Twisted and Accursed, Chapter 21

It was dark when she walked in. The air smelled stale and a layer of dust covered the floor. No one had been here for a while, Taylor noted. All the windows were closed. The trash had been left in, but the lack of the scent of rot told her that, if her dad had been here for the last few days, then he certainly hadn’t eaten anything, which meant her dad hadn’t been staying here at all. In fact, no one’s been here for days. If she had to guess, then her dad was probably in some kind of refugee camp somewhere. Hard to stay in a house that did not have any electricity or running water, which Taylor found after trying to wash her hands from the tap on the sink. The fridge was also empty, but that could only be a good thing, since it meant her dad must’ve, at the very least, eaten everything in there or brought everything with him.

The crackers in the old jars were still there, though, wrapped in thin sheets of plastic that kept them from getting soggy with time. She went up to her room, up the stairs. Her things were still there, she noted. Not a single thing out of place. Everything was exactly as she left it, which was weird as she would’ve expected the PRT to have combed the place, looking for any sort of clue as to her disappearance. But apparently not. No one had been here, not even her dad.

Taylor stood at the doorway of her room, the familiar sight almost surreal. The walls were still adorned with posters of her favorite bands, and her desk was cluttered with notebooks and papers, sketches she had been too embarrassed to show anyone. Her bed, with its rumpled sheets and her old stuffed animals sitting on top, looked so inviting she almost felt like crawling in and pretending none of this had happened. And she’d wake up in the morning and everything would be... well... as close to normal as they’ll ever be.

For a moment, she allowed herself to indulge in that fantasy. She even allowed herself to imagine that her mother was still alive and that she’d awake to the smell of pancakes and bacon and eggs. She could almost imagine herself smiling – happy.

The faint echo of Sukuna’s laughter from the deepest pits of her mind was akin to reality rearing its ugly head. There it was – the one fucking thing that made any ounce of normalcy impossible. But then, Taylor asked herself, did she really want things to be just normal? Did she really want to just exist like every other human being? Doomed to a dead end job, living in a city that was so dangerous that there was a 10% chance, every day, that she’d die from some gang-related violence. And then... she’d just be like everyone else who died, just another statistic.

With her power... with her power – not Sukuna’s – she could do something to make the world a better place, save people – exorcise Cursed Spirits and Ghosts.

Taylor took a few steps inside, the floorboards creaking softly under her weight. She reached out, running her fingers over the edge of her desk, the surface slick with a thin layer of dust. The room felt frozen in time, a snapshot of a life she had left behind. It was like stepping into a memory, one that was slowly fading at the edges, growing more and more indistinct with each passing day.

Taylor moved to her bed, sitting down gently. The mattress sank slightly under her weight, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. For a brief moment, the exhaustion of the day caught up to her. Fighting the Banshee had taken more out of her than she cared to admit. Her muscles ached, and her head still throbbed from the lingering effects of its wail. Well, Sukuna’s healing fixed just about everything, but it seemed as though phantoms of the Banshee’s bone-chilling voice still lingered about her.

Sukuna’s voice echoed in her mind, taunting and dismissive as always. But even he was quieter now, a distant hum at the back of her thoughts. There was a sense of stillness in the air, a quiet that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Taylor closed her eyes, letting the silence wash over her.

She had come here looking for answers, for some sign of her father, but all she found was emptiness. Taylor’s chest tightened, the stillness turning into a hollow ache. She had been holding onto the hope that Danny might still be here, that she could walk into the living room and find him sitting on the couch, watching some old movie, waiting for her to come home. But the reality was far more painful. He was gone, and she had no idea where to even begin looking for him. Damn it all. This was supposed to be quick and simple. All she had to do was get into Brockton Bay, say sorry to her dad, and get the hell out before the heroes came and locked her up again – and maybe even for real this time. They’d send her into the Birdcage and she’d never see the light of day again.

And then Sukuna, for sure, was going to take over.

But now, her plans were kaput, because she had to look for her dad now. She had to find him. Otherwise, this whole thing was for nothing.

A soft knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Taylor’s eyes snapped open, her senses immediately on high alert. She turned towards the door, but it was still closed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rose to her feet, moving cautiously towards it.

“It’s just us, Taylor,” Alice’s voice came through the door, muffled but clear. Taylor let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, and opened the door.

Alice stood there, looking as eerie as ever with her long, black hair and wide, dark eyes that seemed to swallow the light. Mister Randall hovered behind her, his translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. Liam was nowhere to be seen, but Taylor knew he was probably keeping watch outside.

“We were getting worried,” Alice said softly. “You’ve been quiet.”

Taylor forced a small smile. “Just… thinking.”

Alice nodded, her gaze drifting around the room, her dagger-like fingers extending outwards to hover over the most random things for moments that each lasted a fraction of a second. Taylor honestly had no idea what Alice was doing. “It’s nice here. It feels… safe.”

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed, though the word felt like a lie. This place hadn’t been safe for a long time. Even before the Banshee, before the powers and the chaos, this house had been a shell, barely holding together the pieces of her life. Now it was just another reminder of everything she had lost.

“Do you think your dad will come back here?” Alice asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Taylor hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. But I don’t think he’s been here for a while. The house… it’s too quiet. Too empty.”

“Maybe we can find him,” Mister Randall suggested. “If he’s in a camp, there might be records. Or you could ask around. Someone must have seen him. And I don’t believe you’ve plastered your face all over the city, like a wanted criminal from the Old West.”

Taylor nodded slowly. It was a start, at least.

“Yeah. We’ll look for him. But first…” She glanced back into her room, at the life she had once known. “I need to grab a few things.”

She moved to her closet, pulling out a small backpack. It was faded and worn, but it would do. Taylor began to gather some of her belongings—an extra set of clothes, a few personal items. Her hand brushed against a photo frame, and she paused, picking it up. It was a picture of her and her dad, taken years ago on a summer trip to the beach. They were both smiling, the sun setting behind them, casting long shadows on the sand. Taylor felt a lump form in her throat, and she quickly shoved the photo into her bag.

She zipped the backpack up and slung it over her shoulder, turning back to her companions.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

As they made their way down the stairs and out of the house, Taylor cast one last glance over her shoulder. The house stood silent, a monument to the past, bathed in the dim light of the street lamps. For a moment, she felt like she was leaving behind a part of herself. But there was no room for sentimentality now. She had people to protect, ghosts to exorcise, and a father to find – and maybe Cursed Spirits to deal with.

The night air was cool and crisp as they stepped outside, a light breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees lining the street. Taylor took a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs, clearing her head. She had a purpose now, a direction. And no matter what it took, she was going to find her father and say exactly what she needed to say. He wouldn’t forgive her – no one was dumb enough to do that. But she just needed to say that she was sorry for what happened, that none of this would’ve happened if she’d just used her brain for a moment.

“Let’s start with the camps closest to the city,” Taylor said, her voice firm. “Someone has to know where he is.”

Alice and Mister Randall nodded in agreement, and together, they set off down the darkened street, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night.

....

“I’m telling you,” Danny Hebert repeated for the umpteenth time. “There’s no way this – any of this – could’ve been my daughter. She has powers, fine, but Taylor can only heal people. And she has been healing people. She’s a hero. She’d never do anything like... this. “Taylor’s not involved in this. You’re looking for the wrong person. My daughter’s out there, somewhere, lost and alone and afraid, and you’re here thinking she’s a damn villain?!”

It didn’t matter what their arguments were or how many videos or photos they showed him, his opinion wasn’t going to change. And, even in the least likely possibility that Taylor was, somehow, the same villain who fought Lung and ended up burning half the damn city, he’d still die on that hill. He was a failure of a father; he knew that much.

“Mister Hebert, please calm down,” The woman who sat across him – fat and pudgy, but otherwise professional and composed, was apparently the Director of the local PRT, Emily Piggot, who was also the same person who’s been “interrogating” him for the last few days now, asking the same set of questions over and over again, somehow helping his answer would change after a while. But, nope, Danny mused, he said the same thing each and every time. Taylor was the farthest thing from a villain. She was, in fact, a hero. And he’d die on that hill. Piggot sighed and ran a hand across her head. She pressed a button somewhere and turned her gaze to him, before sighing once again. “I get it. I really do, Mister Hebert. But you have to face the facts. Your daughter’s partially-responsible for... the deaths of all these people – maybe. Maybe, you’re right and she’s innocent. But we can’t confirm anything if we can’t even talk to her. Hell, we’re not even sure how she got out of her restraints. We need your help. You’re the only family she has left. She’ll want to find you. And, if you’re right and she’s innocent, then that’ll be the end of that; but, as things stand, Taylor’s the lead suspect.”

"You get it? Do you even have children of your own?" When Piggot shook her head, Danny scoffed. “No, of course you don't. You’re asking me to help you arrest my daughter. I’ll give you the same answer I gave you the first time you asked: no. Even if you're right and Taylor's somehow a villain, I'd die before I let anyone hurt her.”