Something I sought.

My gaze immediately dropped on the dressing table's contents. Combs, supplementary oils for hair growth, old creams, perfumes...

I could not, would not look up... No, no, no.

My grip on the list tightened. My fingers whitening and crinkling the plastic covering, betraying a faint tremor that I didn't know was travelling through my body. My breath was coming in measured breaths, my trying to exert as much control as possible, sheer practice and memory keeping my head clear. As much as I was trained in keeping myself steady physically and mentally, in this instance I was failing miserably at keep myself focused.

Dark memories from my last deployment came crashing in. The dark night, tense situation at the base, days of combat, fighting myself to keep awake and her. The flash of ghostly wisps, haunted eyes urging me to look. Hear.

And my gut had clenched then at her expression, her form fleeting into cold, biting winds in the night, prompting me act. Few steps and an almighty explosion had rocked the base. I was saved but--

I exhaled harshly. Four fucking years I build my senses, instincts and experience into something logical. Trying to make sense of what I'd seen that day. Diving into things that would label me as a madman and head case in society. Someone too far gone in the head by horrors of war.

All that? Finding something. Something that would help me make sense. To know why I was helped. Why only I knew. Why did she--

Slowly I loosened my grip on the list. And slowly looked up. It felt like-like... It was fucking terrifying. Would I see her again? Again warning me of incoming danger? Again would I be thinking of her purpose?

As my gaze settled on the figure in the mirror, I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. Relieved that it was not her. And disappointed at the same reason.

Nonetheless, again I was seeing a soul. A spirit. After four years.

As the figure walked close in the mirror, I recognized her. She was Ray's wife. Her form was ethereal. Slight white wisps floated from her body yet I could only see her as the frail, dying woman in her final moments. What sparse hair she had were gone, eyes hollowed in weariness and her body thinned to a pitiful degree.

Yet. Yet, she stood straight. Looking at me through the mirror, her hand touching some invisible surface, as though she was trapped in there. Seeking help and pleading. Not for herself, I reckoned. The ways her eyes kept flitting at the sleeping form of her husband, she wanted my help for him. There was pain, sadness and... regret in her eyes as she looked at him.

As her eyes flitted back to me, she clasped her hands together. When I didn't move, she tried to speak but her words didn't pierce through whatever veil she was behind. Finally, she mouthed only one word, Please.

Before I responded, I had to work piece by piece to restore my mental faculties together so I could carry out meaningful actions. I was enough blindsided as it is and helping a soul to save her husband from malevolent presence with a muddled head was not optimal. I went to the basics and thought of the one thing every soldier has been taught. Improvise, adapt and overcome. There was something along the lines of following protocol too, but it all went tits up when toasters started flying when I was expecting feral werewolves.

Also, I didn't have reinforcements or airdrops whatever something ridiculous the military could drum up. Nor did I have the budget for it. Also not the patience to handle their attitude.

Regardless of all that, I had to handle this.

But how could I? I could deal with physical, tangible things. I have killed men in war, hideous beasts too incomprehensible for this world and even fought with shifters... Even the intangible I could destroy was through conduits. Anchors that made them weak. Something I could exploit.

But here? What was here? A grief ridden man, something sinister that lurked and a poor animal that lay rotting in this house.

Then I thought of something. The list. It was something that had triggered him. The metaphorical switch.

Did it signify anything? Maybe it was a point of obsession. Something that Ray had fixated so much on, probably his wife's last words. Often times we tend to darken our fond memories and what it leaves is bitterness.

I had few ways I could go about this. I could destroy it, take it away...

Rummaging through some drawers in the bedroom, I predictably found some lighters, matchboxes, cigars... It was obvious seeing Ray's nervous habits, this supernatural presence not helping.

With a few rolls of my thumb, the lighter was lit. I held up piece of paper over the flame. I waited and waited. Nothing was happening. The paper didn't catch flame nor did it even wrinkle from the heat. I let out a breath.

Throwing a look at the hovering soul in the mirror, I went into the kitchen. After searching through the cupboards, I tried to cut the paper with scissors. The scissors broke.

With growing trepidation, I walked towards the main door. As I tried to exit the house with the list, it fucking flew from my hand and slowly floated onto the coffee table.

"Fuck."

I just confirmed what I had to do. I needed to complete the list.