The Evil We Keep

V. THE ENCOUNTER

The world around me fades into a blur of shadows and half-formed thoughts. I'm no longer in the Fosters' house, no longer standing beside Emily's trembling body. I'm somewhere deeper, pulled into the dark recesses of her mind. The pain I felt when I looked in her eyes—sharp and raw—acts like a guide, dragging me from one twisted memory to the next. Each one is a window into her fear.

The first memory materializes around me, cold and vivid. I'm in a small bedroom—Emily's, I assume—filled with a child's drawings pinned to the walls. The air is thick with tension, and I hear the muffled sound of crying. Emily's mother, younger here, holds a much smaller Emily in her arms, rocking her back and forth. I can feel the mother's fear, her guilt, and a deep, crushing helplessness.

"Leave," a voice rumbles in my mind. Low, guttural, but not hostile. "You shouldn't be here. For her sake, and for yours."

I freeze. The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, wrapping around me like a heavy fog. "Who are you?" I whisper, but there's no response—just an uneasy silence.

The scene shifts, dissolving like smoke caught in the wind, and I'm pulled into another memory. Emily is older now, maybe eleven or twelve. She's huddled under the dining table, hiding. Her father's voice booms from another room, angry, slurred. She's shaking, whispering prayers, tears streaming down her cheeks. The floorboards creak under his heavy footsteps. I can feel her terror building—an awful, desperate kind of fear that digs its claws in deep.

"Leave," the voice insists again, more forceful this time. "You don't understand. You can't change what's already been done."

"Then tell me why you're here," I counter, my heart pounding. "Why are you hiding?"

The voice doesn't answer. The memory collapses around me, and I'm thrust into another moment. Emily's a teenager now, standing in the living room. Her parents are arguing. I can almost taste the bitterness in the air, sharp and acrid. She's trying to speak, her voice small but determined. "I want to leave," she says. "I want to go to college. Somewhere far."

Her mother's face falls, but it's her father's reaction that sends a chill down my spine. His eyes narrow, his lips curl into a sneer. "Over my dead body," he spits, his voice dripping with contempt. "You don't belong out there. You belong here, under this roof."

And then I see it—the moment she realizes she's trapped. The fear. The resignation. **This is where it starts.**

I reach out, trying to grasp the thread of pain that ties this all together. **Show me. Show me where it leads.**

The scene shifts again, but this time, it's slower, like I'm moving against a current. I'm in front of Emily's room, the corridor dimly lit, the walls closing in like the jaws of some great beast. Shadows stretch long and dark, pooling in the corners. I feel the air grow colder, the hair on the back of my neck prickling.

"Enough," the voice says, closer now, almost tangible. "You've seen enough."

Surprised, I take a step back, and there, in the darkness in front of the room, something moves. A shape emerges—large, imposing. A head like a lion's, its mane wild and bristling, but the legs are all wrong. They're too many, too twisted—goat legs, splayed out at impossible angles. And those eyes—deep, glowing, watching me with an intensity that cuts through the shadows. I take a step back, my breath catching in my throat.

"Who are you?" I ask again, more firmly this time, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"I am Buer," it replies, the name rolling out in a low, almost melodic growl. "And you are not welcome here."

I swallow hard, my mind racing. **A demon...introducing itself? Demons don't just give out their names. Why?**

"Why are you here demon?" I demand, keeping my distance. "What do you want with Emily?"