Chapter 4: Inferno

 Part 1

Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting an ominous shadow that swallowed the day whole, the sky a swirling mass of gray and black. It felt as if the heavens themselves wept for the world below, their tears mingling with the thick, earthy scent of impending rain, a prelude to the storm that mirrored the turmoil within. The school grounds were eerily quiet, the usual chatter of students replaced by the distant rumble of thunder. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of wet earth and rain hanging heavy.

The boy in front of me moved like a ghost, his eyes vacant and his steps heavy, burdened by an invisible weight that seemed to crush his very spirit. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze was fixed on the ground, as if the world around him no longer existed. He dragged his feet to school, a hollow shell of his usual self. The boy was there in class, but not really. His mind was somewhere else, while his body barely followed the lectures.

“Hey buddy,” I called out, before I knew it, I recognized that boy.

He was the same boy I saw in the mirror every day—a reflection of my own despair, a ghost haunting my every step. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and disoriented. I was a spectator to my own life, detached and numb around me. It felt as if my soul had been severed from my body, leaving behind a mere husk that moved through the world without purpose.

I reached out a hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it gently on his shoulder. The contact was brief, but it felt like a lifeline, a connection in the midst of our shared isolation. The dark clouds overhead seemed to press down on us, their weight almost tangible. The distant roll of thunder echoed through the empty schoolyard, a haunting reminder of the storm both outside and within.

"—Ellis," a voice pierced through my haze, a lifeline pulling me back to the harsh light of reality. It was a sound both familiar and distant, like an echo from a forgotten dream. Someone called my name, but it took a moment to register, as if the sound had to travel through a thick fog to reach me.

Someone called my name, but it took a moment to register, as if the sound had to travel through a thick fog to reach me. My head snapped up, eyes blinking as I tried to focus on the source of the voice.

"Mademoiselle Carlaw." The name felt distant, like a remnant of a past life.

"Outside of French class, you can just call me Ms. Carlaw," she said gently, her eyes searching mine with a desperate mix of concern and hope.

It was as if she was trying to pull me back from the brink of an abyss, her voice a fragile thread trembling with unspoken fears. My thoughts were so scattered that time seemed to slip through my fingers like sand, each moment blurring into the next in a haze of confusion. When I glanced at the clock, I realized it was already lunch, though it felt as if mere moments had passed.

The disjointed passage of time only deepened my sense of disorientation. It was odd for her to talk to me now, considering her class was supposed to be the last period of the day. The unexpected timing only added to my sense of disorientation.

"Ellis, can you come with me to the teacher's lounge for a bit?" Her voice was soft, almost pleading, as if she feared I might shatter at any moment.

Her hand tightened around mine, a silent plea for me to follow. Clutching Ms. Carlaw's hand, her touch became a small anchor in the storm of my emotions, grounding me just enough to keep the darkness at bay. As we walked to the main building, whispers and stares followed us, but they felt distant, like echoes in a vast, empty hall. Each step I took was a hollow echo, a reminder of the emptiness that had become my existence.

The office was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh, sterile glow on the linoleum floors. With only a handful of teachers present, their hushed conversations blended into the background, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint aroma of paper and ink.

Ms. Carlaw gestured for me to sit, then rummaged through her desk, finally offering me a small jar of sweets. "Here, have one," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Sorry, but I'm not hungry." The refusal came out automatically, a defense against the overwhelming reality closing in on me.

I averted my gaze, unable to meet her eyes as the weight of my emotions threatened to crush me. She tried to ease the tension by eating some herself. Even though I was sitting in the same chair as before, the office felt colder and sadder, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh, sterile glow that only amplified the sense of isolation. The sterile environment, with its clinical white walls and neatly organized desks, only amplified the distance between us.

"Are you sure? It really is tast—" The self-loathing simmered beneath the surface, a constant companion that gnawed at my insides, making every breath feel like a struggle. "Um... maybe not that one," she said, forcing a weak smile.

Her attempt at humor fell flat, a stark reminder of the discomfort hanging in the air. Ms. Carlaw tried to act cool as she recovered her composure. Every time she talked, I nodded, but I couldn't look at her face. The silence grew awkward, stretching between us like an unbridgeable chasm, and she didn't know what else to say.

"I appreciate your concern, but can I go now?" I asked, my voice a fragile mask barely concealing the desperation clawing at my insides. Each word felt like a plea for escape, a silent cry for the release I couldn't find.

I felt bad for making her waste her time on someone like me. Someone who had nothing to offer. Someone who had no hope. The self-loathing simmered beneath the surface, a constant companion that gnawed at my insides, making every breath feel like a struggle. I could tell that Ms. Carlaw had something she wanted to ask but bit her tongue. She must have realized I wouldn't answer or open up.

"Little weak mouse," the specter hissed, its voice dripping with malice. "You couldn't protect your sister, and you'll fail your mother too. You're destined to lose everyone you care about." The venomous words seeped into my thoughts, a sinister presence I couldn't shake.

"Before you go, is everything okay at home?" she asked softly, worry evident in her voice.

The question cut through the silence, a sharp reminder of the chaos lurking beneath the surface. My heart skipped a beat, the specter's words echoing in my mind as I struggled to find a response. I shook my head, the motion slow and deliberate, before rising from my seat.

But everything was far from fine. Without a backward glance, I walked out of the office. The weight of unspoken truths pressed heavily on my shoulders, the familiar school corridors now feeling like a labyrinth of despair, each step a struggle against the encroaching darkness. The specter's dark voice began to fill my head, its insidious whispers growing louder with each passing moment, wrapping around my thoughts like a suffocating shroud.

“You can’t escape from the truth,” it hissed, its voice a venomous caress that sent chills down my spine. “Surrender to the darkness.”

Part 2

Leaving the teacher's lounge, I trudged through the hallway. The temptation to succumb to the hopelessness gnawed at my resolve, a constant battle waged within. My shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, like a marionette with its strings severed. The once vibrant school, with its colorful murals and bustling hallways, now felt like a labyrinth of shadows, the cheerful decorations mocking my despair.

"Ellis, are you okay?" Iris asked, her voice a mix of gentleness and urgency, her eyes searching mine as if trying to find a glimmer of the person she once knew. Her hand reached out, hovering just above my arm, hesitant to touch.

I could only stare at the ground, the words trapped in my throat, my chest tightening with the weight of unspoken emotions. If I tried to speak, the tempest of emotions raging within me would tear me apart from the inside, leaving nothing but a hollow shell. The weight of unspoken words pressed heavily on my chest.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Claire said, her stoic expression hardening with resolve. She gently but firmly tried to guide me away from the prying eyes of other students, her touch both a comfort and a reminder of my fragility.

Even so, I pulled away, refusing to take their hands. "No, I can't," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper.

The act of defiance felt like a fragile shield against the darkness closing in on me, each word a struggle against the overwhelming tide of despair. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the hopelessness closing in. With determined looks, Iris and Claire took hold of my arms. Their grip was gentle yet unyielding as they led me towards an empty stairwell, away from the curious eyes of our peers.

As we moved, the vibrant colors of the school slowly began to drain away, replaced by a dull, lifeless gray as the specter’s power grew stronger, casting a shadow over everything. In that moment of vulnerability, the specter seized its chance. A dark shadow enveloped me, its icy tendrils snaking around my body, squeezing the breath from my lungs and turning my vision into a swirling abyss. The once familiar hallway now felt like a nightmarish realm, the walls closing in as the specter's presence grew stronger.

"Claire, do you have the powder with you?" Iris said as she began scanning around the area. Her voice was tinged with urgency, a stark contrast to her usual calm demeanor.

"Aye aye Pres!" replied Claire with her signature deadpan expression.

My left arm, the area where Schnabelmaske touched, seared in pain. Under the specter's control, shadows gathered around it, becoming the size of a massive tree trunk. The arm swung and flailed wildly until it caught and slammed Iris and Claire against the wall, its dark tendrils lifting them high with terrifying strength. The shadows seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, feeding off my fear and pain.

"The powder!” Iris cried out, her voice trembling with fear and desperation as she dodged the initial shadows, only to be caught by another.

Her eyes darted around frantically, searching for any sign of hope. The stairwell was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the powder in Claire's trembling hands. The air was thick with tension, the oppressive weight of the specter's presence pressing down on us.

Claire, usually so stoic, showed a rare crack in her composure. Her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and determination, her voice steady but urgent as she fumbled for the powder. "Ellis, you have to resist! We need you!"

The acrid smell of fear and sweat filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. The cold, clammy touch of the specter's shadows sent shivers down my spine, each tendril tightening its grip. I felt a searing pain as the specter's power turned inward, attacking me instead. No matter how much I struggled, I was losing ground with every passing second, the specter's control tightening like a vice around my soul. The sensation was excruciating, a battle waged within my very being. My mind screamed in agony, each second feeling like an eternity as the specter's control tightened.

My right arm, still under my control, clawed at the darkness, trying desperately to release them both. Each movement felt like a monumental effort, Schnabelmaske's power threatening to overwhelm me completely. The world around me faded, replaced by the suffocating presence of the specter. Iris dodged the shadows with desperate agility, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. Claire's fingers fumbled with the powder, her eyes darting between me and the specter as she tried to maintain her composure.

"Decay," the word slipped from my lips like a curse, the power behind it causing the shadows to recoil in fear.

The shadows recoiled, and the specter's grip loosened, the dark tendrils retreating like serpents into the corners of the hallway. Iris and Claire fell to the ground with a heavy thud, gasping for breath, their faces pale and strained from the effort. The relief was momentary, replaced by a renewed sense of urgency as my heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the ticking clock of our desperate situation. They scrambled to reach a small pouch of powdery substance they had hidden, but the specter's tendrils lashed out again, preventing them from grabbing it.

As the shadows closed in, Iris and Claire exchanged a determined glance. "We need to act fast," Iris whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

Claire nodded, her usual stoic expression replaced by a fierce determination. "Ellis, stay with us. We can do this together." The solidarity in their voices bolstered my wavering resolve.

The specter's laughter echoed through the hallway, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. "You think you can defeat me? Pathetic little rodents." The taunt cut deep, a reminder of the specter's insidious strength.

My left arm, now a monstrous shadowy appendage, swung wildly, smashing into the walls and sending debris flying. Iris and Claire dodged the attacks with agile movements, their eyes never leaving me. The chaos around me mirrored the turmoil within, the once orderly school now a battlefield of shadows and light.

"Claire, the shuriken!" Iris shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Hearing that, Claire reached into her bag, pulling out a paper shuriken. But before she could toss it, a shadowy tendril wrapped around her wrist, squeezing tightly. The pain was evident in her eyes, but she didn't let go, her grip tightening around the shuriken as she fought against the specter's hold.

"Iris, now!" Claire yelled, her eyes were wide with pain and determination, her grip on the shuriken unwavering despite the shadowy tendril constricting her wrist.

Iris leaped forward, tossing her pouch up. With a swift motion, the paper shuriken sliced through the pouch. The powder of sugar and spices rained down, the mixture sparkling in the dim light like tiny stars, casting a shimmering glow over the chaotic scene. The specter screeched, its form flickering as the powder took effect.

The specter screeched, its form flickering as the powder took effect. The darkness slowly receded, the specter's icy grip loosening its hold on my soul. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms as I wrestled for control. Each breath was a ragged gasp, my vision swimming back into focus. The struggle left me drained, my limbs heavy as lead.

"I... I can fight it," I muttered, my voice gaining strength as the shadows around my arm began to dissipate.

With a final, desperate surge of willpower, I pushed back against the specter's control. The shadows around my arm flickered and faded, Schnabelmaske's ghastly form wavering like a mirage. Iris and Claire stood resolute beside me, their unwavering presence a beacon of strength.

"Everyone," Claire said, her eyes filled with determination. "We can defeat it together."

Slowly, I reclaimed control of my body, though my core trembled with lingering fear. The specter's whispers echoed in my mind, a sinister reminder of the darkness that lurked within, biding its time. Each whisper was a chilling promise of battles yet to come, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. The cold, clammy touch of the specter's shadows still lingered on my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"Ellis, are you okay?" Iris asked, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to reach out her hand, betraying the seriousness of the situation.

I slapped her hand away, unable to face them, the fear of causing harm again too great. Without a word, I turned and fled, the specter's mocking laughter echoing in my ears, a haunting reminder of the darkness I bore. Driven by the terror of losing control, I quickened my pace, seeking refuge from the chaos within.

Part 3

What defines a broken doll? Is it when its batteries die, and it stops moving? When it loses a limb or an eye? Or is it when something inside it breaks, causing it to act erratically? Whatever the case, I was broken long ago. There's no salvation for someone as damaged as me. The thought haunted me, a constant companion in my moments of solitude, whispering its cruel truths in the quietest corners of my mind.

Stepping out of the school building, I was immediately greeted by a heavy downpour. Raindrops pelted my skin, soaking my clothes and chilling me to the bone. The relentless rain mirrored the turmoil within me, each drop a cold reminder of my own desolation, as if the heavens themselves were weeping for my broken soul.

"Lelong," I whispered, staring at the charred remains of the small local bakery that had burnt down nearly ten years ago. The name felt like a ghost from the past, a remnant of a forgotten era that still held a piece of my heart.

The sky was a dark, oppressive gray, the clouds hanging low as if they were about to collapse under their own weight. I hurried through the unfamiliar neighborhood, seeking shelter and hoping the storm would pass quickly. Every step felt like a march through a deluge of memories and regrets. After what felt like an eternity, the rain finally subsided. Perhaps it was an act of fate, as I soon spotted something familiar.

Despite efforts by local developers and city officials to redevelop it, they eventually gave up, deeming it worthless. The alley had since become a refuge for the homeless, a stark reminder of the city's forgotten corners where the past lingered like a ghost. Seeing the bakery, I felt an inexplicable urge to take shelter within its ruins, drawn to the familiar yet haunting remnants of my past. I slipped through the yellow tape, my curiosity piqued by the crumbling infrastructure, each step drawing me deeper into the remnants of the past.

The sense of decay mirrored my own internal state, a broken soul wandering through the ruins of what once was. The charred beams and crumbling walls stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time, their blackened edges a stark contrast to the vibrant life they once contained. As I approached the charred remains of the oven, likely the source of the fire, a sudden movement caught my eye. Something quickly darted out of the oven door, startling me and sending me sprawling to the ground.

"Whaa… What was that!" The surprise made me fall to the ground. The shock jolted me back to the present, a stark contrast to the memories swirling in my mind.

Lying on the rain-soaked ground, I felt a strange connection to this place, as if the ruins and I shared a mutual understanding of loss and abandonment. The faint sound of dripping water echoed in the background, adding to the eerie atmosphere, a haunting reminder of the bakery's former vibrancy now reduced to a ghostly shell. Like the bakery, I was a remnant of something that once was, now left to decay and be forgotten.

The ruins around me seemed to echo my own shattered state, a silent testament to lost dreams and broken promises. Each broken brick and scorched beam felt like a piece of my own fractured soul. My eyes caught sight of something half-buried under the debris. I reached out and pulled it free, revealing an old, charred photo of the chef, smiling proudly in front of the bakery. The edges of the photo were singed, the image faded but still recognizable, a poignant reminder of a time long past.

Memories flooded back, and I remembered the promise I had made to bake a dessert with my sister. The photo felt like a relic from a different life, a poignant reminder of what had been lost. A wave of anger surged through me.

"Damn you, Lelong!" My voice cracked, the words a bitter mix of anger and sorrow, each syllable a plea for answers that would never come. My fists clenched around the charred photo, the edges crumbling under the pressure of my grip.

I cursed my sister for abandoning me. And most of all, I cursed myself for not being able to do anything. Each curse was a dagger to my heart, a reminder of my own failures and the weight of my helplessness. The emotions I had buried for so long finally erupted, consuming me like a wildfire, each curse a flame that burned through my soul. The photo crumpled in my hand as I screamed into the empty, charred remains of the bakery.

The echoes of my curses bounced off the walls, a haunting testament to my helplessness and despair, each reverberation a reminder of the void within. Yet, as the storm within me raged, a small part of me clung to the memory of that promise. It was a fragile thread, a lifeline in the darkness, but it was all I had left to hold onto. In that moment, it was the only thing keeping me from being completely consumed by the void.

“Time to clear the trash boys,” a gruff male voice could be heard from the outside.

Suddenly, a cacophony of shouts and crashes erupted from the homeless encampment, the sounds of chaos and violence piercing the heavy silence of the ruined bakery. Peeking through the cracks of a grimy window across the alley, I witnessed a brutal, one-sided street fight. The alley, once a bustling thoroughfare, now served as a battleground for the desperate and the lost.

"This world is full of filthy rodents," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper, the bitterness in my tone a reflection of the darkness swirling within.

"They really are," the specter hissed in my ear, its presence cold and insidious.

As I turned the corner, my heart skipped a beat. There, in the dimly lit alley, stood the scumbag that destroyed Jon's bar and assaulted Mom. Ducking into the shadows, my eyes narrowing as I observe him from a distance. The same tattered clothes, the same smug expression. He was guzzling beer with his friends, their laughter echoing off the brick walls. The memory of his actions filled me with a seething anger.

"Hey, I'm goin' to take a piss," the man announced, swaggering as he tossed his beer bottle against the wall with a shattering crash. His voice dripped with arrogance, each word a taunt that fueled my growing fury.

The scene jarred me, pulling me out of my reverie with a harsh jolt, the violence outside a stark contrast to the silent despair within. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat fueling the fiery torrent of rage that threatened to consume me at the sight of him.

‘Why is it that innocent people are taken away too soon? The true monsters in this world are those who prey on others' kindness. He is the problem. These vermin are the reason why all the terrible things happen in this world.’ The thought echoed in my mind, a mantra of justified anger.

As the piece of scum staggered away from his friends, I surveyed the havoc they unleashed. Makeshift shelters toppled under their boots, and precious belongings scattered like leaves in a storm. Their laughter, sharp and cruel, echoed through the night, a twisted symphony of delight in others' despair.

"He’s the source of the problem," the specter echoed, its words fueling my growing fury. The specter's whispers intertwined with my own thoughts, blurring the line between rage and reason.

One thug snatched an old man's blanket and tossed it into a filthy puddle, while another kicked over a small stove, spilling its meager contents onto the ground. The stench of unwashed bodies and rotting food filled the air, mingling with the acrid smoke from the overturned stove. The homeless, already vulnerable, huddled together, powerless against the gang’s brutality, trying desperately to protect what little they had left.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a drum of fury. My fists clenched at my sides, trembling with barely contained rage. The specter's whispers grew louder, a venomous caress that wrapped around my mind, squeezing out any remnants of restraint. “They deserve to suffer,” it hissed, and I found myself nodding, my grip tightening on the broken bottle near my feet. The sharp edge glinted in the dim light, a tool of retribution. “Make those pests pay for their cruelty.”

Soon my mind was only focused on getting my revenge. The darkness within me swelled, a tsunami of anger and pain. I scanned the area, ensuring no witnesses, before snatching a broken bottle from the ground. The sharp edge glinted ominously in the dim light, a tool of retribution ready in my trembling hand.

The specter chuckled darkly in my ear. "Kill him. You must kill. For your mother. For Poppy." The words dripped with malice, seeping into my thoughts like a poison.

The grip on the shattered bottle made me feel more powerful. That was all I could think as I crept closer to the scum as he directed his attention, urinating on the wall. Each step felt like a march towards inevitable violence, the specter's influence fueling my rage.

20 steps...

15 more steps...

Just 10 more steps...

Drip fell down my face as I imagined what I would do as I continued getting closer. Just before he could turn around I’ll stab him with the jagged bottle. All I need to do is jump him from behind and it will finally be over. The anticipation coiled within me, a tense spring ready to snap.

My breathing became more erratic as I was ready to leap out of the alley. Before I could do anything, a strong hand clamped down on my shoulder holding the broken bottle and covered my mouth. The sudden grip froze me in my spot, halting my movement. I couldn't tell from behind but the man’s broad shoulders had enough strength to snap my neck.

"Kid, I know you're pissed but this isn't the way," the man whispered, his voice firm yet compassionate, a stark contrast to the chaos around us.

"....."

The voice. It was Jon. Unable to resist the strength of his grip, I was reminded of how powerless I was. The realization hit me like a cold wave, quenching the fire of my rage. With no other option, I shook my head up and down agreeing. The weight of my anger and frustration bore down on me as we left the scene.

Part 4

The bar's usual clamor during the afternoon setup was replaced by an unsettling silence, broken only by the soft clinks of glass shards being swept away. Yellow police tape was carefully being taken down as the staff replaced missing and broken bottles. The fractured mirror on the wall reflected the chaos in my mind. As Jon led me upstairs to his office, the creak of each step seemed to echo the weight of his unspoken words.

"Damn kid, you're too reckless. Why couldn't you just let the police do their job and focus on your schoolwork?" Jon's voice was heavy with disappointment, each word a dagger to my already wounded pride.

I couldn't understand why he was furious. He never showed this kind of anger towards my mom, even when she stumbled home drunk, hurling insults, and humiliated herself every night. He'd always been patient with her, his kindness unwavering. But with me, his stern gaze felt like a punishment for a crime I couldn't recall.

"I don't care what you think," I snapped, my hand crashing down on the table.

The sharp crack echoed through the small office, but it did nothing to quell the storm inside me. His furrowed brow and clenched jaw spoke volumes, a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface. My chest tightened, and my breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the anger and confusion threatening to consume me.

Right and wrong. Just and unjust. These were nothing more than convenient excuses. How could anyone survive in this godforsaken world? A world where the innocent suffered and the wicked thrived. My thoughts spiraled, each one a bitter reminder of the world's cruelty.

"If there are good and bad people in this world, why do kind people like my mom, my dad, and Poppy get punished for things they didn't do? Poppy didn't deserve this. No one deserves it, but still..." I screamed, my voice cracking, tears streaming down my face, each drop a testament to the pain that threatened to consume me. "Why, why did I have to live? Why am I the one left to bear this pain?"

The words tore from me, raw and unfiltered, a plea for understanding and a cry of anguish. I refused to escape reality like my mom, who drowned her pain in booze every day. I wanted to change the world, to make those who caused suffering pay. The desire for retribution burned within me, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

"It doesn't matter what you think about who should live or die. Damn brat, you're not the one who gets to decide," Jon yelled, his fist slamming down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. I flinched, my heart skipping a beat as his words struck me like a physical blow, a stark reminder of my own helplessness.

We were at an impasse, silently staring at each other. His fierce glare bore into me, as if trying to pierce my very soul. Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, I stood my ground, my fists clenched at my sides, defiance burning in my chest. Maybe he was right, maybe I was wrong, I didn't care at that moment.

"Just go home," Jon sighed, his hand waving towards the door.

The air thickened with the weight of his disappointment, a tension so heavy it felt like it was pressing down on my chest. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught sight of his arm, crisscrossed with fresh cuts from the shattered bottle. Guilt twisted in my gut, but I shoved it aside, my anger and confusion too overwhelming. The sight of his injuries only fueled the storm inside me.

"That injury..." I muttered, pointing at his arm. The words felt empty, a weak attempt to acknowledge the harm I'd done.

"It's nothing. This happens all the time,” Jon said, shrugging it off before continuing. “It's part of the hazard of working in the bar industry. Don't worry, I'll be patched up in no time."

He smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. His casual tone did little to ease the guilt gnawing at me. Instead he looked sad and tired, as if he’d seen too much being replayed. The weariness in his gaze mirrored my own exhaustion. I walked out of the office, confused and angry churning inside me. Jon's words echoed in my mind, leaving me with a sense of unease. The weight of unresolved emotions pressed on my chest, a constant reminder of the conflict.

***

Jon rummaged through his drawers, his movements growing more frantic with each passing second. He had just sent Ellis away, praying the boy would stay out of trouble for once. The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him, each failed attempt to find the lighter a reminder of his own struggles. When he finally found one, it was empty. He swore under his breath, the small failure feeling like the culmination of all his efforts going to waste.

He tossed the useless lighter aside, just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he saw her name on the screen. Frustration and resignation washed over him as he answered the call. Spotting another lighter on the floor, he pressed the answer button and grabbed it.

"What do you want?" he snapped, his voice harsh and irritated. The anger from his encounter with Ellis still simmered, coloring his tone.

He swore under his breath as he flicked the lighter and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. Heading to the balcony, he needed to clear his head after the tense encounter with Ellis. The nicotine offered a temporary reprieve, a fleeting escape from the weight pressing on him.

"I was just checking on you. How are you holding up? Running a bar all by yourself must be hard," she said, her tone a mix of concern and smugness. The question felt like an intrusion, a reminder of the burdens he carried.

"Save it," Jon replied sharply. "And don't act like you're grateful for what I did. I found Ellis and stopped him from doing something he would regret." The words were laced with bitterness, a reflection of his own internal turmoil.

Saying that Jon was furious at her was an understatement for dumping Ellis on him at the last minute. He had barely made it in time to prevent Ellis from getting into trouble. The risk he had taken felt like a thankless task, a responsibility he couldn't shirk.

"You are his godfather," she said, her voice cold and distant. "Besides, I did my part too. I bugged his phone and gave the info to the cops. They just arrested that asshole and his gang. They won't be producing or distributing any more date rape drugs." Her matter-of-fact tone did little to ease his frustration.

She continued explaining what the police had to do next, but Jon tuned her out. They hung up after a few minutes. The conversation left him feeling hollow, a reminder of the complexity of their relationship.

"Yeah, some godfather I am," Jon muttered. "I can't even keep him out of harm's way." The self-reproach in his voice was palpable, a reflection of his deep-seated guilt.

A surge of guilt and sadness washed over him. He knew he had let Ellis down as a godfather and a friend. The weight of his inadequacy pressed heavily on his shoulders. He wished he could help him more, but he didn't know how. The feeling of helplessness gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his limitations.

Part 5

Returning home, the day's events clung to me like a suffocating shroud. The clock read past 2 PM, but it felt like an eternity since morning. Each step was a struggle, my legs heavy with the weight of the day. Exhaustion seeped into my bones, a physical manifestation of the emotional burden I carried.

The path led to Mom's room, the door slightly ajar. Her muffled sobs could be heard through the walls, each one a dagger to the heart. Helplessness gnawed at me, a relentless ache. There was nothing I could say that would make any difference. She was mourning Poppy, her daughter, my sister. The pain in her voice was palpable, a raw wound that refused to heal. Her grief hung heavily in the air, an oppressive force that filled the room.

"Mom?" I called softly, but there was no response, only the continued sound of her weeping. Comforting her seemed impossible, the words caught in my throat.

Feeling helpless, I retreated to the bathroom. The hot water from the shower was a temporary solace, washing away the grime and the cold from the rain, but it couldn't cleanse the turmoil inside. The steam enveloped me, a fragile barrier against the chaos within. Dry clothes offered a small comfort against my skin.

In the kitchen, I focused on making dinner. The routine of chopping vegetables and stirring pots was a distraction, but my heart wasn't in it. Each slice and stir felt mechanical, a hollow gesture. I set the table and called out to my mom, but she didn't come out of her room. The food sat untouched, and I stared at my plate, unable to muster any appetite. The silence of the house pressed down on me, amplifying the sense of isolation.

My eyes drifted to the pound cake I had baked yesterday. It was supposed to be a treat, a small joy in our otherwise bleak existence. But now, it felt like a cruel reminder of happier times that were long gone. The sight of it filled me with a bittersweet longing.

"Mom, I'm heading out," I called, grabbing the cake. There was no response, just the continued silence of the house.

The emptiness echoed back at me, a stark reminder of the void that filled our lives. I stepped outside, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. The streets were quiet, the world seemingly indifferent to my pain. The specter's presence was a cold, insidious weight on my shoulders, but I refused to let it consume me. Not here, not now.

"Why did it have to be this way?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered.