The night air was thick with the scent of rain and burnt rubber. Joseph’s hands trembled on the steering wheel, his breath ragged. He shouldn't have been drinking. He should have called a cab. Should have. Would have. Could have. But should-haves never mattered until it was too late.

The impact had been instant. The sickening crunch of metal, the world flipping, the taste of blood in his mouth.

And the silence.

He stumbled out of the wreckage, head pounding, body screaming in protest. Headlights illuminated the rain-slicked road, and there, just a few feet away, lay the boy.

Too still.

Joseph staggered forward. His gut twisted at the sight of lifeless eyes staring at the night sky. The child couldn’t have been more than 8. A backpack lay a few inches away, its contents spilled—a math book, a toy car, a lunchbox with a name scrawled in marker in barely legible handwriting.

‘Eli.’

Panic swallowed him whole, clawing at his chest till he could barely breathe.

The street was deserted. No cameras. No witnesses. He should run.

His legs moved before his brain did, carrying him away from the wreck, from the child, from the truth.

He never went back.

The news barely mentioned it. A hit-and-run. No leads. A grieving mother pleaded for justice, but the city moved on, and  so did Joseph. It was just one of those things, after all. People got into accidents all the time, he would get over it.

Or at least, he tried.

7 years later, there was a knock on his door past midnight.

Joseph sat frozen in his chair, the hum of his TV filling the silence. He never had visitors.

When he opened the door, a boy stood in the dim hallway, soaked from the rain pouring in sheets outside.

He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, his expression unreadable.

“Mr. Adewale?” the boy asked. His voice was quiet. Deliberate.

Joseph’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t used that name in years. He had moved cities, changed everything, even his accent when it was necessary.

“Who are you?”

The boy reached into his backpack and pulled out a toy car.

A tiny blue one just like the one from the night of the crash.

Joseph staggered back.

“My name is Eli.” The boy tilted his head. “You owe me a life.”

Joseph's mind was reeling. This wasn’t possible. He had seen the body. There was no way that child had survived.

Eli stepped inside as if he belonged there. “You’ve been running for a long time.”

Joseph’s throat was dry. “You— You died.”

Eli smiled. A small, menacing curve of his lips “You sure about that?”

The room flickered. The lights dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. Joseph’s heart pounded in his chest. What has happening?

“I…I didn’t mean to. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking straight.”

Eli’s eyes darkened. “But you did”

Joseph collapsed onto the couch, his body trembling and his legs no longer able to support him. “What do you want?”

The boy sat comfortably across from him, fingers tracing the toy car’s edges. “A choice.”

Joseph’s breath hitched as sweat poured down his entire body.

“You can confess,” Eli continued, his voice soft. “Turn yourself in." He turned the car over in his hand. “Or you can keep running.”

Joseph let out a bitter laugh, tring to seem confident even though he was anything but. “And if I run?”

The boy shrugged. “Then I take what you owe.”

The shadows in the room stretched. The air grew thick, suffocating.

Joseph couldn’t breathe.

“You think you’ve escaped,” Eli whispered. “The guilt. The nightmares. But it never left you.” He leaned forward, face inches from Joseph’s. “I never left you.”

Joseph clenched his fists. His past had chased him for 7 years. But this was different. This was final.

His hands shook as he reached for the phone. The voice on the other end sounded distant, unreal.

“I—I need to report a crime.”

As he spoke, the weight in the room lifted. The lights steadied, and when he looked up, the boy was gone. On the table was the tiny blue car.