Finality
He took his time, slipping the bullets into the gun one by one, allowing the moment to last and basking in the fear that emanated from his prey, the wide eyes and the fast breaths. His captive twisted in his chair as if to escape, finding it futile with the ropes that bound him, bruised him and cut off his blood circulation. They bound him to the chair, as the chair was bound to the pole.
And Bryan thought that Lei had never looked as beautiful as now, his skin shining with sweat, his pink shirt torn, revealing purple bruises, and his long, black hair dishevelled. He wanted to fuck Lei's throat with the gun, make him cry and beg to be set free, just because it would be such an exhilarating rush.
The gun made a satisfying click as he pulled back the hammer. Slowly he aimed the gun at Lei's forehead. The Chinese looked past the gun to his eyes, a last attempt at finding some mercy, some reason, but Bryan met his gaze calmly, knowing that there was only death to be found. The Chinese bowed his head in defeat, and clenched his jaw to silence his sobs as fear overwhelmed him.
The American used the barrel of the gun to tip Lei's face up, watching for a moment the tears on his cheeks, and then he aimed his weapon at his prey's racing heart. And in the last moment, Lei cried out…
Bryan doesn't know why he is here, in the cemetery, his bare hands buried in the earth. All he knows is that he has lost his purpose, and nothing is exciting anymore. He has had his rush, and oh, what a rush! But there is no more to be had now.
Finally he finds the coffin. He has been digging forever it seems, but he feels no ache, no exhaustion. He tears the planks off, destroying the lid utterly and then…something is set free inside him. He gathers the corpse in his arms, crushing it to him and laughing. He was wrong to part with him, wrong to let the police find him, dead in the chair, blood coating the front of his pink shirt and dripping down on the floor.
Lei is still beautiful, dressed in his finest traditional Chinese attire of blue silk, his hair dark and shining, his face peaceful, as if sleeping. Bryan admires him for a long time, crouching by the open grave, the limp body fitting perfectly in his arms. The sun is setting on the hill, and the mourning friends and colleagues have just left. Soon there will be no more restlessness and emptiness. He pulls the small silver gun from his boot. It is cold against his temple.
…a cry that was abruptly silenced forever.