《Pneuma's Call》 Chapter 1 - Pneumas Calling 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 She leaned back in her chair; the radiator emitted a choking breath, but she was withdrawn from reality.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¡ª¡± 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¡ªthe pilot and copilot¡ªeach 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. Chapter 2 - Orientation Lilith reached into her leather designer handbag, jingling her keys before putting one in her apartment door. The door clicked behind her with a creak. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes whilst leaning against the door. The bag slipped off her shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud. She ran her finger over a piece of cracked paint on the wall, her mind in fragmented pieces. The overwhelming memory of the blood on his hands replaced the musty smell of her apartment. The plane, the screams, the metallic taste of blood on the tip of her tongue. She shuddered, her vision focusing back on the apartment. The empty coffee mugs, the half-open book on the edge of her bed, even the unwashed dishes. She had lost herself to the spiralling disaster that was her career. She just stood there, staring lifelessly, as if time had frozen. Was it real? Her mind flickered back to the cockpit, the cold, soulless eyes of the two pilots staring back at her. Perhaps it was one hell of a dream? The thought looped continuously as she squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to break reality. But the present chill air clung to her skin, sending a shiver down her arms and legs. Lilith crossed the room in a daze, carelessly kicking off her smart heels. She brushed her fingers across her silky duvet¡ªfeeling every sensation¡ªconfirming that this was real life. She was there. This was her life, her reality. ¡°This can¡¯t be possible.¡± Her whisper carried to the empty room, as if she expected a response. She sat upright, her eyes locking onto her unopened laptop. The dull evening sun infiltrated the room, casting a warm glow in the room. She stared at it for a lingering moment, her body pulsating with tension. She could still feel everything. The exhaustion from his body continuously shaking, the clamminess from the blood, and the river of tears flowing effortlessly down his cheeks. Yet here she was, alive, untouched by the wreck. It couldn¡¯t have been a hallucination. Whatever it was, it was real and terrifying. Pneuma. The word replayed in her thoughts like a broken record. She shifted over to her seat, rolling towards her desk. She opened her laptop, researching this newly discovered word trapped in her mind. The ¡®breath of life,¡¯ the ¡®spirit and the soul.¡¯ ¡°Interesting¡­¡± she muttered, the word barely escaping her lips. Lilith awoke to a muted gray day. She hadn¡¯t slept. The young man¡¯s last words¡ª¡°I don¡¯t want to do this¡±¡ªechoed relentlessly in her head. She felt almost disconnected from reality. Everything felt distorted, like the appearance of static on a bad television connection. She sat at her kitchen table, nursing a coffee with a half-eaten piece of toast. Her eyes fought to stay open, the events of the previous day feeling like a fever dream. Orientation was today. She groaned, followed by a deep sigh, as she pushed herself to get ready. Her skin prickled at the thought of Dr. Ravenwood. His dark, curious eyes were dissimilar to his calm demeanor. There was something else, something beneath the unease. She wondered what else pneuma could do. With a steadying breath, she pulled on her cream trench coat and closed the door behind her. The bitter wind made her hair stand on end. The walk towards the institute felt like a sudden feeling of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. Except this time was different. Her usual weak steps were now replaced with confident strides as her heels thudded against the cracked pavement. Lilith¡¯s footsteps now echoed through the hallways of the silent institute, her detailed shadow clear on the reflective flooring. The air now seemed colder, the building feeling more ominous. She headed for the elevator, pressing down on the button for the third floor. The elevator moved with a creak and shift, sending her slightly off balance. Dr. Ravenwood¡¯s office awaited her at the far end of the corridor. Frosted glass windows surrounded each office. ¡°They sure do like their privacy.¡± She mumbled. She let out a low exhale before knocking subtly on the door. ¡°Come in,¡± said Dr. Ravenwood. She twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. The room was spacious, illuminated by two lamps on the end corners of his desk. Behind him was a large inbuilt aquarium, stretching along the back wall. It was far from what she had expected. ¡°Aha, Miss Hayles,¡± he said, standing up and offering his hand out. She shook it hesitantly as her eyes drifted to the cluttered piles of paper and folders covering his desk. He wore an ironed white shirt with suspenders, a classic look coordinated with an old-fashioned ink pen resting in his shirt pocket. He gestured towards a comfortable leather chair that sat opposite his desk as he cleared the papers from his desk. ¡°Please, have a seat.¡± Lilith walked over slowly, placing down her dark, leather bag. She placed her coat neatly on the head cushion before easing down into the seat. Curiosity flickered across her face as she took the room in. ¡°I suspected you would return.¡± He leaned back in his seat, intertwining his fingers across his lap. ¡°The truth, however disturbing it may have been, had a pull, I assume.¡± ¡°To be honest¡­ I don¡¯t know what to think.¡± Her voice faded as her mind remembered the moments before the crash. He cocked his jaw to the side, rubbing his fingers across his stubble. His eyes studied her, her expressions and her body language, like a surgeon dissecting parts of a brain. ¡°Now that you¡¯ve seen what Pneuma can do. What do you think?¡± he asked calmly. ¡°It felt so real. A bit too real. I don¡¯t understand how that can be possible.¡± She swallowed hard, her nails digging into the previous crescents formed from the previous day. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. ¡°The mind is one gigantic puzzle containing thousands of memories and sensations. Pneuma allows you to tap into any of those moments, acting like the last piece of that puzzle. You place it down, and you gather access to the full picture. When you take Pneuma, you''re not a passenger in that memory; you live it yourself.¡± The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. She crossed her arms tightly. ¡°Memories aren¡¯t always a reliable source.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± He said, leaning forward. ¡°Memories are subjective, influenced by perception, emotion, and so on. What you see may not always be the objective truth. The story is unravelled by the one who lived it.¡± ¡°So¡­ what I saw on the plane may not have been true.¡± She asked. ¡°Not necessarily,¡± he added. ¡°What you saw may have been incomplete or fragmented. A distorted truth, you may say. Pneuma is incredible and powerful, but it comes with certain risks.¡± ¡°What kind of risks?¡± A hint of fear was clear in her voice. ¡°There is a fragile boundary between memories and reality. The deeper you dive into a memory, the easier it becomes to lose yourself. If you''re not cautious, you may experience delusions and hallucinations or¡­ even madness.¡± ¡°But why? Why would anyone willingly want to take this drug?¡± The colour of her face washed away. His smile became more apparent now. ¡°Truth is complicated, Miss Hayles. There are stories that need to be told. Truths that haven¡¯t been discovered. This is where you come in. I want you to be that link between the memories and reality. Uncover the actual story that no courts or investigations will ever reach.¡± She sat frozen. Every thought and feeling rushed in at once. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a sharp breath escaped. ¡°Every object we possess has significance to someone¡¯s story,¡± he continued. ¡°Some memories will be clearer than others. Some will be fragmented and broken. You will feel everything as if you were there. You will live it, Miss Hayles.¡± She took in a sharp, deep breath. Her fingers and leg bounced and fidgeted simultaneously as her eyes remained locked on his. ¡°Are you able to handle all of that, Lilith?¡± he asked, his tone soft, almost comforting. Lilith nodded, her teeth nipping at the edge of her fingernail. ¡°I want to try.¡± ¡°Perfect.¡± He said with an ominous grin. Ravenwood shifted in his chair, opening a drawer in his desk. He reached in and pulled out a small velvet pouch. He slipped his fingers inside, drawing out the same golden ring from their first meeting. The dim light reflected on its shiny exterior, plain but full of character, with deep scratches embedded on the surface. He ran his finger over the scratches, observing it closely before returning his gaze back to Lilith. ¡°I assume you remember this?¡± he asked. She nodded, her eyes fixated on the ring turning between his fingers. The memory of the man on the plane sunk deep into her mind. His terror and panic. ¡°Good. We¡¯ll be starting here then.¡± Ravenwood said, enthusiasm in his tone. ¡°How¡­ how do I get out?¡± Lilith asked, her eyes darting between the ring and Ravenwood. ¡°You¡¯re bound to panic on your first attempt. That¡¯s why we are doing this with my present,¡± he said whilst standing. ¡°All it takes is control, Lilith. When living a memory, you¡¯re not trapped, but it can feel like it. You have to ground yourself. When you want to leave, just imagine walking away, or standing up, or just¡­ leaving,¡± he finished, now leaning against the desk. ¡°That sounds easier said than done.¡± Lilith shot back weakly. He smiled faintly, taking a deep breath. ¡°The mind is a curious thing. It knows what you are capable of. But you have to believe it. If you allow anxiety or hesitation to take over, then that¡¯s what will keep you trapped.¡± She gripped the edge of the armchair, her nails digging into the dark leather. ¡°Are you ready?¡± ¡°Not¡­ really.¡± She admitted, fear present in her voice. ¡°Good. It¡¯ll be a learning curve.¡± Ravenwood said, offering out his hand. She placed hers in his, noticing a dark glint in his eyes. He placed the ring on her palm and clasped her fingers around it. ¡°Breathe. Deep, calm breaths. Let it come to you.¡± Her thumb rubbed the edge of the ring in a circular motion. It was almost therapeutic. Her breathing was now controlled in a rhythmic tune. Nothing happened at first. She closed her eyes, picturing the cockpit. Then Ravenwood¡¯s office shifted. Her stomach lurched as gravity ceased to exist momentarily. The air was thick; the faint hum of an engine echoed in her ears. A passenger shifted in the seat next to her. This was different. She wasn¡¯t in the cockpit anymore; rather, she sat in the very back row of the plane. The distant scent of coffee filled her nostrils as the flight attendant pushed the food and beverage trolley up and down the aisle. The seat belt dug deeply into her waist. Her fingers tapped at the armrest viciously¡ªpicking at a loose piece of fabric¡ªbut they weren¡¯t her hands. They were his¡ªLeonardo Hernandez. She could hear a baby fussing, its irritating cry interrupting her thoughts. She focused on the indistinct murmurs of conversations surrounding her and the occasional cough. Everything felt normal. A bit too normal. A trickle of sweat settled on the edge of her brow. She leaned forward, her breathing low as her hands began to tremble. Her pulse quickened as she reached into her jacket pocket, slowly. She watched as a gun entered her vision. She felt the man lick his lips, dry from the stress of the situation. Lord, forgive me. She heard the man think as he clutched his cross necklace. His fingers were now shaking violently as his eyes darted to the passengers, some oblivious, others snoring in a deep sleep. A tear dropped onto the edge of his boot as he flipped the safety off.