Chapter 79 - Cursed (Carter)

Patrick’s denial was firm, but Autumn… she truly believed what she was saying. The confusion in her eyes wasn’t feigned; she couldn’t understand why we were pushing so hard. Patrick, though… when I asked if he’d ever seen Peter before… alone, if he’d ever used darker powers and objects on anyone, there was a flicker. Recognition. He knew, but he clung to his lies. Autumn began getting visibly upset as Patrick squirmed against our hard accusations. We had to change tactics.

Shelta had linked our minds before we even entered, a connection far deeper than anything we’d used on hunts. We could hear each other’s thoughts in real-time, a powerful tool in this situation. As we pressed Patrick and Autumn, Shelta and Sarah urged caution. Shelta wasn’t worried about Patrick—her fears centered on Autumn. My daughter was trapped in something far more sinister than we could see. Shelta feared pushing her too far might break her entirely.

Martin, our living lie detector, subtly confirmed Patrick was lying. But Shelta had picked up on something more disturbing. We had to leave the inquisition for now, and all gather in another location to talk openly about what had all happened. We were at Shelta’s again… all of us this time.

Shelta’s face was pale as she murmured, “I felt her in him… and him in her. Their souls, Carter. They’re reaching out to each other, intertwining. I don’t know what it means, but it’s not normal.”

Eleanor’s voice was steady, but I knew her well enough to catch the tremor beneath. “Intertwined? What does that mean?”

Shelta hesitated, then explained. “Every person has something uniquely theirs… call it a soul, an essence. I’ve never felt two people so… merged. It’s like they’re no longer separate, and it terrifies me.” She turned to Eleanor, eyes filled with regret. “I’m so sorry for what Patrick’s done. And for what he’s pulled Autumn into.”

Eleanor’s voice broke, her thoughts spilling out in a rush. “Is that why she’s so wrapped up in him? Whatever this power is, whatever that brush did… it bound them… together?” She couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

We had retreated to Shelta’s house after the confrontation. Autumn and Patrick needed space… especially Autumn. Her reactions had turned physical, trembling with emotion, staring at us… her family, with rage, and it terrified both Eleanor and me. We’d pushed too hard, and it was getting us nowhere. Denials. Confusion. Nothing solid. So we stepped back, holding onto the deeper truths and the evidence we held in that same little Ziplock bag. We were taking it slow with them, just scrapping the tip of the iceberg. But everything went to shit too fast. Autumn’s reaction jarred our plans and worried Shelta quickly.

Shelta reached for the green hairbrush on her dining table, gripping it tightly. Her eyes closed, face strained. “When I touch this,” she murmured, “I feel Peter’s presence, like before… but there’s more. It’s like touching a universal truth, a law of existence. Hard to describe… it’s not a thought, it’s a feeling.”

Eleanor’s hand flew to her throat, her voice tight with fear. “What is it?”

Shelta’s eyes opened, her voice steady but grim. “Obsession.”

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We had to regroup. Shelta’s warning about obsession wasn’t just a theory anymore… it was playing out in front of us. After leaving her house, we tried new tactics, probing Patrick for answers when we could get him alone, and gently speaking with Autumn, trying to get her to think clearly. They stayed away from us mostly, thinking their families didn’t support their relationship I figured. But soon, we noticed something unsettling: Patrick was pulling away, not just from us, but from Autumn too. That was the first red flag. Autumn wasn’t having it.

Eleanor and I were in the front living room, quietly discussing Sam and where he might be. Then came the shouting. Angry, sharp words cut through the house, echoing from another room. We froze for a second before hurrying to see what was going on. Rounding the corner, we found Autumn; phone in hand, face red with fury. She was screaming at Patrick.

“What do you mean? Where the fuck are you?” Her voice trembled with anger, but beneath that, there was confusion and desperation. “I don’t care what you’re doing… you were supposed to meet me today!”

Her fury escalated as Patrick mumbled something on the other end. “Where are you?” she snapped again. “I don’t care, just tell me. Now.”

Eleanor and I exchanged a tense glance but stayed quiet, hoping not to escalate things. When Autumn finally ended the call, slamming her thumb onto the screen, she turned to face us. Eleanor, always the gentler one, spoke first.

“What’s going on, sweetie?” she asked softly, her voice a soothing balm against the storm.

“Patrick thinks he can ditch me for the day,” Autumn spat, her tone devoid of humor. “He better have his ass here before the day is over.”

There wasn’t a trace of the lighthearted girl she used to be. No sarcasm, no teasing. She was deadly serious… and it chilled me to my core. Not because of her words, but because this wasn’t Autumn. It was another reminder that we were dealing with something far darker, something that had warped her. We just… we didn’t know what to do. We were waiting on something from Shelta… anything.

“Autumn,” I snapped, unable to hold back any longer. “What the hell is your problem?” She glared at me, but I didn’t stop. “You’ve been running around like someone I don’t even know. And Patrick Wicklow of all people? Something’s wrong with you, and you know it.”

Eleanor shot me a warning look, her eyes pleading for restraint. We’d talked about this. Shelta wasn’t sure what might happen if Autumn learned the full truth, that her feelings, her connection to Patrick, were a lie. We needed more time, and more answers before we made any more serious moves and brought the brush into the light.

Autumn’s face twisted with indignation. “My relationship with Patrick is none of your damn business.”

Eleanor’s composure snapped. In a flash, she raised her hand, ready to slap some sense into her. But Autumn was faster. She caught Eleanor’s wrist mid-air, her grip firm, her eyes dark and unyielding.

“Watch yourself,” Autumn said coldly. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” She shoved Eleanor’s arm aside and stormed out of the room.

Eleanor lunged to follow, fury and maternal instinct driving her forward, but I stepped in, placing a firm hand on her chest. I pulled her into a tight embrace, whispering, “Let her go, for now. We need help, Eleanor. We can’t do this alone.”

She sagged against me, her defiance giving way to quiet sobs. “What are we going to do, Carter?” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all. “How did this happen so fast? I thought… I thought when Peter was finally gone, this nightmare was over. But now…” She trailed off, her tears soaking into my shirt. “Autumn isn’t even here anymore. This… this isn’t her. And Sam… he’s been gone for a while again.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, each one a reminder of how far things had spiraled from where we had once been. I didn’t have answers. Not yet. All I could do was hold her and hope we could find a way to bring our family back.

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After what felt like an eternity, we were finally all together again. Eleanor and I stood near the front of the living room, just beside the central fireplace. The flames behind us crackled and spat, their warm glow casting flickering shadows across the darkened room. The heat radiated out, filling the space, but it did little to ease the chill of tension hanging in the air. The dread of facing this corrosive situation that was eating away at our family.

Frank and Jane sat side by side on the worn leather couch, their postures stiff, their hands resting tensely on their knees. They shared a quiet, unspoken solidarity, their expressions grim as they absorbed the weight of everything we were facing. Across from them, Wayland and Clara stood near the bay window, arms crossed, their faces etched with guilt and determination. They had just returned after spending time with Wayland’s side of the family. They apologized for staying away so long, but now that they were back, they were ready to face the storm head-on.

As usual, they’d left Delilah at home. Autumn was her favorite aunt, and if Delilah had any inkling that something was wrong, she would’ve been in tears. They were protecting her for now.

Alan and Eloise arrived with Jane. Alan sat in the armchair near the corner, his hands clasped tightly together, his jaw clenched. The strain in his eyes gave him away, even if he tried to keep his emotions in check. Eloise sat beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder, offering quiet reassurance. She leaned in every so often to whisper something, her tone soothing. Alan nodded but said little. He was strong… he always had been. But I knew the cracks were there, just waiting for a safe moment to show. He himself had been gone for a long time… and I could tell he didn’t want to lose any more family. He was feeling things differently from everyone else in the room.

Arthur and Kayla were next, arriving with Shelta and Sarah, Patrick’s mother. Kayla’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by a somberness that made her seem smaller somehow, as though the weight of everything had shrunk her into herself. Arthur stayed close to her, his hand resting protectively on her back, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for some unseen threat. Always quiet… always watching.

Finally, there was Martin, standing near the fireplace’s edge. His pale, otherworldly features seemed to flicker in and out of the firelight, his dark eyes quietly observing. He looked like he had something on his mind though. Something he was waiting for the right moment to unleash.

This was it. The real confrontation.

The light questioning we’d tried before had gone nowhere. Autumn batted away every concern with true ignorance, and Patrick’s slippery lies only added to our frustration. But Shelta wasn’t about to let him off the hook this time. She stood near the center of the room, her presence commanding even in silence.

Shelta’s voice cut through the thick tension like a blade. “Remember, we don’t need too many voices in this,” she said, her tone low and deliberate. “What we need is everyone’s presence. This can play out in a number of ways, and none of them are guaranteed to end well. But if we handle this carefully, we might be able to shatter whatever twisted web has woven around them. If Autumn can see the truth for herself, there’s a chance she can break the lies and the bindings Patrick placed on her.”

Kayla, her normally subdued demeanor shifting slightly, spoke up. “What about Patrick?” Her blonde hair caught the firelight as she leaned forward, eyes wide with quiet desperation. “Can’t he do anything?”

Shelta shook her head slowly, her expression heavy. “No. Patrick’s complicit. He knew what he was getting into… at least, partially. He’s not under the same spell. He’s been feeding it.”

Beside me, Eleanor exhaled sharply, her breathing heavy, her hands trembling slightly. “I just don’t understand,” she muttered, her voice cracking under the weight of her growing fear.

Shelta turned to El, her gaze steady but somber. “I wish I could go back and stop this before it ever began,” she said softly. “But we’re long past that now. The best we can do is try to undo what Peter’s done, though it won’t be easy.”

I cleared my throat, drawing the attention of the room. “For those of you who haven’t been caught up on everything,” I began, my voice hoarse, “Shelta’s been working around the clock. She’s been analyzing that brush; digging into every angle she can. She’s uncovered a lot, about its purpose, its strength, and most importantly, Peter’s intentions.” I gestured to Shelta, deferring to her to explain further.

Shelta nodded, her eyes sweeping the room. “The long version would take hours, and even then, you might not grasp all the finer details. But here’s the core of it: Peter Grimwood wasn’t just trying to break us physically. His attacks, the ones we could see… those were direct assaults against us. However… there were other attempts, subtler ones, preludes to something far worse. He was laying traps we couldn’t even perceive at the time. This brush,” she said, lifting the object from the table, still sealed in its plastic bag, “is one of those traps. It’s infused with power… dark, vile power that Peter drew from his rituals… his communion with another world.”

The room seemed to darken as she continued. “This belonged to Autumn. He stole it from her apartment at the university. But it wasn’t just an object to him. It became a vessel, a conduit for something far more sinister. This kind of magic requires fuel… human life. Lindsey.” Shelta’s voice dropped to a near whisper, and the name fell heavy on the room like a curse. “Autumn’s roommate. He killed her. Not for sport, not because he’s a psychopath… though he was, but to power the curse.”

A collective silence gripped the room as the weight of Shelta’s words settled. Kayla gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. The rest of us sat in stunned horror, the pieces of Peter’s malevolence clicking into place with a dreadful finality. More of his corruption spilled into our lives after he’d already taken so much.

“This curse,” Shelta continued, “is one of obsession. It’s designed to tear at the fabric of our family. He’s been watching us for years, studying us, learning our vulnerabilities. He knew our bonds would be our undoing if twisted the right way. He came for Alan first, through that hunting trip overseas. Now, he’s come for Autumn and Patrick.”

The fire behind us hissed and popped, casting grim shadows across the room. The air was thick, suffocating, as though the house itself could feel the weight of what was coming.

The room was thick with tension, every face lit dimly by the flickering fire. My family glanced nervously at one another, each person too afraid to voice the thought we were all sharing. Fuck Patrick… this was his fault.

But I knew better. Rationality, cold and bitter, reminded me that while Patrick had used this dark power to worm his way back into Autumn’s life, he hadn’t fully understood the monster he was awakening. He didn’t know what this curse could truly do. Not until it was too late.

Shelta’s voice pulled us all back to the grim reality. “This curse has two sides,” she began, her tone steady, but every word landed like the toll of a tormented bell. “The first is the most obvious… the one you’ve all seen. Autumn and Patrick are together again. But it’s not love that brought them back. It’s an obsession. A sickness.”

The weight of her words pressed down on us, making the shadows seem deeper, the firelight colder. “Autumn’s fixation on Patrick… it’s not natural. It’s why she’s been distant, cold, and unrecognizable. This curse hollows out everything else, stripping her down until Patrick becomes her only focus. Her only need.”

The family shifted uneasily, the scrape of fabric and the creak of chairs the only sound in the room. I clenched my jaw, the memories of Shelta’s earlier explanations replaying in my head like a cruel mantra. My daughter… the bright, compassionate soul I’d raised… was being turned into something unrecognizable. Something terrifying.

Shelta’s voice broke through again, darker now. “But this isn’t some twisted love story. This obsession isn’t about rekindling a flame. It’s a virus, spreading through Autumn’s mind. It consumes her, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And when the obsession grows too great…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking around the room before landing on me. “The only way it ends is with death. She’ll kill him.”

Her words struck like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the room. Kayla shot to her feet, her face pale, her hands trembling. “She’ll what?” she demanded, pacing like a caged animal. “Are you saying she could actually kill him?”

Shelta nodded grimly. “It’s only a matter of time. Patrick doesn’t share the same obsessive pull towards her. He’s starting to pull away, and Autumn can feel it. She’s already unraveling.”

I swallowed hard, stepping in. “She’s been getting worse,” I admitted, my voice tight with fear and frustration. “Eleanor and I have noticed the changes. She’s more aggressive, physically, and verbally. I heard her on the phone with Patrick, telling him if he didn’t meet up, she’d kill him. And when they’re together now… he’s terrified. He stays with her, not because he loves her, but because he’s scared out of his mind. And when we’ve asked him about it before…” I trailed off, the bitter taste of anger rising. “He lied.”

Wayland, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “What’s the second part of this curse?” His question hung in the air like a guillotine.

Shelta’s expression darkened. “The second part,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “is the real danger. This curse doesn’t just bind Autumn to Patrick emotionally or mentally. It binds their souls.”

A murmur rippled through the room, disbelief and dread mingling in every glance. Jane and Clara, ever the strong and stoic ones, broke their silence, speaking in unison. “What does that mean?”

Shelta’s gaze was unyielding as she addressed them. “It means their very life forces are now intertwined. If one of them dies, the other won’t be far behind. This is more than an obsession… it’s a death pact. And if we don’t break it soon…” She let the unspoken conclusion hang in the air, heavier than any words could be.

The room fell silent, the gravity of our situation pressing down on us all. This wasn’t a fight we could win with fists or bullets. This was something far darker, something beyond the realm of our understanding. For the first time, I felt the cold grip of true helplessness, and it terrified me to my core.

The room was suffocating, heavy with unspoken dread. Every flicker of the dim light seemed to amplify the weight pressing on our chests. Shelta's voice was steady, but each word carried the gravity of a death sentence.

"A soul is singular," she said, her eyes grave as she pointed at Clara. "You have one." Then she turned to Jane. "And you have one. Souls should never mingle. They’re not meant to be tied together. When they are, it’s a bond that can’t be undone without consequence." She let the silence stretch, her gaze traveling across the room. “If one dies, so does the other. Their life forces become one.”

The words hung there, a grim proclamation.

Wayland exhaled sharply, his voice low and deliberate. “So you’re saying… the obsession will drive Autumn to kill Patrick.”

Shelta gave a single nod, her face devoid of any comforting warmth.

“And when she kills him…” Kayla’s voice broke, her words trembling as tears began to stream down her face. “She’ll die too?”

No one could meet her eyes. Eleanor was already crying, quiet sobs racking her body. She’d been like this since we found out… since the moment we learned the full scope of the curse. Our daughter wasn’t just lost; she was consumed, twisted into something foreign. The darkness had warped her, sinking so deep that the girl we raised was buried under layers of rage and obsession. Autumn had lashed out physically, violently. She had screamed threats, her voice laced with venom we’d never heard before.

If any part of our daughter still existed, it was drowning in an abyss of fog and confusion.

But Patrick… Patrick was just as trapped. Once we learned their souls were bound, it became clear he was as much a victim as Autumn. Peter had exploited him, used Patrick’s unrequited love… or maybe even his own obsession as a weapon. A crack in our family’s armor, one Peter had driven a wedge into with ruthless precision.

Shelta’s voice was relentless, dragging us further into the horror. “If we hadn’t found out, if Sam hadn’t seen that vision…” She paused, her words hanging like a noose. “It would’ve happened exactly as Peter planned. Autumn’s obsession would’ve spiraled. She would’ve killed Patrick. And she would’ve died with him.”

The room was deathly quiet.

“And then,” I said, my voice hoarse, “Patrick’s family would’ve blamed us. We’d have blamed them. A war… exactly what Peter wanted… would’ve erupted between our families.”

Clara’s breath hitched, her hand raking through her hair as she tried to process it all. “This… this just seems so fast,” she muttered, her voice breaking under the weight of it. “How did all of this happen while we were away?”

Eleanor wiped her face, her hands trembling. “It is fast. Even for us. After everything… after Sam came back and took Peter, and killed him, we thought it was over. We let ourselves believe in that relief, and while we did… this curse took root. Right under our noses.”

I let my head fall into my hands. “The night Patrick first came over,” I murmured, my voice thick with guilt, “Autumn brought him straight to her room. It felt off, but I told myself it was okay. I thought… after we lost Zeke…” My voice faltered, my eyes flicking to Kayla. “And after you lost Bartley…” I glanced at the Wicklows. “I thought maybe their grief had brought them together.”

The knot in my throat tightened, the memory suffocating. “But when Sam came back…” I paused, my hands balling into fists. “He had no idea she’d moved on. And I was the one who told him. I saw the look on his face, and I let him walk into it blind. I thought…” My voice cracked. “I thought maybe Patrick could give her a life. A future. Kids, even. But now…”

Allen’s face was a mask of pain, his jaw clenched so tightly I could hear the faint grinding of his teeth. Beside him, Eloise gripped his hand, her other thumb rubbing slow, steady circles on the back of his neck, a futile attempt to soothe.

But there was no comfort here. No way to undo what had been done. We were on borrowed time, racing against a curse that had already sunk its claws into our family.

“As soon as Autumn and Patrick began spending so much time together, they became distant… isolating themselves. Patrick was hiding it, keeping them away so we wouldn’t pry. And Autumn… she’s consumed by her obsession with him. Nothing else matters to her now… not what we think, not even how we feel. I doubt it’s even crossed her mind,” I slowly explained.

“That’s why it feels like everything happened so fast. We were too distracted, still reeling from Peter’s chaos. At first, it just seemed odd, but now… it’s spiraled into something much worse,” Eleanor spoke numbly.

Sarah finally broke the silence, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’ve heard Patrick at night,” she said softly. “When he comes home, he talks to himself. He’s scared. I think he knows Autumn isn’t herself anymore. He can sense it… the darkness pulling them into something twisted. I’ve even heard him crying recently, in his room.”

I glanced at Kayla. She had her face buried in her hands, silently sobbing. She’d been furious with them… angry at how they’d cast her aside. But now? That anger was turning into guilt. She realized Patrick and Autumn weren’t entirely to blame. They were pawns, victims both… corrupted by a dark force beyond their understanding. Attacked by the same evil that took her father.

The more I thought about it, the less angry I was with Patrick. Peter Grimwood was a monster… no, worse. A necromancer. He’d handed Patrick a death sentence, wrapped up like a gift… the one thing he wanted more than anything else… a way back to Autumn. It was like giving a loaded gun to a child. Patrick had no idea what he was holding, no clue how much damage it could cause. And yet, he used it, blindly, ignorant of the consequences.

Shelta laid out the plan, her voice cold and pragmatic. “We confront them. Corner them both and reveal everything. Autumn will deny it… she’s too far gone to see what’s wrong. All she knows is Patrick isn’t giving her the affection she craves. But Patrick… if we can get him to admit it in front of her, to say it’s all a lie… that their bond is the result of a curse; then maybe we can break it. That’s our only shot.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Wayland spoke up, his voice grim. “But her mind won’t handle it, will it? If we shatter her reality and force her to see the truth, could it bring the real Autumn back? Even for a moment?” He looked to Shelta, hope flickering in his eyes.

Shelta nodded. “That’s the goal. If we can get her to question everything, the cracks might let her true self through. But it’s risky… none of this is guaranteed. We’re improvising here.” She stopped talking and raised her hand to her nose. It was then I saw it was bleeding slightly. She wiped the back of her hand against her nose and upper lip, smearing a small streak of blood before wiping it away a second time.

“Shelta,” I spoke out, concerned. “Are you alright?”

She nodded quickly, “Reaching into this thing with my power… it’s had… consequences.” She motioned down to the brush. She continued, holding up the cursed brush. “I’ve reached out to my mother’s old contacts; sorcerers, witches, people who’ve battled ancient evils. They’re shocked this kind of power is still active. They’ve told me that the dark forces they’ve fought for centuries are fading. Ever since Peter’s death, it’s like a tide going out. Necromancers, witches, all the things that prey on power in the shadows… they’re losing their grip. Some have vanished entirely.”

Shelta’s expression darkened. “But this curse? It shouldn’t exist anymore. The power tied to it should have died with Peter. The only explanation is that it’s linked to whatever force kept bringing him back from the dead. Something ancient and malevolent from the other world… something even darker than we’ve faced before. I think that it’s only still around because it’s fueled by the life he stole for it… Autumn’s roommate… Lindsey. This brush is its last remnant. If we don’t act, it’ll consume them both.”

The significance of Shelta’s words was not lost on anyone. This wasn’t just a curse. It was the last exhale of something ancient, a dying ember of a force that had stained our world for centuries. And even now, on its last legs, it could still tear us apart.

I swallowed hard, piecing together the horror Shelta had hinted at, trying to reconcile it with everything Sam had told us before. “This... this all goes back to Peter,” I said, my voice low, grim. “It wasn’t just him. It was his benefactor. That thing from the other side.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, the memory of Sam’s confessions still raw. “When Peter dragged Sam into that other world, abandoned him there, he left him to face something far worse. Sam called it a Primeval… some kind of ancient monster… a titan. But it was more than that. It was the foundation of that place.” I paused, locking eyes with Eleanor, then Frank and Jane. “Sam said it was a literal hell itself. And when he killed it, the whole dimension collapsed.”

Shelta’s eyes widened, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. Even Martin seemed shaken, his usual solid composure cracking. He leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. “Sam’s gone… for now, at least. I spoke with Charles.” This was what he had on his mind.

“Charles?” I frowned. “He’s back? I thought you couldn’t reach him.”

Martin nodded. “He’s leaving the city. Taking his family and getting the hell out. He said things are about to get dangerous down below. More dangerous than they’ve ever been.” His gaze flickered toward Eleanor and me, the unspoken influence of his words sinking in. “Sam and Alex went into the pits. Together. Sam told Charles he was going down there to kill everything.”

The room fell silent. The enormity… the impossible task of what Sam had chosen to do wasn’t lost on any of us. None of us knew true details about the pits… only that it was home to the darkest, deepest depths where evil resided. Thankfully the most heinous of creatures remained veiled below. He’d willingly walked into the heart of the abyss, into a den of horrors that no sane person would even dare imagine. A suicide mission… except for Sam, death had become a companion.

“He’s not just fighting monsters,” I said, glancing at Eleanor, hoping for a nod of approval to tell some of what Sam had told us. I’d hate to betray his trust… but… if he knew it was part of trying to save Autumn… I think it would be what he’d want. “He’s a part of something… much bigger. And what’s inside him… it’s something none of us can truly understand.”

Shelta’s voice was tight, skeptical but intrigued. “And what is he, exactly? What kind of power could stand against something like the pits… or Peter’s benefactor? Something with that much reach, that much control?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to find the words. “The thing inside him isn’t something we can categorize. It’s in a new category… all on its own. It’s ancient… another Primeval… but different somehow… older than language. Sam calls it Myoordrakien, but even that’s just a placeholder, a sliver of its true identity. At least… that’s how Sam told it.” I thought back to the last words I had with my friend.

Shelta’s face darkened. “And what backs that kind of power? What keeps him going?”

I hesitated. This wasn’t something I wanted to put into words. But hiding it wouldn’t help. “It’s bound to something greater than even the Primeval,” I said finally, my voice heavy. “The entity inside Sam, the one that grants him that power, isn’t from our world. It’s tied to something… absolute.” I met everyone’s eyes, letting the truth settle over them like a suffocating fog. “The thing keeping Sam alive… the force he serves that grants the names and visions… is Death itself.”

A stunned silence followed. The kind that made you feel the walls closing in. No one spoke, but the unspoken dread was palpable, even in name alone. This wasn’t just about curses or ancient evils anymore. This was a war on a scale none of us could comprehend. And Sam? He was our only weapon, a living embodiment of something as unstoppable as the end of all things.

It would take time for them to process what I had dropped on them. Hell, Eleanor and I were still grappling with it ourselves, even after hearing it straight from Sam. But they didn’t have the luxury of time. Autumn and Patrick were due home soon, and we needed them here for this.

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We’d baited the trap well: told Autumn everyone wanted to throw them a big dinner, a gesture of apology for how we’d treated them before. It was a low move, but necessary. If Autumn believed the invitation was genuine, she’d show up… and drag Patrick with her. He’d follow, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. Autumn ran the show now. He was just a shadow, his fear the only thing holding him upright. We were counting on that fear to help us break this thing once and for all.

When they finally stepped inside, Autumn’s eyes flicked around, her smile collapsing. “Wait… no dinner? No cookout?” Her voice was sharp, suspicion already cutting through her confusion. “What is this?”

Patrick, standing a step behind her, fidgeted nervously. “Yeah… I thought this was supposed to be a celebration?” His voice wavered, and he gave a weak laugh. “We’re back together. Isn’t that, uh, a big deal?”

Autumn’s agitation only grew. She crossed her arms, glaring at us. “Well? Did you change your minds or something? Because this is seriously messed up if you did.” She shot Patrick a glance, and he immediately clammed up, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence dragged, and Patrick, clearly panicked, tried to fill it. “Uh, things have been really good lately,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “We’ve, uh, worked everything out. Right, Autumn?” His smile was nervous, almost pleading.

Autumn’s jaw tightened as she nodded, gripping his hand hard enough to make him wince. “Yeah. We’re fine now. We’re happy. Isn’t that what matters?” Her tone was defensive, bordering on hostile.

Their words tumbled out in a rush, like they were desperate to justify themselves to us… to each other. They had no idea why we were really here, no inkling of the truth waiting to tear through their fragile reality. But they’d know soon enough.

“We’ll get back to all that soon, Autumn,” I said, my voice deliberately even, trying to steer the conversation. I glanced around at the others… Eleanor, Martin, Shelta, and Sarah, Patrick’s mother; before returning my gaze to the two of them. “But first, we need to address why we’re really here.”

They exchanged wary glances, tension thickening in the room as everyone’s eyes fixed on them. Autumn stood tall, defiant. Her eyes flickered with a sharp, unyielding confidence that dared us to come at her. She didn’t believe she had anything to hide. Patrick, though, his nervous energy was palpable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands twitching at his sides.

“What is this?” Autumn demanded, her tone sharp and accusatory. Her eyes darted between us. “Why are you all staring at us like that?” She turned on Patrick, her frustration bubbling. “What’s going on?”

Patrick opened his mouth, then shut it again, sheepish. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. The boy was mortified.

Shelta hesitated, her hands twitching at her sides. “I don’t want to be the one to touch it,” she muttered. “I’ve had enough of that thing. I don’t even want to be near it.”

I reached for the bag sitting at my feet, pulling it onto the table with deliberate slowness. Inside was a clear Ziploc bag containing the green brush. I lifted it, holding it up for them to see.

Autumn blinked, incredulous. “What the fuck is that?” she spat, her voice hard and full of disdain. There was no respect, no fear. Just raw, irritated defiance.

I kept my eyes on Patrick. “Why don’t you tell us, Patrick?”

He flinched. “What? What do you mean?” His voice cracked as he glanced around, searching for an ally in the room. His gaze landed on Shelta, then his mother, but they didn’t budge. Both women stared at him, their expressions as hard as stone. There was no comfort there.

“What is this, Patrick?” I pressed, my tone cold.

Shelta stepped forward. “If you know something about this, you need to speak up. You should have told us the moment it happened… the moment we asked you about Peter… but you lied. We gave you chances Patrick… and you kept choosing the lies.” Her voice was uncharacteristically firm, her usual warmth stripped away.

Patrick’s face crumpled. He was trapped. His aunt, the woman who’d always been in his corner, was now standing against him. And Sarah… his mother’s eyes brimmed with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke.

“Patrick, just be honest,” Sarah pleaded. “Please. Whatever this is, it’s dangerous. You don’t mess around with things like this.” She wiped her face, barely holding herself together. “It’s not too late. Tell us the truth.”

Her words seemed to hit him like a hammer. His eyes welled up, his composure cracking as he realized the weight of the moment. We knew it all. We’d known it for a while now… and he finally saw it.

Autumn, however, wasn’t having any of it. “What the hell are you all talking about?” she snapped, stepping forward. “Why are you ganging up on him? What’s with the brush? Why do you care so much?”

Then, her eyes landed on it again, her brow furrowing. She tilted her head slightly, confusion giving way to faint recognition. Her gaze sharpened, and then it hit her. Her jaw tightened, and her voice dropped into a low, dangerous register. “Wait… that’s mine. How did you get that?”

Eleanor stepped forward, her voice choked with emotion but firm enough to cut through Autumn’s growing fury. “Sweetheart… you recognize it, don’t you?”

Autumn nodded, her expression hard. “Yeah, obviously. It’s mine. So what?” She crossed her arms. “Why do you have it? What’s so important about some stupid brush?”

The room fell silent, the weight of her question hanging in the air. This was the tipping point. She had no idea what she’d just stepped into… but she was about to find out.

“Autumn,” I said, my voice steady but firm, trying to ground her spiraling frustration. “Did Sam come to see you? A while back. After he killed Peter. When Sam… took him from our backyard, and we never saw them again.”

Her face twisted in confusion, her brown eyes narrowing. “No,” she snapped, her tone laced with irritation. “Why would he? He never came to see me.”

Her denial was the sharp truth. But I could see something flicker beneath the surface, a subtle shift in her expression as she tried to make sense of my question. Did she remember something?

“You don’t remember him coming over?” I pressed. “Telling you something important. Something very important.”

She stared at me, her eyes flicking to Patrick briefly before darting away. There was no recognition, only growing anger. “What the hell are you talking about?” she said, her voice rising. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

But I knew better. Something was buried deep within her memory. Sam had told me everything about that night. How she’d recoiled, stepping back in fear, as if death itself had walked into her living room. She had to remember. She had to.

Her gaze shifted, distant now, as though trying to reach for a memory that remained just out of her grasp. Patrick, standing beside her, grew visibly tense. His hands fidgeted, and sweat began to bead at his temple. He wasn’t good at hiding his guilt. His wide eyes darted nervously between us, and in that moment, I saw it. He knew we had them cornered. Nowhere to go.

I swallowed the rising frustration, forcing my voice to remain calm. “You don’t remember him talking to you? About who he is, about what he is… what he’s tied to?”

Autumn’s brow furrowed deeper. Her confusion was real now, a storm of irritation and doubt swirling in her mind. “No, I don’t,” she said, but the words came slower, as if she was second-guessing herself. “I… I remember Sam leaving the house, maybe. But he didn’t tell me anything. No secrets. Nothing like that.”

She faltered, glancing at Patrick again, searching his face for support. “Patrick, do you remember that night?” Her voice softened, laced with a flicker of uncertainty. “You were there, right? Did you show up after… or maybe before? I don’t know. Everything’s mixed up.” She slammed her palms into her face like she could press the answers into her brain through her face. She shook her head in growing frustration at her own mind and all of us. But we saw it… it was happening. The cracks were forming.

Patrick’s lips parted, but no words came out. He was frozen, his face pale as the weight of her gaze bore down on him. He looked like a man standing on a collapsing bridge, unsure whether to jump or cling to the wreckage.

“Patrick,” I said, cutting through the silence, my tone hard. “What do you know? It’s time to come clean.”

Shelta’s voice was quiet but carried authority. “If you’re hiding something, you need to tell us. Now.” Her eyes bore into him, a sharp contrast to her usual gentle demeanor. Even Sarah, standing beside her, looked on with a mix of worry and determination. Tears shimmered in her eyes, the cracks in her composure growing.

Patrick’s breath hitched, his face crumpling under the collective weight of our scrutiny. He could see the disbelief and frustration mounting in Autumn’s eyes as she stared at him, waiting for him to explain. Her patience, already thin, was fraying rapidly.

“Patrick, what the hell is going on?” Autumn’s voice was sharp, rising in pitch as her confusion transformed into outright anger. “Why aren’t you saying anything? What are they talking about?” Emotion bubbled up in Autumn’s throat. Betrayal laced her mind as she looked upon Patrick’s guilty face.

Patrick’s lips quivered. He glanced at her, his eyes pleading for understanding, for forgiveness he hadn’t yet asked for. “I… I didn’t mean for any of this,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Autumn stepped back, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Didn’t mean for what? What did you do, Patrick?” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear.

He looked down, shame coloring his face. “I… I didn’t know it would go this far,” he muttered. “I thought it was… I thought it was harmless. It just happened and I… I fell into it. I didn’t think this would happen,” he motioned towards Autumn’s murderous visage.

Autumn stared at him, her face a mask of betrayal. “What the hell are you talking about?” she shouted. Her eyes flicked to the brush in my hand, realization dawning as the fragments of memory clicked into place. “That’s mine! Why do you have it?” Her brain needed help… she was going in circles of confusion.

Eleanor stepped forward, her voice strained but steady. “Sweetheart, you remember now, don’t you?”

Patrick’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of her glare, his voice breaking as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Autumn.”

Patrick’s sobs ripped through the room, jagged and raw. His shoulders trembled violently as he collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. The sound of his anguish filled the air, choking the space with a suffocating weight. His arms scabbed over with fresh, jagged cuts, told their own story… a grim testament to how much Autumn had changed. She’d been hurting him. Whatever Patrick and Autumn had been going through, for Patrick… it was a nightmare. And now, it was unraveling before his eyes.

Autumn was on him in an instant, sliding onto the couch beside him and wrapping her arms around his shaking form like a predator trying to calm its prey before the death blow. She pulled his head into her neck, her voice a frantic whisper, trying to piece him back together. “It’s okay, Patrick. It’s going to be okay,” she murmured, her hand stroking his hair with twisted obsession, unable to see the reality of everything going on around her. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. No matter what happens, I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” She truly didn’t care what it was we were trying to get him to admit. Her shifts in mood were jarring… scary.

Her words hit like a slap. My stomach twisted in disbelief. How could she say that? After everything? After all the warnings, after all the signs? It was like she was willfully blind, shutting out everything around her to cling to this moment. Her devotion wasn’t normal… it was desperate, cloying, dark.

Patrick stirred beneath her touch, his sobs subsiding just enough for him to push her away. “No… no, Autumn, stop,” he choked out, shaking his head as he stood. His knees buckled slightly, but he steadied himself, taking a step back from her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

Autumn froze, her face a mixture of shock and anger. Her hands hovered mid-air, as if she didn’t know whether to pull him back or let him go. “Patrick,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What are you talking about? What did you do?” Betrayal returned to her face, quivering with emotion, and then solidifying with rage again. It was like watching a kaleidoscope of emotion… ever-shifting and returning through a cycle as her mind tried to comprehend what was going on.

The room seemed to close in on itself, everyone’s attention locking onto Patrick. Shelta’s eyes narrowed, Sarah’s hands clenched tightly at her sides, and even Martin leaned forward slightly, the usual calm in his expression replaced by sharp, cold focus. He was watching Autumn closely… waiting for her to try something.

Patrick’s breathing quickened. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if trying to shake off some invisible stain. “He… he came to me,” Patrick said, his voice hollow. “When I was alone. When no one else could help. He knew everything… about Sam, about you,” his eyes flicked to Autumn, then away, “about us.”

He paused, his lips trembling as he tried to force the words out. “He said he could make me stronger. Stronger than anyone in the family. Strong enough to finally be… enough.” His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. “He knew how much I hated Sam. How much I hated him for taking you away from me.”

“Patrick,” Autumn breathed, her voice breaking. Her hands fell into her lap, her face pale.

Patrick winced but pushed forward. “He told me we could kill Sam together,” he said, his eyes glassy with tears. “That it was the only way to make things right. He promised me that, after Sam was gone, everything would fall into place. I believed him. I wanted to believe him.”

He stopped, his chest heaving as fresh tears spilled over. “But then… then he killed Dad.”

A gasp broke the silence… Autumn, clutched her chest as if the words had physically struck her. Patrick barely registered her reaction, his voice rising as his emotions spiraled out of control. “He swore he wouldn’t hurt our family,” he said, his words spilling out in a frantic rush. “He said it was all about Sam. That Dad was just… collateral. But after that, I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him to leave me alone. I told him I didn’t want any part of it.”

Autumn clenched her teeth and leaned back on the couch as she fell silent. It didn’t look like her staring at Patrick anymore. Behind her eyes… it looked like an animal. Cold and emotionless eyes gazed over Patrick as he spoke. Her face frozen like a lifeless mannequin. It sent heartache through me as I didn’t see my daughter anymore… and it sent chills crawling across my back in stabbing waves.

“But he wouldn’t stop.” Patrick’s voice broke into a sob, his hands gripping his hair as if he could pull the memories free. “He kept coming back. He said… he said I could fix everything if I just reached out. If I just grabbed onto something that wasn’t supposed to be here. Something from… from somewhere else. Another dimension. He called it that. A place where everything I wanted could be real.”

We all stared, the weight of his confession sinking in. No one dared to breathe.

Patrick wiped his face with a trembling hand, his eyes red and hollow. “I tried. I tried to make him leave, but he wouldn’t stop. And then, just before Sam finally killed him, he came to me one last time.” His voice dropped, low and haunted. “He brought me this.”

Patrick reached out and pointed to Autumn’s brush, staring at it like a plagued artifact. “He said that was the key,” he whispered.

"What is it?" I demanded, my voice low but laced with menace as I stepped closer to Patrick. "What did you do to her?"

Patrick recoiled, his wide, bloodshot eyes flickering with fear. He stumbled back a step, the weight of my words pinning him in place. "I… I don't know," he stammered, his voice cracking. "I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just showed up... I had it with me, but I didn’t really know what it would do."

My jaw tightened. "But you knew," I accused, my tone sharpening. "You knew it would get you something. You knew it was tied to Autumn."

Patrick hung his head low, his shame pooling around him like a dark cloud. "I did," he whispered hoarsely. "I didn’t know exactly what would happen, but… after Dad, after everything—" His voice faltered, thick with grief. "I just wanted something. I wanted her back. I wanted us to be like we were before."

Before I could respond, Autumn’s figure blurred in my peripheral vision. In one swift motion, she stepped between us, her hand pressing against my chest and shoving me backward with surprising force. "Back off, Dad," she snapped, her voice colder than I had ever heard. Her eyes burned with a feral rage, their intensity sending a chill through the room.

Eleanor’s voice cracked like a whip. "Autumn Chasse!" She stormed forward, grabbing Autumn by the arm and yanking her back. "Don’t you dare lay a hand on your father again." With a fierce shove, Eleanor threw her back toward the couch. Putting her in her place, no matter what was going on with her.

Autumn bounced off the arm of the couch and landed with a thud, but didn’t flinch. She stared back at us, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her gaze was wild, unhinged, and laced with something far darker than mere defiance as she lay on the floor. There was a glimmer of something unnatural in her eyes… a shadow that didn’t belong.

My heart pounded as I stared at her, feeling the air grow heavier. The moment she touched me, I knew. This wasn’t just teenage rebellion or misplaced loyalty. Sam was right. Patrick was right. Something had changed her. Something tainted had wormed its way into her soul.

Autumn struggled to rise, her eyes darting toward Patrick like he was her lifeline. Patrick, for his part, looked pale and terrified, as though he were realizing the full extent of what he had unleashed. "Autumn, stop," he pleaded. "This isn’t you."

Before she could lunge again, Jane moved with dangerous speed. She wrapped her arms around Autumn, pinning her arms in place. One arm locked around her torso, and the other cradled her head, keeping her from thrashing too violently. Autumn kicked and flailed, her feet aiming for Jane’s knees, but Jane was immovable, her voice calm and steady as she whispered into Autumn’s ear.

"Shhh… calm down," Jane murmured. "Think. Listen to me. This isn’t you, Autumn. This rage isn’t yours. Let it go." Her voice was a low, soothing hum, but her grip didn’t waver. "Calm. Breathe. Come back to us."

Autumn’s movements slowed, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Her muscles trembled under Jane’s hold, but the fight in her eyes didn’t die… it merely smoldered beneath the surface.

I turned back to Patrick, my voice a cold blade. "What happened the night you used it? What did you do?" I asked, only to get him to say it aloud. We wanted… needed Autumn to hear the story.

Patrick’s hands trembled as he wiped his face, his breath hitching. "I drove over here. I… I had the brush with me. I just wanted to talk to her, to explain everything about Peter and what happened to Dad. On the way, I saw Sam." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He was walking through the woods. I don’t think he saw me, just another car passing by. But I knew he was heading here."

Patrick hesitated, his gaze darting toward Autumn as if seeking her permission to continue. She stared back with an almost predatory intensity.

"I parked down the road and waited," Patrick continued. "I didn’t want to face him. After a while, I saw him leave, heading back into the trees. That’s when I came inside."

Sarah, Patrick’s mother, sobbed quietly in the corner, her face pale and tear-streaked. Her voice broke the silence. "What did you do, Patrick?" she asked, her tone trembling with both fear and desperation. "Look at what you’ve done to this girl?"

Patrick’s voice cracked as he answered. "I didn’t do anything, Mom. I swear. I knocked on the door, and Autumn let me in. I showed her the brush, and we talked. I told her how much I missed her… how much I wanted us to be together again." His voice wavered, guilt pouring out with every word.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers curling as though he could still feel the brush’s sinister weight. "She grabbed it while I was holding it. And… it was like something clicked. I felt it, this… pull. Like we were connected on some deeper level. And she felt it too. She said she did." He choked on his next words, tears streaming down his face. "After that, it was like she loved me again. Like we were back in those perfect days. I thought it was a gift. I thought Peter was helping us… me."

"Anything Peter touches, he destroys," Shelta’s voice cut through the room like a knife. Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable sharp and deliberate. "You know that, Patrick. You watched him destroy your father." Shelta’s eyes bore into Patrick, her tone laced with a dark certainty. "He never meant to help you. He only meant to take."

A cold silence fell over the room. The weight of Shelta’s words was undeniable, the truth sinking in with a suffocating finality. Patrick’s face crumpled as he broke down, his sobs echoing through the tense, oppressive air.

Patrick lowered his head, his shoulders trembling as tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what it would do to her. If I had known that she’d be like this… I would have never brought that thing near her.” He looked at the brush with disgust.

His voice cracked under the weight of shame, but it wasn’t enough. Not for me. My fists clenched at my sides, every muscle screaming for action. “You should’ve never kept it,” I snarled, stepping closer, my voice low and venomous. “You should’ve come to me. We could’ve destroyed it… we would’ve, before it had the chance to ruin her.” My words burned through the air, a searing condemnation. Patrick sank further into the couch, burying his face in his hands, too broken to respond. He knew he’d screwed up, knew he’d unleashed something that had no place in our family. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

The room was suffocating with tension, my mind racing with dark, violent thoughts. I wanted to rip him apart, to make him feel a fraction of the pain his foolishness had caused. And worse, I couldn’t ignore the horrifying implications of what they’d done… what he’d done with my daughter under the influence of that cursed brush. My stomach churned, rage boiling hotter with every second. If I let my thoughts linger on it for too long, I’d lose control completely. My hand hovered near the blade at my belt, the urge to act almost overwhelming.

I felt Eleanor’s frantic hand on mine, calming the boiling rage that tried to take me in the chaotic moment.

Then, Autumn’s voice broke through the storm. Her words dripped with venom, laced with disbelief and fury.

“No! No, no, no! That’s not true!” she screamed, her voice raw and frenzied. “Stop saying that, Patrick! They’re lying to you… they’re all lying!” Her eyes were wild, her face twisted in rage and desperation. “They’re trying to tear us apart, trying to put me with that monster! I don’t want him! I don’t want to be with some freak who isn’t even alive! You hear me?!” Her voice cracked, and then it was a guttural roar. “Don’t listen to them, Patrick! Don’t agree to a fucking thing!”

Autumn’s thrashing intensified, her body writhing in Jane’s iron grip. But the more Jane tightened her hold, the more frantic Autumn became, her screams rising into an almost animalistic wail. Her face was red with fury, veins bulging at her temples, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Eleanor stepped back… not seeing our daughter in that moment… but a tormented monster. We all saw it. Her eyes were vacant… she wasn’t there. It was something else… and it wanted free.

I glanced at Patrick, who was paralyzed, his face pale, his hands shaking. His eyes flicked from me to Autumn, filled with terror at what she had become.

“Autumn, stop!” I shouted, stepping forward… but it was too late.

Her head snapped toward me, her face twisted with rage. Jane grunted, struggling to keep control, but Autumn’s thrashing reached a fever pitch. In a flash, her head darted down, her teeth sinking into Jane’s hand with a sickening crunch. Jane’s eyes widened in shock as blood trickled from the deep bite, but the pain barely fazed her. She held firm, her grip wavering for only a second despite the savage attack. One of Autumn’s arms slipped free.

But Autumn wasn’t done. She twisted violently, a free arm flailing with a sudden surge of strength. Her elbow drove back into Jane’s temple with a brutal crack. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and vicious. Jane staggered, momentarily dazed, and in that instant, Autumn broke free.

All hell broke loose.

Autumn let out a primal scream, her eyes blazing with fury as she lunged at Patrick. He yelped, scrambling backward, his face a mask of terror. She didn’t care… didn’t care about the blood on her lips, didn’t care about anything except getting to him. Jane shook her head, trying to regain focus, but the blow had stunned her just enough to leave her vulnerable.

“Autumn, stop!” Eleanor shouted, but her voice barely registered. My daughter was lost in a frenzy, a maelstrom of rage and heartbreak.

I moved to intercept her, but she was faster, her movements erratic and wild. She shoved past me with a force that nearly knocked me off my feet, her strength fueled by desperation. Patrick’s back hit the wall, his eyes wide with fear as Autumn closed in on him, her hands reaching out… not for comfort, but to pull him closer into whatever twisted reality they now shared. I saw her brandish her dagger, the silver blade always at her waist. He was going to kill him… and herself in the process. This wasn’t my daughter. This was something else. Something darker.