Even after the four bodies have been taken away, traces of their deaths are everywhere. Spatters of blood across the stone floor, a red stain where the dead girl's head cracked against the wall. Someone cleaned up Camille's blood with wads of tissue, but the red streak along the floor is still there. I see it from where I sit at my table. The trail disappears behind someone's chair, but I can visualize the path it travels, the way it glistens like wet paint.
"I can't believe it," Carson says for the fifth time. He's the only person with me sitting at our table. Willow disappeared once the chaos died down, and Alec returned to Marcus's group and is deep in conversation with Buzzcut. "I go away for less than an hour and four people are dead. Camille is dead. I've never known anyone who died, and to see her like that . . ."
Beneath the fear, his face is etched with sympathy. I haven't told him about the bleeding ears thing. I don't know how to break the news. How do you tell someone he might turn into a monster and either kill us all or die by our hands?
I'm not sure this is the best place to break the news. I don't want it to reach certain ears. When they removed the bodies earlier, I overheard Eli telling Marcus they shouldn't hesitate to take care of any other teens that go crazy like the Blank did.
Marcus didn't agree with him, but he didn't say no either. His silence makes me worried. After the way he talked to Carson and the way he faced off against the Blank by himself, even coming to my rescue, I've come to expect better things from him.
I've come to want better things from him.
"April?"
Carson's voice snaps me back to reality. I give him a confused look and he says, "You've been quiet since I got back. I guess you're taking it pretty bad, huh?"
"I'm okay." My guilt burns like acid in my gut. Marcus's tough-love speech must have worked because Carson has been acting more like himself. He seems to be coming to terms with the news about his family. I don't want to take that away from him so soon.
As Carson chatters on about what could have turned the boy into a freaky creature-boy, Alec comes over and sinks into a chair. His hands are clean of blood, but a big splotch of crimson stains his shirt, right over his heart. I stare at it, my chest hurting as the situation hits me all over again.
"That was amazing, what you did for Camille. Comforting her while she was—" I draw in a breath. "I'm glad it helped her."
He nods tersely. "Where's Willow?"
"I don't know." I wish she were here. She might provide better insight into the Carson situation or help me break the news to him. Alec has proven his compassion, too, but he doesn't know Carson as well as Willow does.
"I'll go get her," I say.
She's not in the shower room when I step inside. I turn for the doorway, deciding to check the gym more thoroughly, when I hear a sniffle. One of the bathroom stalls is closed. I approach it and whisper, "Willow?"
Silence. Then the latch clicks and she walks out of the bathroom. I'm so taken aback that all I can do is stare. She's been crying. She presses bunched up tissues to her swollen eyes and inhales. "I'm fine." She moves past me to the sink and turns on the faucet. "Everything's been piling on these days and that—that thing we saw today—was the last straw."
"The Blank."
She gives me a strange look. "What?"
"That's what I've been calling him." I shrug, feeling foolish. "Because of his eyes—the way they got cloudy. It seems appropriate."
"I guess so."
I watch her as she lathers her hands with soap, not sure what to make of the bleakness on her face. So much for Willow being the strong pillar that Carson needs. She looks like she could use a shoulder to lean on, and mine is too brittle to support anyone.
I have to try. "We'll get through this. Like we've been saying all along, the Takers didn't bring us here to kill us off one by one. Maybe the Blank was a test to see what we'd do." Or an ordeal to weed out the weaker players, which would prove Marcus's survival-of-the-fittest theory. "I think it's safe to say we passed since things have quieted down."
Willow laughs bitterly. "That's assuming they planned this. It could be a mutation, you know. Some unwanted side effect of whatever's been happening to us."
I think of Carson and say nothing. She's got a point. A really good one.
Janie walks into the shower room and comes to a stop at the sight of us. She gives me a look of undeniable detestation and says, "I need to talk to you."
"You do?" I ask, caught off guard.
"Not you." She points at Willow. "I need to talk to you."
I don't move, afraid that Janie will take advantage of her vulnerable state and do more damage. She might've backed off since I confronted her, but I still don't trust her one bit.
"It's okay," Willow says with a sigh. "I'll fill you in later."
"Okay." I don't want to leave them, but I have bigger things to worry about. Like Carson.
Looks like it's up to me to be gentle.
I take Carson upstairs, worried he'll break down when he finds out he might be blanking. But all he does is fidget with his hands and stay silent while I finish telling him.
"Any idea when it'll happen?" he asks.
"No. The symptoms aren't consistent. The boy's ears were bleeding after he blanked. But it happened to you days ago." I refrain from adding he might not even blank, since bleeding ears could mean anything. He'd think I was patronizing him.
"You notice the countdown clock?" Carson asks out of nowhere. "It stopped running. I wonder if the Blank has something to do with it."
I think back to what Willow said. "It's possible the Takers have stopped the noise treatments because they're worried more people will blank."
"Makes sense. So what happens now?" he asks.
I give him a tight smile. "We survive."
I lie in bed that night and stare up at the beam of hallway light shining across my ceiling. It's too quiet in here. Camille wasn't a snorer, but I'd always hear her soft breathing or her bed squeak when she'd turn over. Something about that was soothing. I've spent my whole life sleeping alone, but it's never felt as lonely as it does now.
Even with Baxter gone, Carson's room isn't an option. What if he blanks in the middle of the night? Not that I'm protected in here. His room is just a short trip down the hallway.
Carson's bed thumps against the wall between our rooms. I hold my breath, expecting the quiet to be broken by sudden noise, but nothing happens. A minute later, there's another thump and squeaking. Then another.
I turn over on my side and try to ignore the sounds. Ordinary sounds. I hear them every night and the only reason they stand out to me now is because of what happened today.
I'm overreacting.
He's okay. Everything is okay. We're all going to be okay.
His loud groans about five minutes later make me feel less assured. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up. The groaning dies off as the bed creaks again. It sounds like he turned over in bed. Or got out of it.
What if he's already blanked?
My hands jerk with sudden convulsions. I hold them in my lap, overcome by the irrational worry that he'll sense my fear and seek me out.
The noise dies down again, but there's no telling what's happening in Carson's room. I have two choices: check in on him or wait for him to come to me.
Screw it. I enter the hallway and creep up to his room, grateful I'm walking on stone instead of creaky wooden floorboards. The hallway light gives me the courage to stand in front of Carson's bedroom and glance inside. There's just enough light that I can see he isn't doing something freaky, like crouching on top of his dresser. Instead he's huddled into a ball on his bed, facing the wall. He's breathing unevenly.
"Carson?" I whisper.
He flips over in bed. "What? Did something happen?"
"No," I sigh. It's still him. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm not losing it like that kid, if that's what you're thinking. I was just having a bad dream." He lets his head fall back on his pillow and lets out a short laugh. "I was dreaming I blanked and y'all were running scared except for Marcus who got it in his mind the only way to get me to stop was to poke me full of holes with that butter knife he loves to carry around."
"Sounds like something he'd do."
He laughs, but again it sounds forced. "You go back to sleep. Didn't mean to wake you up."
"You didn't." I linger at the doorway. "Let me know if you need anything."
I expect him to reject my offer, but he surprises me. "Thanks for looking out for me. I really mean it."
Warmth blooms through me. "Good night, Carson."
I return to my room and sit on my bed. There's no way I'll be able to sleep now. I'm too keyed up, my head a mess of thoughts about everything. I need to let it all out. Talk it through with someone. I guess there was always going to be a point when I wouldn't be able to hold everything inside me, and this seems to be it.
I tiptoe out of my room and into the one across from it. It's as quiet in here as the rest of the block. I don't know what my plan is, but the moment my feet cross the threshold, they continue to the other side of the room. Marcus's side of the room.
He's on his back, one arm under his pillow. I can't make out his features. Not allowing myself to question my choice, I bend over his prone figure and whisper, "Marcus."
He gives no indication he hears me.
"Marcus," I repeat.
Still nothing.
I touch his shoulder and shake him. "Wake up, Marc—"
His hand whips out and grabs my wrist. A sound of surprise starts at the back of my throat, choked off when he tugs on my arm and sends me off-balance.
I tumble down on top of him. My elbow breaks my fall when it lands on his stomach, but the pain he must feel doesn't slow him down. The bedframe squeaks when he flips us over so fast I don't realize what's happened until the mattress is beneath me and his body is balanced over mine.
His breaths are quick and shallow, fanning my cheek. I don't know what shocks me more, what he's doing or the way it makes me feel: breathless and lightheaded, my skin inflamed everywhere we touch through the layers between us.
My heart pumps fear and excitement through my bloodstream. I'm not worried he might do something I don't want him to. I'm worried because I'm riding the line between reason and insanity, and I don't know if I'll be able to return if I cross over.
"What are you doing?" I manage, wedging a hand between us to push him off.
He shifts his weight and brings his mouth to my ear. "Don't stop me, April."
April. I freeze, shocked all over again. He's never really called me that before. Either he no longer sees me as just a prickly rose—or he has no idea what he's saying.
"Are you awake?" I whisper. "Marcus?"
He lowers his face to the crook of my neck and presses his fever-hot lips to my skin. Electricity surges through me, setting my thoughts on fire. My mind is overloading on him. His soapy, masculine scent, the heat his body is giving off, the feel of stubble brushing along the underside of my jaw, causing thousands of nerve endings to go haywire.
Marcus pulls back and pauses. I try to blink away the haze wrapped around my head, but it's impossible to think about how wrong this is when his face is so close to me.
My breath hitches when his lips find mine. Just a soft brush that quickly becomes more. I stop breathing altogether when his mouth opens against mine. He teases me with the titillating glide of his tongue, the gentle nip of teeth on my bottom lip, the caress of his palm as it traces my thigh and travels upward, grazing a sliver of bared skin just above my hip. Perfected moves that threaten to strip me of my defenses and coax out my secrets.
My hand fists around the front of his shirt to anchor myself against the building tide, but some part of me understands that I'm holding onto him, keeping us both locked in this moment. He breaks away, giving me the chance to gulp in air, before he's back for more. The second time is urgent, almost bruising, but I don't mind because I want it.
This is nothing like kissing Alec. I was split right down the middle then, caught in a long list of pros and cons. There are no decisions to be made now. No warning bells telling me to err on the side of caution. Just urges and feelings I never want to end.
I've never considered myself impulsive, but Marcus has a way of chipping away at the rational side of me, and his touch has ramped up that effect tenfold.
"Dude, Marcus."
Alec's voice shatters the trance. I avert my face, breaking the kiss, and struggle to catch my breath. What am I doing? I'm in a bed that's not mine, with a guy that I barely know or trust, behaving in an uncharacteristic way with no guarantee that I'll be able to live with myself tomorrow. I'm lost my fucking mind.
"Why the hell are you moving around so much?" Alec asks.
Marcus is breathing as fast as I am. "Just trying to get comfortable."
Alec grunts. "Keep it down."
The room falls quiet. I shove my hands into Marcus's chest. He falls on his side, allowing me to slip out of the bed and race into the hallway. It would be a relief if that were the end of it, but he follows me into the lounge room and catches the bathroom door just as I'm about to slam it shut.
His short black hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed, and everything about his face reminds me of what happened back there.
"You were pretending to be asleep." I know it's not reasonable of me, but it's the only defense I've got.
"I never said I was. But I have to wonder why you kissed me if that's what you thought." He smiles a little. "Do you only make out with guys who might not remember the fact?"
"I knew you were awake," I say, flustered. "I just didn't—"
"Don't take it the wrong way." Marcus leans in so close I think he'll kiss me again. "I have no problem with what happened between us. The only thing I regret is that it didn't last another minute, another second, because . . . kissing you was beyond my wildest fantasy. And I've got a pretty good imagination when it comes to you lately."
Speechless doesn't begin to define the way I feel right now.
"I know you felt something, too, Rose," he continues. "You wouldn't have kissed me like that if you didn't."
The nickname gives me something to focus on. "It's hard to take you seriously when you still think of me as a flower with thorns."
"Your thorns are your strength. They protect you."
"Like now," I say.
"No. You don't need to protect yourself from me."
I have a hard time believing that. He senses there's a barrier I can't cross and lets out a long exhale. "Tell me what it'll take."
"I don't know." That answer isn't good enough for him. Or for me. But it's the best I can do under these circumstances, and I need time and space to work out the rest. The only part of me that's ready to decide is my heart, but I've learned that yearning for things only causes me pain. I can't imagine the heartbreak if I let Marcus be one of those things.
I close the bathroom door and collapse against it. I don't move for a long time. One thing becomes clear as the minutes pass. This isn't helping me think better. Marcus has gotten under my skin and no amount of time or space will banish the memories of what he can do to me if I let down my walls.