Mark held the second cassette in one hand, his other hand brushing against the cold wall to keep balance.
The storage units loomed on both sides—metal doors, some dented, all silent.
His breath came in shallow bursts.
Then he heard it again.
The humming.
Closer now.
A slow, off-key version of “Amazing Grace.”
Low. Male. Familiar.
He froze.
“Elijah…” he whispered, as if naming him would summon him.
Unit 107’s door creaked slightly open.
Mark reached for it, heart pounding, but just as he touched the handle—
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A voice behind him.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
He spun around.
No one.
Just shadows.
“You keep chasing me, Mark. But I’m already inside you.”
Back in his hospital room, the lights flickered as he replayed the new tape.
This one wasn’t calm. It was... angry.
“Do you remember the fire, Mark?
Do you remember the screams?
Or did you choose to forget, like everything else?”
“We burned together, and you promised you'd never lock me away again.”
Mark paused the tape, sweat dripping down his neck.
Fire? What fire?
His medical file had no mention of burns.
He opened the drawer beside him. His journal lay inside—empty except for a single line he didn’t remember writing.
“If I am Elijah, who is Mark?”
That night, Dr. Bishoy returned with grim news.
“Mark… the police found your fingerprints near both crime scenes.”
Mark blinked.
“I didn’t—”
“I know what you think,” Dr. Bishoy interrupted. “But memory loss, blackouts, delusions… they may commit you if it happens again.”
Mariam, silent for most of the conversation, suddenly stood.
“No. He’s not dangerous.”
Dr. Bishoy sighed. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
Later, while Mariam helped Mark lie down, she whispered:
“Do you think... Elijah is real?”
Mark looked at her.
“No.
But I’m starting to think I’m not.”
To be continued...