By the time Reed had arrived back home, it was already six in the evening. Callas waited to have dinner with him, knowing he'd want to talk about how her day was. Anya had placed the plates on the table and walked out to sit in the living room with Silas, the TV murmuring quietly. Callas knew she would have to lie and only mention that she hung out with the boys at the beach, and try to avoid the topic of the Wight—if that's what he even was. By the looks on the boys faces, when they were in the truck, and the direction they were all looking at, she could only assume that there was a possibility that he was real. Even when that possibility was probably only a one percent chance. Silas and Anya had asked about her cuts when she had walked back downstairs, after laying on her bed for a while, but she told them that she had just fell, it was a lot easier to explain that than the truth was.

     They had already eaten dinner, so Reed and Callas were the only ones who would be eating, at least it would give them time to talk to one another—maybe Callas would get some answers about Henry and how he was doing, or if Reed had anything he was able to tell her about what really happened. After all, Henry didn't go into a lot of detail at the hospital. Reed looked drained, physically and mentally. He ran his hand through his hair before dragging it down his face, letting out a deep sigh. He blinked quickly, as if he was falling asleep, and picked up his knife and fork, cutting into his steak. Callas ate slowly while watching him carefully, her eyes locked on his face to see if she was able to read how he was feeling. Reed paused, no longer chewing, and turned his gaze to his sister, furrowing his eyebrows.

     "Do I have something on my face?" He questioned, trying not to show the food in his mouth.

     "No." She shook her head.

     "Then why are you staring at me like I'm going to tell you the meaning of life?"

     "I'm not," she defended.

     Reed's shoulders dropped in exhaustion. "Cal. I'm your brother, I know when you want to say something."

     She shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Yes, you do."

     "Nope." She looked away from him and to her plate, stabbing a parsnip with her fork. Reed put his knife and fork down, swallowing his food before giving her his full attention.

     "Cal," he spoke softly, placing his hand on hers. "You can talk to me. You know that, right?"

     She let out a sigh. "How's work?"

     "Don't change the subject."

     "I'm not, I want to know how your work is, maybe it will help me try to understand why you look like you've been working for a decade without sleeping."

     Reed took his hand away from hers, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's your friend's case. That's all I'm allowed to say."

     "Do you know who the man was?"

     Reed tilted his head. "Huh?"

     "The man they brought in with Henry. The twenty-year-old."

     "How did you know about that?"

     Callas paused. She wasn't meant to have eavesdropped on him while he was on a work call, who knew what type of trouble she could have got into of Reed found out. She had to think of something. "The newspaper," she said quickly. "The one Gramps was reading, it said a man was brought in."

     He watched her carefully. "Right." He nodded, shaking his head as if he was trying to convince himself of something. Of what? Callas wasn't so sure. "I read that this morning, they got a few things wrong, but yeah..." Reed trailed off. "We haven't found any I.D. on him, so it's going to take a while—"

     "William Blanchard."

     "What?"

     "Will Blanchard," she repeated.

     "Who is Will Blanchard?"

     "Henry's brother. He told me that Will came to town and that he 'wasn't like a normal person' so, I figured, that maybe it was Will."

     "Michael never mentioned him."

     "Henry said that he doesn't like talking about him." She shrugged. "I didn't know if I should have told you that sooner, or at all. Henry made sure that neither you or Mr Blanchard were around when he told me," she spoke shyly, unsure if she did the right thing.

     "Okay," Reed was quiet. "I will look into a William Blanchard tomorrow, back at the Station." He wrote down the name on a small work pad, ripping the paper out and folding it before he put it in his pocket. He looked back to Callas. "You did the right thing. Telling me."

     "I hope so," she mumbled to herself, watching as Reed continued to eat his dinner.

     He had a different look on his face. Hope? Maybe the name Callas had given him would be useful, or maybe it wouldn't be, but at least he'd be able to find something on Will—if that was even possible, maybe he didn't have a record or any files. If Reed did, Callas would most likely know, she could always worm her way into his head or eavesdrop again—which she hoped she didn't have to do. She looked down at her plate, picking up her fork again to eat, even though part of her appetite diminished. Callas mainly wanted to just have a shower and go to bed, the day had drained her of energy she didn't even have, she just wanted to slip away from the world for a little while and have a peaceful sleep.

     When they had finished the remainder of their dinner in silence and placed their empty plates in the sink, Callas trudged her way up the stairs while Reed sat on the sofa to watch TV with Silas and Anya. Her hand gripped the railing as she pulled her tired body up the stairs, yawning. Even when she walked into her room, she could feel her energy slipping away. She picked up her towels and closed her bedroom door, before heading towards her bathroom, flicking the light on and squinting at the brightness of her light. She placed her towels on the counter by the sink, turning around to lock her bathroom door. It clicked when it locked and Callas turned on the shower before taking off her clothes, shivering at the cold air against her skin, soon warming up as the steam from the shower moved around the room.

     Callas stood facing the water, her eyes closed as the water hit her face. She grabbed her shampoo bottle and carefully placed some on her hand before rubbing it into her hair, trying to get rid of the smell of the sea, before she washed it out. Her body no longer smelled of sweat or the sea either. Lazily, she sat down in the bath as the water continued to pour over her body. Flashes of the man sparked in her mind, her body flinching as he got closer and closer, the sickly-sweet smile etched on his face growing to a grotesque and inhumane rotting smirk. His face began to peel, his teeth turned black before blood dribbled down his chin, his skin stretched and split, bubbling over with boils and strange marks. He looked like the walking dead had come to life. She could only watch as his mouth unhinged and open widely before he lunged for her.

     Her eyes snapped open, the sound of the water became clearer and the fogged-up air of the bathroom came to her sight. Callas choked out a cough as she stood up, turning the water off, ringing the water out of her hair. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, stepping out of the shower. Her hand fanned the steam away from her face. She pushed her wet hair away from her face, looking in the mirror. With her eyebrows furrowed, she stepped back slightly, a lump built up in her throat as she saw something written in the steam of her bathroom mirror. Unsure if it was real, she brought a finger up to it, wiping part of the badly drawn heart to see that it was real. She let out a shaky breath, reading the messy handwriting.

     You can't lock me out by sealing your window forever, Callas.

     She was unsure as to how it got there, she turned around, peaking at her door. She could have sworn that she locked it, but as she walked closer she could see that it was unlocked and slightly ajar. Callas pushed the poor open slightly, her heart was pounding so loudly that she was certain that someone could have heard it from a mile away. Her eyes peered into her room, a strange unwanted feeling swept over her body, and she knew that it wasn't because of the temperature difference between the two rooms. The bedroom door was still closed, nothing looked like it was moved or touched until her eyes landed on her computer—which she definitely hadn't been on. A shiver ran down her spine along with the droplets of water from her hair. Slowly, she made her way over, glancing towards the bottom of her bed, just to be sure someone didn't crawl out, and then towards her wardrobe, making sure someone or something didn't jump out at her. There was nothing. At least, to indicate that either of those things were going to happen.

     On her computer, three different documents were open. The first one, on top of the other two, was an old internet article on her mother's death, the one talking about the bear attacks, and the words 'blood drained' were highlighted. It was the same article that Henry had been looking at the week before on Wednesday, the day he had called her Callas instead of his usual Cally. Her hand touched the mouse, it was cold to the touch, she moved the article away before looking at the word document. She squinted at the single paragraph that was typed out, it said it had been written around about the time that she had first got into the shower. Her breath got caught in her throat as she read over the words on the screen.

     Think, Callas. Think very hard. You know what I am. What I really am. You know what I can do. I didn't make you forget everything, although I could have, but this is more fun. You know more than you think you do, trust me. Somewhere, deep down, in that pretty little head of yours, you will remember me. We've had some fun, Callas. But play time is over. I don't have time to be waiting around anymore. Well, I do, but you don't. I must say, I think it's cute, you are playing with a pack of dogs, but their stench won't keep me away from you, nothing will. So, when you finally remember me—the real me—I will know, and when I do, I will be coming for you. Oh, and one last thing, before I forget, I do hope your dear friend Henry gets better. I hope nothing else happens to him. It would be a shame. Until next time.

     Callas stared at it horrified, knowing that someone had been in her room while she was, and she didn't even hear them. She knew for a fact that Reed wouldn't have done something like that, he wasn't that type of person. Callas clutched the towel to her body tightly, moving the word document out of the way to, hesitantly, look at the final internet document that was open. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stared at the folklore page, it had multiple tabs of different sites, each with the same creature but with different cultural beliefs and ideas. She clicked from one to the other, noting how different lines were highlighted, different words drew her attention: 'Extremely pale', 'Inhumanly fast and strong', 'Demons', 'Blood suckers', 'Damned', 'Evil', 'Unholy', 'Shadows', 'Vampires'.

     It must have been some sick joke. Callas stepped back, rubbing her forehead before she walked quickly back into the bathroom. Her eyes caught sight of something sticking to the mirror. It definitely wasn't there before. Gulping, her hand reached out to it, a beige folder on her counter caught her attention, she slowly took the picture from the mirror, glancing away from the folder and towards the picture. From what she could make out, it looked like a picture of a car crash at night, the red and blue sirens in the background while paramedics, police, and firemen were dotted around. Callas looked at the time stamp in the bottom corner. It was the Thursday that Henry had left her house. She dropped the photo from her hands, watching it drop into her sink.

     The folder looked like a police file. On some of the papers sticking out, Callas could see Reed's handwriting. Cautiously, Callas opened the front of the file. There were more photos, hospital reports, newspaper clippings, police reports, and Henry's name and Mr Blanchard's name were at the top of medical records. She quickly slammed it shut, not wanting to look at it, any of it, any longer. With the shake of her head she looked into the mirror, maybe she was just imagining all of it. As the mirror continued to defog, she could, faintly, see a silhouette of a man. It didn't look like Reed. It was the Wight. He was standing behind her with that same smile that he had earlier, it looked like he was silently laughing as his shoulders shook. She noticed he was about to step forward when she quickly spun around to face the door.

     Nothing.

     There was no one standing there. Callas felt as though she was really losing her mind. She just wanted to stop seeing him, she wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She didn't ask for any of this. She didn't want any of this. La Push was meant to be a new start, but if anything, it was just bringing both the past and an unwanted future her way. Tears pricked her eyes. Callas slowly sunk to the ground, her back was against the cabinet under the sink. Her hands rose to her head, she clutched her hair in her hands tightly, feeling the sting of her scalp being tugged at, as she choked out a sob. Her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them tightly as she buried her head in her knees, her body slumped to the side, the left side of her head hitting the bathroom wall while the tears rolled down her cheeks and her lungs burned.