F I V E
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Mark laughed, which wasn't cheerful and warm like it usually was. The sound was cold, empty, and promised that something ominous was to come. It filled Jack with dread and sprang movement into his limbs.

"Look Mark, I think you should go. . ." He began, backing away towards the door. I just found him, now I'm asking him to leave, he thought with a small shake of his head. But he also wasn't acting crazy before.

"You think I should go?" Mark echoed, and laughed harder, which made Jack's stomach twist.

"Yes," he confirmed in his best attempt at sounding firm. "You need to get back to Los Angeles. I don't even know how you got to Ireland in the first place—"

"Does that really matter?" Mark interrupted, and Jack could almost picture him smiling. "I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Jack's heart stopped beating for less than a second before it resumed again, a nervous pace of fear. Mark had never made him feel this way before. Frightened, terrified out of his mind. Not even a horror game had made him feel this way before.

"Please, Mark, just go—" Jack begged. He was begging Mark to leave. Never in a million years did he think he'd have to do that. But here he was, practically ready to toss Mark out onto the street.

"Just go?" Mark's voice picked up, and Jack thought he sounded close to hysteria. "Oh, no. No, no, no. I'm not leaving!"

Before Jack could reply, he continued. "I'm not leaving, and neither are you."