Then I realize—I’m the catch. Grayson gave me the choice.
“Where is Micheal?” I demand from Roger.
When he refuses to answer, I reach for a key. “Wait,” he pleads. “Just wait. I’m not ready.”
“Neither were the children you stole and murdered.” I grip the cold key a yank hard.
Roger drops. His toes hit the solution, and he cries out in pain.
“Now, where are you keeping him?”
“Fuck—” He draws hit feet up, trying to hold himself above the tank. “If I tell you that, then I’m going to prison. Do you know what they do to men like me in prison?”
“Do you fear that more than death?” I challenge him. “If so, tell me. If you prefer death, I know the man behind this will grant you that freedom.”
“Freedom?” he spits the word. “You’re fucking insane.”
“That’s the second time you’ve insulted my mental state.” I hop off the rock with little to no impact to my back. I breathe in a cleansing breath. “You’re making a poor case for yourself, Roger. And you only have minutes to decide.”
Unable to hold his position any longer, his body shaking, exhausted, he lets his legs fall. An ear-splitting scream echoes through the maze as his feet plunge beneath the surface. “God, please… I don’t want to die like this.”
I move onto a stone. “How did you kill your victims?” I ask him.
His trembling breaths fogs the air around him. “Go to hell.”
Been there. I stretch onto my toes and grasp a key. The cool metal feels satisfying against my heated skin.
“Wait,” he shouts, straining to keep his grotesque feet away from the solution. “I couldn’t help myself. It’s a sickness.”
“How?” I demand.
“Shit, all right. Fuck. Okay. I choked them.” He squirms as he attempts to swing his body away from the container.
A cruel and violent memory covers my vision, and I can once again feel my father’s hands tightening around my neck. A toxic mix of dread and disgust twists into rage.
“Yeah, I choked them,” he repeats, more easily this time, as though the admission brings relief. Roger is being liberated, too.
Slowly, I close my hand around the key and pull. Again, Roger is lifted higher. He extends his legs, relief rolling through his body.
I step onto the final stone along the path. I understand how this works, even if Roger hasn’t caught on yet. It doesn’t matter how many keys dangle above my head—the key I select will always be my choice. Grayson knows me, understands me, anticipates me.
One key will free him. One key will end him.
I study the keys. All the gleaming bronze, rusted metals,shiny silver. They’re beautiful. I never admitted it—not even back then—but when I inked a key over my scar, I was branding my kill.
It was my trophy.
The canopy of blood-red string and keys plays a dark melody that resonates within my soul. No, I wasn’t born this way. I was stolen, groomed—reborn into something most people only glimpse in nightmares. I never feared the monster, because the monster was already inside me.
“I want to know where the boy is,” I demand of Roger.
Sweat streams down his shiny, balding head. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will.” My hand wavers between two keys. The first is gold, untarnished, pristine. The second is corroded, its teeth gnarled, the silver faded and worn. A replica of the key inked into my flesh.
Grayson chose this one for me.
“What do you see when you think of Micheal? What do you feel, Roger?” My hand stretches higher into the air.
