Beginning, Previous Section, Section III, Next Section
"Your father and uncles say they found you in a barn." There was no response. "How did you end up in the barn?"
Matthew looked up at him and smiled.
"Did you say something? I hit my head, and it seems to have done something to my hearing." A fit of coughing ruined his affable mask.
"How did you hit your head?"
"Well, now, there I was mistaken. I did not hit my head. That was done by somebody else."
"I see. And who was this?"
"I don't know."
"What did he look like?"
"I couldn't say."
"How did you come to fight him?"
"Why do people fight? We were angry."
"Why were you angry?"
"He insulted me."
"How did he insult you?"
"He was in my sight." Matthew shuddered. "His face was abominable."
"Could you describe him?"
"I'm afraid not; he was rather nondescript." Matthew smiled at the puzzled look on the man's face.
"How many were there?"
"I don't know. One, two, three, four."
"Four against you? Your family said you had a friend who was with you. What was this friend's name?"
"Gabriel ... I never knew his last name. My father told me once, but I forgot it"
"Where is he?"
"My father is outside, I assume. He is worried about me."
"As he should be; you are worrisome. Where is this Gabriel?"
"Gone."
"Gone where?"
"He's dead." Matthew shifted uncomfortably, and the policeman welcomed this as a sign that his facade was breaking.
"How did he die?"
"I don't know. I didn't see it."
"Then how do you know he's dead?"
"I just do." Matthew's jaw tightened and he looked away.
The policeman quirked an eyebrow.
"Where was he when all this happened?"
"He was there."
"Where might I find his body?"
"You won't."
"Why not?"
"They did something with him. I don't know. Maybe they took him with them."
"Then there was more than one attacker?"
"We weren't attacked." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep from getting angry.
"How can you say that?"
"I started the fight. They happened to win."
"I see. Tell me, was this Gabriel strong?"
"Yes."
"Did you and he ever fight?"
"When we first met, we did."
"Why?"
Matthew shrugged.
"Stupid reasons, typical childish things."
"Who won these fights?"
"He did, generally."
"Did you argue recently?"
"No." Matthew looked up at him, startled by this turn of the conversation.
Sergeant Wiggens smiled in self-satisfaction. He thought he knew what happened now.
Alex and Chris Darcy stopped in their tracks when they heard raised voices coming out of Matthew's room. They glanced at each other and began to enter the room, alarmed by the sudden coughing that replaced the shouting. Before Alex could turn the knob, however, the door opened and the policeman ran out. He ducked and his own notebook sailed over his head. Alex and Chris stared after it and Chris whistled.
"For someone with a sore shoulder, he can still throw."
"Such a temper!" the policeman said, indignantly straightening his coat.
"What happened?" asked Alex.
"I was only asking him questions about what happened." Wiggens pouted.
"Must've said something stupid," said Chris. "Matt can't abide stupid people." Alex nodded and they looked at the officer pityingly. He huffed and left, saying he was going to talk with their fathers. They laughed and entered the room.
Matthew was lying on his bed, his blankets twisted around his legs, his arms folded and his lips in a sulk. When the boys went closer, they were alarmed to see him turn his face away to hide tears.
"That policeman must have been very stupid, indeed," said Alex. The brothers sat down on opposite sides of the bed, making avoidance impossible.
"What did he say?"
"Oh, nothing. He asked me if I killed Gabriel, that's all."
"He's dead?"
"Yes." Matthew buried his head in his hands.
"Well, it's stupid to think you could kill anybody," said Chris reassuringly.
"Would you like to talk about it?" asked Alex.
"No. I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what the children have been doing."
Alex and Chris amused him for the next hour or so with tales of how Josh had upset the punchbowl down Lady Hastings' dress, how Marcus had kept the children in raptures over his childhood adventures with bill collectors and the like, and how Emily had caught him in an outright lie during the tale, and he had covered it up very smoothly.
Matthew was mightily entertained, and almost forgot his own troubles while laughing at his cousins. While Alex teased him, he could tease Alex, and they both teased Chris, who could only repeat the things they had said to each other earlier. At one point, Chris brought up the sole advantage he could think of, of being in Matthew's current position.
"With a face like that, you won't have to worry about being chased by certain petticoats in this house. Poor Alex, here, has had to hide several times today."
Alex blushed and Matthew laughed.
"Of course, there is one person who might not be deterred...."
Matthew protested: why should anyone think so highly of him?
"Oh, but there is somebody who does. She's wild about you. Of course, you probably never noticed her, you cad."
Matthew appealed to Alex for help.
"No, he's right," said Alex. "You won't believe it, of course; her manners aren't exactly the sort that are designed to flatter or flirt, but Jane tells me that Marissa Preston...."
"Marissa!" Matthew exclaimed, wincing with pain. "No, you're wrong. She's too young..."
"What did I say? Women fall over him, he's oblivious," Alex pulled a face. "But then, I think I'd rather be oblivious. It's much less tedious and confusing. Of all the things I hate about having to be a duke, that is probably the one I hate most: all the clingy females."
"You're quite right," said Matthew. "You should marry Emily as soon as possible, and settle in a foreign country and raise your ten children in peace and harmony, or as much peace and harmony as is possible when you're married to my aunt."
Alex blushed again, but did not seem to absolutely scorn this idea.
As enjoyable as this interlude was, however, both the Darcy boys were inwardly horrified by their cousin's state. When they left his room, they went at once to speak to Robin Preston, Andrew Fitzwilliam and Ian Darcy about it, hoping to hear that their concern was unreasonable.
Robin Preston stared at his cousins in horror as they told him about their interview with Matt. Josh had told him it was bad, but everybody knew the boy had a tendency to exaggerate. For a moment he was inclined to believe it was all a terrible prank.
"Are you serious?" he asked, cocking his head to one side with an unbelieving smile that disappeared with Alex and Chris's solemn nod.
"He could barely talk without coughing, and that obviously hurt a lot. I can't believe this could happen! On Pemberley!" Alex was very nearly distraught, and he sat down heavily beside Robin. "If only we knew who did it."
"Didn't Matthew say?"
Chris shook his head.
"He didn't want to talk about it. Understandable, I'd say. The policeman shook him up quite a bit."
Robin frowned.
"Why wouldn't he say? Doesn't he want the person to be caught?"
The brothers shrugged.
"Maybe he can't remember. It happens sometimes. Maybe he didn't see him; maybe he was attacked from behind. I don't know." Alex looked up at Chris, perplexed. "Who would want to...?
"I think I have a slight idea," said Robin grimly, and stalked out of the room. Alex and Chris looked at each other, then ran after him.
Marcus Wickham was walking down the hall, trying to get away from all the gloom. He was tired of it. Beatings happened. They had happened to him, and he had recovered. He didn't understand why everybody was so upset. He was willing to bet that self-righteous Matthew was enjoying the attention.
He looked up from his bitter musings to find Robin blocking his way, his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
"What do you want?" Marcus asked wearily.
"The policeman was just here."
Marcus looked around self-consciously.
"What for?"
Robin blinked, momentarily put-off.
"To ask Matthew some questions." Marcus rolled his eyes, sighed, and looked at Robin.
"What is your point?"
"Matthew refused to tell him who did it."
"Maybe he doesn't know."
"No, I think he knows," said Robin, lifting his chin. "I don't know about you, Wickham, but if something like that happened to me, I'd say who it was, and fast."
"Then it would happen again, wouldn't it?" Marcus's lips smiled but his eyes were hard. "People don't like little boys who tell." Robin's eyes widened, but he went on.
"I think he must be protecting somebody. Why would he do that?" Marcus stared at him blankly. His lack of response made Robin angrier. "His best friend was murdered, Marcus; why won't he say who did it? Maybe because he knows it would embarrass my aunt and uncle if their nephew was arrested for murder. Could that be it? What do you think?" Robin shoved a now pale Marcus into the wall.
"I think you've gone mad," said Marcus. "I was with Jocelyn all day. Now let me go."
"Yes, Jocelyn," said Robin between his teeth. "You like her, don't you? Or is it her dowry? One thing's for sure, you didn't like how Matthew tried to keep her away from you. You practically threatened him last night, or don't you remember?"
"How could I have done that? I told you, I wasn't there! I was here!"
"You could have hired somebody."
"With what?" Marcus struggled, not wishing to hit Robin. "I don't have any money."
"You won enough last night."
Marcus ground his teeth in frustration.
"I didn't do it! Now let me go!" He wrenched himself free and started to walk away, then turned back to Robin. "You must think me a fool, if you think I'd try to kill somebody who's staying in the same house as me. It's very typical to suspect the poorest person. I didn't even know the boy who was killed. But if you really want to fight me, Robin, wait until you can shave."
Robin put a hand to his face self-consciously and glowered at Marcus as he walked away.
Lady Jocelyn Fitzwilliam had not heard the entirety of the conversation between Marcus and Robin, but she had heard the part that pertained to her. She did not know what to think of it. On one hand, she did not think Marcus was capable of something like this. But on the other hand, she could not think of anybody else with the slightest motive. That was what worried her. Marcus had not lied when he said he was with her today--but he had exaggerated when he said he had been with her all day. There had been that brief time, when he had left her at the pond with the other children for---it must have been an hour. Would that have been enough time to kill Gabriel and leave Matthew helpless in the barn? Was it the same time that Matthew and Gabriel must have gone missing? She could not remember. It made her head ache to think about it.
In this troubled state, her mind drifted back to Freddy Stanton. A boy more different from Marcus could not be imagined. What was he doing tonight? Was he preparing for the holiday with his mother and father? Was his father still sick? Was the family in mourning? Or was the house filled with joy and laughter, as it should be three nights before Christmas? Was he thinking of her?
She looked at her desk, where she had hidden the letter she had written him just before meeting Marcus for the first time. It was addressed to his sister, but little Mary would know it was actually for Freddy. She would give it to him, unopened, and he would read it, perhaps at night, with his dog at his feet. He would respond right away, too.
A pain stabbed her in the chest as she realized Matthew had been right: Freddy was in love with her, and she was stringing him along. But what could she do about it? She wasn't ready to admit she was in love with anybody. Everybody kept telling her she was grown-up now. But she didn't feel grown. She still wanted to jump and play, as her little half-sister, Sabrina, did. She did not want to leave her father's house. She was happy the way she was. And Marcus let her be that way.
Marcus. Jocelyn had to lie down as the pain in her head increased. She liked him. She did, she couldn't help it. He had always been friendly and charming towards her. It hurt to think he might have been only after her dowry.
Freddy had no need of her dowry.
She groaned and pulled her knees up to her chest. How could she possibly choose? Marcus's personality intrigued her, but what if he was a murderer? Was it possible? And if he was, should she choose Freddy simply because he was the safe choice?
In a sudden burst of initiative, she jumped off her bed, opened the drawer where the letter lay hidden, and grabbing it in her hand, rushed downstairs to give it to her father to frank. It would not hurt to send the letter, after all. Maybe she would feel better if she had a letter from Freddy.
On her way back upstairs, she met Marcus who was on his way down. He stopped to talk to her but the look in her eyes made him pause.
"What's the matter?"
"I-I'd rather not talk about it right now, if you don't mind," she said, averting her eyes from his.
"Did you talk to your mother?" Marcus knew about her recent disagreements with Lady Matlock. Jocelyn shook her head.
"No. I'm just very confused. About you. Excuse me, please."
"And what's so confusing about me? I am what you see. Jocelyn," he stepped in front of her and took one of her hands in his. He looked into her eyes searchingly, "I've just had four people practically accuse me of either fortune-hunting, or murder. You don't suspect me of that, do you?"
Her eyes welled up as she looked at his pleading face. Then she dropped her gaze to the ground and said,
"I--no. I mean--I don't know what to think. Please let me go. It is late. I have to go to bed."
Georgiana and Christopher sat on opposite sides of Matthew's bed. He was sleeping peacefully now, and it seemed as though he would continue to do so for the rest of the night. But neither of them wanted to take any chances. If he worsened---or improved---they wanted to be there. Even if nothing changed, seeing was better than wondering.
Georgiana glanced at her husband and smiled faintly. He did not smile back, but stared pensively at their son. That is, his eyes were pointed in that direction. She did not think he was actually seeing anything at this moment.
"I think he will recover," she said softly, trying to reassure him as well as herself. He nodded slowly. "The doctor was frightful. He made me think it was much worse than it is. I was never so relieved to see Matthew calm."
"He is calm because..." Christopher stopped himself from dashing her hopes, and smiled. "Yes. It is not so bad as he said."
"It is no worse than..." she paused and glanced at Christopher, who was still not looking at her. "I've seen people in worse conditions live."
He nodded, not bothering to remind her of how close he had come to dying, himself. As it was, she needed no verbal reminder. She saw it in his eyes. She sighed and pushed that from her mind. She had enough to worry about now. Bending over, she brushed Matthew's hair off his forehead, then looked up at Christopher again, her eyes brimming with tears.
"What is wrong, Christopher?"
"Do you mean besides the fact that we are sitting here, hoping for a sign that our son will live, and not die?"
"Yes. There is something else. You said yourself it is not so bad as Dr. Grady said. You say that, and you continue to glower. What should I think, except that you are worried about something else?"
"I am worried, Georgie," he sighed, and leaned forward in his chair, then jumped up and went around to stand behind it. "No, that is not the right word. You might say....I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what? Surely the police will make an arrest soon."
"They can't arrest somebody if they don't know who they're looking for."
"Well, of course they know who they are...." she trailed off and her eyes widened as she realized she had not been told who had done this. She had simply assumed, since the policeman had left, that he knew what he was after. She had been too concerned about whether Matthew would be all right to inquire as to how he had gotten this way. "Christopher," she gasped, "who could do such a thing?"
"I don't know. But don't misunderstand me: I'm not afraid of them."
"Then who?"
They were interrupted by a whimper coming from the bed between them. They were both dismayed by the suddenness of the fever, and while Matthew continued to thrash, Georgiana wrapped her arms around him and cooed at him as though he were still a baby. But unlike the baby she had held fifteen years ago, her nearly-grown son did not quiet down at the sound of her voice.
Once again, Matthew lived the nightmare of that afternoon. It was all the same, except now he was a spectator. He saw himself try to get to his knees, only to be kicked down again. He heard Gabriel's screams, louder and more agonizing than before. He smelled the whiskey on his attackers' breath as they laughed at him. They obviously took pleasure in this sort of thing. He tried to look away from the spectacle, but it was too late. He was no longer only watching.
He cried out as the man's walking stick came down on his shoulders. His hand sank further into the snow, and he collapsed. Shaking his head with dizziness, he once again pushed himself back up. The snow was being sprinkled with blood, whether his or Gabriel's he could not tell. He looked up and saw the stick coming towards his face. He jolted awake at the sound of his own voice.
"Mama!" He was surprised to actually find himself in her arms, and buried his head in her shoulder gratefully. "There were s-so many of them," he said, sobbing and shivering violently despite the warmth in the room. "I t-tried to help him. I did. But th-there were so many."
"I know, dearest. Go back to sleep now. You'll be all right."
"I tried to help him. We c-could have won. But he wouldn't fight. He let them...."
"Shhh," Georgiana soothed. "I'm sure you did the best you could."
"It's not your fault, Matthew," said Christopher, helping Georgiana tuck him in. Matthew looked away and took a shuddering breath, tears streaming down his face.
"I wasn't strong enough."
"You did as well as you could."
"Gabriel's dead."
"But you're alive!" Georgiana pleaded with him. "And you have to stay that way, for us!"
"I'm not going to die, Mother," he said quietly, looking at Christopher. "Not much use in dying, is there?"
"No," she breathed, trying to smile through her tears. She was too happy to notice the looks passing between her husband and her son. Christopher tried to reason with him.
"You're the only one who knows who did this, Matt. It would probably be very satisfying for you, to be the one who sends them to the gallows." Georgiana agreed most fervently.
"I've never been to a hanging, but I might consider going to that one."
"They won't hang," said Matthew grimly. "They've probably left England by now."
"Well, then, I'm sure they'll never come back here again," said Georgiana. Matthew smiled.
"No, they won't."
Georgiana kissed his forehead and told him to get a good night's sleep. Christopher was silent, afraid that Matthew would take anything he said and twist it into an excuse to seek revenge. Before he left, Matthew said,
"I'm looking forward to working with you, Father."
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," Christopher said lowly, so that Georgiana would not hear. "Get some sleep. Maybe you'll regain your sanity."
"You never did."
Christopher closed the door firmly behind him.
Marcus was afraid to go to bed. He shared a room with two people---one had been terribly hurt, and the other suspected him of administering the beating. He couldn't help wondering if Matthew thought he had done it, too. If that were the case, he certainly wouldn't be able to stay at Pemberley, regardless of his innocence in the matter. Nobody would believe him over Matthew, least of all Jocelyn, who seemed to idolize him.
This hurt him. He had thought he had succeeded in winning Jocelyn's trust. It struck him as odd that he would be more concerned about her trust than her money. He had not noticed the change in motives. Where had that come from? She was still the pretty rich girl he had met on the stairs. She still held the only thing that could rescue him, his sisters, his brother, and most importantly his mother, from poverty. So why did the thought of eloping with her make him feel ill?
Becky had suggested that perhaps he was growing a conscience. He had laughed at the notion and proceeded to try to show her that there was no chance of that happening. She had remained unconvinced, however, and this was another thing that bothered him. Of all the people in the great house, it was most important that she thought he had no conscience. If she thought otherwise, she might expect him to marry her, and that could get messy, particularly if Jocelyn expected the same thing. If it weren't for this fear, he would be with her tonight, instead of waiting fearfully outside his room, hoping the other occupants would not condemn him.
He watched as Sir Christopher and Lady Blakeney left the room, and took heart in the fact that Lady Blakeney seemed hopeful. He waited until they were out of sight then tiptoed to the door and carefully turned the knob.
Thankfully, Robin had not come to bed yet. Matthew seemed to be asleep, as well, and Marcus released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. It caught in his throat again, however, when Matthew spoke just as he was climbing into bed.
"Your father tried to murder mine."
"What?" Marcus was astonished to hear his own voice squeak. He paused in midstep and turned to look at the younger boy.
"You didn't know?" asked Matthew quietly. He lifted himself to a sitting position, betraying only a slight grimace of pain. "That was why he was hanged."
"My mother told me that was because he ... owed money."
"People aren't hanged for debt," said Matthew, smiling. Marcus shook his head.
"No, I know that. She said that he had gone to Pemberley to ask for money, and instead had been accused of trying to steal something."
"Yes. He had come to steal Alex." Marcus had to sit down. "My father was in the way, you see..."
"How do you know all this?" asked Marcus suspiciously. "My father died in 1814. You weren't even born until a few years later, unless I'm mistaken."
"My aunt told me," Matthew said, smoothing the wrinkles in his blanket. "I'm not trying to antagonize you, though, Marcus. I'm trying to explain. I was thinking.... Perhaps this knowledge prejudiced me against you. Jocelyn told me repeatedly that you were just friends, but I didn't believe her. Should I?"
Marcus didn't know quite how to answer. On one hand, he was relieved to hear that Jocelyn had not received his attentions the way he had originally planned. But should he confess, or simply tell the truth as it now stood? He nodded. Matthew looked down.
"Well, then I'm sorry."
Marcus accepted the apology silently, but couldn't help being suspicious. The tone had been too grudging, rushed. People as self-assured as Matthew Blakeney did not suddenly change their opinions like this. He must want something. Well, he was not volunteering anything, so Marcus might as well speak what was on his mind---or at least what had been on his mind before this strange conversation.
"You don't think I had anything to do with your ... accident, do you?"
Matthew looked up at him sharply and frowned.
"Accident? I would not have termed it that way. No, I never suspected you. Why?"
"Everybody else seems to."
"Do they?" Matthew looked amused. "Well..." He studied Marcus for a few moments, then smiled and pretended to change the subject. "Marcus Wickham, lady-killer. You said last night that you have a certain reputation for fighting."
"Well... yes. But truly, there was only one fight over a girl, and her brother started it." Marcus was defensive.
"But you do know how to fight," Matthew urged.
"Of course. Growing up as I did..."
"Yes, of course," Matthew dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Marcus was puzzled. He waited for him to say more, but Matthew was now staring into nothingness, as though he had forgotten Marcus was there. Marcus sighed, shrugged and turned back to his bed. Once again he was interrupted just as he was about to lie down.
"You say they ... all of them ... think you hired those men..."
"Ridiculous notion. Where would I get the money?"
"Perhaps they assume you have more than you do, because of how much you won from them last night," said Matthew, shrugging. "But they do suspect you?"
"Yes."
"That must be uncomfortable for you," said Matthew with overdone sympathy. Marcus snorted an affirmative.
"Well, I'll make you a deal, Marcus. I'll go downstairs tomorrow, and tell them of your innocence in this matter.... if you will teach me to fight."
Marcus's eyes glinted and he almost accepted hastily, before he thought of something else.
"I can't teach you to fight. If any of them saw it, they'd say I was attacking you again."
"Not if I told them you had nothing to do with it."
"They'd say I coerced you, or something." Marcus shook his head. "It wouldn't work."
"Well, they will all be gone long before you or I leave! I have to stay here until I'm well-- -believe me, I can make that last as long as I need to---and you aren't going anywhere until your mother comes back, which could be never."
"My mother will come back," said Marcus abruptly.
"I'm sure she will," said Matthew more gently. "But you see, we have plenty of time."
"You mean you would lie to your parents, pretend to be worse than you are, only to prolong your stay here?"
"Well, when you put it like that...." Matthew shifted uncomfortably. Marcus looked him up and down skeptically.
"I don't think I'd want to hit you, as fragile as you look...."
"Oh, stop that!" Matthew snapped and jumped out of bed as if to prove how strong he was. He swayed dizzily and had to sit back down almost immediately. "Well, I'll think of something. In any case, I can always simply allow them to think what they want to, if you don't agree...."
"That's blackmail!" Marcus exclaimed. Matthew smiled smugly and lay back on his pillow.
"So it is. My, my.... How things do change sometimes."
Georgiana sighed heavily and rolled over onto her back. She could not sleep. She could not help imagining what Matthew must have gone through, and what she would like to do to the villains who would do such a thing to a sweet boy like her son. She wondered how Christopher could sleep so soundly as to actually turn his back on her. He had never slept with his back to her, as far as she could remember.
She touched his shoulder tentatively and pulled herself up to look over him. She was surprised to see that he was awake, too. She had been certain he was asleep!
"You're awake!"
"So are you."
"I can't sleep."
"I know. You've been tossing for the past hour."
"I'm sorry," she said, stung. "Have I kept you awake?" He shook his head and turned over.
"Georgie, do you think Matthew would ever run away?"
"No, why would he do something like that?" she asked, horrified at the thought.
"It doesn't take much. A little disappointment, dissatisfaction, an eagerness to be on his own. His boats...."
"Are a hobby," said Georgiana reassuringly. "If he goes away for an extended period of time on one of his boats, well, what else could we expect from such a hobby? But he would come back. In any case, why would he be disappointed, or dissatisfied?"
"He wants me to teach him to fight."
Georgiana's eyes widened. She knew Matthew had been taking boxing and fencing lessons for years. If he was asking for fighting lessons, he must be after some other kind of fighting.
"You will not teach him to be like those ... animals!" she exclaimed. "No! I can't believe he would ask something like that. He is gentle, and sweet, and ... no!"
"I told him no," Christopher said quickly, jumping up to take her in his arms when she started to cry. "But Georgie, you can't expect him to be the same after this. It is bad enough that they took his pride, but they killed his best friend."
"But why does he think he has to learn something that will only cause him to be hurt again? He's never wanted to fight before!"
"He wants revenge."
Marissa Preston lay in her bed, her blanket clutched in her hands, which were placed firmly under her chin. She was struggling not to appear as though she'd been crying. Any minute now, Natasha, Jane and Jessica would come, and they would want to know what had upset her so.
She squeezed her eyes against the tears as she thought again of how Matthew had looked in the kitchen earlier. She could not bear the thought of him helpless. She did not want to wonder if his face would be scarred. She tried to replace the image with a happier one, of him talking and laughing with her and their cousins, but the one that intruded itself on her thoughts, would not go away, was the picture of him, helpless, frozen and bleeding on the kitchen floor.
She could hear her roommates coming. Jane Darcy was sharing the information she had received from her brothers.
"Alex said that when they were finished cleaning him, the water had turned all red."
Natasha and Jessica expressed proper disgust.
"There was blood running down the side of his face. Kit thought we could trace the path to the barn where they found him, if the snow hadn't already covered up all the blood."
"Did the blood go like this," Jessica traced a finger down her own cheek, "or like this?" This time she traced a path into her hair.
"He didn't say," said Jane, nonplussed. "But Matthew's hair is shorter than yours."
"I know. I just want to know what the scar will look like."
"Oh, it won't be noticeable. At least, Alex doesn't think so. He says head wounds generally bleed a lot, and for all he knows, it could've just been a tiny cut somewhere."
"Where are you going, Marissa?" Natasha asked as her sister jumped out of bed and ran for the door.
"I need ... I need a drink. I'm thirsty." She let the door slam behind her.
"Why was she crying?" asked Jessica, who had not missed the muffled sound of the other girl's voice.
"She's in love with Matthew," Natasha explained.
Robin Preston opened the door to his bedroom and was horrified to find Marcus bending over a sleeping Matthew.
"What are you doing?" he bellowed. Startled, Marcus jumped back, looking terribly guilty in Robin's opinion.
"H-he won't wake up," Marcus explained as Robin shoved him aside. "See, he didn't even jump when you yelled."
Robin eyed him suspiciously.
"What was going on before I came?"
"We were talking. He got a little excited, then lay down and closed his eyes. I thought he was only sleeping, but ... I don't know. Something's wrong."
As if on cue, Matthew moaned, and Robin was forced to agree and call for help. As several adults came running, Robin continued to eye Marcus with suspicion, while Marcus sat in silence and prayed that Matthew would not die and leave him to deal with his family.