Chapter 55: The man of nowhere
The room still smelled like lavender.
Three months. Three whole months, and still the scent lingered—clinging to the bedsheets, the curtains, the stuffed bunny that sat slumped over in the corner like a broken monument.
Lucas Santiago stood at the threshold of his daughter’s room, arms hanging loose at his sides. He hadn’t stepped foot in here since the day he killed them all.
The floor creaked beneath his bare feet, a sound that once meant everything in the world. "Daddy’s coming," Ellie used to squeal. Now it sounded like a funeral hymn.
He walked over to her bed. The covers were exactly as she’d left them—twisted at the bottom, pillow flipped to the cold side. A diary with a glittery purple lock lay on the floor, its corner bent. He didn’t dare touch it.
Instead, he sat. The bed gave way under his weight, gently, quietly, almost like it knew not to make a sound.
They told him it wasn’t his fault.
The men in suits. The ones who came in the black van with the Geiger counters and the grim expressions. The scientists in hazmat suits who quarantined the house and cordoned off the entire street. The woman from the government who told him about the "rare metabolic anomaly."
But it was his body. His blood. His skin.
And it was Ellie’s hair that had started falling out first.
Then Diana’s teeth, loosened and rotting within days.
And the screams. Jesus, the screams.