They hadn't bothered knocking them out again. Just a dude at the front door with a bag full of his belongings. They'd taken the liberty to clean out his locker from the reserve. Awfully nice of them.
The first day post signing away his soul, Marcus found himself parked on his couch, staring up at his apartment's popcorn ceiling. The phone rang and rang and rang. He didn't answer. Didn't even wonder who it was. What was the point? Mercifully, it died halfway through a bout of ringing on the second day. When the sheer stench of his unshowered body became unbearable, he got up, showered, then promptly slumped back onto the couch.
Three days in, he woke to a severe cramp in his gut. It occurred to him that he hadn't eaten or drank anything in days. So naturally, he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth and stuck his face under the faucet until his stomach sloshed.
Then collapsed back onto the couch.
Marcus!" Calliope's voice shouted from outside his apartment door. "Open this door now." She banged against the wood. She chanted something, then cursed as his locks gave her fingertips a nasty shock, to which he managed a brief, lackluster snort.
"You put in antimagic locks?!" she yelled. "Fucking asshole. Open the door!" She continued to yell at him for the next twenty minutes, banging on the door all the while. "If you're dead in there, I will break every magic law there is to bring you back and kill you myself!" She snapped. Then she was gone.
Later that day he was reminded that he hadn't gotten dressed after his shower the previous day after his mother called the Knoxville Police Department for a welfare check. When he opened the door to show the officers he was, in fact, still alive, they received quite the surprise.
Calliope arrived again that evening. "Marcus. Open the door, please."
Less anger this time, far more concern. The sound of her voice broke what little of him was left. He left the safety of his couch, still nude as the day he was born, and opened the door.
"Dude, put that thing away." James said as Callie shrieked and covered her eyes.
"James, take care of that, please." Calliope spoke through her hands.
James looked much better than he'd last seen him, likely thanks to Calliope. She'd always been a skilled alchemist. Probably cooked him up something immediately. His brother-in-law led him back to his room, sat him on his bed and put him in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
"You look like shit." James sat down beside him. "I know how much the reserve meant to you. I'm sorry."
Marcus' face contorted. "Don't apologize." The first words he'd spoken in days. The sound of his voice combined with the smell of his breath made him dizzy. He studied James' face for a moment, confusion crossing his mind as something occurred to him that the grief he'd been experiencing must have clouded.
"They tortured you." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, like he should have been considering them all this time, but he was too busy drowning in his own shit.
James gave a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I mean, they gave me a beating, yeah."
"And Ophelia?"
He shrugged, "She seemed alright physically when they let us out. Are you mad they didn't kick your ass?"
"No, I'm confused." Marcus shook his head. "What were they trying to get you to tell them?"
James frowned. "You know I can't tell you that."
Marcus just nodded. Of course, that would have been included in his contract. If it was something to do with the reserve, it made sense to get it out of James, but why Ophelia? Marcus sighed at the clatter of pots and pans rattling around in his kitchen. "Can you go tell your wife I'm not hungry?"
"I'm going to cook and you're going to eat," Calliope yelled back at him.
"Sorry, brother." James patted his back. "She's the boss. Come on." James got up, pulling at Marcus' shoulder to ease him up and lead him out into the kitchen.
Somehow, Calliope had scrounged up enough from his barren kitchen to fry up some chicken with mashed potatoes. He picked at it just enough to keep her off his back about not eating. As good as it smelled and tasted, it was a struggle to keep it down.
"You need to get out of this apartment, Marcus. Go see Mom and Dad. Go to the Gym. Go do something. You can't just rot in here." Calliope watched him eat as if he might vanish at any moment.
Rot
The word hit him like a brick to the face. Norah's black veined eyes appeared in his mind, making his already queasy stomach clench. He swallowed hard, collecting himself as he looked up at her and put on an obviously fake smile.
"I will." He lied as he pushed around some potatoes on his plate.
"James." She looked at her husband, exasperated. "Say something to him, please."
He didn't say anything at first, just watched him. Like he was trying to gauge just how broken Marcus was. "Maybe we should give him some…" He was silenced by the wide-eyed glare that sprouted on Calliope's face. "Oh, yeah. I'm going to the rec center to play some basketball tomorrow. You wanna come hang out?"
Marcus made the mistake of looking up from his plate. Calliope stared daggers at him, daring him to decline. "Sure. I guess. What time?" He didn't have the energy to argue. Besides, maybe pretending to be normal would get everyone off his back.
"Good…now." Calliope cleared her throat, setting down her fork. "We need to talk about these contracts you two signed."
Marcus gave her an incredulous look. "If we could talk about them, they'd be pretty shitty contracts, wouldn't they?"
"I'm not talking about the specifics, you idiot." She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm talking about the fallout. No one is going to believe you quit. James, maybe, but not you."
James shrugged. "We'll just tell them we were fired. I did something stupid and we both got the can."
"Probably more believable if I did something stupid." Marcus added, staring down into his plate.
Calliope nodded, "Good. That was relatively painless." She paused for a moment, studying Marcus closely. "I need you to promise me something."
"What?" Marcus' voice was flat, and he didn't bother looking up.
"That you aren't going to do anything else to put yourself in danger."
Marcus did glance up at that. His sister's eyes had gone misty. Right now, he didn't have the ambition to do anything but get back onto his couch and vegetate, but if he knew anything about himself, he doubted that would last long.
"No," he said honestly
"Marcus..." She started, but was immediately cut off.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Callie." Marcus' gaze shifted back to the potatoes he was moving across his plate. "That job, those animals. They were a part of me. I can't tell you that I'm going to just let that go."
The remainder of the evening, he did his best to act as regular as possible though the tension was palpable. When Callie and James finally left, he closed the door behind them and stopped before he could get back to the couch. The patch of shitty carpet didn't look any different from the rest of it, but when he saw it, the emptiness within deepened. He could almost still see her there. Like it was still finding pieces of him to take when he thought there were none left.
Another knock at his door kicked him out of his sudden trance. He yanked open the door, expecting to see his sister or James had forgotten something. Instead, the blonde hair and easy smile of Ophelia stared up at him as poised and refined as any ordinary day.
"Sorry, you weren't answering my calls…" the smile faded and her confident stance shriveled slightly, as if questioning whether she should be there.
"Why is everyone apologizing to me?" Marcus left the door open, turning to go collapse on the couch again.
"I can't speak for everyone else," she said, stepping inside and looking around his dump of an apartment, "but you were a bit aggressive with the door, then you looked at me like I booted your dog across the road. Did you make chicken?" she asked, sniffing at the air.
"Calliope." He pointed over his shoulder into the kitchen. "There's plenty. I'm not gonna eat it."
Ophelia made herself at home, taking off her coat and draping it over one of his kitchen chairs, and setting her purse on the counter. Marcus heard the microwave start, then she leaned against the back of the couch, hovering over him with a smile. "You want anything?"
"Peace and quiet?" Marcus didn't bother to look up at her, laying on his side and staring into the blank television.
"Hmm.. Can't do that. Fancy a beer?"
Marcus shook his head. "I'm good. Thanks."
"Mind if I have one?"
"Knock yourself out."
She skipped back into the kitchen at the ding of the microwave and returned a second later with a tall can and plate in hand. "Feet." She said, kneeing his legs. When he didn't move, she sat the can on the floor, grabbed his legs with her free arm and lifted them enough to slide beneath. Her touch sent a spark through the fog in his gut, quick and uninvited. He didn't move. His calves rested on her lap, her plate on top of them. "You mind if I turn on the telly?"
"No soccer." He mumbled against the padded arm of the couch.
"Football," she corrected, "and I won't."
She settled on an old black and white sitcom and was quiet as she ate. After two episodes passed, she'd finished her dinner and had slid back under his legs. The short fingernails of one hand drew tiny, aimless patterns into the skin of his calf. She didn't try to talk, just chuckled every now and again at the television and continued to skim her fingers along his skin.
An hour passed. Then two. Every once in a while, he would glance over at her. On the rare occasion that she did catch his gaze, she'd just given him a soft smile and diverted her attention back to the television. He'd been expecting some kind of lecture, but it seemed she was content just sitting with him.
When the third hour passed, quickly approaching midnight, she finally spoke. "I don't mean to be a bother, but can I stay here tonight?"
Marcus turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. "Something wrong at your place?"
"No.." she said sheepishly. "I just don't want to be alone." She removed her hand from his calf and rubbed the back of her neck. Oddly enough, he found himself missing the touch. "I've been staying with your parents, and I love them, I do… I just don't want to talk about.."
Marcus just nodded. "You can have my bed," He interrupted. She didn't need to say anything else.
"Thank you. Do you mind if I have a shower?"
"Make yourself at home," Marcus said, pressing the side of his head back into the imprint he'd created in the arm of the couch.
He woke early the next morning. The television had grayed out, a big message asking if he was still watching on it. He wasn't watching to begin with. Marcus paused in the doorway to his room on his way to the bathroom. She'd taken one of his old t-shirts, limbs curled around one of his pillows, blonde hair splayed out behind her. He found himself smiling. Genuinely. It felt unnatural on his lips.
She was still peacefully sleeping when he got out of the shower. He quickly dressed, left her a little note letting her know he'd be back in a couple hours, and headed off to the rec center.
Marcus wasn't certain what to expect. He couldn't recall ever meeting any of James' school friends. When they all filed in with the same thin, lanky build as James, he realized just how casual this game was about to be. It was a little like how he'd imagined playing sports with his niece and nephew would be when they got older, just with full-grown adults. When James was the most coordinated and athletic of the group, there was a serious problem.
The exercise was helpful, which in hindsight was obvious, even if the competition was lackluster. He dialed it back just enough to keep the game mostly interesting, before the opposing team bowed out.
James caught up with him on the way out of the building. "Hey!" He called out. Marcus slowed so he could catch up. "Thanks for coming, haven't had a workout like that in a while."
"No problem." Marcus replied, stopped and turned to face him as he reached the truck.
"I know you're still pretty raw, but I wanted to let you know I'm looking into opening a small business. Nothing fancy. Just a little magi-tech repair shop."
Marcus closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "I can't… I can't think about this right now, brother."
"No, of course." James patted his shoulder. "It's not even a thing yet, so don't worry about it. Whenever you're back on your feet and ready to go though, you just let me know if your…" he paused and swallowed as his gaze shifted passed Marcus to the other side of the truck.
Marcus glanced up at James, then back over his shoulder. Workout clothes and long under-cut up in a messy bun, Victoria stood at the other end of his truck looking, as his father would say, nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
"Hi…" She gave him an awkward half wave.
"I'm gonna…" James jerked his head away from the solid block of tension that had fallen on them. "See ya soon, Marcus."
"See you." He didn't look away from Victoria as his brother slapped him on the back a couple times and walked away. An uncomfortable silence took over as neither of them moved or spoke until he finally broke it. "What do you want?"
Victoria wet her lips, looking down at the ground. "You deserve an explanation. I can't tell you everything, but I wanted to tell you what I can."
"Save it." He hucked the gym bag into the bed of his truck and took a few brisk steps around toward the cab.
She cut him off, standing in front of the driver's side door. "You're right to be angry, but please, give me a second to explain."
"Explain what? You're some Arcanex lackey? Sucking on the same tit Grant is?" Marcus snapped.
"That's not fair." Her jaw shifted, glancing down at her feet.
"Not fair?" Marcus scoffed, "Not fair?! They took my fucking life from me, Victoria." His shoulder shook as tears welled in his eyes, feeling the mania inching closer and closer. "What the hell am I supposed to do with myself?" He growled, slamming his hands down on the lip of his truck, fingers gripping it hard.
"I know they made you sign." Her voice was quiet. "I had to, too. A long time ago."
It was slight, but a little anger deflated from his body. He looked at her then. Really looked. For a fleeting moment, he saw a woman who was just barely holding it together. It wasn't impossible she was a victim in all this, but as quickly as the thought came, it faded.
"Did you know?" He gnawed at his lip, trying to figure out how to word the question without triggering the contract and lighting himself ablaze from the inside out. "Did you know what they did to her?"
"I didn't know they put them in there with Norah."
The shame that crossed her face even as she gave him the answer he was hoping for told him more than he had asked. "But you know about them."
He searched her eyes, silently pleading with her to give him something. Her full lips opened, words just on the cusp of releasing, before they closed again and she glanced down at her feet.
"I can't say." She whispered.
He stared at her, the memory of fire pumping through his veins rearing its ugly head. Lips pursed, he watched her for a few seconds before nodding. He understood, but that didn't make it good enough.
"Move." Marcus said, pulling his keys from his pocket.
"Marcus, please." Her voice cracked, but he wasn't hearing it. "I never wanted any of this to happen."
"Move or I'll move you." He snapped at her.
Victoria slowly stepped aside from the door, letting him get in and start the truck. "I'm sorry, Marcus." She said just before he slammed the door and sped off.
Marcus pushed open the door to his apartment, the smell of reheated chicken lingering in the air. His head spun, and he braced himself against the wall with one hand, dropping his bag and his keys on the floor beside him.
"Hey, I hope you don't mind. I stole one of your jumpers." Ophelia was in his spot, on her knees, looking over the back of the couch at him. "You okay?"
Marcus just shook his head. How did he even put this into words? Maybe Victoria didn't know about Norah, but she knew something. She couldn't say, sure, probably because of whatever contract she signed. That didn't help him at all, though.
"Hey.." Her voice cut through the haze with kindness, rather than volume or force. "Come here." She said, holding a hand out to him.
He couldn't say why, but he did what she asked. Walking on unsteady legs, he got to the couch, where he collapsed. She moved the book that she'd had in her lap and replaced it with his head. Her fingers sunk into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp.
"If you want to talk, I'm here." Her voice mingled with the rhythm of her fingers, soothing his shredded nerves. "But you don't have to."
The nightmares he'd become used to over the last few days didn't come. He fell into a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep. Finally able to relax.