Loss is supposed to mean the absence of something. You lose your keys or some money or someone you love, and whether they are truly gone or you’re just unaware of their presence, their loss is supposed to be subtractive. And in some ways it is—your peace of mind is less or your happiness is stolen. At its worst, loss takes your life’s reason to be.
But loss isn’t just a void. When you lose something that truly matters, it’s a tangible presence that takes with one hand while giving with the other, wrapping its cold arms around your shoulders as its weight bears down on you. It gifts you with guilt and regret and sadness, all the while whispering in your ear hard truths and sharp little pledges of loyalty. Promises that unlike that which you had lost, it will never, ever leave you.
It's been thirty-four years since I lost Rebecca. Thirty-four years since I felt such pain and desolation that I felt sure it would break me in two. Thirty-four years since I began my journey into a world that lies beneath the world I’d known—a dangerous world that has frequently terrified me and nearly killed me, but has also given me a renewed sense of purpose. Saving others from things like the monster that took my wife from me.
And all that time, her loss has hung on me, trying to pull me down. Telling me that it was my fault she died, and that despite all my time and work, it would amount to nothing. I would, in the end, always disappoint. Always fail the ones that trust me and that I love the most.
Two years ago, I lost my daughter and son-in-law, and that loss hurt me deeply, but it was of a different quality. Part of it was because I didn’t see them as often, though I loved my little girl very much and had great respect and affection for the man she had married. Part of it was because I’ve changed over the years. I’ve kept myself separate from the world and unattached from those I loved, telling myself it was for their protection, when in truth it was as much to protect myself from the risk of the pain I know love can bring.
I focused on the work and the research. On the hunting, and the atonement I hoped fighting these creatures and their servants would bring. And for a time, in its way, it worked. I was distracted and driven as I traveled through the dark and unfathomable waters of this other world. I stared up at night skies that were comforting in their increasing unfamiliarity as I moved farther and farther from my past, my family, and the man I’d been. It felt like I was escaping that life and all the pain it held for me. And while my loss had never left me, it was harder to hear the farther I moved from shore.
And then I met Jason.
Not Jason the child, Jason of fading and distant memories, but Jason the man. A man that seemed intelligent and kind, thoughtful and strong. He reminded me so much of my daughter—and my sweet Rebecca—that it was hard to bear at first. All the time I’d spent distancing myself from that love and pain fell away in a matter of minutes, and by the second night, I was telling him about her. Trying to guard my words and failing as I found myself back in the rotten field where Salk had left her. So I made excuses and left, going out to hunt, seeking refuge in the habits that had become my home.
And later that night, Jason saw me from his window.
In the days and weeks and months that followed, Jason was drawn deeper and deeper into my other world and way of life. He became more than a grandson to me. He became my best and only true friend.
The chain of coincidence that led to all of this isn’t lost on me. If we hadn’t been at that house together, if I hadn’t talked strangely and left abruptly, if I hadn’t taken that particular woman and brought her back, and if Jason hadn’t chosen that particular moment to look down and see me unloading her body…well, we might have remained passing familial acquaintances at most.
And yet.
I am a careful man, both by nature and necessity. I’m far from infallible, but I rarely act without reason or react without some idea of the branching probabilities laid out before me. And there are times when I wonder about the coincidences that led to Jason being drawn into this life.
Didn’t I know my truck was loud and the door hinges squeaked? Hadn’t I noted the moonlight as I’d laid in wait for the outsider at her home? And wasn’t I aware that Jason’s window gave a clear view of my return? Hadn’t I, in the deeper recesses of my always roving mind, seen a path that led to Jason being a bigger part of my life—of this life?
These thoughts, once uncomfortable and unwelcome self-doubt, have become something else of late. Fear that I have killed my grandson, or perhaps doomed him to a fate worse than death if he is still with the Gravekeeper or trapped in the Nightlands as I suspect. A growing, crippling terror that whatever others have done to Jason, the ultimate blame can be laid at my feet. At my failure to be strong and let my loss remain my only companion.
I tell you all of this because I want you to understand that I haven’t tortured you out of malice or some perverse desire. My friend, that young girl you glimpsed when I was closing the door, she is a strong and wonderful person as well. A good friend to me and Jason. But she can’t fully appreciate what this means to me or understand what I’m willing to do to fix things. And she is too useful for me to lose due to misplaced mercy.
So for now, in this, I’m alone. Well, not totally alone. I have my loss, and for a few moments more, I have you. It’s nearly over now. I believe you that you don’t know anything about the Nightlands. Remarkably, I think most outsiders are strangely ignorant about certain aspects of their nature, but there are exceptions, and I can’t squander any opportunity. Given what you did to those families, you don’t deserve any sympathy, but I still don’t relish this kind of brutality.
But sleep now. I’ll pull samples and then you’ll float away. I hope wherever you wake, it’s better than here.
Sleep.
I look up as Patrick comes out of “the Cage”, the name he’s given to the dungeon in our new base of operations. He doesn’t let me go in there when he has one of them, and I know its because he doesn’t want me to see what he’s doing to them. Thinks that I couldn’t stomach it. And while I think he’s wrong, I’m grateful to not have to test my own limits.
Besides, I’ve been at work myself, and after months, I may have actually found something. I wanted to interrupt him in the Cage, but didn’t quite dare. So instead, I’ve sat here fidgeting and rereading the unencrypted file Jonas just sent me from the data pull at Tattersall Alpha.
It had gotten flagged not only because of what it contains, but because it corroborates a rumor I’ve tracked down in the last few weeks. Of a place of occult power that exists. A place that both occultists and House members have tried to find without success—at least those that returned at all. Stories of a place of magic and wishes and death and openings to other worlds.
Patrick looks so tired as he gives me a slight shake of his head. “I’m done in there, Janie. It didn’t know anything. Let me wash up and we’ll get some…” He pauses, raising his eyebrows. “What is it?”
Swallowing, I stand up, trying to keep my voice from trembling, not wanting to give him too much hope until we knew more. “I…I think I found something.”
He takes a step forward, his eyes widening. “What? Tell me.”
I shrug. “It may be nothing, but there’s a place. I’m not sure exactly where, but comparing what I’ve heard from my people to the files we’ve cracked from the House, I think I can narrow it down enough to look for it. But this place…it may be a way into the Nightlands.”
Patrick’s hand trembled as he brought it up to rub his mouth with a nod. “I…I see. What kind of place is it?”
“It’s a cave. Called Mystery.”
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Credits
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