Son of Lazarus

Chapter 13: Secrets Revealed

December 10th, 2040 
1:23 p.m.

   Two months since the Incident. Amiel refused to leave my side and remained hidden within my shadow, mimicking every little thing I did. I had refused to speak to my father about what happened, too afraid of what he would think of me if I told him. But since that day, there's been this voice inside my skull, urging me to tell my dad the truth.

   "Dad," Tristan called out, standing from where he was seated on the familiar sofa their house had. He'd been watching his favorite show, the one that he'd been watching before all of this happened. Now, Tristan rose from the sofa and abandoned the television, walking down the hall and into the kitchen.
   He stopped in the doorway, watching his father mill around the kitchen making lunch. "Can I ask you something?"
   His father looked up for a moment before returning his gaze to the food he was preparing. "Sure," he said. "What's up, Sport?"
   A smile appeared on Tristan's face at the nickname. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched his father put down the knife he'd been holding before he picked up a clean hand towel. Tristan's father then turned his full attention onto his son.
   Silence rang in the air for a moment before Mark spoke again, asking a simple question: "What's on your mind?"
   Tristan took a deep breath of air into his lungs to try and collect his thoughts. Then he forced himself to speak, knowing that his father wasn't going to like what he said.

   "About what happened that day," he said, pausing to search for the right words. Tristan drew his tongue across his dry, cracked lips. "I did it. I'm the one who killed them."
   He watched as his father's eyebrows arched over his eyes and he stopped his father before the man could say anything.
   "I didn't do it alone, of course," Tristan continued quickly, his arms raising so that his palms were splayed out toward his father. "I had someone with me who did the act. I just gave the command."
   "What do you mean, son?" Concern flickered into his father's eyes despite the obvious blank expression he wore.
   "I mean," Tristan began, keeping his voice as calm as he possibly could, but he couldn't keep it from shaking. "That I killed those men at the asylum. I'm the reason the cops said they couldn't go any further past Room Seven.
   "And what makes it scary is that...I'm not the one who killed the soldiers." Tristan swallowed hard against the lump that had formed at the base of his throat. His hands felt clammy and suddenly he didn't think it was a good idea to say it. But it had to be said.
   "The one who did," he began, "was a woman dressed in black." Tristan watched his father jump, his eyes were round as moons. His words had made his father physically start, yet the man said nothing.

   Tristan felt his throat run dry and no amount of swallowing his saliva would fix it. "Afterward," he continued. "She cupped my face and I felt...strangely calm." Still, his father said nothing. Tristan planted his hand against his forehead and pushed his fingers through his black hair before drawing his hand down over his face.
   "Amiel's the one who—"
   "Whoa," he heard his father say at last and saw Mark extending a hand out to stop Tristan from talking. "Rewind and pause, Kiddo. Who's Amiel?"
   Tristan's face gained a look of bewilderment as he stared at his father. It seemed far-fetched to Tristan that his father didn't know who Amiel was.
   "He's my nightmare," Tristan said simply, looking behind him at his shadow. He could feel Amiel stirring in it, awaiting orders. He knew that his father was looking at him like he had lost his mind, but then again, Mark couldn't see what Tristan was seeing.
   "He's the one who helped me during the Incident and...he's also the reason why the Incident happened at all."
   Tristan took a deep breath, his eyes closing before he splayed open the fingers on his left hand. He could feel his shoulders moving in an upward fashion for a moment. Then he dropped his gaze onto his father.