Ashes of reality

Chapter 5 - Threshold Light - Part 2

Ethan stopped.

A silhouette slowly rose before him. At first - blurry, barely distinguishable, but with every moment - clearer. It was himself. Only younger. About ten years younger. The gaze of this Ethan was direct, heavy, fearless. And in that gaze there was something the adult Ethan no longer had - rage, aimed at the entire world.

- You came back, - said the young man. - So, are you ready now to look yourself in the eye? - I... - Don't lie, - he cut him off. - Your whole life you've been running. First - from your mother. Then - from the truth. Then - from Ellie. And in the end - from yourself. But there's nowhere left to run, got it?

Ethan swallowed. His throat was dry. Even if he wanted to say something - he wouldn't be able to.

- You want to know what you lost? - the voice of the young Ethan rang with an echo. - Everything. Because you turned everything into dust. Everything you touched. You were destruction.

The trees whispered around them. Faces emerged from the mist - Allison's face, Jake's frightened look, blurred scenes from the past, like fragments of old film. They flashed by quickly, like heartbeats, and in each - pain, anger, fear, guilt.

- That's who I was, - Ethan exhaled hoarsely. - But I don't want to stay that way. I don't want to die like that.

- Then prove it, - said the double, pointing forward.

A road emerged from the mist. Narrow, like a trail in an abandoned forest. On either side - darkness, in which movement could be seen. As if someone was watching.

- You'll have to go alone, - said the young man. - But if you make it - maybe you're not lost yet.

Ethan wanted to say something, but the figure had already disappeared, dissolving into the mist like a ghost from memory.

He was alone, and he walked, to where there was no light, to where the truth awaited him.

With every step, the darkness grew thicker, but it no longer frightened him. Ethan felt: this path wasn't about fear, but about acceptance. About no longer hiding. The rustling in the fog turned into voices - not evil, not kind, just... present. They whispered something incoherent, as if the forest itself remembered him. Or remembered with him. On the right - a broken toy lying in the grass. An old wooden truck. The same one he once broke in a fit of rage when his brother refused to play with him. Ethan passed by without picking it up, clenching his teeth. This wasn't just a road - it was a corridor of memory, only now it was no longer fragmented, but coming together into a whole. He walked a little farther. Saw a door. Standing alone in the middle of the forest. No walls, no roof. Just an old, faded wooden door with a brass handle, as if torn from an old house. He froze. His hand trembled. This door - he knew it.

From inside came a child's laughter. Jake's laughter.

- Daddy?

Ethan inhaled.

- Daddy, are you there?

He didn't open it right away. He stood, paralyzed. He didn't know what he would see. Or who. But then - a push. Not from outside, from within. As if something inside him, something long asleep, finally wanted to live.

He opened it.

And found himself in a familiar room. A child's room. Window to the left. A bed with a dark blue blanket. Toys scattered as if after playing. And Jake sitting on the floor, building something with blocks. Not aged, not scared. Just... a child.

- You came, - he said without looking up.

- I don't know how long I've been gone...

- A long time, - the boy answered quietly. - But you still came.

Ethan dropped to his knees. Tears welled up, but he didn't let them fall.

- I'm sorry. For everything.

Jake silently walked up to him. Hugged him. Without reproach. Without judgment.

- If you really want to change everything, Daddy, - he said, - you have to keep going. To where it's scariest.

Ethan closed his eyes.

When he opened them - the boy was already gone. And the door had vanished again. Only the path remained - and the feeling that the end of this road was drawing near.

The path led downward, as if into the depths of memory itself. The air grew cooler, dampness seeped into his skin, and dark spots began to appear on the ground - not dirt and not moss, but something thicker, like dried blood absorbed into the roots. The branches overhead intertwined more densely, almost hiding the sky. It seemed the forest was narrowing, turning into a corridor, where each step echoed dully. Itan found it hard to breathe. As if the air here was saturated with shame, fear, and the things one tries not to think about even when alone. He knew - what lay ahead was what he feared most. And that was exactly where he needed to go.

He walked a bit further - and came to a door underground.

Right in the middle of the forest, among the roots, yawned a hatch. Rusted, round, like the kind used in wartime bunkers. He remembered it. Long ago - he and his brother had found one like it while playing in an abandoned park outside the city. Back then, Itan hadn't dared go down, but John - had. And then didn't come out for a long time. A very long time.

Itan didn't immediately understand what this place was. But with each heartbeat, the feeling overwhelmed him more. He opened the hatch. The screech of metal ran like shivers down his spine. From inside - darkness. And silence. But not the empty kind - something lived in it.

He climbed down.

The ladder - long, endless. Cold. When his feet touched the floor, he found himself in a concrete room. Light barely pierced through tiny ventilation grates. The walls were covered in writing. By a child's hand. Repeating phrases:

"You haven't forgotten", "He was there", "Left", "Crying boy".

In the center of the room - a mirror. Tall, cracked. Itan stepped closer. And saw not himself. His brother looked back at him.

A boy. John - at the age they were when they were last truly close. Eyes filled with tears, lips trembling.

- Why didn't you come for me back then? - he asked. - I called for you. I waited. Were you scared?

Itan was speechless. He wanted to say something - but couldn't. No words, no thoughts.

- And then you did the same to her, - John quietly added. - You just never come. You always leave.

The mirror cracked. Diagonally, as if a knife had slashed the glass. The reflection changed. Now it was Itan - an adult, but exhausted, with empty eyes. He looked at himself.

- If you want to get out, - whispered the voice from the mirror, - you'll have to remember not just what you did, but why you became this way.

Itan touched the mirror. It shattered. The world darkened again. And the falling began.

He fell through darkness, as if through water, heavy, deeper with each moment into the unknown. A hum filled his ears, as though space itself resisted his presence. But then the darkness around began to lighten, and the fall turned into a slow slide, as if he were gliding down a slope, weightless and formless. He found himself on the floor - wooden planks under his palms, dust and the scent of old varnish. Lifting his head, Itan saw a familiar space.

It was a house. His childhood home.

Not the one he'd shared with Ellison and Jake, but the old one, from where it all began. Low ceilings, wallpaper with tiny flowers, the tick of a pendulum clock in the corner. The entire house seemed faded, as if woven from forgotten memories and fragments of time. He stood up. His steps echoed dully. Everything looked untouched, but something was wrong - the silence in the house wasn't peaceful. It pressed. It waited. On the wall hung a photo: him and John, maybe six or seven. Smiles. Open faces. Life before everything. Before...

Itan moved on. Walked down the hallway - and found himself before a door sealed with tape. A message was scratched onto it with a nail: DO NOT ENTER.

He hesitated. But then, holding his breath, he tore off the tape and pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Only a child's bed stood in the corner. On it - a toy: an old plush bear with one eye torn out. And next to it - a diary. A child's one, with stickers and faded pages.

He picked it up.

The first entry was written in clumsy childish handwriting:

"Dad was yelling. John hid. I'm scared too. If mom finds out, she'll cry again. But no one will say anything. Because everything has to be quiet."

The pages began to turn on their own. The entries grew more and more disturbing. Fear. Guilt. And loneliness.

"Today John didn't come home. I called for him. I thought he was just playing. But he didn't come. I waited until night. And then I didn't say anything. Because I knew: if I tell, dad will get angry. And mom will cry again."

Ethan felt his knees give way. He remembered. He remembered the day John disappeared. And he remembered not telling anyone. Because he was scared. Because he was weak.

And that was the beginning.

He closed the diary. And then a voice rang out in the room. Soft. Female.

- You never even told yourself, Ethan. You kept burying it deeper. Kept hiding it.

He turned around.

A woman stood in the doorway. Not Allison. And not his mother. A woman whose face he couldn't recall - as if it had been drawn in a dream. But the eyes - the eyes knew him. Saw through him.

- If you want to leave this place, - she said, - you'll have to find not what you lost, but what you rejected.

Ethan looked at her like at the last ray through the ash. But he still didn't know what exactly he was supposed to find. Or where.

Only one thing was clear: the path continued.

He stepped toward the woman, but in the same second she vanished like a mirage, leaving behind only a faint scent of rain and smoke. The room grew darker, as if the lamp hanging from the ceiling had suddenly lost its strength. Only the diary kept shimmering with a strange light - as if another answer was hidden inside it. Ethan walked up to the window. There was no street beyond the glass - only dense fog, in which silhouettes barely took shape. They moved slowly, as if underwater, and the longer he watched, the more he understood: they were people. But not living.

Silhouettes of the past. Ghosts.

He saw them: an old man with empty eyes - his grandfather, who died alone. A woman in a robe, nervously smoking by the door - his mother. And John. The same age as when he disappeared. Standing, staring straight at him. Silent. Ethan threw the window open - the fog immediately burst into the room. With it - cold and whispers. His face twisted from pain - not physical, but deep, from within. He knew he had to go out there. Go through it. He climbed over the windowsill and found himself in thick whiteness. A step. Another step. The fog wrapped around everything, hiding the ground, the sky, the horizon. Only the whispers grew closer.

- Why did you come back? - He didn't understand anything... - He always hid. - He's the one who brought her there...

The last phrase sounded louder than the others. He froze.

- Brought who?

From the fog emerged the silhouette of a boy - John. In a child's jacket, rubber boots, with a faint smirk that held more sorrow than joy.

- You remember everything, Ethan. You just don't want to see it. - I didn't mean to... - Ethan took a step forward. - I was a child. I didn't know... - You knew, - John interrupted. - When you told her where I was hiding - you knew she would find me. That she would bring him.

Ethan clenched his fists. Everything inside him trembled. His heart pounded like in a cage. He remembered that day - how they played hide-and-seek with John, how John ran far into the woods, how he got scared when he couldn't find his brother. And how he later told his father that John often hid in that old ravine behind the house. He thought he was helping. But then came the night. Screams. And no one saw John again.

- I... didn't mean to, - he whispered. - But you didn't stop it, - John replied. - Because you were afraid.

Ethan sank to his knees. The fog around him began to swirl, as if reacting to the pain. The whispers fell silent. The silence became absolute.

- I'd give anything to go back, - he said, without lifting his head. - I'd give everything.

- Then give, - came a third voice. Deep, adult, with a metallic tint. - Yourself.

Out of the fog came himself. Ethan. But not the one who stood here now. This one was darker, heavier, with a face frozen in everything he once chose not to feel.

- Go back to that day. Live it. To the end. Only then will you have the right to move on, - he said.

Ethan looked at him - like into a mirror that reflects not the face, but the essence.

- And if I can't?

- Then you'll stay here. Forever.

The fog began to part. In the distance, an old trail appeared. He recognized it - it led into the forest, to the ravine. To where it all began. He stood up. His breath trembled on his lips. But in his eyes, for the first time in a long while, there was no fear.

- I'm going, - he said. - To the end.

He walked the path, and each step echoed with a heaviness in his chest, as if the ground beneath remembered his sins. The forest was different - not like before. It didn't whisper, didn't threaten. It waited. Quietly, attentively, like a beast lying in wait for the moment.

Ethan walked through the memory.

To the left - the old fence, collapsed with time. To the right - a familiar tree with a broken branch where he and John carved the first letter of their names with a knife. These little things seemed insignificant in ordinary life, but now - it felt like the whole meaning hung on them. Everything had weight. He reached the ravine. There, below, under a thin layer of light shimmering between the trees, was the old wooden cabin - an abandoned hunter's lodge they were f*******n to enter. But one day, John went there. Ethan remembered how he disappeared, how their mother screamed, and then the father came. At first silent, then angry, terrifying. They never spoke of it. Never.

Now everything was as it had been then.

A creak. He heard it - as if the cabin door had opened. Ethan began to descend into the ravine. With each step, the air grew thicker, darker. As if he were walking not into the past - into someone else's madness. And in that madness, the truth was hiding.

He approached the door.

His hand froze on the handle. His whole body trembled - not from fear, but from tension, as if the memory inside resisted, unwilling to relive what had been buried.

He opened it.

The smell of dust, dampness, and something old, dead. Inside - dimness. In the corner - an old bed. On it - a figure. Motionless. John. The same boy, the same gaze. Only now, in his eyes, there was no reproach. Only sorrow.

- You came back, - he said. - But it's too late.

- I have to understand this, - Ethan replied. - I have to remember everything.

- Then remember, - came a voice from somewhere behind.

He turned around. His father was standing on the threshold.

But it wasn't a man. The face-half-hidden in shadow-but within it was emptiness, as if his flesh was formed from fear itself. Father, the way he remembered him that night.

- You brought her here, - John said. - You told him where I was hiding. And she brought him.

Ethan stepped back. The father was approaching. Slowly, almost calmly. In his eyes-nothing.

- I didn't understand back then... - Ethan breathed. - I didn't know she would tell him. I didn't know he... would be like that... - But now you do, - John said. - And if you want to get out - you have to stop him. Here. Now.

Ethan looked at his father. At that shadow that was approaching like the darkness of childhood itself.

- This isn't him, - he said suddenly. - It's what I made of him. It's my fear. My silence. My escape.

The shadow stopped.

- You're not my father. You're the guilt I've carried all my life.

With those words, Ethan stepped forward. He didn't run. He didn't scream. He simply walked-straight into the face of fear, straight into that shadow. And when he came close enough, the darkness began to crumble, like ash. The figure was vanishing. As if there was nothing left to hold it together.

John looked at him with a gentle smile.

- You finally understand, - he said. - I can't fix everything, - Ethan replied. - No. But now you can live with it.

Everything around began to fall apart-like a scene playing out on the stage of memory. The forest dissolved, the ravine disappeared, light began to break through the grey haze. Ethan stood alone. In the middle of nothing. Only his breathing. And his heartbeat. He had passed through the memory. Now ahead was only one-

The fog cleared completely, and a road appeared before him-straight, as if drawn on paper. It stretched into the grey horizon, dissolving in shimmering light. No trees, no sounds-only him and infinity. The silence no longer pressed-it seemed to be listening.

Ethan took a step. Then another.

He didn't know where this path would lead. But inside, it felt lighter. Not silence, but emptiness that could be filled. Not pain, but the trace of pain-a healed wound that no longer needed hiding. Soon the landscape began to change. Right in the middle of the void stood a phone booth. Red, like in old films. It stood as if it had been waiting for him. Ethan approached. There was no lock on the door. Inside-a phone with a black receiver. He picked it up.

A dial tone. Then-a voice.

- Ethan? - It was Allison's voice. The one he hadn't heard since then... since she was alive. - Is it... you?

He closed his eyes. Everything inside contracted.

- I'm sorry, - he said. - I don't know if it's even possible to apologize after what I did... - I won't forgive you, - she answered quietly. - But I remember. - What? - I remember who you were. Before all of it. I remember you not as a killer. But as the person who once saved a kitten on the street. The one who built a treehouse for Jake. The one who was afraid of the dark and pretended not to be.

Ethan couldn't speak. He could only listen.

- You won't be who you were. But you can become someone else, - she said. - Just don't forget who you are. Even if it hurts.

Silence. Then a beep. The connection was lost. He stood, still holding the receiver.

But now, there was no emptiness inside. There was... something. A faint warmth. Like a weak beam of light through thick fog. He stepped out of the booth. The road still stretched ahead. But now, in the distance, the light was brighter. Ethan took a step toward it.

And at that moment - a quiet voice.

- Dad?..

He stopped.

Behind him, as if from the very air, came the voice of a child.

He turned around.

Jake was standing on the road. Seven years old, in his favorite gray hoodie with a dinosaur on it. He looked at Ethan with wide eyes. No fear. No reproach.

- Dad, where are you going?..

Ethan fell to his knees. His throat tightened. He couldn't utter a word.

- I've been waiting, - Jake said. - All this time.

Ethan stretched out his hands.

The boy came closer. Touched his shoulder. Everything disappeared. All the weight. All the walls inside. He hugged his son. And it wasn't a dream. It was forgiveness. Real.

Ethan sat on the road, holding Jake to him, and for the first time in all this time, he didn't feel the guilt tearing through his chest. He didn't feel shame, he didn't feel fear. Only a quiet, almost childlike calmness - as if everything around had stopped to give them these few moments.

He closed his eyes. And the world around began to change.

They were no longer on the road. Instead of the gray horizon - warm evening light. The sky - in soft pastel colors of sunset. The air smelled of freshness, damp grass, and something familiar, long forgotten. A quiet splash of water could be heard nearby. A lake? A river?

Ethan opened his eyes.

They were sitting on a wooden bridge, dangling their legs down. Jake was swinging his legs and silent. Everything felt like one of the earliest memories - as if childhood itself had returned to him. This place was too quiet to be real, but too alive to be a dream.

- This is what you created, - Jake said, not looking at him. - You can stay here. If you want.

Ethan looked at the smooth surface of the water. The sky was not reflected in it. Only the shadow of himself.

- What if I don't stay? - Then it will be hard. It will hurt. But you'll be able to... choose. - Choose what?

The boy looked at him. Seriously. With almost an adult gaze.

- To go back.

Ethan was silent for a long time.

- I'm scared. - That's good. It means you're still alive.

Suddenly, everything around trembled. The bridge cracked. The water began to darken. The space quivered like glass, about to shatter.

- Time, - Jake said. - You've done everything you could here. But beyond this - it's only you. Alone. - But I just found you... - You didn't lose me. You just forgot.

The boy touched his hand - and disappeared. Just like he had come.

Ethan was left alone on the crumbling bridge, over the water which was now as black as oil. Above it hung a sky without stars. He stood up. And stepped into the darkness. And this wasn't the end, it was the beginning.

He stood at the edge, where the illusion ended. The water under the bridge was no longer water. The sky - no longer the sky. Everything began to disappear: first the outlines, then the colors, then the sounds. As if reality itself, created by him in the unconscious world, was too tired to hold its form. Ethan stood alone. Without Jake. Without the road. Without words. He felt that memory had returned. Not collapsed, not burned - simply took its place. Like pieces of a puzzle that had been lying in dust for a long time, but now had become an image again.

Everything he had done. Everything he had lost. And everything that remained.

He closed his eyes - not out of fear, not out of exhaustion. But because he no longer needed to hide. He had faced himself. The way he had feared to see him. And didn't disappear.

Somewhere far away - just beyond the edge of sleep - the machine beeped.

Beep... beep... beep...

His body lay on the bed. Immobilized. Pale. Eyes closed. But his face - calm. His eyelids fluttered slightly. But he wasn't back yet. He was still on his way.