Dark Rising

I need you...

Mark stared down at his hands in disgust. There was blood under his nails, stuck in each line in his palm, soaked through. He could scrub it away... he should. He felt too heavy to stand, weighted by the reality of what he had done.

He had never killed anyone before. Oddly, it wasn't the blood or the body that bothered him. No, it was the rush of blood in his veins, the euphoria, the adrenalin so intense his hands were shaking. Or maybe they shook of fear, anxiety, dread. He didn't want to like this. He shouldn't like it.

His trembling fingers took hold of the phone in his pocket, and with little thought he picked out a contact and called. He slowly raised the phone to his ear, staring dazedly at the unmoving figure laying before him, the dial tone monotonous and hypnotizing. He waited, breathing slowly though his nose, confused by how calm he felt. This couldn't be normal.

"Mark?" Came a sleep-rough voice. He sighed at the sound of his friend's sleepy reply.

"Hey, Jack..." He said. His voice trembled, escaping his lips raw and tense. He exhaled sharply, realizing how not-calm he really was. "I um... I..."

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Jack asked, clearly panicked. Mark could hear the ruffling of blankets and sheets as Jack sat up.

"I didn't mean to wake you-"

"That doesn't matter, Mark. Are you okay or not?"

Mark couldn't tear his eyes away from the pool of blood slowly soaking through the knees of his jeans. How would he get rid of the stains? What would he do about the body? What would he do about himself? Jack called out his name, pulling him back to the conversation. "Honestly... No. I don't think I am okay."

"What happened?" Jack sounded wary, now, and Mark worried that he knew. His heart was beating too fast, but he felt far away, almost as if he was hovering a few feet above himself. This couldn't be his doing... Come to think of it, he didn't remember doing it. One moment he was in bed, the next here, kneeling in blood. But the pleasure, the rush, he remembered feeling those. That wasn't something that you could fake.

"I... I just really need to have you here right now... I don't know what's going on."

"Okay, just... Gimme ten minutes, a'right?" Jack slurred sleepily. "Do ya' need me to stay on with you?"

Mark frowned, tempted to say yes. The sound of Jack's voice kept him grounded, but he didn't want to put his friend at risk making him drive and talk on the phone. "Just focus on driving," he muttered. He could hear the lack of emotion in his own voice, sending chills up his spine. "I'll be okay."

It felt like only a matter of seconds before there was knock at the door. Mark's heart sank below his feet as he stood on unstable legs, slowly making his way to the door. He took a deep breath, prepared to turn himself over to what ever uniformed authority happened to be on the other side of that door. He gripped the knob with sticky fingers, cringing at the pull of drying blood at his skin, and slowly pulled the door open to face the person on the other side. He didn't expect to see Jack standing there, staring at him with wide blue eyes and a worried frown.

"A-are you bleeding?" He asked, reaching out with one hand, halting half way as he noticed the scene behind Mark. "What the fuck..." He breathed the words, shocked to silence. His gaze flickered from Mark to the bloody mess inside, and he took a step back. Mark slumped against the door. He should have expected a reaction like this.

"I don't know what happened, honestly."

"Yer' tellin' me you've got some kinda'... murder amnesia?" Jack asked, voice raised, brows drawn together. Mark shrugged, subdued in his movements. He wondered if this was what it was like to disassociate. He had only read about it before. It felt different than he expected.