MAR HIS SKIN WITH THOSE FLAMING HANDS.

Chapter: 8.

******

The wind whistled smoothly, brushing its tenderness across the sleeping man's face. His eyes moved from their closed lids, fluttering open to meet the cool early morning breeze. He sat up, wrapping his arms around himself to fend off the sudden chill. Glancing around, he realized he had no idea where he was.

As his vision adjusted to the dim light of the stars, he identified the outlines of trees and bushes that surrounded him. The sound of water rushing nearby resonated in his ears, drawing his attention toward a river a few meters away. He stood up, the grass crunching under his feet as he walked toward the river.

Reaching the bank, he knelt and cupped some water in his hands. The water was cold but refreshing, clearing his mind and making him feel more awake. Suddenly, he felt a tug at the back of his mind, something he couldn't explain. He looked around, but the sensation persisted.

As he stood up to return to where he'd awakened, he heard footsteps coming from behind. Turning quickly, he found himself face-to-face with a stranger. The man's face was obscured by the deep folds of his hood, but his eyes were visible enough to convey distrust and suspicion.

The man said nothing, but his presence was enough to make the sleepy man nervous. As the stranger moved closer, he quickly gathered his wits and backed away. He put up his hands in a defensive posture, ready for anything the stranger might throw at him.

The stranger simply stared at him for a moment, his eyes flicking over the sleepy man's features before he backed away and disappeared into the trees surrounding them.

The sleepy man stood frozen for a moment, his mind reeling with questions. Who was the stranger? Was he in danger? Why had he awoken here, in the middle of nowhere? By the looks of it, it should be the early hours of the morning. The winds are picking up chills.

Shaken, the sleepy man began to take stock of his surroundings, trying to gain his bearings and figure out how to get home. But his head was full of questions, and the eerie presence of the stranger still lingered in his mind. Stumbling to his feet once again, he began to wander around the empty fields, feeling his feet grow moist he stared down at his legs and frowned upon realizing he was walking barefooted. "Where had his shoes gone?" He wondered, his eyes going around the fields but all he saw were greens. If this had been any other day he would have been more than delighted to enjoy this beautiful scenery, but right now he needed to find his part back to a highway so he can find a passing vehicle, and perhaps continue his journey.

As he walked along, his mind kept going back to the stranger he had encountered in the woods. He felt an uncanny sensation, a gut feeling that the stranger was watching him. He felt like prey in the eyes of the unknown predator.

A rustling sound startled him, bringing him out of his thoughts. He turned around, but all he saw were the tall bushes swaying in the breeze. Although he shook off his nerves, the increasingly eerie feeling made him feel uneasy.  But he kept walking, hoping to find any sign of civilization, however minimal it may be. The morning was starting to awaken… singing birds could be heard from all around, and the sun was peeking through the horizon.

A beautiful dawn greeted the wandering man who had woken in the middle of an unknown field.

After walking for what felt like hours, the sound of a vehicle's engine caught his attention. A smile spread across his face, and he jogged toward the direction of the sound. A pickup truck with a couple of passengers inside came into view as it slowed down to greet him.

"Hey, where are you heading?" the driver asked.

"I'm not exactly sure. I just woke up in the fields a few hours ago and have been trying to find my way back to civilization." He replied with a distressed chuckle.

The driver smiled, "You poor thing! Hop in, we're heading toward the nearest town. We'll give you a ride."

The man was relieved and grateful at the same time, and without a second thought, he jumped into the vehicle.

As the pickup truck drove away, the man looked back, wondering whether he would ever find out who the stranger in the woods was, or why he had ended up in those fields without any explanation.

The drive into Town was fast, compared to how long he had wandered aimlessly in that field. When they arrived at the familiar Maybu Town of his childhood, Logan nearly felt his heart shatter within. It was as if the world went into slow motion as they drove past that Fuel Station, where it had happened. His eyes grew moist with unwanted tears, and his breathing erratic, as his memories wandered back to that night.

The one night he hated with every wit. The night he thought his world had come to an abrupt end.

*******

They had driven into the station and his mother had helped him out of the car, while his father sat still in the car. He needed to pump the tank full for their journey while they needed to get snacks for the road. His twelfth birthday was only a few hours away, and he had made his parents promise to drive him to the zoo in celebration, and they had agreed. Once both mother and child had exited the vehicle and had begun walking toward the store to grab a few snacks, Logan frowned when he heard his mother make that yelping sound she makes whenever she had forgotten something.

"What did you forget now, Mom?" He turned around with a knowing smile.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Sorry my love, I left my purse in the car," She told him with a beautiful smile. "Go on ahead into the store, you know the snacks we like best, pick them all out and I'll grab my purse for payments," She kissed him tenderly on his cheeks and ushered him forward.

That was the last time he would see neither of his parents alive. Like a quick clap of thunder, the crash resonated throughout the area, filling his ears with dreadful cries. The little boy who was in the store turned toward the glass doors, with snacks hugged tightly to his chest, his heart raced rapidly when he saw their car flying around in the streets, a truck had just brushed his parent's car across the streets, and the wreck was so great, a fire erupted shortly after he had witnessed that. It confused him to find them on the road when they both should have been filling the tank. How had they gotten to the road to have the careless driver run into them? But, none of that mattered. Logan remembered feeling his bones creak as they moved his fragile body, then everything went black.

It was his fault they had died.

If he hadn't made that horrid request, they would have both still been alive.

*******

The sound of the driver calling out his name snapped him out of his memories, and he realized they had already entered the main street of the town. He thanked the people in the pickup truck for their kindness, before disembarking and heading toward the local police station. Although he works in the City, he was well-known in his hometown.

As soon as he entered the station, Sheriff Stansted stood up straight from where he had been sitting at his desk. "Hey, son!" He greeted him with a smile. "What brings you by, eh?" He asked, standing face to face with the man, they shook hands while Stansted got a better look at the young Detective. "What happened to your shoes?" He asked, gesturing toward his bare feet.

The detective shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "Something strange happened, sir. I don't think you would believe me if I told you, but...I need your help, Sheriff." He explained hurriedly, trying to keep his voice low. The Sheriff's expression shifted to one of concern as he took in the man's state of dress. "Please," he added quietly. "It's important."

"Alright, alright. Let's go somewhere private then." He led him to the side room, taking off his hat and throwing it onto the table as he settled down in a chair. Logan followed suit, leaning against the wall of the room and closing his eyes. "Well, what is it, son?" Stansted prompted gently.

He looked around at the Sheriff and hesitated for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he finally decided to speak. "Remember how my father used to say, 'If ever you find yourself in a pickle boy, you know who you can talk to should I not be here?..." he trailed off, unsure if the sheriff would understand what he meant.

Sheriff Stansted's face softened considerably. "Yeah. Yeah I do remember, and your father was right, you can talk to me." He reassured him.

*******

Stansted and his father were great friends when he was alive. After their death, Stansted had taken him into his household and raised him alongside his own children. For a few years, things went on greatly in the Sheriff's household, but his wife didn't like Logan very much. That only got worse when she knew of his condition. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Logan would be caught talking to the eyes that tormented his everyday life. He would be caught running out of his room at the speed of light, and yelling out suddenly during dinner time when he would find those eyes lingering behind the woman who treats him badly. This made her hatred grow, and Logan caught both couples fighting over sending him away from the house many times.

"We have had no peace since he arrived here!"

He would always catch her yelling at her husband.

Stansted would sigh deeply, slumping into the armchair. "He's just a boy, Violet, let him live, his family is all dead, and he needs us…"

"We don't need him, besides there are many children's homes for the likes of him, even better a mental institute would fit him best!"

"Violet?!"

"What? Have I spoken wrongly, he's a sick child, Stan, he needs professional help, or he'll just kill us all like he did his parents!"

"I did not kill my parents!" The weak voice startled the couple as he ran into the living room and yelled back at the woman. "That is a hateful thing to say to me." He fought helplessly.

"Yes, you did," Violet would yell back, pushing the boy's chest causing him to nearly fall.

"No!" He would cry. "I did not!"

"If they weren't so ashamed of what you had become, and were both eager to abandon you at that Fuel Station that day, they would have both still been alive. If you hadn't been born into their lives, your mother would not have gone crazy and your father would not have lost his life’s work just to care for you... and now they're both dead!"

"No, you're lying, they weren't going to leave me, they loved me!"

"Enough, Violet!"

“You have brought nothing to them but bad luck!”

“Enough!” Stansted would yell back.

“You’re lying!” the boy would cry harder.

"They hated you, both of them, they tried to make you better, but they saw you weren't getting any better… your mother should have drowned you as a baby like she wanted to do, and your father should have let you crawl into the fire if he had known you would take their lives-" the rest of her words ended when Stansted slapped her hard across the cheeks.

The boy ran out of the house, and wouldn't stop until he arrived at his formal home. At fifteen he was determined to live alone, all by himself. He wasn't going to go back there, and nobody would insist they take him away or he would kill himself. It was the threat he brought before Stansted and all who dared tried to take him away, and eventually Stansted accepted responsibility for the boy, he often came to check on him, and made sure he went to school. It was a tough time but he toughened it out, with the help of Stansted and the twins.

Two years after he left their home, Violet was found dead, hanging from their bedroom fan. They said it was her guilt that had killed her, but Logan felt he knew better.

But what she said about his parents… that could only be lies.

Nothing but lies.

********

"Logan?!" Stansted called, and the young man turned toward him. "The space trip is over now. You can come down to me." He tried to make the young man smile. "What were you going to tell me just now?"

Logan sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as the events of the night flashed across his mind. He opened his mouth to speak but found his throat locked in place, unable to utter a single word. "I...I..." Logan stuttered as he struggled to form words. All the memories seemed to come flooding back into his mind and he could hear the sound of his arousal ringing in his head, as he moaned, and begged the devil-like creature to touch him, to mar his skin with those flaming hands. A shuddering breath escaped his quivering lips, and he shut his eyes quickly, knowing he could not bring himself to utter those words out loud. Not to Stansted at least.

Whatever it was that had happened, for all he knew, happened only in his dreams.

But, if that were true... how then had he woken in that field.

Who brought him there?

And Steven?

Where the fuck was Steven?