The Last Song

27 Marcus

Kicking at the sand at Bower’s Point, Marcus knew he should be enjoying the havoc he’d wreaked the previous evening. Everything had turned out exactly the way he’d planned it. The house had been decorated precisely as the endless newspaper articles had detailed, and loosening the tent pegs-not all the way, just enough to ensure they’d pull free when he slammed into the ropes-had been easy to do when everyone was eating dinner. He’d been thrilled to see Ronnie wander down to the dock, Will in tow; they hadn’t let him down. And good old reliable Will had played his part perfectly; if there was a guy more predictable in the entire world, Marcus would be shocked. Push button X and Will would do one thing; push button Y and Will would do another. If it hadn’t been so much fun, it would have been boring.

Marcus wasn’t like other people; he’d known that for a long time. Growing up, he never felt guilty about anything, and he liked that about himself. There was power in the ability to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it, but the pleasure was usually short-lived.

Last night, he’d felt more alive than he had in months; the rush had been incredible. Usually after he pulled off one of his “projects,” as he liked to think of them, he would be satisfied for weeks. A good thing, too, since his urges, left unchecked, would eventually get him caught. He wasn’t dumb. He knew how things worked, which was why he was always very, very careful.

Now, however, he was plagued by the feeling that he’d made a mistake. Perhaps he’d pushed his luck too far in making the Blakelees the target of his latest project. They were the closest thing to royalty in Wilmington, after all-they had power, they had connections, and they had money. And he knew that if they discovered he was involved, they’d stop at nothing to put him away for as long as possible. So he was left with a nagging doubt: Will had covered for Scott in the past, but would he do so even at the expense of his sister’s wedding?

He didn’t like this feeling. It felt almost like… fear. He didn’t want to go to prison, no matter how short the sentence. He couldn’t go to prison. He didn’t belong there. He was better than that. He was smarter than that, and he couldn’t imagine being locked in a cage and being ordered around by a bunch of prison guard flunkies or becoming the love interest of a three-hundred-pound neo-Nazi or eating food sprinkled with roach crap or any of the other horrors he could easily imagine.

The buildings he’d burned and the people he’d hurt meant absolutely nothing to him, but the thought of prison made him… sick. And never once had the fear felt closer than it had since last night.

So far, things were calm, he reminded himself. Obviously Will hadn’t identified him, because if he had, Bower’s Point would be crawling with cops. Still, he needed to lay low for a while. Real low. No parties at beach houses, no fires in warehouses, and he wouldn’t go anywhere near either Will or Ronnie. It went without saying that he wouldn’t utter a single word to Teddy or Lance or even Blaze. It was better to let people’s memories fade.

Unless Will changed his mind.

The possibility hit him like a physical blow. Where he’d once had complete power over Will, their roles had suddenly been reversed… or at least equalized.

Maybe, he thought, it would be best if he just left town for a while. Head south to Myrtle Beach or Fort Lauderdale or Miami until the little wedding brouhaha faded away completely.

It felt like the right decision, but for that, he needed money. A lot of money. And soon. Which meant he needed to do some shows in front of some very large crowds. Luckily, the beach volleyball tournament was starting today. Will would be competing, no doubt, but there was no reason he had to go anywhere near the courts. He’d do his show on the pier… a big show.

Behind him, Blaze was sitting in the sun, wearing only jeans and her bra; her shirt lay balled up near the campfire.

“Blaze,” he called out, “we’re going to need nine fireballs today. There’s going to be a big crowd and we need to make some money.”

She didn’t answer him, but her audible sigh set his teeth on edge. He was sick and tired of her. Since her mom had kicked her out, she’d been nothing but glum day in and day out. He watched her rise from her spot and grab the bottle of lighter fluid. Good. At least she was working a little to earn her keep.

Nine fireballs. Not all at the same time, of course; they normally used six in the course of a show. But adding one more here and there, something unexpected, might be enough to raise the cash he needed. In a couple of days, he’d be in Florida. Just him. Teddy and Lance and Blaze would be on their own for a while, which was fine with him. He was sick of all of them.

Already planning his trip, he barely noticed as Blaze soaked several cloth balls in lighter fluid, directly above the shirt she would later wear in the show.