I finally made it back to Dallas, back to my neighborhood, my home. Each step was a struggle. After what I did to those men, when I returned to myself, I slowly began to feel weak. My legs heavy with exhaustion and pain dragged me closer to a place that felt like a distant memory. I walked just off the shoulder of the road, clinging to the shadows where the few passing cars couldn’t see the blood-stained rags that hung like tattered ghosts of my former self. Days had blurred together, a ceaseless march through the wilderness and highways, sleeping fitfully beneath the sheltering branches of trees that offered little comfort.

The moon, a silent watcher, was hovering above me, casting its cold light on the road ahead. It had to be around ten or eleven at night, but time had lost its meaning over the course of the last few days. I was so close to home, but the journey had been a harrowing odyssey through hell. I was so tired, and I was so scared of what was happening to me. I just had to get home.

I remembered the feeling of the gunshots. The feeling of the bullets against my grotesquely grey flesh. The three men that had tried to kill me were gone from the world, never to hurt another poor soul again. Just thinking about them pissed me off and stirred something inside. I could feel whatever lived inside of me squirming. My body tightened, and I went rigid, stumbling to my knees. I breathed long, slow breaths as I tried to gain control of whatever was happening. I focused on clearing my mind as I inhaled and exhaled. It was barely working.

My skin was still sticky with blood, some of it my own from the initial attack, but most of it belonged to the men from the truck. The memory of that violent encounter played in my mind, a relentless loop of horror and rage. I had tried to wash away the gore in a shallow creek I stumbled upon, but crimson stains still clung to the creases of my arms and face, mocking my futile efforts. The fatigue weighed on me like a shroud, smothering any sense of relief or accomplishment. I was too tired to care, too broken to feel anything but a numb, gnawing despair for what I’d done… and what I had become.

As I neared the familiar streets of my neighborhood, the comfort I had longed for seemed to approach. Home was a sanctuary; it was a reminder of the man I was… still was? I just needed Vicky’s help, then everything would be alright. We’d figure this out. Just a few more streets to walk.

There it was, through the sparse trees on the road, and a short expanse of grass. It was my house. Then, the contracting of my muscles slowed to a stop, and the burning that had just begun surfacing in my hands and face dissipated.

I stood up slowly, making sure I was myself. It was good… I was in control for the moment. I started walking again, never taking my eyes off the house down the road. It kept me calm. The closer I got, the more I could see, and the more I felt comforted and safe again. My whole family was there. All their cars and trucks were parked in my front yard, along with my own truck. I knew that whatever was happening to me would be okay if I could just make it inside. I had to make it to Vicky. I went into the yard, feeling the natural grass in between my toes as I walked up to the large window. The lights were on, and there was movement.

My sisters, Sarah and Sydney, were sitting with Vicky in the living room. All of them were red in the eyes from extended crying. Vicky was pacing; her blonde hair was tied up in a mess, and her mascara was running around her puffy red eyes. I saw a mess of tissues on the coffee table and the floor. She had been crying all day. She looked exhausted as she walked frantically, probably waiting for a sign of hope that I was alive. She probably waited by the phone all day for a phone call, waiting to hear my voice.

Mom and Dad just sat at the dining room table, exhausted from the worry. Seth was right there, stone-faced with no emotion. He was in a different world than everyone else. He was starting to accept that he’d lost his brother, his twin. It was like he lost half of himself. He couldn’t talk to anyone else about it because if he said the words out loud, it would make it real. He just kind of froze.

My friend Ben was even there. He sat on a stool at the bar of our kitchen. He just watched Vick as she paced, unable to say or do anything to give her real comfort. He was just there, making sure she was okay, making sure that she was taken care of until I was found. He was a good friend.

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I loved my wife. Ever since I met Vicky, I knew she was special. I needed her now, and I hoped she could help me with whatever was happening. Ben was my non-twin best friend, he had been since middle school, and I knew he would stick by my side no matter what I had become. They all would. They were just beyond the wall of glass waiting for me, for news that I was okay. I was going in. I needed to feel Vicky in my arms, to feel her kiss on my lips. I needed to hug my brother and tell him I was okay.

Then they began talking. I could hear everyone through the wall, even though they were speaking softly. My senses perking up.

“I don’t know how long I can do this for,” Vicky said. Her words were heavy, tired, and defeated.

“It’s okay, Vick, we still don’t know anything,” Ben said, trying to lift her spirits.

“It’s been over a week, and we haven’t heard anything,” she cried. “He disappeared right out of the back yard, no trace. How does that happen?” She was in a rage. “A lot of that blood was his, and I know his chance of surviving on his own after losing that much blood is only getting lower. I’m a nurse, I’m not an idiot.”

“Vick,” Ben tried to calm her.

She burst into tears and fell back onto the couch. My sisters comforted her, tried to calm her down. Ben went to her side and put his arm around her for comfort. He didn’t say anything, he just sat with her. She was torn up, and I could tell that Ben was too, he was just keeping it together for Vicky’s sake. We had grown up together, basically the third brother to my family.

I don’t know what started it, maybe it was the hug. I began to feel this rage of jealousy and hate crawl out towards Ben. I knew in my logical mind that he was just there for Vicky, but some dark part of me, this new part, took it as a threat. Then I started looking at Vicky and the rest of my family. How they were crying over my death. Anger, frustration, and rage built in me. It all came from the new place, and I couldn’t stop it. I felt like they had already given up on me, brushing me off, and just accepting the loss. I kept thinking to myself that I knew in my right mind that this was untrue, but I couldn’t shake these dark feelings that crept out of me.

I felt my body twitch, flex, and burn. I was changing back into whatever kind of creature I had become. I fell against the tree in our yard and braced myself as the transformation tried to take hold. My body thrashed and convulsed as my muscles popped and flexed as they tried to make way for the beast. I fought back, locking my body in a position against the tree. I looked back at the window to try and see Vicky’s face and calm myself. The only thing I noticed was my own horrific reflection splayed out against the yard.

Everything stopped: the transformation, the anger, everything. I saw what I was turning into. Black colorless eyes stared back at me. They were so black that the moonlight reflected off them perfectly. They were like polished obsidian stones. The bones in my face had started to shift, making my portrait look less human and more… something else. I could see the fangs that had started to bulge from my mouth, and when I looked down at my hands, the long black talons had already begun to creep out. I stared at my reflection for a minute, utterly void of anything but dread. I think I went numb for a little bit, I couldn’t let myself feel anything, or I would completely lose it.

I saw myself for the monster I truly was. I thought back to the three men earlier in the night, and as I killed them, I remember one strong feeling. I wanted to do it. I was turned into a killer, and right then, I wanted to kill the only people I had in my life. I wanted to bust through the wall in front of me and kill my own wife, my twin brother, my sisters, my parents, and my best friend.

What had I become?

I looked past my reflection at Vicky as she came back into view. I took one long look at my beautiful wife. I took in everything about her: her smile, face, hair, body, clothes, even her scent that I could smell from out in the yard. I savored every aspect of her for a quick moment, training it all to memory.

Then, I made the choice that I had to make. I had to make sure Vicky was safe; safe from me. I had to make sure they were all safe. I knew that I couldn’t control whatever was in me. I had no clue what I was capable of doing to my very own family, let alone anyone else. Now that I began to realize and admit what I had become, I had to take myself away from them. I had to give them up. It was the only way I knew they would be safe from the monster inside me.

What would be worse? Let them continue with the grief they were already living in, or come back as a monster only to bring more pain and suffering to them all? Or worse.

I couldn’t trust myself to be around them, or anyone else I cared about. I kept picturing what I did to the three men, and then doing it to my family. Inside my own house where they all thought they were safe.

So, I ran. I turned and bolted for the darkened woods. I don’t know if I transitioned back to my normal self or continued the strange metamorphosis, but all I knew was that I had to keep running. I had to run as far away from Vicky, Seth, and my family as I could. For their sakes.