Lilith Hayles sat alone at her cramped desk, her face buried in her laptop. Her eyes were full of despair as she frantically scrolled through each article.


    “Lilith Hayles: The Journalist Who Lied for Fame?”


    “I didn’t lie!” her words became muffled as her face dived into her hands, which slowly pushed through her unwashed, gritty hair.


    The words echoed in her mind with a cruel persistence. Rain tapped softly against the round, foggy window. The dim glow of her laptop and the dull light of the moon illuminated a pale glow in her room. Each line she read felt like a dagger to her heart. How had everything come to this? Her reputation was bleeding out slowly for the entire world to see.


    “Pathetic. Why would anyone believe her?”


    Every comment felt like a snake sinking its venom into her skin. The crushing weight of it all came crashing down as she slammed her laptop closed.  This wasn’t supposed to happen. She pushed back in her chair, the wheels scratching against the uneven wooden floorboards. A gust of air from the force blew out the candle on her desk, leaving the faint aroma of smoke and vanilla. The distant sound of a revving motorbike climbed to her 7th-floor apartment. But nothing broke through. She could only hear their voices, the disgust in their tone. She had everything going for her. Her work had always been precise, beholding the truth that no one had uncovered. But this time, she had gone too far, chasing a story and trusting a source that led to her ruin. The accusation of fabrication has sliced her down to her knees, forcing her to beg for any forgiveness. Truth was a brutal thing.


    The silence was oppressive. She leaned back in her chair; the radiator emitted a choking breath, but she was withdrawn from reality. Leaning against it sent a shockwave of pain through her arm, jolting her back to her senses. A stack of classic books toppled over, knocking down a framed photo.


    “Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the overwhelming wave of emotions.


    She picked up the framed photo, staring back at her younger self, holding her diploma. The enthusiastic smile on her old self taunted her current self. The welling tears in her eyes dropped effortlessly down her cheeks, following the same streamline as her old, dried-up tears. Her eyes drifted away, her pale fingers losing grip on the once-beloved photo.


    The soft vibration of her phone broke the stillness. It pulsed uncontrollably in her pocket. As she reached for it, a flicker of curiosity crossed her eyes as she gazed at an email.


    Subject: A Chance at Redemption


    From: The Eidolon Institute


    She hesitated, a breath getting caught up in her throat. Eidolon. The name felt ominous, but desperation pushed her forward as she read the subject. She clicked, looking at a short and specific body of text.


    “Ms. Hayles,


    We believe your talent for uncovering the truth in your writing has gone unnoticed. Despite your recent involvement in controversy, we have a proposal. An opportunity that no other journalist has experienced. We would like to give you a chance to write stories that no other human could write. Real, authentic stories. If you want your chance at redemption, we invite you to meet with us. After all, the dead tell the best tales.


    Kind regards,


    Dr. Ravenswood”


    Lilith’s heart skipped a beat, adopting an irregular beat as her eyes scanned the email on repeat. It was too good to be true. Someone was surely messing with her, right? Her fingers trembled as she hovered over the button to reply. The mouth hung slightly ajar, allowing her quickening breaths to escape. The world seemed to fall completely silent.


    She placed her phone down on her desk, retreating to the edge of her bed. Her fingers ran over her temples softly in a hope to rub away the thoughts. It all felt like a joke. A cruel person taking advantage of her situation. “Real, authentic stories.”


    “Yeah, right.” She muttered as her spiraling thoughts settled. The once suffocating air cleared, but the heaviness on her chest persisted. The only thought circling her mind was the necessity for sleep, a break from this abominable day.


    Lilith didn’t sleep well that night. Disjointed and strange dreams caused her to toss and turn all night. The buzz of her alarm dragged her out of bed as she stumbled over with groans of annoyance. The sunlight filtered through her blinds, casting a warm glow on her clothes she was still wearing from the night before. She crossed her apartment into the kitchen. Coffee was an essential. But at the back of her mind, the email recited itself in harmony.


    The steaming hot water of her shower eased her into the day. Like dirt, the built-up emotions from the night before washed away. The once eerie silence fell to a low hum. But something flipped in Lilith, something new. Not an energy burst or a rush of adrenaline, but a determination to flip the odds. She returned to her desk, grabbing her phone without an ounce of regret.


    “Time and place?” she typed, hitting send without a second thought.


    The taxi weaved through rush-hour traffic, coming to a halt outside a cracked, white stone building. Streaks of moss clung to the corner and sides. It loomed over the other buildings but remained discreet. Lilith stepped out, drawing out an umbrella. The rain barreled down, soaking her freshly washed black leggings whilst the other droplets rested gently on her polished shoes. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Her eyes came to rest on a stand-alone door, plain and cold, with a single metal door handle. She took a deep breath, hesitating, before reaching for the handle and stepping inside. A wave of bleach, yet an absence of any specific odor, intruded on the outside polluted air. The scent was sharp, but her eyes focused on the endless hallways. The bright fluorescent ceiling lights reflected on the polished white floors. She paused, taking a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden switch of scenery.


    To her left sat a receptionist with vibrant, frizzy hair. A pair of round glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, magnifying her eyes. Her fingers mindlessly typed away on the keyboard with efficiency. Lilith approached slowly, her shoes tapping gracefully along the floor. Without looking up, the young woman called out.


    “Lilith Hayles?” Her tone was firm.


    “Y-yes?”


    She continued typing as a distant door at the end of the hallway screeched open ominously. The soft buzz from the lights tickled the back of her neck, sending a shiver of vibrating nerves down her spine. She walked slowly, her steps muffled by her overwhelming thoughts. It all seemed too bizarre. Perhaps she was still dreaming? She read somewhere that humans can’t read the time in dreams. But no, there above the door, a clock accurately reading 11:03 a.m.


    She peered into the room. A single chrome table sat at the center.  There were no windows, no decorations, just a single hanging light bulb. On one end of the table sat a man in his forties, clear from the lack of hair stemming from his crown. The dim light bulb cast a shadow across half his face, emphasizing his sharp features. He had neatly combed the remaining hair, and his dark, onyx eyes were fixed on hers.


    “Ms. Hayles.” His demeanor was calm, but his tone was unnervingly welcoming.


    He gestured toward the empty steel chair opposite him. She reluctantly sat down, her eyes shifted frequently between him and a silver plate on the table. Centered on the plate rested a small pill, coated with a pale shade of pink. A droplet of sweat trickled down her temple, erasing the topcoat of her rushed makeup as she wiped it away with a single flick of her finger.


    The man sat neutrally, his lips cocking into a faint smile.


    “I’m Dr. Ravenwood. We’ve already had a conversation of sorts, I believe. I wrote the email that brought you here today.”


    Lilith remained silent. She stared back blankly, though her body language told a different story. She swallowed hard in a search for any moisture to replace the current desert in her mouth. He, too, remained fixed in his position. His finger tapped hypnotically on the edge of the armrest, a slight clink echoing softly as his fingernail met the steel.


    “It’s only natural to be nervous.” He added, breaking the silence.


    “What’s the pill?” she forced out.


    He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on the table. “I’m glad you asked,” his lips twitched into an almost sinister smile. “We call it Pneuma.”


    A tight knot in her stomach twisted, a partial regret forming at the back of her mind.


    “What does it do?” she asked with a frown.


    “Pneuma is the key to every writer’s dream. You take this, and you can access the memories of any dead person.”


    Lilith scoffed, followed by a small chuckle. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit?”


    The room now felt deadly colder than before. Dr. Ravenwood brushed her comment off. before continuing.


    “It’s not a direct channel. A single touch to a significant object is the link. The pill is physically harmless, as you only experience what they experienced. Every sight, every sound, or taste. You become them.”


    Lilith leaned forward, crossing one leg over the other. “Say I take this pill. What’s my job here?”


    “To write.” He said honestly.


    “To write?” she replied firmly.


    “We want you to relive the memories of dead criminals and write their memoirs. You''ll see the actual truth behind their crime and life. The proper story. Past the lies buried deep. We want you to tell stories that no one else can.”


    Her leg bounced nervously under the table. There was a glint of desperation behind her eyes, but she refused to show it. If this was true, this was her chance. She was already a public disgrace, so what did she have to lose?


    “So, you expect me to believe that this drug will allow me to investigate the memories of dead criminals? I’m more convinced that this is some shitty prank.” Her tone was harsh.


    Dr. Ravenwood remained silent, reaching down into his pocket. He pulled out what seemed to be a golden ring before placing it softly next to the plate.


    “This belonged to Leonardo Hernandez.” That name rang a bell. “You might remember. He hijacked a plane, killing 44 passengers. The media depicted him as a solo terrorist. A crime of passion. But I believe that the truth is yet to be uncovered. Blackmail.”


    Lilith fixated on the pill. The room felt a lot smaller than, almost suffocating.


    “Take the pill,” he encouraged. “See for yourself.”


    Her nails dug into her palms, leaving a dent of four crescents on each one. She bit her lip as her mind raced. “What’s the worst that could go wrong?” She muttered under her breath, plucking the pill from the plate.


    She stared momentarily at the pill cushioned between her fingers before placing it in her mouth. The taste was bitter, and for a moment, the room fell silent. But nothing happened. She looked at Dr. Ravenwood as he placed the gold ring on her palm.


    “I don’t feel anythi—”


    Then the world in front of her warped and ripped apart.


    She sat in the cockpit of an airplane. Blood covered her hands, but the blood wasn’t hers, neither were the hands. Her breathing was now raspy; her thoughts weren’t her own anymore. It was pure panic. To her right slumped two bodies—the pilot and copilot—each with a gunshot wound to the head.


    “I don’t want to do this,” the man cried out. “I DON’T WANT TO.” His voice now breaking under the pressure of the situation.


    The plane descended rapidly, and all Lilith could do was watch. She felt his sobs, the snot from his nose running down to the top of his lip. The sincere desperation in his voice as he pleaded. His guttural scream blended in with the roar of the engines as the plane closed in on the ground. But at that moment, Lilith gasped, her body jolting into the table. She was back.


    Leaning against the table next to her stood Dr. Ravenwood, an expression of amusement painted on his face.


    “Incredible. Isn’t it?” he said calmly.


    “What… What the hell just happened?” Her eyes were wide in amazement and fear.


    “The real story.” He said.