Chapter 12: His Final Moments (Part 2)
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TRIGGER WARNING:

This chapter contains potentially triggering acts of drug abuse and violence.

 


 

Murphy had been massaging his temples as today's migraine – which was actually yesterday's migraine – refused to die down, causing his thinking and pace to be sluggish. Thankfully, he managed to reach Pinecrest according to plan. On time. Uneventful. Alone.

Indeed, it was uneventful because by the time he arrived at Cyrus O'Malley's apartment, the man's lot was empty, and the Cadillac was nowhere in sight.  He pulled right behind an abandoned house a few meters away from the apartment. For a moment he lingered inside his car, carefully considering what his next move should be.

Murphy took off his sunglasses, lowered his head, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He could sense another person's presence if he willed it. But it's a trick he rarely uses, and so his hold over this kind of psychic ability is relatively weak. Nevertheless, he figured it would be easy to pull off with a clear mind. He would be able to sense Cyrus' presence, feel his surroundings, discern whether it's safe to break and enter.

Well technically, it wouldn't be 'breaking and entering' – it's just 'entering' because there will be an unlocked door.

Murphy concentrated all his thoughts and mystic force on Cyrus O'Malley; allowing them to build inside him before he slowly let it spread, encasing the man in a wave of psychic energy. He allowed his mind to reach out and search for the other. It took him ten seconds to catch something when finally, he confirmed that Cyrus is not home and within a two-mile radius. He stepped out of the car and started to walk towards the apartment house.

As he started up the last flight of stairs to the porch, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and looked down at the caller's name on the screen as he walked towards the front door.

Lucien. Stubborn, strong-willed, impulsive Lucien.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he stared at Lucien's name on the screen, "this will be the last time I'll ignore you. I promise." He let the phone ring until his voice mail switched on and after making sure his phone was on silent, he returned it to his pocket.

He put his hand back on the doorknob, gently turned it and pulled. Nothing gave.

"It's not breaking and entering if it's unlocked," he said to himself once more, as if it were a mantra. He looked around to see that nobody was watching.

Murphy figured that in the past couple of days, he had been putting the enchanted runes into good use. Surely, his master would be happy to know that he has not completely abandoned magical arts. After all, he was not supposed to just wear these tattoos – he was meant to use them.

Now was a good time as any to try and use an unlocking spell to work on the front door. With eyes closed, he softly chanted a spell under his breath. Soon a bright white ripple, sinuous like an exposed vein, moved from his hands down to his fingers. Murphy's runic tattoos lit up and pulsed, slithering along his fingers and on to the doorknob.

It didn't take much time and concentration because three seconds later, he heard a little click. With a triumphant smile, Murphy carefully pulled on the door and stepped into Cyrus O'Malley's house.

 


 

Murphy walked into a drafty, echoing hall, almost empty except for the television, the couch and coffee table, and a pile of duffel bags and worn-out suitcases parked by the door. Cyrus was clearly in a rush to leave but he will surely be back to collect his things. Not knowing when he would return meant Murphy needed to hurry in order to avoid a serious – quite possibly dangerous – confrontation.

He looked around the room until his eyes settled on that one door down the hall. Cyrus made sure to keep that room tightly shut but now, it was wide open. Two things came to mind: Either the door had just been closed by a draft or Cyrus had already gotten rid of the evidence. Murphy was banking on the former.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to get down there. And fast.

Murphy's heart was beating as if it would explode in his chest as he slowly made his way down the stairs, in the dark. Thirteen steps were all that separated him from the door above. By the time he made it down to the basement floor, he had to take out his phone and use its light to navigate toward a light switch. He found none.

Holding up his phone like a lantern, the beam of light coming from it swept over the place, illuminating the dark shapes before him. He quickly banished all sinister thoughts and took a couple of steps further.

He immediately tripped over something sitting on the floor. "Ah, shit!" Crouching and feeling around for the phone that had dropped from his hand, he picked it up and turned around to see what had caused him to trip over.

Under the faint light of his phone, a faded red plaid shirt could be seen. Murphy picked it up and stretched to get hold of its edge, then pointed the phone's light on it. Curiosity quickly gave way to dread as realization dawned on him.

It was Hunter's shirt. The same shirt he'd been wearing ever since he met the lost soul. Only that the one in Murphy's hand was stained with old dried-up blood and had a few rips and tears at the front.

Shirt in hand, he stood back up and pointed his phone straight ahead. The room was filled with boxes and crates, with a couple of shelves on his right side. But he knew what he needed to find even before he had come to this place. He pointed the light to the opposite side.

There it was, among more boxes, crates, and broken furniture – a blue plastic barrel with its lid tightly shut.

 


 

Hunter was right. Lucien had gotten rid of whatever evil was in the basement. How he did the cleansing is a question that is best saved until later and tackled with an open mind and an open heart.  But right now, thanks to Lucien, his job was made a whole lot easier.

Not knowing what to expect, Murphy slowly removed the tarp covering the lid. He tried now and again to lift it, but it barely even budged. He searched out a stick to pry it open, but with no better results. Whatever was inside it, Cyrus was determined nobody would ever set eyes on it again.

Murphy crouched down beside the barrel and switched off the beam from his phone. The room was almost dark except for the faint light coming from the open door above him. He set Hunter's plaid shirt down and flexed his fingers.

Steadying his nerves, Murphy sought to be at complete peace with himself and the task that lay before him. With long and slow breaths, he brought his body further under his control.

Fragments of Hunter's memories once again invaded his thoughts, causing his heart to skip a beat, some anxiety welling up in him. Again, he took in deep and steady breaths as he closed his eyes to concentrate on the task. He sat in his feet, knelt before the plastic barrel with his eyes closed, and placed his hands firmly on the barrel. And then, as he ground himself and willed up his energy, he began chanting over and over again:

"Et subter eam in nebula iacet. Nondum inveni veritatem requirens."

He began to feel dizzy and light-headed but continued to chant between larger gulps of air. Fingers splayed and stretching, Murphy felt a surge of energy through his arms. A blinding blue light streaked from his arms and flared brightly down to his hands, streaking towards the runes on his fingers. The azure glow danced wildly and enveloped the plastic barrel, illuminating the entire room. Seconds later when the enchantment had completely encircled the blue container, Murphy let out a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.

"Let me see the unseen."

All at once, Murphy felt himself leaving his body. It was as if some unknown force had warped his entire being out of the physical plane, and he could not control it. He felt himself leaving the world. Felt himself dying.

There was no pain, but he felt a sense of helplessness. One that plunged him deep into a seemingly endless darkness. It was pitch-black. He could no longer see anything. He could not even feel anything anymore. The light coming from the door above him had disappeared. In fact, his body has disappeared. His soul. His consciousness. Everything had disappeared.

And then, a hallowed silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, a sliver of amber-colored light appeared before him, outlining what looked to be walls to either side of a bare hallway. Murphy subconsciously raised his hand. He saw his right hand, and so he raised his other hand. He touched both hands and smiled. He was still alive.

Yet he was in an entirely different place.

For a moment he was confused. He didn't know what had happened. For that matter, where was he to begin with? It was dark. He could not see anything.

Oh, his eyes were closed. He tried opening them. It was blurry at first and then, gradually, it got clearer. He raised his head and observed his surroundings. But what he could see confused him even more.

It was nighttime and raining hard. In front of him were large steel foundations, heavy-duty machinery, and a couple of utility-type vehicles parked at the gate. Towering above him was a canary-yellow crane, a red light blinking lazily from its edge. Murphy found himself standing in a construction site where a high-rise building is currently being built. But right now, the building was no more than a skeleton on steel girders and concrete slabs. To his right, a sign read: ZEPHYR POINTE TOWER. And below it: ALL VISITORS AND NON-WORKING PERSONNEL REPORT TO THE SITE OFFICE.

The rain was pouring down as if the sky had broken open. Heavy droplets splattered and sloshed watery beads up at Murphy. And as it gathered on the ground, it had quickly become muddy. Strangely enough, Murphy was completely dry and clean. In fact, it's as if he was there and not there at the same time.

He checked his watch. It was exactly 10:00 PM. He knew his hunch was right.

Murphy was reliving that fateful night Hunter Parslowe had met his end.

 


 

The date was August 10, 2011. Wednesday.

For a few seconds, Murphy stood in the pouring rain, looking around, waiting for a sign. Every second seemed like eternity while he stood there. Save for a couple of security guards at the front gate, the place was pretty much deserted.  Quite understandable, considering it's already the dead of night.

But Hunter was here. This was his fated night. He needed to find him before the memory ends.

The site office was at the west end of the construction yard. It was built out of steel shipping containers that were fitted out and modified to serve as a temporary office. Besides its innovative structure, nobody would miss it, considering the large sign at the front door that read: SITE OFFICE. OPEN 5 AM – 8:30 PM. But from where he stood, Murphy could see light coming from a window on the right side of the makeshift workspace. He noticed some movement inside, as well. Without much forethought, his feet started moving toward the office.

As he neared, he could hear voices coming from one side of the workspace. He could tell that there were three people – no, four – chatting and laughing among themselves. Murphy stood next to a window and peered inside.

Off the front end of the office were a couple of work desks that were partitioned from the rest of the room, which appeared more like a locker room. The space probably also doubled as a lounge area for the laborers. Five-foot-tall metal lockers lined one side of the room, with parallel plastic benches in the middle and a row of metal sinks with mirrors directly across. There was a door in the back corner, probably leading to a toilet or the exit.

"'You sure you two ain't coming along?" boomed a voice that bore a heavy Southern accent. "Man, you look done. 'You sure you can drive your way home?" The voice abruptly broke through Murphy's self-induced daze. He turned to look at the group of men who were changing into their casual clothes as they prepared to end their shift and call it a day. The man with the Southern accent had taken out a duffel bag from one of the lockers, then turned towards the door. "Wanna' grab a couple of drinks with me, Sam?" he asked the other man with the mousy brown hair who took out a leather jacket from his locker before following the other at the door.

"Yeah, sure."

The man with the Southern accent looked over his shoulder as he placed a hand on the doorknob. "Hey, Parslowe. It's your last day today. You could use a drink, man."

The very mention of his name made Murphy's heart skip a beat. There by the bench sat Hunter, pulling up a pair of black socks. He was wearing the same red plaid shirt and grey cotton pants.

Yet this Hunter Parslowe before him was cheerful. So full of life.

He was having an animated conversation with the man sitting next to him, completely unaware that the two other men were calling out to him. Beside him was the very man Murphy did not want the other to get himself acquainted with. A man every person should be wary about, because perhaps he was evil himself.

Cyrus O'Malley.

He was younger, less sinister looking. Yet there were dark shadows under his sunken, bloodshot eyes. There's a certain glint in those green eyes that seem to be hiding a deep, dark secret. Something that would reveal itself to Murphy if he looked harder. 

Murphy strode into the office and stood in front of Hunter. Cyrus took out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, quietly listening and nodding his head from time to time, as Hunter chatted enthusiastically about baseball leagues.

With clenched fists, Murphy said, "Hunter, you need to leave. Stand up from there. Right now. Go home. Go back to Mr. Gao!" He desperately wanted to whisk Hunter away from that place that very instant. What could be a good spell to alter the past? Clearly there is something he can do to save this man's life.

But it was pointless. It was futile. This scene before him has already taken place, forever immutable. It's nothing but a speck of memory from a dead person's past – and Murphy has the front-row seat to witness it unfold.

"Hunter, wanna' come along?" said the brown-haired man named Sam, as he walked up to Hunter and tapped him on the shoulder. "We're heading to Little Hoolies. Figured you might want to grab a few bottles with us before heading home."

Hunter looked up over his shoulder and beamed at the man. "Uh sure but, I need to get home by midnight."

"What, wife waiting for you at home?"

Hunter shrugged as he stood up, slung a towel over his shoulder, and walked towards his locker. "I just need to make sure I won't be going home wasted, right?" He reached forward and opened his locker.

Murphy stood beside him and peered inside the locker. It was mostly empty, except for a small gym bag at the bottom. Hunter glanced over his shoulder for a second, before taking hold of the bag's zipper and pulling it open.

The first thing Murphy noticed was the money – several bundles of them, wrapped up in rubber bands. It was impossible to say how much. Hunter reached down, picked one up, and then flipped through the bills before tossing it back into the bag and taking it out of the locker.

Murphy turned back to find Cyrus frozen in his seat, mouth agape as his cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth. For a second, his bloodshot eyes were wide with shock as he stared at the bag in Hunter's hands.

He had seen what was in it. The sudden malevolent spark in his eyes unnerved Murphy. And right now, he could see that the man was instantly eaten alive with greed, practically trembling at the sight of money.

Hunter whirled around and looked at Cyrus with a smile, whose demeanor quickly changed from quiet to tense. "'You sure you're gonna' be okay on your own, Cy?" asked Hunter as he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'll be tagging along with Sam and Kyle at the Hoolies."

Cyrus took a drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out underneath his shoe. "I'll... have to pass," he replied in a low voice that hinted pain and distress.

Hunter must have noticed this because there was a concerned look on his face as he walked up to Cyrus. He gave the man a gentle pat on the shoulder and said, "Man, you don't look so good."

"Cyrus refusing a drink? Wow, the crows have turned white!" the man named Kyle joked. "We'll just wait out front for you, Parslowe."

Hunter nodded silently at Kyle before turning back to Cyrus who hung his head low, avoiding the other's eyes as he peered at the floor.

Hunter bit his bottom lip and crossed his arms as he looked at Cyrus sympathetically. And then, he breathed a deep sigh as he sat down next to his friend. With a hushed voice he said, "You can't hide it from me, man. You look stoned as fuck. I thought you already quit."

Cyrus' hands felt cold and clammy. He could feel his shirt starting to stick to his back. He glanced at his companion as he wrung his hands nervously. 

 


 

Hunter Parslowe is not a mechanic nor a craftsman by nature – in fact he detests repairs because quite frankly, he's not very good at it. But later on, he discovered that when he takes on the yard, he works at a frenzied pace to complete a task. Soon he realized he enjoyed construction work because it makes him productive.

Hunter had known Cyrus O'Malley since the second half of 2010, when he started doing additional work on the side in order to make extra money. He met the man from one of his short-term gigs and he would often refer Hunter to temporary construction work whenever there's a new project within Coral Springs.

Over time, Hunter and Cyrus have become friends – and Cyrus is near the top of the other's very short list of buddies to watch baseball with. However, Blake Gao knew nothing about Cyrus. In fact, the two have never met. It was simply because Blake had no idea Hunter had been taking on extra jobs besides his regular one at a coffee shop. And this has been going on behind his back for almost a year.

And so, there's the case of Cyrus. In the few months they've known each other, it didn't take too long for Hunter to discover the man's drug issues.

But he thought he was just a confused guy. He'd been in all sorts of trouble all his life, but he thought he wasn't all that bad. Sure, the man has a criminal record, but he's never committed a serious crime with any forethought. Other people say he has a terrible temper, but he had never seen that side of him. At least not yet.

Most of his troubles can be attributed to his drug and drinking habits. He's had some trouble with the cops before. Many druggies do. But Cyrus O'Malley was at a better place the last two months.

Yet here he was, shoulders hunched up, expressing an overt wretchedness, like a dog being punished by its owner. His hands were trembling uncontrollably, his pupils dilated as he looked up at Hunter. He was clearly suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

"I j-just... I just need to g-get a fix," Cyrus stuttered. "Just – Just one more time. One last time."

Hunter breathed out heavily – not as weary as a sigh, but close. "Come on, man... We've already dealt with this a few months ago. I thought everything's over and done with. What happened?"

With trembling hands, Cyrus tilted his head down and cupped for another cigarette in his shirt pocket but found none. "I – I'm trying. I'm seriously trying. But this s-shit – this shitty feeling. The headaches, the v-vomiting. 'Couldn't get m-myself to work p-properly. It's affecting my j-job."

Seconds later, they heard a car honking outside in the driveway. Hunter looked out to see Sam waving at him from the passenger side of the car. "'You coming, Parslowe?"

Hunter stood up and grabbed the gym bag from the bench. "I think you're in no condition to drive tonight, Cy. Maybe you should hitch a ride with Kyle."

Cyrus shook his head. "N-No, I'm fine. 'J-Just need a couple of m-minutes to clear my head."

Hunter looked at him, and then at the car outside. He reached back to scratch the base of his neck; face painted with a confused expression. "Uhm, you know what, give me a sec. I'll talk to the boys first. Wait for me here, okay?" He signalled for Cyrus to wait as he ran outside to talk to Sam and Kyle. Barely a minute later, Hunter returned to the office as Kyle's car sped off, leaving him behind.

"I'll make it up to them some other time. Come on, man. Let me borrow your keys. I'll drive you home."

 


 

The next thing he knew, Murphy was perched on the backseat of Cyrus' baby-blue Cadillac – although the car was in a less pitiful state compared to how it would be nine years later.

The rain was pattering against the windows, driven by erratic gusts of wind. A hazy glow hovered over the city as blurry yellow streetlights shone from a distance, with the occasional white and red lights of moving cars slicing through the darkness like glistening knives.

Eyes focused and opened wide, he looked at the two men in front of him – Hunter sitting behind the wheel with Cyrus in the passenger seat. Murphy could hear the faint sound of country music playing in the background.

"Maybe the rain will let up soon," Hunter's voice broke the silence. "I'll just take the bus or the train to get back to Coral Springs."

Cyrus grunted. "I said I'm fine," he insisted. A brief pause followed, and then he added, "You don't look so good yourself, man. 'Everything alright?"

Hunter hesitated and in that tiny silence, Murphy's internal alarms went off.

No. The answer was no. Something else was troubling him.

"Sure," Hunter replied, though his tone of voice was a positive sign he was hiding something from the other. This man is a terrible liar. "It's just that..."

Another pause.

Cyrus raised himself to a half-sitting position. "I've heard from the boss. You were brought to the hospital just a couple days ago."

What? Hunter's ill? Murphy wondered.

"It's just simple fatigue," Hunter responded in a tense, unhappy voice. "I always get those dizzy spells from time to time. Nothing serious."

Once again, silence permeated within the vehicle.

After driving for about fifteen minutes, Hunter looked at the fuel gauge and decided it would be a good idea to find a gas station and fill up. He got off the interstate and found a small gas station. Pulling up at the last gas pump, he shut off the engine and turned to look at Cyrus, who was fiddling with his phone, seemingly preoccupied with something.

"You're running out of gas. At this rate, we won't be able to make it past a couple of miles. Don't worry, man, this is on me," Hunter said as he got out and walked toward the gas tank.

There were no other cars in the lot and on the road; just him and Cyrus – and a young gas station attendant who was watching television behind a bulletproof booth and couldn't be bothered with their arrival. Hunter shot the boy an impatient look, then decided to just refill the car himself.

He stuck the gas nozzle into the tank, then pushed down the little clip that automatically filled the tank without having to hold the nozzle. He then walked casually toward the booth and paid the attendant in cash.

"Watching Super Bowl re-runs?" he asked.

The bored attendant looked at him and said, "Anything else worth watching?"

As Hunter waited to get his change, he glanced back to see Cyrus stepping out of the car with the phone pressed to his ear. Although he couldn't hear what Cyrus was saying, he could tell that his friend was furious. A heated argument followed, with much hand-waving and finger-wagging. Soon, the man raised his voice in an agitated tone and yelled, "Give me thirty minutes, damn it! You'll get it tonight, then don't fucking show your face to me ever again!" He hung up the phone, took the gas hose nozzle out of the car, then walked over to the driver's side.

"Everything alright, Cy?" Hunter called out to him as he hurried to get his change and ran back towards the car.

"Y-Yes. I'll take the wheel from here." Cyrus' voice was strung with even more agitation than his expression.

Hunter furrowed his brows as he slid towards the passenger's seat, hesitant and a little alarmed. "Uh, are you sure?"

"Yes. I – I need to hurry home. S-Something came up." Cyrus turned on the ignition and pulled back onto the road leading to the interstate highway.

Hunter felt something was definitely off about the situation, and it has something to do with that phone call he just had.

 


 

The two were back on the road, but a silence so unusual and unnerving settled upon them.

Hunter thought about what to say to break the ice, but he felt a little tense now, wondering if he should have just stayed behind at the gas station. There was something about Cyrus' current demeanor that made him feel queasy.

The rain had finally let up and if he hurried, he could be home in less than half an hour. He thought about Blake and decided he should at least leave him a text message to let him know he'd be home that night. But just as he was about to reach for his phone into his pocket, Cyrus had slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road.

For a moment they just sat there in suspended silence.

Hunter looked out and saw no sign of a house or a store. Darkness consumed the road a few yards ahead of them. To one side was an expanse of cultivated field that looked more like an endless black sea under a starless sky. Not even the rumbling or mechanical clang of a distant car engine met his ears.

A sudden feeling of dread rose inside Hunter when Cyrus switched off the headlights. He turned his head and stared out the back window, seeing only shadows on the road.

Hunter tried to shake off the rising terror as he turned to his friend. He couldn't see Cyrus' face well enough to read his expression. "Uhm... Is everything alright, Cy?" he asked, wincing when his voice shook.

For Murphy, who was sitting quietly behind them, Hunter certainly sounded scared. Terrified even.

Cyrus' gaze slowly shifted to Hunter, giving him a troubled look. A purple outline and dark rings overcast his bloodshot eyes. Slowly he opened his mouth and spoke in a subdued voice, "I'm sorry to put you in a tight spot, man, but... I – I need to borrow money from you."

Hunter blinked a couple of times. His shoulders sagged as he gave the other an uneasy laugh. "S-Sure. Of course. I mean, what are friends for, right?" He tried to reach for the nerve to keep his hands steady and not show the fear that was churning his guts. With a trembling hand, he fished his wallet from his pants, flipped it open and yanked out several bills. "Is there some kind of trouble at home? I can probably –"

"Could you... Could you lend me four thousand bucks?"

"W-What?" For a moment, Hunter thought he heard him wrong. "Four thou-" he gave out another uneasy laugh, "I-I don't have that much money with me right now, man. And even if I do, I couldn't possibly lend you that much cash. Here, I can lend you this instead." He handed him a couple of hundred-dollar bills. "Take this. I don't have anything more with me right now, Cy. I'm sorry. I'm saving up for an important trip. You know that."

Cyrus' face stiffened. "I didn't ask you to give me money, I asked you to lend it to me. I promise, I'll return it. Just – Just give me your address. I'll wire it to you as soon as possible."

Hunter looked at his friend more carefully. He had never seen the man this agitated and desperate before. Clearly, he got himself into some kind of trouble and if it were up to him, he did not want to get involved – especially when it has something to do with drugs.

"Don't do this to me, man," Hunter pleaded, voice shaking. "You still owe me a few hundred bucks from before, remember? But you – you don't have to pay me back, okay? Just don't do this to me right now. Come on." And then, Cyrus' eyes darted towards the small bag in his hands. Hunter tightened his hold on it and pulled it closer to him.

"I... I saw what's in it earlier," Cyrus said in a low and foreboding voice, eyes never leaving Hunter's gym bag. "P-Please, just this once. I promise." He bent his head forward and his shoulders began to shake. "I mean, I know I'm the one who went and got myself into this fucking mess in the first place... I dealt with shady people, got myself in some shady business. But what else can I do? I got so fucking desperate!"

Hunter gave him a pitiful look, but if he weren't accustomed to the man's lies and broken promises, he would have immediately fallen for this wretched display. The look of pity was quickly replaced by anger and disappointment. "Listen, man. I'd be willing to help you get that money you need, as long as it has nothing to do with drugs."

Unfortunately, Hunter's words at this point, have gone in one ear and out the other. "G-Give me the bag, Hunter. Please. You said we're friends, right? I need your help right now. Come on, man. You can put off your trip another time. Right?"

Hunter's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into the gym bag. Adrenaline began to flood his system, pumping and beating as it tried to escape.

His body wanted him to get out of that car and run to safety, but instead he was frozen in place, legs refusing to budge.

"P-Please, man. Don't do this to me..." Hunter said, changing shoulders with the bag so his right hand fumbled for the phone in his pocket. He had to call 911 – and fast.

He knew at this point that his life was at stake.

 


 

Murphy had been screaming at the top of his lungs, yelling "Just fucking give it to him! It's not worth it! It's not worth your life!" again and again, and as loud as he could. But the hoarse sound from his throat was pathetically useless. Nobody could hear him. The hot rage had drained away a long time ago, leaving only a sense of dread – cold and absolute.

In front of him, Hunter had been trying to persuade Cyrus to change his mind and just let him go. But the man had seen what was inside his bag and it seemed there was no other way to get the other to reconsider his options. Perhaps he even already had this in mind before they left Coral Springs...

But Cyrus knew better than anyone else that Hunter worked so hard to earn this much money. Endured so much pain – both physically and emotionally – just to get some personal plans into motion. 

Hunter mowed and kept thinking about a lot of things that transpired over the past few months. He had been so preoccupied with what was happening to himself that he neglected a lot of other important aspects in his life. He had kept things from Blake and hurt him in the process. He certainly did not want things to end this way.

He fell into Cyrus O'Malley's trap, but he had to put up a fight.

"Didn't you hear me? I promise to pay you back. I just – I just really need the money right now. You, of all people, should understand my situation, right? I'll pay you back with interest. I'll – I'll pay you next week!" Cyrus' tone was becoming ugly. "Just – Just give me the bag, and we both go home."

Frightened now, Hunter moved without thinking as Cyrus tried to wrench the gym bag from his shoulder. He gave him a quick, hard push that knocked him back against the driver's seat, his back hitting the window with a soft thud. 

"D-Don't come near me!" Hunter warned as he pulled out his phone and held it up for Cyrus to see. "Don't make me call the cops on you, man. I'm not afraid to press this button. I'm warning you." He dialled 911, thumb hovering over the Call button. 

This only made Cyrus' face flush red with anger. "Fuck, I didn't want things to end this way, Parslowe! But you just had to make me do this, huh?" And then, he let out a mocking laugh. "Look at you, you can barely move. You're obviously scared. But I'm not." With one hand, he grabbed Hunter by the arm, while the other reached for the gym bag.

Adrenaline surging, Hunter reached his other hand up to punch Cyrus in the face, which landed on his cheek.

"Shit!" Cyrus reared up, grasped Hunter's hair with his hand, and slammed his face against the window with a bone-rattling impact that nearly knocked him unconscious. Hunter felt something warm trickling down his nose and he was suddenly aware of a sharp pain. He was sure he had broken his nose.

Cyrus had such a powerful grip on him that barely allowed him to move. He tried to say, "No," but only managed a raspy grunt. He tried to catch his breath and struggled to throw Cyrus off but his death grip around his bag didn't afford him any leverage. Finally, he let go of the bag and took a firm grip on his phone.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Cyrus bellowed as he wrapped a hand around Hunter's throat, squeezing it tight, struggling to choke off his airway.

Panic sunk its sharp claws into Hunter as Cyrus strangled him. "I'm – I'm calling the cops. I'm fucking calling the c-cops!" He panted, breathless from his futile efforts.

"Oh, no. You don't catch me with that one." Cyrus continued to choke him as Hunter fought him, nearly catching him off-balance as they struggled together. Though Hunter wouldn't die from strangulation, the constriction of blood flow to his brain could cause him to black out.

With his free hand, he reached up to pull Cyrus' grip from his throat, but his strength and focus were gradually fading, his hand slapping inadequately at the other's steadier one. Black spots have started to appear in his field of vision, and he knew he didn't have much longer.

"P-Please," he heard himself croak. "Don't hurt me..." Once he began, he couldn't seem to stop. "I-I'll do anything. Just... please don't hurt me!"

"It didn't have to end this way. Why'd you have to provoke me like this?" Cyrus' tone was soft, reluctant, as if to say that he hated to be this harsh on Hunter. That if the other would just give in, he would certainly let him go.

The grip on Hunter's neck loosened a little. The pounding in his head eased a bit. He coughed as he tried to catch his breath.

"You know I'm not a bad guy. I won't hurt you. I swear," Cyrus said, hand held up, palms out.

An uncomfortable stillness grew between them but barely a couple of seconds later, Hunter's primal instincts took over.

Cyrus' words no longer registered and so he lashed out sideways instead, kicking him hard in the stomach. As Cyrus flailed backwards, Hunter took the opportunity, turned and – without pausing to think – punched Cyrus on the left side of his face. Panic registered as he undid his seatbelt and grabbed the door handle.

The door wouldn't open.

Hunter stared at the phone in his right hand, finally pressing the Call button. "Answer the damn phone. Answer, goddammit!" He cried out as he frantically pushed the unlock button. Still nothing. He slammed his shoulder against the door. It wouldn't budge. "Fuck!"

Hunter's punch could only do so much and before he knew it, Cyrus had already stretched out his arms to block his way out. Glaring at Hunter he said, "How many times have you been in this car? You still keep forgetting the locks are broken." He grabbed the phone from Hunter's grasp, hit the End Call button and tossed it to the floor. "You can't possibly blame me for what's about to happen next. This is all on youYou provoked me." Cyrus reached into his pants pocket, digging deep until finally, he felt the cold metal of his Swiss Army knife.

"Fuck you, man. Seriously, fuck you!" Hunter spat out at him defiantly.

"Quiet, dead boy," came Cyrus' response.

That gave Hunter a chill. He could tell that this was no longer the Cyrus O'Malley he had known and struggled to understand. This man was evil incarnate.

Cyrus opened the knife, locked the blade, and pressed it against Hunter's throat.

"W-What are you doing?!"

"If you do so much as move, this will cut right through you," Cyrus warned him.

But Hunter did. The edge of the knife grazed his neck, nicking him, but didn't deliver a fatal blow. He screamed at the top of his lungs, stricken with raw fear, jerking and pulling on his arms to free himself from his assailant. Tears followed as he realized he had never been so vulnerable and helpless.

"You leave me no choice!" Cyrus grabbed him around the neck, clamped his face against the window, and plunged the knife into Hunter's back.

Hunter's voice caught up in his throat as Cyrus whipped the knife out of his back. He flailed and fell forward, groaning in pain as he tried to reach around to grab whatever had stabbed him. He spun around with all his remaining strength. "W-What... What the fuck are you –"

Cyrus inched his knees forward and, slicing the blade through the air, plunged into Hunter's chest.

Crack!

The knife hit bone, sliding off into giving flesh. Cyrus missed the heart. A soft, strangled cry came out of Hunter's throat, and a gush of blood slowly seeped through his chest as Cyrus withdrew the blade.

"S-Stop...Stop..." Hunter begged, still kicking and gasping for air.

"You leave me no choice! You leave me no choice! You leave me no choice!" Cyrus coiled and struck again. Blood began to ooze around the tip of the blade. He paused for a moment and then, he pushed against Hunter, jabbed the knife further in, twisted it, and withdrew it. And then, he struck again. One more time, until the knife was too slippery for him to hold. He stabbed Hunter three times, the blade finally sinking home. 

 


 

Cyrus' breath came in short, sharp gasps as he sat there beside Hunter. Rage still clouded his thoughts, but somewhere in the back of his mind, logic and reason were beginning to emerge.

Slowly, Hunter rolled to his side, facing the passenger-seat window. Blood began to flow ceaselessly from his wounds. He covered them with his hands, but blood continued to gush between his fingers. He tried to suck air in but as he did, his voice gurgled.

Hunter began to choke and cough up blood. "Cyrus..." His voice was harsh. "H-Hospital. Bring me... Bring me to the –" Blood spattered all over the window as he coughed again, spitting out more blood. The front of his red plaid shirt was soaked with blood now, almost turning it black.

It finally came to Cyrus. The deed has been done. There was no turning back. Hunter lay motionless before him, and a wave of hysteria hit him. Hands shaking, he dropped the knife on the floor – into the pool of Hunter's blood. And then, he screamed, backing away after fully realizing what he had just done.

The urge to get out had his hands and legs moving. Before he could even think to do it, he staggered outside the car and fell to the ground. Seconds followed, where his mind was a whirl and his world a complete blur. He kept screaming, "You leave me no fucking choice!" over and over again. 

 


 

Hunter had gone to his death alone, without anyone ever knowing he was there. His head was slumped against the window, the rest of his body feeling numb. In fact, he couldn't feel anything anymore. He could no longer move his arms and legs.

Slowly, he tilted his head so he could look up at the sky. He felt the wetness of his eyelashes but wasn't sure if they were tears or blood.

I'm sorry. Chen-hong, I'm so sorry.

He wanted to utter those words but was afraid he'd cough up more blood. Suddenly, he became aware of a deadening weakness slumping through his muscles, draining them so that all he could do was keep his head steady against the window. There was a fleeting, wrenching pain in his chest, like something being torn away from him. His head reeled; he wondered why Death was in such a hurry to take his life away.

Looking up at the night sky once more, he could see a lone star peeking through rifts of storm clouds. His lips cracked into a smile as flashes of memories ran through his head. And then, slowly, he closed his eyes.

He started dreaming of Blake. And in the dream, Blake was wearing his favorite red-and-blue striped shirt from when he was ten years old. They were inside the community church in Tallahassee, where they first met. He sat on the edge of a pew, leaning forward, elbows propped on the back of the bench in front of him, as if he were at a ball game and not inside a church.

Blake turned to his direction and gave him that cheeky smile he loved the most.

"You're just pretending to be mean, aren't you?" said Blake, although his voice was a little muffled.

What do you mean?

Blake snickered as he leaned back and slid close towards Hunter. But as he did, Hunter's surroundings were slowly enveloped in a veil of pale grayness.

He reached out an arm to grab Blake, but he was gone. And then the darkness gradually receded, and he became aware of someone holding his hand. It was warm and reassuring. It was familiar.

The darkness cleared up and there in front of him, was a much older teenage Blake. He was wearing his middle-school navy-blue uniform, and they were sitting at the back of a car. For a moment, Hunter gazed at the other's youthful face. Blake blushed slightly, his face seemingly glowing.

"You didn't come to see me during summer break," Blake's voice rumbled soothingly. He pouted his lips, looking disappointed. But it was quickly replaced with a sunny smile.

Chen-hong... Chen-hong you need to know something. I need to tell you something.

But Blake couldn't seem to hear him. With a timid smile, he looked around cautiously and then turned to look back at Hunter, eyes glazed with admiration and a tinge of shyness. He gently pressed Hunter's hand, leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips.

"I like you too, Hunter. I really do. So don't ever run away from me again. Okay?"

Gradually, Blake's face became a blur and oblivion surrounded Hunter once again. And then, from the faint darkness, a soft sigh penetrated through nothingness. He opened his eyes again.

"Hunter?" Blake's mellow voice sounded somewhat far away but there he was, right in front of him, lying next to him in bed. It was the current adult Blake. Beautiful. Cheerful. All smiles. So full of affection for him. A stark difference from when they had last seen each other.

Baby...

Blake's face lit up. "Yes?"

How Hunter longed to see that smile on Blake's face again. Devoid of all the pain and disappointment he had caused over the past several months.

I'm...

Hunter's lips quivered. He could feel tears running down his face. Blake rested a hand on his cheek and gave him a worried look. "What's wrong?"

Hunter could feel his own life fading now, like water slipping down a drain.

I... I want to travel with you. To Taiwan. Now. Right now.

Blake's eyebrows tilted up. "Right now? Why so soon?"

I was meant to surprise you.

Blake chuckled. He shifted in bed as he propped up on one elbow and leaned close to Hunter. "Well, consider me surprised. But look at you. You haven't slept a wink."

Doesn't matter. I... I can rest when we get there. But right now, we need to go. I'm... I'm running out of time.

Blake slumped his head back on the pillow, eyes never leaving Hunter's. "What do you mean? We have all the time in the world."

I don't... I don't...

The irony of the situation washed over Hunter. His cries sliced through his heart even more painfully than the ones Cyrus had inflicted upon him. He could feel the blood draining from it with each breath he took.

"Come here," Blake whispered as he gathered Hunter into his arms, holding him close, wanting to own the other's despair as if it were his own. "Close your eyes now. Get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow."

Chen-hong, I love you. I love you very much.

Hunter's voice was scarcely more than a breath now. His body heaved with the weight of his sobs, barely able to control his breathing as the tears came spilling from his eyes.

Blake held him tighter, willing him his very life if it could help the other win his mysterious battle. "I know. I know."

Please... Please come see me in your dreams, Chen-hong...

"Don't I always?" Blake replied assuredly. He gently eased Hunter's face up to his and kissed his tear-stained cheeks. "It's going to be a fine day tomorrow. Good night." And as quickly as the dream passed through Hunter, Blake's voice slowly faded until it was nothing more than an echo. "I love you, Hunter. Always."

A flash of light intruded itself into his dream. And then it became two conglomerations of brilliant, brightly colored lights. Somehow, he knew they were galaxies, and he had been in the middle of them, and then a moment later, he was here – wherever here was.

His eyes were open but his mind was hazy. He was completely confused yet not apprehensive. And then he smiled. He had no idea why, but he knew he was safe.

The pain and the dream had ceased in an instant, the same time Hunter Parslowe's heart had stopped beating.

 

 


 

I want to apologize for the lack of update last week. I know some of my readers and friends here are aware that I finally caved in to the Mo Dao Zu Shi / The Untamed fandom almost a couple of weeks ago, after such a long time trying to resist joining the fandom. LOL. It’s worth the suffering. HAHAhuhuuhuhuh.

Anyway, this chapter is long overdue. I thank my readers on Wattpad and Scribble Hub for the patience. And I thank those who are still willing to stick with me and continue reading this work of mine. This is kind of a lengthy arc but after Part 3 (which is the final part of this chapter), comes the more complicated stuff between the main characters.

 As always, feel free to leave comments and feedback. I appreciate them very much!

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