Jake's fingers dug into MC's arm, nails sinking so deep they created half-moon shapes in his skin. He didn't want to—at least, he didn't think so. But something inside of him refused to let go.
If it were so, maybe MC would be gone. Maybe the whole thing would collapse into something more than a bad nightmare, a foul fraud his mind had fabricated to torment him. And yet… he could not know if he would wish it. Because if it were not true, then everything—the journal, the truth, the shadow of death looming over him—still lingered out there in the darkness, just beyond the periphery of his eyes.
MC stared down at his arm, then back up at Jake with an irritated crease of his brow. "What the hell are you doing?"
His voice was biting, but when he tried to pull himself away, he barely budged. Jake was stronger. The realization crossed MC's face like a warning sign, dark and threatening. "I know that this is a lot, but can you leave me out of it?"
Jake barely caught what he said. His world had narrowed to the journal open on the dirty floor. Its pages were crinkled at the edges, the ink contorted as though time had already begun to damage it. It had only been there for one day, though. How could it look so aged? As though it had been sitting in the dark of the attic, waiting for him to find it.
And he had.
The letters glared at him in a wild, slashing script. Letters his grandfather had written. Letters he was never intended to see. They soaked into him, flowing down into his marrow like poison.
His stomach twisted, revulsion forcing its way up his throat.
How had he been so stupid?
He had known fragments of the man who constructed his family during his lifetime. Grandpa William had spun tales of no account—how he met Grandma, how he was a priest, how he did a summer at the circus. But he had never mentioned the fragment where he made a pact with something not divine.
The fragment where he sold his soul.
And not just his own.
His children. His grandchildren.
Jake's breath hitched.
Death was only a day away.
"How did you find out?" His voice shook little more than a whisper, frantic and desperate. Maybe he was trying to hold on to something concrete. Maybe he just needed to know he wasn't losing his mind.
MC's forehead creased. His struggle faltered for an instant. "Find out what?"
Liar.
He knew. He just didn't want to say it. Did not want to let it have power.
"How did you find out what my grandfather did?" Jake's fingers clenched harder. Hard enough to bruise.
MC hesitated. He already knew the answer. That was the problem. But Jake would never believe him if he said he got a sign from his deceased sister.
"It was an accident." The words had come too readily, balancing on the fine border of truth and fabrication. "Now let go."
Jake's jaw clenched. "Stop lying."
MC's heart was racing.
"You expect me to believe that? " Jake's voice had lowered to a snarl, harsh and unsteady, trying hard to control his hysteria. "You went to the bathroom and came out like a dog. Then you ran up to the attic—like you knew where you were heading. You didn't help us pack Grandpa's stuff. You didn't belong up here. But somehow, you just 'accidentally' stumbled upon this?"
He gestured wildly at the journal.
"And found that my grandfather cursed us all?"
MC let out a sigh and allowed his eyes to close for a full second. Yeah. That one was on him. He had genuinely thought Jake was dumb. But now, he was the dumb one.
"Okay, you got me," MC growled. "A dead guy instructed me to locate it."
Jake went rigid. His breath stopped. Then—
"That's dumber than your original response."
MC shrugged. "Don't believe me. But it's the truth." He pulled at his arm again. "Now let go."
Jake hesitated. His fingers quivered before finally relaxing, and MC freed himself, rubbing the red patches already blooming on his skin.
"Fine," MC said. "Go warn the rest of your family that they're going to die."
Jake lunged.
MC saw it coming.
He pulled away, vanishing into the black hallway from the attic. But then—
"Don't."
Jake's voice was harsh. Begging.
MC stopped, hand grasping the railing of the stairs.
"Please don't say anything."
MC frowned. "Why?"
"There has to be a way to stop this." Jake's voice had relaxed a bit, but the desperation still underlay every sentence. "A way to call off the deal." He swallowed. "I don't know if I can tell them."
MC followed his gaze to the journal. His fingers twitched. He needed to grab it, but if Jake caught him again, he might not get another chance.
"That's why I'm here," MC said carefully. "I'll do the talking."
Jake's jaw clenched. "I don't want them to know."
MC's patience finally snapped.
"He actually cursed your entire family, and you still want them to hold him in a good light? Can't you see that?" His voice stiffened. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
MC snorted. "What do you want us to do? Dig through his past and try to find a way to stop this?" His voice was rising now, rough and fraying at the edges. "What's your brilliant plan, then?"
Jake hesitated.
"You think that can be done?"
Jake glared at him, face unreadable. "Want to try it?"
MC exhaled. "God, you're serious, aren't you?"
He was sick of arguing.
Jake was too deep in denial, and MC wasn't going to waste another minute. He dove, grabbing the journal—
Jake yelled in rage. "MICHAEL CONNER!"
MC winced at the use of the full name but didn't stop. He sprinted down the hall, legs burning, heart pounding—
And Jake caught him.
The momentum sent them both crashing to the floor.
MC barely had time to register the stairs before his body slammed into them. His head struck the last step.
A burst of white-hot pain.
Then red.
Blood.
Too much blood.
Jake groaned, clutching his ribs. It hurt. But he was okay.
MC, on the other hand—
Jake's stomach dropped.
MC lay still in a pool of crimson, his breath shallow, his limbs unnaturally limp.
"Hey, MC." Jake shook him. No response. "Don't tell me you're dead—"
His gaze was on the journal. The red flowed through the pages.
His hands were shaking as he picked it up and tossed it to the side. He had to focus. He had to come up with a plan.
Taking MC to the hospital would mean spilling the whole story. His family would know all about it.
And that was preferable to anything else.
He picked up his phone. His trembling fingers made him almost drop it.
A voice picked up after one ring. "Yeah?"
Jake exhaled sharply. "I need help."
There was a pause. Then—
"I'll send a car. No questions asked."
Jake ran upstairs, grabbed the first aid kit, sprinted back down.
MC hadn't moved. His face was too pale. Jake pressed a hand against his forehead. His skin was cold. Undefined. Today sucked. And that thought shook through Jake's head, over and over, as he watched MC's blood drizzle all over the floor.
…
"You killed him?!"
Alex's words trembled as he spoke, his hands shaking as he sat stiffly beside MC's unconscious form in the backseat. No matter how much he tried to make some distance between himself and the unconscious body, MC's dead weight fell against him, and he shoved him off again and again. His breathing was in short, panicked gasps. "Hell, I knew you didn't like him, but killing him? That's insane! How in the world are you gonna not get arrested?! Wait—does this make us accomplices?!!
"Shut it!" Josh cut in from the driver's side, knuckles clenched white as he clutched the wheel. The tires ground over the frozen road as he braked hard and took a tight turn, streetlights casting eerie shadows over their strained faces. "But for real, what the hell went down, Jake?!" Jake hunched over the passenger seat, still painted-red hands clenched. His fingers twitched like his body wasn't quite aware that the battle was over yet. The cool air of the car felt smothering, but he lacked the strength to roll down the window. He was exhausted. Grateful as he was for Josh and Alex having come in to help him, for sure, but spent anyway.
He glared towards the journal on his lap, the worn leather cover smattered with blood.
"I was chasing him," he said finally, voice hollow. "Both of us fell down the stairs."
That was all he could offer. It was none of their business why he'd been after MC. They didn't need to know the dirty reality he'd learned, the one that his grandfather traded their entire family's souls. If he said it out loud, they'd either believe it—so their world would never be the same again—or they'd think he's lost his mind. Neither option appealed to him.
"That's not why he's going to die in the car!" Alex came close to squeaking, gasping as MC collapsed over onto him once more. "And why in the world are we not going to the hospital?! That makes the most sense!"
Jake whipped around, his eyes snapping. "We can't just go, okay?!" he snarled. His jaw set in a determined line as he let out a hard breath, his own patience frayed. "Just don't let him bleed to death.".
He battled the temptation to run a hand through his hair, but dried, sticky blood on his arms restrained him. He was damn tired of being asked questions. So much for "no questions asked." He looked out into the snow dancing in the headlamps, streets eerily quiet. This was a debacle. If MC died, this could not be fixed. And he wasn't certain he'd be able to live with the weight of it.
Josh exhaled slowly. "So. how do we dispose of the body?" he asked, his tone deliberately flat as he continued to watch the road.
"Excuse me?" Jake bristled, whirling on him with a glare that would cut through metal. "He's not dead." His eyes flashed back to MC, who had remained unconscious for over ten minutes. That frightened him more than he would ever admit. "I just need to find someone who can help him."
Josh hesitated. "My mom… can maybe," he grudgingly admitted.
Jake didn't blink. "Take us there."
Josh shut his mouth, gripping the wheel tighter. Something wasn't adding up. Earlier today, Jake had made it very clear that he couldn't care less if MC dropped dead. So why the sudden concern? Why was he refusing to take him to a hospital but begging him to take MC to his mom?
Josh frowned. "Something tells me you're not gonna tell me why."
Jake didn't answer.
As they drove up the driveway, Josh lingered just a moment before turning off the engine. As soon as the car idled, Jake flung open the door and pulled MC's unconscious body out, only vaguely aware of the weight. Blood spilled onto the pavement, red staining the pristine snow that had never been disturbed. Alex hopped out behind them, scrubbing his hands on his shredded jeans, his own face contorted in a grimace.
Josh breathed in deeply before he pushed the front door ajar. "Hey, Mom!" he bellowed. "We need your assistance!"
It was hardly a matter of seconds before his mother appeared. The moment her gaze landed on the bloody mess before her, her expression altered. She did not scream. She did not even flinch. Years of working as a surgeon had hardened her to gruesome imagery. But that still did not prevent the flash of anger from flickering on her face.
"What on earth did you folks do?" she said, folding her arms. "You'd better have a very good reason for having a bleeding boy in my house."
Jake swallowed hard, the sickening thud of MC's head on the stairs ringing in his ears. Wiping blood from the floors as Josh and Alex dragged MC out to the car made his stomach churn.
He'd really messed up.
Josh's mother glared at them. "Why didn't you simply go to the hospital?" she asked, her eyes flicking down to the floor where blood was already starting to seep into the wood. "It sounds like an accident. So why bring him here?"
Jake's mouth dropped open, but no explanation came to mind.
Josh eased in effortlessly. "He didn't want MC's mom to find out," he fabricated readily. "She'd flip out. And, well… we don't think Jake's parents would be all that pleased with it either."
His mom did not seem to be believing him, but after a long pause, she breathed out. "Fine. Get him onto the couch." She made her way to the hallway. "I'll grab my equipment."
And with that, she was gone, leaving them to awkwardly push MC onto the couch.
Jake winced as blood penetrated the light tan fabric. That was going to be a nightmare to remove.
Josh placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go wash your hands," he said, his tone softer now. "My mom will handle it." He gazed at Alex, whose clothes were ruined. "I'll get you a new shirt."
Jake did not protest. He simply went off toward the bathroom.
As he scalded his hands raw with hot water washing them, he let out a bitter laugh. Since when has he ever given a hoot about MC?
…
MC's eyes opened on an ocean of overbearing whiteness. A boundless, featureless vastness stretched in every direction, neither bright nor dark, merely an unsettling, neutral nothingness. No ground beneath him, no horizon in front of him, no breeze, no sound. Just silence—an unnatural, ringing-in-the-ears silence that scuttled down his skin.
His own breathing was shallow gasps as he curled and uncurled his fingers, asking himself if he could even move. He was weightless but unaccountably anchored, as if life itself had rewritten its rules for him alone. He forced himself to focus. The last thing he remembered—
The fall. Him and Jake, tumbling down the stairs, the sickening crunch of something shattering, then the crash. He winced. His head had struck the floor in a way it most definitely wasn't supposed to. Panic writhed in his belly.
Was he dead?
"I'm dead?" MC swallowed hard, running a trembling hand through his hair. "You've got to be joking." His own voice startled him, breaking the suffocating silence. It was small and weak, trembly-sounding as though it didn't belong to him.
A new voice, however, did not belong to him.
"You'd be if you don't get help."
MC recoiled, his heart pounding. He spun around so fast he nearly lost his balance—though in a place like this, was there even such a thing as balance?
Emma was there.
Not the horrible specter that had haunted him for so long, the one with vacant eyes and arms coated in blood. No, this was the Emma he knew from life. The girl who laughed too loudly, who playfully shoved at his shoulder when he teased her. The girl who once confided in him enough to share with him her secrets.
Except for one detail.
The cherry-printed dress.
His stomach twisted at the sight of it. That damned dress. The last thing she'd ever put on before she disappeared. He'd always hated it—not because it was ugly, but because it symbolized everything that had gone wrong.
"Hey, Em," he said cautiously, as if one wrong move would break this fragile moment. "It's been a while."
Emma dropped her head, a fleeting apparition of a smile flashing on her lips. "Did my ghost just appear to you just now?"
MC laughed—although he was not sure if it was with amusement or exhaustion. Maybe both. The weight of it all hit him on his chest, bearing down on him like an anchor. He had endured five years of haunting her presence, and now here she was, in front of him as if nothing had ever happened.
He breathed slowly. "Emma… why'd you choose me?"
Emma's smile faltered. "Choose you?"
"Why'd I be the one you came to with your grandpa's secret?" His voice was steadier than he expected, but his fists were tight at his sides. "I was gone. You could've traumatized Jake. Jacob. Heck, even your parents. Why me?"
Emma paused, looking up as though hoping to find the answer in the endless sky. "I don't know," she ultimately admitted. "Prior to the kidnapping, the one thing I wished for more than anything else was to be with you again."
MC's back stiffened. "Emma—"
She shook her head. "Maybe that's why I came to you as a ghost. Because that's what I wanted above all else. But to haunt you? No, that wasn't ever what I wanted to do."
"Why then?" His voice was sharper now, edged with something almost as desperate as danger.
Emma's complexion grew darker. "Because I knew what my grandpa had done."
The temperature dropped, even though the emptiness was airless, the atmosphere less. MC felt a shiver creep down his spine.
Emma bunched her fists into tight balls. "I did visit my relatives before I departed, but then I saw Grandpa William in his journal--writing about being part of a cult."
MC's stomach hardened. "A cult?"
Emma nodded. "He entered a pact, MC. A pact that cost my family their souls." She took a deep breath. "And mine."
There was a silence that pervaded the atmosphere. And then Emma moved forward, her eyes burning into him. "You must let it be. Midnight tomorrow is coming, and when it arrives, my soul shall be taken out of my body—to where my grandfather exchanged it."
MC growled in disgust, rubbing his temple. "How? How in blazes am I to do anything if I do not even have the remotest clue as to where to start?"
Emma knelt beside him. "Just do what you did last time. You have his journal. Read through my grandfather's past. Find something—anything—that can sabotage the deal."
He glared at her, rage burning beneath his skin. "And if I fail?"
Emma's smile was small but genuine. "Then at least I'll know you tried."
MC groaned, leaning back on the non-existent floor. "I'm playing detective for the second time today."
Emma smiled. "At least it's all laid out for you."
"Yeah, right." He turned his head to face her. "That's if I don't die first."
She looked at him with some intensity, then sighed. "You've changed."
MC snorted. "Five years of thinking you were trying to kill me will do that."
Emma bit her lip. "I never meant to hurt you."
MC closed his eyes. "Then you should've given me a sign."
A crack streaked through the void.
The sound was deafening. A shattering, like glass breaking under immense pressure. MC bolted upright as fractures raced across the empty space, splitting reality apart like a fragile mirror.
Emma didn't flinch. "Looks like you're waking up."
MC's pulse pounded. "This doesn't look good."
"MC." Emma grabbed his hand, her fingers ice-cold. "Promise me you'll try."
The cracks deepened. The void trembled.
MC met her eyes. "Okay."
Emma's grip on his arm tightened. "Thank you. For everything." She smiled wistfully. "For being my first crush. Hopefully, we will meet again someday."
He didn't have time to respond before the world around him shattered.
Darkness closed in.
And all he could do was scream.
…
MC's eyes fluttered open, the world kicking back into existence in slow, jagged waves.
His head ached, pulsing with a dull, steady pain that spread across his skull like a slow-acting toxin. His body felt weak, heavy, as though he had been drained of everything—strength, warmth, even the will to move. An increasing sense of disquiet settled into his chest as he assessed his surroundings. He was alive. That, at least, was sure. But for some reason, that knowledge did not reassure him. "Oh, you're awake." A woman's voice cut through the fog, gentle but commanding. "Here. You need to drink this."
She pushed a cool glass into his hand, and he did not hesitate to bring it to his lips, sip-ping the apple juice as if it was the only thing holding him to the world.
The participant was covered in sweetness, grounded, though his stomach roiled at the feel. His hair was stuck to his forehead, sticky and clotted, and he was certain the blood hadn't been washed from his face yet. He must look awful. But the juice was okay to drink. A second voice intruded, cutting and impatient. "Is he okay?"
Jake. Of course, he was here. The man had a knack for showing up when all was worst.
"It's not that bad, is it?"
The woman—whoever she was—shot Jake a look so cutting that even MC felt it. If his head wasn't threatening to split open, he would have done the same.
"He's fine," she said evenly. "He can wash his head, but with mild soap only. Then he shouldn't touch it."
MC drained the apple juice and handed the glass back with a slight nod. "Thanks. For the juice. For sewing me up." His voice was rough, strained. "Wouldn't be here otherwise."
He sat up slowly, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his head. His eyes flew to the blood-stained couch he was lying on. Ew. That did not look good. But truly, it was not his fault. With difficulty, he stood up, still covered in dried blood, and looked around at the room beyond.
Two people stood in the hall outside the living room, barely in view.
One was a ghost from his past—the kid who had cut him with scissors all those years back. Older now, his arm bore the scar MC had inflicted on him in retaliation. Beside him was a scrawny figure, dressed in clothing that was clearly not his size, his eyes darting back and forth between MC and the others like he was waiting for something to explode. MC shot him the dirtiest look he could manage, then turned back to Jake. Jake was a mess. His hair was standing on end in different directions, his shirt was blood-stained—MC's, he presumed—and there was a visible tension in the way he was holding his shoulders. He was rigid. Extremely rigid. It did not take a genius to figure out that Jake had not taken him to a hospital. He had purposely gone out of his way not to inform his family.
MC didn't care. He was alive and breathing. That was a win in his book.
"Let's go," he snarled, grabbing his bloodied jacket off the couch. "Let's get out of here."
Jake didn't have to be told twice. He followed after him like a puppy, his feet quick and eager, but before they reached the door, a shrill voice hailed them from behind.
"Where on earth do you think you're going?!
They both stopped cold. They turned slowly to find the woman, arms crossed, brow furrowed in a way that instantly reminded MC of a math teacher right before a pop quiz.
"I'm going to Jake's house," MC answered, tilting his head to one side. "And to shower." He gestured to himself. "As you can probably tell, I'm not exactly dirt-free.
The woman's scowl deepened, her expression somewhere between frustration and disbelief. MC wasn't sure if it was because of his attitude or because he was being utterly oblivious. Either way, she wasn't having it.
"You're going outside looking like that?!" she snapped. "Josh! Get this boy some clothes to change into!"
Josh—scar guy—looked like he wanted to argue but ultimately sighed and disappeared upstairs.
Meanwhile, the woman's eyes scanned MC, head to toe. "Okay. What's the story here?"
Jake, the terrible liar, plastered a sheepish smile on his face. "I already told you what happened.
MC shot him a side-eye. Seriously? This kid was fine with telling this to this woman but not his own family? He felt like smacking Jake upside the head right then and there. But he held himself back. Time was of the essence, and he still needed to get through the journal.
"No, you just told me he fell down the stairs," the woman corrected him. "You were trying so hard to keep him out of the hospital. Like something awful would happen if you did. You," she nodded in the direction of the bloodied couch. "Now tell me, is this boy wanted?"
MC almost choked on his own spit. Even Jake looked shocked. "Wanted?" they said in unison.
The woman's piercing gaze landed on MC. "That's the only thing I can think of." She picked up her phone. "Unless you begin to tell the truth, Jake, I'm calling the police."
Jake stiffened, his mind evidently raking around for an alibi. MC stepped forward, however.
"Ma'am, I swear, I'm no criminal." Technically, he had indeed broken into a person's house and harassed some guy that afternoon—but that was another story. "It's me, MC. Don't you recognize me?"
The woman stared at him for a while, eyebrows wrinkling in thought.
MC sighed. "I'm the one who gave your kid that scar."
That worked like a charm.
Her eyes opened slightly wider. "Michael Conner?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "I told Jake not to take me to the hospital. I didn't want my mom to worry. You remember my mom, don't you? She was on the community council before we moved."
The woman snorted through her nose. "How can I forget the single mother who had to put up with a wild child like you?"
MC nodded. Folks were making a big deal out of his comeback. Then again, being suspected of a girl's disappearance was a kind of big deal. "I'll be here for another two days, and then I'm gone. That's when I'll tell my mom all about it. But I swear, I didn't get this wound by doing anything illegal."
The woman gazed at him for another second, then turned away. "Alright, child. I believe you."
Josh returned, tossing a clean shirt and pair of pants in MC's direction. MC caught them without a word and followed Jake out of the house.
The cold breeze bit at his skin as he stepped outside. His eyes drifted down, catching sight of the dark, frozen trail of blood leading from the car to the door. He shot Jake a look.
"Really, bro?"
Jake huffed. "Don't 'really, bro' me. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead."
"Well, you're the reason I'm like this, so…" MC shot back, shoving his hands into his pockets as they trudged through the snow. He was alive. That was all that mattered. For now.
Jake lagged a few steps back, his breath coming in puffs of white into the chill night air. The snow had stopped falling, but the cold still cut deep, penetrating to their marrow. The world was unnaturally still, with only the crunch of their boots on frozen ground. The scent of pine mixed with the slight metallic scent of blood still on MC's clothes. He fought the temptation to scoop up a handful of snow and wash away the dirt, but it was futile. Shower, clean clothes—that could wait until they reached the farmhouse.
His gaze flickered downward, eyeing the dark fabric of his shirt and pants. Even under the dim light, the bloodstains stood out, stark and unrelenting. He exhaled sharply through his nose. These clothes were done for. He'd have to burn them.
A voice broke the silence behind him.
"You're leaving me again after all this, aren't you?"
There was something in the way Jake had phrased it that stopped MC short. He turned to find Jake staring at him, devastation written on his face. Open, unfiltered—like a kid watching his dad walk out and knowing he was gone for good.
The weight of it made MC squirm almost. Almost.
"Again?" MC echoed, his voice deliberately light, not stern. "Yeah, sure I am. I've got a whole new life in White Rock. I actually turned my back on Fallen Falls. Why would I want to stay in a town where people are mad at me?"
Jake let out a hard, unfunny laugh, the kind that sent shivery apprehension slithering up MC's spine.
"You don't know, do you?"
That look he gave MC—pitiful, verging on sad—was a worse affront.
"You truly don't have any idea why I was mad at you? Why I disliked you?"
MC remained silent.
Jake's grip on the journal tightened, knuckles white. "Tell me you have the slightest notion," he pressed, strained tone.
That's when MC finally caught on—Jake still had the stupid thing. He must have grabbed it before they'd gone. The epiphany flew through his head, but he suppressed it, locking eyes with Jake.
"I don't," he admitted, his tone blank. "And I still don't."
Something in Jake broke.
"You abandoned me when I most needed you!" His voice roared out, unbridled and clanging. He moved forward, and then again, his fury slicing into something deadly. "You thought I was like all the others? That I blamed you for something you did not cause?"
His laughter broke, wrinkled. "I needed you there with me, but you went and left me to do it on my own. When I needed you most!"
The distance between them melted away in an instant. MC didn't have time to gasp before Jake clamped a hand around his arm. It wasn't cruel, but frantic—like he had to get MC to hear him, had to get him to feel it.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The cold enveloped them, the burden of the past hanging between them like a chasm too wide to jump. Then, as if recalling what he'd done, Jake let go of MC, stepping back, his face lighting with horror. But that did not make MC's day any better either.
"Did you know your sister died?" MC asked, his voice gentler now, rough around the edges. He shoved his hands into his bloodied pants, fingers tracing over something hard. "I learned that five years ago."
He gradually took out Emma's pink phone. It felt comfortable in his hands, reminding him of all he had failed to do. He still had it. It was as if it was ironic. If he had not been left behind, he would have even taken it back home with him—a melancholy little reminder.
Jake's breathing caught up at the sight of it. His eyes landed on the phone like it was something alien, something unthinkable.
"That's why I'm like this," MC continued, his tone hollow. "This skinny, weak, pathetic, depressed kid. Someone who couldn't move on from the past."
He extended the phone toward Jake, waiting.
Jake hesitated before taking it, his fingers ghosting over the surface as though touching it would shatter him.
"I've spent the entire day looking for Emma's murderer," MC declared, his tone tight. "Hoping to catch up with them—so that I could finally move on. But instead…. "His throat closed over the words. "I failed."
He moved away again.
"I could never forget the day I departed from you. There were reasons aplenty why. I was fleeing from kids who wanted to kill me. I was hearing your sister's ghost. And, well—everyone had already abandoned me anyway. It still gets to me, even now. I felt…I thought." He swallowed again. "I thought I was being punished for losing Emma out of my eyesight."
Jake sneered, but it was not hot at all. "You don't seem to be affected. You were running around doing whatever you wanted all day."
MC didn't even glance at him. "Yeah, because I had more important crap to do than mope around like I've been doing for the past five years."
There was a silence between them. It hung there, heavy and oppressive, until MC finally said something.
"I'm sorry I left you behind," he said to her, his tone softer now, relinquishing its signature cutting edge. "That was a crap thing to do. But don't make me the villain—I was fighting my own monsters."
Jake remained silent.
For the first time in years, it looked like they'd finally had their say. The past had been laid bare, pulled out into the open like a festering corpse, but at least it was no longer rotting in the shadows.
MC released a breath, rolling his shoulders as if he were shaking off invisible shackles.
He slowed, then reached back to Jake and extended his hand. "Truce?"
Jake blinked at him.
"I'll figure this out with you," MC continued. "Call it a gut, but if this is supernatural, there has to be a way to stop it." He glared at Jake. "I'm tired of battling you."
Jake hesitated. His fingers wrapped around the journal, and for a moment, MC thought he would refuse.
Then, with a sigh, Jake shook his hand. "Do I really have a choice?" he grumbled. "I'm a dead man if we don't sort this out."
He dropped his hand and frowned. "So… how do we do it?"
MC took the journal from him, opening it up. "The same way I did with Emma."
Jake's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
MC didn't react. He turned a page, running his fingers over the ink, already scheming.
"We're going to find out Grandpa William's past."
Jake arched an eyebrow. "After we get you cleaned up," he told him. "I don't want folks thinking there's a zombie in town."
MC snorted. "Har har har. Oh, funny, Jake. What, did you get a job as a comedian or something the past five years?"
Jake smiled, not much. "No chance. But someone needs to make the other one laugh before we both lose our minds."
And for the first time that night, something very much like a laugh left MC's lips.