Seth by Nero Seal

Gustavo stared at the intruder,regretting his decision to stop watching Seth’s life. The man looked pale, and his eyes, usually shining with emotion, stared at him with an odd emptiness.

Whatever this is, it’s important to him. More than his life if he came at midday with Hans as a hostage. Gustavo glanced at the piece of paper. Curiosity sparked. A legal case from two years ago, one he couldn’t get, so he came to me…

“I’m afraid it’s not debatable.” Gustavo plucked up the sticky note and crumpled it in his fist. “You came into my house, threatened my lover and me, but it’s you who needs my help. I believe you exhausted your resources, and I’m your last resort, or you wouldn’t have come. You have no choice but to trust me because this is the only deal I’m willing to offer. Accept it or shoot.”

Hans’ jaw dropped. Indignation twisted his plump lips.

Emotion returned to Seth’s gaze. A smile, weak but genuine, curled the corners of his lips. “Fine. You can go, boy.”

“Hans, wait for me in the bedroom.” Gustavo looked at his lover but received a deathly glare in return.

Hans didn’t say a word as he turned his back and fled.

Relief drained pressure from his muscles as the door slammed closed. Holding his gaze on the maimed wall for a heartbeat longer, he logged in. “Have a seat; it will take some time. And put the rifle down. I promise you won’t need it.”

Seth smirked. His shoulders relaxed a fraction as his gaze traveled around the room. He flipped the rifle in his arms with easy grace but didn’t release it.

Steps slow, unhurried, he drifted around the room, exploring it. Gustavo had a handgun in the top drawer of his desk. He could have pulled it and finished this game for good. It was the most logical, the most rational option. Instead, he watched Seth glide through the space, admiring the interior. Having Seth in his house both vexed and fascinated him. It felt like having a wild beast trapped in his home.

“Like what you see?” Gustavo asked just to hear the low rustle of Seth’s voice.

“It’s a mesmerizing house.” Seth tore one hand away from the rifle and pressed it to the wall. His aristocratic fingers traced the carved wood. Gentle, fleeting strokes of his hand chained Gustavo’s attention to his clean nails. A bright flashback from the fiery scene Seth shared with Ignaz ignited his blood, making him wonder how Seth’s fingers would feel against his chest. “Whoever built it must have a beautiful soul. It’s sad such a house ended up with you.”

Tearing his gaze away from Seth’s hand, Gustavo chuckled. Warm satisfaction and pride mixed with raging desire. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but thank you. It’s my design.”

Seth’s head whipped toward him, gaze sinking into Gustavo’s eyes. “You built it?”

“Yes.” Gustavo got up, needing to cut the distance between them. Dark attraction pulled at him, just like on the night they’d met. “With help, of course. Would you like a tour?”

Seth shifted, his face blank, and the black eye of the muzzle once again fixed between Gustavo’s brows. “I already had one. Sit.”

The window trembled as the roar of a car engine drifted from outside. Gustavo jetted to the window; palms pressed against the glass. Hans’ new yellow Lamborghini raced down the road. “Look what you have done. He left me. Oh well…”

“You don’t look upset about it,” Seth noted in the same unemotional voice.

“Why would I be upset when I have such good company?” Gustavo snorted. With Hans gone, breathing became a tad easier. It was a relief not to think about his safety anymore. Gustavo turned to Seth and flashed him a blinding smile. “You know it’s ironic. A few days ago, I promised myself I’d stop pestering you, but now you’ve found me by your own will. It looks like fate doesn’t want us to part, don’t you think?”

An arrogant smirk escaped Seth’s lips as he lifted his chin, displaying his long, pale neck. The neck Gustavo wouldn’t mind tainting with hickeys. His slim-fitting white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, revealed the apple of his throat and the notch between the collarbones.

Gustavo growled inwardly as the familiar fervor settled in his marrows. The wish to pursue Seth, corner him, and see his every emotion, so that once again his attention belonged only to him, inflamed his mind.

“Thank you for letting him leave. I mean it.” Ignoring the rifle, Gustavo strolled to the bar, grabbed a glass, and filled it with ice from the small freezer. “A drink?”

Retreating a step to maintain the distance, Seth shook his head as he rested his elbow on top of the bar counter, opposite Gustavo.

Silence fell. Gustavo heard a fly thrashing against the window. The desperate buzzing of the insect and the slams of the tiny body against the glass reminded him of Seth’s sculpture, the “Shallow Depth”. He wanted to ask if there was a body trapped in the glass, but the murderer would never admit it anyway.

Minutes stretched. Seth’s attention strayed to the displays and paintings. Using the moment, Gustavo inched closer. The glass chilled his hand as his fingers flexed around it, ready to splash the liquid into the murderer’s face to disarm him. The low sound coming from the laptop made Seth’s attention veer toward the desk, then to Gustavo.

Fuck… Gustavo’s mood soured. He set the glass on the counter and shuffled to the desk, hoping to find anything but the copy of the legal case in his mailbox. A fleeting glance at the display crushed his hopes. He couldn’t be sure Seth wouldn’t kill him once he got what he needed.

When he clicked the print icon, he didn’t care what information the document possessed or why Seth needed it. His mind calculated the distance separating them as he planned his attack.

The printer came to life and spat out a dozen sheets. Before Seth managed to move, Gustavo grabbed the papers and circled the desk. His focus zoomed in on the barrel of the rifle facing the wall.

Every sound faded as the gap between them shortened. Flashing a disarming smile, Gustavo lifted his right hand as if intending to pass the papers to Seth. From the corner of his eye, he watched the assault rifle migrate from hand to hand as Seth extended his right one forward. His fingertips brushed the papers.

Gustavo flicked his wrist. The sheets flew in the air filling his vision with white flickers. He hurtled forward, eliminating any maneuvering distance for Seth. His left hand closed around Seth’s throat, squeezed. The small of Seth’s back bumped against the counter, but not a single muscle twitched on his face. Thrusting a knee between Seth’s legs, Gustavo pinned him against the bar and slammed the gun’s barrel against the polished wood.

“You must be out of your mind if you think you can repeatedly come to my house, threaten me, and even fire a gun. Don’t assume you can do anything you like just because I’m interested in you,” Gustavo whispered. His thumb rubbed the side of Seth’s throat, feeling an even, calm pulse. His eyes focused on a tiny papercut on Seth’s chin, filling with blood. “Now, be good and let go of the rifle. I’m confiscating it.”

Seth’s cheek twitched as disappointment controlled his facial muscles. For a fraction of a second, the look of ultimate loneliness returned to his face. Gustavo’s throat dried up. The mixture of irritation and excitement messed with his mind as he wasn’t sure what to do next. His veins tightened as if the man before him magnetized the air and every iron cell in his body, obeying the natural law of attraction, rushed toward him. I must be insane.

“You piss me off to the point where I’m not sure what I want more, to break your neck or kiss you. I regret giving you my word.” Their chests brushed as Gustavo leaned against him. His mouth skidded over Seth’s chin, licking off the bloody papercut partially because he wanted to, partially because he needed to distract Seth. The man jolted against him, face inclining away, pulse speeding. “It’s the second time in a week I find myself in such a provocative position. By the way, you taste delicious.”

Wrenching the weapon out of Seth’s grip, Gustavo averted his face. His heart pounded, blood ran quicker and hotter in his veins, as he went toward the door. He picked up the pistol from the floor and hung everything on the gun mount hidden behind one of the displays.

When he turned around, Seth watched him with stunned, haunted eyes. His lips curled in derision. Under his gaze, he bent down to gather the scattered papers.

Seconds later, he was engrossed in reading. A scowl marred his forehead, and he bit his lip. Familiar irritation settled in Gustavo. He hated how quickly Seth shrugged off another one of his kisses.

Trying to ignoreGustavo’s presence, Seth squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He re-read the court transcript twice before his mind imbibed the information. The murder weapon was registered as stolen years before the murder; seven different DNA samples were taken from Ignaz’s body, but only one had a match in the police database. The match was ruled as lacking evidentiary value due to the lifestyle of the victims. Since Ignaz didn’t attend the hearing, the case was closed. The only suspect, Walter Fischer, had been released.

He flipped through the printed pages again, hoping to find anything else, anything he’d overlooked, but the miracle didn’t happen.

“This isn’t enough,” he breathed the words out. The paper crumpled in his fists as his unseeing eyes settled on Gustavo. His address might have changed, and I don’t even know what he looks like. I should’ve asked for the crime report instead.

Seth blinked at his hands holding paper. Having no weapon, no leverage, he didn’t know how to extract more information from Gustavo. Moreover, now he wasn’t sure how to leave as he had little trust in the man’s word.

“Well then...” Letting go of the counter, Seth tried his luck as he moved toward the door.

“Leaving? Just like that? Don’t you want to thank me for my kindness or apologize for the damage you caused? How rude.” Gustavo rushed after him on an impulse, every cell of his body rebelling against the idea of letting Seth go. His palms collided with the door, caging Seth’s head. Loco twisted, and something sharp poked Gustavo in the vulnerable skin beneath his jaw. Pain spiked as the pressure increased, forcing his head to tilt back.

“Step aside,” Seth hissed. “You should be the one thanking me for letting you live. I’ll borrow your car. No need to see me out.”

Gustavo flinched back, smirked, and his gaze gravitated to the object in Seth’s hand. A glass spike glinted, clutched in a burned palm, the brownish skin uneven and rippled.

“I see your hand is better. I’m glad.” Gustavo smiled. Seth frowned. A blind hand fumbled over the door, pressed the handle, and the man slipped out of the room.

Hand reaching up, Gustavo touched his neck. He laughed as his skin was dry, undamaged. “Loco-Loco, maybe you can be tempered, after all.”

He pulled his cell phone and dialed the security office. “Open the gates. Let my guest leave.”

The low sound of gravel shifting under car tires reached his ears as the vehicle rolled out of the garage, then the gates clanged, opening. He surged to the window, catching a glimpse of an unremarkable Audi driving away.

Gustavo terminated the call and slumped into the chair. Adrenaline, draining from his system, left only crushing exhaustion behind. His finger twitched.

Silence curdled the air. Without Seth, it became quiet, oppressively quiet. Strangely, he didn’t miss Hans, but he had to crush the immediate wish to follow Seth, to catch up with him. He hadn’t felt anything like this in ages.

“Why does he make me feel all of this? I must be insane.” The holes in the wall attracted his eyes. He sat up. His hand inched toward the phone to summon the carpenter but changed the trajectory midway, grasping the mouse instead.

The court transcript splayed over the display. He read through. When he finished, ice prickled his face. With the holes in the wall forgotten, he opened the footage from last night and fast-forwarded it. His face grew colder and darker as he listened to Ignaz’s story and watched Seth’s mouth harden with determination.

So that’s what you needed from me. Feeling used, he grabbed the phone and dialed Diego. “Come over.”

* * *

After borrowing Gustavo’s car,Seth drove out of the mansion’s grounds. The gates stood wide open, armed guards smoked at either side of it, but to his surprise, no one attempted to stop him.

Pine trees scraped the sky. The forest thickened, and soon the mansion disappeared from view. And with the lost visual, Seth’s thoughts abandoned Gustavo and gyrated to Ignaz.

He left the borrowed car in the middle of the road and walked to his own. Tire tracks on the verge showed where Hans’ vehicle squeezed past. Seth hopped into his car and sped through the forest.

When Seth returned home, Ignaz was already awake. He sat on the windowsill in the studio, knees hugged to his chest, and his red, puffy eyes fixed on the blue, cloudless sky.

“Hey.” Seth smiled as he entered the room. He took the opposite side of the windowsill as he pored over the boy. “How are you feeling?”

Ignaz shrugged. The smile he squeezed out instantly melted. “This place is so big. I couldn’t find you. Where have you been?”

“Out.”

Ignaz’s mouth opened and closed. He nodded and turned his face toward the sky again. “You drove? Is your hand better?”

Seth’s smile fell, he nodded.

Keeping his gaze on the sky, Ignaz whispered, “I need you to hurt me. But really-really hurt me. Please, help me forget…”

* * *

Ignaz wept and trembled.His clammy body shook against Seth’s as they curled together on the bed. His hands fumbled all over Seth’s chest as if he wasn’t sure what to do, push the man away, or cling to him. After a brief struggle, he sagged and buried his face in his palms.

With one hand wrapped around Ignaz’s waist, Seth caressed the side of his face with the other. The overflow of emotions was so bright and vivid it produced an invisible magnetic field around the boy.

He wanted to rub Ignaz’s back, but fresh dressings now covered his skin. His palm moved to Ignaz’s shoulder, traced his arm, then the back of his hand, before it gripped Ignaz’s wrist and tugged it away from the wet face. Red rims outlined the deep-blue eyes, light eyelashes clumped and darkened. Looking into the dilated pupils, Seth brought the captured hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“No.” A bubbling noise in the depth of Ignaz’s chest sounded like a cry for help when he shoved Seth away again.

Dissatisfaction welled up. During the scene, Ignaz had been even more absent than usual. Seth finally realized where the stigma of Ignaz being unsafe came from. Basking in pain, he submerged in his selfish needs, ignoring everyone around to the point Seth felt like an odd man out in his own scene, a mere tool for Ignaz to achieve something he didn’t understand.

Rejection stung. Unsure what to do, Seth released his embrace and got up.

“No, wait…” Panic settled on the tear-streaked face, and Seth once again thought how beautiful Ignaz was.

“Rest. I’ll bring you tea and something to eat.” He managed a smile before turning his back on the shivering boy and left the room.

* * *

Behind the window,the sickle moon emitted cold, indifferent light, illuminating featherlike clouds. Its dead light, as if slithering into Seth’s consciousness, prevented him from sleeping and filled his heart with restlessness. Every sound, be it a creak of wood caused by a night bird landing on a drying branch or the wind going through leafage, heightened his alertness.

In an attempt to escape the brightness and catch the tail of elusive sleep, he put the blindfold on, but it only sharpened his other senses. His mind played tricks on him, and now, even though he was alone, he felt a gaze on him. He pulled the mask off, but in his black bedroom, he was alone. Only him and the dead light settling in the red spikes of the chandelier hovering above the bed.

With a sigh, he rested his back against the mattress and closed his eyes. The feeling of a foreign presence returned. He lifted on an elbow, for the first time in years feeling exposed and uncomfortable in his home. Annoyed, he got up, put on a black hoodie and simple jeans, and snuck out of his house through the underground passage.

The forty-minute drive felt like only a few minutes because his mind kept looping through Ignaz’s story, facts from the legal case, and the weak voice asking for more pain. One thing Seth was sure about—Ignaz had never liked pain; hence he’d never experienced the euphoria of subspace.

The twenty-second district greeted him with loud music and packs of young, bald men dressed in leather. The night herded them around playgrounds for kids. Pulling up his hood, Seth slithered through the night. Avoiding parking anywhere close, he walked a few blocks before halting in front of the four-story building.

Without thinking, he approached the street door and read the name tags written on either side of the intercom buttons. Unsuccessful, he shuffled to the next street door, then to the third, when he found the nameplate “Fischer”.

Seth turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Ignaz spent the followingdays in a half-dazed trance. Even without the sedatives Seth slipped into his tea, he slept a lot. It gave Seth plenty of time to print the pizzeria’s sticky logos and re-color his van, steal a barrel of sulfuric acid from his glass factory, and buy ropes, hardware tools, and a shovel.

Seth ordered a pizza. He grated some cheese and mixed it with a decent amount of sleeping powder before putting it into the oven.

By the time the oven dinged, he’d changed into a red polo shirt, white cotton gloves, and a baseball cap. Grabbing the dangerous treat, he disappeared into the basement.

* * *

Dusk cleared the streetsof ever-present kids as most families gathered around dining tables to share their meals.

Seth was hungry too, but not for food. He glanced around and pressed the intercom button. A soft click reached his ears. His throat tensed as he prepared to speak.

“Yes?” a dry, male voice came from the speakers.

“Delivery,” Seth rustled.

“I didn’t order anything.”

Seth crumpled the paper, read the address aloud, then said, “It’s already paid. Are you taking, or am I throwing it?”

The door beeped. Seth pulled it open and entered a narrow lobby. Mold stunk up the staircase, making him hold his breath. He lowered the baseball cap as he climbed the stairs.

He halted on the third floor. A man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. With one hand, he rubbed his rounded belly; his other hand manipulated a toothpick in his mouth. “What is it?”

“Pizza,” Seth rustled as he thrust the box forward. “Sign here, please.”

The man accepted, snorted as he read his address on the order sheet, then scribbled something and returned the paper.

“Don’t wait for a tip.” He turned around and kicked the door, toes sticking out from the holes in his sock.

Seth thrust a thin metal plate between the door and the strike plate. The click sounded. He grabbed the handle and carefully tugged the door into the frame. With an exhale, he let go. The door stayed put. He stepped away, turned, then rushed downstairs. On his way out, he stuck a stone between the street door and the magnetic frame, then hopped into the van and drove away.

Ten minutes later, parking next to the river, he changed into a leather jacket, torn jeans, and black steel toe boots. It took him another ten minutes to get rid of the pizza delivery stickers from the sides of the van. When he drove back, the sun had already hidden behind the horizon.

The streets stood empty as he parked in front of the same apartment building. Fischer’s windows emitted a steady yellow light, and not a single shadow roamed behind the curtains. He got out, entered the building.

The door on the third floor opened with a push. The metal plate fell off and clanged against the wooden planks. Seth licked his lips as he pulled a stun gun out of his pocket.

He crept along the wall, then entered a living room. On the old couch, the man slept with his belly sticking out from under the hem of a sleeveless white shirt. On the chair opposite him, a kid who looked no older than seven slept with his knees hugged to his chest. In his tiny fist, he clutched a slice of pizza, cheese dripping on the floor. Seth pushed another door open. In the kitchen, a woman slept, her blonde head resting on the counter.

Seth returned to the living room and glanced around. Hitler’s portrait hung on the wall above the TV. A shabby rug lay on the floor below the low coffee table. An ashtray on the table still emitted soft smoke, curling up from the unfinished cigar; a smartphone lay next to it. With his gloved hands, Seth patted the man down. Finding nothing, he returned to the corridor, opened the closet, and checked the leather jacket. In the inner pocket, he found condoms, some cash, and a drivers’ license issued to Walter Fischer.

His jaw locked as he turned to the man sleeping on the couch.

* * *

Even though the camerasinstalled in Seth’s home didn’t cover every nook and cranny, they provided enough visuals to keep Gustavo occupied. He set up another display and connected it to his laptop to keep an eye on Seth even during business calls.

He felt closer to Seth than ever before. Watching him work, he understood his motivation, his goals, and a part of him even grew tolerant to the attentive, obsessive gaze that always returned to his eyes whenever Ignaz was around.

As he watched Seth, Hans gradually melted from his focus. For the last two days, Gustavo had tried to reach the boy many times, but his cellphone kept redirecting all calls to voice mail. Annoyed, he eventually stopped trying, but to his surprise, he didn’t miss him either.

When Seth ordered a pizza without cheese, Gustavo instantly realized the plan. Even before the delivery man knocked at Seth’s door, he had already been driving toward the 22^nd district.

“It’s like watching a movie,” Diego snorted as he opened the front passenger door and sagged into the seat. Holding a paper cup in each hand, he offered one to Gustavo. The strong aroma of dark-roasted coffee filled the compartment. “Where’s his car? Did he leave?”

“Yes, but he will be back. I don’t think it was poison. He only has one name out of seven. It’s not a murder, it’s a kidnapping.”

“Delicious,” Diego murmured, and Gustavo granted him with a questioning look. “I mean the coffee. The place is tiny but so damn good. Try it.”

“Nah, you have it. I feel like my blood vessels will burst if I force any more caffeine down my throat.”

“Your loss.” Diego clutched both paper cups to his chest and filled his lungs with the bitter aroma.

Gustavo ignored him, focusing on the doorway.

No one paid attention when a man, dressed in a leather jacket, too heavy and thick for the sultry summer, kicked the stone from under the door and entered the unremarkable building. No one cared when two drunken men left the building fifteen minutes later; one almost carrying the other on his shoulder.

With blood-chilling casualness, Seth lowered his victim to the floor of the blue van, got in, and drove away.

Flooring the accelerator, Gustavo sped after Seth.

* * *

The mix of ice and waterhit the man’s face. The bald head jerked; bleary eyes blinked and surveyed the windowless room.

“What the f-fuck?” Walter Fischer huffed out the words. Water, skating down his face, drizzled in all directions. He squeezed his eyes and opened them again, sense returning to his gaze with every passing second. He tugged at his limbs, and the rope sank into his flesh, tightening the knots. The loop around his neck bit into his throat.

“If you move too much, the knot around your neck will tighten and strangle you.” Seth squatted in front of him.

From the floor, he picked up a piece of a half-rotten wooden log and a sharp short knife. Placing the log on its end, he drove the blade into it and splintered a long sliver. He rested it on the floor, then repeated the process.

The man rounded his eyes as he looked down his naked body. His torso was tied to the back of the wooden chair, hands and elbows to the armrests, and ankles to the front legs. His toes curled around scattered ice cubes.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” He hurled forward, and the rope sank into his throat again, choking his words. Strangled coughs reached Seth’s ears, but he didn’t look up. “Wait, I know you. You are the pizza guy. Is this about the tip?”

Seth looked up from the knife and granted his victim a tight-lipped smile. The man stopped fighting. “Two years ago, you broke into a BDSM club, killed one man, raped another. Tell me the names of your comrades, and I’ll make it quick and painless.”

“You got the wrong guy,” the man squeaked, protesting. His head turned left then right, the whites of his eyes flickering. “The court found me not guilty. I wasn’t there; I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Is that so?” Seth picked the sliver of wood and dipped it into a glass, half-filled with transparent liquid, standing on the floor. The wooden tip blackened. He fetched rubber gloves from the back pocket of his jeans then snapped them on. Carefully, he pulled the stick out of the liquid and gave the burned tip a satisfied look. “Unlucky for you, I find you guilty.”

The man chuckled. “Do you know who I am? You can’t scare me with a toothpick. You better let me go before I get mad. I eat fuckers like you for breakfast.”

“That’s impressive.” Seth’s smile grew wider at the fake bravado. He shuffled to the man; his keen fingers grabbed the callous hand and forced the fist open. The splinter’s tip approached the nail of the index finger and slowly sank under it. The man shouted, eyes protruding, pupils blown with pain. “You’re a dead man. I’ll fucking bury you alive. You hear?”

Saliva flew in all directions as Fischer kept spurting insults and threats.

Seth waited for him to settle. During Fischer’s struggle, a piece of the splinter broke off, but the black tip remained beneath his nail. The flesh bloated, fingers shook, informing Seth that the acid had already started working.

“Does it hurt?” Seth asked when the man shut up, gasping for air. “I hope it does. I have to admit, I’ve never done this before, so let’s call it an experiment.”

The man’s neck and face corded as he clawed at the chair. His pupils fixed at the splinter under his nail. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s rotten wood I found outside. And this,” Seth lifted the glass with transparent liquid, “is concentrated sulfuric acid. When it comes in contact with flesh, it causes severe tissue damage. Right now, the acid is blending your melted flesh with molecules of rotten wood. Chemistry is fascinating, isn’t it?”

“You are crazy.” The man looked at the metal door, then shouted, “He-e-e-elp!”

“We’re in the basement of an abandoned cement factory. No one will hear you. No one will save you.” Seth smirked, picked one more splinter, and repeated the process with another finger. “It’s up to you how many fingers you lose tonight. I can do this all night.”

Screams of pain filled the basement. Ricocheting against the wall, they bombarded Seth’s ear drums. He got up and circled the room to give the man space and time to reevaluate his options.

“Get them out. Out-out-out,” the hoarse voice chanted. The light gray eyes stared at the inflamed fingernails and the graying flesh around them. Fear and pain hollowed his cheeks. With his eyes sunken, his bald head resembled a skull. “What do you want? I can give you money. Who hired you? I’ll pay double. Triple.” When Seth didn’t say a word, Fischer yelled, “What do you want?”

“Names.” Seth shrugged, stopping before the man.

Fischer shook his head, sweat rolling down his temples and forehead. “You don’t understand. They will kill me. They will kill my family.”

“It’s you who don’t understand.” Seth squatted, picked up the acid, and poured a puddle on the back of Fischer’s hand. An animalistic shriek pierced the air. Seth cringed as the noise chaffed his nerves. He got up and placed the glass on the floor. “You can resist and die in disgrace. Slowly, painfully, rotting from your fingertips to your toes. Soon, I’ll get impatient, and it won’t be only a hand anymore. I’ll start injecting you with acid. You won’t die at first, but you will bloat and beg me to kill you.” Seth paused to let the information sink in. When he continued, his voice sounded low. “Or, you can tell me the names, and I’ll finish it quick and painless.”

The man stopped screaming, eyes senseless with terror and pain. His muscles trembled, convulsed, and he hurled forward. The rope around his neck tightened.

Seth folded his arms over his chest, watching the struggle.

“Killing yourself takes courage and dignity,” he rustled. “I should respect that. Go ahead; I won’t interrupt.”

Fischer’s thin lip curled up, a hoarse chuckle broke out, foaming saliva at the corners of his mouth. “Is it that murdered Jew? Who was he, your brother?”

“I didn’t know him.” Seth shrugged.

“Ohh, then it’s the little whore, am I right?” The man grinned, eyes glinting with insanity. Seth’s jaw locked. “Oh boy, was he good. His pussy pulsed around me, milking me dry. When I fucked him with the bottle, he squealed like a bitch in heat. He loved every second of it.”

Something snapped in Seth’s head. He bent forward, grabbed the glass with acid, and splashed it in the man’s face. The skin bubbled, sizzled, and started melting. An ultrasound-like wail pierced Seth’s ears. It sliced through his brain, making him want to quiet it no matter what. Without thinking, he pulled a glass spike from the top of his boot, flipped it in his palm, and drove it into the man’s eye.

The sound died, but with the euphoria the silence provided, Seth felt electricity filling his body. It streamed through him, empowering him. His fingertips buzzed with energy. In the encompassing ecstasy, he drove the spike into the skull again and again. Black fog swallowed the corners of his vision, his blood boiled, and elation lightened his head. And from the fog, vortexes formed. Getting stronger with every drop of spilled blood, they lashed at the dying man, tearing his soul to pieces.

The body beneath him slackened, the sphincters disengaged and released bodily fluids. The stench of feces permeated the air providing a sobering slap. Seth shrank back, unwilling to touch the man’s soul. Even without sensing it, he could tell it was cold, black, damned, and didn’t deserve a second life. The vortexes died; his vision cleared.

Seth stumbled back. His gaze settled over the disfigured face. It hit him. Fischer was dead.

“FUCK!” Seth yelled at the top of his lungs, angry at himself, but only a hoarse growl left his mouth. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He dropped the bloody spike to the floor, tore the gloves off, then threw them at the corner of the room. Unable to stand still, he spun on the heel of his steel toe boot, fingers sinking into his hair.

The realization that he’d killed the only lead he possessed to the rest of the rapists pressed on his temples. His teeth ground and creaked as rage took over. He kicked the corpse in the chest. The chair fell over, raising gray dust in the air.

I need to calm down.Seth shook his head as he surged to the door, and only then noticed Gustavo standing in the doorway with his shoulder resting against the jamb.

“He looks terribly dead. That’s unfortunate,” the tranquil voice droned.

Seth drove his nails into his palms, to grasp a sense of reality. His head cooled as he forced the rage away and reassessed his situation. He glanced back at the corpse, then at Gustavo and the black shadow hovering behind his back. Ah, this time, you aren’t alone. Does it mean you finally take me seriously? It doesn’t matter. You are the least of my problems now. I need to think.

Seth moved to the door. Gustavo shifted, blocking his way. “I take it you didn’t get the names?”

Seth’s chin moved left and up as a low growl broke through his clenched teeth.

“Easy, Tiger. He might be dead, but I’m not. As you said, I am resourceful. I might help you.” Gustavo’s eyes, full of intrusive, unwanted attention settled on him.

“How can you help me?” A wind rustle, not a voice.

While the eye contact lingered, Diego pushed his way into the room. He circled the dead body and whistled. “I can see his brain through his eye.”

“Shut up, Diego,” Gustavo growled, tearing his focus away from Seth for a second. “What do you say?”

“What’s the catch?”

“Answers.”

A stray stone shifted beneath his foot; Seth inched to the wall. He wasn’t sure what kind of information Gustavo craved, but now he’d found Ignaz, having the man snooping around didn’t seem safe. His constant mockery, untimely humor, and nosy behavior would eventually lead to a disaster.

A bright flash snatched his attention from Gustavo. Holding his phone in his hand, Diego pressed a handkerchief to his nose and mouth with the other. One bright flash morphed into another as Diego took a series of photographs. Seth’s mouth hardened.

“Diego, stop that.” Alertness made its way into Gustavo’s voice. “Please, excuse my friend here. He has terrible manners and no respect for the dead. Diego!”

The photographs didn’t bother Seth. His whole attention concentrated on the phone, as his mind’s eye provided the images of the leather jacket, steel toe boots, and the cell phone he had taken from Fisher’s home. I have his phone. His comrades should be somewhere among the contacts. I still can find them.

“No.”

“No?” Gustavo lifted a brow. “I can make this all disappear. I can hand you the crime case, DNA tests, all the information there is to find on Walter Fischer. His contacts, his emails, his friend list, I can even arrange a lab to run the additional tests, all anonymous.”

“No.” Seth looked around the basement, at the mutilated body bathing in blood and urine, then at Gustavo. “I don’t need your help. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually I’ll find them.”

He shrunk back to the wall, grabbed a canister standing in the shadows, then took a step toward Diego. “It’s acid. Unless you want to look like he does, stand back.”

“Oh, don’t glare at me, Princess.” Diego scrunched up his nose, hurriedly hiding his phone in the inner pocket of his dark-gray jacket. “I’m a victim of circumstance. I don’t even want to be here.” He shrugged and jabbed a finger at Gustavo. “Glare at him.”

Seth stared.

Gustavo snorted. “My offer stands. I’ll keep in touch, and next time you decide to visit me—” Ignoring the canister, Gustavo approached Seth. With the casualness of a businessman, he fetched a silver cardholder out of his chest pocket, plucked out a black card, and carefully shoved it in the front pocket of Seth’s leather jacket. “—call or message.”

He turned to Diego. “Come, you victim of circumstance. Drive me home.”

* * *

A chain of streetlightsflickered behind the front passenger window as Gustavo’s head rested against the glass. After half an hour of silent driving, he finally broke the silence. “You are terribly quiet. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Diego didn’t spare him a glance, but his usually animated face hardened.

“What did you see?”

Diego shrugged. “Nothing you don’t know already.”

“Still, indulge me.”

“Okay,” Diego licked his lips. “Two fingers of the victim were swollen, wooden picks sticking from under the nails. If I judge by the grayish color of the deadened flesh around them, I assume they were soaked in the acid, the same one he threatened us with. Either he was in a rush, or he lost patience, but for some reason, he stopped the intended slow torture and poured the acid on the man’s hand. But—”

Diego took a pause and a turn, driving off the highway onto a quiet forest road.

“—Apparently, our friend isn’t only impatient, he’s also hot-headed. My best guess, the victim said something that caused the onslaught. Mayr splashed acid in the fucker’s face, then he stabbed him in the eye multiple times. If the first murder was well-considered and accurate, this one is a classic example of an angry murder. It’s messy, emotional, and feels like it was done by someone else.”

“Does it scare you?”

Diego turned to him, unusually serious. “No, but it made me think. Gustavo, he is a terrible choice for a plaything.”

“Weren’t you encouraging me to get closer to him?”

“Yeah, that was before. I thought he was one of those freaks who need their perfect prey. I wrote Flames off to collateral damage, but I’m not sure anymore. Today, in that poor fucker I saw you and me. And you know, I like my fingers the way they are. Hence here is my question, what do you want to do with him? Fuck him? If so, let’s drug him. Take the edge off and go back to Snow Queen.”

“I thought you didn’t like Hans,” Gustavo asked, amused by the sudden turn of the conversation.

“Oh, I don’t like him at all. You have always had terrible taste in men. He is only interested in your money.”

“Just like you.”

“This is exactly my point. Our interests clash, but if I have to choose one of them, Hans is a no-brainer,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, come on, I call it a win. Seth didn’t try to kill us today, and he only threatened us once. It’s progress.” Gustavo chuckled. “Or are you feeling utter defeat coming? He didn’t kill me, so your Bentley will soon be mine.”

Diego snorted, eyes gravitating to the straight, empty road. “Don’t be delusional. He didn’t kill you because there were two of us in the room. And since I’m in a position where I put my life in danger for you, I’d like to know the final goal. I thought you wanted to put him down once your curiosity was satisfied. I’m not sure anymore.”

“I’m not sure myself. He intrigues me,” Gustavo confessed. “And I think there’s more to him than I originally assumed. I want to know what it is.”

“You realize that he isn’t dating material, right? Please, tell me you are still sane.”

“Don’t worry. I just want to observe for now,” Gustavo muttered, and for the rest of the way, they drove in silence.

* * *

Seth buried the bodyin a barrel of sulfuric acid in a deep forest in Lower Austria and returned home with the first rays of the waking sun. The nearly-healed skin on his palm came off from shoveling, but Seth welcomed the blood, hoping it would provide a valid excuse for Ignaz to stay longer. Red and brown smudges covered his white shirt as he kept wiping his hands against it. He disassembled the shovel on his way back, losing the metal tip in the river.

By the time he returned home, his watch had buzzed twelve times. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he stood under the piercing streams of the shower, with his head thrown back and mouth greedily gulping water.

When he left the shower cubicle, his head tingled with freshness. With a critical eye, he once again examined himself and the van. After finding no scratches, he gathered his ruined clothes, boots, and the shovel’s handle and brought it to the basement to put everything in the furnace.

In twenty minutes, he was already in bed, catching up on oh so needed sleep.