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The drive to the mental hospital was silent, no doubt Bobby had a million and one questions about my few years with the prolific writer H.P. Lovecraft. The guy was obsessed with black magic and other worlds. Maybe if I had paid more attention to him and not gone around the neighbourhood a few times, I might have actually stopped him. Or at least talked some sense into him. But then I remembered that back then, I wasn't me now.
I might have let him unleash monster after monster, brought something terrible into the world, or even helped with the spell to summon a creature to destroy the witches hunting me. But I was only thinking about my own survival.
I kept glancing over at Bobby, noticing the way his thoughts seemed to churn. His mouth would open, as if he was about to ask something, but then he'd snap it shut just as quickly, deciding against it each time. I just shook my head at him, though he didn't see.
I shifted my gaze to the window, watching the roadside blur as it sped past. Although my time with Howard was brief, he left an impression on me. But he was just a relic of my past—another man I used as a means to survive, to lay low, without a second thought about the consequences.
Before long, we arrived at the mental ward. Gaining access was surprisingly straightforward, and Bobby led the way to the man who had been there the night Howard performed his spell alongside his cult-following friends.
As we took our seats, I felt the man's eyes fix on me like a hawk, scrutinizing me intently, as though he was trying to place where he had seen me before. Even when our gazes met, he didn't look away, his stare unwavering and intense.
"I'm sorry," he began, his voice frail and aged, a testament to the many years he had lived. "But you bear a striking resemblance to Mrs. Lovecraft," he said, his tone tinged with disbelief. His words lingered in the air as he studied me, grappling with the uncanny resemblance. Little did he know, I wasn't just a lookalike—I was her, the very same woman who had once known him as a boy.
I parted my lips to thank him, but before I could speak, he cut me off with a sharp, "Vile woman." His face contorted with disdain, the sudden shift catching me off guard. "She was cruel to everyone, even Mr. Lovecraft... I just got this dark vibe from her," he continued, his eyes locking onto mine. His words stung, but they weren't entirely wrong. I was cruel.
Bobby's cough broke the silence, drawing the man's attention away from me. "We're from a paper," Bobby said, his voice calm and steady. "We're here to interview you about H.P. Lovecraft." He smoothly steered the conversation in a different direction, no doubt noticing the look of shock that had crossed my face.
"We just need to know a few things about him," I said with a sweet smile, brushing off his earlier comments. He didn't realize he was speaking about me, but I wasn't about to tell him that I was her.
"You're sure you're not with that other reporter? The one in the coat?" The man asked, his eyes flickering between Bobby and me. Bobby and I exchanged a quick look, both of us immediately understanding who he was referring to – Castiel. "Liar, that one, not who he says,"
