Page 111 of Hide From Me

Over time, I’ve given him pieces of me. Slowly. Quietly. Hesitantly.

But he gave me shadows.Part of me wants to believe I'd scream at him for it. Another part is louder, knowing the only thing I want is to hear his voice and have the proof that he’s still breathing.

I swipe the call before I can think better of it. “What?”

There’s a pause on the other end before a chaos of voices rumbles through. It creates a kind of tension that cuts through my gut even before she begins to speak.

“Ray—hey, uh—” Her voice shakes. It’s not her usual cocky, breezy tone. This is different. This isbad.

I freeze mid-scrub, the cleaning solution in the rag dripping onto the floor.

“Laura–”

“Look, I’m gonna be there in a moment, okay?” she rushes out.

My brows furrow and my jaw clenches. I'm so sick and tired of being thrown into the dark and expected to find my way out. “What do you mean?”

“We were already coming, but there’s been an—”

“Incident,” a man interrupts, his voice clipped, efficient, like this is just another Wednesday.

My heart stops. My entire body locks.

“What incident?” I demand, but I barely get the words out—

Tires screech outside, and my head snaps to the window. For a second, my brain can’t catch up. I think I’m hallucinating again. I'm convinced my mind has decided to give me a mirage to cling to before it completely shuts down.

Moe stumbles out of the car, dragging one leg behind him, the other barely holding him up. His shoulder is gripped tightly with one hand, a makeshift bandage already soaked through and oozing dark red. His shirt is torn, bloodsmearing down the curve of his neck, his arm, his chest—like it’s painting his sins across his skin.

His eyes burn with intense focus, as if he is forcing himself not to fall while he limps up the steps. He doesn’t slow down for a second, and it makes me wonder if he even feels any pain at all.

The door slams open with such force that it rattles the frame.

“Sunshine!”

His voice breaks as he calls my name, cracking wide open like he has been holding his breath for a lifetime and has finally let it go. His eyes—oh, those eyes—search the room until they find me. The moment they do, everything about him softens.

All that fire, all that fight, all that torment—gone in an instant.

He looks at me as if I am the only thing keeping him upright.

“I—I figured it out,” he pants, stumbling toward me, one hand braced against the wall, leaving a smear of red on the paint like a signature. His body shakes with the effort of staying on his feet.

“Ray, I—fuck—”

I want to move–I want to run to him–but I can’t. My feet are glued to the floor, my heart breaking out of my chest as the smell of smoke, iron, adrenaline, and something wrong punches me in the nose.

“Jon. It’s him.Jonathan.He’s my father. And you know what that means? That means I’m not like them. Not like my mother. Not like my grandfather. I’m not some cursed ticking time bomb.”

He says it like it’s salvation but all I see is him falling apart right in front of me and I don’t know how to save him.

His hand drops from his shoulder, and blood pours like a faucet turned on, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I’ve been so fucking scared that the madness in my mother would eat me alive. That the violence in my blood was all I’d ever be.”

His voice trembles with a mix of awe and desperation, a frenzied revelation that makes the room feel even smaller.

“But I’m not—I’m not them. I’m his son, and he’s good. He’s a leader. He has honor. That means maybe... maybe I’m not too far gone.” His grin stretches too wide, teeth blood-stained and cracked with adrenaline. His eyes are glassy, wild, too bright to be sane.