Silent

42. Fugitive

The young man was sitting on a bed, almost motionless. There was a hollow look in his eyes cast into the far wall. Ricky sighed as he took off his belt and twisted it between his hands. The youth still didn't react, and Ricky felt disappointed at how passive he seemed. He saw no fear, no expectation, no emotional reaction whatsoever.

"Lay on your stomach," Ricky commanded coldly, and the young man obeyed without saying a word. Not once had he even looked at his face. These street whores bored him, too numb to react to anything anymore, consumed by their drug-filled world. Ricky needed more. He missed the challenge, the excitement, the intoxicating sense of power. The smell of fear, the look of fear, the desperate pleas; that was what fueled him.

He struck the belt on the blond-haired youth's bare buttocks, and he let out a pathetic moan, shivering slightly, but that was it and it did not satisfy Ricky. And so he struck, again and again, recalling better times.

Michael had been the perfect victim and, at the same time, perhaps his biggest mistake. He had been greedy, and now, after Michael's escape, he had had to keep a low profile. Which sadly meant that he had to settle for these pathetic homeless whores that had no one to miss them.

Ricky knew he had become too arrogant, as Michael was concerned. He had been too self-assured not to get caught. It would have been smart to leave Michael in Mexico at first, it would have been safer. He could have visited his friend to see the boy regularly.

But those conditions would have changed the boy faster. He would have become as depressed and nonresponding as this homeless young man who had wandered the streets for too long. By taking Michael to New York, to a seemingly normal life, he had been able to indulge in the sense of power for longer. He kept a faint spark of hope awake in his victim, a spark that was supposed to be just an illusion. However, he had greatly underestimated the boy's character.

Michael hadn't returned home; it had been easy to check. But every day the boy was missing from him was a risk. If Michael was alive, he could go to the authorities. The sad truth for him was that there was no way he could deny that Michael hadn't lived with him should they investigate the matter. Not even his contacts could endlessly protect him without risking their own secrets.

The thought made him angry, and he hit the young man on the bed harder, and harder, until his skin tore open and bled. Finally, there was a reaction; the whimpers had grown louder, followed by tears and it made Ricky smile to himself, but his smile faded quick as his thoughts over took him.

Someone had helped the boys. His mother had called, asking why someone claimed she had a grandson she hadn't heard of, a boy who lived with Ricky.

Sure, Ricky had considered that such a day might come, and it would have meant that he should have immediately transported Michael back to Mexico and destroyed the evidence, giving the boy up permanently. However, he explained to his mother that once in his youth; he had loved a Mexican woman and nearly twenty years later, the same woman had contacted him and claimed that Michael was his own. After an initial shock and listening to her credible story, he had taken Michael to live with him as his nephew, wanting to get to know him better. But later, both were revealed to be scammers, and they fled before Ricky had the chance to confort either.

Ricky had taken on the role of an exploited man, insisting that he no longer wanted to talk about this humiliation. He did not want the police to investigate; what had happened had to be completely forgotten.

But the case couldn't be just swept under the rug. His mother had taken a new interest in his life. Why hadn't Ricky still not found a wife?

His father was long dead, and his mother; already eighty-three years old, worried about his future, the possibility of having a partner, and heirs. Ricky had been able to work in peace for years, but suddenly, his mother and older siblings wanted to interfere in his life. He was approaching the age of forty-two, which, for a man, was still a perfect age to have children. His father had been forty-eight when he was born. But Ricky was not interested in producing heirs, let alone supporting a wife. The situation was highly vexing, as after Michael's escape, he had been compelled to build a better backstage. This meant that he would have to find a credible female friend who would still give him a certain amount of freedom and peace to nourish his sadistic and perverted desires.