The dull hum of the fluorescent lights in the psychiatric ward of Calikat Hospital was the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. The walls were a sterile white, lined with motivational posters that Johnny found far too ironic. The doctors had tried to explain to him, tried to get him to understand what was happening inside his head, but their voices became a murmur in the background, drowned out by the constant ringing of a doorbell that only he could hear. Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.

"Johnny, can you hear me?" The voice of Dr. Madhavan was calm, patient, but it grated on Johnny's nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He could feel the doctor's eyes studying him, watching his every move.

Johnny's head snapped up, his eyes wild and bloodshot. "Of course, I can hear you," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I'm not deaf, Doc."

Dr. Madhavan sighed, adjusting his glasses as he flipped through his notes. "Johnny, we've run the tests. We've monitored your symptoms. You've been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. It explains the hallucinations, the paranoia, the emotional instability. It's a serious condition, but with the right medication and therapy—"

"Don't patronize me," Johnny spat, cutting him off. He ran his hands through his tangled hair, gripping it tightly, as if trying to pull the madness out by the roots. "You think I don't know what's happening to me? You think this is just some disorder?"

Dr. Madhavan hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, "Johnny, I understand that—"

"No, you don't!" Johnny stood abruptly, pacing around the small room like a caged animal. His heart pounded in his chest. "You don't understand what it's like! You don't know what I've seen… what I've heard. It's not in my head. She's real. She's still out there."

"Shellie is gone, Johnny," the doctor said, his tone gentle but firm. "You have to accept that."

Johnny froze, his breath hitching in his throat. The image of Shellie's pale, lifeless body flashed before his eyes. The note, her confession, the blood… it was all too much. He turned away, staring at the wall, biting his lip until he tasted blood. "She's not gone," he whispered, more to himself than to the doctor. "She's not gone. She's still here… somewhere."

For months, Johnny remained at Calikat Hospital, undergoing treatments that seemed to do nothing but cloud his mind. The doctors pumped him full of medications, trying to silence the ringing, to calm the storm inside his head. But nothing worked. Every night, as he lay on the stiff mattress in his hospital room, he would hear it. Ding-Dong. The doorbell. Shellie's voice, faint and distant, calling his name.

"Johnny… Johnny, come out and play…"

He would press his hands over his ears, trying to block it out, but the sound would only grow louder, more insistent. His heart would race, sweat drenching his sheets as he fought to stay sane.

Jennifer, his mother, never came to visit. She was thousands of miles away, living her life in some distant city. When she heard the news about Johnny's diagnosis, she didn't even bother to come back. She sent money for the treatments, enough to cover the bills, but that was all. No phone calls. No letters. Nothing. It was as if she had cut all ties with him, as if he no longer existed. 

And perhaps, in her mind, he didn't.

Weeks passed, and eventually, the doctors decided to release Johnny from Calikat. "You've made progress," they told him. "It'll take time, but you're strong. You can manage this."

Johnny didn't believe them. He hadn't made any progress. He was still as haunted as the day they brought him in. But he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to leave. He needed to get out of the suffocating walls of that hospital and back to Delhey, back to the place where it all began. Maybe then, he could find some answers. Or maybe he could finally let it all end.

The journey back to Delhey was a blur. Johnny sat in the back of the cab, staring out the window, watching the world pass by in a haze. His mind felt numb, disconnected from everything around him. The buildings, the people, the traffic—they all seemed distant, as if they belonged to another world entirely.

When he finally arrived at the house, the sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. The old mansion loomed before him, casting long shadows in the fading light of dusk. The air was heavy, thick with the weight of memories and ghosts. Johnny hesitated for a moment, standing at the foot of the steps, staring at the door. He could almost hear it now, that familiar Ding-Dong, echoing in his mind.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to move. One step at a time, he climbed the stairs, his heart pounding harder with each step. His hand shook as he reached for the doorknob, but just before he could open it, something caught his eye.

There, lying on the ground in front of the door, was a small black diary.

Johnny frowned, bending down to pick it up. The cover was worn, the edges frayed as if it had been handled many times before. It looked old, almost ancient. For a moment, he thought it was just some random book someone had left behind, but when he opened it, his blood ran cold.

The pages were blank. Every single one, except for the very first page.

"She can be saved, and only you can help."

Johnny's breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled as he traced the words, written in a neat, almost elegant script. His heart raced. What did it mean? Who was this about? Shellie?

His mind swirled with questions, his pulse quickening as he flipped through the rest of the book. But there was nothing else—just the one page. Confusion gripped him, but then, as he turned the diary over, he saw something scrawled on the back cover. An address.

Saint Isaac High School, Berlin, Germany.

Johnny's eyes widened. Germany? Why would there be an address all the way in Berlin? What was this place, and why was he supposed to go there? 

The questions buzzed in his mind, louder than the ringing doorbells ever had. He felt a strange pull, a compulsion, as if something was urging him to follow the lead. His mind was a mess of confusion, but one thing stood out: the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this was a way to save Shellie. 

She was gone. She had died. He had seen her body. He had read her note. But the words in the diary haunted him now: "She can be saved, and only you can help."

Johnny clutched the diary to his chest, his mind racing. This was insane. He knew it was insane. But hadn't everything that had happened already been insane? His father's murder, Shellie's confession, her death, the hallucinations, the doorbells that wouldn't stop… Was this really any stranger than all of that?

He glanced at the address again. Saint Isaac High School, Berlin.

There was no rational explanation for what was happening. There was no logic to it. But Johnny had stopped caring about logic a long time ago. He had nothing left. His mother had abandoned him, his father was dead, and now Shellie was gone too. If there was even the slightest chance that this diary was telling the truth, he had to take it.

He stared at the door in front of him, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on him. The memories, the trauma—it all lingered here, like a poison seeping into his bones. He couldn't stay here any longer. He had to leave.

Johnny took one last look at the diary before slipping it into his jacket pocket. His mind was made up. He didn't know what awaited him in Berlin, but he would go. He had to. There was no other choice. The doorbell rang one last time in his mind as he turned away from the mansion and walked into the night, the address burned into his thoughts.

Saint Isaac High School. Berlin.