Chapter 10: Far Worse
Ray vaguely remembered playing at a train yard when she was little—notably with the older neighbor boy from a few houses down. While it was an interesting place, lots of wild animals and machinery she'd never seen, she'd gotten in trouble with her parents because they'd been playing on the tracks. She wasn't allowed to go back or see the boy after, and the latter was okay, because he wasn't very likable anyway, but regardless, she wished one day that she could see the trains again.
She couldn't help but wonder what her parents would think of the person with whom she stood side-by-side now.
Zack and Ray walked the path led by the tracks separating them. It'd been a few days since they left the comfort of the homey cottage, and the tension between them had resolved rather quick, but Zack seemed no less quiet, which was perhaps even stranger in some ways. He was agreeable enough, and while he wasn't angry anymore, Ray could tell there was still something on his mind. Part of her almost wished he was mad yet, because at least she knew how to deal with him that way, and on the contrary, the silence since was almost unnerving.
Specifics were only getting hazier as time passed, and while she vaguely remembered crying on that day, she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge why. He said he was "over it", yet Rachel still didn't understand what changed, but she could only assume it must have been something important. Once or twice now, she'd tried to slyly swing Zack into conversation without him realizing. Lucky for her, like her mother once had when she'd been fighting with her father, Ray had learned to keep a trump card for a rainy day.
(Only this trump card didn't require a license to carry legally.)
(But when had that ever stopped anyone?)
Reaching in her pocket, she pulled out a candy bar. It wasn't anything fancy, just a cheap one she'd found and lifted at the last place they'd stopped. Ray thought she'd maybe seen him eating one or something like it at some point, and so as long as it was sugary, she figured he'd probably like it. From the other side of the track, she reached over, holding it out. "Got you this," said the girl, and Zack peeked over curiously. He merely reached out, taking it in hand, stuffing it in his own pocket.
"Thanks," he said, genuine but almost flat, no playful banter and very un-Zack Foster-like. Is this how Zack felt when she didn't have the attention or ability to hold a conversation?
She bit her lip, wondering if he would flip out on her like normal if she made a big deal about it, simultaneously almost hoping so. "Zack," Ray finally said, wanting anything but to express her concerns, because she knew he absolutely hated anyone pitying him, "are you... okay?" To her disappointment, his answer was abnormally reasonable.
"Been worse," he supposed. "You?"
Vaguely, unconvincingly, Ray concurred, "I'm fine."
Zack peeked over to her from his risen hood. Ray pretended not to notice his gaze, only staring down at her feet yet. "Really?" he asked. She clutched the straps of her backpack tightly as they were slung around her shoulders. "'Cause ya' don't sound so fine," he prompted her, and Ray merely shrugged, as if she didn't know what to say, despite fully realizing she owed him an honest answer. Tellingly, "you know" was all she muttered beneath her breath. It was a moment before he took her meaning, and he almost seemed surprised to have gotten even that much out of her, but she needn't clarify.
She was still on about that?
He should've known better than to think she'd let it go rather than obsessively dwell on it. (Honestly, that one was on him, he was well-aware of her lacking ability to deal with stress in a way that didn't destroy her at her core, the little nutcase she was.)
"Ah, I get it," he said, as if it all made sense now. "The T.V." he concluded confidently. "For a second, I almost thought you might'a been worried about the whole 'doin' hard drugs' thing, but stealin' my remote?" Bemused, a small grin surfaced beneath his bandaged visage. "I'm'a hold that one against you for a while." She turned to look over to him, a weak expression on her face, and while she couldn't bring herself to say anything as he so easily took the whole thing in stride, Zack only rolled his eyes. "What, Ray, y'think I'm the world's best role model?" he smirked. "Surprised me, that's all," and as one may imagine, he wasn't often surprised, but she somehow managed to get him time and time again.
"I... won't do it again," she said simply, as if she'd been put on the spot by none other than herself.
Zack laughed humorlessly. "Sure hope not," he hummed, and not even necessarily all for his own sake. "Can hardly deal with you in your 'right' mind," he reached over, jabbing her upper arm with his fist, "ya little junkie." Ray flinched a little, rubbing the spot of impact, and despite the mild pain (he was stronger than he realized,) her body felt lighter than it had in a while. "We're square, Ray."
Despite the reassurance, and even with the air cleared, it was hard to feel relieved. Still gripping her arm, she peeked down at the ground. Were things really okay?
"What about Faraday?"
After a moment, Zack's brow knit together, though not in anger as it usually did. "What about him?"
"Are you mad I couldn't kill him?" she asked directly, finally confronting the lasting source of her concern.
Contempt was clear, but perhaps pensively. Now that they were back on not-screaming terms, he also knew they'd have to talk about it eventually. Almost suddenly, the sound of Zack's footsteps came to a slow, alerting Ray to stop equally. Before she could look back, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and while his touch was never what one may call "gentle", it seemed less aggressive than typical. Urging her to turn towards him, Rachel, doing so, was met with his stern, serious expression.
"That ain't the reason I was pissed, Ray," he explained as he stared the shorter girl in the eye, but she merely seemed confused.
"What, then?" asked Ray, and while he knew she was confident in her understanding of things, it was the fact that she was unable to step outside of herself to see things from his perspective.
"It's 'cause you don't think about the situations you end up in," Zack set down his scythe, then putting both his hands on her shoulders, reaching across the tracks that separated them. Like always: "You never have." Her already clouded expression glossed over with a sense of culpability, her digits meeting, relaxed at waist-level as she fiddled with her thumb and forefinger. She said nothing, and while her passive nature just annoyed him all the more, he was tired of getting so angry about it. He bent down slightly, trying better to look her in the eye. "Think about it for a second." Really think about it. "If I hadn't'a cut him up, whadda'ya think that sick fuck would'a done to you?" Towards the question, the girl stopped fidgeting, and Zack realized the question at least effected her in some manner by the way she zoned out.
"He would've forced me to have sex with him."
Oh.
Well, shit, maybe she did realize the situation. Somehow, that made everything worse.
"And?" Zack prompted her, the sound of his voice insinuating something, but Rachel didn't really know what. He gestured with a his hand. "Doesn't that," like, "bother you?" Horrifically, she said nothing still, only offering a mere shrug. Her expression remained neutral at best as she tried to look away, but he didn't let her get by on apathy this time. "C'mon, Ray," he said suddenly, grip upon her tightening to help her stay in the moment, "humor me for a second." Stay with me here. "Did you have any idea what you would'a done if I hadn't'a saved you?"
Rachel gave a pause as she took a deep inhale through her nose.
Finally allowing herself to contemplate the fact, though only because Zack wanted her to, she tilted her chin up for just a moment, lids fluttering shut as she pondered. "I guess," Ray replied eventually, voice mild, "I knew that if I needed you, you'd be there," her words were straightforward, matter-of-fact, "and then," gradually, her lashes parted and she looked back to him, because, sure enough, "there you were."
Zack was almost taken aback naturally, by the revelation, by her confidence. Foster wasn't quite sure he could keep up: she thought it safe to be reckless by putting her faith in someone even more reckless? "And what made you so sure?" he asked simply, to which Ray's lips pressed together in a thin line. To her, the answer was obvious.
"Because you've always been there when I needed you."
The man peered off to the side, shade of his hood catching gleam of his golden eye. He wanted to fuss at her purely on principal, but for some reason, he didn't know how to contest the notion.
It wasn't like her parents, her teachers, anyone burdened with the task of "looking after" her. Communication wasn't what one may call a strong suit of Rachel Gardner's, yet she'd never had to tell Zack, and somehow, he'd always known when she was in over her head. Clearly, he'd realized as much, too, but something about the fact still bothered him. At the end of the day, he was one who always came running to bail her out at the drop of a hat. That was no one's choice but his own.
If she hadn't learned her lesson, he supposed there was no one to blame but himself.
Removing his hands from his shoulders, he heaved a defeated sigh through heavy lungs. "Wow," he hummed, reaching down and grabbing his scythe to sling over his shoulder again. "Really read me for dead, eh?" he huffed a humorless laugh, sounding little more than disappointed, though not in her. It was times like this that really reminded him that he was, in fact, the adult here. While he turned back the way of the path, the sound of Rachel's footsteps remained still yet.
"I'm sorry," called a small, remorseful voice.
He stopped in his tracks.
Perhaps more shocked than he'd ever been in his life, he peeked over his shoulder, fully having not expected anything even akin to an apology for the ordeal, blinking as if he'd not heard her right, but the girl merely shook her head. "I'm sorry," repeated Rachel, taking a step closer towards her partner again, more confident in her apology. "Next time I'm in trouble," even if she knew in her own heart that he'd come for her, "I'll tell you when I need help. Promise."
After a moment, he turned back to her and tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow, lending Rachel something like a smile. It'd seem that no matter how much time went on, it'd seem she still found a way to take him by surprise.
"Before you stick a needle in your arm, preferably?"
The corners of her mouth twitched upwards slightly. Not a smile, but a look of confidence. Rachel nodded: "Deal."
With a sigh of relief, Zack put his hand on the top of her head, roughly tousling her hair as he muttered an agreeable "deal" in return. Little pain in the neck. In the same vein of thought, her expression fell back to seriousness once more, the notion that she'd tell him when things were too much seeming relevant in her mind. Realizing there was something still bothering her, he looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong now?" he asked, and Ray almost seemed worried to say anything, or maybe just to talk about it at all.
"At the cottage, when I—when I did what I did," Ray began slowly, clearly uncomfortable reliving the moment, "I thought I saw Doctor Danny," she confessed, concern evident now, "and… Cathy, and Eddie."
Zack rose a bandaged eyebrow. "Those freaks?" he replied, vitriol for the aforementioned all but dripping from his tone. Damn, she really must'a been trippin'. "Why?"
Ray gave a single shake of her head, at a loss. "I don't know," tilting her neck back, she looked up to the gray, cloudy sky, "but it—it felt so real, like they were actually there," like they understood everything about her, about what she was feeling. Like they had never died at all.
Forever born and ready to ground her, Foster only shook his head.
"They weren't," he sternly reassured her. "When you're fucked up, your mind can play tricks on you," hell, kinda seemed like it happened even when she was sober honestly. Regardless, he of all people should be the poster-child example of that famous slogan "don't do drugs, kids", having nearly made a mockery of his own personal ideology when forced to an intoxicated insanity. "Whatever it felt like," he assured her, "it wasn't real."
While she wasn't quite sure why, for some reason, the fact only made Ray feel lesser at-ease.
Rachel looked back down to the scuffed, blackish boots she wore, imagining the broken mirror once more in a thousand shards at her feet. She took a slow step, ultimately following behind, muttering defeatedly beneath her breath, "Guess you're right." After a moment, Rachel looked up, longing gaze set upon the back of Zack's head.
It must have also been the reason that she, if only for a moment, imagined herself truly happy and in his arms.
Like everything else, it was just a trick of her heart.
It was about a mile or so from there, and while the days had been getting hotter as they grew longer, it was overcast this afternoon at least, but a silver lining was never without a cloud, and the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Rachel hoped they'd be able to find shelter before it began to rain, but she supposed it wasn't the worst problem to have today.
Turns out, today's designated "worst problem" was yet to come.
When they'd arrived, Rachel's photographic memory reminded certain, for the train yard was rather as she remembered it, otherwise fairly quiet and abandoned, lots of tracks with locomotives parked in rows. While it felt expansive, Ray could only assume it was comparatively small to a bigger city port, but that meant there was a better chance of not being noticed by the staff.
It was almost fun, she had to admit, exploring the industrial yard as if it were little more than a playground, and like most things, she couldn't help but feel a little awed by the sights of new and amazing scenery. Most of the cars had graffiti printed on the side, and curiously, she peeked in a few of the cabins, some empty, others filled with pallets of freight. To someone like her, it was all amazing, but she knew her personal enjoyment that wasn't the reason they were there. "Are you... sure this was the right place?" asked the girl, stepping back out from one of the boxcars that'd caught her interest. Isaac only sighed, annoyed with the question.
While investigating the drug underground, Zack had been told there may be a source, an information broker, who could possibly point them in their next direction. Ray wasn't sure if she liked how convenient it felt, but supposed if there was one thing they had the benefit of at the moment, it was the wad of blood money she'd taken off their last victim, so they may as well see how far it could take them. Having already looked a few different places in the past few days, it had also been mentioned this as one of the locations he could likely be found at.
"You tellin' me the shithole town that can't even fix a broken swing set on the playground would have a second train station?" Of course he was sure!
"We've been looking for almost an hour and I haven't seen anyone who looks like they'd be involved with illegal information trafficking," only the occasional worker, whom they vehemently avoided. They were running out of places to find him at this point.
"Hey," he pointed at her, "now that's profiling. You think people look at you and see a serial killer?" Rolling her eyes, the girl's lips parted to quip back, but the second they did, as if on cue, another's voice resounded in place of Ray's response.
"Well, well," called out from behind the two, interrupting and alerting them at the same moment. Instantly, they turned, both taking defensive position—Zack brandishing his scythe, Ray clutching the switchblade hidden in her pocket as she stepped closer to his side.
Before the two of them stood a man. An odd looking man, shorter than Zack but seemingly older, fashioning a fancy haircut and a strong build, he wore a pinstripe suit jacket with pleated pants. He didn't seem startled or alarmed despite the very apparent potential for danger, meaning he may have seen his fair-share of it. He seemed to fit the bill for the person they were looking for, but perhaps considering as much, Rachel narrowed her eyes skeptically. "Wasn't sure I believed the rumors," he said, "but color me surprised."
"Who are you?" she asked pointedly, but he only seemed amused.
"It's rude to ask someone's name without offering your own, isn't it?" he responded, almost playful. "But I suppose, with a legacy like yours, introductions aren't often necessary... Isaac Foster," he smiled, almost chillingly. "Rachel Gardner."
Zack glowered.
"Then maybe you know we're not much for manners," Foster jutted in, his tone low and agitated, slapping his hand to Ray's shoulder before dragging her to stand behind him and out of the way between himself and the stranger. "Your name, buddy, unless ya wanna be thrown in an unmarked grave," he warned, and a long pause followed before any sort of response was given, seemingly entertained by something as he hummed.
"Call me Smith," was all he said. "I'd give you the name my friends call me," he laughed, "but that'll cost extra, an' I have a feeling, by the end of this, your bill might be running high as-is. So let's leave it at that, shall we?"
Ray's brow knit together slightly as she repeated the name in her mind, wondering if she'd heard it somewhere before, but she supposed it was fairly common. Regardless, something else about his demeanor, innocent as it may have been intended, unnerved Rachel.
"A little bird whispered in my ear that I might be able to help you to find something you're looking for. Heard you may know an acquaintance of mine... or, well, former acquaintance, rest his soul." Zack and Ray peeked to one another reluctantly, and noticing, the man waved his hand. "Oh, don't worry. Had my fair share of gripes with Fredrick, myself. Regardless, I can only imagine," he looked stuffed his hands in his pockets, taking a slow step to pace before them, "such may be the very cause for our meeting today." Zack rolled his eyes. Wow, what gave it away? Blood on their clothes, scythe in his hands? Needless to say, he'd never quite had the mentality to deal with people like this. Smith only laughed. "Kinda surprised, honestly. Wouldn't think this'd be how someone like you would go about things."
"Oh, believe me," Zack assured him, "if it were just me, I wouldn't have to worry about askin' around before I off someone," said Zack, a threatening note in his tone. He motioned to Ray at his side. "Blame the kid."
"Ah, yes, leave it to a woman to make a changed man," he grinned, clearly amused. Zack grit his teeth, the forefront of a profane exclamation on the tip of his tongue before Ray stepped out and put her hand in front of him. While she could empathize with his feelings, and she didn't distrust Zack's ability to gracefully negotiate the situation, she felt it best to handle things from here.
"What Isaac here is trying to say," intently, Ray looked at him, tilting her head slightly and lowering her eyes as if trying to urge him to reel it in, "is that I would like to ask, in your," ehem, "professional opinion—have you come across anyone who, that you know of," as someone who was intimately familiar with the nefarious under-workings of this very complicated life, "may have criminal intent to take an innocent life?"
"What are you, Batman or something?" Zack muttered beneath his breath at Ray, who only ignored him and shushed the boy with a toss of her hand.
The man could easily tell their relationship was something closer than merely kidnapper and victim, but regardless, even if he was onto something, it seemed he also knew better than to ask questions. "Me?" he said now, almost incredulously. "Judge, jury, and executioner? Why, I could never," he exclaimed, fully betrayed by the tone of his voice. Ray had a feeling he very easily could, and maybe already had. "Regardless," he said, straightening his jacket, "even if I am able to help," he stopped, only to interrupt himself, "and I hope you don't think me rude, I typically take payment upfront. Security deposit, you know?"
Rachel remained intent, and while she could tell Zack was growing impatient by the low growl reverberating from his chest, the girl reached in her pocket, pulling out the money she'd looted off the dealer the day before, a roll of random bills that, no matter the dollar amount, should've been enough for just about anything. Zack, having not realized she'd taken it, looked over with wide eyes, whispering a "where the fuck do you find this shit" beneath his breath. He snatched it from Ray, throwing it down on the ground before them. The info broker knelt, collecting the mess of bills, seeming no more offended, no less amused. He tucked them in the breast pocket of his suit.
"Well, now that you mention it, it is interesting," he exhaled, "that you bring that up." Almost happily, he hummed a satisfied sound, and reaching into his pant pocket again, he took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Sticking one in his mouth right from the bundle, he lit it up with a deep inhale. "I may have a couple of names." Holding his cigarette in his mouth, he nodded, pulling out a little pen and pad of paper. He held the items out to Zack, who, glaring and unblinking, snatched them away, instantly handing them to Rachel with a moderately aggressive shove. "As for how applicable they are to your criteria, well... you'll have to discern as much for yourself."
Smith, while counting and sorting the payment, proceeded to list of a few names and addresses, situations one may very well see written straight for a daytime television drama: a man in upper management recently going through a breakup after his employee slept with his fiancée, a younger cousin fightin' tooth-and-nail to claim their grandparent's inheritance, so on, so forth. Diligently, Ray wrote them down, and despite how sincerely the circumstances may fit to her honest goal, she supposed a full note-pad was worth the cash they'd shelled out. It wasn't like they were using it for anything else.
As she was satisfied, Ray peeled off the top post-it note, stuffing it in her pocket. With a "tch", Zack put his hand on her shoulder, ushering her to turn away, ready to walk away and be done with this pretentious fuck. Seemingly, Smith was content too, that is, until he spoke one more time, calling out their attention.
"Oh," he added suddenly, as if he'd remembered something important that had merely slipped his mind, "there is one more, I suppose." He waved his finger. "One I think may very-well peak your interest." However reluctantly, both Ray and Zack looked back over to him, intrigued if only by the tone of his voice.
"Let's hear it, then," said Foster, clearly lacking any sort of patience now. Wondering if she was just imagining things again, Rachel couldn't help but notice a cosmic shift in the gleam of his glassy, grayish eye.
Where to start?
"Well," he began cheerfully, as if telling a bedtime story, "there was once a young fellow, you see?" The man's fixation distant for a moment before returning to the duo before him. "A fellow who... loved someone else very dearly," he explained, and Zack already found himself resisting the urge to let out a disgusted "ugh". Ray, keenly aware and distant from emotion and reality, only tilted her head to the side, little more than confused, wondering what "love" had to do with anything they might pursue. "This man, let's call him 'H', from the moment be was born, had little in life. Wasn't wealthy, wasn't particularly happy, wasn't gifted."
"Wow, sounds like one useless motherfuck," Zack commented.
"Shush," Ray tempered him.
"Needless to say, he had no direction in life," he went on. "That was, until he met a friend. A good friend. Let's call this man 'J'. With me so far?" he asked, and while neither Ray nor Zack replied, they didn't question him. "He and J really hit it off. Before long, these two developed a deep bond. Like soulmates," he said, "but even deeper. Can you imagine?"
Towards the notion, Isaac and Rachel both looked to one another from the corner of their eyes, but even if they wanted to say anything, their words remained unspoken as they only looked away once more.
"J and H? They did it all. They went everywhere, saw everything—both of them, together. They were happy, you know?" (Truthfully, no, they didn't.) "Really, truly happy. They got married, went on to buy a house together, they were even set to adopt a child." The things normal people strived for, Ray supposed, things she would never be able to do. What did any of this have to do with them, Ray wondered?
For better or worse, she had a feeling she'd soon find out as the broker gave a pause, seeming pensive before taking his story any farther.
"There came a day when J was able to buy the car of his dreams, the one he'd wanted ever since he was a kid. He went to work that same day, bragging and raving to his coworkers about just how happy he was to have gotten this far in life, but, unfortunately for J… his glory would be short-lived."
Suddenly, the final note of his voice rang out differently in Rachel's ears somehow.
Had she... heard this story before?
"You see, on his way home that day, walking out to his car after work, he was stopped by a man he didn't know. This man wasn't someone who thrived off the happiness of others, but just the opposite. This man, this mysterious man," he trailed off, as if deep in thought, and while Ray wasn't sure why, a cold, uncomfortable chill ran down her spine. A hand rose, covering the center of her chest, feeling somehow alarmed, confused, keenly unaware to the true moment at hand. In the blink of an eye, Rachel's heart skipped a beat with his spoken addendum. "He murdered J in cold blood, just like he had with so many others."
Yes, Rachel realized, she'd definitely heard this story before, but more interestingly?
Cut to Isaac Foster at her side, completely confused with mouth slightly agape—because unlike Ray, this was all news to him.
"Word is, he's still out there, that murderer. I wonder, do you think that he even considered the repercussions of his choices? Does he ruin lives because he'll never know real joy himself?" In that very parking lot, at the door of his brand new car, "He cut him to pieces—seemingly for no other reason than because he was excited about life, because he had something to live for," Smith's gaze, formerly set upon the clouded sky in the distance, settled upon that of Issac Foster's, wide and asymmetric. Zack felt a humid patch gather at the base of his neck. "Just because he was happy."
From his pocket, the person in front of the pulled out a pistol, pointed right at the man of the hour.
Well, shit.
"John Smith, born October 27th, age 26. One year ago. One year, seven months, thirteen days. He was murdered by notorious serial killer, Isaac Foster. Isaac Foster, who's still on the run after escaping death row and kidnapping a young girl by the name of Rachel Gardner."
Ray peeked over to Zack from the corner of her eye with a harsh gaze, as if to say, "you are in so much trouble, mister".
"Tell me, Foster," he spoke directly now, all pretense and cheer dropped in the fraction of a second, "why did you do it?"
Zack withheld a deep breath, feeling more irritated than anything else. What was he supposed to do, supposed to say? Make up some long-winded, meaningful excuse to make this guy's time seem like it was worth something? Sure, he supposed, maybe it was him, but it wasn't like he had an excuse in any event. What, was he supposed to lie? Was he supposed to feel sorry just because his life was at stake now? The sound of a gun's loading click resounded in the air, and Zack's resolve on grew more firm.
Like hell.
"Look, Pal," Zack began, remaining steady and cautious, "your guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Unfortunately, that was the whole, entire truth. "It wasn't anything personal."
The look in the man's eye grew distant, his smile finally, finally falling from grace in a long-passing moment. "Nothing personal?" he repeated.
Really, nothing personal?
The man, Smith, or maybe better known as "H", paced back and forth a few step as if contemplating what Zack had said, simultaneously knowing he was clearly unhappy about it regardless. After a long, long pause, he slowly took out another cigarette, lighting it up. Exhaling the smoke of his first drag, Smith seemed all the more perplexed by the passing second, like any normal person would, unable to understand the intent behind Foster's motives, his penultimate modus operandi, the inhumanity someone like the person in front of him harbored to this very day.
Even now, he smiled as his gaze lowered with a dark, sinister resolve, or perhaps more accurately, a warranted revenge.
"You asked if I knew of anyone who deserved to die," he finally circled back, and the two grew tense preemptively. "Well," he explained, "unlike some, I realize that's not my choice to make. Unlike some, I can find forgiveness in my heart." By the tone of his voice, neither Zack nor Ray felt any more comfortable. "However," he went on, and again, he rose his gun; brandishing his scythe, Zack again blocked the space between he and Ray, but for however alert he was to the danger, he was caught off guard as H only glared, "I know full-well that not everyone feels the same as I."
Click.
To both the shock of Zack and Ray, nothing happened as he pulled the trigger.
Wham.
A loud metallic ringing resounded, piercing the otherwise peaceful air with the sound of a harsh impact. From Zack's hand, his scythe fell to the floor, he exclaimed loudly in shock and pain, his breath was taken in just a beat. Golden optics went wide, just as those azure and empty. For as much as Rachel wanted to react, she almost couldn't understand what had just happened. Zack fell upon the gravely ground, and he clenched his stomach in strain. Ray looked the direction from which the abrupt attack had befell, she was met with a sight more unexpected than any.
It was the boy they'd saved a few days prior.
Gregory, Greg, whomever. Baring a metal baseball bat, presumably the same one that'd just landed itself against against Zack's torso, he hovered over the man knelt on the ground. Behind him stood two more kids, thereabouts the same age. The ringleader at the forefront only gazed upon them with clear contempt. "You're gonna pay for what you did!" the boy cried out, clearly impassioned about the matter, far more than Ray or Zack could bring themselves to be. Gardner only peeked over to her partner, more worried about his well-being than anything else; he struggled to rise to his feet, and Ray could tell he was very, very cranky now. Feeling similarly, she looked to H, a seemingly mild but sharp expression showing upon her visage.
Despite the shock of having just been hit in the stomach, aggressive and ferocious if only in gaze, Zack leered, only to be met with the yet another assault. Smith smacked him back to his knees, upon his forehead with the blunt end of the handle of the unloaded handgun, pistol-whipping him. Instinctively, Ray tore the switchblade from her pocket, but the second she did, Smith gripped her by the wrist, twisting her arm so she dropped the knife, which he swiped it up just as quickly. He turned back to Zack in the same, fell swoop.
The man shoved Zack to lay flat before stabbing the knife clean through his palm, pinning his hand to the ground.
Foster cried out in a mix of pain and rage. With narrowed eyes, H leaned over Isaac with a fierce, personal glare. For a moment, he seemed almost distracted, digging in his pocket for something important. He pulled out a Polaroid picture showcasing two men standing before a lake. It was something right out of a family photo album, they were happy, smiling, holding one another. He held it over Zack, who, gazing upon it, and despite his current state of being, only seemed more confused, abnormally so.
"Turns out, my John isn't the only one you've wronged, but I'm sure you already knew that," said H, all too satisfied. With the final stretch of his cigarette still burning, he took it from his lips and pressed end of the stick into the side of Zack's neck to put it out. Again, he shouted in pain, crying out louder and more sincerely than he had even when run through with a silver blade, a suffering only burning heat could ever afflict Issac Foster by.
"Stop," Rachel demanded, fiercely monotone.
Smith, losing all sense of amusement now, finally looked back to Ray. He heaved a sigh, standing tall once more. "Sorry, Kid," he said, seeming insincere. "Looks like he won't always be there when you need him, after all." He shrugged, as if uncaring, and certain in what she'd next proclaim, Ray only stared back with wide eyes and an intent gaze.
Very, very soon: "You're going to die."
Almost surprised, the man replied with an amused "tch!", like what Rachel had said was somehow funny. It wasn't like it was a threat or anything, she simply knew how things had to go from here. This man sought personal conflict with Zack, perhaps admittedly for good reason, but at the end of the day, he'd only signed his own death warrant. Without another word to the duo, he turned, nodding to younger boy and his cronies. Strutting off down the way, he turned back towards the city.
With the opening, Ray rushed to kneel at her partner's side, and it was almost hard to look at him. Her fingertips twitched upon the switchblade piercing his flesh, but he only shouted at the earnest attempt to ease his pain, forcing her away. Slowly, he cranked his neck, turning to look at his hand still pinned to the gravel ground. Knowing time was fleeting, in the blink of an eye, Zack's free hand reached over, taking the handle of the knife, and ferociously, he ripped the blade out of his hand as if it were little more than a splinter.
Bright crimson droplets splattered across the gravel like a custom paint job on, wouldn't you know, a brand new car.
As if it were nothing, he reached down to grab his scythe with his non-dominant hand with a curse of pain, a trail of blood trickling from his fingertips on the opposite end. Even if he couldn't get H now, certainly someone was going to have to deal with the wrath of the Back Alley Murderer. Handing the smaller blade to Ray, turned towards the three boys.
"You picked," Zack exclaimed, "the wrong day!"
Even despite his leading hand being out of commission, Zack wasted no time in lifting his scythe with the intent to attack. He ran at the familiar boy, however quickly deflected by the larger ones behind him. All seemed to know their roles within the rival party, as the ringleader, the smallest boy, went after someone his own size. Cut to Rachel, scrambling to her feet, somehow still more worried about Zack than her own life. Like she was one to, she ran, deeper into the surrounding forest and off the path, if only to draw her assailant away from the others.
Gotta run. Gotta get him away from Zack. Gotta lead him somewhere that he isn't in the way.
She was almost distracted, as in all directions otherwise flowering dogwoods crowded the area; she had always liked those trees. Her grandparents had one in their back yard. Upon juking him far enough, Ray found herself hidden behind the trunk of a large oak.
"You," the boy called out aimlessly, "you're just as much to blame as the other guy!" More-so, Ray wanted to say, but she wasn't one to add insult or injury, and she couldn't promise he'd be walking away without a scratch. "He may have been the one to cut Freddie up—but you just sat there and let it happen!" She could hear the crunch of the forest breath the boy's heavy step, signaling for her to crouch and sneak around the shrubbery. "He may be a murderer, but you're a killer, too!" he accused her, the truth much stronger than he realized. He was so impassioned, Ray could sense the emotion in every action, the tone of his voice, even the way he walked. She was almost jealous, but at the same time, she was starting to realize she didn't really like him.
So, she wasn't.
In the blink of an eye, when the boy had his back turned, Ray sprinted the opposite direction. Naturally, he heard her, but she was just trying to get away. He gave chase, shouting after her. She ran and ran until her legs couldn't run anymore, and they entered into a clearing, bright blue flowers blossoming at her feet.
Ray came to a slow, simultaneously knowing she couldn't out-speed him forever while more-so just wanting to avoid this part as long as possible, as if it were little more than inconvenient. Giving a deep sigh, she reached in her pocket. She looked over her shoulder, seeing him across the clearing with hatred all but plastered to his expression. "You're dead, bitch!" he shouted.
She didn't so much as flinch, not an ounce of fear showing on her face, simply allowing him to encroach upon her without remorse now. Like a flash of lighting of the storm approaching, Ray ducked as he aimed a hit upon her skull. From her pocket, she swiped open the switch blade, dragging it across the soft flesh of his inner, right forearm.
The boy bellowed a strained shout, one not only in pain, but disbelief that the small girl in front of him was able to pull one over so easily. "You whore!" he hissed, taking the bat in his other hand. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" He swung at her more ferociously now, certainly fueled by adrenaline, and while she didn't put away her blade, her focus remained on dodging the attacks. "I didn't ask you to save me!" he shouted. He didn't even know her!
"You would've died," she reiterated, as if it were simply still a matter of him not realizing the facts.
The boy didn't seem to like what she'd said, not at all. He hissed some profanity beneath his breath, directed at her. "Maybe I should have!" The boy stepped closer, running her way with the bat reeled behind his head. Clearly out of his element with the circumstances forced upon him, he took one more sloppy swing at Ray, who's expression hardened, gaze settling firm upon the base of his throat in a clear opening. She lunged forward, as if it land a lethal strike, stopping suddenly by his word. "Then I wouldn't be alone anymore!"
Her heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, all seemed to grow frozen and still. For some reason, Ray could help the sinking feeling in her chest as her gaze befell the pretty blue flowers at their feet stained maroon; she suddenly realized the blossom's breed. Forget-me-nots.
Alone.
A gasp resounded, her assailant not so kind as to allow her a moment of reprieve. He finally hit her—catching her shoulder, and she fell on her backside. Shuffling quickly to sit up despite the pain, Rachel instantly found herself staring down the barrel of the metal bat. Vacantly, as if dissociating from the moment, she peered upwards towards the boy holding it. He stared at her with clear, raw disscontempt. "Looks like your guy's gonna know what it's like to lose someone important, too," he proudly declared. Ray said nothing.
Even if this boy killed her, she couldn't help wondering if that was true.
As the crescent moon above was eclipsed by a blade of the same curvature, she supposed they wouldn't be finding out any time soon. She really wished they could've avoided this, her pilgrimage again two steps forward, one step back. What was it that Zack had said the day before?
"Ungrateful little shit!"
A familiar scythe fall upon the boy above her. A terrorized scream resounded between cruel bouts of laughter and exhausted shouts, the squelch of metal parting flesh, blood, and bone.
Instantly, he was dead, but as a reward despite his battered state, Zack let himself enjoy the kill for what may have been a moment too long but shorter than usual, his scythe falling from his hands with a loud "clank" after a second. He stumbled to his knees, wheezing as he gripped his side, clearly pained. Despite her own aching, Ray found the strength to stand, rushing to kneel at his side.
The girl looked him over with concern, for while he'd clearly he'd come out the victor against the other two, he wasn't unscathed in any sense. Sure, maybe it was just another day for him, but he was getting worn down, and very quickly. His fist was balled to quell the bleeding, and his forehead was just as unsightly from the impact of being struck earlier. The sides of his hoodie were cut up, suggesting he'd been sliced by something sharp in the torso, too. Somehow, however, she knew the cigarette burn was the worst of it to him.
Knowing there was little else they could do in the situation, Ray merely slung Zack's arm around her shoulder to prop him up and lead him along as he leaned on her, and he let himself do so for once. Despite his comparatively clear understanding of reality, Zack couldn't help but wonder how he'd fallen so far from his once indomitable pride. He supposed there was no point in trying to pretend like he wasn't about to keel over if not for her shoulder. "You," he panted wearily, "you okay?"
Ray exhaled something akin to a laugh. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" A thin trail of blood followed in their wake as he dragged behind them his scythe. They turned back towards the trail that led to the train yard.
"I dunno," he huffed. "Looked ta' me like you were about to get your shit kicked in," he told her, and despite the relief she felt in knowing he still had his sense of humor, a weak look befell her expression, and Zack realized there was something bothering her.
"That boy," just like Faraday, "I wasn't able to kill him," she admitted weakly, expecting Zack would be upset again. However, very much to her surprise, even if Zack wanted to reprimand her, Ray almost swore she felt his grip around her only grow more firm.
"Guess you're lucky I showed up, then," he gave her a weak nudge.
Her dull expression grew softer, warmer with his meaning. She looked back to him, a sad but clear relief showing in return, and for however guilty she felt, she was drawn from her self-pity by the only force that ever seemed to help her make sense. Somehow, "I figured you would."
He gave a chuckle, and it must've hurt with how he flinched, gripping his bruised midsection. Ray winced as he coughed, doing her best to help support him as they made their way through the muggy forest. "Honestly?" Zack added suddenly, very much to Ray's surprise. "If it makes ya feel any better, gotta say I'm kinda jealous."
Ray couldn't help but feel confused, because he was, wait...
"You're… jealous?" she repeated in disbelief. "Of me?"
Somehow, he managed to offer a cheeky smirk, amused by her confusion. Oh, "I mean, sure," he admitted, "you're all different kinds'a fucked up, but even when I'm beat to hell, I couldn't'a stopped myself from killin' those guys if I tried," clearly. He would have sooner died of exhaustion first, but even if he thought of it that way, Ray didn't feel so noble. Whether he wanted to look at it that way or not, could he even handle the weight of her sins on top of his own? Time and time again, he was battered and bruised and fending off death—and there was one common factor for every single thread.
"I'm just putting the burden on you," said Ray guiltily, to which Zack gave a long pause, still leaning on her as they took the walk slow as he needed, simply in order to keep going at all.
"Nah," he shook his head.
She looked back to him curiously. "Huh?"
Yeah, he bitched and moaned and repeated at nauseam how rotten it was that he had to look after her, but, "If I had to," Ray, "I'd do it all again." If Gardner somehow had a heart, she felt it well. Demure, if only to the trained eye, Ray peered away, seeming almost shy.
"It's funny," Ray confessed equally, "because I wish I could be more like you."
Zack uttered a laugh, because that was pretty funny. "Why?" he asked incredulously, and Ray merely shrugged, having thought her feelings would be obvious to anyone who could see the two of them side-by-side.
"You do what you want," she said, "and you never look back." He followed his heart, for better or worse, and clearly it was still beating, so that must have counted for something. Maybe he killed, but he always committed. "I've never been able to do that," not once in her life. "It's something about you, Zack," she admitted fondly, "that I admire."
He seemed almost surprised, offering a small "hm", contemplating the fact. "Well, maybe that's why we're stuck with each other, eh? Y'know what they say," he grinned cheekily, "two wrongs don't make a right, but two stupid fucks seem to get by just fine." He snickered, and Ray almost did too, because she didn't think that was how the saying went.
But supposed she didn't disagree.
The empty box car she'd noticed on the way in wasn't far off, and even if it took a minute, given their size difference, eventually she had him situated in the car to lay flat and safe on the floor atop a small cloth. Zack winced, though not in pain, simply in anticipation for what he knew would have to happen the minute the knife'd cleared through his flesh.
Frantically, Ray dug in her bag, pulling out a needle and thread.
Gardner scrambled, intent in her work, firstly lighting a candle to aid her against the poor, enclosed light, then acquiring the cleaning alcohol and hemmoragic. The girl took a deep breath and slid his open hoodie from his shoulder and brushed it off lazily. Naturally, the sight of the blood didn't make her woozy, but the fact that it was pooling from him made her shoulders tense.
Like the burn on his neck, the slices on his stomach weren't so bad, she merely cleaned and patched them up quickly with gauze. He was never one to get off lucky, however, as Ray therein turned to move his mangled hand to lay flat, wraps torn through and exposing his flesh, opposite the side they'd made their blood pact but looking rather the same. With how soaked red the bandaging was, at this point, she couldn't help but wonder if he was losing feeling.
He was, for the record.
Propping herself up on her knees, she dabbed the disinfectant alcohol to a pad, pressing it to the center of his palm. Zack clenched his teeth and hissed on pain, and Rachel muttered a mild "sorry" before pressing on, because it'd hurt much worse if they did nothing. In the overcast light pouring in from the boxcar's open door, Ray threaded her needle; with the dim brightness, it was rough to discern specifics, but she didn't have time or focus to waste. She steeled herself. "This might hurt a little," she warned (not that it could hurt any more than the attack itself.)
"Just get it over with," he vented through grit teeth.
Nodding, Ray delved the needle into his skin. He took a sharp inhale, cursing some explicit beneath his breath, not having thought he'd need to deal with this among everything else today. Luckily, it was just a moment, of course, Ray's expertise working to patch up the wound with utmost urgency, like he were simply a hole in an old handkerchief. If only to distract himself from the sensation, he sought a change in subject, supposing now was good a time as any.
"That guy," Zack stated suddenly, pulling Ray from her intent state, his voice shaky from the stress that it took to speak, "the one the info broker was talkin' about," his lover or whatever. Ray peeked up for just a second, however remaining centered.
"What about him?" asked Rachel.
"I didn't kill him."
Almost taken aback despite what she needed to be focusing on, Ray's brow knit together, wondering if she'd misheard him, a soft "huh?" muttered through parted lips. By the mere tone of his voice, she could tell he sincere as he was serious in what he said, but it certainly surprised her. Sure enough, "Didn't kill him," Zack repeated intently.
Toward the fact, Ray couldn't help but feel somehow confused. It wasn't like she thought he was wrong or doubted him, she knew it could all be some mistake, but there was something else bothering her. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she finished the line of stitches in his palm, flipping over his hand to do the same on the opposite side.
Rachel, who could memorize anything she read by a mere glance, recalled the day she awoke in the building and arrived on B6. First hand, she read the obituary of John Smith, a man supposedly killed at the hand of the Back Alley Murderer, and while she didn't want to question him, the circumstances certainly fit his M.O. "You're... you're sure?" she asked hesitantly. "You didn't just—?"
"A hundred percent," Zack stopped her short. "I may be dumb as all hell, but I never forget a kill." He could never forget the rush, even if he wanted to, the only solution that seemed to satiate his lust for adrenaline like nothing else could. "And the picture he showed me?" explained Zack. "I ain't never seen that guy."
Not that it meant much now, of course. Naturally, she knew he wouldn't lie, at least knowingly, and if he was sure, Rachel was, too. "Okay," she finally said as she fashioned a clean knot in the last suture. Just like that, she was done, fingertips dripping blood as the only evidence it'd happened at all. "Then what do you want to do now?" asked Ray, and after a moment, Zack shifted to sit up slightly, propping himself up with the one hand that wasn't cut and sewn to hell.
"Kill the motherfucker," he answered, though not to her surprise.
Called it.
Rachel sighed, but gazing upon the last wound of his that needed tending to, she gave a nod, supposing that was fair. Blood dripped thick from his hairline, soaking the bandaging that covered his forehead, where he'd been struck by the blunt end of H's unloaded gun. With how quickly he'd fallen, how hard he'd been hit, Ray almost assumed he'd been rendered concussed (not that she could really check his pupils, given his permanent anisocoria.) Slowly, Rachel's slender, bloodstained digits rose, reaching up towards his face, brushing his fringe from his eyes to get a better look at the wound. His hair was getting long, she noticed, longer than she'd ever seen it before. With an inaudible sigh, she supposed she might as well bite the bullet, no pun intended, and just get this next part over with.
Slowly, her hand slid around his head, to the wraps tied around the back in a haphazard knot.
Suddenly realizing what she was doing, and before she could get far at all, Zack's fair hand darted to grab her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks.
"Don't," a low tone warned.
All things considered, he thought he was being pretty agreeable with her obsessive need to nurse him back to health, but now his specific manner of disscontempt was all that showed with the revelation of what she wanted next to do. On opposite end, she only gazed back with heartfelt intention. "I can't stitch your head with your bandages on," said Rachel simply.
"Then I guess you're not doing it," he declared, his voice comparatively dark and serious to the easy-going tone he'd had before.
"Zack," Ray muttered weakly, and as he felt her shift, he shoved her hand away with a clear force now, but the look on her face only reflected a gentle sort of understanding, the desire to help and nothing more. "Please," her arm rose again, "can't I just—"
"Back off!" his voice ascended with clear aggression as he shoved her, and Ray merely shifted to remain steady, her lips pressing together in a thin line. Delicately, her palm rose, placing itself over her heart.
"Zack," Ray said suddenly, voice delicate as it was abrupt, "I don't care what you look like."
Towards the blunt declaration, Zack's shallow breath hitched. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked at her with clear confusion, and Ray could tell she took him by surprise, but she knew at her core the main reservation that he withheld at times like this. Her mind drifted back to that time in the building, when she'd tried to touch him and he yelled at her like it were a matter of life or death, despite the fact that he was even more injured then than he was now.
"It's," Zack finally said, clearly reluctant, "not that."
She couldn't help but wonder if it was just an excuse in the name of his pride. "Then, what?" Ray asked gently, sincere.
It wasn't like this would be the first time she'd see his skin. On the day they'd met, she'd seen his stomach, and later on, she'd seen his hands. Why was he so intent she not see his face? Did he really think that kind of thing was more important than his well-being?
Ray remembered a time when she had once put her hand to a hot stove, and it left a small, unsightly burn on her fingertips. Her parents made her use some sort of cream to reduce the scar, and eventually it faded all together. It was a little upsetting to think about, how there was no way that would work for Zack, be it back at the start, now, or ever. But what was worse? He had no one who cared enough to give him something like that in the first place. The more she thought about it, she couldn't help but feel sad.
For reasons otherwise, Zack was agonized equally.
"I can't stand it anymore."
His voice was not more than a whisper, spoken maybe more towards himself than her, however clearly pained and overwhelmed with frustration in any sense. Ray's brow knit together. "It hurts too much?" she prodded. Seemingly unsure of how to answer, his hand rose, covering his eyes. He gave a lone shake of his head.
"More than you can fuckin' imagine."
Rachel's concern was clear and her conviction only stronger. "Then all the more reason to let me help," she replied easily, "I'll find something to make the pain go awa—"
"No, Ray!"
Suddenly, he grabbed her by the wrist, larger palm again wrapping around hers in one, fell swoop. The rain grew louder outside, the rumble of thunder in the distance echoing his exclamation. Despite how battered his body had become, he found the strength to shove her down so she lay on her back, pinning her to the floor of the boxcar. Hovering over her, he huffed heavy gasps, out of breath. Even with how sudden the switch was, Ray only stared up at him with a blank expression, mouth slightly agape but somehow unfazed.
"You don't get it!"
She could tell he was obviously very anxious as he let free a deeper breath, but the last thing she was trying to do was make him feel worse. "What don't I get?" she asked genuinely, calm and rational yet. Trying to comfort him, the palm Zack pinned down curled to wrap around his, Ray's pointer finger laced around his pinky. For some reason, the gesture only seemed to set him farther on edge. He felt his resolve growing weaker and by the moment, and Zack found himself losing strength even quicker.
"I'll," his lashes fluttered shut, and Ray wondered why he looked so very conflicted, "I'll tell you when you're older."
A heavy pause, his somber reflection in her already dark eyes growing characteristically duller.
"And if I don't make it that long?"
Even in the looming shadows, Ray could discern the grit of his sharp canine as he clenched his teeth, feeling his grip on her hand growing vice in the same beat. Of course, she didn't say it to make him angry, it was just an earnest question, and to prove as much, Rachel reached up, sliding her fingertips weightlessly along the side of his neck, gently minding the burn. He shook his head, clearly unable to articulate whatever it was that was bothering him. Whether it was she who urged him a closer, or his neck growing lax beneath her heavenly touch, and he leaned down even nearer. Zack had to force himself to breathe, force himself to keep living, because even if death-row couldn't kill Isaac Foster, Ray Gardner was so, so close. Like always, she knew just what to say to make everything worse.
"I'm not afraid of you, Zack," Rachel whispered faithfully.
And—that? That was where he finally broke.
A crash of thunder resounded, and in the same flash of lightning, he shifted to position his knee riding high between her legs. A shocked, airy gasp echoed from Ray's lungs, one softer, more feminine than usual, and her pulse spiked, the likes of which pain nor fear could ever hope to achieve. His bloodied palm rose, and it hurt like hell, but the pain meant so little to him in comparison. Forcefully, he shoved and held her hip to the floor, leaving a crimson handprint on her skin as her shirt had been pushed up to leave her lower stomach exposed. Instinctually, she slid around to the back of head, fingertips entangling in his longish hair, her grip tight. A chill ran down her slender spine as a faint heat broke out in her cheeks, all within a feeling she couldn't have anticipated. He leaned down—coarse voice whispered forebodingly against the shell of her ear.
"Maybe you should be."
His name was all she could fathom, the particular tone of her voice was near-unrecognizable not only of him, but herself: "Zack."
Was this, too, just another trick of her heart? If Ray didn't know any better, she could've sworn she felt the shift of his breath on her skin as though he'd turned his lips to her cheek. If Ray didn't know any better, she could've swore she felt the inch of his half-bandaged fingertips begin a harrowingly slow glide up her shirt. If Ray didn't know any better, she could've sworn she'd heard the "chel" that came after "Ray" rolling from his tongue as if her given name began to fall from his lips.
But Ray most certainly knew better.
The only thing understood for absolute certain was God's fated hand coming between her and her unbeating heart. Suddenly, the sound of metal on metal resounded loud in the otherwise silent space. The sound of a man's voice could be heard, shouting an "all clear" from the outside. Ray's lashes parted thinly, remaining heavy-lidded as Zack rose to prop himself up over her more than a narrow inch as he turned his head in full, looking toward the doorway.
"DEPARTING FOR [REDACTED.] ESTIMATED ARRIVAL TIME: 21:00."
The sound of a train whistle bellowed loudly from down the way. They both understood the situation as the automated announcer could be heard all throughout the train yard. "What the hell?" Zack exclaimed, forgetting all about the moment as he threw himself off Ray, who merely lay upon the floor, unable to break herself from the moment so easily.
She assumed it was probably good he did and didn't care to look back at her, because she couldn't speak at all for what he'd think of foreign, dazed expression her face at the moment.
He turned to the door, trying to pry it open despite his weakness. "Hey!" Zack started knocking loudly on the old wood enclosing them. "Let us—!"
"It's no use," uttered Ray blankly. Over the blaring train whistle, "They can't hear you."
"Who gives a shit!" he exclaimed. "Didn't you hear? We've got a one-way ticket to—!"
"[REDACTED,]" she concluded. She'd heard just as well as he. Surely, the name must have meant something to him equally, and if she had to guess, it was the same as herself. Letting out a sound of ample irritation, Zack refused to look back to her, facing away. "There's spare bandaging in my bag," Ray told him. "It won't be enough to replace your whole body though. We'll find more when we stop, okay? It'll probably be at least a few hours before we get there, so, just," an exhale, "use it as an opportunity to rest."
In response, he struggled to find some semblance of a proper dismissal, but for whatever bitterness he may have felt in that moment, Zack let it manifest as a string of creative curses, though Ray wasn't paying attention to the nuance. Having rolled over to face away in full, she merely stared at the side of the mobile enclosure; they could feel the steady movement of the train pick up now, mild bumps on the track that made sitting in the car even uncomfortable. Zack adjusted to lean back against the wall once again, clearly wanting anything but to keep talking. She supposed she wouldn't be fixing his forehead today after all.
Curling up slightly with her knees pulled to her chest, Ray's cheeks remained heated, if not hotter now than before. She tried to resist reliving the feeling of the very intense moment that had just happened, but it was of little use. Ray didn't bother moving any further, saying anything else. Like most things, she was reminded that there was no point. For some reason, she just couldn't calm down. Had he... intended to kill her just now? Is that what had gotten her so worked-up? Or was he just trying to prove his point? Logically, he was just trying to scare her, wasn't he? So, was she scared?
No, she realized fully.
It certainly made her pulse pound, but not because she was afraid. Even when he'd threatened her, had her forced to the floor, held his scythe to her neck—Rachel knew full-well that fear wasn't the core thrill that overtook her. Even now, she still wasn't scared of Zack, and certainly, she never would be. Her life could never have been so easy. A dark revelation dawned upon her in that very fated moment as her heart beat fervent for him.
What she felt for Isaac Foster was something far, far worse.