Note: [This chapter is irrelevant to the story. You may choose to skip it and move onto the next chapter, if there is.]
[WARNING: This chapter depicts violence and contains gruesome scenes that may cause discomfort to the readers. Proceed with caution.]
P.s. [It's really bloody, and this is the last part of this extra chapter.]
***
"I can let you stay at my place." It was the blunt offer of the stranger.
The youngster's ears instantly perked up. Marco somehow regretted his rudeness earlier.
"That's fantastic! Tapadh leibh!" the young man quickly exclaimed, in fear that the stranger might change their mind.
The old man had a shit-eating grin on behind his mustache. He went towards Marco and patted the youngster on the shoulder with his heavy hand. Marco winced, either from the vicious pat or the old man's grin, he didn't know.
Marco was slightly, but harshly, shoved away from the car. The stranger opened the dust-covered door, and that caught the attention of the sulking youngster.
His face instantly distorted when a foul smell lingered on his senses.
'It reeks like hell,' Marco grimaced and then puffed his cheeks to prevent from inhaling the stench.
It was as if been ages since it has been used.
"Hop in," the old man said, gesturing for him to enter. Marco backed away and gave him a wry smile.
"I have my motorbike." Marco pointed at his bike.
The stranger shrugged and hopped on his car, not caring about the dirt and bags of dust.
Marco hastily ran towards the convenience store and fetched his bag. He felt a piercing stare at him as he was throwing the cursed food in the bin. The young lad turned his head and saw the cashier looking at him. He raised his hand and saluted at the grim man on the counter before running out and starting his motorbike to follow with the old man's car.
After a few minutes, the car finally pulled over in front of a two-story building that's partly covered with vines and has a few cracks on the wall. Marco let the engine of his bike die and walked towards the old man while twirling his keys.
The stranger opened the door, and what greeted them was the fleeting darkness enveloping the room. Marco craned his neck and searched for any light source but found none.
They entered the darkroom, but Marco remained by the door.
Marco breathes in the chilly air, and even before it could reach his lungs, he immediately coughed a few times.
'The air has a strong smell that's like that of a rusty iron.'
The heavy footsteps of the old man roaming the room filled his ears. A few seconds and he was startled by a sudden clatter of metal falling on the floor.
"Oh," the old man nonchalantly said. "Do you mind helping me here, boy?"
"A-ah. No." Marco cautiously stepped in the dark, trailing the old man's voice.
"A young man like you really has a big and healthy heart."
Marco let out a breathy chuckle. He didn't know, but the uneasiness creeps in his skin along with the cold breeze from the door.
"That's great! You suit just right for my daughter." There was a glee on the old man's rough voice.
"Eh?" Marco absentmindedly raised an eyebrow. He faked a cough and blabbered, "Uh, I don't think that's that, mister. I don't even know your daughter."
Marco roamed his eyes around, but all he could see was a void of darkness. Well, other than the faint light from the door and the small window from across the room. Dense dark clouds were covering the night sky. The moonlight could only provide its shading light.
'I couldn't see a shit.'
"Oh, don't worry. You don't have to," the stranger answered, his voice getting nearer towards Marco's earshot.
The youngster halted on his pace when he stepped on some lump on the floor. He moved his feet back and squinted his eyes down, but it was unhelpful. He couldn't see it, so he ducked, trying to pick it up.
Just as Marco was about to reach his hand down, he heard something getting dragged on the floor. He stills as goosebumps rush on his skin.
"Your big fat healthy heart would help me resurrect her."
Marco was petrified. His heartbeat quickens, supporting his damaged mentality.
That was it. That was the signal to run for his life, overturn the situation and try to survive. It was the indication that he needed to wake up from his dazed and dummy state.
'Don't fucking talk to strangers!'
Marco's fight or flight senses kicked in. He didn't hesitate and chose the latter, rushing out the door while holding his breath, gripping his keys tight, etching on his palm.
His hands were trembling uncontrollably, and he couldn't insert the key on the keyhole. He was shaking all over, unable to stop the lingering fear and the creeping chill on his spine.
Marco was panicking. He didn't know what to do.
"Fuck!" Marco cursed when the key slipped from his hand and fell on the cemented ground with a clink.
The smell that he thought was coming from a rusting iron was actually the stench of dried blood.
Marco's brain could barely handle the information. His mind was in turmoil, and his stomach was churning. He wanted to vomit.
Everything was a mess.
"He's a night invader!"
He decided to risk it all as he abandoned his bike and let himself run where his feet took him.
"Do you want to play with us?"
Marco has never thought that hearing the voice of a child could send chills down his spine.
"No..." Marco managed to say in a small voice.
"Why are you running?"
"Don't you want to play with us?"
'Get lost and never come back!' Marco thought he heard his stepmother yell at him. That single line keeps echoing in his mind. It made him dizzy, more than he already was.
"Fuck!" he cursed while brushing his hair with force using his hand, hoping to get rid of his splitting headache. Marco's other hand was still holding on to his bleeding shoulder.
'I think you won again.'
Marco ended up in a dark and narrow alley. Unlike the stench of blood from before, this place stinks with damp garbage and rotting rats. There were incomprehensible vandalisms on the walls. Marco doesn't really care about the trash scattered on the path, but he couldn't handle the disgusting smell. He covered his nose and mouth with his functioning hand.
The young man treaded the darkness, limping with his injuries. Not long after, he heard the faint drops of water from somewhere. It was immediately followed by low groans and wails of a person.
"I didn't do anything! It wasn't me…"
"Don't lock me up! Please! Don't lock me up… I'll do everything you say. Anything…"
"Please let me out… I can't breathe…"
There was silence after that.
"You bastards! How dare you use me!?
It was agonizing. Those pleas clenched Marco's heart as if it would stop beating.
The cries pierced him, sending him on the storm of wrenching emotions. It felt like he was thrown on a crashing sea, submerging in the cold water, sinking deeper and deeper, slowly drowning.
"Marcus..."
Marco was mortified.
In front of him was a lady with the same raven-colored hair as him. Her gray eyes were lifeless, but there's a tugging smile on her delicate face.
He cowered at the haunting sight before him, way more than what he felt upon seeing the creatures he had stumbled.
"Marcus... Why did you let me die?"
Marco wondered what was worse between him, being chased by psychopaths trying to kill him and experiencing gruesome scenarios now, or seeing his mother die before him. The latter would always be the worst.
'Run. Keep running, Marcus!'
He willed his jelly legs to move away from this nightmare.
'You've always been good at running away, so don't stop running!'
Marco run, run, and run. He didn't know where his leg took him. Everything was a blur in his vision. He couldn't properly see anything.
Marco stopped in his tracks. In front of him was the entrance of the forest, the sanctuary where he was at dusk.
He didn't turn back and entered it. Something was calling him there.
Marco felt excruciating on his abdomen.
Marco was terrified beyond belief as he glanced down his stomach only to see a sharp blade resting through it.
He hesitantly gripped it. The blade felt freezing cold on his grasp, but the blood covering and dripping from it was undesirably warm.
"This is impossible. It can't be. Why? I… I can't die here. I can't," Marco muttered with difficulty, dark red sticky fluid splattered from his mouth.
It's out of his character, but he said it, remembering that one film he watched with Megan one evening. That was the line of the pathetic antagonist when the protagonist slashed him with a magical sword.
'Damn theatrics.' He bitterly laughed at the thought. More blood dripped from his lips.
Marco's legs finally gave up. He fell on his knees, and he stayed there for a moment before forcing himself to stand back up.
His legs could hold on, so he lost his balance, falling backward. Marco severely fell on his back. Blood and saliva splattered out of his mouth with the impact.
He lay on the cold ground, unmoving. He knew he could get up anymore, so he just stayed there. His half-lidded eyes were looking up, staring right back at him was the grinning face of the blond old man.
Marco knew he was done for, so he just smirked through his bloodied lips. The old man's grin grew wide, but he didn't do anything. He just stayed there, watching him for a moment before going out of the youngster's view.
The fallen lad didn't mind him either. He watched the gloomy clouds floating lazily on the night sky. The crimson moonlight's hue was seeping through the clouds.
Another line lingered through Marco's whirling mind. It was what he always heard from his father, whispering when his drunk, drinking alone at the kitchen island at midnight.
'Where did everything go wrong?'
The young man knew that everything within his interaction with the old man was going all too well. He knew for a fact that there was something wrong, something odd happening, right from the very start.
Everything from the sanctuary, meeting the lady dressed in white, entering the strange town called Arcadia, the man clad in black, the ancient-looking book. He knew that there was something wrong, but he didn't evade it.
Marco has been curious about death and the afterlife. He sought adventure, even betting his life was something he would do. He didn't care much for it, so there was nothing to lose.
But now, facing a possible taker of his life, he cowered in fear of losing it. For the first time, he was terrified to face death.
'Am I really going to die?'
'No shit.' He was denying the truth that he knew awaited him.
He laid there listless, just roaming his eyes on the skyline because they were the parts that isn't painful. Just as Marco blinked, a man clad in a black fluttering robe, holding an ancient book in his pale hand, was added to the sight.
"Marcus C… Ai…ey Harrison."
Marco's ears were ringing, so he couldn't hear it properly, but he knew that the black-clad man was saying his name.
'Huh. So even the Grim reaper part-times as a cashier in a convenience store.'
He hardly chuckled at his thought, blood trailing down from his lips.
"Date of birth: September 23, 2013," the man clad in black read from the book he was holding.
He wiped his lips with his pale, trembling hand.
'Is this really where my life ends?'
He lay on the cold, bloodied ground with blood gushing out from all his wounds.
"Oh," the reaper mused, but his tone was still chilly and monotonous. He gazed at the man lying in the pool of blood on the cold, hard ground with numerous wounds and broken bones on his body. He smirked, pleased with what was presented before his sight.
Marco's consciousness was drifting away.
His unheard pleas went with the cold wind, echoing in the silence of the night with no one to hear but the souls of the dead.
Marco has always been seeking death. However, now that he was finally nearing it, he was begging for life. He was grasping the thin thread of hope to live, for the survival of being alive.
'Stay alive…'
He hardly let out a huff. His mouth splattered blood right after.
'Staying alive is hard.'
Marco heaved a breath sharply; he ended up in a bloody coughing fit. 'Huh. Even breathing is harder than ever.'
The young lad didn't bother wiping the blood on his lips. Marco knew he couldn't even if he wanted to. He couldn't lift his limbs anymore, and he couldn't feel anything except for the aching pain on his abdomen, everything else was numb.
'How pathetic.'
He stared at the starry night sky while still lying on the cold, rough rock under the damp pool of his blood with his broken arms sprawled wide. Marco closed his eyes to abscond this astonishingly hellish day.
'The story of my life starts and ends today. I've lived, and now I'm finally facing death.'
"Time of death: eleven minutes past eleven o'clock in the evening, September 23, 2032."
***
Mourn for the dead, pray for the living.