Chapter Text
Unanswered questions hover like vultures…
Questions hover like vultures…
Hover like vultures…
Like vultures…
Vultures…
Donovan tiredly walked up the stairs, each step creaking under his boots. Today had been crappy - just like most of his days. Mr. Nova got mugged near the apothecary, and Mrs. Arnold, from across the sheriff’s station, had come storming in again to complain about her husband, though the poor man had been dead for four years now. Then came the report about lights flickering in the old Gates house. Probably just a group of teenagers looking for excitement, bored out of their minds. Still, the very thought of patrolling near that place always sent a shiver through him. The silence around was never natural. That family has been dead for decades, and yet their lingering presence is still here.
Walking past the bathroom, he made his way to Tyler’s room. His son must have been asleep by now, but Donovan wanted to be sure. Quietly pushing the door open, he saw Tyler lying on his side, facing the window. He looked peaceful, calmer than Donovan had seen in the last few months. His blanket was half on the floor, and the pale moonlight stretched across his bare legs, making the goosebumps on his skin stand out. He was always restless in his sleep, always kicking his blanket off, even as a child.
Donovan let out a long breath and bent down to pull the blanket back up over him, tucking it around his shoulders the way he used to when Tyler was small. God, it had been years since he last did that. And now he is a teenager and soon to be an adult. Donovan felt more lost than ever. Oh, how he wished that his mother were here to help him navigate parenthood. Fran would know what to do with this teenage rebellion. At least after his court-mandated therapy, he is more focused, focused enough to hold a job at the Weathervane and stopped talking to his old cohorts. Donovan can admit to himself that Lucas, the Mayor’s son, was nothing but trouble, and Donovan hadn’t liked the direction their friendship was heading. So maybe it was a blessing that he destroyed that mural of one of the Nevermore kids.
And yet… part of him couldn’t stop wondering if it was his own fault. He just doesn’t know how to be around Tyler. The older his son grew, the more he resembled Fran, and that resemblance twisted Donovan’s insides. What if Tyler inherited more than just her looks? What if the Hyde lurking under his skin took him the same way it had taken Fran? And it scares him. Will he go insane? Is it going to consume him? That was the fear he could never shake.
He glanced at the clock near Tyler’s bed. Nearly midnight. He lingered, looking one more time at his son’s sleeping face, and he decided to finally go to his own empty bed. With a reluctant breath, he eased the door closed and padded down the hall to his own empty room. He was exhausted and just wanted to rest for the day. Deciding that he can shower in the morning, he tugged on a worn T-shirt and sleep pants before sinking onto the mattress. He fell asleep immediately.
***
A bloodcurdling scream yanked Donovan out of sleep. His heart hammered, instincts screaming louder than his thoughts as he bolted down the hallway to his son's room. Did someone break in? When he threw the door open, the sight inside made his blood run cold. Tyler thrashed violently on the bed, his body twisted in torment. His hands clutched the sides of his head as if trying to rip something out of his skull, while his legs kicked and jerked against invisible restraints.
“Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” Tyler yelled in his sleep. It was as if he was being hunted inside his dreams.
But it wasn’t the screaming that froze Donovan in place; it was his son’s left hand. A claw. Jagged and sharp, the grey claw glinted faintly in the moonlight.
“No… no… NO!” Tyler’s scream was desperate, as if someone was torturing him.
Donovan’s breath hitched, terror crawling under his skin. Every instinct screamed to keep his distance, but he forced himself forward, step by step, eyes locked on the shifting claw. Then, as suddenly as it had transformed, the limb turned back into his son’s trembling hand.
“Tyler, Tyler, wake up!” Donovan’s voice was firm, steadier than he felt. He hesitantly reached out to shake his son’s leg. Tyler whimpered, his head jerking slightly toward his voice. “It’s just a nightmare, wake up.”
Tyler’s face twisted. His eyelids fluttered, but his eyes never opened, darting madly behind his eyelids, and his breathing was getting shorter. His chest heaved, breath coming faster and faster. He gulped the air as if there was not enough of it.
“Tyler, cmon, it’s just a nightmare,” the sheriff urged, but Tyler only grew more frantic.
“Please no, stop it, please…” Tyler started sobbing, his breathing exhilarated, and he could barely get enough air.
Donovan’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t remember Tyler ever having nightmares this violent, not even as a child. He tried talking to him, tapping his legs and shoulders, even shaking him, but it didn’t work. It started to freak him out. Tyler was getting more restless, but what he was mumbling through his sleep was terrible.
Suddenly, Tyler gasped. His eyes flew open. He looked disoriented as if he had no clue where he was, his eyes were bloodshot, tears were streaming down his cheeks and chin. He was shaking all over and, in his panic, struggling to pull in enough air.
“It was just a nightmare, you are okay,” Donovan said, his own voice shaking as he tried to soothe them both. But even as he spoke, he knew it wasn’t true. Something about this, the claw, the screaming, wasn’t just a bad dream. Something was wrong. Deeply, dangerously wrong.
It took Tyler nearly ten minutes to even out his breathing and nearly twenty before the wild haze faded from his eyes. He looked around the room as though he’d never seen it before, his gaze flitting from wall to wall. When his eyes locked on his father, his lower lip wobbled, and fresh tears welled.
“Ty?” Donovan didn’t know why seeing his son now brought his surviving instincts to the top. Tyler’s eyes looked haunted, miserable, feral. For one moment, Donovan thought the boy in front of him wasn’t really his son at all. But then Tyler blinked, and only confusion was left.
“You’re alive.” Tyler’s voice cracked; he looked like death. “How can you be alive?” His disbelief was obvious. The teenager brought his shaking left arm to his father’s shoulder, as if to ensure that it was really him sitting with him in his bed.
“It’s probably just a nightmare.” The older man tried to sound reassuring. “I’m right here.”
Tyler dragged in a shaky breath and began breathing in a controlled rhythm, slow in, slower out, repeating. Techniques from therapy, Donovan realised. But that wild, disbelieving look in his eyes didn’t ease.
“Hey, how about this?” gently mumbled Donovan. He took Tyler’s trembling hand from his shoulder and pressed it flat against his chest. “Do you feel my heartbeat?” Tyler shakily nodded. “That’s right, I’m right here.” He kept speaking, filling the silence with steady words about his day, tomorrow’s errands, anything to ground his son, until he could feel how Tyler’s shaking in his arm stopped. “That’s fine. You're fine. I'm fine.”
Tyler exhaled shakily, and the look in his eyes flickered. If the sheriff hadn’t looked right into his eyes, he would have missed it.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
Donovan froze. In that moment, he realised that something was seriously wrong.
***
In the morning, Donovan looked like shit. It was already nine, and despite nursing a single cup of bitter coffee, he felt no sharper than when he’d first collapsed into bed. Sleep had refused him, lingering dread gnawing at his mind ever since Tyler’s nightmare. The image of the claw wouldn’t leave him, replaying in flashes whenever he blinked.
At least today, Tyler had the day shift at the Weathervane. That meant Donovan could stop by under the guise of grabbing a coffee, keep an eye on him without drawing suspicion. Since the house was quiet, he immediately noticed the soft creak of footsteps above him. Tyler was up.
He crouched by Elvis’s bowl, changing out the water, when his son shuffled into the kitchen. Tyler walked into the kitchen with a mumbled "good morning"; his hair was messy in his typical teenager sulness. He was heading straight for the cabinets, grabbing cereal.
Inconspicuously, he checked how his son looked. It seems that he slept soundly the rest of the night.
"You okay, bud?" Donovan asked cautiously, keeping his tone light. Something in him urged him not to ignore and agitate his son. Maybe… maybe someone had triggered the Hyde. The thought sent ice through his chest.
Tyler froze for half a beat, blinking at him in confusion before setting the milk down. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His brow furrowed. “Since when do you ask that? What’s this about?”
Donovan forced himself to keep his face neutral. “You had a nightmare last night,” he said evenly. “Screamed bloody murder. I thought someone broke into the house. Wanna talk about that?”
Tyler’s spoon clinked against the bowl as he looked up, baffled. “Nightmare? I didn’t have one.” His voice was certain, his expression confused “What are you talking about?"
Donovan’s stomach sank. He wasn’t lying. The boy truly didn’t remember. That was worse... so much worse.
"Right,” Donovan muttered, watching him closely. He shifted gears, pretending to move on. “When’s your shift over? I can grab some pizza, maybe we can watch a movie tonight.” His tone was deliberately casual, but inside, he braced himself, testing for his reaction.
Tyler paused mid-bite, lowering his spoon slowly back into the bowl. His eyes narrowed in disbelief, like Donovan had just suggested something completely foreign. “You… want to hang out?”
“Yeah.” Donovan forced a faint smile. “Some father-son bonding. Been a while.”
Tyler studied him like he was waiting for the punchline, like this had to be some trick. His wariness stung more than Donovan wanted to admit. Was it really such a rare thing for him to want to spend some time with his son?
"Okay,” Tyler said cautiously. “My shift ends at six.”
“I’ll bring pizza. You pick the movie,” Donovan replied. He set his mug in the sink and left the kitchen.
Tyler stared after him, spoon hovering above the soggy cereal, his brows still furrowed. “What just happened?”
***
Donovan felt weary a dull ache behind his eyes that wouldn't ease even after he gulped down some Advil. He needed to know what was up with Tyler. Something about Tyler's nightmare set off a chain of alarms in his head that he couldn’t silence. He couldn’t focus on his shift. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked back to his phone, obsessively checking Tyler’s location. Santiago noticed that something was bothering him, so she ensured that no one could bother him. Which he was grateful for.
He ran his thumb across his phone screen, scrolling through contacts until he found the number he was dreading. Marlena. She was the only one who could help him. And she would do so gladly. But he also knew how much she hated everything about Jericho, everything about this town. And she hated Fran. Marlena’s hatred wasn’t just a passing thing. It was deep-rooted, simmering beneath the surface, anytime they interacted in the past. After Françoise's death, Marlena promised that if he and Tyler needed anything, they could contact her anytime. They occasionally checked on each other. She’d send a message, and they exchange gifts for birthdays, Christmas and occasionally gather together for Thanksgiving in New York.
Donovan hesitated, his thumb hovering over the call button. He needed more. He needed proof, something to convince him that he wasn’t spiralling, something to prove that Tyler hadn’t just had a bad dream, and the claw was a fluke, a pigment of his imagination.
He turned away from the phone, eyes scanning his office. Then his gaze settled on the cabinets near his desk. He remembered that somewhere must be a recording device. Bingo! He could plant it in Tyler’s room. He could record, get the evidence. If there was something or someone unlocking the Hyde, he needed to know before it went too far. He needed to be sure. Only then would he call Marlena.
He grabbed his keys and told his secretary he was stepping out for a break. First, he checked the Weathervane. Tyler was there, just as he should be. Donovan leaned against the counter, waiting for him to finish up with a customer before placing his own order. The place was buzzing with a little extra energy today. Summer vacation had brought in a younger crowd, kids with too much time on their hands. He spotted a red-haired woman sitting alone in the booth by the window. New to town, maybe. But he was more focused on the boy behind the counter. He didn't even need to tell his order anymore, Tyler already started making his usual black in a to-go cup.
"Do you want a comedy or thriller?" Tyler looked excited to spend this evening with him.
Usually, he would choose something to poke fun at the clichés in detective stories and thrillers. "I think a comedy would do."
"Okay!" Tyler smiled wider before he turned to the next customer.
Donovan swiftly moved to his police car. Back home, he went straight to Tyler’s room. Sheriff set to work, placing the recording device carefully underneath the bedside table, making sure it was tucked out of sight. He held his breath for a moment, checking the small screen to ensure it was recording and connected to his phone, then moved quickly to leave the room. Taking Elvis for a brief walk, he returned him home. His break was almost over, and when he returned to the station, things had settled back into the usual monotony. A burglar had been caught, a group of teens caused a minor arson, and again someone was at the Gates house.
At five o'clock, he called the pizzeria and placed their usual order. He was actually looking forward to spending the evening with Tyler watching movies. Just like they used to do when he was little. Hopefully, nothing will happen, and it was just his paranoia.
***
Again, a bloodcurdling scream woke Donovan up. He wished that it was his paranoia. He could feel the dread pooling in his stomach. Making sure that the recording is still working, he ran to his son's room.
***
Wearing headphones, Donovan sat in the dim light of his office, his eyes scanning the screen in front of him as he listened to Tyler’s nightmare ramble through the recording. The words were fragmented, chaotic. Sometimes he just yelled, sometimes he begged for death. There were desperate cries for his mother and himself. There was some quiet rambling about something. He could distinguish the words raven, zombie and Wednesday. It was some fevered delirium. Which made zero sense.
"Leave me alone..." Tyler cried, his words choked with terror. "Please, no more... I can’t take it..." Donovan’s fingers gripped the edge of his desk as he listened, his stomach tightening with a mounting dread. The more he heard, the less he understood.
After their movie night ended, Tyler went to his room. No phone calls, no late-night conversations with anyone. Donovan had heard the faint sound of TikTok videos flickering in the background, then the soft rustling of him settling in for the night. And then the nightmare struck again. And the kid had the same reaction, the same terrified cries, cries for help... and then, just like before, Tyler had no memory of it.
Donovan exhaled slowly, leaning back in his office chair. His gaze fixed on the ceiling as his mind churned, trying to piece together the fragments of what he’d heard, the images from his son’s ramblings. He needed more. More than this hazy, fragmented mess.
***
The next few days dragged on, one blending into the other. But now, Donovan could see that Tyler looked worse. He was paler, and he seemed to zone out a lot. His skin looked sickly, like something was draining the life out of him. The nightmares hadn’t stopped. They were still the same jumbled mess, full of random words and screams. Tyler still couldn’t remember any of it, but Donovan could see the toll it was taking on him.
By Tuesday, things had gotten so bad that Donovan knew he couldn’t send Tyler to work looking like he’d just come from the grave. The kid was barely hanging on. Elvis refused to leave Tyler’s side. The poor pup was acting like he knew something wasn’t right, lying beside him in bed as if trying to protect him from whatever was plaguing him.
Reluctantly, Donovan went to work. He left Tyler with some medicine, though he had no hope that it would help. It wasn’t the sickness that was the problem. It was the nightmares.
Back at the station, Donovan kept listening to the recordings. Each one was just as confusing as the last. Tyler was clearly in pain, but there was no pattern, no meaning. Every scream, every desperate plea made no sense at all.
Donovan knew that he had to call for help. As he was about to make the call, his secretary interrupted him. Someone was there to see him. Expecting someone with a complaint, Donovan was caught off guard when he saw who it was.
"Hello, Donovan! It's been a while since we saw each other." Marlena said, a smile on her face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She stood there in a dark jacket and jeans, calm, but Donovan could feel the tension in her. There was something about her that made his stomach twist.
“Marlena…” Donovan said, his voice tight. He felt a bad feeling in his gut; something was wrong. “I was just about to call you.”
"Really?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"It’s Tyler. Something’s wrong with him,” Donovan admitted, his voice rough with worry and exhaustion. He wasn't eighteen anymore to pull all-nighters.
Marlena didn’t react right away, but Donovan could feel her change. Something in her energy shifted. "Is it because of you-know-what?" she asked in a low voice, making sure no one overheard.
"Maybe," he said, rubbing his tired face. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“That’s weird," Marlena said, sounding more serious now. "A friend of mine had a vision. She forced me to come to Jericho.” She took a step closer. “What’s happening with Tyler?”
"He has nightmares."
"Everyone has nightmares." Marlena was confused.
“No,” Donovan said, shaking his head. "It’s not like that. Tyler screams. He begs for death. He calls for help. And after each one, he doesn’t remember anything. And there’s something else... he’s... he’s shifting sometimes. His hand, his eyes, something's changing in him.”
"Show me." Marlena’s face grew serious.
Donovan handed her the recordings. He watched her face grow more serious. By the time she’d finished listening to the latest one, her face had hardened. “Well, fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “We’re in deep shit.”
Donovan’s heart sank. “Did someone unlock him?” he whispered, barely able to speak the words.
“I’m not sure,” she said, her voice grim. “But I need to see him. Is he at work?”
“No. He’s too sick,” Donovan replied. “He couldn’t even walk to the kitchen.”
"When is your shift over?" Marlena asked, her eyes still fixed on him.
"In a few hours."
“I’m going to see him,” Marlena said, already heading for the door. “Tony and the kids will join me later. I’ll see what I can do about his nightmares. But we’re going to have to tell him everything. All of it.” She stopped for a moment, turning back to him. “Did Fran talk to you about our family?”
“No... I know the bare minimum. Why?”
Marlena’s face darkened. “Well, it’s not a pretty story. But I think our past is coming back to haunt us.”
***
"Did it work?"
"Yes."
"Good"