Chapter 8

The motel room was too quiet. We decided to book the motel because we were both too tired to drive back home, I also wanted to stick around so I can find to more about my family maybe I can run into someone who knows me.

Dan had finally fallen asleep in the chair near the window, arms crossed over his chest, but I lay stiffly on the bed, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. The shadows moved like they were breathing. I couldn’t get the sound out of my head. A child’s laugh, why would I be hearing a child's laughter when I am searching for answers about myself?

That house… it knew me. It knew me. But it also rejected me, holding me at arm’s length like a mother afraid of her child. My fingers twitched over the rough motel sheets. The glow had faded from my palm, but I still felt its warmth in the center of my chest. Like something new had been lit inside me, something that couldn’t be put out. I turned over, curling onto my side. That’s when the vision came.

Not a jolt this time. Not like before. This one slid into me, gentle and quiet, like slipping underwater. The room was gone. I was standing in the middle of a field. Moonlight shone over tall, wild grass. The wind whispered secrets through the trees. I felt calm, unusually calm.

Then I heard it.

A voice.

Small. Soft.

“Mama.” What did he just call me, "What did you just call me?" I turned mortified by whats happening, who's child is this and why are they referring to me as their mother? I don't think I like it.

A child stood a few feet away, maybe three years old, with messy curls and dark eyes that shimmered gold in the moonlight. There was something familiar in his face. Something that looked… like me. He smiled. “You’re not ready yet.”

I knelt slowly, heart pounding. “Who are you?” He tilted his head. “You called me. I answered.” I opened my mouth to ask more, but the wind howled, and suddenly the scene fractured. "How did I call you?"

The sky above turned red.

The grass caught fire.

The child was gone—and in his place, a figure cloaked in smoke and ash. “Your blood is cursed,” it hissed, voice like cracking embers. “And your womb will bear more than just life. It will bear the end.” I screamed and jerked upright, drenched in sweat. Dan was already by my side, eyes wide, hands gripping my shoulders. “Emerald! What happened?”

“I, I saw…” My breath came in gasps. “A boy. He said I called him.”

Dan froze. “A boy?” I nodded, tears streaking down my face. “And then it just burned away.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled me close, holding me against his chest. “I don’t think we’re just chasing answers anymore,” I whispered, trembling. “I think… something is chasing us, too.” Dan looked toward the window. And for the first time that night, I saw real fear in his eyes. "I just want to go, ever since we got here we haven't got any information instead it seems we have made more enemies that friends." I said as I clunched to Dan's chest unable to let go because of the comfort I was feeling.

"Don't think like that be positive. i promise you will get to the ottom of the truth, no matter what. I want you to be normal again." He said in a low husky voice, I have never been in an embrace like this with him. Even thoigh this dicovery about myself has been hell, i'm glad it brought me and my husband closer. Tyson appeared in my thoughts as I said that, why am I think about him? I don't even like him.

"What do you mean you want me to be normal? am I not normal enough for you?" I sat up and looked at him feeling insulted by his words. "Come on, Em. I don't mean it like that, i'm just saying I want to be able to hold you without having to worry about being burned to toast." He with a small smile on his face, I squinted my eyes at him. "That's not funny, and I think I like myself this way. It feels powerful, I just need to control it."

The morning sunlight leaked in through the thin motel curtains, painting golden stripes across the foot of the bed. I sat with my legs tucked beneath me, sipping lukewarm coffee Dan brought earlier, barely tasting it. He’d left shortly after, saying something about picking up more supplies. Or air. I wasn’t listening.

I’d tried sketching the house again, Ridgewater, but every time I put pencil to paper, the lines got fuzzy. A part of my mind remembered a second staircase, but when I drew it, it felt… wrong. Like something wasn’t meant to be remembered yet.

I sighed and tossed the sketchbook onto the nightstand. I wasn’t expecting a knock.

Especially not when I was still in pajama pants, hair a mess, and sitting in the middle of a half-finished sketch that looked like a haunted dollhouse. Ridgewater was supposed to be the clue the place in my vision, the only thread I had to my father, to my… whatever I was becoming. But the house refused to stay still in my head. Every time I got close to finishing the roofline, it changed. Like my memory was playing tricks on me.

I rubbed my eyes, dropped the pencil, and padded barefoot to the door. Probably Dan. Or worse Tyson, with another vague warning and a smirk.

Instead, a stranger was standing there.

Tall. Dark hair. A slightly smug expression, like he knew something I didn’t and found it funny. His eyes met mine, and I swore for a split second something fluttered in my mind. A memory, half-buried. A boy. A smile. Fireflies?

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, almost amused. “You’ve gotten taller.”

I blinked. “Sorry, do I know you?”

His smile tilted. “I’m Luca. Luca Vance.”