Marc in the grass

This scene comes almost directly after the last, so you haven't missed much. I've edited it down a lot, because it comprises almost an entire chapter, but I couldn't really find a good place to separate it into individual scenes. Sorry! Stick with me. :) This means that it's extra long, but it's worth it, I think! I had the most fun writing this scene and even more fun rereading it. Here's what you've missed: They gang goes searching for Marc in the field, but cannot find him. So for several days Dakota sits on the back porch waiting for Marc to come back. Eventually, this is what happens:

I sprang to my feet, whipping my head from side to side. The sun peaked over the edge of the field, melting the violet light to pink. Twenty feet in front of me, where the shadow woman had appeared, a ghostly white fog floated almost invisibly. I sucked in a breath, gripping the banister of the porch, and Marc popped into existence, kneeling on the grass in front of the fog.
Screams filled the air, jagged and blood curdling. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears leaking from underneath his blonde eyelashes. He scrambled away across the ground, clawing at his skin as if to remove some clinging substance. He screamed savagely into the dawning morning, the terror in his voice turning my blood to ice. He drew deep, ragged breaths, only to cry out more desperately again. He clawed at his arms, raking long, red lines into his skin. I scrambled forward toward him, his screams cutting through the air. I grabbed his shoulders and he lashed out, the heel of his hand connecting with my jaw. I staggered back but swooped down again toward him. This time I locked my arms tightly around his middle, holding his arms down against his sides. He didn’t fight, but went limp against my body, sobbing into my skin. I rocked him in my arms, my own tears streaming into his hair. Haylee and Peter stood white-faced in the distance as Marc cried himself hoarse and drew raw, gasping breaths as he clutched franticly to my shirt, my skin, my hair. Peter lifted him heavily over his shoulder and carried him to bed.
All that day and night I sat with him, whispering to him over his cries and laying my trembling hands against his face. A long time later, when a second dawn was breaking outside, he fell silent, his chest rising and falling with the blessing of an equal rhythm. I crawled under the covers and wrapped my arms around him, humming softly and pressing my lips against his neck. Soon after, I fell asleep.
We watched and listened as the streets below were filled with vicious war cries. The shadow people filled the streets, tearing at each other and screaming out against the sky. The city lay in ruins, trampled and torn apart by the insatiable violence of these beings. They ripped apart the world and consumed everything around them. Marc’s voice raced across the wreckage, firm and strong, Spirits, rest. The shadow people grew still, a ghostly fog creeping over their shimmering bodies, and they were gone. The city built itself up and the world knew peace.
We stood at the edge of a mass grave, the fortress of a prison rose into the gray sky behind it. In the ground beneath us, body upon body lay stacked in the night. These criminals and wrong doers knew no peace in this place, guilty or not. Their presence remained, unable to move forward, incapable of passing on. Their sins flashed against the sky, an imprint of their crime, repeated forever until they could find the way forward. Marc whispered into the night, his voice tender and sad, Spirits, rest. The bodies disappeared, the imprints faded, their souls sped off to whatever awaited them, finally able to leave their broken lives behind.
Marc stood at the edge of a river, a content peace in his eyes though his forehead remained creased. Flowing between the banks behind him, the same ghostlike mist surged through the night like water. He wore thick brown shoes with golden wings attached at the ankles, softly beating against the cool air. He looked out across the banks and the words filled my soul.
As it once was, so it will begin again.
His name was like a song, a prayer, a promise. It whispered through the night with the assurance of safety and sleep after a journey through the deepest parts of the world.
Mercury.

When Dakota wakes up, she is initially terrified that Marc isn't there, but is quickly informed by Haylee that he is alright and taking his third shower of the morning. When he's finished, he and Dakota have a very interesting chat.

“What happened?” I demanded. He took a deep breath.
“When I touched her, we vanished to the underworld.” I blinked, stunned.
“Run that by me one more time,” I spat out. He laughed again.
“As soon as my hands touched her, we disappeared. It went dark for a second and then I opened my eyes. We were standing on the bank of this huge river and then she kind of... sank into the mist. I walked in the other direction for a while, down this path. There were flowers everywhere and everything was quiet. Then the path opened out into this huge meadow. I could hear voices talking and laughing. I couldn't see any people, but I knew they were there. The air was full of wonderful feelings and thoughts and memories. It was joyful and peaceful. At the end of the valley there were two thrones. They were both empty, and the bigger one was blank. That one must be for Hades, whoever or wherever he is, because he wasn’t there. But the littler one was for me, because it had my name on it. Well, not my name, but-”
“Hermes,” I finished. He smiled with pride.
“Well, Mercury, actually. The Roman name. The god who guides the spirits to the underworld. He’s the only one who can pass between both worlds, because he’s so fast. Except... not all souls need guiding.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The good souls know how to get there. It’s just the... other ones. The ones who have gotten confused and lost. They just remain here if they can’t figure it out on their own. Some want to stay, they want to continue to wreak havoc as long as they can. But others... they’re stuck. They want to repent but they can’t move on and they can’t find peace. They're unable to leave their sins behind until they pass over.” He shivered. “It’s horrible.”
“What about Hades?” I asked.
“He’s supposed to keep order. To make sure the right people go where they're supposed to. I don’t know what will happen if he doesn’t come soon. The river was already getting out of control.” He furrowed his brow.
“The river?” I asked. It was amazing how easy and normal this conversation seemed for him. It didn't seem real, yet he was so sure. After everything that we had all seen, I wondered if I would ever feel the same easiness about it.
“Remember what I told you about the meadow?” I nodded. “Well, the river is the opposite. That woman went into the river because she was an evil, violent soul. It’s where the bad memories go,” his face was dark and cold, “all the terrible things. Every hardship and pain, it ends up in the river. It’s mist or fog, not like regular water. It’s like... thoughts and experiences. They float along and remain there, trapping the evil souls at the bottom. But the souls try to come back up. I can’t stop them, I have no authority there, and until Hades comes...” he trailed off, his voice low. I shivered at his expression, he stared off into the distance. I was terrified of what he saw there. “I tried to get myself back. I touched everything in sight, trying to vanish myself again into this world. I touched the throne, the grass, the trees, the path. And then... and then I touched the river.” He shivered and hugged himself together. “I heard voices in my head. Memories and terrible thoughts. On the other side of the bank, the mist parted and I saw the corn field. I saw the way back. I saw you sitting on the steps waiting for me. I knew... I had to swim.” He closed his eyes and continued in a rush, the words flowing out of his mouth in a pained urgency. “ I jumped in and started swimming. I can swim fast, too, but it wasn’t fast enough. I could hear and feel all of the horrible things trapped there. The thoughts clung to my skin and my clothes, dripped from my hair. I tried to brush them off, but they wouldn’t leave.” I remembered him in the yard, clawing at his skin. He had taken three showers to try and wash away the memories. “I heard... I heard my dad and felt all of his grief at my mother’s death. I thought that I would die. I almost hoped I would. I thought that I would never make it across. I suppose a normal person wouldn’t have, but since I’m so fast... After what felt like years, I pulled myself up on the other bank and fell back into this world.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me for a long time, his face twisted in pain and sadness. It was impossible, the things he was saying, all of this. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. But suddenly, it didn't matter. It didn't matter if it was all a dream, as long as he was here. He lifted his hand and brushed it against my jaw where I was sure a bruise had bloomed from his attack the day before.
“I’m sorry I did this to you,” he whispered. I took his hand.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I said truthfully, touching my jaw.
“Not just that. All of this. I’m sorry that I left you and made you afraid. When I saw you sitting on the step, waiting... You were so afraid. I’m so sorry to have hurt you.” I brushed my hands through his hair.
“I forgive you,” I promised him. “As long as you give me a ride on those sweet winged shoes.” He threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling. As he squeezed my hand, a scream split the air from the barn.
We jerked our heads in the direction of the sound, but were drawn to the end of the yard instead. Pouring through the edge of the cornfield, ten shadow people strode toward where we were sitting. Peter and Haylee stood frozen in the doorway of the barn, their eyes wide in their pale faces. The shadows didn't pay them any attention, but continued toward the house. We were outnumbered. Marc pulled me up and placed himself protectively in front of me again. They halted, pausing in the middle of the yard. They stared at Marc with hungry, red eyes, seeming to evaluate him. “They know,” he whispered, terror in his voice. A big man in the middle held a long stick of wood in his hand. As I stared, I realized that it was a baseball bat. He placed the rounded end in his palm and dug his nails into the wood. A groaning screech split the air and wood shavings fell from his hand to the ground. He had sharpened the end into a deadly point. He thumped it against his open palm ominously.
“What do they want?” I choked in a whisper.
“They want to make sure I can’t send any more of them back,” Marc replied. From the corner of my eye I saw Peter step forward from the door of the barn.
“Don’t, Peter!” Marc called as two of the shadow men snapped their heads toward his movement. “There are too many,” he said in a whisper to no one in particular. The sun shone through a cloud and the group before us seemed to dance and shimmer in the light. Marc stepped forward.
“No!” I cried, and reached out toward him, trying to pull him back. A little fire sprang up on the porch in front of me, blocking my way.
“Thank you, Haylee,” Marc whispered gratefully and took another step toward them. They seemed to shift slightly, forming a half circle around him as he approached. “They will be distracted by me, and you will all run,” he said as he inched still closer.
“No chance,” Peter said from several yards away. He had made his way over to a hose and was flipping the spigot on. Marc seemed to understand and did not argue.
“When I say go.” The shadow figures closed their circle around him. He lifted his palms up in front of him as if in worship. “One,” he said. The shadow man in the middle raised his bat. “Two.” The shadows closest to him seemed to crouch forward as if ready to spring. “Three,” he whispered. A body on either side of Marc leapt forward and he threw his hands out. Their forms slammed into his palms and vanished. The sound of rushing water filled the air. The big man holding the bat knocked a smaller woman backward, trying to clear a path to Marc. A solid wall of water crashed into her, crushing her against the ground and dragging her back toward the cornfield. Two more shadows sprang toward the center of the circle and vanished. Only half remained. A stocky boy in the rear ranks burst into flames and fell to the ground. The big man swung the bat with terrifying force, parting the air. The wood connected against Marc’s calf with a ear splitting crack. He fell to one knee. The air was still for one moment before my screams split the sky. Two more shadows attacked. Marc caught one by the throat, vanishing him. The other swiped at Marc’s chest, leaving a deep gash against his skin. Marc grabbed the shimmering wrist as he lifted his hand to strike again. The angry face flickered and disappeared. The fire surrounding me had died, but all I could do was fall to my knees, crying out.
The last remaining woman backed away slowly, her red eyes wide with fear. The flaming shadow figure was crawling back into the refuge of the cornfield and she raced off after him. Only one remained. The big man swung the bat at Marc’s face. Marc jerked his head away at the last second, but it was too late. The pointed edge of the wood caught the soft skin of his neck just under his jaw. Blood poured from the wound, soaking his shirt and spilling across the grass. He crumpled into a ball on the ground. The man cocked the base of the bat toward the sky, aiming the sharp point over Marc’s heart. The air shivered, my sobs pounded against the field and echoed back with strangled mockery. My pulse slowed in my veins, turning to ice. My palms tingled as I clenched my hands into fists. My tears burned my skin and a soft breeze lifted my hair. A voice whispered on the wind, not yet.
The ground began to shake. The shadow man stumbled, lowering his weapon. Several feet away, in the shade of the apple tree, the grass exploded and dirt rained down over the yard. Huge, thick roots rose into the air and swung wildly. One reached out and wound its way over the top of the big man’s baseball bat, yanking it away from his grasp and shattering it to pieces. All around Marc’s body the grass rose in thick waves, guarding him from view. The shadow yanked desperately at the rapidly spreading grass, ripping his way toward Marc. A tree root shot out and slammed against his back but he did not waver, only dug further through the green walls. I glanced to the trellis at my left where the roses climbed toward the sky. The vines unlaced themselves from around the bars and raced off across the yard, sharp thorns glinting in the sunlight. The roots wrapped their thick limbs around the shadow man’s feet, pulling him toward the ground. The grass around him shot up, spreading like moss across his shimmering skin. The rose vines wound their way around his arms, digging deeply into the ground to hold him firmly. I turned to gaze at Marc’s fallen body, blood pulsing through the wound on his neck, his blonde hair matted with dirt and sweat. I snapped my eyes back to the shadow man struggling against the earth. Anger and hatred surged through my veins and the ground trembled more violently. Suddenly, the earth beneath him ripped open. The roots and vines pulled him deeply into the dirt. A outraged scream ripped through the air and the ground closed above him, grass quickly enveloping the scarred dirt. Then, the air was still. The roots slinked back toward the shade of the apple tree, sliding beneath the grass. The vines inched back toward the house, climbing the trellis and falling still.
I choked a sob and scrambled forward toward Marc. I heard Haylee and Peter thundering behind me. I gathered him into my arms, laying a hand over his neck. I could feel the hot blood pulsing slowly through my fingers. I laid his head against my chest and rocked him slowly. He wasn’t breathing. Silent sobs shook my shoulders and I buried my face in his hair. “I love you,” I whispered desperately. “You must not die. You must not die. You must not die.” A breeze rustled in the trees, lifting the tall grass that surrounded Marc and I, making it dance and bow against our skin.
“Dakota,” Haylee choked. I looked up at them and they were both staring down at Marc, their eyes wide. I followed their gaze. The blood that stained his neck and chest was slowly inching back up his skin. I lifted my hand from his wound. Beneath my touch, the long gash was closing. The blood soaked back into the cut as the skin pulled itself closed. A moment later, a long, pink scar stood out in the shadow of my hand. I looked down at his chest. Where a deep gash had been before, only a tiny scratch, barely visible, interrupted his tan skin. I surveyed his legs. The one that had been bent at an odd angle now lay straight and whole against the kneeling grass. He opened his eyes. Wild flowers rose from the dirt and bloomed around us. He stared at me, a little smile in his eyes.
“I’m back in the meadow,” he whispered. “Are you an angel?”
“No,” I replied, running my fingers through his hair, “I’m just another happy memory.”
“The happiest,” he said, winding his fingers through my own and laying a hand against my cheek.