The Evil We Keep

VI. THE SHOWDOWN

And then, before I can add anything else, the oppressive weight of the room lifts as I return from Emily's psyche, my breath ragged, my body trembling from the strain. My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head.

I'm back in the Fosters' house, back in the dim room filled with candles and shadows. Emily lies on the bed, her eyes fluttering as if waking from a long sleep. Mrs. Foster takes a tentative step forward, her hands trembling, her face a mixture of hope and fear.

"Mum?" Emily whispers, exhausted.

"Emily?" she whispers, her voice breaking. "Oh God...Emily, my darling...You are back."

But before she can reach her daughter, Mr. Foster's hand shoots out, gripping her arm with a force that makes her wince. "Stay back!" he barks, his eyes wild with fury. "This is witchcraft! She has communed with the devil. She is trying to get you close to take you too. It is a trap, do not get close to her!"

Mrs. Foster's body stiffens under his grip, her face contorting with a mix of fear and something deeper—something that has been buried under years of control and manipulation. I see it in her eyes: the flicker of defiance, the spark of a fight that's been smothered for too long.

"John, let me go," she says, her voice trembling but gaining strength. "Let me go to her."

He yanks her back, his face twisted with contempt. "You will not touch her! She's been poisoned by this—this witch!" He glares at me, his lip curling. "You think you can come into my home and corrupt my family? I won't allow it!"

Mrs. Foster's expression changes then—her eyes narrowing, her mouth setting into a determined line. She takes a deep breath, and with a sudden, unexpected surge of strength, she shoves him away. He stumbles back, eyes wide with shock. "I said, let me go!" she shouts, her voice ringing with a clarity that has been buried under years of oppression. "I've spent too long being afraid of you, John. No more."

He looks at her, stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a moment, he seems at a loss—years of dominance slipping away in a heartbeat. "Mary... what are you doing?" he mutters, bewildered.

"What I should have done years ago," she snaps, her eyes blazing with a newfound courage. "Protecting my daughter."

Without another word, she rushes to Emily's side, pulling her into a tight, protective embrace. Emily's eyes flutter open, and for the first time in what may feel like forever to her, I see a flicker of recognition, of life, return to them. "Mom..." she murmurs, her voice weak but filled with relief.

Tears stream down Mrs. Foster's face as she cradles Emily, whispering, "I'm here, my darling. I'm here."

Mr. Foster's face twists with rage, his fists clenching. "You will regret this, Mary!" he yells, stepping forward, but I'm done with his posturing.

I step between them, my body still weak but fueled by a seething anger. "Enough," I say, my voice low and steady. "I've seen what you've done. I've felt it. And now, you're going to feel it, too."

His eyes widen in a mix of fury and fear. "What... what are you talking about?"

Without waiting for an answer, I reach out, my hand clamping onto his face. I let the torrent of Emily's pain, the agony and terror he inflicted on her, flow from my mind into his. His eyes go wide, his body convulsing as the memories crash into him like waves of fire. He tries to scream, but his voice is caught in his throat, coming out as a strangled gasp. His legs give way, and he collapses to the floor, his eyes rolling back as he's trapped in his own personal hell.

I hold on for a moment longer, watching as his expression slackens, as his body goes limp. When I finally release him, he's nothing more than an empty shell—his mind locked in the torment of his own making. He lies there, catatonic, a fitting end for a man who has caused so much suffering.