Hold Me Closer | Stisaac (Serendipity, Book 1)

Stories Untold: Isaac and Miles

    Isaac had always heard that good things come in threes. No one warned him that bad things did, too.
    Chris. Blood. Pain.
    The first three things that speared into Isaac as consciousness tugged him out from beneath the darkness.
    Isaac blinked blearily and clawed himself onto his hands and knees. Every movement, every breath triggered a wave of agony through his head and nose. He wiped the warm, sticky scarlet away from his face.
    "Jennifer? Jennifer!"
    No response.
    Jennifer. Motionless. More blood.
    Isaac crawled to her where she lay a few feet away, face-down across the threshold between the kitchen and living room. He rolled her onto her back and gasped as her dark, glassy eyes gazed up at him, lifeless and bloodshot. Vicious, purple-blue bruises streaked across her neck in the shape of fingers. Isaac pressed an ear to her chest, and held his breath as if that would change the outcome: only silence greeted him from within. He sat back on his heels and ran his hand over his face as his throat closed. Then he turned, and the world around him dimmed, shifted, and fell apart.
    Stiles. Unmoving. So much fucking blood.
    Isaac stumbled over himself as he lurched across the floor to Stiles, his Stiles, who lay still on his side near the foot of the stairs, an arm outstretched toward them. Scarlet blood pooled around him. Isaac shoved his darkened, drenched grey t-shirt up. Four gaping crescents split open his flesh amidst the river of blood. Isaac pressed his hands against the two wounds he could cover.
"Stiles?" he choked. "Stiles, baby?"
He brought his ear to Stiles's chest, but heard nothing over the resounding whoosh of his own racing blood, and the adrenaline rushing through him. He pressed shaking fingers to Stiles's neck; was it Stiles's pulse that he felt, or was his mind playing tricks on him? A loud thud sounded from the top of the stairs. Isaac froze.
Chris.
Isaac scrambled to his feet and whirled around. A weapon, he needed a weapon, any weapon.
Another thud.
Isaac snatched the fake, potted philodendron plant from the end table near the couch and raised it as he crept toward the stairs.
Thud.
A bitter rage coursed through him. The plant was no baseball bat, but he would wield it as if it were, and paint it red with Chris's blood. It was that bastard's turn to bleed, to cry out. He flew up the stairs, following the thuds to the closed bathroom door at the end of the second floor hall. As he neared it, another sound drifted out to him, muffled through the wood — a high, sweet orchestral track. What the fuck?
Isaac reached out with a shaking, bloody hand and twisted the knob. It was locked. He reared back and raised a leg, prepared to kick at the door, when the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Two wide brown eyes peered up at Stiles, beneath a mop of long brown hair, tied up into a lazy ponytail with a pink ribbon. Miles. Isaac dropped the plant to the floor and attempted to hide his hands behind his back.
"Eye-sick?" Miles said. "Where's Mommy and Stiles?" He pulled the door open fully. In one little hand, he gripped Jennifer's cellphone, the oversized, purple, rhinestoned case ridiculously large in his fingers. He paused the music that had been playing from the phone.
Isaac swallowed and knelt before Miles. "They had to go to the store."
"Did Stiles forget something again?"
Isaac forced a laugh. "Of course he did, you know him."
"Why did Mommy tell me to stay in here? Am I in trouble?"
Tears sprang to Isaac's eyes. He sucked in a breath in an attempt to drown out the sob that wanted to tear out of his throat. "No, Miles, of course you're not in trouble. Everything's okay."
Miles glanced down at Isaac's body, and his eyes widened in betrayal. "Eye-sick, were you guys painting without me?"
Isaac's chest ached at the sweet, innocent way that Miles said his name, overly pronounced and half-spat. Isaac could not hide the blood; he was covered in it. "Yeah, buddy. Yeah, we were painting. We wanted to make you something."
Miles's eyes brightened. "For me?"
Isaac nodded. He gestured to the cellphone. "I really need to use your mom's phone for a second, is that alright?"
Miles quirked an eyebrow as if to say Duh, and held the phone out. Isaac took it. "Thank you, Miles. You're my hero."
The boy grinned. Isaac instinctively ruffled his hair and pulled his hand back sharply as blood smeared across the dark strands. Bile rose in his throat.
"When will they be back?" Miles asked.
"Soon. Why don't you wash your hands for dinner? Can you do that for me?"
Miles nodded and turned back into the bathroom. Isaac closed the door most of the way and dialed 911. His wavering voice struggled to speak as he begged the dispatcher for help, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough that Miles could hear him.
The door creaked open. Isaac whirled around. Miles stared up at him as he wiped at his wet hands with a hand towel. "You're going to wash your hands too, right, Eye-sick?" The typical, slightly-rebellious tone that naturally resided in Miles's voice, as if it to say If I have to do it, so do you, pulled a chuckle out of Isaac. "You're messy. You have paint on your face! Even I don't do that."
    Isaac playfully rolled his eyes at Miles and ushered him further into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and propelled the boy to take a seat on the edge of the bathtub while he washed his hands and waited.
Waited for help. Waited to find out if Stiles was still breathing. Waited for his heart to start beating again, because it wouldn't if Stiles' didn't.
Hands dried, he sat down beside Miles and handed the phone back to him. "What were you listening to?"
    "My night-night playlist. Mommy plays it at bed-time. It helps me fall asleep."
    "It was beautiful. Do you want to keep listening?"
    "I'm not tired."
    "The great thing about music is that you can listen to it whenever you want, not just at bed-time. Especially if you like it."
    Miles shrugged. He tapped around on the phone screen for a moment and the song resumed. Isaac looped an arm around Miles's shoulder and drew him into his side.
    "Just keep listening to it, okay, buddy? No matter what."