Page 79 of Surface Scratch
“He needs to die,” Marcus snarled. “They all need to fucking die.”
He slammed his bloody fist into Marcus’s chest. “No more, not today,” he begged as the sob in his throat rose. “No more, please. I-I want to go home.”
Marcus looked down at him, the black color flickering in his eyes as his pupils shrank. The amber irises began to reappear. Even surrounded by carnage, Caleb felt himself begin to calm, his muscles losing the tension that was keeping him on his feet. The beast was retreating.
“Please take me home,” Caleb whispered against his chest.
“Okay,” Marcus said softly. Caleb heard a thud and Andrew groaned on the ground as he felt Marcus lift him off his feet.
Normally, he would have been embarrassed by even the thought of someone carrying him like this, but he was too exhausted to care. He leaned his face against Marcus’s shoulder, ignoring the cold blood that had soaked through the material. Marcus’s normally slow heartbeat was pounding still, his muscles twitching as he held Caleb against him.
“Home,” Marcus whispered to him, planting a bloody kiss on Caleb’s forehead.
Caleb closed his eyes. He could sleep now. And when he woke up, he would be in Marcus’s bed, on sheets that had a higher thread count than necessary. All of this could be a bad dream.
Except for that smell. Pungent, sour, and sweet at the same time. He crinkled his nose. The gasoline smell always accompanied one of his panic attacks. But he was too tired for one.
The rumbling growl in Marcus’s chest made him open his eyes again, the gasoline smell burning his eyes and nose.
Henderson leaned against the wall, his lower half of his ruined face twisted into a deformed grin that looked more like bloody hamburger than human flesh. A gas can lay at his feet, tipped over and spreading the gasoline through the room. A strange stuttering sound came out of his mangled mouth, like he was trying to laugh but there was too much swollen and broken tissue in the way to make it clear. He held up a lighter in his bloody hand.
“Marcus!” Caleb gasped.
Another gunshot bounced off the walls of the room, somehow even louder than the last. Caleb winced, half expecting the gas can to explode like in a bad action flick. But he felt no heat licking at his skin, no burning pain radiating through him. Henderson dropped the unlit lighter, his arms falling limp at his sides as he slid down the wall. His eyes rolled back, a streak of red trailing his head until he crumpled to the ground, more viscous blood pouring out of what Caleb imagined was his caved-in nose.
He looked at Marcus, but that didn’t make sense. He was using both hands to cradle Caleb to his chest. Marcus’s amber-and-black eyes were focused on the corner of the room and Caleb followed his gaze.
Nick stood in the corner, his face deathly pale and drenched in sweat. He held his own belt in his teeth, a loop wrapped around the stump where his hand used to be as a makeshift tourniquet. His remaining hand shook violently, barely keeping hold of a gun. He looked at Caleb for a moment, his eyes impossibly wide and glistening with tears even in the dim electric lantern light.
Without a word, he dropped the gun and took off running through the ruined doorway.
Caleb buried his face in Marcus’s chest. He could still feel it—the anger, the betrayal, the pain of it all over the stabbing feeling in his hands and feet. He didn’t want to try and make sense of what Nick had just done. He didn’t want to make sense of any of it. He just wanted to go home with Marcus and sleep until his mind and body and heart didn’t hurt anymore.
“Is he alive?” Ophelia’s high-pitched voice panted from the doorway. Despite everything, she sounded like she was smiling. Caleb didn’t bother to look up.
“He is,” Marcus said. His voice was softer, the inhuman sound of two voices gone. It was just him again. “I told you not to follow me.”
“Thank fuck I did. There were four more of those cunts out there just waiting to fuck your day up,” she said nonchalantly. Her heavy boots scraped the floor, sounding like she was getting closer. “Is that who I think it is?”
Andrew let out a low moan as Ophelia cocked her shotgun.
Caleb grabbed a fistful of Marcus’s blood-soaked coat, a small pang of guilt trying to worm its way out of his subconscious. He knew what was about to happen. He wanted it to happen. That was the only way he could know for sure they would be safe.
But he felt guilty only because he knew heshouldfeel guilty about wanting Andrew dead.
“I want to sleep,” he said into Marcus’s chest.
“Then sleep, my love,” Marcus whispered. He kissed his forehead again and Caleb felt his limbs becoming weaker. Heavier. Even the pain in his hands, feet, and jaw began to drift away as Marcus’s ability took hold of his entire body.
Yes. This is what I want. No pain. No hurt. Just comfortable. Safe.
“I knew you were a fucking rat,” he heard Ophelia say as Marcus began to walk out of the room. Maybe there was a whimper, or a whine—he couldn’t tell as the rest of his body went slack in Marcus’s arms.
He still smells good.Caleb felt a smile creep onto his face, barely registering the sound of the shotgun going off.
We’re safe. I’m safe.
Marcus kissed him again, as if able to read his mind. “You’re safe,” he whispered.
