Chapter 78 - After the Meeting (Carter)

“Looks like we had the same idea,” I said, catching Martin’s eye as we met on the quiet street. I hadn’t wasted a moment after hearing Sam’s account of his vision of Patrick and Peter. I’d sought out Martin immediately.

“Yes. I’m surprised you found out so quickly.” Martin’s expression flickered, a mixture of curiosity and mild annoyance. “Sam was at the bar just last night, talking to Alex before he came to me. I don’t know how long those two have been working together, but I think it was a good thing they were.” His tone, however, hinted at a deeper frustration… he wasn’t one to be left in the dark, especially not by Alex.

“I was surprised too,” I admitted, shaking my head at the unexpected combination. “It’s a strange pairing. But considering what we know about Sam now… I don’t think anything can surprise us anymore.” A forced smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth, though my mind was still racing at the thought of what could be happening with my very own daughter.

Martin’s gaze sharpened, catching on the edge of my unspoken knowledge. “What do you mean?” he asked, probing. He was usually in the loop, my confidant when it came to the strange and supernatural. He was the shadowy watchman, the one who always knew more than the rest of us. But now… I saw he was looking for answers in me.

I exhaled, feeling the weight of Sam’s revelations settle between us. “There’s a lot more going on with Sam than you realize. We met with him… and he told us everything. What he’s learned, what he’s come to understand over these last few years. It’s too much to get into right now, but…” I shook my head, feeling the enormity of what Sam had revealed sink back in. Sam’s entity, the monstrous being within him, was something ancient, something tied to Death itself.

Martin’s eyes held a glimmer of intrigue, but he nodded, letting it go. “Agreed. But soon. Once we’re done here,” he said, reaching into the small bag slung over his shoulder. With deliberate caution, he pulled out an object wrapped tightly in a large Ziploc bag, handling it as if it might bite.

Inside the plastic was a small, green hairbrush, unremarkable at first glance, yet meticulously sealed, as though it were some piece of evidence in a murder investigation. I glanced at Martin, suspicious. He just shrugged, his usual flat stare on his face.

“Can never be too careful,” he said. “I don’t know what Peter might have done to this thing. Didn’t want to risk tampering with it, or… erasing something Shelta could sense by my own clumsy hands.”

I nodded, grateful for his caution. “Smart thinking.” Taking the bag from him, I lifted it, inspecting the hairbrush inside. It looked so ordinary, so mundane, just a brush with a few strands of Autumn’s hair caught in the bristles. Yet, holding it, I could feel the weight of what it represented… the inexplicable shifts in Autumn, her strange fixation on Patrick, the tension that had wormed its way into the family. Could a brush like this really be the source of so much unrest? Even with a touch of strange power? It just looked so meaningless.

Martin watched me closely. “Do you really think Sam could be right? That Patrick’s hiding something… that their relationship, Autumn and Patrick’s, is…” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “something false? Something forced?”

I let out a long breath, the familiar ache of fear settling in. “Honestly?” I muttered, searching for words to articulate the dread that had been gnawing at me for a while. “I hope Sam’s wrong. I want to believe this is just a reaction to Autumn reconnecting with Patrick. But… part of me knows better.” My voice cracked slightly, and I gritted my teeth, unwilling to let my fear show more than it already had. “There’s something off with Autumn… something I can’t see or understand. It’s terrifying, Martin. I feel helpless.” I raised the bag, the brush inside a stark reminder of my limitations. “I don’t have the power to sense what’s hidden in this thing, let alone fix whatever’s happening to her.”

Martin’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing over his face. “I know the feeling, Carter.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Let’s go to Shelta. I spoke to her already, gave her a vague idea of what we’d need, but I held back the details. I wanted to do this in person.”

I nodded, relieved. “Good thinking. We’ll lay it all out for her; the brush, Sam’s warnings, the vision, all of it. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. There’s too much uncertainty in the air. I don’t want her to be unprepared.”

Martin’s face tightened with grim resolve. “Then let’s not waste time.” He gave me a firm nod, and together, we started down the path toward Shelta’s, both of us acutely aware of the burden we were carrying; not just the small, green brush, but the weight of the truth we might uncover, and what they could mean for our whole family.

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Martin and I stood on the front porch of the modest suburban house, feeling strangely out of place. The humdrum neighborhood wasn’t where you’d expect to find Shelta Wicklow… someone whose very existence seemed to stretch beyond the ordinary. The Wicklows had an obscure, old power, but Shelta was… different. More than the others. From what I’d gathered over the years from Annabelle and Bartley, Shelta’s power was immense, naturally extending her sight and senses far beyond what any human should be able to see. She was always distant, half-lost in some unseen world, trying to hold back visions and sounds that invaded her from beyond everyone else’s range. You could sense her restraint even in casual conversation, as if she was constantly reigning herself in to stay grounded.

I raised my hand and knocked, but the door drifted open at the first tap, like she’d been waiting there all along. Standing in the doorway, she regarded us with a serene gaze that carried more awareness than anyone should.

“Martin, Carter.” Her voice was quiet, but it held a weight that silenced everything else. “Good to see you both.”

Before I could respond, I noticed another figure moving in the shadowed hallway behind her. My cousin, Arthur, stood just behind Shelta, his arms folded tightly over his chest. He was close enough to her that it made me pause, like there was something more than just a casual visit at play.

“Arthur.” I forced a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here… it’s been a while. Not since you and Kayla left after… well, after everything with Peter settled.”

Arthur’s intense eyes flicked toward me, and he gave a barely perceptible nod. “Been around,” he said simply, his voice low and rough, as if even that small phrase had enough weight to get his point out.

“Where’s Kayla?” I asked, glancing past him, though I already knew I wouldn’t see her. Martin shifted slightly beside me, his own unease settling in as tension thickened the air between us. Arthur and I shared blood, but he was always the quiet one, the observer, never giving anything away he didn’t want to. Right now, he seemed to wonder why I’d shown up on Shelta’s doorstep this late, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t thrilled about it. Our family had become strained in the past few months.

“She’s dealing with a lot,” Arthur replied, his voice gruff but measured. “You know how it is… after Zeke…” His gaze dropped, the weight of unspoken grief settling in his eyes. My cousin, Zeke, Kayla’s father, had been killed in cold blood by Peter Grimwood. He drained his life away in a twisted act of necromancy. It was a brutal loss, one that couldn’t be smoothed over, even in time.

I nodded, offering what little comfort I could. “I’m sorry, Arthur… for everything.” I knew it was a hollow phrase, but what else could be said? Losing a sibling was something I couldn’t begin to imagine. I still had Frank and Clara.

“Managing,” Arthur said simply, looking away. “Kayla… she’s an adult. She comes and goes, knows where I am.” His jaw tightened as he added, “She’s been through enough. Zeke’s passing hit us both hard.”

A pang of guilt twisted in my stomach. I’d barely seen Kayla since things had quieted down. She’d visited the house once or twice after Zeke’s death, looking lost, not sure where else to go. But then Autumn and Patrick had started flaunting their new relationship right under her nose, and she’d slipped away, fast. It was cruel, the way Autumn had disregarded Kayla’s long-held feelings for Patrick. My daughter’s blatant indifference, the complete lack of remorse or sympathy, left a sour taste in my mouth. It was yet another reason I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with Autumn.

Clearing my throat, I met Arthur’s gaze, then Shelta’s. “Look, I’m sorry for intruding like this, but there’s something we need to talk about… something important.” I glanced at Martin, who nodded in silent support.

Shelta’s expression shifted, a glimmer of knowing flickering in her eyes. “Then come in,” she said, stepping back and gesturing us inside. “Sounds like there’s more going on than I realized.”

Shelta immediately sensed the tension radiating from me, the heaviness in the air thickening as I stood there, gripping the strap of my small bag. Her gaze dropped to it, fixating on the subtle outline of the object inside.

“What’s in the bag?” Shelta asked, her tone serious, and unwavering as her eyes remained locked on the item I carried. She was immediately curious… a far-off look in her stare.

“We should speak inside?” I replied, gesturing toward the biting cold and the snow piling up on the porch.

Her expression softened slightly, an apology flickering across her face. “Of course. Come inside.”

As Martin and I stepped over the threshold into her home, we formed a tight unit, instinctively gravitating toward the small couch facing the living room window. Arthur and Shelta stood nearby, their inquisitive gazes sharp and penetrating, studying us as if we were puzzle pieces that needed to fit into place.

“This is about Sam, isn’t it?” Shelta’s voice cut through the stillness, her power reaching out, probing, sensing the unspoken turmoil swirling around us.

I nodded slowly, searching for the right words. It felt wrong to divulge everything Sam had confided in us, but I knew I needed to share enough for her to grasp the magnitude of what he had witnessed.

“Just begin, Carter. I know more about Sam than you realize,” she urged, her tone encouraging yet commanding. “But what I don’t understand is why you’re here. I’m not saying you should’ve called… whatever you have in that bag is blocking me. I can’t see the way I usually do. But there’s something there… something powerful.”

Martin and I exchanged glances, the gravity of her words settling in. My grip on the bag loosened slightly, fear creeping in as I considered the implications. What if this thing could infect me? And then there was Autumn… what if this object did have a deeper connection to her? If Sam was right… what then?

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With trepidation, I pulled the ziplock bag from its exterior carrying case. My hand hovered over it as I reached across the small living room, offering it to Shelta. But just as I was about to let it go, I hesitated. I could see her hands trembling as she sensed its presence.

“Stop,” she ordered, her voice firm and authoritative.

My eyes widened in surprise, and I glanced at Arthur, who nodded in agreement, a silent affirmation of her command. I lowered my hand, placing the bag gently on the coffee table between us.

Shelta leaned forward, perched on the edge of her seat, extending a hand toward the object. She didn’t touch it but brought her energy close enough to read its essence. I wished I could know what was happening inside her mind, how her abilities worked, and what she was perceiving.

Her eyes glazed over, staring into the void as they darted back and forth, seemingly chasing shadows only she could see. Then, abruptly, her expression shifted. Her eyes widened, and she snatched her hand back, clutching it to her chest in instinctual fear.

“It’s him… Peter.” She said his name with grim certainty. “Where did you get this?” Shelta hissed urgently, almost frantic.

“It was given to me,” Martin replied, his tone steady, even as the atmosphere crackled with tension. “Alex…the woman I work with at the bar,” he added, trying to establish a connection.

“Yes, I know who she is,” Shelta interjected, her urgency building.

“She took it… from Patrick,” Martin said, dropping the revelation like a stone into the water, rippling the already tense air in the room.

“Patrick?” Arthur finally spoke, his voice edged with disbelief. “She took this from Patrick?” He shot a bewildered glance at Shelta, both of them processing the gravity of the situation.

Shelta shook her head firmly, muttering to herself, "No…Patrick wouldn’t have had this. I would’ve seen it. I would’ve…” Her words faded as she stared down at the brush on the table. There was something wrong, something layered and concealed that defied her intuition. She leaned forward, closing her eyes to focus, trying to pierce through whatever barrier kept her from understanding. Her brow knitted with concentration, her fingers clawing at her cheek in frustration. But as hard as she tried, she could feel herself hitting an invisible wall. Finally, she slumped back in her chair, defeated. "I…I’d never have seen it,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I can sense it right here in front of me, but… I can’t see through it. Or around it. Nothing.” Shelta’s gaze stayed fixed on the brush as a wave of frustration rippled across her face. “All I can feel is a presence… Peter’s. But not…entirely Peter. It’s more like…remnants. Something he left behind. Power, or maybe intent, is embedded in this object, somehow. I don’t know why he did it, or what it’s supposed to do, but…” She glanced up, her voice hardening. “I know it’s him.”

That’s when I spoke up, unable to hold back any longer. “The only reason Alex even took this from Patrick is because of something Sam told her.” Shelta looked at me sharply, and I continued, my voice steady. “Sam killed Peter, but he saw a vision before he did it. I don’t know how much you know about him, but…he has this connection to something. An entity that gives him names and visions. People he’s supposed to go after… and kill.”

Shelta’s expression turned wary, but I pushed on. “When he got Peter’s name, he saw a bunch of stuff. But one of the last things he saw…” I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “He saw Peter going into Autumn’s dorm room. And he saw him kill Lindsey… Autumn’s roommate.” A pang of grief and guilt for the girl's family shot through me. What if it would have been my daughter? “He watched it like he was right there. Saw her die in his vision.”

Shelta’s hand clenched around the edge of the table. I nodded grimly and continued. “After that, he saw Peter take this.” I gestured at the brush on the table, feeling a strange chill run down my spine. “He took it from Autumn’s room, then went to Patrick and gave it to him. Sam said it wasn’t the first time Patrick had met Peter, either. He could tell that from the vision, too.” My voice dropped to a tight, angry whisper. “Peter spoke to him… whispered things into his ear. And Patrick kept this. Kept it, knowing full well it was connected to him. Knowing Peter had touched it. This…this is my daughter’s,” I hissed, holding the brush up, my knuckles white around its handle. “That…necromancer had it. He did something to her, and Patrick knew. This was in his possession, and he kept it hidden."

Shelta shook her head, her expression twisted in disbelief. It was almost painful to watch her as she grappled with the hold Peter Grimwood still seemed to have over all of us. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face, her elbows digging into her knees as if she were trying to steady herself against the wave of hidden details she couldn’t see.

“This can’t be happening…” she whispered, almost begging for it to be untrue. “Patrick…what is he thinking? And Autumn…does she even know… at all?”

I glanced at her, noticing something in her face that I hadn’t seen before… a kind of helplessness. Shelta, usually so steady and unshakable, looked completely powerless. Whatever this brush was, whatever Peter had done to it, it had left something in it, something that blocked her out. Something that kept her from seeing the truth about Patrick and Autumn; only scraps of information trickling in through word of mouth.

I just shook my head in reply.

“All I know is what Kayla told me,” Shelta continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Patrick and Autumn…they’re back together. But I didn’t realize how much has changed… how much she’s changed. They’re just walking around like everything’s fine, acting like it’s all perfectly normal.”

I nodded, feeling the familiar anxiety knotting tighter in my chest. “Eleanor and I noticed too… Autumn’s just…different. She’s ignoring things, almost like she’s shutting out parts of her life. She’s not in school anymore, she stopped her training… she didn’t even tell Sam she was seeing Patrick again. And… look, I love Sam, but I’ve never wanted them together, no matter what he’s done for us. She’s my daughter… you know?” For some reason, I felt guilty. I felt like I had to explain myself… “My daughter. And I can’t shake the feeling something’s seriously wrong.”

Shelta looked up, worry etched into her face. “Do you think Patrick would know if something’s wrong with her? And he… he is still keeping it a secret…” she trailed off, unsure how her nephew could do such a thing.

“If he did do this… would he ever admit it? If he had finally gotten everything he ever wanted… would he risk it by telling us…” I offered the thought to her.

Arthur, who’d been sitting in silence, suddenly leaned forward, his face set in a thoughtful frown. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but powerful. “Kayla told me something before that I pushed out of my mind. I felt it to be childhood squabbles… a love triangle gone south… until now.” Arthur gazed toward the brush on the table as he continued. “Kayla said that Autumn’s not acting like herself at all… like they’re not even family. Some of the things she has said to her… you wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Especially after Kayla lost her father.” Arthur eyed me as he spoke. “Kayla and Autumn were close. Autumn would never hurt her the way she has, unless…unless something is very wrong. She seems like a totally different person… unbound by her previous convictions.”

We all fell silent, the weight of Arthur’s words settling over us. When he spoke, we listened. He didn’t say things lightly, and this felt like he’d given it more thought than he’d ever admit out loud.

Shelta let out a shaky breath, staring down at the brush on the table. “I have to call Sarah; she needs to know before we make any kind of move. We can’t just confront Patrick without understanding more of what this is.”

I nodded, relieved to see Shelta regaining a bit of her resolve. “Yeah, let’s keep Sarah in the loop. But maybe we should slow down a bit.” I hesitated, thinking of what Sam had told me, words that felt strange coming from him of all people. “Sam said…he told me he thought Patrick might be a victim here, just like Autumn. That when he saw that vision, felt Peter’s presence…he could sense this anger, this hatred, that Peter wanted to destroy all of us. Whatever he did to that brush, it wasn’t just meant to touch one person. He wanted to strike at our families…quietly, from the inside out.”

The room fell silent again, our thoughts churning with uncertainty, all of us grappling with the same, unsettling truth, that Peter’s reach might be closer than any of us had realized. It was burrowing into our lives in ways we were only now beginning to understand.

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We were halfway to my house when my phone buzzed, Autumn’s name flashing on the screen. She and Patrick had already made their way there, under the pretense of a family meeting about Sam… and maybe Peter. In truth, we hadn’t told them everything; the meeting was really about them. About what Patrick had been holding onto, what Autumn might not even realize she was caught up in. But as her voice came through the line, it was clear they suspected more than we thought.

“Dad,” she said, her voice tight, gripped with fear. “I think…something’s after us. After Patrick.”

The words made my grip on the wheel tighten. “What happened?”

She took a deep breath before answering, her tone shaking slightly. “I was running errands, and Patrick was waiting at my place… at the dorm. While I was out, he started feeling like he was being…watched. Followed. He told me he tried to ignore it, but it just kept getting worse, like there was someone… or something, right outside, tracking every move he made… waiting for him to come outside.”

“Did he see anyone?” I asked, feeling a gnawing unease settle in.

“No, he didn’t get a good look at anything.” She paused, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “He said it lured him outside. Something…something out there, almost like it was waiting and watching him. He thought he could get to his car and leave but when he made it to the parking lot, it came for him.”

A cold chill ran down my spine. “Came for him? How?”

“I don’t know exactly. He just said it felt like a shadow, pressing in from all sides, crushing him. He tried to run back inside, and somehow, he made it.” She swallowed, her voice rough. “When I got his call, I drove straight back. He was so…rattled, Dad. He couldn’t explain it, but it scared him… bad. That’s when we decided to come home.”

More complications. As if we didn’t have enough already. I ground my teeth, weighing the reality of what Autumn had just told me against what we’d planned. Whatever had gone after Patrick would have killed him if it had really wanted to. I had no doubt about that. If it let him go, there was a reason.

“We’ll figure this out,” I assured her, hoping I sounded more certain than I felt. “Once I get there, we’ll talk. But I’ll need to ask Patrick a few more questions about what happened.”

“Okay,” she agreed, her voice still laced with worry.

I hung up, glancing out at the road ahead, feeling the weight of it all settle onto my shoulders. If something was hunting Patrick, it was just the beginning. Whatever he’d gotten tangled up in, it was pulling Autumn in too…and us, whether we liked it or not. I hoped that Patrick had just worked himself up in his paranoia or something.

We pulled up to the house, the engine’s rumble fading into the tense silence that filled the car. I kept my hands on the wheel, staring ahead, feeling the tightening weight of what we were about to walk into. Next to the car, I could see Eleanor’s silhouette through the living room window, her shadow pacing as she waited for us to get there.

Behind us, Shelta and Arthur pulled in, their headlights casting long, eerie shadows that crawled over the driveway and stretched up the sides of the house. I wanted us all to go in together, as one. Whatever we were about to face, it needed to happen with every one of us in the room, present and ready for… whatever came next. We couldn’t afford any more secrets, not with the feeling hanging over us like a storm cloud about to break.

I had already called Eleanor while I was out with Martin. I’d filled her in as best I could over the phone, explaining what we knew so far and the delicate way we’d have to approach this. I could hear her reaction even through the receiver, the way her voice hitched when she understood just how much more complicated things were now after Shelta gave credit to what Sam had said. That she felt something in that little plastic brush. But Eleanor didn’t protest, didn’t question. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, not by a long shot.

Now she was waiting inside, holding down the fort, probably feeling the same uneasy anticipation I felt; this sense that we were all stepping into something heavy and dark, something we couldn’t yet see the end of. I could only imagine her pacing, glancing at Autumn and Patrick, probably picking up on every subtle shift in their expressions, every bit of tension in the air as they sat together, thinking this was just another family meeting. And maybe they’d start to realize, with each second that ticked by, that this was anything but ordinary.

I turned to Shelta and Arthur as they got out of their car, both of them wearing grim expressions that mirrored my own. Shelta looked worn down, the weight of what she’d just learned pressing heavily on her. Arthur’s eyes were hard, the kind of look he only got when things had truly gone beyond his control. No one said anything as we all moved toward the door, the silence thicker than I could stand, every footstep feeling like it carried more dread, more unspoken anxiety.

“Let’s get this done,” I muttered, mostly to myself, but Shelta nodded, her gaze fixed ahead, bracing herself.

I took one last steadying breath as I reached for the door. Inside, I could already hear Eleanor’s voice, low but steady, trying to keep things calm, keep Autumn and Patrick unsuspecting. As we stepped through, all eyes would turn toward us, and I could feel the weight of what we were about to bring into that room. There would be no going back after this…not for any of us once we brought this secret into the light. Patrick would have nowhere to hide.