Chapter Text
The grass, in theory, should be soft when he landed. Instead, it disappears, leaving Michael Afton to hit the cold, hard ground. He can practically hear Vanessa’s sneer of righteousness or her new family’s cheer.
Which was nonsense. There was no new family. The Aftons were an immortal name. Father always made sure of that, especially to Michael.
And now, Michael had once again failed at doing his part in the show. Like always. Vanessa never got the brunt of the blame for anything: only Michael.
Michael. Michael. Michael.
He was never the one to challenge Father—only her. Only her, and…
Michael sat up, ignoring the rattle in his head. It was all too familiar, which meant he needed to get away faster than she could catch up.
No loyalty from her. None. Which was to be expected, he scolded himself as he hobbled away. Vanessa never understood the truth of their father’s quest. Or, well, she did, but she refused to pinpoint the necessity of it.
Probably due to her lack of loyalty, Michael seethed to himself. Every problem he had with Vanessa boiled down to that one fact, didn’t it? She had no origin of loyalty nor gratitude for everything their Father set out to achieve.
“Michael,” a voice echoed from across the street.
The young man ignored the voice. He heard the wheels of the car come closer, so he merely walked faster.
“You can’t outrun me, Michael,” the grating voice spoke.
Michael knew he shouldn’t reply. “But you can’t catch me, can you?” He spun around, arms wide to face the driver.
Henry Emily looked beyond tired. Good. He was a pathetic old man with nothing better to do than to harass his former business partner’s children.
“I could take you to prison.”
“On what charges?” Michael taunted.
The man’s face became grim. “There are a great many guilts you carry, Michael. Most, for your father.”
Michael shrugged. “The responsibilities of a good son.” He turned on his heel, walking toward the woods where the road would not follow.
“I want to help you, Michael,” Emily called.
Michael held back a taunt. The last thing he needed was Henry following him like all the other ghosts his father left in his wake.
Ghosts that Michael was so close to finding.
“Your father wouldn’t have been able to bring him back, Michael.”
That froze Afton right in his tracks. His whole body went rigid with an unwelcome chill. He turned back to face his tormentor. Henry looked desperate, much like he had after losing Charlotte.
“And you won’t either. Let it rest. Let them rest.”
Oddly, Michael’s mind blanked. Nothing existed. It was pleasant. There were no echoing sounds or flashing figures of teeth surrounded by golden fur or spilt ice cream with cracked cones.
It all came back within a blink. The same haunting blink that he took before the snap.
He flinched in real time, just like he had then, and stared at the man in shock.
Henry cautiously got out of his car, hands up. “Mike—”
“Don’t call me that!” Michael shouted. He retreated back toward the brush.
“Michael, I want to help you,” Henry stressed again. “I want to help your brother.”
The world shook alongside Michael. Raw rage and uncomfortable helplessness combined in his stomach to make a sickening combo. “Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Emily.”
The man gave a desperate plea once more. Michael finally made the right choice and ignored him.
He walked until he made it to the overgrown clearing that always beckoned him after an apparent failure. In a twisted way, it reminded him that he could get away with anything. Perhaps the death of the reporting crew was truly on his hands, etched in his fingernails. Another murder by proxy under his belt, but it wouldn’t matter. At least there was no need to hide any bodies.
He sat on the large rock, surrounded by the peaceful sway of the grass in the midst of all the previous chaos.
“Henry’s wrong,” Michael promised to his first ghost. “I will put you back together. No matter the cost.”