Chapter 4
Ian sat in his room, deep into his game, the world around him nonexistent as his fingers tapped furiously on the controller.
The flashing lights and gunfire sounds filled his senses, drowning out everything.
He didn't even notice the door creak open.
His father entered silently, walking up to the console and pulling the plug. The screen went black.
Ian froze, confusion turning into frustration.
He ripped off his headphones, spinning around in his chair. "What the hell, Dad?"
His father stood there, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
"Where's Shawn your brother? He's not home, and it's past ten."
Ian rolled his eyes, pushing his chair back. "Why's that my problem?
And he's not my brother. Stop calling him that. And I don't care where he is."
His father's jaw tightened, and he took a step forward. "I've told you before, don't talk to me like that.
Shawn is your brother, whether you like it or not. You should care.
It's raining hard, and he's not back. Get up and go find him."
Ian felt his anger rise, clenching his fists. "You're blaming me for his stupidity?
He could've taken the ride you arranged for both of us, but he didn't. What's that got to do with me?"
"You know that this has to do with you," his father said, voice low. "You've been treating him like he's nothing.
And that's probably why he didn't go with you. I don't have a response to your disrespect right now, but you better hope nothing happens to him out there."
Ian's father moved toward the door, but Ian couldn't hold back.
"I don't care! I don't understand why you're making this about me. If he's lost, that's on him! I didn't ask to babysit your favorite."
His father didn't respond, just walked out, leaving Ian seething.
The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed only fueled his rage.
He grabbed his headphones and slammed them on the floor, the plastic cracking under his feet.
"I hate this place!" he yelled, kicking the shattered pieces. "Why is it always me? Why is it always about him?"
His chest heaved, hands shaking as he stood there, staring at the broken mess on the floor.
After a while, the frustration that burned inside Ian began to fade. As the silence of the room settled around him, a gnawing sense of unease crept in.
It wasn't so much that he cared what happened to Shawn—it was more the thought of what would happen if Shawn didn't show up soon.
The blame would undoubtedly fall on him. With a sigh, Ian yanked on his raincoat, grabbed an umbrella, and headed downstairs.
When he reached the living room, the sight of Shawn's mother pacing frantically caught his eye.
She had her phone pressed to her ear, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain pounding against the window.
She didn't even notice him pass, and Ian had no intention of acknowledging her either. His father was nowhere to be seen, which, to Ian, was a small blessing.
The last thing he needed was another lecture.
He stepped out into the rain, the chill biting through his clothes instantly. The streets were dark, the only light coming from the occasional flickering streetlamp.
Ian glanced up and down the road. No cabs. Great. He stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to just head back inside, but that knot of dread twisted tighter in his stomach.
He groaned, turned back to the house, and went to the garage.
His bike was covered in dust, the tires half-deflated from months of disuse. He hadn't ridden it in ages, but there wasn't much choice now.
After some fumbling, he got the engine sputtering to life. The sound echoed in the garage, and the vibrations buzzed through his hands as he rode toward the gate.
The gatekeeper, huddled under his umbrella, quickly opened it without a word, and Ian sped out into the night.
The rain lashed against his helmet, and even with the visor, his visibility was limited.
The streets blurred past him as he raced toward the school, his heart thudding steadily. When he arrived, the gate was shut tight, locked up for the night.
Ian stared at it, his breath fogging up the visor as frustration bubbled back up to the surface.
He scanned the area, checking the nearby alleys and sidewalks, but nothing. No sign of Shawn.
Grinding his teeth, he restarted the bike and turned toward the bus stop.
His hands were cold, fingers stiff around the handlebars as he pushed the engine harder.
As he neared the bus stop, the faint silhouette of someone sitting on the rain-slick bench caught his attention.
Ian slowed, eyes narrowing.
"Shawn?" he called out, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the rain.
The figure didn't respond, but Ian had already recognized the slumped posture.
He parked the bike, tossing down the kickstand, and walked over, the rain soaking through his clothes.
As he got closer, it was unmistakable. Shawn sat there, drenched, hugging his knees, his head bowed.
Ian stood in front of him for a moment, rain dripping from his helmet onto his soaked shoes.
He let out a long, frustrated breath, feeling the cold seeping into his bones. "What the hell are you doing here, Shawn?"
But Shawn did not respond he just sat hunched on the bench, rain dripping from his soaked hoodie, his face mostly hidden.
Ian stepped closer, frustrated by the silence. "Shawn, get up. Stop acting like this."
Still nothing.
Ian took another step toward him. That's when Shawn flinched, shifting slightly away, as if trying to keep distance between them. It caught Ian off guard.
He stood still, watching as Shawn finally looked up—his face pale, his eyes puffy and red from crying.
His lips trembled, and he sniffled hard, trying to hold it together.
Ian clenched his fists, biting back the urge to snap. "Shawn, I'm serious, let's go. It's freezing out here."
Shawn stayed silent, his body trembling. Ian could see him sucking in sharp breaths, trying to hold back tears, but the way he kept avoiding eye contact made it clear something was off.
Shawn's hands were shaking, gripping the edge of the bench, his knuckles white.
Ian took another step, but Shawn recoiled slightly, like he was afraid Ian might lash out. Ian hesitated, confused.
He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping in.
"Shawn?" he called again, quieter this time.
Shawn didn't move, just sat there, rain pouring down around them, eyes glued to the ground. Ian let out a long breath, shaking his head. "You're being ridiculous," he muttered, turning to walk away.
But something made him stop. He glanced back at Shawn one more time—and that's when he saw it. His hands. There were dark streaks smeared across them.
Blood.
Ian's chest tightened, his stomach knotting up. "Shawn... what did you do?"