Geek wolf

Eli looked at the man standing before him, worry etched across his face. There was an odd, almost astral presence about this stranger—something that reminded Eli of Peter, who carried a throng of angry ghosts at his back. Yet this was different: unlike Peter, every ghost here seemed trapped inside the man's staff.

Eli could almost taste their screams, their regret, their rage. And then there was the man himself, eyeing him with something that might have been curiosity. It was hard to be sure. The ghosts were like blinding lights, and Eli felt as though he were squinting into the sun, just trying to meet the man's gaze.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the man said. He didn't seem to expect an answer.

He gestured vaguely, and Eli realized the man was speaking of the strange magic he had used to bring Eli here. "Magic... Such a beautiful thing." A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. "But this world is selfish, giving power to a newborn while countless people starve for just a taste of it."

Suddenly, the man slammed his hand onto the ground. A surge of energy burst out, snatching Eli forward and dragging him into the man's grip. The impact jolted Eli, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. It felt like swallowing another person's vomit—he could taste the stranger's resentment and death in every pulse of that magic. For the first time, real fear settled in his gut.

"That's why I took it from you," the man said quietly. "Back then, you could barely see."

A flood of memories assaulted Eli, as though he were trapped in a flashback.

"I was a janitor at Beacon Hills Hospital," the man's voice went on. "I hated that job. I wanted to make it as an artist, or maybe with my so-called magic tricks. And then, one night, you started crying. The nurses were busy. I just wanted a little peace, but no—you, the world's spoiled brat, decided your frustrations were bigger than mine." He let out a bitter laugh. "I tried everything to make you laugh, but you wouldn't. You looked at me like I was the most ridiculous man alive, and I realized how pathetic I was."

For a moment, the man fell silent, as though calming himself. Then his red eyes glowed, sharp and dangerous. He swung his staff with a sudden burst of power, hurling Eli into the air before smashing him backward. Even with the 500 defense granted by his gear, Eli was flung across the dirt, landing hard and rolling a good distance. He bit back a groan as he tried to push himself upright.

"Back then," the man continued, his voice low with anger, "I was so frustrated, I thought about trying a child sacrifice spell—just a twisted joke, really. But when I spoke those words, they came out so easily. It was subtle... powerful. I fell into a trance. When I snapped out of it, I was standing over you with a knife. I was horrified—wondering what I was doing—and right as the first drop of your blood was about to spill, some strange force blasted me into the wall."

Even as he spoke, a new wave of invisible power lifted Eli into the air and slammed him into the ground. Pain shot through every bone in his body.

"Serves you right," the man sneered, raising his staff triumphantly. "It was your magic—" He paused, then grinned. "Well, let's just say it was my magic, just inside your body. Once I funneled it into myself, I felt so alive. So free. So powerful.

Finally, I had the magic I'd always desired. But it cut off just before I could complete the ritual. And then the damn nurses came—I had to run. If only I'd stayed to finish the job."

His eyes burned with renewed fury. "But now I'm here, and this time, all that magic will be mine."

The man gathered a huge amount of magic into his staff, then shot it at Eli, and he was knocking him unconscious.

Eli woke up in a strange room. The floor was golden, or some of it was—the lines of gold making circular patterns around him, with strange things in jars. He looked around, unable to tell where he was, struggling against his restraints.

A voice came from the corner. "You're finally awake."

Eli could now make out the man's figure. He looked old, despite the essence around him suggesting he should have been younger than his parents. The man asked, "Do you like my face? This is your fault. I'm supposed to be 29 years old, but look at me." He paused. "My magic has been acting up. I get backlash because the ritual wasn't finished. You see, this is the result: an old, wrinkled face on a poor, young boy. That changes tonight."

Neil was panicking. Where was his son? Why was this happening to him now? Why had they gone for his son? Aren't they afraid of his retaliation? What if he—what if he—what if he—?

Almost like a bullet going off in his head, Neil realized that no amount of revenge could get his son back. He would give them what they wanted. He just needed his son.

He picked up the phone.

"Mr. Saunders? Yes, it's Neil. I agree."

Stilisky was losing his mind. One thing after another—first, a dead family, now a missing child. He was starting to think the world had it out for him, especially with the woman in front of him and his young deputy trying to explain how she had frightened him by banging on his window, asking for her son. What kind of crazy person would shoot a grieving mother? Telling his deputy to shut up, he bent down to feel her pulse. A taser wouldn't kill her, but it could still cause a lot of harm.

Before he could act, he heard her whisper weakly, "Where's my son? Find my son."

Yeah, Stilisky really hated this job.