Part 5

  The hand hovered above me, frozen in mid-air.

  For a moment, everything stopped. The flying clothes, the bass-like hum permeating the room, even my own heartbeat. It was surreal. This must be what people meant when they said their life flashes before their eyes.

  I saw myself as a child, playing with friends. My first year of college. My grandmother teasing me about my haircuts. Each memory passed in an instant—then the moment shattered, and I fell backward.

  For a split second, I thought maybe I had died—that the sensation of falling was part of the journey to the Beyond. But I hadn’t gone anywhere. I had simply collapsed onto the floor, and the entire door behind me had splintered apart.

  I looked up.

  The Poltergeist loomed over me, its hands punctured from the jagged shards of wood. The glow in its emerald-green eyes burned brighter, sharper. It tilted its head, voice rasping.

  “I waited for visits that never came... I waited!”

  It took a step toward me.

  Then another.

  And then—

  “Literally can’t do anything right, can you? Can’t even die right.” CJ’s voice rang through the hallway.

  I turned my head just in time to see him step into view—with a shotgun raised, aimed directly at his father’s reanimated corpse.

  I blinked. Where the hell had he gotten a shotgun?

  Questions swarmed my mind, but none louder than one thought—he locked me in that room with Sam.

  A phrase from earlier echoed in my mind: "It doesn’t have to end like this."

  Poltergeists repeat things they said in their last days. What did that mean? What was he trying to tell me?

  I didn’t have time to think.

  BANG!

  The gunshot roared down the hallway.

  Flesh and blood splattered across my body.

  I gasped, scrambling away as Sam lurched but didn’t fall.

  “You could have spared yourself this pain,” CJ muttered as he reloaded. His voice was cold. “You didn’t have to be so selfish.”

  The thing that was once Sam staggered from the first shot, but kept moving. It closed the distance between them in slow, heavy strides.

  Another shot.

  BANG!

  I clamped my hands over my ears, my body rattling from the force of the blast.

  I didn’t wait to see what happened next—I bolted. Crawling, then running, I moved as fast as I could, heading toward the back of the house.

  Behind me, CJ and the Poltergeist were still exchanging words, but I couldn’t focus on them. I needed to get out.

  I turned into the kitchen. It was just as much of a disaster as the rest of the house—chairs overturned, shattered dishes covering the floor, cabinets hanging open with their contents spilled across the counters.

  But something stopped me in my tracks.

  The kitchen table had been pushed in front of the back door, blocking the exit.

  And where it had been, one of the floorboards was slightly raised.

  My gut told me to ignore it, to just run—but I had already made so many mistakes tonight. What was one more? CJ had tried to barricade me into the house to force me to divine where the money was. Now, it seemed I was looking at the hiding place.

  I dropped to my knees and pulled the loose board up.

  It lifted easily. Inside was a stack of papers.

  I grabbed the first page, heart pounding. A last will and testament.

  Samuel David Anderson. Dated one week ago. Signed and notarized.

  A folded letter slipped from the pile. No address, no stamp—just two words written on the front:

  "To CJ."

  I hesitated, listened to the spirit and the son in their continued fight, then opened it.

  My boy, my Collin

  I never thought I would have to write this letter, but time has a way of revealing hard truths. For years, I waited for you to be more than just a voice on the other end of the line asking for money. I waited for visits that never came, for conversations that weren’t about your next request. But the only time I heard from you was when you needed something, and when I gave, I watched as it slipped away at the gambling table.

  I watched as you left Bella and Tanya to be with their mom. You did not even fight for visiting rights.

  I am dying, and I want to make it right. You should have received this letter on the day I die. I have sent a backup letter to your home, expecting me to be gone when you read it.

  I have given you more chances than I can count, more support than I should have, and more hope than you ever deserved. But I can no longer reward neglect with generosity. I will not leave behind a lifetime’s worth of work to be squandered in a matter of months.

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  Instead, I am leaving everything to Tanya and Bella—two bright, deserving souls who still carry the values I once hoped you would. They will inherit what I have built because they are my true legacy now. The money will be sent to them upon my death.

  I hope you find your way, but from here on, you will have to do it without me.

  Goodbye, I loved you.

  Samuel

  My jaw hung open as I read. Each line unraveled more of the situation, shifting my understanding with every word.

  There was never any stolen money.

  CJ didn’t need anything for his family.

  He wanted to make sure the money never reached his ex and daughters.

  That selfish bastard.

  I was going to have to rethink my opinions on people who had nicknames. He clearly didn’t deserve to have one.

  BANG!

  The gunshot snapped me back to the present.

  I stood up, adrenaline flooding my system, determination replacing my shock. I had to fix this mess. Scanning the kitchen, my eyes landed on something unexpected—a pistol resting on the counter.

  The Beyond was looking kindly upon me today. Surprising, considering all the disgrace I’ve shown her.

  From somewhere deeper in the house, Sam's voice rumbled.

  “I want to make it right.”

  I snatched the pistol, gripping it tightly as I strode out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  Turning the corner, I barely had time to react before CJ slammed into the wall, knocking over a bookshelf in the process. He groaned, pushing himself up with one arm. Across the room, the mangled body of Samuel staggered forward, its glowing emerald eyes casting an eerie light across the ruined living room.

  It was barely holding itself together—two shotgun blasts had torn through its torso, and a third had shattered half its face. But it kept moving.

  CJ coughed, bracing himself on one knee as he loaded another shell into his gun.

  His lips curled into a snarl.

  “You were a piece of shit father,” he spat. “You never cared about me.”

  CJ raised the shotgun—

  BANG!

  I fired first.

  The shot ripped into the ceiling, sending dust and splinters raining down.

  I wasn't thinking—just acting, desperate to stop him before he made it worse.

  To my own shock, it worked.

  “CJ, STOP!” I yelled, locking eyes with him.

  He glared at me, his face contorted with pure hate.

  “You had one job,” he hissed. “Get this old bastard to tell me where my money was. All I needed to do was rip up a damn will.” His breathing was ragged, furious. He shifted his gaze to the Poltergeist, then back to me. “But instead, you turned him into that?”

  His lip curled.

  “You’re a waste of tax dollars. A waste of space.”

  BANG!

  Everything blurred.

  One second, I was standing. The next, I was on the ground.

  I looked up—and saw the impossible.

  The Poltergeist had moved—faster than I could comprehend.

  CJ was flat on his back, the shotgun still in his hands. The shells he had just fired hung suspended in mid-air, spinning in place.

  Sam's voice rolled through the ruined house like distant thunder.

  “I want to make it right.”

  And then, with a flick of his decayed hand, the Poltergeist sent the shells flying back toward CJ.

  I acted on instinct. No different than the Passed continuing in their journey. Something inside me opened, and I let it flow.

  I lunged forward, my hand grasping Sam's shoulder.

  And everything changed.

  The Beyond flooded into me.

  For the first time in my life, I could feel everything.

  Every individual atom, every molecule’s gravitational pull.

  The books scattered across the floor. The ruined furniture. The insects crawling through the cracks of the house, each of their tiny fears tangible to me.

  I felt CJ’s hatred. The bitter resentment he’d carried for his father. The fear—a fear he had never admitted, not even to himself.

  I felt the metal pellets from the shotgun, frozen in midair.

  I thought—and then acted.

  The shells, instead of striking CJ, veered downward, embedding harmlessly into the floor.

  The moment I let go, the connection to the Beyond snapped like a rubber band.

  I gasped as the weight of the physical world crashed back into me.

  CJ’s body crumpled, his chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted breaths. He was still alive. Just passed out from the stress and trauma of the events. Looking back on it, the throw against the wall probably played into it quite a bit.

  Sam’s broken body collapsed to the ground.

  The glow in his eyes intensified, brighter than any flashlight I had ever seen.

  Then, it faded—the mangled corpse disintegrating, releasing a swirling cloud of energy into the air.

  The energy coalesced—shifting, gathering, reforming.

  And in its place, standing peacefully, was a Passed.

  This was impossible. There had only been one documented case of a devolved spirit returning to a stable state.

  This was the second.

  Sam looked down at his unconscious son.

  “This is’t what I wanted,” he murmured. His gaze turned hollow, distant. “I never fought back against the abuse. The elderly are delicate, easily harmed. He hurt me more than just this once… but I still never could say no.” His eyes met mine. “You would have died if I didn’t step in. But I almost killed him. My own son.”

  I swallowed hard and glanced at CJ’s body. He was still breathing—barely.

  “You did nothing wrong,” I told Sam. “You saved my life. And you reached stability again.” I exhaled, shaking my head. “This doesn’t happen. It’s incredible.”

  He nodded slowly, the tension in his expression softening into the complacency of one who could no longer see anyone but the Guide

  I turned and walked back toward the room, grabbing my bag. When I returned, I reached inside, pulling out my dreamcatcher.

  The jade beads, normally a dull green, glowed with energy. The same emerald light that had haunted Sam’s form just moments ago now radiated from the dreamcatcher’s webbing.

  It pulsed—alive.

  I looked at Sam. “Are you ready?” I took a pregnant pause as I looked at the passed. “Are you ready to continue your journey?”

  Sam’s spectral hand reached out. His fingers brushed against the dreamcatcher, and as soon as he made contact, his form began to dissolve.

  Unlike before, the tendrils were calm with no slashing or piercing. There was no resistance.

  Piece by piece, his energy melted away, drawn into the dreamcatcher.

  And then, he was gone.

  A single tear rolled down my cheek.

  The house was silent now.

  It was the kind of silence that felt unnatural, a void where echoes should have been.

  CJ lay unconscious, his body slumped in the wreckage of his father’s home. His father’s presence, once overwhelming in rage and regret, had vanished into the dreamcatcher I still clutched in my trembling hands.

  For the first time in hours, I was alone. And yet, I wasn’t. Or at least I didn’t feel alone.

  The weight of what had just happened pressed down on me, wrapping around my chest like iron chains. I should have felt relief. I had survived. The situation had been resolved. The impossible had happened—a spirit had returned from devolution, finding peace in his final moments.

  But all I felt was exhaustion.

  I collapsed into the nearest chair, staring at the ruined living room, the shattered remnants of a life filled with anger, regret, and misunderstandings. The air was thick with dust, tinged with the acrid scent of gunpowder and decay. The house was a war zone, and the battle had been fought on a field of grief and resentment.

  And I had been the only one left standing.

  I looked down at the dreamcatcher in my hands. The jade beads had dulled again, no longer pulsing with life. Sam had moved on. His journey was able to continue.

  A knock at the door broke the stillness.

  I forced myself to my feet and opened it.

  Standing outside were two young men and an elderly woman, all dressed in the dark robes of the Exorcists.

  “We heard you needed help with a devolved spirit?” the woman asked.

  I let out a breath, shaking my head. “Not anymore, but I think there’s someone here who might need medical attention.” I said, gesturing to the still breathing CJ behind me.

  The woman’s brow furrowed.

  She stared at me, confused, as if wondering why I had called them at all.

  I turned back into the house, grabbing the letter and the will. I put the floorboards back, unsure why as the rest of the house was a mess in pieces.

  Walking over to CJ’s unconscious form, I dropped the letter on his chest like a final judgment.

  “Find peace in yourself.” I said, turning away from the man, to hopefully never see again.

  Then, gripping the will tightly in my hand, I stepped outside.

  I had one last stop to make.

  I was taking this to the police. This will was going to be safe.