Chapter 3: Awakening
Jay was running. His lungs burned, and his legs felt like led as he stumbled through the darkened halls of his apartment. The air was thick, suffocating, and every shadow seemed to stretch and twist toward him. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him—heavy boots thudding against the floor, drawing closer with every step.
"Mom!" he yelled, his voice breaking. He turned a corner and saw her standing in the living room, her back to him. She turned slowly, her face pale, her eyes hollow. Blood soaked her shirt, the stain spreading like ink.
"Jay…" she whispered, her voice weak.
The door behind her exploded open, and suddenly the room was filled with the deafening roar of gunfire. Jay watched in horror as his mother fell to the ground, her body crumpling like a broken doll.
He turned to see the gunmen, but their faces weren't the ones he remembered. Their reflections in the shattered mirror warped and shifted until they became the skeletal leader of The Fallen and his zombie bride. The bride raised her hand, mimicking a gun firing, her painted lips twisting into a sadistic grin. Jay tried to move, tried to scream, but his body refused to obey. He looked down and saw blood pooling around his feet, spreading faster and faster until it swallowed the room.
The bride's voice echoed, distant and mocking. "You're dead, kid."
The Hospital
Jay shot up in bed, gasping for air. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths ragged as he looked around, disoriented. The sterile white walls and faint beeping of monitors told him he wasn't at home anymore. He was in a hospital.
"JJ," a deep voice said softly.
Jay turned to see his father, Jack Hunter, sitting beside him. His father's broad shoulders were hunched, his face lined with exhaustion. He looked older than Jay remembered, his dark hair streaked with more gray, his strong jaw set tight.
"You're awake," his father said, his voice low but steady.
Jay blinked, his throat dry. "Dad…what happened?"
Jack leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "You and your mom…you were attacked in your apartment." His voice wavered slightly, but he pushed through. "Your mom…she didn't make it."
The words hit Jay like a sledgehammer. His mind reeled, fragments of the nightmare flashing through his head. "No…" he whispered. "No, that's not—"
"I'm sorry, JJ," his father said, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
Jay clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His chest ached, and his vision blurred with tears. "I should've…I could've—"
Jack reached out, placing a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't," he said firmly. "Don't do that to yourself."
Jay swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "What…what about me? Why am I okay?"
Jack hesitated, his gaze steady but cautious. "The doctors think your mom…shielded you from the bullets. You were completely unharmed, JJ. Not a single scratch."
The weight of his father's words settled over him like a heavy blanket. His mother had given her life to save his, and now she was gone. Before he could speak, the door opened, and a doctor stepped in. She was a petite woman with sharp eyes and a warm but professional demeanor.
"Good to see you awake, Jack," she said, glancing at her clipboard. "How are you feeling?"
Jay nodded faintly. "Fine, I guess."
The doctor smiled lightly. "Well, 'fine' might be an understatement. Your tests all came back normal—better than normal, actually. Aside from a little too much iron in your blood, you're the picture of perfect health." She flipped through the chart. "No injuries, no internal damage. It's remarkable, really."
Jay didn't respond, his mind too clouded to process her words. The doctor gave his father a reassuring nod. "He'll be cleared for discharge soon. Just take it easy for a while."
After the doctor left, Jay stared at the ceiling, his hands trembling slightly. "She…she saved me."
Jack stood, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Get dressed, JJ. I'll take you home."
The drive was quiet, the tension between father and son palpable. Jack gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Jay sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, his reflection ghostly against the glass.
Jack glanced at him briefly. "JJ…what happened?"
Jay didn't respond at first. His throat felt tight, and his mind replayed the events of that night over and over. Finally, he took a shaky breath.
"I…I snuck out," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Mom and I got into an argument. She caught me, and we yelled at each other. She said I was irresponsible, that I needed to grow up…"
Jack remained silent, his grip on the wheel tightening.
"I left. I went to The Pulse to meet Melanie," Jay continued, his voice cracking. "And then…the Fallen showed up. They were harassing people, and I—" He paused, struggling to find the words. "I got involved. I stole one of their bikes to lead them away."
Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt.
"When I got home, Mom and I made up," Jay said, his eyes br imming with tears. "We were talking, and then…the door…it just…" He choked on the memory. "They kicked it in. They shot her. They shot at me."
He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. "It's my fault, Dad. It's all my fault."
Jack pulled the car over to the side of the road, the engine idling as he turned to face his son. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out, pulling Jay into a firm embrace.
"You couldn't have known, JJ," he said quietly. "None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it." Jay clung to his father, the weight of his guilt momentarily lifted by the strength of his embrace.
As the car continued toward their new home, Jack's mind was already working. He didn't tell Jay, but he had no intention of letting this go. As a detective, he would dig into the attack, into The Fallen, into everything.
For now, he needed to focus on his son. Jay had been through hell, and Jack would do everything in his power to make sure he didn't have to go through it alone.