The collector laid in bed, TV on the news channel, mask on his bedside table, there was talk of a fire, multiple bodies found, but no survivors.
A glass of whiskey in hand, he was celebrating his triumph. Anyone who knew Arkin had been at that hotel was ash, no one was left to get in his way.
The burning liquid pours down his sarcophagus, he couldn't wait to play with Arkin.
He'd take his time with this one, make sure everything Arkin had witnessed at the Chase home wasn't even in the same league.
The collector turns towards the door, Arkin lay just behind the wood, his favorite was merely a few steps away.
He could hear the boy moving around, the bed creak and chains shake. Honestly, he'd been waiting for an escape attempt, there was no where for Arkin to go.
Still, this was Arkin, the man should have been an escape artist with how much he got away, but this time would be different, there would be no escape.
Board after board rips from the foundation, Arkin was surprised the collector wasn't banging on his door, thankfully he didn't have an old man's skull for use this time.
Wooden planks were quietly set a top the mattress, window now freely open in invitation.
Tentatively, Arkin studies the window, he didn't want another experience like last time. Seeing nothing stills those fears a bit "It's too easy"
Either the collector severely underestimated him, or this was a trap. Arkin guessed the latter, but what choice did he have?
It was 50/50 chance he won't get his arm hacked off from this window, or worse.
Arkin couldn't figure out if the sick bastard was messing with him or not "Fucking dick"
He's going, he'll go head first, that way if any things chopped off, he'll be too dead to care.
Arkin braces his hands on the window sill, takes a deep breathe, begging it's not his last as he lowers his head.
The night sky, crickets and chilly air are what greets him, the man pulls his body fully through in shock. A simple house had been his prison, he appeared to have been held on the second story.
He could jump, a fall from this height wouldn't kill him, he could re-break his arm if he fell the wrong way. He'd made this before at the Chase home, all he'd received was a swollen ankle.
"Fuck it" Arkin leaps to the ground, silently begging the collector to have been asleep and not hear the impact as he hit the ground.
Arkin rolled the moment he'd touched the grass, once again missing smashing his ankle bones.
Arkin ran as fast as he could, this time he had no reason to go back, no Hannah or Elena to save, no trapped family being tortured ... There was nothing in that house to warrant a single backwards glance.
The collector had just switched the television off when a loud thud gains his full attention. Quickly rising to his feet, mask tied back over his face, legs propelled him towards Arkin's door.
Bang after bang receives no answer, the collector raps his fists angrily upon the wood until finally grabbing the lone drill.
Soon two screws are removed, locks opened to reveal an empty room, no Arkin in sight.
The collector grits his teeth as he runs towards the window, seeing nothing but darkness, Arkin had gotten away.
Frustrated, the collector runs to the garage, keys pushed in the ignition before freezing. He never should have brought Arkin to his home.
His boy was long gone by now, probably rang a doorbell till someone answered, police called and heading this way.
He'd have to run, bide his time until the hunt wears off. Sticker ripped from the vans exterior, he'd have to paint it another color and switch plates on the road.
No ... He's never run before and he didn't plan to start now. Arkin was his, he'd hunt him down and drag him back.
Arkin staggered in his run, unsure exactly where he was currently at, it appeared to be neighborhood.
He had a few options, run towards a neighbors, keep walking until he figures out where he's at or ... Teach the collector a lesson.
Thoughts of burning the man's house down while he's locked inside, hacking his balls off, binding him to a wall using nothing but sharp hooks through his fingers and back.
"That mother fucker is going to pay, he's gonna feel everything I did!"
For the second time, Arkin turns around. Slow steps heading back towards another house of horrors he'd just escaped from. Last time this hadn't worked for him ... Could he risk it happening again?
The decision is taken out of his hands as the garage door opens, masked collector standing inside, head once again tilting to the side.
Arkin glares, the two staring at one another waiting for the first move. He's not going down without a fight "What are you waiting for, stupid fuck? Come get me!"
The collector tosses his knife back and forth before launching the blade through the air, legs propelling him forward.
Arkin moves to a fighting stance, easily dodging the knife "Come on!"
The collector grits his teeth as he tackles Arkin to the ground, punching the man in the face, banging his head against the concrete.
Arkin struggles to get back to his feet, grabbing hold of the collectors fists as he tried to punch, reeling as his skull continuously gets smashed.
A throat punch and knee to the groin is enough to throw the collector off guard, Arkin taking advantage as he stands over the fallen man.
The collector spits blood from his lips, dark eyes starring as Arkin's foot slams into his cheek, a loud snap signaling his jaw is either broken or cracked.
Arkin kicks with all the strength he had, fists pummeling into his captor, the younger man lowers to rip the dark mask from the collectors face.
"You're really fucked up, you know that? Collecting people like we're bugs for you to squish."
The collector moves to reach his feet once more, but Arkin's round house kick to his gut stops him in his tracks "Stay the fuck down!"
"You gonna kill me?" Taunts the unmasked collector
Arkin smiles "No, that'd be to nice, I'm gonna make you feel everything that I felt ... Then I'm gonna kill you."
Arkin leans down, grabbing hold of the collectors very own switchblade that he'd thrown "You're never going to hurt anyone, ever again."
The collector sneers as a growl leaves his mouth, body launching upwards in a final attack. It was him or his pet, Arkin had to go, he'd find another one he liked.
Arkin swings the blade in defense, all falls silent as blood runs freely down the handle.
The collector looks down to see his very own knife imbedded in his chest, eyes boring into Arkin's.
Arkin yells in fury at the look, ripping the knife out and back into the collectors body over and over again "Fuck you!"
The collectors gaze never ceased, no words left his mouth as he's repeatedly stabbed, effectively, angering Arkin more.
The knife plunges through muscle and bone, twists into organs, ruptures the liver and spleen in its haste.
"Fuck you!" All of Arkin's pent up anger escapes with each deadly stab, this man had ruined his life, tortured numerous people and here he was, unmasked and being stabbed, yet still giving that dead eye stare "FUCK YOU!"
The final stab lands directly in the collectors heart, the man who'd kidnapped and tortured thousands was dying brutally at the hands of his only living abductee.
Arkin drags the collectors body back inside his home, dropping the barely alive man to the hard floor, grabbing hold of the red can sitting on the floor.
The collector isn't surprised when Arkin uncaps the cap on the gasoline nor when gas is splashed on the curtains and couch.
"Don't die yet" speaks Arkin to the prone man on the ground "I'm not done with you, fucker"
The collector gasps as the last of the gasoline rains over his body, soaking his clothes and hair.
Arkin throws the now empty can aside, ripping a piece from his tank top, hand holding a now flickering lighter "Hope you don't mind I borrowed your lighter?"
Arkin stands directly above the dying man, the man who'd abducted and tortured him, trapped him inside a red box, chosen him for a life of pain "How does it feel being on the other side of the coin?"
The collector makes no move to respond, he couldn't if he'd wanted to. Arkin lowers the material to the flame as he bends to his knees before the trapped man "Look at me"
The collectors eyes stare into Arkin's unforgiving blues, the younger males face showing no signs of emotion as he rises back to his feet "Look at me"
Arkin releases the burning material, watching as fire meets gasoline on the collectors body, the man screaming in excruciating pain, arms and legs soaring and kicking through the air.
Without a second thought, Arkin turns his back to the man, exiting the house as the man's screams alert nearby neighbors.
Arkin walked on the side of the street, hidden in the shadows as the cop cars and fire trucks pass.
The collector was dead, he'd achieve his revenge, that fucker was going to burn in hell and it was all thanks to him, Arkin O' Brien.