January 3rd, 2023
Entry 71 – A Day I'll Never Forget
It was snowing outside. Not that gentle, soft holiday snow either the kind that fell in thick clumps, heavy and wet, sticking to the windows like nature was pressing its face against the glass. We had just gotten back from Capitol Hill.
Dad pulled a few strings, and for the first time in my life, I got to meet real senators. I even shook hands with Kamala Harris. She was a bit awkward at first kind of stiff but the way she smiled at me... it wasn't like the way she looked on the news. She felt real. Human.
We played games, drank hot cocoa, and passed Christmas cookies around a big fireplace inside one of those tall buildings that smells like old books and power. It made me wonder: does Congress secretly throw a Christmas party every year?
What'cha writing about, nerd?
Lydia nudged my leg with her boot, grinning like a dork. Her face was flushed from the cold, strands of brown hair falling from her beanie. She glanced sideways at my journal and raised an eyebrow.
Still obsessing over Kamala?
Dad chuckled behind the wheel, one hand loosening slightly. His voice was low, wise, and worn from years of speeches and long nights.
Oh, please. Those people just put on smiling faces to make you feel welcome.
I looked up from my journal, confused. Wait... you mean it was fake? They didn't really care?
Mom reached over gently, resting a calming hand on his thigh. Her voice was soft, like a pillow pressed over a scream.
Darling... do you think they're old enough to hear this?
The car went quiet. Even Lydia lowered her phone.
Dad hesitated. His eyes lingered on the snowy road like he was weighing his past in his rearview mirror. Then, without a word, he raised his hand a silent signal to end the conversation. One finger up. Stop. That was his way.
You heard your mother, he said at last, lowering his hand back onto the steering wheel. He looked at me through the mirror. Cold. Direct. And you, Connor... don't try to squeeze answers out of her when we get home.
His stare lingered just a second too long. A chill passed through me that had nothing to do with the snow. I looked down and went back to my journal.
We didn't notice the figure standing miles away, just barely visible between the trees on the snowy roadside. A man or something shaped like one in a red and silver suit, watching. No breathing. No blinking. His body shimmered, blurring faintly like static over a TV screen.
And then... he was gone.
We're home! Dad announced.
I bolted out of the car, boots crunching in the thick snow.
Yes!! I shouted, arms wide.
Mom laughed and stepped out behind me, forming a snowball and tossing it at my head. It missed by a mile.
Missed me! I taunted, sticking out my tongue. Now you owe me cocoa!
Oh, you little! she chased after me and tackled me into a snowbank, both of us laughing like little kids.
Lydia hopped out last, holding up her phone. Look at this little idiot get tackled by his mom, she laughed.
Lydia, with that mouth I might have to put you down too! Mom yelled, scooping snow.
Come at me! Lydia shouted, bolting away.
Mom and I chased her, diving into her legs and sending all three of us rolling into the snow, screaming and giggling like it was the end of the world and we were the only people alive.
Dad rolled the car into the driveway and leaned out the window.
Sharon! I'm running to the store for cocoa. Be back soon.
Mom stood up, brushing snow off her jeans. Okay! Hurry, or we'll drink it without you!
I pointed at him, still lying in the snow. You're next, Dad!
He gave a warm chuckle. I love them so much, he muttered.
Inside the car, Christmas music played softly. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree hummed through the radio. Dad smiled to himself.
He didn't see the blur until it was too late. A streak of red split the horizon. The snow around the road evaporated in an instant a sonic wave carved into the landscape like glass exploding under pressure.
And then:
BOOM.
Glass. Metal. Screaming brakes. Shattering bones. Black.
The next time I saw him... he was lying in a hospital bed.
Tubes shoved down his throat. A nurse pressing on his chest. Blood soaking through the sheets. Beeping machines screaming in protest.
Lydia stood in the doorway, phone forgotten in her hand, face blank.
Mom was in full panic, screaming at the nurses to do something, to help him, to fix this.
And me... I just stood there. Frozen. My heart wasn't beating. I was sure of it.
Connor! Connor, wake up!
A voice. A hand shaking my shoulder.
I gasped, sitting up so fast I nearly fell off the couch. My chest rose and fell like I'd just run five miles.
Connor...
It was Alex. She was wrapped in a blanket, her bruised face still swollen from earlier that day. But her voice... her voice was full of worry, soft and sweet like syrup on a wound.
She placed a trembling hand on my back, rubbing small circles between my shoulders.
Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay.
I looked at her. Really looked at her. The bruises on her cheek. The faint trace of tears still drying in her eyes.
I didn't answer. I just leaned in and hugged her tight.
The past came crashing down like snow off a roof. My dad. The crash. The red blur. And the awful silence that followed.
And yet... here we were. Two broken kids wrapped up in a blanket, surviving together in a world where heroes weren't what they seemed.
Scene 2
The morning sun bled through the cracked blinds, streaking across the mess that was Zack's room. Old hoodies were tossed across the floor like used towels. A half-eaten bag of chips sat limp on his desk, crumbs decorating a pile of crumpled papers. Game cases, socks, and bent schoolwork littered every flat surface.
Zack groaned under the weight of a heavy blanket, tangled like vines around his legs. He rolled over and stuffed his head under his pillow, the light burning his eyes.
Knock knock.
A pause.
Zack?
Ellie's voice floated in soft at first, hesitant, almost concerned. The door creaked open without waiting for a reply.
She stepped in, one hand holding her phone, the other massaging her temple like she already regretted this conversation.
I heard you were involved in the fight with Amanda yesterday.
Zack let out a muffled grunt. He didn't even bother turning around. His voice was croaky and annoyed.
God... Ellie. I'm sleeping.
She stared at the pile of laundry that doubled as her brother and gave a long sigh.
Then, with a swift yank, she tore the blanket off of him.
Up. Now."
Zack squinted into the sudden light, wincing as the cold air bit his legs.
Wh..why would you do that?! he groaned. Come on, Ellie! What did I do? I didn't do anything!
He sat up slowly, his hair a wild mess, eyes still half-shut.
Ellie stood over him, arms crossed, hip cocked, a classic older sister pose.
I know you didn't do anything. That's the problem.
Zack blinked. The sleepiness evaporated in seconds.
...Wait. You believe me?
Ellie let her shoulders relax. Her voice dropped softer, like she didn't want to admit it out loud. She sat on the edge of his bed, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Yeah. I do.
Zack's eyebrows shot up. This was new.
But how? he asked, brow furrowed. You always think I'm messing around...
Ellie gave him a tired smile.
Because I've been in the same position.
Zack tilted his head. "You?"
She nodded.
Not with Amanda, but... another bully. Back in senior year. I tried going to the principal about it but when I realized it was her daughter, I stopped. She covered for him every time. Swept it under the rug.
She paused. Her voice tightened just a bit.
When I found out it was Amanda who hurt Alex, and you, Connor, and Mark were the only ones who did anything about it... she looked up at him with pride hiding behind a sigh, ...I knew you got caught in the same system.
Zack sat quietly. For once, no jokes.
Ellie reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding.
So... get up. We've got a long day ahead. And you're not skipping out just because the system's rigged. You hear me?
Zack nodded slowly.
She stood and started toward the door.
Oh, and... she called back with a smirk, ...I know what you were watching last night.
Zack's heart dropped. His eyes widened in horror.
Wait... what?
Ellie winked as she vanished into the hallway.
Might wanna take a shower, perv.
The door clicked shut.
Zack slapped his palm over his face, burying into the pillow.
God... she heard it? he mumbled, completely mortified.
Zack groaned as his eyes fluttered open again, the bright sunlight piercing through the blinds and warming the cluttered chaos that was his bedroom. Discarded clothes formed mountainous piles, chip bags crinkled underfoot, and his desk was a disaster of half-drawn comic sketches, scribbled lyrics, and overdue homework.
He sat up slowly, his hair matted from sleep, rubbing his face and blinking away the fog in his head. His bare chest rose and fell with a sleepy sigh.
Was I really that loud last night...? he muttered, recalling the explicit Sabrina Carpenter video marathon.
...Whatever. He shrugged and rolled out of bed, lazily grabbing his clothes.
The sound of the shower starting echoed through the house. Steam began to fill the bathroom as he stepped in, humming along to his favorite song blasting from his waterproof speaker:
Please, please, please...
Zack lathered a frankly unreasonable amount of Axe soap across his chest, shoulders, and armpits, shaking his head as he spoke to the empty air.
God, Sabrina's so hot...he muttered with a crooked smile.
Downstairs 10:47 AM
The doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the hallway.
Zack's muffled voice called out over the music and the shower:
ELLIE! YOU SHOULD GET THAT!
Ellie, still in sweatpants and a hoodie, was flipping through mail on the kitchen counter when the bell rang. She rolled her eyes at her brother's laziness but made her way to the front door, brushing her hair behind her ears.
She opened it casually, expecting a package or maybe a neighbor.
Instead, her entire face dropped.
Her arms fell limp to her sides. Her breath caught in her throat.
It was him.
Her ex.
Standing there in a torn black coat, his hair greasy and wild like it hadn't been washed in weeks. Faint scars and angry red cuts littered his forearms, and his skin looked sickly pale. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark, sunken bags.
A long, slow drag from a vape left a thick cloud drifting past her porch light.
Then... he grinned.
Hey, sexy...he said, licking his cracked lips. His voice was gravel, soaked in nicotine.
Before Ellie could recoil, his hand reached out and traced along her hip, fingers pressing like they had a right to be there.
...How 'bout a date?
Her stomach twisted. Her mouth ran dry.
She clenched her jaw, her fists curling like springs. Every nerve in her body screamed to hit him. To run. To scream.
But she didn't.
She kept it together barely.
...What the hell are you doing here? Her voice shook. Wh....why are you here?
He chuckled. A low, sinister laugh that sent chills crawling up her back.
Watch your attitude, sexy. Remember... he leaned in closer, the stench of smoke and stale beer wafting off him. His hand slid up to her jaw, calloused fingers brushing her lips.
...you're mine. I own you. Got it?"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her heart pounded in her throat.
Don't touch me.
She tried to shut the door but he caught it with his boot and shoved his way inside like a wolf entering the henhouse.
Before she could react, he slammed her into the wall. One hand pressed her shoulders back, the other groped her breasts with disgusting familiarity.
Mmm, he growled. Still soft...
Ellie's eyes widened in horror.
LET GO OF ME, YOU SICK BASTARD!
His lips grazed hers. She could feel the filth of his breath as he whispered:
I... love you.
Then he kissed her.
Upstairs Bathroom
Please, please, please... Don't prove I'm right...
Zack was still singing along in the shower, water thundering against the tile, when he suddenly heard it Ellie screaming.
His body stiffened.
Then it came again.
A scream. A crash.
ELLIE?!"
He jumped out, barely drying himself as he threw on his clothes in seconds. Soapy water still dripped from his hair as he bolted downstairs.
Zack skidded to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight before him:
The man had Ellie pinned, his disgusting mouth smothering hers, one hand gripping her waist. She was flailing, eyes wide with panic.
YOU SON OF A BITCH!! Zack's voice cracked with rage.
The ex didn't even flinch. He looked over his shoulder, grinning.
Oh? What're you gonna do, dickwad?
Zack scanned the room, adrenaline drowning out the fear. His eyes locked onto the metal baseball bat near the back door.
He grabbed it.
Tight. Focused. Ready.
Get the hell off her.
The ex just laughed. A cruel, humorless sound.
Then he shoved Ellie to the floor and lunged.
He tackled Zack and slammed him into the stairs. Zack gasped pain shooting through his spine. His neck twisted, legs going limp for a second.
Then came the fists. One to his gut. One to his face.
Zack grunted, trying to shield himself.
But then
CRACK!
The sound of metal hitting bone.
The ex screamed in agony as he dropped to the floor, clutching his ribs.
Ellie stood behind him, the baseball bat in her hands, her chest heaving with every breath.
You... fucking... asshole!! she hissed.
She pointed the bat directly at his face. Her voice was low and shaking like a storm just barely held back.
Out. NOW.
The man crawled, still coughing and wheezing, one arm wrapped around his ribcage. He limped toward the door, shooting a hateful glance back before disappearing into the street.
Ellie stood there, frozen. Her hands trembled. The bat dropped from her fingers with a dull thunk.
She grabbed her phone and immediately dropped to Zack's side.
Zack? Oh my God... are you okay?!
Zack blinked slowly, sitting up with a wince. His face was red. A bruise already forming.
Yeah... he muttered. I'm fine. Just... damn...
He looked at her, confused.
Who was that guy?
Ellie didn't answer right away. Her eyes stared at the front door.
Then finally, in a whisper:
That was Mark's older brother.
Scene 3
The basement was quiet, a low hum of the furnace the only sound besides the gentle creaks of the old house settling under the winter's weight. The world outside was white and still, but inside, beneath a child's handmade fort of blankets and couch cushions, Connor sat like a shell of himself.
His knees were pulled tightly to his chest. His arms wrapped around his shins. His head buried between his legs. And from somewhere deep in his chest, the sound of muffled sobs escaped, soft and rhythmic. Each exhale trembled. Each breath broke a little more.
The light from a dusty bulb flickered slightly above them, casting a faint golden glow on the pillows around him.
Alex sat nearby, still bruised and tender, yet she noticed none of her own pain in this moment. Her eyes were locked on Connor the boy who usually smiled in quiet moments, who always wrote stories with dreamy eyes and soft thoughts now shattered.
She slid closer, not saying a word at first. Her arms wrapped around him delicately, like she was afraid he might break even more. She pressed her cheek against his back and slowly began rubbing circles along his spine, her voice warm and hushed.
Shhhh... Connor... You're okay. You're okay. I've got you, alright? I'm here, she whispered, her words flowing like a lullaby. Just... walk me through it. When you're ready.
He didn't answer at first.
Then, slowly, he shifted.
His head lifted from his knees and rested softly on her shoulder. His face was flushed, streaked with tears. His fingers clenched the fabric of her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
My family and I... he began, voice fragile, barely above a whisper. ...we went to the White House. For a Christmas party.
Alex nodded gently, her hand never leaving his back. She hummed a soft, soothing tone under her breath not quite a song, just a melody, like something a mother might sing to a crying child in the dark.
Connor's breathing wavered as he continued, eyes half-closed, lost in the memory.
There were lights... candles... we met the Vice President... Kamala Harris... she smiled at me. She was nice. Nicer than the TV makes her out to be.
Mhm, Alex muttered, letting him guide the pace, her voice a comforting breeze.
Then... we drove back home. It was snowing. My mom tackled me in the yard and my sister filmed it... we were laughing.
His voice cracked. His lip twitched.
But...
His whole body tensed.
But... but...
Tears spilled again. His hands started to shake as he curled further into her side.
Alex gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and leaned in closer.
But what, Connor? she asked softly, eyes wide with worry.
Connor's shoulders trembled violently.
His voice broke like glass.
...My father... he was in the hospital. Laid out on the bed. Tubes in his arms. His blood was everywhere.
He choked — the memory too sharp, too raw.
I saw him. His eyes... were open, but he couldn't see me. And then... he just stopped...
He couldn't say it. His voice gave out completely.
Alex's heart shattered at the weight of his words. She had known Connor for years he had always been thoughtful, quiet, gentle but she'd never seen this kind of pain from him before.
She reached up, lifting his chin gently so she could look into his eyes now red, glossy, and full of years of buried grief.
"Connor..." she whispered, voice catching. I'm so sorry. I didn't know...
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled him into her arms and cradled him like he was something precious. She rocked him gently, her fingers brushing through his hair.
Then, softly, tenderly, she began to sing.
Not loud. Not showy. Just a lullaby her mother used to hum to her when the world felt like too much.
Her voice was warm honey, softening the air between them.
Connor closed his eyes again, resting against her shoulder, allowing himself — just for a moment — to feel safe.
And in that small, silent space beneath a childhood fort, they both found peace.
Then...
A buzz.
Another.
And another.
Alex's phone vibrated from the nearby couch. She reluctantly reached for it, her eyes scanning the glowing screen.
Her breath caught.
The message was in all caps, bolded by urgency:
ZACK:
ALEX COME TO THE TREEHOUSE NOW!!!
THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!!!!!!!!
Her lips parted in shock.
Connor, sensing the tension, opened his eyes slowly.
...What is it? he asked, wiping the last of his tears away.
Alex stared at the message for a second longer, then looked back at him.
It's Zack. He said... it's an emergency. At the treehouse.
Connor's expression sharpened with concern. He sat up fully, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes. Despite the grief still hanging over him, he didn't hesitate.
He stood, reaching down and offering his hand to her.
Then I'm coming with you.
Alex paused just a moment then smiled, softly.
Alright. She took his hand.
And together, they left the quiet sanctuary of the fort and stepped into whatever storm waited for them next.
Scene 4
The hospital parking lot shimmered under the pale morning sun, a thin frost still clinging to the windshields of empty cars. Ryan stepped out of the driver's side, his sneakers crunching on the salted concrete. He walked around the car and opened the passenger door for Lydia, who stepped out with a soft smirk.
Thanks, Ryan, she murmured, leaning up and kissing his cheek.
Ryan felt the blood rush to his face. Y-You're welcome, he stammered as he closed the door behind her. He reached for her hand without thinking, and she didn't pull away. Together, they walked toward the entrance, boots echoing against the tiled walkway.
Do you have the ID card? he asked, glancing sideways.
Yeah, Lydia sighed, her expression tight with stress. I have it.
Ryan stopped just short of the front lobby, gently taking both of her hands in his. Lydia, if this is too much... we can come back another day. You don't have to do this right now.
She stared at him, her eyes glistening but firm. We came this far. I need to see her. She let go and stepped forward.
He nodded, then followed her.
They approached the front desk where a woman in light blue scrubs tapped away at a computer. Her nails were long, bright red, and filed to points. She barely glanced at them.
Hi, Lydia said softly. "I'm Lydia Howard. I'm here to see Sheran Howard my mother."
The woman paused, then turned toward them slowly, eyebrows raised in exaggerated surprise.
Sheran Howard, you said? she asked, lips pursed. She peered over her glasses like a hawk eyeing prey.
Yes, Lydia repeated. Just for a few minutes.
The woman turned her chair fully, clasping her hands under her chin. Listen, sweetheart. We've got over a hundred patients, thirty five doctors, and no time for visitors who show up without proper ID. That laminated card you're holding isn't going to cut it. She smiled with venom. So why don't you be a good girl and head on home, mmkay?
Lydia's hand slammed against the desk. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I haven't seen my mother in a year!
Ryan stepped closer, resting his hand on her shoulder. Lydia, maybe we should just step back
The woman chuckled, feigning sympathy. Aww, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. The door's that way. She pointed dismissively.
Lydia leaned over the desk, face red with rage. "I'm going to hurt you, bitch!"
Ryan suddenly spotted movement. Lydia, look! Up there!
Sheran Howard, frail and older than Lydia remembered, was walking upstairs with a folder in her hand.
Mom! Lydia shouted, dashing toward the stairs.
The front desk attendant picked up the phone. Security! We have two delinquents running up the stairs. Stop them!
Lydia ran like her life depended on it. Her boots pounded each step. Ryan chased after her, dodging hospital staff and ignoring yells.
They reached a quiet hallway. Lydia flung open the door where her mother had entered. The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp. There was a single bed, a worn desk, and a muted television bolted in the corner.
Sheran turned slowly. Her hair was graying and tangled. Her face was sunken, wrinkled with age and pain. When her eyes met Lydia's, she gasped, dropping her folders.
"Lydia?" she whispered, clutching her chest. What are you doing here?! You need to leave. Now.
Lydia's voice cracked. I just needed to see you. Why didn't you want to see me?
Sheran turned to Ryan. Her eyes filled with dread. Ryan, take her home. Please. Don't ask questions. Just go.
Ryan straightened. Not gonna happen. We're not leaving until we know what happened to her dad.
Sheran exhaled slowly, her eyes darting to the hallway.
Fine, she muttered. "Sit down. I guess it's time you knew everything.
Meanwhile, at the front lobby, the desk attendant was still on the phone.
Yes, they ran up without clearance. Teenagers. No badges. One had red hair
Then the doors opened.
A tall man stepped inside. He wore a long crimson coat, his boots blackened with dried blood. His hair was matted, his arms covered in scarred tattoos and fresh cuts. His eyes burned like molten iron.
He let out a deep cloud of vapor from a silver vape pen.
Sir? the receptionist said, eyes narrowing. Who the hell are you?
Winthrop tilted his head slightly. Then, faster than anyone could see, his arm slashed sideways. A curved blade glinted under the lights.
SHLICK.
Blood sprayed across the walls. The woman's body dropped behind the desk, her skull cracked open, brain matter splattered.
Screams exploded through the lobby.
People ran in every direction.
Winthrop stepped over the corpse, sword in hand. His trench coat swayed with each methodical step.
Security burst in.
Hold it right there!
Wait... is that Winthrop? From the Nine?!
What the hell is he doing here?
Winthrop didn't answer. His blade cut through the air, slicing two officers clean in half. Guts and bone spilled across the tile floor. A third officer raised his gun
Too late.
Winthrop impaled him through the mouth. Blood and teeth exploded from the back of his skull.
More bullets flew. Winthrop blurred forward, ignoring the wounds. Each shot either grazed his coat or embedded in dead muscle. He moved like a red specter, unrelenting.
He reached the second floor, painting the stairwell in viscera.
Then he stood before Sheran's door.
BOOM.
The door splintered open.
Ryan turned. "Winthrop?" he breathed, stepping in front of Lydia.
Sheran dropped to her knees, frantically reaching for a knife taped beneath her bed.
It's too late, she growled, sliding the folder across the floor toward Lydia. Take it! Run! Keep it safe!
Lydia caught the folder. Her hands shook.
Winthrop entered the room, sword dripping blood, face blank.
Ryan stepped forward.
The bloodbath was just beginning.
Scene 5
Meanwhile, at the treehouse...
The wind whispered gently through the tall pines, casting streaks of golden light across the weathered wood panels of the large treehouse nestled thirty feet above the forest floor. Inside, the air felt heavy thick with tension. Zack paced back and forth with fury burning in his chest, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His usually playful demeanor was replaced by a stormy silence, every step pounding against the floorboards like a drumbeat of rising rage.
The trapdoor creaked open.
Alex was the first to enter, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she stepped cautiously inside. Her voice trembled with concern. Zack? Are you okay? What's going on? You texted it was an emergency.
Connor climbed up behind her, still shaken from their earlier encounter with his own grief. His eyes darted between Zack and Alex. Yeah... what happened? What's the emergency?
Zack didn't answer immediately. He raised one finger to silence them, his expression cold and unreadable. Footsteps echoed on the ladder Mark arrived, whistling a tune, smiling without a care in the world.
Hey guys! What's with the serious faces?
But in a blur of motion, Zack lunged.
He seized Mark by the collar and slammed him against the wooden wall with enough force to rattle the whole structure. The impact echoed like a gunshot.
YOU FUCKING BITCH! Zack roared, his voice raw and cracked. His chest heaved. MY SISTER WAS HURT BY YOUR BROTHER!
Mark's smile faded slightly, his posture cool and unaffected. He didn't resist.
Look, punk, he said, voice low and steady. It wasn't my fault. I wasn't even there.
With a swift shove, he knocked Zack back, flexing his strong arms as he rolled his shoulders.
Zack stumbled but pointed a shaking, furious finger. His eyes blazed. IT WAS YOUR BROTHER! HE SEXUALLY ASSAULTED HER, YOU SON OF A BITCH!
The air in the treehouse turned to ice.
Alex gasped, her heart pounding. What the HELL is going on? You two need to STOP! NOW!
But Zack wasn't finished. Rage boiled over.
He charged, tackling Mark to the ground in a whirlwind of fists and fury. The wooden floor thudded beneath them as Zack's fists collided with Mark's face over and over. Blood splattered onto the floorboards.
Mark wasn't holding back anymore. With a feral growl, he launched Zack backward into the wall, then stepped forward and landed a brutal right hook directly to Zack's face. A sickening crunch echoed through the treehouse as Zack's nose erupted in blood. He crumpled to the floor, groaning, dazed.
Alex stood frozen, trembling, trying to intervene. MARK! WHAT THE HELL STOP!
Connor stood back, horrified. His chest tightened. Thoughts raced. What happened to us? They were friends. Brothers. And now this?
Zack forced himself up, blood running down his lips. His fists clenched again.
Mark wound up for another strike when Alex dove in.
STOP!
Too late.
Mark's right hook struck the side of her temple mid-jump. Her body fell limp instantly, collapsing to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Her head hit the floorboards hard. Silence followed.
Connor's scream shattered it.
ALEX?!
He dropped to his knees beside her, trembling hands gently lifting her head. Her face was pale, lips slightly parted, a bruise already blossoming on her temple.
Alex... he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Please... say something.
But there was no answer.
His breathing quickened. Panic rose like a tide.
ALEX! PLEASE WAKE UP! His voice cracked as tears streamed down his cheeks. He turned to the others. GUYS! HELP ME! SHE'S HURT!
The room snapped back to motion.
Zack was on his feet in an instant, blood still pouring from his broken nose. He stumbled over and knelt beside her, inspecting her quickly but carefully.
Her pulse is faint, he said, his voice gravelly. He looked up at Connor with accusing eyes. Were you with her last night? Did you treat her injuries?!
Connor stammered, overwhelmed. I...I tried. She said she was fine. I... I didn't know...
Mark's arms were folded. His voice was cold. You were with her. You knew she was hurt. And you did nothing.
NO! Connor cried. "She said she didn't want help! She said she just wanted me to stay!
Zack pulled out his phone and dialed frantically. Calling 911. Now.
Mark added, And if she doesn't wake up, that's on you, Connor.
Connor couldn't take it. The words cut deeper than any knife.
He bolted scrambling down the ladder, out into the trees, into the cold air. Tears blinded him. His notebook tumbled out of his backpack and landed on the floor of the treehouse, pages fluttering in the breeze.
Zack stared after him, scoffing quietly.
Some hero.
Mark knelt beside Alex, helping Zack stabilize her while sirens began to wail faintly in the distance.
The treehouse a symbol of their childhood bond had become a battlefield. And nothing would ever be the same.
Scene 6
The hallway was chaos sirens blaring, nurses screaming, gunfire echoing from the upper floors. Lights flickered overhead as the emergency system kicked in. Red strobes flashed across the sterile walls, painting streaks of panic on Ryan and Lydia's faces as they bolted out of the patient room.
Get out of here now! Miss Howard had shouted, the last thing Lydia would ever hear her mother say.
Ryan didn't hesitate. He grabbed Lydia's trembling hand and pulled her down the hallway as fast as their legs could carry them. Behind them, the heavy thuds of approaching boots and screams of dying men filled the hospital air like a death march. The metal folder filled with secrets thumped against Lydia's chest, clutched tightly in her arms.
Move! Ryan growled, shoving open a side stairwell door as sparks from gunfire flickered above them. We're almost there, Lydia. Just hold on!
Tears streaked Lydia's cheeks, but her grip never faltered. Her breaths were jagged, erratic, but she ran. Her boots slammed against the stairwell floor, heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Upstairs, Miss Howard faced her death. Winthrop stood in the middle of the room like a demon out of hell, his towering figure cloaked in silence.
So it was you all along, she hissed, her eyes burning with fire.
Without hesitation, she flicked open a switchblade from her hip holster and hurled it. The blade spun through the air, a silver blur aiming straight for Winthrop's eye. It struck true. But he didn't even flinch. He calmly reached up, yanked the blade from his bleeding eye socket, and dropped it to the tile floor with a metallic clink.
Miss Howard raised her fists, body shaking with rage. Come on then, monster.
Winthrop stepped forward, each bootfall slow and heavy. His eyes locked onto hers with lifeless precision. Then, with a flash of his crimson blade, he lunged. The strike was inhumanly fast.
SHHHHK! The edge of his sword cut through her midsection like paper. Her body froze. Blood gushed from the wound. Her torso peeled apart, muscles tearing, bones snapping, and her heart still visibly twitching before it all collapsed in a waterfall of gore. Her two halves hit the tile floor with a sickening splat, a puddle of red soaking the hospital room.
Back downstairs Ryan and Lydia burst through the emergency exit doors. Cold wind slapped their faces as they sprinted into the icy parking lot. Lydia sobbed uncontrollably, her arms cradling the blood-smeared files. The car was in sight. Just a few more feet.
Then
BOOOOOM!!!
The impact split the pavement. A massive shockwave rippled through the lot, blowing debris into the air. Ryan shielded Lydia, skidding to a stop.
Dust cleared.
And standing there, surrounded by smoke and cracked concrete, was Inferno.
Towering. Proud. A god among men. His red and gold armor shimmered under the broken streetlights. His cape fluttered slightly from the shockwave of his arrival. Hands clasped behind his back. Eyes glowing like molten coals. That signature smile stretched across his face calm, terrifying, inhuman.
He tilted his head slightly.
Children, he said with chilling calm, his voice deep and unnaturally smooth. Running away... are we?
The air thickened. Fire danced lightly around Inferno's boots. His gaze locked onto the folder Lydia clutched. The secret her mother died to protect. The truth that could destroy nations.
Ryan took a slow step in front of her, shielding Lydia with his body. His hands balled into fists. His voice quivered but didn't break.
You're not getting it.
Inferno's smile widened, but he said nothing.
END CHAPTER 2