Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Ch. 21: Part Three

       The gaping wound in the apartment drew Damian's eyes first when he emerged from the bedroom. It was shrouded in dust and veiled in light smoke, and yet the fuzzy street lights still managed to show through. He shouldn't be able to see them from where he stood.

The flames were near non-existent and Damian was hardly able to comprehend the scene before him. He saw the broken room, the dismantled furniture, and Forger's parents on the floor. In a daze, he managed to pull his shirt over his mouth and nose against the debris and smoke, and he knew he was doing it. But the actions didn't feel his own. The room was a mess, the situation was a mess. But. . .it couldn't be real. This wasn't happening. It was a dream.

Distantly, he watched Forger kneeling by her mother who wasn't moving. He should go over there. He should say something. Shouldn't he? They needed to leave. Find a safer place. His feet couldn't find the need to move. To force his body to work with his muddled mind.

The Forgers weren't moving.

Demetrius was here. Checking on Forger's parents and. . .doing something. Taking something from Mrs. Forger? What was he doing with Mr. Forger's gun? Damian wondered absently. It was broken now. Useless.

And then there were people. His brother leading him by his hand which was good, because Damian didn't think he'd be able to move on his own. It was tight. Damian's tiny hand was crushed beneath his brother's and he was somehow more distressed rather than relieved when the grip slightly relaxed. He should be glad for the pain in his hand to alleviate and it only scared him further as his tether to something solid, something secure, grew looser in it's hold around him. Damian held harder himself, though it wasn't enough until Demetrius' firm grasp naturally returned.

And then their father.

In some small capacity, Damian felt he should have known that he would be waiting for them. To take advantage of such an event. To manifest from the darkness like an evil spirit, a spectre that thrived on fear and and chaos to seize upon the cracks of vulnerability that Damian suddenly felt himself entirely comprised of. His father had watched them near. Knowing his sons had nowhere else to go but to him. His form slowly growing clearer against the shadows that seemed to linger near him as if they belonged to him. As if they had carried him here and could carry him away. As if his very existence was knit from it's wool and his physical body was merely a vessel to fulfill his wishes. As if all of his secrets—that Damian was sure there were more of he didn't know about—lived in these shadows, in the dead of night.

As if he was one with it and could swallow Damian whole if he so desired.

Maybe it was the last of the dust that still waited to settle that made his father so seamlessly blend in the darkness. Maybe it was the lack of stars tonight, the street lights that seemed especially and strangely dull. The lights fixed to the police cars may have lended some illumination to brush against the man's features, but it only served to make him seem eerier. Maybe it was all in Damian's head, but he couldn't shake the uncomfortable pull at his nerves, looking at his father—with no small amount of dread-filled surprise—who's black eyes only aided the illusion of some entity who stood there, who waited like he had always stood there. That he had always existed in a plane of shadows that Damian was previously not aware of.

Maybe it was the fears and revelations Damian had recently accumulated of his father that manifested these ideas.

He didn't like it.

Damian had become more acquainted with fear in the past couple months than he ever would have liked. It had seeded all throughout him, embedded just underneath his skin and primed to blossom at the first touch of unease or unsettling disquiet. The seeds sprouting at the first hint of anything amiss or distressing.