Timewalkers

For those of you who have seen "Timewalkers" before - this is a revised version. It will contain similar elements to the old version (Amory, Moonvale, etc) - but this is a fresh new take on that entire world, and it will likely contain a LOT more than the original, potentially becoming a trilogy or a 3-part novel.

I can promise with absolute certainty that this will be the FINAL version of this story, and you do NOT need to worry about reading it just to see it disappear later.

With that being said, you may read on now.

Do enjoy.

Arc 1 - The Moonvale Family

Mapleview, North Carolina

October 7th, 1944

10:46 P.M.

In the long, tireless endeavors that spanned time and space and spiraled across the decades of the 20th and 21st centuries—it all began with a single lonesome soul, a holy, mysterious, and incredible being, finally free to walk upon the earth at last.

During the time of Biblical reality, wherein angels regularly interacted with the world of humans—this lonesome soul began his unwitting journey through time, marching about the earth and masquerading as a human being, until the day his body became frozen in a merciless tundra. Many a century came and went before the new and evolved human society uncovered him—and the very moment the archeologists of the early 1940s discovered and relocated his petrified body, he found himself warming, awakening, springing back to life and blinking himself awake, as if the many centuries had flashed past him in a matter of seconds.

Now—months after he’d awoken and fled—here he was, striding down an empty street in the rural town of Mapleview beneath a rainy night sky, no cars out and about, a single diner off to his right with its lights still powered on, and he was just able to hear the radio playing inside, muffled and distant, delivering announcements regarding the war overseas before switching to a song by Larry Clinton and Bea Wain, a song called If It Rains, Who Cares.

His black trench coat shifted in the breeze, the rainfall thickening slightly, dribbling off the edges of his trilby hat’s brim. He slowed to a stop by the diner window, peering inside and seeing that it was mostly empty, the only inhabitant being a single waitress, who was working to wipe down the counters by herself.

Everything seemed to appear ordinary; he had only been exploring the modern society of humanity for a few short months, and he knew very little about it still, but he’d grown accustomed to the regular sights, sounds, and routines of the small town he’d found himself in.

It seemed normal for the people here to retire in the later hours and leave the buildings, climbing into their vehicles and going to wherever they lived. It was normal for this diner—a place where people came to share meals during daylight—to no longer entertain visitors at this late hour, and it was normal for the vehicles to no longer be cruising down this long stretch of pavement during this time. It seemed that society had its own routines, much as they had long ago, but with many more tools and amenities at their disposal now. He was often intrigued by them, eyeballing the cars when they drove by, or staring at the electric lights for a bit too long, periodically warranting odd glances and stares from the daytime passersby.

In fact—he felt a spark of the same intrigue now, lingering by the diner’s window and slowly raising his head, peering out from beneath the brim of his hat and narrowing his sharp blue eyes at the glass. He was just barely able to hear the radio playing from inside, but he merely stood there, expressionless, listening to the melodic sound it made, and thinking it rather peaceful.

He stood still there for a while longer, not minding the downpour all around him, listening until a new song began to play.

Eventually—the waitress paused behind her counter, spotting him there and offering him a kind smile and wave. She had a pale, beautiful face, brunet hair that was tied back and a sky blue dress on, her eyes a shiny hazel color.

He gave her a nod and managed a smile, though his expression was rather pensive and intense—as he was still pondering on whatever he sensed nearby here, whatever negative ordeal that he would have to seek out and manage tonight.

The waitress placed her rag down and paused, looking down and wiping her eye. She stared down for a moment, then moved around the counter, heading over to the glass double-doors and pushing them open. She then leaned outside, facing him and addressing him.

“I’m sorry, darling,” the woman said, leaning halfway outside and offering him another smile. “We’re all closed up now.”

He slowly turned around, facing her properly and pocketing his hands.

“That’s… all right,” he replied, his voice a low, faint rasp. “I don’t intend to come inside.”

The woman tilted her head curiously at him, glimpsing around at the rain, then back.

“I’ve seen you around here before, haven’t I?” she remarked. “What’s your name?”

He stared, inhaling deeply and taking a step closer.

“My name is Zyon,” he told her, examining her rather intently.

“Well… howdy-do, Mr. Zyon,” the woman said kindly, stepping out of the diner and moving closer, though she remained under the edge of the rooftop so not to get drenched. “My name is Evelyn. Pleasure to meet you.”

She extended her hand.

Zyon stared down at it, knowing that she expected the modern commonality of a “handshake” now. So, he sighed and grasped her hand, giving it a slight shake—and then, everything rushed through him, flooding his mind all at once.

Suddenly, he knew precisely why he was here—and who he was here for.

The woman, Evelyn, withdrew her hand and maintained her smile—but Zyon merely stared, his brow hardening, his glistening cerulean eyes seeming to gaze directly through her.

“Now… what exactly are you doing out in the rain?” Evelyn asked. “Especially so late at night. Where on earth could you be going right now?”

Zyon let out another sigh, staring at her with an unreadable visage.

“I could ask you a similar question,” he remarked, eyeing her astutely. “I don’t believe you usually work in this… place… so late into the evening.”

Evelyn’s smile waned a bit, then she forced a bigger one and swatted the air. “Oh, well, you know… busy hands are happy hands. I just thought I would do a few extra tasks here tonight so I don’t have too much to do tomorrow.”

Zyon’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze almost invasive now.

“You don’t want to stop working,” he determined, taking a small step nearer. “Because… stopping your work, and going back home… means… lying down to sleep… with nothing but your thoughts. And you have very grave things plaguing your thoughts now.”

This time, Evelyn’s smile vanished completely, and she fell silent.

“And you only just got the telegram today,” Zyon said softly, releasing a grim cloud of breath. “Your husband… fell… in Saipan. Another casualty of the war.”

Evelyn stared, devoid of an expression and saying nothing, her lip making a slight quiver.

“And now… you have thoughts… of joining him,” Zyon knew, moving even closer and giving her a deep, profound look. “But you have a son, Evelyn Walker. He is still out there, and he expects to see you when he comes home.”

Evelyn was silent for a long, somber moment, not a sound stirring aside from the rainfall all around, and the gentle melody of music echoing from beyond the diner’s wall.

Her eyes wandered down, hand cupped in front of her, fidgeting slightly, seeming to have a much harder time of maintaining her composure than before. She took in several breaths, opening her mouth to speak a few times before she managed to.

“What if h…” Evelyn murmured in a weak, shaky voice, her eyes venturing back up to his, now watery with despair. “What if he never comes home, either…? I c… I couldn’t bear this again…”

Zyon’s stare hardened, stepping closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, and giving her a firm, assuring look.

“He will,” he told her definitively.

Evelyn’s expression began to fracture, lip quivering more, trying with all her might to keep from crying, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“How do you know…?” she breathed miserably.

Zyon paused for a moment, and then, his usually intense face softened, and he flashed a small, genuine smile.

“Because I have seen the light of the future,” he stated. “And it’s far brighter than the darkness of the past that is now.”

Evelyn gazed into him, more tears cascading down her face, choking out a sob and feeling several things all at once—but the most impossible feeling of all was the calm, pure serenity that felt to be spreading throughout her now, like the warm, inviting embrace of a peace beyond all understanding. She sputtered out a laughing sort of cry, thoughtlessly draping an arm around him and embracing him like a long lost family member.

Zyon quietly returned the hug, patting her on the back and allowing her to cry softly into his collar for a moment. The two stood alongside the diner, the rainfall steady, and the night sky filling with the dull, distant rumble of thunder.

Then, she leaned back, sniffing and straightening up. She wiped her eye, fell silent, and gave him a strange, curious stare.

“Wh… who are you?” Evelyn wondered.

Zyon offered a final smile, stepping back over the curb and preparing to leave.

“Have faith, Evelyn… and you will have peace,” he disclosed, turning on his heel and marching down the road.

Evelyn clasped the necklace she wore—a silver, elegant cross necklace—and she stared after him as he marched across the stormy night, slowly venturing farther down the street.

As she watched him go, thunder sounded again, and lightning brightened the sky.

Evelyn gasped and reeled back; the moment the lightning illuminated the town—she could’ve sworn she’d seen the outlines of great, expansive wings protruding from the man’s back, if only for a brief split second.

She squinted across the rainy night, eyeing him attentively from behind as he slowly wandered farther from her view, but she couldn’t see any such thing on or around him anymore. Shaking her head and glancing down for a moment, she turned and retreated back into the diner.

Zyon strolled away, the rain just beginning to dwindle, though the thunder carried on, and he felt more or less satisfied now. It had become a routine for him in this town; he often sensed the negativity in the air, the aura of darkness that would creep into someone’s life, and he strolled about Mapleview in search of such darkness, taking simple measures to abolish them and nudging people away from surrendering their souls, one person at a time.

He hadn’t been free to roam in a very long time, and—with him being the only angel remaining in the human world, the others having left this place during a time far gone—he could think of no better use of his time rather than simply doing whatever good he could.

However—the moment he sensed another wave of darkness, this one far deeper and more drastic than any other he’d ever felt in this town, a sudden shudder jolting down his spine—he stopped in the middle of the street, his brow hardening.

He slowly turned around—and directly behind him stood one other man, a man with a jovial sort of face and dark, scratchy stubble along his chin, wearing a black overcoat and a hat to match, his face halfway hidden beneath the hat’s brim.

Zyon stared, his eyes narrowing, his expression pensive—feeling a peculiar lurching in his stomach, knowing for certain that this was not simply another case of demonic interference in the life of a human being. No, he did not merely sense or suspect the darkness to be; he felt it positively screaming at him now, every cell in his body suddenly on high alert, more and more with every silent second to pass.

“Well… if it isn’t… you,” the stranger spoke in a strange, scratchy voice, carrying a smooth British accent. His mouth curled into a half-smile, taking a slow stride forward. “The little wayward one.”

Zyon said nothing, raising his head slightly and surveying the man rather closely. The closer he came, the more his every holy instinct began to set him on edge.

“Valek,” Zyon determined.

The man eased to a stop, cocking his head and smirking curtly at him, revealing his shiny black eyes. “In the flesh. Well… nowadays, I am.”

There was a long, tense silence between them.

Zyon took in a deep, heavy breath, glaring at Valek with apprehension. Ever since he’d awoken, he knew for certain that demons were still present among the human world—as he could feel their darkened energy interfering with humans all the time—but he did not expect a fully-fledged demon to simply stroll up to him now.

“You’re wondering where I came from,” Valek tried to ascertain, tilting his head and reading the angel’s face. “I’ve been here quite a while, actually. Spent some time in Canterbury… made some truly remarkable friends, and even fashioned myself something of a mafia. But, given the state of England right now, I thought it best to take a little holiday… so, I made my way here and started anew. I’m doing quite well for myself.”

Zyon continued to glare, his taw twitching.

“Oh… and I have been waiting for you,” Valek added, his tone lowering to an ominous note, swaggering steadily near. “For a very… long… time.”

There was another grave silence between the two.

“The last angel,” Valek smirked, eyeing him interestingly. “I’ve known you were here for a very long time, my friend… I just didn’t happen to know where you were. Then, the humans dug you up and set you lose upon the world, and suddenly you were much easier to find… oh, but I have had a lot of time to prepare a special little cocktail, just for you.”

Zyon grimaced, leering into the wretched man and feeling a rising power inside.

“I’ll assume you know what a sedative is,” Valek said.

Then—Zyon’s eyes began to glow an astronomically bright blue, an incredible aura of light slowly expanding from around him, and he replied to the demon in a growling, raspy snarl.

“Do you really think that would work on me?”

Valek’s eyebrows raised, taking a small step back as the holy light nearly blinded him.

“Well… no, frankly, I don’t,” he admitted, shielding his eyes. “But that’s why it’s not just a… you know… human sedative.”

Something stabbed him hard in the neck—and Zyon’s brow twitched, his glowing eyes glancing to the side as he grasped the punctured spot on his throat.

The light surrounding the angel began to weaken, and Valek lowered his arm from his face, revealing his curt smile once again.

Slowly and gently, the light faded away, and Zyon returned to his ordinary appearance, rubbing the puncture spot and wearing a disturbed expression, feeling suddenly drained of all of the energy that had overtaken him only moments ago.

He looked to the demon—who was smiling wider now.

“You winged pests may not have been in this world for a long time… oh, but we demons have,” Valek sneered. “And I’ve come to find over the centuries… that there is a science to everything spiritual, and there is a chemical for everything cosmic. All an angel is, all a human is, all a demon is, all that good is, and all that sin is… every little spec of it can be broken down to a chemical formula. So… in my new little network of friends… can you wager a guess as to what we’ve been cooking up for you?”

Zyon inhaled gravely, his teeth beginning to grind.

“Well… it’s a human sedative too, of course, since you have similar tastes as me, and we like to walk around as people nowadays,” Valek remarked, gently venturing closer. “Oh… but the real sedative within the sedative is essentially every last little chemical compound of everything in the world that is, part of, or related to sin. That… my friend… was toxic bloody sin in a vial. Oh… and just imagine how an injection of pure evil is going to feel to you.”

Zyon remained silent, and he felt—for the first time that he could ever remember—a true, genuine spark of nervousness inside, as his limbs were growing heavy, and his vision was beginning to blur and distort.

He slowly looked to the side, just able to make out the vague, shifting shadow of another figure standing nearby him, a man in a suit and hat, holding an injector in his hand. When he tried to turn farther, he caught a brief glimpse of more mysterious men in black—just before his sight and his consciousness abandoned him.

Valek stood before the fallen angel, all of his followers encircling him as well. The man with the injector—a considerably young man with two differently-colored eyes—slowly lowered the device, looking to his superior for approval.

“Well done, son,” Valek said, giving the young man a nod before his shiny, jet-black gaze landed on his felled target, at last. “And now… we can finally… begin.”

Mapleview, North Carolina

October 31st, 1973

7:01 P.M.

Of all the things in the young Amory Evervale’s life—there was no greater pleasure than going out to trick-or-treat on Halloween night.

The Evervale family lived in a small blue house on the outskirts of the town, its paint peeling on the outside, and a single gravel driveway reaching out of the woods and towards the road, the mailbox at the end, a broken swing set in the middle of the slightly overgrown yard. The inside had wood-paneled walls, clouds of cigarette smoke often lingering in the air of the living room, the TV periodically being overtaken with static, which prompted the father of the family—Joseph Evervale—to curse and leap from his armchair, wrestling with the antennas and smacking the large TV until it began to play properly again. The wallpaper was probably once yellow, now faded and grayed from years of cigarette smoke filling the air, the recliner facing away from the front door and aimed at the TV; it was routine for Amory to return home from school, to use the front door as slowly and as quietly as possible, and to try to creep stealthy past this recliner from behind, silently hoping and praying that his father would not notice his arrival.

Joseph worked very early in the morning, and he clocked out at two in the afternoon, meaning Amory could never come home from school without expecting his father to be there. Any school activities or trips that required money or permission were completely off the table—because they would force him to ask his father for permission or funds, and that was simply not an option. Amory would not willingly walk up to his father and request such things, knowing full well that it would anger him. So—unfortunately for Amory—he and his sister both had to be under the same roof as his father much too often for his liking.

But—Halloween was the one night of the year when he could escape.

He spent many of his afternoons fearful of his father—or being cornered by him, ordered to mow the lawn, to clean the kitchen, to retile the bathroom floor, or some other manner of labor—and those were the easier days. The harder ones consisted of Joseph becoming provoked by one minor action or another after drinking a bit too much of his whiskey, and then, the man’s wicked temper would set its sights on Amory and his little sister. It seemed as if childhood was only a fun, playful time for the other kids in his school, while he himself was not allowed to have it.

Except—this one special night of the year, when being a child and having fun was suddenly allowed to happen again.

On this Halloween—as sunset drew near, and as Joseph sat in his recliner, sipping on a cheap bottle of whiskey while his wife was out working at the hotel—Amory crept around the house, quietly gathering everything he needed before he slipped into his bedroom and gently closed his door as quietly as possible.

To the right was the small, twin-sized bed, with the blankets in disarray, and with a large, gaping hole in the bottom, the stuffing and two springs protruding from it. The wood-paneled walls were decorated with a few posters he’d hung up, depicting disco scenes and his favorite musicians, and his hamper was in the corner, overflowing with dirty clothes. The disco poster nearest the bedroom door had been ripped cleanly down the side during one of his father’s angry rants, and Amory had sloppily taped the side corner back onto it.

Directly in front of him stood his little sister—nine-year-old Raven Evervale, who’d been patiently waiting here for him to return—and they both shared a smile.

The two had similar features—both pale, both with black hair, and both with the same dark, shiny eyes—and Raven’s hair was shorter and tucked back behind her ears, Amory always allowing his to grow longer so he could comb it back and let it flow in a way he enjoyed, like the way the guys from the Bee Gees sometimes styled their hair. His friend Crowe seemed to love rock and roll, but Amory himself had a particular liking for disco music.

In fact—he’d chosen to dress himself up like a disco dancer, with sleek black bell-bottoms, a flowy white shirt with baggy sleeves and a few colorful designs on the torso, and the top buttons of it were undone, leaving his shiny hanging medallion with the peace symbol in plain view.

Raven fidgeted with the sleeves of her black witch outfit, peeking past him and warily glancing at his bedroom door.

“He’s still downstairs,” Amory assured, his voice light and kind, and his beaming smile growing. “Did you grab your pillowcase…?”

Raven nodded, glancing around and grabbing the old vanilla pillowcase from the edge of the bed where she’d set it.

“Where’s the hat Grandma got me…?” she murmured timidly.

Amory smirked and raised a finger, then moved over to his closet and leaned into its half-ajar door. He plucked out a large black witch hat, then turned and handed it to her before snatching his pillow off his own bed and wrestling the thick yellow pillowcase off of it. He did so with such impatient haste, it made her giggle.

“Are we still meeting Crowe…?” Raven wondered.

“Yeah,” Amory replied, flapping out his pillowcase and smoothing over the heavy wrinkles with his arm. “I mean… he got in trouble at school today, and he got sent out of class early, so… I think his mom’s gonna be mad at him again. That means she might not give him a ride…”

Raven frowned at him.

Amory met her gaze, then flashed another comforting smile.

“Hey… don’t worry about it,” he told her warmly. “He’ll still be there. He just might have to walk. If his mom doesn’t give him a ride like she was going to, then he’ll just go out to the oak tree on his own. You know he will.”

Raven looked down, scraping her thumbnail on the brim of the witch hat she held.

“His mom is gonna get even more mad if he keeps running away from home,” she mumbled.

“Yeah… well,” Amory muttered, smile waning. “He’s better off running away from home…”

The two were quiet for a second.

“Why is his mom like that?” Raven asked.

Amory stared for a second, pondering on everything he knew of Crowe’s family and sighing heavily. “Well… it’s kind of like… kind of like our mom and dad. Only… Crowe’s dad was part of the Royal Navy, and he got dishonorably discharged, so… they ran off from Birmingham because they had kind of a bad reputation there. Then… when they moved here… they just kinda got… more unhappy. That’s what Crowe makes it sound like, anyway… and that kind of thing tends to happen if you turn into a burnout…”

Raven squinted at him. “What’s a burnout…?”

“It’s like… like a wasteoid,” Amory answered.

Raven stared oddly at him again.

“Like a… druggie,” Amory clarified. “It’s somebody who’s on all kinds of drugs and alcohol, and they’re kind of messed up in the head, and they turn themselves into a loser because of it… and they… y’know… they literally burn out. That’s how Crowe’s parents got when they moved to America a year or so ago.”

Raven nodded for a moment, then gave him another curious look.

“Is our mom a burnout…?” she questioned.

Amory paused, sighing again and sparing their mother a thought.

Their mother, Candice Evervale, was not angry or belligerent in the way that their father was—but she was absent, gone from home nearly all the time, never said “I love you,” and scarcely spent any time with her family at all, choosing instead to quietly partake in her drinks and spend her time after work loitering around the hotel where she was a housekeeper. He didn’t know why she spent all her time there, or why she was so very distant with everyone in her family—but he suspected that avoiding Joseph Evervale likely had something to do with it.

“I don’t think Mom’s a burnout,” Amory told his sister. “I just think she doesn’t wanna be here most of the time.”

Raven glanced down again, frowning and sighing.

Amory observed her, feeling as if he could read her very thoughts, as he himself empathized with them. With their mother prioritizing her own escapism over her children—and with their father being the angry beast that he was—it was only natural for the two of them to feel rather wounded and uncared for. It was this very dynamic in their home that made Amory feel as if he had to play the role of the loving and supportive parent for his little sister so often, because God knew nobody else was ever going to be there for her.

“Crowe told me that he’s gonna run away from home forever,” Raven said.

Amory stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “Really…?”

“Yeah,” Raven affirmed, swallowing and giving him a look. “Do you think w…”

She paused, glimpsing down and shifting in her stance.

“Do you think we should run away forever…?” she mumbled faintly.

Amory fell silent for several seconds, gazing at her expressionlessly. He glanced back at the bedroom door, faced her again, and let out a deep breath, feeling several things at once, but he managed to stifle them all—grasping her shoulder and giving her a profound, serious stare.

“Only… if we have to,” Amory told her definitively. “I’m gonna take care of you no matter what, okay…?”

Raven returned his sincere stare, revealing a smile and nodding at him.

“How are we gonna go trick-or-treating without Daddy stopping us…?” she squeaked.

“We’re just gonna go downstairs and sneak out the back door,” Amory shrugged. “By the time he can see us going across the front yard from the living room, we can just take off running and he’ll never catch up with us.”

“What if he drives after us…?”

“Nah, he won’t. He’ll just wait for us to come home before he punishes us.”

Raven stared at him with an anxious, saddened expression.

“Hey. I’m not gonna let him hurt you,” Amory promised, staring intently into her eyes.

“But then he’s just gonna hurt you,” Raven whimpered.

Amory clasped both of her shoulders this time, giving her a firm look. “Whatever happens, I will handle it—but he’s not gonna take Halloween away from us. Halloween is all we have.”

Raven gave him a long, remorseful stare, sighing shakily and knowing for certain that their father would likely repeat all their worst nights the moment they came home from trick-or-treating—and she would have to watch it unfold all over again, powerless to stop it.

“I think w…” she stuttered. “I think we do have to.”

Amory slowly took back, allowing her words to sink in as a deep, grave sensation began to fester in the pit of his stomach.

If he was being really, truly honest with himself—running away from home wasn’t a scenario that he enjoyed entertaining in his mind, wasn’t something that he ever wanted to consider as an option. After all, it wasn’t as if the two of them had anywhere to go, aside from their grandmother’s house—but their father would find them there in a heartbeat, and there was nowhere else in the world that would welcome them with open arms.

But with the way things were in their home—he also knew there were no other options, none aside from simply living with the terrible circumstances that sometimes unfolded here, dealing with being hurt, insulted, wounded, and seemingly hated for no good reason.

Between staying here and running away—he couldn’t know which was right to do.

Just then—the bedroom door swung open.

Both of the children jumped—Amory wheeling around and facing the open door in alarm.

The tall, stocky figure of Joseph Evervale stood over the two of them now, leaning into the doorway and glaring pensively at them, his meaty hands clasped onto either side of the doorframe, his beady eyes narrowing astutely at them, and his stained work short twisted crookedly around his torso, his cider-scented breath wafting down to them with every exhalation.

Amory and Raven stood rooted to the spot, their hearts pounding, gazing up at him fearfully—as they were both now caught red-handed, wearing costumes, holding pillowcases, and very clearly prepared for a night of trick-or-treating.

Joseph’s eyes traveled up and down Amory, surveying his costume before he let out a gruff choking sort of noise.

“Oh no… hell no, boy,” the father grunted, jabbing a finger at him. “I done told you you’re too old to trick-or-treat anymore, especially in a faggoty-ass costume like that. You’re thirteen years old. ’Bout time you grew the hell up.”

Amory stared, feeling nervous, but also defensive. It was incredible that his father thought he hadn’t yet grown up, despite that Amory was made to work like a blue-collar adult during most of his time at home.

“But I’m taking her out to trick-or-treat,” Amory muttered, motioning loosely behind him at his sister. “She’s not too old… and she needs someone to take her—”

“No, she damn well don’t,” Joseph snapped, waving up and down Amory’s attire. “Especially not when you’re dressed like a little queer. Ain’t no way in hell you’re going out like that. I didn’t raise no little faggots in this house.”

“It’s just disco,” Amory argued.

“No—it’s faggot hippie bullshit is what it is,” Joseph snarled, reaching out to him.

Amory jumped and snapped his eyes shut—but his father merely grasped the medallion around his neck, ripping the peace sign off of him and making the chain snap in half.

“What in the fuck is this? Huh?” Joseph growled, holding the peace sign very close to his son’s face. “We don’t believe in no flower power bullshit in this house, boy—you best show some goddamn respect!”

He pitched the medallion at him—and it smacked Amory hard in the forehead—making him wince and stagger onto the edge of his bed and fall.

“It’s just peace…!” Amory yelled, hunched halfway over the end of his bed and clasping his head, his eyes beginning to water. “It just means peace, Dad…!”

“Are you talking back to me?” Joseph challenged—lunging down and grabbing him by the throat. “Are you fucking talking back to me?!”

Amory’s heart jolted—a rampant fear spiraling up and down him as his father lifted his skinny body from the floor effortlessly, his hand clamped tightly around his windpipe and cutting his breath off cleanly. His vision began to go white—thoughts abandoning him, head light, not able to see where he was going—couldn’t realize he was being carried out of the room—didn’t see Raven shriek and cover her mouth—

The upstairs hallway moved and shifted around him in blurry haze—

Just before he found himself launched with great force—thrown down the stairs and tumbling hard all the way down them, elbow smashing into the wood—head colliding with the railing—hand still clamped tightly around the fabric of his pillowcase when he landed sprawled lopsidedly on his back.

He laid still at the bottom of the stairs, entirely lost and disoriented, a shooting pain in his elbow and his head, hardly able to hear Joseph yelling and cursing at him from the second floor… or Raven crying hysterically, rushing down the stairs toward him…

Amory blinked several times before his head finally began to stop spinning, and his vision only just started to level out. Raven was hunched beside him, hovering over him and sobbing, and Joseph was thundering down the stairs toward both of them.

“You wanna keep running your mouth?” the father yelled. “YOU WANNA KEEP RUNNING YOUR MOUTH, BOY?!”

“DADDY!” Raven screamed terribly, giving him a pleading look. “STOP…!”

Joseph reached out and shoved her aside—knocking her into the table before the recliner—her head smashing into it loudly and making her erupt into tears even harder.

Then—something snapped in Amory—and he found himself fighting to his feet, glancing over at his crying sister and feeling a hot fire rising up inside like he’d never known before.

He met his father’s eyes for a split second—then exploded into a run.

“GET THE FUCK BACK OVER HERE YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!” Joseph bellowed—running after him with boots hammering loudly onto the wooden floor.

Amory raced around the corner and sprinted across the kitchen—skidding behind the bar with great agility and hurriedly ripping the last drawer on the left open.

Just when Joseph blundered into the room—Amory grabbed the revolver from the drawer and aimed it squarely at his father.

Suddenly—everything fell deathly, tensely still, the two glaring heatedly at one another.

For so very long now—Amory and Raven both knew better than to ever touch the last drawer on the left, the drawer in the bar that contained their father’s old Army revolver—and, after countless days, weeks, months, and years of enduring the fighting and pain—something inside Amory simply broke—and the time to break the biggest rule in the house had finally come.

He took a slow, cautious step out from behind the bar, his hand tightening around the gun, just beginning to shake as his finger grazed the trigger.

Joseph cocked his head, grunting out a laugh.

“What’re you gonna do?” he chided, tossing up his hands. “Shoot me…?”

Amory inhaled several trembling breaths, his usually kind, soft, and warm expression now nowhere to be seen, his white shirt torn, the side of his head faintly oozing blood, his hairs askew, and his eyes burning with anger.

“Go ahead,” Joseph urged, nodding at him. “Shoot me.”

Amory adjusted his shaky grasp on the gun, keeping it trained on his father, his finger clasping the trigger firmly.

“You ain’t never shot nobody before,” Joseph said, taking a smooth step closer. “Ain’t so easy, now is it…?”

Amory gripped the gun almost viselike, his heartrate spiking as his father drew near.

“Gimme the gun, boy,” Joseph ordered, reaching out and moving to take another step—

BANG.

The gunshot rang through the house—positively deafening—making Amory leap in his stance. His ears instantly filled with a horrid ringing—his heart skipping a beat—and Joseph suddenly stopped walking, slowly looking down and seeing a large, crackled hole in the tiled floor, where the bullet had struck mere inches away from his boot.

Another long, grave pause lingered over the air.

Amory tried his best to ignore his ringing ears and watering eyes, sniffing and taking better aim at his father—this time pointing the gun directly at his chest.

Joseph stared down at the hole in the floor for a moment, then raised his head, narrowing his eyes and giving his son a look of surprise, genuinely shocked that the boy had actually opened fire. The warning shot seemed to have worked, and the father remained frozen to the spot, seemingly unwilling to approach any farther.

He felt a surge of darkness—a mad little impulse, finger resting on the trigger, sights aligned flawlessly—and it would be so very easy, just to pull it and end him forever.

Amory swallowed roughly, forcing the morbid thought away and slowly beginning to march around the bar. He easefully made his way around the kitchen, marching behind the bar and keeping the gun aimed at his father the entire time, Joseph merely staring at him with a deadpan visage as he did.

When he reached the doorway—Amory hurriedly raced past the stairs and approached the front door, where he’d dropped his pillowcase, and where Raven sat at the edge of the living room, cradling her head and shaking, staring at him in utter shock.

“Come on,” Amory said breathlessly, aiming the gun down the hall and using his free hand to wave her forward. “Come on…!”

Raven staggered to her feet, clutching her hat and pillowcase and trembling like a leaf as she rushed toward him.

Joseph emerged from the kitchen doorway down the hall—and Amory shoved his sister behind him, pointing the gun at his father and giving him a dark, severe glare.

There was yet another grim, tense pause in the atmosphere of the Evervale home—and as the great, heavy weight of conclusion loomed over the air, as the long, tireless game of abuse and dysfunction had finally come to a head—he felt it once again, the urge, the temptation, the anger and hate pushing and nudging and insisting so fervently that he simply pull the trigger and end it.

Joseph was right there—directly in front of him.

The gun was in his hand—aimed perfectly at him.

And his finger rested on the trigger—ready and waiting to fire.

Amory leered, hating the man before him more than he ever thought himself capable of—and he reached for the resolve he needed, grasping for whatever strength was necessary to finally do it.

Is this really you?

Amory inhaled sharply—standing stock still, showing no reaction, holding his father at gunpoint and not moving an inch—but he heard, somewhere, very deep in the far recesses of his mind—he could’ve sworn he’d heard the faintest hint of a whisper, a gentle, softened rasp, asking the very question that seemed to reset everything inside him now.

No—it was not him.

Amory Evervale was many things; he was a disco fan, a lover of music, singing, and dancing, someone who adored all forms of fun, and he absolutely loved spending time with his two best friends. He seized the opportunity to have as much childlike fun as possible on every Halloween, every year. He loved to dress up, to see spooky things, and to jump-scare people whenever he could. He loved hoarding the free candy, staying out late, and spending as much time with Raven and Crowe as he could without any adults around to stop them.

But he did not love anger, hate, or murder.

In fact—deep to his core, heart, and soul—he honestly, truly abhorred them.

Simply standing here with a gun aimed at someone made his stomach churn with nausea, and he detested everything that his father had ever done or caused—all the pain, violence, negativity, malice, and destruction.

He most assuredly did not want to become a part of it all.

Amory gave his father a quiet, saddened stare, just barely lowering the gun, and feeling a great sense of finality washing over him, a peculiar sort of clarity emerging inside and spreading through him for reasons unknown.

“I hope you find peace,” he murmured thoughtlessly.

Then—Amory reached behind him and opened the front door, and he and his sister stepped out of the house, backing out to the front porch and keeping their father in their sight the whole way. When the two of them were outside, Amory did not close the door; instead, he wheeled around, grasped Raven’s wrist, and exploded into a run.

The two of them sprinted down the driveway and vanished from the scene in mere moments—finally leaving behind the horror of the Evervale home.

Neither of them were sure how long they ran.

When they reached the edge of the driveway—they didn’t stop—still dashing away at top speed, racing down the pavement and speeding toward the heart of town as fast as they possibly could.

By the time they spotted the park ahead of them—their sides were stinging with sharp pains, their legs aching terribly—and Amory finally staggered to a stop, only just realizing that he was still holding a loaded firearm in plain view. He quickly dropped it into his pillowcase, panting to catch his breath as he and his sister stood on the corner of the sidewalk, the park just across the street from them, and the large oak tree was just behind them, standing tall and high on the street corner, the place they always stood to meet up with their friend.

Raven caught her breath, peering up at him behind a watery gaze.

Amory met her stare, reading her face and knowing for certain the two of them were thinking the same thing.

After what just happened—neither of them could go back home tonight.

“Okay… here’s what we’re gonna do,” Amory said. “We’re gonna meet up with Crowe… we’re gonna go get some candy… and then me and you are gonna go stay at the clubhouse tonight after Crowe goes home.”

Raven gave him a long, uncertain stare.

“But th… the clubhouse is just an old shed in the woods,” she mumbled. “It doesn’t have any heaters or anything. It’s gonna be too cold…”

“I know how I can get us some pillows and blankets, okay?” Amory assured, offering her his usual comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it. I can make it work.”

Raven nodded quietly, and the two of them stood idly for a moment, merely glancing around and allowing the severity and the adrenaline from earlier fully leave their beings. Sunset was steadily darkening into twilight, and there were a few families visible in the distance—happy parents, alongside happy children—marching through the park, the kids in costume, excitedly running ahead and swinging their plastic jack-o-lantern pails around while they did.

Amory and Raven sat beneath the oak tree for a while, watching the families in the distance and saying nothing as they patiently awaited their friend. The longer they sat in the grass, the more certain Amory became that Crowe had likely gotten grounded again—which meant that he would be sneaking out and walking all the way here rather than simply getting a ride. It was no wonder it was taking him so long to show up.

However, contrary to Amory’s assumption—Crowe was, indeed, being driven around by his mother right now.

In fact—his mother’s black Monte Carlo had been speeding around the town for quite a while.

Sharon Quintrell, Crowe’s mother, sat in the driver seat of the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly and continuing to take round trips around town, running errands in between ranting to her son. Her brunet hair was tied back, her rounded face harboring a disdainful expression, her wild blue eyes locked onto the road ahead, and her makeup slightly smudged. The woman had only just woken up right before Crowe was dismissed from school early, and she’d been driving around ever since she absentmindedly rolled out of bed and left her house.

Crowe Quintrell—thirteen years old, his black hair just long enough to tent over his eyes and ears, wearing a dark and baggy Ziggy Stardust shirt, arms folded and expression sour—sat in the back seat, glaring out the window and saying nothing.

For perhaps the twentieth time this afternoon and evening, Sharon’s eyes flickered at him through the rearview mirror, raising her brows expectantly at him.

“Well?” she barked. “Are you ever gonna say anything?”

“What’s the bloody point?!” Crowe snapped back. “You never listen to me!”

“Don’t you dare swear at me,” Sharon snarled.

“It’s not a swear here, Mum—it’s just a word,” Crowe argued. “That’s the whole problem—I don’t talk the way these people do. They won’t stop attacking me for the way I talk, and I shouldn’t have to just deal with it! Christ—Jacob hit me in the mouth today! He hit me and busted my lip, but I get thrown out for hitting him back?! That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Sharon griped. “It took a lot for your father and I to move us all the way out here, Crowe—the least you could do is try to fit in.”

Crowe gaped at the back of her head in astonishment.

“How d’you mean, fit in…?” he uttered. “I’ve got friends!”

“No—you haven’t got friends,” Sharon corrected him snidely. “You have a two little freaks you hang around with—and that really isn’t helping you to fit in with everyone else.”

“They’re the only people who’re ever nice to me,” Crowe told her, throwing up a hand. “Why d’you want me to be friends with all the most rubbish people in town?!”

“Because then maybe you’ll turn out better than your father,” Sharon stated.

“Ahh, right…” Crowe leaned back, crossing his arms again and nodding. “Yeah, the man who made everyone back home hate us… oh, so it must matter what everyone thinks then, huh? Having a good reputation means the world, dunnit? And I reckon your reputation for being a Demerol-addicted nutter isn’t a factor at all…”

Sharon rolled up to a red light—and she hit the brakes hard, making the car rock and making Crowe unfold his arms, shooting her a look.

Her eyes landed on the rearview again—glaring daggers at him.

“Oh… and I suppose life is just so easy when you’re a mother, and you work all night long, and your husband is a useless layabout, and your son is an insufferable little git,” Sharon glowered nastily. “How about this. How about I just offer us both a way out right now?”

Crowe gave her a long, strange stare, spotting the mad little sparkle in her eye that he most hated to see.

“Right… okay… I’m sorry,” he said, his voice and tone both having softened dramatically. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“No, no—you’re right,” Sharon said—shifting gears and staring straight ahead. “I’ll tell you what I can do to solve all our problems.”

“Mum—I didn’t mean it,” Crowe insisted, scooting to the edge of his seat and reaching toward her. “I didn’t—”

The light turned green—and the Monte Carlo rocketed across the intersection—the engine roaring across the scene as the car soared past the others in the opposite lane.

Amory and Raven, both sitting against the large oak tree, each perked up when they heard the familiar sound of the Monte Carlo. They straightened up, watching in perplexed awe as the car whizzed out of the intersection and began barreling past the park.

“Mum—please,” Crowe breathed, grasping her arm.

“I can crash this car with us both in it, and we can both just die,” Sharon replied in a low, trembling tone, her eyes locked directly forward. “Then we have no problems anymore.”

Suddenly—she turned the wheel to the side—and the car rolled into the other lane—driving fully into oncoming traffic.

A Jeep was speeding towards them with its headlights shining blindingly at their windshield—its horn blaring as Sharon drove toward it—Crowe yelling and lunging back with his arms shielding him—

Amory and Raven shot to their feet and watched in horror as the car soared directly toward another vehicle down the road—

Then—Sharon yanked the wheel to the right—and the car jerked back into its own lane, narrowly missing the Jeep that had swerved to avoid her. The Monte Carlo came dangerously close to a family of trick-or-treaters on the sidewalk, but Sharon didn’t seem to care, and she simply kept driving onward.

Crowe lowered his arms from his face, eyes watery, and his expression as warped with anger.

“You—bloody fucking psycho!” he hollered furiously at her.

Sharon drove over the curb—making the car thump roughly over the sidewalk—and she suddenly parked crookedly on the grass, just past the large oak tree. Then, she twisted around in her seat—smacking her son in the head.

“Don’t—you—ever—talk—to—me—like—that! You—little—fucking—mistake!”

She continued smashing her fists and open palms into him—Crowe reeling back and covering himself, yelling for her to stop and trying desperately to shove her away. She grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head around violently and painfully—smashing it to the window as hard as she could—

Then—Crowd reached over and popped the door open—scrambling out of the car and hurrying to distance himself.

“YEAH—GO ON THEN!” Sharon screamed after him. “AND DON’T EVER THINK YOU’RE WELCOME BACK HOME UNTIL YOU CAN CLEAN UP YOUR ACT!”

“OH—DON’T MIND ME, YOU RAVING CUNT!” Crowe bellowed furiously at the car, angry tears rolling down his face. “DON’T WORRY ABOUT A DAMN THING—BECAUSE I PROMISE YOU, I AM NEVER COMING BACK HOME!”

“GOOD!” Sharon yelled—speeding off without caring that the back right door was still open, the door swinging to and fro as the Monte Carlo raced away.

Crowe stood in the grass, his hands balled into fists, his hair screwed up, and his chest rising and falling, breaths slicing through his gritted teeth as he glared after the car. He watched until it was no longer in sight, and even for a moment thereafter.

When he finally tore his gaze from the road and turned around—he spotted Amory and Raven standing close by, both of them ogling him in mollified surprise.

Crowe stared at them for a moment, then tossed up a hand. “What?”

Amory and Raven were silent for a moment, surveying him and grimacing.

Crowe paused, then looked down at his t-shirt and nodded. “Oh, right, yeah… I never got to put the fuckin’ costume on. I never actually made it home after school… just been stuck in the car this whole time, listening to that nutcase rant my ear off.”

He let out a laugh, Amory staring at him incredulously. He always found it perplexing when Crowe was able to joke and laugh so shortly after an altercation, as if it hardly affected him.

“What happened…?” Raven asked sheepishly, motioning around her own mouth.

Crowe blinked and tapped the large red spot on his lip. “Oh… got in a fight at school. Doesn’t matter. He looks worse.”

“You’re bleeding,” Amory noticed, spotting a trickle of blood oozing from the side of Crowe’s forehead, freshly wounded from where his mother had smashed his head to the car window.

Crowe simply stared at him. “So’re you.”

Amory took slightly back, feeling around his forehead until he touched the painful spot, smearing his fingers with blood.

“So, ah… what happened with you two?” Crowe inquired, cocking his brow and eyeing them both, studying their disheveled appearance. “And who do I need to kill?”

Amory swallowed painfully, his hands clasping tighter around his pillowcase and sealing it firmly shut, the weight of the gun inside it seeming more noticeable now.

“That’s not funny,” he said softly.

Crowe raised his brows once more. “Did I tell a joke?”

Amory stared, his expression unusually stoic and distant.

Crowe shot him a look, then laughed and shook his head. “Blimey… c’mon, now. You know what I’m gonna do if I get a hold of anyone who laid their hands on either one of you, and I could really use a reason to take out some frustrations on someone.”

“Well… it doesn’t matter,” Amory told him. “It’s over now.”

“It’s over now?” Crowe asked. “Why, are they dead?”

“No.”

“Are they in the hospital?”

“No.”

“Are they hurt…?”

“No…”

“Then how is it over, Amory?” Crowe challenged, tilting his head at him. “How can it be over if they didn’t learn a bloody lesson?”

“Because they did learn—and we’re never going back there now,” Amory said flatly.

Crowe fell silent, examining him and making a slow, understanding nod.

“Okay… so it was your father,” he determined.

Amory and Raven both nodded.

“Ahhh… Christ,” Crowe sighed, running a hand down his face, twilight darkening into nightfall all around them. “Well, now I dunno what any of us are gonna do…”

The three fell silent, Raven staring glumly down at her feet, Crowe pocketing his hands and gazing off to the side with a heavy, disturbed frown.

Amory’s eyes flickered between the two of them, feeling a spark of determination.

“I know what we’re gonna do,” he announced.

Raven and Crowe both turned to him.

Amory—as he somehow always managed to do—gave them his bright, reassuring smile.

“We’re gonna go trick-or-treating,” he told them. “We’re gonna have fun. Then, we’re gonna go get some pillows and blankets from Mom’s hotel, we’re gonna go see if the McDonald’s is throwing out any good food, and we’re gonna go have a sleepover in the clubhouse with McDonald’s, candy, and scary stories. That’s what we’re gonna do.”

Raven revealed her sweet, innocent smile, and Crowe grinned from ear to ear.

“Ohhh… and that’s perfect,” Crowe beamed, reaching into his pocket and digging for something. “Y’know why? We can actually buy some dinner at McDonald’s tonight. I took a tenner from my mum’s bag.”

Amory stared, his eyes narrowing strangely at him. “You took a what…?”

“A tenner,” Crowe replied firmly—pulling a ten dollar bill from his pocket and holding it very close to Amory’s face. “It’s what you’d call ten dollars, ya’ fuckin’ yank. Christ. Don’t you know English?!”

Amory and Raven both laughed, and then—despite the terrible events they’d all experienced today—the trio sauntered off together with smiles on their faces, trading jokes and conversation and feeling gleefully determined to enjoy their Halloween.

They set off excitedly down the main road, eager to begin the hunt for candy. Amory led them into the shopping center in Town Square, all of them running past a payphone and heading toward the Grocery Outlet. He sprinted inside, returning moments later with a plastic grocery bag, which he handed off to Crowe for his trick-or-treating.

Then—they headed off to the right side of the shopping center and vanished around the corner building, following the sidewalk toward the suburbs. The moment they arrived in the upper-middle-class neighborhood—they spotted several yards covered in Halloween décor, as well as countless families and children up and down the street and the sidewalks, sprinting up yards and collecting candy from the houses.

The first home they visited had a man and an older woman sitting on the porch in lawn chairs, a huge bowl of candy placed in between them. Amory, Crowe, and Raven walked past several other children as they approached.

“Go on and take all you want, sweethearts,” the old woman said with a care-worn smile. “I got two more bags for fillin’ back up.”

The trio grinned, taking turns grabbing handfuls of candy and dropping them into their bag and their pillowcases.

“And what are you supposed to be?” the old woman asked kindly.

The three of them exchanged faces.

“Ahh… I’m a… failed musician,” Crowe muttered, dancing down at his shirt. “I guess…”

“I’m a witch!” Raven beamed, planting her black pointy hat firmly onto her head.

Amory briefly reached for the medallion on his neck, remembering it was no longer there, but he smirked anyway and popped his collar—making an impressive spin on the spot and beginning to dance on the walkway.

“Ohhh… disco,” the man understood, he and the old woman applauding for him. “Good job.”

“Thank you,” Amory said graciously.

The trio gave their goodbyes, then began walking back down the yard toward the sidewalk. As they did—Amory spotted a large, thick bush at the corner of the yard, just where another group of children were beginning to walk up the driveway.

Grinning devilishly, he held up his finger and motioned for the other two to wait there—then he rushed downhill and hunched down, hiding behind the bush as the group of younger children wandered past the other side of it.

Crowe and Raven watched from the middle of the yard, mouths curling into smirks.

“AAAAAAOOGABOOGABOOGA!”

Amory yelled as he leaped out with his arms raised—making all the children shriek in fright and stagger back. They all gaped at him in shock, then moved to scurry away, the nearby parents giving him a disapproving stare—but Amory tossed his head back in laughter, snickering and chortling at the looks of fright strewn across the kids’ faces.

Crowe laughed heartily, Raven giggling as the two rejoined him.

The three raced off to the next house, gathering candy and following the crowd to every home down the street, Amory always pausing to admire a good costume or a captivating piece of Halloween yard décor. He ended up hiding behind someone’s old Ford pickup truck, leaping out and scaring another small group of children, which made him explode with laughter yet again. The mother of the kids shouted at him and told him to stop, though the father seemed rather amused by the whole ordeal, hooking a finger over his mouth and hiding his smirk from his wife.

When the trio crossed the street and collected candy from the corner house, they walked alongside a group of kids who were a similar age—kids from Amory and Crowe’s junior high school, who seemed to recognize them. It was a group of three, all of them dressed like zombies.

All of them gathered on the porch and plucked some candy out of a lonesome bowl that sat on a folding table, then turned and walked back down the yard.

“Hey Crooowe!” one of the zombie children hollered over at the trio. “You talk funny!”

Crowe whipped his head to the side, cocking his brow challengingly at them. “And you look funny—you really wanna play this game?!”

Amory, Raven, and even the other zombie children erupted with laughter at this.

“I am never gonna let my accent fade off, I swear,” Crowe stated. “I’m gonna keep it thick forever just out of spite.”

“I like it,” Raven said shyly.

Crowe glimpsed at her, opening his mouth and momentarily falling speechless.

Amory headed off to the next house at once, and the other two followed him. They visited several more houses before the trick-or-treating crowd finally started to thin out, and they found themselves climbing a rather large tree at the edge of the park, hiding themselves in the higher branches and stealthily flicking small segments of twigs down at the pavement near the passersby, making the strangers down below wheel around in confusion. The three of them got a few good laughs out of doing this before finally deciding to end their trick-or-treating endeavors for the evening, as they were all growing rather hungry.

Despite carrying two pillowcases and a grocery bag filled with candies now, none of them ate any, as Amory insisted that the candy needed to be checked first, and none of them should spoil their dinners with sweets. Crowe remarked on how Amory sounded like his mother on a sane day while the trio made their way to the isolated road out west, the one leading to the bright and colorful McDonald’s with the red roof, the playground, and the welcoming golden arches.

They walked inside—warranting a few odd looks from the man behind the counter, as all three of them had mud-spotted shoes, dirt on their clothes, and a few loose bits of leaves in their hair from their tree-climbing escapade, as well as small spots of dried blood on two of their foreheads. The kids glanced at the playground and spared it a thought for a moment before dismissing the idea and approaching the front counter, as they were all finally exhausted enough to stop running and playing.

So, they ordered their food—three cheeseburgers and three sides of fries—and they ordered them to go. It all cost a little less than a dollar, and Crowe paid, gladly pocketing the remaining nine for whatever they would need to buy later on. He took the bag of fresh fast food and carried it out, and then Amory took the lead again, striding through the chilly night as autumn leaves coasted by their ankles.

“Amory,” Raven said sleepily, tugging his sleeve as they walked. “I’m tired…”

“I know,” Amory replied without stopping. “One more thing to do, and then we can go relax and eat. Okay? Almost done.”

Raven nodded and fell silent.

The three marched on, Amory leading the way down the street to the lonesome hotel that was just appearing in their view.

All of them felt refreshed, liberated and free in a way they never had before, running amok and knowing they would not be going back to their homes tonight, though they couldn’t help but feel drained after the long evening they’d just had. Still—if they were going to be free and do things on their own now, then they had to do everything necessary.

So—Amory strode up the rounded entryway to the hotel, walking under the lights with Crowe and Raven in his wake. He pushed the glass double-doors open, and the three of them strolled inside, approaching the front counter.

The woman sitting behind it, who was middle-aged and scribbling on a clipboard, paused and stared at them.

“Hi,” Amory smiled politely. “I’m here to see Mom.”

The woman seemed to recognize him. She slowly nodded and waved him onwards.

“Hold on—how much is a room here?” Crowe thought to ask the woman.

“No—we’re not getting a room here,” Amory whisper-yelled at him.

Crowe made a face. “Why not…?”

“Because—we should save that money for other things we need more,” Amory breathed in a hushed voice. “Like food and water.”

“Oh, c’mon—they have all of that here.”

“Which we can’t afford.”

“Then we don’t buy it—we nick it.”

“Shhht!”

Amory smacked him hard on the arm, turning and attempting another smile for the woman behind the counter. Then, he ushered his friend and his sister past the counter and down the wide yellow walkway to the right, vanishing from the front lobby.

“You don’t talk about stealing from this place right in front of somebody who works here,” Amory griped as they walked down the hall.

“What? Oh—pffft—please,” Crowe snarked, swinging his grocery bag of candy around in a circle. “I doubt she even knows what ‘nick’ means.”

“Amory,” Raven said, pulling his sleeve again. “Are we really gonna see Mommy…?”

“What? Oh… no, that’s just what I told the front desk lady,” Amory replied. “I know where the laundry room is here. That’s what we need…”

“Ahm… d’you know where the back door is?” Crowe wondered. “Or are we just gonna take off running past the front desk lady with a bunch of pillows and blankets?”

“There’s a back door in the laundry room,” Amory informed. “We won’t go back out the front unless we really have to.”

He turned a corner, and the three of them headed toward the end of a long, expansive hallway, until Amory brought them to the top of a long stairway. So, they began thumping down the stairs, emerging at the bottom and at the edge of an isolated laundry room, rows of washers and dryers to the left, laundry carts to the right, and a metal back door directly across from them.

But—the moment they wandered into the laundry room, they slowed to a stop, gazing into the far corner of the room and meeting a sight none of them had expected.

Candice Evervale was in the room—stark naked, her clothes tossed messily across the corner of the room with her bare body hunched over the corner dryer, a nude, bulky, and hairy man clutching onto her, thrusting and ramming himself into her from behind. Her head was slumped forward, grunts and moans escaping her, her hair thrown wildly over her face. Neither of the naked adults stopped what they were doing, turned their heads, or hesitated at all; they simply continued as if the three children were not there.

“Blimey,” Crowe breathed, pulling Raven closer and covering her eyes, watching with a disturbed sort of stare.

She tried to peel his hand from her eyes, but he kept it firmly there—and Amory stood in front of both of them, watching, deadpan, saying and doing nothing, merely staring at his mother without a hint of an expression on his face.

It was to be expected; after all, he knew and suspected for a long, long while now that neither of his parents cared for their children. Joseph Evervale prioritized utilizing his son for endless hours of free labor, drinking himself into a stupor in endless failed attempts to feel better, and using Amory as a punching bag whenever he felt the need to relieve himself of anger or stress. Candice, however, prioritized escaping from the house—staying away from the family that she did not want to be burdened or bothered by, turning a blind eye to the dysfunction, and instead spending all of her time in this hotel, with all of the freedom, men, and discount drinks she could ever want. Of course she wanted this place more than her own family. Caring about one’s self above the children seemed a family tradition among the Evervales.

In fact—he hadn’t thought about it until now—but the way he’d left home today was rather drastic and frightful. It was entirely possible that Joseph had called Candice here at work and informed her of the altercation that transpired—and yet, here she was, still enjoying her selfish escapes from home, as if none of it mattered to her in the slightest.

Amory took in a deep, definitive breath—feeling more assured of his decision than ever.

Yes—it seemed—Raven was absolutely right.

They really did need to get away from their home.

His eyes drifted to the side, spotting a collection of freshly-cleaned laundry, folded neatly on top of a nearby dryer, sheets and blankets alike, the sheets all vanilla-colored while the comforters were a dark pine green. Similarly dark pillows were stacked in a cart beside the dryer, and Amory spared his mother another glance before walking calmly over to the laundry.

He grabbed three of the fluffy pillows, tucking two of them under his arm and swinging his pillowcase of candy around them. Then, he scooped up as many folded blankets and sheets as his other arm would carry, turning and staring at the naked adults again.

Without speaking a word, he then faced Crowe and Raven, giving his friend a nod and walking toward the back door.

Crowe understood, and he began guiding Raven toward the direction where Amory was walking, still keeping her eyes shielded. The three of them loudly pushed the thick metal door open, vanishing into the night—and their mother never once noticed their arrival or departure.

Once the trio was in the empty back parking lot, Crowe uncovered Raven’s eyes and began offloading some of the laundry Amory had in his arms, choosing to carry half of it himself.

“What were they doing?” Raven asked curiously, her eyes shifting between both of them. “Was that Mommy…?”

Amory and Crowe adjusted their grasps on the blankets and pillows, trading thoughtful stares.

Then—contrary to how Amory would usually behave, with his assuring smile, comforting warmth, and soft, compassionate words—he instead turned away, marching briskly toward the nearest sidewalk without answering.

Crowe stared after him for a second, looking disturbed. He knew for certain why Amory would do such a thing; it seemed his friend was having a harder time of keeping his own feelings inside than usual, so he chose not to speak on the matter at all, in the hopes that he wouldn’t accidentally say the wrong thing to his little sister.

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowe said to Raven, smirking and planting a hand on her shoulder. “Lookit us. We ran away! We don’t need any mums anymore!”

Raven stared, attempting a smile and not quite succeeding.

“Oy. Look here,” Crowe added, hunching slightly and leveling his eyes with hers. “We’ve got candy. We’ve got money. We’ve got McDonald’s, and blankets, and pillows, and a clubhouse—d’you have any idea how much fun new life of ours this is gonna be?”

Raven hesitated, then flashed another smile, a far more genuine one this time.

“C’mon,” Crowe said, placing a hand on her back and guiding her along, both of them heading in the direction where Amory had marched off.

For a long while thereafter—the three walked in silence, trekking down sidewalks and strolling across the park, Amory a little ways ahead of them, all the crowds of parents and families that had been out earlier in the evening all now gone without a trace, and it seemed the misfits three were the only people still walking about Mapleview now. The gleeful freedom they’d enjoyed all night long seemed to have simmered into a somber, sleepy evening, and they wanted more than anything to simply rest.

They found themselves walking through the dirt path that led into the woods from the edge of the park, marching under branches and over roots, a pathway they all knew quite well. Then—they emerged at a clearing, a single rickety shed standing before them, with splintery wooden walls, a rusted metal rooftop, and a single darkened window, its rustic door hanging just the slightest bit ajar.

Amory strode up to it and pulled the door fully open, grateful to see that the moonlight was providing a little bit of light for the empty, dark, and dusty shack’s interior. He and Crow went to work fashioning one big makeshift bed on the floor—using one of the comforters as a mattress—and then, they all sat down in a crooked circle, passed their McDonald’s foods out to each other, and began to eat their dinner.

Amory licked his fingers when he finished eating, then grabbed everyone’s candy and began pouring them out in three separate piles, checking every individual piece before scooting them over to the side, tossing all the crumbled or partially-opened ones into the corner of the room.

Crowe snacked on his fries as he began to pick through his candy, eyeballing Raven’s pile interestingly. “Oy… Raven… I’ll trade ya’ my Three Musketeers for that Kit-Kat.”

“No… no trading yet,” Amory told him, raising a finger. “I have to check all of them first.”

Crowe scoffed and shot him a snide look. “Tch… okay, Mother.”

Raven seemed to have lost all interest in eating any candy or sharing any scary stories. After eating her burger and fries, her eyelids grew heavy, and she yawned, grabbed a comforter, and scooted to the edge of the makeshift bed, lying down and turning away. She lay still and silent behind Crowe until she drifted off to sleep.

So, the boys were left alone to organize the candy for a while.

Amory’s eyes flickered up, squinting past Crowe and surveying his little sister. Then, he sighed and shook his head down at the piles of candy in front of him.

Crowe noticed, giving him an odd look. “What…?”

“Nothing, she just…” Amory exhaled. “She wasn’t supposed to sleep over there. She’s supposed to sleep in the middle… like… right in between us.”

Crowe’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because she’s the littlest,” Amory mumbled, looking down and separating a few more candies. “She might get too cold now…”

“We’re all gonna be under the same blanket, mate,” Crowe laughed. “It’s gonna be plenty warm enough. Stop worryin’ about it.”

Amory chose not to reply.

The two fell silent for a moment, Crowe glimpsing back over his shoulder, ensuring that Raven was actually asleep. Then, he intertwined his hands, scooted slightly closer, and gave his friend an intense sort of look.

“This isn’t my first time sleeping here, y’know,” he said.

Amory glimpsed up at him and nodded. “I know.”

“I’ve done it lots of times,” Crowe told him. “And every time I did, I did it for longer than before. The last time I stayed here, I was here for six days before I ever ended up going back home… and that was just because Mum ran into me at the market and cried and begged me to come back home with her. She made it sound like she really wanted me there… and I… believed her… for some fuckin’ reason. Won’t be doing that again… but, the point is… I can actually… really… make this work.”

Amory looked up from his candies again, this time staring at him attentively.

“I took baths in the creek… I stole soaps and snacks and stuff from the dollar stores… I went to and from school from here… I found loose change at the laundromat, and in the ball pit at McDonald’s… and I used that to eat dinner,” Crowe explained. “This is something that I’ve gotten really good at… and I want you to know… if you really, really mean it… if you’re really not going back home… then we can make this work, for all of us. If you end up changing your mind and taking Raven back home, then I can’t stop you… but I want you to know, you don’t have to do that. You really don’t.”

Amory straightened up, squinting oddly at him. “Why would I change my mind?”

Crowe paused, making a face and scratching along his cheek, then tossing up a hand. “Well, you jus… y’know… you’ve never really done this before. I mean, you’ve talked about doing this before, but you never… I dunno… it’s hard to think you’re really… really serious about it. You always end up caving, and second-guessing, and just forgiving your old man… and then you just… go… back. You always go back.”

Amory stared yet again, expressionless, inhaling a deep, heavy breath.

“Well… I can’t walk back what happened today,” he said in a soft, ominous tone, one that hardly sounded like him at all.

Crowe eyed him strangely. “Ah-huh. What’s that mean…?”

“It means… no… I’m not gonna cave, and I’m not going back,” Amory said flatly. “I don’t care if I have to steal, or live outside, or get arrested, or go into state’s custody, or do whatever the hell else… me and Raven are not going back there. Ever.”

Crowe slowly took back, staring at him in surprise. Out of the two of them, Amory was always the meeker and less angry one, the one who always tried to follow rules, resolve problems without conflict, and refrain from doing anything bad, like stealing or breaking the law. He seemed entirely unlike his usual self now.

“Ah… m’kay… good,” Crowe uttered moments later. “Well… then… I’ll just look after you both best I can.”

“I don’t need that,” Amory mumbled, gazing down and separating the last of the candies.

Crowe choked out a laugh. “You don’t need that…? Mate, you always need that. I think the only reason we’re friends is because you use me as a bodyguard.”

Amory suddenly stopped—meeting his eyes and giving him a look.

“You really think I’m that weak?” he asked.

Crowe’s mouth drifted open, shrugging halfheartedly and sitting fully upright. “Well, not… not weak, just… I dunno… you just don’t like to fight. Plus, you’re kinda too skinny to really do anything to anyone even if you did fight…”

“Okay,” Amory said tonelessly. “So… weak.”

Crowe scrunched up his face, trying to think of how to explain it and failing.

Amory huffed out a breath and began scooping everyone’s candies back into their respective bags or pillowcases. “I guess it’s just a crime to think peace is better than fighting…”

Crowe stared, cracking a smirk. “You’re not one of those ’make love, not war’ people… are you? You know what that actually means, right…?”

“I’m not ‘one of those people.’ I’m not one of any people,” Amory argued. “I’m not trying to be part of any group, or movement, or anything like that. I just think there’s enough anger, and fighting, and hate in the world already… so I just don’t like it. That’s it. And for your information, skinny doesn’t mean weak. I work my ass off at the house—”

“All right—all right, calm down,” Crowe chuckled, raising a hand. “I didn’t mean it. I just meant I’d look after you two. Mainly because I’d probably jump into a fight with a lone nutter a lot faster than you would. That doesn’t mean you can’t—it just means I’m used to it. I mean, think about it—we’re sleeping all alone out here at a place where the hobos used to come sleep. Have you thought about what might happen if some mad-as-a-hatter drug addict came wandering up on us in the middle of the night?”

Amory’s expression fell uncharacteristically grave.

“Yeah. I have,” he said, glancing over at his pillowcase of candy, which still had a loaded revolver tucked in the bottom. “And I’m not worried at all.”

Crowe gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah…?”

Amory met his gaze once more, nodding mildly. “Yeah.”

The two of them paused.

“M’kay… well… I’m tired,” Crowe yawned, scratching his hairs and shifting his bag of candy aside as he stretched out over the bed. “I vote we skip school tomorrow… trade candy… and go nick some coins out of the fountain at the park…”

Amory breathed out a laugh, moving his candy over and outstretching on the bed as well.

They lay on their backs, heads resting on their pillows, all of them snug beneath two comforters, moonlight gently washing over them, ignoring the briskness of the autumn night air.

“I really am gonna make it work,” Crowe murmured at the ceiling. “I’m gonna sell my art… and I’m gonna be a musician… and I’m never gonna stop going for it. Ever.”

Amory glanced over at him, then stared upward again.

“All three of us really need to be there for each other from now on,” he mumbled thoughtfully. “We’re all we’ve got in the world.”

“Yeah,” Crowe agreed.

They fell silent again, and before long, Crowe began to lightly snore.

Amory gazed up at nothing in particular, the side of his head aching slightly, hand resting atop his stomach, hairs flown messily back atop his pillow.

It almost felt surreal to be laying here now, not in his bed at home, not listening attentively for the thick, quaking footsteps of boots walking outside his bedroom door. Strangely enough, he felt safer sleeping here, unsupervised, than he did sleeping in his bedroom.

He pondered on everything in the world, hardly able to believe how drastically life had changed in just one afternoon, and he silently mapped out all the ways he could make this difficult living arrangement easier in the near future… pondering on stealing coins from the fountain… perhaps getting a paper route to earn some extra… but he’d have to quietly retrieve his bike from home…

Somewhere amidst the tired haze of his mind, his thoughts drifted into scenes… into dreams… as he lay fast asleep in his isolated clubhouse…

Amory found himself standing at the edge of his school’s rooftop during a bright, sunny day, giving him a glorious view of Mapleview. It was a favorite hangout spot of his, a place Crowe would often lead him whenever he talked him into cutting class—and it was also a place he dreamed of often, sometimes leaping off the roof and soaring away, or making flying jumps across great distances in the open landscape afar.

He tottered on the edge of the rooftop, wind gusting past him, preparing to make a fun jump—but then, something halted him, a feeling as if he was being watched.

So, Amory slowly turned around on the roof’s edge—and he spotted a man standing on the roof behind him, a man whom he didn’t recognize, with short black hair, a serious face, and a pair of sharp blue eyes, his hands sliding into the pockets of a long black trench coat.

The two stared at each other.

Amory’s brow hardened, examining the man and thinking it strange that someone he didn’t know would appear here. He never usually dreamed about strangers.

“Who’re you…?” he uttered.

The man merely stared, his face unreadable, and he began a gentle stride closer.

Amory took in a deep, heavy breath, watching him closely and feeling vexed. This man did not appear bright, sunny, or starry in a dreamlike way as his environment did; this man appeared solid, detailed, and far more real than anything else around him.

“You… have a long… and difficult road ahead of you,” Zyon told the boy in a soft, thoughtful rasp, slowing to a stop and releasing a sigh. “But… just because you have much to endure, and just because you have to be strong for others… do not think for a moment that it means you are in it alone. Do you understand?”

Amory swallowed roughly, feeling a bizarre, unexplainable sensation flood through him.

“Are y…” he stuttered impulsively. “Are you… real…?”

Zyon stared, making an affirming nod.

Amory’s expression grew even more confused. He began glancing around, as if he expected to see his real environment—the clubhouse, the blankets, the moonlight and the people asleep beside him—but the place remained the same, the same sunny paradise version of his favorite spot on the rooftop of Mapleview Junior High.

“How can you be in my dream if you’re…?” Amory stammered, totally lost.

Zyon’s mouth curled, showing the faintest hint of a smile.

“It is… a very long story,” he replied, easing gently closer. “There are a lot of things going on in this world that most people scarcely ever see. You will come to learn… and see… all of it.”

Amory gazed up at him as he stopped a foot away.

Zyon stared down at him with a warmer expression than he usually wore.

“Free will… is not something… that I can hinder, even if I did want to,” he told the child. “So, I need you… to accept me… if you would like my help in the future.”

Amory eyed him, still perplexed, though he felt a strange sense of clarity as he stared into this stranger’s calming gaze.

“Who are you…?” he breathed.

Zyon flashed another small, subtle half-smile.

“My name is Zyon,” he told him. “And I am here to help.”

Amory gulped again, wanting to feel wary, to show caution as he usually would, but for whatever reason, he felt no need to do so the longer he gazed into this man’s eyes. Unlike perhaps any other adult he’d ever known in his life—he did not feel the need to be alert, skeptical, or cautious around this stranger named Zyon.

“Help with… what?” Amory asked.

Zyon gently tilted his head, his smile waning.

“The Legion is coming for you,” he told him gravely. “They will try… to warp, to twist, and to manipulate… so that all of the worst things in this world and worlds beyond become a part of you. What I am offering is… protection from that. Divine protection. You… will either become part of them… or part… of me.”

Amory continued to stare at him in befuddlement.

“Why can’t I just be… me?” he muttered.

Zyon paused, then revealed a hint of his subtle smirk once more.

“You are you,” he assured the boy. “You are very much you… and you always will be. But… human beings are incomplete by nature. You either become one with the wicked… or one with the righteous. That is the forever crossroad for all of humanity… and that choice happens to be especially and particularly important for you, Amory Evervale. The choice does not make you any less you. There is simply more to you than you have ever considered before. What more to you there is… well… that is entirely up to you.”

“Are y… are you talking about good and evil?” Amory tried to guess.

“Exactly,” Zyon confirmed.

Amory squinted questioningly at him. “And you’re… good? You’re like… the embodiment of good? Is that what you’re saying…?”

Zyon’s smile seemed to grow—and expansive white wings suddenly appeared behind him—outstretching from his back and craning out around them both.

Amory gasped and leaped back in shock—nearly falling from the rooftop—

And Zyon’s arm shot out—clasping him by the wrist and stopping him mid-fall.

The two fell still there—Amory hovering over the edge of the building, Zyon keeping a firm hold of him, and his wings remained outstretched around them.

“If you… simply… pray,” Zyon told him in a low, clear voice. “Pray… on behalf of your sister, and your friend… then I will have the freedom I need… to protect all of you in the difficult days to come.”

He pulled Amory slightly closer.

“They must fully accept my grace… to fully benefit from my power… and that will, inevitably, fall onto them, and their choices,” Zyon said intently. “But… as far as simple protection, for you, and for them… all you have to do is pray. Do you understand?”

Amory shakily nodded, his heart hammering, feeling foolish for being so afraid, as he knew he was in a dream and the fall would not kill him—yet still, perhaps out of instinct, he grasped the man’s arm with both of his, trying his best not to fall backward.

Then—contrary to whatever he might have expected—Zyon pulled him fully forward and wrapped an arm around him, embracing him like a father might a son.

Amory fell still, the fear vanishing, lost in the warmth of a hug—one that felt so very real, so far beyond what one could feel in a dream—and the strange, unexplainable peace he felt seemed to overtake him, easing him, calming him more than anything ever had. He allowed his eyes to drift shut for a moment, releasing a long, cleansing breath, wondering how long it had been since he’d had a hug like this, or if ever he’d ever had one at all.

“I can see… some of what is… some of what was… and a bit of what will be,” Zyon said thoughtfully, placing a hand atop his head. “But so many of those things are malleable… and any of those scenarios may or may not ever happen… depending upon the choices made. You… Amory… you are a fixed point of importance in every potential scenario through time. I can’t see or feel these things as clearly as I once did… but that, I know for certain.”

Amory’s eyes gently opened, still fairly lost by everything this man said, but he didn’t reply, simply savoring the feeling of serenity, of feeling safe in the arms of an adult… something he’d never felt before…

“The time… will come… soon,” Zyon knew, gazing across the sunny scene and softly stroking the top of Amory’s head. “When you are in a place… where the walls of the worlds… are gone. That will be the place… and that will be the time… when these things can become truly one with you… and you will become whatever you choose to be. Part of me… or part of them.”

“I want you,” Amory mumbled into his coat without a single shred of forethought, though he knew for certain he meant it wholeheartedly.

Zyon paused, glancing down at him and flashing another faint smile.

“Then I will be there,” he promised, raising his head and gazing across the dreamed landscape once more, his eyes slowly beginning to brighten vibrant blue.

The rooftop and the entirety of the school vanished from beneath them, though the two remained suspended midair—Amory gasping in shock and bolting upright—

And instantly—he found himself sitting up in the makeshift bed inside the clubhouse, darkness all around, moonlight illuminating the air just enough to reveal the faint, floating dust particles before him. Crowe was lying next to him, now turned onto his side, and Raven lay on the other side of him, curled into a ball and lost in the tight embrace of the comforters.

Amory sat still, glancing around at everything—the blankets, pillows, candy, and abandoned McDonald’s wrappers—then, he slowly faced forward, emotions welling up inside for reasons unknown. He choked out a noise, covering his mouth and hunching down, facing his lap as tears streamed down his cheeks.

He cried in silence for a while, every feeling inside seeming to overwhelm him.

He didn’t understand it, why he felt so touched and so torn, why he simply had to let it all out now—but he could not get the angel from his dream out of his mind for even a second. He almost longed for him now; he wanted to return to his dream world, wanted to hug more, or talk more—or to see the wings again, or to be given advice again, or to be rescued again—to be seen and cared for in a way like he’d never been in reality. Perhaps he truly craved such a guiding force, and maybe he deeply wanted one more than he’d ever allowed himself to face in his waking life. He couldn’t know.

All he knew was—he did not want to return to the waking world so soon, a world where no one was here to help, guide, or protect him, a world where that responsibility seemed to fall onto him, thirteen-year-old Amory Evervale, all of the time.

It wasn’t as if he hated caring for his sister and his friend, but he felt to be near a breaking point, and it would be nice if someone cared for him in the same way. In fact, it would be nice if someone cared for all three of them. He could never understand the unfairness of it all, why so many other people—like his peers in school, or like all the other kids he’d seen with their smiling parents earlier tonight—had all of the care, guidance, and love that they needed, while people like Amory, Crowe, and Raven were not allowed to have it.

Every moment of the dream lingered on his mind insistently, and he fell still and silent, gazing directly forward and not moving at all, wishing that the dream had been a reality. He knew it couldn’t have been—despite what the angel had said—but God, he would give anything for that man to have been real.

Then—something clicked in his mind—and a stark realization came to him out of nowhere.

Amory’s brows began to harden, glaring forward, wearing a deeply thoughtful visage as the voice played through his memory—that same voice he’d heard once before today.

Because—when he stood in the sense standoff with Joseph Evervale, aiming the revolver at him and feeling so very tempted to shoot him—that was the moment he’d heard the voice for the first time, a soft, gnawing rasp in the back of his mind, uttering a single question to him that snapped him out of his anger and temptation.

Is this really you?

That voice—it remained imprinted on his mind, clearer than ever—and it was the very same voice as the angel from his dream.

Amory’s mouth drifted slightly agape, gazing down in bewilderment, replaying it in his mind over and over again, wondering if it could really be true—but he couldn’t think of any other explanation. How could he have heard the angel’s voice in his mind—while he was awake, and long before he ever dreamed of him—if he wasn’t, somehow, real?

“Jes—us—God—blind me,” Crowe suddenly panted, scrambling upright and swatting the comforters off of him with haste.

Amory blinked and turned to him, staring at him in confusion.

Crowe leaned back on one hand, the other planted over his heart, his chest rising and falling. He took a moment, then blew his bangs from his eyes and straightened out.

“Sorry… sorry, I just had a… weird dream,” he muttered, reaching out to his candy bag and plucking a Kit-Kat out of it.

Amory’s eyes narrowed, studying him closely and feeling a spark of excitement. Before he could ask, his eyes wandered past Crowe—seeing that Raven, too, was now waking up, sitting upright and rubbing her eyes, a tear rolling down her face, and she wore a calm, sweet smile.

“Did you just have a dream too?” Amory asked, leaning past Crowe and giving his little sister a curious look.

Raven turned to him and nodded, still smiling and wiping a tear away.

“What did you guys just dream about?!” Amory asked exasperatedly, his eyes darting between both of them.

“Ahh… this winged bloke took me for a flight off a bloody rooftop somewhere,” Crowe mumbled disinterestedly, peeling the wrapper off his candy. “I don’t remember the rest of the dream, but I’m pretty sure I just got kidnapped by an angel…”

“You’re kidding,” Amory gasped, his beaming smile dominating his face now.

“I dreamed about an angel, too,” Raven said softly. “But he didn’t take me away, he was just giving me a hug…”

Amory stared at them both, feeling a rush of hope and delight like he’d never known before.

He couldn’t possibly know how or why—but he knew without a shadow of a doubt now that Zyon the angel was, most assuredly, real.

Snap.

All of them heard it—the distant, muffled sound of a twig snapping outside—and at once, everything in the clubhouse fell deathly still and silent.

Amory’s smile vanished; he stared alertly at the closed door, Crowe doing the same with a darkening expression, Raven inhaling sharply and hiding deeper inside the comforters, all three of them staring at the door with anxiety, all of their hearts beginning to pound.

Then—they heard the faintest hint of a scrape, like the sound of a boot crunching rocks atop dirt.

Raven swallowed a gasp and scooted back, her eyes widening in fear, Crowe’s teeth beginning to clench as his hand balled into a fist.

Amory tore his eyes from the door, knowing for certain that someone was approaching their clubhouse in the middle of the night. His eyes landed on his pillowcase of candy, just beside him.

Crowe took a deep breath and tossed the blanket fully aside, preparing to stand—

“No—don’t,” Amory whisper-yelled, grabbing him and yanking him back down.

“I’m gonna go check it out,” Crowe said in a hushed voice, swatting at the door.

“No, let me,” Amory ordered, reaching into his candy bag and pulling out the revolver, a Jolly Rancher falling out of its trigger frame.

“God—fuckin’ blind me,” Crowe gasped, reeling back and ogling the gun in surprise. “Where the hell’d you get that from—?”

“Shhht,” Amory hissed, pressing a finger to his lips and looking to the door.

He slowly reached his feet, clutched the gun tightly by his side, and took in a deep, bracing breath, summoning every ounce of his nerve before he began to move forward.

His free hand reached out, gently pushing the splintery, creaking door open.

Outside of the old shed, in the clearing, standing at the threshold of the woodland and dimly illuminated by the moonlight—was a man wearing a black suit and tie, and a hat to match, his face mostly concealed beneath its brim. Three other suited men stood nearby behind him, but the man in the front was clearest in view.

Amory raised the gun, hand shaking slightly, aiming it at the stranger and taking a single step out the doorway, Crowe and Raven hovering closely behind him. He took another breath, cleared his throat, and tried to speak with a strengthened tone, despite that his heart was throbbing with fearful anticipation.

“Wh-who are you?” Amory asked. “Whaddo you want?”

The nearest suited man just raised his head, the other three exchanging glances behind him.

“Hello there, young man,” the man in the front said in a deep, smooth voice, taking a small step forward. “My name is Vincent Hawthorn.”

He revealed his face, perfectly-pronounced cheekbones, and eyes of two different colors.

Amory stared at him, adjusting his grasp on the gun and keeping it trained on the man, his palm beginning to sweat.

“Are y… are you the cops?” he asked breathlessly.

The man in the front, Vincent, merely chuckled and sauntered forward. “No… we’re not the police. We’re a bit above that, if I’m being honest.”

Amory swallowed painfully.

“W-we’re not going home,” he stated, grimacing heavily at the man. “If that’s why you’re here, then don’t bother—because I—I swear to God—if you try to take us, I will shoot.”

“Oh… now… don’t worry,” Vincent said calmly, slowing to a stop just a few feet away. “I have no interest in trying to take any of you back to your old homes. Actually… what I would really like to do… is offer you a new one.”

Amory stared at him in befuddlement, Crowe and Raven trading bizarre looks just behind him.

“You see… when children run away from home, they actually have a number of options,” Vincent explained, flashing a smile and raising a finger. “They can go to a shelter… they can go through the state, and go into foster care… they can go live with a friend or a relative who applies for emergency custody… or… they can come to Canterbury.”

“Canterbury…?” Crowe blurted thoughtlessly. “Canterbury England…?”

“No… Canterbury Lab, young man,” Vincent corrected. “It’s a bit like the YMCA, only… it is live-in, and there are… procedures… to be done.”

A strange silence fell over the atmosphere, Amory, Crowe, and Raven all glancing at one another with perplexed and wary looks.

“And… we specifically like to extend this offer to children who come from… unfortunate circumstances,” Vincent said. “It gives you the option to live in a new, safe environment… far away from your parents, or guardians, or whomever it was you ran away from. You do not need their permission to become a part of the project. You don’t even need to contact them. We will take care of all of that for you.”

Amory lowered the gun, but did not loosen his grasp on it, eyeing the man questioningly.

“Project…?” he uttered.

“Yes… the Canterbury Project,” Vincent affirmed, hunching down to one knee and leveling himself with the kids, his eyes now perfectly in their view. “It is… a super soldier project. The aim of the project is to expand the human mind… and to make people more powerful.”

The children stared at him.

Amory gazed into the man’s eyes—one shiny and black, the other a bright blue—and he felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, his cautiousness getting the better of him.

“Does that mean you… experiment on people?” he asked.

Vincent chuckled again, shaking his head. “Oh… no, not like what you’re thinking. We perform some small tests, and we use some other protocols that have already been proven to work… but I assure you, it’s all perfectly safe.”

Amory gnawed his bottom lip, reading the man’s face and searching for any hint of deceit, but Vincent merely maintained his smooth, charming smile.

“Would it hurt any of us?” Amory inquired.

“No… no, absolutely not,” Vincent replied without hesitation. “You may feel some side-effects from certain medications at times, but that’s about it. We’re not in the business of torturing people in an attempt to affect them in a certain way. We’re not the CIA.”

He and his men snickered at this little joke, though the kids didn’t seem to understand it.

“And you want… you want us to go there?” Crowe asked. “To this lab…?”

“If you like,” Vincent replied simply. “I only wanted to give you the offer. I am not here to try to coerce you, and I am not here to try to force you. The choice is entirely yours.”

The three children fell momentarily silent, again trading glimpses with each other.

“Are you…” Amory muttered. “Are you trying to give people… superpowers?”

Vincent began to reply—and a new voice cut him off.

“Not trying to. We already have.”

The faint, scratchy voice spoke from the woods behind the other men—and Amory, Crowe, and Raven all tensed up, watching as a fifth suited man strolled out from the trees, his hands pocketed in a dark overcoat, his jovial face harboring a sly, curt smile.

“Superpowers… as you call it… are extradimensional,” Valek said knowingly, raising his brows as he sauntered forward. “And those powers… are what happens… when you reach into the farther dimensions, and you let whatever is in those dimensions reach back.”

Vincent slowly reached his feet again, Crowe and Raven staring over at Valek with vexed intrigue—but Amory was eyeing him with fixated chagrin, the churning in his stomach suddenly harder and graver, though he couldn’t know why.

“I know… it’s all very hocus pocus and supernatural-sounding, but there is a science to it, I assure you,” Valek remarked, giving the kids a smirk. “You’d be surprised how well science fits with the supernatural… snapping perfectly together, like long lost puzzle pieces. If only you know where to connect them.”

The children all stared, Vincent turning to Valek and giving him a caustic sort of look.

“It’s rather exciting, though,” Valek said with a certain glimmer in his eye, smiling at the kids. “Isn’t it…?”

“Tch. If you can prove it,” Crowe snarked, Raven tugging on his shirt and shushing him.

“Oh… I can, my little friend,” Valek smirked, raising a hand.

“Don’t do that,” Vincent sighed. “You’re gonna end up scaring them off…”

Valek seemed not to hear him; he raised his hand higher, and at once, a sudden wind swept over the entire scene, blasting everyone’s hair aside and making many of the suited men clasp down onto their hats, the treetops shifting far above them, and the dim lighting of the moon instantly faded away, a billowing of dark clouds overtaking the moon out of nowhere.

Amory, Crowe, and Raven all reeled back in astonishment—watching as a spiral of darkness shot down from the sky, swirling around Valek’s arm and pooling into his hand in the form of a rapid, blackened ball, seemingly made entirely of shadows.

Then—Valek extended his fingers and opened his hand fully—and the darkness dissipated and flickered out of view as quickly as it had come, the wind dying down, and the light of the full moon making a slow return to the scene, everything falling still and calm once more.

“Mapleview is a very special place,” Valek remarked, coiling his hand closed and sliding it back into his pocket. “A great big rift in temporal time and space… and it’s got a town sitting right on top of it. It’s the only place in America where a lab like mine can exist… a place that creates people who embody that power. But d’you know what my favorite part is…?”

He meandered even closer, giving the children another coy, playful smile.

“The complete… removal… of helplessness,” Valek grinned, tilting his head at them. “When you become like me… you never have to feel helpless again. And oh, what a feeling that is.”

A long, peculiar silence fell over them all.

Crowe perched his brow at the man, Raven gazing over at him with more fascination than fear now—and Amory continued glaring at him as if he’d never seen anything like him before, his expression rougher than usual, eyes homed in on him, as if he just couldn’t quite make him out.

Admittedly—despite the intense shock he still felt, even after the bizarre wind and darkness had faded away—he felt somehow allured, tempted by the mere idea.

Never being helpless again—that would mean he would never be powerless to stop someone from hurting him, his sister, or his friend, ever again. In fact—it would mean that very thing for all three of them.

And if they could obtain such a power for themselves—if it wouldn’t hurt them, and if they would get a free new home as well, a brand new safe haven, far from the slums and struggles of their old lives—honestly, it seemed like the very thing they should do.

But—as Amory stared deeply into the mysterious man before him—he simply couldn’t shake the wary apprehension he felt in his presence.

So, he turned to Vincent instead.

“Do you promise?” Amory asked him directly.

Vincent raised his brows, glanced at Valek, then approached the boy. “Promise what…?”

“If we go with you… and we’re part of the project… do you promise it’s not gonna hurt any of us?” Amory clarified.

Vincent stared, releasing a breath and lowering to one knee again, raising his head and gazing up at Amory. He gave him a reassuring smile, raised his hand, and offered his pinky finger.

“Promise,” he stated. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Amory moved to reach out, then hesitated, turning back to his friend and his sister. He stared at them expectantly, awaiting their input.

Crowe shrugged. “I’ll go where you go, mate.”

Raven nodded in agreement with him. “I wanna go…”

Amory glimpsed between them both, then turned back to the knelt man, offered his hand, and curled his pinky around Vincent’s.

And on this night—when everything in the world seemingly changed all at once, and when all of their old lives were suddenly gone forever—the thing that made Amory feel safe in his decision wasn’t the superpowers, wasn’t his friends agreeing with the decision, and wasn’t even the calm and comforting smile that Vincent had offered him.

It was simply the feeling of strange, unexplainable peace, as he still felt as if Zyon’s wings were wrapped around him, even now…