The memory makes my eyes flutter.
His hands rise by his head, and it’s barely a second before a strong smell enters my nostrils. One look at his crotch, and I gag at the sight of his piss spreading over his jeans.
“Jesus fuck, you need to see a doctor about that,” I mutter, thankful that I can pull my voice changer mask up to block some of the smell. “It’s nice to finally see you again,Lance.”
“Who… What…”
“Aw, don’t hurt my feelings. You know exactly who I am,” I taunt.
He gulps. “I haven’t done anything,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t touch her that night. I was just there—”
“You were just there with your dick out?” I say, remembering what he was doing when I burst through the door. “You were just there trying to put your cock in her mouth while she choked on her vomit?”
“I… I was just doing what they were doing,” he blubbers.
I shudder and take a breath before I kill him too early. “Where are they, Lance?”
“Where is who?” he asks, tears falling.
“Santa Claus and Jack Frost,” I snap as I push the gun further into his forehead. “You’re not that fucking dumb, Lance.RadandTrevor. Where are they?”
He sniffs, eyes narrowing on me. “What are you talking about? That’s who I was coming to get.”
“Which one?”
“Rad,” he says. “What did you do with him?”
I huff. “Clearly, he left before I could catch him. Otherwise, I’d have my gun up his rectum and not against your overgrown forehead.”
He winces when the barrel shifts with my talking hands, and as he begins to sob, his lips curving downward, I grimace.
“That’s enough. Pucker up, buttercup. Where can I find them?” I ask, swiping away one of his tears.
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
I flick the safety on the gun, and he begins blurting out a string of restaurants, cafes, streets, and—
“—they’ll both be at that music festival next week—at Radio Eleven.”
I still, jaw tensing. “Both of them? Together?”
“Y-yes,” he says, his eyes shut tight.
I reach over and give him a taunting pat on his cheek, and he nearly collapses when I touch him.
“Please… Please don’t hurt me,” he begs, slobber leaving his lips.
“Shh…” I coo, stroking his head. “Sit up. We’re almost done.”
He’s dribbling with snot. Every plea that leaves his lips reminds me of those I heard her whispering, the letters she couldn’t get out, the appeals that were swallowed by the drug.
My eyes unfocus when I look at his mouth. I remember him kneeling over her, dick in his hand, her lips parted…
“Open your mouth,” I say.
“What—”
“I saidopen your goddamn mouth,” I hiss, gun to his lips.
