The Evil We Keep

VII. THE OUTCOME

As I come out of the house, I see McKinnon move to his car, Emily and Mrs. Foster already inside. I stand back, watching the scene unfold, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders. Emily looks at me, her eyes filled with a quiet gratitude. I give her a nod and a small smile. "We'll see each other again," I say under my breath. "Soon."

Father McKinnon gives me a reassuring nod. "Take care, Maya," he says. "You're always welcome, wherever we end up."

I smirk. "Don't get all mushy on me now, Padre."

He chuckles softly and closes the door. I watch as they drive away, the weight of the house and everything inside it falling away from their shoulders, fading into the distance.

I turn back to my car, alone and exhausted, but there's a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time. As I watch the other car move away, a soft voice whispers in my mind. "Thank you, Maya," Buer's voice says. "I owe you one. And demons always repay their debts. If you need me, just come see Emily."

A tired smile pulls at my lips followed by a vivid pain in my stomach. I fold in two and throw up on the side of my car. It is a shock, like a fucking horse kick in the gut but never a surprise. I know what it is. **Blood.**

Curses given take a toll on the giver's soul and blood is the universal conduit. It's always so painful, and it never gets easier, but sacrificing a part of your soul and feeling it burning away isn't meant to feel good. I believe that is the point.

I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, open the door and slide into the driver's seat . I sit there for a moment, reviewing everything that happened. The way the room felt so heavy with dread, the relief in Emily's eyes, the raw power of Mrs. Foster finally standing up... It's a lot to take in. A lot to carry.

I see the flashing lights of a police car approaching and nod to the officers as they step out. They nod back, familiar with their roles in this charade and already preparing for what will come next, shovel in hand. They know what to do. I know what to do.

I start the engine, letting it purr beneath me. The night is still dark, the road ahead uncertain, but something feels different. I pull out my flask, fingers wrapped around the cold metal. I hesitate, feeling the weight of it in my hand. **Maybe I'm strong enough to take it all in on my own.**

I begin driving away from the house, feeling the weight gradually lift from my shoulders with every mile that widens the gap between me and Mr. Foster, who I'm sure has his own special kind of journey ahead of him.

I crack open the window, wanting to feel the fresh air on my face. I keep the wheel steady with one hand and lift my flask with the other, ready to toss it out and, with it, maybe my addiction too. But as the first drop spills from the neck, I feel a burning sensation against my chest, my muscles tense, my mind twitching as flashes of colors blur my vision—a familiar feeling. **Another daydream. Another emotional thread tugging at my senses. Someone else needs help.**

A sudden spasm shocks my body from all sides.

Images flood my mind—not memories, but something more immediate. Children, dead and alive, tossed and piled in a dark basement. A crooked hand closing a heavy metal door that leads to the floor. The stench of burnt flesh fills my nostrils. Panic rises like bile in my throat, accompanied by a single desperate thought from somebody else echoing in my head: **Please God, make her eat one of the others.**

And then after another flash of colors that seem out of this world, I see an intense and quite real flash, this time from what seems to be the headlights of a car driving dangerously close to mine at full speed. I turn the wheel, lose control of my car for a moment, the wheels screeching on the concrete. My sight snaps back into focus, and my hands move instinctively, gripping the steering wheel, slamming the brake pedal with all my strength. The car skids, then jerks to a stop, just off the road. I'm alive. The car is okay. I suck in ragged breaths, forcing the adrenaline to drain away.

Out of the haze, the throbbing in my head losing intensity, but one feeling remains: the burning sensation against my chest. Surprised by the warmth still present, I look down and see my jacket catching fire, the flames spreading across my chest. I mechanically tap the pocket, frantically trying to extinguish the ignition. As the fire goes out quickly, painlessly, giving more fear than actual harm, I see an object falling from the now apparent hole in my jacket and into my lap. In one second, the sight of the object makes the anxiety of the situation vanish to only leave room for a weary realization. **Death. Fiery Fucking Death...You got to be kidding me!**.

The tarot card is there, laying on my lap without a single burn mark. Immaculate. I let a nervous laugh come out of my throat. I don't know how these things work, but they sure know how to get my attention. **Maybe I was right to wear my death close to my chest.**

I laugh once again, this time wholeheartedly.

I glance down in direction of the pedals and see my flask on the floor, still open and, yet magically full, unspilled. A smirk tugs at my lips. **I could quit... but then again, I'd better be numb for whatever comes next.**

I grab it, take a quick swig, the liquid burning its way down, and slide it back into my jacket pocket...The one that didn't burn.

I lay my head against the headrest for a moment. I think about my empty apartment back in the city and chuckle. It can wait.

** Right now, there's another case, another creature to send back to its creator, another victim about to lose their soul. And that's enough to keep me going. Always another reason not to go home.**

This isn't the first time I've gotten a "call" like this, but something about the last vision sticks with me. The children, the basement, that eerie feeling... it's not going to let me go that easily. I focus to decipher it. **A hag... a child-eating hag.**

I don't know where the kids could be , but I know one person who might be able to help. **Nina,** the medium. She's got a way of finding people that can't be found. I punch a new destination into the GPS: New Orleans. **She always did love the drama of that city.**

New Orleans. The city always pulls me in. I remember seeing something about it on the news last week—a string of unexplained disappearances, rumors of something old lurking beneath the surface. I brushed it off at the time, but now it feels like everything's leading me there. **Guess I'll be facing more than just the ghosts of my past.**

I grip the wheel, my fingers tight against the leather. **I'll deal with the demons—human or otherwise. But mine? That's a whole different story.**

I start the engine once more, the car humming beneath me. I drive into the unknown—a life half-lived between the real and the fantastic, the blessed and the cursed. Another case, another dream, another rush of emotions waiting around the bend. Maybe more kids I can save if I find them in time.

I take another swig from the flask, letting the burn settle low in my stomach. I tuck it back into my jacket, feeling its weight like an old friend hugging me. **One day, I'll quit. One day, I'll face it all head-on. Just not today.**

I press down on the gas, leaving the shadows of the past behind, driving toward whatever waits for me in the dark.

**I've got a meeting with a medium about a possible child-eating hag.**