Chapter 5: Boss What are These?
580 Words
When Michael looked at the two men, he stepped aside and said, “Come in.”
These were the only two people he trusted completely—besides the young master of the Parkers Family, who lived abroad. As Willis and Henry entered, their eyes immediately widened at the sight of the blood on the floor. Some of it had dried into dark stains, but most still looked disturbingly fresh.
Willis stiffened. “Boss… are you injured? There’s so much blood here.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t know either. I woke up and found the blood… and these.”
He raised his arms and feet, revealing the tiny cross-shaped cuts scattered across his skin.
Goosebumps covered both men on the spot.
“B-Boss… what are these marks?” Henry asked, voice trembling.
Michael replied, “I don’t know. I found them when I was washing up. And when I tried to remember anything from last night, I got a splitting headache… and it felt like my heart was being ripped out.”
A heavy silence fell. Fear crawled into the room like a shadow. The marks didn’t look fresh—they looked like they had healed long ago, which made the situation even more terrifying.
Michael glanced up again. The fear in their eyes was unmistakable. But one detail struck him.
Willis looked terrified.
But Henry… looked scared, yes, yet not as scared.
That difference made Michael stare at Henry twice.
Does he know something?
The thought pressed heavily into his mind. Did he see something? Did he hear something? Or does he understand what happened here?
He hoped—desperately—that Henry at least had a clue that could help.
Michael finished buttoning his shirt. “Willis, get a paper bag. Collect all the… things on the floor.”
He then turned to Henry. “We’ll rest today. Tomorrow morning we go to the Powers Family to sign the deal I secured last night.”
He walked out toward the suite door.
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Back in the room…
Willis crouched down and started gathering the scattered ritual items. He reached for the scalpels—still wearing gloves—but the moment he touched them, a violent chill stabbed his fingers.
“What in the world…?” he shouted softly, immediately dropping them. The metal clattered on the floor.
Michael turned sharply. “What happened?”
“Young Master—the scalpels…” Willis shook his hand. “They’re freezing. Colder than ice. My fingers feel stabbed. That’s why I dropped them.”
Michael frowned. “Cold? Are you sure? I picked them up earlier—there was nothing unusual.”
“Yes, sir,” Willis insisted. “They’re unbelievably cold.”
Curious, Michael stepped back inside. He grabbed a tissue, lifted the scalpel… and felt nothing. No cold. No sting. Nothing strange.
“Willis,” he called, holding it up. “Look. It’s not cold.”
Willis reached out again—hesitant—and the moment his fingers brushed the metal, he winced and jerked his hand back.
“Boss! It’s still freezing! Why can you touch them and I can’t?”
Michael stared at the scalpel, his brows tightening. Deep down, he knew these strange tools were connected to the marks carved into his skin. The dots were connecting whether he liked it or not.
But he didn’t want to alarm his men.
He casually placed the scalpels into the plastic bag. “Let’s go.”
- Writer
