Marco and Mili gaped in horror as they stared at the jittering wreck that was Jack, at the oozing, gushing mass of flesh that appeared to have taken over his right arm, and they backed away—panicked. This was not the man they had journeyed with the day before. It was impossible, for how could such a horrid sight belong to their former companion?

  The young Mister Thames looked even worse than when Lucius last saw him. His eyes darted around, scarlet red, twitching at the slightest sound, and his face was practically devoid of color. He flinched at voices that could not be heard - shouted at faces that could not be seen.

  But when he caught sight of his once-treasured allies, Jack stretched his lips eerily wide, and uttered a low, raspy cackle.

  “Found… you…” he said, raising a crooked finger. “Now I can—I can finally avenge Lucius. I can put an end to all these infuriating voices.”

  Marco gulped, and shoved Mili behind to protect her. His body turned rigid; sweat dripped down all over his face. The old mobster didn’t relax one bit. He knew the two of them were in grave danger.

  “Good lord, Jack,” Marco said. “How long have ya been sufferin’ like that?”

  Marco tried to reach out to him, to try and somehow appeal to any remnants of sanity that still dwelled in the delirious man, but his words fell on deaf ears.

  “… What?”

  Countless emotions rushed through Jack all at once: anger, confusion, disbelief and rage. He hung his head back and laughed as if everything was just so funny.

  “Hah. Haha, wow, you guys snapped out of it, huh? That’s just swell. Congratulations. I’m really happy for you!”

  And then, he stopped. There was no laughter, no rage. His face once twisted into a large scowl was now all but expressionless, empty, hollow. It was hard to tell whether the silent Jack was still a man or some kind of unsettling doll.

  But the eyes never lied. They were muddled in a deep sadness.

  “Why couldn’t you have done it earlier? If you had, then Lucius wouldn’t be…”

  “What the hell are ya ramblin’ about?” Marco said. “Jack, you can’t run away like this. I get it, y’know. It ain’t easy to face the things you’ve done, but givin’ in to your grief—it ain’t gonna help. Blamin’ other people and pushin’ away your sins is only gonna make acceptin’ yourself a lot harder.”

  “Accept myself…?” Jack trembled as if it took every ounce of self-control he had to not lunge at Marco right then and there. “I don’t need to accept anything! You’re the ones who caused Lucius’s death. What, do you not remember that? Blocked it out so you wouldn’t feel guilty I bet.”

  “You know that’s not true, Jack.”

  “Then what is the truth?”

  Marco grimaced and clenched his fist. For someone of his experience, he knew acting aggressive would only make the situation worse. He spoke to him calmly, made no sudden movements, and did all he could to come off as non-threatening. But there was no helping a man like Jack now, one blinded by obsession.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Coddling him wasn’t going to work. Marco’s best bet was to forcefully make Jack confront the truth whether he liked it or not and hope that the man would snap out of whatever daze he was in.

  Unfortunately for him, the ‘truth’ was twisted from the very start.

  Lucius watched on, intrigued and full of anticipation, as the old mobster stepped forward to face Mister Thames head on.

  “You killed him, Jack.”

  “I… did?” Jack didn’t react, at first. The man was so stunned that he couldn’t speak, wordlessly opening his mouth as if he was missing something, but when he realized Mister Bernardo was completely serious, something seemed to stall in his mind. He wasn’t upset, or annoyed, or anything like that—just confused.

  “We saw it with our own eyes, the lass and I,” Marco continued. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but—”

  “H-Hold on here.” Jack rubbed his eyes with his good arm and then glared at the two as if they were completely mad. “You’re serious? Like, really? Haha, wow, I know I might seem a little different right now, but I sure as hell know what I heard. My head’s still all here. I’m not crazy. I’m not…”

  His words trailed off. Jack looked at himself, at his grotesque arm, and he turned around to look behind him. His eyes went wide; he mumbled something Lucius couldn’t make out.

  When he turned back, something different had wormed its way inside him: doubt. Was reality truly as he believed?

  “That… can’t be right. Did I really? I mean, sure I didn’t see him in person, but I saw the blood. I heard him so clearly. I couldn’t have…”

  Marco didn’t say a word. Unnecessary prodding would only get in the way of the young Jack’s realization. The old mobster thought that by staying quiet he was helping him, but all that did was give the delirious man room to be alone with his thoughts.

  “No, wait… I did see him. Yeah, I didn’t see his death, but before that he was clutching his stomach. His clothes were bloody as if he had been scraped by something—something like your brass knuckles. Lucius told me with his own lips that he was attacked by you two!”

  “Huh?” Marco stammered. “His own lips? Jack, you stabbed him—”

  “No!” Jack’s face practically melted in relief. Perhaps all along a part of him still harbored some disbelief, questioning if what he experienced was real, but the man now was utterly certain in himself. He wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t crazy. No matter what anyone said to him, nothing would change his mind.

  And he was well in his right to be so. What he heard was indeed the real Lucius, after all. Jack’s mental stability was surprisingly very firm despite all he had gone through. Sure, he was a wreck and suffering from delusions due to his transformation, but was he not holding a perfectly civil conversation right now? In that regard, Lucius couldn’t help but applaud him.

  But he had a feeling things would soon turn… hostile.

  “I misjudged you, Marco,” Jack said with a sneer. “Lying right to my face… never would've thought it'd come to this. Guess that’s for the better. Now I don’t have to feel bad about getting revenge.”

  “Jack…” Marco tried to reach out to him again, but Mili pulled him back. She shook her head with a grim, but firm, determination.

  “It’s too late, big guy,” she whispered.

  Marco winced, but didn’t deny it. No matter how many times he repeated himself, Jack just wouldn’t listen.

  The old mobster took a deep breath, rubbed his bald head, and walked forward with a hardened gaze. Gone was the soft and friendly Mister Bernardi; now, there was only a fighter ready to brawl.

  “I can’t help ya if you don’t want any help yourself,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “But if this is how it’s going to be, then alright. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way. I’m gonna beat your ass black and blue until you’re seein’ stars, punk. Maybe you’ll finally see some reason then.”

  Jack chuckled and marched forward as well. Delight burned in his eyes, lusting, craving for blood. Whether it was the influence of the thing that took over his arm or simply the unearthed madness of a man who’d always been treated as a loser, Lucius knew not.

  What he did know was that this was certain to be entertaining.