He tore his eyes away. “I always knew you were a monster, but turning into a serial killer is on a different level.”
“You know, I wish it was harder. I really do.” He met Chris’s eyes, looking surprisingly sincere. “Should I pretend to be someone I’m not? Would that make me normal? I doubt it.”
That unexpected honesty scared Chris more than anything. Trevor embracing the darkest parts of his soul made him even more dangerous.
They walked deeper into the woods, the treetops blocking most of the sky. Every minute spent out here granted Andy more time for his sick games.
“Here.” Trevor pointed with his gun—Chris’s gun—at a thick log.
Chris sat. The sounds of crows came from all directions, yet he couldn’t spot a single one.
Trevor pulled out Chris’s phone. “You won’t get a signal here, so don’t try anything foolish. Just record your video and make it worthy of an Oscar. I want to be moved to tears.”
Chris took his phone. His screen’s background was a photo of Melissa and the twins. He had taken it a few months ago when they went on a family trip to Vermont. The twins had been surprisingly calm during the drive.
He told himself to stay composed, but his eyes still stung, his gut churning.
“Do you like making your mechanic boyfriend suffer? Get to it.”
Chris opened the camera. Trevor had instructed him what to say, and although he remembered the words, they now felt impossible to say out loud.
“You know, I think Andy's working on Jay's balls by now,” Trevor said and leaned against a tree. “He’s probably squeezing them hard enough to pop.”
Chris started the recording. His face stared back at him, looking sick with his ghostly skin and bloodshot eyes. He would freak Melissa out without even needing to speak.
He drew in a breath and stuttered his way through the text until Trevor told him to start over. Chris had failed twice more before finally detaching himself enough from the words coming out of his mouth.
“Hi, Melissa. Sorry for not calling, but I’m still trying to figure things out. The last few months… they’ve been difficult. I tried to be strong and keep it together, but I failed. I hoped that being on my own would help, and that… that I could get back to you and the twins, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” His voice broke, but he couldn’t stomach starting this hell all over again. “Please give me the space I need to figure things out, and don't try to find me. Whatever happens, I love you.”
He stopped the recording and pinched the bridge ofhis nose, not willing to break down in front of Trevor. Every part of his body trembled, a sense of failure that hurt more than any physical pain.
“Well, you won’t win an Oscar, but maybe a Daytime Emmy.” Trevor took the phone back and slid it into his pocket. “You want to stay out here a bit?”
“No.” Chris rose to his feet, lightheaded from the sudden movement.
“Oh, come on, it’s so nice and romantic.” Trevor pressed the barrel of the gun below Chris’s chin. “Give me a wet one.”
A sudden wave of fear washed over him. Now that Trevor had gotten that recording, what stopped him from moving ahead with his plan? A single bullet, out here in the woods, was the perfect setup for a suicide.
It can’t end now.
Chris leaned forward and kissed Trevor hard, the barrel still pressing against his skin. He sucked on Trevor’s tongue and moaned with fake pleasure—an old and familiar routine.
Trevor broke the kiss and moved the gun away. “Someone woke up in the mood.” He wrapped his arm around Chris’s shoulders and steered him forward. “Let’s go check what’s left of our mechanic friend.”
*
He both wished to reach the basement and dreaded what he’d find. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since they left the house to record the video, but Andy didn’t need much time to cause havoc.
“Hold on, what’s the rush?” Trevor chuckled as they entered the house.
Chris ignored him and opened the basement door, immediately hearing moans of pain that made his skin crawl. He hurried down the stairs, the air turning denser with each new step.
“How’s it going?” Trevor asked from behind.
“Super!” Andy chirped and wiped his palms on his sweatpants.
Chris stepped closer, his breath caught in his throat. Jay’s eyes were shut, his head slumped to the side with the duct tape still blocking his mouth. More needles poked out of his skin, with fresh cuts bleeding across his torso, and nasty bite marks here and there.
