Luke’s mom scares him, sometimes. Most of the time, actually.
“Oh, my son,” she coos, pressing a kiss to his brow. Her eyes are normal now, but she’s not looking at him when she says that. “You are both so darling.” Gently, she brushes against a spot just above his shoulders. He shudders. Her touch feels good against the feathers.
But they aren’t his. No, they belong to that thing. The many-winged thing that lives in his shadow preens at the attention. Luke tries not to acknowledge it. Mom says it’s his guardian angel. But what kind of angel has that many eyes? They just keep staring at him. And they cry. They cry so loud and it hurts, and at night he can see the blood dripping from them and seeping through the floorboards.
But Mom doesn’t care. She says she loves him just the same. His shadow leans down and whispers into his ears.
We should take her with us. Envelop her in our wings so that she’ll always be near. She’ll be safe with us forever and ever.
We won’t let them take her. We can’t. They’ll kill her. They’ll kill her and everyone you love, and it will be all your fault.
Luke hates it. He hates all of it. He hates this house and his mom’s screaming fits and how this shadow just keeps saying these horrible, horrible things that can’t possibly be true.
His mom says that his dad can fix anything. That he’d always come if he called. That’s why he’s standing here over the phone, waiting for him to pick up.
Rage tears holes into the floorboards, sending Mom’s little knick-knacks clattering to the floor. His ears are ringing. His chest burns. Beneath the haze of blurred tears, he can make out a blurred figure with wrathful eyes blazing gold.
You’re going to be just like your mother, his shadow croons.
He has to get out of here, Luke thinks to himself, shoving whatever he can find into his cruddy little backpack. He ignores how his shadow scrabbles against the doorframe, desperate to stay with the one person who ever truly loved him.
When he leaves, all that remains is the rotting silence of what was.
