Chapter 24 In The Hollow Hours #2
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out.
A sharp crack split the night behind us, a branch or a footstep maybe. Rita was on her feet in an instant. The cigarette dropped from her fingers, crushed under her heel as her shoulders squared and her weight shifted to the balls of her feet.
“Who…?” I started, but Rita’s eyes had already gone wide and blank, seeing something I couldn’t.
“Run,” she hissed, voice lower than a whisper. She shoved me, hard, and I stumbled over the bench. “Go. Now.”
In that moment, I didn’t question it.
I bolted, heart hammering so loud it drowned out every other sound.
I heard Rita behind me, heard the frantic scuffle of boots on the brick floor, heard her curse as she hit the ground running.
My legs pumped on autopilot, driving me back toward the main path, toward the thin, fragile safety of streetlights and other people.
But I glanced back, even though every horror movie had taught me not to, and I saw him.
Or it.
A man stepping out from the darkness beneath the arcade.
He had the build of a linebacker, but the proportions didn’t quite add up.
The shoulders were too narrow for the width of its chest, limbs hanging like they’d been assembled without instructions.
His eyes were bloodshot, the whites veined and irritated.
The glow wasn’t bright; it was concentrated, steady, as if he’d swallowed the moon whole and it was burning to get out.
He didn’t even look at me. His focus was all on Rita, who had stopped dead at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t!” Rita barked, and her voice carried an edge I’d never heard in a human throat before.
The man… no, the thing… tilted its head, considering her. Then it smiled, slow and wide. The fangs weren’t elegant; they were long and uneven, slightly curved and set a little too far forward, as if the mouth hadn’t been designed to house them properly.
When it growled, the sound didn’t rise from its chest so much as vibrate through it. My knees weakened, not from fear alone, but from the dawning realization that this thing wasn’t wild.
It was built.
Rita reached into her jacket, pulled something out, glass or metal, I couldn’t tell, and hurled it at the thing.
It moved faster than my eyes could follow, sidestepping the missile as if dodging a falling leaf.
The glass shattered against a pillar, spraying shards that glinted blue in the moonlight.
I ran.
I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I ran until my lungs ached and my legs grew watery, until the world narrowed to the tunnel of light at the end of the path.
Behind me, I heard shouts.
A scream, Rita’s, sharp and raw.
Then, silence.
Branches slashed at my face and arms as I ran through mud and wet leaves to the edge of the park and onto the nearest avenue. Streetlights. Cars. A couple fighting in front of a bodega.
I didn’t stop running until I was three blocks away, hunched over a subway grate and retching with hands shaking so bad I couldn’t even pull out my phone.
I managed, finally, to dial the only number that mattered. The only person who could maybe make sense of any of this.
Aiden picked up on the first ring.
“Josie?” he said, voice so familiar it made me want to sob.
I tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken, jagged sob. “I saw something,” I said. “No. Someone saw me. They’re coming.”
Aiden’s breath caught. “Where are you?”
I looked around, dizzy and lost. The subway grate at my feet told me I was near 72nd and Broadway.
“I’m close to Lincoln Center,” I managed to say, my voice trembling. “But… I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. I wanted to go home, to climb into bed with Mateo and forget all about fae and sources and monsters with bloodshot eyes.
But I couldn’t.
Not now.
I pressed myself into the shadows behind a bus shelter and waited, heart pounding, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to run again if I had to.
I wondered if Rita had gotten away.
I wondered what the thing in the park wanted with me.
I wondered what Ava had tried to say, and if it had cost her more than her life.
Aiden materialized out of nowhere, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. He looked like he’d just run a marathon, but his eyes found mine instantly, sharp and assessing, taking stock of every inch, every tremor, every scrape on my face.
He didn’t ask questions.
He just strode over, wrapped his arm around my waist, and steered me out of the open, into the hush of a side street.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, thumb brushing the raw skin at my cheekbone.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said. My body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. “You came fast.”
“I was already close.” He hovered between concern and anger, the latter reserved for anyone who dared lay a finger on me. “Talk.”
I drew a breath, chest tight as a drum.
“Rita. She set up a meeting. Said she had answers about Ava. But someone, or something, was waiting for her… maybe both of us. It wasn’t human, Aiden. I saw its eyes.”
His jaw tightened, muscles bunching, ready to snap. “Describe it.”
“Tall. Wrong, somehow. His eyes were bloodshot and glowing, like something burning behind them. And when he smiled…” I swallowed. “The teeth didn’t belong in his mouth. Nothing about him felt natural.”
I shook my head, remembering the way it moved. “And he was fast. Too fast.”
Aiden exhaled sharply. “Did it touch you? Did you feel anything weird?”
Weird was my baseline, but I shook my head. “No. Just… terror. And a compulsion to run.”
“Good instinct,” he muttered. After a minute, he said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
There was a tremor in his voice, barely controlled, like the words were barely holding back something bigger and meaner behind them.
The air around us seemed thinner as Aiden hustled me toward the curb.
His black SUV was parked illegally in a red zone, engine running, hazard lights blinking like tiny, frantic eyes.
The inside still smelled like him: pine needles, rainwater, and the sharp, metallic scent that always crept in after he’d shifted.
He didn’t wait for me to buckle up before shifting into gear.
The car glided through the city streets, enveloped in a heavy silence.
The hum of the engine was the only sound, a low thrum contrasting sharply with the chaos still echoing in my mind.
Aiden’s grip on the steering wheel was tight as he navigated the familiar routes, his gaze fixed ahead, scanning every shadow.
I sat in the passenger seat, heart still racing, unspoken words hanging between us like a thick fog.
The city lights flickered by, casting fleeting shadows across his face.
Each passing moment felt stretched, as if time itself was holding its breath.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and watched the city warp around us.
The closer we got to my building, the more I wished we could keep driving, just detour off the grid and never stop. But Aiden was single-minded, and we were home in minutes. He double-parked at the curb and got out before I could protest.
He opened my door and offered a steadying hand. Mine were shaking so badly I almost fumbled the door handle, but Aiden’s grip was solid and warm. He insisted on walking me to my door, which I should have expected. The chivalry of it nearly made me laugh. Hysterically.
We climbed the stairs side by side, our footsteps echoing in the narrow space. Aiden’s presence beside me felt both comforting and charged. When we reached my floor, warmth enveloped us as I pushed open the door. The familiar scent of lavender mingled with boiled potatoes wafted through the air.
Inside, Mrs. White sat upright in the armchair, a single lamp casting a syrupy circle of light.
She didn’t flinch when she saw Aiden. I tried to thank her, but my voice kept catching on panic lodged behind my tongue.
Mrs. White just bobbed her head, then turned to Aiden and gave him a measured look.
“Mateo had a nightmare,” she said calmly. “He wanted to wait for you in his room, so I let him.” She glanced at Aiden again, this time with a tiny, approving smirk. “You’ll keep them safe, yes?”
Aiden nodded once.
“With my life.” It wasn’t bravado, it was fact.
Mrs. White stood, smoothing her skirt with both hands. To me, she said, “Sleep if you can. Tomorrow will be different.” As she reached the threshold, she turned back, winked, and flashed a grin.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Aiden and me alone in the humming quiet. I slumped onto the couch.
For a long moment, Aiden just stood there, staring at the floor like it owed him an apology. Only when he was sure I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle did he come sit beside me.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said, not quite managing to make it sound like I meant it. “I’ll be fine. Mateo’s safe, and Mrs. White…”
“If I leave now, I’ll lose my mind,” Aiden said. The admission hovered between us, too raw for comfort. “Whatever that thing was, it followed you,” he pressed quietly, jaw set. “They’ll know where to look.”
A ripple of cold spilled through my veins. There was something off about the air, a subtle shift.
“I…” My voice cracked, and I tried again, softer. “I need to check on Mateo.”
The urge was so sudden, so overwhelming, that I didn’t question it. I stood and walked fast down the hall. Aiden stalked behind me, silent and watchful.
Teo’s bedroom door stood ajar, moonlight slanting in over the carpet. My son stood by the window, pajama-clad and barefoot, his focus fixed on the glass.
“Teo?” I kept my voice low, but he didn’t turn.
His finger moved slowly over the glass, tracing a shape I couldn’t quite make out. The words spilling from his mouth weren’t English. Not Spanish. The rhythm was wrong. Older. Layered with a kind of rhythm that ticked at the back of my skull like an old clock.
I stepped into the room, heart pounding in my throat. “Teo, honey. It’s late.”
“Mom,” he said, suddenly lucid, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. “The river is talking. It’s under the ground. It wants me to remember.”
He blinked, once, twice, like he was waking up in a body that had only just become his again. I lunged, pulled him close, and felt his body go rigid in my arms.
“It’s okay,” I whispered into his hair.
But I wasn’t sure either of us believed it.
The room felt colder than it should, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching us from the alley behind our building.
I wrapped Teo in the softest blanket I could find and tucked him into bed, hoping that the magic in the familiar would outweigh whatever ancient thing had found him tonight.
Aiden lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning every corner. “Never seen that before,” he muttered. “Did you catch any of the words?”
I shook my head, clutching the edge of Teo’s comforter. “I barely recognized him. He gets like this sometimes…”
I pulled the tattered journal from the nightstand, thumbed through the pages, and found the entry I’d read so many times it felt like a prayer.
Ava’s handwriting, back-slanted and urgent: “The river spoke in riddles. It lives below us, whispering to anyone who will listen. Sometimes, I think it’s trying to help. Sometimes, I think it’s just hungry.”
The words crawled up my spine and made a nest at the base of my skull. I closed the journal hard enough to make the binding gasp.
Aiden’s hand closed gently on my shoulder. “Come on,” he said, his voice stripped of anything but command. “Sit with me. We’ll keep watch.”
I followed him back to the living room, the journal clutched so tightly my knuckles were white. When I sank into the familiar couch cushions, I felt the weight of every memory I’d ever had in this room press in from all sides.
Aiden didn’t touch me again; he just sat nearby, the heat from his body blooming outward in slow, steady pulses.
The fridge provided the only other sound in the apartment, humming and clattering.
I stared at the wall in front of me and knew that this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
I couldn’t do this alone anymore, and the admission felt like a fist unclenching around my heart.
Aiden watched me for a time. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink much. When he finally spoke, it was with the careful calibration of a man who expected his words to be used as evidence against him.
“You did good with Mateo,” he said, not bothering to feign softness. “You kept him calm.”
I traced the ridges of the journal with my thumb.
“He said the river was talking to him. That it wants him to remember.” Saying the words out loud made them heavier, more real. “He’s only eleven, Aiden. This shouldn’t be happening.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, maybe for privacy, maybe for the ghosts he seemed to think were listening. “You have to understand. The Source has always been dangerous, but now, it’s hungry. It’s waking up. And it remembers those who tried to seal it away.”
A chill seeped through me. “What does that mean? Tried to seal it away?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s just a story. An old one. Before the wolves, before the vampires, before any of us existed in the forms we do now, some people tried to keep the Source from devouring the world.
Some say they succeeded, for a while. But nothing that old ever stays buried. ”
I stared at the journal, remembering the way Ava’s handwriting always tilted left, as if she was in a hurry to outrun her own secrets. “Ava believed it. She died for it.”
Aiden’s jaw flexed. “She’s not the first. She won’t be the last.”
We lapsed into silence, but it was a silence dense with shared fear. I could still see the shape of my son, silhouetted by moonlight, talking to something I couldn’t see or understand, and I wanted to scream at the universe for making any of this my responsibility.
Instead, I hugged my knees to my chest and tried to remember how to breathe.
The fridge kicked again, louder this time. I drew in a long breath, letting it shudder out.
“Tell me everything you know,” I said, and the words felt more like a blood pact than a request. “About werewolves. And the Source. And whatever the hell is happening to my son.”
Aiden nodded, and I watched his hands flex and unflex, as if he were already bracing for battle.