Super (Ish)

Chapter 5: Guilty

The sun glows through the open window, brushing over my face. I groan, covering my eyes weakly with my hand. I don't manage to block out the brightness, though, it just seems to grow. I sigh and drop my hand away, pushing myself up into a seated position.

I go to look across the cushion barrier, trying to find Ryan. But the pillows are gone, and the bed doesn't even look like it's been touched. I frown, pushing the blankets aside and swinging my feet off the bed.

"Ryan?" I call, standing up.

No answer comes. I peer through the curtains, seeing Tyler's car still there. The bathroom door is still open, so he can't be in there either. Where is he?

"Ryan?" I call out again. I don't know why. I know I'm not getting an answer.

Maybe he went to the reception to ask some questions? Or just wandered off down the road a little to see where he was? Where could be be?

The reception is the most logical place I can think of. And Ryan is a logical person... I think. I have to admit; I know little about him other than the fact he thinks himself a coward, and he has a very sick sister. 

I grab Tyler's hoodie from the bed, slipping it over my arms and careful of my shoulder. But I find no pain surging through me as I slip on some shoes and grab the keys. I'm not going to complain, though. 

I take one last look around the room before I push through the door, stepping outside. The cold hits me instantly, freezing me over. I pull the hoodie tighter around me before I close the door behind me. The sky flashes with maroon, breaking through the misty yellowness of the sun. I squeeze my eyes shut, count to three, and open them again. 

Then I stare up at the sky, waiting for it to happen again. But it doesn't. Frowning, I make my journey towards the reception, huddled close to the building. It doesn't take me long to make it to the reception, and I'm very grateful the heater is on when I push against the door.

I rub my arms, trying to create any kind of heat. I look up around the room and find the desk empty.

"Marcy?" Stepping forward, I peer around the desk. 

Blood is spread across the floor, smeared on the desk and dripping from the chair.

"What the hell?" 

I step away from the desk, looking down the hallway. There's no blood smeared down the hall, or anything against the walls. Marcy's body isn't slumped on the floor, and there's no trail of her being dragged anywhere. If it is her.

I quickly pat my pockets, searching for my mask. I sigh, trying to calm my nerves, as I realise I left it in the motel room. I curse under my breath and look outside again. The sky flashes with maroon, like Tormenta is sending his lightning across the atmosphere.

But that's impossible. He's in New York. Not here. Right?

I shake my head. No. No, this can't be right. 

Quickly glancing behind the desk again, I make sure I didn't miss anything. A gun sits on the desk, abandoned. I know I'm making a mistake for taking it, but I wrap my fingers around the shaft and shakily hold it close. I remove the safety clip, cocking a bullet into place.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I push against the door again, entering the cold, cold world. A chill runs over my skin, sending a prickling sensation through me. The day Tormenta first struck with his lightning flashes in my mind. I almost bend over and send my guts onto the pavement at the thought.

Suddenly the sky darkens, maroon snaking across the sky, covering every inch. I grip the gun tighter, careful not to pull the trigger, but to be ready. I consider running back to the room and grabbing my mask. But something tells me it's too late.