The Wayward Brothers - 3. "Wounds To Woe"

(4 years earlier)

In its celestial majesty, the moon held dominion over the suburban neighborhood. It hung suspended, casting a spectral pallor over the landscape below. Its ethereal light filtered down, washing over the residential street, where white picket fences stood like sentinels, neatly trimmed lawns glistening with dew under its glow. Like slumbering giants, the houses were steeped in silence, their windows dark as the world slept. They basked under the soft incandescence of porch lights that flickered intermittently, dancing with the gentle whispers of the breeze. It was a night reminiscent of countless others, serene, unremarkable, pristine. Yet something sinister stirred within the confines of one particular house, behind curtains drawn against prying eyes.

Inside, the living room was bathed in a sullen glow. A solitary lamp struggled against the encroaching darkness, its flickering light casting ghostly shadows that cavorted upon the walls. The furniture was twisted by these shifting silhouettes into monstrous versions of themselves. The familiar turned grotesque. The welcoming warmth once radiated by this home was replaced with an unsettling chill, transforming it into a lair of impending doom. In this somber setting sat a couple, bound back-to-back by cruel ropes. Their wrists and ankles were ensnared tightly in the coarse fibers that bit mercilessly into their skin. The woman's sobs echoed mournfully in the quietude, her tear-streaked face a testament to her despair. Her eyes were reddened and swollen from hours of ceaseless crying.

"John," she murmured, her voice but a faint echo in the oppressive silence. "John...?"

Her husband sat behind her, body slumped against hers as if seeking solace. His head lolled listlessly to one side, a crimson rivulet of blood meandering from his temple, pooling near his lips that were bruised into silence. His face was an agonized tableau of swelling and contusions, reduced to an unresponsive mask of pain. His eyes, fluttering open at the sound of his wife's voice, lacked their usual spark. His lips moved in an attempt to form words, but his broken jaw and defeated spirit allowed only a muffled groan to escape.

The woman's sobs escalated into a crescendo of despair. "John...please," she implored, her voice shaking with fear and helplessness.

And then, like a venomous snake striking from the shadows, a voice sliced through her desperate pleas. It was low-toned, intensely smooth, yet laced with malevolence. "Stop crying."

The woman stiffened at the command, her breath hitching in her throat. The voice belonged to a figure ensconced on the couch, his physical form swallowed by the darkness. His presence was not something one could see but something one could feel, an oppressive, smothering dread that permeated the room, clinging to every corner like an insidious fog.

"You know why this is happening, don't you?" he continued, his tone eerily calm in contrast to the terror he inspired.

Terror-stricken, the woman shook her head, her sobs reduced to frightened gasps. Her bonds felt like constricting serpents as she attempted to shrink further into her chair with each passing second.

"Ask your husband," the man taunted from his shadowy perch, his voice laced with a cruel amusement that made her blood run cold. "Go on. Ask him."

"John..." she whispered again, turning as far as her bonds would allow.

But John's only response was a low, pained groan. His swollen face twitched as if each word she spoke was a physical blow, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Looks like the cat's got his tongue," the shadowy figure mocked with a chuckle that reverberated menacingly through the room. It was the sound of someone reveling in their power, savoring the fear they had sown.

Summoning her courage, the woman's quivering lips formed a question that filled her with dread. "Are Noah and Joshua safe?" Her voice was faint, a thin thread of hope in a tapestry of despair.

The man in the shadows shifted slightly, his silhouette moving forward but remaining cloaked in darkness. "They're safe," he replied, his tone icy and sharp. "No thanks to either of you. Especially not to that tongueless piece of shit behind you." His words were like daggers, slicing through her heart with each syllable.

Exhausted and terrified, she sagged against her bonds, her tears surging again. The man's voice deepened and hardened with unchecked fury.

"Stop sobbing," he commanded, his voice booming through the room like a thunderclap. "You don't get to cry, you fucking bitch."

She bit her lip to stifle her sobs, her body trembling with fear as she felt his presence growing more oppressive by the minute. His shadow seemed to creep across the floor like a living entity, a predator stalking its prey.

"What you did," he began, his tone slow and deliberate as if savoring each word, "is unforgivable."

He finally emerged from the shadows, his towering figure revealed under the flickering light of the lamp. Although the dimness obscured his features, his aura of menace filled every corner of the room.

"It was only a matter of time, really," he said, pacing slowly around the captive couple, "before you reaped what you've sown."

The woman sobbed again, her mind racing to decipher his cryptic words. She felt his cold breath on her skin as he circled them, her heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird.

The chilling sound of a shotgun being cocked shattered the tense silence. A metallic click echoed ominously.

"No, please..." she gasped, her plea cut short by her own terror.

The man didn't respond. He moved with a deadly calm, his footsteps soft but purposeful as he circled back to stand behind them. The woman's breath hitched in fear, every nerve in her body screaming in anticipation of the inevitable.

Then came the deafening blast of the shotgun. It tore through the stillness of the night like a thunderclap, its echo reverberating through the peaceful neighborhood. Windows rattled in their frames, and lights flickered on in nearby houses as residents jolted awake. The silence was no longer serene but rather the stillness of something monstrous, something final.

The house stood in the darkness, its façade of suburban tranquility shattered. It was now but a hollow shell, hiding within its walls an unspeakable horror that had unfolded under the watchful gaze of the moon.

*

(Present time)

The kitchen was silent, tranquility only disturbed by the refrigerator's unending whirr. This sound was a subtle reminder of life, an electrical heartbeat that echoed off the worn tiles and chipped Formica surfaces. This pervasive silence, thick and heavy as a storm cloud, hung over the room, stifling any attempt at casual conversation.

Shane found himself seated at the small, time-worn kitchen table. Each scuff and stain on its surface told a story, yet none seemed as crucial as the one unfolding in real-time. His fingers drummed nervously against the table's edge, echoing his unease in a staccato rhythm.

Across from him, Carmen, a reporter whose reputation for tenacity was well known, began establishing her presence. She pulled her phone from her purse with a deliberate slowness that spoke volumes about her confidence. The device was placed carefully on the table between them, a digital barrier of cold metal and glass that felt intrusive in its intent.

"I don't feel comfortable with this," Shane confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. There was a tightness to his words that signaled his discomfort. His gaze oscillated between the phone and Carmen, who seemed entirely unfazed by his apprehension.

Carmen responded with a practiced smile. "I won't publish anything without your consent, Shane," she assured him with a smoothness that hinted at many such conversations in her past. Her words were crisp and decisive, leaving no room for debate or negotiation.

Defeated, Shane sank back into his chair, the wooden back pressing against his spine in a cold echo of his cornered feelings. He was out of his depth in this situation. He knew it, and Carmen knew it, too. However, the lure of learning more about Noah's past, his shared history with Joshua, was too potent to resist. He'd ventured too far to turn back now. With a resigned sigh, he nodded, signaling his reluctant capitulation.

Carmen's partner, a silent man who had so far contributed nothing more than observational stares and scribbled notes, leaned back in his chair. His gaze was analytical, as if studying Shane's reactions under a microscope.

Without wasting any more time, Carmen leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with purpose. "Did you know Noah and Joshua's parents were brutally murdered?" she asked, the edges of her words sharp and unyielding as they shattered the stillness of the room.

Shane blinked in surprise, his throat constricting as the word "brutally" echoed around his mind like a sinister mantra. He nodded slowly in response, but his brow furrowed in confusion. "Yeah...I mean...I knew they had died," he admitted, although the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him. The truth was, he knew very little. Noah had been so vague about his past, so evasive. Shane had only managed to glean fragments of the true story, and it was becoming painfully clear just how much he didn't know.

Carmen's lips curled into a knowing smile. She exchanged a quick glance with her partner, a spark of satisfaction igniting in her eyes. Shane's ignorance was her opportunity, an opening for her to control the narrative.

"You're not getting the full picture, though, are you?" Carmen's voice softened, almost compassionate, although her intentions were anything but genuine. Shane felt a knot tighten in his chest, a byproduct of dread and curiosity. He was about to learn something that could potentially change everything.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, gripping the edges of his chair so tightly that his knuckles whitened. Carmen took a deep breath before leaning back in her chair. Her gaze never strayed from Shane's face as she unraveled the gruesome tale.

"Well, the official story is that a robber broke into their house," she began, her voice maintaining a calm front but carrying an underlying weight that made Shane's stomach churn with unease. "Their parents were found tied to chairs, gagged…shot dead in their own living room."

Shane's throat felt parched, his mouth dry as dust. But he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing the dread of what she might reveal next.

"The father, John Wayward, had his tongue cut out," Carmen continued, her tone chillingly matter-of-fact. "He was the first to go. His head had been completely blown off."

Shane's eyes widened in horror, his face paling as if drained of blood. It felt as though the very air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him gasping for breath. The sheer brutality of it was beyond comprehension. His mind flashed back to Noah, the quiet, distant Noah, who had carried such a heavy burden without ever revealing a word of this.

"And the mother?" Shane managed to whisper, although a part of him was already bracing for the inevitable horror.

"She was killed shortly after," Carmen responded, her eyes never leaving Shane's face. She seemed to be studying him, gauging his reactions like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. "She was found with her eyelids taped open. Her chair was facing her husband like she was forced to watch him die."

Shane recoiled, horror twisting in his gut like a gnarled root. His mind raced, images of the scene Carmen had painted flashing before his eyes with brutal clarity. He could hardly believe its savagery, the sheer inhumanity of it all. He sat there for a long moment, the weight of divulgence pressing down on him like a mountain. Then, with shaky determination, he asked the question, clawing at him since Carmen began her tale.

"What about Noah...and Joshua?"

Carmen's expression softened, her demeanor shifting ever so slightly. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper as if to shield Shane from the harsh truth.

"The police found them several blocks away," she explained, her words like a lifeline in the sea of shock threatening to drown Shane. "Joshua was cradling Noah's unconscious body when they were discovered. A neighbor had called 911, saying they heard gunshots in the house, but by the time they arrived, the boys were already gone."

Shane leaned back in his chair, his head spinning with the onslaught of information. The pieces were beginning to fall into place. Noah had been there. He'd lived through that nightmarish ordeal, and Shane couldn't begin to fathom the trauma that must've scarred him so deeply.

But then there was the question that had been gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, which terrified him more than anything else.

"Could… could any of them have done it?" Shane stammered, barely able to get the words out. His voice was hoarse with fear, his throat tight as if choking on his dread.

Carmen paused, her sharp exterior softening for the first time. Even she seemed unsettled by the question. Her hand hovered near the phone momentarily as if deciding how much to reveal.

"The police report suggested whoever did it needed to be incredibly strong," she said slowly, her voice grave. "The state of the bodies…the way they were tied…it required someone with immense physical power."

Shane's heart thudded loudly in his chest. "Joshua," he whispered, realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. His face drained of color as he pictured Joshua towering over his own parents, his hands covered in their blood.

"That's what we believe," Carmen said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. "Even though he was younger then, Joshua could've easily overpowered both."

Shane froze, the room closing in around him. His pulse pounded in his temples, a horrifying image of Joshua looming over his parents, refusing to leave his mind.

"That's why we need to find Noah," Carmen said, seizing the opportunity. "He's the key to all of this. You said yourself that he's probably being held against his will. If we find him, we'll get the answers. You'll get Noah back, and we'll finally put Joshua behind bars. For good."

Shane felt his defenses crumbling. His love for Noah and his desire to protect and understand him overwhelmed everything else. He couldn't bear the thought of Noah trapped, scared, with Joshua. He had to find him. He had to help him.

He nodded slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "If he gets a chance… he'll call me. I know he will."

Carmen smiled, her eyes gleaming with victory. "Good. Then we'll wait."

*

(Meanwhile, 220 miles away)

The car rumbled softly beneath them, a gentle vibration that echoed through the leather seats and into their bones as Noah guided it onto the deserted highway. The engine's drone was a soothing, rhythmic lullaby that filled the confined space of the vehicle, punctuating the heavy silence that had settled between them like an unwelcome guest. It was a silence born of exhaustion, a testament to the storm they had weathered together.

Stirred from his restless slumber by the change in motion, Joshua blinked his heavy eyelids open, immediately scanning the front seat in an instinctive quest for reassurance. His gaze flitted from the worn leather of the steering wheel to the dust-speckled dashboard before finally coming to rest on Noah. He was beside him, sitting calmly in the driver's seat with his eyes trained on the road ahead. For a brief moment, Joshua exhaled, relief softening his features as he realized Noah hadn't left him.

Noah's posture was as steady as the car's, but there was something distant about him, a coldness in his blue gaze that reminded Joshua of the winter sky. It was as though the storm that had raged between them had quieted, leaving in its wake a tangible tension that hung in the air like static electricity. It was a wordless truce that neither of them had agreed upon, but both understood.

"Does it still hurt?" Noah asked, his voice low and devoid of warmth. It wasn't cruel or harsh but matter-of-fact, a question asked out of necessity rather than genuine concern.

Joshua stretched his arms above his head, grimacing slightly at the dull ache that pulsed through his muscles. "Could use a bed," he managed to mutter, injecting a hint of lightness into his tone to dispel the lingering tension. It was as though they hadn't spent the past few days entangled in a whirlwind of violence and madness but instead were just two brothers on a long drive. He tossed Noah a small stack of cash, the last remnants of the stolen funds that had fueled their dangerous escapade.

Noah caught the money with practiced ease without taking his eyes off the road and slid it into his pocket. Joshua reclined in his seat, staring out the window as the world passed by in a blur of greens and browns. They drove for hours in complete silence. The engine hummed beneath them, a constant reminder of their journey, but the quiet between them felt oddly peaceful, different from the usual chaos that marked their time together. Neither needed to speak. It was as though they'd exhausted all words, all arguments, and all confessions. What remained was a shared quiet, not quite a reconciliation, but an acknowledgment of their tangled fortune.

As night crept in, they pulled into a small, worn-down motel on the outskirts of an equally forgotten town. The neon sign overhead flickered intermittently, casting a sickly sandy glare on the cracked pavement below.

Noah parked the car, his fingers lingering on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary before he exhaled deeply. "Stay here," he said softly, not looking at Joshua before stepping out and heading toward the small office.

Joshua slumped back in the seat, watching Noah's retreating figure through the windshield. The dim light from the office window framed his brother's silhouette in a soft, almost ethereal glow.

The motel was as tired as the town it served. A bell jingled as Noah opened the door, announcing his arrival in the empty room. The faint scent of dust and old wood hung in the air, reeking of age and neglect. An older man sat behind the counter, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and his gray hair thin and wispy. He looked up with a kindly smile, though there was something weathered about him. Like the faded wallpaper that clung to the walls, he bore signs of a long life lived.

"Evenin'," he greeted, his voice raspy but warm. "Not many folks passing through here anymore."

Noah's gaze darted back to the car, his body tense as he caught sight of Joshua waiting. "I need a room. In the back," he said quickly, handing over cash.

The man glanced at the money, then back at Noah. His curiosity was piqued, but he didn't press for details. "Sure thing, son," he said, pulling out a key from an old wooden drawer. He moved slowly, the kind of slow that came with age and too many stories. "You're in luck. We have plenty of rooms these days. Used to be busy all the time when my wife was alive…She kept this place running smooth, you know?" He chuckled softly, though it was tinged with sadness. "But she's gone now. The place has been real quiet since."

Noah paused, his gaze shifting back to the car. The man's words tugged at something deep inside him, a feeling he wasn't ready to face. "I'm with my brother," he finally said, his voice distant.

The older man smiled softly, nodding in acknowledgment. "That's good. Family's all we've got, in the end. You're lucky to have him with you."

Noah blinked, staring at Joshua's figure slumped in the car. The words sank into the hollow part of his chest, echoing in his mind as he thanked the man, grabbed the key, and headed back outside.

Joshua looked up as Noah opened the car door, his expression unreadable. Noah helped him out of the car and guided him toward their room. Joshua's body sagged with exhaustion, his usual strength diminished by the weight of the past few days. He barely made it to the bed before collapsing onto it, his long limbs sprawled across the worn mattress. Within minutes, his breathing deepened, and he fell into a heavy sleep.

Noah lingered, standing over Joshua. He noticed his brother's chest rise and fall, each breath a small reminder that they were still here, still alive.

He studied his brother's face, the sharp jawline, the mess of dark brown hair that had fallen across his forehead. There were faint bruises on his skin and scars that told stories Noah didn't want to revisit. For a moment, Noah saw them not as the men they had become but as boys again, lost and scared, clinging to each other in a world that had always been too harsh.

Finally, Noah pulled away, his footsteps barely audible as he moved to the corner of the room. He sank into an armchair. Only his eyes remained visible, two piercing blue orbs flickering in the shadows, watching over his brother like a sentinel. He leaned back, silent and still, the weight of their past hanging in the air before he finally glanced down.

Joshua's phone lay in his hand. Noah hesitated, biting his lip, but then his hand darted out, trembling as he unlocked it quickly. His fingers moved with practiced urgency, typing.

"Second plate off Highway 28, near Carson. Come get me."

He stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the send button before he pressed it. The tiny notification of a response lit up almost immediately:

"Are you okay? Should I call the police?"

Noah's heart clenched. The thought of involving the police would mean too much exposure and too many questions. He knew Joshua and what he could do, and if the police got involved, he would surely be arrested. No, that wasn't an option.

He replied quickly: "No police. Just come. Alone."

As the night stretched on, Noah remained awake, listening to Joshua's breathing and waiting for a peace he knew would never come.

*

Joshua's emerging consciousness was a reluctant beast, stirring from slumber with a groan that reverberated through his heavy, tired body. The exhaustion he felt was not just physical. It was an existential weariness that seeped into the marrow of his bones, a relentless vice grip that refused to loosen its hold even in the sanctuary of sleep. As his eyes fluttered open, they were met by the morning light, a golden intruder that spilled unbidden through the thin, worn motel curtains. It was a sliver of peace, a forgotten remnant of normality trying to break through the thick, suffocating haze of violence and chaos that had become the fabric of his existence.

The temporary reprieve shattered like fragile glass when he turned his head and saw Noah sitting at the edge of the bed. There was an unnerving calmness about him, a stillness that hinted at the eye of a storm. He held something in his hands. Joshua's phone. The sight sent a jolt of adrenaline through the tall hunk's veins, sharp as a blade and as sudden as lightning.

Panic was a cruel master, ruthlessly slicing through the remnants of Joshua's grogginess. His eyes darted frantically between his phone and Noah's expression. The latter was as cold as winter frost, devoid of any readable emotion. A slow creeping fear settled in his gut, a slithering serpent coiling around his insides. However, this fear was not rooted in Noah's presence. It was born from something much deeper, a shared secret that bound them together in ways others could never understand.

The silence between them stretched on, oppressive and heavy, smothering their conversation before it began. It was the weight of secrets buried deep beneath layers of denial and pretense, secrets that, no matter how far they ran, always managed to find them. Finally, Noah broke the silence. He set the phone down beside him gently, with a deliberate calm that was more unsettling than any outburst could have been.

"I'm leaving," he announced, his voice steady but low. Each word was a bullet, piercing Joshua's chest with brutal precision.

In response, Joshua sat up abruptly, his breath hitching in his throat. It was as if he had been sucker-punched, the wind knocked out of him with a single sentence. "You can't..."

Noah cut him off mid-sentence. His eyes were steely and resolute as he held up a gun. Joshua hadn't even noticed it until now. "We can't be around each other anymore," Noah stated, his voice edged with something sharp, almost treacherous. "Every time we're together, something bad happens."

The words hung like a guillotine blade, pungent and dire. Joshua's mouth opened and closed in silent protest, his mind churning with fragmented memories of their past, the bloodshed, the violence, the things they'd done and seen. These were things that only they knew, things that no one else could ever understand or judge. A dark truth bound them together, a bond stronger than blood but more deadly than any weapon.

Joshua's eyes welled up with tears, the hunk's vulnerability slowly being exposed. But the tears weren't just from fear of losing Noah. They were born from guilt. He knew what Noah was really saying. He understood the depths of Noah's pain because he carried the same scars deep within himself.

"Noah, please," Joshua whispered, his voice barely above a sigh. It cracked under the strain of emotions he could no longer contain. "What we've been through...we can't just... walk away from that."

Noah's jaw clenched tightly, his hand steady around the gun's grip. His eyes were cold and calculating, but there was a flicker of something that Joshua recognized. Pain, shame, maybe even love. But these emotions had been distorted and mangled by everything they'd endured. And Noah wouldn't let that stop him.

Not this time.

"Get dressed," Noah commanded, standing up. His voice was distant now, hollow. A mere shell of the man he was a week before.

Joshua didn't argue or protest. He knew better than to challenge Noah's order when he was in this state. Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed, his muscles protesting with every movement. His body was stiff and sore, the adrenaline rush replaced by the phantom ache of healing bruises and cuts. He could feel Noah's eyes on him the whole time, watching him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

As soon as he finished dressing, they left the motel room. The morning air rushed at them, sharp and invigorating, starkly different from the stale atmosphere. They made their way to the car, each breath a reminder of the chill that clung to their skin. The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays stretching like fingers but failing to deliver warmth, a haunting reminder of the reality they desperately tried to evade.

As they reached the car, Joshua hesitated. He glanced at Noah for some sign of reassurance, but his brother's expression remained unreadable.

"Get in," Noah ordered without any hint of emotion in his voice as he held the gun.

Joshua obeyed without question, slipping into the driver's seat. His hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled tension, the cold leather beneath his fingers grounding him in reality. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Noah slide into the back seat, the gun aimed directly at the hunk.

"Where are we going?" Joshua asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Just drive," Noah replied, his tone as flat and cold as a sheet of ice.

Joshua's eyes flicked to the mirror again, catching Noah's reflection. His brother's face was like stone, but something lingered in his eyes, something unspoken, a truth that they both carried but neither dared to say aloud.

A secret that had haunted them since the night everything changed.

The car pulled out of the motel parking lot, leaving behind a cloud of dust. The road stretched before them, empty and endless, like the void they'd been spiraling into for years.

This wasn't just about running. It was about escaping.
But what? Or who?

"You think running is gonna fix it?" Joshua asked, his voice hoarse with desperation. "You think leaving me is gonna make everything better?"

Noah didn't respond away. He just stared out the car window, his gaze fixed on something beyond Joshua's understanding. His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, meeting Joshua's eyes. For a brief moment, the cold mask slipped, and Joshua saw a glimpse of his little brother, a man plagued by the same demons Joshua was fighting. But then, just as quickly, the mask snapped back into place, and Noah's grip on the gun tightened.

"Just drive," Noah repeated, his voice devoid of emotion.

The pale knuckles of Joshua's hand became starkly visible as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, the sinews of his fingers standing out against his stretched skin. A command had been given, and he surrendered to it, igniting the engine into life with a low, predatory growl. The car jolted forward, its tires crunching over the uneven, cracked asphalt stretching before them like an unending road to oblivion. They drove in silence, a cloak of tension enveloping them, the only soundtrack being the occasional crackle of gravel beneath their tires.

Joshua allowed his gaze to drift to the rearview mirror every few minutes. Each time, his eyes met those of Noah in a silent exchange. A tangible tension hung like an invisible thread, stretched tight and ready to snap at any moment. An unspoken conversation was taking place, a dialogue steeped in dark riddles and disseminated history that was weightier than the desolate road they traversed. The brothers drove for what felt like an eternity but was merely an hour. The landscape morphed around them as they journeyed from barren fields that bore the scars of forgotten harvests to long stretches of desolate highways that seemed to lead nowhere and everywhere.

And then, just as they approached a deserted crossroads where fate and chance often conspired, Noah finally shattered the silence.

"Stop here."

Joshua eased off the accelerator, gradually bringing the car to a halt. The engine idled beneath them. They were in the middle of nowhere. Their only company was the silent symphony of the morning and their own echoing thoughts.

Noah pushed the car door open, stepping onto the cracked pavement that echoed under his weight. He stood by the side of the road, his back to Joshua, glancing at his watch. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum echoing in the hollowness of their surroundings, every beat a countdown to Shane's arrival.

But then, as his gaze shifted to the distance, he saw them.
Headlights.
His eyes squinted against the harsh light, trying to discern the vehicle's shape as it slowly approached. A sense of dread seized him.

It wasn't Shane's car.

A van rolled into view, its bulky shape unfamiliar and imposing. Noah felt his pulse quicken like a wild rabbit sensing danger as the van slowed its advance, eventually stopping a few yards away from them. His mind raced at a million miles per hour.

This wasn't part of the plan.

Joshua leaned forward in his seat inside the car, peering through the windshield. His low, murmur-like voice broke the silence once more. It was a teasing question laced with amusement but threaded with suspicion: "Friends of yours, Noah?"

"No," replied Noah, his voice barely audible as it caught in his throat. "This…this isn't right." His words hung in the air like an unfinished sentence.

The van sat there like a predator in wait, its motor rumbling ominously. Noah's heart hammered as he tried to understand what was unfolding. His mind spun with possibilities as he watched the scene unfold.

The van's door swung open with a jarring creak, and Shane stepped out. His face was etched with relief and fear, countering his usual easygoing demeanor. "Noah!" he called out, rushing towards Noah with urgency. Are you okay?"

Noah's eyes narrowed, flicking from Shane to the van. A coldness in his tone sent a chill down Shane's spine. "Whose van is this?" He demanded.

Seeing Noah's icy demeanor, Shane stumbled over his words, "I...I figured..."

The tension in the air thickened as Noah clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tight with anger. His blue eyes, usually soft and warm, were now sharp and piercing. "You shouldn't have done this," he said.

Before Shane could respond, the van's back doors swung open, and Carmen, followed by her colleague, stepped out. Her smirk spelled trouble.

"We're here to help, Noah," Carmen said, her voice smooth as silk but layered with condescension. "We've been following you and your brother. We can make this go away."

Noah's response was blunt, his eyes darkening with each word he spoke. "We don't need your help."

Standing between them, Shane glanced nervously between Noah and Carmen, his confusion evident in his furrowed brow. He tried to defuse the situation, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "Noah…why won't you just leave? We can go. We don't need..."

"We just want to talk, Noah," the journalist cut in sharply, her voice laced with false sympathy. "Maybe get an exclusive. You know, about the murders."

The word 'murders' hung in the air like a guillotine, its presence slicing through the tension. Shane's confusion turned to shock, his eyes trembling as he glanced at Joshua inside the car.

The silence that followed was deafening. Noah didn't answer. He turned back and stood there, frozen, his gaze locked on the car, where Joshua remained motionless. The hunk's eyes were fixed on Noah from behind the wheel.

And then everything stopped. The world around them blurred, the sounds around fading into nothing.

Noah and Joshua's connection was far from being transparent, but rather, it was a palpable entity, akin to a shadow that seemed to thicken and darken with each passing second. It was as if an invisible thread had been spun between them, whirled not from silk or cotton but from the murky yarn of the night. This bond, vast and impenetrable, was far from empty or void. Within this dark expanse were galaxies of emotions and constellations of sentiments that only they could navigate.

The intensity of their connection echoed in the silent spaces between their words, resonating in the catch of their breaths, reverberating in the electricity that sparked when their fingers brushed. It was a dark symphony composed in real-time by two hearts entwined in an enigmatic dance.

Beneath this shadowy veneer of push and pull was a raging tempest of protective instincts. It was a force that surged like a tidal wave within them, ready to crash against any threat that dared to approach. In its wake, a fierce sense of ownership echoed. Every glance between them carried an unspoken proclamation.

"You are mine. And I am yours."

Maybe it was wrong.
A transgression.
A forbidden dance that defied the societal norms of their time.
A love that didn't conform to the expectations of their world, a world that was too rigid, too unforgiving.

But neither Joshua nor Noah seemed willing to betray it.

Growing impatient, Carmen took a step forward, her smile growing cold and predatory. "Look, Noah. You're going to talk to us, or I'll call the police right now. I'll have Joshua arrested in seconds."

But Noah didn't flinch at Carmen's threat.

He barely moved an inch as the words, sounding nothing like his own voice, finally spilled out of his lips. "What we feel and do is beyond our control. That's our strength and our weakness."

Joshua's expression shifted, and his eyes widened in panic as if he could see something breaking loose in his brother. "Shit," Joshua murmured from the car, his voice suddenly desperate, but it was too late.

Noah turned back to Carmen, his face a shadow of what Shane once recognized. The youthful charm and openness that used to define him had vanished completely. Instead, it felt like facing a stranger, a figure wrapped in shadows. His eyes glinted with an intensity akin to polished obsidian, betraying nothing but drawing you in regardless. A whisper of fabric moving against skin punctuated each slight motion he made, emphasizing the deliberate nature of every gesture. If you were close enough, you'd sense the faint cold trace of winter amidst a breath still for too long.

The gunshot echoed through the barren crossroads like a thunderclap in the still air. Carmen's body jerked back as the bullet tore through her skull, her smirk frozen in place before she crumpled to the ground like a discarded marionette.

The world seemed to suspend everything in a surreal moment of stillness. Seconds were elongated, stretched into minutes, hours even, as Shane scrambled to comprehend. The male journalist had let out an ear-piercing scream, a raw and primitive sound of terror that echoed in Shane's skull, before whirling on his heel and sprinting toward the van. But Noah was quicker and smoother, his movements like water flowing down a stream, unhurried yet unstoppable.

With an almost chilling ease, he lifted the gun again and fired. The bullet found its mark on the man's back with deadly precision. His body lurched forward, momentum sending him crashing onto the unforgiving asphalt. The man's desperate gasp for air was the only sound piercing the silence, his hands clawing at the cement beneath him as if trying to grasp life itself. But Noah approached him with an unnerving calmness, his pace leisurely. He fired again. And again. And again. Three more times. Each shot was meticulously aimed and delivered with cold control. The man's body convulsed with each brutal impact before finally succumbing to stillness, leaving a growing pool of crimson on the cracked road beneath him.

Shane crumpled against the side of the van, his legs giving away beneath him as if they were made of jelly. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his horrified scream, his palm muffling the strangled sound that escaped him. This wasn't right, he thought. This wasn't Noah. Not the Noah he knew, not the man he had fallen in love with. This was something else entirely, some monstrous imposter wearing Noah's face.

Noah turned slowly, his movements balletic and almost serene despite the carnage around him. His face was a mask of ennui, as if the life he had just snuffed out was no more significant than crushing an insect underfoot. Everything Shane had known about his boyfriend, the softness in his eyes, and the vulnerability that had drawn him in was utterly obliterated, replaced by a chilling coldness. It was as though Noah had shed his skin and donned a new one.

A terrifyingly foreign one.

Joshua stumbled out of the car, his breath coming out in ragged gasps that echoed around them. Awe swirled in his gaze as he looked upon his brother.

Noah approached Shane, his gun swinging loosely by his side. "Give me the keys," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion.

Shane's hand violently shook as he fumbled with the keys in his pocket, the metallic jingling sounding absurdly loud in the ensuing silence. His heart pounded against his ribcage, every nerve in his body screaming at him to get away. But he couldn't move. He was frozen in place, his wide eyes locked onto Noah's face as if trying to find even a tiny glimmer of the man he loved in this stranger before him. He finally managed to pull out the keys, his fingers trembling as he held them out.

Noah snatched the keys from his hand without a word, then turned to look at Joshua. "Tie him up. Put him in the back."

Joshua hesitated momentarily, a flicker of guilt passing across his features. But he remained silent, moving towards Shane with an almost robotic obedience. He knelt beside Shane, retrieving a rope from the van and quickly tying Shane's wrists together.

By then, Shane was shaking uncontrollably, his eyes flickering wildly as he tried to process what was happening.

"Noah...what did you do...?" He stammered his voice barely a whisper.

Joshua leaned in close to Shane, his lips barely touching his ear. His voice was low and laced with a dark amusement as he whispered, "That wasn't Noah."

Shane blinked slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What...?" He managed to choke out.

Joshua looked into Shane's eyes, his usually unsettling gaze reflecting a strange empathy. "Silly rabbit...you have no idea what you've unleashed," he murmured.

Shane's heart pulsed like a drum, his mind reeling. Joshua roughly hauled him up and shoved him into the back of the van, his hands tied and helpless. The engine roared to life as Noah climbed into the driver's seat. Shane caught one last glimpse of the bodies sprawled on the road and the blood glinting in the morning light before Joshua slammed the doors, enveloping him in darkness.

(To be continued...)