The silence of the room was heavy, the winter storm outside raging on.

And the secrets we had tried to bury were now the only things left alive.

The brass handle of the door began to turn, very slowly, in the dark.

I closed my eyes and held my breath.

The click of the lock sounded once more.

And then, the door swung open, revealing the figure standing in the grey light of the corridor.

It was a face I had not seen in five years, but one I would never forget.

The man stood there, his wet coat dripping onto the linoleum, a silent specter in the cold hospital hall.

He didn’t speak. He just looked at me, then at the bed, and finally at the note in my hand.

“It’s time to go, Evelyn,” he said.

The voice was quiet, but it filled the room like thunder.

I stepped back, my boots hitting the torn pieces of the drawing on the floor.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The man smiled, a cold, empty expression that didn’t reach his eyes.