Chapter Twenty-One: Moonlight and Whispers --
Brett collapsed onto his bed, the cork from the champagne bottle still rolling across the floor. His head swam, the alcohol working its blunt magic, and the silver light of the moon poured through the French doors to drench his body. He stared into the hallway, shadows stretching long and deep, until sleep finally dragged him under.
Across town, Lauryn sat curled up in her apartment, her colorful sweats a patchwork against the couch. She scrolled through her phone, stopping at a picture she had taken of Brett in Starbucks. Her lips formed words meant only for the night sky. “I know you’re the one. I can feel it.”
Her gaze shifted to the moon. It hung heavy on the horizon, watching. She stared until her reflection vanished in its glow, until she felt something unseen shift in the space between them.
At Brett’s home, the moonlight pressed through every crack and curtain. In the dark hall outside his bedroom, whispers stirred. They began as faint murmurs, indecipherable, then grew into guttural voices — a chorus of snarls, moans, and chaotic rage.
And then — a shadow crossed the hall.
Brett jolted upright. His ears strained for sound, but silence swallowed everything. Sweat dripped down his temples as his eyes darted across the moving shapes on the walls. They weren’t still. They were watching.
In the corner, a crowd had gathered. Dozens of eyes peered from hollow sockets. Faces — vague, half-formed — flickered in and out of focus. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, but the visions stayed.
Movement pulled his attention toward the far end of the hall. Julia stood there, shrouded in shadow.
“Julia?” His voice cracked.
She moved backward, her steps halting, jerky, more animal than human. Brett snapped on the light switch. Nothing. His fingers scrambled for the flashlight, and with trembling hands, he stepped into the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Guest Room
The hardwood floor echoed under his bare feet, each step chased by faint snarls outside. They drew closer, circling the house. His breath fogged as though the temperature had dropped.
The guest room door stood ajar.
“Julia?” he whispered.
The snarls swelled, a chorus of predators. From the kitchen came a screeching scratch, claws on tile. From the front door — talons raking wood. From the living room — the guttural rhythm of wolves preparing to strike.
His chest tightened. He pushed the guest room door wider. Julia lay under the sheets, turned away from him.
“Julia, tell me you hear that,” he begged. “Please tell me I haven’t lost my mind!”
His hand touched her shoulder — and came back slick with blood.
The flashlight beam wavered as he pulled back the sheets. Her body was torn open, flesh shredded to ribbons. The snarls outside reached a fever pitch.
Brett stumbled backward, crashing against the window. Something clawed at his legs. He whipped the light around, catching only a blur retreating into shadow.
And then — it appeared.
At the end of the hall stood a figure, tall and willowy. Its eyes glowed red, burning like coals in the dark.
“What the fuck…” Brett gasped.
The Beast advanced.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Arrest
He clawed at the window latch, desperate, his back turned to the monster. It closed in — closer, closer — until suddenly the entire hallway burst with light.
He shielded his eyes, blinded.
“Parker?!” A voice boomed. “What the hell is going on here?”
Through his squint, Brett saw Detective Manning, flanked by five officers, flashlights blazing. He dropped to the floor, trembling, unable to speak.
The beams swung across the guest bed, revealing Julia’s mutilated corpse. Manning’s jaw tightened.
“What happened here?”
Brett’s voice faltered. “I—I don’t know. Something… someone… did this.”
The detective’s gaze hardened. “Cuff him. And call CSI.”
The click of handcuffs sealed Brett’s silence.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Interrogation
The police station hummed with chaos: uniforms barking orders, drunks being hauled to cells, residents demanding answers no one gave.
Inside the interrogation room, Brett sat alone beneath a spotlight. His bloodied hands covered his face. He barely moved, except to keep himself within the safety of the light.
Behind the mirrored glass, Manning, the Captain, and Detective Sanjay studied him.
“He’s a nerd,” the Captain said flatly. “Looks like he couldn’t strangle a chicken.”
“The corpse says otherwise,” Manning muttered.
The Captain waved the crime scene photos. “CSI says animal attack. Not our math club hero. Cut him loose.”
Manning bristled. “Captain—”
“Cut him loose,” came the sharp reply.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Shadows on the Tape
Manning stormed into the observation room later, just as an AV tech replayed the interrogation footage.
“Camera’s clean,” the tech explained. “Lighting issue, maybe.”
But Manning leaned in, his eyes narrowing.
On the monitor, in the corner of the interrogation room, two eyes blinked. White, sharp, unblinking — watching Brett.
Manning drew his gun, panic flooding him. He burst into the interrogation room, aiming at every shadowed corner. Nothing.
The Captain shoved through the crowd. “What the hell are you doing, Manning?”
“Something’s in here,” Manning barked. “Those murders weren’t human.”
“You see an animal in here?”
Manning faltered, gun trembling. “No…”
“Then go home. You’re wired.”
The order snapped like a whip. Manning holstered his weapon, but his eyes stayed locked on the shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Candace’s Fury
Released into the hall, Brett’s relief was short-lived. Candace waited.
Her face was streaked with tears, her fists clenched. She slapped him hard enough to sting his soul.
“How could you?” she sobbed. “Animals in the yard, and now my mother—how could you?”
He staggered under her words. “Candace, I swear, it wasn’t me—”
Her voice broke. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
She turned away, the silence between them more final than any prison cell.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ghosts at Home
Steam clouded the bathroom mirror as Brett stood under the hot spray. Blood washed from his hands, swirling down the drain. A knock on the door froze him.
He opened it cautiously.
The electrician’s grinning face shoved through the gap. “Ha! Gotcha!”
Brett scowled, clutching his towel.
The man rambled about busted lights, DEA raids, and voice-activated remotes until Brett ripped the control from his hand and slammed the door.
Later, hunger gnawed. He opened the fridge. Empty. He smashed the coffee maker in frustration and stormed out.
At Starbucks, the line of customers pressed in on him. His face glared back from the front page of the newspaper. He pulled up his hood, slid on sunglasses, and fled.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lauryn’s Return
In the alley behind Starbucks, Brett froze at the sight of his car — windows smashed, graffiti scrawled, a shell of itself.
“Shit,” he muttered.
A hand gripped his shoulder. He spun — ready for another attack — but found Lauryn smiling.
Her words tumbled out, quick and insistent. She spoke of his aura, his imbalance, her psychic mother. She tossed him the keys to her Durango. “Go. Coffee’s on me.”
He resisted, bitter and exhausted, but her insistence wore him down. He slid into the car. Tarot cards spilled from the glove box. Two lay face-up: The Wave and The Sword.
Lauryn appeared at the window. Her smile faltered. “Those aren’t good cards. Not together.”
For the first time, Brett believed her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Eyes in the Dark
At the precinct, Manning replayed the interrogation video again. The eyes were still there — glowing in the corner near Brett.
“Unless you’ve got an invisible dog, your lighting’s fucked,” the AV tech muttered.
Manning’s gut twisted. He knew better. Something was following Parker. Something real.
Chapter Thirty: Broken Bridges
Lauryn drove Brett home in silence. His house loomed, taped off, scarred by blood and memory.
Inside the car, his anger finally snapped.
“What’s in this for you?” he demanded. “Do you get off saving the crazy physicist? You want a prize for babysitting me?”
Her eyes softened, though hurt flickered there. “I have to go,” she said quietly.
Shame crushed him. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off. “Really. I have to go.”
He stepped out, shoulders heavy, and faced his ruined home. A torn piece of police tape fluttered at his feet.
Behind him, Lauryn rolled down the window. Her voice followed him like a promise:
“I’m here because you need my help. You just don’t know it yet.”
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