Staring at him, I feel unsure of how to respond or what to say. My heart hurts, and I feel betrayed. I know I shouldn't because he was just a kid then, frightened—I know that—but he should have said something. Now he's an adult, and so am I. If he wanted to shield me, he needed to explain everything. Maybe then, I would have been more ready for this.
"So you lied to me. You knew I was trying to solve this for our family's peace, and you lied. I don't even know how to process this," I cry.
"I lied to keep you alive," Uncle Donovan pleads. "I'm not apologizing for that. Was it questionable? Sure. Put it on my tab with every other bad decision I've made before breakfast. But I can't change the past. We need to worry about what's going on now. Roxanne, please focus and put this aside. Listen to me closely; I'm trying to tell you that you have a gift, a powerful one."
"Did Mom know about this? Is that why she told me never to look for my family?" I ask, anger boiling in my voice. Emotions surge through me—anger, sadness, fear, confusion, and shock—overwhelming me. I struggle to keep them in check but have no time to process them before the front door explodes open behind us.
Shards of wood scatter across the porch like shrapnel, just barely missing us. The entity, Elias, surges through the threshold now that the barrier is broken, its form flickering violently, fueled by rage and something even darker.
Zeke grabs me around the waist and yanks me backward, behind him, shielding me with his body. Uncle Donovan looks like he has more to say, but Zeke cuts him off.
"Now's not the time," he yells, worried another attack is coming. "Donovan, move!" My uncle is standing too close to the door. How he doesn't get hurt is beyond me.
The entity lunges at us. Agent Williams shoves Uncle Donovan off the porch and out of the way just as a massive invisible force slams into the spot where he had been standing. The floorboards of the porch shake as if an earthquake is happening. Zeke doesn't hesitate; he scoops me into his arms—not because I can't run, but because he isn't wasting a single second.
"Hold on tight to me, baby girl," he says in my ear. His voice is fierce but shaking. Wrapping my arm around him, I cling to his neck as he sprints down the porch steps into the driveway. I close my eyes and lay my head on his chest, just wanting to put this nightmare behind us.
The entity shrieks; the sound is inhuman and furious—it's mad Zeke is taking me away from it. Agent Williams fires at it uselessly, but it buys us a little time. Uncle Donovan stumbles toward us, limping and breathing raggedly.
"Get her out of here!" he yells, his voice loud as he screams at Zeke. "And maybe put this place on the 'never again' list!"
I refuse to open my eyes to the chaos. It may seem childish, but I hope that once I open my eyes, the entity will be gone. Zeke keeps moving without pause until we reach the car. He hastily pulls open the passenger door and lifts me inside.
"Stay down," he orders, slamming my door shut and sprinting to the driver's side of the vehicle.
My gaze locks onto the side mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of Agent Williams and Uncle Donovan. But my eyes lock onto the entity, Elias, who appears at the edge of the porch, its form stretching unnaturally, as if it is reaching toward me—one final attempt to keep me from leaving. Agent Williams and Uncle Donovan cut off my view of him. They run full speed toward the car as Zeke jumps into the driver's seat. He jams his key into the ignition, his hands shaking.
"Come on, start. Please start!" he chants over and over to his car. The car roars to life. "Yes!" Zeke yells. Agent Williams dives into the back seat, Uncle Donovan right behind him, almost not making it in time. As Uncle Donovan slams the door, something hits my window, making me scream—it is a smoky handprint that leaves a frost-burned imprint spreading like veins across the glass. Zeke slams the car into drive and floors it. The tires screech on gravel, sending rocks flying as his car shoots down the driveway.
The entity roars behind us, shaking the ground. It's mad and isn't finished mocking me. I curl into my seat, trembling. Zeke's hand lands on my thigh, squeezing gently to reassure me. Agent Williams stares out the rear window, watching behind us.
"It's not done with her," he says quietly. "It will be coming after her again soon." I know he's right because, as we drive away, a whisper curls through the air—faint but unmistakable.
"You belong to me," are the last words the entity says as we escape.
The car fishtails onto the road, gravel spitting behind us as Zeke floors the gas. The house shrinks in the rearview mirror, but the terror inside it clings to all of us like smoke. I curl farther into the seat, my chest tight and my breathing shaky. Zeke squeezes my thigh again, a little harder this time, just enough to anchor me. Agent Williams is still twisted in the back seat, eyes locked on the back window.
"I don't see it... but that doesn't mean it's not chasing us," he says.
Uncle Donovan sits quietly next to him, trembling badly and looking as though he has aged ten years. I am angry with him, yet I also feel worried. Zeke sees his face turn pale in the rearview mirror and fears he might faint.
"Donovan, you need to breathe, man. Your face is turning red like you're about to pass out." But Uncle Donovan doesn't breathe; he looks straight at me. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head.
"I'm sorry," I hear him whisper. His voice is sad and worried, dripping with regret. I'm not mad at him, just hurt. He has a big piece of the puzzle regarding everything that happened to our family but kept it hidden. I appreciate that he wants to help me, but I'm not a child. I need honesty, not more lies.
"Uncle Donovan, I'm not mad; I'm just hurt. The information you kept from me was important and could have given me a clue about who is behind this. Then you hit me with a whammy, and you say I have this gift, but I'm not sure I do. How do I know?" I ask, my voice cracking. Today has put a great strain on it, and I'm afraid more damage has been done.
"I understand," is all he says before turning to Zeke. "Hey, man, we need to go to my house. I have something of my mother's that might help Roxanne understand this better. It's a journal—and before anybody asks, no, it does not come with a user manual, warranty, or friendly customer support." He leaves no room for discussion. Zeke nods as he grips the steering wheel tightly.
"Could you drop me off at the bureau on our way through town?" Agent Williams asks. He obviously wants to get as far away from us as possible. It seems we have finally broken his calm and cool demeanor, which is understandable; he has seen things he never believed in, and it will take him days or weeks to understand it all.
Our car rolls into the bureau parking lot. It is packed, with rows of black SUVs. The building looms ahead: sterile, structured, safe—everything the last few hours have not been. Zeke pulls up to the side door, engine idling. Agent Williams seems distracted. As the car stops, he doesn't move. He hasn't spoken for the last ten minutes. He sits rigid in the back seat, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles are white, his eyes fixed on the streetlights as if he is trying to anchor himself to something real.
"We're here," Zeke says as he glances back at Agent Williams, who blinks, as if waking from a trance. He reaches for the door handle, then stops, his gaze locking with mine.
"Roxanne, what happened today?" His voice is low and rough, but I have no words that will ease his troubled mind.
"Too much for us to process. You don't need to explain this," I tell him, knowing he's battling with what to put in his report.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. What I saw, what touched me, that wasn't human," he says, then swallows hard. Uncle Donovan shifts uncomfortably beside him. Zeke's jaw tightens, but he stays quiet. Williams looks between the three of us, his eyes full of something I've never seen in him before—fear, but also a strange kind of loyalty.
"I'm not reporting this to anyone," Williams declares.
"You sure about that? Because pretending this didn't happen feels like trying to ignore a raccoon in your kitchen holding a knife," Donovan asks curiously.
Williams nods at him. "If I tell them what I saw, they'll bench me. Or worse. And if I tell them about Roxanne…" He looks at me again before saying, "They will come for you, and I'm not letting that happen."
"Thank you," is all I can say as my chest tightens again.
"Roxanne," he says, exhaling shakily, "whatever this thing is, whatever it wants, don't face it alone. Always have one of us with you." He opens his door and leaves. We sit for a minute, watching his figure retreat into the building. None of us speaks; we just sit in silence, absorbing his words.
"Poor guy is going to be questioning reality for weeks," Zeke says, letting out a long breath.
"He's lucky he made it out alive," Uncle Donovan says, rubbing his face. "We all are. Next family outing, I vote for mini golf. Worst thing there is a windmill with attitude." I stare at the bureau doors with my heart heavy.
"He doesn't deserve any of this," I say softly.
"None of you did," Zeke replies as he shifts the car into drive, and it lurches forward.
On the way to Uncle Donovan's, the sun started to fade in the distance. The road stretched ahead of us in long, dark ribbons. The hum of the engine was the only sound for a while- it was a fragile, uneasy quiet. Zeke kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on mine, our fingers intertwined. His thumb brushes my knuckles in a slow, lazy circle. Uncle Donovan stares out the window, lost in thought, guilt etched deep in the lines of his face.
"My mom's journal," Donovan finally says. "It'll help you understand what's happening, what you can do, and how to control it. At least, I hope it does. If not, we're all going to be standing around squinting at old handwriting like it owes us money."
Swallowing, I ask, "What can I do?"
"The gift," Donovan says with a nod. "You were born with it, but it grows, changes, and if you don't learn to control it..." He trails off, then adds, "Let's just say nobody wants their supernatural abilities acting like an unsupervised toddler with finger paint."
"It controls you," Zeke cuts in quietly. Donovan nods in his direction.
"I don't want this," I say, leaning back against the seat, staring at the blur of passing trees outside my window.
"I know; neither did my mom, your grandmother," Donovan says. "Nobody asks for the creepy family starter pack. It just shows up one day with instructions written in invisible ink."
"But you're not alone, Rocky," Zeke says as he grips my hand tightly.
"I feel alone in this," I say to him. My emotions were too great for me to sort through, making my eyes sting with unshed tears.
"Not while I'm breathing," Zeke says affectionately.
Uncle Donovan clears his throat. "The journal will explain everything—the signs, the warnings, the ways to strengthen yourself, and how to protect yourself from spirits like Elias. Basically, it's the family survival guide nobody bothered to laminate." His voice is thick as he explains.
My stomach twists at the mere mention of Elias. "Will it tell me how to stop him?"
"It'll tell you how to fight him," he sighs, looking out the window. "But stopping him? That's something only you can figure out. Apparently, our family specializes in vague instructions and emotional damage." The car falls into silence—not an empty one, but one heavy with purpose, fear, and the beginning of something I'm not ready for. But there's no running from it now.
The town of Vandolia is peaceful as we travel to Uncle Donovan's house, with only a few people in the streets. His small cottage sits on the outskirts of town, close enough to experience the town's vibe but far enough to enjoy the quiet. Fifteen minutes later, we see his house come into view, and Zeke gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
"Whatever's in that journal, we will face it together," he tells me. For the first time since the entity whispered in my ear, I felt secure because I believed in Zeke.