The Return of The Forgotten Son

Father's Last Stand

Victoria's POV

They moved Thomas's body to the east wing with Whitmore.

Two corpses in three days. Father called it a gas leak. Carbon monoxide poisoning. He'd already contacted someone to forge the death certificates, to make it all look normal and explainable.

Even now, facing supernatural vengeance, he was trying to protect the family reputation.

I watched them carry Thomas up the stairs. His burned body wrapped in white sheets. The smell followed them, acrid and wrong. It would never leave this house. None of us would.

Father locked himself in his study afterward. I heard him on the phone, making calls. His voice was sharp, commanding. He was trying to regain control the only way he knew how.

Through money and power.

I went to my mother's room. She sat by the window, staring at nothing. The ritual book lay open on her lap.

"There has to be something," she muttered. "Some way to break it. Some counter-spell."

"Mother, stop. It's over."

She looked at me with wild eyes. "It's not over. We can fix this. We can make it right."

"How? By killing someone else? By performing another ritual? How many people have to die before you understand you can't buy your way out of this?"

She flinched like I'd slapped her. "I did what I thought was right. I was trying to save us."

"You murdered your son. There's no saving anyone after that."

I left her there, still searching through the book for answers that didn't exist.

The house felt different now. Darker. The shadows moved wrong. I heard whispers in empty rooms. Footsteps where no one walked. The stranger wasn't hiding anymore. He was everywhere and nowhere, waiting.

I found Father in his study that evening. He'd been drinking. The bottle of whiskey on his desk was half empty.

"Victoria." His voice was thick. "Sit down."

I sat. We looked at each other across his massive desk. The desk where he'd made deals and crushed competitors. Where he'd built an empire on lies and blood money.

"I've made arrangements," he said. "Money transfers, property deeds, everything. If something happens to me, you'll inherit it all. You'll be taken care of."

"I don't want your money."

"Don't be stupid. Money is all that matters. Money is survival."

"Is that what you told yourself when you killed Elias? That money mattered more than your son?"

His face darkened. "Watch your tone."

"Or what? You'll sacrifice me too?"

He stood up, swaying slightly. "Everything I did, I did for this family. To preserve our name, our legacy. You have no idea what it's like to face ruin. To watch everything your ancestors built crumble away."

"So you murdered a child. Your child."

"He wasn't strong enough to carry on the Ashbourne name anyway. Thomas was always the better son."

The casual dismissal of Elias's life made something snap inside me. "Thomas is dead. Whitmore is dead. Soon you'll be dead too. And what will your precious legacy be then? A family of murderers who got exactly what they deserved."

Father's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was iron. "You listen to me. We will survive this. I've survived worse. I've destroyed men more powerful than some ghost. I will not let a dead boy ruin everything I've built."

"He's not just a ghost. He's something else. Something you created when you killed him."

"Then we'll kill him again." Father pulled out a gun from his desk drawer. A revolver, heavy and black. "Iron and lead work on anything that bleeds."

"He doesn't bleed, Father. He's not human anymore."

"Everything dies if you shoot it enough times."

He was drunk and desperate and completely insane. But he was also my father, and some part of me still wanted to save him.

"Please," I said quietly. "Just apologize. Tell him you're sorry. Maybe if you show real remorse…"

"Apologize?" Father laughed bitterly. "To who? To what? I won't grovel before some demon wearing my dead son's face."

"Then you'll die."

"We all die eventually, Victoria. The question is whether we die like cowards or like Ashbournes."

The temperature dropped. Frost crept across the windows. The lights flickered.

Father raised the gun, pointing it at the door. "Come on then! Show yourself! Face me like a man!"

The stranger appeared in the doorway. He looked at the gun and smiled.

"Really, Father? You think that will help?"

Father fired. The sound was deafening in the small room. The bullet passed straight through the stranger's chest, leaving no wound, no blood. Just a hole that closed itself like water.

"My turn," the stranger said.

The gun in Father's hand began to glow red. He screamed and dropped it. His palm was burned, the skin blistered and black.

"That's just a taste," the stranger said. "A preview of what's coming."

Father backed away, clutching his burned hand. "Stay away from me."

"Why? Afraid? Good. Elias was afraid too. He begged you to stop. I cried. Called you Daddy and asked why you were hurting him. Do you remember?"

"He was drugged. He didn't know what was happening."

"He knew enough. He knew his father betrayed him. Knew his mother chose money over his life. Knew he was going to die and no one would save him."

The stranger moved closer. The air around him shimmered with heat. "And now you're going to know the same thing. You're going to feel what he felt."

Father's clothes began to smoke. He looked down in horror as small flames appeared on his sleeves.

"No. No, no, no!" He tried to pat them out, but they spread. Up his arms, across his chest, catching on his hair.

I jumped up. "Stop it! Please stop!"

But the stranger didn't even look at me. His eyes were locked on Father, black and merciless.

Father ran. He stumbled out of the study, trailing smoke and flames. His screams echoed through the hallway.

I ran after him. He made it to the main staircase before he fell. His body tumbled down the marble steps, leaving scorch marks on each one.

He landed at the bottom in a heap. The flames had gone out, but his body was covered in burns. Just like Thomas. Just like Elias must have looked.

I ran down to him. He was still breathing, barely. His eyes found mine.

"Victoria," he rasped. "Help me."

"I can't. No one can."

"Please. I don't want to die."

"Neither did Elias."

His eyes widened. Then they closed. His last breath rattled out.

I looked up. The stranger stood at the top of the stairs, watching. Mother stood behind him, her hand over her mouth.

"Three down," he said. "One to go."

Mother collapsed. I heard her sobbing from where I knelt beside Father's body.

The house groaned around us. The walls cracked. Pictures fell from their hooks. Something was breaking. The entity was almost satisfied. Almost strong enough to take us all.

I stood up on shaking legs. "When?" I asked the stranger. "When do we all go?"

"Soon," he said. "Very soon. But first, Mother needs to understand what she did. I really understand. And you need to make a choice."

"What choice?"

He smiled. It was a terrible smile, empty and cold. "You'll see."