Chapter 1: A Ghost of Probability

“Alright, if I apply this formula here to that, then I should be able to find the average mean of the bell curve…”

Three years had passed. And yet—some things refused to stay buried. Angela’s memory was like a specter trapped in the margins of his notebooks and tucked between the pages of his old homework. A scent, a laugh, a slap of plastic on skin—just fragments now, broken melody looping in his head. University life hadn’t swept him up like the brochures promised. If anything, it felt like he was constantly chasing something he didn’t fully understand.

Something he’d never resolved. His pen tapped a staccato rhythm against the textbook. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like Morse code from a part of his brain desperate to be anywhere but here. He scribbled down a formula. Took a breath. Flipped to the back. The red ‘X’ stared at him like an insult. And a dare.

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. A sharp exhale followed, but it didn’t ease the discomfort clawing at his ribs. His gaze drifted. And there, resting in a halo of faded color on his desk, was the slap bracelet. He hadn’t touched it in months. But now it seemed to pulse with silent meaning, whispering things he didn’t want to hear.

Echoes.

Of the girl who slapped it onto his wrist like punctuation. Of the card tricks. The unanswered questions. That final glance before her silhouette dissolved into evening sun.

“Riley! Breakfast!”

His mom’s voice sliced cleanly through the haze. He shoved the textbook away, grabbed his bag, and trudged downstairs. The television in the living room was already humming, a low background drone, as his mom poured him a glass of orange juice.

"Still having troubles with the numbers?" his mom teased, sliding his glass across the table.

“I think the numbers are winning,” he said. The toast crunched loudly between his teeth, but it didn’t distract him from the ache in his thoughts.

"Well, you'll get there," she said encouragingly. "How's your first semester adjusting? Made any new friends?"

“Yeah,” he lied. “It’s… fine. Just a lot.”

And then his gaze flicked to the window. The morning light fractured through the glass in golden shards. Movement stirred—quick, graceful. A shimmer of dark hair. A head tilt.

Angela.

He was halfway out of his chair before logic caught up to him. The toast hit the plate untouched. He pressed against the cold glass, breath fogging the edge.

Outside stood Mrs. Howard. Newspaper in hand, robe cinched tight. Her husband offered a sleepy wave as he locked their door. They walked to their car, completely unaware they’d just shattered Riley’s heart all over again.

“Everything alright, dear?”

His mother’s voice was casual, but concerned.

“Yeah. Thought I saw… someone.” He forced the words out and returned to his seat. But the toast had gone cold and his appetite had fled. He leaned back, catching the slap bracelet still tucked in his pocket. He hadn’t remembered bringing it with him.

Then—

A sound.

Barely audible. A giggle. Light and airy. Like bells echoing down a hallway of dreams.

It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, threading itself through the breeze like whispered fate.

“Oh, this is going to be fun…” it teased, mischievous and cruel and somehow familiar. “…It’ll be so much fun to toy with you, Riley.”

***

The after-class murmur of campus had dissolved into twilight quiet, replaced by the dull whirr of a desktop fan and the papery rustle of decades-old student files. Riley knelt inside the registrar’s back office—his temporary haven. The chaos outside felt muted here, stilled under layers of dust and yellowed paper.

He sorted in silence, though the numbers from this morning still danced in his thoughts. Angela’s giggle—faint and cruel—had haunted his senses all day, like the scent of old perfume drifting across his memory. It wasn’t just nostalgia anymore. It felt present. Then the door clicked open.

"Oh!"

The box slipped from his grasp. Papers exploded across the tile like startled birds. Ms. Roberts chuckled, already halfway into her coat. “Heavens, Riley. You always look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Riley yelped, startled, his grip loosening on the box he was holding. It tumbled from his hands, landing with a muffled thud and a cloud of ancient dust.

“I forgot I’ve got a planning session across campus,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Feel free to clock out early. The forms can wait.”

“No worries, Madam,” he said, kneeling to scoop up papers. “I’ll finish up and head out.”

She waved and disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door swinging shut in her wake. Riley stood, brushing off his hands. That’s when he noticed it—her computer, still logged in. Registrar’s access. The system he’d never been allowed to touch.

His pulse quickened. Just one look. He approached the screen like it might bite. Keyboard clicks filled the room—Angela, Angelica, Angie. Cross-referenced, double-checked, filtered through graduation years and home addresses and extracurriculars. Still nothing.

“No... No, no,” he muttered, tightening his grip on the desk. It was impossible. No school records. No club activities. No tutoring rosters.

Nothing.

Angela had been everywhere. And somehow, nowhere. He leaned closer. Maybe he’d missed something—some clerical typo or miscategorization—

Creak.

Footsteps. In the hall.

His body snapped to attention. He lunged for the mouse, slammed it toward logout, heart ramming against his ribs. His elbow collided with a stack of textbooks. They crashed to the floor in a chaotic, noisy avalanche. The perfect invitation to curiosity.

The steps stopped.

A voice, clear and melodic: “Hello? Is someone in here?”

Riley’s breath stalled in his throat. The door pushed open slowly. Backlit by hallway light stood a silhouette. Slender frame. Messy ponytail. Faded denim. Band tee—worn like second skin.

The world froze.

Time. Sound. Breath.

His eyes climbed her shape like a staircase he’d memorized. The tilt of the chin. The curl of her lips.

And then—

Her eyes met his.

He knew that glint. Mischievous. Unapologetic. Too real to be illusion.

Angela.

Not a dream.

Not a memory.

Not gone.

She stood with one foot inside the doorway, fingers curled around the knob like she wasn’t sure if she’d been expected—or summoned.

“Hey, Riley,” she said softly, like she’d seen him yesterday. “Still struggling with probability, I bet.”

And just like that, reality cracked.

Angela’s presence wasn’t just uncanny—it was wrong.

Not in the obvious way. She looked the same: the soft cheekbones, the melodic cadence of her voice, even the effortless confidence in her stride. But something had shifted. Her smile felt rehearsed, almost mechanical, like she was mimicking joy rather than feeling it. And behind her gaze—something sharp. Something old.

Riley’s brain scrambled for explanations: hallucination, prank, dream. But none of them fit the weight of the moment pressing into his lungs.

She advanced slowly across the linoleum floor, movements fluid and theatrical, the kind that came from years of performance rather than sincerity.

“I missed that expression,” she said, voice curling around the words like velvet laced with thorns. “The one where you look like you’re trying to solve a differential equation and that flustered, deer-in-headlights. It's quite endearing."

He stiffened. Her laugh followed, a low giggle that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And here you are,” she continued, eyes trailing over the desk. “Digging through university records like a diligent little statistician. I do hope you weren’t trying to find someone. That would be very disappointing.”

Riley tried to speak. To explain. To ask. But all he managed was, “W-what are you doing here?”

She ignored the question entirely.

“Three years,” she mused. “Long time, isn’t it? But you’ve come so far. Same campus. Same program. That’s dedication, Riley. Almost… obsessive.”

Her tone dropped into something darker. Richer.

“You even followed my footsteps. That’s sweet. Or is it creepy? I never know where that line really is.” She smiled again, but this time her teeth flashed too brightly.

The word, delivered with a casual, almost affectionate lilt, hit Riley like a physical blow. It paused him, freezing the frantic scramble of his thoughts. The warmth in his chest turned to ice. This wasn't the Angela he remembered, not entirely. The teasing was there, yes, but beneath it, something cold and sharp had emerged.

"Who... who are you?" Riley finally managed to ask, the question a desperate, trembling whisper.

Something in her eyes twitched—barely. A small flinch. But the smirk returned quickly.

“Oh? And here I thought I was unforgettable.” She reached into her jacket pocket. Riley’s stomach clenched before she even pulled out the deck. Faded red backs. Worn corners. The exact same kind.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Her fingers danced across the cards in perfect rhythm—like muscle memory resurrected from the grave.

“Let’s play, Riley.”

He didn’t move.

Her gaze hardened slightly. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The truth. The answer. The proof. One game. One challenge. Same stakes.”

She held the deck delicately, like it might vanish if she dropped it. “Prove I’m not Angela. If you can.”

He stared at her—the deck, the posture, the glint behind her challenge. And something buried deep inside him stirred. Not fear. Not recognition.

A quiet, mounting rage.

He’d spent three years lost in her shadow. Chasing her ghost. Memorizing every detail she left behind like a puzzle scattered with missing pieces. And now she wanted to play? To toy with it?

“…Alright,” he said finally. His voice trembled—but not from fear. From the weight of choice. “I’ll play.”

***

Angela tilted her head, grin returning with a theatrical flourish. “Oh, good. Let’s see if you’re still as bad at guessing cards as you are at noticing patterns.” She held the deck up, her fingers poised.

His thoughts skittered, wild and useless. What was the probability of truth when memory itself couldn’t be trusted? Faces blur. Voices shift. Even time—faithless, slippery—couldn’t be counted on.

Angela, or whatever she was, basked in his unraveling.

“Fifty-fifty,” she purred, closing the distance with feline grace. “A coin flip between reality and make-believe. Doesn’t get more poetic than that.”

Her presence was overwhelming now. The scent. The rhythm of her steps. The echo of every long-lost syllable spoken in the quiet of his old room.

“Don’t worry. Let’s make it easy for you. Call out a card. Any card.”

He blurted the first one that surfaced, the one that mirrored her grin. “Joker.”

She gave a delighted “ding ding!”—a parody of innocence with her tongue against her cheek, her eyes sparkling with dark amusement. With another dramatic flourish, she flipped the top card of the deck. The brightly colored Joker stared back at them, its painted grin feeling particularly malevolent now.

“Oh dear, Riley,” she chuckled, her voice a silken threat. “Looks like I'm not very good at this game. So Riley, do you remember what the reward was three years ago if you got it correct?”

She closed the small distance between them, her presence suddenly overwhelming. Her fingers trailed along his jaw. Vanilla and cinnamon swept across his breath like perfume worn for a funeral. Riley’s throat constricted. The past clawed forward. All he could do was watch her lean closer. Inches dissolved. Shared oxygen. Intertwined shadows.

“I promised,” she whispered, “a reward…”

As she leaned in, her lips mere centimeters from his, Riley felt a primal urge to pull away, to break free from the suffocating familiarity. At the last possible moment, he did, pushing her back with a surprising burst of strength.

“It’s… everything is almost all identical,” he stammered, his chest heaving. “The smell, your mannerisms, even the way you shuffling your cards using your left-hand. There are so many little things I can’t even name…” He trailed off, his gaze fixed on her eyes. “But your eyes… they’re cold. There’s a coldness there that wasn’t… wasn’t there before.”

Angela tilted her head, her smile softening, almost becoming genuine for a fleeting second. “Perhaps,” she mused, her voice soft, “perhaps but people change in three years, Riley. Wouldn’t you say?”

Her words momentarily stilled him, a tendril of doubt snaking its way into his certainty. She saw her opportunity. “Don’t worry, Riley,” she murmured, stepping close again, her hand reaching for his face once more. “I promise to be gentle. This will be my first kiss too, you know.”

Their faces inched closer, her breath warm against his lips. This time, Riley didn’t resist. His eyes fluttered closed, a strange mix of anticipation and dread swirling within him.

Crack!

The sharp crack of plastic against bone echoed in the small office. Angela recoiled, her hand flying to her forehead, a surprised yelp escaping her lips. Riley stood there, the formally colorful slap bracelet held firmly in his hand.

Instead of anger, a peal of genuine laughter erupted from Angela, the sound echoing off the dusty shelves. She stepped back, her hand still pressed to her forehead, her advances completely halted. Then, slowly, her mouth stretched into an eerie, unnerving smile, a smile that finally reached the cold depths of her eyes.

“Oh, Riley,” she said, her voice laced with a chilling delight. “This has been so much fun. Finally meeting you properly.”

And just like that, the room fractured. The linoleum split. Gravity flipped sideways. Riley gasped as the floor unraveled beneath him—tiles vanishing like paper in flame. An abyss swirled in place of concrete, devouring light. Angela’s voice echoed, now unbound, her cadence weaving between affection and omnipotence.

“I can’t wait to play with you again, Riley. We have so many possibilities to explore…”