Michael pressed into a very soft, very loving kiss, his arms wrapped tight around Brian. Brian pulled back from the kiss, his expression more confused than frightened now.
"Where is the proof that you did what you say you did?" Michael carefully posed.
Brian put away the whiskey and got himself a glass of water. "There was blood on my hands, and in the shower, and on the mirror... a trail from the bathroom to the kitchen where I found him. Who else could it have been?" His chin began to tremble and again the tears began to fall.
You could do it again, Brian. So easily...
Brian felt ill. He backed a few steps away from Michael. "I don't think you should be here. I think it's best if I'm alone."
"Bullshit." Michael replied softly.
You liked how it felt, Brian, how the boy's flesh resisted as we tore him open...
Brian paled. "You need to go." Sweat began to bead at his hairline. He watched as the corners of Michael's mouth turned down in distaste. In Brian's state of shock, psychosis, what-have-you, it happened in slow motion.
Brian stepped back, the edges of his vision beginning to blacken. "Michael, get the fuck out of here."
Michael's brow furrowed. "You called me Michael... Brian, I can't leave you like this. Not when we have to try and figure out who killed Justin..."
You could do it again, Brian. So easily...
Brian looked more desperate than he ever had in life. He plead with Michael, trying to move him toward the door.
Just think of it, Brian. His clothing, his flesh... almost melting beneath your blade, the warm red on your fingertips...
Brian suddenly stopped. His vision suddenly gave way to blackness, and the voice took over his mind.
Yes, Brian. Take him first. Give him what he has always wanted and then take what belongs to you... yes...Yes...
"No!" Brian shook the darkness away. "Mikey, believe me, whatever you are trying to do for me is valiant, etc; etc; But you need to get. The fuck. Out!" He used physical force to move Michael out of his loft and rolled the door closed behind him.
Michael turned around and tried to open the door, finding it locked. He became frantic for a moment and began to beat on the door. "Let me in, Brian! What if the killer is still in there with you?!" Falling quiet, Michael realized that there was no logic to that and simply walked away rubbing the back of his neck, sore from tension.
Brian waited until he could no longer hear Michael's footsteps outside and then watched his car pull away and drive down the street, of course, with him in it. "There is no what if, Michael. The killer lives here."
"Where is the proof that you did what you say you did?" Michael carefully posed.
Brian put away the whiskey and got himself a glass of water. "There was blood on my hands, and in the shower, and on the mirror... a trail from the bathroom to the kitchen where I found him. Who else could it have been?" His chin began to tremble and again the tears began to fall.
You could do it again, Brian. So easily...
Brian felt ill. He backed a few steps away from Michael. "I don't think you should be here. I think it's best if I'm alone."
"Bullshit." Michael replied softly.
You liked how it felt, Brian, how the boy's flesh resisted as we tore him open...
Brian paled. "You need to go." Sweat began to bead at his hairline. He watched as the corners of Michael's mouth turned down in distaste. In Brian's state of shock, psychosis, what-have-you, it happened in slow motion.
Brian stepped back, the edges of his vision beginning to blacken. "Michael, get the fuck out of here."
Michael's brow furrowed. "You called me Michael... Brian, I can't leave you like this. Not when we have to try and figure out who killed Justin..."
You could do it again, Brian. So easily...
Brian looked more desperate than he ever had in life. He plead with Michael, trying to move him toward the door.
Just think of it, Brian. His clothing, his flesh... almost melting beneath your blade, the warm red on your fingertips...
Brian suddenly stopped. His vision suddenly gave way to blackness, and the voice took over his mind.
Yes, Brian. Take him first. Give him what he has always wanted and then take what belongs to you... yes...Yes...
"No!" Brian shook the darkness away. "Mikey, believe me, whatever you are trying to do for me is valiant, etc; etc; But you need to get. The fuck. Out!" He used physical force to move Michael out of his loft and rolled the door closed behind him.
Michael turned around and tried to open the door, finding it locked. He became frantic for a moment and began to beat on the door. "Let me in, Brian! What if the killer is still in there with you?!" Falling quiet, Michael realized that there was no logic to that and simply walked away rubbing the back of his neck, sore from tension.
Brian waited until he could no longer hear Michael's footsteps outside and then watched his car pull away and drive down the street, of course, with him in it. "There is no what if, Michael. The killer lives here."