Eyes of Scarlet (Dolan Twins)

III

When their father came home from work and found out what happened, he had unlocked Grayson and they embraced each other tightly, as though they were never going to let go. It was the wrong thing to do because he punished them severely, even going as far to put them over his knee and use a belt.

Grayson has never been without Ethan and through the pain and the shakes that are wracking his body, he wants him here. He also knows he can't have him there, for his own safety. He has never been truly alone before.

He can scream, though, and he does. It is now quiet outside after he hears a strong voice say, "Go to bed. We'll just have to wait it out. Quit crying, you little bitch."

Grayson rubs at the bitemark viciously, and it opens the skin a bit more. He stops screaming because it is useless, and he doesn't want Ethan to get hurt because of him. He breathes in and out, turning slowly.

Everything is dark. He can't see a single thing expect the outline of crates, survival material, cases of food and water, and a pile of dusty bug out bags at the bottom of where the real meat of the basement lies. He stands there for a solid twenty minutes by the door, where there is silence.

He silently prays that Ethan is okay. He walks down the stairs and feels the cold, hard concrete under his sneaker clad feet.

He stands there and thinks about everything that he and Ethan have ever seen or read about vampires. They were never one of those crazy, obsessed people who had blogs, or read every book that was published by a nightly Coldtown citizen, or even watched a single episode of reality shows like "Moonlight" or "In Cody Coldtown" or any shit like that. They knew they were predators, blood lusting monsters, and not something to be worshiped or adored.

Grayson feels his way through the dark and pulls down a pack of blankets and a few pillows. He lays them against the ground, attempting to make a bed.

He does so, making a make-shift nest, and pulls off his sweatshirt, and feels along the wall to one of the crates. It ends up being full of cans, something he isn't aiming for, and he searches some more, until his hands still on some jugs. He unscrews one of the caps and sniffs, bringing it to his parched lips, and water pours out and into his mouth. He cups his hand and pours some in and rubs it onto the wound, the water dripping down to hit his t-shirt. He takes a rag from one of the bags, dipping it in the jug and slowly cleans the stinging bite.

When he finally falls asleep, he is had buried himself in the covers, his mind racing with a hundred different thoughts all at once, each one after the other like a succession of trains on a train track.

-

Days have passed since their father has forced Grayson down into the basement as a make-shift quarantine. It is illegal to house an infected, no matter if it is a family member.

He had made Ethan go to bed that Wednesday night and swore to him that if he had caught him up, he was going to beat his "bitch ass" more than he already had.

That night, as Ethan laid on the bed, he heard Uncle Jack and him talking. It was something about contacting the police, and Ethan had nearly lost it, but than their father had said, no, he could wait it out. There was no way Gray was ever getting out of there.

Ethan could not sleep knowing that Grayson wasn't in the bed across from his. He could barely sleep knowing that he wouldn't be there, couldn't comfort him, and didn't know if he was okay down there.

Of course, he wasn't okay.

The next morning, their father was outside the basement door trying to talk to Grayson, but his brother was silent on the other side, not saying a word. When he caught sight of Ethan a small smile flashed on his face. That wasn't a good look at all. He braced himself as he grabbed at him, slamming him against the hallway wall, his large hands over his neck, threatening to start choking him at any moment, saying, "Do you hear that, Bailey? You talk to me, boy!"