Part VIII: The Wall
“Every secret buried in shadow waits for the light to fail.” --
Chapter Forty-Seven: Blood on the Floor --
The cul-de-sac was jammed with police cars and forensic vans. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, holding back neighbors who whispered, their faces pale and horrified. Officers moved in and out of Brett Parker’s house, their boots crunching across the lawn.
Manning’s car screeched to a stop, the detective leaping out with barely restrained fury. A young cop stumbled from the front doorway, doubled over in the grass as his stomach emptied. Manning brushed past him and into the house.
The living room was chaos: the coffee table overturned, glass shattered, tarot cards scattered across the rug. A handgun lay on the floor, a severed hand still attached. Manning pulled the cross necklace from beneath his shirt and pressed it against his lips.
He pushed through the rooms: closets rifled, beer mugs smeared with lipstick, incense still lingering in the air. The Captain met him at the window, holding a plastic evidence bag.
“Lauryn Aristotle O’Neil,” he said flatly. “Con artist. Palm-reading scams. Small-time fraud. My guess? She hustled Parker, got caught, and dragged our boys into a slaughter.”
Manning’s jaw worked, but his eyes told another story. He spotted the remote control lying in the yard. “Or maybe she’s part of this whole thing,” he murmured.
Chapter Forty-Eight: Empty Parking Lots
Hours later, Brett jolted awake in the backseat of an unmarked police car. The windows were fogged with condensation, the world outside silent.
“Lauryn?” His voice was hoarse.
The backseat was empty, the rear door ajar. Panic drove him into the lot. He spotted movement behind a dumpster, crept forward with a rock in hand, and nearly struck—
Lauryn screamed, yanking up her skirt.
“You didn’t know I was peeing?” she snapped.
Brett flushed. “You didn’t answer when I called!”
Her anger softened. “I saw it, Brett. The wall. The underworld. Something wants in.” Her voice broke. “The séance… those officers… it’s my fault. But you—” she seized his wrist—“you’re the key.”
The word echoed through him, rattling something buried deep. The key. His parents used to say that, again and again.
Chapter Forty-Nine: The Doctor’s Warning
In her office, Dr. Richards barely looked up before Manning slammed photographs onto her desk.
“You’re making a habit of this, Detective,” she said coolly. “Compulsive behavior is a side effect of alcohol withdrawal.”
Manning leaned across the desk, his voice a growl. “Two officers are in ten body bags, and a woman is missing. You tell me what you know, or I’ll have you for obstruction.”
Her smugness faltered. She gestured to a chair. “Mr. Parker has a block,” she admitted. “Hypnosis revealed glimpses. His birth parents were in a cult. Not the flower-selling kind. They wanted to unleash hell. But something changed. They defected. Formed a counter-cult.”
“Shadow warriors of the wall between worlds,” Manning muttered.
She nodded grimly. “Parker doesn’t remember because his memory wasn’t forgotten. It was erased.”
Chapter Fifty: Set Us Free
On a city street, Lauryn jabbed at the buttons of a payphone, desperation in every movement. “Come on, answer…”
Brett hovered nearby, scanning for police. A pedestrian brushed past him, then froze, eyes black as coal, teeth jagged and inhuman.
“Set us free,” the man whispered.
Brett stumbled back into the street. A truck skidded to a halt inches from him. The driver leaned out, furious—then his face shifted, eyes black, teeth razor-sharp. Set us free.
Lauryn grabbed Brett, steadying him, but this time she saw it too. Her face drained of color.
Chapter Fifty-One: Bright Havens, Dark Truths
They fled into a tavern, but the dimness inside sent panic tearing through Brett. He yanked Lauryn back into the street and spotted salvation across the way: a furniture warehouse glowing with fluorescent lights.
Inside, among sofas and showroom displays, he tried to explain. “They’re not hiding anymore. Whatever’s going to happen—it’s happening now.”
Lauryn pressed him. “When were you born?”
“My birthday was months ago.” His voice faltered. “But tomorrow… tomorrow is the anniversary of my parents’ death.”
The words struck him like a blow. Secundum Umbra—his charted parallel galaxy. Planet for planet, sun for sun. Tomorrow, it would align with their own.
“Then that’s it,” Lauryn whispered. “It’s about your parents. About what they did.”
A salesman interrupted with forced cheer, pushing store credit and recliners. Lauryn snapped, “Fuck off already!”
But his words lingered in Brett’s head: direct from the source.
He turned to Lauryn. “The source. That’s where we need to go.”
She grabbed his hand. “Then we need a car. And your credit card.”
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