The Sunshine in My Veins (Peterick) ➳ Book 1

Eight

Boom!

Small explosions had been going off randomly throughout the day, having done so for the past week. Neither Pete nor Patrick could tell where they were coming from.

"I wonder what they're trying to blow out," Pete said after an unproductive night of sleep.

Patrick shrugged in response and returned to staring out the window.

Pete sighed. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

Taking one last look out the window, Patrick fully turned his attention to Pete. "I don't know. Maybe green. What about you?"

"Red. What did you want to be when you grew up?"

"Dead."

That single word had the power to freeze Pete in his place. He'd been expecting something interesting. Something unique like Patrick. Never did he expect for that word to be among his choices. "Why?"

Patrick was silent for a moment. His ears were free of the static that taunted his life. He debated on whether or not to tell Pete.

"Patrick?"

"I've never been normal," he began, choosing his words carefully. "When I was little I was in an accident. According to my parents it was pretty bad. I was in the ICU for weeks. They never really told me what happened—I still don't know—but when I finally went home I knew something was wrong.

"No one ever believed me. My parents took me to specialists and it was always the same. "You're fine," they'd say. "Take it easy. You went through a traumatic event. No one's the same after that." That was true, but I didn't feel comfortable in my own skin."

"So you wanted to kill yourself because of this?"

"No." Patrick shook his head. "The voice makes me want to."

"What voice?"

"Everybody asks that. They try to get into my head, but there's no room."

The static was slowly making its presence known. Patrick knew it was too good to last. He dreaded the day when that screeching ring would come back. More pain, more tests.

"They were trying to help," Pete reasoned.

"No one can."

It was then that Pete saw Patrick in a different light. Patrick wasn't just that kid Joe was looking for. He wasn't that guy who knew how to hot-wire a car. He wasn't the boy Pete saw him to be. No, Patrick was a strong man who was going through a hell that went deeper than an alien invasion.

"Let me try."

Patrick didn't even hesitate. "Okay."

Pain exploded behind Patrick's eyes as the ringing echoed in his ears. He immediately hunched over, his breathing ridged and uneven.

"Patrick?"

"Whatever you see, don't believe it," Patrick groaned. "It's not real."

"Huh?"

"Come play with me, Patrick."

Pete's head snapped towards the two voices. His jaw dropped at the sight. Two boys, identical down to the last hair, stood in front of the door. What startled him the most was that he knew those boys.

"Bronx?"

Neither boy seemed to notice Pete's presence and opted to torment Patrick with taunting words.

"I said I wouldn't," Patrick hissed. "No." It was as if he was arguing with himself.

Pete didn't know what to do. How was Bronx here? What was Patrick rambling on about? Was this what Patrick mean about a voice in his head?

The only coherent thought in Patrick's mind was protecting Pete. He had lost so many people over the years; he was not letting Pete join the list.

"Pete," he gasped. "Get out of here. Please."

Pete looked torn.

"He's . . . he's not real."

The voice roaring in Patrick's ears seemed to take this as a sufficient enough answer for the question presented. The two images of Bronx were gone in a flash of gold, and Patrick visibly collapsed to the ground, the voice silencing itself for now.

"What the hell was that?" Pete asked as he helped Patrick to his feet.

"I don't know."

"Is this why you came back the other day flat out exhausted?"

Patrick nodded slowly.

"Come sit," Pete instructed and guided Patrick towards a chair. The younger man collapsed into it thankfully.

"You should just leave me," Patrick muttered.

"What? No. I may hate you, but I'm not leaving."

Though hate was a strong word for the emotion Pete was feeling, he didn't have a better word to describe it. It certainly wasn't love.

Patrick flinched at the word. "I'm sorry about Bronx. And Megan. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt . . . killed. I don't know what they want. I wish I did."

There was nothing to say. Pete didn't forgive Patrick, not by a long shot, but he didn't all together blame Patrick. Those f.ucking Killjoys and their leader were at fault. They shot his son.

"Here's what we're going to do. The only way we're getting any kind of information is to break into one of the bases. So that's what's going to happen."

"But, Pete—"

"Don't you start. You want out of this, well, so do I. The fate of humanity rests in our hands."

Both men froze as a pair of footsteps hit the landing. The deliberate steps echoed through the silence. Thump . . . thump . . . thump.

Pete thrusters the silver thermo-deflector into Patrick's hands and pointed towards the half-open hallway closer. Patrick attempted to return the device, but a stunner gun was aimed at his head.

"Go," Pete whispered.

Patrick obeyed. Tucked safely inside he couldn't see what was happening. He could only hear. And for some reason that made everything one hundred times worse.

Pete's hands shook as he stood his ground, gun now trained on the door in front of him. Doors began banging open one by one. There were only so many doors; six to be exact.

Pete counted the doors in his head; six, five, four, thee, two, one. And there was the intruder, weapon of choice at the ready. Pete's finger was squeezing on the trigger when the person dropped to the ground. "Don't!"

A blast of blue rocketed through the hallway and into the room directly across from them. Pete could faintly see the blackening hole in the wall.

"Name," Pete demanded.

The man rose to his feet. "Gabe," he muttered.

It was when Gabe advanced into the room with his hand extended did Pete notice the dark yellow irises.

"What are you?"

"Human. Or well. . . . What's left of my humanity, I should say. But for all purposes I'm human."

"Patrick? Come here."

The tiny man stumbled behind Pete and peered over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"What's wrong with his eyes?"

In detail, Gabe's eyes were a dull, radioactive yellow with a combination of electric green. It was apparent they were irritated by how often Gabe blinked and how visible the veins were. One had had even burst.

Patrick stepped towards Gabe. "What did they do to you?"