Carl didn’t stop advancing; he simply knelt on the corner of the bed. He took the gun from his belt with a careful deliberateness that sent an icy finger of fear along Day’s spine. The room was hot and damp, they were both sweating, and Day couldn’t help but wonder about all the things he might be inhaling simply by breathing in the hot stagnant air of the abandoned motel room.
Carl placed the gun across his meaty thighs. “Sure. One question.”
“Why? Why me?”
Carl gave an almost impish smile that caused goosebumps to erupt along Day’s skin. “Are you asking if you were my first?” Day definitely wasn’t asking that, but Carl didn’t seem to care. He kept speaking as if Day had answered. “There have been other boys, younger boys. Sweet, innocent boys who stepped off that bus thinking they were different, better…but they weren’t. They all came to me eventually, letting me do whatever I wanted to them just so they could have a place to sleep. You were all so weak. So helpless. The others eventually gave me all of them, and then they were useless to me. They lacked principles. They lacked the courage of their convictions. But not you. Never you, Day.”
Carl seemed to be reliving some memory, his fingers fondling the gun in his lap as he spoke with fondness. “You drew a line in the sand, and you never let me cross it. I loved that about you. You were so special. You understood your worth. You told the world that if it wanted to touch you, it would have to pay top dollar. I was the only one you’d ever been with until then, but I wasn’t mad. I was willing to pay for my prize.” His smile turned into a sneer. “But then you had to go and let that man have you. I almost killed you both the night I broke into his apartment. Did you know that? I knew if I crept upstairs, I’d find you in his bed and then I’d have had to kill you.”
The casual admission caused Day to shiver despite the heat, his gaze darting away and his mouth falling open as his gaze fell on something. The laptop. Day’s laptop. How had he not noticed that before? The light beside the webcam was glowing, and people were already logging in. People were commenting, but Day was too far away to see what they were saying. There was no way Carl had started the livestream. He still believed that they were alone. Just the two of them.
“So, you would have killed me instead of claiming your prize?” Day asked, voice flirty. “That seems a lot like cutting off your nose to spite your face. I never let him have me…not like that. I do know my worth,” he lied smoothly.
“Oh, I’d have taken my prize, whether you were dead or alive. But it’s not as much fun when they just lie there staring up at the ceiling.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.This man was a fucking lunatic. A serial murderer of children. Day had always seen him as gross. Maybe a little sad. He’d felt sorry for him once upon a time, the way children do when they don’t know any better. But now, all he felt was revulsion. How many others had there been since Day?
“I can see you don’t like the idea of me being with others. I’ll admit I’m flattered by your jealousy. But they weren’t like you, I promise. Let me show you how much I care for you.”
When he went to turn towards the laptop, Day panicked, jerking towards him, stopping short when Carl pointed the gun at him. Day held up both hands. “I-I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just thought, maybe, you know, the first time could be just us. Just the two of us. Without my entire subscriber list watching.” Carl lowered the gun slightly but tilted his head, like he was considering it.
Day had to think of a way to tell Jackson where he was. Something more obvious than his convoluted text message.
“You know, I thought about you a lot over the years. I tell people all the time how you saved me, helped me figure out how to work around my disability, gave me a place to stay. Who knows where I might have ended up without you? I always wished I’d done more to thank you,” Day said, running his top teeth along his bottom lip before dampening it with his tongue. “I thought I’d wasted my chance. I know it seems like I’m stalling, but it’s just because I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before, and you’re so much more experienced.” Day’s stomach churned at the way Carl’s pupils dilated and he leaned in, hanging on Day’s every word. “Maybe this is fate. You and me, here, in this motel. Serendipity. Did you know that’s what serendipity means? Like fate. Here we are at the Serendipity Motor Lodge.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Day knew he’d gone too far. He couldn’t stop himself from gazing over at the laptop, and Carl’s gaze followed like a shadow, his face contorting as he realized they were live. Day’s face exploded as the butt of Carl’s gun clipped the side of his face, sending him sprawling backwards until he hung half off the bed. His mouth filled with blood, and he had this faint notion that maybe his eyeball was missing. He laughed at the thought as his head swam.
Fabric ripped as Carl yanked him back on the bed, but Day was no longer scared. He knew he was going to die there in the same disgusting piece of shit motel room where Sarah had caught the infection that killed her. There was some sort of kismet to that. Fate. Like Day had told Carl.
When Day laughed again, Carl hit him again, this time, definitely knocking out one or more of his teeth. He didn’t feel the pain. That was probably a good thing and a bad thing. They say your body shuts down the pain when things are just too horrific to stomach. Maybe that was true.
“You were never going to be my first, you fucking demented piece of shit. Jackson was my first. He loved me. I loved him. It was perfect. He’s perfect. You’re just a sick fucking pedophile and a murderer, and now, everybody fucking knows it. I might be dead but you’ll go to jail,” Day promised, blood splattering Carl’s furious face. “They love pedophiles like you in prison.”
Carl screeched like some kind of feral animal, and Day’s head exploded, making a sound like a piece of wood splintering into a thousand pieces. Then there were voices filling his head. Strangers’ voices. Carl’s weight disappeared, and he gazed up at new faces through a haze of red. Two men stared down at him. He recognized one of them. Linc.
“Let me see him. I need to see him. Day!”
Jackson. He tried to say his name but it sounded mushy. He tried again. Then Jackson was staring down at him.
“Oh, Jesus, baby. Why did you do that? Why did you taunt him like that? I was coming for you.”
“How?” Day managed. “How d’you fin me? My wor’s feel funny,” he said, lids fluttering closed briefly.
“Your text.”
“I shent it? I didn’t think I shent it. I hoped. Jackshun, is my eyeball still there?” he asked, heart floating at the idea of Jackson solving his ridiculous clue.
“Please, stop talking, baby. Yes, your eye is still there, but you’re a mess. I need you to let these men help you, okay? I’m going to be right behind you, but right now, you need to stop talking.”
“‘Kay, but one more thing,” he said, forcing the words out slowly despite the growing pain starting at his temples and spreading lower, like lava flowing from a volcano. “He didn’ toush me. Okay? Just you.”
“I’m glad he didn’t hurt you like that, but it wouldn’t matter. I love you. Jesus, you know that, right?”
Day whimpered as the pain started to overwhelm him, his head pounding and his whole mouth feeling like somebody was hammering slivers of metal into each socket. “I feel funny. Hurts,” he managed, wetness spilling onto his cheeks. “Ow. Everything hurts, Daddy,” he whispered.
Jackson’s face contorted into a pained expression that Day thought his face might make if it wasn’t the consistency of mashed potatoes. “Shh, baby. I know. They’re going to give you something to make the pain go away. Okay? They’re gonna take you to the hospital right now.” When Jackson stood, Day reached for him. Jackson squeezed Day’s hands. “Get them in here. Now.”
Once more, strangers surrounded Day, and he was being lifted, a soft collar going around his neck as he was set on a hard board. His eyes fluttered once more as he heard fabric ripping and felt things being stuck to his body. He cried out at the feel of the wind on his face. Even the breeze hurt.
