ext. play (brallon)

5_choke

Doused in gasoline, an abandoned, trembling shack stands in the middle of a darkening wood. Hikers and campers lodged there occasionally, back when it was safe to do so, but now, the slightest tap against one of its four walls could cause the entire structure to collapse in on itself. The rooms are empty, and the floorboards are cracked beyond repair. A stone fireplace sits neglected in what used to be its living area.

This is where I stop, drop the unconscious boy, and drag him into place in the center of the room. I've made sure to block the disused, blinking fire escapes. His hands and wrists are bound, limbs fractured for good measure. He couldn't move a millimetre if he tried. He groans and stirs when he hits the ground.

Sneering, I stroll toward my little hostage and crouch down to closer inspect my work. The skin under his left eye is bruised and blue, swollen almost completely shut; a trickle of dried, flaking blood stains his upper lip. I tap two fingers beneath his stubbled chin and force him to look me in the eye. He moans, but the sound is muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth. "I'm sure I made it perfectly clear," I say. "I'll break your fucking face if you can't keep your dirty mouth shut."

He sniffles, squeezing his tear-stained eyes shut.

"Now listen carefully," I instruct, standing up straight. I begin to pace the room, my towering figure causing him to cower and curl in on himself. My footsteps squeak like strangled, dying mice. "You get everything that you want, but money always talks to idiot savants like you. Do you know what that means?" I glance at the boy, who says nothing. I sigh heavily and hunker down to his level, clutching his face between my fingers and yanking his head to the ceiling. "I said," I spit. "Do you know what that means?"

He quickly shakes his head no.

Satisfied with the response, I let him go. "It means you get to go free. But only if I get what I want." I revel, gazing upon the small man twitching at my feet, his chest heaving in desperate need to breathe fresh air. "But if I don't get what I want..." I smile, leaving the words hanging and incomplete. "Look at you, you clever little thing. How... sycophantic," I cluck, cocking my head. "Praising me in the hopes it will give you the advantage." I wander about the bare, hideous room until I'm out of his line of sight. I then duck down behind him and press my face against the back of his neck, and whisper. "You are one precious basket case, Brendon Urie."

I chuckle. He knows that he's stunted in figuring out how to get out of this alive. He is aware of the why's and how's of his situation, but he is wise enough not to question it. Wiser still, he doesn't dare try to call for help. He understands that it would be futile.

I feel his shoulders tremor with pleasure as I drag my lips teasingly across his taut, pale skin. Oh, what I would give to fuck him, just one more time. It's a shame, how much I adore this boy, and yet I feel no remorse in watching him singe. "I'm going to burn this place to the ground with you in the middle of it," I threaten, rising once again to tread the glistening floorboards. The stench of petroleum stings my nostrils. I fumble with the matchbox in my jacket pocket, a smirk on my lips. "And I won't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die. And that would be just fine, oh, what a lovely time that it would surely be..."

I hum an indistinct melody as I drag the tiny paper box out of my pocket, and Brendon's eyes widen in terror as I swipe up one of the tiny candlesticks into my hand. I pinch the blunt tip between a finger and a thumb. I strike the match, letting it spark before it tumbles to the floor. "You'd better bite your tongue," I warn.

But who would hear him, all the way out here? Coyotes, maybe. They will come to feast upon his charring corpse, that is, if there's any decent, cooked flesh still dangling from his bones by the time their noses pick up the scent.

I kneel down in front of the quivering boy, nudging his fringe away from his eyes. "Goodnight," I whisper to him. I gently pull the gag from his mouth and allow him to suck in a deep breath. I tease the corner of his open mouth with my lips. "Sleep tight, and don't let anyone bite you." I dive forward briefly and nip at his earlobe with my teeth. He moans softly as he is touched, his naked skin slick, already glowing as the fire grows and slowly eats up the desolate cabin. I won't allow his final moments bathed in my ardour to last. I need to make a swift exit before I, too, am consumed by the suffocating black smoke. What a plot twist that would be, if I decided to stay.

But I'm not going to stay.

Just like Brendon never stayed.

Shame. We could have made a great team.

Brendon doesn't scream as I start my trek into the forest. He hadn't said anything to me at all. Not even a "goodbye" or an "I still love you." None of those words would have made a difference to me, anyway. Psychopaths aren't infamous for reciprocating empathy, much less love. I set myself a task, and I don't rest until it is completed. Discreet. No blood on my hands. Just another petty name to cross off of my perpetual list.

On the other hand, I would have liked to hear him scream.

But he doesn't.

And perhaps that means he's already choked himself to sleep.