Chapter 18

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I glance into Carson's bedroom as we take the short trip to the lounge room. He's sprawled out on his bed, the blanket wrapped around his feet. I smile in spite of myself. At least one of us is going to get a good night's sleep.

Marcus flops down on one of the sofas in the lounge room and tilts his head back. His chest rises and falls with deep, slow breaths. I wait by the doorway, rubbing my heel with the toes of the opposite foot. I don't want to disturb him, but we have to start somewhere.

"So . . ." I begin.

"I want you to understand something about me, Rose."

I freeze.

"I don't take shit from people. Call me an asshole, but I like to be in control." His smile is dark and vicious. "All these losers running around in here doing exactly what I tell them to do, looking to me for answers. It's fun. And when someone like Rudolph gets it in his head to try to stand in my way, I don't lose any sleep over it. You know why?"

"No," I say warily.

"Because no one can beat me."

"Did you bring me here so you could brag about how great you are?"

Marcus's smile is gone. He looks at me, gritting his teeth like he's debating with himself. Finally, "I didn't want to kill him."

"You didn't?"

"That's not entirely true," he says. "I did feel like killing him. I couldn't look at that ugly mug of his and not want to choke him to death. And to be honest, I can't say I'll miss him. One less headache for me to deal with."

I frown, feeling hopelessly lost. "So you meant to kill him."

"No. It wasn't my intention to do that when I punched him." He gets up and walks over to me. He holds up his hands, looking at them with a mystified expression. "That kind of strength. It shouldn't have been possible." He lowers them and laughs. "I pushed the basketball pole over. It was easy. Does that seem normal to you?"

"What happened to Rudolph was a fluke," I say, wondering if he realizes how insane he sounds. "And maybe the pole wasn't bolted down properly."

"I thought a smart girl like you would've figured it out by now. They did something to me. These people—the Takers or whatever you call them. I'll prove it to you."

Marcus walks into the adjacent bathroom, gesturing for me to follow. I approach him with hesitant steps until I have a clear view of him at the sink. In the mirror, the overhead light casts a pale hue to my skin. I look every bit as worn-out as I feel. Marcus points to the brass faucet. It's one of those semi-long spouts that curves like an upside-down U over the sink. Delicate and sturdy all at once.

"Watch this. I'm going to bend it."

I should stop him. If he succeeds and we end up with a screwy faucet, who'd want that? But that's crazy, so I keep quiet and watch him wrap his large hand around it.

His knuckles turn white as he tries to twist it. Even though I don't believe he can do it, I'm holding my breath. Marcus is grounded in his own way, in that he sees a certain order in the world. He wouldn't make up something this crazy.

Then again, he did have a seizure. It's not too wild to imagine his world has been thrown out of order and now he's trying to reason it through some external force.

And who better to blame than the Takers?

He huffs in frustration and releases the spout. Blood rushes to his palm, flushing it as red as his face. "This doesn't make sense."

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