Marcus wakes up in a cold sweat, his breaths coming quick. He sits up, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes slowly start to focus on his surroundings.
It was the same dream heād had every night since their last exorcism.
He drew his knees up and put his head down, trying to slow his breathing and get it under control.
He didnāt dare close his eyes again; he knew that every time he did, the events would play out all over again, the images printed on the back of his lids like film.
It took a few seconds for him to notice the quiet. The only sound was the old AC humming loudly.
But he didnāt hear any other sounds of life, the ones that usually accompanied Tomas.
There wasnāt anyone mucking about in the kitchen, the water in the bathroom wasnāt running, and no one was humming a familiar tune.
The bed next to his was empty and the covers were all made up. Neat, like no one had even slept in them the previous night.
Marcus swallowed. His eyes watered, but he didnāt dare let his tears fall.
He knew this day would come, sooner or later. He knew, and yet.
It hurt to know that Tomas didnāt need him. Not this broken, old, battered, wasted tool. God had played enough with him; he had a new pet project now.
There was no use for a dull blade, a gun that wouldnāt fire.
Tomas had God and that was enough. That was all he needed. Marcus was justā¦extra. An accessory.
He sighed and gripped his bedsheets.
This was it. Tomas had finally-
There was a scratch, metal against metal.
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