Deadline≫hemmings a.u

Epilogue

December 2016

I paced back and forth in my room, my limbs heavy with fatigue. My body was telling me to sleep, but my mind was wide awake. My eyes burned for sleep but they were restless, frequently glancing at my phone, which lay face up on the bed.

It had been three days. Three days.

Three days since Luke and I were eating lunch at a small cafe in Manhattan.

Three days since Luke's phone lit up and vibrated, rattling the plates on our table. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked down, seeing Michael's name and a rather embarrassing picture of him flash on the screen.

Three days since Michael called, out of breath and frantically asking for help.

Three days since Luke went after him, leaving me in New York.

Three days since I heard from him.

I was beyond worried.

I stopped pacing, folding my arms to stop my hands from shaking at my sides. I stared at my phone, waiting desperately for it to light up. Nothing.

I couldn't take it any longer, my nerves getting the best of me. I crawled over my bed to my phone, picking it up and unlocking it, immediately going to call Luke. I held the phone up to my ear, wincing when it rang twice before going to voicemail. I tried again, my chest heaving as it became harder to breathe.

"Come on, Luke, pick up," I begged, my voice hardly a whisper. "Pick up, pick up."

The call ended again in a voicemail and my throat tightened, my mind running through thousands of scenarios, none of them good. I was about to call again when I heard the front door rattle. I jumped at the sound and rushed out into the living room. I watched the door knob shake due to whoever was moving it on the other side.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved forward to answer it, wishing I had grabbed the gun by my bed.

The door burst open and I stumbled back in surprise. But nothing was more surprising than the sight I was greeted with, two boys - one with blonde hair, the other with blue - stumbling across the threshold, nearly crumpling to the floor.

"Luke! Michael!" I gasped, running to their side and stopping them from falling over. I looked up in horror at Luke, seeing the dark purple bruise that had bloomed across his cheekbone and the dried blood that crusted at his lip. Blood stained the front of his shirt and I felt my body go cold. "Oh my god, Luke..."

Luke looked down at himself and shook his head. "It's not - it's not mine," he shook his head, breathless. His eyes latched onto Michael, who was leaning into me, his legs going slack as a groan tumbled from his lips. "Michael..."

"What's wrong with him?" I cried, wrapping my arms around Michael's torso to keep him from collapsing. I looked over at the couch in the living room. "Over there. Let's get him over there."

Luke helped my carry him to the couch, laying him down gently. Michael's face was illuminated by the moonlight, paler than I had ever seen it. The bruises and scratches stood out like bright neon signs and I felt the ground lurch beneath my feet. I sat down on the closest thing next to me, which happened to be the coffee table. I looked up at Luke as he bent over Michael, his hand hovering over his mouth and nose before he pressed his fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. His shoulders relaxed in relief as he found it.

But I was not so easily soothed. I couldn't tear my eyes away from Luke's shirt. So much blood... It had been months, nearly half a year since I had seen anything like this, and in this past week, it felt as if I had been involuntarily plunged into this world again.