Andrew's face twisted, not just with fear but with something worse-revulsion, the kind that makes your stomach fold in on itself.
"Charles, please," he whispered. "I can't do this. I can't just kill someone."
Charles Grady laughed. It was a soft sound, almost fond. "Neither could I at first. But you get used to it. By thirteen, I'd killed twelve people."
Andrew sucked in a breath so sharp it hurt. "Oh my God."
Charles shook his head slowly. "No. Not God. Even He can't save you. Or those two. Not tonight."
Before Andrew could speak again, there came a knock at the door.
"Hey," Patrick called. "You guys okay in there?"
Charles changed in an instant. The cold slid off him like a coat hitting the floor. The charming Aiden persona-the one Andrew had met back in Annabelle-slipped into place, warm smile and laughing eyes.
"Come on in," Charles said.
He pulled Patrick inside. Patrick laughed, delighted, surprised, and Charles kissed him, playful and sweet. Then Charles looked at Andrew.
"Larry," he said gently. "Go keep Micha company."
Andrew stared at him, hatred burning bright and useless, then turned and left the room.
Moments later, music began to play.
Micha sat on the couch, smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. "Come on," he said, patting the cushion beside him.
Andrew sat. Micha was handsome in an easy way-blue eyes, pale hair cropped close, a confidence that came from not knowing you were already dead.
They talked. Laughed. Time stretched thin and strange. Micha leaned close, friendly hands lingering a second too long, breath warm against Andrew's neck. Andrew played along, every nerve screaming.
Then something broke through.
Not a voice exactly-more like a pressure inside his skull, a memory of who he'd been before chains and drugs and fear.
This isn't you, it said. If you do this, you lose something you never get back.
Andrew pulled away.
Micha frowned. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Do you have your car keys?" Andrew asked.
Micha nodded, confused. "Yeah. Why?"
"We have to leave," Andrew said. "Now."
Micha laughed nervously. "Is this a joke?"
"No," Andrew said. "That man-Craig, Charles, whatever he calls himself-he's dangerous. He brought you here to kill you."
Micha opened his mouth to answer-
And then the screaming started.
It came from the bedroom. Wet. Animal. It cut off too abruptly.
Micha stood. "Patrick?"
The bedroom door flew open.
Patrick crawled out, dragging himself across the floor. Blood poured from his mouth in thick ropes. A butcher's knife stood out of his back like a handle meant for someone else. He tried to speak. Only blood came.
"Oh my God," Micha sobbed, dropping to his knees.
Andrew grabbed him. "He's gone. We have to run. Now."
Footsteps.
Charles stepped into the hallway.
He was naked. Covered in blood. Smiling.
He spat something onto the floor. Patrick's tongue landed with a soft, final sound.
"Looks like I bit off more than I could chew," Charles said cheerfully.
Andrew pulled Micha up, but Micha wouldn't move. He was frozen, shattered.
Charles sighed and grabbed Micha by the hair. Micha screamed as Charles dragged him toward the kitchen.
"Basement time," Charles said. Then he looked back at Andrew, eyes gleaming. "And Andrew? Be a doll. Bring Patrick."
Andrew stared, unable to understand.
Charles chuckled. "Now, Andrew."
Hands shaking, Andrew hooked his arms under Patrick's shoulders and followed them down the basement steps.
The door slammed shut behind them.
The music upstairs kept playing, muffled and cheerful, like the house itself didn't want to know what was happening below.
YOU ARE READING
Switch Blade Romance
УжасыIn August, Andrew met the boy he'd been waiting for the kind of love that makes the world feel briefly forgiven. By September, his friends began to die, one by one, and the air around him grew thick with secrets and rot. By the end of the month, And...
