Seth by Nero Seal
The hard slapof an insult whacked Seth’s face toward the man. The unmistakable notes of scorn, rattling in Gustavo’s voice, flooded his core with darkness. In his life, he’d heard it too many times not to recognize it. It wasn’t the mockery that threw Seth out of his comfort zone, but rather the deep-seated, clinical curiosity of a scientist cutting open a freaky insect. Even the insulting nickname, Loco, spoke volumes about his opinion of Seth.
This was not how Seth had predicted their second meeting. He’d expected to hear demands or propositions, not insults. Somehow, that disappointed. If the man only sought him out to mock and taunt, there was no point in communicating. Seth knew this type. People like Gustavo always began with verbal assaults wanting to stress their victims, degrade them, make them lose confidence, and therefore submit to the authority of a bully. If Seth complied once, he would have to bend over time after time, and in the end, there would be no promise of anything. No body, no freedom, no dignity.
I should have understood that sooner. Gustavo never intended to return Justin. He wants to fuck me over in the most painful way. Whatever his reason, he wants to degrade me, humiliate me.
Seth could have dealt with reasonable blackmail, maybe even with a smart manipulation, but not with an open insult. He’d already received too many of them to find the game amusing.
He glanced at the camera again, then at the few people scattered around the room. The punch daggers embedded in his buckle burned his hands, yet he wasn’t in a hurry to draw them out.
He’s right. I can’t kill him now no matter how good it would feel. His people and the police will never leave me alone. I have to force him to return Justin, and for that, I have to take something from him. Something of great value.
Gustavo’s lover came to mind. Seth regretted not sticking around Gustavo’s mansion for longer, not following the blond man home. Then again, he wasn’t sure that man was even remotely important.
Gustavo took another step back before speaking in a low, commanding voice. “I appreciate the passion, but in case you’re thinking of doing anything stupid, I have to warn you, I’m armed. I have no desire to hurt you, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you force me. Please, don’t end this game so soon. I just started enjoying it.”
Seth tilted his head,leveling an acute glare at Gustavo. His shoulders relaxed, and he lifted his palm with regal grace as if allowing Gustavo to talk. The superior gesture both irritated and fascinated Gustavo.
Cornered, Seth behaved like he was the one in control. Why? Does he rely on his money this much? Or, perhaps, he thinks he has nothing to lose?
“Thank you for the card. I was touched,” Gustavo murmured. Seth’s brow quirked. “I heard you were looking for me and figured you must have a lot of questions.”
Plump lips parted then closed, and Seth’s chin moved from side to side. On his face, rage slowly gave way to faint amusement.
“Well, I do.” One hand in a pocket, Gustavo circled behind the murderer, assessing him.
Lazily, Seth twisted around as if permitting him to do so, yet he never let Gustavo out of sight. “You see, I’m an extremely curious person. You can even say you stole my sleep. So, I think you already know what I want, don’t you?”
Whatever Seth thought, it didn’t reflect on his face.
Gustavo’s gaze drifted the length of Seth’s body as he continued exploring his form. Simple blue jeans hugged Seth’s slender hips, supported his round butt. A plain white shirt with two buttons undone revealed the notch of his throat and stretched over his chest, translucent where the cloth touched the skin. His eyes catching every glimpse of the uncovered skin in a search for the tracks of the fire, noticing long fingers with accurate nails, blue veins visible under the pale skin on his hands, long neck with a sharp Adam’s apple, clean-shaven chin and cheeks. Dressed, Seth looked flawless.
Perfect...Gustavo nodded, appreciating the view. “Our… cooperation will be simple. I’ll ask questions, and I expect you to answer them with all honesty and detail. If I’m satisfied, I’ll return what you’ve lost just to see what you will do with it.”
Seth’s lips stretched in a smile. His eyes burned as he dissected Gustavo, learning him. Gustavo understood—while he watched Seth, the beast observed him. Seth’s shoulder squared, muscles bulged under the shirt, and even that casual tilt of his head appeared to be a twisting of his spine.
Gustavo ground his teeth, irritated. It looked like the beast didn’t want to communicate.
Cameras watched himfrom every angle, tying his hands. At any other time, Seth might have found the offer entertaining, but Gustavo pissed him off. Still, his bloodthirst diminished tipping Seth into a thoughtful mood. Another idiot bewitched by the mystery of death. How boring, yet convenient.
A quote by Thomas Fuller1 came to mind, “Curiosity is a kernel of the forbidden fruit which still sticketh in the throat of a natural man, sometimes to the danger of his choking.” Seth took a step forward, thinking that no man would ever give up an object that impregnates his mind with curiosity.
Face to face with Gustavo, he strained his throat, trying to speak up, but only snake-like hissing left his mouth, “No. Return what’s mine, or I will kill you.”
Seth cringed inwardly from the sound of his voice. Years had passed since the fire, yet his voice never returned, and the snake-like hissing stuck with him like an eternal memory of what he’d done.
“You can speak after all.” A grin split the masculine face. Gustavo’s eyes lit up with renewal interest. “Good. I was a little worried that my curiosity would be left unquenched. So indulge me, say, what did you do with the heart? Did you eat it?”
A shudder ran down Seth’s spine at yet another insult. Disappointment aggravated. For someone who took the trouble to collect the sand and deliver it in such an elegant chest, Gustavo’s assumption was vulgar. It made Seth want to draw a knife and relieve this world of such a filthy mind.
He glanced at the exit. The longer he stayed here, the larger the possibility of the man running his mouth grew. If he kept going, Seth might indeed lose his temper. Without a word, he stormed toward the door.
“Not so soon, Loco.” Gustavo’s deep baritone echoed through the space, dragging the attention of a few visitors. As if following his unsaid command, two men stepped into the doorway, preventing Seth from leaving.
Seth halted. That word again… The dangerous mixture of irritation and mockery in Gustavo’s voice made him itch.
“You didn’t ask me anything. Aren’t you curious about your boy? He’s all cold, lonely, and is still pining over you. You stole his heart, after all. Shall I report a missing heart?”
The mention of Justin jerked Seth’s cheek. He turned around and approached Gustavo. His body tensed with the powerful urge to kill. Step by step, he cornered the man, letting him playfully retreat until Gustavo’s back pressed against the wall.
When mere inches separated their chests, Seth looked Gustavo in the eye. The dilated pupils fixed on Seth, brimming with curiosity and something else, something Seth failed to catalog.
The scent of spice and wood filled his lungs, deep and heady. Unblinking, Seth held his breath, then said in such a low voice that he could barely hear himself, “Really, why don’t you? Go ahead. It’s not a blade that kills but arrogance. You can keep the boy or report him; I don’t care.”
“You are terrible blackmailing material, you know?” Gustavo laughed, wiped the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm. “Ahh, don’t make such a face. I’ll give him back... eventually. But before that, I’d like some answers. Don’t you think I deserve them? After all, I took the trouble of cleaning your mess. Tell me, what did you do with the sand? Is it for an hourglass filled with bloody sand from your victims?”
“Brilliant idea. That’s what I will do with yours,” Seth breathed the words out.
Gustavo’s expression didn’t change. “Oh, you must be missing him so much. He is such a pretty thing, isn’t he? So young, so full of life. What did you do with his heart? Did you fuck it?”
Seth’s teeth grounded so hard he heard them screech. He can say whatever he wants here without feeling threatened, while I can do nothing but listen to this bullshit.
His chin jerked, and a glimpse of red on the wall caught his attention. Turning his head, he stared at a fire alarm button. Without a second thought, Seth slammed his fist against the frail glass. It folded beneath his knuckles with a loud snap. The alarm shrieked, echoing through the building. Someone screamed, Gustavo laughed, and the stomping of dozens of feet reverberated through the empty rooms.
Seth shrunk back. Merging with the crowd, he hurried downstairs, passing the men dressed in black suits on his way.
Laughter chased after him as the words echoed behind his back, cutting through the siren. “What did you do, Loco? What did you do?”
* * *
What am I, five?With his back pressed against the cold wall, Gustavo couldn’t stop laughing. His heart drummed in his chest as he watched Seth flee. Why do I keep making him angry?
“Fucking hell.” Gustavo looked up, releasing the tension from his body. For a moment, he’d truly believed Seth would hit him, there had been so much hatred in his deep-blue eyes. But fuck my life, his pissed-off face is so gorgeous. I want to tease him more.
“Did you change your will?” Appearing out of nowhere, Diego leaned against the wall next to him. “I want my yacht.”
Ignoring his friend, Gustavo said, “He can talk. I wish you could hear him.”
Seth’s quiet rustle resembled an autumn wind flipping through the fallen foliage. So quiet, Gustavo had to hold his breath to hear him speak, yet his every hair rose in attention. If Death had a voice, it would be Loco’s voice.
Another revelation lifted his mood. He’s impulsive, but he can be reasonable.
Gustavo recalled the discomfort that rippled through Seth’s face, his wary look at the cameras, and how aversion twisted his mouth when Gustavo suggested a sexual motive for the murder.
He was insulted. I dirtied his work, negated the meaning by suggesting it. Interesting.
“It’s a relief that he didn’t eat or fuck the heart.”
“You know,” Diego’s voice changed, now liquid and smarmy, “his face reminds me of that sculpture…” He scrunched up his face, one eye closed, then snapped his fingers a few times.
“Yeah, Narcissus by Ernest Eugene Hiolle,” Gustavo replied without a second thought.
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“You are a goner.” Diego shook his head in teasing disapproval. “What about Hans?”
“What about him?”
“You grew tired of him already, didn’t you?”
Gustavo couldn’t deny a strong attraction to Seth’s mind. Captivated by the brutality of the murder, he craved answers and was prepared to crack Loco’s skull open to see what’s inside. But to pursue him sexually? Diego’s suggestion sounded absurd.
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“You bullied him. You only bully people you like. Remember how you got Hans? You basically blackmailed him into a relationship. And you compare Mayr to art. You always do when you fall for someone. Remember that girl that you thought looked like Nike2? And that boy, Apollo3, before her?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. I never bully anyone, and I certainly don’t do … comparisons.” Gustavo snorted.
“Yeah, whatever.” With a flourish of his hand, Diego parted from the wall and strolled after Seth.
* * *
When the fire brigade arrived,Seth blended with the crowd. A thick current of people flowed toward the underground station. In the commotion, Seth had no problem with shaking off his followers. After sneaking into a double exit restaurant, he passed through a few alleys and caught a cab on an overcrowded street. On the way to the Department of Buildings, he stared into the rearview mirror, looking for a tail, seeing nothing. When he arrived at a small, unremarkable building on the other side of the Danube River, his nerves had already calmed down, shoulders relaxed, and a wandering smile stretched his lips.
He’d spent two hours in the basement digging archives. When he left, he carried a drawing case under his arm and a triumphant smile on his face.
Forty minutes later, in his studio, Seth hunched over the desk. With both hands, he spread the wide sheet of the electricity plan of Gustavo’s mansion, examining it with the utmost attention. Next to him, a floor plan hung on the drawing board, below it, on a round glass table, his laptop showed the footage from the drone frozen on the distant picture of the perimeter.
Grabbing a pencil, Seth transferred the electricity points to the floor plan, creating a master plan of Gustavo’s mansion.
On the corner of his desk, still in a tube, the graphics of water, ventilation, and sewerage system waited for his attention. Gustavo might have weapons and people guarding his back, but no one is invulnerable against an invisible opponent.
By the sunset, Seth discovered at least four weak points in Gustavo’s defense. The river, for example, had four cameras, but all of them looked straight ahead, and none covered the sides. If Seth calculated correctly, it created at least two blind spots. In his head, a plan of a break-in swelled.
* * *
The hush filledGustavo’s days. After their last encounter, the updates on Seth thinned out to nothing as if the man quietly died in the depth of his villa. Withering with the need to know what was going on behind the closed doors, Gustavo regretted never breaking into his house and planting bugs and cameras.
To distract himself from refreshing his outlook, he drowned in work, but his mundane tasks proved to be a chore and didn’t pique his interest. In the last search for distraction, he agreed to Hans’ needy demands of having a few nights out, but the noise and people didn’t fill Gustavo’s heart with joy. Quite the opposite, he felt alienated and bored. Dating a man almost twenty years younger was exhausting, and Hans was loud, spontaneous, capricious, and ever active.
I must be getting old, Gustavo thought as he sat behind his desk. The drumming of acoustics still reverberated through his head, reminding him once again how out of place he’d felt last night in the nightclub filled with young people.
He picked the remote control and lowered the temperature of the air conditioner, hoping that once cooled, his blood would run quicker and thrust the falling lethargy out of his body. After putting the remote down, he pushed the pile of paper to the edge of the desk and rested his head against the smooth, polished surface. The wood chilled his cheek and relaxed the tense muscles of his neck. He closed his eyes, letting them rest.
The nights out that recharged Hans drained the remains of his energy that wasn’t yet burned out by the cruel sun. Alone with Hans, Gustavo didn’t feel the age difference as the boy was intelligent and funny, but when other youngsters surrounded him, Hans’ behavior transformed into something Gustavo could only catalog as the social grooming of an orangutan. Unable to adapt and fake his amusement, Gustavo had inevitably drifted to the darker, calmer corners of the club, where he slowly sipped his drinks as he watched Hans dance, chat, and flirt. Back then, Gustavo had thought that for someone so easily grossed out in sex, Hans was surprisingly touchy with other people. The realization slightly annoyed him.
The mere memory made him feel bored. Or, maybe, it is me who is getting old and boring?
His mind trailed from Hans to Seth, vividly recreated the moonlit night and the handsome face of death, covered with blood. Seth didn’t bore him. Seth didn’t make him feel boring either. Quite the opposite, winding him up, teasing him brought Gustavo so much joy he was scared he might get addicted and lose himself in this game. Every time they met, his blood ran quicker. Being close to Seth was like living a second youth, as every encounter excited him and made him feel alive.
The sudden urge to see Seth straightened his back and guided his hand toward the top drawer of his desk. Pulling a black file out, Gustavo flipped it open. He scrolled through Seth’s dossier again, looking for clues.
Diego was right; Seth’s biography missed pieces and was scattered. He had been homeschooled until graduation, and even though he was the only son of the multi-millionaire, he didn’t attend a prestigious university abroad but went to the local one.
His medical record was scarce, but the police report from the fire in the teen church summer camp from twelve years ago stated that the only survivor, Seth Mayr, received multiple severe burns as well as a chemical throat burn.
What burns?
The attached pictures of the camp portrayed the best example of the German Renaissance Revival architecture. Red brick and whitewashed columns created a modest ensemble of constructions joined under the same roof with a crow-stepped gable above the church wing. The latest picture revealed a burned-down, abandoned skeleton of the building. Black smears around the broken windows told a horrific story of raging fire. The building had never been restored, and Gustavo wondered if the still-fresh memory of the tragedy was the reason for it being abandoned, or was it something else, something hidden from the public eye. The police investigation had been promptly closed for lack of corpus delicti4, but Gustavo couldn’t stop staring at the black smears of fire over the red bricks. Somehow it made him wonder if the fire was artificially accelerated.
Putting the photo card away, Gustavo picked an article from the Architect Digest. He skipped the generic biography and skimmed through an interview to the list of Seth’s projects.
His instincts kicked in speeding his blood as he stared at the separate files of Seth’s already finished projects. The titles viZZion, Breath, and Flames warmed his insides with a hunch. There’s something about the buildings, after all. The murder site wasn’t accidental, I’m sure of it.
Examining the variety of the forms and designs, Gustavo felt a powerful tug. The sharp lines combined with gentle curves, the play of light and colors, and the way the sun glinted off the edges mesmerized Gustavo, still the images lacked dimension. No matter how hard Gustavo tried to feel the energy the buildings emitted, the optical pressure, the powerful impact, he wasn’t able to fully imagine the grandiosity of constructions.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed his jacket and deserted his office.
* * *
For the first timein years, Gustavo drove alone. He hadn’t alerted his security team or asked Diego to accompany him. Partly because he didn’t trust Diego to remain serious, let alone helpful; partly because he wondered if someone’s presence, a skeptical eye, would ruin the atmosphere for him, wouldn’t let him feel the energy streaming within those buildings. It was silly, but with Seth’s creations, he wanted to be alone.
The drive from Vienna to Salzburg5 took Gustavo almost three hours, but even before he breached the city’s boundaries, he knew his hunch hadn’t mislead him. Three red towers, gently curved, licked the clear blue sky, red-hued glass encasing the sinuous forms.
Gustavo didn’t need the GPS to find his way to Flames. The mirrored glass, like a cluster of tiny stars, blazed above the city, visible from every corner. The closer he got, the tighter his fingers clasped the wheel. By the time he parked, his knuckles ached with pressure. Palms damp, his chest tightened with a constricted breath as he looked up.
With an effort, he let go of the wheel, pushed the door open, and stepped out of the well-conditioned vehicle into the suffocating, loud street that stunk of sun-burnt dust. The heat assaulted him from all directions. He winced as every cell of his body shrunk in protest, and the last remains of the coolness escaped from under his shirt. The asphalt melted around him, miasma rising in the air in the visible waves, making the surroundings surreal.
Loosening his collar, Gustavo raised his head, squinted. From below, the buildings appeared gigantic, intimidating, yet somehow delicate. The sun, glinting off, created an illusion of molten glass. The smooth surface rippled, bringing the solid constructions of the skyscrapers to life, and Gustavo wondered if the mirrors were flat or had a texture and dimension.
The longer Gustavo observed, the sharper he sensed the aura of danger the buildings emitted—the same aura that surrounded Seth. Even without Seth’s “signature”, neodymium glass, Gustavo didn’t doubt that it was his creation.
He stalked around the towers, looking up. From below, Flames instilled awe. He wondered how constructions of such shapes could support megatons of glass and steel and not fold under its own weight.
But no matter how long he stared up, he didn’t receive answers to his questions. That disappointed. A part of him had been sure that once he saw the building, he would be able to comprehend the design, to connect with Seth’s mind, and understand the meaning of the bloody ritual. He’d been sure that Seth had left a message in plain sight where he explained the darkest corners of his soul.
If I were him, where would I leave my watermark? Ambling toward the small square surrounded by the towers, he dragged his gaze around. Somewhere where everyone can see, but no one notices.
A glint caught his eyes. He froze. In the middle of the square, red and yellow glass sculpture sparkled under the sun. Gustavo had seen something similar, on the Murano islands6, but not in such scale or form.
The explosion of glass looked like real fire. It sent chills down his spine and brought him closer. He explored the tongues that carried a painful resemblance to human faces, molten and distorted. The longer he studied the glass the more details he noticed. At some point, he shifted left, and an ugly head of a bald man whose skin burned down to bones glared at him with black, empty eye sockets, mouth gaping, jaw hanging on the tiny threads of ligaments. Even the sun, glinting off the glass, added to the illusion of white, bare bones peeking from below the ulcerated skin.
Gustavo stepped aside and shook his head. The illusion dispersed, and the sculpture, once again, became just a fire explosion.
Curiosity forced Gustavo to circle the square. On his way, he discovered more faces hidden in the glass. He clicked his tongue, amused. What do I see?
He rounded the sculpture again, examining a delicate and intricate work filled with anguish, pain, and death encased in the glass with horrifying realism. Drowning in contemplation, he almost missed a simple metal plate embedded into the paving stone before the sculpture. He squatted in front of it and ran his finger over the engravings. “Purifying fire. Seth Mayr.”
“Purifying fire, huh?” he whispered, and a wide grin invaded his face. His gaze jumped from the sculpture to the buildings, then back to the metal plate. “I was right; this is his message.”
Grabbing his phone, Gustavo took hundreds of photographs from every angle, wondering if the faces he saw would be identical to the faces of the fire victims of the church summer camp.
Almost four hours later,in his office, Gustavo clicked through the pictures on his laptop showing fire tongues that resembled distorted faces. A police report with the photographs of the fire victims lay open on his desk; still, Gustavo couldn’t confirm their identities. The textures and glass distorted faces to the point where it was impossible to determine their age, let alone establish any resemblance.
He sensed that the buildings were the key to Seth’s past, to his motives, yet he didn’t know how to read them.
* * *
Seth’s timewas running out; he knew it because his dreams had changed. Before, he could always enter the building, touch the sacred heart, watch it shine and pulse with life, now he constantly roamed the desert chasing SkyBlade, never getting closer.
In his dreams, the god increasingly resembled a monster dying from leprosy7; the majestic creature Seth had seen since childhood loomed on the verge of perishing. Set’s obsidian skin used to glint under the blinding sun, as if smeared with oils. Now, deep festering blemishes dotted the almost matte, dry skin stretched over the weakened muscles.
Seth didn’t want to see the god fall. He didn’t want to see him defeated or failed. He knew when Set died, he’d die too. He had always known that, for they were one and the same. Sleep stopped bringing him any relief, so he cast aside this chore as non-productive.
It’d been three days since Seth started slipping out of his house through the underground passage and spending his days in the car on the parking lot of the Vienna Central Hospital. On his watch, many large trucks stopped by to deliver food, water, and dry cleaning.
His small, accurate handwriting gradually filled a few sheets of the notepad that lay on the front passenger seat. Times, brands, vehicle models, uniforms, Seth recorded every little detail and photographed every vehicle that delivered goods to the hospital until the medicine delivery truck, arriving Tuesday morning, caught his attention. The simple blue uniform of the delivery guy with a logo attached to the front of his shirt was nearly identical to medical scrubs. A low-sitting baseball cap provided the only difference.
He zoomed the camera on the contents of the truck, spotted a few large cylinders strapped in place with black belts. Even though he couldn’t see the labels, he had a clear idea of what they might contain.
Seth nodded a few times. This should do.
Turning on the engine, he drove away. He had so little time and so much to do.
* * *
Obtaining the uniformof the medicine delivery firm was the simplest part of the plan; almost every second-hand store had it. Printing a plastic logo on his domestic 3D printer wasn’t much harder.
The order he’d placed on the construction store’s website arrived next day. A large hardboard tempered panel, polycarbonate sheets, a few lenticular sheets8, and different kinds of adhesives transferred from the delivery truck into his garage.
It took him more than a day to bend the polycarbonate sheet into the half-cylinder. Struggling with a heat gun, he wished he could go to his glass factory and use professional tools designed for this kind of work.
His desk drowned in papers, and his garage turned into the carpenter’s shop. Sawdust and wood shavings littered the floor, and time to time, he had to stop to check himself in the mirror for cuts and bruises.
By the time pepper spray, ultrasonic dog repellent, and the tranquilizer gun arrived, he’d already assembled a decent polycarbonate shield, tall enough to reach his throat. When the lenticular lens layered the polycarbonate, he rested the shield against a stepladder. The light, bending, erased the object behind it9.
A grin invaded his face as he nodded. This would do. Let’s see how brave you are when you play by my rules.
