Adrien English Mysteries: A Dangerous Thing & Fatal Shadows (20 page)

“I couldn’t bear that, Adrien.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s been different with you from the beginning. From the first time I ever saw you. I didn’t think I could still feel this way, but I do. I do.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

He put his hand between my thighs, cupping my balls. I caught my breath.

His lopsided smile was intimate. “Is this good?”

“You know it is.”

He nodded, fingering me knowledgeably. “I know you.”

The incredible thing was that knowing what I knew, scared to death as I was, and even conscious that Riordan might be somewhere nearby, my body did respond. I did feel something for him, beyond the horror and fear. I couldn’t forget the teenage boy who had wanted to die. I couldn’t forget what had happened to him, the pain and fear and isolation that turned him into a monster. A monster whose tears wet my fingertips.

He got on his knees in a quick move. Leaned forward, his breath hot against my face.

“Tell me what you want, Adrien.” He was poised over me. Massive. A mountain. A landslide ready to fall and bury me alive. “Say it. You know you want it.”

I rested my hand against his face, feeling the bristle on his jaw. He turned his head. Bit my fingers.

“You want me to fuck you?”

Guilt? Grief? Reciprocity?

“Yes,” I said huskily.

He guided me back onto my belly. His hands were shaking and he wasn’t the only one. I rested my face on my folded arms, heart thudding. His hands slid over my ass, caressing roughly, spreading my cheeks. Two wet fingers slid in without ceremony. I bit my lip, trying to relax rigid muscles. I wasn’t a virgin, but it had been a very long time for me.

122

Josh Lanyon

Bruce mumbled inarticulate words of apology and love.

“It’s all right,” I said.

He pushed in and I had to bite my arm to keep from crying out. It wasn’t just the lack of preparation; he wasn’t wearing a condom. Jesus. I remembered telling Riordan I was strictly a safe sex guy, and now here I was engaging in unprotected sex with a homicidal maniac.

Define safe, Adrien.

I closed my eyes, tried to regulate my breathing while Bruce humped against my ass.

Awkward and anguished, his fingers clawed into my hips, trying to position me, thrusting wildly, frantically; an angry blind man flailing out with his cane.

I agreed to this, I thought dizzily. I let myself in for it. Shut up and deal with it because if you yell, someone is going to die. Probably you.

My breath huffed out in pained pants as Bruce rocked harder, faster. He reached beneath my belly and gave my cock a yank. It hurt.

I smothered my groan in my arm. Fought the pricking behind my eyes.

“I love you. I love you,” he panted. “You’re mine. You know that. Mine. Forever.”

He began to come, collapsing on top of me in a shuddering sweaty heap. His silent tears trickled down my back.

* * * * *

I lay still, ears attuned, waiting.

A soft sound from down the hallway.

I lifted my head. Hesitated. Bruce slumbered on, sleeping the peaceful sleep of the conscienceless. Cautiously I inched away, eased off the bed. The springs protested. I stopped.

No movement from Bruce. I tiptoed to the door.

We’d left the lights on when we had retired, and I had a clear view of Riordan standing at the far end of the hall. He had his gun out. It looked like a cannon. He stared at me for a long moment. Then he gestured soundlessly, beckoning me toward him: Get out now.

Bruce sat up in the bed behind me. I froze.

“What are you doing?” He sounded fully awake.

“Nothing.” I hesitated. Everything in me said “run.” But the realization of what was about to happen ... it’s difficult to explain how terrifying I found that vision of impending violence. I don’t know if I thought I could avert it, but I was compelled to try and postpone it.

“What are you looking for? Come back to bed.”

I said huskily, “It’s late. I should go.”

Fatal Shadows

123

“Come back to bed, Adrien.” There was something in his voice. A short while ago I had lain in his arms. I could still taste him. I came back to bed. Sat down as gingerly as though on broken glass.

He said tenderly, indulgently, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Even I could hear the strain in my voice.

Silence.

Then he said flatly, “Oh.”

One scant syllable, but I knew. I knew and he knew. All evening we had pretended.

Postponed what we both knew in our hearts.

In one fast, lithe movement, Bruce was off the bed. He walked over to the bedroom door and slammed it, shutting us into total darkness. I could hear my quick breaths and the scratch of the twigs at the window. There was just enough light from the waning moon to see his silhouette unmoving where he stood by the door.

I sat there wordlessly reassuring myself that he couldn’t have seen Riordan hovering down the hall. Riordan would have ducked back, right?

“Bruce,” I began.

“I know, Adrien.” He spoke consolingly, as though he understood why I had done what I had. His silhouette moved over to the dresser and vanished into the deeper shadows. I heard the slide of the drawers. The soft rustle of clothes. It was more terrifying not to be able to see him. Then I caught his reflection in the mirror, the pale glimmer of his body. He turned, and in the gloom I could just discern the outline of white -- a grim smile that wasn’t Bruce.

Wasn’t human in fact. A mask. A skull mask which he was unhurriedly adjusting over his head.

I backed off the bed, knocked into the bedstand and reached automatically to save the lamp. Bruce felt around in the drawer, the mask still staring my way. Hypnotized I watched him raise something up, saw the glint of light on silver. A blade.

“What are you doing?” I was surprised to hear my voice at all, let alone sounding almost level.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He walked toward me, knife upheld. It was stagy.

Unreal.

I reached over and turned on the lamp beside the bed.

Like a true creature of the night he paused. There’s something about light. Even 60 watt household variety.

“Turn that out,” he said hoarsely.

I shook my head. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the knife. It looked huge. Sharp. A butcher’s knife. I pictured it sliding into my chest. With an effort I kicked my brain into gear.

124

Josh Lanyon

“Bruce, why are you doing this?”

“Now that’s a silly question.”

“Bruce --”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What do you want me to call you? Grant?”

He stood motionless as though testing the power of his name on himself.

“Take the mask off,” I said. “Since we’re not pretending.”

“I like it. You know why? Because it’s symbolic. You know? Everyone wears masks.

Everyone puts on a face of what they want you to see. Even death.”

Murdered and lectured in one night. It really was too much.

He laughed muffledly. “And the main thing is, it scares you. I like that. You should see your face. I’m surprised you haven’t keeled over yet. That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t think ironic is the right word.” I wondered what Riordan was doing. What was he waiting for? In five minutes I could be dead. In three minutes. In fact, it wouldn’t take Bruce more than a minute to take care of me. I tried to imagine wrestling him for the knife and knew talking was my best bet.

“What is the right word?” Bruce inquired. “Betrayed? Fucked?”

I swallowed hard.

“What? No famous last words?” Bruce advanced. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” He gave that unnerving rubbery laugh. “So does this, by the way.”

I licked my lips. “Don’t I get to hear why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you killed Rob and the others. Andy ... .” Suddenly I couldn’t remember their names.

“I didn’t kill Andy.” He sounded offended. “God killed Andy. That was the sign I was on the right path.”

“You think God wants you to kill people because of a high school prank?”

“Prank? That prank destroyed my life. Ruined me. You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“So explain it to me.”

His eyes studied me through the eye holes in the mask. “Believe me, you won’t agree with my reasoning. I’ve tried explaining before. How’s this? Everything that has happened to me happened because of Robert Hersey and his sycophantic buddies. Everything.”

“That’s not reasonable, Br -- Grant. You’re too smart to believe --”

He interrupted casually, “But enough about me. This is about you.”

“Me?”

Fatal Shadows

125

“Yes, you. YOU, YOU, YOU!” He started jabbing at the air, yelling it.

Something horrifyingly like a sob tore out of my throat.

Bruce stopped. “Don’t cry,” he said kindly. “Everything dies eventually.” He pointed the knife at me, like a professor with a pointer.

“Anyway, it’s your own fault, isn’t it? I want you to know that I would never have hurt you. Never. You made this happen. Not me. I always liked you, even though you never noticed me.” His hand slashed through the air. “NEVER NOTICED --”

I flinched as the knife carved a long rip through the flowered wallpaper. I tried to think what to do if he came across the bed. I’d be cornered. I was cornered now. I’d be cornered in a tighter space. Less time to die in.

He calmed again. “I tried to get all my classes with you. I used to always sit behind you.

Remember? Pathetic, isn’t it? You even came to this house once, you know. I couldn’t believe you didn’t remember.”

I got control of my voice. “Did you want me to remember?”

He seemed to consider this. “When I saw you in the church I wanted to protect you from those fucking cops. But the truth is, you like those fucking cops, don’t you? You like that blond one.”

“Speaking of cops,” I got out. “Bruce, you have to know you aren’t going to get away with this. They will lock you up forever.”

“I don’t want to get away with it. Not anymore.” He added, “And no, they won’t.”

Keep him talking. Riordan had to be on the other side of that door. If I could just get to it before Bruce stabbed me. “If I can figure it out, the cops can.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

I edged toward the door. “Tell me something. Why Claude? What did he ever do to you?”

“Who? Oh, the black dude. Well, that was your fault too, Adrien. You canceled our evening together, didn’t you? You wouldn’t explain why, you just blew me off. So I followed you to see where you were going. I was parked down the street the whole time we were talking. I was on my cell phone.” He sounded innocently pleased with his own cleverness.

“Call forwarding.”

“You were spying on me?” Don’t ask, but my life probably forfeit, I still felt a flare of indignation.

He answered defensively, “I couldn’t wait to see you again. I used to park there under the trees and watch that asshole Robert. And then I started watching you. I followed you that evening to see what you were up to, and once I knew, I took care of that black bastard.”

He shrugged. “I thought that would get your attention.”

126

Josh Lanyon

My nerve gave out and I ran for the door. Bruce got there first and blocked it squarely.

He raised the knife. His laugh was coming out weirdly behind the plastic face. He adjusted his grip on the knife handle, the better for slicing me to ribbons. I took a step back.

“I wondered what this would feel like when it happened,” he said slowly.

“Me too.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the knife.

“I think it could have worked for us.”

My heart was pounding so hard in my throat it was hard to get the words out. “It would have been hard with you murdering my friends every time you needed my attention.”

Bruce reached up with the knife to scratch his forehead. The point punctured the mask and a tiny drop of blood showed. As I stared, it welled and then trickled slowly down the skull face.

“I do love you,” whispered Bruce. “There’s nothing left for me without you.” There were tears in his voice.

“Bruce,” I pleaded, “Think it through.” Riordan, where the fuck are you?

“We’ll die together like true lovers should. Like Romeo and ... .” unnervingly he giggled.

“Romeo.”

Blabbing the first thing that came to me, I said desperately, “Sure, but then what happens?”

“What?”

There was movement outside the window. We both looked around and then Bruce grabbed me with his free arm, dragging me in front of him as an iron lawn chair came crashing through the bedroom window, followed by Riordan.

It was like in the movies. He hit the floor in a shoulder roll and came up on one knee with his gun aimed at us. The detached part of my brain that was still taking notes admired the smooth efficiency of that.

Bruce kept me pinned close, arm about my throat using me as a shield. His breath was hot in my ear, his cheek resting against mine. I could feel his sweat against my skin -- or maybe it was my own sweat. I could also feel that he had a hard on, and that was the most unnerving thing of all.

I was pretty sure that I was really going to die in the next minute or two. I’d thought a lot about death over the years, but I never pictured checking out like this.

“Put down the knife.” Riordan sounded calm and instructive.

Bruce on the other hand was shaking with excitement. The hand holding the knife to my throat was so rigid it had a tremor.

“No! Put down the gun. I’ll kill him if you don’t!”

I heard myself say, “He’ll kill me anyway.”

Fatal Shadows

127

A bar seemed to clamp down, closing off my windpipe. “Shut up!” Bruce said from underwater. Stars shot through the darkness flooding up around me. I wheezed, let myself go heavy.

Bruce’s arm eased up. I gulped oxygen. Heard Riordan soothing, “No he won’t. That wouldn’t be smart. Bruce is too smart for that, right Bruce?”

“Shut up,” Bruce said again.

I gulped oxygen. Regained my footing.

Riordan was still trying to reassure us all that it was under control. “Bruce doesn’t want to hurt you, do you, Bruce? Let’s talk for a minute. Let’s talk about --”