"What did you<span style="font-style: italic">do?!"</span><br/><br/>Marcus' hands trembled, and if he had the presence of mind to be thankful for anything, it would be that the pistol did not go off again as it clattered to the floor. His hand first went to his lips, his fingers shaking violently as they hovered in front of a mouth that had fallen agape. Through his stinging vision, he could see Aaron's body crumpled to the floor, a blackened and viscous ooze seeping from the hole in his neck. His fingers dragged backwards through his hair and his eyes clenched shut.<br/><br/>What<span style="font-style: italic">had</span>he done?<br/><br/>"He was- he attacked you and-," he stammered, thickly swallowing down a sob as he watched Liliana dropped to her knees and pressed her hand over her father's neck, putting so much pressure on the wound that he could see her knuckles whiten. Whatever she was screaming now, he couldn't hear her. All he could hear was the blast from the gun, the ringing in his ears as his hearing tried to return, Liliana's scream as blood sprayed against the wall. He doubled over, feebly bracing his hands on his knees as he dry heaved.<br/><br/>Aaron had been sick all day yesterday. A fever, some coughing. It was nothing major; it was just some stupid<span style="font-style: italic">bug!</span>It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to cave in his own head against the sink. He wasn't supposed to walk back in - he<span style="font-style: italic">walked</span>back in, for fuck sake he<span style="font-style: italic">walked back in.</span>He was never supposed to throw himself at Liliana. It was just a bug, damn it! Just a bug! And now all he could do was grimace at the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, helplessly watching the love of his life cling to her father's limp body, sobbing against the sticky red button-up shirt.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry, Lily, I, I don't -"<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Shut up!"</span>she screamed, laying her father back down on the floor as she threw herself to her feet to face Mark - her boyfriend of five years and the man who just murdered her father. "This isn't something you can say sorry for!" Her voice cracked, and her appearance cracked with it, her entire body racking with hysterical sobs.<br/><br/>Still bracing his weight on his knees, Mark dropped his sight from Lily's broken expression. He couldn't look at her anymore, not after what he'd done. Instead he looked at Aaron's fallen body, forcing himself to look at what he'd done. Through the tears clouding his sight, he could see something slither up Aaron's neck. Thick, black, crawling up toward his jaw. What<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>that? Mark frantically scrubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt and taking another look at it with clear eyes. The sight made his eyes sting again, and the pre-vomit hypersalivation came back. Those were blood vessels, bulging and blackening under his skin.<br/><br/>Just when Mark thought to look away, to wretch in some corner of the room, a twitch caught his eye. Aaron's fingers twitched again, and Mark could only stare on in horror. Lily was still sobbing violently into her fists, and it wasn't until she heard Aaron stumble to his feet that she noticed.<span style="font-style: italic">Lily</span>, he thought desperately, as his words failed him.<span style="font-style: italic">Lily, please run.</span>Mark dropped down to the floor to snatch the gun up and pulled the hammer back, but it was too late. He could only watch the scene unfold, and listen to a blood curdling shrill of pain ring through the house as his girlfriend's father tore into her with hands and teeth. His teeth clenched and he held the hammer back, squeezing and releasing the trigger to decock the gun. There was nothing he could do for her now.<br/><br/>He flew quickly through the house, gun in hand, sprinting for the front door. He couldn't be sure if  whatever that<span style="font-style: italic">thing</span>was had followed him, but he didn't care. Once the door was open, he threw himself outside, violently jerking open his car door and getting in. He laid the gun in his passenger's seat and locked the doors before hitting his steering wheel. Once, twice, three times and each one more violent than the last. He felt sick, he felt dead, he felt angry. He felt afraid.<br/><br/>With a shuddering breath, and through still-blurred vision, Mark started up his car and threw it in reverse, stepping bodily on the gas pedal. Time ran together after that, and he couldn't tell how fast he was going or how far he had gotten. The edges of his peripherals had grayed out, and his mind barely registered the bus swerving through the lanes.<br/><br/>Mark inhaled sharply, violently jerking the wheel and sending his car spiraling out of the way of the bus and headfirst into a telephone pole. His surroundings whited out around him, before the blackness of the airbag overtook him and slammed his head back against the seat's headrest. He groaned deeply into the airbag, punching it down with both hands before the recognition set in that the front of his car dented around a pole, smoke coming up from under the hood. He snatched the gun from the passenger's seat and threw himself from the car, taking rapid steps backward to get away in case it were to catch fire. He turned his attention to the remains of the bus, smashed into a garage and all but demolishing the entire front end of the building. A group of onlookers stood panicked outside the building, and Mark ran to the sound of people and the smell diesel fuel.