Page 60 of Surface Scratch
He slapped Tariq’s hand away. “Don’t touch it,” Caleb snapped. Tears burned his cheeks. He didn’t care. “What did you see?”
He needed to know if it was true.
“Buttercup, give that back so we can handle it,” Vincent said, taking a few steps toward him.
“Stay the fuck away from me!”
“Stop!” Marcus appeared between them, grabbing the folder in his hands, his face tight. “Is this them?” he asked Vincent as he opened it, his eyes skimming over the page quickly. His expression fell as he reached the bottom of the page. “Everyone out. Now.”
“Fuck no. We need to take care of this right now,” Vincent insisted. He gripped Marcus’s shoulder.
Marcus grabbed Vincent’s wrist and twisted his arm, spinning him as he did so before yanking his arm back. A sickening popping sound pierced the tense silence.
“I said OUT. Now,” Marcus growled at Vincent before shoving him back toward Tariq.
Vincent’s arm hung limp at his side. “Fine.”
Caleb watched as they left with Ophelia in tow, ignoring the pain in his injured hand as he clenched his fists by his sides to maintain his composure.
“Please, Marcus… please tell me what’s in there.”
Marcus sighed. He grabbed Caleb’s arm and led him back over to the couch against the wall, tossing the file down onto the table as he sat. Caleb tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat, his eyes watering from the stinging pain in his neck. Or maybe it was the mass of fear and despair churning into a tornado inside him.
Maybe he could walk away. Tell Marcus to burn the folder. He could pretend he never saw Nick. Maybe he only thought he saw him.
That’s it, you just thought you saw him. A lot of guys look like Nick. You were still in shock from the V thing.
But his fingers itched. He wanted to know. Heneededto know.
If it’s not him, you should at least find out if you’re losing your mind now and not wait until they lock you in a padded room. Just get it over with.
His fingers trembling, he opened the folder, taking a step back like he had just triggered it to self-destruct. Five driver’s licenses were scanned onto the page in black and white, with notes scribbled beside them. His heart pounded in his ears as his legs turned to jelly before his mind could fully comprehend the last image.
But it was him. It was Nick. The name, date of birth, even the address still matched their old apartment.
Nick was with the Daylight Society.
Nick had attacked Marcus, and him.
Nick had almost killed Marcus.
For a moment, he wondered why his ears didn’t start ringing again. They always did when he was stressed. But there was a different sound.
Even as the tears streamed down his face, he was laughing.
He sank to the floor, staring through his tears at the sour look on Nick’s face, that same haunted look in his eyes he’d seen in the bathroom, even in black and white. He looked so different. So angry. Even on the night he left, high and pissed off and out of his mind, he hadn’t looked that angry.
He heard Marcus say his name, but he couldn’t stop laughing. What sort of cruel joke was life playing on him? It stole Nick’s soul with the pills, it took away his mother, it robbed him of his sense of well-being, and it beat down every remnant of self-esteem he had when it ripped his face apart and burned him. But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t done with him.
At the one point in his life when it seemed like he could feel something other than the crushing omnipresent depression and pain, whatever cosmic force he had managed to piss off was trying to take away the last good thing in his life. It wanted to take away the one thing that made it worth pulling himself off his shitty couch in his shitty apartment.
It wanted to take Marcus away. And it was using his brother to do it.
He felt Marcus’s arms wrap around him from behind as his laughter turned into a choked sob. He slammed his bandaged hand against the coffee table as he sunk farther down, his limbs heavy and his eyes fighting to stay open. Like every fiber of his being wanted to give up.
“I don’t know what to do,” Caleb sobbed. He grabbed Marcus’s forearm over his chest as a heavy warmth spread through him, his muscles burning like they had been overworked. His head fell forward as he fought to keep his eyes open. “Marcus…”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Marcus pulled him back, guiding his heavy head to his chest. “You’re going to go to sleep now.”
