Chapter Text
I have a question for you.
If you could pull a single day from the river of time and cradle it in your hands once more, which would it be? Would you choose to relive a day etched in your memory? Or would you reach for one that slipped through your grasp, a phantom of what could have been?
And if it is the path not taken that draws you, what makes you believe it holds the key to making your heart whole again. Do you imagine it as a possibility? One that, if harnessed, would allow you to dream again.
—The Oracle
—·— ⑧ —·—
Maya couldn't explain who she had become since that day.
A stranger? A demented woman? Because that's what she felt.
Insane.
It was difficult to pinpoint the exact cause of her anguish. It was panic—insidious and draining—always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pull her under when she least expected it. It was different from depression, although it resembled it. Fear and anxiety were now her true companions.
But what brought on these feelings?
It all started that day, right after the trip to the woods with her Station 19 team. Maya arrived at the emergency room carrying that man's nose in a bag. Her lungs were burning from running. Her body felt out of sync. Her mind blurred with the world around her, as if she were in a different reality.
And then there were the voices.
"No! Not her! It can't be her!"
"She just went to the bank. She should've been back by now. This can't be happening!"
The commotion in the hospital was chaotic, but there was a roughness to it that hit Maya hard. It was as if she was somehow connected to it. Her chest throbbed as if she should've been crying too, as if she should've done something to stop it.
The doctor who examined her, in a rush to be with her colleagues, handed her an inhaler and dismissed her symptoms as exhaustion. He told her to rest. But, exhaustion wasn't what lingered within her. It was the wailing, the pain emanating from the people in the room. It was intoxicating. It was as if their grief had seeped into the air and she had swallowed it whole.
She felt sorry for the doctors and nurses mourning their loss. This woman must have been important. Very dear to them. But in the end, it had nothing to do with her.
She left the hospital and headed home. There was something in the atmosphere that she couldn't quite put her finger on. The day was still sunny, too sunny for an autumn morning. She kept hoping for at least one cloud in the sky to offer some shade. The air felt heavy, wet, difficult to breathe, as if it lacked oxygen and could drown her if she inhaled too much.
Still, she kept walking. She'd never been one to take a cab, and the apartment wasn't that far away.
A block down, she noticed a flare up at the corners of her eyes. She thought her blood pressure must have spiked. A migraine was definitely coming. She tried to block out the light with her hands, looking for relief, but it was too much.
It didn't take long for the shadows to appear. When Maya reached the corner, she could no longer shade her eyes. She looked up as she reached the crosswalk and made the mistake of looking into the window of a building next to her.
She jumped back.
Her heart pounded with a terrible shudder.
A dark figure was visible in the reflection. No clear shape. No eyes. But she could feel it watching her. It was penetrating. Terrifying. She turned around. Nothing was there. Back to the window again, and there it was. The silhouette—still lurking—all blurred and black.
Maya shook it off. She didn't dare look back. She picked up her pace and ran the rest of the way to her apartment with the feeling that the shadow was creeping up on her.
But she couldn't escape it. Fear itself filled her to the bone.
Maya opened the door, closed it behind her and locked all the locks, breathed, turned around, and let her body slide to the floor, trying to calm herself. Whatever she had seen was etched in her memory.
That night she couldn't sleep. She was restless and her desperation grew in the darkness. She would close her eyes and hear whispers, screams. It was as if her senses had grown exponentially. She could hear a pin drop from across the hall. She could sense a chill approaching, coming for her.
"Where the hell is that wind coming from?" Maya wondered, getting up to check all the windows, making sure no drafts were coming in. She went back to her bed. Her hands under her armpits. Her words exhaled tiny particles of steam. "What's going on? It's not even December."
She changed out of her pajamas into a hoodie, sweatpants, socks, and winter gloves, but it was as if the cold was coming from inside her. It was impossible to escape.
"Everything is working fine, miss Bishop," the building super told her after inspecting the heating system the following morning. "There is nothing wrong in your apartment."
She couldn't agree. Something had changed. Home had started to feel out of place. It was on every corner, always behind her, following her.
As the days passed by, life became a true burden. Especially when, from exhaustion, she would let herself fall asleep. In her dreams, far away, she would hear a howl, a cry, but no matter how hard she looked around, she couldn't find where it came from.
"You look like death," Vic told her on their way to a fire a few weeks later.
"I feel like it."
Maya knew that the dark circles around her eyes had become noticeable and her skin bordered on pale—transparent—almost showing her veins through.
"I'm going to take a hot shower," Maya said. They had just come back to the station from an emergency and, lately, the warm water was the only thing that helped recover that sense of calmness. And since she had the privilege of having a private full bathroom at her quarters as captain, she closed her door and took her time.
The hot drops were soothing, embracing her and taking her angst away. If only she could stay there forever. Not move. Let the walls be covered with steam and rest, keep imagining that she was at the bottom of a small waterfall in the middle of the mountain. Feeling at peace.
She came out of the water, taking one last deep breath, and covered herself with the towel, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't supposed to clean the mirror, because as soon as she did, the shadow was there.
"Fuck!" Maya closed her eyes and took a few steps back until she hit the wall. "Not again. Not again." She kept repeating, hoping it would go away. Unfortunately, the shadow was no longer bound to her in her apartment, where she had covered every reflective surface to avoid these encounters. It had started to follow her everywhere.
"What do you want from me? Can you leave me alone?" She grabbed her towel and left the bathroom, quickly changing into her uniform. She no longer wanted to be there and began to hope to be called to another emergency to avoid those moments she had come to dread.
"I feel like I'm going insane," she mentioned to Vic one day. "I've never been a believer. Not in God, not in spirits… but I can't say that anymore. I… feel this thing is dragging me to hell."
"Maybe you should talk to someone, a therapist, I don't know."
"And what are they going to do? An exorcism?"
"If you are looking for one of those, you should talk to a priest. Who knows? It could help."
Maya knew that it sounded crazy. A shadow following her, taunting her, spooking her. Even a man of God would resist to believe her. Right?
"Maya, have you thought about accepting Jesus into your life?"
"Father, I'm sorry, but… there has to be another way. I'm not religious. I never have been."
"Okay. There is nothing bad with trying the easy solution."
"Easy?"
"In my experience," the priest told her, taking from his neck a small cross, "Spirits tend to go away in the presence of God in a soul."
"I don't know if I believe in that."
"But you believe that this shadow is real."
"Because I've seen it," Maya replied. In her mind it was different. "I can't deny that."
"No, you can't. But let me put it this way. If you believe that this spirit is haunting you, don't you believe in God as well?"
"Can one exist without the other?" Maya asked. The fear that had invaded her was not gratuitous. It must have come from somewhere.
"I would like to tell you it can, but my religion has taught me it can't. How can you know good, if you don't have evil to compare it to."
He wasn't wrong in that, but Maya still wasn't convinced.
The priest took off his cross and handed it to her. Maya didn't take it right away.
"I really don't believe, father. I don't think it will do me any good."
"It won't hurt. And God is with his children whether they believe in him or not. This will only be a reminder that you are not alone. It will help you on your way."
Maya looked at the crucifix. It shined just like the flares that she had seen walking home from the hospital that day. Before the first time she saw the shadow.
"Take it. I promise it won't hurt."
Maya didn't put it on. She tucked it into her jacket pocket, thanked the priest, and slowly started walking out of the church.
"And Maya, remember," the priest said, making her turn her head back, "not everything that scares us is bad. Follow your instincts. You'll know what to do the next time you see it. You'll be fine."
Maya nodded and walked away.
The next morning, a fire had started at an old two-story office building. Flammable materials all around, a perfect condition for a disaster. The fire spread quickly and required immediate action.
Station 19, attend an emergency at the docks. Engine 19, Ladder 19, Aid car 19, get to the site. ETA three minutes.
"Captain, we're evacuating the workers!" Travis told her after an hour of fighting the fire, urging Maya and Vic to help the manager who had been left behind. They knew the rest of the team had their hands full and went in. The flames were as high as the ceiling of that warehouse, higher than they were.
"I think I hear him!" Vic went forward and made a line with the water hose.
Fire was always scary when it was this violent. Fire is unpredictable. But Maya knew how to handle it, how to find the strength and courage to fight it. She never hesitated in a fire. And it had become the one environment where all her fears were gone. Being around the red flames—acting on knowledge and instinct—it was as if she could finally see the color that had been drained from her life.
"Maya, stay close!"
She tried, but as the heat surrounded her, the emptiness began to leave her. She needed to walk slowly, somehow lose herself in it.
"Maya, come on!"
Yellow, orange and red. Moving around. Whispering…
I'm sorry.
"What?" Maya didn't know if she was really hearing those words or she had imagined them.
I'm sorry.
In the swoosh of the wind, which only fueled the fire more, those laments returned.
I'm so sorry.
And then it happened again. The shadow—the same one that had haunted her for weeks—moved through the flames and stopped beside her.
"Who are you?" Maya whispered, drawn to it, hypnotized.
Not everything that scares us is bad. She remembered the priest's words. Follow your instincts. You'll be fine. Her hand went to her neck, impossibly trying to find his gift. Precisely that morning, before leaving for work, she had seen the crucifix on the nightstand and decided to wear it.
Vic kept walking until she felt the kick of the hose as she tried to step forward. She looked back to find her captain staring at nothing. The heat was rising fast, just enough to consume her in minutes. "Stop, Maya! No!" Vic ran to her immediately, yanking her to her side. "What the hell are you doing? Are you okay? Did you get burned?"
Maya shook off the hypnotic state she had fallen into and realized that she was walking straight into the flames. If it hadn't been for her turnouts, she would be gone.
"Maya, I don't know what's going on with you," Vic said when they came back from the fire. They were both sitting in the beanery after dinner. "You almost died today… it was like… I think you should talk to someone." Vic refrained from telling her that she had thought for a second that Maya had tried to hurt herself in the fire. The way Maya had walked into the flames without any doubt, as if she needed to be in them, had been unsettling.
Maya knew her friend was right. She also found herself questioning her actions for days after the incident. At that fire, she had been enraptured by a calming sensation that she tried seeking ever since.
She would feel it in the sun, in the heat, in the moments where she could get lost in her thoughts. She would sit entire days doing nothing, bathing in sunlight, letting it fill her, take her out of that emptiness. The only time she would move was when the sun was gone.
Her work became secondary. She was no longer the captain who pushed her team to train and be ready at all times. She no longer cared what they did. She coordinated their activities and retreated to her office, staring at the pile of unfinished reports without even touching them. Time became fluid, slipping through her fingers. But all the while, at night, in the cold, the pain remained.
"Captain Bishop." The fire chief had come in one day, but she hadn't noticed him. "I've decided to call in a sub. You are to go to the hospital for a full check-up. In the meantime, Lieutenant Herrera will replace you… temporarily, of course. And I've talked to the Battalion Chief. We've arranged a leave of absence. Fifteen days." Maya wasn't even upset when she realized what he had just told her. To say she noticed when he walked in and that she listened to the first two minutes of that conversation would be too much. She didn't. She nodded and he held out his hand, frowning. "You need urgent attention, Bishop. I'll take you now."
The man had noticed something she had not.
Her skin was completely dry. Her hands were skeletal, cold. According to the doctor who saw her that day, she looked like a raccoon. Her eyes had lost their brightness and her lips were so cracked that they bled when he examined them.
"You don't have any virus, bacteria or allergy to explain your condition. but we can't let you go just yet. I've called the psychiatric department for an evaluation," the general doctor said after consulting with some of his colleagues.
"No need," Vic replied, Maya was still lost, not comprehending how she had gotten to this state, months had passed. "I've already called the fire department psychologist, she'll be here soon for an evaluation."
And like that, in a matter of hours, she was forced to say aloud what had been going on.
"I want you to make it clear to me," Diane, the fire department psychologist, asked her during their conversation. "Your parents are alive, your brother is alive,"
"Mhmmm." Maya couldn't even say yes.
"Have you lost a pet? A distant relative?"
"Mm-mmm."
"None of your neighbors have passed away? None of your friends?"
"No."
It made no sense. In Diane's experience and knowledge, Maya was experiencing all the symptoms of losing a loved one. She was grieving, but without a death, it was difficult for her to understand what was causing these reactions.
"When was the last time you felt well?"
It didn't take Maya long to think back to that day. As she ran back from the woods, a very loud and blinding thunder had struck near her. The impact made her jump, twisting her ankle. It was almost as if the earth had moved beneath her. She felt the same injury that had prevented her from continuing to run professionally almost ten years earlier. She looked around. There were no stopped cars, no other people thrown in the street but her, no places burnt by the hit of energy. She looked at the bag she was still holding in her hand and kept going. Slowly, flashes of sharp pain ran up and down her entire leg. It was difficult to breathe. Her vision was blurred as if her eyes were filled with tears. Still, she kept going. She ran and ran for miles until she reached the emergency room breathless, handed the bag to a doctor, and her body gave out.
"I turned around. I remember turning around."
"What did you see?"
"Nothing, no one was there." Patients, doctors, but where she had specifically looked was empty, like someone should've been there.
"Have you felt that again? The feeling of missing something?"
"Every day. Every moment I'm alone. Everywhere."
It was there when she laid down for bed. A scream, a haunting howl afar, a desperation that crawled inside. She noticed it every time she attempted to eat. Food had become insipid, unnatural, unnecessary. But the worst part was always it. The shadow. It appeared everywhere, all the time.
"I see it. Becoming me. It's like I'm no longer here… like I'm there."
"Where?"
"In the mirror," Maya said. Since she almost walked into the flames that day, she had stopped avoiding looking at that dark figure. Even staring at it for hours at a time. "I look at my eyes and, suddenly, they are no longer blue. They are brown. My hair is brown too. Long, curly. I'm a bit taller. I mean, I know I'm in there… somewhere, but it's only when I reach to touch my reflection that I come back. I can't explain it."
Diane hadn't studied any diagnosis that could explain what Maya was describing other than a form of psychosis, but her responses were nowhere near indicative of a psychotic break. Maya was coherent, sure of this phenomena, never confusing it with reality. She was feeling these things but understood the absurdity of them. She even denied them as true. That didn't mean she was not experiencing them.
"Look, Maya. I'm, honestly, concerned, but I don't think it's necessary for you to be admitted. Not today. I would like to see you continuously over the next few weeks and figure out what is bringing up these feelings, these thoughts."
"I'm not crazy."
"And I'm not saying you are. But you need to stop letting your anxiety transform your life. In fact, you need a person—"
"A person."
"Or a pet. You need a companion," Diane clarified. If Maya couldn't find her link with reality, eventually she would end up committed. "Believe me. It'll be good for you. A pet's needs will force you to do everyday tasks. It will calm you down. It will allow you to un-focus from this feeling of loss," she explained. "Eat when they eat, take them out for walks, put on a TV show to watch together. Let them spoil you, let them heal you."
Heal.
Is that what Maya needed? Healing? From exactly what?
Maya agreed to continue therapy and was given the okay to go. Vic offered to take her to eat and give her a lift home, making sure to fulfill the promise she made to the Chief. They started walking to the parking lot. Their footsteps were the only thing they could hear until, out of nowhere, an old dog started following them. His paws splashed the water puddles in the concrete.
"I think he likes you," Vic joked when he sat in front of the passenger door, waiting for Maya to let him in.
"Likes me?"
His face was sweet. He was disheveled and somewhat wet. He kept looking at her as if he could see what she had been suffering.
"Or maybe he is looking for a home."
"I don't think so. He has a dog collar. His person should be around."
"Owner or not, he looks like he wants to come with us," Vic concluded, getting in the driver's seat.
"Well, I'm sorry, boy. But… not today. Your person must be looking for you and I'm not ready yet to adopt a pet. I don't have any dog food at home, I don't have my place ready…"
He wouldn't move, staring at Maya as if he belonged to her.
"We are leaving. So, come on! Go!"
He just stuck out his tongue and remained seated.
"Go home!"
And as if he had been given an order, he stood and barked once, stepping back, letting Maya get in the car.
"Weird dog."
"Yeah…" Maya said as she fastened her seat belt. She didn't know why. But he seemed very familiar. Like everything lately, strange in a very personal way. She watched him shrink in the rearview mirror until she could no longer see him. There had been something in his eyes, a longing like the one she had discovered in her own reflection.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you tonight? I can, I just need to go home and get some clothes—"
"No, Vic. I'll be fine. I just want to sleep and you are on shift tomorrow."
"Okay. Call me if you need me."
Maya nodded and let her friend go. She walked up to her apartment, turned the corner and saw him. That dog was sitting by the door.
"What the hell."
He didn't bark, but he made a howling sound. One she had heard before. Every night when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
"Was that… you?"
He did it again. Standing only to position himself with his face against the door. Waiting for Maya to open it and let him in.
"Who is your owner?" Maya said, getting down on one knee to check his collar. "Max." She petted him, feeling how soft his hair was. "How the hell did you know where I lived, huh? Have you been stalking me?"
He put his paw on her arm, urging her to open the door. He looked hungry.
"And what am I going to feed you? I told you, I don't have any dog food," Maya said, letting him in. "Are there dog restaurants that deliver?"
Again he didn't bark. He went straight to the corner of the carpet and lay down like it was his favorite place.
"Okay… Maybe I am crazy." Maya smiled at how comfortable he was in a stranger's home.
After his meal, Maya left him in the living room with a light on in the hallway. She made him a bed with some pillows and brought a blanket to keep him warm. She knew the apartment would freeze during the night and she didn't want him to get sick. She still didn't know what to do with him in the morning or how to find his owner, but she didn't want the poor guy to have a bad night.
He stayed, obedient, but the moment Maya turned off the light in her room, he slowly walked over to her, knowing she needed him. He climbed onto the bed and, without her understanding what was going on, lay down beside her with his head snuggled in her arm.
"Hey… you don't want to be alone either, hmm?"
Maya petted him until she fell asleep, listening to him breathe. His skin was warm, his hair soft. A strange feeling after so long.
"I didn't know…" A soft voice murmured in Maya's dreams. For the first time in what felt like forever, she was able to calmly navigate colors in her sleep. It wasn't grey and scary anymore. "I thought I was helping that woman, but I screwed up. We missed our chance because of me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Who are you?" Maya questioned, trying to focus her vision where the sounds were. "Are you the shadow in my mirror?"
"I just wanted to be close to you…"
"What do you want from me?"
"I want you to live, to be happy…"
"But… who are you?"
"You'll never believe me if I tell you."
"Try me…" Maya moved towards the dark spectrum, no longer scared. "I just need to know."
"I shouldn't."
"Tell me… you've been haunting me for months. Just talk to me…"
"I… I was going to be…"
"Who?" Maya grew desperate. She needed to finally make sense of it.
"The love of your life."
And with those words, her smile—Carina's—focused in front of Maya, brightening her blurry appearance second by second. She was no longer a dark shadow. She was a woman, brown eyes, long wavy brown hair.
"I'm sorry."
"Why? What happened? Where are you?"
"Too far."
"Where?"
"I… died, Maya. Before we met. I died."
It was at that moment that Maya understood. The coldness, the sorrow, the pain, and the sadness that surrounded her. If the love of her life had died, had her happiness and purpose died with her?
"I'm so sorry," Carina repeated. "I'll be gone now. You'll be happy with Max. And maybe… if you choose to live the next life… we could meet, we could have what we couldn't in this one."
There are no real kisses in dreams, no touching.
Maya wanted to tell her to stop. To stay. She wanted to know more, to know her, but as soon as Carina got close enough to meet her lips, Maya woke up.
"No… no, no, no! I don't even know your name."