Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 115: Mr. Ghost Comes to Rescue Eleanor

Chapter 115: Chapter 115: Mr. Ghost Comes to Rescue Eleanor

December in Froskar is the perfect time to watch the aurora.

They drove across the ice fields and stopped at a small hill free of obstructions and light pollution. Cillian Grant instructed the others to wait in place and drove up to the top of the hill.

The night was not deep yet, and the snow around them lay silent. After the engine was turned off, the sound of the wind brushed against the windows repeatedly, accentuating the vast sense of loneliness.

It seemed as though the world contained only her and Cillian Grant.

Eleanor unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door to get out.

Cillian Grant stopped her, "The aurora won’t appear for another half an hour, it’s too cold to get out now."

With one foot in the snow, Eleanor poked her head through the door, getting blasted by the strong wind, with a few strands sneaking into her collar. She shivered, turned back inside, "Why is there no one else around? Are we in the right place?"

Cillian Grant grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back into the car, "Am I not trustworthy?"

Outside was too cold; Eleanor closed the car door, "Do you want the truth, or the kind of truth that curses the heavens?" 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Cillian Grant frowned deeply and pinched her cheek gently, shaking it a bit, "I don’t believe in ghosts or gods, but you have to watch your words."

Eleanor pushed him away, "I get it, you scoff at superstition but kneel forever before the Hall of Fortune."

Cillian Grant suddenly burst out laughing. Since coming to Froskar, the vast snowy landscape and eternal night seemed to have subdued his domestic temper, making him more relaxed and often smiling.

The casual allure of a cold, aloof man can be a dangerously enticing trap for a woman.

But, Eleanor knew well that this charm was only superficial; his illness was his real killer move.

"When have I ever knelt?"

Eleanor recalled her life before she was eighteen, like honey guarded by bees in a hive, sweet but painful if disturbed. After eighteen, she didn’t want to look back.

She moved inches away, sticking close to the car door, "A man has gold under his knees; you can earn standing up, no need to kneel."

Cillian Grant reached out, and Eleanor dodged.

Unexpectedly, he feigned a move and instead wrapped his arm around her shoulder, exerting enough force to pull her from the passenger seat into his embrace. "I don’t kneel to gods; I kneel to no one."

Eleanor suddenly felt weightless, her head spinning and stomach churning. She couldn’t hear what he was saying but felt his masculine breath enveloping her ear, warm and tingly.

It tickled her neck, pushing the sourness in her stomach up to her throat.

In the unspoken understanding of her pregnancy, whether she vomits or not seems irrelevant.

Eleanor turned to embrace the steering wheel, gritting her teeth to hold it down.

She refused to yield.

Though Cillian Grant seemed to sense her condition, he didn’t stop her. Eleanor felt the gaze from behind fixated on her, as deep as an ocean cavern, waves and wind pulling her down, waiting for her to fall.

Not saying a word, she endured the dizziness and nausea.

Suddenly, the horizon lit up with a ghostly glow, a misty white band unfurled like the sheer fabric of a goddess’s dress, with emerald light spreading from the hem, pouring across the sky. Within the green light, there were constantly changing pinks and purples, a fleeting shadow dance, so dreamlike it seemed out of this world.

Eleanor immediately opened the car door and stepped out.

Cillian Grant followed her.

Her down jacket was white, and in her haste to get out of the car, she hadn’t put on a hat. Her thick, ink-black hair scattered in the wind, blowing across her face, with only the tip of her red nose visible, delicate yet fragile. In the chaotic wind and snow, she seemed a small figure, as if a mere breath could scatter her.

So fracturable, visible but ungraspable.

Cillian Grant wrapped his arms around her from behind, encircling her abdomen. "Eleanor."

Eleanor gazed at the horizon, seemingly oblivious, giving a perfunctory response.

Above, the aurora danced, ever-changing in its beauty. Many who’ve seen the aurora consider these the most romantic, profound, and cherished moments of their life.

Most of her long hair fell on his chest, a few coarse strands dancing in the wind, brushing across her observing eyes.

Cillian Grant silently watched her for a long time; his lips landed on her cheek, slowly moving backward to rest against her ear, whispering in the windy chaos.

"Do you prefer a girl or a boy?"

Eleanor acted as though she hadn’t heard, whether deliberately or out of excitement. She broke free from Cillian Grant, jumping away, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow, and turning to throw it at him.

The pure snow dust quickly dispersed in the wind, revealing her smiling eyes, "Did you bring a camera? Or give me back my phone; I want to capture this moment."

"You heard it, right?"

Eleanor’s smile hovered on her face, unchanged, as she tilted her head in doubt, "Didn’t you bring it?"

She accused, "Cillian Grant, you’re unreliable."

Cillian Grant’s expression shifted in the aurora light, his eyes dark yet bright. He stepped forward with arms slightly spread, like a net.

Eleanor quickly retreated, a startled little bird, flapping away from danger.

A few steps later, Cillian Grant stopped, gazing at Eleanor.

Her hair fluttered in the wind, near and far in the misty landscape.

Always within his sight but unwilling to come closer.

...............

The aurora usually lasts two hours, and when it disappears across the sky, you can drive to chase it.

Eleanor wasn’t in the mood; the snow had exhausted her. Once in the car, she pretended to sleep with her eyes closed to avoid dealing with Cillian Grant.

Perhaps out of pity for her, as they passed a small town, she felt a gaze and opened her eyes to meet the look of a middle-aged man on the roadside, resembling Mr. Ghost by seven or eight points. He calmly shifted his gaze and entered a restaurant.

Eleanor immediately sat up, "I need to use the bathroom."

Cillian Grant glanced at her, "Is it urgent?"

Eleanor shook her leg slightly, clutching her stomach, "I woke up because I had to go."

Cillian Grant paused, his gaze moving from her face to her belly, then he braked, slowly pulling over, "Public restrooms abroad are rare and charge a fee, I’ll go with you."

Eleanor didn’t expect him not to follow and pointed out, "No time, that restaurant. You order; I’ll use the washroom; the staff won’t stop me."

Not only are public restrooms scarce abroad, but those in stores are often only for customers. A passerby would waste words trying to gain access, only to pay a fee even if successful.

Cillian Grant looked in the direction she pointed, seeing a 24-hour fast-food place with posters advertising beef burgers and large colas in the windows.

It was nearing midnight; a few vagrants lay by the window seats.

He frowned, "Hold on a bit."

Eleanor turned and jogged, "Cillian Grant, when it comes to bodily needs, urgency can’t wait."

She slipped to the entrance, quickly scanning inside upon entry, finding no trace of the person she saw.

Eleanor’s heart sank, bowing her head as she walked to the restroom, when a server called out to her.

Eleanor didn’t look back, swinging her arm to vaguely point behind her, shouting in English, "He’s ordering."

The server picked up the menu as Eleanor entered the restroom.

Once inside, she hesitated. If that person really were Mr. Ghost, he’s a man, and to find him, she’d have to go to the men’s room.

While Eleanor was hesitating, a paper ball rolled in from the door, landing at her feet.

She froze for a moment, instinctively glancing at the door. It wasn’t fully closed, swaying slightly, and nothing was visible through the gap.

Eleanor picked up the paper ball, slipped into a stall.

The words on the paper were scribbled, ghostlike.

She deciphered them one by one.

[Miss Eleanor, I am Mr. Ghost, sent by President Sinclair to take you away. But the people around you are too fierce. Though I know people in Froskar, I can’t confront them openly. President Sinclair also mentioned that your old enemies who previously pursued you will soon send more people to take you back home. We’re called to take advantage of the chaos. The new group hasn’t arrived, and the opportunity hasn’t come, so wait a little longer.]