Chase Dubois.
The hallway was quiet afterwards.
Publicly screaming at her and saying horrible things to her, wasn’t exactly how I thought this would end.
I have Greyson to thank for it.
I sat outside Greyson’s room for an hour.
Maybe two.
I lost track.
The spiders were gone.
Four days ago, father had swept them back into the jar—casually, like he was cleaning up after a meal—and left without another word.
Mulan had carried Greyson to bed.
He hadn’t fought her.
He hadn’t spoken.
He just let himself be carried like he was seven years old again.
I could still hear him crying.
Not the screams from before.
Those had stopped when the last spider was scraped off his skin.
These were softer.
Broken.
The kind of sound a person makes when they’ve given up on being heard.
I remember my hand being so warm from cupping his face days ago.
I left then and I didn’t come back till now.
The door opened.
Mulan stood there, her eyes red, her cheeks wet.
She didn’t look surprised to see me.
“He’s asking for you,” she said quietly.
“He’s asking for me?”
“He’s been asking for you since—” Her voice broke.
“Since you left.
He keeps saying your name.
Over and over.”
I wheeled myself inside.
The room smelled of smoke and something sour—sweat maybe.
The candles were lit, too many of them, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Greyson’s clothes were in a pile by the door.
His shirt.
His trousers.
His smallclothes.
Burned.
Mulan had burned them.
The spiders had been on them, and she hadn’t wanted to take any chances.
Greyson was on the bed.
He was curled on his side, his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around his head.
The same position I’d found him in on the floor.
He hadn’t moved.
Maybe he couldn’t.
A blanket was draped over him, but he’d kicked most of it off.
His back was bare.
I could see the red marks—not cuts, not bruises, but scratches.
He’d been clawing at himself.
Trying to get them off.
Trying to fucking get them off.
There was nothing there to get off.
“Grey.”
He flinched.
I stopped closer to speak to him, so Mulan couldn’t hear.
“Grey, it’s me.
It’s Chase.”
His body went still.
Then, slowly, he uncurled.
His arms dropped from his head.
His knees straightened.
He turned his face toward me.
His eyes were empty.
Not sad.
Not angry.
Empty.
Like someone had scooped out everything inside him and left nothing but a shell.
“Chase,” he said.
His voice was hoarse.
Barely a whisper.
“You came.”
“I came.”
“I called for you.
Did you hear me?
I called your name.”
“I heard you.”
“I thought you wouldn’t come.
After I—” He stopped.
Swallowed.
I wheeled closer.
Reached out.
Withdrew my hand halfway.
He stared at our hands.
His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out.
Like he wanted to hold on.
He didn’t.
“Where’s Mother?”
“Getting more water.
She’s been cleaning you up.”
“I didn’t know he came with the spiders” he said.
“I know.”
“You don’t know.
You weren’t there.
You didn’t feel them—” He sat up suddenly, wincing, grabbing at his arms, his chest, his hair.
“They were everywhere.
They are still everything, Chasey.
Crawling.
Biting.
I can feel them inside my clothes.
I could feel them in my mouth.”
“Grey—”
“I swallowed one.” He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something other than emptiness.
Horror.
“I swallowed one, Chase.
I can feel it in my throat.
I can feel it—”
He gagged.
Doubled over.
I grabbed his shoulders, held him while he threw up.
“You didn’t swallow one.
You’re remembering wrong.
It was just on your lip.
Mother got it off.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there.
I saw.”
He stared at me.
His breathing was ragged.
His hands were shaking.
“I hate him,” he whispered.
“I hate him so much.”
“I know.”
“I wish he was dead.”
“I know, Grey.”
“I wish I was dead.”
I didn’t have an answer for that except join the line, kid.
Mulan came back with the water.
She didn’t say anything—just set the bowl on the nightstand and dipped a cloth in it.
She started wiping Greyson’s face.
His forehead.
His cheeks.
The corners of his mouth.
He let her.
He didn’t fight.
He just sat there, staring at the wall, while his mother washed the memory of spiders off his skin.
“Chase,” Mulan said quietly.
“Can you help me turn him?
I need to check his back.”
I moved to the other side of the bed.
Together, we rolled Greyson onto his stomach.
His back was worse than I thought.
Red welts.
Scratches.
Some of them deep enough to bleed.
He’d been clawing at himself for hours.
“Oh, Grey-Grey,” Mulan whispered.
“Oh, my baby.” She started crying.
She started cleaning the wounds.
Greyson didn’t make a sound.
He just lay there, his face pressed into the pillow, his hands clutching the sheets.
I watched her work.
Watched her hands tremble.
Watched her bite her lip to keep from crying.
“Mother,” I said.
She didn’t look up.
“Mother, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes.
Glassy.
Full of a grief so old I wondered if she’d been carrying it her whole life.
“You should leave him,” I said.
“When we get home.
You should leave Father.”
She went still.
“Chase—”
“You should take Grey and go.
Somewhere he can’t find you.
Somewhere the spiders can’t reach.”
“And what about you?”
I looked down at my legs.
At the chair.
At the body that had failed me in every way that mattered.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t be fine.
You’ll be alone.”
“I’ve been alone my whole life, Mother.
A few more years won’t make a difference.”
She shook her head.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Then we all stay.
And nothing changes.” I looked at Greyson—at the welts on his back, the scratches on his arms, the tremors still running through his body.
“He can’t take much more of this.
You know that, don’t you?
One day, Father will go too far.
And Grey won’t survive it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.
And I don’t mean death.
Death is easy, merciful.
I mean look at him.
There’s barely anything left of the little boy who loves smoked fish and chicken.
What’s left is a wife stealing, heartbreaking, stranger I hate with all of my heart.
You stay…
that’s all he will ever be.
Then I have to put a bullet in his head.
It will be quicker”
“Chase—”
“Take him.
And go.
I will deal with father”
She didn’t answer.
She just turned back to Greyson, smoothing the blanket over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair.
“I’m going to protect my children,” she said finally.
“Both of you.
I know what I have to do”
She didn’t say how.
Maybe she didn’t know yet.
I stayed until Greyson fell asleep.
His breathing evened out.
His hands unclenched.
He looked younger like this.
Smaller.
Like the boy who used to crawl into my bed after nightmares, who used to curl up beside me and whisper “Chasey, don’t let the monsters get me.”
I’d never been able to stop the monsters.
Not the ones under the bed.
Not the ones in our father.
I did my best.
I failed.
I reached out and touched his hair.
Just once, I tried to remember.
I couldn’t.
“I hate you, you stupid son of a bitch.
I hate you so very much” I bit down on my lips to stop myself from saying more.
Then I turned my chair and wheeled toward the door.
“Chase.”
Mulan’s voice.
Soft.
Tired.
I looked back.
“You don’t mean that.
You are just angry”
I guess she heard me after all.
She turned back to him.
He was always her favourite.
“You don’t mean that”
How do I tell her I really do?