Page 104 of Seth
“Pull over.”
“Gustavo.”
“Pull the fuck over.”
Gustavo was out of the car even before it halted.
* * *
Seth slumpedonthe floor next to the medical cloth. His hand felt as if it didn’t belong to him when he fetched a syringe of adrenaline. He snorted at the irony of the torture tool becoming his only chance to return to Ignaz before his soul disintegrated.
Ernst thrashed against the metal ladder. The skin on his eyelids boiled and melted as the acid kept burning through his flesh. Seth barely heard him. All noise drifted to the background as a deathly hush washed over, and then the desert howled. The vortexes swirled around him, and the black blood, seeping out of his stomach, dispersed. The desert sprawled before his eyes, black with ash.
His smartwatch buzzed, informing him that he needed to use the bathroom and drink some water. Seth blinked at the now useless notification, bared the needle, and stabbed his thigh. He plunged down; his head knocked against the wall, and everything stopped existing.
His surroundings returnedwith the hammering of his heart and screams of anguish.
Seth pressed his hand to the wound and got up. The vortexes swirled around four men, sucking at their vital energy, but Seth knew they would be dead before sunrise.
He pulled at the sides of the blue medical cloth, and it folded, gathering the tools. Without looking at the mess behind, he stuffed what he could into the duffel bag, threw it over his shoulder, and stumbled out of the door. The wails of anguish escaped the silo and crashed against the night and Gustavo.
The man flinched, eyes straining. His gun twitched but didn’t lower.
Another scream shattered the darkness, making Gustavo’s gaze flick over Seth’s shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he thrust one hand behind himself to push Diego away in what looked like an instinctive gesture.
One heartbeat, another, Seth looked in the unblinking eyes but didn’t see mockery. Disappointment flared, morphing into anger. Seth raised his chin.
Are you afraid of me now, you who pursued me, you who sought meetings with me?
Repercussions of Gustavo’s words invaded his head.
“What are you looking for? Tell me, and I will give it to you. Acceptance, understanding, thrill, a similar mind?”
Seth wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed. He’d never harbored hope toward this man, but the way Gustavo shielded his friend annoyed him. Even his gaze had changed. No curiosity shimmered in the depth of his soul-eating eyes. Just caution and alarm.
“We are more alike than you think.”The memory of the deep, tranquil baritone slithered through Seth’s mind, reanimating the words.“…he will never be able to understand a monster, a murderer like you.”
Seth wanted to laugh at himself for considering Gustavo’s words for even a split second. The bitterness of disillusion that someone in this world might understand him made him feel even more alone than ever before.
We are nothing alike, fly, but you are right. No one will ever understand a monster like me, so why try?
Gustavo licked his lips, his gun twitched. The simple gesture cleared Seth’s doubts.
That’s right. Be afraid.Seth laughed, contempt curling his lips in a sneer, but his laughter died as quickly as it started. “Move, or I’ll squish your worthless soul.”
He slammed his palm against Gustavo’s chest, pushing his way through. It took him ten minutes to get to his vehicle and pull the car onto the road.
* * *
Gustavo stood unmoving.The lonely expression had returned to Seth’s face only to be washed away by a bitter mixture of contempt, scorn, disappointment, anger, and flat-out, icy-cold despise.
After the hot palm collided with his chest and Seth ghosted by, cocooned in the stench of blood, filth, and chemicals, Gustavo stepped into the silo. The smell made his eyes prickle. Holding his breath, he grabbed his phone and turned on the flashlight. The beam jumped from a dead body to someone alive, before it settled on the thrashing man whose throat was tearing in constant screams. A canister dripped fluid onto his eyes dissolving the surrounding flesh.
Diego stood in the doorway, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. “If I were you, I wouldn’t go any farther. You might leave footprints.”
“I’m not.” Gustavo pulled at his suddenly sticky shirt; it felt wet and cold under his fingers. He turned the beam on his chest and blinked at a bloody handprint. His nape prickled. He rushed outside.
“Give me the keys.”
