Bad Life

James suddenly smiled faintly.
"But if Jerome, that considerate bastard, finds out I ran off with you, he'll give me hell."
He laughed as if Matt’s antics amused him, but the remark made my chest grow heavy. If James was right and Simon had tried to kill Matt once, there was no guarantee he wouldn't try again. Now that he had an excuse—having lost me—he might actually kill him. Matt was a despicable bastard, but that didn't justify a brutal murder. When my face darkened, James stopped laughing. I said nothing more and kept driving in silence.
We stopped talking about Labraham. The more we rehashed it, the heavier it felt. Instead we discussed escape plans or traded small talk, but soon we were both too exhausted to speak.
Evening came and we kept driving. As at lunchtime, James and I switched after a quick canned-meal break; I spooned a can of beans down and closed my eyes. My head was a riot of thoughts.
Unimaginable images of Matt’s end kept cycling through my mind. I worried about James, who silently drove beside me. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but any minute some unforeseen variable could appear. I looked at the sky as the sun set and, unable to fight the fatigue, fell asleep.
When I woke, things were not good. James had taken a wrong turn. Because of that mistake we reached Denver far later than expected. By the time we drove into the city it was nearly dawn; we couldn’t change cars and leave right away as planned. We had no choice but to wait until morning. Both of us were exhausted from the tension. Maybe it was better to rest a night.
After discussion, we decided to check into a motel. James looked mortified and far more anxious than apologetic. He worried that "they" might be hiding somewhere in Denver and paced nervously into the shabby motel. Worse, we were out of cash and had to use cards. The original plan had been to pull cash quickly in Denver and leave, so using a card at a motel felt risky.
Still… if we stayed the night, maybe James could finally ease that guilt gnawing at him. We agreed to leave as soon as the bank opened and to withdraw cash first thing.
As soon as we entered the room James busied himself bolting the door and drawing the curtains with a worried face. I, who had driven and was drained, offered him the bathroom first and turned on the air conditioner. The sticky room cooled quickly. Since we were staying the night anyway, I sat at the foot of the bed, thought for a bit, and opened the bedside drawer. There were condoms.
When James came out of the shower he seemed glad for the cool air. While he dried his hair I had a quick wash myself and took my time loosening up. The hole that had felt so raw until recently had begun to accept fingers with a sensation that was no longer wholly alien. After a while three fingers felt passable. I rinsed the soap away and rubbed my cock until it hardened.
The television muttered beyond the bathroom door. I hesitated, then stepped out naked. The tattoo on my thigh nagged at me, but if we were going to have sex I couldn't hide that spot. All I could do was hope the sight wouldn't chill James. I walked boldly to him without covering myself. He sat with his back to the bathroom, flipping channels, and turned to look at me.
"I'm out…"
James froze mid-sentence. He stared with obvious embarrassment, mouth slack. I strode forward without attempting to hide my erection. I pulled him up from the chair and sat him on the bed. Kneeling, I propped my arm on his thigh and kissed him. He kissed back dazedly, then turned his head away.
"Why—why…?" he asked in a trembling voice. I looked at him calmly.
"I want to do you."
James, who had been staring blankly, shook his head and pushed me away.
"I—can't. I… how could I…"
Instead of resisting, I grabbed one of his feet. I wrapped my hand around his ankle and brought it between my legs. I rubbed my erect cock with the soft pad of his foot and whispered,
"I'm hard because I want you."
He bit his lip instead of answering. I didn't expect him to consent easily; he had nothing but bad memories tied to sexual contact with me.
That was the problem. James had wronged me, true. But after that we were both victims. He'd been forced, given drugs, made to rape me. I didn’t want James to remain another sacrificial pawn of the top-floor boys. Six before me had met the same fate; I wouldn't allow it to play out the same way. I would not let the top-floor boys' will decide everything.
I pressed my body closer, rubbing my hardness with his foot. We came face to face. James squeezed his eyes shut and recoiled. I pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his waist. Sliding my hand into his pants, I carefully wrapped my fingers around his not-quite-excited cock. I leaned down close enough to kiss him and murmured,
"Don't think I'm trying to rape you. James, look at me. See me wanting you. Open your eyes—see me wanting to be kissed by you."
James slowly opened his eyes. Our gazes met inches apart; his lips trembled. He closed his eyes again, tipped his head, and kissed me lightly. I deepened the kiss, tonguing gently, and he wrapped his hand around the back of my head and pulled me toward him.
I licked his lips then sucked hard. A weak moan slipped through his clenched teeth. I dragged my tongue and pressed deeper, but James did not move his hands beyond cradling the back of my head. When I sat up his hands fell away. James looked up at me, bewildered and saying nothing.
I pulled his arms and guided his hands to cup my cock. His hands were a little cold and damp with sweat as he took hold. I placed my hands over his and moved them slowly. James kept his head on my shoulder, quiet, but I began to feel a warm stir. I rested my cheek against his hair and breathed softly.
"When you raped me," I whispered into his ear, breath hot, "did you ever recognize me?"
James, who had held his silence, shook his head slowly.
"Probably not. I didn't," I said.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. When my grip loosened James still held my cock but didn’t move.
"The drugs messed with my head. To be honest, James, I don't remember much from then," I lied—memory gaps existed, but I didn't owe him full truth. I bucked my hips slightly, rubbing his palm.
"Touch me. Please touch me."
James remained motionless until I kissed his ear and murmured, "Come on, James. I want to do it with you again, like before."
His fingers twitched, and then he covered my shaft with his whole palm and began to move it. Heat crept into his face where it rested on my bare shoulder. I leaned into him and exhaled.
He couldn't finish. He fumbled awkwardly and his hand dropped. My mechanical arousal faded as well. We both buried our faces in his shoulder. No one said a word.
When I tried to get up James clutched my waist tight. He kissed my neck and then nibbled playfully. Laughter bubbled out of both of us. James nipped and sucked little red marks into my skin in a teasing, non-sexual way. We laughed like boys and left bite marks, then collapsed onto the bed facing each other.
"Raymond."

"Yeah."
"Tomorrow…"
"Yeah."
"Let's get Big Macs. It's funny how I want it so much now that I can't have it."
A sudden comment made me burst into laughter. I buried my face in his arm, laughing for a long time, then nodded. I kissed his chocolate-brown cheek, then the bridge of his nose, looked into his dark eyes and nodded again. James stroked my wet hair and closed his eyes. We lay there facing each other and fell asleep.
Sleep lasted only briefly.
At some point a chill ran down my spine and the hair on my neck prickled—like looking over a rooftop without a railing and feeling dizzy. I woke with that sudden sense.
James slept on oblivious, still clutching my waist. I slipped out of his arms without waking him, padded down off the bed and crept to the door on tiptoe. I pressed my ear to it.
There was no sound. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. I breathed slowly and crept to the window beside the door. I didn't pull the curtain aside, only peered through a hairline gap. The view was poor, but I couldn't risk moving the curtain; it felt dangerous.
The room opened onto the motel's pool and courtyard, and not far off was the parking lot. Through the gap a wash of red and blue light spread from the direction of the lot.
Police cars.
There was more than one flashing light. If it had been a single cruiser I might not have alarmed, but a bunch of police cars at a shabby motel in the dead of night, moving so quietly—this was wrong.
I didn't hesitate and returned to the bed. I shook James' shoulder. After a few shakes he blinked awake; he hadn't slept deeply. As he # Nоvеlight # was about to ask what was wrong I clamped a hand over his mouth. I kept it tight enough to muffle sound but loose enough to let him breathe, and whispered.
"There's police outside."
James' eyes widened. He must have thought of George too.
"Get dressed and take your wallet. Move quietly."
As soon as he nodded I let go. While James pulled on clothes and pocketed his wallet I dragged a chair and set it under the ceiling vent. Using a corner of a card from James' wallet, I began easing the screws in the vent grate. Fortunately the screws were oily and came off silently as if the vents had been cleaned recently.
Quickly I removed all the screws and lifted off the vent. I gestured to James. He climbed onto the chair and braced himself at the vent as I tugged his sleeve to pull him toward me. He leaned in.
"These motels use vents that connect the rooms. Crawl in and slip into the next room and hide. I'll leave the vent cover loosely screwed on with two screws. When things calm down, come back to this room. If you hit the vent with your elbow the cover will pop off. Take the card."
James shoved the card into his pocket, hesitated on the chair, then grabbed my collar and hauled me close.
"You're saying you'll screw the screws back in? What about you?"
I shook my head.
"I'm too big to get into the vents."
He tried to climb down.
"If you won't go, I won't."
There was no time to argue. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, brought him close to my face. He glared at me with a fierce expression, tears spilling down.
"Do you think you'll live if they catch you? Think you'll just get doped and raped like me and that's it? If they catch you you'll die. Do you hear me?"
I stared at him and hushed him as he tried to speak, forcing him to listen.
"Maybe I'd die and maybe I wouldn't, but if you die I'll live forever with guilt. You've already lost someone that way. I won't let it happen again. So stop stalling and crawl in. Now, damn it."
James clenched his teeth and stared at me. He had no more room to argue. I shoved him toward the vent; he sobbed as he went. Tears streamed down his face as he shoved himself into the vent opening. I helped by supporting his legs and pushing until he was fully inside. I reattached the vent cover, leaving only two screws loosely threaded, and carried the remaining two into the bathroom. I opened the sink trap, dumped the screws inside, closed it, and returned to the bed.
I pulled the covers up and closed my eyes, listening in the silence. How long had it been? It felt like an eternity though only minutes had passed.
A key slid into the lock with a tiny crack in the stillness. Extremely quiet. The doorknob turned slowly. I breathed shallowly with my eyes closed. How had they known? My mind raced: CCTV on the road? Did James using a card earlier alert them? But a card swipe couldn't have moved them so fast to Denver—Labraham to Denver wasn't a short distance.
They must have known our destination in advance… How? If I asked them they'd probably answer. Maybe they guessed we'd escape via Denver airport and laid an ambush. The questions fizzed and tangled in my head.
The door burst open and the knob slammed against the wall. It was okay to open my eyes now. A group of men flooded into the room. They were not police. Clad in helmets, night-vision goggles and body armor, they moved like a suppression team. They split into two groups: one began searching the room while the other moved to subdue me. Three guns were trained on me from front and rear as two men stormed in.
Because we didn't resist, everything happened silently. They pinned me down, forced my face into the mattress, twisted my arms behind me and snapped on handcuffs. I had no thought of resisting even earlier, and by now resistance was impossible. Thank God I'd gotten James out beforehand. I kneeled quietly on the floor while two men held guns on me.
Soon the sweep seemed finished and one man made a radio call.
"Perpetrator secured. No hostages found."
"No hostages?"
The voice over the radio was familiar even through the static. It was George.
"There are no hostages," the answering agent said, sounding dissatisfied.
"That's not all. We see no signs of attempted terrorism. There are no incendiary items for arson. What's going on?"
"We'll know after interrogating the perpetrator."
George replied.
"We'll bring our agents in. We're the ones who know the perpetrator's methods best, so conduct another sweep."
The man on the radio paused. He seemed displeased by George's tone. I lowered my head and kept my mouth shut. The radio call ended with the man saying, "Understood." Apparently I had been accused of arson or terrorism. Moments later they hauled me to my feet, bound me, and dragged me out of the motel room with my head bowed.
James must have heard that exchange. He must have heard that George had turned up and accused me of arson. It seemed he had told them I'd been a hostage. That sounded plausible—James was at least somewhat known as an actor.
Of all charges, arson fit George's tendency to sensationalize. Still, if he blew things up that big he'd make it impossible to take me alive. Even as such thoughts ran through my head I was hustled forward; two days after escaping, I was being dragged barefoot before George.
They made me kneel in the lot and tied me up tight with rope. They kept strict guard. George's tip-off, no doubt. I was dragged across the parking lot barefoot. George stood among the police cars. No ordinary people were gathered—police, suppression teams, even an explosives squad. That a twenty-five-year-old like George could stage something of this scale meant he was anything but ordinary.
Dressed in a suit that covered him from head to toe, George conversed with the officers and then noticed me. He watched me approach without speaking. When they positioned me in front of him George flipped back a silicone mask to reveal his expressionless face and asked,
"Where is James Ranger?"
He asked, feigning ignorance. I stared at him without answering. George asked again.
"What about the hostage?"
"Went out for waffles. Cream-topped waffles," I said.
His eyes flickered through the mask. Silence hung. No one intervened. George said, "Tell the truth."
"It's true."
"Then we can check the CCTV."
This shabby motel probably had no CCTV. Both he and I knew that. We just looked at each other.
Suddenly George cracked a grin. The mask creased oddly. He asked again,
"Really? Maybe he's still in the motel?"
A bad feeling rushed over me—an inexplicable chill that gripped the back of my neck. I shook my head, trying to banish the superstition.
"I said he went out."
We said nothing. Then a voice crackled from George's radio.
"Chief, withdraw. We're ready to evacuate."
George lifted the radio slowly. His dark blue eyes glinted oddly behind the mask as he instructed,
"Withdraw."
No sooner had the reply come than a tremendous blast rocked the air and I nearly fell. The people in the lot dove behind cars or dropped to the ground. I couldn't bring myself to look back; I stared at George's face in a daze.
The darkness of the parking lot lit up as flames flared. George's silicone mask reflected the blaze and his blue eyes seemed to glow. We stared at each other. The mask creased again. I turned slowly—another explosion roared and the shabby motel erupted in fire and began to collapse.
The heat rolled toward us. My head felt hot. My mouth burned; my tongue swelled as if it blocked my throat. I couldn't breathe. My skull felt like it might cook my eyeballs.
The motel went up in flames and crumbled. I could not stand it. I sank onto the cement and stared blankly at the blaze. The flames soared into the night, sweeping away the dark with a fierce roar.
The parking lot devolved into chaos. Fire engines and ambulances were called; reinforcements were requested; some cars slipped away from the lot; others approached the smoking ruins of what had been the motel minutes before.
I felt like a ghost, detached from the panic, horror and fear around me. Even as the heat reached my cheeks and made them sting, nothing seemed real. Nothing. James. James…
"You didn't die easily, did you?"
A voice whispered close to my ear and I yelped, but there was no one. I sat bound while two agents stood guard. Another whisper came, close and cold.
"The pillar fell and trapped him under rubble; his lower body was crushed, but he avoided fatal injury."
"Wh-who is that?"
I twisted my head like a madman, searching, but there was no one.
"He watched the flames slowly approach, wailing in pain, burned alive while still alive."
"Stop! Shut up!"
I wanted to cover my ears but my arms were bound. I twisted and screamed and the agents forced me face-down and slammed me down. Tears came.
"It was me who saw the corpse."
It was Simon. Simon's voice. Tears streamed. When I squirmed the agents pressed harder. Please stop. Please. No more. I wanted to block my ears; if I couldn't, I wanted to tear out my eardrums. I wanted to be deaf forever.
"I saw the eyelids melt and charred eyeballs lodged in the sockets. Every fingernail broken. He must have tried to escape the rock. Kal Perse was the one who lived the longest in the flames. No one stayed alive in the fire that long."
"Lies… lies… lie… gag, gag, lie… ugh."
I blinked, dazed. My strength ebbed. When I stopped moving those who'd been holding me eased off. But a moment later they grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet; I had to lift my head and face reality. They put me into the transport vehicle.