The Spectral Agent - Chapter 2 - Text
Viktor wakes up disoriented, still burdened by what happened last night
The Spectral Agent is published as an audiobook (and text), chapter by chapter, as a SubStack Podcast. Start at Chapter 1.
I woke with a sharp inhale, heart thudding. Shit, can't believe I overslept for work. I sat up, not sure of where I was. The couch's fabric was rough under my hands. My boots were still on my feet. A half-finished coffee sat cold on the table. I guess I never made it to bed.
My phone was face down next to the cup. I reached for it, expecting to see a half dozen missed calls from the office.
But I didn’t have work. I was on leave— forced leave.
The lock screen showed a reminder instead: Therapist—9:30 a.m. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Of course, I nearly forgot about my regular appointment. I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, the half-finished cold coffee in hand.
I stormed down the sidewalk, unsure if I was rushing to the appointment or trying to outrun the feeling of uselessness that tightened around me. A part of me still burned from the chief's dismissal—the way he looked at me like I was broken. Like I’d finally cracked under pressure. Maybe I had.
The case tugged at me, threading through every thought. Not just Olivia—everything around her. Her voice. Her eyes. The way the air shifted in her apartment. I shook the thought loose as I arrived at the therapist's office and stepped inside.
The fluorescent lights in the waiting room buzzed faintly, a monotonous hum that seemed to underscore the discomfort hanging in the air. I sat with my arms crossed. I tried to tune out the sounds of the world–the distant cars scraping against the road and the murmurs of a receptionist behind the desk.
Dr. Payne’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Viktor Levitsky?”
I looked up and gave her a nod, standing to follow her into her office. It was the same as always. The walls were painted in a soft beige, shelves were lined with books, and a single lamp dimly lit the room. The whole office was designed to calm—to comfort. But I felt far from calm.
“How have you been?”
She asked as she settled in her chair, motioning for me to take a seat as well. I hesitated to answer. I didn’t know if I even wanted to tell her the truth. What would she say? Would she try a petty attempt to reconcile with me?
Over the years, I found myself growing more and more distrustful of doctors. It’s not like I didn’t believe in psychology—in fact, I was a strong believer in therapy’s benefits. Maybe I had just grown a bad taste in my mouth from being pushed out of studying psychology during college.
These hallucinations I had—they weren’t normal ones. They weren’t like the things I’d seen as a kid. They led me to something, to a truth. Whether I wanted to accept it or not. I know her death wasn’t a suicide.
“In my field, there's bound to be mistakes,” I said, cutting to the chase, “But I just can’t ignore another injustice.” She leaned forward in her chair slightly, but her expression didn’t change. Though I still caught the meaning of it, she was more attentive now.
“What do you mean? Did something happen at work, Viktor?”
I instinctively placed my hand over my face, a habit I had formed while under stress. “Yes. Something happened.”
I sighed, “I saw things–things that weren’t normal.” Dr. Payne nodded slowly, her pen gliding across the notepad in her lap. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just out of my mind.”
“Your medication helped with these symptoms before, correct?”
She spoke, shifting her weight in her chair.
“It used to. But what I saw–what I heard–it feels different this time.” I was unsure how much I should say. She looked at me thoughtfully.
“How so?”
“It feels… connected in a way,” I said hesitantly. The silence stretched between us for a moment.
“I understand this must be unsettling for you. Let’s tell your psychiatrist to adjust your medication and see if that helps stabilize things. We’ll talk about how you’re feeling in a few weeks.”
I nodded, though her reassurances didn’t quite land. Her clinical detachment could be unnerving. She scribbled something on her paper again. I wondered what she was writing. Though it didn’t really matter. She clearly didn’t believe me; hell, I didn’t even know if I believed myself.
A few days later, I stopped by the pharmacy in the afternoon to pick up my updated prescription. Then, I started walking back home. It had rained that day and finally let up, but the streets were still deserted.
Out of the corner of my eye, something flickered. A red blur, sudden and sharp, darting like a bird from a lamppost to a leafless tree. I stopped and turned. Nothing. Only wet branches and the noise of the city.
I kept walking, but the flittering presence returned, just out of sight. From rooftops to alleys to fences, but never where I focused. Always at the edge of my vision. My stomach twisted. Were the hallucinations returning? I told myself it was a trick of the light–a restless mind. But the hairs on my arms prickled all the same.
I reached my building and headed up. When I stepped inside my apartment, the air felt heavy and oppressive. Like another storm was brewing in the room instead of outside. Maybe there really was something wrong with me–something more than I thought before.
The living room was small and dark. After all, I always kept blackout curtains over the windows. I stood near the coffee table, opening the pill bottle and reading the label. Anti-psychotic. I stopped right before taking one, as I noticed a sound coming from the other side of the room. I couldn’t see anything there at first, so I flipped on the light. I then noticed something I didn’t expect.
A crow was perched on the windowsill, pecking at the curtain. It wasn’t just any crow, though. It was bright red. All of a sudden, my thoughts swirled back to one of the previous nights, the night of Olivia’s death. The unnatural, bleeding glow of the red crow was the same color as her eyes on that fateful day.
I stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching something dangerous. “What… the hell?” I spoke to nobody else but myself. After all, birds can’t talk. The crow started cawing loudly at that exact moment. It began fluttering against the window as though desperate to escape.
My instincts screamed at me to leave it alone. That it was just another hallucination. But something about the bird’s frantic movements and unnatural presence compelled me. With a trembling hand, I brushed the curtain aside and unlocked the window. When I pushed it open, the crow shot out into the sky, but soon stopped its flight to look at me. Its deep stare seemed to pierce into me. It reminded me of something else I’ve seen before.
I leaned out of the opening, not thinking before doing what I did next. I climbed out of the window and dropped down, nearly twisting my ankle. I followed the crow into the damp evening. The bird darted ahead, weaving through the gaps between the buildings like a flame. I realized this crow was what I had seen earlier as I left the pharmacy. Each beat of its wings carried a sense of urgency I couldn’t ignore.
The hum of city life hit me. It had all returned after the rain cleared. The familiar sounds of car horns, distant sirens, and chatter flooded my ears. The crow perched on a streetlamp for a moment. Its crimson glow didn’t cast shadows on the pavement.
I ran, following it through narrow streets and crowded avenues. Pedestrians gave me odd looks as I pushed past, my breath fogging in the cold pre-spring air. The bird soared above, a beacon in a city that suddenly felt too big for me.
The crow led me throughout the city, flashing lights and towering screens disorienting me. The crow sat atop the neon glow of a sign, its silhouette stark against the vibrant colors. I hesitated, my chest heaving from the chase, but the bird’s piercing gaze drew me forward. It took flight again, circling before heading east.
We wove through busy streets and alleys before turning to a quieter street, which led me to the edge of the Hudson River. “Where are you taking me?” I spoke, but my voice was swallowed by the wind.
The bird tilted its head as if considering my words before lifting off again. It swooped low, gliding over a group of people. They didn’t notice its wings flapping near their heads.
Finally, the blazing crow stopped for longer, this time in a quiet park. It landed on a woman seated on a bench. She was bundled in a long coat, her face hidden under the brim of a hat. She didn’t flinch as the bird made its home on her shoulder.
I approached cautiously, out of breath. “Excuse me,” I began, but my voice faltered. She turned her head slowly. I noticed something in her dark eyes. They were mournful, the kind of irises that showed sadness that seeps into anyone looking into them. Not only did I feel her pain, I saw it directly in the red puffiness surrounding the corners of her poor eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked without thinking, hands resting on my knees as I bent over from the exhaustion.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re crazy?” she questioned me back without acknowledging the crow resting on her shoulder.
“Sometimes,” I reluctantly admitted to the stranger.
I didn’t know why she asked me that. Did she sense what I had been feeling this whole time, or was it a complete coincidence that I ran into her today? I didn’t know what to say to comfort her in this situation. We were clearly both overwhelmed by something.
She looked to the river in the distance.
“It doesn’t make sense, he wasn’t like that.”
“Who?” I inquired, stepping forward.
“My boyfriend.”
She said, her voice cracking as tears started to spill from her eyes.
“He just wouldn’t have done that.”
I listen intently, continuing to ask her questions. I can’t just leave a crying woman here all alone, “Done what?”
“Die so recklessly.”
She replied, brushing one of her many long braids away from her face. She tapped the phone that was sitting in her lap. The lock screen displayed an image of her and someone else, a taller man. She stared at the picture, sniffling.
He was muscular and had a whole sleeve of tattoos on one arm. The same side of his head had shaved hair. He was laced with piercings. He looked strong, and she seemed so happy with him.
An instinct that I couldn’t name kicked in then. I decided that I needed to know who this man was. “What was his name?”
“Chai.”
She said.
“He was everything to me.”
I nodded, her grief settling over us like rain.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, though the words felt hollow, no matter how much I wished for them to sound comforting. Something in me felt the urge to stay, though half of me wanted to run away. All I did was politely ask if I could sit.
She nodded silently, and I took that as my cue to rest next to her on the bench. I didn’t ask her any more questions. Instead, I just looked to the sky, then back to the woman’s shoulder. The crow was gone. I didn’t even see it fly away.
I thought long and hard about what she meant. Her boyfriend wasn’t like that? Like what? It sounded like this death was some kind of accident. Or more so—it wasn’t. And like Olivia’s, I couldn’t just ignore it.
“Thank you,” I said, standing up and turning toward the direction I had come from. She asked me what she had done that deserved a thanks, but I didn’t answer. I was already razor-focused on solving this new mystery that the crow led me to.
Continue to Chapter 3.