Guilty

There was a loud click, the sound of someone stopping the tape. After a brief second, the sound resumed, just static before the boy’s voice returned. “I think I mentioned it before, but that was the night before my eighteenth birthday. Frankly, I’d forgotten.”

“I’m glad I remembered to get you something in advance,” the girl said, sounding both teasing and gleeful.

“Me too, Dylan. Otherwise we’d have to try to write all this bullshit down.”

“It isn’t bullshit, Ash! It’s the fucking truth.” She sounded angry.

“I know, I didn’t mean it like that. There’s no denying it’s the truth—at least for us, but we both know it sounds insane.”

The girl heaved a sigh. “Sorry, I just... I hate knowing what the world must think.”

“That’s why we’re telling the truth now. That’s why we’re leaving behind something he can’t change... Just in case.” There was a soft, wet sound that might have been a kiss. “But that night was so important. It’s the only reason why any of this is worth it, Dylan.” There was a pause. “That night I started to dream.

“It wasn’t like any other dream I’d ever had. I have always had fairly vivid dreams, but this was wholly unlike anything I’d ever experienced. First, there was darkness deeper than just closing your eyes. It was everywhere, almost suffocating. After a long while in that darkness, I started to smell it—something like rotten fruit. That sickly sweet smell of an orange that had been in the back of the refrigerator for too long and if you get too close, permeates your clothes and hair. It’s not really a bad smell at first, but the longer you’re near it, the worse it gets—the more you realize how wrong it is. Then, just blinding pain... Blinding pain and flashes of images. The man we’d run over. Mr. Hart with a knife to Dylan’s throat. My uncle staring down at us from my bedroom window. God, and those eyes. His eyes—Silas’s eyes over and over again. I could feel those disgusting white-yellow eyes watching me.” The boy sighed heavily, as though even saying the words was physically exhausting.

“If that had been it, maybe I would have been able to pass it off as a nightmare equal to what we’d been through—even when I started to hear Silas’s voice whispering in my ear all the things he’d do to me, to Dylan... But then I saw more. I saw Silas whispering in the ear of the man we’d hit. I saw him standing in the dark with blood on his hands. I saw him standing over the wreck of the car my parents died in. I saw my mother reach out to him.”

There was a long silence and finally, sounding reluctant, the girl’s voice began, “As tired as I was, I didn’t slept much that night. I listened to the radio—anything I could find—until early in the morning. It was probably two am when I heard Ash getting restless. He kept kicking his legs, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. After a while I decided it was best for me to wake him up. I... I put a hand on his shoulder and whispered his name.” There was a significant pause before she murmured, “And he just screamed. He screamed and screamed.”

After a few comforting rustles, the boy picked up the story, remorse evident in his tone. “When I finally woke up, Dylan was huddled in the corner, hands over her ears... Just saying ‘make him stop’ over and over again.” The sound of fingers running over fabric. “I’m still sorry about that night, Dylan.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ace,” She sounded exhausted just remembering it. “It was his fault.”

“I guess so,” the boy sounded unsure. “Still, I’m so thankful for those dreams. Without those dreams, I never would have learned that Silas wasn’t omnipotent. I never would have learned that there is a way we can kill him, Dylan.”