Chapter 143

Chapter 143

Kafkas Metamorphosis lay open on my lap, unattended, as I watched dads parked squad car at the end of the street. Hed been inside the paint-chipped house for a while now. Ellison was kicking his legs out in moms antique rocking chair, the chair emitting a rhythmic squeak as it reached its apex, leaning so far back it threatened to topple at any moment.

Im starving. Ellison complained.

Youre not starving. Youre hungry. I corrected absentmindedly, still focused on the flurry of unusual activity at the end of the street.

Its almost six thirty. Ellison said.

Dads work is important. Keeps the city safe. Being off-schedule goes with the territory. The same couldnt be said for every cop. You had to either be blind or blatantly ignore the news to believe that. But dad was old school. All about listening and protecting the community. Putting people first. He talked about them like they were individuals, not some faceless conglomerate. And even if I found him naive at times, it was hard not to respect how much he cared.

A muffled pop reached us. It could have been anything. Car backfire, or an unfortunate squirrel that scurried its way into a power converter.

Then a cluster of five muffled bangs followed, identical to the first.

I slipped from the alcove, placing my back against it. Get down. I snapped at Ellison. He flopped wide-eyed from the chair to the ground, both of us flinching from the clatter as it fell, one corner banging against the wall.

Gunshots? Ellison whispered, his face pale. The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Wheres Iris? I hissed.

Napping with mom.

We waited in tense silence for a follow-up. When none came, I peeked over the flowered cushions, exposing as little of myself as possible. A few of the neighbors had emerged from their homes, gawking at the house at the end of the street.

My heart hammered in my chest. It was impossible to tell exactly where the sound had come from, but it was undoubtedly from the direction of the end of the street.

Doubt and fear gnawed at me, along with the screaming need to do something. Anything.

Check on Mom and Iris, then call 911 I told Ellison.

What are you going to do? Ellison asked, alarmed.

Keep watch. Stay low and get moving.

Ellison jolted into action, retreating towards our parents room in a low crouch.

Its hard to explain what happened next. Put it into words. The best I can describe it is as a scene that materialized in my mind. An image of my father bleeding out on the floor, frightened and alone. It was so visceral and real that I had to confirm it.

Time bled together as I walked out the front door and through the gate in a daze, leaving it open behind me. Asphalt burned my bare feet as I walked numbly towards the house, my pulse vibrating in my neck, vision shuddering with every heartbeat.

You have to wash your hands. Get the GSR off.

The man stared up at me. What?

Gunshot residue. Youre coated in it at this point. You have to wash your hands. I was twisting advice dad gave me on how to speak to someone in a crisislet the slightest doubt into your voice, and theyll latch onto it. But if you speak with confidence and authority, theyll cling to your words like a lifeline.

The man stared at me. At first, I thought he might call out my bullshit.

On his long list of issues, the GSR was near the bottom. The murder weapon and empty shells were towards the top, along with the many witnesses who had heard the shots, and if Stockholm syndrome hadnt set in too deeply the unconscious woman could easily turn on him.

The man stood to his feet suddenly, dropping the gun. Fuck! He rushed to the bathroom.

Using a filthy rag from the table as a buffer, I picked up the gun by the trigger guard and popped the cylinder open to confirm he hadnt reloaded. The casings were empty. Good.

With that sorted, I took the knife from the table. The hilt fit snugly in my hand as if it had always been there.

Everything blurred together after I followed him into the bathroom. The next thing I remembered was my mothers face, hovering above me.

Its okay, baby. Its okay. Tears streamed down her cheeks, ruining day-old mascara. Give me the knife, baby.

I handed it to her.

Sirens drew closer.

/////

Its a rare thing to lose your husband and son in the same evening. Does she think of that night when she drinks, I wonder?

Talias growl of alarm came too late. A sharp, stinging pain sunk deep into my back. I screamed, whirling to face the threat and coming face to face with a mirror.

No one would have blamed you for it. The sentence would have been light, the situation laden with mitigating circumstances, even if they knew the truth of how it all went down. Why, then, did you run from it, lock it away so deeply that even I can only show you this much?

The lithid had leaped back several feet after the surprise attack. It had also taken my form, clad in the eldritch armor, a twisted mongrel at its side. Dagger in one-hand, crossbow in the other.

Bastard. Talia said through gritted teeth. That might be the actual lithid. It looks far more real than the shadows did. Talia said. Matthias. Can you fight?

I swooned on my feet, unable to answer her. was fading, but from the remnants, this form didnt have threads as the others had. I withdrew a health potion and chugged it, then wiped the residue from my mouth.

Pretty sure youre on the money, I panted. We need to end this quickly.