Page 24 of Deceiver (Soul Chasers #2)

Keagan

“ W ake up.”

A shiver moves through as awareness slowly returns. When I drag my eyelids open, my surroundings make no sense to me. The ground is cool, covered with fallen leaves under a canopy of trees. The sun is long gone and darkness envelops me.

I sit up abruptly, breathing hard. “Where am I?”

“We’re gonna try something, Keagan. All you have to do is follow my instructions.”

“Dad?” I peer through the darkness but see no one. “Is that you?”

“You’ve done such a good job so far, my boy.”

It must be my dad, but his voice doesn’t sound right. Like it’s mixed with other voices and far away.

“This is our first task. If it works, we’ll be able to finish my project. Together.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

“There’s a house on the other side of this tree line. Go to it now.”

I get to my feet, brush the leaves from my jeans, and walk in the direction of a dim streetlight I can just make out. Through the trees, I spot a small house sitting at the end of the street. This area is rural as fuck, and I have no idea where I’m at.

“There’s a shed to the left,” Dad says. “Go in there.”

“Whose house is this? This is trespassing. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You won’t. Go to the shed.”

Reluctantly I head that way, my feet seemingly moving on their own.

“Where are you?” I ask in vain.

“I’m all around you. I’m in you. Go into the shed.”

I reach the small wooden structure and push the door open, and I’m immediately hit with a stench that makes my stomach turn. I cover my nose. “What is this place?”

“Just do as I say. Look on the workbench.”

It’s dark, but I make my way inside, my hand extended to feel what’s around me. I walk straight into the wooden bench.

“Good. There should be a small hatchet. Be careful not to cut yourself.”

“A hatchet?” I feel around carefully until I find the shape of a wooden handle. “Think I’ve got it.”

“Take it with you.”

I pick up the hatchet, holding it to my chest. “What now?”

“Go inside the house.”

“What? No. I can’t.”

“You can,” my dad says, his voice somehow dark. Gone is the fatherly affection I felt from him the last few times we spoke. “I need your help. I can’t do it alone.”

“Who’s house is this?”

“Stop asking questions.”

“No way. If someone calls the cops, I’m the one here, not you.”

“No one is out here. Go in the fucking house, Keagan.”

The demand startles me, and I get the distinct feeling that I’d better do what I’m told. I quickly feel through my pockets, realizing I don’t have my phone with me. How could I? I don’t even remember how I got here. But that means I can’t call Wilder or anyone else for help.

“I’ll go in if you tell me how I got here.”

The air around me cools, and it’s so quiet I wonder if somehow my dad left, but then my chest tightens.

“You walked here.”

“Walked? Why don’t I remember?”

“I don’t know. Now go in the house.”

With a sinking feeling, I trudge towards the front door, nervous as fuck about what I’m going to find. I try the handle and it opens easily. The door wasn’t locked.

The house smells horrible—almost as bad as the shed did, but different.

The air is stale, like the windows and doors haven’t been opened in years, and the scent of decaying food turns my stomach.

There’s an additional foul smell that I can only guess is urine.

Hopefully from an animal and not a person.

“Down the hall,” my dad says.

I turn to my right, peering into the dark hallway. There’s a dim light down there, and murmuring voices coming from a room.

“I don’t want to go,” I whisper. “Please, Dad.”

“I always wanted a son, you know,” he says, his voice softening. “A son I could mentor and who would follow in my footsteps. I thought I’d have more time, but at least we can have this. You can be the son I always longed for. Unless, of course, you’re too afraid.”

My throat tightens with emotion as my thoughts turn cloudy. “Okay, Dad. What do you need?”

“That’s my boy. Go into the room at the end of the hallway. Be quiet.”

Nodding, I creep down the hallway and peer inside the room where the light is coming from. There’s a small TV sitting on a round table. The room is filled with junk and trash, and under a very narrow window is a beat-up couch with a man sleeping soundly on it.

I recoil in an attempt to back out of the room, but it’s like there’s a wall behind me.

“This is gonna be easy,” my dad says in my ear, even though I still can’t see him. “He’s sleeping. Probably drunk.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He doesn’t answer me, but my body lurches forward involuntarily, and I feel my arm raising the hatchet in the air over the man’s chest. Panic spreads through me, and I resist as best I can.

“Do it.” My dad’s voice vibrates through me. “He’s scum and he betrayed me. He stole from me.”

“I’m not hurting him.”

“Yes, you are. That’s why I brought you here. I’m not strong enough yet, but you are.”

A heaviness settles over me, almost like I can feel his hands on my shoulders, gripping tightly and digging his fingers into my flesh.

“This is your chance, Keagan. Your chance to prove to me that you really are my son. You can take up my cause and make things right. There’s only four people left, give or take.”

The reality of his words twists around my chest, squeezing my lungs. “You said you didn’t do it. You said it was a demon.”

“Maybe it is a demon that makes me do things, or maybe it’s just a need for justice.”

“Killing people is not justice. You’re a murderer.”

“And now you will be too.”

My arm twitches toward the man, who is thankfully still snoring and unaware of what’s happening right under his nose. I have to get out of here. I have to figure it out.

“It’s easy, Keagan. One good hit across the neck or into his heart and he’ll bleed out.”

The room seems to swirl around me, and I stumble slightly but manage to catch my balance.

“No. I won’t do it.”

Tightness grips my neck, as if there are hands wrapped around it, and within seconds, I find it hard to swallow.

It’s clear to me that my own life is in danger, but there’s no way I’m chopping up another human being.

I spin around at the sound of a car approaching. Someone’s here!

“Fuck,” my dad says as the pressure around my neck subsides. “Make it fast.”

Instead, I dart from the room, running toward the back door as quickly as I can, even though it feels like my legs are knee deep in thick mud. I make it outside, slamming the screen door behind me, and I tear off into the woods, running as fast as I can until my lungs burn and my legs ache.

I fall to the ground, clawing at the dirt and leaves while trying to catch my breath. I need help. I need Wilder.