Page 60 of The Butterfly Killer

“Not one that would be playing in a club.”

“Mine neither,” Roman mused. He seemed almost disappointed that his little fantasy wasn’t going the way he wanted it.

Marcus snorted. A silence fell between them and Marcus wasn’t jumping to fill it. Roman swayed him in the silence. They weren’t speaking, but it felt as though their thoughts were loud enough to fill the silence. He didn’t know what Roman could possibly be planning or what he was trying to do. He didn’t want Roman to push him away so he tried to think of a way to keep Roman happy though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Marcus started to sing. The melody wasn’t easy to conjure up as he couldn’t quite think clearly. He couldn’t even remember what the name of the song was. It was a vague song from the seventies he remembered his mom playing all the time. While it didn’t at all quite fit the scenario Roman wanted, it would have to do.

Roman’s swaying stilled. Marcus stopped singing right after. He’d fucked up.

But Roman didn’t act out in anger.

“Keep singing.”

He nestled closer, draping his body over Marcus like he was a blanket. Marcus’s whole body was burning with heat from how close they were. He felt humiliation so strong his limbs became weak. Roman was there to hold him as his body went slack. He was only strong enough to keep himself upright as he leaned back against Roman’s chest as he started up the song again.

Roman’s hands wandered. They ran up Marcus’s sides from his hips, roaming over his stomach and over his chest. They stroked his throat before they went downward again. Roman ground himself against Marcus. Through Roman’s jeans and his own, he felt the evidence of Roman’s attraction.

His face burned hotter when he felt it. He felt more embarrassed than when Roman had caught him with an erection. Somehow knowing Roman was turned on by him made this whole act more filthy than he’d first thought.

His own self awareness grew much more. He seemed to snap out of the mind space he’d been in. Which had been about getting Roman to trust him and see him as more than just an object. Albeit, not much more than an object.

Now all he could think about is that Roman would want more after this. He’d effectively backed himself into a corner.

His body became more rigid. The lust still simmered under the surface, but he ignored it as he knew it was only because he was touch starved.

His voice cracked as he continued to sing. The end of the song had already passed twice before and he started it up again, a constant loop that made him feel even more like this nightmare was never going to end. He opened his eyes, only realizing then that they’d been closed, and he had been picturing a dark lit club with bodies dancing around them.

The sea of people disappeared, revealing the cabin he was forced to stay in. For just those long but short moments, Marcus had forgotten the goal of this whole game to get Roman on his side and in a vulnerable state.

However, Marcus felt more ripped open than the dead women Roman had left a trail of just like his predecessor.

He knew as he finished the song once more and Roman continued to dance on him, that he was going to have to take this further. He didn’t know if he could do it without breaking a piece of himself, but he knew that it was going to be the only way to wedge himself closer to Roman and cement himself in the killer’s conscious for at least awhile.

17

Medical examiner Patrice Maguirewas pulling his hair out as he stared down at the documents. He read the information but for the life of him he couldn’t take any of it in as his mind was far away from his job as it had ever been.

Marcus had been missing for a little over two weeks. Each day started with Patrice wondering if he was ever going to see his friend again and it ended with Patrice crying himself to sleep. He’d never been a big crier, even when his grandfather, a man that had been his idol, had passed when he was a teenager. Perhaps it had been different. His grandfather had lived to be in his eighties. He’d passed in his sleep, a smile on his face the coroner had proclaimed.

This was very much different. Marcus had been taken by a serial killer—obviously because he was working on the case and because his mother had been one of the first victims. The things Marcus must be going through…

Patrice shook his head. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

With a deep sigh, he forced himself to think back to his work. There were many autopsies he had to finish the paperwork for. It was going to be a long afternoon.

As he went with the motions, his mind drifting to Marcus once or twice throughout the remaining hours of his shift, he was grateful that when he worked he became extremely absorbed in it. However, it was easy to lose track of time when he was nestled into his homey office and even more easily when he was forcing himself to focus harder.

He was startled when there was a knock at the door. He lifted his head from the bundle of documents he’d been accessing. He blinked rapidly as he noticed the room was cast in a warm glow from the setting sun. He lifted his wrist to look at his watch and made an audible sound of surprise when he saw it was already after seven.

The knock came again.

He cleared his throat as he moved the papers to the side. “Come in.”

The door cracked open just a bit. Trinity Coleman, an autopsy technician, poked her head in.

“I finished Catherine Yoltz’s autopsy,” she said though she didn’t make the move to come into the room.

“Ah. That’s great.” Through his sleepiness, he was able to feign some enthusiasm. He tried to keep his cool about the now open Butterfly case, but it was hard to when every little advancement made him hopeful they would find the bastard who’d taken Marcus.

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