In the immediate stillness that followed the ritual's climax, Wade's initial shock gave way to a creeping sense of urgency. The tall figure in the black robe, who seemed to command the others, sheathed his shard and turned to address the group. His voice, authoritative and chilling, cut through the eerie silence. "Search the perimeter. The boy couldn't have come alone."
Wade's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of his situation sank in. They were looking for him, for any witnesses to what had just transpired. Panic set in, a stark, visceral fear that rooted him to the spot for a precious few seconds before survival instincts took over.
He knew he had to move, and fast. The dense woods that had led him to this nightmare now offered the only cover, the only chance of escape. Wade turned and bolted, pushing his body to its limits as he darted between trees and leaped over underbrush. The sounds of the ritual site faded into the background, replaced by the thumping of his own heartbeat and the ragged breaths tearing from his lungs.
Every snapped twig or rustled leaf sent waves of fear coursing through him. But he couldn't afford to slow down, to give in to the fatigue that clawed at his muscles. Dexter's fate, whatever it may have been, was a constant reminder of what could await him if he were caught.
As the distance between him and the clearing grew, Wade allowed himself to hope, to believe he might actually escape unnoticed. The woods seemed endless, a labyrinth of nature that he navigated with desperate intuition.
Finally, the density of the forest began to lessen, and the sounds of the observatory crowd reached his ears, a beacon of normalcy in the madness he was fleeing. Emerging from the tree line, Wade did his best to compose himself, to blend into the crowd and mask the fear and exertion that no doubt painted his face. 'Just another face in the crowd,' he willed himself, 'invisible, unremarkable.'
He wove through the throng of people, each stride distancing him from the nightmarish scene he'd fled, drawing him towards the comforting presence of Mr. Raven. Amidst his racing thoughts, a pang of realization hit him — his footprints in the snow could betray his path. An anxious hope flickered within him, silently pleading that they would depart swiftly before any pursuers could trace his hurried escape.
Mr. Raven's concerned voice broke through his tumultuous thoughts. "There you are! I was starting to worry. Where have you been? It's been four hours?!"
Wade's mind reeled at Mr. Raven's words. "Four hours?" he echoed, disbelief lacing his voice. 'But... it felt like less than an hour.'
Wade forced a nod, the lies already forming on his lips. "Yeah, got caught up in a game with Dexter and a couple of other guys." 'Caught up in a game? Is that the best I can do?'
Mr. Raven's initial relief at seeing Wade safe quickly morphed into a stern, disapproving frown. "A game for four hours?! We were supposed to watch the eclipse together."
Wade started, "I... I know, I'm sorry. It's just that—"
"These moments, they don't come around often," Mr. Raven interjected.
Wade fumbled for words. "I didn't mean to miss it, really. Things just got... out of hand?"
Mr. Raven let out a weary sigh, placing a hand on Wade's shoulder. "Let's just get home."
As they prepared to leave, Wade couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of not being entirely free from the reach of the figures in the clearing.
The drive home was a blur, Wade's mind replaying the day's events. The need to understand what he had witnessed and what had become of Dexter consumed him. 'What was that ritual? Who were those people?' First this new life and now that horror show. But for now, survival meant keeping the truth buried.
Mr. Raven's expression softened as they drove. He stole a glance at Wade, who stared blankly ahead, his shoulders tense.
A few miles into their journey, Mr. Raven broke the silence in the truck. "You know, Chris, I think I came on a bit strong earlier," he admitted, not quite apologizing. "It was just an eclipse, and there'll be others. Just... next time, give me a heads up if you're planning to disappear like that, okay?"
Wade offered a nod, the warmth of appreciation seeping through him. "Thanks, Dad," he managed to say, the term 'Dad' feeling strange and distant on his lips. A poignant thought crossed his mind: 'He looks at me and sees a son, yet he's blind to who I truly am.'
The sight of the house did little to ease Wade's disquiet. They stepped out of the truck, and Mr. Raven gave Wade's hair a gentle tousle. "Let's head in."
Shoes were shed at the doorstep, and jackets found their place on hooks. Mr. Raven headed for the living room and flicked on the TV, the screen coming to life with an unfamiliar drama. He sank onto the couch with a deep sigh. The TV was an ancient relic nestled within a wooden cupboard. Its bulky frame and the warm hue of the wood gave it a certain charm. It was different from the modern devices Wade was accustomed to. One had to approach the set and manually twist the dials to change the channel.
"Care to join me for a bit?" he called out to Wade, patting the space beside him.
Wade hesitated for a moment before joining him on the couch. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for his 'father.' The man's reaction to the missed eclipse painted a picture of a lonely man. Wade would have to sit with the sad man briefly and then retreat to his room. Mr. Raven smiled. "Do you mind turning the channel, Chris?"
Wade got up and turned the dials. The click of the mechanism echoed softly in the quiet room. When the TV screen played a space show, Mr. Raven stopped him there.
As the episode ended and Mr. Raven made offhand comments about the storyline, Wade nodded and murmured the appropriate responses. Still, his thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories of the day's horrors. 'How can I just sit here and pretend everything's normal after seeing...that?'
Wade's stomach growled. Mr. Raven glanced at him. "Missed lunch with all that running around, huh?" he observed.
"Yeah, I guess so," Wade responded.
"Great. I'll order us some pizza. Does that sound good?" he suggested, getting up from the couch and heading for the wall phone in the kitchen. Wade nodded.
Mr. Raven chatted with the person on the other end of the line, confirming their usual order with the ease of routine. Wade found himself listening to the mundane details of toppings and delivery times. When the call ended, Mr. Raven returned to Wade. "Pepperoni and mushroom, your favorite, on its way. Should be here in about thirty minutes," he announced. Wade was okay with the selection, but cheese was far better.
As they waited for the pizza, the TV buzzed. Wade, his mind still a whirlwind of images and emotions from the day, found unexpected comfort in the routine, in waiting for something as simple as dinner.
When the doorbell finally rang, Mr. Raven got up to answer it, and Wade followed, the movement a welcome distraction.
Mr. Raven turned off the TV.
They settled at the kitchen table, the aroma of hot pizza wafting between them. Wade allowed himself to be immersed in the simplicity of savoring each slice, engaging in light-hearted debates over the merits of various toppings.
'Food. Comfort. Normalcy. A nice break,' Wade pondered as they finished their meal. "I think I'm ready for bed. It's been a crazy day..." Wade said, some truth slipping.
"Alright, champ. Make sure you hit the bathroom before you hit the hay," Mr. Raven responded, an affectionate dismissal in his gesture. Wade ascended the stairs with a quickened pace. In his room, he flicked the switch, bathing it in a soft glow. Outside, dusk was drawing its curtain, the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon. Wade perched on the edge of his bed. Fleeing was not the immediate option; it was the last resort. Trapped in the body of a child, where could he possibly run that wouldn't eventually lead back to this point?
Compelled by resignation and pragmatism, he rose and began to sift through his belongings. His hands found a canvas backpack, and methodically, he filled it with essentials like clothing, a makeshift bug-out bag of sorts. It was a small gesture, perhaps futile, but it offered a sliver of control over an otherwise unpredictable existence.
As he packed, his mind replayed the day's events, each detail etched with vivid clarity. One concern loomed more significant than the rest: Dexter. Their association, brief as it had been, now tied them together. Mr. Raven and anyone else at the observatory could easily link him to Dexter. He expected a police investigation into Dexter's disappearance. He knew he needed a story consistent with what he'd told Mr. Raven but also plausible enough to withstand police scrutiny.
With the backpack prepared, Wade took a moment to sit back down. The last light of day faded outside his window. Wade's gaze lingered on the backpack. Crossing the room, he reached out and clicked the lock on his door decisively. Wade's planning was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the front door closing, followed by the muffled cadence of voices drifting up the stairs. It was his sister coming home.
Back on his bed, he listened, trying to discern the mood from the tones and pitches of the conversation below. The sound of footsteps and continued conversation indicated his sister was making her way through the house, perhaps heading to the kitchen or the living room. He remembered Melissa's remark about robes earlier that day. Could Skye have been one of the robed people? The recollection hit Wade like a jolt of electricity. He needed to observe her closely.
But for now, he had to wait. The house was still awake. Hours seemed to stretch into an eternity as Wade waited for the house to quiet down. The last light beneath his door flickered out. The house settled into its nighttime quiet. Wade knew he had to act carefully. Direct confrontation about the day's events was out of the question; it would only raise suspicion and possibly put him in danger. Instead, he needed to be subtle. As the clock ticked past midnight, Wade slipped out of bed. He moved silently across the room, pausing at the door to listen for any signs of movement in the house. Satisfied that everyone else was asleep, he gently unlocked and opened the door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
The soft carpet muffled his footsteps as he made his way towards Skye's room. The door was ajar, and he could hear the faint sound of her breathing, steady and deep in sleep. He hesitated, contemplating whether to risk entering her room. Wade pushed the door open slightly, enough to peer inside. Skye was sprawled on her bed, oblivious to the world around her. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest her involvement with the mysterious group, except the bag she'd carried earlier, lying haphazardly at the foot of the bed. With painstaking care, he nudged the door wider, just enough to slip through. Shadows clung to the corners, turning objects into specters of doubt.
Wade inched closer to the bed, his movements deliberate, breaths shallow to avoid any sound that might betray his presence. His focus was singular. The bag. He carefully rummaged through it, but it was completely empty. He gave the room another look over and saw something peculiar. A piece of fabric peeked out from under her bed. It was dark, almost black, and Wade's heart skipped a beat at the sight. Could it be part of a robe?
Wade's fingers, tense with anticipation and dread, grasped the edge of the fabric peeking out from beneath Skye's bed. The late hour, coupled with the silence of the house, amplified the pounding of his heart. With a cautious pull, the fabric slid across the floor. The dark fabric he'd imagined to be part of some sinister robe was nothing more than a pair of Skye's black panties. Caught between his past maturity and his current guise as a younger brother, Wade felt a mix of embarrassment and self-reproach.
Skye's eyes snapped open, wide with shock and disbelief, as she caught sight of Wade holding the fabric. "What the hell, Chris?!" she exclaimed, her voice slicing through the night's silence. Wade's mind raced, scrambling for an exit from the volatile situation. A flash of inspiration struck him—a risky but potentially effective diversion. "It was a dare!" he blurted out, a mischievous glint in his eyes attempting to mask his underlying fear. "You know, the guys and I were talking about who could pull off the silliest prank tonight, and... and this was it. Stupid, right?"
Wade turned on his heel, her garment still clutched in his hand. "Gotta run—can't let them think I chickened out!" he added with feigned bravado, darting towards the door in a mock-heroic dash.
His heart thudded against his ribcage, each step away from Skye's room a blend of relief and lingering dread. At last, he crossed the threshold into his own room, closing and locking the door behind him. The click offered a meager sense of security.