Chapter 7
The Way Back
The door creaked loudly as it swung open, revealing the early morning darkness outside.
Mark took the first step outside, his soles making a soft crunch on the gravel of the
driveway. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, searching for any signs of danger. He
motioned for the rest of the group to follow, his hand signaling them to stay quiet. As they
filed out behind him, the chill morning air washed over them, a stark contrast to the stale,
musty air of the armory. The chirping of the morning birds filled the air, their cheerful songs
belying the dangerous world that lay ahead. Mark led the way, his steps careful and
measured as he tried to avoid any noise. The rest of the group followed behind, their
footsteps barely audible on the gravel. It was still dark outside, the only source of light being
the faint glow of the stars and the moon. As they walked, the silence of the morning was
occasionally broken by the sound of a distant animal or the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
The cold air stung their cheeks, a reminder of the harsh reality they were facing.
Everyone stopped walking as the piercing scream of an angel echoed through the air. Dylan's
face paled, his eyes wide. He muttered something about the angel still being at his parent's
house, frustration and anger in his voice. "Why doesn't it just leave?" he muttered aloud.
The others could see the pain and sorrow etched on Dylan's face, and they tried to offer
words of comfort. "It'll be okay, Dylan," Emma said gently. "We'll figure something out."
Eric felt a pang of concern as he looked at Dylan. The young boy's eyes were fixed on a point
just ahead, where the road began to curve closer to the edge of the forest. Eric couldn't
shake the feeling that something was amiss, and he decided to ask Dylan if he was alright.
"Dylan," Eric said softly. "Are you okay?"
But Dylan's response was short and noncommittal. "Yeah," he muttered, his eyes still fixated
on the road ahead. As the group walked, the point slowly encroached closer, the trees
casting long shadows in the dim light. Eric noticed how Dylan's expression hardened with
each step they took towards the edge of the forest. He knew what was going through Dylan's
mind. He knew that the young boy was planning something reckless, something that would
put himself in danger.
But Eric felt torn. He wanted to stop Dylan, to keep him safe from harm. But he also knew
that he couldn't stop Dylan from doing what he had set his mind to. As they continued
walking, Mark called out to the group, his voice low and cautious. "We're reaching the edge of
the forest," he warned. "We'll be in direct view of any angels outside. When I say go, we're
going to sprint across the open area and get back into the safety of the trees on the other
side, alright?"
Everyone nodded in agreement, their expressions tense as they prepared themselves for the
dash across the open road.
When the road approached, everyone began sprinting across the open area, their feet
pounding against the road as they rushed towards the safety of the trees. But Eric noticed
that Dylan wasn't with them. He turned just in time to see Dylan darting off in the direction of
the nearby houses.
Eric's heart sank as he realized where Dylan was going. He knew that Dylan was running
towards his parents' house, towards the angel that was still waiting there. Eric felt a sense
of helplessness wash over him as he watched Dylan disappear from sight, turning a corner
and heading towards his parent's house. He regretted not having said anything to stop the
young boy, but he knew that it was too late now.
Madison tried to shout out for Dylan, but Mark quickly silenced her, a sad expression on his
face. "Don't," Mark said quietly. "It's too late now." A tense silence fell over the group as they
watched Dylan disappear around the corner, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of what
was about to happen. They knew that Dylan was about to face the angel that was waiting for
him at his parents' house, and they could do nothing but wait and hope that he would make it
out alive.
Eric stood stock-still, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He wondered if he had done
the wrong thing by not trying to stop Dylan, and he silently cursed himself for his inaction.
As the group heavyheartedly started to move again, no one said a word as silence filled the
environment. Then everyone flinched as the air was suddenly filled with the ominous howl of
several angels, their cries echoing through the early morning air. And then, a blood-curdling
scream pierced the silence, a sound that sent shivers down everyone's spines. They knew in
an instant that it was the scream of Dylan, a sound of pure horror, malice, and pain. It was a
sound that transported them back to that fateful day when their nightmare had begun. Even
though they didn't see it, they knew with a sickening certainty that Dylan was gone. The
silence that followed the scream said it all. The group stood frozen, their faces pale and their
hearts heavy with grief. They had lost one of their own, and there was nothing they could do
to change it.
Dylan stood facing the corner, tears streaming down his face. It was just another usual day
for him. He could hear the snickers and taunts of the other boys around him, their laughter a
cruel and mocking symphony. He felt small and insecure, his frail body quivering with each
harsh word that was hurled at him. The group of boys surrounding Dylan continued their
relentless barrage of cruel taunts. "Bastard," one of the boys sneered. "sissy," said another,
his voice dripping with condescension. "Nobody loves you," added another, his face twisted in
a cruel grin. "You're worthless, not even your parents like you" jeered another, laughing
cruelly as he saw the tears streaming down Dylan's face. The leader of the group, a stocky
kid with a cruel glint in his eyes, sauntered up to Dylan. "Hey, bastard," he sneered, his voice
dripping with contempt. "What are you crying for? You can't take a little bit of teasing?"
The other kids snickered and jeered, their taunts echoing through the air like a chorus of
torment. "Yeah," one of them piped up. "You're just a little crybaby. How about you toughen
up?"
A teacher finally appeared, their face stern and irritable. They looked at Dylan, still
snivelling in the corner, and sighed in annoyance. "What's going on here?" they demanded,
their voice carrying a harsh tone.
The leader boy sneered at Dylan, who was now trembling more than ever. "He's just being a
baby," he said with a shrug.
The teacher glanced at Dylan and grumbled. "Stop whining, kid," they snapped. "You can't cry
every time somebody teases you. Grow up."
Dylan sat alone at a table, picking at his dry, stale sandwich. It was what his sister had left
over from yesterday, but he didn't mind. Suddenly, a girl approached him, her eyes shy and
her smile tentative.
"Hi," she said, her voice soft and uncertain. "Is it okay if I sit here? I'm new and I'm looking to
make some friends." Dylan looked up, surprised and a little cautious. He wasn't used to
people approaching him, especially girls.
"Uh, sure," he mumbled, shifting over slightly to make room for her at the table. The girl
smiled and sat down, setting her lunch tray on the table. There was an awkward pause as
neither of them knew what to say. Dylan fidgeted with his sandwich, feeling self-conscious
about his shabby clothes and unwashed hair. Finally, the girl spoke up.
"So, what's your name?" she asked, her voice friendly but tentative. Dylan swallowed the
lump in his throat. "D-Dylan," he muttered, his eyes avoiding hers. He was nervous, not used
to being talked to like this.
Just as Dylan was starting to relax, a harsh voice cut through the air, causing him to tense
up again. A group of older boys were standing nearby, their faces twisted with disdain.
"He's a bastard," one of them sneered. "You don't want to waste your time with him." Dylan
felt his stomach tighten as the boy's words echoed through his head. He knew what the boys
were referring to. He knew that the other kids whispered behind his back, knowing that the
reason for his miserable existence was due to his father's infidelity. He lowered his head,
tears stinging his eyes again.
The group of boys chuckled amongst themselves, enjoying the effect that their words were
having. They knew just how to push Dylan's buttons.
"That's right, freak," one of them jeered. "Your dad's a whore and your mom's a fool. You're
just a sorry bastard who shouldn't even be here."
The girl fidgeted with her fingers, looking guilty as she spoke. "I'm sorry, Dylan," she said, her
voice hesitant and filled with remorse. "My mom wouldn't like it if I made friends with you."
Dylan's heart sank, her words confirmation of what he already knew. He was an outcast, an
embarrassment. Even the nicest kids didn't want to be associated with him because of his
tainted heritage. Dylan put on a brave face and forced a small smile. "It's okay," he mumbled,
his voice quiet and resigned. He knew that no one wanted to be around him due to his
unfortunate circumstances. He was used to people shunning him, treating him as if he was
worthless.
Dylan stood on the sidewalk outside the school, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He
watched as the other kids were picked up by their parents or guardians, their parents calling
out to them lovingly and smiling at their child. He longed to feel that, to have someone care
about him like that.
The girl from earlier came out with her mother, and Dylan watched as the girl hugged her
mother, the two of them laughing together. The sight hurt him, a reminder of what he didn't
have. As he watched the scene unfolding before him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of
jealousy. He yearned for that kind of affection, for someone to come pick him up and make
sure he got home safely. But year after year, it was the same. He was left alone to walk
home by himself, the long journey stretching before him in the cold winter air.
Dylan trudged through the silent streets, the cold winter air biting at his skin. His sneakers
were worn and his jacket torn, but he didn't care. All he could think about was the loneliness
that engulfed him like a heavy blanket.
As he turned a corner, he caught sight of some children playing in the snow. They were
laughing and throwing snowballs at each other, their cheeks rosy with happiness. The sight
of the children playing caused his heart to ache. He longed to be part of their joyous scene,
to feel the cold snow on his skin and their laughter in his ears. But he knew that he was on
the outside looking in, always a spectator to their carefree lives.
Dylan found himself standing in front of his home, the sound of shouting and arguing piercing
the air. It was a familiar sound, one that he had grown accustomed to over the years. His
parents were at it again, the tension between them palpable even from outside the gate. As
Dylan stood by the gate, the door to the house opened with a bang and his mother stepped
out, her face flushed with anger. She barely even glanced at him as she stormed past, not
even acknowledging his presence.
Dylan knew why the fights happened. They were because of him, his existence a constant
reminder of his father's infidelity. His mother resented him, blaming him for the pain she
endured. He was an unwelcome presence in his own home.
Dylan walked into the house and was met by his father, who greeted him with a familiar
stern yet hesitant tone. "Welcome back" he said. There was a sense of hesitancy in his voice,
a sign that his father was conflicted. Even though his father could not love him like a normal
parent loves their child, Dylan knew that his father still cared for him in his own way.
Despite the mistakes his father had made which had caused his mother to be justified in her
anger, Dylan still saw his father as a good father deep down. "Hey dad." Dylan responded.
As Dylan began to make his way towards his room, his father stopped him. "Wait," he said, his
voice stern but also slightly hesitant. "There's something we need to talk about."
Dylan paused, turning to face his father. He had learned over the years that conversations
like this never bode well. He waited silently, bracing himself for what was to come. Dylan's
father looked at him, his expression a mixture of relief and sadness. "Your mother has finally
come to her senses," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "She's asked for a divorce."
Dylan felt a pang of sadness in his chest. Even though his mother had always blamed him for
their problems, he still loved her. He had hoped that one day, things would change, and they
could be a happy family. But now, that dream was crumbling before his eyes.
Dylan was stunned, unable to believe the words that were coming out of his father's mouth.
"What?" he managed to stammer. His mind was racing, trying to process what he had just
heard.
But his father continued, his voice flat and emotionless. "She has made up her mind," he
repeated. "She doesn't want much. She wants half of the money in the savings and the car.
Everything else, including the house, will still be here."
He paused, turning to look Dylan directly in the eyes. "Now you have to choose who you want
to live with." After dropping the bomb about the imminent divorce, Dylan's father collapsed
into a chair, burying his head in his arms on the table. Dylan noticed several bottles of
alcohol amongst the clutter on the table, a sign that his father had been drinking heavily to
drown out his pain.
Dylan stood there, unsure of what to do or say. Seeing his father in such a state broke his
heart. He had never seen his father look so distraught and lost. Despite his own turmoil, he
forced himself to gather his thoughts and offer some comfort to his father. "It will be
alright," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside. "I choose to be with you.
There was never any question."
His father looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. "Why?" he asked, his voice
hoarse with emotion. "Why would you choose me over her? I'm a cheater, a worthless man
whore who gave it all up for nothing."
"Because you're my father," Dylan said simply. "And even though you made some mistakes,
you're still a good person at heart. You've always been there for me, even when it was hard."
His father looked at him with disbelief, his eyes still red from unshed tears. "But I'm not a
good person," he protested. "I ruined our family, I hurt your mother. How can you forgive me
for that?"
"It's been hard for me to forgive you for bringing me into this world, a world that hates me,"
Dylan admitted, his voice wavering. "But this is a new start. We can make things better from
now on."
His father looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. "I don't deserve your
forgiveness," he said, his voice cracking. "But thank you. I promise I'll make things right this
time."
As time continued to pass, things began to improve. Dylan was happy to shift schools and
leave behind the painful memories of his old school. He managed to make friends, forming
strong bonds with a small but supportive group. Surprisingly, he even got a girlfriend.
For the first time in a long time, Dylan felt like he belonged somewhere, like he wasn't just
an outsider looking in. His girlfriend was a constant source of joy in Dylan's life, accepting
him for who he was and loving him despite knowing about his difficult past. Their
relationship was filled with warmth and affection, unlike anything Dylan had experienced
before.
Dylan's father, too, seemed happier than he had been in years. The weight of his mistakes
seemed to have lifted slightly, and he began to take an active interest in his son's life.
Dylan sprinted towards his parents' house, his heart pounding with fear and a deep sense of
dread. As he ran, he tried to hold out hope that somehow, someway, his dad was still alive.
But deep down, he knew it was wishful thinking, a desperate attempt to avoid the truth that
was almost certainly in front of him. He had forgotten to think about his father since that day
but hearing the angel's sound had reinstated the memories of his dad.
His thoughts of his father were interrupted suddenly by painful flashbacks of his wife's
death. The memory of her screams as she was taken by angels filled his mind, leaving him
feeling raw and exposed. Dylan felt a brief jolt of fear as he passed by a few angels prowling
the streets but he pushed those thoughts aside with a burst of determination. He reached his
parents' house and found that the door was still locked. But he didn't hesitate, using all his
strength to force it open.
Dylan staggered into the house, his heart racing in his chest. The sight that greeted him was
more horrifying than anything he could have imagined. His father, the man who had once
been his rock and supporter, was now a twisted and disfigured being, with a face that was
barely recognizable. His body was torn and scarred, a far cry from what he had once been.
His father's eyes, once filled with warmth and love, had transformed into a pair of golden,
pupilless orbs that seemed to stare straight through him.
Dylan felt a wave of disbelief and horror wash over him as he stared at the creature that
was his father. The words of his friends came rushing back to him, the group's mockery of
the angels still fresh in his mind. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that his father had
become one of the very beings they had been mocking. Dylan's world seemed to crash down
around him as the realization hit him with the force of a freight train. He let out a primal
scream, a mixture of sadness and pain that echoed through the house and filled the air. He
fell to the ground, his knees unable to support him, and looked back up at the horror that
was his father. As the creature, once his father, sprung towards him, Dylan braced himself
for what he knew was coming.
As they approached the town gates of West Arvada, Eric and his group were met with a
somber scene. James and Mama Luna, along with a few other residents, stood at the
entrance, their faces filled with a sense of grim determination. People immediately began
asking questions about Dylan, but the expressions on the group's faces told everyone that
something was wrong.
Mama Luna approached Eric, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and strength. "Eric,"
she said softly, her voice tinged with an air of resignation. "We need to talk."
Mama led Eric away from the group, their footsteps echoing softly on the cobblestone street.
They found a quiet spot, shielded from the noise of the bustling town. Mama looked straight
into Eric's eyes, her expression a mixture of sympathy and determination.
"Tell me everything that happened," she said quietly, her voice steady.
His heart heavy with sorrow. "I know Dylan is gone," he began, his voice laced with grief. "He
heard the howls of an angel coming from his home and...he ran off…"
Eric took a deep
breath, bracing himself to recount the events of the past 2 days.
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