What Sleeps – Extrait 17
a thin, silver thread, the mist thick, pale, curling around the streetlights. The city is a pale, shivering ghost, the shadows twisting, the wet cobblestones slick beneath her feet. She walks. She runs. Her breath is sharp, thin, tearing at her chest. She doesn’t know where she’s going. But she doesn’t care. She thinks of the old woman. Of her face, pale, twisted, her voice a faint, dying whisper. “Tell him… I’m sorry…” Andrei. The ache is a knife, a slow, twisting knot. But she keeps moving. Because she has to know. She has to understand. She has to find out who the old woman was. Who she was speaking about. Who she was afraid of. And why his name is still here. Chapter 13: The Man in the Lobby The building is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that presses against your skin, that creeps beneath your ribs, that whispers against the cold, cracked walls. Kalina’s footsteps are too loud. Each step a faint, sharp slap against the wet tiles. The rain is a thin, silver thread, pressing against the window, the mist a pale, shivering blur beyond the glass. But inside, the air is thick, damp, a slow, cold ache that won’t leave. She doesn’t know where to start. Doesn’t know who to ask. But she knows she can’t stay still. Can’t go back. Not to her empty room, not to the darkness pressing against the walls, not to the letter twisting in her mind. Her name. His handwriting. The old woman’s voice, a faint, dying whisper. “Tell him… I’m sorry…” Who was she? Who was he? Who is she supposed to tell? She walks, her breath sharp, thin, her fingers white, tight against her coat. The stairwell is dark, the pale, flickering light a faint, sickly glow, the shadows twisting, reaching, clawing against the walls. And then she sees him. A man. Tall. Thin. Leaning against the lobby wall, just beneath the pale, buzzing light. His coat is dark, his face a pale shadow, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He’s still. Too still. Watching. Her breath catches, the ache twisting, sharp, a knife buried beneath her ribs. She stops, her fingers tight, her pulse too loud, too fast. “Hello?” Her voice is too thin, too sharp, cracking. The man doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer. Just stands there, a dark, silent shadow pressed against the pale, flickering glow. “I…” Her voice catches, the words twisting, tangled. “Can I help you?” Nothing. Just the faint, sickly hum of the light, the slow, steady drip of rain pressing against the window. “Do you… do you live here?” Her voice is a faint, thin thread, trembling. The man tilts his head, just slightly, his shadow shifting, the brim of his hat casting a faint, dark curve across his face. A smile. Maybe. Or a shadow that looks like one. “I’m waiting,” he whispers, his voice a faint, cold breath. “For what?” “For someone who doesn’t know I’m here.” Her chest tightens, the ache pressing, twisting, her fingers cold, stiff. “Who?” The man doesn’t answer. Just stands there, the pale light flickering, the shadow stretching, reaching, a dark stain pressed against the wall. “I… I don’t understand.” Her voice is too thin, too fast. “Who are you?” But the man steps forward, just one step, the shadow falling across his face, his eyes a dark, empty shadow beneath the brim of his hat. “I could ask you the same question,” he whispers. “Kalina.” The word slips out, sharp, raw, a reflex. “I know.” Her breath catches. “How?” “You don’t know who I am.” His voice is a faint, cold whisper. “But I know you.” “No. No, you don’t.” “I know you.” He steps forward, the light catching his coat, the pale, sickly glow twisting against his shadow. “And I know what you’ve seen.” “I didn’t see anything.” “Yes, you did.” His voice is calm, too calm. “You saw her. You heard her. You know what she said.” Her pulse is too loud, too fast, a slow, sharp thud pressing against her chest. “Who are you?” “I’m
⬅️ Extrait prĂ©cĂ©dent | Extrait suivant ➡️
đź”– Labels : What Sleeps, What Sleeps – Extrait 17
