How the car was still moving, Andrea didn't know. He also didn’t want to push it too much, or who knew how long the engine would last. A thread of smoke came through the hood, one of the lights wasn’t working properly, it kept buzzing and dying every now and then, and the whole car fizzled like a dying man. It unnerved him, but it also gave him something to focus on.

All his senses were on high alert. He could feel Ishram’s presence next to him, on the passenger seat. Too close, too quiet, too calm.

The thing didn’t even look twenty-five, yet he acted as if he were much older. Andrea checked on him more than he wanted to. Especially when Ishram moved to clear his own face from Seth’s blood.

Andrea averted his eyes, nauseated. He had already threw up after hitting Ishram with a rock, he didn't want to repeat the experience on his wheel. He’d knelt next to Seth's body and mourned.

Until he had to go.

He hated himself for it.

He didn’t realise he was crying until the car died for the third time. He’d broken into tears, screaming at the wheel and hitting it, until crying was all he could do. Then, Ishram had shown up, the engine had finally started, and fear had become blind rage.

He wanted to kill Ishram.

He was almost scared he had, when the car hit the tree and Ishram screamed in pain. But Ishram didn’t die and Andrea swore he was going crazy. For a moment, it felt like a fever dream; like he would just wake up in his own bed, sweating and shouting.

Still, deep inside, he knew Ishram was real. Unnaturally so. Andrea wasn’t sure what to think of him other than, I hate you.

Eventually, silence bothered him as much as noise. He needed distraction. Something. Anything. So he spoke. “What was that all about? The guy- thing calling you Sha-ha-something.”

“It’s Kishaard-el, our language.” Ishram's reply was almost immediate, as if he was waiting for it to come. It was like being cornered; this was supposed to put Ishram in a difficult situation. Not Andrea.

No matter what happened, Ishram always knew what to do. “It means ‘unworthy one’,” he laughed.

Andrea frowned. “Unworthy one?”

“Yeah, it’s what they call traitors.”

Andrea shook his head. The more he knew, the less he understood. “What about preventing- you said you would tell me about preventing you from killing anyone.”

Ishram inhaled slowly, and then let out. “Check your forearms.” He said.

“I’m kinda driving?”

Andrea almost jumped when Ishram offered his hand—his bloodied hand—towards him. When he looked, Ishram’s eyebrows were raised. “I can’t hurt you, Andrea.”

“Can’t.” Andrea’s voice was dry.

Ishram groaned. “Yes, can’t. And don’t want to.” Andrea kept his stubborn silence. “Okay, I’m sure you can just hit me again with something.”

Andrea’s blood boiled in his veins. He pushed his right arm right in front of Ishram. He glared at the road, but didn’t turn when he felt his fingers pulling at the fabric.

“There you go.” He heard Ishram say, when the pressure disappeared. It’d been fast, almost non-existent. Ishram hadn't touched his skin, and Andrea was silently grateful for it.

When Andrea withdrew his arm, his eyes followed down his forearm. On the inner, a pitch-black circle had appeared. It had an intricate design, with smaller circles and slim notches. A quarter of it was completely black. It looked like a clock, only there weren’t numbers. “What the-”

“Hey, watch the road!”

Andrea steered the wheels, heart pounding, before pressing the brakes and stopping the car. The engine died.

“No, no, no, no.” Andrea put the car in neutral and turned the key once more, pressed against the pedal. He tried again, and again. Until panic started to raise. “C’mon!” he begged, turning the key once again.

His breath grew faster by the second, heart pounding right underneath his temples. He closed his eyes, cold sweat crawling on his skin. Then, no matter how much he inhaled, it wasn't enough. His lungs were too big for his chest, knot rose right inside his throat and tightened. He closed his eyes, ignored the heavy feeling on his chest and choked a sob.

A sigh, right next to himself, then shifting clothes. Andrea covered his face with shaking hands, his shoulders dropped.

“Andrea, you need to breathe.” Ishram's voice was low and quiet, like he was talking to a caged animal.

Andrea shrunk away. “I can’t,” he babbled.

Silence. “Alright, look at me.” But Andrea didn’t turn. He hated this, hated the fact that he needed Ishram in order to help his parents. “Andrea, we don’t have time.”

I don’t have time, Andrea snarled inside his head. They weren’t Ishram’s parents. “I know.” He forced himself to raise his head and put his hands on the wheel. Face twisted, he turned and glared at Ishram.

“Anger is good, too.” Ishram said calmly. “You’ll have plenty of time to vent once everything is settled.”

Andrea flipped Ishram off, and then went back to the keys. He swore he could see Ishram smirking with the corner of his eyes, but was too busy cheering, once the car started another time. “Oh god, thank you,” Andrea breathed.

The car groaned when he pushed the pedal and changed gear.

“You saw the black slice, right?” Ishram whispered after a few minutes of silence. It took Andrea time to nod and remember. “That’s how much energy you decide to give me.”

“And why would I need to do that?”

Ishram chuckled, soft and deep. His voice was croaky, but warm when he spoke again. “Because someone else decided you had to.”

“That makes so much more sense now, thanks,” Andrea scoffed.

Ishram shifted on his seat and looked outside the window. “What year are we in?”

“What do you mean-” Andrea cut himself off, jaw working. “Why am I even surprised?” He rolled his eyes. “It’s, uh, September 2018.”

Ishram didn’t reply, but Andrea could hear his disbelief when he snorted and clicked his tongue.

“What year should it be, exactly?”

Ishram breathed in, then held his breath. A hand pressed against his forehead, massaging it. “Twenty-eighth of July, 1938. Somewhere around the Dead Sea.”

“Nineteen-what?” Andrea turned, looked right back at Ishram. “You’re bullshitting me, ain’t you?”

Ishram stared back, something tired in his gaze. Andrea could only hold his gaze for a brief moment. They were sharp and deep, with a cat-like pupil. His eyes dropped down on Ishram’s mouth, when he smiled. “Whatever you say, pal.”

Andrea almost didn’t hear that. White teeth with sharp ends peeked from Ishram's lips, where four canines should have been. Andrea looked back on the road, another wave of fear and distrust washing through him. What had he gotten himself into?

“You really don’t need to do that,” Ishram said. “Besides, you still haven’t asked how you adjust the seal.”

“And what the hell were you waiting for to explain it, exactly?” Andrea snapped.

“You need your other hand. The last-” Ishram voice died. He coughed and froze. “The other contractors used it as a knob.”

Andrea peeked at the seal. It didn’t hurt, didn't feel at all. It was his skin, as if it’d always been there. Still focusing on the street, he used his hand, pressed his fingers against the circle and turned it clockwise.

Ishram’s reaction was almost immediate. His posture was stiff, and his hand gripped at the car’s handle. “Turn it back!” He ordered.

Andrea hurried. He looked by times at the seal, and saw how the black slice moved together with his fingers, filling up and now emptying the circle. Andrea brought the line back to the first quarter. Ishram relaxed in his seat. His breathing was harsh, but it settled in a moment.

Andrea peeked at him, checked what was going on. Ishram was looking right in front of him, eyes bright, still tensed.

“Don’t.” Ishram started. “Do that again. Ever.”

Andrea brought his sleeve back on his arm. “You told me to try it! How would I know?”

“That’s why I told you to turn it back! Why would you-”

Andrea hushed him. “There!” tension raised once again in his own body when he steered the wheel and exited the main road. They took the dirt track to his house, and Andrea went faster than he should’ve.

“That’s the house?” Ishram asked. He was checking his own hands, cleaning what left of the blood on the inside of his newly ‘acquired’ coat.

Andrea stopped the car right in front of the house. Dad would’ve gone crazy about it, but he didn’t care. The house was old, completely made out of wood. A cabin with only one floor. Its roof sloping so that snow wouldn’t stratify on it during the winters. There was an outer porch with a bench, a table, and a swing. The lights were on, the curtains drawn, and the chimney letting out a slim trail of smoke.

Andrea opened the car’s door and was about to exit when Ishram grabbed his arm. Panic spiked. “Don’t touch me!” Andrea shouted, jerking his arm.

“Then wait a moment and listen to me.” Ishram’s voice was low, but Andrea could hear a low growl raising together with the sound. “We’re arrived first. It’s a good thing, but I need you to help me convince your parents.”

Andrea stared at him dead in the eye, and eventually jerked his arm. He settled on his seat, reached for the dashboard and opened it. Inside there were a bunch of papers, together with tissues and a pair of sunglasses. “Take those.” He said, pointing at the sunglasses.

Ishram stared at the glasses and took them, examining them. It was a pair of fake Ray Ban, they'd been there since Andrea's childhood. “Fancy,” Ishram mumbled as he put the glasses on and looked back at Andrea. “This definitely won’t arouse suspicion.”

Andrea glared at him. “Can we go now?”

Ishram checked the house once again. His face was doubting, but eventually he nodded and got out of the car as well. Andrea didn’t bother closing the door as he ran to the house. He rummaged in his pockets until he found the keys and shoved them inside the lock. “Mom? Dad?”

The house was silent, except for the speaker from a TV. How could Ishram be so sure they were the first to arrive his house? What if those things had already arrived? What if-

“Andrea, where have you been? We were worried.” His mother. Andrea had to hold himself as still as possible not to hug her. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Mom looked tired. Her skin was a warm pecan brown, deep brunette hair and gentle eyes. A net of wrinkles gathered on her face when she saw Andrea, betraying her age. She was wearing her family poncho, with deep, bright colours and white linings. Her hair was tied in a messy, loose bun.

“I’m sorry, mamá,” Andrea could only say, before his father joined them.

Short, cloudy hair with some gray strands, and a well-cut beard framed a scared face. He hadn't removed his work clothes, and Andrea wondered if he was about to come looking for him.

“Where’s your phone? We’ve been calling you-” his eyes dropped somewhere behind Andrea, a bit higher. Right where Ishram stood. “And you are?”

Andrea shifted on his feet to check what Ishram was doing, only to find the man standing with a serious expression and head raised, staring at the sky. Andrea's gut clenched when Ishram's eyes lowered towards him, suddenly grateful Ishram was wearing sunglasses.

“In a hurry, sir.” Ishram sighed, pushing Andrea right inside the house.

“Hey!” Andrea complained. He tried to oppose resistance, but Ishram just pushed harder.

Ishram huffed. “No hey’s or but’s. You’ll explain once you’re somewhere I know they can’t reach you.” He closed the door behind him.

“What’s going on? Andrea, who is this?” His mother was already moving away from Ishram. “Get out of my house, or I’ll call the police.”

Ishram looked at her with interest. “How much before they’d arrive?” 

A moment of confusion, together with discomfort, filled the silence for them. To which Ishram clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Too slow, we don’t have that much time.”

“Who are you?” his father barked, putting himself between Ishram and Andrea.

Ishram stopped, gritted teeth and clenched fists. He tilted his head. “This is the moment you talk to them, Andrea.”

Andrea’s face was tense with anxiety. Guts twisting, the urge rose once again. “Mamá, papá, please I need you to listen to him. I will explain everything, but please, we need to go.”

“Stay away from the windows.” Ishram added. “And the doors.”

Andrea stared at his parents, his hands reached his father’s arm and pulled. Outrage became calm mistrust, then quiet fear. His father stared at Ishram once again, then grabbed the phone and moved.

Andrea drew in a breath of relief and followed. They headed in the living room, Ishram pointed at the corner between the couches. There was a small table, with trinkets and ornaments on. Everything in the house belonged to either mom’s or dad’s family.

Ishram freed a small space between the couches, in the corner of the room, before Andrea could do anything. “Sit there,” he instructed.

Andrea was the first to move, pulling at his mother so she would follow.

They sat there, he made sure to be by his mother’s side, so that his father would be on the other one. Ishram was checking the windows, moving furniture in front of doors and between himself and the windows.

Once he was satisfied, Ishram stalked right in front of them, crouched and sucked a deep breath in. Then, he removed his glasses.

Deep, blue eyes were looking at Andrea with slim pupils. Sharp and strong features twisted in a somber expression. Ishram's lips were thin with tension, a straight nose and high cheekbones. His black hair was a wet mess over his head, wavy and messy locks framing it. He was handsome, in a way, and fearful in every other. A few drops of blood were still on his face, right under his eye; the contrast disturbingly fitting on his dark skin.

Andrea turned to check on his parent—his superstitious parents—now frozen in place.

Ishram waited, before talking. His voice was deep and gravelly. “Whatever happens, do not move from here,” he whispered, “whatever happens, stay behind me and everything will be fine.”

Andrea felt his mother's body shaking more and more as time passed. He rubbed her shoulder, tightening his grip to ground her. It worked only a bit.

“Do you understand?” Ishram said again. His voice was calm, but not as soothing as Andrea would expect it to be.

“It’s gonna be alright, mamá,” Andrea said.

Eventually, his mother nodded, and Ishram sighed again. He looked tired. Andrea followed him as he raised and took off his boots, and then unbuttoned his coat and shoved it on the couch. Andrea’s breath caught in his throat when he saw his torso. The amount of blood Ishram had spilled on the shirt was copious. It dampened the cloth, down to his trousers. Warmth abandoned Andrea’s cheeks as flashes of the crash filled his mind. Had Ishram been bleeding this whole time?

“How are you gonna protect-”

Ishram shrugged. “I’ll just do it.”

Andrea’s face twisted at the idea of Ishram being used to this.

A loud crash—shattered glass—broke the silence. Ishram jerked his whole body and turned his back on them. Andrea stilled and held his mother even tighter.

Then, the door blew off its hinges.