Death's Echo

Chapter 8: Reckoning with Regret

They stepped into the room, and the sight that greeted them felt like a blade plunging into Agatha's chest.

Nicky lay in his small bed, drenched in sweat, his body twitching and writhing in pain. His little hands clutched the sheets, his face twisted in agony as soft, pitiful whimpers escaped his lips. Every whimper was a dagger to Agatha's heart.

The scene felt all too familiar, like a nightmare she could never wake from.

And there, by his side, was the other Agatha—her from that night—desperately trying to soothe him, her hands trembling as they hovered over his small body, helpless. The fear on her face was palpable, an expression Agatha remembered all too well. The way it clawed inside her, ripping her apart as she tried to stay strong for Nicky, but at the same time, it was tearing her to shreds from the inside out.

Her past self was breaking—no, had broken—and Agatha could feel every ounce of it as she watched the scene unfold.

Other Agatha looked up, her eyes wild and full of desperation, but she didn't see Agatha standing there.

Her gaze locked onto Rio—only Rio.

The raw desperation in the other Agatha's eyes as she looked at Rio was like a physical force, one that seemed to make Rio stiffen beside her, sucking in a sharp, painful breath.

"Where have you been?!" the other Agatha screeched, her voice raw and shredded from fear, the pain clawing at her vocal cords. "Get over here and help him!"

The accusation hit like a lash, and even though Agatha knew it wasn't directed at her in this moment, the weight of her own voice filled with such careless blame made her flinch. It was barbed, sharp, thrown at Rio with the cruelty that came when pain had no direction but outward.

Instinctively, Agatha's hand moved to Rio's back, her fingers pressing into her, whether to offer an apology or simply to show her that she wasn't alone, she didn't know.

Maybe both.

She just knew she needed to touch Rio, to offer some kind of connection amidst the pain of this moment.

Rio's breath hitched, her body still stiff from the memory, but at Agatha's touch, she seemed to exhale, her tense shoulders loosening ever so slightly. It was as if she had been holding her breath for centuries, and only now could she let go.

Agatha could feel it—the way Rio's body relaxed against her hand, the way her presence alone grounded them both.

This wasn't just a memory.

This was their trial.

This was everything they hadn't faced.

And now, there was no escaping it.

But this time, they would face it together.

Rio's eyes flickered with pain as she stepped forward, toward the other Agatha and Nicky, her movements slow and deliberate. Agatha's hand remained on her back, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone in this.

The other Agatha's eyes never left Rio, filled with an unbearable mixture of desperation and fury.

"Do something!" she cried again, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. "He's in pain! He needs you—I need you!"

Agatha's heart shattered at the sound of her own voice, full of so much raw anguish, so much fear. It was like watching her worst nightmare play out again, only this time, there was no denying the truth of what had happened.

They were reliving the moment that broke them.

And now, they had to find a way to survive it.

Rio moved slowly toward the bed, her steps deliberate and heavy as if every inch closer weighed her down. She sat down on the edge, her eyes locked on Nicky, and Agatha could see it—feel it—the sheer pain in Rio's dark eyes as she looked at their son.