Chapter 13 #2
The voice that came from behind Lionel was so cold, so deathly calm, that for a second it sounded less like Mads and more like something that had climbed out of a grave.
Derek’s head snapped up, glaring past Lionel with feral eyes. “I’m just inviting Lionel to safety. It’s for his own good—he doesn’t understand yet—”
“Unhand him,” Mads said again, each word carved from ice, and Lionel could feel the lethal promise behind it even without turning around.
Derek’s eyes darted back to Lionel’s face.
Up close, they were cracked with red veins, pupils dilated until almost swallowing the iris.
Desperation poured off him in choking waves.
“Come on, Lionel,” he pleaded, voice cracking.
“Come with me. We’re friends. Remember? We always said we’d look out for each other…
” His grip tightened, knuckles whitening, and his breath came in shallow, frantic bursts.
Lionel swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat.
His mind screamed at him to pull away—before it was too late, before Derek did something truly monstrous.
And behind him, Mads stepped closer. The cold presence that rolled off him was enough to make Lionel’s hair stand on end, as if the temperature in the hall had plummeted all at once.
“Derek, I don’—” Lionel cried out as he felt nails dig into the skin of his neck. He tried to jump back from Derek, but the sharp fingers just dug in further until Lionel could feel a warm wetness on his skin.
“We need you, Lionel,” Derek said, his words fast. “You need to come with me, I promised them I would find another—”
Bang
Lionel screamed. The sound tore itself out of his throat without warning, raw and high.
He flung himself sideways on instinct, crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth.
For a second, he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear.
There was only a sharp white buzz filling his ears, the world tilting sickeningly as his vision danced with black spots.
His knees buckled, and he nearly slid to the ground.
When he finally blinked enough to clear his sight, he saw Mads standing there—expression blank, almost eerily calm—his arm extended with the sleek, black pistol gripped tightly in his hand.
Smoke drifted lazily from the barrel, curling up toward the ceiling.
Derek was in front of him. The man’s eyes were huge, his mouth dropped open in a wet, gurgling gasp as he clutched at his chest. Red spread across the front of his grey sweatshirt like a grotesque flower blooming, soaking in thick, hot waves that darkened the fabric to almost black.
His eyes flicked wildly to Lionel, wide with something between terror and confusion—like he didn’t understand what was happening, like he expected Lionel to somehow fix it.
And then he dropped.
The thud of Derek’s body hitting the floor was sickeningly final.
“No!” Lionel shrieked, stumbling forward, hands darting out to grab Mads by the arm. His fingers dug into the muscle hard enough to bruise. “What did you do? What did you do?”
Mads didn’t even look at him. His cold eyes were still locked on Derek’s crumpled body, his jaw rigid. He stepped forward, lifting the gun again, thumb pulling back the hammer with a chilling click.
The tiny sound of the spent bullet casing falling to the carpet—ting, ting, ting—was far too loud in the heavy silence.
“Mads—no!”
Lionel clung to him, trying to wrench his arm down, but it was like trying to stop a machine. The gun went off again with another deafening explosion.
Derek’s head jerked violently, a spray of red misting the air. Bone and brain and blood spattered across the cheap hallway wallpaper, a grotesque pattern Lionel knew would haunt him forever. A chunk of something landed on the floor with a sickening wet sound.
Lionel screamed again, voice cracking, and twisted away.
His stomach revolted violently, bile rising up his throat until he dropped to his knees and retched, dry heaving so hard it felt like his ribs would crack.
He was still gasping for breath, tears blurring his vision, when strong arms wrapped around him from behind.
Lionel’s entire body seized up in revulsion and panic. He shoved backwards with all his strength, elbow catching Mads in the ribs. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed, voice breaking around the edges. “Don’t— don’t fucking touch me!”
He scrambled away on his hands and knees, dragging himself down the hallway until he could press his back to the opposite wall, putting as much distance as he could between them.
Mads stood where Lionel had left him. The gun dangled loosely in his hand now, his other reaching out just slightly—hesitant, as if unsure whether to comfort Lionel or simply hold him in place. His face was still eerily calm, but his eyes were somehow dark.
“Lionel…” Mads said softly, taking a tiny step forward.
Lionel flinched like he’d been struck. He curled in on himself, shaking his head violently, hands clamped over his ears as if he could block out the entire world.
Mads froze, his mouth parting like he wanted to say something else.
But the silence that stretched between them was louder than any gunshot.
“Lionel.” Mads’ voice was soft now when he repeated his name and crouched beside him. “I’m sorry, I had t—”
“He was a human, Mads!” Lionel argued, whipping around to glare at Mads. “Why would you kill a human?”
Mads watched him for a second before saying, “he was going to eat you, Lionel. Did you not understand that?” Lionel swallowed dryly at Mads confirming what he was thinking from how Derek was talking. “He was going to bring you back to whatever group he had formed, and they were going to eat you.”
“He was still a person. He was my friend—”
“He was going to kill you, Lionel,” Mads snapped. “Of course I’m going to kill him first.”
Lionel turned away, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes closed to try to ward off the image of Derek’s face right in front of him before the first shot. He groaned as he saw Derek’s brain get blown to bits over and over, the memory playing like a movie on his eyelids.
His heart slammed painfully in his ribcage, his chest rising and falling too fast. His lungs burned, not enough oxygen going into them, no matter how hard Lionel tried to breathe.
Lionel felt a hand on his back again, and he couldn’t tell if it was a comforting weight or if it was pushing down on his chest as well.
“Lionel, breathe.”
Mads’ voice was low and urgent, his hands pressing against Lionel’s shoulders as he tried to pull him up from where he’d doubled over on the floor.
“I can’t— I can’t—” Lionel choked. His chest felt like it was caving in, ribs grinding together as a sob built so painfully in his throat he thought it might choke him.
He clawed at his neck, pressing hard into the hollow of his throat, trying to stop it—trying to push it all back down.
But under his trembling fingers, he felt something warm and wet.
He pulled his hand away and stared, uncomprehending, at the thick drops of blood streaked across his palm.
“Lionel, breathe,” Mads said again, voice cracking now. He took Lionel’s hand and pressed it flat against his own chest. Through the layers of clothing, Lionel felt the steady rise and fall of Mads’ lungs, the strong thud of his heart. “With me, Lionel. In, out. Together.”
But no matter how desperately Lionel tried to latch onto that rhythm, his breaths only came faster, more jagged.
Each inhale scraped like glass through his throat, leaving behind a sharp, raw ache.
Black spots burst and swam across his vision, growing larger until it felt like the entire world was slipping away.
“You’re hyperventilating,” Mads breathed, the words spilling out in a frantic rush. “Lionel— Lionel, please. You have to calm down.”
“I can’t, I can’t, Mads—I can’t—”
He barely felt it when Mads’ arm wrapped around his waist, hauling him upright until he was kneeling. A heavy hand splayed across his chest, trying to guide his breathing, pushing and pulling gently in time with Mads’ own deep inhalations.
Lionel couldn’t match it. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, his chest stuttering under Mads’ palm. Tears burned his eyes. His head was spinning so wildly he thought he might tip over and never stop falling.
Mads made a low, broken sound, like he was on the verge of panicking too. Then, a moment later, Lionel felt a gentle pressure on his mouth.