Shadows Beneath the Surface | Episode 1

 I was eight years old when my father just vanished. A normal drive back home, one like any other, not worth remembering suddenly turned into the most important and tragic event in my life.

 

My mother was at the wheel, driving our old Toyota, I was in the back seat, and he was in the passenger seat. It was late at night, we were returning from a school event, they were talking, as usual, speaking about how well I had done at the recital or something. Suddenly, dad told mom that we should stop for a second at the gas station, he had to do something quickly, mom let out a giggle and pulled over, we sat and waited for a bit. As the minutes slowly and painfully turned into an hour, mom's expression changed from patience into worry, and then into something I hadn't seen before in her: fear. She got off, leaving the car door open behind her, the cold air of the night brushing against my fur, I grasped the armrest firmly. Not even two minutes passed, she had returned, alone, "Ethan, we are going home." she said, I wanted to tell her to stay, to wait for dad a bit longer. Yet I couldn't. I simply was unable to speak up, tears flowing down my face in silence. That night, my mother, Emily Carter, called the police over and over again, pleading for them to search for her husband, Daniel Carter. Their search lasted for weeks-- missing posters went up, people whispered in town, about how he'd "left us for another family, you know how cats are", mom didn't sleep more than a few hours, she stayed up all night, researching where he could have gone, or what could have happened. The police eventually stopped searching, "Vanished without a trace" they said, mom and I didn't believe, a hollow excuse wouldn't satisfy us, yet we couldn't do anything but move forward, we did everything in our power.

 

You know, there's a saying I've always heard from everyone, cats always land on their feet, I don't know how true that is, I've spent most of my life falling, never really touching the floor. The city didn't change much since that night twelve years ago, yet I did, and a lot. I graduated with high grades, went to one of the best colleges in the area, and started working short shifts at our family's business, the Carter's Hardware Store. Success doesn't come without a  price to pay, though, my back and legs ache like I'm an old man, I can't really move like you would a 20-year-old cat to move. When you have to start working at nine, moving crates, stocking up shelves, carrying heavy pieces of metal, that kind of thing wears you down. But my good and trusty walking stick always helps. 

Today's a nice and sunny day, my classes just ended, I check my watch and let out a tired sigh "Just a few more hours until I have to study..." my routine is as familiar to me as this city: wake up, shower, eat breakfast, go to class, return home, study and work at night, I can't really question it anymore, it's just my life now. The hardware store isn't far from my apartment either, I know every crack in the pavement leading up to it, I recognize every single house and store on the sides of the street, I reach the door, but stop at the door without entering. Mom's on the phone, her voice hushed but sharp, "Yes, I know. I'll pay on Monday. Bye"

 

Who was that?

 

I step inside, pretending I didn't hear anything, "Mom! Good morning!" I say, her face lights up with a smile, she wipes her hands on her apron and walks toward me "Ethan! I'm fine, thanks. How's school been?" she asks, "Just amazing. Last midterm I got 90%" I reply, she hugs me briefly and tightly, "I knew you were a genius! One step closer to that degree, huh?" she says as she reaches for something on the counter, "I'm gonna close for the afternoon for lunch, do you want to come? My treat" she puts her keys on her pocket and walks toward the door, "Really? Is it OK with your budget?" I ask, nervously, "Yeah! I've been saving up just for this. I wanted some time to speak with you, Mr. Always Busy" she says with a laugh, "Sure thing, then, let's get going." I say.

The diner wasn’t far. It was a small place, one of those cozy family-owned restaurants that smelled like fresh bread and coffee. We found a booth near the window, and Mom ordered for both of us before turning to me with a knowing look. “So,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “You said you were saving up just five months ago, and now you suddenly bought a car?” I tensed slightly but forced a grin. “Yeah, I’ve been picking up extra shifts at the store, and, y’know, side gigs.” “Side gigs?” Her brow arched. I shrugged. “Helping people move, fixing stuff. Pays well.” She hummed, unconvinced but not pressing further. “Well, I’m happy for you, Ethan. Just don’t work yourself to death, okay?” I let out a soft laugh. If only she knew. Our food arrived, and for a while, it was just the comforting sound of clinking utensils and quiet conversation. We talked about school, about how the business was holding up. After lunch, we walked together for a while, finishing up the conversation we had at the diner, until we passed a small collectibles shop, my eyes lingered on it for a few seconds, "Wait for me here for a short bit, I'll catch up to you in a second" I say, pointing to a bench, mom nods and sits down. I step inside, feeling the cold air of the A/C and the smelling the familiar smell of foil packets and cardboard boxes. The clerk, an older dog guy greeted me, he had seen me enough to know not to ask many questions, "Ethan, good to see you. Your order came in" he says, reaching under the counter and pulling out a small package, I open the box and see my order of Persona 3 Tarot Cards. "A fan of Persona, huh? Really good games." said the clerk, "Uh huh, yeah, really good" I say, not paying much attention to him, as I carefully inspected the cards, I couldn't help but smirk slightly, everything I needed was right here: The Chariot, The Sun, The Tower, The Magician. To anyone, these cards were just rare merchandise belonging to a niche video game, simple collector's pieces. To me, they mean a lot more. A full set of real Blessed Cards is a rare find unless you have connections, or money, things I don't have at all. With these, I can make my own, they're not going to be authentic, but they'll be mine, and that's what matters. I just have to perform the ritual as usual.The bell above the door chimed as someone else entered, but I didn’t look up. My mind was already elsewhere—on the long night ahead, on the nails tucked carefully in my jacket pocket, and on the things lurking in the dark, waiting for me to make the first move. I took a deep breath, paid for the cards, and stepped back into the afternoon sun.

Mom was waiting.

For now, that was enough.