chapter one / season two.

IT WAS OFTEN SAID THAT THE NIGHT WAS QUIET. Lights would be turned off, and windows would be cracked open to let in the night breeze. Your neighbor would be snoring through the thin walls and children would be silently tiptoeing into their parent's beds, seeking comfort in the dark of night. Every little thing was quieter at night.

People were mindful of how loud they were doing their late night baking, or the beep of their microwave after a long days work in the office — they'd always press the open button just before the aggravating beeping could sound. Showers are usually left till the morning instead of leaving the comfort and safe haven of your bed past eleven o'clock at night.

And all people could really hear was the sound of the night. It was hard to describe the silence that was filled with few additional noises. There might've been the odd car alarm that sounds, but there's usually nothing too major at night.

It's just silent.

That was the most common opinion surrounding night time.

Evangeline Warren would like to correct this opinion, this incorrect opinion. The night was not quiet. She knew it wasn't. The night was louder than anyone had ever anticipated with all the things that go bump in the night and demand hunter's attention to put their pitiful, evil lives to end. The night was louder than anticipated because when you spent a second in Evangeline's head you knew her mind never stopped, not even at night.

It was one constant stream of thoughts that made her toss and turn at night in her crappy, cheap motel bed. The windows closed because she didn't need to hear other people's silence, and she didn't want to leave it open in case anything dared to crawl in.

Nights were not quiet. Nights had not been quiet since the night it had all gone wrong for Evangeline. (The night God had left and taken the silence with him.)

Evangeline was jealous of those who could say they slept peacefully last night, those who acted as if some angel had watched over them in their sleep and made sure no bad dreams, no noise disturbed them. The guardian angels that made sure no vampires desired to claim another victim in the night, or no witches had hidden a hex bag in a stranger's house. Or, no demon had found its way into the home and destroyed livelihoods in the process.

Evangeline could spend hours, at night, asking where her guardian angel had ran off to.

(She often wondered if she was the only one who ever felt like their guardian angel had gone for a smoke break and never returned.)

(She wasn't.)

The night was not quiet. It just wasn't. You can live in your idealistic world where it was quiet, but just know it isn't the truth. The truth is that most bloodshed is spilled at night, in alleyways, in homes, in diners— you name it, there's possible bloodshed. Most lives are lost at night. Evangeline knew it. She'd seen it.

Countless times. She'd checked so many pulses. She'd closed so many eyes and ensured victims were returned back to families and had a proper sendoff. Evangeline had been the last face many had seen in the dead of night, she hoped it brought them comfort. She hoped that she hadn't made them feel scared.

For the ones she did save, she knew their nights would never be the same again. They might not've died on those nights, but a part of them did: the innocent part that didn't understand monsters, or evil. That part of someone dies when their life hangs in the balance and for a spilt second you don't think you're going to be saved. Victims who survive are never the same again.

Evangeline often wondered if she ever really saved anybody.

People died in her arms, people died before she got there. And people leave behind the innocent parts of themselves when she does manage to save them.

Is that saving somebody? Do I save anyone? Or, are they better left dead—?

Evangeline sighed and rested her forehead against the steering wheel of the car, that she'd borrowed from Ellen. The car was silent. Evangeline felt like she was holding her own breath. It had been a hard night. A far from silent night.

A demon had been running rampant in Mississippi, posing as a priest and drinking the blood of good, catholic people in the state. Evangeline thought they'd all been stuck up dickwads, but she hadn't told them that. The town she'd found herself in had been littered in vigils, many with crucifixes and little angel decorations placed beside pictures. Evangeline wanted to curse herself for ending up in what must've been the most religious state in America. Mourners were whispering prayers, clutching their rosaries.

Evangeline wanted to wrap the rosaries around her neck and pull it tight enough.

She wanted to, but she wouldn't. Evangeline had to save lives. It was what the Warrens had done for generations back, it was in their blood to hunt, to kill and fight in the dead of night. Without anybody knowing. Her dad had always said a 'thank you' was never the most important part of this job.

Adam Warren had nearly died 4 times trying to save the lives of others.

Evangeline wouldn't know if that number had gone up considering she hasn't the man since she walked out on him nearly ten years ago.

That didn't matter. (Not right now at least.) What mattered was that the demon had nearly won tonight. Or, Evangeline was sure the demon had won. His black eyes had shined back at her as he slit another throat on the altar, this Godawful grin on his face as if he was proud of what he'd done. The demon had been so proud.

The grin had later been lifted from his face when he'd walked straight into a devil's trap and an exorcism.

Yet, Evangeline had not been proud when she'd finished. When a black cloud of smoke had been lifted and there was a deathly silence in the church. (Evangeline had felt like she couldn't breathe then either.) There was a limp body at her feet, and there was a limp body on the altar.

Evangeline hadn't felt like she'd saved anyone tonight.

She pulled her head away from the wheel, running her hands down her face and sighed deeply, again.

She was a hunter. She tried to keep reminding herself. Her dad would call her foolish for being so stuck up on the two lives lost in that church. He'd say she was being weak, that she wasn't cut out for this.

(Maybe she wasn't. (He'd never thought her good enough.))

Evangeline tried to believe that it just meant she had some regard for the dead.

Her dad had lost that the same night that God had left and taken the silence. God had taken from her that night. But, he'd also taken from Adam that night. He'd taken Eve and Abel as if it hadn't mattered. As if it wouldn't affect Adam.

It had changed Adam as a man completely.

Evangeline didn't feel like stating the details tonight. She needed a drink. (She needed a lobotomy.) (Or a new body altogether.)

Her feet dragged along the floor as she twirled one of Ellen's key rings around her finger, the car locked behind her and this case supposedly a distant memory. (She'd remember it all again tomorrow night when she wasn't drunk and couldn't think straight.)

The night was far from silent. She could hear the loud chatter of drunken hunters as she approached the Roadhouse, and she could practically feel the noise bouncing off the walls as she got closer and closer to the door.

It was never silent here.

Evangeline was grateful for that.

There was no moment of hesitation as she approached. Evangeline just wanted a drink. Well, she wanted more than one.

The drink made everything silent.

Right?

It's what Evangeline thought. It's what her dad thought. And it was probably what every person addicted to the stuff thought.

The drink drowned out every bad thing that had happened over a hunt, and for a few hours she forgets. She lets the room spin, her vision blur and the number of rum and cokes slowly fade into a high number and she never focuses on it again. It's a good thing, she tells herself with a sip, with every empty glass and with every hangover.

The drink means she forgets.

Evangeline so badly wanted to forget.

She walked into the Roadhouse, and a whistle sounded from at that bar. Not a wolf whistle. Not here. Never at the Roadhouse. If anyone at this bar tried that with either Evangeline or Jo, Ellen would have their heads hung— whether that be from one of the wooden beams in the ceiling or a picture of their head pinned into the banned patrons boards really just depended on how forgiving Ellen felt.

It was the signature whistle from a man, sat the furthest down the bar who had a perfect sight of the door to the bar to signal to Ellen that either Ash, Evangeline or Jo had finally turned up.

It was usually only used to signal for Ash and Evangeline because Jo wasn't let out of her mom's sight much. And Ash was usually doing... whatever Ash does.

Ellen's head whipped around to see Evangeline entering the bar, the Warren still shuffling to her designated stool at the bar. "Hey, honey." She made her way across the bar in quick time, as if the older man she had been talking to didn't matter anymore.

(He didn't. Not in Ellen's eyes. Not when Evangeline had just returned back from a hunt.)

"Hi." Evangeline muttered, sitting herself into the stool and instantly tapping her fingers against the wood of the bar.

It was a habit.

It had been a habit since she'd had since the time her dad had dropped her off here at 13. The habit slowly developing in the year he'd spent away hunting, whilst she'd been here with Ellen.

Here Evangeline was, late twenties and still keeping the same old habits.

Ellen knew better to ask if a hunt had gone well. She'd spent so many years looking after the girl sat opposite her that she just knew when things had gone well and when things had gone bad. (In recent months it felt like everything had been going wrong. And Ellen had been noticing. She'd been observing the Warren woman. She was worried for Evangeline.)

Ellen rested her hands on top of Evangeline's, smiling so softly at her. (It always made Evangeline want to cry with how softly Ellen would look at her. So gentle and kind. Evangeline imagined that was her mom had looked at her before her unforeseen demise.) "You drinkin' tonight?"

It was an odd question, Evangeline thought. She drank every night. (And Ellen had finally noticed.)

"Just one or two." Evangeline shrugged simply. As if one or two rum and cokes was standard for her.

But, one turned to two, and two turned to three which turned to four, then five— and then by the sixth or seventh Evangeline would lose count. And she wouldn't think about her bloodied hands, her anger with God, her anger with the world and her anger that some people lived in silence.

All that mattered was the drink, and how it buzzed in her ears and finally felt like it could lift all heavy weight off her shoulders.

(It was temporary. It was all so temporary. The buzzing would be replaced by a headache and Evangeline would be reminded that she didn't live in silence, her hands were bloodied, God wasn't coming and nothing was ever going to get better for her. She'd be reminded that people died right before her, and she couldn't always save them.)

"Just one or two?" Ellen asked, her hand hovering over the glasses she'd usually fill with water. She could intervene here. She could stop Evangeline's bad habit that had been developing worse and worse in the recent months.

Evangeline was unraveling right before her eyes, and Ellen didn't know how it had taken this long for it to happen. The older woman didn't want it to happen, and she was upset that it was happening anyway, she was just surprised it had taken this long.

Evangeline nodded her head, "Just one or two."

She spoke so softly, so differently from the rough voices of the hunters that were littered around the bar.

Ellen often thought it sounded like Evangeline was afraid to speak. (There had been a time when she hadn't spoke at all.)

"You said one or two last week. Ended up nursin' you through that hangover."

"This week's different." It was no different. Every week left the same aching pit in Evangeline's heart. Every week was lonely, miserable and bleak.

Evangeline wondered how long she could live like this. She wondered if her dad was still living like this. And she wondered if her older brother, her only brother left, was living like this. Did all 3 Warrens share the same ache?

She wanted to know.

But, Evangeline didn't want to see either of them again.

"One or two then." Ellen whispered, pouring the Warren a rum or coke with her back turned. That way there would be significantly way less rum and hopefully the Warren would never know.

"Might take another hunt tomorrow." Evangeline said. She didn't know where she got the fight from, it just felt automatic to hunt. Maybe she was still trying to prove a point to her dad. Maybe she was still trying to catch the demon. "You still got that circus thing?"

Ellen nodded her head, placing the rum and coke down in front of Evangeline.

"Thank you."

"Ash said there's still somethin' goin' on, he's bringing a full file out later."

"I might take it." Evangeline stated, lifting the drink to her lips and relishing in the cool coke. The lack of rum didn't quite fulfill her but she could always sneak a few extra drops when Ellen turned her back.

"You don't have to." Ellen said. "I can always just ship it off to one of these drunks." She pointed around the bar and the sea of drunks.

Evangeline shook her head, her fingers now tapping the side of her glass, "I'll probably take it, so no need."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

Ellen nodded her head stiffly. She didn't want Evangeline to take it. The woman needed at least one night free from hunting.

"Evangeline!" A giggle sounded, Jo rounding the bar and wrapping her arms around the Warren's shoulders and holding her close to her side.

Despite the years between them Jo's hold was protective, almost like an older sister. Evangeline thought that perhaps it should've been the other way round, considering she was older and had been a big sister.

But, she wasn't anymore. Evangeline had to remind herself that no matter how many years after her younger brother Abel had died.

She wanted to cling to the title to prove that she once had been a big sister.

But, it wasn't true anymore. She wasn't an older sister.

Abel was dead.

Abel was dead.

A long time ago.

You haven't been an older sister for years. Let go.

Evangeline relished in the warmth of Jo's side and the younger girl's protectiveness. (She craved it silently.) "How many have you had, huh?" She teased and looked up at Jo. She looked flawless no matter how many she had actually had, not a hair out of place or any smudged mascara despite how warm her body was and how warm it was in the Roadhouse.

"One or two." Jo thought she whispered, but Evangeline was sure the whole bar had heard. And no doubt they'd all heard the giggle that had followed her supposed 'whisper.' It was a beautiful sound. Evangeline had loved Jo's laugh since the first time she'd heard it as a teen.

It made Evangeline smile. "I think we should add a couple more to that."

"Alright, fun-sponge." Jo grumbled, before almost immediately brightening up as an idea crossed her mind, "Wanna get Ash drunk?"

Evangeline laughed quietly. (Everything was quiet with her.) The prospect of Jo going from serious to stupid ideas was very common, even more so when she was drunk, but Evangeline loved it. (If she thought about it long enough, she'd realize that she didn't need the drink to distract her, she needed people.) "Is he still cooped up in his man-cave?"

"Can you even call it a man-cave?" Jo asked, seriously.

Ellen scoffed, swatting her daughter with a cloth, "Be nice."

"She's not wrong." Evangeline grinned.

Ellen pointed a finger at Evangeline, "Don't make me swat you too."

Evangeline's lips stretched even further into a grin. And Ellen could only describe it as cheeky. (And maybe the cheekiness of the grin had made Ellen drop her threatening tone because it was so rare to see Evangeline smile so widely.)

"Stop talking." Jo groaned, grabbing onto Evangeline's hand and pulling her off the stool, "Getcha drink. We're gonna enter the man-cave."

"Hold your horses." Evangeline grumbled, grabbing her glass and pausing.

It was a spilt second. Hardly noticeable to anyone else, but Evangeline knew she paused as she looked up and saw the banned patrons board.

It was funny really, she chose the one seat at the bar when you had a full view of the board and could see the small number of patrons that had actually been banned.

Four.

Two were for reasons Evangeline couldn't even remember anymore because it had been a long time since their pictures went up. But, the other two. She could recognize those faces anywhere. She could even tell you the picture their faces had been cut out of.

Cain Warren's face had been cut out of a newspaper, a picture of him with the words WANTED printed in bold above his head in that edition of the paper. They'd never caught him, but Ellen had made good use of the picture of him looking particularly suspicious and pinned it to the board. Cain had been the first to go up there.

Soon after, Adam Warren had soon joined. The picture being that of Christmas 1992. He stood with a blank expression, simply staring at the camera. No joy, no holiday spirit. No nothing. A stranger had offered to take a picture on his camera that year, to spread holiday cheer. It was the only picture Evangeline had of her dad and she thought it was pretty fitting for how she felt about him.

They'd both been pinned to that board since Ellen had taken Evangeline under her wing full time, and there was no chance they were coming down anytime soon.

Evangeline stared at their pictures for a millisecond at most.

It drove the glass to her lips and forced her to take a sip.

She found it funny how quickly her mind could change from being excited to get Ash drunk, to feeling the need to drink and feel a sweet release on her shoulders and quickly hazy silence could follow in her head.

Evangeline had never quite questioned just how long the hazy silence could last before she became immune to it. But, she was bound to find out.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
isn't this so happy 😍 like when have i genuinely ever wrote a happy character because i'm starting to believe im incapable of doing so

but im also running away i get so nervous about new books until we're about half way through the first act and comfortable with one another (don't be shy pls) 😭😭