"Gar—" Taylor stutters as she stares at the disfigured man standing in front of her. She shakes her head, unable to process what had just happened, and her eyes quickly gaze back to the lake. Bubbles surface through a darkening cloud of blood, although Marc is no longer able to be seen through the splashing water. "Marc!"

She steps toward the edge of the dock, on the verge of diving in, when—

The tip of the shotgun quickly jams into her chest, stopping her, as Garrett jumps forward. His voice is cold, an acidic twist from the boy that she once knew. "I don't think so."

Still somewhat in denial, she continues to shake her head as she tries to avoid eye contact with him. "Garrett, please... He's going to die!"

Not showing a hint of concern, he looks down at the water rippling below the pier. An eerie smile spreads across his face as he watches the crimson red fading, the blood slowly diluting through the lake. A sight she, too, can't take her eyes off of. Crying, she feels her legs weakening and, as the water steadily grows still, finds herself collapsing to her knees. Silence again fills the air as the bubbles stop surfacing, broken only by the faint sniffling of a devastated Taylor.

Garrett's smile quickly disappears when he catches a glimpse of his own distorted reflection staring back at him through the calm lake. Disgusted, and not just by his monstrous appearance, his eyes shutter closed as his mind wanders to a different place.

"Why..." Taylor continues to stare at the water blankly, her shattered voice interrupting his thoughts.

His eyes peel open as his attention focuses back on her and he instantly recognizes the expressionless look she's wearing on her face. He has seen it on himself countless times—more like every time—he encounters that stranger in the mirror. She has given up. And, in this moment, he oddly couldn't feel less satisfied. If anything, could this foreign feeling rushing through his veins be... possibly... sympathy?

Taking a deep breath, she finally manages to finish her sentence. "Why are you doing this?"

And, just like that, what little compassion he shared for her is now gone.

"Why?" A slab of flaked skin where his right eyebrow once rested lifts up dramatically, his eyes widening as he takes another step toward her. Does he really have to explain himself? Does she really not know what happened?

Was she not fucking there that night?

Taylor quickly stands to her feet, nearly losing her balance on the edge of the dock in the process, and backs up. As she stares at him, watching his face growing red from the sudden rage, she continues to tread backwards at a slow pace. With each step, the wooden planks underneath her feet reassure her that she is getting closer and closer to the shore.

"You guys left me in a burning bus TO DIE!" He screams, hugging the shotgun close to his chest as he peers up at the array of stars overlooking them. He can't help but relive the night, feeling the scars on his skin as they reopen—his flesh slowly dripping from his brittle bones. His voice shifts to a calmer, and oddly more eerie, tone. "You left me..."

"Garrett, we didn't know! We thought—"

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT SHIT!" The barrel of the shotgun quickly finds itself aimed back at Taylor, following Garrett's hateful glare. He follows her steps as they make their way back down the pier. "NO! YOU LEFT ME TO FUCKING DIE!"

"We didn't know." She repeats, trying her best to keep her voice as firm as possible. Although telling the truth has never been her forte, she struggles to explain herself. "We thought... We thought you were dead."

The heels of her shoes dig into wet soil and she glances down, relieved to see that she is now standing in the grass. On the wooden platform they had just passed, the axe Garrett was wielding earlier still rests in front of the pier. Right behind his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, past his approaching figure, she notices a slight ripple in the water and gazes past him. Stunned, she catches her breath as suddenly—

Marc slips out from underneath the dock, slowly tracking his way through the shallow water toward them. The two lock eyes momentarily but she quickly, perhaps too quickly, looks back at Garrett in an attempt not to give him away.

Luckily, the lunatic is more distracted by the conversation.

"Even if I believed that." He shakes his head, making it clear that he doesn't. His knuckles grow pale as his hand tightens around the grip of the weapon. "Letting me take the fall for what happened to that kid? That was... That was your friend's little brother, wasn't it? Kris?"

Not quite sure where he is steering the topic, she peeks behind her shoulder at Marc's car sitting in the distance. The headlights barely cut through the tall grass, providing the only light as it casts upon them.

"It was too late." Gulping, she knows that the words coming out of her mouth are absolute bullshit as she turns back to face him. She just needs to keep him talking. "What were we supposed to do?"

"Umm..." He taps the barrel of the gun to his head, as if having to think hard about his answer. Although she knows that she wouldn't be fast enough, she wants nothing more but to lunge at him and pull the trigger. He continues in an overly condescending tone. "It's called the right thing."

Careful not to rock the water too much, Marc slowly emerges from the lake as he eases himself up to the shore—stealing Taylor's attention once again. With his left hand, he uses the edge of the pier to balance himself. Her eyes shift to the axe, signaling him to go for it. Noticing her intense stare, Garrett begins to turn his head when she speaks.

"The right thing?" She scoffs. "What the fuck would you know about doing the right thing?"

Garrett's eyes settle back on her, narrowing as he clenches his jaw. Again, his tone changes for the worse as he takes a step forward. "Excuse me?"

Both water and blood drip from Marc's drenched clothes as his feet finally touch dry surface. He looks down at his torn ankle but bites his tongue, ignoring the pain as he steadily limps in their direction. He stops when he reaches the platform to his left, quietly snagging the axe up from the wooden planks. Peering back up, his clench tightens onto the weapon as he approaches them. His feet brush slightly against the grass, but not enough for Garrett to notice, and Taylor can now see Marc closing in from only a few feet away.

"Is this like reverse psychology or something?" Garrett's tone has grown somewhat playful, leading Taylor to believe that perhaps he is bipolar. Or just completely batshit crazy. Not that she didn't already jump to that assumption. "'Cause if this is you trying to convince me not to blast a hole through that thick skull of yours right now, then you're doing a shit job of it!"

Taylor continues to distract him. "Okay, fine. I'm responsible for one death. How many lives have you taken?"

He looks down, as if feeling actual remorse for what he had done. And perhaps some things he didn't do. "You don't even know..."

The blade of the axe lifts up, just past Garrett's shoulder, and she sees as it swings down when—

Apparently aware of what is going on, Garrett spins around at the last second and pulls the trigger—sending several lead pellets blasting through Marc's lower chest. The axe drops to the ground as the shot sends Marc's body flailing backwards a few feet before plummeting into the dirt.

"NO!" Taylor cries, quickly running over to Marc's side as she drops to the ground. She looks at the wound, a large gash ripping through the left side of his abdomen, and quickly uses both palms to forcefully apply pressure to it. Blood drizzles from in between the slits in her fingers, as well as what appears like gallons seeping into the mud surrounding them. "Marc!"

Groaning, Marc attempts to look up at her but his eyes quickly flutter closed as his head falls back.

"Marc!" She screams, using one hand to support his head while she continues to apply pressure on the wound with the other. "Stay with me! Marc!"

As if shocked by his own actions, Garrett's eyes swell up as the shotgun slips from his hands. He takes a few steps back and begins to pace as he vigorously pulls at what remains of his frizzed hair. "It didn't have to come to this, Taylor! It shouldn't have!"

She ignores him, continuing her attempt to wake Marc up as she lightly shakes his head. He doesn't respond and her hand drops to the collar of his shirt, clinging onto it as tears flood down her cheeks. "Marc..."

"I really liked you. You know?"

As she gazes up, Taylor spots the axe lying in the grass a few feet to her right and the shotgun resting near Garrett's feet. As her eyes settle on Garrett, she contemplates on whether or not she'd be able to make a run for the axe in time to use it.

But then that would mean leaving Marc to bleed out...

"I really fucking liked you. A lot." He admits, although she is hardly listening to the words pouring out of his mouth. Suddenly, he takes a step toward her. "You were special. You were always special to me, Taylor!"

Terrified by the rapid movement, she buries her chin into Marc's shirt as she continues to sob. But now, Garrett's further away from the gun. Maybe, just maybe, if she makes it to the axe...

Garrett takes another step, more like a leap really, and—as if reading her every thought—stands no more than half a foot away from her, right between her and the axe. She looks up at him and, to her surprise, tears also track down his scarred face.

"I tried to warn you, but I didn't know what to do!" He cries, his tone now weak and the complete opposite of intimidating. "I didn't know..."

"Warn me?" Taylor shakes her head, immediately thinking back to the night she saw him in the crowd at the Lager Lounge. "About what?"

"He made me do this..."

She sits up anxiously. "Who?"

"You're wrong." He whimpers, his mind tracing back to something she mentioned earlier. It's as if, during his spiel, he's unable to hear anything but his own voice. "You're not responsible for just one death..."

"Who, Garrett? Who made you—"

Garrett's eyes widen as his head suddenly jolts upwards, blood spewing from his mouth and splattering onto her face. Gasping, she wipes at the blood as she stares up at him, hearing a slight groan slip out of his mouth before he drops to his knees. He reaches out to her with his shriveled, deformed hand—the same one she remembers slamming against the inside of the bus windshield the night of the accident—before he tumbles face first into the mud, revealing the pick of the axe buried deep into his upper back.

The dark outline of a person, shadowed by the headlights glaring from behind them, grabs Garrett by the feet and pulls him away from Taylor. After leaving the body in the tall grass, just far enough away to where it wouldn't be in her sight anymore, the figure steps out of the darkness.

Breathing heavily, Morgan peers down at his sister. Blood coats each of his trembling hands.

♫ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ʜᴜɴᴛs ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ / sᴀᴍ ᴛɪɴɴᴇsᴢ ♫