"Lila, don't do it!" I shouted, sprinting toward her frail figure perched on the hospital rooftop's edge. The wind whipped her hospital gown, and she stared into the abyss like she was hypnotized by a really bad TikTok trend. I lunged, grabbing her arm to yank her back, but holy cow, she was strong—like Hulk-on-steroids strong. She nearly tossed me into the next zip code.
"What the—Lila, snap out of it!" I yelped, clinging to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree. Ryan, hearing my screams, barreled over, his cop instincts kicking in. "What's going on?!" he barked, grabbing her other arm. Together, we hauled her away from the ledge, but Lila thrashed like a possessed marionette, silent and wild-eyed, her gaze fixed on some invisible horror.
"Lila, come on, you're not auditioning for The Exorcist!" I shouted, dodging her flailing elbows. "Talk to us!" But her eyes were empty, her lips pale, like her soul had clocked out and left her body on autopilot.
With a grunt, we dragged her into the elevator and back to her room. Tim was waiting at the door, his Taoist robes fluttering like he was ready to star in a kung fu flick. One look at Lila's vacant stare, and he shook his head. "This ain't good, folks. She's lost her soul—ghosts got her number."
Doctors and nurses swarmed, hooking Lila up to monitors while we hovered outside. Ryan, still panting from our rooftop wrestling match, muttered, "At least she's alive. That's a win, right?" But Tim's frown was deeper than a Reddit conspiracy thread. "Alive, sure, but her soul's AWOL. She's a shell—zombie mode. Without it, she's headed for veggie-town."
I shivered, Lila's blank stare burned into my brain. "You're saying a ghost yoinked her soul? Like, what, it's chilling in the spirit world's lost-and-found?" After everything—Emily's diary, Ethan's ghost, the game's curse—I was starting to buy Tim's supernatural shtick. Science wasn't cutting it anymore.
Ryan, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms. "Soul-stealing? In a hospital? Doc says it's trauma—hallucinations, stress, the works. You gonna argue with an MRI?"
Tim shrugged, unfazed. "MRI can't scan a soul, man. Lila's not just traumatized—she's haunted. We need to call her spirit back, or she's done."
Ryan's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. The doctor's report—stress-induced psychosis—felt like a Band-Aid on a broken leg. I stepped between them before they could bicker. "Tim, how do we fix this? Soul-calling 101, but keep it low-key. We don't need security thinking we're starting a cult."
Tim grinned, pulling a small bowl from his bag. "Simple. Water and rice, splash it outside, call her name. Stray spirits eat the offering, let her soul go. You two guard the door—no interruptions."
Ryan snorted. "Rice? What's next, a ghost potluck? I'm not signing off on this." But I nudged him out of the room, shutting the door. "Let him try, man. We're out of moves, and Lila's not winning any personality contests right now."
Outside, Ryan lit a cigarette, his frustration thicker than the hospital's antiseptic stench. "Jake, you're buying this guy's act? We don't even know who he is. For all we know, he's a con artist with a good costume."
I leaned against the wall, my head spinning. "He's got a point, but so do you. You checked him out, didn't you? Spill."
Ryan exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes flicking to the door. "Yeah, I ran his name after he pulled that sword stunt at the hospital. Tim Nguyen, joined that temple three years ago, barely a monk—more like a part-time mystic. Before that? Black-market tech dealer, selling hard drives and sketchy software. Sound familiar?"
My jaw dropped. "Wait, like the kind of guy who'd mess with cursed games? You think he's tied to Ethan's code?"
Ryan shrugged, his voice low. "I'm not saying he's the mastermind, but it's fishy. Granny sends you to him, he shows up like Batman, spouting ghost stories. And Granny? Conveniently dead. Too many coincidences, Jake."
My brain was a pinata, bursting with questions. "Granny was a fluke—I bumped into her, remember? Total accident." But doubt crept in. Her cryptic warnings, Tim's timely rescue—was it all staged? "I can't tell who's human or ghost anymore, Ryan. I'm one jump-scare from a straitjacket."
He clapped my shoulder, his gruff tone softening. "Hang in there, man. We'll crack this. Just don't drink Tim's Kool-Aid yet."
I nodded, my mind drifting to Max Wheeler, the first substitute soul. He was a street hustler, no ties to Ethan or the studio, yet the game picked him. Why? "Ryan, we missed something. Max—he's the oddball in this murder spree. If we figure out why he was targeted, maybe we break the pattern."
Ryan's eyes lit up. "Good call. I'll dig into his file—contacts, debts, anything." Before he could say more, Tim opened the door, wiping his hands. "She's awake. Go talk to her."
I rushed inside, Ryan behind me. Lila was propped up, rubbing her temple, looking like she'd just woken from a bender. "Lila, you okay? What happened up there?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle.
She frowned, her voice shaky. "I… saw Mike. He was calling me, saying we'd be together again. He was at the door, waving me over." Her eyes widened. "It felt so real, like he was back."
My skin prickled. "You were awake when you saw him? Not dreaming?"
"Awake," she said, nodding. "I was just sitting here, then… there he was." She shivered, hugging herself.
I glanced at Ryan, whose jaw was tight. Mike's ghost, luring Lila to the roof? This wasn't stress—it was the game, pulling strings from beyond the grave. Tim leaned against the wall, his face unreadable. "Her soul's back, but the game's not done with her. Or you, Jake."
Ryan's phone buzzed with a precinct update, but I barely heard it. Lila's words, Max's mystery, Tim's shady past—it was all connected, and the game was laughing at us. I needed answers, and I had a sinking feeling the next level was about to hit me like a runaway truck.
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