Chapter Two

Sundown

WHATEVER AIR WAS left in Vincent’s lungs evacuated. The man had a tool that could rip a nail from solid wood or pry open a locked door. He’d followed them, and his taunting left little question as to what he planned to do with the weapon.

Vincent reached into his pocket for his knife. He’d never used it, but at least he could try to intimidate the man with it. All his trembling fingers found were his keys, which, against a crowbar, were even more useless than the four-inch blade that sat on his dresser back at their apartment.

James was a few inches taller than the man, but the stranger was big enough to beat both of them to a bloody pulp with his bare hands. Equipped with a crowbar, he was deadly. Images of purple eyes swollen shut and broken limbs contorted in unnatural angles flashed in Vincent’s mind. He looked around in the hope of finding something in the woods they could use to defend themselves.

There was nothing. Only the ever-darkening sky and hum of the city that was less than a mile away but might as well be on a separate planet for as much good as it’d do them.

Vincent had made a mistake dragging James into the woods at dusk.

James stepped in front of him. Voice wavering, he said, “We don’t want any trouble.”

Vincent couldn’t make out the man’s face well in the darkness, but he could see that his white smile had disappeared. “No shit. Dirty fucking sodomite.”

“What the fuck did you call me?” James took a step toward him.

Everything was going from bad to worse, and it was happening too fast for Vincent to process it. All he knew for sure was the last thing they should do was get closer to the man.

“James, please.” Vincent grabbed his hand and tried to pull him back, but he didn’t have enough strength in his shaking hands to move him.

“I called you a dirty fucking sodomite!” The man closed the distance between him and James to a matter of feet.

James stared down at the crowbar, and something in his disposition changed. He seemed to realize, over his fog of anger, just how dire their situation had become. He backed away, pulling Vincent along with him.

The man didn’t move from his spot. He just looked at them, and as they went further down the path, his white smile returned. The amused look on his face made Vincent’s blood run cold. If the man wanted to beat them up, why wasn’t he chasing after them? Was this some sort of sick prank?

It didn’t feel like a prank. Everything about this felt wrong. Vincent looked to James, who appeared to be thinking the same thing. “I say we run. He’s far enough away that he won’t catch us easily.”

Vincent didn’t like the idea of turning his back on the man, but James was right. Their best bet was to run for it. They might have a chance if they could make it through the tunnel and up the cobblestone road. “Okay.”

“Now.” James let go of his hand, and they booked it down the path.

Vincent pumped his arms and moved his legs as fast as they would go, taking in as much cold air as his lungs would allow. They hurried into the tunnel. The sound of their shoes hitting the dirt reverberated off the massive stone walls, making it impossible to hear whether the man was following them.

He shot a glance over his shoulder as they went. The man was nowhere in sight. He was so relieved he almost wanted to laugh. They were going to make it out of this night unscathed.

Just before they reached the mouth of the tunnel, two figures stepped onto the path.

Vincent and James slowed to a stop.

“Please, help us!” Vincent said between heavy breaths. He started to walk over to them, but James grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“Wait,” James said in a low voice.

The two figures didn’t say a word. They weren’t asking what was wrong or running away from them. It was almost as if they were expecting them. That’s when it hit him. He turned around. The stocky man stood at the other end of the tunnel. He hadn’t intended to kill them—at least not on the path. He’d been herding them, and Vincent and James had followed along like unwitting lambs to the slaughter.

“What do we have here?” One of the two figures stepped forward. He was tall—at least six feet—and had a lean, muscular build. As he got closer, Vincent could see that his head was shaved, revealing some combination of numbers tattooed above his right ear.

They backed away from him.

“They were swapping AIDS in the middle of the trail for everyone to see,” the stocky man said.

Vincent jumped at the sound of his rough voice and whipped his head around to find that the man was nearing them.

“Ugh,” let out the third man in disgust. Vincent wasn’t sure if he could even call him a man. He looked like he was sixteen at most. Just a kid. His blond hair was so fair it almost looked white. He was taller than the stocky man, but he had the same lean, muscular physique as the tall man he followed.

James pulled Vincent sideways against the wall of the tunnel. The men drew closer. They were surrounded and outnumbered, and there was no way they could fight them off or run away. They were at the mercy of these monsters.

Tears clouded Vincent’s vision. “Please.”

“Please,” the tall man mimicked. He snorted and spat in Vincent’s face. “Pathetic faggot.”

The warm sludge dripped down his cheek.

James lunged forward, pushing the man back. “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

“Looks like we got a brave fag on our hands.” The tall man straightened up. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at James.

Vincent froze at the sight of it. Looked like a semiautomatic, but he couldn’t be sure in this lighting.

Just one pull of the trigger and James would be dead.

James raised his hands in the air and backed up to the wall beside Vincent. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

“Not so brave now, are you, faggot?” The man cocked the pistol and pushed the barrel into James’s forehead with such force that his head cracked against the wall.

“Please, don’t!” Vincent begged between sobs. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t just kill them.

But the terrifying truth was, of course, that they could do whatever they wanted. They had the weapons. They had the power, and Vincent and James were helpless.

The kid sprinted to the tall man’s side. “Shit, someone’s coming.”

With the pistol still pressed to James’s skull, the tall man motioned for the stocky one to take care of it. He rested the crowbar on his shoulder and walked toward the opening of the tunnel.

The voices of a man and woman talking and laughing as they made their way down the cobblestone road traveled into the tunnel. They sounded just as oblivious and content as Vincent and James had been only a few minutes ago. Vincent considered screaming to warn them, but it was only a thought. The tall man still held the pistol to James’s head. He couldn’t imagine the consequences of disobedience at this point.

A finger rubbed over his knuckle, and he nearly let out a scream in shock before he realized James was trying to get his attention. The tall man was busy watching the opening of the tunnel. He turned his head ever so slightly so he could see James out of the corner of his eye.

James was mouthing something.

Vincent checked on the tall man, whose focus hadn’t wavered. He turned a little more in James’s direction.

When the time is right, run, he mouthed.

Vincent gave a curt nod. With the tall man and the kid focused on the opening of the tunnel and the stocky man walking toward it, their odds of escaping were getting better by the second. But they’d have to act soon before the stocky man chased off their distraction. Vincent knew that staying meant certain death at the hands of these fuckers, but the very thought of going against the orders of a man who had a gun to James’s head further cemented him to the wall.

The man and woman rounded the corner with their arms interlocked. Their faces were illuminated by the phone in her hands. She spoke about something on her screen, which had captivated them. They would’ve walked right into the stocky man if he hadn’t said something.

“Tunnel’s closed!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” The man put an arm across the woman’s chest. “Take it easy.”

“Turn around.” The stocky man moved the crowbar from his shoulder to his side like a batter preparing for a pitch.

The woman screamed and dropped her phone. Small bursts of light shot through the tunnel before it hit the ground. It landed face up, illuminating the terrified looks on the pair’s pale faces. She pointed into the tunnel. “He has a gun!”

The man shushed her.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the tall man said. “Do I have to do everything? Boy, take this.”

The kid hesitated.

“That wasn’t a question.”

The kid rushed over and took the gun. Now was the time. They’d have no better chance to escape than with the kid. James squeezed his hand. Vincent wasn’t sure if it was his cue to run or if it was merely a reminder that their moment was coming. Vincent didn’t squeeze back. The gun was still pointed at James’s head, and the kid seemed tense—like he’d shoot at the first sign of movement.

It was too risky.

The tall man stopped at the edge of the tunnel. “Are you retarded or something? My friend here told you the tunnel is closed.”

James squeezed his hand once more, and Vincent tried to ignore it.

“Sorry,” the man said. He picked up the woman’s phone. “We didn’t know.”

“But—” the woman started.

“But what?” The tall man grew more impatient by the second.

“Nothing.” The man dragged the woman back from the tunnel. They were leaving.

James let go of his hand. Vincent tried to grab it to keep him from doing something that could get himself killed, but it was too late.

James dove at the kid and—

Bang.

The sound of the gunshot was magnified tenfold as it echoed off the tunnel walls. Vincent shut his eyes as soon as it went off. Something warm and thick splattered across his face, and he screamed, sliding down the wall to the ground.

He shot him.

Vincent couldn’t see James like that. He’d rather wait until they shot him, too, so that he’d never have to see what that bullet did to James’s head. He probably would’ve if he hadn’t heard some sort of struggle on the ground in front of him.

He opened his eyes. Blood poured from the side of James’s head where the bullet must have grazed him, but he was alive. James was on top of the kid, trying to pull the pistol from his death grip as blood spilled onto the young man’s face and stained his light hair red.

Before Vincent had a chance to get to his feet, the stocky man had reached them and brought the crowbar down on James’s back. James cried out in pain. Vincent pushed himself to his feet and ran at the man, but something hit him in the side of the head before he reached him, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, staring up at the tall man. A ringing sound filled his right ear, and he couldn’t seem to focus his vision on the man.

He could still hear the muffled sound of the crowbar striking James and his subsequent cries of pain. The stocky man was going to kill him. Vincent tried to stand up, but he’d only made it to his hands and knees when something smashed into his side. The sound of a snapping twig was followed by a rush of pain flooding his chest. He doubled over and wrapped his arms around his head in an attempt to protect it from the next blow. “Please stop!”

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The crowbar continued to hit James, but something was missing. There were no cries of pain or pleas to stop. James was silent.

No.

James had just passed out from the pain. That was all. Vincent needed to get the man to stop before it was too late. He couldn’t sit up, much less stand, so he crawled in the direction of the sound. Something slammed down on the middle of his back, and he fell to the dirt. Pain rippled through his body.

“Dirty fucking faggot.”

There was a weight on the back of his head then that pushed his face into the dirt. He couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t have the strength to stop whoever was doing it. He was going to die.

“You like eating shit, don’t you, faggot?”

The weight twisted, and what Vincent realized was a rubber shoe ripped the hair from his scalp as the man squashed Vincent’s head into the earth like he was stamping out a cigarette butt. “Well, eat up. It’s your last fucking supper.”

Then a hand grabbed him by his hair, and he was on his knees. His face burned and head throbbed, but he hardly noticed because what had been taken away from him had returned. Air. Cold, damp air. He sucked it in, ignoring the way it worsened the stabbing sensation in his chest.

He blinked open his eyes to focus them on James’s bloody body. “Please stop! Please just let him go.”

The tall man laughed. “You’re not in a bargaining position. Boy, come here!” The kid mustn’t have listened because the man added, “Get your pansy ass over here or you can join the fags in hell!”

There were quick steps in the dirt behind him. He tried to focus his vision on James. He could have sworn he saw his back rise and fall. He kept watching to ensure it wasn’t just his eyes. There it was again. He was still breathing. Thank God. James was alive.

“Get the other one up,” the tall man said. “Don’t want him to miss the show.”

The stocky man grabbed his crowbar with both hands, slid it under James’s chin, and pulled him to his knees. James gagged, his eyes shooting open. Tears ran down his bloody, swollen face, but something about him seemed resigned to what was happening.

He looked at Vincent and mouthed, I love you.

“Wait.” Vincent squirmed. They couldn’t just lie down and die. He had to do something. “We have money! I have money. I can give you all of it. It’s in our cars. We can take you there. Just stop this.”

“Enough,” the tall man bellowed. “We don’t have all day.”

The kid came into view. He carried the pistol out in front of him. The gun shook so much that it could hit any of them if he pulled the trigger too soon. He walked up to James.

The stocky man stepped to the side of him, still holding the crowbar under his throat. “This time, don’t miss.”

The kid cocked the gun.

“No!” Vincent thrashed his head back and forth. Hair ripped from his scalp. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered except stopping the kid from pulling that trigger. “You don’t want to do this. You can still walk away. We won’t tell anyone what happened. Please!”

The tall man kneed him in the back and wrapped his arm around his neck in a headlock so tight Vincent could barely breathe, much less speak. The kid pointed the gun at James’s chest.

The kid turned his head away.

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” the tall man said.

Vincent reopened them. The kid looked just as shocked.

“Boy, I want you to watch him die.”

Vincent tried to move, but the tall man tightened his hold, crushing Vincent’s windpipe.

The kid looked down at James and pulled the trigger.

Vincent shut his eyes, and the shot rang through the tunnel. Vincent stopped moving. He hung in the tall man’s arm by his neck, tears rolling down his face. The tall man let go of him, and he fell to the ground that was soaked in warm liquid. He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t see James that way. He waited for the kid to shoot him. He was ready to die.

The tall man grabbed him by his hair. “Want to see what the boy did? Huh?”

He’d have to pry open his eyes if he wanted Vincent to see James.

The tall man dropped him again, and Vincent landed on his back. “Fucking pussy.”

“We gotta hurry,” the stocky man said. “I hear sirens.”

“Almost done,” the tall man said.

Vincent could hear the sirens too. They were faint. Several blocks away, if not more. He didn’t care now. They were too late. He didn’t want to be saved. The end of the pistol pressed into his forehead, and he took a breath of relief.

“Don’t you get weak, boy,” said the tall man. “You should be proud. You are cleansing the world of this undesirable filth.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waited for him to cock the gun, but it didn’t come.

“Fuck. It’s jammed!”

The sirens were getting louder. Couldn’t be more than a couple of blocks away.

“Just do it already,” Vincent choked. He didn’t want to feel this pain or know that James was dead. He just wanted it all to be over. He welcomed the dreamless sleep that death would bring.

“What did you say?” The tall man’s foul-smelling breath hit his face.

Vincent forced his eyes open and stared directly into the tall man’s eyes. “Do it.”

The man drew away, and something hard hit him in his side. “Shut the fuck up!”

Vincent screamed in pain, but he kept his eyes open. “Do. It.”

“Give me that.” Then the tall man was back in eyesight. He swung the blood-soaked crowbar over his head and brought it down on Vincent like he was splitting a log. The crowbar grew larger and larger in Vincent’s vision as it traveled through the air to meet his skull.

And then, there was nothing.