Night had fully set in by the time Sean reached home. He dropped his keys twice while trying to unlock the door; his fingers were still trembling. He had tried to clean the blood off himself on the way, but dried stains remained on his shirt collar. The house was dim when he entered, with only a faint light spilling from the kitchen.
Melissa was sitting at the table. She stood up the moment she saw him.
"Sean? At this hour—" She cut herself off. Her face went pale as she took in her son's appearance. "Your face... what happened to you?"
Sean didn't answer. He walked inside without even taking off his shoes. The house felt like a foreign place. He stared at the walls, the stairs, the childhood photos all of them familiar, yet none of them offering comfort.
"Mom," he finally said, his voice weary but firm. "We need to talk."
Melissa approached him cautiously. "Not now, Sean. Let's look at those wounds first."
"My wounds don't matter." He lifted his head. "We're going to talk about my past, Mom. I want to hear the things that were kept from me. Now."
The expression on Melissa's face shifted instantly. She cast a fleeting, evasive look aside. "We've talked about this before."
"No," Sean's voice rose. "We haven't. You've just stayed silent."
The house suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. Melissa clasped her hands together. "I'm trying to protect you."
"What are you hiding from me?"
Silence.
Sean took another step closer. "There are things I don't remember. Pieces. Memories... but they're missing. It's like someone cut them out and took them."
Melissa averted her eyes.
"Mom."
"Some things are better left unknown."
"Not for me!" Sean's voice cracked. For the first time, something other than anger was audible beneath the surface. "I don't even recognize myself anymore."
Melissa looked up. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but she was still resisting. Sean took a breath deep and shaky.
"You know, Mom..." he said, his voice dropping to a slower, more fragile tone. "I really don't know who I am anymore. From time to time, the boy in those memories finds me. It's like he's trying to tell me something. And I'm changing along with him."
The words caught in his throat. He swallowed hard.
"I'm scared, Mom. Do you know that? Can you even understand? Do you think I'm asking you for nothing? Do you have any idea how much I fear myself?" His eyes were wet, but he wasn't crying. He couldn't. "Do you have any clue what I'm capable of?"
Melissa's breath hitched.
Sean continued, his voice now sounding like a child's confession. "Today... something happened. I don't remember it, but it happened. And I did it. Or I didn't. But it came from inside me. There's something inside me, Mom. And I can't control it."
He took a step back, as if even being near his mother was dangerous.
"What if I hurt you one day?" he whispered. "What if I wake up and I... don't recognize you?"
This sentence broke Melissa's resolve. She rushed to him, taking his face in her hands. "Never," she said, her voice shaking. "You would never hurt me."
Sean shook his head. "You don't know that."
For the first time, tears rolled down his cheeks. Silently.
"What am I, Mom?" he whispered. "WHAT AM I, REALLY?!!"
Melissa's lips trembled. The secret she had kept for years was beginning to crack under the weight of her son's tears. But still, she couldn't say it. She pulled him into her arms. Sean tried to resist at first, but then his shoulders slumped.
In that moment, Sean felt a cold ache in the left side of his chest. It felt like something was crawling beneath his skin something invisible yet alive. He gasped, reflexively reaching for his chest. The skin under his fingers seemed to be darkening slightly. Thin, shadow-like veins were creeping toward his wrist. Sean slowly looked at his hands. Black lines were snaking through his palm, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"No..." he whispered.
Melissa took a step, but Sean backed away. "Don't come near me!" he said, his voice sharper. "What if I lose control? What if I'm barely holding on right now?" His voice broke. "What if I hurt you..."
At that exact moment, thunder rolled outside. A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the room as if it were day. In that split second, Melissa saw something. There was a dark mark on the left side of Sean's face vein-like, yet different, as if shadow had been etched under his skin. One of his eyes looked pitch black. When the light faded, the room plummeted back into dimness.
Melissa froze. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. "I... I saw it wrong," she whispered to herself. "That's not possible..."She couldn't accept what she had seen. It had to be a trick of the light. A reflection of her fear.
Sean, however, didn't move. Because he had seen something too.
In the darkest corner of the room stood a small silhouette. Young Sean. His back was half-turned, his face in the shadows. His pitch-black eyes looked even darker in the gloom. He didn't speak. He just watched. Silent, patient, as if waiting.
Sean's gaze locked onto his. For a few seconds, it felt as if the world had gone silent. Young Sean tilted his head slightly. An unidentifiable expression touched the corners of his lips. Not quite a smile, not quite anger. Just a sense of knowing.
Sean blinked.
The silhouette vanished. The corner of the room returned to ordinary darkness.
Sean turned his head back to his mother. His eyes were tired, filled with a deep resentment. "I hope," he said slowly, his voice calm but heavy, "I hope it's not too late for everything by the time you decide to tell me, Mom."
Tears streamed down Melissa's face. She didn't know what she had seen. She didn't understand what was happening. But she could feel it: the storm inside her son was growing larger every single day.
For Melissa, the night never truly ended. After Sean retreated to his room, she paced the house restlessly. She would sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes, stand up, stare out the window, and then sit back down. Every time she closed her eyes, that image illuminated by the lightning flashed in her mind. That dark mark on Sean's face… She couldn't have seen it. She shouldn't have seen it. Even as the first light of morning filtered in, she hadn't managed a single minute of real sleep.
When her phone rang in the early hours, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. Sheriff Noah's name was on the screen. He spoke briefly and to the point: she needed to come down to the station.
Those words hit Melissa's stomach like a physical blow.
When she arrived at the station, the atmosphere was already heavy. Scott and Stiles were sitting on a bench, their faces a mix of regret and nervous tension. The moment Melissa saw Scott, her anger flared.
"Someone explain to me what this is about," she said, her voice sharp.
Sheriff Noah looked grave. "Jackson has filed a formal complaint. Because of what happened last night."
Melissa turned to Scott. "Last night?" Her voice trembled with rage. "Scott, what did you do?"
Scott hung his head. "Mom, we were just—"
"Enough!" Melissa's voice echoed off the station walls. "Last night I'm dealing with Sean, and today I find you here. What exactly is happening to my children?!"
It wasn't just a reprimand. It was the outcry of a terrified mother.
Stiles averted his gaze. Scott took a deep breath but couldn't find the right words to speak.
Melissa closed her eyes, taking a moment to pull herself together. On one side was the darkness growing inside Sean; on the other, the dangerous trouble Scott had entangled himself in. Two different sons. Two different secrets.
And both of them were slipping away from her.
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