Chapter 114

~~Jack~~

He’d been tempted to ask Clara to join him. She was scared of him now, he knew that, and it hurt to all fuck every time he glanced at her. The curse was done with its rampage, but it’d been an asshole in that time, and had left an impression on everyone who’d gone on the mission with him. Damien, he knew wouldn’t let it stop him from being his friend. They’d been through too much together. The others, on the other hand, he wasn’t so sure about.

So hanging out with Fiona and Damien was a good way to test the waters. Fiona no doubt knew about what he’d done, had the details, and he could judge how she felt about him as the night went on.

“Let’s go talk to yer sister!”

He froze on the sidewalk, and blinked at her. “Uh, what?”

“Yer sis, Mary. Ye said she’s a ghost now? I’d love tae meet the lass.”

Jack blinked at the redhead several times, before looking at Damien. Yeah, Damien was wincing a bit, knowing full well Mary’s death wasn’t exactly an easy topic for Jack to broach.

But, hey, maybe it was a good idea? He hadn’t done it yet, just that one time, and telling Mary about Angela might help her pass on. And if Fiona was suggesting it, the horror stories she’d undoubtedly heard about the curse and the assault on the hunters hadn’t scared her too much.

But, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t really think he was that close with Fiona, not yet anyway, and Mary might straight up attack her or Damien. His sister was strong as fuck, in the house. Straight out of a horror movie, complete with throwing furniture.

But, maybe it was a good idea. Telling Mary about Angela had to be done, for him and for his mom, so they could both move on. And it’d be good to show Mary that he’d made some friends, that he didn’t need her watching over him or Mom.

He settled on the good idea gamble.

“You know what? Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Damien said. “Seems like ... something pretty personal. Sure you want us there?”

“It is personal, but we’ve been in a shit load of life and death situations together, Damien. And Fiona’s been in at least one with me. Just ... don’t make any sudden movements, or say anything without being asked to, once we’re inside. Ok?”

Damien and Fiona looked at each other, the Mekhet obviously uncertain, and Fiona brimming with excitement over the possibility of seeing a ghost.

“And yer mum?”

“You want Mom to come?”

“Aye!”

He stood in the driveway of his old home, with Fiona, Damien, and his mom. Fiona had done her usual bit when she saw Samantha, saying hi and bouncing up to her to hug. And his mom rode that wavelength easily, hugging back and smiling; Fiona probably reminded her of Mary. Damien did his usual silent introduction thing, until Jack had introduced them himself.

Damien and Fiona were strong, especially Damien. If shit went sideways, he could trust them to get out if they had to. As for himself, well, the curse would protect him. It wanted to live, and Jack dying would put a dent in that plan. And no matter what happened, Mary wouldn’t hurt his mom, not directly anyway.

“I can’t believe you invited Athalia to the ball,” Jack said.

His mom raised a brow as she looked at him, dressed in a blue business suit with a knee-length skirt. She looked nice, far better than she did weeks ago when Antoinette had sired her. It felt good, seeing his mom recovering, another piece of his guilt melting away. Still plenty of guilty pieces stacked up, but with some time, he was confident he’d be done with them.

“I need to see her,” his mom said.

“She’s not going to come.”

“I think she will.”

“It’ll only have been four nights since her daughter died. I imagine she’ll be—”

“You said she’s been separated from Angela for years, right? And in that time, Angela started hunting her?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“I think she’ll come. And I want to see her. I want to ... see her eyes.”

Jack frowned at his mom, and she returned his gaze. Memories slammed into both of them, so many conversations had, so many times they’d gotten into arguments but never let it escalate to yelling, in the past. There wasn’t any reason to start yelling, yet, and he didn’t want the conversation to get heated, not with Damien and Fiona right there. And not with Mary’s ghost so close.

“She’s a Begotten, Mom, a nightmare monster. She’ll ... she’s dangerous.”

“It’ll be a ball, right? And Antoinette will be there, and that sheriff fellow. I trust them to keep me safe. Besides, Antoinette was the one who asked me if she should invite Athalia.”

He still didn’t know how he felt about that. Sure, his mom had been a vampire for a little while now. She’d fed many times, mostly with Antoinette to supervise, but still. She didn’t spend every night mourning Mary anymore, especially not since learning that Mary was haunting their home. Not healthy. The last thing he wanted was for his mom to become a recluse, living in the basement of her old home, with her dead daughter.

“Everyone will be there,” he said.

“Aye! I’ll be there, with my jimmy ‘ere.” Fiona hugged Damien’s arm and rested her temple on his shoulder. In the past, such an obvious display of affection and crossing a personal boundary would’ve unnerved Damien, made him uncomfortable, but now it didn’t. It would have with anyone else, he was sure, but not with Fiona. Those two were getting very close.

“I think what Jack means,” Damien said, “is a lot of people are going to be there, who will care about what happens. People know Athalia was Angela’s mother, and some people know about what happened at the end. How Athalia presents herself at the ball will be a big statement about the Begotten, especially now that Azamel has pissed the Prince off, having Mark spy on her.”

Mark, right. It surprised the fuck out of Jack that the curse hadn’t been able to sense his presence. Sneaky fucker. He’d felt Daniel around, lurking, though the sheriff was so good at his art that Jack hadn’t the vaguest idea where he was, just that he was nearby. Mark, on the other hand, had felt like a literal fly on the wall, an insect and no more. His presence hadn’t been hidden, so much as altered to feel like a nearby insect. A bit annoying, sure, but entirely ignorable.

He should have realized that feeling meant Mark was nearby. Not like Antoinette didn’t keep her tower in pristine, clean condition. Christ, the man’s spying had made Jack’s job so much harder now, keeping peace between the different races. He had to visit Azamel soon, but, he didn’t want to, not so soon after killing Angela. He wanted to avoid Athalia. Wanted, and didn’t want to.

If she came to the party, he’d talk to her. It’d probably end badly, but he’d have no choice.

“I was hoping,” Jack said, “that after Azamel helped Antoinette come to the dream that night, that things would be better between vamps and monsters. And then Azamel had to ruin it.”

“Can ye blame her?” Fiona shook her head, and took a few steps up the driveway, leaving the rest of them behind as she turned around and walked backward. “She’s ... she’s hurt, ye ken? I dinnae think she has long left, and she ... she just wants to know what’s going on. She wants to know we’ll be safe, when she’s gone.”

“She takes care of you?” his mom said.

“Aye, she does. I think, maybe she’s trying tae ... be who she was, ye ken? Before Jeremiah ruined everything for her.”

Jack nodded. “A leader.” Maybe that was another reason she came to Dolareido? Considering the city was practically a utopia for vampires, mostly safe from hunters, and with peace between the paranormals, it’d be a good place for any monster with delusions of grandeur to set up camp. Maybe Azamel would have joined the Primogen at some point, if she stayed long enough. Now, he doubted she’d live long enough.

“Trust me,” his mom said. “It’ll be fine.”

God he hated that. Really, down to his bones, hated that, how his mom would dismiss the realities of situations and cover them with useless words like ‘it’ll be fine’. She never attempted to reason through her conclusions, to create any sort of logical framework for her beliefs. She just went with whatever she felt made sense, or thought was a good idea because it felt good.

His disappearance and Mary’s death hadn’t broken that, apparently. Hopefully Antoinette would teach her better, before her naivete got her killed.

Once the four of them reached the side door which led to the kitchen, Fiona knocked. Everyone raised a brow as they looked as her, and she giggled, shrugged, and stepped back. Jack motioned to his mom, she unlocked the door, and they followed her inside.

The coldness was back, like when he’d opened his sister’s bedroom door, that first time revisiting the house. It wasn’t as bad as last time, but it was there. Mary was there, somewhere in the dark, invisible, watching. She could see him, see his mom and his friends. She could attack, if she wanted to like last time, and turn utensils and plates into missiles. She could probably do whatever she wanted, since this was her domain, and she was a ghost.

Half wincing, Jack turned on the kitchen light. Nothing happened. He breathed relief, and reached down to take off his shoes before stopping himself. Old habits died hard.

Damien and Fiona both looked around the quaint kitchen, Damien with inquisitiveness, and Fiona with obvious familiarity. She’d come from a home, with a family. It must have looked similar to her old house.

He wanted to invite Antoinette, to show her the simple little world he came from, and for her to see his sister. He wanted to invite Clara, for the same reasons, and because he knew she’d be able to understand in ways Antoinette couldn’t. It was a painful truth that Antoinette was too old, and came from too different a world, to understand why something as simple as seeing his old kitchen, and the silly tablecloth his mom kept, would be such a powerful experience for him and his mom. Clara would be able to understand it.

Except, Clara was afraid of him now. Hell, he knew Fiona and Damien were too, but they were doing a good job of keeping it from affecting them. Fiona could see the curse, and Damien was his best friend. That was probably the only thing keeping them calm around him. Clara, on the other hand, had kept a healthy distance from him during the meeting in the Elysium tower, and kept glancing his way. Maybe if he talked to her, he could convince her the curse wasn’t something to worry about?

He’d have to convince himself of that, first.

“Mary?” he said. Silence. “Mary, it’s me, Jack. Mom’s here, and I brought a couple friends.” Nothing.

“I can ... feel her,” Fiona said. “Mary? Mary, ye there, lass?”

Jack winced, but said nothing. He didn’t expect Fiona to try talking to a ghost, especially since he’d given instruction to not, but in retrospect, he was an idiot. Of course she’d do that. Damien’d warned him weeks ago that, as he got to know her, it’d become obvious the girl was sort of a fear junkie. She loved taking risks, being exposed to life-threatening situations, and overall being dumb. If she lived long enough, she’d learn.

God, listen to him, sounding like an elder vampire, judging young people for being rash. Antoinette was right, he was growing up too fast.

“Mary. It’s Mom. Can you come out please?”

That did it. The dark, empty house grew darker and emptier. The still air started to turn, and a thin mist began to cover the floor, more and more until it covered their feet, ankles, and touched their knees. The air grew colder, a harsh cold that skipped the skin and went straight for the bones. And silence settled on them like a heavy, wet blanket, drowning the outside world until all that existed was the house they were in.

If they’d tried the doors, Jack bet they would have been locked.

Jack spun his head as movement blipped in the corner of his vision. A face stuck out from around the wall between the kitchen and the upward stairway of the living room, Mary’s face. It was too high though, as if Mary had grown a foot, and was peeking around the edge of the white surface. Her face was white and see-through, and she only stuck her head out enough for him to see her forehead and eyes.

“Mary,” their mom said, and she looked to the living room archway. “Mary, you doing ok, baby girl?” Taking a cue from Jack, she didn’t approach the ghost, not yet, but it was obvious she wanted to. It was obvious to everyone that she’d have thrown herself at Mary to bury her in hugs if she could. But, she couldn’t, and she knew it.

Mary didn’t say anything, but she did manage a small nod.

Damien and Fiona both turned, and froze. Seeing Damien freeze felt almost natural, because the man always froze when he was taking in his surroundings. It meant he was hyper focused on absorbing as much data as he could, as quickly as possible, so he could be ready to react the moment he had to. Mekhet did that, especially the good ones like Tash, and the sheriff. Fiona, on the other hand, froze because she was deer-in-headlights surprised by the sight of a real ghost. Jack could sympathize.

“Mary,” Jack said, smiling and offering his sister a small wave, but otherwise not moving. “Hey. These are my friends, Fiona and Damien. Damien’s a vampire, too. Fiona is ... uh.” Wow. How to explain a nightmare monster succinctly?

“I’m a monster, from nightmares! Rar.” Fiona pawed the air once, like a cat, and she smiled.

Very slowly, like a frightened animal exploring new boundaries, Mary came down the stairs. She had legs down to her knees, and then they faded into a cloudy fog, mixing into the mist covering the floor. Her shoulder-length hair, once dark like his mom’s, was a ghostly white, the same as the rest of her. Her simple shirt, her jeans, her skin, all of it was a sad white, like fading chalk. It made looking at her painful.

“You ... have friends,” Mary said. Her voice was inhuman, but quiet, a whisper; a far cry from the banshee shrieks of last time.

“I do.” He took a step toward her. She didn’t back away. Ok, progress, he could move around and not expect his sis to smash him through a wall again. “Something happened last night, a ... good thing, I guess. Mom and I wanted to talk to you about it.” And Fiona wanted to see a real, actual ghost. He left that point out.

Getting closer to her increased the sensation of cold cutting to his insides. It was coming from her, no doubt about that.

“Something good?” Mary swayed left and right slightly, as if she wasn’t entirely solid. A stiff breeze might have knocked her over, if she had been.

“Yes Mary.” His mom came up beside him, and she hugged his arm, patting his side as she nodded to her daughter. “He ... he got her, Mary. He got Angela. K ... Killed her.”

The room went quiet, again. Only now, after his mom said it, did he truly appreciate just how much he’d changed, compared to his old life. Hearing his mom say the word ‘killed’ struck him hard, and he winced openly, looking down and letting the harshness of it pass.

Momma, I just killed a woman. Put a gun against her head, pulled my trigger, now she’s dead?

“She’s dead?” the ghost said.

“Aye! Dead as ye!” Fiona said. She would have continued, but Damien gave her a small elbow jab in the side.

Everyone slowly turned, and stared at her. Damien visibly winced, and made the tiniest step away from Fiona, as if afraid she’d be getting tossed across the room by a ghostly force in a moment, and he didn’t want to join her. Not exactly the most chivalrous move, but hey, Fiona made the bed, let her be the one to get ghost-swatted in it.

But Mary didn’t throw her around, or stab her with a dozen forks, or do anything. The hovering specter stared at her for a few seconds, before she laughed. Mary’s laugh. Man, how long had it been since Jack had heard his sister’s laugh? Except now it was a twisted, distorted thing, like nails on chalkboard mixed into a normal, human laugh.

“So much ... so much has changed,” the ghost said. “She’s really dead?”

“She is.” Jack walked around the ghost, and did his best to act like it was Mary. He still didn’t know anything about the ghost, whether it was some ghostly afterimage, or actually Mary, or her soul, or anything. Looking at her hurt. He’d said his goodbyes to her corpse, and while his mom didn’t get to do that, she’d gotten to say similar to Mary last time they were here.

Similar, but not close enough to a proper goodbye. And he knew he was going to have to force his mom to have that final goodbye eventually. It was going to suck.

He sat down on the stairs, the ones leading from the upstairs bedrooms hallway into the living room, the one Mary had just floated down from. Mary was a ghost, but whether she was the real Mary or a ghostly afterimage didn’t matter, she was still Mary in a sense. The least he could do was stop treating her like some monster hiding in his old house, and be more at ease around her, if not for her sake, then for his mom’s. She definitely thought of the ghost as the bona fide Mary.

“I killed her,” he continued. “Er, well, Beatrice killed her, actually. I was with her, and helped make it happen.”

Mary floated over to him, and before Jack could say anything, the ghostly creature sat down beside him.

Memories hit him, powerful, painful. They used to do this, before their dad died, sit on the stairs and talk; not that he’d been very good at it, but they did anyway, usually while their parents sat on the couches ten feet away. After their dad died, they didn’t talk all that often, but it still happened from time to time.

“Who’s Beatrice?” Mary asked.

“Another vampire, and a friend. Angela killed her boyfriend, Julias. Remember Julias?”

“Angela ... killed Julias...” The ghost shivered, and her image shuddered along with the motion. Her empty eyes looked down, and her hands rested on her knees over the fog that swallowed the floor. “She hurt a lot of people.”

“She’s gone now, baby,” their mom said. “She’s gone now, and she’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.” She came over to them, stood in front of them and leaned on the railing. Old positions, the way they used to talk while things were cooking in the kitchen beside them. Did they fall into old habits like this because it was the house they grew up in and nostalgia was a powerful force, or because they were trying to keep each other at ease?

“There’s still hunters in the city,” Damien said, “but none of them compare to Jeremiah and Angela.”

“Jeremiah?” the ghost said.

Jack nodded. “Angela’s boss. And adopted father, I suppose. Another person they’d hurt, someone whose wife and son they’d killed, he uh ... ate him. Literally.”

Mary’s eyes went wide. Chilling, seeing those empty sockets. If eyes were windows to the soul, and Mary’s eyes were gone, did that have any significance? So many unanswered questions. He knew Antoinette delved into this sort of stuff, and Samantha was her student, but he also knew Antoinette wouldn’t have shared much information with her new childe yet. All in all, it was quickly becoming apparent that Jack really should have invited Antoinette on this trip.

He was happy to bring Damien because Damien was his best friend. He was ok with Fiona coming because he trusted her, and he knew Fiona and Mary were similar. But neither of them would be able to help with the real problem here: what to do about Mary.

“Monsters,” Mary said, ghostly voice wavering. “We’re ... all monsters.”

“Aye, we are,” Fiona said. She slid over to them, literally sliding her shoes over the floor, and smiled at the group of them. “But that’s awright. I know for ye, it must be strange, being dead and aw, and learning yer family is a bunch of vampires now.”

The idea that Mary might not be the actual Mary apparently did not once cross Fiona’s mind. Or maybe it did, and she just didn’t care. Nice to a fault.

“You could say that.” Mary smiled, a disturbing image, empty gaze pointed at Fiona.

Fiona didn’t even blink. Despite it being Fiona’s, and hell, everyone’s first ghost encounter, ghosts probably ranked pretty low on the strange things Fiona had seen, considering her origins. Or rather, Vrall’s origins. Maybe Fiona knew more than Jack figured?

“What about her mother?” Mary said. “The other ... monster. Athalia.”

Jack frowned. He didn’t remember mentioning anything about Angela’s mother to Mary. Which probably meant his mom had been visiting Mary without telling him, and without telling Antoinette either. God damn it.

“She lives,” Jack said, after giving his mom a harsh glare. “She wasn’t the enemy. But, she’s ... she’s ... pretty broken. I’m not sure what she’s going to do.”

His mom put up a hand, just a few inches, enough to get their attention. “I’m going to talk with her.”

Jack shook his head. “I still don’t think that’s a good, Mom. I don’t even think she’s going to come to the ball.”

“Then I’ll talk with her somewhere else.”

“Mom, you can’t—”

“I’m going to talk to her, Jack. I have to ... have to talk to her.”

“She could kill you!”

“She won’t kill me. You don’t understand.”

“Damn right I don’t understand. She’s a broken woman, Mom, and she hates me. She’ll blame me for what happened to Angela, and—”

“And I blame Angela for what happened to Mary! My daughter is dead because of her, and her mother is a part of that!”

Jack lifted his head, and stared at his mom, eyes going wide. The ghost beside him shimmered, broke into pieces, and melted into the fog. It’d already been cold, sitting beside her, but the temperature dropped a few more degrees, and the mist around their feet rose a foot. Everyone held still and looked around slowly as the lights flickered, darkness creeping up around them. Darker, and darker, until the lights went out entirely.

The mist moved, rolling over the floor, the stairs, and around people’s legs as it began to swirl. The curtains flapped against the rising breeze, and Jack stood up as it increased to a full wind. He grabbed the railing as the cold seeped into his bones, and he gulped down the rising panic. It was stupid to bring Damien and Fiona. Now they were caught up in family drama that was quickly going to turn into a horror story if he didn’t do something.

“Mary,” Jack said, “I ... I came to tell you about Angela, because—”

“I know!” the ghost screamed. Her voice was short, harsh, and a bit of the banshee wail he’d heard from her before joined in. It was not a pleasant noise, and Jack pulled his head back a bit when she spoke. “I ... I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead.”

“I’m sorry baby!” his mom said to the darkness around them. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ... to say it like that.”

Jack shut his mouth and ground his teeth into powder. Much as he loved his sister, his mom was much closer to her. The best Jack was likely to do right now was put Damien and Fiona through what he went through, the first time he met Mary the ghost. Damien could survive that, Fiona might not.

“It’s ... it’s ok...” Slowly, with far greater control than Jack figured an angry banshee creature would be able to summon, Mary calmed down. It took time, a painful eternity of listening to the ghost cry, shriek, wail, and sob. It was crazy how she went from calm and talking one moment, to psychotic the next, but despite that, she started to settle.

“What now?” His mom said. “What ... what do we do now?”

The fog lowered until it covered only their feet again, and Mary’s ghastly noises stopped. With a couple more minutes, Mary’s form reappeared, in the living room a few feet from them, drifting around in a circle close to the ceiling. She looked so sad, even when she smiled.

“I don’t know. I ... I’m happy, happy that Angela’s gone, and Mom and Jack are safe. But I don’t ... don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave.”

“Oh, Mary.” Their mom moved from the railing to the living room, and stood in its center, looking up at her daughter. If Mary had been solid, Jack knew his mom would have been doing everything in her power to hug her as much as she could. “You don’t have to leave! You can stay, as long as you want, and—”

“Mom, you can’t say that.” Jack joined her, and gave Damien a glance over his shoulder as he did. The message was clear: sorry I let you two see this, mistake, please leave. Damien nodded, took the staring Fiona with him, and left.

“I can say what I want. This is my house, and she’s my daughter.”

“Mom, she’s dead! This ... Mary isn’t alive, you said it yourself. This isn’t good for anyone. We have to let her go.”

“We don’t have to do anything!” His mom marched up to him and glared at him, a classic glare he’d grown to hate in the past, her ‘this is how I feel and my feelings are valid no matter what your logic says’ glare. He’d have any easier time breaking a wall with his face, than getting through to her when she was like this.

“Mom,” Mary said, “I—”

“No! No, I don’t want to let you go! I ... I ... don’t want to lose my daughter, like Athalia did hers!”

Silence fell on them again. Even Mary, still hovering around in the air above them, didn’t make a peep, no moan or banshee wail or anything. Everyone stood still, and let the reality sink in.

“Mom,” the ghost said, “it’s ok.” It was eerie, how deathly calm Mary had grown, after listening to her mom lament.

“It’s not ok!”

“Mom.” Mary hovered down to float in front of her. Jack had a hard time looking his dead sister in the face, but his mom didn’t flinch. The fact her daughter had empty eye sockets and gaunt cheeks didn’t bother her at all. “I’ve been ... thinking, a lot. It’s hard to think. Every thought feels real, and I get so lost in them, in the memories, in things that aren’t real.”

“Honey, please, you can—”

“I need to speak, Mom! I need to say this. I need to ... before it slips away.” She shook her head hard, enough for her hair to bounce around in a motion far too jagged to be natural. “It was there, and now it’s gone. Angela, I mean. She ... she killed me, and now it’s gone, the chain around my feet. And that’s ok. It’s all ok. Please, don’t ... don’t make things harder than they have to be. I don’t want to go, but I know I should.”

“But ... baby, that ... that doesn’t mean you have to go.”

“It does, Mom. It does! It ... does!” Mary screamed the last word, and Samantha flinched back. Flinch turned into squeak as Mary’s arms reached out and tried to grab her. Not try, did. Their mom’s squeak turned into a gasp and short-lived scream as Mary’s grip sank into her shoulders, and the moment Mary realized she’d hurt her, she let out her own scream. A proper scream. A banshee’s scream.

Mary flew back, and threw herself into the corner of the room, the corner where they used to keep the Christmas tree. Her body hit the wall hard, and Jack froze for a moment, watching his sister twist and squirm in the corner, as he ran to his mom and set his hands on her shoulders.

“Mom!”

“I’m ok, I’m ok. I...” Her suit jacket was torn in both shoulders, and Jack could see through it to the torn shirt underneath, and torn skin underneath that. If she’d been alive, she’d have been bleeding from ten nasty gashes.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Mary, now curled up in the corner with her hands wrapping her head, peeked up from behind her forearms at them. “Please don’t be mad. Please, I—”

“Mary Terry, you know I could never be mad at you.” As if a ghost hadn’t just nearly ripped her arms off, their mom walked over to the corner with Mary, and knelt down into the mist Mary was half merged with. “I’ll be fine. Vampire, see?” She showed her arms to her daughter’s ghost, smiling the whole time. “It’s ok. You just focus on telling us what you wanted to say.” The pain must have been great, but his mom acted like she wasn’t in pain at all.

Jack frowned from behind his mother, but watching Mary shudder in her corner like a frightened dog, frightened by her own temper, ripped the frown off his face. Ow. The sight of her, trembling, struggling, was cold ice over his body, and all attempts to be impartial about the ghost haunting his old home faded away. He wanted to help her, same as his mom did.

No, you fucking idiot. It’s a ghost. It’s not your sister. You have to help her move on, to pass over into the afterlife, or to disperse into the ethereal or ether, or do whatever it was that ghosts did!

“Sorry, sorry! I ... I have to tell you though, have to, have to.” She forced her arms down, and Jack gulped as he met her face again. The empty eye sockets, he gaunt features, it’d all grown worse, as if she’d begun to rot before their eyes. But, after a few more seconds, she managed to return to her earlier self, doing her best to look good for her mom and brother. “Thank you Jack, for getting ... for killing Angela. I can feel it, a tether, a noose, it’s gone.”

“Then—”

“I can’t! I can’t. Something’s ... something’s out there, Mom. Something’s going on, and I can see it.”

“See it?” Jack said.

“See it! There’s lines. Someone drew lines. They’re ... they’re in the city.”