Page 27 of Surface Scratch
Caleb stood, backing away from the wheezing man, his hands raised to his face as he looked at the split skin of his knuckles, unable to tell if the blood was the man’s or his own.
He spun around to look for Marcus, shoving past the man in the sunglasses. His mouth went dry when his brain finally processed what he was seeing. Marcus leaned against the wall of the club, hunched over, the knife still in his hand and his eyes obscured by his hair. Three crossbow bolts stuck out of him, two in his chest and one protruding from his collar, bright red blood staining his coat.
“No!” Caleb screamed, rushing over to him. He tucked himself under Marcus’s arm, using every bit of strength he had left in his burning legs to help keep him upright.
“Move, kid, we’re almost finished here,” the man in the sunglasses said, motioning with his crossbow for Caleb to stand aside.
Marcus dropped his knife. His entire body swayed and Caleb held on to him as hard as he could while Marcus reached up to the bolt in his shoulder and, with a low grunt and horrible sucking noise, pulled it out. He dropped the bolt beside the knife, a pained growl coming from his throat.
“I told you to run,” Marcus said. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth as he gripped another bolt.
“That one doesn’t listen well,” the man with the crossbow said, holding it at arm’s length.
All three of them jumped as the metal door swung open, the handle of it smashing into the brick wall and echoing down the alley. Caleb and Marcus looked back. Ophelia stepped out into the alley, barefoot and wearing only a baggy shirt and pajama pants, a double-barreled shotgun tucked against her shoulder and aimed at the last man standing.
“Drop it,” she ordered, her finger on the trigger.
“So you’re the daughter,” the man mused, tossing the crossbow off to the side.
“Caleb, take my dad inside,” Ophelia barked at him, her eyes fixed on her target.
Caleb wrapped his arm around Marcus’s waist, ushering him toward the door. They stumbled through the doorway. He lost his grip on Marcus, his hands slick with blood and sliding over the smooth material of his jacket. Marcus’s shoulder banged into the wall, leaving behind a smear of blood along the wall as dragged himself toward the elevator. He slammed his hand against the call button and slumped to the ground, his eyes closed and his face smeared with blood and sweat.
Caleb pressed his hands against the gushing wounds in Marcus’s shoulder and chest. “Ophelia!” he cried out.
She rushed in, slamming the door shut behind her and twisting the lock on the deadbolt. Ophelia pushed Caleb out of the way as the elevator doors dinged open and Marcus fell backward into it. She grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him farther inside. “Grab his legs,” she ordered, her face twisted and her eyebrows pinched together.
Caleb grabbed Marcus’s legs and dragged them into the elevator, collapsing on the ground as he hit the button for the third floor. Ophelia grabbed Marcus’s jacket, yanking him violently out of the coat and throwing it down beside her.
“Caleb, I need you to keep pressure on these,” she said, grabbing his hands and shoving them down on the gushing wounds.
Marcus cried out, his eyes still squeezed shut, his teeth clenched and stained with blood. He raised a bloodied hand, reaching blindly for Caleb’s face until he found his cheek. “You’ve got a wicked left hook… and right hook,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth twitching as he attempted to smile. His chest spasmed and he coughed, blood splashing up onto his lips. “Fuck.”
Caleb looked at Ophelia, his lip quivering. “You need to call nine one one,” he said, his voice shaky. He watched Marcus’s blood bubble up between his fingers before his vision blurred with tears. This couldn’t happen to him again. He couldn’t lose anyone else. Not when things were finally turning around.
“I need you to pull it together,” Ophelia snapped. The elevator dinged as it came to a stop and the doors slid open. She looped her arms under Marcus’s armpits and grunted as she lifted his back off the ground. “Help me get him inside.”
Caleb forced himself to his feet, grabbing Marcus’s legs and lifting. He panted as they inched toward the door, unable to take his eyes off the wounds that had soaked completely through Marcus’s white shirt and dripped onto the ground.
Ophelia kicked out, knocking the door open and grunting as she heaved backward, falling to the ground and dragging her father with her. Marcus groaned, reaching up and grabbing the last remaining bolt sticking out of the center of his chest. He pulled at it weakly, his arm falling limp by his side.
“Get it out,” Marcus said through clenched teeth.
“I don’t think we should—” Caleb began.
Marcus cried out as Ophelia planted her bare foot on his chest, bending down and ripping out the bolt.
Caleb crawled beside him, his hands cupping his face. “Just hang on, okay? We’re going to get help,” he said. He pulled out his phone, his hands smearing blood over the screen as his shaking finger pulled up the emergency call screen.
“Caleb, no…” Marcus said weakly, batting his hand blindly in Caleb’s direction. “No cops.”
“You’re going to die if we don’t,” Caleb whispered. “I can’t lose you.”
Ophelia snatched the phone out of his hand and threw it against the wall. “We’re not doing that!” she shouted. She took off toward the kitchen and flung the doors of the refrigerator open. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! There’s nothing up here!”
Caleb pressed his hands over the wound in the center of Marcus’s chest, blood bubbles forming around the opening. Marcus spasmed with another series of coughs, more blood splattering onto his face.
“Ophelia, we need an ambulance!” he shouted. Why wasn’t she calling for help? He couldn’t make sense of any of it: the random attack, the way they’d spoken to him, why Ophelia came out with a gun, why both of them were refusing to involve the police.
