What Was Banished

A knock sounds at my door, soft yet insistent.

“Just a minute!” I call, scooping the rest of the laundry into the basket.

The knocking intensifies.

“Geez,” I say to myself, then shout again, “I said I’m coming!”

I open the door with frustration, swinging it wide. The hooded man doesn’t ask before barging in, looking behind him as if something were chasing him.

“Hey!” I protest, as he pushes straight past me. “Who do you think you are? Get out of my house before I call the cops!”

Then, I finally see his face. I step back and look for something to defend myself with. My eyes land on the broom. Maybe not the best choice, but it’s the closest.

“You have some nerve showing up here. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t use you like my own personal pinata.” My eyes bore holes in his. 

They glance back at the door, worried. “At least shut the fucking door,” he whispers sharply. 

“No, you go right back through that door. Then I’ll shut it. You’re not welcome here after what you did.”

The man pulls back his hood. “Listen. I know you’re angry. And you have every right to be. But he’s going to find both of us if you don’t close it.”

The intensity in his eyes tells my body to shut the door before my brain can even make up my mind. I close and lock it, keeping my eyes on him, one hand always on the broom handle.

“You better start talking. You have one minute before I call the police.”

His eyes change from haunted to true remorse. “I know you hate me. But I did what I had to do. I saved countless lives that day." His eyes drop to the ground in regret. “I'm sorry your mother had to be among the ones I couldn't save." 

Anger burns hot in my chest and in my cheeks at the mention of my mother. “You don’t get to talk about her. Ever. She died because you recklessly did something you didn’t understand, and now she’s gone. Forever!” Tears burn anew in my eyes, remembering the day my dad had come home with news of her death. “My father told me how you wouldn’t listen to them, that there was another way.” My voice breaks.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I didn't listen.”

I blink, caught off guard by the admission.

“They had a theory. Your parents believed there was another way.” His jaw tightens. “But it wasn't proven. And we didn't have time.”

“So you killed her.”

“I saved everyone I could. I banished the demon the only way I knew how, and it was successful.” He pauses, then looks down at his hands. His voice continues softer, “Until now. He’s come back for revenge. Not just on me, but everyone involved, which means you’re in danger too.”

I tighten my grip on the broom. “Then I'll deal with it.”

He looks at me, and for the first time, I see something that looks like genuine terror. “You don't understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

His gaze flicks toward the locked door. “If he finds me, he won't kill me.”

A chill crawls down my spine. “Then what?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “He'll make sure I live.”

“I still don’t see what that’s got to do with me. I didn’t fight any demon.”

“No, but your parents did. He doesn't care that you had nothing to do with it. You're his way to your father.” 

My grip on the broom falters. “My father?” I shake my head. “No, he’s dead.”

The man shakes his head, eyes steadily on mine. “No. He’s not. He’s in hiding like the rest of us.”

“Liar!”

“He made sure you believed he was dead. When he stopped contacting you, it was because he thought staying away was the only way to keep you safe.”

“Then where is he?” I hold the broom back up.

“Even I do not know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He hesitates. “Because I know where the demon is going next.”

My stomach drops. “Here?”

He nods. “He knows you're alive. He knows you're his daughter. And he knows I came here.”

“So you led him to me?” The anger returning to my voice.

“No.” His expression tightens. “He was already coming.”

I stare at him. The fire inside me dies, replaced by an icy wave of dread. The blood drains from my face at the thought, and my mind races for ideas.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?” I finally ask.

“That you leave with me.”

I laugh bitterly. “You killed my mother, and now you want me to run away with you?”

“I want you alive.”

“Why?”

“Because I vowed to protect you if the demon ever returned.” He takes a breath. “It was your mother’s dying wish.”

The broom is no longer pointed at him. It simply rests in my hands as I debate my options. There aren’t many, and I have to admit his is the best. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry, Ella. If there were another way, I would take it. But there isn’t, and we need to get moving before he catches up.” He pauses for a beat. “Pack quickly and pack light. Nothing more than a backpack.”

I grab things on instinct as my mind tries to overthink what I need. Coat, a change of clothes, beef jerky, and my pistol.

I pass a framed picture—the last one I have of the three of us, taken only weeks before my mother died. The three of us smiling, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would soon tear us apart. I pick it up, stuff it into my bag, and toss it over my shoulder. 

“Ready.”

Just as I return to Eric, the lights begin to flicker.

“He’s close. Hurry.”

We run through the back door and jump into my car. I start the engine and peel out of the driveway.

“Which way?”

“North.”

“North where?”

“The old church.”

I glance at him. “The one that's been abandoned for thirty years?”

“It isn't abandoned.”

I shake my head, then turn toward the old church on the hill.

“Explain.”

“People are there who understand what’s coming. People like me. Like your father.”

“Why?“

“It was built by the Order–a safe haven against the supernatural.”

We arrive at the church, and it looks darker, almost haunted. Foreboding. 

I raise an eyebrow and glance at Eric. “This is a safe haven?”

He moves to the doors without answering, giving me no choice but to follow.

Candles light the interior, and people in cloaks argue amongst themselves. Speaking ceases, and heads turn when we enter.

“You brought her?”

“She’s an outsider!”

“Explain yourself, Eric.”

“The demon was hunting her. This is the only safe place for her.”

“What about David?”

Eric shakes his head. “Still lost.”

“What do you mean, lost?” I ask, stepping forward and grabbing his arm, turning him toward me. “You said my father is in hiding. Now he’s lost?” 

Eric's jaw tightens. “I said he was in hiding. I never said anyone knew where he was.”

A woman beside me lays a hand on my shoulder. “Many of us went into hiding when news of his release reached us. Most stayed in contact with the Order, but your father vanished entirely.”