Mark held Jesse's wrist between his fingers, counting methodically the faint beat of Jesse's heart as it pulsed beneath his gentle grip.
It was weak; weaker than it had been the last time he had taken it.
He's fading.
Mark lay Jesse's arm gently back down onto the seat.
He and Amanda had sat in almost complete silence since Steve's departure, speaking only to question is return and to confirm the time. The sound of the rain as it beat down onto the car resonated hollowly, but in the past few minutes had abated slightly.
Mark glanced down at his watch again. In truth it had only been minutes since Steve had left them, but every second that he was away grated at Mark's already frayed nerves.
We need to leave…
A sudden crack fractured the sombre atmosphere. Amanda gasped audibly, and Mark felt his body jerk in surprise.
He whipped his head up, eyes searching for the source of the noise.
It had been gunfire.
"Mark?" Amanda looked at Mark questioningly, her eyes wide in inquisitive fear.
"Stay here." Mark leant across the backseat of the car and pulled on the handle to open the door, a blast of damp air blustering into the dry interior, heavy spots of rain spraying onto the car door.
"Mark, where are you going?" Amanda frowned, concern apparent on her face.
"Lock the doors. Stay here…" Mark peered across the dark forecourt, fear coursing through his veins.
"But Mark…" she was cut off before she could continue.
"Amanda, just lock the doors. Please. And keep an eye on Jesse. I'll be back in a minute. I promise." With that he slammed the door shut and began the short walk back to the house.
Inside the car, Amanda immediately leant over to the door Mark had just departed through, and pushed the lock down into place. She then systematically checked every door, pressing down the locks which had been left open, all the time trembling violently.
She had never thought of herself as a weak person; she shunned stereotypes of women being less capable than men and strove for independence which more often then not came easily to her. But this was different. She was only too pleased to step back and let Steve and Mark take the more active roles.
Finding Jesse in the state he was in had been terrible.
Turning her attention back to Jesse, Amanda found that her eyes automatically focused on the painstakingly feeble rise and fall of his chest. She tried to concentrate on the subtle movement but the sound of the gunshot seemed to echo in her head, dragging her thoughts back to the house where two of her best friends now were; knowledge of their safety and well-being hidden from her.
Traipsing across the muddy forecourt Mark could feel his heat beating vigorously against his chest. A cold sense of dread had settled in his stomach and he felt deeply apprehensive as to what he would find upon re-entering the house.
Maybe it wasn't gunfire?…
Many thoughts had raced through his mind in the seconds that had passed since the shot had been fired; a thousand 'what ifs', each more absurd and dreadful than it's predecessor.
It could have been thunder…
Yet Mark knew what he had heard. He had been involved in Steve's work for many years and was only too familiar with the sound of a gun being fired.
Steve…
Mark hurried his pace. The steps were slippery and his feet slid perilously over their slick wooden surface.
Damn things!
He made a mental note to have them ripped out and replaced with something more suitable when this was all over.
Mark pulled open the door and was greeted with an unfamiliar glare of light radiating from a room coming off the passageway. Mark squinted, the brightness seeming excessive to his eyes as he realised that the electricity must have come back on. Blinking back the tears which had immediately pooled onto his bottom eyelids Mark peered into the hall.
Sheer instinct kept him from calling out for Steve. Something told him that he should try and keep his presence concealed for as long as he could; or at least until he had a chance to assess the situation.
The hallway was shadowy, obscured in a half darkness that eclipsed his line of vision but was unable to hide the trail of dirty footprints which stretched along the otherwise polished wooden floor.
Like his son a few minutes earlier, Mark felt a jolt jar heavily in his stomach.
He looked around for a suitable weapon, and selecting an umbrella from the stand to the side of the door, Mark stepped further into the hallway and slowly pushed the door closed behind him.
The house seemed curiously odd to Mark. Whilst everything was familiar; all of his knickknacks being in their rightful places and the house being much as he had left it. But even so it looked wrong. Almost as though he were observing the house through a mirror.
Treading carefully, Mark walked along the hall, ears acutely trained for any sound that cared to make itself heard. He dared not walk to fast as the rubber soles of his shoes were prone to squeaking on the highly polish floor, but the slow progression allowed him to repeatedly scan the space ahead of him; seeking out any change in the composition of the shadows which might indicate movement.
Holding the umbrella aloft Mark slowly edged his head around the wall until he was able to see into the living room – there was no one there. Luminescence radiated from the kitchen, throwing a murky light across the room that was just bright enough to pick up the dark red stain of blood that had soaked into the fabric of the couch.
He saw and heard nothing until he was halfway across the room. A faint groaning sounded from the kitchen – a muffled grunt of distress.
To his father's ears it was obviously Steve.
Dispensing with caution Mark strode the remaining distance until he entered the kitchen where he was shocked to discover Steve sprawled, half-sitting on the floor, a heavily bleeding wound apparent on his arm and a evident stream of blood flowing from his neck.
"Steve?!" Mark's voice was breathy, concerned.
"Dad? Get out of here…" Steve felt confused. His mind wasn't working properly and whilst he knew that his father's presence was cause for worry, he couldn't follow the thought pattern through as to why.
Dropping the umbrella to the floor Mark crouched by his son's sides and immediately began assessing his wounds.
"How did this happen? Steve?" Mark questioned his son but it was clear to him that nothing was registering as it should, and this only served to concern him further. Upon examination Mark found that the wound to Steve's left arm wasn't particularly deep but would certainly require stitches to knit the flesh back together. The gash to his neck was a mere flesh wound but it was the glassy sheen to his eyes and the mottled beginnings of bruising that worried him most. The earlier knock he had received to the head had obviously been compounded by this new damage, and Steve's evident confusion and agitation were clear signs of a significant head injury.
"Steve? Steve can you open your eyes for me?" Mark gently lifted one of the half closed lids and watched carefully as the dilated pupil contracted sluggishly.
"Dad, you have to get out of here, please…"
"Steve, come on. We have to get out of here. Now lean, that's it, lean onto me." Steve half stood and was half pulled up from the floor, the weight of his body falling heavily onto his father as he staggered to his feet.
"You don't understand, please! There's someone in the house…"
"I know," Mark interrupted Steve. "I saw the footprints."
"He's crazy Dad, he's the one who attacked Jesse…" Steve trailed off as the period of lucidity passed and a fresh wave of pain surged through his cranium.
"What?" Mark released his grip on Steve and had to grab him hastily to prevent him slipping back onto the floor.
"He had a knife. I shot him, he just kept coming…"
Brow knitted in alarm, Mark's immediate reaction was to search his surroundings for any signs of the elusive intruder, but as had been when he had entered the building, the house was quiet and tranquil.
For a moment there was silence as both Steve and Mark listened intently for anything which may alert them to the attacker's whereabouts. Mark could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart and the steady breathing of his son.
"Come on." Mark intoned decisively, "we leaving. Now." Stressing the last word Mark hauled Steve into a more upright position. Hoisting one of Steve's arms over his own shoulder Mark gripped him tightly around the waist and began to manoeuvre out of the kitchen.
Sorry this has been a long time coming. I've not been so well for the past few days. This is shorter than I had hoped, but hopefully something is better than nothing (lol). I'll try and update soon, hope you enjoyed it!