Page 23 of The Shadowed Oracle
She listened intently to what he was saying, but the more she focused, the more muffled it seemed. Even if this was an illusion, she wanted to know. If this was the last time she’d hear a familiar voice, then she wanted something tangible. A single sentence. Anything. She silently begged her captor for just one single word.
Just as she felt like she was making one out, Dean stopped, and in his place came someone new. A voice she’d heard before, but knew she’d never hear again.
Her father. His deep whiskey-soaked tone, the melodic cadence, the snarky affectation. He was a rotten, arrogant son of a bitch—always had been—even this dark recreation couldn’t miss that. It was him. For the first time in twenty years, she was hearing her father’s voice.
A tear welled in her eyes for all that she’d lost. For the little she’d been able to hold on to. But she forced the tear to stay put. She steadied herself, locking every joint and muscle in her body into place, preparing.
There would be no crying. There would be no more groveling. No more feigning weakness or saving her energy for later. Because if this evil force could stoop so low as to resurrect the voice of her long-lost father, then it didn’t deserve to have her.
“Fuck… this,” she muttered, and drained every ounce of energy she had left.
She fought back. Clawing and kicking and screaming, just like she’d fought the madness all those years.
The Thing screeched out in pain. An awful, animal cry that sliced into Ingrid’s eardrums like tiny pins. She put her hands over her ears, too occupied to realize she had gained back the use of them. She was free. The spindly arms and sharp fingers vanished and Ingrid’s body crashed to the floor with a harsh slap.
Her eyes needed a moment to adjust before she saw the hallway had returned to normal. The walls were intact again. The lights were working. The roof was secure and in one piece.
But the voices were still there.
One voice, in particular.
Dean’s. Still so loud, and still nonsensical.
Chapter Nine
“Stop… screaming,”Ingrid moaned, eyes shut tight as she lifted herself to a sitting position. There was the usual throbbing head pain that came with her visions, but there was also an added smell of fresh blood.
“Here,” Dean went to his knees, using his shirt to wipe her nose, revealing a circle of dark red seeping into the material.
Ingrid stared at it blankly, tilting her head up. “Is it gone?”
“Yeah, all good. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
Ingrid nodded but didn’t specify, glancing around the room. She wanted to make sure that if the hallway changed again, she’d notice.
“You were floating,” Dean said breathily.
“Oh, you saw that, did you?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I saw it, what do you mean?”
“It’s a new development.” Everything around her was still as it should be, and the reality of what had happened began to sink in. “Invisible things,” she said. “They’re real. My nightmares, too. A lot has happened. Tough to cover it all.” She kept talking to keep herself occupied. As thrilled as she was to see Dean, and as difficult as it was to ignore the pain, it was even harder to ignore the confusing mix of dread and relief.
She rambled on and on about what she experienced, speaking more to herself than to Dean, who only sat there, nodding along calmly.
“So, you couldn’t see it at all?” he asked after she’d finished. “Not even a shadow of it?”
“No,” Ingrid said, squinting at him. “You believe me?”
“I just saw you floating mid-fucking-air. I saw every single light in here flicker. I saw…”
“What?” she prodded.
“I saw your eyes glow.”
There were many rational explanations for this. The unusual color of her irises catching the light in a certain way. The Thing making him see what it wanted him to see. But Dean swore. “They glowed. Like, a spotlight on a helicopter. Not shined. Not glistened. They fucking glowed!”
He talked as if it excited him. No fear. No confusion.
