear. He felt the faintest tug as it clicked into place. “Think carefully about what you want to revisit. Once the session starts, you can't change your mind.”

Steven closed his eyes and thought about the memory he'd been holding onto for weeks. It wasn't a happy one. He didn't care. Happy memories were useless. They didn't fix anything. They didn't answer questions. He clenched his hands into fists and said, “I'm ready.”

Dr. Barnett's voice was distant now, like it was coming through a thick wall. “Initiating in three… two… one…”

The transition wasn't smooth. It was like being dropped into freezing water, the shock of it making him gasp. When his senses stabilized, he was standing in the kitchen of his old apartment. The linoleum floor was sticky. The smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air. He hadn't been here in years, but everything was exactly as he remembered it. The crack in the cabinet door. The scuff marks near the fridge. The faint drone of the ancient refrigerator, struggling to stay alive.

And there she was. Jessica. Her back was to him, her dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She was washing dishes, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. He hadn't seen her in ten years, but it was like no time had passed at all. He tensed, and he reminded himself that she couldn't see him. Couldn't hear him. This was just a memory.

“Steven, can you grab me a towel?” she said, her voice light, almost playful.

He froze. He'd forgotten that this was how it started. This ordinary, stupid moment. He wanted to scream at her, tell her to leave, to get out of the apartment and never come back. But his mouth wouldn't move. He was just a passenger. A ghost.

Jessica turned around, a plate in her hands. She smiled at him. Not the kind of smile you give to strangers or co-workers. This was the smile she saved for him, the one that made him feel like he was the only person in the world. It was unbearable.

“Steven? You okay?”

He didn't respond. He couldn't. The memory was moving forward, indifferent to his presence. She shrugged and set the plate on the counter. “You're weird today.”

The knock at the door came next. Three sharp raps, like someone trying to punch a hole through the wood. Steven tensed, even though he knew what was coming. He wanted to run, to tackle Jessica and drag her away from the door, but he couldn't move. He was stuck, watching the same scene play out like a movie he'd seen a hundred times.

Jessica frowned. “Who the hell is that?” She wiped her hands on a towel and walked to the door. Steven tried to scream, but no sound came out. He tried to move, but his body didn't respond. He was just a passenger.

She opened the door. The man on the other side was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looked carved out of stone. Steven didn't know his name. He'd never known his name. All he knew was the gun in the man's hand.

“Jessica Rhodes?” the man said, his voice flat, emotionless.

Jessica blinked. “Yeah, who's asking?”

The man raised the gun and shot her. No hesitation. No warning. Just a single, deafening crack that echoed through the apartment. Jessica dropped to the floor, her eyes wide with shock. Blood pooled around her, and Steven felt like he was drowning in it.

The man stepped over her body and looked around the apartment. Steven wanted to fight him, wanted to rip the gun out of his hands and beat him to death with it, but he couldn't move. The man didn't even glance in his direction. He walked into the living room, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small, black USB drive.

“Got it,” the man said, though there was no one else in the room. He slipped the drive into his pocket and left, stepping over Jessica's body like she was trash.

Steven fell to his knees beside her. Her eyes were still open, staring at nothing. He reached out to touch her, but his hand passed through her like smoke. He sat there for what felt like hours, the silence pressing down on him like a weight.

“You can't change anything,” Dr. Barnett had said. “You're just revisiting.”

The memory began to dissolve. The kitchen faded, the smell of burnt coffee replaced by the sterile, metallic scent of the lab. Steven blinked and found himself back in the chair. Dr. Barnett was standing over him, her face unreadable.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Steven didn't answer. He stared at the floor, he trembled. The memory was still fresh, still vivid, like it had just happened.

“You're not the first person to revisit something traumatic,” Dr. Barnett said. “Most people think it'll give them closure. It doesn't.”

“I didn't do it for closure,” Steven said. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming for hours. “I needed to see his face again.”

Dr. Barnett raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Steven looked up at her, he stared at her with a cold, empty expression. “So I can find him.”

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The writing prompt for this story was:
Every day, you get one hour to revisit any moment from your life. What do you pick? Story is Dark and Disturbing.

This story was written by:
openai/gpt-4o-2024-11-20

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