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CHAPTER 34

Matthew Bell Scott

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It had been 92 days since Matt first got put in his cell. And the only thing that kept him sane all this time was knowing Cal was safe. He would sacrifice himself a million times for just that.

What the guy could not understand was why he was still alive. He strolled to the iron bars and peeked at the other cells. Dying moans were as natural as the groaning draft blowing in. His holding was at the end of the dark corridor, cells lined up on both sides. With this, he had the largest space and was allowed luxuries the others lacked. A bed, shabby but warm, a desk, chair, and a small bookshelf. He was even given three meals a day, a change of clothes, and a basin to clean himself in.

The only torture he endured was that of social neglect. Before getting captured, he would go mad after an hour with no one to talk to. Now he had suffered it for 92 days and was at his breaking point. Whenever Xavier came down to cut up some bloke, Matt almost wished the cyng would turn his blade to him, if only for the conversation it would bring.

The walls faintly trembled, a speck of dust drifted down. He watched the ceiling with narrowed eyes.

Xavier must have thought he could use him as a hostage or bait. It was foolish, of course. No capable cyng would risk everything just to get one person back. And after that incident with his sister three years ago, it was a lesson Owen learned well.

The walls shook again, a soft rattle blowing in with the breeze.

He walked over to the back wall, stood on his chair, and stared out of the small window. Footsteps rushed past.

"...but a ton of us were sent to stop the intruders at the back entrance, and now this. I don't think we have..."

Intruders? It would not... No. It must have been something else.

He kept staring out, something cold forming in his belly. The breath in front of him came in uneven puffs.

Keys jingled, and he spun around, hopping off the chair.

An unfamiliar guard stood behind the iron bars. He had a shaved head with a tattoo on his neck, and one of his eyes was glossy like marble. He smiled through some missing teeth.

"Your buddies are here."

"The East?"

His chest thrummed.

"And West."

West? Cal is here? Are the cyngs working together?

"It's causing a big ruckus," the man continued, shifting through his ring of keys. "Nobody's guarding this place. They wouldn't notice if something happened to you."

Matt backed into the wall. His eyes darted around the room.

"I don't think Xavier wants me harmed," he tried to bargain. "I'm valuable."

"Yeah, he's ordered you to stay all perfect and pretty. You're the one that's brought his lambs for slaughter after all."

No...

"But I've got my own reasons, you see," he continued, that glossy eye darting up to him. He settled on a key. "You remember me?"

The door unlocked.

"No," Matt admitted. His hand moved to the chair.

The guard stepped inside and locked behind him. He flicked a switchblade, brought it to his one eye. "You don't remember giving me this?" His knife pointed at his crooked teeth. "Or this."

A tear of sweat slid down his temple. Matt shook his head.

"I got out of the hospital just a few weeks ago," he went on. "It's been six months since you and your buddies kicked the shit out of me and my friend."

"You'll have to be more specific. I've beaten up plenty of trash."

The man cackled, and it felt like cold oil spread over Matt's skin.

"We were just doing our job when that blonde bitch saw too much. We weren't going to kill her, just get some answers. And out of nowhere, you Easterners show up. You had no right on neutral ground. No right. You fucked us up and left us to die. By the time help arrived, my friend already kicked it from his head injury, and I only barely made it with cracked ribs and both my arms broken. I've gone blind and deaf on this side because of you! And since my return, I'm treated like shit because of it. I'm worth no more than dirt to Xavier now. Do you know how much you ruined my life?"

The memory of rain and kicking two thugs vaguely came to mind. That was forever ago.

"You strangled an innocent girl. I'm not sorry."

"You will be."

The thug lunged, and the chair was swung at him. Wood smashed, and he was knocked to the bed. Just as he turned back, Matt grabbed one of the chair's broken legs and defended himself. The knife came. Blocked. Another slice. Blocked again.

He was backed into a wall, narrowly managing a third block, and pushed the shelf. Books and pages tumbled. It did little to stop his attacker, and as he retreated another step, his foot caught on something. He fell. Iron bars clanged. A hiss shot out his mouth, and his back throbbed. A shadow grew over him.

Matt looked up with wide eyes. The thug jumped at him, and he swung his makeshift club as hard as he could. The bang of wood against skull echoed loud enough to shake the walls. It had the same effect as nails on a chalkboard, and he shivered. When he glanced next to him, the thug was unmoving, a glossy eye staring straight through his soul and blood pooling from their head.

His erratic panting was the only sound, and Matt clamped his hand over his heart to try and slow it down. Relax. When the dizziness faded, he took one more deep breath and stood—

He slumped back down.

What?

Matt blinked to check his vision. High up his thigh, the knife was lodged to its hilt. He touched the handle and flinched. The pain was yet to catch up, but the sight was unnerving. I can't walk around with this in my leg, he thought. He threw a brief look around the room, then back at the guard. Sigh. The dead man's belt was quickly removed, and he buckled it tight above his leg. His grip steadied on the handle. Three... Two... One... The blade ripped out, and nausea threatened. Blood soaked his pant, but it stayed to a trickle. His shoulders eased. It was just one stab wound. He was fine.

Back on his feet, he got the keys from the thug. The West was here, so Cal was up there somewhere. And with the gunshots becoming louder, there was a big fight. He freed himself, stepping into the corridor with his knife in one hand and the wood club in the other, swinging round and round.

"Someone's going to get it if my Strawberry Tallcake is hurt."

With a stiff leg, he passed the cells and crept up the stairs. The door was ajar, and he stuck his head through. Clear.

Outside, the night air was pushed back from the heat rolling off his skin. His heart still drummed a painful beat. The gardens were in the distance, the house right behind. He turned and followed the path along the building. Elevated on old stone bricks, the house stood tall, large windows starting above his shoulder. He strained his neck to see inside, and the light from within warmed his face.

Footsteps crunched. He dived behind a rosebush and watched from the shadows. Guards ran past, complaining about ammo and being split up. He stood after they disappeared and glanced through the windows behind him. People ran into the dining hall. His breath caught at a familiar head of hair. Cal was too tall to miss. He angled from side to side, then back to the cyngs. Matt stood on his toes and waved with both arms. Thugs stormed the room, and he banged on the glass, yelling. The group quickly turned around without his help, and they fought off the onslaught.

He had never seen his love fight like that before. Cal, who was always gentle and soft-spoken. Too shy to ask for hugs, but always wanting them. That very same guy finished off attackers at the speed he could finish off a whole tray of cupcakes.

With the last of the Northerners down, the group turned to each other. There was an exchange of nods before the twins and another guy ran off. Cal and the cyngs returned the way they came.

Matt stumbled out of the garden bed and limped down the path as fast as he could, head bobbing up to see through the windows. He rounded the last corner, and the front door was just ahead. Two guards appeared from the other side. They yelled out and bolted towards him. He used his club to knock the first man's knife out of their hand and sunk his blade into their neck.

The second guy screamed and charged with his fists. Matt swung, but the guy was faster than he looked, dodging the club and knocking the knife from his grasp. They fell to the floor, and he aimed his weapon again, but the attacker grabbed it and threw a punch. His head was knocked back, nearly splitting on the driveway. He shook away the fog in his brain to glare at the man.

"This is an expensive face, you inconsiderate brute!"

Fist full of gravel, he hurled it at him. The thug covered his eyes. Swore. Matt's club smashed over his head, and the man flopped onto his chest. Motionless.

"Urgh, get off."

He rolled the man over and got up on a knee. His lungs were heavy, strained. Matt threw his head back and soaked up the night air, breathing through his nose. Fuck, he was tired. His hair stuck to his face, and he swiped it back, cringing at the feel of blood and sweat. He had to get up, but his limbs were filled with cement.

Cal appeared before him with an outstretched hand, and he stood up to— grab through thin air. The vision blew off with a breeze. He hung his head; hair covered his eyes. The belt used for his leg was gone, ripped off at some point. Too drowsy to do anything about it, he pulled himself towards the front door. His eyebrow stung. Please don't be a cut. It had been three months since his love saw him. The last thing he needed right now was to look ugly.

Hands on the door, he pushed them open with all his weight. Matt stumbled inside, caught his balance, and looked up.

He froze. As still as a corpse.

No.

His weapon clunked to the floor. There was so much blood. No, no, no. He saw him just a second ago. He was fine. He was running around. Why is he... Why is he suddenly so pale? Slumped by the staircase, Cal was bathed in blood. Corpses littered around him. He looked up, eyes teary. But what got Matt to move was that smile. That smile given only to him.

"Let's eat lots of cookies," Cal said.

Matt ran just as his love's head fell back and his eyes glossed over, that smile still on his soft lips.

"Cal! Cal, look at me, look. I'm here. It's been so long, but I'm here. Hey, hey, look! You're fine, you're okay. Cal?"

He crashed to his knees and held him. His body, his blood, was still warm. Dead people did not feel so warm. No. Cal is fine. He was just tired. Just sleepy. He always did love his naps. Matt had to nag him to get out of bed some days. They nearly got caught.

Everything started to blur.

Why was Cal's chest not moving? Why was he so limp? The living were not so... heavy.

He blinked, and warm lines spilled down his face.

"You're not leaving me, you hear? We have plans, you and I. We're going to leave this shithole together! Did we not promise each other? We're going to get out."

His body shook, and his stomach wrenched painfully. Tears dropped to Cal's face. Already, his clothes were stained as red as the person he held. Already, his knees were warm with Cal's blood gushing out slower and slower. Or was that his own?

"You can't go to heaven." He stroked his love's hair like he did a million times before. "I don't think they have any food up there..."

In this life, you live for the Dynast. Even your death belongs to the bloodline you are pledged to. When you make that first cut, you give everything you have. So, why did it feel like everything he had was right here in front of him? It was in his grasp. And yet he could not have it. What was the point of it all?

Footsteps rushed into the room, but all he could think about was how he wished they could just shoot him and be done. He was so close... A second faster, and he could have saved...

"No... Is that Cal? That can't be..." someone said.

"Matt! You're alive!" a familiar voice neared.

"Hey, Matt, let go. You need to get up," another urged.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Matt hugged him harder. He buried his face in his shoulder. Hands latched onto him and pulled him away. He fought, swung his arms, but was too weak to resist. He clung to who held him, and a familiar embrace enveloped him from both sides.

"Matt, breathe," Ryan said.

"We're here. We came for you," Bryan added.

Something caved, broke, and he sobbed into his friends. Sobbed so hard his voice turned raw, and his eyes could fall out. This had to be a nightmare. He wished to be back in his cell. He would stay there another million years if this could all be an awful dream.

"What happened? Why is Cal..."

Matt turned with swollen eyes. The Westerner, Enrique, trudged over to the stairs like a fake wall could appear in front of him. He lowered and held a trembling hand in front of Cal's mouth. It could have been seconds; it could have been hours before he stood back up. He turned to them, paler than the corpses around.

"He's..." His lips struggled to move. "Dead."

Matt's legs gave up, and he crumbled to the floor, the twins trying their best to let him down slowly.

Enrique's head tipped to the side as if someone spoke next to him, and his blanched face turned red. Hard lines creased his forehead.

"What do you mean this wasn't supposed to happen?" he asked. He slammed a hand onto his ear. "Of course, this has all gone wrong! We come to save an Easterner, and my fucking friend dies! Our first kin! Why are we here?"

Ryan also angled his head.

"Jack, we'll get caught up if we stay here."

"Is there a plan?" Bryan asked.

"Fuck the plan! I'm killing every Northerner I see!" Enrique said.

"We have to remain focused."

"We'll die if we stay here."

Matt stared at the stairs. He had no more tears left to give. He wanted to stay there. On the floor.

"Got it," Ryan said to his earpiece. "We need to back Owen and Blake up."

"But what if more Northerners come up the stairs?"

"I'll stay," Matt spoke up.

They turned to him, and he used his good leg to stand. With all this bloodshed, it was impossible to tell how much of the blood on his clothes belonged to him or to others.

"Matt... we can't leave you alone," Ryan said.

"And you don't look—"

"I'm your first kin! This disaster is partially because of me. Let me take responsibility. Let me do this. This one last... Please."

They must have known what he was asking. Matt never told the twins about Cal, but the way they watched him, he thought that maybe they knew more than he figured. More than once, he was nearly caught and thanked their cluelessness. But as their dark eyes teared up, he wondered if they were ever clueless to begin with.

"Then you'll... You'll guard the stairs," Ryan said.

"You'll wait for us?" Bryan asked.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then nodded.

"I'll wait," he said. "Tell Seane to cheer up. And... and tell Owen... I... that..."

Why can't I form the words? He cursed himself.

The twins smiled.

"We'll tell him."

A night breeze drifted through the door, and Matt returned the gesture.

"Get going then."

Ryan, Bryan, and Enrique hurried up the stairs. They stopped at the top and turned around for a last wave. All three of them. It made Matt wonder if a future with East and West together was not as far-fetched as he thought. What changed them?

He waved back as they left. And suddenly, the world was not so bleak anymore. His friends had that effect. He limped over to Cal. This was not the tragic scene of a bloodbath. A cruel nightmare. He sat on the bottom step and held his hand. No. This was the last moments of a long dream. His head lay on his shoulder. He was ready to wake up. With a smile. Just like Cal.

Memories played in front of his eyes. Secret dates with his Strawberry Tallcake. Arcade games with the twins. Patrol drives with Seane in the setting sun. And Owen... If there were any regrets, it would be for his cyng. They grew up together. If he ever got married, he would have asked him to be his best man.

It was cold. His vision was spotty. He brought his hand up, and his fingers were an off colour. Then he saw the mess at his feet.

Oh.

There was blood before, but now you could barely see the wood flooring. Red pooled thick, dripping down the steps leisurely. And it came from his leg. One stab wound. He closed his eyes, his smile grew. Who would have thought that was all it took?

Matt woke up. Warm morning light. Soft blankets. And Cal's sleeping face. Finally, he got everything he wanted.

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