The Six

Part 7

Logan

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” I yelled to the one guy.

                “Look, you know too much to let you slide, I need to bring you in to the Council,” He replied calmly, getting what looked like a phone out and rapidly started typing. “Who’re your orga- guardians, parents, or whatever?” He asked.

                “I’m an orphan, and what do you mean by Council?” I said.

                For some reason, he smiled. Just slightly though, but it was a smile. He smiled when I said orphan. “You’ll find out soon enough, what’s your name?”

                 “Logan Mackenzie,” I explained. The one guy’s face fell, his phone fell out of his hand as he looked up and he just stared at me. He looked away, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to say something, but then shook his head and looked back at me, studying my face quickly. He groaned and ran his hand through his hair like I just told him I was a serial killer. I heard him mumble something but not to me. He just avoided looking at me, but would then glance over and look away like he was looking at something secret.

                “Haven’t heard that name in a long time,” he muttered. “I have some explaining to do.”

                “Explaining? About what?” I laughed sarcastically, yet his face remained solemn. He closed his eyes some more. He sucked in a long breath of air and looked me in the eye with a tired look in his own.

“Do you remember, in seventh grade, that park shooting?”

                “Yeah, three kids, killed, knew all of them, one was…” I felt a thousand different emotions wash over me as I stared at his face. It was so familiar, too familiar.

                “Nobody was killed,” he said. “It was a way for the Council to remove us from the public.” He paused, he looked nervous. “You know me Logan”

                “What?” I asked, confused. I looked at him. Just looked at him and studied him. He had blackish brown hair and blue eyes. He was tall, athletic looking, and had tan skin. He had many pale scars that ran in threes. There were a couple on his face and a ton (along with bite mark scars) on his arms. I took a long look at his face. My jaw dropped and my mind just went blank with shock. No. No it wasn’t real. Anger and pain and grief and elation and hope and more pain rushed through my veins, making me tremble in emotional agony. “JUSTIN IS DEAD!” I screamed at him. I wanted to- I don’t know what I wanted to do. He wasn’t Justin- he couldn’t be. I wanted to break his nose. This was a sick joke. A sick twisted joke. A joke. It wasn’t real.

                “No,” he told me quietly, eyes softening.

                “This… this isn’t possible!”  I said, almost laughing. I began pacing. “If you were alive, I’d know! You are my brother!” We were. Not by blood of course. Even if we were we wouldn’t know. We were brothers because best friends wasn’t close enough.

                “You MUST believe me,” he told me slowly.

                “You are lying!” I yelled, pointing a finger at him. “I heard the gun! I watched them carry the body away!”

                “In what?” He asked, brows furrowing like he was frustrated. Why would he be frustrated? It’s not like some freak was acting like his dead friend.

                “A body ba-”

                “Did you ever see the body?” He asked quickly, talking over me as he stepped closer.