We both jumped. Shawn’s face seemed to expand with panic, but it wasn’t the time to be making faces. I barreled past him and threw open the door. The scene looked to be one straight out of a horror film.

A wiry-framed girl with long, jet black hair clung to a heavy-set woman with spiked, bleach blonde hair. The former had her teeth sunk into the latter’s neck. Splotches of blood marred the otherwise pristine white carpet around them. A man near the struggle was frozen in place, his arms outstretched in confused desperation. I surmised that he was Mr. Hasbrook, the bleeding woman was Mrs. Hasbrook, and the blood-hungry teenager was their daughter, Cara.

I sprinted across the room and sprang off the back of a leather couch like a professional wrestler from the top rope. I connected with the mismatched pair of women and we all sprawled out on the floor. Cara scrambled to her feet. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt and faded pajama pants with little ice cream cones on them. They were both stained red.

Her white, soulless eyes scoured the room, locking on the human blood fountain next to us. I reoriented and reached out as she prepared to lunge. My arm curled around her neck just as she pounced. Her momentum sent us careening into the foot of the hospital bed set up in the dining room. The sudden appearance of fuzzy black walls threatening to collapse the tunnel of my consciousness meant my head was the primary point of impact.

Thankfully, I maintained my grip, otherwise a bump on the head would have been the least of my worries. Cara’s arms extended toward her mother like a baby crying to be held, except she was hissing like a vampire. Red droplets sprayed from her mouth, further corroborating the comparison.

I tightened my grip around her neck and grabbed her forehead with my other hand. I wanted to keep her teeth as far away from me as possible. I wasn’t interested in becoming the second course.

She squirmed and flailed wildly, her arms still reaching out. I tried to wrap my legs around hers to prevent her from bucking, but a wild kick near my nether region almost ended our wrestling match entirely. I then tried dragging her toward the wall behind us, but she was inhumanly strong. I wasn’t equipped to deal with this, and my mind was struggling to parse the whole situation.

From what I remembered, in its current state, Cara’s body was a husk, starved and craving energy. It had enough to be alive, but not enough to be sentient. And since it couldn’t think, it wasn’t constrained by the feeling of pain or the brain’s limiters to prevent damage to the body.

I had seen this kind of monster before, but only once. It was during my training with Al, my mentor, but it was only to demonstrate that I should never try to resurrect anyone. I was taught that the only way to deal with this type of creature was by killing it. However, I refused to kill anyone — not again. I was a healer and I’d much rather be healing than monster-slaying.

I figured that by finishing the job the right way, by reconnecting her soul then giving it the energy it needed, Cara would come back to life. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to focus enough to give her that second chance with her physical body flailing around. I needed help.

My grip was getting tenuous, but I quickly surveyed the room. In the middle, Cara’s father stared at the incapacitated Mrs. Hasbrook with a what-do-I-do expression. Beyond them, were two other people cowering behind the couch I’d overturned; they must be the aunts Shawn mentioned.

My head throbbed. My vision blurred, then came back into focus on the fireplace. There were decorative bird plates displayed on the mantle. They reminded me of the sort of day I was having. The kind of day where a bird might drop a load of ectoplasm on your shoulder. People claimed it was lucky, but that was ridiculous. There was nothing fortuitous about getting pooped on.

I looked over and the deuce-dropping bird stood at the front door. He was shivering in fear, eyes frozen on the undead teenager I grappled with. It seemed like he was the only viable tag-team partner available. Death help me.

“Shawn, go put pressure on the wound.” I nodded toward Mrs. Hasbrook, but his shocked expression barely changed. To his credit, he did move, albeit at the pace of a rowboat crossing a plush white and red ocean. I gritted my teeth. “Move!”

He hastened his step then knelt on the blood-stained carpet, his hands shaking as he descended. The woman’s frantic eyes softened as he pressed his palms against the wound.

“Good! Now push your energy into it. That should slow the--" The look he gave me, made me realize a major flaw in my plan. Even though Mrs. Hasbrook was bleeding blood, he was still afraid of bleeding light. I tried to reassure him: “Don’t worry. Everything’ll be fine.” He didn’t look very reassured. I may as well have been shouting, “Don’t think of a two-headed dog surrounded by fire and brimstone.”

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I intended to encourage him further, but with all the time I’d spent thinking, I’d forgotten something important. Cara rewarded my lapse in focus with an elbow to the stomach. I gasped and she pulled free.

I managed to hook a foot around one of her ankles and she toppled over. My feet were under me before she could gather herself, but air refused to enter my lungs. She rolled, and from a feral crouch, she lunged at Shawn. He removed his hands from Mrs. Hasbrook and turned around to scramble toward the couches. Cara’s grasping, undead fingers grazed the back of his head, but I tackled her, before they could take hold of his luscious locks. We clambered through the mess of blood coating the floor.

I rolled to my feet as quickly as I could, forcing my lungs to obey. Dismay set in when I saw the terror in my pupil’s eyes, his visage that of a little boy’s unable to comprehend a monster actually creeping out of the closet. His base instincts took over and his choice between fight or flight was obvious. I needed a new plan.

I considered my options, but there was only one that I could think of to save everyone. I had only ever wanted to be a healer, but in that moment, I had to be a hero.

I diverted as much energy from my soul as I could manage, circulating it into every part of my body. The feeling of being smarter, stronger, and faster set in. The effects were surreal.

Colors became so vivid that I could spend an entire lifetime staring at them. My brain processed information like a computer. My body twitched with an eagerness to act. I wanted to take a moment to savor the feeling, but it was time to save the day.

Cara was running back toward the group, but her desperate charge looked like she was moving in slow-motion. I fell into a sprinter’s stance so fast that I probably left an afterimage. From that position, the burst of speed I used to propel myself forward cracked the floor beneath the carpet.

I hurdled over the girl’s lustrous black hair. My hand gripped her wrist mid-somersault, and using my momentum, I flung her across the room. She spun over everyone’s heads and slammed into the wall between two windows that looked out at the street. The resounding crack of the drywall and studs was the gunshot signaling the start of the next race.

Before anyone could turn to look at where Cara had flown, I was already moving. I slid into the bloody pool around Mrs. Hasbrook, painting myself red. Now, my clothes looked like my first interview went horribly awry.

Dipping further into my reserves, I injected energy into the dying woman’s wound. She’d been about to pay the ferryman for a ride across the River Styx as life flowed out of me like water from a hose. My enhanced senses dulled, but I was able to stop the bleeding. Then I realized, Cara had not only torn a chunk out of Mrs. Hasbrook’s neck, she’d torn out a piece of her soul.

I dug deeper, forcing my power toward the additional damage, willing it to close. It took a few moments for my energy to cauterize the wound, and the expenditure from the spiritual surgery caused my stomach to roar. When the operation was complete, I sighed in relief.

Wiping my forehead, I looked up. Cara was no longer a hanging piece of art. I cursed when a scream came from beyond the overturned couch a couple dozen feet away. I was exhausted, but I squeezed more mana into my body. Colors brightened once more, and I vaulted toward the disturbance.

Mr. Hasbrook was pulling on Cara’s sweatshirt while she tugged on one of the aunt’s legs. The aunt’s other leg was frantically kicking the monster in the head. Neither my tag-team partner nor the last family member was helping. One was peeking at the scene from behind the upright couch, the other was curled up in the corner, pleading for his mommy to save him.

Sailing over the struggle and with my perception expanding time, I cringed when I caught a glimpse of those plates again. I shook my head to get rid of the nest forming there but was unsuccessful. I ricocheted off the couch shielding the yellow-bellied finch of an aunt. My dismount caused the sofa to buckle, but I didn’t mean to send her flying. Then again, birds fly, don’t they?

The redirection of my trajectory allowed me to spear Cara away from both of her opponents. We skid across the mat, then I pinned her, but it wasn’t enough to end the match. I only got a two count before she got a shoulder up.

My head…I tried to shake it again to straighten out my metaphors, but that gave the monstrous teenager the chance to break one of the unwritten rules of fighting: she bit me.

It wasn’t the pain of being bitten that bothered me; it was the troubling sensation that followed. The brat sucked energy out of me like an obnoxious kid slurping a milkshake. The gnawing hunger from healing Mrs. Hasbrook was replaced with starvation, then nausea. I was going to die — again.

I lost myself in the memory of my death. It was painful and confusing. I couldn’t face what had happened, so I avoided thinking about it. Instead, I focused on the powers I’d suddenly gained and trying to survive Al’s method of training. I quit looking for my sister before even trying, and now, it was probably too late… or was it? Didn’t I just decide I had to be a hero? No. I was a hero and heroes never give up. The grim reaper was going to have to wait.

I took hold of the energy being sucked out of me and used it to punch Cara in the forehead with all my might. Her jaw opened. Before she could act further, I grabbed the front of her sweatshirt, swung her over my head, and slammed her down, creating another divot in the floor.

I was running on fumes but managed to drag her over to the fireplace and throw her inside. Using the last of my strength, I heaved the bricks inward, crushing her. I knew it wouldn’t hold for long, but my fuel gauge was on ‘E’. Thankfully, there was a pump nearby.

I half-jumped, half-fell toward Shawn. My whole body hurt as I hit the carpet. Darkness loomed at the edges of my vision, but I persevered. Arm over arm, I crawled. He was just as surprised as I was when my hand touched his leg.

With a final push, I reached my mind out to his. A psychic tunnel formed, and my consciousness sped down it, then I crashed through the barrier of his soul like it was made of glass.

My heart flew into my throat, and I flailed my limbs as I fell from the sky into a world of nightmares.