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Byron Wall could not get women. Not older women. Not younger women. He repelled women of all ages. Even female animals seemed to have an aversion to him. While his circumstances would bother the majority of red-blooded men, they worked fine for Byron. He didn’t need the approval of older women, younger women or female animals of any kind. In fact, he sought neither the approval nor the company of women at all. Or men for that matter. He had a fondness for girls. He couldn’t get them either, that’s why he took them...
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EXCITEMENT WOUND LOW in Byron’s stomach as he turned into the East Fallkill Recreation Center. She was there. He’d gotten her text exactly two minutes ago. It had simply read, “I’m here.” Only two words. That’s all she’d needed to send. They’d been enough to cause a swell of eagerness to rise within him. One he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain. Or deny.
As the headlights of his vehicle skimmed the landscape, illuminating a narrow lane of pavement, Byron said her name aloud. “Kaitlyn.” He breathed the word on a sigh, and a shiver of anticipation tiptoed up his spine. Shuddering, he savored the moments he drove past tennis courts and basketball courts, all the while imagining it was a hot summer day and those courts were filled with young girls in scanty clothes. Jumping rope. Playing tag. Drawing on the blacktop with chalk. He loved to watch, to blend in unseen. Envisioning it all, him close by, close enough to smell them—maybe strawberry shampoo mingled with sweat—made his heart speed. Drilling the base of his throat, his pulse raced, flooding him with a rush of euphoric adrenaline, and his thoughts returned to Kaitlyn. She wouldn’t be wearing shorts or a sundress that would reveal her budding body, but he knew what would be beneath her layers. In fact, he’d get to remove each one. Like sheets of wrapping paper, his gift would lie beneath a coat, sweater and undershirt. Once all were removed, he’d be able to breathe her in, to trace his nose up the curve of her neck to her ear and inhale her delicious scent. To smell her youth. Her fear. She was his present, an offering from a world that frowned on all that he was.
Byron smiled to himself. They can frown all they want, he thought. Tonight he’d be free. Tonight he’d be happy. Tonight he’d have Kaitlyn.
He’d have Kaitlyn...
And Kaitlyn wasn’t the first. She wouldn’t be the last either. Thanks to the Internet, or more specifically, Instagram in this case, he had a large pool in which he could fish for young girls ready and willing to chat with him. To send pictures of themselves to him. He’d been surprised at first by how bold the young girls were these days, how willing and quick they were to discuss intimate matters, and share intimate pictures. The World Wide Web provided an ocean of options. All he had to do was purchase and post a stock photo of a boy who vaguely resembled the latest heartthrob, make up a fake bio that included an age, usually around fourteen—after all, girls typically liked older boys—and set up an account. That was it. He’d follow a few girls. They’d follow back. And before he knew it, he’d have a hundred followers of both genders, and at least one girl would begin messaging him. The messaging would swiftly progress from simple to playful to flirtatious, sometimes resulting in a bra-and-panties picture, or if he was really lucky, a topless picture. He’d pull back from time to time to keep her intrigued, limiting his interactions to a minimum. This of course was to prime and bait her into a meeting, which it invariably did. They’d set up a time and location and before his new friend knew it, she’d be in the back of his mother’s minivan, bound and gagged and about to submit to him.
The fear in her eyes the moment it registered that he, a forty-two-year-old man, who lived with his elderly mother, had been posing as Blake or Blaise or Blaine—or whatever hipster name he’d been posing as—was priceless. He’d enjoy her then dispose of her.
Recalling his last conquest, a slow smile slithered across his face. He only hoped Kaitlyn would be as satisfying as Shea, a pretty little redhead from two counties away, had been. Judging from her pictures and their interactions, he was sure she would be. She’d been so coy in messages at first, pretending she’d never sent a picture of herself in her underclothes to a boy, refusing his requests and going silent when text conversations had become sexual. She’d said she’d never shared exchanges like the ones they’d shared. What a liar! She was thirteen, after all.
Luckily, he’d been able to see through her lies. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the game. Her innocent act had all been a ruse. She’d never admit to it, but she’d been using the whole chaste act to deliberately entice him. She’d been playing hard to get. It had worked. Byron couldn’t remember the last time he’d been as excited as he was pulling up to the playground area at the rear of the Recreation Center.
Parking in the empty lot adjacent to the play area, Byron doused the headlights and turned off the engine. He scanned the area. A pathway to the right of the playground lead to a picnic section. That’s where Kaitlyn had agreed to meet him. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he glanced at the time: 11:59 p.m. Byron had one minute to get to their meeting place.
The temptation to run arose, not due to time but to the sheer excitement he felt. Trying in vain to tamp it down, he opened the door and climbed out. Greeted by blue-black January cold, he turned up the collar of his jacket, bracing himself against the gust of wind that blew, and began walking.
The pathway was deserted, as it should be just before midnight. He and Kaitlyn would be the only people there. They might as well be the only people in the world. A thrill of delight bolted through him at that notion. He allowed his mind to wander, picturing her, standing before him. The look on her face. The shock in her features.
He closed his eyes and sighed, lost in thought and experiencing a stirring below his navel. Just then, a loud rustling caused Byron to startle. Jumping and feeling his heart lodge firmly in his throat, his eyes roved left and right. He repressed the urge to run, to race back to his car. Doing so would’ve seemed suspicious. But it was hard. Hard to stay still when every cell in his body inexplicably urged him to run. Especially since he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. The press of eyes was weighted. He had to consciously act casual, to calm himself outwardly in case anyone was watching though his insides were on high alert.
But who would be watching? It was midnight. A school day, too. No one would be at the playground. Not in the cold and not at the late hour. No, he was being paranoid. Excitement had to be toying with his nerves. He’d denied himself release for too long, a mistake he wouldn’t make again. He continued along.
He’d only taken a few steps when dried leaves rustled again. The swish and crackle of footsteps he was sure. Byron whipped his head in the direction of the sound. As he did, a few yards away, a metal panel of a nearby water fountain crashed to the paved path.
“What the...” Byron gasped. As if hypnotized by the sound of the heavy, metal panel echoing in the desolate space, he stood, momentarily transfixed. Heart drumming a frantic rhythm and still somewhere in the vicinity of his Adam’s apple, he paused, reaching out with all of his senses to see whether he was alone.
Just then, an oily shadow stole by in his periphery. Whirling on it, he swore, freeing the air trapped in his lungs when he’d sucked in a sharp breath at the movement. A mangy cat leapt from one of the shrubs along the path and stood in front of him. It stopped, glared at him with disdain then slinked away.
“Freakin’ cat!” Byron cursed, his pulse speeding dangerously. Years of living a sedentary life had begun to catch up with him. He couldn’t catch his breath. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead despite the frigid temperature. Gaze darting from one side of the path to the next, he willed himself to calm down, to focus on his purpose, the very reason he was there: Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn was why he was there. And he wouldn’t be deterred by some matted, flea bag or a panel blown off a water fountain by the wind. He’d come too far to be spooked by such nonsense. He’d earned this night. Just like he’d earned all the others. He would reap his reward. He’d collect his prize. A prize that waited for him just a hundred feet away.
The covered picnic area was visible just ahead. The pitched roof, darker than the night sky, caught his attention. Byron smiled. Kaitlyn had promised she’d sneak out of her house and meet him at the table in the far right corner. Straining his eyes, he searched the darkness for her. Certain he saw a shape, his heart stumbled like a clumsy runner. It was about to happen. A moment in the making for the last four months.
“Byron...”
His name was whispered on the wind, faint and haunting like ephemeral wisps, and his heart froze mid beat.
Feet stuttering to a halt, he said, “Wh-who’s there?” He held his breath, terrified he’d get a reply.
The night did not reply. In fact, an unusual silence had befallen the land. Thick and sinister, the playground equipment, bushes and picnic area seemed to absorb all sound, smothering it. The hiss of the wind stilled. The occasional swish of dried leaves quieted. The scurry and caw of night creatures ceased. It was as if the night itself held its breath.
Fine hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end and quivering, something awoke within Byron. Something inherent and buried deep within him. Suddenly on guard, he looked around. Worry and the odd feeling that he wasn’t alone, that someone who wasn’t Kaitlyn watched him, permeated his thoughts.
“I said who’s there?” He tried to muster as much courage as he could. He guessed he looked as panicked outwardly as he felt inwardly.
With trembling legs, he advanced a few steps. The seesaw creaked and he jumped. Every nerve in his body tensed. His heart pounded so frantically he felt like his veins would burst.
A stream of wind whipped. Silent and stealthy, it passed over his body without stirring treetops. Eyes following it wildly as if it were a physical presence, Byron struggled to regain control of his breathing. He felt a bone-chilling presence breathing down his neck, like a ghost haunting him. Every cell in his body shrieked at once to leave. To get the hell off the path and into his mother’s minivan and abandon plans with Kaitlyn. But try as he may, he couldn’t move. His legs were leaden. His feet felt rooted to the ground below.
Swallowing hard, a cold shiver gripped him. Sweat trickled down his temples and sharp pain radiated from his chest down his left arm. “My heart,” he stammered.
A low, inhuman growl sounded just behind him.
Excruciating pain tore through Byron’s chest, ripping the breath from his lungs like a tree violently uprooted. He clutched his chest, pressure and pain uniting to form a perfect storm of agony unlike he’d ever felt. It was then that he saw a figure emerge from the shadows and stand before him.
“I-I’m having a heart attack.” Byron’s words seeped from him in a raspy whisper. But even as he spoke them, he found the pain dissipating, dispersing like clouds in the face of the majestic sun.
The stranger cocked his head to one side, regarding him curiously. Tall and fit and with hair blacker than the night sky, the person was undoubtedly male. Not more than twenty years old. He folded his arms across his broad chest, watching Byron. “Feeling better?” the stranger asked him.
“I-I, well, yes, I am,” Byron fumbled over his words in answer. “But what...I mean, why.” He tried to speak, flustered in a way he’d never been before, his voice reduced to a feeble sound.
Unfolding his arms from his chest, the stranger advanced a step. Closer and in the pale moonlight, Byron could see his eyes. Palest blue-gray and framed by thick, dark lashes, they were piercing. Haunting. Otherworldly.
Instinctively, Byron stepped back. “What’re you doing here? It’s late and cold.”
The stranger’s full lips spread into a smile. One that didn’t touch his eyes. “I think the question isn’t about what I’m doing here but what you’re doing here.”
Cheeks flushing, Byron felt as if his lifeblood drained from his body and pooled at his feet. He needed to think. And fast. He’d been flawless in the past. No one had ever so much as looked his way with regard to local girls going missing. He’d been meticulously careful. He wasn’t about to allow some delinquent, pretty-boy teenager to ruffle him. “What? I’m an adult. I don’t owe you an explanation, boy!” he huffed, figuring haughty derision would deter the young man.
“Greyson. The name’s Greyson Black. Not boy.” Greyson smiled. The expression was without pretense. It was pure spite, though his voice had a soothing quality that lulled Byron. Greyson advanced another step. “You’re here to meet Kaitlyn.”
Byron’s lips parted, his jaw falling so that his mouth hung slack. Every ounce of warmth leeched from his body. His lungs felt like twin blocks of ice, his breath trapped, frozen solid. Mind spinning out of control and heart hammering a dangerous rhythm, Byron stared at Greyson dumbly for a beat too long. Swallowing hard, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Greyson, the most stunningly beautiful creature Byron had ever laid eyes on, sighed. He frowned and dropped his chin to his chest. The act seemed almost apologetic. “Hmm,” Greyson said as he reached into the front pocket of his jeans. Pulling out his phone, he stared at it, the light from the screen casting menacing shadows on his features. Eyes fairly glowing, he glared at Byron. “Really? You don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“No. I don’t.” Byron shook his head. He stood stock still, but his insides shook frenetically.
“Is that right?” Greyson asked. “So she didn’t just text you ‘I’m here’ at 11:52 p.m.?”
Byron’s eye rounded. Though shock silenced him, fear jolted his limbs, making his muscles twitch as he attempted to bolt from Greyson.
“You’re not going anywhere, Byron,” Greyson hissed.
“Wh-who are you?” Byron demanded. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Joke? No, no, Byron. This isn’t a joke. There’s nothing funny about any of this.” Greyson, voice low and soft, tilted his head to one side again, as if studying him. His brows gathered. “What’s the matter? You seem disappointed. Am I not who you were expecting?”
An odd, alien sense of calm overtook Byron. It was if his instinctive defenses, screaming seconds earlier, had been infiltrated, transformed. Like quicksilver, his entire state of being calmed.
“No, of course not.” Greyson’s voice was smooth, almost intimate. “You were expecting Kaitlyn.” Mesmeric eyes ensnared him, the color undulating like waves in an ocean so that swells of silver glittered.
Kaityn! Hearing her name on his lips should’ve set off a firestorm of emotions. It should’ve sent him into cardiac arrest. Yet it didn’t. Instead, Byron heard himself say, “Yes. I was expecting her.”
“What did you want with her?” One of Greyson’s eyebrows quirked.
“I wanted to touch her, to have sex with her. To hurt her then kill her.” Byron heard himself say the words aloud. Words he never dreamed he’d say and seldom dared to think to himself. But he’d said them. To a perfect stranger.
Greyson didn’t react to his words as far as he could tell, save for the slightest tick of a muscle by his jaw. “I see,” was all he said.
He watched as Greyson pursed his lips in thought, pausing for a moment with his face a mask of serenity so pure, so soothing, Byron thought he was witnessing the musings of an earth-bound angel.
But in the blink of an eye, everything changed.
Emotions racing back on a thunderous roar, awareness bolted through Byron like volts of electricity. Every nerve ending flared to life. The realization that he’d confessed his intentions with Kaitlyn to Greyson was a strike of lightning crashing into him. Complete and utter terror saturated every cell in him. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wanted to run. He trembled violently, yet he was compelled to remain where he was, held hostage and in place by an unseen force with a strength greater than the Earth’s gravitational pull. An innate sense of fear rained down on him, flooding his senses.
Without the ability to move, he looked at Greyson. He thought about pleading, about begging for his life. For mercy. But Byron saw it in his eyes, saw icy, liquid-silver irises glimmering in the darkness. Glacial, sharp as a knife and deadly, his gaze was devoid of mercy. And it wasn’t human.
“Say it,” Greyson commanded. “Say what you are.”
A shiver gripped Byron, racking his entire body. “W-what?”
“You heard me. Say it.”
Bile rocketed up the back of Byron’s throat and urine soaked his pants. “I-I’m a p-p—”
Greyson glowered at him.
“I-I’m a pedophile,” Byron said through sobs. Hot tears streamed down his face. His shoulders curled forward as he shuddered. “I’m a predator.”
Head snapping up, Greyson drilled him with a gaze so piercing it was painful. “Oh no, Byron. You are not a predator. Not tonight.” He shook his head slowly, his tongue tracing his top teeth.
“I-I’m not?” Byron felt a thread of hope.
“No, Byron,” Greyson replied, his chiseled features etched in stone. “Tonight, I’m the predator. And you’re the prey.”
The second the last word left his lips, Byron tried to turn, tried to run. Tried to escape Greyson. But the boy was too fast. With the speed and rapaciousness of the most lethal beast, he closed the distance between them. In the space of a breath, he descended on Byron.
His beautiful face had morphed. Pale, gray-blue eyes had changed to molten silver and full lips were pulled back, thinned to reveal long, sharp canines just as they sank into Byron’s throat. White-hot pain paralyzed him, burning through his veins like acid when his carotid artery was nicked.
Byron’s body convulsed, as his throat was torn out. Writhing and flailing, his death was slow. Intentionally prolonged. What he realized before the final spasm wrenched his body and his last breath left him was that Vengeance had waited for him, hungry and hidden in the darkness. And Vengeance came in the form of a monster named Greyson Black.