Brok
I can hear shouting behind me, but I ignore it as I sprint towards the door, which is still swinging from Mr Brown staggering through it. On the other side is a long hallway, and I let out a frustrated sigh as I realize I have no idea where Mr Brown has gone.
The truth is, I have no idea what's going on. Why Alice and Satan's mom were in that room, why Berk and the others were tied to those chairs. I don't know who that bald man with a starfish on his head is, or why he was holding a gun. All I know is that he was about to hurt, possibly kill, Grammarly, and I wasn't about to let that happen.
why MrBrown is here, and why he's running, is beyond me too. I mean, I knew Grammarly was bad at chemistry... but does her failure really warant having her mother and all her friends kidnapped?
I don't kno. But right now, I don't have the time to think about it al. All I can do is jog down this hallways, trying all the doors to find my homicidal yet handsome chemistry teacher, and stop him from escaping or hurting someone else
All the rooms are empty, and I'm running out of hope. And then I reach the second to last door, and when I push at it, it doesn't budge. locked.
I'm no FBI agent, no lock-picker; I don't have the skills to open this door. But hat I am is a football player who benches 45mph. So I take a few steps back, and run at the door with all my strength, sending the door crashing down, hinges snapping harder than a crocodile's jaw.
But as I peer into the room, my heart stops. Because standing on the other side of that door isn't Mr Brown, but someone very different. someone I thought was dead.
I must be dreaming, I think to myself. Because that's the only way I could be seeing her. How could she be here, the girl who I loved more than anything? Whose loss I've never been able to truly heal from?
"Brok?" she whispers, as if she can't believe she's seeing me eiter.
For a second i wonder if I'm dead, just like her, and that we're both spirits. Because that's the only way I could possibly be seeing her right now.
I open my mouth to say something, but all the words I've been keeping for her for so long dissipate on my tongue. All I can do is stare in shock, body frozen like frozen peas. I stare at those familiar gray-blue orbs, that soft chestnut hair, shorter than I remember. I stare at the burn scars along her neck, spreading up to her ear. I stare at the girl who I thought was gone forever, who I never expected to see again.
She takes a hesiant step forward, reaches out her hand, and it's like I stop breathing. Can ghosts touch?
Her hand entwines with mine, and I'm in awe of the feeling of it, how real it seems. It's like I'm fifteen again, holding hands with her for the first time. I marvel at the warmth of her skin; I always thought ghosts would be cold. But she's as warm as I am, hand so much smaller than mine, and I gently squeeze, and close my eyes just briefly, needing to stay in this moment.
And then, breaking the spell like a wrecking ball knocking down a government building comes an angry voice from behind me: "I thought I told you to stay put."
Jackie's face goes pale, and she gives me an urgent, terrified look. "Brok, you need to-"
I hear the gunshot before I feel it.
One second I'm standing there, faced with what can only be a hallucination, the ghostly remnants of a dead girl. And the next, I'm crumpling onto the ground, a strange, numb feeling hiting me. Then agony, like fire burnin through my veins, more painful than anything I've ever felt before. I vaguely feel the front of my shirt soak with warm, wet blood, feel my head go fuzzy, as if reality is sliping away.
As my eyes close, I feel a sense of calm.
I'm glad I got to see you again.
* * *
Grammarly
I'm surrounded by chaos, and don't even know where to look.
My parents are with Asda, hurriedly talking to each other about fixing up a tourniquet, while Bender and Jasmine both sit close by, looking fraught with worry. Berk's on the phone with emergency services, while Satan's Angels are trying to separate Jorge-who threw himself into battle the second he was freed-from one of Mr Brown's men, who's looking a little worse for wear.
My dad's people are busy dealing with the rest of the goons, including Carl, tying them up and dumping them in the corner like unwanted trash.
And me? Well, I'm not helping at all, thanks to a certain green-orbed devil, along with his long haired, scarred, and equally evil companion, who each have an arm around me. As soon as I mentioned "only a little" pain in my ankle, they wouldn't let me do anything.
"I can walk" I protest, trying to free myself from Satan's grip. "It's not that bad, I swear."
He doesn't say anything, just gives me a look.
"You know you're bleeding," says Noah, ever calm and casual.
I stare at him in dismay. "I'm what? Where?"
Before Noah can answer, there's the sound of a gunshot, and then a scream. Noah frowns. "I'll go check it out. You gonna be ok with Grammarly?"
Satan just nods, and Noah jogs away from us.
"You can seriously let go," I tell Satan as we shuffle out of the room. "I'm fine-"
"Grammarly," he says, and the weight in his tone silences me. I'm quiet as he helps me walk out the house. Once we are outside, he lets me lean against a fencepost so I don't put any weights on my ankle.
"Satan-" I start.
He stiffens. "Do you smell smoke?"
I look over at him confusedly? "What-" I take a breath, and recoil. "Shit, where is that coming from?"
Satan stares at the house, looking troubled. "I'm going to go back in," he says finally. "The others might need help."
"I'll come with you," I say determinedly. "I-"
"Grammarly you can't even walk on your own," he says to me. "You need to stay here, go hide in that bush over there"
nooooo i inwardly shriek. NOT THE BUSH AGAIn. SO I try to stand, and bite back a cry as pain shoots through my ankle. "Okay," I say, voice shaky. "I'll wait out here."
I watch him go with a strange, fluttering nervousness in my belly. I know he'll be fine... but what if he's not? We've pretty much defeated all the bad guys. But Mr Brown still got away.
Speaking of Mr Brown... I bite my lip worriedly. I hope Brok's okay-
I suddenly freeze. That gunshot... Mr Brown had a gun, and Brok went after him. Amidst all the chaos, I doubt people will be looking for Brok, not when Asda's bleeding out and there's multiple injuries around.
"Satan!" I shout out despetately, but he's already disappeared back into the house. With a deep breath, I force myself upright and limp over to the door, gritting my teeth as pain smasms up my leg.
Inside, it's smokier than I realized. I wheeze as ash floats towards my face. Where's the fire coming from? And more importantly, who set it?
Half delirious from pain, I squint at the walls I pass. But it doen't take me long to realize I've gone the wrong way. Coughing from the smoke entering my lungs, I start down a new hallway.
"Grammarly? You can't go that way, that's where the fire is." I feel someone pull me back the way I came. Dazed, I realize it's Jackie. I didn't even know she was here.
"Brok," I gasp out, winded. "He's still- the fire, it could-"
"It won't."
I blink at her. "how do you know?"
"Because I set the fire, Grammarly," she says, a tough edge to her voice. "And Brok..."
I find myself looking at Jackie's haunted expression. And that's when I realize there's blood on her clothes. I feel my face go slack. "What-what happened?"
She just gets up and dusts herself off. Avoiding my gaze, she starts to walk away. "You need to get out of here, Grammarly. Fire's spreading. Burns hurt. I should know."
"Jackie!" I shout, voice cracking from all the smoke.
But she just keeps walking. And with the smoke thickening, my only choice is to follow. With one last, desperate look down the hall, I hurry after her, and can only wish for Brok to be okay. I push Jackie's face from my mind. I choose to believe he's okay.
He has to be.
Jackie takes us out of a side door, and out onto a patio. Before I can go any further, the pain sudedenly becomes too much for me, and I fall to the ground. I let out a cry, and try not to cry, letting out a sobbing cough, throat burning from inahiling smoke. When I look up, Jackie's gone.
"Brok!" I shout, hoping he's outside. "Brok!!"
"Grammarly!!!" I feel arms wrap around me and pull me to my feet. For a second I hope it's Brok, but as soon as I see the pale skin of the hand around me, I know it's not.
"Satan," I whisper dully, leaning against him.
"Where's Brok?" he asks, panting hard.
I don't reply, but he follows my gaze to the door I came through, where smoke is coming out. He whips his head back down to look at me. "he's still inside?"
I see it in his orbs. He'd run into that fire for the hope of saving Brok, just like he wishes he'd been able to do for Jackie. He'd risk his life for a boy who hasn't been his friend in a long time.
But I can't let him do that.
"He's gone, Satan," I say, exhausted.
He almost drops me like a hot potato. "What do you mean?"
I think back to how Jackie looked at me, and I know in my heart that it's true. That look on her face spoke of grief, of shock. "He's gone," I repeat numbly. "Satan, he's already dead."
After that, he doesn't stop holding me, even when my dad asks him to. He holds me all the way through the ambulance coming for Asda, the wailing of the fire truck, the shouts of my parents, Satan's Angels. The sound of cars coming and going, and people crying. And when it's all over, he holds me all the way home.
It's like my heart's exploded into a tiny million pieces. And the only thing that's stopping my body from breaking too are Satan's arms. Whether I'm choking on tears or ash, I don't know. All I know is that Brok-kind, warm, chocolate-orbed Brok-is gone.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to breathe again.
* * *