chapter xxi .
an oath to keep with final breath
(meanwhile, at the creel house)

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. It had to be. Erica wasn't answering Lucas's signals. He would flicker his flashlight in her direction over and over again, but all they received back was radio silence. And it wasn't as though Erica was busy; her only job was to answer when they signaled.

Mason ran a hand through his hair. He moved to Lucas's side, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep his balance as he leaned forward towards the window. "Try her again."

Lucas tried the signal one more time. The boys waited for a response, any sign of life, but none came. Mason cursed and backed away from the window, his hands in his hair, frustrated.

Max hadn't moved from the center of the attic, completely unresponsive except for the constant fluttering of her eyelids. Lucas had explained this to be the symptoms of the curse. She'd been under for a while. Mason was starting to get worried—how long did it usually take before the person started levitating and their bones began to crack?

The floorboards behind Mason creaked. Lucas turned around first, his flashlight landing on someone behind Mason.

Lucas froze. "Shit."

"What the hell is this?" came a familiar voice. Mason spun around to see his ex-best friend, a paralyzed expression of pure suspicion on his face as he stared at Max.

"Jason," Mason said, "you can't be here right now, man!"

But Jason just moved closer to Max, until he was crouching right in front of her, one hand on her shoulder like he could wake her up himself. "The hell have you done?"

"Jason," Lucas said slowly, "you need to leave."

"Is this what you did to Chrissy?" he demanded, eyes stuck to Max. He shook her shoulder lightly. "Hey. Hey, can you hear me? Hello?"

Lucas and Mason moved towards the center of the room warily, each coming from different angles. As Jason grew more urgent in trying to wake Max up, Mason moved in more quickly until he had his hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, back up!" Jason demanded, pulling a gun from the pocket of his letterman jacket. His aim danced between Lucas and Mason. "Back the hell up! Not another step, either of you."

"Jason, wait," Lucas said, his hands in the air. "W—wait. We don't have to do this."

Jason cocked the gun. "I hope you're right, man." He nodded to Mason. "Anyone else in the house?"

"Wh—what—?"

"Is there anyone else in the house?" Jason repeated, moving closer and placing a finger over the trigger.

"No!" Mason replied, his hands in the air. "Nobody else is here, man. Just put the gun down, Jason, let us explain—"

Jason gestured with the gun to Lucas. "Turn around! And put down your flashlight. Empty your pockets. And here's what's gonna happen: I'm gonna take Mason. We're gonna stand right over at the top of the stairs, and I'm gonna watch as you lift whatever curse you put on him. Then we'll both watch as you wake her up from whatever the hell this is."

"Jason, man," Mason said, his voice wavering. "Jason, I'm not under any curse, okay? Just listen—"

"You shut the hell up!" Jason bellowed. The hand holding the gun was shaking. "You shut up until your mind isn't clouded by whatever bullshit he cast on you."

"Jason, I didn't cast anything on him," Lucas said slowly, his head turned over his shoulder. "And I can't wake her up. If I do that, we all die."

Jason's finger hovered over the trigger. "No. You don't wake her up right now, you die, Sinclair."

The safety clicked off.

"Jason, man, let me explain!" Mason shouted, holding himself back from jumping Jason and trying to take the gun out of his hands. "Look, man, there's.. there's a monster. They.. they call him Vecna. He's from another dimension. That's why you can't see him, okay? But he's—he's here, I swear to God."

Jason's eyes were on Mason, but the gun was still pointing towards Lucas. "And Eddie Munson and his.. his Hellfire acolytes, what, they all summoned this Vecna?"

"No! No, you're not listening," Lucas exclaimed. "Just listen, man! There's no cult. There never was!"

"You expect me to believe that?" Jason demanded, eyes back on Lucas. "Why was Chrissy at Eddie's trailer?"

"She was buying drugs! She was scared!"

"LIAR!" Jason clicked off the safety again. "See, that's how I know you're lying. If Chrissy was scared—if she wanted help—she would've come to me!"

"You sure about that?" Mason said, his voice low.

Suddenly Jason turned, this time with his whole body, and looked at Mason. The gun was trained directly on his chest. "You.. you're lying, too! Chrissy would never—"

"You're wrong about Chrissy," Lucas said. "Just like you're wrong about Eddie."

"No!" Jason screamed. "But I was wrong about you, Sinclair. I never should've let you in the door."

Lucas drew in a deep breath, his frightened gaze turning to a hard glare. "And I never should have knocked. I thought I wanted to be like you. Popular. Normal. But it turns out.. normal's just a raging psychopath."

Jason readjusted his aim to Lucas. "You have five seconds to wake her up. Or I shoot."

Lucas made no move to follow his instructions. Instead, he just stared down the barrel of the gun, no longer frightened of Jason. Mason felt a sense of pride in Lucas—he had the bravery that Mason was still too nervous to find in himself.

"Lucas, no!" Mason yelled suddenly, as Jason's finger moved closer to the trigger. The exclamation must have startled Jason, because his body turned towards Mason. He was only able to shout out in alarm as Mason dove forward.

He tackled Jason to the ground, the gun clattering from his hand. A sickening crunch signified Jason's back had landed on the Walkman. When Jason rolled over, the device was shattered, the tape inside crushed beneath the weight of a varsity basketball player.

"No!" Lucas cried. "No, shit—"

Mason was landing punch after punch on Jason's face, each hit feeling better and better on Mason's fists—and his conscience. Jason's face was battered, bloody, and swollen, and kept getting worse and worse as Mason brought his fists down harder and harder. Finally, Jason's head hit the ground and he grew unresponsive.

Panting, Mason rolled off of him, his knuckles bloody. He looked to Lucas. "Are you okay?"

Lucas nodded, kneeling where Jason had crushed the Walkman, holding its pieces in his hands like he could fix it. He looked up. His eyes suddenly widened on something behind Mason.

He dove forward, but Mason's name barely could only barely make it past his lips before the gunshot came.

The first thing Mason felt was the warmth of his own blood seeping into his clothes, an odd sensation he never thought he'd have to experience. He watched, sort of in a trance, as Lucas let out a pained scream and slammed his fist down directly onto Jason's face, making sure he wouldn't wake up again.

"Lucas.." Mason's voice was soft, confused as to how a guy as small and skinny as him could be seeping so much blood out of such a tiny wound. He lifted his gaze from his stomach and his eyes landed on Lucas, brow faintly furrowed, eyes blinking rapidly.

     "Mason, holy shit," Lucas intoned. He rushed over to catch Mason as he collapsed backwards, four hands trying desperately to plug the wound, block the bleeding. Lucas's eyes, glossy and scared, searched Mason's face. "Mason, listen, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, man."

     Mason's eyes moved to somewhere behind Lucas and he let out a bloody gurgle of drowsy alarm. "M–Max—"

     She was in the air now. A sick part of Mason found humor in such an idea: How could Max be six feet in the air when Mason was so close to being six feet in the ground?

     In a way that made Mason think his blood loss was causing hallucinations, Max's bones began to snap, one by one, breaking with a sickening crack. Lucas screamed her name, but he could only do so much with a dying body in his arms. He looked to Mason, conflicted, but Mason sure as hell wasn't going to make him choose.

     "Lucas, I–I'll be fine," he croaked, pressing a hand into the sharp, bloody ache of his stomach. "Go to Max. Sh–she needs you more than I do. Don't worry about me, man. Don't worry about me."

    Tears were streaming down Lucas's face by then, hot trails of anguish cutting down his cheeks and leaving him exposed to his dying friend. As much as he wanted to stay, to keep holding Mason so he was in somebody's arms as he took his last breath, Lucas knew Mason had a point; there was nothing he could do to help a gunshot wound without medical assistance. But Max could be saved—she wasn't all the way gone.

     "I–I love you," Lucas told Mason, his voice breaking. "I love you, man. I'm so sorry."

     "Don't be sorry f–for anything," Mason said, using his last spurt of energy to shove himself out of Lucas's arms. Hitting the solid ground was like being shot all over again, excruciating pain echoing all across his body, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he offered Lucas a bloody smile. "St–start that basketball team for me, Lucas."

     "I will," Lucas sobbed, slowly making his way over to Max, his eyes flickering to her breaking body. "I'll do it. I promise, Mason."

     The last thing Mason Anderson saw was Max falling from the air into Lucas's arms, landing safely in his body. She was bleeding and broken, but she was alive. The sight brought a battered smile to his bloody face, a vague, unearthly sense of warm relief flooding his body.

     At least he had kept his word to Val, he thought, the final words on his mind as the last bit of light left his once lively eyes.