When the tears come they taste of copper, more so even than salt. The boy has sunk to the floor and his back arches as the sobs rip through him, one after the other, leaving him breathless. He can't see past his arms, but even with his eyes closed there is still the gunshot, still the carnage, and still the boy's body hunched over in the far corner. The gun lies discarded at his feet; he kicks it away because he can't look at it; can't connect himself to the thing shriveled up and broken in the corner. The monster that he knew had once been a boy, a boy the same age as himself, a boy in the same predicament as himself; a boy that could have been a member of his flock. He killed him; he actually killed him. His stomach aches and the tears won't stop; the contents of his lunch empty out in front of him but he doesn't feel better; he just feels more disgusted.
The body across the room isn't that of an Eraser, isn't that of someone trying to hurt him, isn't that of a criminal, it's that of a boy. He was just a boy, not even a man, not even armed; not evens spiral through his head rapidly as he stares at the body; the body of the boy he murdered.
"Oh, please, God. Please, God," The words escape his lips in a murmur, soft and fervent but hard to hear through the pounding in his head. His tongue snakes out and he wets his lips again, not sure that he is doing this right, but willing to try either way; willing to try anything that may save him from looking at that body any longer. From feeling the other boy's blood against his skin; his shirt covered and soaked to his chest. His hands clasp together tightly and his head bows to the point of brushing his thumbs. This time his voice is a hoarse scream, followed by a dull mumble that ends with his fist knocking through the wall; if it splinters he doesn't feel it.
The body is still in the corner; the blood still on the walls and the carnage still on his shirt; if his prayers have been answered he has nothing to show for it. The boy is still a murderer; he will always be a murderer; his stomach heaves but there's nothing left inside of it. The only lunch he's eaten today has covered his shirt; his body wrenches forwards and his throat still burns. He tries to swallow but there's nothing there. He needs to get out of this room. More than anything he needs to get out of this room. He needs to get away from this body and check on his flock; needs to check on Angel and Max, tell them that it's okay, even though it's really not. Tell them that he's okay, even though he's really not.
He doesn't even make it to the door before he blacks out, unconscious.
The girl's shoulders are shaking and the sound that escapes her mouth is foreign to the point of being non-human; the tears aren't flowing down her cheeks but storming. The gunshot was audible, not even an entire floor could stifle it; not even an entire house. If she were in France right now, she is sure that she would have heard it, as though she were standing right beside the barrel.
The girl doesn't know what to do. More than anything she wants to break the distance between them. Run down the stairs two at a time, hell, maybe three. She'd friggin' fly there if that's what it took. Anything to make sure that he's okay; anything to make sure the bullet was his; anything to make sure that he's still alive. He has to be alive, she would know if he wasn't.
The gunshot had to have been his. But she can't bear to see him for fear that it wasn't; can't get herself to even stand up without being plagued by visions of him with a bullet through his skull. Another sob ricochets out of her but she bites it down; she will do this. She just has to pull herself together, but what if she can't? What if she goes down there and she finds him in a pool of his own blood? What if she doesn't?
With effort she pulls herself to her feet, and with effort she grabs for the railing of the stairs. She will be there for Fang; one way or the other. She begins her descent.
A/N: Yes, I know, been a long time, and I promised it would be a shorter one last time, and again, I'm sorry. I do try to write these quickly, but when I do they just turn out botched and I want you guys to have something good to read, rather than something crappy, even if it means a longer wait. The next chapter, and I've said this before, I really think I can do quicker; especially now that it's summer. I hope you will all review and let me know what you think, because if you don't I will have absolutely no motivation and will not feel pressed at all to continue… fair warning. Also, wanted to let you know that the first couple chapters of the new Max book, Nevermore, are available on James Patterson's website. Thanks for reading and PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!