Page 43 of Doyle

Then, I heard footsteps approaching the office. Stan’s voice broke through my haze, gentler this time.

“Michael, what are you doing down there?” Stan asked.

I couldn’t respond. My body trembled, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would all go away.

Stan knelt beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to call your dad, okay? Just hang in there,” Stan said.

He moved away, and I heard him talking on the phone, but the words were indistinct.

Eventually, I heard the front door open and close again. More footsteps, heavier this time, and then my dad’s worried voice.

“Michael?”

The sound of my dad’s voice snapped me back to reality. I looked up to see his concerned face and felt a rush of shame and relief.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again,” I blurted.

He helped me up and pulled me into a tight hug.

“Let’s take a break, okay? You need to rest,” he said.

“I can’t. I need to work. I need to—” I began, but he cut me off gently.

“Stan can handle it. Let’s just go home for now.”

I wanted to argue, to insist I was fine, but the truth was, I was exhausted. Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Okay,” I eventually said.

We left the shop, and as we walked home, I realized that no matter how much I wanted to believe I could be normal again, I would never be.

My dad surprised me by picking up a box of my favorite donuts before heading home.

I used to love eating these, but now I found them too sweet. Still, I didn't want to tell my dad that and ruin his gesture.

As we pulled into the driveway, my heart sank. The same brown car from before was parked a few houses away.

My dad noticed it too. "Is that the stalker?" he asked, his voice tight.

I nodded, my hand instinctively reaching for my cellphone to speed dial Doyle.

Before I could, my dad killed the engine and opened the car door.

"Dad, wait," I blurted out, a wave of terror washing over me.

I had seen my dad hold his own in fights before, but confronting a black witch or warlock wasn't like a regular bar fight.

"Michael, stay in here while I find out what these bastards want," my dad said firmly, slamming the door shut before I could protest.

Every muscle in my body was paralyzed. I couldn't move, couldn't think. Time seemed to slow as I watched my father stride towards the car.

My mind flashed to the other dead shifters in the cages, and I found the courage to bolt out of the door and run after him.

"Dad!" I yelled, desperation in my voice.

"Michael, get back in the car," my father shouted back.

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