Gray did not have the time for a red light. He was trying so hard to keep a low profile tonight only for people to get in his way, for all of the lights to coordinate together to impede him passage, and for too many fucking traffic cameras to make themselves visible.
He had on way too many clothes. Still, as annoying as it was to look like a blizzard came through, he knew it was a necessity. Hide the weight, height, and facial structure as much as possible. Break into the dentist's office or servers and destroy the dental records they may have that can be used for a positive identification. Never get anything that requires a fingerprint. Never get marked by the system. Never join social media. Never share a picture online. Never use a single internet connection more than once unless it's properly encrypted.
There were rules to follow to stay off the radar. A man like Gray could never break any of these rules. Any miscalculation, any deviation from the structure he'd created for himself and he'd be on a one way ride to isolation, maybe the lethal injection. It all depended how much of what he'd done rose to the surface.
Gray was twenty-one. It wasn't a very… mature age, all things considered, especially not in his circumstances, but he started early. Much earlier than anyone of the same breed could claim. Compared to him, even the most experienced in the... practice... were amateurs. He still remembered how it all started.
Gray sat on the far end of the couch, away from all of the other children. Every so often, he winced and closed his eyes, clenching little fists and jaws. They thought he couldn't hear them but adults were never as subtle as they liked to believe.
Two women stood at the other end of the room, whispering frantically toward one another.
"You can't be serious… That's… That's horrible."
"We're aware."
"You can't just leave him here! What about his father? He must have a father."
"If he does, we can't find the man."
She shook her head. "No, I can't! We're meant to help children that have been through abuse! Not… not…." She trailed off, glancing at Gray, alone and silent.
"Trauma is trauma."
She glared at the woman a few feet in front of her. "That isn't just trauma. Can you even imagine what that is doing to his mind? A child… watching that happen to his mother. I can't fix that! I work with these kids, I guide them through therapy, but I don't work miracles!"
She was still staring at him, though, and the police woman smiled gently. "I understand, Ma'am, but… he's only five years old. He has nowhere else to go. Do you honestly think the foster system will be good for a boy that went through what he went through?"
And that was that. Gray was given a room to share with the seven-year-old menace, Riley, that got there a couple of weeks before him who did not appreciate Gray moving in and taking up half of his breathing space.
Gray woke up, more than once, screaming at phantoms of men to leave his mom alone, to not touch Ur. His nightmares were so frequent that, within three days, every kid in the place had a vague idea of what happened to him. He tried to stop crying. It didn't work.
Riley was the one who got the greatest kick out of teasing him.
"Hey, Gray, you still miss your mommy?"
"Does the little itty bitty cry baby need his mommy to tuck him into bed?"
"No! No. Not Ur! Don't touch her!"
The last one was said in front of seven of the others about three weeks in while they sat in the garden waiting for the cook to finish lunch and come out to get them. They were left unsupervised for no longer than fifteen minutes. It was enough time for Riley to mock Gray for his nightly terrors.
He expected Gray to get angry again. He expected Gray to punch him so that he could hit him back without getting in trouble. He expected Gray to silently let the tears fall again and hide his face. He expected a lot of things. None of which happened.
Gray's face remained blank, impassive. He stood up and walked over to where Riley was sitting. Riley, anticipating a fight, stood up from his spot on the ground. Some girl tried to pull Riley back, but he flung her arm to the side violently. Gray's eyes followed the movement before returning to look directly up into Riley's eyes.
"Do you know what I saw?" he asked, tonelessly, as if he'd just asked what color the sky was. Almost with a hint of cheerfulness that didn't quite make it past his lips.
Riley blinked a couple times before he could process it. "You saw your mommy die. Duh." He stretched out the syllables in the word 'mommy.'
Gray nodded and Riley smirked, opening his mouth to laugh when Gray interrupted him.
"Wanna know how it happened?"
The kids in the circle shifted nervously, some hugging their legs, others twitching their fingers, a little boy with blonde hair tapping his foot. Gray's face still hadn't changed at all. No smile. No anger. Nothing. Riley wanted to say 'no' but he actually was curious what had the kid screaming every friggin' night and he couldn't lose face, not in front of everyone.
"Sure," he replied, sounding much more confident than he felt.
Gray smiled, quick, short, before going back to that numb look that was freaking Riley out so much.
"I was in the kitchen, helping her out. My brother was staying at a friend's. Sleepover, ya'know?" he starts. "So we're laughing and then there's this loud BANG," he says. He looks at Riley expectantly. Riley nods. He goes on. "So she tells me to hide in the cupboard, the one where we keep the pasta and soup sauce, and I go in, right? She tells me that no matter what I have to be quiet. That she needs me to be quiet."
He stops, shakes his head, looks directly at Riley. "It's quiet. My mom is quiet. I hear the steps coming closer to the living room, someone walking down that long hallway. One step," he says, taking a step forward. Riley takes a step back. "Two steps." Another step forward that Riley imitates in reverse. Gray is staring directly into his eyes, pupils blown just a little wider, something in the irises flashing just a little darker.
"He's right in front of her. I can see their feet through the thin cracks in the door. There's a loud sound, like what it sounds like when you swat a fly really hard against the wall to make sure it's dead," he states aloud, as if realizing the comparison for the first time. "And then I can see my mom on the floor. I can see his hands, tying her up. She's not moving. She told me to be quiet. She doesn't make a sound until he takes out a knife," He holds out his hand in Riley's direction, sticks out his arm, traces one finger along his chubby forearm. "A knife like that size, shiny." His eyes are locked in with Riley's whose expression is growing more and more restless by the second.
"He drags it across her cheek. Slowly, enough to wake her up and for the screaming to start, but strong, so that the skin is coming off. Like one of those zombie movies we're not supposed to watch. She's screaming so much, trying to twist away and the knife goes deeper, cutting into her face enough for me to see a big hole in her cheek, teeth white and bright and bloody."
So many of the kids look sick now. One of the smaller girls is crying. Gray doesn't notice them. Doesn't move a muscle in his face unless it's to form words for Riley to hear. Riley is fidgeting, but he can't look away. He can't say anything anymore.
"We lived by the forest, so no one but me could hear her. But the blood cut off her voice, 'cause it was going down her throat. He turned her face up, see?" He stops to grip his own throat, ramming his jaw up forcefully to look at the sky before directing his gaze at Riley again. "She was turning red, then purple, then this really really light blue. Big hole on the side of her face was still leaking, close to the corner of her mouth so it looked like her lips were tied together with a little pink string. Like bubblegum."
Gray takes another step forward, just a couple of inches in front of Riley's face. He's still not making any facial expression. He still looks like he's not feeling anything. Riley shivers.
"Riley?" Gray asks.
"Y-yeah?"
"Want to know why that guy killed my mom? What I heard him tell the police when they got there?"
Riley swallows. "What?"
"He killed her because he didn't like her." He shrugs. Riley's face is one of shock and disbelief.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gray sees the cook heading toward the screen door to open it and let them in, so he tells Riley one last thing in front of everyone. "A guy killed my mom because he didn't like her," he says. He stares hard at Riley, looking him up and down before adding, "And I don't like you." The words alone sent chills down the spines of every kid there, but it was Gray's smirk at the end that made them fear for Riley.
That night the kids all avoided Gray during dinner and playtime. Gray woke up screaming again. Riley beat him up to wake him. He didn't stop when Gray's eyes shot open.
By morning, Riley had gone missing. The chef also lost his sharpest butcher knife.
The following night was the first night that Gray didn't have any nightmares.
No one ever found that seven-year-old kid. Most people forgot his name.
Gray smiled to himself as he turned up the radio in the car. Another rule he'd made for himself. Never use your own car.
He pulled into the marina, and started picking the lock to the cabin cruiser boat on the edge. Closest to the rest of the water, less shit to navigate through. He kept rotating the lock pad until he heard three distinctive clicks. In. This had always been so easy.
He left the chains swung around the post, not wanting the boat to drift away. He was not going into the water tonight no matter what and going through the hassle of picking another boat and guessing the code was not appealing to him.
Gray walked back down the dock's wooden bridge, into the lot and picked up his, what? Eight? Nine? black garbage bags and gripped them each in his fists. The duct tape was pulled on tight, there were no rocks in the bags to weigh the limbs down because in a few months, the bags would eventually tear if there were sharp or overly rough objects inside and the limbs would float to shore and one of his projects would be found, and then there'd be a man hunt and that was just unacceptable. He drifted over to the boat, throwing the plastic bags over the low railing, and gripping the bar to lunge himself over it. It was much more taxing to move his own limbs when he was wearing so many clothes, but he needed to keep them on in case anyone ever accessed the feeds of the dock cameras and saw him. He tugged the chain over its post, setting the boat free.
He dragged the bags over inside the cabin, the control area, and got to work hooking up his software. You could hack anything that had a battery with a phone if you knew what you were doing. Just as he started the engine and pulled out of the dock, he heard a groaning sound from one of the cabin rooms. No. No fucking way. It was two in the morning. No one should have been on this boat. He checked the feeds of the previous twelve hours. No one had gone in or out. Gray stopped the boat about a mile out in the water.
There was a moment where Gray held his breath. Then there was a slight rustling sound from beyond the door. Fuck this. He didn't even bring a weapon! It was supposed to be a quick drop off and then a drive home. Simple. Who the hell lived in a tiny cramped cabin boat? What was supposed to be a simple choice to deter suspicion, because no one suspected the man who drove a damn cabin boat of all things, was now the closest Gray had ever come to discovery. No one walked in on him during a disposal. It had never happened before. He was going to flay the person in that room.
Messy pink hair and tan skin opened the door and a man of average height came out rubbing his eyes, "Cana, what are you-" he started. He froze at the sight of a newly stripped Gray. Gray wasn't fighting with the stifling set of clothes he'd been wearing. He'd be a dead man.
"Who the fuck-"
Gray lunged at the man in the white scarf and landed over him, legs on either side of his torso, hands buried into the scarf, wrapped around a long tan neck, cutting off the flow of air. The man struggled and bucked up, pulling roughly at pale strong hands, but Gray was too experienced in this. He'd done it too many times and he was desperate now, the bags of separated limbs lay scattered on the floor. He was not taking goddamn chances.
Light green eyes glared at him, even as that face drained of color, even as the hands clawing at Gray's lost more and more of their strength.
After what Gray felt was an eternity, those tan hands went limp and he let the soft flesh go. He stared at the man. He felt for a pulse, steady, unconscious. So he lived. Gray hadn't been planning on starting a new project so soon, but he couldn't let this man get away now. He'd seen his face. He'd felt Gray wrap his hands around his neck until he passed out.
Speaking of that, Gray looked at the skin on the man's throat. Huh. The red marks were already fading. No bruising. Gray studied the limp body on the floor. Still pumping blood. Still breathing. No bruising. Cute, even. He lifted the corner of the stranger's upper lip, pretty white teeth. He was wearing sweats and the edge of his boxers peaked out from under them. He didn't have stubble like some of the men Gray saw making nasty little fashion statements that didn't go with their faces at all. He seems to have good hygiene, despite living in this dump apparently. Gray laid a hand against the man's abdomen. Solid muscle. Soft skin. Perfect. Gray let himself smile. It wasn't like anyone would see it. He was just excited. How long will it take to break this one? His hand trailed over that chest, that throat, those pretty pink lips.
He rolled his eyes at his own antics. Even after everything he'd done, he'd never crossed that line. Not with a project. That would be stupid. Might weaken him. Make him merciful. He stood.
He restarted the engine and drove out, checked the fuel, went forty-five miles out, and threw the bags overboard. He turned the boat back and pulled back into the marina in just over an hour and a half. He had to get the hell out of here. Some of the early risers liked to fish at four in the morning and he had about twenty minutes to leave before they started coming in.
He pulled on his pile of clothes, crouching below the sight level of the window to keep out of the camera's view, pulling on his baseball cap to hide his face. He turned to Pinky, still out of commission. He sighed. If the man lived here, and got regular visits from some woman called 'Cana,' then the cops would look into his case anyway. It wasn't Gray's usual, but he couldn't resist, not after he saw that his grip left no marks, not after wondering how far he'd have to go to mark this one.
He pulled the pink-haired man into his arms, bridal style. It might delay any investigation if it looked like he'd been caring for a passed out drunk friend. He jumped over the railing, down onto the dock bridge. Cradling the man close, he walked to the van. He'd have to get rid of it soon enough. The camera in the lot had gotten a decent image of it for sure and he didn't have time to follow the IP address receiving the signal and delete the memory on it because he had to get his newest toy out of sight. He opened the side door, laying the man in the back, pulling out an anesthetic from his glove box for good measure. He needed the man to sleep for a little while longer. He drove off.
He had to admit, he was slightly intrigued. No one had ever taken one look at him, even in their own territory, and immediately reacted by furiously cursing and demanding to know who he was before. Especially not when he was mostly nude. Women typically blushed and asked his name before he moved forward, smirking and watching their eyes widen in horror. Men would either react in a similar manner or shut their eyes and assume someone had sent them a gay hooker as a joke, swearing up and down that they were straight before he lunged forward and took them out, watching the expression of fury turn to confusion and panic.
Two things happened differently with the rosette. One, Gray hadn't planned to attack him because he wasn't aware of his presence. Two, the guy had confronted Gray in the blink of an eye, going into defensive mode as a default without considering any other option.
Either Pinky was a paranoid idiot, which Gray highly doubted because the man woke to realize his boat was moving and just assumed a friend had let herself in.
Or. Pinky was afraid of someone. Or something. Gray wanted to know what. He wanted to know what made Pinky so instinctively furious and teach him that nothing he ever experienced could be worse than being the newest project of Gray Fullbuster. Nothing.