The Things We Fear
Chapter 3

Marcus banged the door louder than he meant to as he entered his home. First having to spend time with the sperm donor and then running into James and his pack. Considering this was his birthday, he was starting to think the day might have been cursed. Actually, he wouldn’t put it past Cassius to have done exactly that. It was the type of petty and vindictive behaviour the warlock was well known for.

For all Marcus tried to avoid the man, he couldn’t help hearing whispers about his activities. Mostly from the shadows at night, which he deftly tried to ignore, but sue him, Marcus had always been a curious kid. If finding out the man was banging half his congregation behind their partner’s backs was wrong, he’d happily tell the shadows to shut up, but they never listened. At least it was better than when they used to tell him about the man’s plans for world domination and all the shady stuff he was involved in. Marcus could have gone his whole life without learning there was a supernatural drug trade and Cassius was the main distributor.

Yet another thing he couldn’t go to his dad about, deputy Gall had said many times how Marcus would need proof, proof that would stand up in a human court of law. Since Cassius was supplying what was essentially herbs mixed with essential oils and magic, it would get laughed out of court. On the flip side, if ever Cassius got truly desperate for cash, the shadows had taught him the recipe.

It wasn’t that he wanted to listen. But in the dead of night, surrounded by darkness, when he could feel the cold sweat down his back and hear how heavy his breathing was as the rest of the world slept, it was hard to block out. He’d tried listening to something louder than their words, but his mother would come in screaming for him to turn it down. She needed to sleep and had work in the morning. He couldn’t blame her, as much as he sometimes might want to. He wanted to sleep too.

He tried using headphones, but they didn’t work. Tried using noise cancellers, but eventually, he realised the shadows weren’t speaking to his human ears. It was how a medium once described seeing spirit:

“I’m not seeing them with my human eyes. It’s in my mind, I know that, some call it a mind’s eye, others a third eye. I see an image in my head as clear as I can see you before me. Sometimes it’s a little distorted. Sometimes the details change. But it is there and it won’t go until I’ve looked at it properly.”

Marcus wasn’t hearing them with his ears, but he could hear them all the same. Even when he tried meditation. When he surrounded himself with salt. When he burnt sage. All things said to help banish spirits. There had even been a time a few years ago when he had taken medications to silence the sounds.

It was possibly his lowest point. He had desperately wanted the shadows to shut up. To let him sleep. To stop the nightmares. To stop him from being so afraid of the dark. The doctors had tried to section him after a few days of talking. It was the one and only time in his entire life he was grateful Cassius was his father. The man had swept in, used a bit of magic to erase all documents and memories. Made his mom forget the entire ordeal.

He had hated feeling like he owed the man, but he had only just lost James a few months prior, he had felt entirely alone. No one could help him, not even his dad, who luckily kept his memories already knowing about the supernatural. It had been horrible to see the man he loved like a father beg the man who should have been his father to help. That was what had broken him. It was what had caused Marcus to slip to the floor and ask the man he wanted nothing from and nothing to do with to make it all go away. To make the doctors forget.

Marcus had learned there was something worse than the shadows. Being alone in the dark with only his own mind. Whatever the shadows were, whatever they wanted, they were slightly less terrifying than the things his mind conjured up. The way his eyes saw images in the darkness. How his brain created faces, monstrous and warped. How he realised half the evil messages he heard, were his own inner demons.

“Marcus? That you?” The small voice came from the back of the house.

It was a moment before he heard a door opening and the padding of feet down the stairs.

“Yeah, Brody, just got back. I see you’re finally awake.”

His little brother groaned before hugging him.

“It’s just so hot. I could sleep all day, but I won’t, happy birthday, bro.”

He hugged the little guy closer again.

“Thanks, Bro-dy,” it was a lame joke, but it brought a smile to the little guy's face and that was all that mattered.

“Mom said she’d be back after five and dad will pop in around three but won’t be back till after seven because something happened at work.”

Marcus nodded, used to his dad’s changing schedule. He worked regular hours, but with him being police in a small town, if something happened it was all hands on deck. Last year on Brody’s birthday it had been a three-car pile-up on the highway the day before his birthday, their dad had managed to join them for tea, but missed most of the day. It sucked, but it was what it was.

“Wonder what could have happened?”

Brody shrugged, leading him towards the kitchen. The not-so-subtle hint for pancakes as everything was all laid out ready and his brother took the chocolate chips from the fridge.

“Expecting me to cook, on my birthday? How rude,” he teased.

“But I’m hungry. And they’re you’re favourite,” even if he hadn’t been faking, it would have been hard to deny that pout.

Ruffling the little guy's hair, “Then I expect a helper, and freshly washed hands–with soap,” he added as the boy cheered and rushed to the downstairs bathroom.

It was funny to see how the little guy couldn’t reach the tap in the kitchen. He didn’t think he had ever been that small, and yet, he remembered having to use the bin that night.

He heard his phone going off, as he was starting on the mixture, knowing it was probably just Theo saying he was awake and on his way round, he added a bit more to the bowl. The boy was as obsessed with pancakes as his brother was. Honestly, if Theo had been a few years younger, he could have easily seen him and Brody being the best of friends. Two sunshine kids who saw the world as one giant playground filled with fun and opportunity.

How Theo had become best friends with the moody-spaz, as Daniel had oh-so-sweetly coined him (prick), he would never know. And he refused to acknowledge how the brain-dead wolf’s words might hold some truth to them. Though, in Marcus’ defence, next to Theo and Brody even a kitten high on catnip could look moody.

“You need to add more chips,” the little boy suddenly materialised at his hip, making him jump.

Careful not to spill any of the mixture he threw a knowing look at the little devil. Marcus swore that kid had some extra ability. Maybe he had some magic of his own, or had gotten bitten by a radioactive spider whilst he wasn’t looking, no child should be that bloody stealthy. He only did it when he wanted to as well. The rest of the time he would bang and crash through the house, stomping out every footstep and letting everyone know exactly where he was. Then there were moments like this, where even if Marcus had wolf senses he doubted he would have heard the boy approaching.

“Little shit,” he muttered mostly to himself, he wasn’t supposed to swear around the kid, but in moments like this, where his heart had jumped to triple speed thanks to his games, it felt justified to let a curse word or two slip out.

“If I add more chips it’ll mess up the consistency. You can add more at the end,”

He didn’t really think it made much difference having them in at this point, they mostly melted and lost taste when added to early–at least to him, Theo swore differently, but his brother liked the chips within the batter and liked them all melted and squishy, so he happily humoured the kid.

Just as he was pouring the batter into the pan the front door crashed open. He managed to get most of it into the iron skillet, but a few colourful words escaped his tongue as he spilt it across the side. There was still enough for two portions, but now he would need to make more for himself.

It would probably be easier just to make enough for seconds as well, he knew what his little brother’s appetite was like. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if the kid could have been accidentally switched with a wolf in the hospital.

“Duuuude,” came the drawn-out voice from the front door.

He looked over, trying to iron the scowl from his face at this idiot being the cause of the mess he had just made. Wiping up the spilt liquid he raised an eyebrow at the other boy. He was bent over and sweating. Clearly having run at least part of the way.

“Didn’t you used to have asthma, shouldn’t you be careful in this heat,” he said, handing his best friend a glass of water.

Watching as the boy gulped it down. One eye on the pan and the cooking pancake the entire time.

“Dude, did you not see my message?” Theo asked finally coming into the house properly, closing the door behind him and propping himself up on a stool as he slowly regained his breath, “And no need to mother hen me, it was a dairy allergy, I breath fine now.”

Marcus refrained from commenting about just how often the boy still ate dairy despite knowing better. But that would be mother-henning and he refused to prove the other's point. It was how their friendship worked.

“No, not yet,” he answered the first part instead, he gestured to the cooking stove, “Brody wanted pancakes.”

“Choco-chip, b-day pancakes. Yes,” Theo pumped his fist into the air.

Marcus decided to ignore the childlike happiness and get the other back on topic.

“Message?”

“Oh, yeah, dude, thought you would already know, you’re dad and all?” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He shook his head, “Haven’t seen him since before he left for his shift. Had to spend the morning with him,” just by his tone Theo would know who Marcus was referring to.

“Ah, yes, the annual birthday torture, how was devil-dearest?”

He scoffed at the play on daddy-dearest, this is why the two were best friends.

“Same old. We ate. We made awkward small talk about school and what I planned to do with my life. He gave me a decorative rock,” Marcus shrugged.

Theo pulled a commiserating face.

“Sounds fun.”

“Loads,” he flipped the pancake over.

Brody cheered from the stool next to Theo where he was sitting patiently watching the pancakes cook and ignoring most of their conversation. Checking it was cooked on both sides Marcus flipped it onto the plate, sliding the first one over to the kid before adding more of the mixture to the pan. He quickly pulled some more flour from the cupboard. Now they were cooking, the smell was making him hungry. But message? Dad? Guessing this is why he won’t be here this evening then, whatever it is?”

“Oh, yeah, right. So get this. I heard from Sally, who heard from Nick, who heard from his dad, you know the sheriff and your dad’s boss, that they found a body.”

“What?” Both he and his little brother exclaimed.

“Yeah, Rod, you know Rod, senior, on the team with–” Theo stopped mid-sentence, it was always awkward whenever James was mentioned between the two, “Daniel and his lot,” a safe swerve, but Marcus knew what, or who, he had been meaning to say.

“Rod’s dead?”

“Yeah. Dude drowned they think. Well, they found him floating in the pool, so I’m thinking it's the main guess right now.”

“Fuck.”

“Brody!” he exclaimed.

“Big bro, I think a dead body warrants the use of a good “fuck”.”

He looked at the little seven-year-old, wanting to protest, but couldn’t exactly argue with the logic. He could practically feel their mother shouting about language in the back of his mind, but chose to ignore it. Theo just shrugged, nicking a few chocolate chips from the open bag.

“Yeah, fuck.”

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