Seth by Nero Seal

Adrenaline kept Gustavoawake all night. He tried to sleep but, whenever he drifted, the dark eyes surfaced in his memory making his heart race. Intelligent, confident, lethal, they warned and beckoned him at once.

With a gleam of daylight, and not rested at all, he gave up on sleeping and relocated to his office to find the first reports waiting for him in his email.

Sipping his espresso, Gustavo printed the files and started leafing through the autopsy report. The wounds on the boy’s throat and chest had been inflicted with a sharp but short knife. The same knife butchered through his ribcage. No signs of rape, no semen presence. The drug test also came negative, but the complete toxicology report wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks.

Folding his hands behind his head, Gustavo reclined back in his leather chair. If not for the traces of foreign saliva in the victim’s mouth and all over his face, the evidence leaned toward a non-sexual motive.

The chemical analysis revealed that the white powder beneath the body was high-quality silica sand—a wildly used material for all kinds of industrial production. Except this one was chemically pure, transparent, fine. Sand like this found wide usage in glass manufacturing.

What kind of a ritual is that?Gustavo hummed. What can be possibly done with a human heart and silica sand?

Nothing came to mind. His gaze drifted through the vast, two-story office. The yellow lights coming from several displays highlighted a wine collection, Spanish muskets, swords, guitars, and books contrasting with the dark wood and brown leather interior. On the walls between displays, antique canvases hung in heavy frames.

Looking at them always helped Gustavo think. Right now, his eyes gravitated toward a painting with a striking contrast of light and dark above the staircase leading to the second floor where he kept his library. Over five feet high and more than four feet wide, the canvas was the only seascape from the brush of Rembrandt¹. The play of light on the picture reminded Gustavo of the moonlight glinting off the bloody heart.

On the painting, a small vessel was at the mercy of the whirling sea and angry sky. High waves lashed at the boat as the wind tore the sail. A yellow lick of light across the dark picture sharpened the sense of peril, but it also brought a promise as the same yellow glowed around Jesus’ head.

Sitting on the dark side of the boat, the son of God portrayed a splash of serenity among the madness. His disciples scattered over the vessel, all kinds of emotions on their faces. Panic, fear, resignation, determination but very little hope—a perfect representation of the fragility of the human mind and body.

The biblical scene was supposed to represent faith, but Gustavo had always associated it with the strength of the human spirit. To him, it was all about the play between light and dark. The sharp contrast divided the Disciples of Christ to those who fought against the storm and those who were resigned to their fate, pleading for mercy but doing nothing to save themselves. While the first group belonged to the light and the vessel’s bow, the former one drowned in shadows at the stern.

For Gustavo, this painting also represented his own conflict with religion. Long ago, he’d refused to kneel in front of the God he had never seen, the God who had never answered his prayers. For him, Fortune favored the strong. The light always glowed around those who fought for their lives. And as long as he drew breath, he swore to stay in the light.

His mind drifted.

He remembered the first time he’d laid his eyes on “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee²”. He’d only glimpsed it from afar, at a black-market auction in Romania, but it instantly stole his heart. He couldn’t rest until the canvas took its place on the wall of his mansion. Tonight, he’d experienced a similar feeling. He just couldn’t let the beast go.

Did the boy know his murderer? Did he beg him to stop? Was the beast as serene as Jesus when he slit his throat? Did he grant his victim his love and forgiveness? Was that why he kissed him? He kissed his cheeks, his mouth, and took his heart, his blood, so he could keep them. The murder wasn’t sexual, but was it an act of love?

I interrupted him, yet he showed me the heart. What did it mean? A sign of forgiveness? A mark of death? Whatever that was, it was freaking breathtaking.

He almost laughed at the memory, but the smile died on his lips as he recalled the cold eyes framed by the demonic yet beautiful face. The wish to see the man again swelled.

Without a knock, the door swung open, and Diego stepped in, waving a plastic folder in the air. Dressed in a dark-gray suit, he looked well-rested, refreshed, sharp. Judging by the smug smirk playing over his lips, he knew that perfectly well. His thick, umber hair, brushed to the side, was still wet; his short goatee neatly trimmed. “You owe me a hundred.”

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Gustavo pushed out a put-on growl.

Grinning, Diego said, “Knock-knock, you owe me a hundred.”

Approaching the wide desk, he pressed his palm against the polished surface of the wood and offered the folder to Gustavo.

“Gay. Submissive. Ultimate bottom.” Once again, Gustavo thought that Diego’s silvery baritone suited his boyish, goofy nature so well. Seven years younger, he wasn’t only smart enough to be Gustavo’s lieutenant, but also his best friend.

Tearing the folder out of Diego’s grip, Gustavo flipped it open. Pictures occupied a few sheets of paper, showing the dead body from every angle. Gustavo’s attention fixed on the boy’s wrist and the tattoo covering the inner side of it. A black barcode stretching over the pale skin had a nine-figure number written on top.

“You’re a fucking cheat.” He slammed the folder against the desk. “You saw the tattoo. It wasn’t a guess; you knew. I won’t pay you a cent.”

Diego’s lips hardened as he huffed out his indignation. “Yes, you will. I saw the barcode, but I didn’t know for sure. Slaves aren’t the only ones who do barcodes.”

“Is that right? Who else?”

“I don’t know; some anti-mercantilists who fight against becoming a product of global consumerism?”

Gustavo squinted. “You just made this up. It’s not even a movement.”

“Whatever, you owe me a hundred. Your fault for not looking more carefully. It was a lucky guess. Now, hand it over.”

“Phht.” Unwillingly, Gustavo reached for his wallet and fished out a bill before slamming it against the desk. “I’ll remember this, you little fucker.”

“You know, winning your money makes me truly happy.” Quick fingers snatched the win, as Diego murmured, “Yes-s-s, come to Daddy!”

Deciding to ignore his friend, Gustavo leafed through the photographs, then read the background check on the twenty-two-year-old boy, Justin Frank.

An orphan, adopted by a childless family, he had an impressive list of police records of shoplifting, stealing, and house-breaking. He ran away from home more than five times; five times he had been brought back. After turning eighteen, he’d left home and never returned. A year ago, his adoptive parents were murdered during a street mobbing. No one would ever miss a boy like this; no one would ever look for him. A perfect victim.

“The information on the slave registration website hadn’t been updated for two years, but we managed to locate his master. His pseudo name popped up on a few closed forums. We might have gotten a lead. The Citadel—a local BDSM club.”

“Did you check it already?”

“On it.”

“What about the murder profile?” Gustavo pushed the folder away from him.

Diego clicked his tongue, grimaced. “We ran it through the police and Interpol, but nothing similar popped up. Boys always go missing, but nothing like this has ever happened. Either this is his first murder, or he does a good job of body disposal.”

Interesting…Gustavo thought, reclining back, he looked into Diego’s brown eyes speckled with yellow. “Did you get DNA results or fingerprints?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“Keep me posted.” Gustavo smiled at the Christ in the painting that had been stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum³ many years ago. “I will find you, Loco, no matter what.”

* * *

Seth’s mood turneda few shades darker as he clicked through the news channels.

This can’t be happening,he thought, pressing the button on the remote control with an irritable finger. He hadn’t slept for forty-six hours and was sure he was hallucinating as not a word about the murder had hit the media. There should be something, anything. It can’t be that no one went to the construction site today. There is no chance the body hasn’t been found yet.

He glanced at his smartwatch, canceling yet another alarm reminding him of a skipped meal. It was well past twelve. Why has no one called me?If the body was found, they would have called me.

A hoarse breath broke out of his throat; he tossed the remote on the black leather sofa and spun on his heel, facing the window. A bright cityscape blurred in front of his eyes as he plunged into his thoughts.

Can the police be withholding information? Are they getting ready for a press release? Maybe they are waiting for me to panic and reveal myself? He shook his head. Not possible. They have a witness, a body, my fingerprints and DNA. Why would they wait? This makes no sense.

He hated feeling stupid. He hated when his plans were interrupted or when his prognosis didn’t come true. Unable to understand the situation, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Even if the man never reported, it still doesn’t explain the lack of news.

Shaking his head, he approached the sofa, picked up the remote, and started clicking through the channels again. When the clock on the wall showed four, Seth turned off the TV. He needed food, water, and to use a bathroom, but more than that, he needed a new plan; for that, he had to know what was going on. The formalin solution could preserve Justin’s heart for a long time, but eventually, the color would fade, and he couldn’t allow that.

* * *

Under the blazing sun,the construction site buzzed with life. Machinery pounded, creating mind-shattering noise. Workers barked out orders, and metal screeched against metal. Seth almost tumbled back when a wheelbarrow, full of yellow sand, rushed past him, the wheel missing his shoe by a mere inch.

His thoughts froze, body stiffened. He desperately wanted to retreat from the dusty, loud site, but the deathly craving to see the crime scene urged him forward. Construction workers wore bright vests and safety helmets, but no one paid him attention. No one stopped him or warned him about the absence of a hard hat. The usual commotion reigned in the construction site, everyone rushing around, being industrious, like ants in a disturbed anthill. Everything looked fine. No police, no yellow tape separated the crime scene. Nothing.

Holding his iced coffee in one hand, he passed a pile of concrete blocks before he took a left turn and retreated into the shades of the unfinished building.

His heart palpitated, eyes strained, and all senses became painfully acute. He pressed his palm to the wall as he entered the foyer, where only a few hours ago he’d held Justin’s bleeding body.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I must be dreaming.

A thin layer of dust coated the concrete floor, gray on gray. Not a single red splotch, not a trace of white silica sand. Nothing, as if Seth stepped into another reality where no murder had ever happened.

He squeezed his eyes, then opened them again, wishing for the delusion to disperse and reveal the bloody scene, but in the vastness of the foyer, he stood alone.

Did I imagine it all? Am I going insane? I killed him, didn’t I?

Fighting the wish to call Justin, he glanced down at his hands and clean nails.

I cut his heart out. I’ve stored it in the refrigerator room. Then where is the body? Where is the blood?

“Seth?”

He flinched, spun on his heel. His pulse quickened as he stared into the deep gray eyes of Günter Wagner, the project manager.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Sharp, tiny wrinkles scattered all over the wide face as the man chuckled. “Did you come to check the progress? Stupid me! Why else would you be here? It’s stunning, isn’t it? Is it how you imagined it to be? Only two months left until the launch. I honestly can’t wait.”

Seth nodded, and a blazing smile revealed the row of white, good teeth on the old face.

“Oh, by the way, I am, my friend, very lucky that you stopped by.” The man pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his brown jacket and proffered it to Seth. “We are throwing a pre-launch event for the founders, board members, and press to build excitement about the project. You have to come. There will be a presentation and an interview for Architect Digest.”

Seth scowled. The man sighed.

“I know you hate these events. To be honest, I dislike them too, but I’m afraid you have to attend this time.” The old man slapped his shoulder a couple of times in false compassion. Seth had to muster all his self-control to suppress a shudder. “The invitation is plus one. Bring a pretty lady with you, so it’s not all that boring. Come on, take it.”

Disrespecting Seth’s personal space, Herr⁴ Wagner stepped forward and shoved the envelope in his chest pocket, then quickly retreated.

Every nerve strained in Seth’s body from the casual, unwanted touch. His mind whirled, spinning a very appealing possibility of grabbing a concrete block, pinning the man to the ground, and smashing his filthy hands with it over and over until the bones ground to dust. Instead, he smiled with his lips only.

“Okey-dokey.” The man folded his hands behind his back and looked up at the hole in the ceiling. “I can’t wait to see this building finished. The press too.”

His watery eyes sparkled with maniacal passion. He took a few steps forward, his shoes marring the place where Justin’s head rested on the sand only a few hours ago.

Irritation aggravating, Seth couldn’t help staring at the clean, as if washed out, concrete floor. The paper cup with the iced coffee in his hand creaked beneath his fingers as his grip on it tightened.

“Every time I stand here and look up, I can’t help imagining the grandiose construction of prisms and the specter of lights coming through them. I’ve read and reread your project a million times. People said you are a genius, but I didn’t believe them until I met you.”

Seth didn’t listen. He turned toward the place where the mysterious man had been standing yesterday. The anxiety multiplied as he found nothing, just an even, thin layer of construction dust covering the floor.

He squatted and ran his finger over the concrete. Bringing a finger to his nose, he smelled the dust. A faint, almost nonexistent scent of detergent tickled his senses. So thin, he doubted it was even there.

He took my Justin. The odd thought touched Seth’s mind. His face hardened as his lips stretched in a tight smile. Why?

“Seth?”

Seth straightened and faced the man. Meeting a questioning expression, he cocked his head, forcing his facial muscles to relax.

“You are a worse daydreamer than I am.” The man chuckled, not offended at all. “I asked if there is anything I can do for you?”

Annoying…Seth shook his head.

“Okay then, I’ll let you be. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to find me, and don’t miss the event. This Friday, don’t forget!” The intrusive palm slapped his shoulder twice, and Seth ground his teeth to suppress the anger and the wish to break the old, wrinkled hand. “And… next time, wear a helmet.”

People had always talked too much. They just rumbled about small nothings as if a single thought of quietness disturbed and frightened them. But more than small talks, Seth hated casual, fleeting touches. Every time someone patted his shoulder or extended their hand, he cringed inwardly, and now, he had to attend another stupid social gathering.

When the footfalls fell silent, he sucked in a deep breath and entered the circle of daylight beating down the concrete floor. His head fell backward as he squinted, watching iridescent sparks dance at the edges of his lashes. Only two months and the building would be finished. Soon, a transparent shaft with a round glass-wall elevator would stretch from this spot to the peak of SkyBlade, capable of accommodating more than eighty people at once. He knew he would see it.

Whatever game the man had in mind when he’d taken Justin, it certainly wasn’t to give Seth up to the police. And anything else Seth could handle.

* * *

Long and boring,the day stretched into eventless eternity. Monthly reports piled on his desk, but Gustavo kept delaying the inevitable, hoping deep down that the papers would somehow disappear without him needing to go through all those numbers.

A buzz of a fly and heated air coming from the opened window coated him in drowsiness, turning his bones to jelly. He would probably sit like this all day, slumped in the comfortable leather chair, but his phone rang.

A little excited by the promise Diego’s name on the screen provided, he picked up. “Speak…”

“I think we got him.”

A small flip in Gustavo’s stomach brought him to his feet. His chest tightened as he looked around for his car keys. “How?”

“A man, fitting the description you provided, searched the crime scene. I’ll drop you the footage in a few.”

“Don’t interact. Follow him; learn everything about him.”

“No need. It’s Seth Mayr—the architect.”

* * *

Gustavo replayedthe footage three times, watching the smooth, fluid movements of the beast. In casual clothes, he looked different. Even a simple shirt draped around his long arms concealed his muscles, making Loco look almost svelte.

What Gustavo had taken as animalistic rapacity in daylight turned out to be sensual aristocratism.

“Seth Mayr…” Gustavo tasted the name on his tongue as he scrolled through the browser, waiting for his intelligence to provide a whole dossier. “Twenty-eight-years-old architect, graduated from the Vienna University of Technology. The only son of Ludwig Mayr, a glass industry magnate who died five years ago.”

He clicked his tongue, absorbing the information.

Seth’s career had picked up seven years ago when he won the annual Skyscraper Competition. A few months later, he’d patented an improved formula for neodymium glass⁵, creating a special high-durable glass that changed color from metallic in daylight to bleeding red in twilights. Within a few years, the predatory feel of his buildings and the architect solutions won him several prestigious awards, rapidly increasing his popularity. Aside from the business center SkyBlade, Seth was currently working on one more project, but the design hadn’t been revealed to the public yet.

He leaned back, shifting thoughts around. The glass industry, the silica sand, the blood.

“What are you creating, Loco?” The urge to see the man squeezed his heart, but instead of going out to look for the beast, he picked up his phone and dialed his lover. There was no point in kicking his heels around Loco’s door. There would be better chances for them to introduce themselves.