"Mark?"

The abrupt sound of Emma whispering my name jolted my awareness, making me realize I had been sitting in my room for a few moments. I wasn't sure what had happened at first; I remembered the trek to Hell, seeing McGraff, and worrying about my decision to be there. The rest, however, was absent from my brain.

"Mark?" her voice came more loudly, but uncertain.

"Shh!" I snapped, gaze settling blankly before me.

I couldn't bring myself to explain what was going on or to look around and see what the ghosts were up to. Partly because the shock of my return had taken a physical toll, leaving my body shaky and chilled. As I fought to regain my breath, my mind began recalling pieces of my final minutes in Hell.

"Is it him?" I heard Todd ask in a shushed manner.

My brow furrowed as I glanced up at the boy, then to Damian who was still at the door with baseball bat across his shoulders and the demeanor of a patient time bomb. Emma was the only one who displayed any kind of concern, her big eyes and parted lips silently prompting me to speak. Even so, I was having trouble articulating. My chest was falling in a more steady pattern now and the blur was fading.

As I locked sights with her, my fingers found a torn spot on my chest where I had been grabbed. I thumbed through the clothes to feel bloody cuts of flesh. My vision flashed with rhe memory of claws gripping me angrily.

The creature that had led my way had casually stepped to the side when McGraff addressed us. It didn't seem too eager to be part of the battle yet simultaneously gave no appearance that he was frightened to be around either. It was as if he allowed every party to do what they wished regardless of any sense of right and wrong or any personal wishes. He stood by, observing as the serial killer leapt forward at an unsettling quick pace. Once upon me, he reached clawed hands out and pulled me close.

"Mm..." he inhaled a large huff of air through his nose as if taking in my scent, "You're not dead. I can smell the life of you," his mouth grew to an evil grin, exposing rotted teeth, "Quite a strange occurrence, this. Isn't it, Spike?"

He had directed his question to my demonic escort with a tilt of his head. Spike? Somehow I doubted that was his real name. Probably just a joke to Lloyd. Nonetheless, 'Spike' looked just as unamused as he had been the entire time, though he kept watching regardless. Part of me wanted to ask for his help and the other simply wanted to wait to be slaughtered so I didn't bring this man back to Earth.

Despite having a human form, it was hard to call him a man. Besides sharp nails which came to threatening points, his eyes were void of warmth and bloodthirsty. Cold, calculating, aggressive. They reminded me of my father.

"So then, what are you doing here, hm?" the necromancer purred, tightening his hold.

If it hadn't been for the terror I was feeling, I'd probably have answered with something, but as it was, I hadn't been collected enough to do anything except stare back helplessly. And it seemed that he wasn't as patient as the other demon.

He almost instantly grew furious that I hadn't replied and reared his claw behind him before plummeting it into my core. It didn't hurt as greatly as anticipated. Jovial laughter sounded directly after that jarred our attention to the demon, who actually looked more creepy while laughing. McGraff growled viciously, but didn't speak.

The chuckling ceased, leaving a smile on the neutral creature's face, "You know you're not strong enough for that. Maybe you were once, but reading a being's soul takes a lot more than what you are at present."

The man didn't appreciate Spike's nonchalant behavior at all and he certainly didn't seem pleased with knowing he wasn't at full power. Even so, the reminder was all he needed to change the subject from the reason for my presence to how he could use it to benefit himself.

"You're right," he hummed. "Unfortunate," his eyes locked on me, "Yet so fortunate at the same time. Now, you'll help me get what I need, won't you, buddy?" he smirked, maroon orbs somehow darker than the demon's boring into me.

He reared his weapon backward again and when it fell inside me for a second attempt, the pain was incredible, burning that seared my entire being. I didn't know what the difference was, but I cried out, finding myself wishing for home. Just as I had been told, my spirit was thrown back into my body and I had come to, sitting on the bed like I had never left.

I began shaking my head violently, "No. No no no, I can't do this!"

"Well, it's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" Damian let his bat fall to his side and strolled forward.

"No, I-"

"You weren't supposed to come back," the boy continued, raising his weapon as he approached, "That fuck up is on you."

"He's attached to you," the girl beside me interrupted, lifting a hand to silently command her friend to halt his advance, "If he can get strong enough, he'll overpower you."

"Wh-what?" I breathed, "What about me?"

"You'll be there," Chris piped up, grimly bemused, "Only able to watch."

I kept shaking my head, mouth open like an idiot. No, I couldn't take the chance. If they couldn't control him, I'll have set a supernaturally gifted killer on the loose while being a prisoner to his whim!

"How to I keep him from taking control? How do I stay stronger than him?" the desperate inquiries flew from my mouth.

"Oh, we'll take care of it, just like we said we would," Damian grinned.

I shot up from the bed, fumbling to the side and knocking my phone from the nightstand, abject horror on my face, "Wait, hold on now."

"Sleeping is the first thing you need to watch out for," the goth leader slowly got to her feet as well, ignoring her friends' threatening behavior, "You'll be vulnerable in your resting state."

"Not sleep?!" I repeated incredulously, "Do you know how difficult it is for me to stay awake as it is?"

"Relax," she hissed, "I didn't say you couldn't sleep. I said it's risky. Since you're sharing a body now, he'll be resting at the same time you are. You just can't be caught in dream. Dreams are how physical creatures normally traverse spiritual planes. He'll have the advantage there."

"But the longer he's with you, the more he'll become used to the physical again," batboy added, "Meaning eventually, he will be able to gain control anyway."

Rubbing my forehead in a palm, I shook, "I shouldn't have done this...I..."

Coming suddenly to a conclusion, I stormed past Damian, catching his scowl out of the corner of my eye. I quickly made my way to the living room and walked erratically around the sofa and the table in front of it.

I heard Emma ask something which alerted me that the ghosts had followed, but I didn't pay them any heed as my search continued. Where the fuck did they- there it was. I grabbed the box-cutter that had been haphazardly discarded after the ghost girl's little show earlier. Immediately, I clicked it out two notches so a section of the blade showed.

"Mark, what the fuck are you doing?" the goth leader put one hand on her hip and the other on her chin to halfway cover her mouth, though I couldn't tell if it was in contemplation or worry.

"I've already fucked up enough! I have to stop this now, before anything bad happens," I responded determinedly through the moisture welling in my sight as I placed the blade on the bottom of my wrist.

"Don't worry, Ems," Damian scoffed, "He won't do it."

"SHUTTUP!" I yelled at him, tears starting to roll down my cheeks.

The boy shrugged his shoulders as he patiently waited for me to give up. No. No, this was what I had to do, it was what I wanted. I couldn't let anyone else suffer. But I couldn't do this. NO! Shuttup, I can do it. I just... JUST DO IT QUICKLY! Don't think about it! Just-

"See? I told you," Damian's voice came again as I stood there awkwardly staring at the clean blade against my skin.

"You're fucking wrong," I whispered, "You don't know me...you don't..."

And by some grace, I mustered the courage to plunge the blade into my wrist, deeper than any cut I had ever made. A hiss fought through my teeth while I tried not to scream and forced the razor further down. However, when I felt it begin jutting off to the side and hit something tougher than the rest of the flesh, my efforts for quiet stopped. My lungs released a yell as I yanked the weapon up the length of my arm.

As the blade journeyed, the cut gradually became more shallow until the box-cutter fell out of my arm completely. My cry also grew softer and my knees buckled under the intensity of the attack. On the floor, I stared at the blood pouring from my wound, crawling out of me and over the tissue I had destroyed.

The pain was extraordinary. It was nearly unbearable to begin, yet now that I had done it, I was pleased. The hurt was comforting. My vision seemed to tunnel then as my eyes darted from the crimson drenching my pants, to the blade that had fallen beside me.

Everything I knew said I should do both arms, not simply the one. Surely if I had made it through the first, I could do it again. My uninjured hand reached out for the weapon; the small movement exciting the pain I had inflicted upon myself while also heightening the feeling of light-headedness. Just as it found the orange handle of the utility blade, however, a foot stepped on it.

"Mark, you fucking idiot!"

My head slowly lifted, laying sights on Emma who stood above me, piece of shit phone in hand, "The hell are you-" I tried to ask, but a sudden wave of nausea cut me off.

Absentmindedly, I fought the ghost foot for grip of the weapon. Why were dead people so strong? Ignoring the burning in my gashed arm, I put it forward as well to help retrieve the blade, somehow managing to lift her boot, causing her to lose balance and trip. Regardless, I didn't have time to actually get the razor before two sets of hands were on either arm, pulling me back. It was the twins.

"Stop! Leave me alone!" I cried, feeling I would vomit at any moment.

Everything appeared surreal. My hearing was muffled, ears filled with the sound of blood rushing through my system. My head flopped weakly back and forth, catching sight of the boys at my sides, then of Emma, phone hanging idly at her side, screen illuminated with the numbers 9-1-1 along with the word 'Dialing.'

Then, my gaze found Damian, face straight; no more joking around, no more cockiness. Instead, he lifted the baseball bat from his side, clutching its base with both hands, before throwing it back and swinging it full-force into my forehead. My vision went completely black for a moment, returning long enough to see I'd been dropped to the floor.

All four of the gothic ghost kids were standing in front of me, gazes downward. I didn't have the chance to figure out their expressions before I once again fell into blackness.

I remained unconscious until there was a loud beating on my apartment door and my eyelids fought to open themselves. They fluttered long enough for me to see the door cave in, two police officers bursting through and scanning the immediate area before a medic rushed to my side and knelt. I could feel the searing, stinging pains in my wrist and the wetness of my blood, then all was dark once more.

"Can you hear me? Sir? Stay with me. Do you know where you are?"

Although the voice was speaking loudly, it sounded quiet, warbled by the sound of medical machinery, chattering staff, and the pounding ache in my head. My vision was fading in and out. I kept catching glimpses of white, moving walls all around me.

No. I was the one moving...laying on a gurney...strapped to it? or was I just that weak? There were two nurses on either side of me, studying an IV bag and where it was attached to the inside of my elbow. A third man, dressed in blue scrubs, was staring at me. His mouth was moving, but I only heard some of what was said.

"Do you know who you are? What is your name?"

I felt my lips quivering, mumbling, yet nothing coherent came out before I was overcome again. This time when I awoke, everything was motionless and I was alone. Laying on the same tiny hospital bed, I saw that I was situated in the middle of a sterile room. All the lights were off except for one huge beam above me. Struggling to turn my head to the side and look away from the brightness, I choked out a call.

"Hello?"

My voice was hardly even a whisper. Suddenly, in the the growing shadows around me, I saw movement. I tried to peer harder and to shift my body, but I was, in fact, tied down. Nonetheless, I felt too drained underneath them to actually make any progress. Where were the doctors? Why was I left here? I opened my mouth, forcing myself to speak more. However, I was shushed.

"Sh-sh-shh," a figure stepped out of the darkness surrounding me, a knife lifted in front of his lips.

"McGraff?" I gasped, my head spinning at the expended effort.

"Aw, you had me worried there for a minute, Mark," the necromancer cooed sarcastically, "Though I do suppose I owe you, even if your intention was to have me tortured."

No. I had to wake up!

"Doctor? Pressure is dropping."

My mind was battling to remain aware and I was once more surrounded by hospital staff.

"Sir? Sir, we need you to try and relax. You're safe, but you need to calm down," it was the same doctor from before, wearing a mask now. Was I in surgery?

"N-no," I mumbled.

"Nurse, give him another cc of ketamine," his attention turned to one of the women beside him and then back to me as he said, "Calm down, you're going to be ok."

Darkness returned. What had I done?