The Quiet Beyond

Am I going insane? Rain pelts my face. Lightning cracks. The sky around me followed by a deafening roar of thunder. The waves crash below me, a relentless roar, filling the night air with the sound of something wild and angry, something bigger than I can ever comprehend. I feel that same anger inside me sometimes, churning and surging, like I might break open, spill out into the world.

But even the angry waves and howling wind can’t drown out his voice.

Eliza…

It’s soft, almost a whisper, but it’s there. It’s always there. clawing. Demanding. I can’t block it out, can’t bury it, can’t hide from it. It slips through every defense I put up, slithers through every corner of my mind, wrapping around me until I feel like I can’t breathe.

I tell myself it’s not real. I tell myself it’s just a voice in my head, just my own guilt twisting itself into something that sounds like him. But it’s too clear, too insistent. I hear it all the time, day and night, like a song stuck in my head, a chant that won’t let me go.

Eliza…

I close my eyes, trying to block it out, trying to remind myself that he’s gone, dead—that he can’t be here. But even now, I can feel him, his presence like a shadow that clings to me, that lingers, refusing to let me move forward, refusing to let me be free.

And I hate him for it. I hate him for not letting me go, for holding onto me even now, even when there’s nothing left of him but this voice, this relentless, pathetic whisper that fills every inch of my mind. can you hear it too?

But then, I hate myself for hating him. He was just a child. A motherless boy who had no one but me. I was supposed to take care of him. I was supposed to love him. And I did—I loved him with every broken, bitter piece of myself. But it wasn’t enough, was it? He needed more. He needed everything, and I gave it to him, even when it drained me, even when it left me empty, hollow.

Eliza…

There it is again, that soft, insistent call, like he’s right behind me, close enough to touch. I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms, trying to anchor myself, trying to remind myself that he’s gone. But the voice is there, filling the silence, pressing into me, like he’s trying to claw his way back into the world, back into my life.

Am I losing my mind? I have to be. What else could explain this? What else could explain the way he lingers, the way he haunts me, the way I can’t escape him? I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could live with it, with what I’d done, with the choices I made. But every day, every night, he’s there, dragging me back, holding me down, like he’s still clinging to me, refusing to let me go. Surely you hear it.

Sometimes, I want to scream, to tear at my own skin, to rip him out of me, to silence him once and for all. But I know that would only give him more power, would only make him stronger, would only feed the voice, the presence that fills every shadow, every silence.

Eliza…

I can still remember the way he used to look at me, those wide, trusting eyes, filled with something I could never give him. I was barely grown myself, still grieving, still trying to understand the emptiness our mother left behind. And he was there, always there, clinging to me, needing me, demanding something I couldn’t even name. I was all he had. I know that. And I tried—I tried so hard to be everything he needed, to fill the void that our mother left behind.

But I couldn’t. I was just a girl. I still am. Barely 18 — a broken, angry girl who didn’t know how to save herself, let alone someone else. And every time he called my name, every time he said Eliza, it was like he was reminding me of everything I wasn’t, of everything I could never be.

Eliza…

The voice is louder now, more insistent, like he’s pulling at me, like he’s trying to drag me back, to make me face him, to make me remember. I can feel it, grabbing at me, tearing into me, demanding my attention, demanding that I listen, that I acknowledge him, that I give him what he wants.

But what does he want? What does he want from me? I’ve given him everything. I gave him my childhood, my innocence, my life. I gave him every piece of myself, until there was nothing left. in fact, I didn’t give it. They stole it from me. And now, even now in death, he wants more. He wants more, and I don’t know how to give it to him.

Eliza…

That voice, that terrible, relentless voice. It’s like he knows that I’m here, standing on the edge, staring down into the dark, churning sea below. It’s like he knows that I am on the brink, that I am barely holding on, that I am slipping, inch by inch, into the place where he’s been waiting for me all along.

Eliza…

Am I going insane? Is this what it feels like to lose yourself, to be swallowed whole by your own guilt, your own grief, your own twisted, bitter love and hate? I can’t tell where I end and he begins. I can’t tell what’s real anymore, what’s him and what’s just the echo of my own mind, unraveling piece by piece.

But does it even matter? Does it matter if he’s real, if he’s truly here, if he’s calling to me from the other side? All I know is that I can’t escape him. I can’t run from him. He’s there, always there, whispering my name, dragging me back to that moment, that terrible, silent moment when I realized what I had done, when I thought, just for a second, that I would finally be free.

But there is no freedom. There is only this—this endless, haunting refrain, this voice that fills every inch of my mind, that won’t let me go, that won’t let me breathe, that won’t let me forget.

Eliza…

I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I don’t know how much longer I can live with this voice, with this presence that fills every shadow, every silence. I don’t know if I can go on like this, caught between the guilt and the anger, between the love I had for him and the hate that grew like a poison in my heart.

I am so tired. I am so empty. And I don’t know if I can keep fighting him, if I can keep resisting, if I can keep pretending that I’m strong enough to bear this alone.

I close my eyes, feeling the wind whip against my skin, feeling the weight of his voice, his Eliza, pressing into me, filling every corner of my mind.

And still, he calls to me.

Eliza…

I open my eyes, staring down into the waves, I think of the rocks I know are below in the endless, churning black that rises up to meet me, the only thing that feels more powerful, more consuming than him. Maybe this is what I was meant for all along. Maybe this is what I deserve. but no. I cannot. I turn back for the house. I take a step. And then another. I take fifteen steps, and then six more.

Eliza…

I can’t take it anymore. I turn back toward the sea. I take a step forward, and then another, this time, faster. And then another. I’m running now. I hear his voice.

Eliza…

I ignore it. I hasten my pace— beyond the edge of the cliff. I fall into blackness. I do not see the rocks and the crashing sea below. But I know that they are there – – waiting. I strike. I feel the impact. But not the pain. The sea envelops me. I should feel the bitterness of cold. I don’t. And for the first time ever, there is silence.