Whispers in the Void

Previously

…“Sarah?” I breathed, the name foreign and yet achingly familiar on my tongue. Dr. Reed watched me, her eyes filled with a quiet intensity. “Yes, Eleanor. Sarah Jenkins. She was… involved in an incident. A tragedy. One that you might, perhaps, have some… recollection of.” The room seemed to tilt. The lavender scent suddenly felt cloying, suffocating. The journal lay between us, a dark omen. The anonymous hand had not just sent a book; it had sent a key, and Dr. Reed, in her own way, had just turned it. The whispers in the void were growing louder, and I feared I was finally ready to hear them.