Chapter 10 - Two Worlds Colliding
""Who are you?"" Mark demanded, backing toward the trench. ""How did you get in here? What did you do to my wife?""
Jax took a slow drag from his cigarette, the orange ember flaring brightly in the shadows. Smoke curled from his nostrils, forming strange, shifting patterns in the damp air.
""Your wife is upstairs, dying of grief,"" Jax said flatly. ""And you're down here, building walls out of memories that aren't yours.""
""That makes no sense!"" Mark yelled. ""I don't know you! You're from some diner... some video—""
""I’m what happens when you don't let the guilt go,"" Jax interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, heavy and unyielding. ""You think you're the father who stayed? You think you're the good guy sitting on the armchair, laughing at the TV while your family falls apart? Look at your hands, Mark.""
Mark looked down. His hands were calloused, scarred across the knuckles, and covered in intricate, faded ink—snakes, skulls, and a name written across his left wrist in gothic script: CLARA.
The suburban illusion cracked wider. Mark remembered the rumble of an engine beneath his thighs. He remembered the smell of asphalt in July. He remembered walking out of a small apartment twelve years ago while Clara stood by the sink, crying, holding a positive test in her trembling fingers.
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""No,"" Mark whispered, shaking his head violently. ""No, I came back. I was there when he took his first steps. He shushed me... he said 'mama sleeping'...""
""He said 'mama sleeping' because you put her to sleep,"" Jax growled, stepping forward and grabbing Mark by the collar of his leather vest. ""You fed her the pills, Mark. Because you couldn't stand her crying anymore.""
