Seeking Souls

:// Chapter 35 //:

Guilt is the worst emotion. Guilt is suffocating-pushing down upon his chest until it was nearly impossible to breathe. He'd like to imagine it as a grinning gremlin of sludge, always smiling that toothy grin as it perched over whatever was left of what was quickly crumbling...

"Hey, kid." A voice from the outside, but not one he recognized. It was probably another police officer considering the current situation that he was in.

The gremlin pushed harder, with it's long fingernails digging into his skin. He lost control again today, he couldn't help it. One of his friends was messing him. He told him to stop-that these new pills made him feel funny, but he didn't listen. Now there were a chorus of screeching colorful lights of police cars and ambulances outside the school and it was all his fault-

"Warren." A firm hand on his shoulder pulled the poor teenager out of his scattered funk. He peered at the stranger before him; he had choppy dark hair like wet bark that framed two pastel green eyes. He had a faint shadow of a beard growing in, a crooked nose above that, and two almost insignificant moles next to his left eye.

Warren could tell from the sheer amount of alcohol fuming off of this guy that he wasn't a cop, or from the school, which made him immediately wary. "How do you know my name?" He swallowed any hints of fearful thoughts; that was probably one of the only emotions on the same field as guilt because it was nearly impossible to control.

"I'm a friend of the family." The stranger claimed. "Your uncle called me when he heard about all the trouble you've been in lately." He peered about the various shattered display cases from Warren's most 'recent' breakdown. Though despite the observation, the stranger seemed indifferent. As if this level of damage was nothing impressive.

"Uncle Alexander?" Warren guessed. That was his mom's brother, but he's never actually met the guy before. He's only heard stories or received cards during the holidays. Besides his name, Warren knows that Alexander supposedly lives up in Oregon somewhere, but that was the limit of his information on the guy.

"The one and only." The stranger slumped beside Warren as they stared at the mess he had made. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out what seemed to be a small leather flask of some kind. He took a deep swig before offering it to Warren, who tastefully declined; he could already smell the gin.

"Why does he care about what I'm doing?" Warren asked with a rather snotty attitude.

"Because you have the blood." The stranger stated before a police officer wandered closer to them with files in hand. After breaking so many rules, Warren recognized them to be his files.

"Alright, we're taking you down to the station-" The officer stopped as he stared at the stranger sitting next to Warren. He seemed scared, with rigid shoulders and sweaty palms.

"D-Donny, what're you doing here?" The officer asked, but the question only seemed to aggravate 'Donny'.

The stranger pulled himself, and Warren with a fistful of his jacket collar, up off the ground. And with the tip of an imaginary hat, Donny dismissed the officer in question. In other words, he said: "F@#% off, Randy."

Warren was roughly led away from the front doors and out the back. There, a beat-up 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback in the color autumn brown sat waiting. Donny unlocked the passenger door before shoving Warren towards it. "Get in."

Now, family friend or not he wasn't stupid enough to jump in a stranger's car. So as soon as he turned his head Warren made the move to run, but the stranger was faster than him. He shoved the poor boy back into the door, but this time he pressed the barrel of a pistol to his skull.