Chapter 32 Jace
JACE
Sometimes, secrets unravel slowly, like tugging on a loose thread until there’s nothing left except for a pile of yarn.
Little by little, life becomes a messy heap, barely recognizable from how it started.
Cyrus disappearing was my loose thread, one I incessantly pulled at until everything came undone.
The beauty in it, though, is that the yarn is still here, waiting to be sewn back into something better.
Yearning seeps into every crevice of my heart at even the small possibility of a second chance, no matter how skeptical I am of its source.
“Where do you think he keeps it?” I ask Cyrus, weaving through the trees on our way to his former home. I shudder, scrunching my face. “I hope it’s not in the basement. Did you know there are bones down there?”
“Bones?” Cyrus raises an eyebrow in question but doesn’t look surprised. “He used to go hunting, but he hasn’t since Ezra died.”
“No, this wasn’t an animal bone. It was too long—too human.”
He swallows, closing his eyes like I’ve confirmed something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “The fences... At the end of every fall, he sure spent a lot of time digging holes. Maybe he never stopped what his brother started.”
“But the thing—what that creature said—the sacrifices weren’t what it wanted.” My voice shakes as I try to make sense of this gruesome possibility.
“I don’t reckon he knew that,” Cyrus sighs. “Or he just didn’t care. Either way, we have the chance to stop it—stop him from hurting anyone else.”
“Do you think he keeps the spell jar down there too?” My next words gag me, sitting sour on my tongue. “Down there with the bones?”
“If I had to guess, under the bed. That’s where Mama kept hers.” He shrugs, his eyes unfocused, like he’s lost in his thoughts.
“Your mama?” My eyebrows shoot up. “She was part of them too?”
“No,” he says sharply, shaking his head.
“I secretly think she hated my old man as much as anyone but wanted to stay close to her sister. For a time, she, Pearl, and Magnolia used to all get together when their husbands were gone on those huntin’ trips.
I used to sneak out of bed to see what they were up to.
I found a jar under their bed once, while I was snoopin’ around right after she died.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now, I reckon’ he was the one who made it. ”
“You mean after all the hell you gave me for bein’ a snoop as a kid, you were one this whole time?” I narrow my eyes, staring daggers at his back, but I burst out laughing when he turns around with a grin.
“I’m better at not bein’ caught. Bein’ sneaky has never been your thing, Jace. I watched you strugglin’ to bring that box from the shed into the house.”
If I wasn’t dead, my cheeks would be scarlet. Suddenly, it all makes sense: the feeling of being watched, the smell, thinking I was seeing him in my dreams. “Have you been hangin’ around this whole time?”
Cyrus nods sheepishly. “Are you mad?”
“Part of me wants to be, just so I don’t let you off the hook so easily, but no,” I admit, my voice dropping as a wave of melancholy washes over me. “Feels like a waste of energy when there’s so much else to be mad at.”
We walk on in silence until the cabin lights appear through the trees.
The surrounding air becomes heavy, each step feeling like it takes longer to complete.
A barn owl sails over our heads, landing on a nearby branch.
I leap towards Cyrus, keeping my eyes on the owl.
The centers of its dark eyes glow like smoldering coals—the same red-orange as the monster.
“It’s watching us,” Cyrus whispers, acknowledging the owl. “It’ll be waitin’ for when we bring Elias out.”
“Is that…?” My words fail me as a shiver races through my body. Cyrus nods. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder, something stranger happens to remind me I truly know nothing about this world.
Getting inside the house is no easy task. It takes several tries for one of us to grip the knob on the back door firmly enough to turn it. I make several attempts, my fingers slipping right through the metal each time. “Why don’t we just walk through the door?” I groan.
“I wish it worked like that,” Cyrus sighs, “but I only seem to go through things when I’m not trying.
It doesn’t exactly feel great either.” He gives it a try, finally managing to twist it after his third shot.
The door creaks open, the hinges screaming.
My chest tightens, waiting to see if Elias will stumble in.
When he doesn’t, we creep through the kitchen, stopping to peek into the living room before we enter.
Elias sits on the couch, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey while he flips through static-filled channels on the television.
He only pauses to scratch his belly and grunt about the bad reception.
“Grouchy bastard. I tried to get him to change to satellite,” Cyrus chuckles darkly.
I stifle a snicker behind my hand, not sure if he’s able to hear us.
“I’m glad to see death hasn’t touched your dark sense of humor,” I laugh, swatting playfully at his arm.
It almost feels normal, not like we’re searching for some artifact to destroy so monsters out in the woods can kill his pop.
My heart sinks, reminding me just how much everything has so rapidly changed.
My thoughts become a sea of panic, drowning me in my new reality.
I go to suck in air, but my chest burns when I try.
Breathing exercises are apparently useless when you don’t have lungs.
“Jace,” Cyrus whispers, rubbing my arm. “Jace, I’m here. You’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” I squeak, still frozen in place. “I’m dead, Cyrus. You’re dead. And we’re here...we’re here to help those things out there kill him.”
“You’re not wrong, but we’re also dead because of him.
Think about how many other people he’s hurt, how many others he’s killed—all those faces on the flyers.
They’d still be here too, if not for him and Ezra.
” Cyrus grips my hands, pleading me with his eyes.
“You can do this, little doe. You don’t have to keep being the deer stuck in the headlights. ”
The deer stuck in the headlights. That’s what I’ve always been—wide eyed and afraid, scared to make a move, scared to pick a direction, fearing it might be wrong. I’ve always let other peoples’ choices hit me head on, hoping it wouldn’t instead of getting out of the way.
“Which way is his room?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“That’s my girl!” Cyrus praises, kissing me on the forehead. “It’s down the hall. We should be able to walk right past him. He never takes much notice of me anyway, not unless I want him to see me.”
Sure enough, we walk straight through the living room undetected. Elias’ eyes shift towards us as we walk past, but they fall right back to the television screen. He mumbles something incoherent, shivering slightly as we pass.
“This feels too easy,” I whisper as we reach the hallway.
“Even if he could see us, he’s probably so drunk, he’ll think he’s imagining it.” Cyrus shakes his head, a deep-rooted anger in his words. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve screamed in his face, only for him to rub his eyes and mumble about needing to cut back on his whiskey.”
The door to Elias’ room is open, and I sigh in relief.
The light from the living room illuminates a small path leading to the bed.
We wade through the piles of dirty clothes and trash strewn around the room across the floor.
Old newspapers are tacked onto the wall, but it’s hard to make out what’s on them in the dark.
My nose crinkles, my brain conjuring what this place must smell like, even though I can’t actually smell anything at all.
Cyrus kneels, looking under the bed, while I stand cautiously behind him.
“Do you see anything?” I ask, looking behind me toward the door every few seconds. Cyrus grunts, crawling further underneath. The couch creaks from the living room, and uneven footsteps stumble down the hall. “Cyrus, hurry! He’s coming.”
“Holy shit, it’s really under here,” Cyrus exclaims, his voice muffled. There’s a scraping noise, glass against wood, and he groans, letting out several curse words. “Shit. I can’t tip it over.”
I dive to the floor, squeezing in beside Cyrus. Each time he reaches for the jar, it scoots just a little further away. My face falls, my stomach dropping like I’ve missed a step going down the stairs. “Cyrus, it has a lid. Even if you knock it over, it’s not going to break.”
A shadow casts over the light from the hallway. “What in tarnation is making all that racket?” Elias hollers, staggering into the room. “Tha hell is goin’ on in here?”
Raw terror detonates inside me, and I throw my hand towards the jar, not stopping until I feel the glass collide with my palm.
The room goes silent for a second, like all the sound in the world has been sucked out.
My ears ring, the noise returning in an explosion of shattering glass.
The jar bursts into pieces, scattering in all directions.
A deep growl reverberates through the room—and Elias screams.