Chapter Text
The glass shattered with a screeching sound as that horrible metal cane was thrown at him, and the wall was completely destroyed moments later. Tiny fragments flew straight at his face and embedded themselves in his skin, making his throat close as he felt a groan trying to escape his mouth. The pain was immediate, but he had learned to live with it after so many years of torture.
"Failure. Failure." The old scrap metal repeated, shrill sounds emanating from the tubes around him and that empty gaze through the greenish glass embedded in the air mask.
"I'm not a failure!" He shrieked in frustration, trying to tear the glass shards from his face. Tears burned his cheeks more than the blood that dried between old and new wounds.
He hated them.
He hated them so much; she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve him.
Theo opened his eyes quickly. His back was drenched in sweat, and his hands trembled. He could barely manage a few breaths as the cold night air burned his lungs, and he had to sit up in the truck seats to process whatever it was he had dreamed.
"What...?" He murmured when he finally caught the breath that had escaped his lungs, pressing his open palm to his chest, remembering the space that used to hold his heart and that now beat with his sister's.
Theo stared into space for a moment, lost among fragmented memories, scattered across the vastness of what the Dread Doctors had taken from him. He always knew they had stolen more than just his humanity, but he never wanted to delve too deeply into that darkness in his mind, convinced that power would erase that empty feeling in his body.
Now there wasn’t any power he desired to take.
Theo let out a heavy sigh, banishing the volcano of thoughts from his mind. He could deal with it later.
He got out of the truck and stretched. From the sun sinking behind the horizon, he knew it was around eight o'clock at night, just in time to get to the job he was about to be fired from. Again. At least he'd managed to sleep for a while that afternoon without any stupid cop saying a word to him.
Theo trudged over to the establishment where he'd parked his truck. It was a small, old-fashioned diner with outdated colors. The front used to have a glass wall that served as a display window, letting light into the room. Now, all that remained was a gaping hole surrounded by broken glass, the sign sagging to one side. Theo didn't want to admit it was his fault, but it was.
A tall man, around forty years old, peered out as soon as Theo reached the back door. The man waited for him for a few seconds before turning and walking to a small office across the hall, avoiding the door that led to the room where people were already repairing the broken glass.
The young chimera grimaced and followed the man. He already knew what he was going to say anyway. He walked past the half-open door that revealed the shattered glass wall. Perhaps he could have solved the problem another way, but he couldn't force himself to care enough about that shitty store to have thought of any other solutions.
When he finally reached the office, the man was already there waiting for him.
"That damn panoramic window costs at least $11,000, Liam," he said, face twisted in a grimace of worry and weariness—a weary expression for a weary supervisor.
The man leaned against the desk of the only office in the small establishment. For such a small, shabby place, $11,000 worth of broken glass was a complete exaggeration.
“You’ll have to cover everything. The insurance company said they won’t cover anything because the security cameras didn’t even show what happened, and…” the old man paused, looking at the computer displaying the video file. Nothing but the date—Saturday, April 25, 2018—was displayed on the screen; the rest was completely black and filled with static. “… you were the only one working here that day.” The man’s voice was actually gentle, not at all hostile. But Theo’s shoulders were already tense, and his jaw was clenched tightly, wanting to just get out of there.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you… The owner even wanted to press charges, instead, he just wants you to cover the total cost,” he continued. But Theo wasn't paying attention anymore. The man's voice echoed in his head, and all he could do was replay in his mind the way he'd thrown that stupid Wendigo into the air. He shouldn't beat himself up, but he couldn't help it. A sharp, gnawing discomfort lingered in his mind, because he could have handled the situation differently.
It had been an ordinary Saturday, just two days ago. The same old routine. Get up at eight o'clock at night, go to work, grab some of the leftovers the cook had prepared, and relax because not many people came to the diner after 12 o’clock, especially not to order several sodas and a single fried egg. He could have been a little more worried when a very beautiful woman arrived and ordered exactly that, as if that were the new breakfast of evil—at least when he was evil, the breakfast also included toast and coffee. He could have been a little more worried when that same woman started flirting with him as she plunged the knife into the boiled egg as if trying to turn it into puree. He could have been a little more worried when the woman showed him her glassy eyes and enormous, sharp fangs began to grow.
From there, it only took the woman half an hour to try and slash his face with the jam knife, and Theo had to throw her against the glass when his physical safety was threatened. He hadn't expected her to fall like dead weight and shatter the glass completely.
The sharp-fanged woman got up, her face covered in cracks, and lunged at him again, as if nothing else could occupy her mind but the desire to devour him. He had to punch her in the face until she was unconscious, but he should have killed that disgusting rat, because there was no way he could pay for that glass without going bankrupt; even selling his truck wouldn't cover part of it.
"It's okay, don't worry, Mr. Genaro." He forced a wide smile onto his face, the softest and most reassuringly manipulative one in his arsenal.
"I'm sorry you have to go through this, Liam," Mr. Genaro gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and Theo was so tempted to give in to his annoyance and rip his fingers off right there. But no, Mr. Genaro was a good man and father. He couldn't afford to harm the few good people he knew, knowing that someone from that pack of busybodies could track him down and lecture him. He'd already had to deal with them regarding two different incidents where he'd accidentally hurt two humans. There wouldn't be a third time, especially knowing how hard it had been for him to completely distance himself from them.
"Thank you anyway, Mr. Genaro. " The old man continued to look at him with concern, even as Theo turned to leave.
He could keep his good boy's facade for Mr. Genaro; he'd been the only one to offer him a helping hand since he moved to Palo Alto, California. The only one who gave him a job with just a name and an address from another city. Yes, he could do good for Mr. Genaro.
Before he even managed to step out of the office, a whiff of celery and cheap cologne pierced his nostrils like a dagger. He'd smelled worse before, but the celery smell was always awful. He bit his tongue to stifle any reaction just as a short, chubby old man stood before the door, grimacing.
"Little mister Liam Dunbar." It was only four words. The name Theo Raeken had chosen, the name he decided he should be called by. Even so, he hated every damn syllable those greasy lips uttered. That old man had no right to use that name against him.
A cloud of bad breath wafted through the room, and Theo openly covered his nose. When the old man entered, Mr. Genero stiffened immediately. The little man glanced at the black computer screen with the date displayed and grimaced before turning back to Theo.
"Mr. Tantrum," he muttered, his voice rasping. Whenever he saw this man, his throat went dry, like the memory of someone constantly judging him all the time.
“You know very well that it's Ta-nne-trum, insolent brat.” Theo grimaced and crossed his arms. He didn’t have to be nice to this guy; he didn’t have to be even remotely civil. Mr. Genaro cleared his throat, and Tannetrum let out an exasperated snort. “I hope your supervisor told you that you’ll never work another shift here again.”
“He did.”
“And you also have to pay for everything you broke.”
“Mr. Tannetrum–”
“Don’t interfere, Genaro! This boy has already caused us too much trouble. The coffee maker on his first day, the number of customers who—for some reason—hate him, and now that glass. Can you even pretend to not be totally deranged, Mr. Dunbar?"
"Trust me, I’m pretending just fine, Mr. Tantrum," he snarled irritably. Which was only half the truth, since he wasn’t going to pretend any more than he has to for something he didn't give a damn about. The plump man let out an incredulous laugh, and Theo imagined his claws tearing his throat for a second.
"And now you’re threatening me?!"
"Mr. Tannetrum, please," Mr. Genaro tried once more. Theo was trying to control the annoyance that snaked up his spine. That old man was lucky Raeken had decided to keep a low profile, or the janitor would have to scrub his trachea off the walls.
"Listen to me carefully, brat. You have a very serious behavioral problem. I don't even know why I decided not to call the cops after what you did to the glass! You're a menace!" This guy was so dramatic that Theo was seriously starting to consider murder. Although then he'd have to kill Mr. Genaro too so there wouldn't be any witnesses, that would definitely tarnish that name's legal record.
Mr. Genaro pressed his brow and moved slowly toward Theo, trying to get Mr. Tannetrum's attention.
"You'd better leave, Liam," he murmured softly, still with that sorrowful expression that made Theo want to reconsider his life choices.
“Thank you, Mr. Genaro,” he murmured back, starting to walk toward the door.
“Mr. Tannetrum–”
“Listen to me carefully, Genaro! I’m going to sue that boy! He’d better go back to his stupid, godforsaken little town! All those villagers are deranged! That boy included!”
By the time Theo heard that shout, he had already managed to slip out the door. His worn boots echoed across the wooden floor to the back of the cafeteria, where the gate to the parking lot was, and there, as always, parked his beloved partner in crime, the old, reliable pickup truck.
He got into the car with an exhausted sigh and gripped the steering wheel tightly. His brow furrowed immediately, trying to control the headache that was forming in his forehead.
Eleven thousand dollars.
Eleven thousand dollars he didn't even have on credit.
Eleven thousand dollars he didn't even own.
"I could steal it," he thought aloud. The words floated in the air with a familiar simplicity, like something truly concrete. But... "That would prove that decrepit old man right." He cut his thoughts off immediately. He wasn't going to give 11,000 dollars he didn't have to someone who didn't deserve it.
Mr. Tannetrum's words came back to him, not just his words about that town, which were actually accurate, but there was something else in what he said. He would sue him. He would sue Liam Dunbar.
Theo wrinkled his nose; it was a name. A name, and the only root he had managed to acquire after so many years of torment. He couldn't ruin that too.
"Liam Dunbar," he muttered under his breath. The name felt heavy on his tongue, but his lungs filled with so much air, as if he’d never taken a full breath until then. “and… Beacon Hills.” The heaviness of these words, on the other hand, was immediately discomforting, and the full breath escaped him.
That person’s name and the town where he had broken more things than he had fixed were connected, like a fairy tale in a nightmare. And yet…it was where he had a chance to fix his mistake without Liam finding out. It was a desperate approach, yes, but simple and didn’t require too much work.
He put the keys in the ignition and started the engine. The warm air from the heater hit his cheeks immediately, and he allowed himself to sigh before driving off.
He had a plan, a dubious and highly questionable plan. But questionable things always brought in money, and that was exactly what he needed.