Wiccan Act One: Occult

31 | Beacon of Lost Hope

Rowan
XXXI

Cyrus's eyes were as good as new.

Which was impossible.

Through his blurry vision and screaming retinas, Rowan watched Max pin Cyrus's head in place and plunge his fingers deeper and deeper until there was blood oozing out. The screaming kept getting louder. It sent Rowan into a sunken state because no matter how hard he tried to move his body, it refused to listen. All he could do was sit and watch his friend cry out for help until it all suddenly stopped.

Max's hands snapped and contorted in an inhuman manner, mutilating his fingers. His index and pinky were bent to touch the back of his hand, his middle fingers hung from a stringy piece of flesh, and sharp broken bones stuck out of his knuckles. Blood splattered across the white tiled floor, oozing and pouring until Max began to wail himself. The sight of his mangled hands caused him to collapse. 

Rowan wanted more than anything to believe that something else caused that to happen. Some form of divine intervention or an undiagnosed medical condition. He was willing to simply call it luck and sweep it under the rug because that came with fewer complications. 

However, the technicalities of how it happened didn't matter as much as helping Cyrus. The boy was paralyzed with his hands to his face. 

After he gave Cyrus one of the shirts in the closet to wipe his eyes, he sat there beside him unsure of what to do. Cyrus remained quiet, wiping away the blood and tears on his face as if they were a part of the ordinary. He passed the cloth up and down, staining the white fabric a crimson color. Rowan tried his best not to stare for too long, thinking it was rude even though Cyrus could no longer see him. 

One eye had been completely destroyed, all that remained was a swirl of chunky red stuff dug inside Cyrus's skull like ground beef. The other eye didn't blink, doused in red, and remained fixed to one position.

The sinking feeling returned in Rowan, shame bubbling up to haunt him. He did nothing to help. It was as if his sister were here all over again. After he had berated Cyrus about doing nothing the night Hazel went missing, here he was not moving a finger. 

"Their eyes were red." Max had said. 

"He is one of them."

The thought ran through Rowan's mind. He remembered the night they found his sister's body. How the boy they arrested had eyes that changed color before Rowan's shirt caught fire. Right after, he could have sworn Cyrus's eyes had a greenish tint before the wind picked up and all the car alarms went off. Now, Max's hands magically break while attacking them.

Rowan could taste the answer at the tip of his tongue but he refused to acknowledge it. So it stayed there. Accepting would mean too much would change. He was tired of things changing but he didn't like being lied to any better. 

Out of nowhere, the doors flew open as hospital staff rushed in to see what had happened. Among them, was a familiar face Rowan didn't wish to see. 

"Rowan what the hell were you thinking!" His father exclaimed. 

He threw himself on the floor next to where Rowan and a still dazed Cyrus sat. Rowan grew annoyed at the sight of him fully dressed in uniform. How did he get here so quickly? Rowan quickly swatted his father's hand away as he attempted to place it on his shoulder. 

"At least pretend like you care if I'm okay," Rowan said.

He kept his attention on Cyrus. A staff member had gone down to her knees in front of him with a First-Aid kit. Her uniform sported the same blinding white that all the others wore and she had a smile that instantly eased Rowan's worry.