Zoe decided to take the wheel as Martin had sat beside Ryan.
"Talk to me, Ryan." He said, Martin was trying his very best to keep himself together; both his parents died from brain tumours, and they had exactly the same symptoms as Ryan had.
"Not here, sir." Sighed Ryan. Rolling over. Martin noticed that he had a large scar on the back of his neck, it was like multiple white stripes had occurred. Ryan normally had longer hair at the back, or a high collar, hence why no one noticed them.
"Ryan where'd you get those scars on the back of your neck?" Asked Martin, feeling sick as if he almost knew the answer.
"Please, sir.." Muttered Ryan, he could tell he was crying.
"Ryan-"
"Miałem zgnić i umrzeć w Polsce. Ale oto jestem, gnijący i umierający we Francji. Pieprzyć moje życie. Pieprzyć to wszystko."
Martin couldn't even touch him. He had no idea what to say or do.
"Martin?" Called Zoe, but he didn't respond. Martin thought that after four deaths that had deeply affected him, he was immune. He was unshakeable. But here he was, unable to properly breathe.
"Yes.." said Ryan, "I was adopted. My parents never moved from Poland with me.. I wasn't well as a child, and they left me.. I got money doing stuff, then I got the first flight to anywhere in Britain, and found some social worker people, I didn't spend a year learning the language, I spent a year in hospital. I'm sorry."
Martin was absolutely horrified, but he had to ask the question, "how did you earn the money?"
"Doing stuff." Ryan replied,
"Ryan."
Ryan turned over and looked at him, "no.. no please.. please no.."
Martin had no idea what Ryan had been through. He began to think of his parents, both of them had died from a brain tumour, when they were in agony and he had to go and see them.
"Martin?" Asked his mother,
"Yes." He replied, not with love,
"How is Emily?"
"She's good." He said, indifference had always been dominant in his conversations with his parents.
"Is she pregnant yet?" Asked his mother. Martin looked down, "give it up, mum. You know that the minute all of you are gone we are having a divorce."
"Martin. Please."
"Why? Why should we keep going? How could you be so horrible to us?"
"Martin; if you don't care for us.. then why are you here now?" She asked, and he looked into her swollen bloodshot eyes.
"Because I'm a good person. And I'm going to stay with you until this is over. And I'll pay for your stupid funeral. And I'll put cheap flowers on your grave. Because I'm a better person than you."
He saw his mother's heart rate slowing down on the monitor as she looked up at him for one final time.
"You're not a good person, Martin." She said, and for the first time in at least twenty years she held his hand, "You're the best."
Martin remembered crying hard that night, because his last words to his mother had been of hatred, not even an attempt of love. Even if it was just pretend.
Martin stood up from beside Ryan and made his way to the passenger seat beside Zoe. He was trying so hard to keep his tears in.
Zoe knew exactly what he was thinking, "thought you said you hated them."
"I did." He replied, looking out the window. "It's just that she didn't hate me."
Zoe bit her lip, she wanted Ryan to be okay, she didn't mean for any of this. All she wanted was for everyone to be okay, all she wanted was peace.

Martin opened up his rucksack, trying not to alert anyone, and saw the box of his depression pills, he took out two and without capturing anyone's attention, put them in his mouth and swallowed them with water. He and Emily were given them after the death of Martha, but Emily refused to use them, but Martin still picked up both their weekly prescriptions and ended up having twelve boxes spare. He was supposed to take one pill a day now, and sometimes he did, but often in times of complete darkness he felt himself taking far too many, albeit they didn't kick in until a couple days later when he no longer needed them.
In truth, he didn't really know if the pills were doing him any good, he didn't know if it was a coincidence that he felt better when taking them, or that he felt awful without taking them, but he took them anyway. As a chore, as a way to feel he was ready and secure.
Emily knew that he had overdosed some days, when he felt faint, and when he was sick, or when he simply wasn't himself. Emily hated him for it, she said it was cowardly, that they had caused pain and therefore they had to deal with the consequences. They couldn't just move on after their daughter's death, and he had guessed that those numb feelings had lead her to commit suicide, in the end. He often wondered that if he didn't take the pills would he have killed himself too?
"We're running low on fuel." Said Zoe, looking at the dashboard.
Martin looked down, nodding, "pull over at the next place you see." He said, wiping his brow, his abdomen hurt where he had been stabbed. He kept seeing Alex's eyes, those deep menacing pupils that just wanted him to feel maximum pain as he heaved the knife into his stomach. He remembered that broken and shocked feeling, when he was almost certain that this was it: this was how he died, and that he had to do it in front of his five favourite students; that they had to see him go. And that was the worst part. He didn't want his students to grow up with the lingering image of their dead teacher in their mind. He didn't want them to be as destroyed as he was. Those children deserved the world and he wanted to give it to them.