He sits.
Jax sighs. “Look, you clearly know more about this lore shit than we do. Catch me up. Pretend I’m the idiot here.”
“I don’t need to pretend,” Ivan mutters.
Jax cracks his knuckles and grins. “You wound me.”
“You are not helping, Ivan,” I snap.
Ivan exhales shakily. “Okay. The rumor is… if someone bargains with the Pit—if they give blood, bones, a life—it listens. It gives them what they want, but it leaves a mark. A shame mark.”
He looks down at his stained fingers.
Jax rolls his eyes, but Ivan keeps going, voice tightening: “You know that old guy who sells lotto tickets outside the train station down by The Cut? The one with the bandages on his hands?” His voice thins. “Dad said he wasn’t always homeless. Years ago, he made a wish—his wife was terminal. She recovered. Completely.” He swallows. “And two months later… she drowned in her bathtub. No explanation. People say she found out who he offered in exchange. A child. Easy to take, I guess.”
I look at them and notice how Jax shifts his position on the bed.
Ivan’s voice falters. “Kids say he’s the one with the disease now. And that he’s still looking for a replacement.”
I inhale sharply. “Ivan, you don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“The girl from the tape,” Ivan whispers. “Her fingers. Black. Just like mine.”
“This is ridiculous,” I say, colder than I mean to. “A cursed Tar Pit that grants wishes? Please. This town would sell its grandmother for a discount lottery ticket. You don’t need a demon hole to get fucked over—you just need to live here long enough.”
Jax huffs under his breath. “It’s all fucked up, I’ll give you that.”
I turn my back to him and face Ivan instead. “Ivan… was the silver nitrate flask labeled?”
His face drains of color, and he swallows and shakes his head.
“And I’m the idiot,” Jax mutters.
“Silver nitrate for darkroom work comes in those dark brown bottles. I recognized the bottle, but it should have been thin, clear, basically odorless. What I used… it wasn’t. It was thicker, cloudier, and the stench—” He shakes his head. “It was wrong, and by the time I noticed, it had already spilled on my fingers.”
He cuts himself off and I feel my stomach twist regardless of reason.
His hands tremble. “I thought I knew what it was,” he says. “I mean… the stains made sense too. Silver nitrate stains. But?—”
The room goes dead quiet.
“It all made sense until…” he murmurs.
“Until the voices started?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Did you bring it up to your dad?” I ask.
“Of course not. You don’t know what he’s like.”
“Yeah. Detective Hardass. Guy once yelled at me for breathing too loud in his doorway,” says Jax.
Ivan glares.
“Maybe your dad could check Ivan?” I offer gently to Jax.
“I DON’T need a doctor!” Ivan shouts. “I’m not crazy. The voice—I heard it. I know I did. It was real.”
