Page 5 of Don’t Scream

The blade goes in again, lower this time, and a fresh rush of blood runs down my hips and over the gloved hand on my cock. My knees go. The room tips. The hand does not stop. It strokes me through the blood, wet and filthy, and my body still answers it. “Rafe—wait—I can’t stand up.” My voice is weak. “Don’t stop. Fuck. Don’t—” I start to fade. The edges of the room go grey. I can still feel that fist working me, still feel the mask on my mouth, still feel how hard I am even as I get weaker. “I’m going to—Rafe—fuck.” I come in a broken shake against the glove, and the last thing I see is my own blood on the white cheek of the mask.

I try to say Rafe.

I try to say Rhys.

But I say nothing.

The shelves hold me up until they do not. I slide down them and hit the floor. The lights go out one by one. I try to keep my eyes open. I can’t. The file room shrinks to the mask, then to the dark, then to nothing.

Somewhere above me, on the thirty-ninth floor, Rhys Preswood is still at his window, rich and untouched. He does not know that Halloween has already started in his building.

On me.

He does not know that I am dying in his building.

The mask tilts, listening to me stop breathing.

Then the grey coverall turns and walks away, and the dark of the file room takes the rest of me.

Rhys Preswood

Tuesday, October 28th. Later the same night.

My name is Rhys Preswood, and I do not leave my building until I am ready.

I have stayed later than I planned. It’s Tuesday night. Three days to Halloween. I close the papers on my desk, finish the last of the whiskey, and put my jacket over my arm. Noah Brennan’s door was still open when I went down an hour ago. His tie was loose. One shoe was under the chair. I told myself he had gone to get laid and forgot to shut it. I did not shut it for him.

I do the rounds because that is what I do when I leave last.

I say goodnight as I go. Lo is still in her doorway in the wine dress. She says she will lock floor thirty-seven. Kit is putting a lid on someone else’s milk. He tells me not to work myself into an early grave. I tell him I have no plans of dying.

Marcus is packing photographs into a folder. He looks up as I walk past. Dev has one earphone in and raises two fingers. Aria is already in her coat. Willa’s desk is empty. Ivy’s copier is off. Shane is not in the lobby.

The gym is dark on the way down. Cruz Maddox has gone home.

I am back at my desk putting the whiskey glass in the sink when my private cell rings.