Someone on Mark's Side
by Tie-B
Chapter VI
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.
---
The nurse came in the door, humming some unknown tune, and gave Randy his lunch: pork chops and some bread. Randy made a face. He didn't really like food you had to kill before eating.
"No thanks," Randy politely refused. He then pointed to himself and said, "I'm not a big fan of slaughtered animals. Vegetarian."
The nurse formed the word, "Oh," with her mouth and nodded. She then took the tray right back out the door.
Randy sighed. With all his schoolwork done, the hospital was a lonely and boring place. He couldn't see how his dad survived frequent trips here. He wondered when Lauren and Brad would drop by so he could have someone to talk to. Heck, he'd even talk to Mark right now if he were given the chance, as long as Mark didn't try to kill him anyway. It was better than nothing.
The same nurse came back a few minutes later with a tray of vegetarian cuisine. Randy thanked her and started digging in as soon as she left.
As Randy chewed on his celery, he thought of the reason he was stuck in the hospital in the first place: Mark, even though he had already given his younger brother much thought during his time in the hospital bed.
Yesterday, Randy concluded that Mark snapped because Randy had made one joke too many. The fact that Mark didn't show up to see him yesterday when Tim and Jill came around got his train of thought running again. Fights that broke out between the three of them brothers didn't usually last long and thus Randy sensed that Mark must really be angry with him. It hurt him emotionally to find out that Mark avoided asking for forgiveness after that punch. It was as if his younger brother just wanted him to rot in that hospital.
Lauren brought it up yesterday. She said Mark seemed to feel oppressed by the two older brothers.
Jill backed up all that Lauren said and added a new point: Mark wasn't just oppressed. Mark felt like he didn't have any big brothers. Mark felt like he was alone.
Alone.
It was such a powerful word. Randy was only alone for a few hours in the hospital each day, but Mark felt lonely his whole life. Brad and Randy only isolated their brother further by always picking on him. Right now, Randy was only experiencing a small fraction of what it was like to be in Mark's shoes and he didn't like it. It was a no brainer why Mark wanted to hit him.
Nobody deserved to be lonely, not even someone as dorky as Mark.
---
Mark woke up feeling rested. He was about to rub his eyes, but he remembered the antiseptic on his hands and decided against it. Mark got up and noticed that the thumping sound downstairs was gone. What was it anyway?
Only the picture was on the table now. Mark could have sworn he remembered seeing a dagger and some pills, but he was so tired back then that maybe it was all just his imagination.
Mark saw that the door was open. No. He didn't imagine the pills and the dagger. Dylan must have gone back up while Mark was asleep and put them somewhere else. Mark thought that it was perfectly natural to hide the fact that you were on medication like that from guests, but he couldn't help wonder that maybe Dylan was hiding something else.
Mark looked around the room for a clock. Nothing. He looked outside the window. It was really bright outside, and Mark guessed it was about noon. He thought about phoning home and telling his mom or dad that he didn't attend school today. Mark got out of the room and looked for Dylan.
The smell of food was in the air. Dylan probably cooked some lunch. Mark wandered through the rooms looking for his host. He found him in a wide room behind a half-open sliding door.
Mark thought leaving a dagger lying around wasn't a good idea, but the room Dylan was in had swords, more daggers, and even sais, shurikens, nun chucks, and several other melee weapons Mark couldn't name on the walls. Dylan was holding his dagger, unsheathed, practicing some kind of martial art form with it. If Mark didn't know any better, he would have labeled Dylan a ninja right now.
Maybe he was? That would explain how he was able to beat up Jason and rescue Mark earlier. Mark shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. No way. Besides, Dylan was definitely Caucasian.
Mark watched as Dylan flowed into different poses, stabbing, blocking and slashing of the form. It definitely put the art in martial art.
Dylan finished the form. It ended with Dylan in standing straight in the center of the room, arms on the side, dagger in his right hand. His back was facing towards Mark.
Mark decided to make his presence known. "Wow! That was so cool."
Dylan turned to face Mark shot back a sarcastic look. "It's not like you don't have any moves of your own."
"What do you mean by that?"
Dylan put the dagger back in the sheath. "I saw some of the moves you pulled a while ago. Karate right? Blue belt?"
Mark shook his head, "Not yet. I'm going to be stuck in violet for a long while."
"Why? You seem ready to go to blue to me."
Mark tried to remember when was the last time he received a complement from anyone. Before he could find an answer, he saw Dylan's mock punch headed towards his face. Mark made an appropriate response: an upper body block.
Dylan smiled. "See what I mean?"
"What are you talking about? Any yellow belt can do that."
"What about this?" Dylan did a half speed kick towards Mark's hip. Mark stepped back into a blocked the kick. Dylan followed up with a backhand as soon as his foot got on the ground, followed by a front kick. Mark was able to block the combination easily, something a yellow belt couldn't do.
The smug expression was once again on Dylan's face. "Come on Mark. Hit back," he said.
It was then when Mark realized it was a game, not a test. He was reluctant to try and hit a smaller person, but he knew Dylan was far from defenseless. Mark lunged with a straight right punch. Dylan didn't block it, but rather pulled it to the side of his hip using his left hand, pulling Mark along. Simultaneously, his right hand sent the dagger's hilt towards Mark's approaching forehead, stopping about an inch or two away.
Mark stared at the hilt a while. "Uhh... Do you think you could put that away first? It's kinda intimidating."
Dylan looked at the dagger in his hand. "You mean this? I've owned it since I was eight. Don't worry. I haven't killed anyone with it yet." As Dylan released his grip on Mark's hand and went to mount the dagger back on the wall, Mark remembered the phone call he had to make.
"Uhh... Hey Dylan, could I use your phone? I need to call home and tell them I missed school today,"
"Sure. It's in the dining room, left door, down the hall," he replied as soon as he put the dagger back on the rack neatly. "Come on. I'll show you."
Dylan guided Mark to the room and handed him the cordless phone. Mark thanked him upon receiving it and dialed home.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. Nobody was answering. His mom probably went to the groceries or something.
Dylan went to the adjacent room, probably the kitchen, and came back with two plates of lunch and laid one on the table in front of Mark.
"Nobody's answering. I'll try my dad," Mark told him.
Mark dialed the number at the Tool Time studio. Two rings later, Al picked up the phone.
"Tool Time, this is Al Borla-"
"Al!" Mark interrupted.
"Who is this? Mark?"
"Yeah. Is my Dad there?"
"No. You just missed him. The paramedics put him on the ambulance just a few minutes ago."
"You mean he's at the hospital?" Mark was curious as to what on earth his dad did this time, but he decided not to ask. He shouldn't use Dylan's phone too long.
"Yes. What would you expect from the Tool Man?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Okay, thanks. Bye Al."
He hung up the cordless phone with a beep of a button. He looked back at Dylan, who was staring at him.
"Al? Hospital? Taylor? You mean your dad's the Tool Man?"
Mark just sighed and nodded.
"But I thought he only had two sons? The one he brought to the show when Al was gone and the one he built a room in the basement?"
The words hurt Mark as if Dylan stabbed him with his dagger. Dylan sensed it and quickly apologized.
"I'm sorry. I don't really watch the show. My brother used to a lot. He always thought your dad was funny."
Mark knew Dylan didn't really mean to offend him, not after helping and taking care of him after the beating. At least now Mark was learning something about Dylan, or at least his brother.
"It's alright. Where is your brother anyway? I mean, you were alone a while ago. Why didn't he walk with you to school?" Mark thought it was maybe because Dylan's brother was just as bad to him as Brad and Randy were to Mark.
Dylan sat down, hesitant to answer the question. But when the answer came, for a brief moment, Mark's eyes were able to pierce through Dylan's mask.
"He..." Dylan was having trouble with his voice well modulated. "He died a month ago."
It was not the answer Mark expected. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized. Mark tried to imagine what it would have felt if Brad or Randy died, but obviously, he was on very different terms with his brothers from Dylan and his.
"That's okay. You didn't know." Dylan slumped down and stared at his plate, pretty upset. "God! I miss him," he muttered through his teeth.
That pretty much explained why Dylan had pills. Mark wanted to bring it up, but it would have been rude at that time.
Dylan regained his composture and took a few breaths. He pointed a fork at Mark's plate. "You should eat. It's been an hour past lunch time," he said with his regular smirk. The mask was on again.
Mark remembered how sorrowful his mom was when his grandfather died. She wasn't as depressed as Dylan though. It was either Jill handled the death very well because she was a strong adult or Dylan's bro must have been a really brotherly and cool guy. As Mark ate, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like if his brothers were like Dylan's. Maybe he wouldn't be such a messed up kid.
Halfway through his plate, Mark decided to get his host's mind off the morbid subject. "Hey man, the day I saw you beat up Jason, I've been meaning to ask you..." Mark stopped, but he realized that there was no point in doing so after getting this far. "I was wondering if you could teach me some more karate."
A puzzled look came on Dylan's face. "Why? I thought you were already taking lessons."
Oh no. It dawned on Mark that his question would eventually lead Dylan to finding out about Mark's problem with Brad and Randy. Mark paused, stunned in hesitation.
Dylan waved at Mark's unmoving eyes.
"My parents made me quit taking lessons," Mark admitted, hoping against Dylan's inevitable why. Mark decided to go honest. He only knew Dylan for a very short time, but the kindness and hospitality Mark received from him in that day felt exponentially greater than his own brothers had given him in his life. Lying to Dylan just seemed ungrateful.
Oddly enough, Dylan didn't ask why. In fact, he seemed eager to jump on the opportunity to teach Mark. "I could teach you later," he assured. Pointing to Mark's plate with his fork, he reminded him of his food.
It took Mark a while to process the message. He was still relieved that Dylan didn't ask why Tim and Jill cancelled Mark's lessons. It would have been awkward to tell someone who loved his dead brother so much about how much you hate your own.
Mark blinked and resumed eating. It wasn't exactly gourmet food, but at least Dylan could cook better than Jill. Not only did he save Mark's life, but he also treated him better than Brad or Randy did. In addition to that, he was willing to teach Mark more karate just like that.
Mark's day just made a turn from the worst to probably one of the best days of his life.
---
Dylan was never really good at making friends. It was mostly due to the fact that other kids found it hard to relate to his interest in martial arts. His brother was also a martial arts enthusiast, but his primary focus was karate, leaving him room for other interests that weren't uncommon with other kids his age, such as soccer and surfing. Dylan on the other hand learned karate, taekwondo, praying mantis and even shaolin kung fu. Money other kids spent on baseball cards and video games, Dylan spent on buying melee weapons like nun chucks, daggers and swords, all of which he knew how to use. Dylan had his brother to bridge the gap between him and the world and when he no longer had his brother, Dylan realized that making friends in a new place would be very difficult and even more difficult if they knew why he was expelled from his old school.
Although Mark dressed like a punk, Dylan considered him a blessing. Dylan saved Mark from a beating on the street and to top that off, they both shared a common interest in karate. Simply put, Mark was a friend just waiting to happen.
Dylan rummaged through the moving box in the training room's closet and pulled out two sets of sparring armor. He handed the first set to Mark, telling him to put it on. He kicked the box back in the closet and put on his armor and pulled his shoulder-length hair back and tied it with a rubber band.
Mark was stared at Dylan's hair. It slightly resembled Brad's when he was about their age.
"Before I can teach you anything, I have to see what needs improving." Dylan smiled, "Attack me."
Mark just blinked, "What?"
"Attack me," Dylan repeated.
"Okay," Mark shrugged.
Dylan got into a ready position. Mark went into his stance and began launching attacks. As he blocked the barrage, Dylan could see that Mark wasn't really in a fully energized condition. Dylan found an opening after ducking below Mark's backhand and gave him a weak punch in the chest armor.
He had to remember to go easy on his hits on Mark who isn't in top shape due to the earlier beating he had.
Punch. Punch. Sidekick.
The three quick strikes found home in Dylan's armor. One thing was for sure: Mark does a mean sidekick, and he knows when to use it. Maybe Dylan was going a bit too easy? Nah. He was pretty apt at controlling his blows but he decided not to take any chances at the risk of causing more serious injury to Mark.
Striking back hard or not, either way, Dylan decided that this was better than practicing alone.
---
"Hey Randy!"
Jerked out of sleep by the voice, Randy nearly jumped out of the bed. He stared a moment at Brad and Lauren as he recovered a few breaths. His chest didn't hurt as much as it did yesterday. Randy took it as a good sign that he was getting better.
"Hi Lauren. Hi Brad."
Brad brought the laptop and the box of disks over to Randy and put them on his younger brother's lap, "I brought the laptop and the disks so you can write your article."
Randy turned the power on the machine on. "Hey thanks," He said, smiling, "Now I can check my e-mail and then get back to work on that article. Could you plug this in the wall for me?"
Without a word, Brad took the phone cord and plugged it into the wall socket. The younger Taylor sensed that Brad was a bit less cheerful than usual and wondered if there was something wrong. Then he realized it.
"Where's Mark? Is he still mad?" Randy asked while he logged on the Internet.
Brad took one of his deep breaths, "I don't know."
Lauren cut in, "Randy, Mark's missing. He didn't come to school."
"What!? Do Mom and Dad know about this?!"
Brad just shook his head.
"Do you think he..." Randy paused, trying hard to bring himself to say it, "... ran away?"
Brad shrugged.
Randy just went blank for a moment, trying to think where Mark could have gone. He shook his head in disbelief, and guilt. It was his fault if Mark ran away. He was the one always teasing him.
Randy looked back at his computer screen, at his e-mail.
"Oh no."
---
by Tie-B
Chapter VI
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.
---
The nurse came in the door, humming some unknown tune, and gave Randy his lunch: pork chops and some bread. Randy made a face. He didn't really like food you had to kill before eating.
"No thanks," Randy politely refused. He then pointed to himself and said, "I'm not a big fan of slaughtered animals. Vegetarian."
The nurse formed the word, "Oh," with her mouth and nodded. She then took the tray right back out the door.
Randy sighed. With all his schoolwork done, the hospital was a lonely and boring place. He couldn't see how his dad survived frequent trips here. He wondered when Lauren and Brad would drop by so he could have someone to talk to. Heck, he'd even talk to Mark right now if he were given the chance, as long as Mark didn't try to kill him anyway. It was better than nothing.
The same nurse came back a few minutes later with a tray of vegetarian cuisine. Randy thanked her and started digging in as soon as she left.
As Randy chewed on his celery, he thought of the reason he was stuck in the hospital in the first place: Mark, even though he had already given his younger brother much thought during his time in the hospital bed.
Yesterday, Randy concluded that Mark snapped because Randy had made one joke too many. The fact that Mark didn't show up to see him yesterday when Tim and Jill came around got his train of thought running again. Fights that broke out between the three of them brothers didn't usually last long and thus Randy sensed that Mark must really be angry with him. It hurt him emotionally to find out that Mark avoided asking for forgiveness after that punch. It was as if his younger brother just wanted him to rot in that hospital.
Lauren brought it up yesterday. She said Mark seemed to feel oppressed by the two older brothers.
Jill backed up all that Lauren said and added a new point: Mark wasn't just oppressed. Mark felt like he didn't have any big brothers. Mark felt like he was alone.
Alone.
It was such a powerful word. Randy was only alone for a few hours in the hospital each day, but Mark felt lonely his whole life. Brad and Randy only isolated their brother further by always picking on him. Right now, Randy was only experiencing a small fraction of what it was like to be in Mark's shoes and he didn't like it. It was a no brainer why Mark wanted to hit him.
Nobody deserved to be lonely, not even someone as dorky as Mark.
---
Mark woke up feeling rested. He was about to rub his eyes, but he remembered the antiseptic on his hands and decided against it. Mark got up and noticed that the thumping sound downstairs was gone. What was it anyway?
Only the picture was on the table now. Mark could have sworn he remembered seeing a dagger and some pills, but he was so tired back then that maybe it was all just his imagination.
Mark saw that the door was open. No. He didn't imagine the pills and the dagger. Dylan must have gone back up while Mark was asleep and put them somewhere else. Mark thought that it was perfectly natural to hide the fact that you were on medication like that from guests, but he couldn't help wonder that maybe Dylan was hiding something else.
Mark looked around the room for a clock. Nothing. He looked outside the window. It was really bright outside, and Mark guessed it was about noon. He thought about phoning home and telling his mom or dad that he didn't attend school today. Mark got out of the room and looked for Dylan.
The smell of food was in the air. Dylan probably cooked some lunch. Mark wandered through the rooms looking for his host. He found him in a wide room behind a half-open sliding door.
Mark thought leaving a dagger lying around wasn't a good idea, but the room Dylan was in had swords, more daggers, and even sais, shurikens, nun chucks, and several other melee weapons Mark couldn't name on the walls. Dylan was holding his dagger, unsheathed, practicing some kind of martial art form with it. If Mark didn't know any better, he would have labeled Dylan a ninja right now.
Maybe he was? That would explain how he was able to beat up Jason and rescue Mark earlier. Mark shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. No way. Besides, Dylan was definitely Caucasian.
Mark watched as Dylan flowed into different poses, stabbing, blocking and slashing of the form. It definitely put the art in martial art.
Dylan finished the form. It ended with Dylan in standing straight in the center of the room, arms on the side, dagger in his right hand. His back was facing towards Mark.
Mark decided to make his presence known. "Wow! That was so cool."
Dylan turned to face Mark shot back a sarcastic look. "It's not like you don't have any moves of your own."
"What do you mean by that?"
Dylan put the dagger back in the sheath. "I saw some of the moves you pulled a while ago. Karate right? Blue belt?"
Mark shook his head, "Not yet. I'm going to be stuck in violet for a long while."
"Why? You seem ready to go to blue to me."
Mark tried to remember when was the last time he received a complement from anyone. Before he could find an answer, he saw Dylan's mock punch headed towards his face. Mark made an appropriate response: an upper body block.
Dylan smiled. "See what I mean?"
"What are you talking about? Any yellow belt can do that."
"What about this?" Dylan did a half speed kick towards Mark's hip. Mark stepped back into a blocked the kick. Dylan followed up with a backhand as soon as his foot got on the ground, followed by a front kick. Mark was able to block the combination easily, something a yellow belt couldn't do.
The smug expression was once again on Dylan's face. "Come on Mark. Hit back," he said.
It was then when Mark realized it was a game, not a test. He was reluctant to try and hit a smaller person, but he knew Dylan was far from defenseless. Mark lunged with a straight right punch. Dylan didn't block it, but rather pulled it to the side of his hip using his left hand, pulling Mark along. Simultaneously, his right hand sent the dagger's hilt towards Mark's approaching forehead, stopping about an inch or two away.
Mark stared at the hilt a while. "Uhh... Do you think you could put that away first? It's kinda intimidating."
Dylan looked at the dagger in his hand. "You mean this? I've owned it since I was eight. Don't worry. I haven't killed anyone with it yet." As Dylan released his grip on Mark's hand and went to mount the dagger back on the wall, Mark remembered the phone call he had to make.
"Uhh... Hey Dylan, could I use your phone? I need to call home and tell them I missed school today,"
"Sure. It's in the dining room, left door, down the hall," he replied as soon as he put the dagger back on the rack neatly. "Come on. I'll show you."
Dylan guided Mark to the room and handed him the cordless phone. Mark thanked him upon receiving it and dialed home.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. Nobody was answering. His mom probably went to the groceries or something.
Dylan went to the adjacent room, probably the kitchen, and came back with two plates of lunch and laid one on the table in front of Mark.
"Nobody's answering. I'll try my dad," Mark told him.
Mark dialed the number at the Tool Time studio. Two rings later, Al picked up the phone.
"Tool Time, this is Al Borla-"
"Al!" Mark interrupted.
"Who is this? Mark?"
"Yeah. Is my Dad there?"
"No. You just missed him. The paramedics put him on the ambulance just a few minutes ago."
"You mean he's at the hospital?" Mark was curious as to what on earth his dad did this time, but he decided not to ask. He shouldn't use Dylan's phone too long.
"Yes. What would you expect from the Tool Man?"
Mark rolled his eyes. "Okay, thanks. Bye Al."
He hung up the cordless phone with a beep of a button. He looked back at Dylan, who was staring at him.
"Al? Hospital? Taylor? You mean your dad's the Tool Man?"
Mark just sighed and nodded.
"But I thought he only had two sons? The one he brought to the show when Al was gone and the one he built a room in the basement?"
The words hurt Mark as if Dylan stabbed him with his dagger. Dylan sensed it and quickly apologized.
"I'm sorry. I don't really watch the show. My brother used to a lot. He always thought your dad was funny."
Mark knew Dylan didn't really mean to offend him, not after helping and taking care of him after the beating. At least now Mark was learning something about Dylan, or at least his brother.
"It's alright. Where is your brother anyway? I mean, you were alone a while ago. Why didn't he walk with you to school?" Mark thought it was maybe because Dylan's brother was just as bad to him as Brad and Randy were to Mark.
Dylan sat down, hesitant to answer the question. But when the answer came, for a brief moment, Mark's eyes were able to pierce through Dylan's mask.
"He..." Dylan was having trouble with his voice well modulated. "He died a month ago."
It was not the answer Mark expected. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized. Mark tried to imagine what it would have felt if Brad or Randy died, but obviously, he was on very different terms with his brothers from Dylan and his.
"That's okay. You didn't know." Dylan slumped down and stared at his plate, pretty upset. "God! I miss him," he muttered through his teeth.
That pretty much explained why Dylan had pills. Mark wanted to bring it up, but it would have been rude at that time.
Dylan regained his composture and took a few breaths. He pointed a fork at Mark's plate. "You should eat. It's been an hour past lunch time," he said with his regular smirk. The mask was on again.
Mark remembered how sorrowful his mom was when his grandfather died. She wasn't as depressed as Dylan though. It was either Jill handled the death very well because she was a strong adult or Dylan's bro must have been a really brotherly and cool guy. As Mark ate, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like if his brothers were like Dylan's. Maybe he wouldn't be such a messed up kid.
Halfway through his plate, Mark decided to get his host's mind off the morbid subject. "Hey man, the day I saw you beat up Jason, I've been meaning to ask you..." Mark stopped, but he realized that there was no point in doing so after getting this far. "I was wondering if you could teach me some more karate."
A puzzled look came on Dylan's face. "Why? I thought you were already taking lessons."
Oh no. It dawned on Mark that his question would eventually lead Dylan to finding out about Mark's problem with Brad and Randy. Mark paused, stunned in hesitation.
Dylan waved at Mark's unmoving eyes.
"My parents made me quit taking lessons," Mark admitted, hoping against Dylan's inevitable why. Mark decided to go honest. He only knew Dylan for a very short time, but the kindness and hospitality Mark received from him in that day felt exponentially greater than his own brothers had given him in his life. Lying to Dylan just seemed ungrateful.
Oddly enough, Dylan didn't ask why. In fact, he seemed eager to jump on the opportunity to teach Mark. "I could teach you later," he assured. Pointing to Mark's plate with his fork, he reminded him of his food.
It took Mark a while to process the message. He was still relieved that Dylan didn't ask why Tim and Jill cancelled Mark's lessons. It would have been awkward to tell someone who loved his dead brother so much about how much you hate your own.
Mark blinked and resumed eating. It wasn't exactly gourmet food, but at least Dylan could cook better than Jill. Not only did he save Mark's life, but he also treated him better than Brad or Randy did. In addition to that, he was willing to teach Mark more karate just like that.
Mark's day just made a turn from the worst to probably one of the best days of his life.
---
Dylan was never really good at making friends. It was mostly due to the fact that other kids found it hard to relate to his interest in martial arts. His brother was also a martial arts enthusiast, but his primary focus was karate, leaving him room for other interests that weren't uncommon with other kids his age, such as soccer and surfing. Dylan on the other hand learned karate, taekwondo, praying mantis and even shaolin kung fu. Money other kids spent on baseball cards and video games, Dylan spent on buying melee weapons like nun chucks, daggers and swords, all of which he knew how to use. Dylan had his brother to bridge the gap between him and the world and when he no longer had his brother, Dylan realized that making friends in a new place would be very difficult and even more difficult if they knew why he was expelled from his old school.
Although Mark dressed like a punk, Dylan considered him a blessing. Dylan saved Mark from a beating on the street and to top that off, they both shared a common interest in karate. Simply put, Mark was a friend just waiting to happen.
Dylan rummaged through the moving box in the training room's closet and pulled out two sets of sparring armor. He handed the first set to Mark, telling him to put it on. He kicked the box back in the closet and put on his armor and pulled his shoulder-length hair back and tied it with a rubber band.
Mark was stared at Dylan's hair. It slightly resembled Brad's when he was about their age.
"Before I can teach you anything, I have to see what needs improving." Dylan smiled, "Attack me."
Mark just blinked, "What?"
"Attack me," Dylan repeated.
"Okay," Mark shrugged.
Dylan got into a ready position. Mark went into his stance and began launching attacks. As he blocked the barrage, Dylan could see that Mark wasn't really in a fully energized condition. Dylan found an opening after ducking below Mark's backhand and gave him a weak punch in the chest armor.
He had to remember to go easy on his hits on Mark who isn't in top shape due to the earlier beating he had.
Punch. Punch. Sidekick.
The three quick strikes found home in Dylan's armor. One thing was for sure: Mark does a mean sidekick, and he knows when to use it. Maybe Dylan was going a bit too easy? Nah. He was pretty apt at controlling his blows but he decided not to take any chances at the risk of causing more serious injury to Mark.
Striking back hard or not, either way, Dylan decided that this was better than practicing alone.
---
"Hey Randy!"
Jerked out of sleep by the voice, Randy nearly jumped out of the bed. He stared a moment at Brad and Lauren as he recovered a few breaths. His chest didn't hurt as much as it did yesterday. Randy took it as a good sign that he was getting better.
"Hi Lauren. Hi Brad."
Brad brought the laptop and the box of disks over to Randy and put them on his younger brother's lap, "I brought the laptop and the disks so you can write your article."
Randy turned the power on the machine on. "Hey thanks," He said, smiling, "Now I can check my e-mail and then get back to work on that article. Could you plug this in the wall for me?"
Without a word, Brad took the phone cord and plugged it into the wall socket. The younger Taylor sensed that Brad was a bit less cheerful than usual and wondered if there was something wrong. Then he realized it.
"Where's Mark? Is he still mad?" Randy asked while he logged on the Internet.
Brad took one of his deep breaths, "I don't know."
Lauren cut in, "Randy, Mark's missing. He didn't come to school."
"What!? Do Mom and Dad know about this?!"
Brad just shook his head.
"Do you think he..." Randy paused, trying hard to bring himself to say it, "... ran away?"
Brad shrugged.
Randy just went blank for a moment, trying to think where Mark could have gone. He shook his head in disbelief, and guilt. It was his fault if Mark ran away. He was the one always teasing him.
Randy looked back at his computer screen, at his e-mail.
"Oh no."
---