As Eliot walked deeper into this twisted version of his world, faint traces of Ida emerged from the darkness. At first, it was a barely noticeable detail—a piece of blue fabric fluttering on the sidewalk ahead.

His heart skipped a beat. He knew that scarf. It had been Ida’s, a gift he had given her on her last birthday. He hurried toward it, and as he reached down to pick it up, a memory flashed in his mind of her laughing as she wrapped it around her neck on a cold day like this one. 

But when his fingers touched the fabric, it disintegrated into ash, slipping through his hands and scattering in the wind.

Eliot stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat. The edges of his reality felt slippery here as if the line between memory and hallucination had been blurred beyond recognition. He straightened, scanning the empty street again, but the world was toying with him. Every street corner seemed to shift as he approached, every alley elongated impossibly into the distance when he tried to focus on it. 

A faint smell drifted, and Eliot’s heart clenched again—jasmine. The perfume Ida used to wear. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to send him spinning into another memory of walking beside her in the park on a spring day, the scent of flowers mingling with the warmth of her laughter.

“Ida!” Eliot called out, his voice swallowed by the Void. There was no reply, only the echo of his voice bouncing off the twisting buildings. He shivered, a cold sweat running down his back. Was this real? Was she leaving him signs, or were they—The Forgotten—playing with him, trying to break his mind?

—

The further Eliot ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The shadows that had once seemed distant and benign began to close in. They were moving now—dark, slithering shapes flickered at his vision’s edges. He couldn’t catch them directly, but he could feel their eyes on him, always watching, always waiting.

He quickened his pace, his breath coming in short gasps. The hairs on his neck stood up as he sensed something behind him. He spun around, but there was nothing—only the same shifting buildings and swirling fog. Still, the feeling of being watched intensified, like a weight pressing down on him, suffocating him with its intensity.

“Ida,” he whispered again, his voice trembling now. “Please… where are you?”

A faint rustling sound caught his attention, and he looked to his right. There, pinned to a lamppost by a silver tack, was a note. Eliot’s heart pounded as he approached it, the writing on the note achingly familiar.

Eliot, I’m sorry.

It was in her handwriting—slanted, neat, unmistakable. His breath hitched as he reached out to touch the paper. But before his fingers could graze the surface, the note crumpled, dissolving into nothing. The echoes of her voice seemed to linger in the air, and for the first time, Eliot felt real fear.

They’re playing with me, he thought, his fists clenching. They’re using her to break me.

But despite the gnawing fear, there was also a tiny flicker of hope. The signs were there. The scarf. The note. The perfume. She was leaving him clues—or maybe they were memories left behind, fragments of her existence that hadn’t been entirely erased. Either way, he couldn’t stop now. He had to find her.

—

As he moved deeper into the Void, the landscape around him continued to warp, twisting into something unrecognizable. The familiar streets of Philadelphia became a maze of dark alleys and towering, faceless buildings. The world around him shifted in subtle but unsettling ways. Lampposts bent at odd angles, storefronts vanished the moment he passed them, and the horizon seemed to flicker in and out of existence.

Eliot could feel the presence of The Forgotten more strongly now. The shadows that followed him weren’t just figments of his imagination—they were real and getting closer. Now and then, he would catch a glimpse of them—a dark, humanoid figure just at the edge of his vision, its form barely more than a silhouette. But they would dissolve into the fog whenever he turned to face them.

He knew they were drawing him in, pushing him toward something, but he didn’t care. If following their game led him to Ida, then he would follow.

—

The streets led him to a familiar place—Rittenhouse Square, or at least a distorted version. The trees were skeletal, their branches twisted and gnarled, reaching up to the sky like claws. The fountain in the center was cracked and broken, the water frozen in mid-motion as if time had stopped. Eliot stood in the middle of the square, his breath fogging, unsure where to go next.

And then, he saw it.

His memory was playing out in front of him, projected into the air like a hologram. He stood frozen, watching as a scene from his past unfolded before his eyes. It was him and Ida, sitting on one of the benches in the square, bundled up in coats, laughing about something trivial. It was winter, just like now, the park dusted with snow, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

But as the memory played, Eliot noticed something he hadn’t before. Ida’s smile was strained, her eyes distant. She wasn’t laughing—she was scared.

She turned to him in the memory, her voice soft but edged with fear. “There’s a place,” she said, her breath visible in the cold air. “I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve seen it… in my dreams, but I feel like it’s real. And it’s watching me.”

Eliot, his past self, had dismissed it at the time, brushing it off as one of her fleeting worries. But now, standing here in this twisted version of reality, those words took on a new meaning.

The memory ended abruptly, the figures of him and Ida dissolving into mist. Eliot blinked, disoriented, but the words lingered in his mind. A place… watching me.

Could that be where she was now? Was this place—the Void—the thing she had been afraid of all along?

Eliot’s heart raced as he looked around the desolate square. The shadows were closing in now, dark figures circling him, watching, waiting. But he didn’t care. He had a lead. He had to follow it.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Ida,” he whispered into the void, his voice unwavering. “I’m coming.”

And with that, he started walking toward the shadows, toward the unknown. The path ahead was dark, but he knew Ida was waiting somewhere.

To Be Continued …

Read Part I here.

Read Part II here.

Read Part III here.

Read Part IV here.

Read Part V here.

Read the entire book on Kindle here.