Chapter 6: Echoes of the Past

The low hum of an engine was the first thing Jake noticed as he walked up to his house. The garage door was open, and he could see his dad leaning over the hood of an old, beat-up car, his hands greasy and his forehead glistening with sweat. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air, mixing with the scent of freshly cut grass from the neighbors’ yard.

Jake paused at the edge of the driveway, watching his dad tinker with the engine. It was the same scene he had come home to almost every night for the past few months—his dad, hunched over the car, focused on fixing something that was probably beyond repair. It was his way of coping, Jake supposed. A way to keep busy, to keep his mind off things.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his messy hair before stepping into the driveway. His sneakers crunched against the gravel, and his dad looked up, wiping his hands on an old rag.

“You’re late,” his dad said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He straightened up, squinting at Jake through the dim light of the garage.

Jake shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Lost track of time.”

His dad grunted in response, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “You always do.”

There was no judgment in his words—just a simple statement of fact. Jake and his dad didn’t talk much these days, but when they did, it was like this: brief, to the point, and no need for unnecessary details. His dad wasn’t the kind of man who asked a lot of questions, and Jake was grateful for that. It made things easier.

“How’s the car coming?” Jake asked, nodding toward the engine.

His dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a mess. Don’t know why I bother anymore.”

Jake smirked, stepping closer to get a better look at the car. It was an old Chevy, probably from the 70s, and it had been sitting in their garage for as long as Jake could remember. His dad had always been a car guy, but this one had become an obsession—a project he could never seem to finish.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Jake said, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it.

His dad didn’t respond, just shook his head and turned back to the car, leaning over the engine again. Jake watched him for a moment, his thoughts drifting. He knew why his dad spent so much time in the garage. It was easier to focus on the car than on the empty spaces in the house—the places where his mom used to be. She had passed away when Jake was twelve, and ever since then, it was like the house had lost its warmth. The laughter that used to fill the rooms had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the garage door and the soft clink of tools.

Jake had never really talked to his dad about it. They weren’t the kind of family that talked about feelings. His dad had thrown himself into his work, and Jake had thrown himself into whatever he could find to keep his mind off of things—basketball, video games, and lately, his powers. It wasn’t until recently that Jake had started pushing the limits of what he could do, testing the boundaries of his abilities. And while it thrilled him, it also scared him, though he’d never admit that to anyone. Not even Levi.

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“You eat yet?” his dad asked, his voice breaking through Jake’s thoughts.

“Nah, not yet,” Jake said, leaning against the side of the garage. “I’ll grab something later.”

His dad nodded, not pushing the matter. Jake appreciated that about him—the way he never forced Jake to talk or share more than he was ready to. It was the unspoken agreement between them: they kept their distance, but they were still there for each other in their own way.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the driveway, Jake could feel the familiar itch in his hands—the itch to do something, to push himself further. He had been practicing more and more lately, testing the limits of his powers, seeing how far he could go. And every time he used them, he felt that rush, that spark of excitement that told him he was meant for more. He was meant for something bigger.

But there was also a part of him—small but growing—that worried about what might happen if he pushed too far. Levi’s words from earlier echoed in his mind, the warning about losing control, about hurting someone. Jake had shrugged it off at the time, but now, standing in the quiet of the garage, he couldn’t help but wonder if Levi was right. What if he couldn’t stop? What if, one day, he crossed a line he couldn’t come back from?

Jake shook his head, pushing the thought aside. He wasn’t like that. He was in control. He had to be.

“I’m gonna head inside,” Jake said, pushing off from the garage wall. “You need anything?”

His dad waved him off without looking up. “I’m good. Go get something to eat.”

Jake nodded, turning toward the house. As he walked through the front door, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeted him, the sound as much a part of home as the worn furniture and the faint smell of engine oil that always seemed to linger in the air. The house was small, modest, but it had been theirs for as long as Jake could remember.

The kitchen was empty, the countertops cluttered with old magazines and unopened mail. Jake grabbed a soda from the fridge, popping the tab and leaning against the counter as he took a sip. The quiet of the house settled over him, but it wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought peace. It was the kind of quiet that reminded him of everything that was missing.

His mom had been the glue that held their family together. She had been the one who laughed the loudest, who made sure there was always something cooking on the stove, who filled the house with warmth and light. Without her, it felt like the house had lost its heart. His dad had retreated into the garage, and Jake… Jake had retreated into himself.

He didn’t talk about it—not with Levi, not with his dad, not with anyone. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend like it didn’t hurt, like the weight of his mom’s absence wasn’t something that gnawed at him every time he stepped through the front door. He had learned to live with it, just like his dad had. They didn’t need to talk about it. They didn’t need to acknowledge it.

Jake finished his soda and tossed the can into the trash, his mind wandering back to his powers. It had been almost a year since he first realized what he could do—since he first felt the energy coursing through him, raw and electric. At first, it had been small things—sparks of light, bursts of heat that fizzled out before they could do any real damage. But lately, it had been more. He could feel it growing, feel the power inside him building, waiting to be unleashed.

And he wanted to unleash it. He wanted to see how far he could go, how much he could do. But Levi’s voice was always in the back of his mind, reminding him to be careful, to hold back. Jake didn’t want to hold back. He didn’t want to play it safe.

But maybe Levi was right. Maybe he needed to be more careful.

Jake shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he made his way to his room. The walls were lined with posters—basketball players, bands, video game characters. It was a reflection of who he used to be, before his powers, before everything started to change. Now, it all felt like a distant memory, like a different life.

He flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the faint sound of the TV drifted in from the living room. His dad was probably watching some old action movie, the kind with explosions and car chases and bad one-liners. It was the same routine every night, the same rhythm that had filled the quiet spaces since his mom had passed.

Jake closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting. He could feel the energy in his veins, thrumming just beneath the surface, waiting to be called upon. He had always been able to sense it, even before he knew what it was. It was like a current of electricity running through him, begging to be set free.

But now, with everything that had happened—the streetlamp, Levi’s warnings—it felt different. He felt different.

For the first time in a long time, Jake wasn’t sure if he was even truly in control anymore. He wasn’t sure he even cared.