Within These Walls

Chapter 24

Carson is washing his face at a sink. The glass in the mirrors are gone. Marcus and his buddies smashed and stored them in the white room in case more teens went crazy and decided to make new weapons. It's a funny feeling looking around and seeing rows of nothing.

Carson straightens up when he sees us and wipes water and what I suspect are tears from his eyes. "I'd rather be alone right now," he says.

Marcus strolls over to him. His next move is so quick I don't react until he grabs Carson by the front of his collar and slams him into a wall.

"Marcus!" I rush over to their side, but the warning look he shoots me stops my protests. His temper is in check, but how could attacking Carson possibly help?

"What's your problem?" Carson demands, his voice trembling.

"Let me ask you something, Hillbilly. Has your mother ever told you she loves you?"

"What?"

"Answer the question."

Carson's eyes fly to my face before returning to Marcus's. He looks as perplexed as I feel. "I guess. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Did she or your father ever hurt you?"

"No." He considers the question. "My pops spanked me a couple times as a kid, after I'd get in trouble. He never abused me if that's what you're getting at."

The dark look on Marcus's face makes me nervous. Anger is not a good emotion where he's concerned. It makes him get violent and these days, the last thing we want is a violent Marcus.

His even tone doesn't change. "You spend all of your life with two people who care enough to love you and protect you, and then you find out they kept a little thing from you and—what, everything they've ever done for you doesn't matter anymore?"

"It's not a little thing. They lied about being my folks. You wouldn't understand what it's like to wake up one day and find out your whole life is based on a lie."

Marcus lets him go. "Yeah, I wouldn't understand. I've never had parents, real or not, so I'm no expert on families. But I know an ungrateful prick when I see one. Your parents are probably killing themselves with worry right now and here you are crying in the bathroom like they've let you down somehow."

"You don't know anything about me," Carson says, his face turning red.

Marcus leans in close to him and jabs a finger against his chest. "I know your type. You've got this softness about you that I've only seen in people who've had a good life. They gave you that, you understand? They protected you. Loved you. Maybe a little too much, if you ask me. Their only crime was raising you as their own."

"But I—"

"If you want, you go right ahead and be a brat about it. Ignore everything that's happening around you. Make this about you. But if you want to be a man, get your shit together. You lucked out with a good family. But this place—this is the real world. Mommy and Daddy aren't here to wipe your tears and tell you everything's going to be okay. They're not here to make decisions for you either. You get to decide. You can choose to let yourself be a victim, or you can stand up straight and show everyone there's a tough kid somewhere in there."

Silence. I expect Carson to be angry at Marcus or hurt that I brought this on him, but the way he avoids Marcus's gaze hints only at shame and guilt.

"Let's go," Marcus says to me. "He's got some thinking to do."

I hesitate, my eyes on Carson, but he's still not looking at me. So I follow Marcus out. He's quiet as we walk back. He saw right through Carson and knew exactly where to hit him. After all the times Carson complained about being treated like a kid, he was caught acting like one. A dose of tough love might be exactly what he needs to get better.

But Carson isn't the only one Marcus knows how to get to. Maybe that's what scares me the most about him. Not his super-strength or his super-hot temper, but the way he wedges pieces of himself deep inside me, whether I want him to or not.

"Thanks," I say.

"Killing kids isn't all I do, you know. I try to save them, too, occasionally."

I notice his distinction between trying and succeeding. I don't think he's even aware he makes it, but it brings up one question. "Did you try to save Frankie?"

Marcus doesn't answer.

I sigh. "I told you my biggest secret. It's only fair that you do the same."

"Alright. If it'll get you to stop bugging me about it." He comes to a stop and rubs his jaw in an unconscious, almost uneasy, gesture. "Frankie and I were sent to live with Raymond when we were about six. He lasted a lot longer with him than I did. I ended up in a group home when I broke Raymond's nose in fifth grade. Anger issues, they called it."

No surprise there.

"Frankie and I were still tight through junior high and high school. I got in a lot of fights. He spent most of his time reading science books and doing nerdy shit. Some guys gave him a hard time about it. Plus he had a club foot, so he walked kind of funny."

He swallows, jaw tense. "I tried to get him to stand up for himself, but he always said it wasn't worth it. He didn't fight back when he was shoved around in the school hallways. When they played catch with his backpack. He just acted like he was a ghost."

I'm struck by how much alike Frankie and I are. I was a ghost, too. It was easier that way, something a guy like Marcus could never understand.

"I got fed up with it one day, so I fought for him. I faced off against two of his worst bullies after school and beat the shit out of them." His smile is hard. "The high I got that day—there's nothing like it."

He pauses and I wait for him to continue, dreading the conclusion to his tale. "A couple of days later, those guys and their buddies put Frankie in the hospital."

My mouth drops open. "Why?"

"To get back at me. I never told Frankie what I did, so he didn't even know why they ganged up on him. He never had a chance to find out. He was in a coma for a couple of days before he died of a blood clot in the brain."

"Oh, no," I breathe. "Were the boys arrested?"

He shakes his head. "Their parents got the best lawyers in the state. Everyone knew what they'd done, but they still got away with it."

I don't like to see this tormented side of Marcus. "You're not to blame for any of it. I hope you know that."

"Yeah, right."

"If you'd had the chance to tell him what happened," I say, taking a step toward him, "I bet he would have understood. Maybe even thanked you."

His eyes soften slightly like some part of him wants to agree with me. Then they harden into obsidian with his anger. "This is why I don't like to talk about it. All this back-and-forth about whether he would've forgiven me—it's pointless. It doesn't change the past, does it?"

"No," I concede.

"Then why the hell are you asking me about it?" His hands curl into fists, and he sneers at me. "You get off on hearing about other people's problems?"

"You know that's not it."

He gives me one final glare and stalks off toward the cafeteria. I can't say I'm shocked by his behavior. Anger is his way of dealing with everything from boredom to pain. I bet he hasn't even allowed himself to mourn Frankie's death.

He's hurting more than I realized, but this knowledge is useless. Even if I knew what to say or do to help him navigate the murky depths of his emotions, there's no way that Marcus would ever allow himself to be vulnerable with anyone.