But Kit felt safe here, sitting next to Holden on the bare mattress, ankles still cuffed to the footboard. Holden watched his every breath with such intense devotion.
Terror and elation all mixed together, then yanked away. Kit hadn’t crashed yet. He simply floated through the surreal calm.
Kit believed Holden wouldn’t kill him now. Probably. How long had it been since Holden took him from the party? How much time did they have left before the guys found them?
If Kit was going to talk, he needed to finish fast. If Bishop especially heard any of this, he would try to help. Kit refused to entertain the notion.
“I thought my family was normal too,” Kit said. “My mom left before I could remember her, but Dad was great at the single dad thing. He worked from home, so he was always there. I always felt lucky he was around so much.”
Holden sat up. “Your mom just left?”
Kit shrugged in on himself. “Nobody ever proved otherwise.”
“Fuck,” Holden muttered under his breath.
“Dad was great,” Kit said again. Because that was important. It wasn’t true, but it was important. “He did all the try-hard dad shit like camping trips and theme parks. He was volunteer coach for three different sports before he realized I hated all of them, and stopped signing me up.”
When Kit’s throat tightened, Holden touched his shoulder. Hesitantly at first, then rubbing deeper when Kit leaned into the touch.
“The little things too,” Kit continued. “He was always there to spend time with me. I did my homework in his home office with him, unless there was a call I couldn’t listen to. He photographed everything. Birthdays, holidays, normal stupid days.”
A shutter clicked in Kit’s head. So loud and crisp, Kit almost believed it was real.
Before digital cameras got good enough, Dad developed his own film. He had his own dark room. Kit wasn’t allowed inside, because Dad said the chemicals were bad for him.
“One day, when I was fourteen, he got a call and had to leave the house in a hurry,” Kit whispered. “I found his spare laptop unlocked.”
“Wait,” Holden said suddenly.
Kit didn’t understand, ready to cry at the interruption. If he stopped, he would never finish this, and for some strange reason he needed Holden to know.
Holden’s touch skated down Kit’s bare arms. He gently eased Kit’s hands away from their clawing grasp. Only then did Kit feel the sting of his own fingernails.
Holden stroked the backs of Kit’s hands. “I’m going to untie your ankles.”
“It’s easier if I can’t run,” Kit admitted.
Holden leaned forward. No hesitation this time as he gently kissed Kit’s forehead. “I know you won’t run.”
Every touch kept Kit in the present as Holden uncuffed his ankles. Long fingers slipped between Kit’s socks and jeans, checking for abrasions. Rubbing next to the ones Holden found. Holden held Kit’s feet for a second, his touch warm even through Kit’s canvas shoes. Then Holden sat back against the wall.
Kit stretched his legs out. Rolled his ankles back and forth. Fuck, Holden was right. Kit couldn’t be tied down for this. He sat against the wall too, not quite touching Holden.
“There were a lot of things I wasn’t allowed to see. Mostly related to Dad’s work, which wasn’t always legal. But the laptop wasn’t for work. He kept it locked up whenever anyone else was in the house. I was curious.” Kit’s hands splayed on the bare mattress. Instead of hunching in on himself, he took a deep, loosening breath. “The hard drive was filled with photos of dead little boys. A few girls too. They had dark hair and pale skin, and green eyes when Dad could find them.”
“Substitutes,” Holden murmured.
Kit nodded jerkily. His eyes stung. “I didn’t even realize how similar they were at first. The photos were so… They weren’t… the kids weren’t dead in all the photos. Not yet.”
There were videos too, but Kit didn’t watch any of the videos. The investigators asked him to look at a few still-frames later, with everything horrific blocked off, to see if Kit recognized any identifying objects or articles of clothing. Kit couldn’t help anymore, though.
“Dad raped and killed kids who looked like me,” Kit said quietly. “Becausethey looked like me. Because he fantasized about doing all that to me, but if he actually killed me, the fantasy would be over.”
And that was enough. That kept Dad’s urges at bay. All those other kids died instead of Kit, and Kit survived every damned camping trip.
Every morning before school, Dad would say, “Love you, son.”
And every morning, Kit would reply, “Love you, too.”
