Gladys brought the car to a gentle halt at the edge of the curb, the engine's low hum coming to a stop. My gaze followed hers to the small delivery truck occupying the driveway, its presence an anomaly in the otherwise familiar scene.

"That's odd," Gladys murmured, her eyes narrowing as she peered through the front windscreen, her curiosity piqued by the sight.

"What's odd?" I inquired, my interest equally aroused as I pushed the car door open.

"I'm sure that's not the same truck I brought around yesterday," Gladys replied, her voice laced with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Her statement sent a ripple of unease through me, my heart rate accelerating as I considered the implications.

"Perhaps someone else is helping him?" I suggested, trying to sound hopeful yet feeling the grip of apprehension tighten. The possibility of another person involved added layers of complexity to an already uncertain situation.

"Perhaps," Gladys conceded with a hint of reluctance, her skepticism mirroring my own. She opened her door, stepping out into the open air.

As we walked towards the driveway, I cast a cautious glance at Gladys, seeking reassurance in her familiar presence. The sight of the house's open front door, juxtaposed against the eerie quiet that enveloped us, heightened my sense of foreboding. It was as if the silence itself was a prelude to a revelation we were yet to discover.

Gladys, perhaps sensing my unease, offered a noncommittal shrug in response before raising her voice, "Hey, Luke," her call breaking the quietude with a note of expectancy.

Compelled by a mix of curiosity and trepidation, I moved towards the side of the truck. Its back door was ajar, hanging open midway as if interrupted. The sight of it, vulnerable and exposed, seemed to encapsulate the uncertainty of our visit. The open door was an invitation, a silent beckoning into the unknown, and as I stood there, the air thick with unasked questions, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were on the cusp of uncovering something significant.

The moment I swung the other side of the truck open, an involuntary scream tore from my throat, raw and filled with shock. "What the fuck, Luke!" My voice was unrecognisable to my own ears, charged with panic and disbelief.

Gladys, responding to the urgency in my scream, raced to my side in an instant. Together, we were confronted with a scene so grotesque, so utterly unexpected, that my mind struggled to accept it as reality.

My gaze was locked onto the young man lying motionless on the floor of the truck, his form surrounded by an expansive pool of blood that seemed to seep into every crevice of the metal floor. The sight sent my vision swimming, the world tilting dangerously as I fought against the rising tide of nausea.

Luke's face, lifted to meet ours, was a mask of horror and confusion. I clamped a hand over my mouth, a futile attempt to stifle the gag reflex triggered by the ghastly scene before me. A torrent of terrible questions raged through my mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Why the fuck is Luke covered in another man's blood? And in the back of a truck, no less? The possibility that Luke could be responsible for such a scene was unfathomable, yet the evidence was laid out before us in the most brutal and undeniable form.

"No, no, Luke, no," Gladys's voice broke through my shock-induced paralysis, her words laced with despair and disbelief. She paced in tight circles before vanishing around the corner of the truck, unable to face the reality that unfolded.

Rooted to the spot, I could do nothing but stare at Luke, my eyes wide with horror and accusation. Words failed me, yet my gaze screamed the questions I couldn't voice, each one a silent plea for an explanation, for some shred of understanding in the midst of unfathomable brutality.

"I didn't do it," Luke blurted out, his voice defensive yet tinged with a desperate plea for belief. "I swear, it wasn't me." His words, meant to be a defence, hung heavily in the air, a fragile claim of innocence against a backdrop of undeniable violence.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I willed the chaos swirling within my mind to subside. The sight of the bloodied body before me was not my first encounter with death, a grim reminder of the darker aspects of my life's narrative. Leigh's tales of Portals and Guardians had painted a world where such scenes might not be uncommon, preparing me, in a way, for moments just like this.

"Who is he?" My voice was steady, a testament to the calm I had forced upon myself, as I approached the edge of the truck, driven by a need to understand, to piece together the story that had led to this tragic end.

"Fuck, Beatrix! Don't touch anything!" Luke's hiss was sharp, a panicked plea that arrived a moment too late. My curiosity had already propelled me forward, my hands pressing into the metal bed as I hoisted myself inside the truck. "Sorry," I shrugged, an apology that held an edge of defiance. "I can't help it. I'm curious."

"Curious!" Luke's disbelief was palpable, his voice a mix of astonishment and anger. "I'm covered in a dead man's blood and you're fucking curious?"

"Well, yeah. A bit." My response, simple and honest, underscored the disconnect between my own grim fascination and the horror of the situation.

"You're fucking nuts, Beatrix!" Luke accused, his voice climbing with each word, a crescendo of frustration and disbelief at my reaction—or perhaps, the lack thereof.

"We need to call the police," Gladys interjected, her voice cutting through the tension as she returned to the scene. Her words, though logical, seemed distant to me, my focus locked on the grim tableau within the truck.

I brushed aside her suggestion, my gaze riveted on the lifeless form before me. The urge to understand, to uncover the story behind the blood and despair, overrode the logical part of my brain that screamed for caution and procedure.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Luke's exasperation was directed at Gladys, but his words felt distant, muffled by the intensity of my curiosity.

The scene before me was like a puzzle, each detail a piece waiting to be understood and placed. Despite the horror, despite the danger, I felt an undeniable pull towards the mystery, a drive to look beyond the blood and the fear, to understand the how and the why of the young man's fate. It was a compulsion, perhaps a flaw in my character, that led me down paths others might fear to tread.

The sight that met my eyes as I peered closer was both horrifying and mesmerising—a clean slice through the young man's throat, so precise it seemed almost clinical. "There's so much blood," I murmured, the words slipping out as I took an involuntary step back. It was only then that I truly noticed the arterial splatter painting the side of the truck, a grim canvas that told a story of violence and sudden death.

"We can't, Gladys," Luke's voice cut through my shock, a note of desperation in his tone.

"Why not?" Gladys demanded.

I found myself momentarily torn away from the grim fascination of the scene before me, my attention now fully on Luke, eager for his explanation. His response came swiftly, laden with a bitterness that underscored the seriousness of our situation.

"Well, that'll look great, won't it," Luke said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I'm covered in blood, your sister now has her fingerprints all over the crime scene and you're just standing there, drinking wine out the bottle."

His words, sharp and accusatory, jolted me back to reality, prompting me to glance down at my own hands. The instant realisation of my actions—or rather, my lack of caution—struck me with the force of a physical blow. In my curiosity and haste to uncover the story behind the young man's fate, I had unwittingly implicated myself within the crime scene. My fingerprints, a silent testament to my presence, now littered the truck and its grisly contents.

Luke's frustration boiled over in a sudden, violent outburst, his fist colliding with the side of the truck with a force that reverberated through the air. The sound made me flinch, a reflexive jump at the unexpected noise. My heart raced, adrenaline surging through me as I turned my attention back to the grim scene, only to notice another disturbing detail—a vile pool of vomit, just feet away from the deceased's head.

"Spew," I murmured under my breath, the word barely a whisper as I crouched down for a closer inspection, the acrid smell assaulting my senses.

"What happened to him?" I pivoted towards Luke, seeking answers. "Is that yours?" My question, pointed and direct, aimed at the mess on the ground.

"It is," Luke's admission came softly, a stark contrast to his earlier anger, his voice carrying a mix of defeat and resignation.

"What are you going to do with him?" Gladys's voice, tinged with anxiety and curiosity, broke the tense silence, even as she sought solace in the wine bottle.

"I don't know," Luke's response was laden with uncertainty. "I was thinking of taking him through the Portal."

I stared at Luke, my mind racing to piece together the reality that had just unfolded before me. So, Gladys had been telling the truth last night. Luke really did have a Portal Key. The realisation that he might also be a Guardian, as suggested by his possession of such an artefact, added layers of complexity and intrigue to the situation.

"Shit," Luke's curse was a succinct summary of our predicament.

"Don't worry," I found myself saying, an attempt at reassurance as I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Gladys already told me about your Portal."

The glare Luke directed at Gladys was sharp, filled with a mixture of betrayal and exasperation. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't suppress a giggle. The chaotic scene before us, dark and fraught with tension, somehow brought out a mischievous part of me that relished in making my sister squirm. It was a twisted form of amusement, finding levity in moments of crisis.

"Sorry," Gladys's whisper was barely audible over the sound of her drinking, her apology mingling with the clink of the bottle against her lips.

"Can I see it?" The question tumbled from my lips, carried by a blend of curiosity and eagerness. My heart raced at the thought, the prospect of witnessing something Leigh had spoken of with such fervour, yet remained shrouded in mystery to my eyes.

"I don't know," Luke's hesitation was palpable, a cautious restraint that bordered on reluctance. His uncertainty served only to fuel my curiosity further.

"Oh, come on," I pressed, my brain quickly sifting through arguments to bolster my case. "You have to get rid of this body anyway, so you may as well," I insisted, a sense of satisfaction washing over me as I found a plausible reason to sway him.

Luke stood frozen for a moment, lost in thought, the weight of the decision evident in his expression.

Come on, I silently urged, my internal plea a testament to my desperation. Despite all of Leigh's talk of Portals, the visibility of such phenomena remained just beyond my grasp, a tantalising mystery I was now on the cusp of seeing with my own eyes. Please.

"How are the two of you being so calm about all of this?" Luke's question, voiced in a mix of bewilderment and accusation, momentarily pulled me from my thoughts.

"Calm?" Gladys echoed, her tone laced with incredulity as she gestured with her bottle of wine—a visual representation of her own method of coping.

Luke's gaze shifted to me, searching, perhaps, for some semblance of reason in my response.

I shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that belied the turmoil of thoughts swirling within me. Leigh had been adamant about the dangers of sharing his secrets, a caution I had taken to heart until this moment. But faced with Luke's evident connection to the same clandestine world, my resolve wavered. "I don't know," I admitted, the words a half-truth that masked the depth of my knowledge and curiosity.

Luke sighed, a sound heavy with resignation and the burden of what lay ahead. "I need to clean up first," he announced, his voice resigned yet tinged with a determination to address the immediate crisis. His gesture for me to follow him away from the truck was an implicit invitation, a bridge between the grim reality we faced and the possibility of peering into a world I had only dared to imagine.

"Sure," I agreed readily, my feet hitting the ground with a sense of purpose. The chance to witness a Portal firsthand, to validate the stories that had captivated my imagination, was a temptation too strong to resist.

"What are you doing?" Gladys's voice cut through the tense silence, her query sharp with confusion.

"Huh?" I responded automatically, my body pivoting towards her voice. Realisation dawned a moment later that her question wasn't meant for me. "Oh," I muttered under my breath, my focus shifting back to the scene unfolding before us.

"I need to move him forward," Luke's voice was strained, his explanation pragmatic in the face of the gruesome task at hand. "His foot is stopping the door from closing properly." The simplicity of his statement, juxtaposed against the macabre reality of adjusting a corpse to shut a door, sent a chill down my spine.

Luke grunted, his efforts to reposition the body evident in the tensing of his muscles and the grim determination etched on his face. I couldn't tear my eyes away, the morbid fascination mingled with a growing sense of horror as the body was dragged through the mingling mess of blood and vomit. You're screwed now, Luke, my thoughts accused silently, the severity of his situation becoming painfully clear with each passing moment.

"So, who is he anyway?" Gladys's question pierced the heavy air. "Did you know him?" Her voice seemed to echo louder than intended in the sombre quiet of our surroundings.

I scrutinised Luke's expression, searching for any sign of deceit or evasion. "He's just the delivery guy," he responded after a moment, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.

That's bullshit! My inner voice screamed in disbelief. You totally know more than that! The skepticism churned within me, urging me to press for the truth. "Who?" I demanded, my gaze locked on Luke, seeking the honesty his initial answer lacked.

Luke's demeanour shifted then, a vulnerability breaking through as his eyes filled with tears, one spilling over and trailing down his cheek. "His name is Joel. He's Jamie's son," he confessed, each word heavy with a sorrow that seemed to deepen the tragedy of the situation.

"Shit," was all I could manage, the revelation striking me with the force of a physical blow.

The sound of shattering glass snapped me back to the immediate aftermath of Gladys's shock, her wine bottle crashing onto the concrete, the liquid spilling out like a mirror to our scattered emotions. "Oh dear," she murmured, her gaze locked on the broken bottle, a trivial loss, yet symbolic of our collective fracture.

"What the... how... when did...?" My questions faltered, words failing me as I attempted to navigate the torrent of confusion and disbelief.

"I had no idea. No idea at all," Gladys repeated, her voice echoing the shock that had rendered us momentarily speechless. She moved her gaze between me, the body, and Luke, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that had just become infinitely more complex.

Luke's hasty departure from the truck was abrupt, his movement so sudden that he collided with Gladys, the impact of his clumsy landing sending a jolt through the tense atmosphere that had enveloped us.

"Luke! Where are you going?" My voice echoed after him, a mix of confusion and concern threading through my words.

"Don't leave us here with him!" Gladys's voice joined mine, her plea tinged with a mix of fear and disbelief. The idea of being left alone, in the shadow of such a grim discovery, seemed to magnify the surreal nature of our predicament.

Without a word, Luke's silence hung heavily between us as we trailed behind him into the house, his actions dictating our course. He moved with a purpose that seemed to cut through the lingering shock, leading us decisively across the living room toward the hallway.

"Hey! Where are Duke and Henri?" Gladys's inquiry broke the heavy silence, her observation highlighting the absence of the two Shih Tzus that were staples of warmth and welcome in the home. Their usual enthusiastic greeting was conspicuously missing, adding another layer of unease to the already strained atmosphere. Without missing a beat, she navigated to the kitchen cupboard, procuring a wine glass with a familiarity that spoke of her attempts to find some semblance of normality in the abnormal.

"Oh," Luke's response was almost an afterthought, his attention momentarily pulled back from whatever thoughts consumed him. "Henri accidentally ran through the Portal earlier this morning and I accidentally took Duke with me." The casualness with which he delivered such a fantastical explanation was jarring, the reality of Portals and missing pets mingling with the day's darker revelations.

"Can they get back out?" Gladys's question, laced with concern, seemed to momentarily bridge the gap between our grim reality and the concern for the well-being of the pets.

"Nope," Luke's reply was succinct, his tone resigned. "We tried that already." The brief pause that followed seemed to carry the weight of his resignation.

"Anyway, I'm going to shower," he announced abruptly, his decision to retreat from the conversation, from us, marking a physical and emotional withdrawal into the solitude of his thoughts and the privacy of the shower.

As Luke disappeared up the hallway, the reality of the situation settled heavily upon me. The house, once a place of warmth and laughter, felt hollow, its corners filled with shadows of unanswered questions and the echo of footsteps walking away.

"Poor Duke and Henri," I murmured to myself, a tinge of sadness colouring my voice as I contemplated their fate. Clivilius, with its constant dangers and harsh environments, was no place for pets, a thought that weighed heavily on me. The very idea of those innocent animals lost in a realm so far from their home filled me with a deep sense of unease.

Gladys's movements brought me back to the present, the clank of her wine bottle against the kitchen island punctuating the silence. "Why are they poor?" she queried, her curiosity piqued as she rummaged through the cupboard above the rangehood with practiced ease. It didn't escape my notice how well she knew the boys' hiding spots for their alcohol—a small, yet telling detail of our intertwined lives and shared spaces.

"Oh," I stuttered, caught off-guard by my own slip of the tongue. My mind scrambled for a plausible cover, aware that I had inadvertently revealed more than intended. "No particular reason," I offered lamely, hoping my vague response would be enough to deflect further probing. I retreated to the sanctuary of the black leather couch, casting my gaze around the room in a feigned interest that I hoped would discourage any more questions.

The silence that followed was a welcome reprieve, allowing my thoughts to drift and wander through the complexities of our current predicament and the implications of what lay ahead.

"Here," Gladys's voice broke through my reverie, her hand extended towards me with a glass of wine. Gratefully, I accepted it, allowing the rich aroma of Chardonnay to fill my senses, a small comfort. "Thanks," I whispered, the word a soft exhale of appreciation.

Gladys took her place beside me, her presence a silent solidarity that I found both comforting and necessary. Together, we sat in quiet contemplation, the world around us momentarily paused.

The sudden sound of water rushing through pipes jolted us, a brief reminder of Luke's presence elsewhere in the house. But as quickly as it came, the noise faded, leaving behind a profound silence that seemed to envelop everything.