Chapter one: Rest
Rowan's room was a mess.
Dirty laundry lay scattered across the floor, shirts hanging halfway out of an overflowing basket, socks mismatched and forgotten in corners.
The curtains were only half drawn, allowing dull daylight to seep into the room, casting a grayish glow over everything.
The air felt heavy, still, as if time itself had slowed down inside those four walls.
Rowan Evans, twenty-two, lay motionless on his bed.
His body sank into the wrinkled sheets, his eyes fixed on a small picture frame he held tightly in his hand. Inside the frame was a photograph of him and his twin sister, Reagan.
They were both smiling in the picture, standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces bright with happiness from a moment that now felt impossibly far away.
A tear slid slowly down Rowan's cheek.
Then another followed.
Grief pressed heavily against his chest, making it hard to breathe. The painful reality of loss sat deep inside him, refusing to loosen its grip. He stared at the image as if doing so might somehow bring her back.
Knock. Knock.
The sound came from the door, soft but firm, breaking the silence that had filled the room.
"Hey, Rowan," his mother's voice called from the other side. Her tone was gentle, filled with sympathy and quiet concern. "It's time. Are you dressed?"
Rowan said nothing.
For a moment, he remained still, his fingers tightening slightly around the frame. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed. His movements were sluggish, drained of energy, as though every action required effort.
He carefully placed the picture frame back onto the bed, resting it on the pillow.
Taking a deep breath that trembled slightly, Rowan walked toward the wardrobe. He pulled the door open, revealing a neatly pressed black suit hanging inside. It had already been prepared for him, waiting for this day — a day he never wanted to come.
"I'll be waiting, okay?" his mother continued from outside the door. Her voice softened even more. "We're in this together."
Rowan swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion.
"I'll be right there," he replied quietly, his voice low and strained.
******
The cemetery was silent except for the soft sound of rain.
Dark clouds stretched across the sky, heavy and unmoving, releasing tiny droplets that fell gently onto the gathered crowd.
The raindrops touched the faces of relatives and friends who stood dressed in black, their expressions filled with sorrow. Some held umbrellas, while others allowed the rain to fall freely, as if it matched the sadness in their hearts.
At the center of the gathering stood a freshly dug grave.
Raindrops tapped lightly against the cold surface of the gravestone, where the words were carved clearly into the stone:
REAGAN EVANS
2002 – 2026
A priest stood nearby, holding a small book in his hands. His voice rose calmly above the quiet sobs of mourners.
"We gather here today not only to mourn," he said gently, "but to say a final farewell to little Miss Evans. Though her lifespan may have been cut short, God knows all, and His plans are beyond our understanding."
Inside a parked car not far from the grave, Rowan sat alone.
He stared through the window, his vision blurred slightly by tears. His chest felt tight, and his hands rested weakly on his lap. He couldn't bring himself to step outside.
He couldn't face the sight of his only sister being lowered into the ground forever.
The pain was too much.
He turned his head away from the ceremony, trying to escape the reality unfolding before him.
But then—
Something felt wrong.
A strange movement caught the corner of his eye.
Rowan blinked and looked again.
Near one of the tall trees standing at the edge of the cemetery, a shadowy figure appeared. It was shaped like a human — small, slender — almost like a young girl standing perfectly still beneath the branches.
His heart skipped.
The figure did not move.
It simply stood there.
Rowan quickly wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, leaning forward slightly to get a clearer look. His breathing grew shallow, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the spot.
Then, without warning—
The figure vanished.
Completely.
As if it had never been there at all.
Rowan frowned, confusion mixing with unease.
"That's weird," he muttered quietly to himself.
*****
One month Later
The alarm clock screamed into the quiet morning.
7:00 a.m.
Its sharp ringing sliced through the stillness of Rowan's bedroom, echoing against the cluttered walls.
Rowan groaned loudly, his face buried halfway into his pillow. The sound felt unbearable, like a hammer pounding against his skull.
Half-asleep and irritated, he stretched one arm toward the bedside table, blindly searching for the clock.
His fingers brushed the edge of the table but missed the button. He tried again — and again — but his hand kept falling short. The simple distance from the bed to the table suddenly felt longer than it should have, as if his tired body refused to cooperate.
Frustration slowly built inside him.
With a tired grunt, he made one final desperate swipe.
Crash.
The alarm clock tumbled off the table and slammed onto the floor, instantly silencing the noise.
Rowan pushed himself upright, breathing heavily. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shake off the last traces of sleep. His eyes drifted toward the wall clock hanging above the door.
Then his expression froze.
Realization struck like lightning.
"Oh crap!" he muttered, panic rushing into his voice. "I'm gonna be late."
Adrenaline replaced his exhaustion.
Rowan jumped out of bed and hurried toward the bathroom, clumsily pulling up his underwear as he moved. His footsteps echoed through the hallway, rushed and uneven.
Downstairs, the house was already awake.
Morning light streamed gently through the dining room windows, illuminating the neat wooden table set for breakfast. The comforting smell of warm food filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of dish soap and fresh laundry.
Mrs. Evans moved carefully around the table, placing plates and utensils with practiced precision. Her movements were steady, almost automatic, the routine of motherhood guiding her hands.
"Rowan! Rowan!" she called out loudly, her voice carrying through the house. "You're going to be late. Money isn't going to make itself, you know."
From somewhere upstairs, Rowan's voice echoed back, thick with sarcasm.
"Yeah, I know that, Mum."
Mrs. Evans let out a soft chuckle under her breath as she continued arranging the table.
Moments later, Dave shuffled into the dining room.
Rowan's cousin looked as though he had just rolled out of bed — which he probably had. He was still dressed in his wrinkled pajamas, his hair messy and uncombed.
His eyelids drooped heavily, and his posture slouched forward with the weight of lingering sleep. He yawned loudly as he dragged a chair backward and collapsed into it.
"So, what's for breakfast, Ma?" he asked lazily.
Mrs. Evans paused for a moment, her shoulders rising and falling in a quiet sigh of disappointment.
"Do you have any plans for today, Dave?" she asked, her tone firm but not harsh.
Dave scratched the back of his head and yawned again, clearly trying to avoid the conversation.
"Not really..." he admitted.
Mrs. Evans turned to face him fully.
"So you're going to sit on your ass all day?" she asked bluntly.
Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat, embarrassment creeping onto his face.
"Ye—"
"Come on, Dave," she interrupted gently, though the frustration in her voice was impossible to hide.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before continuing.
"You're young, but time doesn't wait for anyone," she said, her voice softer now. "You have to find a sense of purpose, okay? I know your parents separating might have caused you pain, but you can't let it hold you back."
Dave leaned further back into his chair, letting out a long sigh. He rolled his eyes slightly, clearly uninterested in the morning lecture.
"Look, Ma," he said, his tone flat, "I just don't feel like doing anything. When I'm ready to start something, I will."
Mrs. Evans felt her patience slipping.
"But you have to finish college," she insisted. "You can't just sit around doing nothing."
Before the tension could grow further, Rowan suddenly rushed into the dining room.
He was dressed in black trousers and a white long-sleeve shirt, though the outfit looked slightly mismatched and hurriedly put together. His hair was still damp, and his breathing was quick from rushing.
He dropped into a chair and immediately began struggling to put on his shoes.
Dave smirked, sensing an opportunity.
"You seem in a rush, puppy," he said sarcastically.
Rowan didn't even look up.
"Oh no," he replied dryly, "I'm just chilling with a pair of shoes."
Dave nodded slowly, pretending to agree.
"That's cool," he said. "Can I join?"
Rowan sighed heavily, clearly annoyed.
Mrs. Evans, ignoring their banter, scooped mashed potatoes onto their plates and added a generous portion of tomato sauce. The warm steam rose gently into the air.
"Why were you up late?" she asked Rowan.
"Don't know," he answered quickly. "The alarm must have malfunctioned."
Dave let out a small laugh.
"Or you're the malfunction."
Rowan shot him a brief glare.
"Just shovel your breakfast into your mouth," he said, "since that's all you can do."
Dave shrugged carelessly and began eating without another word.
Mrs. Evans watched him quietly, her expression carrying the silent question every parent knows too well: What am I going to do with this boy?
Rowan took only a few quick bites before pushing his chair backward. Time was slipping away.
He grabbed his suit coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves.
"I have to go, Mum," he said hurriedly. "I'll get something to eat on the way. I'm sorry."
Mrs. Evans stepped closer and gently kissed him on the cheek, her smile warm despite the rush.
"It's fine, dear," she said softly. "May Christ be with you."
"Amen," Rowan and Dave replied together.
Without wasting another second, Rowan dashed toward the door and disappeared outside.
*****
The bus was crowded.
Passengers filled nearly every seat, their bodies packed closely together, yet the atmosphere remained strangely quiet.
Most people stared at their phones, gazed out the windows, or sat silently lost in their own thoughts.
Rowan sat near the middle of the bus.
He was completely still.
His fingers were tightly locked together, resting against his lap. The pressure made his knuckles pale, but he didn't notice. His breathing slowly grew heavier, deeper, louder inside his chest.
Then something shifted.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him.
The sounds around him began to fade — the rumble of the engine, the soft conversations, the movement of passengers. Everything felt distant, as though the world itself was slowly draining away.
His vision blurred slightly.
The bus seemed to grow quieter.
Too quiet.
Rowan's heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. A strange sensation crept through his body, like an invisible force pulling energy out of him piece by piece.
For a brief moment, it felt as if time had stopped.
Then—
SCREECH.
The bus jerked violently as the driver slammed on the brakes.
The sudden motion snapped Rowan back to reality.
He blinked rapidly, confused and disoriented. His chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to steady his breathing.
Sweat covered his forehead.
He noticed it.
But he said nothing.
Ignoring the uneasy feeling crawling beneath his skin, Rowan slowly stood up and began moving forward.