Erich didn't know we were there.
He had scheduled the session earlier in the week, unaware that today would be different.
The three of us arrived early. We waited infront the door to her clinic, where the gaslight barely reached.
Clara leaned against the wall, arms drawn close. Konrad stood beside the door frame, silent, still. I paced.
The air smelled of old varnish and something herbal—lavender or chamomile.
"Are you sure this will work?" Clara asked.
"No," I said. "But if we're right about him—then something's already stirring."
She nodded. "He won't like being cornered."
"No… he won't." I said.
A soft knock. The door opened.
Helene didn't look surprised to see us. She stepped aside.
"He's not here yet," she said. "But he will be."
We stepped into the room where she held her sessions. It hadn't changed—bookshelves lining the walls, soft gaslight glowing above the desk. A single chair across from hers, nothing else. The kind of room meant to hold secrets.
Helene gestured to a small alcove just behind a half curtain. "You can stay there. Listen, but don't speak. Not until I say."
Konrad looked to me. I nodded.
We stepped into the alcove.
The space was tight. A small bench against the wall. I saw. Clara stayed standing. Konrad remained just at the curtain's edge, arms folded, unreadable.
I pressed my palm to my journal through the inside of my coat. No pulse. No warmth. Whatever force had spoken to me once—it was silent now.
A minute passed. Then two.
Then we heard a knock.
Helene left the room to welcome Erich in.
"Doctor," I heard him greeting.
"Erich," she said, her voice warm. "You're on time."
The two of them walked into the room. We could only see a sliver through the curtain—his silhouette framed by the gaslight.
"I've been thinking," he said. "About our last session."
Helene nodded. "That's good. Let's follow that."
He sat down. Leaned back. Exhaled slowly.
"Things feel… slower," he said. "Like I'm moving through something that doesn't want me there."
"Can you describe it?"
Erich hesitated. "Corridors. No end. The clocks tick, but not in rhythm. They echo wrong."
"Do you see anyone?"
"No. But I feel like someone's just out of view. Always."
My chest tightened.
Clara looked at me. I nodded once.
It was starting.
Helene leaned forward. "Do you trust that feeling?"
Erich didn't respond right away. Then: "I used to think it was a symptom. Now I think it's something I've forgotten."
"Or someone," Helene said softly.
He shifted. "Why does it feel familiar?"
"Because some things remember us, even when we forget them."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was loaded.
Erich stood.
"This isn't just a session," he said.
"No," Helene replied.
Then she turned toward the alcove.
"Come out."
Clara pulled the curtain back. She stepped first. Then Konrad. Then me.
Erich stared at us like ghosts had walked through the wall.
"What is this?" he asked.
"We're just trying to help," I said.
For a moment, no one moved. Erich's posture tightened—not defensive, but alert.
"You've been watching?"
"Listening," Konrad said.
Clara stepped closer, careful not to crowd him. "You've been seeing things, haven't you?"
"I never told anyone," Erich said.
"You didn't have to," I said. "We see it too."
Erich turned to Helene. "Did you plan this?"
"I gave you space to remember," she said calmly. "That's all."
He looked between us again. His eyes locked on mine. I could see the calculation, the pull of something deeper.
"I saw you," he said—his eyes starting to hollow. "In a dream. There was blood on your hands. A bell was ringing."
I nodded. "I saw you too."
Erich backed a step. His hand twitched slightly.
Clara raised her hand, palm open. "You're not alone in this."
He looked down at his hands. "Then why do I feel like I'm about to disappear?"
"Because something in you knows," I said. "And it's trying to get out."
"Don't fight it." Konrad added.
Erich closed his eyes. Just for a moment.
And the room began to bend.