Inkling

7.8 Separation Anxiety

5:00 P.M.

There was a brief moment, as Max stared at the large man bearing down on him, when he realized they were completely and utterly fucked.

Boris had seized Max by the leg and was dragging him backwards without a concern about the rough ground against his skin. Max struggled and kicked at the larger man, his boot connecting with Boris' kneecap with a sickening crack. He screamed, giving Max's leg one last yank. Max rolled over, trying to get to his feet, but the blond man's cane came down hard on his face and Max hit the dirt again, his nose burned and ran with blood. Dazed and confused, Max dug the heels of his boots into the ground. The cane wielder was saying something but Max could not hear him over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

He gave Max a firm kick in the ribs to get his attention. What he got was a glare of daggers.

"Where. Is. The. Book." He spoke as if to a moronic child and Max resisted the urge to respond in kind.

"I don't know where your goddamned book is. I don't know what kind of book you are talking about." He sputtered, spitting blood onto the ground by the expensive shoes.

"I don't believe you!" He screamed, grabbing Max by the waistcoat and slamming him against the wall with such force a button popped off the waistcoat and hit the ground with a thud. "See, my name is Severus Daly and I am older than all of you and your pathetic little friends combined tenfold. I do not believe you."

"Chingate." Max snarled, and spit a thick glob of bloody saliva right into Daly's left eye.

"If you wish to be crude, so shall we." Daly shoved Max into the grasp of another large henchman and strode over to Lincoln. Max felt his heart skip a beat. He became suddenly aware of Lincoln's voice, yelling at Daly to let Max be. Screaming that they knew nothing. He had been struggling to free himself from the magical hold if his captor, he had been trying to get to Max. But now Daly's attention was on him and Max felt his blood run cold. It was his turn now, to scream and kick and wiggle in vain, but all he could do was watch in horror. In fear. "Bring me the book. Or he will die in the dark and the cold, alone."

Daly did not move to hurt Lincoln, he simply grasped him by the collar and pulled him away from Max. Further and further and Max could feel his chest tighten, whether from fear or dark magic he was not sure. What he was sure of was, when they got to the warehouse door, when they stepped through it and Max remained where he was, he felt as though his chest had been ripped open. He crumpled onto the ground and the thug stepped over him with a scoff. He moved to where Boris still lay on the ground and dragged him to his feet. Together they left and with every one of their footsteps Max could feel Lincoln getting further away. Like barbed wire connected their souls, it was being slowly pulled from Max's chest. He tried to move forward, as he had the first time they had experienced this magic. But it was too much, he was too far away now.

For several minutes Max lay on that dusty warehouse floor and he waited to die. But death did not come. Death stood above him and did nothing, it hovered on the edge of his existence and dared him to move.

"Oh Gertrude," he moaned into the dirt, trying to push himself up onto his forearms. "Hamlet hath not cleft your heart in twain, you know nothing of the sort."

He could not help but think that Lincoln would be proud, indeed, that Max had actually read Hamlet.