Chapter 407: They Held Him Tenderly While the Dead Lay Still
It was late at night when Micah and his grandmother arrived at the villa. Stars freckled the sky above the coastal city, and streetlights threw a hazy glow through the humid air. A warm breeze brushed their skin, bringing the taste of salt to their lips.
Even though Zhou Ruyan was the one in frail health, Micah was the one who was exhausted. These past few days, he had been constantly under stress, from meeting Silas and Aidan to encountering a bloodied Clyde; all of them had frayed him. The lack of sleep had not helped him either, leaving him with nothing but black lines under his eyes and sluggish reflexes.
The old butler opened the gates before they reached the villa, his silhouette straight and formal. The front door creaked open, and he stepped forward with a respectful smile. "Old Madam, it’s a pleasure to see you again," he said, voice courteous.
"Yes. It’s been a long time." Zhou Ruyan replied with a tired smile.
Then the butler’s gaze shifted, eyes landing on the young man beside her. "Young master Micah, my...you have grown," he began, his voice full of genuine affection, then his smile faltered the moment Micah stepped into the light. "What happened?" he asked, alarmed by the bruises on Micah’s face.
Micah rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Grandpa Sunny, it is nothing serious. Don’t worry about it."
The old butler nodded with worry, but didn’t press further. After sorting their luggage, the butler led them to their rooms.
Micah opened the door to his old bedroom and paused. The wallpaper still held the faint drawing he had done as a kid. The bed looked new, though. The moment the door shut behind him, Micah took off his clothes instantly, burying himself under the cool blanket. The humidity and warm weather had made his skin itchy under layers of clothes.
He sighed in satisfaction and closed his eyes. Sleep swallowed him whole, not remembering to even check his phone.
What followed was not the kind of sleep that heals. His mind sank into a nightmare instead.
Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, Micah found himself in a bizarre dream. He felt his body tearing apart, not only his flesh but something deeper. A hollow ache in his heart made him groan. He tried to open his eyes, wanting to see what was happening.
Then he froze. The world around him was red. Everything was dyed in a heavy bright crimson colour.
He blinked and looked again. No, he was really sitting in a pool of gluey liquid. His fingers trembled as he touched the surface. It came back warm and sticky.
It was blood. His mind snapped.
Panic surged through him. He touched himself, found no wounds. It wasn’t his blood. He knew it. But who was it then?
His legs wouldn’t move. He was lying there, paralysed. His hands stretched out, searching, fumbling on the ground.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Why was his vision blurry? He touched his face in puzzlement. The blood from his hand was washed away. Oh... tears...He was crying. For whom? His mind went blank. He didn’t know.
After some time, his fingers brushed against something cold. He crawled closer, knees sinking into sticky wetness.
What he saw made his blood run cold. A patch of dark hair. His eyes traced down. A pale face. Eyes blank.
Then his gaze caught another figure. Head tilted back. He moved closer. His breath hitched. Blond hair, tangled, messy. Eyes lifeless.
Their faces looked hollow... then, impossibly, familiar. His mind denied the reality.
Yes, his mind refused to believe they were the people he knew. No. How could it be? He had seen their faces just yesterday, heard their laughter, their teasing, their scolding...
Why would they be in a pile of blood?
He heard voices calling his name. He turned around, ready to ask for help, begging to help those two. But his voice was stuck in his throat.
There, in a few meters away, stood the four people he hated. Or did he? Then why did he feel relieved seeing them?
His mind buzzed, and confusion flooded in.
Then a hug so forceful claimed him. He felt arms shoved around him, the solid press of chests against his back and front. He heard them speak in voices that should have been cruel, indifferent but were strangely tender.
"Micah! Thank god!" one cried, full of urgency.
Another’s grip was harsher, a familiar roughness that used to sound smug. "Oh, you stupid boy! Why did you do this?"
A different voice hissed accusation. "Were you crazy? Thinking he would let you off?"
And the nearest voice leaned in with practised concern. "You’re not injured, right? Let me see."
Micah’s body rejected and accepted at the same time. He felt a deep repulsion in him. His heart screamed they were fake. But his body returned their hug. Smiled at them like a foolish boy.
They reached out, pulling him up, separating him from the two bodies in the ground. He didn’t want to. His mind roared. Don’t touch me. Get away. He wanted to crawl to the two bodies in the ground, press his forehead to theirs, hugging them tightly, asking them not to leave him alone. But his body didn’t obey his mind. He was like a puppet, as if someone else was moving the strings stuck to his body, making him walk away.
The pain was too unbearable. Tears began to fall again, hot and quick.
They soothed him in a clumsy way that made bile rise.
"Why are you crying, silly boy? You are safe now," someone said, patting his back.
"Yeah. Let’s get you home. I’ll make the chicken soup you like." the most indifferent one offered.
"Tsk. Again with that? It tastes like dishwater. Let’s order a feast," said another one, arrogant.
"I will make the biscotti you like, okay? Don’t cry."
"Those bad people are dead. You are safe now. We will protect you."
Micah looked at them, mind shouting at them, cursing hearing those words, feeling his heart being pierced. How could this be possible? Yet, at the same time, a strange warmth filled his chest when their hands patted him, when the home-cooked promises reached his ears.
No. He wouldn’t believe it. It was all a lie. A nightmare. He wanted to turn around. To go to them. He preferred to die with them to live with these four.
This was just a nightmare. He murmured. Again and again. But his body moved with those four toward the door, leaving behind the two bodies drenched in blood.
*****
When he woke up the next morning, Micah blinked at the ceiling; the fan above his head whirred in steady circles. It took a moment to realise where he was. His face felt sticky. He touched the damp pillow, and his face twisted. "Shit! How much did I drool in my sleep? I bet I was dreaming of delicious food." he chuckled.
He reached for his phone, checking the time. He unlocked his phone: a full inbox of text messages. From Emile to Nick, Darcy, and his family. Most were scolding him for ditching them. Darcy’s message, however, was genuinely worried. Micah smiled. He quickly replied that he was accompanying his grandmother. He would come back soon.
Then he tossed the phone aside and chuckled bitterly. "Probably you don’t want to see me by then." He let out a deep sigh. "Well...After knowing the truth..." The rest of the sentence dissolved into the air.