A New Brand of Redemption.
Hurting Wrists and Evil thoughts.
Marcus stared at the face he saw reflected in the mirror. It was really an ordinary one. In spite of vanity, he could even admit it was a little plain. It was not however the face of a monster. So why did he see evil lurking in the eyes that looked out at him from inside the glass?
Leaning closer, Marcus touched the smooth surface of the glass and thought, Because I am that evil. Because I am a monster.
Then, unable to look at himself any longer, Marcus hit out as hard as he could. A shriek escaped his lips as the glass shattered and large silver shards rained onto the countertop. They reflected fractured pieces of himself as crimson blood started to stream down his fingers and drip onto the floor. Raising his hand, Marcus stared at the cuts that marred his palm until the low ring of his cell phone distracted him.
“Hello,” he said after fishing it out of his pocket to answer it.
“Marcus where are you?” Brett shouted in his ear.
He looked around. He was home…Strange…He couldn’t even remember leaving the crowd in the alleyway. He was definitely home though. Marcus recognized his mother’s robe hanging on the door and his dad’s cologne sitting on the edge of the sink .What would they think of him, Marcus wondered. How disgusted would they be when they found out what he was?
“Marcus!”
“I’m home.”
“What! What happened?”
“I went back.”
“And?”
“And now I know. I know what I am and I know I can’t bear it.”
“Marcus what are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now Brett.”
“Wait! What about Trevor?”
“He’s dead”
“Trevor’s…he’s really dead…Marcus that has to be wrong.”
“Goodbye Brett.”
Marcus let the phone fall to the ground and then picked up a piece of glass with his blood slicked hand.
“I’m sorry Megan,” he whispered.
Fear is a little like poison. Once it’s in your bloodstream, it’s almost impossible to flush out. As Brett stared unseeingly at the payphone in his hand, he could all but feel it coursing through his veins. It quickly reached his mind because Brett’s thoughts soon became less and less objective. And then he was just thinking the same thing over and over again.
It can’t be true.
He stood there for what felt like forever trying to convince himself of that. But Marcus’ words kept intruding on his consciousness .
“He’s dead,” Brett said aloud ,but to no one at all.
Then he shook his head and thought, Marcus has to be wrong. Trevor can not be dead. I can’t have killed him. Marcus…just has to be wrong.”
Brett’s thought drifted to what Marcus had been saying before that and how confused he’d been by it.
“Now I know. I know what I am and I know I can’t bear it.”
Those words suddenly made to much sense. As he looked out on the streets bathed in bloody evening light, Brett thought once again, Marcus you moron.
Fear was overshadowed by anger by anger for a minute as he considered what it meant if
Marcus had been stupid enough to commit suicide. It mean no one would ever believe he was innocent for a second and no alibi would ever be strong enough. There was nothing quite as incriminating as the accessory becoming so overcome by guilt he ended his own life.
A fresh wave of panic slammed into Brett. For the first time ever he was at a complete loss over what to do. What could he do? Brett’s first instinct was simple. Run. Just go as far and as fast as he could. So far they would never ever find him. But the he remembered something. What exactly had he asked Marcus?
“What’s another murder when you’ve already committed one?”
What indeed? But, would it do any good? The police already knew what he’d done and soon everyone would. But Megan was the only one who knew for sure. She was the only one who could look him strait in the eyes and say, He did it. He killed Trevor Freeman.
Leaning closer, Marcus touched the smooth surface of the glass and thought, Because I am that evil. Because I am a monster.
Then, unable to look at himself any longer, Marcus hit out as hard as he could. A shriek escaped his lips as the glass shattered and large silver shards rained onto the countertop. They reflected fractured pieces of himself as crimson blood started to stream down his fingers and drip onto the floor. Raising his hand, Marcus stared at the cuts that marred his palm until the low ring of his cell phone distracted him.
“Hello,” he said after fishing it out of his pocket to answer it.
“Marcus where are you?” Brett shouted in his ear.
He looked around. He was home…Strange…He couldn’t even remember leaving the crowd in the alleyway. He was definitely home though. Marcus recognized his mother’s robe hanging on the door and his dad’s cologne sitting on the edge of the sink .What would they think of him, Marcus wondered. How disgusted would they be when they found out what he was?
“Marcus!”
“I’m home.”
“What! What happened?”
“I went back.”
“And?”
“And now I know. I know what I am and I know I can’t bear it.”
“Marcus what are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now Brett.”
“Wait! What about Trevor?”
“He’s dead”
“Trevor’s…he’s really dead…Marcus that has to be wrong.”
“Goodbye Brett.”
Marcus let the phone fall to the ground and then picked up a piece of glass with his blood slicked hand.
“I’m sorry Megan,” he whispered.
Fear is a little like poison. Once it’s in your bloodstream, it’s almost impossible to flush out. As Brett stared unseeingly at the payphone in his hand, he could all but feel it coursing through his veins. It quickly reached his mind because Brett’s thoughts soon became less and less objective. And then he was just thinking the same thing over and over again.
It can’t be true.
He stood there for what felt like forever trying to convince himself of that. But Marcus’ words kept intruding on his consciousness .
“He’s dead,” Brett said aloud ,but to no one at all.
Then he shook his head and thought, Marcus has to be wrong. Trevor can not be dead. I can’t have killed him. Marcus…just has to be wrong.”
Brett’s thought drifted to what Marcus had been saying before that and how confused he’d been by it.
“Now I know. I know what I am and I know I can’t bear it.”
Those words suddenly made to much sense. As he looked out on the streets bathed in bloody evening light, Brett thought once again, Marcus you moron.
Fear was overshadowed by anger by anger for a minute as he considered what it meant if
Marcus had been stupid enough to commit suicide. It mean no one would ever believe he was innocent for a second and no alibi would ever be strong enough. There was nothing quite as incriminating as the accessory becoming so overcome by guilt he ended his own life.
A fresh wave of panic slammed into Brett. For the first time ever he was at a complete loss over what to do. What could he do? Brett’s first instinct was simple. Run. Just go as far and as fast as he could. So far they would never ever find him. But the he remembered something. What exactly had he asked Marcus?
“What’s another murder when you’ve already committed one?”
What indeed? But, would it do any good? The police already knew what he’d done and soon everyone would. But Megan was the only one who knew for sure. She was the only one who could look him strait in the eyes and say, He did it. He killed Trevor Freeman.