As Kant drifted into a restless sleep, a bright scene unfolded before his eyes.
It was the spring of the ninth grade. A warm day after running laps during physical education.
Luke sprawled on the grass with a heavy huff. He wiped his sweaty fringe off his face and glanced over at Kant, who hadn’t broken a sweat.
"I swear, you’re like an athlete." Luke sat up, still panting. "You even gained muscle after joining that organization."
Kant threw Luke a water bottle and sat down. "I told you to not ntion it at school."
Luke nodded, thirstily gulping down half of the bottle. "Fine... Then tell what you’re going to do after graduating middle school."
"Go to high school," Kant gave the obvious response, leaning back on his arms to stare at the sky.
"Really?" Luke turned to him. "You’re not even studying hard anymore, so I thought you don’t care about school."
Technically, nothing held Kant at school. He was already going on simple jobs with the older guys, helping with cleaning. Wiping the blood off tiles and such. ’Getting used to the scene,’ that’s what Silas called it.
He glanced at Luke, who was cloud-gazing. Even if coming to school wasn’t necessary for Kant’s survival anymore, he didn’t want to stop coming.
"Wouldn’t you turn into a loner if I dropped out?" Kant teased.
"You wish!" Luke threw the bottle at Kant. "I can make friends with anyone."
"Yet you chose to bother for three years."
"?" Luke laughed, pointing at himself. "Bother you? If anything, I did you a favor by sticking around."
Kant snorted, tossing the bottle back with more force. "A favor? You keep calling to complain over every little inconvenience. Who exactly is doing whom a favor?"
"Oh, I see! So you’re sick of , huh?" Luke sprang up, feigning frustration. "Don’t worry, I’ll graduate high school and neeever bother you again."
He spread his arms, revealing his grand plans. "I’ll go to the city and beco a dancer. I will travel the world, perform on many stages and earn a lot of money! Once I’m tired of traveling, I’ll buy a big house, like the ones with tall windows and a pool."
Kant watched him with a skeptical smirk. "Can you even dance?"
"I’m learning!" Luke exclaid and busted out so weird dance moves. "See? I’m a diamond in the rough."
Kant burst out laughing and covered his eyes out of second-hand embarrassnt. "More like rough on the eyes."
"That’s what I think about your face," Luke retorted, kicking so dirt on him.
"Alright, that’s it. Co here." Kant got up threateningly.
Luke darted away, his laughter ringing through the warm spring air. "Catch if you can," he teased, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Oh, I’m catching you," Kant called, breaking into a sprint. The ground was soft under his feet, and the thrill of the chase brought an unexpected grin to his face.
The laughter echoed in Kant’s ears, louder and louder, until it dissolved into harsh, uneven breaths. The soft grass under his hands turned to cold concrete. The warmth of the sun disappeared, replaced by the chilling bite of the night air and cigarette smoke.
Kant crouched in the shadows, his finger hovering near the trigger of the gun. His knuckles were white from the tension in his grip, suppressing the tremble.
Cole stood beside him, gaze heavy with unspoken pressure. "He’s not gonna get away. You know what to do," he said, voice low and steady.
The target was a sadistic serial killer who had taken lives of several kids, but was never convicted. He had paid off the judge, thinking he got away, just to run into the Everetts. The man was on his knees, hands bound behind his back, panting.
Kant swallowed hard. This man deserved death, he knew it, but...
The man on the ground whimpered, his face twisted in fear as he looked at Kant. "Please," the man begged, voice trembling, "I-I don’t wanna die..."
"Shut up," Cole muttered, throwing his cigarette to the ground. "None of those kids wanted to die either."
The target shrank, but his eyes didn’t stop peering into Kant, as if sensing the uncertainty.
"The more you hesitate, the harder it gets," Cole pressed. "Just shoot. Don’t think."
Kant closed his eyes for a mont, gathering his will. He had seen others kill plenty, but it was different when he was the one holding the gun. This ti, he couldn’t look away and wait until the target was eliminated.
The mont Kant’s attention faltered, the man lunged forward. With a wild grunt, he grabbed the barrel of the gun, twisting it violently.
Kant’s eyes widened, his gaze montarily flicking to the ropes that had been tied around the man’s wrists, now cut.
Kant tried to keep his hold on the weapon, but the man was stronger than he looked. He yanked the gun out of Kant’s hands, knocking him down and turning the barrel towards him.
"Move!" Cole yelled, yanking the man aside before he could shoot Kant.
The shot rang out.
A spray of red erupted from Cole’s shoulder as he grunted in pain. He staggered but didn’t fall, pushing forward to wrestle the man to the ground.
Kant froze, gaping like a fish out of water.
Cole’s arm locked around the man’s neck as he wrenched the gun from his hand.
"Get up," Cole slid the gun towards Kant, his voice strained, "and finish the job."
Adrenaline shot through Kant’s veins, snapping him out of the daze and to his feet.
The man was still thrashing, his face twisted in fury. He whipped the knife he had used to cut the ropes with, raising his arm to stab Cole.
Before things could get any worse, Kant grabbed the gun and aid at the man’s head.
Bang.
The hand with the knife fell lifelessly, the blade hitting the concrete with a clink.
Cole stood up, wincing slightly as he adjusted his arm, where the blood still seeped from the bullet wound. He glanced at the body in front of them, then at Kant, whose hands were still trembling slightly around the gun.
The man was dead.
Kant had killed him.
"Good job. It’s done," Cole said with a small, encouraging nod. His eyes didn’t linger on the body, almost as if it weren’t there.
Yet, Kant didn’t feel like it was quite done. The blood pooled on the concrete, spreading towards his boots.
Kant stepped back stiffly, unable to tear his eyes away.
"Thanks to you, this bastard won’t ever touch a kid again," Cole remarked, stepping over the corpse as if it was nothing but a fallen tree trunk on a forest trail. "If we didn’t catch him, who knows how many more kids he would kill."
Kant finally managed to look up at Cole.
"Your shoulder... does it hurt?" he asked dumbly, trying to push away the guilt piling over his shoulders.
Cole carried over a bag of cleaning supplies. "Nah. Not my first ti getting shot. It’s just a scratch."
Kant nodded distantly, opening the bag to deal with the aftermath. The sharp sting of guilt had dulled slightly, but it hadn’t gone away.
Cole noticed Kant’s hesitation and scoffed softly. "Hey. First ti’s always a mindfuck. You’ll get used to it."
Kant gave another nod, although he had no idea if he’d ever really get used to this.
Perhaps for the first ti in his life, Kant found the tallic stench of blood was nauseating. He wanted to leave, to run and escape what he’d done, but there was no way back now. So he scrubbed the crimson off the concrete. Over and over.
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