Author's Note: I have one more chapter planned, and I'm pretty sure that'll be the final one. I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)
Eric watched the still body at his feet, confused, but knowing all too well who it was.
Of course, it was Alan. He was naked, facing away from him, body curled up into a ball.
He wasn't crying.
The scars that could only be described as Wickedly Beautiful seemed more pronounced, darker, more abundant. They seemed to be in places they hadn't previously; wrapping many times around his back, down his arms and back up, his neck, creeping to his cheek...
He wasn't moving.
The more Eric looked, the more that he saw blood was dripping from the scars, something that Eric had never seen happen. Panicked, he tried to reach down, but found that his arms refused to move. The blood continued to pour from the wounds, slowly covering Alan's pale skin in red.
He wasn't breathing.
Eric tried to scream. He tried to call Alan's name. He tried to reach down and take the tiny, fragile body into his arms as more and more blood poured out from the wounds.
No, no, this couldn't be happening.
The blond watched, horrified, as Alan's body was steadily covered in red, eventually becoming unrecognizable. Then, before his eyes, the red figure that was once Alan shot out long, winding, wicked branches. They circled around Eric, piercing, but not quite making him bleed. However, with each puncture, Eric's mind filled with thoughts of:
It's my fault.
I didn't try hard enough.
I could have saved him.
He's dead, he's dead because of me.
"No!"
Eric shot up in bed, feeling the sweat drip down his face. His heart was going faster than he could even describe. His body trembled as he laid his face in his hand, cursing under his breath. Looking over, Alan was thankfully, still blissfully asleep. Eric wasn't really sure how that was possible, considering his little outburst there.
Swallowing, Eric threw his legs over the side of the bed and started rustling through the pile of dirty clothes in a basket in the corner of the room. Quickly, not really caring, he replaced his pajama bottoms with actual pants and slipped on a random shirt, finding a jacket and pulling it over his shoulders.
Going back over to the bedside, he knelt by Alan's side. Gently, he brushed a few strands of chocolate-brown hair from the closed eyes, placing the gentlest kiss possible on his pale forehead. Dear God how Eric loved looking at Alan when he slept. He seemed so peaceful, so not in pain. It was the best way to see him, in Eric's opinion.
Standing once again, said blond picked up a pen and messily scratched a note on a piece of paper, setting it on the pillow he had been using. It simply stated that he hadn't been able to sleep, so he decided to go for a bit of a walk, and would return with plenty of time to sleep. Well, that wasn't totally a lie.
Closing the bedroom door behind him, Eric sighed to himself. "I'm sorry, Alan," he said quietly, grabbing his scythe from leaning against the wall as he left the apartment as quietly as possible. "I know you'd hate me for this... but I have to... I can't just sit by and let you die like this... I can't."
He made his way down the hall, down a set of stairs, and out the front door. The night was cold and silent. Eric repeated the number of souls he had so far collected in his head.
Eight down, nine-hundred-ninety-two to go... Eight down, nine-hundred-ninety-two to go...