Seth by Nero Seal

The car plunged intothe thick barberry shrub silvered with moonlight. Seth’s head knocked against the steering wheel as his vision failed once more. Most of the way, he’d driven on auto-pilot. A deep-seated tremor settled into his limbs. It took effort to thrust the door open and stumble out of the car and into the bush. Foliage filled his eyes and mouth. The surroundings smudged. He stumbled, his toe caught a stone, and he made the last steps to the rear door in complete darkness. His palm slapped the door; nails screeched down the metal.

A hand to his back pocket, he searched for the phone when the door swished open, stealing the only support Seth had. His body tilted.

Through the darkness, Seth saw a pale flash of a bloodless face. He smiled when familiar arms wrapped around him. Touching Ignaz felt good. So damn right. “Seth?”

The familiar aroma of classic bubblegum filled his lungs. He lifted his hands and locked Ignaz in an embrace. All the anxiety and rage inside him ebbed, and even the night became a few shades brighter. Deep relaxation drained pressure from his muscles. He smiled. “Umm, I missed you.”

“What’s this?” The boy pulled away to lift a palm to his face. His mouth worked as he attempted to say something, failed, tried again. “B-blood?”

His eyes lost all sense as he gaped at his blood-covered fingers. Seth already felt mortal exhaustion shutting off his body. Lead filled his limbs, and he struggled to keep his eyes open for every extra second.

“It’s okay. I need you to do something.” His lethargic fingers abandoned Ignaz’s waist to pull the phone out of his pocket. “Call David Haas.”

“This isn’t happening.” Ignaz shook his head, tears trembling on his lashes. Without thinking, Seth reached up and brushed a thumb over the pale cheek, painting it in rusty red. Ignaz blinked, and a tear diluted the dark smudge.

Many had cried because of Seth, but no one had ever cried over him. Somehow, it felt good. All the weight lifted from his chest. He thought that if he ever knew what warmth was, it would feel like this. Like happiness and lightness. Like home. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Ignaz stared at Seth’s hand, shook his head, and tried to pull away. “No-no-no… Not again.”

“It’s okay,” Seth whispered, sagging on the floor. His knees hit the rough concrete.

The low howl of the desert filled his ears, and the vortexes once again sprung out of the ground. Swirling around him, they leeched at his blood. It’s too late anyway.

“You don’t need to do anything. Just stay with me.” Seth swallowed against his bone-dry throat, then added, “I’m going to rest my eyes for a bit now, okay? It’s gonna be fine. Don’t be scared. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“No-no-no…” Ignaz shook his head, tears glittering in the moonlight.

Seth smiled. In the dead of night, Ignaz glowed so bright—too bright to look at. His lids dropped closed, and everything stopped existing.

* * *

Gustavo pulled overnext to Seth’s car. Ignaz sat on the concrete driveway next to the motionless body, gawking around with empty eyes, a black, slim smartphone clutched in his hand. His chest rose and fell in sharp, short breaths as if he was hyperventilating.

Before he knew it, Gustavo got out of the car and surged to the wounded man. His mind sharpened, casting emotions aside. Gustavo had dealt with wounds too many times not to know that every second of delay could cost a life.

“Move away.” He knelt next to Seth, a palm gently pushing the boy aside. He rolled up the bloody shirt and examined the pale skin covered in dried blood. Above the hip, on the flank, a narrow wound glinted with fresh trickles; black blood coagulated around the rim. On instinct, he bent Seth’s knees and rolled his head to the side, removed the belt, and undid the button of his pants.

“W-who are you?” Ignaz croaked as he smeared his tears with the back of his palm. “Don’t touch him.”

“Calm down, sweetheart.” Diego squatted behind the boy, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “We just want to help, okay?” He pulled the device out of the trembling fingers. “It’s Seth’s phone, isn’t it? What did he say?”

“To call Haas?” Ignaz whispered as if he wasn’t sure of his answer.

“Good boy.” Diego pressed a kiss to his hair, then released him from the embrace. “Now, go and bring a medkit. Don’t you see, he is bleeding.”

Following commands seemed to be easier for Ignaz than coming up with his own decisions. He nodded and darted into the house. Diego grabbed Seth’s hand and pressed his index finger to the fingerprint scanner. Within a moment, he was already calling.

“Doctor Haas? Seth Mayr requires your instant attention. A penetrative wound in the abdomen, inflicted with something slim, presumably a knife. The bleeding is moderate. He is unconscious. It’s been at least an hour since he got stabbed. Waiting in his villa. What do we need to do?”

Gustavo strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out a single word the doctor said. When Diego terminated the call, he asked, “What did he say?”

“That if he hasn’t died already, he has three chances out of four he won’t, at least for a few more hours. But we should stop the bleeding, cover him with a blanket, and don’t disturb him much.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here? Bring ice, gauze, blankets, and the fucking medkit. Now.” When the heavy stomping disappeared into the villa, Gustavo looked at Seth’s face. The slack features sharpened, turning the full of life, beautiful face into a death mask. A few bloody scratches stood out against his ashen cheeks.

For the whole trip to Seth’s house, Gustavo was alert. His hands were steady, his mind clear. Without a single misplaced heartbeat, he left the car and examined the wound. He had even started thinking that everything he’d felt toward Seth had been caused by misattribution of arousal. Just like with the Suspension Bridge Effect¹, his mind misread the signals and mislabeled adrenaline and fear as romantic arousal. That he didn’t harbor any emotion for Seth apart from an odd fascination and curiosity. Maybe lust, but nothing deeper. Nothing strong enough to make him truly care.

But a single glance at the ashen face washed him in a cold sweat as if up until now, his mind refused to believe Seth could be harmed. He scrutinized the motionless form.

Only an hour ago, Seth had challenged him with a haughty, arrogant expression of silent supremacy. The ultimate loneliness in his features had robbed Gustavo of peace. Now, the man lay motionless as if dead.

His hand shook when he reached to the sharp cheekbone. Under his touch, the cheek felt no warmer than marble. Gustavo’s blood chilled, stomach hardened as his finger pads pressed to the side of Seth’s neck, seeking a pulse.

Tick… Tick… Tick…Slow, weak, but there.

Gustavo blew a sigh of relief. For the first time, he touched Seth’s face and didn’t get his hand slapped. A strange feeling of empowerment brought him closer. His palm ran down the pale cheek, a thumb brushed over Seth’s mouth, and he inched lower, burning with the need to taste Seth’s lips once again.

A sharp sound of a throat being cleared drifted from behind. Gustavo jerked upright.

“Sorry to interrupt your… What were you doing, by the way?” Diego tilted his head then scrunched up his face. “You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

He dropped on his knees, holding a medkit in one hand, an ice pack and a blanket in the other.

Gustavo licked his lips, giving Seth another look. “I just… He looked so–”

“Dead? Is that your new kink?”

Gustavo cringed, grabbed the first aid kit. “Diego, for a change, shut the fuck up. Where’s the kid?”

“I’m confused. Do I shut the fuck up or answer you?” Under the murderous glare, Diego bleated, “Bathroom-bathroom. Throwing up. I think he is in shock.”

“Whatever…” Thoughts about the boy evaporated as Gustavo soaked a swab with antiseptic solution and wiped clean the zone around the wound. Rummaging through the medkit, he found a few ampoules with anesthetics and an antihemorrhagic agent. He filled the syringe with the mix of it and micro-injected the outskirt of the wound.

When he pressed a piece of sterile gauze to the wound, a private ambulance rolled into the parking lot. A man in his mid-fifties stepped out, dressed in medical scrubs.

“Clear out, please,” he said, kneeling next to Seth. Snapping sterile gloves on, he checked Seth’s vitals then moved his attention to the wound. “What was administered?”

“Local injections with Novocaine and Etamsylate,” Gustavo replied.

The doctor glanced up then returned to the wound. The driver got out of the ambulance, opened the rear doors, and pulled out the gurney.

The door to the villa opened, and Ignaz, even paler than before, stumbled out. “Doctor Haas?”

“It just gets better and better…” Haas sighed, then lifted his voice from a whisper. “What are you doing here, Ignaz?”

“I… I’m… with Seth. We are together now.” Ignaz’s gawked at Seth’s pale face. “Is he dead?”

“No, he isn’t. Calm down.” Haas leveled Gustavo with an unreadable look. “And who might you be?”

“A friend.” Gustavo blazed his most charming smile.

“Okay, friend—” Haas motioned for the driver to roll the gurney closer. “—there’s nothing I can do for him here. He needs surgery.”

They relocated the motionless body. When Haas fixed the gurney upright and rolled it toward the van, Ignaz surged after him. Grabbing the green fabric of Haas’ scrubs, he begged. “Can I go with him, please?”

“I’m sorry, Ignaz. When he’s conscious and wants to see you, I’ll call you. Please, stay with your friends or someone you trust, and keep your phone on.”

“I’ll wait in the hall or even outside? Please?” Ignaz’s chin trembled. “Please? I won’t cause trouble.”

“I’m sorry.” Haas shook his head and got into the car. “I don’t have time for this. Please, let go.”

The driver slammed the ambulance’s back doors on Haas and then got in front, and the vehicle rolled out of the parking lot.

Gustavo threw a glance at the now empty road, then at the crying Ignaz. For a split second, he considered taking the boy with him, but changed his mind, remembering all too well the puppy-like adoration in Seth’s eyes whenever the boy was around.

“Diego, stay with him until I call. Don’t leave his side for a second.”

With easy casualness, Diego wrapped his hands around the boy and tugged him into his embrace. “It’s okay. He will be fine. Why don’t we go inside? I could do with some food. Please?”

Gustavo got into the car. The engine roared when he sped after the ambulance.

* * *

The night behindthe window gave in to the bloody-red sunrise. Oblique hatches of feather-like clouds struck dark against the glowing horizon. The white-washed walls dressed in pink as the sun crept higher.

Gustavo sat next to the medical bed, staring at Seth’s pale face. It’d been an hour since he had been brought back from the surgery, but he hadn’t woken up or stirred once. White dressings hugged his stomach and hand, adhesive bandages decorated his face, and a tall IV stand dripped something into his arm as a monitor tracked signals coming from his finger.

The plastic chair beneath Gustavo’s ass felt like it was designed to cause as much discomfort as possible to its occupant and shorten the visits. His buttocks hurt as if bruised. After struggling for another minute, he rose to his feet and roamed around the room. White walls only accentuated the minimalistic design of the small room. Even the faint smell of antiseptic fitted here, as everything looked squeaky-clean and oh so boring.

When the hell will he wake up?He checked his watch again as something buzzed. He turned to the nightstand, glanced at the black smartwatch lying on it. Curiosity sparking, he grabbed the thin device. Somehow, he half-expected to feel body heat lingering on the metal sensors on the inner side of the cuff, but the device was cold. Humming, he twirled it around his fingers, and his eyes fixed on the notification “bathroom”. He blinked, snorted.

Does he use the bathroom according to a schedule?A smile tickled his lips but died the next instant. He opened the list of alarms, read through. A very detailed, precise schedule that regulated bodily functions sprawled on the small screen. Food, water, bathroom, sleep, workout, vitamins, massage, and physical therapy—the schedule resembled a memory table of a nurse caring for an immobile patient. And even the activity tracker was set to go off every fifteen minutes. Seth had never struck Gustavo as a sick person.

Why such a detailed schedule? Gustavo scrolled through it again but didn’t find a single meeting or even a subtle mention of work. His attention jumped to the pale face and slight stubble covering Seth’s cheeks and chin.

On impulse, he brushed the back of his index finger over the side of Seth’s neck and chest. Tepid and smooth, the skin was pristine and begged to be worshiped. Gustavo swallowed as heat scalded his face and hit his groin. His finger drifted over the bandage and hooked the blue bedsheet covering Seth’s hips.

Gustavo had never seen Seth naked. Even on the CCTV, whenever he’d disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared again, he’d always worn at least something. In the basement, the camera angle and the poor quality of the footage didn’t let him enjoy the view.

Carefully, trying not to wake Seth, he lifted the bedsheet. A tiny spot beneath his tongue chilled. He frowned, staring at the catheter connecting Seth’s cock to a bag attached to the side of the bed. A bag he’d never noticed before. But his attention had already traveled to the marble-like scars from old, severe burns that swirled around Seth’s legs and groin like a snake and overlapped the base of his cock. Pink stripes and blue veins like marble streaks ran beneath the thinned-out, stretched skin.

“My fucking god…” Gustavo muttered, unable to stop staring. He lowered the cloth to Seth’s knees and pressed his palm to the rippled skin above. He expected the touch to disturb or repulse him with bumpy, rough texture, but the burnt skin felt gentle, fragile, like a spider web. As if it could tear any moment.

Emotions, clashing, made him toss the sheet over Seth’s hips. A brutal image of the murder and torture in the silo surfaced in his memory. How can someone like him be so frail?

He shook his head again, trying to mentally distance himself from Seth. He wasn’t sure why he was still in the hospital. By this time, he should have been in his warm bed, chasing pleasure in Hans’ perfect body, not staying all night by the bed of a murderer. Yet, he couldn’t leave. He circled the bed once more, wondering what else he’d missed. A plastic holder at the foot of the bed caught his interest, a black clipboard stuck inside. Before Gustavo knew it, he held it in his hands.

He skimmed over the generic information, basic bloodwork, and allergy reactions until he stumbled over the graph stating hereditary diseases.

“What the fuck is Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV?” he asked himself, looking at Seth. Yellow light filtering through the horizontal blinds cast gray stripes over the pale chest and face.

Gustavo reached to touch him again when the door creaked open. Haas entered the room. He looked tired, as if the night had added a few wrinkles and gray hairs. “You aren’t supposed to be here or reading this.”

“What’s Hereditary Sensory and Autonomic Neuropathy Type IV?”

Haas sighed but replied, “It’s a congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis.”

“A what?”

“It’s a rare genetic disorder where people are insensitive to pain and temperatures and are unable to regulate their body temperature due to lack of sweating.”

“Wait. Are you telling me this motherfucker doesn’t feel pain?” Gustavo ducked his head. A bright flashback from the fight in the glass factory surfaced in his memory. Seth’s palm pressed against the scorching metal … the steaming flesh … the scent of burnt meat … dry, red skin … a blank expression without a single hint of pain. “Fuck my life, he can’t feel pain. How’s it even possible? Is it some kind of nerve degeneration?”

“Not really. People with CIPA don’t have sensory neurons in the dorsal root ganglion. Those are responsible for carrying nerve impulses from painful and temperature stimuli. In other words, people like him have no awareness of being hurt. They could burn alive and wouldn’t feel it until someone tells them, or they see flames.”

“What about pleasure? Can he feel it?”

“Pleasure?” Haas cocked a brow.

“Yes. Sexual pleasure. Touches, kisses, caresses. Can he feel it?” Gustavo placed the clipboard on the plastic chair, eyes boring into the doctor.

“Why are you asking? Who are you, once again, and what’s your interest in him?” Haas knitted his brows.

“Isn’t it obvious, doctor? Personal. Why else would I be here?”

Haas blew out a breath, and his palm ran over his glistening forehead. He looked at Seth, at Gustavo, then at the clipboard. “Doesn’t he already have a lover?”

“Has that ever stopped anyone from trying? Tell me, doctor, what about pleasure?”

“People with CIPA feel touch just like you and me—pressure, textures, vibrations. Just not temperatures, not pain.”

“Can this disorder cause impotence?”

“No?” Haas ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at it. “Even completely paralyzed people can feel sexual pleasure. It works on a hormonal level.”

“Then why can’t he get hard?”

“This isn’t something I can or should be answering, but maybe you just don’t excite him?” Mocking notes sneaked into Haas’ voice, but his face remained a dispassionate mask.

“Huh?” Gustavo’s lips stretched in a grin. “Don’t excite him... I was right. It can’t be love. By the way, why isn’t he waking up? Shouldn’t he be coming around by now?”

“He won’t wake up. Not today, not tomorrow. He is heavily sedated and will stay like this for at least a week.”

“Why? I thought the surgery went well.”

“It went fine. The knife didn’t cut organs, but it scratched the large intestine. There was a massive hematoma in the retroperitoneal space. He is in a stable condition and will recover, but he won’t wake up anytime soon. You are wasting your time.”

“Then why is he sedated?” Gustavo felt like an idiot. “You just said he can’t feel pain. What’s the point in sedating him?”

“That’s exactly the reason why he has to be sedated.” Haas snapped his gloves on, circled the bed, and checked Seth’s vitals. “You see, any other person with these injuries would stay in bed because moving would be painful. Seth will try to leave as soon as he is conscious. Hyperactivity and emotional instability are common for people with his disorder. And this is also a warning for you, Herr…”

“Gustavo DeSilva.”

“Go home, Herr DeSilva. I’ll let him know you stopped by when he has healed enough to be released.”

“Hmm…” Gustavo glanced at the sleeping face, then at the doctor. He was about to walk out of the door, but changed his mind, picked up the clipboard, and took out his phone.

“You aren’t allowed to take pictures of that.” Haas stepped toward him, reaching to the clipboard.

“Fine. I won’t.” Gustavo easily agreed, passing the clipboard to the doctor. “But satisfy my curiosity. The file states he has no allergy reactions. Is it a mistake?”

“We don’t make mistakes here.” Haas accepted the file and shoved it under his armpit. “I’ve been his physician since his birth.”

“What about his alcohol intolerance? Isn’t it an allergy?”

“He doesn’t have alcohol intolerance.”

“Are you sure?”

“I would know.” Haas’ words rang with metal. “Now, please leave.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Gustavo grinned and strolled out of the room.

* * *

Gustavo sat withhis elbows pressed against the desk and his forehead resting on his stippled fingers. The fascinating idea of not feeling pain turned out to be a living curse for people like Seth. Even the stupid schedule made perfect sense now. People who had no awareness of their own bodies could never know hunger pains, the ache of a full bladder, or muscle pain from joints being stressed by an uncomfortable position. Three days had passed since Diego stayed at Seth’s place. During this time, Gustavo contacted dozens of doctors to research everything he could find on Seth’s diagnosis.

The more he learned, the weaker the powerful image of the magnificent beast he’d created in his mind became. The number of adjectives he’d used to label Seth shrank until only one remained.

Frail… Despite his strength, Seth was frail.

The diagnosis messed with Gustavo’s mind, creating more questions than answers. The clinical cases he’d managed to find stated that CIPA disorder almost always came hand in hand with mental disability and retardation, but Seth was sharp, smart. Also, almost all the pictures he’d managed to find showed people with inflamed joints. Many with Seth’s condition didn’t live past twenty-four years, but Seth looked healthy.

Is it because he had the best medical attention possible?Gustavo wondered, but he couldn’t get answers. He wanted to ask Haas, but somehow, he was sure the doctor wouldn’t tell him much.

His phone rang, dragging him out of his lazy thoughts. Diego’s name blazed on the screen. He swiped the icon. “Yes?”

“The boy is gone.”

“What?”

“He looked drowsy. I thought he knocked back some sedatives. I went out for a bit. When I returned, he was gone.”

“Why the fuck did you leave him?”

“I ran out of suckers, okay?” Diego’s voice pitched with indignation.

“Geez, Diego...” Gustavo shook his head. “Find him. Now. I need Loco’s mind off him, not on him.”