Talk To Me

Chapter Twenty-Three

Present

"Emma," Oliver whispered, his voice barely audible against the quiet hum of the early morning.

She stepped closer, concern etched into her delicate features. "Oliver, are you okay?"

He blinked, caught off guard for a moment before forcing a tired smile. "Yeah, I'm just a bit tired." His gaze flickered toward the building's door. The sight of it still made his stomach clench. "What are you doing here?" His brows furrowed as he turned back to her.

Emma hesitated before motioning toward the entrance. "My friend—he, um, she lives here." Her voice wavered slightly, and Oliver caught the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

He shook his head. "You don't have to explain."

But Emma studied him, tilting her head slightly. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

Oliver's throat tightened. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other before answering. "My sister lived here."

Emma's eyes widened slightly. "You mean—"

"Yes." He nodded, voice flat. "My dead sister. She was my only sibling."

Emma's expression softened, but her next words came with quiet suspicion. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing here at seven in the morning."

Oliver exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I—I couldn't sleep, so I came to pack her stuff." His voice came out rougher than intended.

Emma's lips parted slightly, but instead of pushing further, she nodded. "Oh. Okay." She stepped to the side, as if preparing to leave.

Oliver's gaze darted to her before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Do you need a ride?"

Emma met his eyes, dark and searching. Her gaze drifted to the sidewalk, where a row of cars lined the curb, their windshields glistening under the dim glow of streetlights. The street was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional car rolling past the gray apartment building. Some lights flickered on the lower floors, casting murky shadows on the pavement.

"I don't see your car," she murmured, scanning the vehicles again.

"Mine's in the shop," Oliver admitted, nodding toward a silver sedan parked at the front of the line. "My friend let me borrow his."

Emma tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear, a faint smile playing at her lips. "It's okay. I can walk."

Oliver's chest tightened. A lump formed in his throat, and his stomach twisted in uneasy knots. "I can—" He swallowed hard. "I can drive you. It's not a problem."

Emma's brow knitted in concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Before he could answer, a shadow shifted behind Emma. A tall, lean man stood just a few feet away, watching. Oliver stiffened, his body tensing instinctively. He forced himself to look away, to pretend he hadn't seen.

Emma giggled softly. "You always forget to eat," she teased, oblivious to the figure behind her. "But I should go. My mom will worry if I'm not home soon."

Oliver barely heard her. His pulse thrummed in his ears, his focus torn between her and the ghostly presence standing so close.

"So you really don't want a ride?" He forced his gaze back to her, stealing a glance at the man's spirit.

"No." Emma took a step toward the sidewalk, then glanced back. "I guess I'll see you at work." She tilted her head, dark hair spilling to the side.

Oliver hesitated before answering. "Not for a few days. I'm taking some time off... personal issues."