PROLOGUE

He stared out the window, his thoughts so malicious and destructive they burned at his skin, threatening to peel away all the layers of protection he’d built for himself. How had his life reached this point? All he wanted was to be happy—he never asked for anyone’s help, and the last thing he wanted was pity.

He had been running all his life, and he was sick of it. His teeth clenched. He’d been searching for peace, but now, more than ever, he was on edge. No matter what he did or where he was, he felt a relentless impulse to look over his shoulder to ensure nothing was there: to ensure it wasn’t there. He wished for the old days back with his family. But he knew he could never relive the pain that always chased the good times.

His hands shook until the tremor spread like a current through his entire body. Voices screamed in his head. It seemed like all his mind did was replay haunted memories. When would it all end?

Just then, a wave of deja vu hit so hard that it sent his body into a catatonic state. He peered outside his window, blinking to take in every detail. Everything looked so familiar. His eyes widened.

The oversized tree in the yard matched his stare, its branches swaying gently up and down, up and down, taunting him. The overgrown lawn, consumed with weeds nearly two feet high, tried keeping its balance as the grass and weeds rocked slowly from side to side like an audience enraptured by the show. A swarm of fireflies covered the yard, thousands of dull glowing yellow-brown lights joining the crowd. Thousands of eyes, all staring at him.

At that moment, he knew the hell he was living in would not end anytime soon because this was where he was meant to be. While he had been searching for the impossible, it had followed him, stalked him, and now it would get what it wanted.

PART I: ADRIEN

April 25th, 1991

At 8:13 p.m., Janet Thompson was rushed to the hospital down the slick streets of Kirksville. Her husband, Paul, hunched over the wheel, squinting for a better view through the blurred raindrops. He swore under his breath at the windshield wipers, which had a hard time keeping up with the downpour, chastising himself for not having switched them out for the rainy season. Purple streaks of lightning exploded above and vanished, leaving the town swallowed by darkness. The car shook with the thunder and moved well past the speed limit, but he didn’t care. Janet’s water had broken, and the couple were hours away from bringing their first child into the world. 

Still moving too fast, they pulled onto hospital grounds, and a speed bump bounced Janet out of her seat. The painful scream that left her mouth had Paul pulling his head toward the window. He looked over at his wife, apologizing relentlessly, and reduced his speed as they made their way through the parking lot. She was in too much discomfort to talk. Paul shifted the car into park and opened his door. Janet caught a glimpse of the sweat under his arm. He ran over to the passenger door and lent his hand for support, carefully pulling her out.

With one hand on her lower back and the other squeezing her hand, Paul led Janet toward the hospital doors. The rain cooled her face. She jumped at another crack of thunder and gripped Paul’s hand harder. Paul mistook the squeeze for a signal of agony. 

“Nice and easy, honey. Soon there’ll be no more pain, and we’ll be looking into the eyes of our beautiful little boy or girl.” He tried to smile but could only manage to raise his upper lip, showing off his two front teeth. "What do you think it’ll be?” His voice trembled from the adrenaline, but Paul continued talking, trying to keep his wife’s mind on anything other than the pain. 

Instead of conversation, Janet focused all her energy on making it inside the hospital before she collapsed. Her breathing kept pace with her steps. She watched one foot move ahead of the other as the cement sidewalk changed to pieces of cobblestone. Her back ached and her stomach felt like it could explode any second. She had slept little in the past week and was so fatigued that the short walk seemed more difficult than all forty weeks of her pregnancy. The cobblestone changed to a dirty black mat. Four more steps and the front doors slid open. She had made it inside but didn’t think she could make it any farther. Her head felt like it was going to float away and her vision was becoming cloudy. All she wanted to do was go back to the car so she could sit. Her wish was granted as a nurse ran over with a wheelchair. 

On her ride to the nearest unoccupied room on the delivery floor, Janet placed her hand on her belly and thought about her soon-to-be child. She didn’t care if they had a boy or a girl; she was just excited to begin a family with her high school sweetheart. Janet had known Paul since they were in diapers (not exactly that long, but close enough). She initiated the flirting, but Paul seemed to be distracted by something else in his adolescent years. That’s how it always was with boys. Show them you’re interested and they still take years to pick up the hints. Finally, at sixteen, he had mustered up enough courage to ask her out. They had their ups and downs, but after that day during homecoming week, the two had been inseparable ever since. 

If you asked Paul whether he wanted a boy or a girl, he would respond the same as his wife: it didn’t matter so long as the baby was healthy. What Paul wouldn’t say out loud, though, is that if he had his choice, he wouldn’t hesitate to pick a healthy boy over a healthy girl. It’s not that he didn’t want a girl—he just always imagined their firstborn being a boy. Paul planned to teach his son how to be a leader and a protector. If he got his boy on the first try, any child after that wouldn’t have to worry about being bullied or picked on because his son would be there to step in.

He also wanted the chance to prove he could be a better father to his son than his father was to him. Paul’s father considered himself ‘old school,’ a man who had abused him and treated him as if he were a street dog rather than his son. A man who would spend evenings after work at the bar, drinking beers with anyone brave enough to drink with him, only to come home and drink more by himself. A man who seldom left his recliner and when he did, you could see a permanent mold of his body. A man who’d start an argument with his wife for no fault of hers, just to let out his anger, and then retreat to a bar to hit on the local half-dressed waitresses. He was a man Paul vowed to never become, but Paul knew those tendencies were lurking within him, ready to take over if he wasn’t careful. 

When it came to alcohol, Paul had to make sure his mind was more powerful than the “poison.” That’s what his mother used to call it. He made rules for himself when going out, but he knew he had some of his father in him. (A part that thought rules were supposed to be broken.) A few years ago, he would bar hop almost every weekend with his college colleagues and ended up drinking too much, which put him in situations he wasn’t proud of. Embarrassed that it had gotten that far, Paul was ashamed he had left the bars for a random woman’s place (on multiple different occasions) after his friends convinced him “a couple of shots won’t do any harm.”

When the poison thinned his blood and numbed his mind, he felt as if he were high in the sky, floating amongst the fluffy white clouds. That was when his inner father found it easy to take control. Sometimes, when Paul broke his rules and passed his poison limit, he glanced into the rearview mirror and saw his old man staring back, laughing while swigging a cheap Pilsner. It was that cocky smile and those careless eyes that would snap Paul back to reality. Each time he found himself in a drunken situation looking back at his father (five times, to be exact) he would finish the drive to the lady’s place and let her out of the car. Before she could close the door, he’d peel out and race straight back home to his wife.

Following these occasions, he wouldn’t let himself out drinking for three weeks, and after each instance, he treated his wife to something special, like a picnic in the park or a dinner at Chester’s, the town’s steakhouse. The spontaneous acts put a smile on Janet’s face. Her smile made him smile, but there was a weight tugging at his heart because he knew he was only taking her out to cover up his wrongdoing. 

Those drunken nights hadn’t happened for over two years now, and he planned to keep it that way. His child was about to be born, and if he didn’t make sure he was a responsible, protective, faithful man, there was no way his kid could grow up to be one. 

Janet had been in labor for over four hours. One minute, she was screaming, the next she inhaled deep breaths through her nose, followed by fierce grunts. 

“If this baby doesn’t come out of me right now, I’ll slice my stomach open and rip it out myself!” she shrieked. 

“You’re doing great, honey.” Paul encouraged after another demonic-sounding grunt. 

Spit flew from the corner of her mouth and onto Paul’s shirt. She looked up at him and thought about how dearly she loved him. So much so that she had never once regretted not being with anyone else. But right then, she wished he would shut the hell up. Another contraction came. Her scream raced down the halls. 

“I see the head, Mrs. Thompson.” Doctor Yenz said. “A couple more pushes, and we’ll be done. One, two, push.” More grunts, accompanied by a squeeze so hard Paul’s knuckle popped. “One, two, push.” Another scream ran out of the room. Whoever heard it must have thought Janet was having her life taken instead of creating a new one. 

Outside, the rain fell harder. Drops struck the windows like someone throwing pebbles, threatening to break the feeble glass. More purple lightning danced across the sky to the musical roars of thunder. 

“Last one. Focus for me. I need you to give it your all here. Are you ready? One, two, big push.”

Janet’s head pushed forward. The veins in her neck bulged along with another on her forehead. Her feet pressed strongly against the stirrups. The muscles in her legs became rock-hard with lactic acid. Her stomach flexed so tight it cramped. She grabbed the rails on her side, thrusting her back against the reclined bed. Drenched in sweat, she opened her eyes wide and howled.

At the exact moment of her final push, the most powerful bolt of lightning ever to hit Kirksville struck the ground and stole the town’s electricity for seven seconds. In those seconds, the generator and the emergency lights kicked on. Though some light came back, the whole town flickered, as if someone kept flipping the switch on and off. 

Janet’s body collapsed. One arm lay across her chest. The other dangled off the side of her bed. She was so exhausted that her mind perceived time in slow motion. Everything was quiet. At that moment, she thought that if she never got up again, that would be fine with her. But she did need to see the baby that drained nearly all the life out of an adult woman. Janet used the last of her strength to lift her head and look down between her legs, where the nurse held her child.

The emergency lights gave the room an unsteady dull yellow glow. Janet’s eyes met her newborn baby. Horror gripped her body and held her hostage. What she saw wasn’t a child—it was… well, she didn’t know what to call it. She wasn’t even sure how to describe it beyond a sinister, faceless figure with a bloody, bruised body. Its head fell to one side and deep cuts seemed to cover every inch of its skin. The umbilical cord, still connected to her, tightly wrapped around its neck and she could feel herself pulling it back inside. 

Her shock blinded her for a moment, but when the regular lights kicked back on and steadied, Janet saw a normal, healthy baby flaring its limbs and crying. A new shriek erupted through the halls, but unlike the previous ones, it was joyful. Hearing their newborn for the first time brought tears to Paul’s eyes. 

Doctor Yenz looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and grinned. 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” 

Adrien was born.