Chapter 2: Shadows Over Maple Heights

Aubrey was found by Pastor Joe among a pile of bodies.

That day, the church became a makeshift triage. Pastor Joe, our moral compass and sometimes stern father figure, led volunteers through the wreckage. Aubrey was the only child he pulled from the chaos, small and shivering in the ruins of what had been a safe place.

That year, the cult destroyed our small town. Pastor Joe led the search for survivors, but only Aubrey came back.

It was all over the news—another tragedy in rural America, the kind that fades from memory as soon as the cameras leave. But for us, it changed everything. Aubrey clung to Pastor Joe, eyes wide and silent, never asking for her parents. The whole town mourned, but she stared straight ahead, daring the world to do its worst.

She was thirteen. Pastor Joe took her in as his ward and gave her a place at the table.

He filed the paperwork, made sure she had a bed and hot meals. At first, they were inseparable. The rest of us became her new family, a tribe glued together by tragedy and duty.

But Aubrey would vanish the second someone mentioned raking leaves, only to reappear when the pizza delivery showed up.

Every morning, she’d drag herself out of bed last, always begging for "five more minutes." She cared more about picking out a new hoodie than picking up a sword.

Every time we trained, she was the last to arrive and the first to leave.

Even the younger kids sometimes shook their heads, wondering how she got away with everything. The only time she showed up early was for food.

Pastor Joe let her be—maybe because she lacked talent, maybe because with Caleb and me around, it was never her turn to lead.

He’d pat her shoulder and say, "Everyone finds their stride in their own time, Aubrey." Maybe he meant it, or maybe he just knew she wasn’t ready for more. With Caleb and me carrying the weight, she could drift through.

If she played by the rules, it was unwritten law—I’d protect her, no matter what.

But from the start, Aubrey disliked me.

Maybe it was Pastor Joe’s praise, maybe because I always seemed to ace Bible study. Either way, she made me her competition early on.

She couldn’t stand my hard work, Pastor Joe’s high hopes, or—least of all—Caleb’s special treatment.

Every time Pastor Joe bragged about my progress, she’d roll her eyes so hard you’d think they’d get stuck. Caleb’s lopsided smiles and patience pushed her buttons most.

So every few days, she’d pick a fight.

Sometimes it was words, sometimes pranks. Peace never lasted long.

If she wasn’t badmouthing me to Pastor Joe, she was putting frogs on my bed. She’d probably watched too many summer camp movies.

You’d hear a shriek from my room, and there it was—a fat green frog on my pillow, courtesy of Aubrey. Once, she even left a note: "Kiss him for luck."

She was even worse when Caleb was around—pulling her most shameless tricks.

Whenever Caleb visited, she turned up the drama. If there was a way to steal the spotlight, she found it.

Once, during sword training at Silver Lake, Aubrey and some younger girls stood on fence posts, balancing as I corrected their forms.

Silver Lake was breezy in late spring, the water shimmering, fence posts slick with dew. The little ones wobbled while I walked the line, trying to look stern.

Just as Caleb passed by, Aubrey suddenly fell into the lake with a splash.

The sound cut through the air like a gunshot. Everyone froze. Caleb didn’t hesitate—he vaulted the fence and fished her out, jeans dripping lake water.

She clung to him, eyes wide and tragic: "I must have done badly, so big sis got mad and pushed me in."

She turned on the waterworks, and you’d think I was the villain in an after-school special.

Caleb comforted her and led her off to rest. Aubrey shot me a triumphant look, sticking out her tongue behind his back. I just rolled my eyes.

I said nothing. No point arguing—she’d just double down. Silence became my armor.

Her little schemes seemed childish, sometimes even funny. At times, her mischief felt like a plea to be noticed.

Aubrey liked Caleb, and for decades, she fought me for him.

It was an open secret—every birthday, every group photo, she’d plant herself next to him. For years, it was the backdrop to everything.

But who would have guessed our "upright" older brother was already working with the cult?

I remember how the town trusted him, how neighbors waved as he walked down Main Street. We never saw the monster hiding in plain sight.

He waited until Pastor Joe and I went out of town, then led the cultists in to attack.

He planned it for weeks, maybe months. He waved us off from the porch, then opened the door to darkness. By the time we got back, it was too late.

No warning signs—no barking dogs, no frantic phone calls. Just silence and empty houses. We found the aftermath, not the struggle.

The last one left was Aubrey.

She was still standing, even when it seemed impossible.

Her training was weak—she hadn’t even learned basic disguises. The most she could do was blend in with a crowd, maybe swap a jacket. The real tricks were beyond her.

To buy time, this girl who loved beauty above all scarred her own face with a knife.

I imagine her staring into that cracked bathroom mirror, jaw set, eyes fierce, before she did it. The thought still makes my stomach twist.

Disguised as me, she stood at the front gate, sword in hand, bluffing that reinforcements were coming.

She straightened up in my jacket, dared them to come closer. She didn’t even flinch when the cultists jeered.

That night, Aubrey used every move she’d ever learned, even the ones she was lazy about.

Every clumsy lunge, every half-remembered block—she threw it all at them, refusing to back down. You could see the desperation in her eyes, hands trembling on the hilt.

But even until her death, she couldn’t hurt Caleb at all.

He never gave her a chance. It was over too fast, the way these things always are.

When I arrived, Aubrey’s face was bloody, kneeling at the gate, barely alive.

She didn’t see me at first—her eyes were glassy, lips trembling. The porch light flickered above her, shadows stretching across the gravel.

I leaned close and heard her whisper:

"So annoying... why are you so good... I can’t imitate you... not at all."

Her words were a breath, barely audible. But I heard them, and I carry them still.