Chapter 9: No Way Out

It seemed there was no way to escape.

I stared at my own reflection in the glass door—haggard, haunted, a far cry from the man who opened shop seven years ago. Every instinct screamed to run, but there was nowhere left to go.

The only plan now was to find Rick and get to the bottom of this.

If anyone knew how to fix this mess, it would be him. He owed me that much, after all the years and all the secrets we’d shared.

If it really was a dead end, I’d fight to the death rather than just wait for doom.

I squared my shoulders, gritted my teeth. Better to go out swinging than fade away in fear.

Just then, my phone rang—it was Rick.

The screen lit up, his name flashing. My hand shook as I picked up.

"Sam, from now on, don’t go anywhere, don’t trust anyone. I’m telling you, we’re in trouble this time. Eli’s playing for keeps. Wait for me, I’m coming to find you now."

His voice was rough, urgent, no room for argument. I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

As soon as I hung up, my phone rang again—it was my mentor.

I blinked at the screen, unsure if I was still dreaming. I picked up anyway, hoping for reassurance.

"Sam, how are you now? Have you gone out yet? If you do, go to St. Joseph’s Church. It’s close by, and the statue there is gold."

Her voice was steady, calm. It soothed me, just a little. I glanced at my duffel, half-packed by the door.

I was silent, hesitated, but finally couldn’t help but ask the question weighing on my mind.

My hand shook as I brought the phone closer. I needed to know the truth—needed something solid to hold onto.

"Mentor, forgive me for asking, but are you... alive or dead?"

I almost laughed at how insane it sounded. But nothing about this was normal anymore.

In my memory, after my mentor recovered from her last illness, her health was never great, but she was still living in the nursing home.

I saw her in the tiny room, sunlight streaming through the window, her hands working a crossword. That was only a month ago—wasn’t it?

But last night in the illusion, "Rick" told me my mentor had died long ago.

The words echoed, sour and wrong. I pinched my arm, trying to focus.

Although what that "Rick" said couldn’t be trusted, the strange thing was, when I tried to recall, I found my memory blank regarding whether my mentor was alive or dead.

It was like someone had reached into my mind and erased the answer. I broke out in a cold sweat.

In other words, I couldn’t be sure if my mentor was alive or dead at this moment.

Doubt gnawed at me. Was I losing my grip, or had something else gotten inside my head?

"So you’ve grown up, Sam, starting to curse your mentor? What kind of evil have you gotten into?" My mentor sounded a bit angry.

Her voice snapped me back, cutting through the fog. For a second, I almost smiled—she still sounded like herself.

Suddenly my eyes stung, and my gut told me my mentor was still alive. That thing in the illusion had erased part of my memory.

A wave of relief washed over me, mingled with dread. I wiped my eyes, cursing Eli, cursing the day I ever took that job.

I quickly packed my things, slung on my backpack, closed the shop, and was about to leave when Rick arrived.

He burst through the door, out of breath, wild-eyed. He looked worse than I’d ever seen him—like he’d seen a ghost of his own.

"Didn’t I tell you to wait for me?"

He sounded more scared than angry, voice raw from running. I dropped my bag, ready for anything.

"That deity is too damn evil, all its eyes are open now. It’s going to eat people. Lillian is almost dead—she’s already half gone, Sam—like her soul’s been torn apart."

Rick’s words tumbled out, panic thick in every syllable. He grabbed my shoulder, shaking me.

I looked at the anxious Rick. "Rick, I don’t want to get involved in this mess. Let me go."

My voice cracked. I was desperate—ready to beg, to bargain, to bolt.

Rick sneered. "You think if you leave, you’ll be fine? Sam, you’re too naive. Once you encounter it, even if you hide at the ends of the earth, it’s useless. Ever heard of the Hellbound Spirit?"

His grip tightened, eyes blazing. The shop felt smaller, the air electric. There was no running now—not from this.

"Wasn’t it the Five-Faced Devil?" I was stunned.

My mind reeled, scrambling for answers, for hope. But deep down, I knew—some stories follow you, no matter where you run.