Chapter 22 - Cyrus
CYRUS
If you care about her, you won’t be just another thing haunting her dreams.
Roux’s parting words spin in circles around my mind.
Whatever way she meant it, she’s right. Even when I’m not haunting her physically, the memory of me is.
I can’t take away the pain I’ve caused, the damage of my unexplained absence.
I should be blaming my father, yet I can’t help but think if I never came back to begin with, this all would have ended differently.
Every time she speaks of me, another piece splinters off, splitting her apart as she desperately tries to hold herself together.
I tried to protect her from the secrets—burdens never hers to bear.
Instead, I left her to hold them alone. The disconnect to her family’s past, her memories of me, they both torment her more than any phantom.
Am I just another ghost swirling beside them inside her mind?
I knock a picture frame off the living room wall.
It crashes to the floor, glass shattering in all directions.
My old man barely twitches, fast asleep on the couch.
His snores echo off the walls in an annoying cadence, reminding me I’m no more a bother to him dead than I was alive.
When he finally stumbles to bed, he’ll assume he knocked it down himself in a drunken stupor.
It’s hard to haunt someone who has no recollection of their own actions.
I could crash through the entire house, destroying it, and he’d assume he’d done it in a blacked out fit of rage.
“Stay away from me,” my father whines, still asleep but stirring restlessly. His body jerks from side to side, struggling against invisible restraints. Drool trails from the corner of his mouth, dribbling off his chin. “I said git away from me. I don’t have what you want.”
I move closer to him, close enough to whisper in his ear. His nightmares have gotten more frequent. Each time he cries out in his sleep, I play into it, enhancing the terror he’s seeing behind his eyelids. “What do you think I want?”
“Take the girl,” he gasps, choking on the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Not me. You got the boy, take the girl!”
“What girl?” I ask, surprised by a new response. His voice cracks, but he doesn’t say anything. “What girl, Elias?”
“Please,” he begs, writhing on the couch. “Not me, not me. Her.”
“Who?” I’m practically shouting in his ear now, ready to shake the answer from him.
“I already gave you my boy, take the girl.” Tears roll from his still closed eyes. A low whine, like an injured animal, comes from his throat. “The girl, please.”
The old man shoots forward, wheezing between heavy gulps of air.
His eyes are wild, bloodshot and so wide, I’m shocked they don’t pop out and roll across the room.
Sweat coats his face, mixing with the trails of his tears.
He looks around frantically, like whatever he was bargaining with might still be in the room with us.
Spittle sprays from his mouth as he coughs, sending little drops flying through me.
I shudder, imagining how they’d feel landing on my skin instead.
“The girl?” I ask again, my voice barely above a whisper this time. My pop’s head jerks around, searching for the disembodied voice. “What fucking girl, Elias?”
He talks in his sleep more often than not, especially after a long night and a bottle of whiskey, but it’s always me he offers to the monster in his dreams. Whoever this girl is, she’s a new addition to his feverish hallucinations.
My father wipes the sweat from his brow with a shaky hand before reaching into the pocket of his pants.
His fist opens on his lap, revealing a crinkled piece of paper.
It’s torn around the edges, wrinkled but damp enough with sweat that it lies flat when he unfolds it.
There, written in rushed handwriting, are two words:
SHE KNOWS
“Fuckin’ hell,” Elias grumbles, tossing the paper away.
It flutters to the floor, where he promptly smashes it beneath his boot.
His upper lip curls into a snarl, and his nostrils flare, snorting out enraged bursts of air.
For several minutes, he remains on the couch, panting with anger.
His foot twists on top of the paper, like he can grind it into the wood.
I sink into the couch, staring at him and waiting for the inevitable outburst. Jace’s pop must have found a way to slip him a note, give him a warning one of their many secrets has been exposed.
It had to be him—who else would be giving my old man a handwritten note?
Pop has never responded well to any light shining on the hollow darkness he carries inside him.
The feeling Jace is now in danger plagues me.
Dread snakes through me, spreading until it’s completely ensnared me.
Any thought of staying away from Jace while attempting to untangle my emotions evaporates.
There’s no time to make sense of my feelings or plan what to do next before I go to her again.
Not after seeing the note or the look on my pop’s face.
I recall the notebook page I found, hidden amongst the other proof of transgressions I’m sure our fathers wish they could forget. Jace’s face had a red circle around it. Someone made those notes recently. My photo and Mattie’s were already crossed out—she died last year.
An agonizing sensation buzzes inside me as I make my way back to the Landrys’ farm, a swarming mix of alarm and terror.
I pace along the edge of the woods just outside of the field.
As my courage builds, I wander out into the open space, making my way closer to the house.
The harrowing dread eases slightly, but the tension remains thick, like wading through dense summer mud.
I peek inside Jace’s bedroom window first, but it’s empty.
From somewhere else inside the house, muffled voices escalate into shouts.
The distinct sound of glass breaking cuts through them.
I dash around the house, hoping I’m not too late.
Before I make it to another window, the front door crashes open, and footsteps crunch through the snow.
Jace sprints past me, tears streaming down her face and clouds of hot air fanning in front of her.
She runs towards the woods, boots in her hand instead of on her feet.
I step in front of the still-open doorway, looking into the living room.
Her pop stares blankly at the wall, his shoulders dipping but his hands clenched.
Kate is sobbing into her palms, her whole body shaking.
Neither of them move to chase after their daughter who just took off barefoot out into the cold.
Rage explodes from me, rattling my body with shockwaves of hostility.
I don’t need to know the details of what transpired to know it was their fault, their actions causing Jace to flee into the growing darkness over the security of a warm home.
I step inside, my arm flying out to knock a vase off the entryway table.
It crashes to the floor, causing Kate to yelp as artificial flowers land at her feet.
Leroy jumps back, his head snapping to the doorway.
His face draws tightly into a frown, his eyes lingering briefly to where I’m standing.
I know he doesn’t see me, because he turns and storms up the stairs.
“What if she’s going there?” her mama wails, but Leroy only answers her by slamming a door.
If only she’d spoken up in her daughter’s defense moments earlier, maybe she wouldn’t need to worry about where she’s gone.
I leave them to their own issues, kicking the front door shut behind me and turning to chase after Jace.
My little doe is faster than I anticipated, making it to the tree line before I’ve even leaped off the porch.
It’s too cold for her to stay out here long, though, especially with what she’s wearing.
There’s nothing but an endless expanse of woods in the direction she’s heading.
Does she even know where she’s going? A sickening realization dawns on me, remembering the note in my pop’s hand.
There is one place in that direction: my former home.
Fuck. I try to run faster, focusing on appearing right behind her.
My manifestations are futile, instead feeling like I’m moving my phantom limbs in slow motion.
Jace gets further away, and I seem to stay in the same fucking place.
“Jace!” I scream, willing her to hear me through the sound of the wind.
I swear, I see her look over her shoulder just as she disappears into the dark.
The trees warp as I enter the woods, twisting like they’re trying to encapsulate me.
Their branches knit together overhead, blocking out the dimming light.
Jace disappears from view, and I’m left staring into the dark.
Pressure builds in the air around me, the tension pushing against me as I struggle forward.
My body tingles like I’m moving through an invisible wall, each step taking an immense amount of effort—and that’s when I hear it.
Bramble crunches beyond the trees ahead of me, followed by a bloodcurdling screech.
The shrillness pierces my ears until it fades into a gurgling gasp, like the creature is trying to speak instead of scream.
“Cyrus,” it chokes, the syllables grinding like it’s unsure they’re right. The raspy tone is faintly reminiscent of my father’s, but alarmingly wrong. “It’s almost time.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I scream back to the darkness.
Snow drifts from the trees, scattering in a blanket of white.
Branches bend, splintering and cracking as a massive set of elk antlers pushes through them.
A skull emerges, held up by a skeletal body covered in moss and rotten remnants of flesh.
Orange balls of light blaze in the eye sockets, like flickering embers of coal.
Fear freezes me, making my next words die on my tongue.
“Time,” it speaks again, voice crackling as it adjusts in pitch. The monster steps closer, looming at least a foot above me. “What is owed.”
My mind scrambles, like an engine stuttering to start, as I try to find meaning in its words.
My lip quivers, but before I can give a response, the skull tilts back at a sickening angle.
The creature cocks its head, like it’s listening to a noise more deserving of its attention.
The loss of focus breaks the trance over me.
I dart to the right, moving away from the horror in the path ahead to get back in the direction I was heading.
The creature’s unseen hold on me continues to relinquish as I stumble forward, the air thinning the further I get.
I plead with myself, the metaphysical limitations I can’t understand, to just appear on the porch of my pop’s home and leave this creature behind.
The trees whip past me, blurring together.
Underbrush tears through me as I push myself faster, making my body hum with a tingling static.
I sigh with relief, the front door finally only steps away.
Bursting through the solid wood ignites the static in my body, pain searing through me.
I barely make it past the door before Jace’s face is careening toward me, my father’s hand at the back of her head.
Helplessly, I stand there, unable to catch her, as she collapses, falling straight through me and cracking her skull against the floor.
No. I’m too late.