The Ties That Bind: A Marble and BlackStar Adventure

Part Three and Epilogue

Jesus, take the wheel. Take it from my hands, cause I can't do this on my own... I'm letting go, so give me--goddammit, Alex. Now that song is stuck in my head and I--

Mitch wanted to turn his head and glare at Alex but the tall, long-legged boy had pulled ahead of him on their little bullet-laced sprint to the corner. Mitch made the nearly unconscious decision to take longer strides to catch up, realizing that trying to hold a pace with someone half a foot taller was a bit of a futile effort.

For some reason his right leg, which had been working in perfect opposition to his left, was now a half-step too slow. Enough for the toe of his boot to scuff the pavement. Enough for his balance to be fully overthrown.

Suddenly the ground was rushing upwards. His left hand flew out instinctively and most of the initial impact fell on his forearm rather than his face. But the momentum was such that the unbalanced lower body was propelled up and over the upper body in an ungainly somersault, all air coming out in a huff as he cracked his head on the pavement and landed on his back.

To an outsider it might have looked like a rag doll tumbling end over end, but to Mitch it felt like he was still upright, watching the scene and only waiting politely to make sure the silly boy jumped up and showed he wasn't hurt before screaming in laughter. But the silly boy was hurt and he couldn't get up, couldn't move. And as he regained the ability to breathe, he felt a sharp stinging in his thigh, one that was growing warmer and bigger with each second. It grew the way the pain in his head grew, pushing upward and outward until staying conscious seemed stupid. He could hear shouts in the fog, voices he knew well, and he tried to find them, to hang onto them before the haze claimed him, but they were too far to reach.

Jesus, take the wheel... Give me one more chance. Save me from this road I'm on. Ugh, typical that Alex's one flaw is his taste in music...

The voices continued to claw at him, holding him in the here and now although they seemed to come from nowhere...

Mitch! Mitchie, oh God!

Scott! Behind you!!

Shit!

Scott? I can hear him fighting...was that a gunshot? So close...

Are you okay?

Forget about me. Mitch!!

Stay back, I've got him. It's okay.

Jesus Christ! Is he breathing? Mitchie can you hear me? Breathe you piece of shit. What was that? Did he say something?

I think he laughed. He's breathing fine, Scott. Relax.

He's bleeding! I will not relax!

It's his leg, not anything terribly vital.

Legs are pretty damn vital!

Scott, can you trust me please?! Take my keys, we'll go to the hospital.

You know I can't drive a stick for shit.

Ugh ok, then you'll have to hold him in the backseat. Carry him gently.

Just one sec, I have to call... Kyle! We are blown wide open, send in your goddamn cavalry NOW!

So angry... Why is he so angry?

And then Mitch was flying. He forced his eyelids open, wondering what LA would look like as he flew up into the stars. An angel cradled him, his angular jaw tight with stress. No, not an angel, just a man. Scott looked down, and in the haze, his tortured eyes were too dark. Mitch groaned and gave into the darkness.