Marcus
The drive home felt longer than it should have.
I don't remember most of it.
The roads blurred past in streaks of orange and gray, the sky dimming slowly into evening, but my mind was somewhere else—stuck on a single word that refused to let go.
Rocco.
My grip tightened around the steering wheel until my knuckles went pale.
It wasn't my name.
It couldn't be.
So why did it feel like something inside me was answering to it?
I let out a slow breath, hoping it would steady me. It didn't.
Every time I tried to push the thought away, something worse took its place.
The demon.
The chains.
The way the bracelet had moved like it was alive—like it had been waiting for me.
And Callie.
The way she looked at me.
Not surprised. Not scared.
Like she'd been waiting for this moment all along.
I pulled into the driveway harder than I meant to, gravel crunching beneath my tires.
The house looked exactly the same.
Warm lights glowed behind the curtains. The porch lamp was on. One of Ella's boots was lying by the front door, kicked off and forgotten like always.
Everything about it looked safe.
Normal.
For a second, I just sat there with the engine off, staring.
I wanted—more than anything—for everything inside to still make sense.
For Mum to be making dinner.
For Dad to be pretending he knew how to fix something broken.
For Ella to be annoying and loud and real.
I wanted this life to still be mine.
But deep down, I already knew the truth.
Something had shifted.
And there was no going back.
I stepped out of the car and made my way inside.
The front door creaked softly behind me.
"Marcus?" Mum called from the kitchen. "That you, sweetheart?"
My throat tightened.
"Yeah," I answered automatically.
The smell of food hit me instantly. Garlic. Rosemary. Something warm and familiar.
Usually, that smell grounded me.
Tonight, it just made me feel like a stranger walking into someone else's house.
I stepped into the kitchen.
Mum was standing by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, wearing one of her soft oversized sweaters. She looked up and smiled the second she saw me.
Then the smile faded.
Mothers notice everything.
"Sweetheart," she said softly. "What happened?"
I looked at her.
Really looked.
At the familiar softness in her eyes. The lines at the corners that deepened when she smiled. The woman who packed my lunches, nagged me about sleep, kissed my forehead when I was sick.
My chest tightened painfully.
"Can we talk?"
The words came out rough.
Her expression changed instantly.
No pretending.
She set the spoon down slowly. "Of course."
Dad walked in a moment later, drying his hands with a dish towel.
He looked between us, brows pulling together.
"What's going on?"
I looked at both of them.
This was it.
No turning back now.
I swallowed hard.
"I need you to be honest with me."
Silence.
A glance passed between them.
Quick. Barely there.
But I saw it.
And the hollow feeling in my chest deepened.
Dad folded the towel slowly.
"What do you want to know?"
A humorless laugh escaped me.
"Please don't do that."
Mum frowned slightly. "Do what?"
"Act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
The kitchen went quiet except for the soft bubbling on the stove.
I stepped forward.
"Something is wrong with me," I said. "And I know you've noticed."
Neither of them said anything.
That somehow made it worse.
"I've been having dreams," I continued, my voice steadier now. "Not normal dreams. Fires. Voices. Places I've never been."
Mum's fingers curled tighter around the edge of the counter.
I noticed.
"I hear things sometimes," I said. "See things that shouldn't be possible."
I lifted my wrist.
The bracelet caught the kitchen light.
"This thing—whatever it is—reacts. It's not normal."
Still nothing.
My pulse thudded painfully in my ears.
"And today…" I swallowed hard. "Someone called me a different name."
Mum went still.
Dad's jaw tightened.
I saw it.
My stomach dropped.
"Rocco," I said quietly.
The room changed.
Not physically.
But something invisible snapped.
Dad's face shifted—just for a second—but I caught it.
And that was enough.
"You know."
My voice came out sharper now.
"You know what that means."
Mum opened her mouth. "We—"
"No."
I shook my head hard.
"No half-truths. No vague answers. I need all of it."
"Marcus—" Dad started.
"Stop calling me that!"
The words exploded out of me before I could stop them.
Silence crashed over the room.
My own breathing sounded too loud.
My hands were shaking now, and I hated that they could see it.
I looked at them both.
"Is that even my name?"
My voice came out quieter that time.
Somehow worse.
Mum looked like she might break apart right there.
Dad looked like a man standing at the edge of something he'd been dreading for years.
That look alone made something cold spread through my chest.
"…Wow."
The word came out hollow.
Like I was hearing myself from far away.
Mum stepped forward.
"Honey—"
"Don't."
I stepped back.
"Don't say that like everything's fine."
Tears filled her eyes instantly.
"We never wanted this."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"Well, congratulations. You got it anyway."
Dad dragged a hand down his face.
"We were going to tell you."
I stared at him.
"When?"
The word cracked coming out.
"When I finally lost my mind? When I started seeing monsters? When I forgot something else?"
"That's not fair," he said quietly.
I laughed.
The sound felt ugly.
"Neither is lying to me for seven years."
The number hit the room like a dropped weight.
Seven.
Mum covered her mouth.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
My chest hurt so badly I thought it might split.
"You lied to me."
"It wasn't a lie," Mum whispered.
I stared at her in disbelief.
"What would you call it?"
Her voice broke.
"Survival."
That made me pause.
Dad stepped closer, careful like I was something fragile.
"There was an accident."
My whole body went still.
"What kind of accident?"
He hesitated.
Then—
"You were found on the side of a road just outside town. Unconscious. Burned. Barely breathing."
My breath caught.
A flash cut through my mind—
Smoke.
Heat.
A bicycle lying in grass.
A white fence.
I blinked hard.
Gone.
Dad kept talking.
"There was no identification. No missing persons report. Nothing. You were just… there."
My heart was hammering now.
"You were in a coma for days," Mum said softly, wiping at her tears. "The doctors didn't think you'd wake up."
I stared at her.
And something cold settled in my stomach.
"What happened that same night?"
Mum froze.
Dad looked away.
That was answer enough.
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"What happened?"
Dad exhaled shakily.
"That same night…"
His voice caught.
"We lost our son."
Everything inside me stopped.
I couldn't breathe.
"What?"
Mum broke.
A sob slipped out before she covered her mouth.
"Marcus," she whispered. "Our Marcus."
The room tilted.
I gripped the edge of the table.
"He was in an accident too," Dad said. "A drunk driver. He was gone before we got to the hospital."
My ears were ringing.
My chest felt hollow.
I looked between them, suddenly seeing every family photo, every birthday story, every memory they ever gave me in a completely different light.
And it hit me.
The little things.
The way Mum sometimes stared too long when she thought I wasn't looking.
The way Dad got quiet on certain dates.
The grief I never understood.
They hadn't just loved me.
They had needed me.
"You replaced him."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Mum flinched like I'd hit her.
"No," she said immediately, shaking her head. "No, never."
"Then what?"
My voice cracked.
"What was I?"
Dad stepped forward.
"You were a boy who woke up terrified and alone," he said quietly. "No name. No memories. No one looking for you."
Mum wiped at her face.
"And we were two parents who had just buried our child."
Her voice broke completely.
"We didn't know what else to do."
A hollow laugh escaped me.
Broken. Bitter.
"So you just gave me his name?"
Silence.
That was enough.
I staggered back a step.
My chest was burning now.
Everything hurt.
"So my whole life was borrowed."
"That's not true," Mum said quickly, stepping toward me. "You are our son."
"I'm not."
The words came out instantly.
Sharp. Final.
And the second I said them, something inside me cracked wide open.
Mum stopped moving.
Dad looked like I'd punched him.
But I couldn't take it back.
Because it was true.
Or at least it felt true.
"I'm not your son," I said again, quieter now.
Mum's face crumpled.
"You are to us."
I looked away.
Because if I looked at her any longer, I might break too.
My head started pounding.
A sharp pressure building behind my eyes.
I pressed my palm against the edge of the table.
Who am I?
The question echoed so loudly inside me it drowned everything else out.
"Do you even know who I was?"
Neither of them answered.
And somehow, that hurt most of all.
Because the truth was—
They didn't know.
They never knew.
My head throbbed harder.
Then—
A flash.
So sudden it made me stumble.
Fire.
Too bright.
Too hot.
Smoke choking my lungs.
A voice screaming through the flames—
"Rocco, run!"
I gasped and caught myself on the table.
"Marcus—!" Dad moved forward.
"I'm fine."
The lie came out instantly.
I pulled away before either of them could touch me.
Their hurt followed me all the way up the stairs.
I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
My room looked exactly the same.
Posters on the wall. Clothes on the chair. The life I'd built sitting neatly around me.
But it didn't feel like mine anymore.
I walked slowly to the middle of the room and just stood there.
Everything I thought I knew was gone.
My name.
My past.
My place in this family.
I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist.
It looked harmless.
Silent.
But I knew better now.
It was the only thing that had been with me before all of this.
The only thing that belonged to the version of me I'd lost.
I swallowed hard.
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
"If I'm not Marcus…"
The room stayed silent.
The question hung there like a wound.
"…then who am I?"