#halloweenthread

Laurent hated Halloween. The festivities always brought out the worst in people, most of them hiding their conscience behind obscene masks and costumes, partying the night away without any feelings of guilt or remorse. Halloween at Fairfield was no different, no matter how hard he’d prayed. With events going on all across the school and its vast grounds, it remained near impossible to get away from people. Everywhere he went he bumped into pupils in costumes, all in various stages of intoxication. Whoever had spiked the punch had done a well enough job. But Laurent wasn’t there to enjoy himself.

The knife clutched in his hand looked no more real than any of the other props dressed up students were carrying around. It fit well with the basic costume he’d put on; Black jeans and a torn shirt, a long black cloak and an eyepatch. With the music thumping through the speakers and every teacher preoccupied with making sure the event ran smoothly, no one bothered to check the authenticity of any of the props. Keeping the weapon close to his side, Laurent ducked and dodged to the side as he weaved his way through the crowd of swaying partygoers. Ever since he’d found the branding iron on his bed, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about E. He’d played his part, did as he’d been told - only to receive a gift in the form of the only thing that managed to send shivers down his spine. How had they found out about his past? Wherever and whoever E was, he’d become hellbent on finding and killing them.

Crossing the room, Laurent took a moment to lean against a wall, inhaling deeply. The entire scenario felt too much like a cat-and-mouse game. There was no way he’d be able to identify E, even less now that every single person in the room had on a mask or face paint. The blade of the knife dug into his skin as he wrapped his fingers around it, trying to ground himself. Sneaking it into the school had been tricky enough, risking being caught with it at a social gathering would surely lead to him being expelled or arrested. But he’d been so focused on vendetta, so consumed by his lust for revenge that he hadn’t thought it through. And now he was stuck in the middle of a crowd, unable to duck out of the room without being noticed by one of the many watchful teachers present, a deadly weapon pressed up against his sleeve.

He doesn’t know where he is when he finally wakes up, curled into a ball amidst a puddle of blood that can only be his own. His head is spinning and throbbing, but it’s little compared to the stinging pain of his back. He can feel where the leather of the whip had hit him, tearing through skin like a knife through paper. Not an inch had been spared, the deep cuts crisscrossing his back in angry red welts. Even breathing is painful, the hard floor beneath him rough against his bare shoulder.

Somewhere off in the distance he can make out the wail of sirens accompanied by voices, but their words all blend together into an intelligible garble. It hurts too much to move let alone speak, his hands curled into tight fists with his nails digging into his wrists, trying to relieve some of the pain. Sitting deep on his lower back, the scar his father had branded him burns.

It takes him a while to regain full consciousness, and when he does, he wishes he’d still be out cold. Nothing can compare him for the onslaught of agony the cold air brings to his injured back. The sirens and voices around him grow louder and clearer, and he realises there’s someone kneeling beside him, hushed words too quiet for him to hear. From the corner of his eye he can see a pair of hands helplessly being waved around above him, not daring to touch but wanting to comfort at the same time.

“Don’t.. Don’t touch me.”

He’s tired, so tired, and his head hits the ground with a heady thud as soon as what little energy he has left is used up, eyes closing again.

Laurent wakes up dazed and confused, in a room that isn’t his, surrounded by people he barely knows. His mind is still hazy and foggy when he opens his eyes for the first time, blinking blearily at his strange surroundings. He has no memories of how he got to sitting at the table, the room eery quiet with only the occasional sob or sniffle to be heard. Straightening up in his seat, Laurent casts a glance at the other students sitting around him. They all seem just as, if not more, clueless than he is, they figures hunched over as they cower in their chairs. He rarely gets scared anymore, but there’s something so gruesomely real about the scenario that he can’t help the fear rising in his chest. Has E’s game finally caught up with him?

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been standing there, dumbstruck and in the middle of a busy hallway, staring at his phone with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open, when someone bumped into his shoulder on their way to class. He’d received the text earlier that morning but had waited until after his first few classes to check his phone, worried it might be another pathetic attempt to get in touch by his parents. Instead, what greeted him on the screen was far worse. The chat and laughter of the people around him had died down to a buzzing background noise, and all he’d been able to hear had been the rush of blood in his ears and the steady beat of his heart.

‘another drug overdose’

He’d found out about Paige’s addiction a month after it had started, by accident, walking in on her doing a line. He’d kept his mouth shut as she’d begged him to, told no one about it - even during the long, painful hours of waiting after he’d discovered her overdose. She’d brushed off all his attempts at getting help and so he’d stopped trying, forced to watch her slowly go deeper and deeper. And as with almost everything concerning his sisters state, he blamed Adrian.

The phone felt heavy in his hands as he walked, footsteps thudding along the floor. Quite unaware of where his legs were taking him, he only realised where he’d gone after coming to a halt in front of a familiar looking door. Without a moment’s hesitation, he knocked, still holding onto the phone with shaking hands. Spiking the punch didn’t seem like such a bad thing to do, right? People would probably manage to get alcohol even without his help. He’d be doing the entire school a favour, and saving his sister at the same time. Prank text or not, a thick knot clotted in his stomach at the mere thought of Paige being hurt.

As the door opened to reveal one of the room’s inhabitants, Pascal blanched, slowly raising the phone for her to read.

“Help me.“

Halloween -- a night where the demon fit in with the norm. The norm being the abnormal. Nevertheless, she wasn't about to sit around with the twins and do nothing while there were devilish feats that lay before them. She turned to them, her lips set in a smirk.