Marcus watched in horror as the darkness soaked into Tomas. The boy's body went taunt and rigid, his face morphing into a grimace of suffering akin to that seen on drawings from Dante's hell. Marcus felt his own soul splinter in two.
He failed and another child paid the price. For a second Marcus was so lost in his own guilt and terror that he didn't hear the sounds until there was a shot, followed by another. Marcus jerked, expecting darkness to claim him, expecting more pain as he was sure the bullet was meant for him. But there was no contact, nothing to free him from his anguish. There was a lot of movement however and when Marcus heard a familiar voice call his name, he blinked and tore his sight away from Tomas. A flicker of hope.
Peter was there, rushing towards him and pausing minutely upon spotting Tomas and the thing that was hanging over him. Next to him was a man Marcus knew from St. Aquinas. A priest like himself, yet now he wasn't donning a collar but plain black clothing. Behind them was another man Marcus never saw, but he had a gun and there was a badge on his belt. Possibly a cop, Marcus thought fleetingly as the man knocked out father Simon with one swift move. The henchman that was supposed to serve as Marcus' executioner now lay on the ground, dead himself.
But none of that mattered, because Tomas said yes and now he was sitting on that blasted chair, arms bloody from his struggles, blood still seeping sluggishly from the head wound. His mouth was wide open as if in a silent scream as a dark cloud was forcing its way inside, killing everything Tomas was.
It was such a macabre image that everyone came to a still.
"Oh my God," someone said into the silence.
"That's not God," Marcus breathed out and no one argued with that.
Peter thanked God and his friend Luke for the idea of planting the locator in Marcus's boots. He would've given one to Tomas as well but the kid probably had way more clothing articles, whereas Marcus wore just that one pair of shoes. Because everyone knew cell phones could be located, it was also the first thing every kidnapper got rid of. Shoes, not so much. It was only a matter of time to find Marcus's location - a supposedly empty warehouse on the outskirts of the town.
What took longer was to get hold of a team, because Peter wasn't crazy enough to do it alone. Not for fear for his own health, but he was aware how easily he could mess up and it never hurt to have backup. So he waited almost an hour for Jim and Luke to arrive. He would have called his old team mate as well who was in special ops, but the man was once again deployed. So it was just the three of them, against who knew how much. Not to mention the small detail some of their opponents might've been just a bit possessed.
It took them another hour to stake the location and figure out how many people they were dealing with and how best to approach the scene without risking being found out. When finally they saw Maria Walters leaving the scene with two other men, they approached the warehouse. They encountered only one man guarding the entry and Luke took care of that easily. Thanks to the locator they could pinpoint the position of the hostages to several meters, though by the time they made it inside the warehouse it wasn't a question of whether they'll find them, but if it'll be in time.
Peter heard a familiar voice screaming out in pain and anguish. He felt a chill run down his spine as if someone just walked over his grave. Peter never thought he would hear Marcus scream that way. There were moments when Marcus let out a scream during a nightmare and that had been filled with anguish as well, but it was dull, guarded.
This was raw and Peter didn't pause to think, he simply ran. The first thing he saw was the back of a man, pointing a gun at Marcus. Marcus, who was bleeding, tied to a chair and sobbing. Peter felt such a rush of anger that the man in front of him didn't have a chance. One second Peter was in the door, eyes widening at the scene, the next he was standing over the body of the man that was previously pointing a gun at his partner. Peter didn't even remember pulling the trigger of his own gun, though he must have. The man on the floor had two bullet holes in his back. What Peter remembered though was the man's finger curling around the trigger, ready to shoot Marcus right in the head. Peter felt no remorse for firing first.
He was somehow aware that Luke was right behind him and managed to tackle father Simon to the ground as well, rendering him barely conscious with a swift jab to the face. Jim stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes on the urn and on Tomas. Tomas, who was being attacked by something evil.
"Oh my God," Luke said and Peter realized this was the first time his old friend really believed in the whole thing about demons.
"That's not God," Marcus spoke and his voice, the deadness of it, pulled Peter out of his stupor. He swallowed down the sickness he felt and rushed over to Marcus. His own hands were shaking when he took a look at the cuts on Marcus's arms, the puddle of blood under the chair and the dazed, half mad look on his lover's face.
"Marcus?" Peter took Marcus's face in his hands, hoping to see some sense of sanity. What he encountered instead was anger and fear so deep it cut through his own heart.
Next to him, the dark cloud completely vanished inside Tomas. The boy's body jerked and for a moment it looked like Tomas stopped breathing, as if life just disappeared out of him. But before anyone could react, Tomas's body jerked again and again. It wasn't stopping and Peter didn't know what to do, if there was anything to do.
"Untie me," Marcus said in a throaty whisper, pulling Peter's attention away from Tomas. Peter blinked.
"I need to stop the bleeding-" he muttered, pushing his hand against the cut on Marcus's arm, or at least tried to.
"Fucking untie me!" Marcus shouted and for a moment there was such a dangerous look in his eyes that Peter couldn't but oblige, his own bloodied hand fumbling for a knife on his belt holster and cutting through the ties quickly.
Marcus stumbled out of the chair and crashed to his knees in front of Tomas. The boy had stopped seizing; there was now only an occasional twitch of an appendage. His head was slumped on his chest which was rising in ragged, short breaths with increasing pauses. Peter didn't know what was happening to the boy but it was definitely not good. His skin, or what Peter could see of it, was covered in goose bumps and there was a constant low key shiver, a clear sign of a struggle going on.
Marcus let out a pained grunt as his own shaking hands reached up and took hold of Tomas's face. He fearfully lifted the head that gave no protest. Marcus's fingers pried open Tomas's eyes and he almost balked when he saw them covered in black. No white film, no second pupil... just darkness deeper than the hole in Marcus' chest.
At first there was no reaction at all. Tomas's eyes stayed open, black and unseeing. He didn't blink and the moment Marcus let go of his head, it fell back down on his chest. But Marcus could see he was breathing. He put his arms back on Tomas, one grabbing his left wrist, fingers curling around the bracelet with the medallion, the other laying his palm flat on Tomas's chest, straight over his heart. Marcus felt the tremors running through his body.
He didn't know what to do, how to help. There was really no guideline on how to bring back someone who was possibly integrated, who gave up their soul voluntarily during the ritual. But Marcus never relied just on traditional teachings of the church. It wasn't the Bible that saved souls, it was God's will. Marcus hoped there was a reason why God decided to make their paths cross. So he closed his eyes and started praying, his heart and soul begging for help.
Marcus was only distantly aware of another voice joining him in prayer. He would've been thankful but he had no capacity for that. Not when Tomas was shaking under his hands, not when God seemed to be taking his sweet time. Marcus wished to hear His voice, to feel the warmth coursing through his veins and soul just like when he was twelve years old. He wanted the reassurance that they weren't alone and desperately needed help. He couldn't let Tomas slip away like Gabriel.
'Please God, don't let him die. Don't take him away from me,' Marcus begged, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face as he prayed, the rite of exorcism slipping from his tongue without thought. His hand squeezed the lifeless wrist, fingers on the pulse points, the medallion of St. Benedict pressing against his palm, warmer than usual against the cold skin. At first Marcus didn't notice it, his hand holding on tight, drawn to the slight pressure against skin, trying to ignore the feeling of blood and the rope burns just under his touch. He thought the warmth reaching his fingers was from the blood still seeping from the wounds of struggle, but soon it encompassed his own hand and penetrated under skin. Marcus blinked, the words of the rite almost freezing on his lips. Only years of practice let him continue, even though his focus was on the hand in his, on the medallion that suddenly felt too hot to touch. Marcus wanted to pull back his hand but realized he couldn't. It was as if he was glued to Tomas and he could feel the warmth travel up his arm, towards his chest and heart. Marcus took in a surprised breath then looked up.
Tomas's head was still downcast, but his eyes had slipped closed and there was movement under his eyelids, the muscles on his face twitching as if in the middle of a seizure. Before Marcus could react, the previously slumped form on the chair shot up, taunt and tense as the convulsions hit. It took all of Marcus's and Jim's strength to keep Tomas in the chair and not let him topple down and smack his head against the floor. Marcus shared a panicked look with Jim, heard the cop behind them curse and ask about an ambulance.
"Marcus?" Peter was standing right next to him, hand squeezing his shoulder in silent support. Marcus shook his head.
"Not yet," he grunted and continued reciting the rite. The man next to him pulled out a flask with holy water and sprinkled some on Tomas while Marcus kept his hold on Tomas's arm and chest, focusing on that strange feeling inside him, grasping at it as the last straw. It was like chasing a nice memory in a dim, stormy night. Seemingly impossible, but once he caught sight of it, he latched on and opened his mind to it.
The reaction was almost instantaneous. There was a flash of light inside Marcus's brain and for a moment he thought he went blind. The only thing he was aware of was the feeling of warmth and love being pulled out of him, but at the same time he was being filled with it as well from somewhere else. He didn't fight, just let everything pour in and out, feeling as if he was floating in a lake filled with sunshine. It could've lasted a second or a year, there was no sense of time and Marcus didn't care, he just was.
What brought him out of that state was one final pull, like a tug at his heart. For a moment it felt as if he was pulled under the surface and he opened his mouth in an attempt to take in his last breath.
Someone screamed, but it wasn't Marcus.
His eyes snapped open as Tomas's hand jerked out of his grasp. The movement sent Marcus toppling unceremoniously on his ass, the only thing stopping him from sprawling out was Peter's hand catching him halfway down.
Tomas, who was still on the damn chair, was now leaning over, seemingly doubled in pain. Another scream tore through his lips before he spasmed and dark, inky liquid surged out of his mouth. Tomas heaved, his head almost touching his knees, the black vomit splashing his trousers and the floor. The same dark matter was running out of his nose and ears and from his position on the floor Marcus could clearly see black tear tracks trailing down the boy's face.
Everyone fell silent, the only sound a short curse from Luke who was keeping at safe distance, one hand on his gun, the other holding down father Simon.
The sound of heaving turned into coughing. Still, no one moved. Tomas gave a pained sob and spit out the last of the darkness. The coughing was what broke through the stupor and Marcus scrambled back to his feet, eyes wide and full of hope as he gently touched the downcast head. All it took was a soft nudge and the sound of his name coming from Marcus's lips. Tomas raised his head and looked at Marcus with uncomprehending wide eyes. But they were his eyes. Bloodshot, teary and unfocused, but the most wonderful shade of brown Marcus had ever seen.
"Marcus?" Tomas whimpered before those brown eyes rolled back into head and his body slumped forward, finally succumbing to unconsciousness.
"Tomas? No! Tomas!" Marcus panicked and slapped Tomas's face insistently. Peter leaned over and put his fingers on Tomas's neck, checking his pulse. There was obvious relief on his face as he pulled his fingers back.
"He's alive, Marcus. He's alive!" Peter told Marcus, repeating it until the other man looked up at him, letting out a relieved sob. As if feeling the desperate need for confirmation, Tomas dragged in a choked breath himself and his eyes opened, half lidded.
Marcus could've cried with happiness in that moment but he didn't want to let the hope brush away his common sense. He put his hand back on Tomas's face in support as well as in an attempt to gain cooperation.
"Tell me your name!" Marcus pressed and after a moment of confusion, Tomas blinked.
"Tomas... Ortega. Are... are you okay?" Tomas asked, grimacing at the taste in his mouth. Marcus couldn't stop the laugh that broke through. His happiness though was quickly broken when he heard a familiar and unwelcome voice behind him stutter. Marcus spun around, his body unconsciously shielding Tomas.
"That's not possible," Simon said, shaking his head in disbelief, eyes with the double pupil wide.
Peter and Luke frowned, unsure what he meant. If whatever they saw entering Tomas was a demon, then logically Jim and Marcus did an exorcism and it worked. Why would that be so surprising?
Peter didn't get a chance to ponder that question. He saw Simon tilt his head, eyes never leaving Tomas's form. There was a growl, then Simon's eyes rolled back in his head, face turned upwards and his mouth opened. The same dark cloud that previously vanished in Tomas was now trying to escape the body. Peter took a step back and watched as Luke yelped in fright, letting go of Simon and leaped back into safe distance as well.
"Stop him!" Jim shouted and Peter blinked in confusion and in surprise, because the next moment Marcus was leaping forward to where the guard's gun lay discarded on the ground. All Peter saw was a blur of movement, saw the red streak of blood on Marcus's arm and the black cloud shooting out of Simon's mouth. Then there was a bang, then two more. Simon's body jerked as each bullet hit the target. There was an inhuman roar as the dark cloud paused as if frozen, then dissolved. Simon's body fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
"Marcus?" Peter spoke in choked whisper.
"We couldn't let him tell the others," Marcus spoke. "Not about this."
Peter wasn't sure what he meant, but he was aware that this wasn't the moment to ask questions. Looking around all he saw was a huge mess and two of his loved ones in need of help. So he put the doubts and wonder aside, trying hard not to be impressed by Marcus's speed or accuracy in his current state. Even as the thought passed his mind, he saw Marcus sway on his feet. Peter quickly took the gun from his hands then gently helped him sit down on the floor. It was time he stopped the bleeding. Everything else would have to wait.
