Sinful Paths

Chapter Eight

Ian sprinted down the sidewalk, tears streaming down his face, each step heavy with despair. The world around him blurred as he focused on the only thing that mattered–Andrew. Suddenly, he skidded to a halt, his heart racing at the sight before him. There was Andrew, battered and bruised, his clothes torn and stained, and the sight twisted Ian’s gut.
But there was more–behind Andrew stood a dark figure, an arm wrapped tightly around Andrew’s chest, a gun pressed against his head. The sight froze Ian in place, fear coursing through him like ice.
“ANDREW LILAC?!” Ian shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
The dark figure turned slightly, a sinister grin spreading across his face. “Stay where you are, lover boy. You’ve lost. You’ve failed EVERYONE. You’ve even failed little Andrew here.”
“No.. An- Andrew, everything’s going to be okay,” Ian pleaded, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Don’t lie to him, Ian. He’s going to die,” the figure taunted, his voice dripping with malice.
“N- NO! PLEASE!” Ian cried out, panic rising within him.
“I’m sorry,” the dark figure said coldly, and in that instant, he pulled the trigger.
The sound echoed through the air, a finality that shattered Ian’s world into pieces.

Ian bolted upright on the couch in the hospital room, his heart racing and breath quickening as he awoke from a nightmare that clung to him like a shadow. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, but it did little to ease the dread that had settled in his chest. He stood up, disoriented, trying to shake off the remnants of the horrific dream that felt all too real.
“Ian dear, are you okay?” Nancy’s voice broke through his thoughts. She was sitting in a hospital bed, a book resting in her lap. As Ian turned to face her, his expression shifted from shock to a blank slate, the weight of concern pressing down on him. He walked over to a chair close to her bed and sank into it, his mind racing.
“Nancy, what are you doing? You need to rest,” he said, disbelief creeping into his tone.
“I rest enough at home,” she replied, setting her book aside with a calmness that only fueled his anxiety.
Ian’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with frustration. “NANCY, YOU CAME OUT OF SURGERY AN HOUR AGO.” Her shocked expression mirrored his concern.
“YOU NEARLY DIED. IF YOU HAD DIED–” His voice faltered, the words catching in his throat as he stood up again, turning away to hide the tears that threatened to spill. “I–I would’ve been devastated.”
Slowly, Nancy rose from her bed, her movements deliberate as she approached him. She wrapped her arms around Ian, and he felt the warmth of her presence seep into his frigid despair. Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, “Love, I’m not going anywhere.”
Ian turned his head, meeting her gaze, the weight of their shared fears hanging in the air. “I’ll rest, I promise,” she added softly.
At that moment, Ian couldn’t contain himself any longer. The dam broke, and he began to cry, the relief of her words washing over him. “Thank you, Nancy..” he murmured, feeling the fragile thread of hope begin to weave itself back into his heart.

Ian and Cohen stepped into the living room, the atmosphere thick with tension. Just then, Andrew burst through the doorway from the other side, his face etched with worry. He skidded to a halt in front of Cohen and Ian, breathless and anxious.
“IS SHE OKAY?!” Andrew blurted out, panic evident in his voice.
“She’s fine,” Ian replied, trying to keep his tone steady.
“Wh- what even happened?” Andrew pressed, his eyes wide with fear.
“She was shot.” The words hung heavily in the air, and Andrew’s expression shifted to one of shock and deep concern.
“WA- WAIT.. R- REALLY?!” Andrew stammered, disbelief washing over him.
Ian sighed, fatigue seeping into his voice. “Listen, I’m too tired to answer questions right now, Andrew Lilac.”
Andrew’s eyes widened in surprise at the use of his full name, a sign of Ian’s growing frustration. “Questions that are very stupid, in fact,” Ian added, his irritation bubbling to the surface.
Cohen, standing beside Ian, looked taken aback by the harshness of his friend’s words.
“Soo, I’ll be going,” Ian concluded, brushing past Andrew as he exited the living room.
Andrew turned, hurt flashing across his face, but Ian didn’t look back.
Cohen’s expression turned blank, “he.. he didn’t mean it like that, Mr. Lilac,” watching as Andrew left the room without a word, the weight of the moment lingering in the air like a thick fog.