The afternoon sun shone down on the balcony. There no flowers on this balcony for it got too hot during the day for anything to survive. Evan sat on the patio couch, his dark eyes on the city in front of him. Music from an apartment blew drifted up on the wind towards him. Somewhere, tyres screeched and there was a car horn. Somewhere in this city, was Jonathan. Evan imagined that he didn't regret what he had done. He imagined that Jonathan's shoulder ached with every movement, a reminder of the struggling, angry boy that he had held by the collar over a bloody pool and the flash of a silly, but sharp green and purple blade held tight in a gauze covered hand. He imagined Jonathan sitting in the dark, staring at Evan's picture and thinking about what he would do to him. Evan's right hand curled into a fist. He'd rather die at someone else's hands than Jonathan.
"I am human…" Jonathan had said that day at the aquarium. Evan remembered looking up at him with admiration and promising to always to see him as a human despite the things he had done. He remembered how Jonathan had smiled at him.
"Fuck you." Evan whispered at the memory; at Jonathan. "Fuck you." He was a liar, a manipulator. He made Evan feel like he cared about him. The thought had occurred to him that maybe Tyler wasn't much different; he hadn't lied to Evan but he also didn't tell him the truth. Despite that, Tyler was Evan's hero, he had saved him, had shown him a life of adventure and family, had genuinely cared about him. 'Tyler's nothing like Jonathan', Evan had told himself over and over again. He repeated it as much as he had repeated the code in his mind.
"If you keep sitting out here in the sun, your hair is gonna lighten up." Brock said with a smile, the sound of the sliding door opening startling Evan. "It's not too hot out here for you?"
"I'm fine." Evan said quietly, looking back out over the rail. In the distance, he could see the rising skyscrapers of downtown L.A. A helicopter flew towards the towers.
"Do you want to be left alone?" Brock asked. Evan sighed and shrugged. He didn't want to tell Brock to his face to leave him alone. "Do you need anything?" Another question. He shook his head. "Do you want to call your mom?" Evan turned at that, looking up at Brock with wide eyes. "She should know that you're okay." He reached into his pocket, handing Evan his phone.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Just give it back when you're done." Evan nodded.
"Thank you."
His mom had cried. It had shaken Evan to hear her cry. She was so happy he was okay. Of course, she had wanted to know everything, but Evan couldn't bring himself to talk about it. She asked if the men he was with were holding him hostage; Evan had said no. If anyone was holding him hostage, it was Jonathan. He couldn't go home knowing that he was out there with his picture. Before hanging up, he promised to call again. He had no idea when that would be.
The clock on the bedside table read one thirty am in red numbers. Evan couldn't sleep but he was getting used to not sleeping. Staring at the window and the city beyond the glass, he imagined Jonathan staring back at him from one of those buildings. He knew about this hideout, knew they were still there. So why hadn't he come yet? Why was he making them wait? The possible answers to those questions kept Evan awake.
Laying there, his head against the soft pillow, he remembered laying his head in Jonathan's lap, feeling him gently run his fingers through his hair. Evan's eyes closed, remembering how relaxed and safe he had felt. He had no idea what was going to happen that night, the next day or the day after that. All he had known was that he was safe and it felt like he had a family. A part of him still loved that Jonathan from those few days. Another part of him wanted him dead.
He imagined the fingers that had gently threaded through his hair, pulling.
Evan dreamed of rose petals. He dreamed of Tyler's black and white Corvette. He sat in the passenger seat, his gaze on the blurry world. He stuck his hand out the window and caught a petal.
"Where are we going?" Evan asked, slowly turning his head to look at Tyler.
"Nowhere." A bloody pig's head stared back him. There was a bloody bullet hole in its forehead. The pig's eyes were black and glassy. Its snout was dirty and speckled with blood. Evan started screaming. His chest tightened painfully. He threw open the door of the car, falling to the hard ground. Scrambling to his feet, he started running. Clutched in his hand was rose petals. "Evan!" Tyler called after him. "Evan, come back!"
"Evan." A dark hand reached out and grabbed him. Looking up, he couldn't tell if it was Brian or Jonathan, their faces morphing together to create something horrifying. Evan screamed again, struggling against the hands that grabbed at him.
"Evan!"
Jolted awake, Evan suddenly scrambled away from Craig, grabbing a pillow as if to shield himself with it. Early morning light was beginning to fill the room with a hazy, pale blue glow. Smitty stood in the doorway, gripping the door handle with white knuckles. "You're okay." Craig said quietly. "It's just a nightmare. Nothing can hurt you here." Evan shook his head. Nowhere felt safe. "You're safe."
"No…" Evan cried, tears welling up in his eyes. "Tyler's dead! He shot him! He shot him! I trusted him and he shot Tyler!" Evan wailed. "I don't even know about you anymore!" He couldn't stop the words as they spilt out of his mouth. "Fuck...Fuck! Fuck!" He threw the pillow across the room. "Fuck this! Fuck it all! You're all just serial killers."
"Evan." Craig reached for Evan's right hand only for him to pull it away sharply. "Please, trust me. You're safe. I'm here. Smitty is here." But Tyler wasn't. Evan looked down, his hands shaking. His breath was shortening. "Evan."
"I-I can't…Breathe." Evan got up on shaking legs, stumbling past Smitty as fast as he could to the living room where he nearly tripped over Brock on his way to the balcony door. He pushed it open, staggering onto the patio where he leaned heavily against the railing, heaving for air. "Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!" Everything was crumbling like dry dirt between his fingers. He wanted Tyler. He wanted his mom. His legs gave out under him cause him to fall back onto the lounge chair. He let out a gasping sob as he landed. Tears flowed down his face as he heaved for air in between sobs. He felt used, exhausted and terrified. He had lost control over his life.
Taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, he closed his eyes.
Sirens wailed. Evan's eyes flickered open. He lay on the lounge chair on the patio, his cheeks feeling dry from the tears. Someone had propped a pillow under his head and wrapped him up in a warm blanket. On the small table beside him was a glass of water, the ice cubes now melted from sitting in the morning sun for so long.
The city had come to life, it's roads now congested, it's towers sparkling in the warm sunlight. Evan stared out over the city, slowly focusing on the mountains and the hill where Tyler died. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to Tyler's car; to his body. Had they dragged it out of the pool and tossed it into the trunk of a car and drove out into the desert? Had they burned it? Or had they simply left his body in the pool? Evan shuddered at the thought. He hated Jonathan for what he'd done and what he might have done. Brian's words suddenly came back to him and a feeling of shame for his hatred, for his total belief of good and evil, came over him.
Brian was right, not everything and everyone was completely good or completely evil. Glancing around the chair to the window, he could see them in the living room. He remembered what he called them last night; serial killers. Turning his gaze to the small pieces of ice still floating in the water, Evan sighed, leaning back against the lounge chair. They were kind to him, but they never told him the truth. They knew they were using him for their greed but said nothing of it because they thought they were right; because they're all cowards. The thought occurred to Evan that Brian would have told him. He would say it how it is. No 'I think' or justification, just how it is.
Evan knew he shouldn't be thinking about this. Tyler wouldn't want him to be thinking about Brian as an ally. He wouldn't want Evan to leave his family. His left hand curled around his right hand, feeling the gauze against his palm. Evan wouldn't say it out loud, but Brian's offer of protection was beginning to sound a lot more tempting.
Getting up, he picked up the glass of water and pushed open the sliding door. Craig and the others looked up at him.
"How are you feeling?" Craig asked with a small smile.
"Okay." Evan shrugged. "What's going on?" He glanced around the room at the others who would look away when he met their gaze.
"We aren't sure what to do yet." Craig sighed. Evan's grip tightened on his glass. He hated waiting. Frustration at their indecisiveness built in his chest. Tyler would know what to do. Brian would know what to do.
"It's been a long time since we've all been on our own. What we're facing is big, Evan. We're sorry. I know you want to go home." Brock sighed. Evan didn't want that anymore but he didn't correct Brock.
"We just need time."
"We have as much time as Jonathan is going to give us." Evan suddenly snapped and turned, storming down the hallway to the bedroom, not looking back at Craig's nervous expression. He slammed the door with his right hand, pain making him wince. He struggled to take a deep breath, his gaze landing on the pig mask. "Why did you have to go?" Evan whispered. "Why did you have to go and leave me here with these people? With Jonathan?" Evan's voice got a little bit louder. "Why?" He demanded, taking a step towards the mask as if Tyler was going to answer him. There was nothing but silence.
Evan threw the glass of water at the mask. It collided with the wall behind it, the glass exploding into tiny pieces as water splattered down onto the dresser, the mask and the floor. Evan's hands were shaking uncontrollably, his breath ragged. Water trickled down the wall and dresser to the floor, pooling among the broken glass. A smile broke out on Evan's face. It had felt good.
Jonathan could make them wait all he wanted; Evan didn't care. He felt dangerous.
The clock that hung on the wall ticked, ticked, and ticked. Time remained neutral in this one-sided countdown. The roses on the counter were beginning to die in their vase. Marcel paced the living room all afternoon. Lui came and went, his coffee cup turning into a cigarette. Evan found a half-empty bottle of painkillers in the bathroom and Craig fast asleep in his bedroom. Daithi sat at the dining room table, his gaze on the window and the city outside, his fingers tapping out a beat on the expensive wood. Brock laid on the couch, his book on his chest for it had fallen from his tired hands a little while ago. Evan found Smitty on the balcony. There was a gun on the small table where Evan's cup of water had been. Stepping past the chair where Smitty dozed, Evan glanced over the railing at the street far below. He could have sworn he saw someone in a blue hoodie look up at him. Evan didn't flinch away, only stared back till the small figure walked away.
As it got dark, the rising skyscrapers becoming black silhouettes against the orange sky, Evan lay on the bed that had once belonged to Tyler, his dark gaze on the pig mask. He daydreamed of putting that mask on, of finding Jonathan and slamming a hammer into his skull. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, Evan got up and walked over to the mask. He pulled it on, breathing in the rubber. Putting pressure on his right hand with his left hand, he leaned against the wall, leaning his pig head against the cream coloured wall. He slid down the wall to the floor, taking another deep breath of the rubber, putting more pressure on his right hand. He stared out the dark circles of the mask that made the eyes, feeling fresh blood ooze out of the cut in his palm and soak into the gauze.
There was still glass embedded in the carpet.
Where was Tyler's body? What did they do to him? The questions wouldn't leave Evan's mind. He imagined Jonathan dragging Tyler's body out of the pool as a fisherman would with a prized fish, and, like a fisherman or a worker in a slaughterhouse, gutting him. He imagined blood flowing down the pool deck and into the pool like a cursed river. He imagined Jonathan's face and hands covered with blood. He imagined rose petals coming out of Jonathan's mouth like blood, and how they would float down to the bloody pool deck. Evan's right hand closed into a fist, blood turning the gauze red.
In the living room, Marcel had stopped pacing and now sat across from Daithi at the table, a beer in hand. Brock was looking for something to eat in the kitchen but wasn't hungry. Craig sat on the couch with Smitty, his eyes red and puffy. Smitty wondered if someone could cry themselves to death.
"I'm hungry." Marcel suddenly said. "I'm going out. Craig, will you come?" Craig looked up at him and shrugged. "Great. I'll ask the kid." He got up and walked down the hall to the bedroom, knocking on the door.
Evan jumped, pulling the mask off his head. He swept the glass under the dresser with his foot, a few of the sharp pieces cutting into his skin.
"Fuck..." He whispered, wincing at the sharp pain. He reached for his socks, pulling them on to hide the small cuts.
"Yeah?" Evan called out.
"Want to get dinner?" Marcel asked.
"Uh...Sure." Evan said. "Give me a minute." He changed out his pyjamas into his jeans and t-shirt, pulling on his shoes without tying them up, and his jacket. He opened the door, nearly running into Marcel who noticed that the mask had moved.
"Are you okay, kid?" Marcel asked. Evan nodded. His foot stung. He curled his right hand into a fist to hide the new blood. "You can talk to us, okay? This hasn't been easy, especially for you. Don't lose it on us, okay?" Marcel smiled. Evan nodded again. When they walked into the living room, Smitty helped Craig up and offered to tie his shoes for him.
"No...I can do it." Craig said weakly. Marcel opened the front door and started into the hallway. Evan followed him.
"Aren't you gonna tie your shoes?" Marcel asked as he pressed the elevator button. Evan shrugged. One of the two elevator's door opened.
"Oh wait. I forgot my keys." Craig quickly headed back into the apartment.
"Go ahead. We'll meet you downstairs." Smitty said. Marcel nodded and stepped into the elevator. Evan glanced back at Smitty before following Marcel, the door sliding closed.
"Everyone is acting like it's the end of the world; like there is nothing left to do but grab as much food as you can and run for shelter." Marcel whispered, the elevator starting to descend. "What do you think I should do?" Marcel asked. Evan looked up at him, wondering why he would ask him, of all people, what he should do.
The elevator stopped. Both of them looked up at the red number on the small screen, 27. As the door opened, Evan moved closer to Marcel to make room for the person coming on. Evan thought that the shoes the person wore looked familiar. He lifted his gaze from the floor to the man. His heart stopped, his eyes widening. Terror filled his chest; paralysing him. Marcel's hand curled tightly around Evan's hand, pulling him closer.
Jonathan smiled at them. The door slid closed with a rattle of metal. He stood beside Evan, facing the door. Evan couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He didn't feel dangerous anymore, he felt like a trapped animal; his neck was about to be snapped and fed to the dogs. This wasn't a dream. In the mirror walls, Evan could see his pale, terrified face and Marcel's hard gaze on Jonathan. Marcel's trembling hand was tight around Evan's wrist, his nails digging into his skin.
Evan lifted his wide-eyed gaze to meet Jonathan's who was smiling at him through the mirror. He looked at Evan like he missed him terribly. Evan couldn't move his gaze away from Jonathan's. All those dreams and questions and he couldn't even move. Tyler would be disappointed in him; disappointed that he couldn't even breathe. Every second was emphasized with the beep of the elevator as it passed each floor. Every second felt painful.
The elevator slowly came to a stop on the ground floor. Jonathan turned his head, releasing Evan from his gaze, to look at Marcel. The door began to open. Without warning, Marcel shoved Evan out of the elevator, sending him sprawling to the marble floor. Evan turned his head in time to see Jonathan lunging towards him. Jonathan's hand grabbed Evan's right ankle, dragging him back into the elevator. His nails dug into Evan's skin above his ankle, his thin sock offering no protection. Marcel grabbed at Jonathan's hoodie, trying to pull him away from Evan who was clawing at the smooth marble floor, trying desperately to get away.
Finally letting out the scream of fear and anger that had built up inside him, Evan managed to kick Jonathan in the face as hard as he could as Marcel yanked Jonathan back. Evan felt Jonathan's nose bend under his shoe. Jonathan and Marcel fell against the back of the elevator; Marcel's head connecting hard with the mirrored wall. In Jonathan's hand was Evan's right shoe which had fallen off in the struggle. As the door closed, Evan saw Jonathan hit Marcel, blood splattering onto the glass as the red running shoe dropped to the floor. The red number above the elevator began to count up. Evan managed to sit up, heaving for air as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. Jonathan's going to kill him. The other elevator reached the ground floor. The door opened slowly.
"Evan?" Smitty was suddenly beside him. "What happened?"
"Jonathan." Evan stammered. Craig's face went pale. He frantically pressed the buttons to call the elevator as if pushing it more than once would hurry it up. The elevator stopped on floor twenty-seven. Smitty stood and ran for the stairs, throwing open the heavy metal door. The bang of it slamming made Evan jump painfully, his heart feeling like it was going to break his ribcage.
"Evan, what happened?" Craig asked. Evan didn't answer. His eyes were on the red number above the elevator door. "Evan!" He dropped in front of the boy, grabbing his red jacket and shook him roughly. "Tell me what happened!" Evan stared at Craig, seeing the desperation and fear in his face. He said nothing, only stared. Marcel could be dead already and it was his fault. He did nothing to stop it. Tyler would be so disappointed. "Tell me!" Craig yelled, shaking Evan again. It seemed to snap Evan out of his shock for he suddenly burst into tears, grabbing onto Craig and held onto him as tight as he could.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry!" Evan cried. "I'm sorry!"
"For what?"
"For not stopping him...He just came onto that elevator...and just smiled at me!" Tears stained Craig's t-shirt. "And then it got to the bottom and Marcel pushed me out but Jonathan tried to pull me back in...Marcel pulled him back and couldn't get out in time!" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh god...He's dead. Jonathan's killed him too!"
"No...No, you don't know that. Jonathan wouldn't kill Marcel." Craig said, rubbing Evan's back gently. "He wouldn't…"
"He killed Tyler!"
"Shh...Don't think about that, Evan. It'll be okay." He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Evan's head. "You'll be okay." The elevator door opened behind him. Craig got up slowly, turning to look into the elevator. "M-Marcel…" Craig stammered, stepping into the elevator. He held his hand out to keep the door open. "Evan! Come here and keep the door open. Marcel?" Evan scrambled to his feet, his right foot feeling cold against the marble floor. His eyes widened with horror. Marcel lay in a corner of the elevator. There was blood all over his face; all over the wall, all over the floor. His arm looked twisted in the wrong direction. Evan felt like he was going to be sick. "Marcel!" Craig cried as he tried to prop him up gently. Marcel let out a faint groan of pain. "You're okay. Deep breaths. Evan, press our floor button. I have to help him. Now." Evan nodded and did as he was told. The door closed behind him. The elevator jolted as it started to go up. Evan turned and noticed that there was a sticky note on the door that hadn't been there before. There was a bloody thumbprint on it. "What is that?" Evan pulled it off the door, reading it over.
"It's an address." Evan placed his thumb over the bloody print on the sticky note. Jonathan had left this for him.
Smitty tapped his fingers against his beer bottle, a confused expression on his face. No one knew what to make of the address that Jonathan had given them. Brock had looked it up to discover that it was for a hotel on 6th street called the Hotel Normandie. None of them had ever been there, hardly ever drove past it.
"What if it's for the vault?" Smitty asked.
"Jonathan wouldn't just give it to us. Especially after beating the shit out of Marcel." Daithi pointed out. "It's a trap. I recommend throwing that note away and forgetting about it. You're dead if you go there."
"What else could it be?" Evan whispered.
"We're not going!" Daithi cried.
"What's your plan then?" Evan turned his head to look at Daithi, narrowing his eyes. "How do you plan to kill Jonathan?"
"What? Kill him?" Daithi looked shocked.
"Yes. Kill him." Evan repeated. "He killed Tyler and nearly killed Marcel. Why don't you want him dead?"
"We don't know for sure he killed Tyler." Daithi snapped. Evan's grip tightened on the small piece of paper. "We're relying on some kid we hardly know to tell us what happened to Tyler."
"I trust Evan." Smitty spoke up.
"You were gonna shoot him in the head." Daithi reminded him.
"I wasn't going to. I'm not gonna kill some innocent kid." Smitty snapped.
"That kid ain't innocent anymore." Daithi snapped. The room fell into silence. Outside, a car honked and a siren suddenly wailed. Down the hall, Marcel let out a groan of pain as Craig stitched up the wound on his cheek.
"Tyler would go." Evan breathed. "He'd want us to go."
"Evan...Don't say that." Brock sighed. "We can't be obsessing over what Tyler would do or wouldn't do." Evan's dark gaze flickered up to Brock, narrowing slightly.
"I'm not obsessed." Evan's voice was harsher than he meant it to be. Brock lifted an eyebrow. "I am not obsessed with Tyler." His right hand bound in gauze curled into a fist.
"I think Evan's right." Smitty said. "What other plan do we have? We can't sit here waiting forever for the inevitable. Either we go, or wait for Brian and Jonathan to kill us all."
"If we go there, we die! We're better off just getting out of town as quickly and quietly as we can." Daithi cried. "Why do you fucking idiots want to die so badly? Did you not see what Jonathan did to Marcel?"
"It's because of what he did that we have to go!" Smitty cried. "He shot Tyler! He beat up Marcel! He wants to kill Evan! Getting out of town isn't going to stop him!"
"This isn't a fucking movie, Smitty! Do the smart thing. Let's get the fuck out of here!"
"I'm not leaving my mom here." Evan snapped. Daithi sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If anything happens...it's my fault. I'll take the blame for whatever happens. Just, please...We have to go." Evan begged. Daithi glanced around the room at the others who seemed just as unsure as him. Evan's right hand shook a little in its fist. He would kill Jonathan even if it meant being the last thing he'd ever do.