Seconds -Chapter 1

"The Inheritance"

In the Brett family, there existed a great chaff, its origin starting with Alex's grandfather... Or at least that's what he was told. The quiet man left behind many unanswered questions. Upon learning of his grandfather's passing, he experienced a mix of emotions—curiosity, resentment, and a fragile hope that he might finally find the understanding he sought. His mother described a man too proud to accept the nature of humanity, leading to his chosen life of isolation. Somehow, this was hard to accept for Alex. The few memories he had displayed a meek man of few words. But proud? Not so much. Now... there was a matter of the house.

Certain he'd find a condemned barn, to his surprise, when Alex arrived at the old estate, the sight stole away his breath. The house loomed against the backdrop of a dying sunset, putting him in mind of an a rustic, antique-like beauty. There was an air of nostalgia, with the scent of aged wood and histories waiting to be retold. Why had grandfather chosen to leave the property to him? Alex had sensed a twinge of envy in his mother's voice when she gave him the information of the estate lawyer over the phone.

"Funny... He didn't even know his grandson but of course that doesn't matter. He'd trust a child before his own, full-matured adult, blood-born daughter."

Though he considered himself a responsible adult of 19, Alex knew from past encounters to keep his opinions cloaked. Her fragile state he understood to partly be shame. For what, he couldn't know.

The house was truly a sight to behold. He hardly believed it! Even then, feet planted in the property's soil, the moment eluded him. What would an army man-to-be do with over half an acre of land? Did he have to pay property taxes now?

As he stepped inside, the creaking floorboards echoed underfoot, telling stories of the past. Swirling dust motes danced eerily through beams of light filtering in from the grimy windows, illuminating long-forgotten memories.

After investigating the ground floor, Alex felt an inexplicable pull toward the attic. Ascending the steep, narrow staircase, he discovered a world that appeared frozen in time. Old boxes were stacked carelessly, cobwebs hung like curtains, and the air was filled with the scent of earthy mildew.

In a dim corner, partially obscured by an old blanket, he spotted a small wooden chest. His heart raced as curiosity ignited within him. With nails shaky from anticipation, he opened the chest and revealed various trinkets. Several dusty watches sat in neat rows next to folded papers, a clip of postage stamps, and a roll of black and white news articles that appeared so fragile it may have withered had he handled it too roughly. Turning each watch carefully, two them drew his attention—a vintage watch with a creased face and hands halted in time... and one more modern whose hands were also frozen. Lifting the latter, he turned it over in his palm. The cold silver felt as if it vibrated, buzzing silently with radiation. Frowning, he carefully placed it back in its spot.

Eyes resting on the rusted trinket, Alex paused. It lay in a moth-eaten, leather box, beckoning him almost. Why did he hesitate? It was just a watch!

Shrugging away any misgivings, he lifted it, and a chill washed over him immediately. The watch felt strangely warm, almost alive. When squinting to view its intricate engravings, a surge of energy overwhelmed him before he could ponder its significance.

In an instant, the attic around him began to unravel. The walls peeled like wallpaper, and electric energy buzzed in the air. The ground below began to rumble, and Alex felt himself being pulled into a vast, chaotic expanse where time as he knew it simply did not exist.

The watch in his hand suddenly started to work. It grew in size as Its chimes rang louder with each strike. Resounding as a drone all around him, the gong slowed, and pounded, and stretched until finally, it halted. As a matter of fact, it all stopped.

Everything converged into a singular moment—past, present, and future collided in a whirlwind of color and sound, something he understood but couldn't explain.

As Alex grappled with his surroundings, he realized he was not alone. Fear presently alluded him, as what was a majority of opinion became acute awareness. All around were winds painted in color, whispering the assignments of their direction as they blew: the wind had a voice. Ahead of him lay an expanse so vast, he was unsure of how his eyes contained its panoramic view. It mirrored the depth of the ocean... but deeper, full of confusing shapes, galaxies in clouds, and what appeared to be a historical time line bound together by a string.

Alex floated in a realm untethered, his senses heightened to a degree he never knew was possible. Colors bled into one another—violet, gold, and deep obsidian—like the inside of a dream. The watch pulsed in his hand, now weightless, its ticking replaced by a rhythmic hum that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.

From the haze, then emerged a figure...

She was radiant, not in a blinding way, but like moonlight on still water. Her eyes shimmered with cerulean, and her voice, when it came, was both song and deep sorrow. A graceful garment of Tuscany cascaded over subtle curves like a waterfall. The closer he looked, the more Alex realized it was, in fact, a running stream of gold coursing as cloth!

“Wisdom is a gift sustained by grief,” she said. Her voice was resounding and ancient. “And you, Ioannis, are about to unwrap it.” She called him a name his mind didn't recognize, though the spirit inside him leapt in instinctive response. Unwrapping? Ioannis? He tried to speak, but his voice was swallowed by the silence of the void. She raised a hand, and the space around them folded like paper. Scenes began to play out—memories not his own.

A younger version of his grandfather stood in the bustling village square—dirty, homeless, and full of rage. He stole, drank, fought, and cursed, lashing out at those who judged him and despising the ones who ignored him. This, Alex realized, was why his mother felt the way she did. The stories had to be true—his grandfather was a proud, unkind man. Still, Alex couldn’t help but wonder where his great-grandparents had been and how their son ended up on the streets.

As if responding to a request in his mind, the scene instinctively changed, and his grandfather was a child about the age of 7. The boy stood still, a fragile silhouette beside his mother, the towering figure of his father disappearing onto the city bus like a fading storm. The sun cast long shadows on the pavement, stretching the space between them into something unbearable. With tiny legs and a bursting heart, the child tried to follow, but his mother’s arms—trembling yet firm—held him back. She knew this departure was not temporary; it was abandonment dressed in theatrical dignity. Unable to explain, she clung to her son, the last anchor in a life unraveling. He screamed, thrashed, and wept, mistaking her grip for betrayal, not protection. In his eyes, she had stolen his hero. Her heart, already fractured, broke completely not long after, and in the following months she died upon hearing of his remarriage, the weight of loss pressing down.

The boy, now orphaned, was cast into the foster care system, drifting from home to home like a leaf in autumn. Abuse followed him like a shadow, and guilt was his closest companion. By the time he aged out, alcohol had become his refuge, and the streets his final address—a man shaped by absence, still chasing the echo of a childhood that was stolen from him.

Alex ached as an observer, knowing there was nothing he could do but watch the events of the past play out as they had. He felt a sudden sympathy for a man he knew had been crippled before he wasn't.

In the same instant, Alex was suddenly shown a man in military attire, slumped against the bed of a hotel room. On the carpet before him sat an M18, 15 tablets of fentanyl, and a folded silk sheet. His eyes bloodshot from drinking, he swayed while trying to choose his poison. As his eyes shut for what was the last time, the man collapsed onto the carpet, his blood saturated with whiskey... A poison itself. Alarmed, Alex leaned forward, unwilling to acknowledge this as the end. Grandfather couldn't have died! How would his mother have come to exist?

Then, he witnessed something he had never seen before and never would again—like a glove being peeled off a hand, his grandfather's spirit was pulled from his body. Alex's eyes widened in disbelief as he gaped at the sight. The spirit resembled a physical form but shimmered in gold, like a sheer, translucent curtain.

Still in the hotel room, the man glanced down at his lifeless body and jumped. He clutched his chest, then gazed into the vast unknown, stopping when his eyes landed on Alex, who stood frozen. Could he see him, Alex wondered. The man frowned, seemingly hearing Alex's thoughts, nodding in confusion. In their silent exchange, Alex was struck with awe.

"You're..." the man began.

"...Your grandson," Alex finished.

"I don't know how I know that, but I do," the man chuckled, oblivious to the empty shell of his body lying below.

Releasing the breath he didn't realize he was holding, Alex leapt inside, suddenly yearning to foster connection. He had so many questions!

Before a word could escape his lips, a dreadful presence thickened the air between them, accompanied by a wretched crescendo of noise. It was like the chaotic blend of blaring heavy metal, unceasing activity, and the voice of fear itself. Terror gripped Alex like never before as he watched a dusty funnel rise from the earth, spiraling and growing, massive and menacing.

Desperate to flee the horrific sound assaulting his ears, Alex trembled as an even more alarming sight unfolded. From the funnel emerged two dark beings. One stood at least eight feet tall and four feet wide, with raven feathers, the head of a hairy beast, and a slick, oily serpent-like tail. The other bounded instead of walking, its cheetah-like legs quickening as it opened a devouring mouth set upon the face of a man. Just as Alex thought his heart might fail, it sank further when he saw where they were headed—straight toward his grandfather.