062 Bizarre Ghost - Part 3 - Mark’s POV

  Professor Merrick didn’t say much else that night, even after I prodded. Just that my dad was alive.

  That alone messed with my head the rest of the night. It was the kind of revelation you didn’t know where to put. Like a puzzle piece from the wrong box. And Merrick, being Merrick, dropped it like it was nothing and then vanished into his usual cryptic silence.

  Then Sunday rolled around.

  We’d been re-fitted in the morning, again, because apparently Lady Enoch’s family changed their fashion codes every time the wind blew. This time it was black formalwear with gold accents, like we were about to attend a royal funeral. Or join a cult.

  Afterward, we were herded—gracefully, of course—into the estate chapel for the weekly mass.

  The place was straight out of a gothic fever dream. Vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows that looked like they judged you, and an organ so massive it might’ve been partially alive. The air smelled like incense and quiet disapproval.

  I was seated between Mirai and Elena.

  So… yeah. Not exactly a peaceful spiritual experience.

  They started squabbling before the service even began. Quietly, of course. Whispered insults and dagger-sharp smiles.

  “You’ve got a wrinkle near your collar,” Elena whispered, eyes forward like the picture of piety. “Bit sloppy, don’t you think?”

  “Oh? Thanks,” Mirai said sweetly. “It must’ve happened while I was busy not suffocating on my own perfume.”

  “Careful,” Elena whispered back. “I might mistake you for someone who belongs here.”

  “I could say the same,” Mirai replied with a radiant, fake smile.

  I stared straight ahead, trying very hard to become invisible.

  Then came The Stare.

  An old lady sitting in the pew ahead of us slowly turned her head—owl-like, eerie—and fixed me with a glare so sharp it could’ve carved marble.

  I blinked, confused.

  She pressed a gnarled finger to her lips and hissed, “Shhhh.”

  I pointed subtly at the girls on either side of me, mouthing, It’s them, not me!

  Didn’t matter. Her eyes narrowed, like she knew I was guilty by association.

  So that’s how I ended up sitting completely stiff between two passive-aggressive ticking bombs, while some priest in a golden robe spoke in a dialect I barely understood about humility and divine judgment.

  There was a part where everyone stood to chant something. I didn’t know the words, so I just moved my lips and hoped no one noticed. Mirai was doing the same. Elena, of course, recited it perfectly. Because of course she did.

  By the time we sat back down, I’d made a mental list of all the things I’d rather be doing. It included: being punched in the face, fighting Karl over nightwatch schedule, and falling off the roof. Again.

  Still… I had to admit something.

  As awful as the seating arrangement was, and as much as I was now on some ancient church grandma’s hit list, it felt like we were part of something.

  “Yeah, this is a job… a bodyguard job and that’s all.”

  Karl hadn’t joined us for the service. Apparently, he was down with something Merrick described as “intestinal spiritual conflict.” Which, translated from Merrick-speak, meant constipation. A truly noble ailment. He’d barely made it back from the wardrobe fitting before doubling over and muttering curses at the estate's fancy hors d'oeuvres.

  Greg, on the other hand, claimed religious exemption.

  “I’d love to join,” he said that morning, arms crossed and eyes closed like he was listening to some higher cosmic DJ, “but unfortunately, my faith forbids it. Participation would require a sacrifice of my left arm.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. “That doesn’t sound like a real religion.”

  “You doubt the wisdom of the Great Left-Hand Path?”

  “I doubt the existence of the Great Left-Hand Path.”

  He just nodded sagely and walked away like he’d just won a theological debate.

  So yeah. Karl was stuck on the porcelain throne, Greg had evaded with spiritual improv, and Merrick… well, he just wasn’t there.

  No explanation. No shadowy whisper. No spooky fade-out.

  I figured he was off talking to the chief of estate security or doing whatever powerful psychic professors did during holy services. Like astral-projecting into the wine cellar or interrogating ghosts. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s done.

  Anyway, back in the chapel, I was still doing my best impression of a mannequin. Elena and Mirai had finally settled into cold silence, which, honestly, was worse than the whisper-fighting. I could feel the psychic snark building on either side of me like an atmospheric pressure change.

  The priest—or maybe preacher? Father? Reverend? The golden guy up front—started a sermon about betrayal and divine justice.

  He raised a single finger, pale and theatrical, and said, “And lo, the man struck down his father! Blood upon the earth, and in that moment, sin was born! He became the father of murder! The first to defy divine command and accept the weight of guilt!”

  Mirai leaned slightly toward me, whispering, “...Is he talking about Cain? Or like, some off-brand version?”

  “No idea,” I muttered back. “Sounds like Cain after a dramatic rewrite.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be comforting.”

  “Same. This feels less ‘grace and salvation’ and more ‘don’t commit patricide or else.’”

  Elena didn’t turn, but her voice sliced through the air like a scalpel. “Maybe if you listened instead of whispering, you’d understand the deeper symbolism.”

  Mirai gave a mock gasp. “Wow, Elena, thanks. I was so lost without your deep theological insight.”

  I shoved my hands in my lap and focused very hard on the organ pipes above. One of them looked like it had a face. It was either my imagination or I was finally going chapel-mad.

  The priest carried on, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “...And thus, the burden of sin passed down through generations. The mortal world, forever stained by one act of wrath…”

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  I zoned out after that. My brain could only hold so much esoteric doom at once. My thoughts drifted back to Merrick’s revelation.

  Your dad is alive.

  That one sentence was still bouncing around inside me like a ricochet bullet. I didn’t know what it meant. Where he was. What he was doing. Why Merrick would drop that bomb and then ghost out like he always did.

  And why now?

  What the hell did it have to do with this mission?

  I looked down at my black and gold sleeves. The gold thread caught the stained-glass light and shimmered faintly, like a net trying to catch something slippery.

  Mirai elbowed me gently. “You’re thinking too hard,” she whispered. “Your face is doing that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “The ‘I’m spiraling internally and no one can stop me’ thing.”

  “…Accurate.”

  She gave me a brief, weirdly reassuring smile. Then we all stood again for another chant. This one was about divine balance and inner reflection—or something. I still didn’t know the words, so I mumbled along like a confused extra in a period drama.

  As we sat down again, I glanced around the chapel. More Enoch family members had arrived since the start—primly dressed people with long necks and judgmental cheekbones. Some looked curious. Others looked bored. A few were probably ESPers themselves.

  This place, this mission, this family—it was all starting to feel like some elaborate stage play we’d wandered into by mistake. And yet… we had roles to play.

  Even if I didn’t know the script.

  Even if I wasn’t sure who the enemy was.

  Even if my stomach was still flipping over those three cursed words: Your dad’s alive.

  I straightened my back and folded my hands.

  Yeah, this was a bodyguard job. Just a job.

  But it was starting to feel a lot bigger than that.

  My mom used to say, “Always expect the unexpected, Mark. That’s how you stay alive.”

  It was one of her core tenets for surviving in a world that made no damn sense half the time. Like some mystical rule of street smarts, sandwiched somewhere between don’t trust smiling politicians and always check the milk’s expiration date.

  But here’s the thing—I’m not a precog. I don’t see the future. I can’t “expect” the unexpected. That’s literally what makes it unexpected. It shows up, smacks you upside the head, and leaves you asking questions no one’s prepared to answer.

  Case in point?

  The world just… stopped.

  Like, fully paused.

  The priest up front had his hand raised mid-gesture. A woman in the aisle had just begun to sneeze—stuck in a pre-sneeze cringe like she’d been sculpted by an artist who hated motion blur. The colored light from the stained-glass windows froze in the air like someone had hit pause on the sun.

  Even Mirai, who had been sneaking a paper-thin sigh beside me, was suddenly locked in place—mouth parted, eyelashes mid-blink.

  I blinked. Once. Twice.

  Nope. Still frozen.

  My heartbeat kicked up a notch. I turned slowly, scanning for anything that wasn’t frozen in time. That’s when I saw him.

  A man. Sitting directly in front of me, pew just ahead.

  He had slick black hair, combed neatly to the side like he was about to star in a noir film. His suit was black—not the fancy gold-accented formalwear like the rest of us, just plain, funeral black—and somehow sharper than reality, like he’d been painted onto the world with cleaner lines.

  He turned to look at me. His eyes were flat, emotionless. Like two deep wells with nothing at the bottom.

  And then he spoke.

  There was this lilt to his voice. A cheerful sort of hum. Like he was enjoying this.

  “Cure girls,” he said, almost fondly. “Back in my younger days, I was quite famous with them too.”

  I blinked, and it felt like my eyelids were moving through molasses.

  “...Who are you?” I asked,w ith difficulty like my tongue was paralyzed.

  He grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess.”

  Nope. Nope nope nope.

  Everything in me screamed run. But my limbs weren’t listening. I couldn’t move. Not a finger, not a twitch. My body was stone, locked in place like the rest of the chapel. The only difference was, I was aware.

  My senses were intact—hearing, sight, smell, taste, even the feel of the wooden pew under my hands. But beyond that? Nothing. I couldn’t even summon my ESP. I reached for it instinctively and got… silence. Like a dead radio.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  His smile grew wider. “You.”

  The way he said it chilled me more than the word itself. Not romantic, not greedy—just... certain. Like he’d already bought the rights to my soul and was here to collect.

  I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my voice level. “Why?”

  His eyes softened, just barely. Then he said it.

  “I missed you, son.”

  It hit me like a gut punch.

  All the oxygen seemed to evacuate the room. Not that I was breathing. I don’t think I could breathe.

  I stared at him, heart pounding in a locked chest. “...What?”

  He turned away casually, like he hadn’t just dropped an existential grenade into my life. “Ah. There it is,” he murmured to himself. “That look. You get that from your mother. The disbelief. The tension in your jaw.”

  “You’re lying,” I said. It came out quiet. Shaky.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Am I?”

  “You—” I couldn’t get the words out. Couldn’t even think straight. “You can’t be. He’s dead.”

  “So I was told,” he replied with a hint of amusement. “Strange thing, isn’t it? How often people assume that’s the end of a story. Death.” He chuckled. “But your mother knew better. So did Merrick.”

  My stomach twisted.

  Merrick.

  He knew. That bastard—he knew, and he just said it like it was a passing comment on the weather.

  “What the hell are you?” I asked. “You’re not just some guy. You froze time. You stopped the whole damn world.”

  “Please.” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s not be dramatic. I simply… made space. A pocket between seconds. Enough for a little family reunion.”

  I was shaking now, and not from cold. From inside.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, finally rising to his feet. He stood tall. Taller than me. Taller than he looked sitting down. “This isn’t the part where I hurt you. Not yet.”

  Yet.

  He walked past me slowly, trailing a hand along the back of the pew.

  “I just wanted to see you. That’s all. Remind myself what I gave up. What I’m going to take back.”

  He stopped just behind me. I felt his presence there, like static on my skin.

  “Be seeing you, Mark.”

  And then…

  Time snapped back into place like a rubber band.

  The priest’s hand came down. The sneeze went off like a canon. Mirai blinked, her sigh continuing like nothing had happened.

  And I was sitting there, heart racing, sweat on my neck, hands gripping the pew until my knuckles went white.

  No one else reacted.

  No one noticed.

  He was gone.

  “What’s the problem, Mark?”

  Mirai’s voice pulled me back like a tether around my throat. I blinked. The chapel was back in motion, reality un-paused, and I was still sweating like I’d run a marathon through a meat locker.

  “You’re sweating,” she added, frowning. “Like, a lot.”

  I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, trying to slow my breathing without making it obvious. It didn’t work. My hands were shaking. My legs felt like hollow twigs pretending to be human bones.

  “I’m fine,” I said. Lying. Horribly.

  Elena turned, one perfect eyebrow raised, lips twisted in a sneer. “Peasants will be peasants. Can’t even sit through a sermon without breaking into hysterics.”

  That did it.

  “Shut up!”

  The words ripped out of me like shrapnel. Loud. Raw. Unfiltered.

  My hand moved before my brain did, jerking toward her collar, half a second from grabbing her throat. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make something stop. Her voice. The noise. The pressure.

  Mirai caught my arm—thank God—and yanked it down.

  Eyes. Everywhere.

  The congregation turned. Rows of smug aristocrats and ghostly nobles peered over shoulders. Judging. Whispering. Staring. That same old lady from earlier blinked at me like I’d just desecrated the altar with a skateboard and a war crime.

  I stood up abruptly, my legs stiff but moving.

  “Excuse me,” I muttered, voice cracking. “Sorry. I—I need some air.”

  I stumbled out of the pew and made my way down the aisle, ignoring the ripple of murmurs following me like a cloak made of static. My feet felt disconnected from my brain. Every step echoed too loud in the stone chamber.

  I didn’t know where I was going, not really.

  I just knew I needed to move.

  No… scratch that.

  I needed to find Merrick.

  Or maybe…

  I needed to call Mom.

  My hand twitched toward my jacket pocket where my phone was buried. I stopped short, frozen on the threshold of the chapel’s exit.

  No.

  I couldn’t do that to her. Not now. Not like this.

  I didn’t want her to hear my voice shaking, or feel the fear through the phone. I didn’t want to ask her questions I wasn’t ready to hear answers for. I didn’t even know what I’d say.

  Hey Mom, you remember Dad? Surprise. He’s alive. Possibly a time-freezing psychic demon with cheekbones that could cut glass. And he wants me.

  Yeah, that’d go over well.

  I pressed my back against the cold stone wall in the corridor just outside the chapel and let my head thunk against it.

  Powerless.

  I could deal with confusion. I could handle being in the dark, being lied to, shuffled around like a chess piece. That was practically my whole life… and I preferred it that way.

  But this? This feeling?

  This powerlessness?

  I hated it.

  Hated it so deeply I could feel something ugly waking up in my chest. A red-hot itch in my spine. Not adrenaline. Not panic. Something worse.

  Bloodlust.

  It came without warning.

  A flood of irrational rage, deep and primal, poured through me like someone had flipped a switch labeled Destroy Something Now. My fists clenched. My jaw locked. I could feel my ESP energy, dulled during the freeze, suddenly spike like it was trying to punch its way out of my body.

  I wanted to hit something. Hurt something.

  Anyone.

  Just to prove I still could.

  Just to remind myself that I wasn’t helpless.

  I dug my nails into my palms until I felt the sting of skin breaking, grounding myself in pain. The pressure ebbed, just enough to think again.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  Deep breath.

  Find Merrick.

  Before this turned into something I couldn’t come back from.