CHAPTER 49
At first, people assumed Morrow’s voyeurism was sexual, but there was never any evidence of a sexual component to the murders.
—Case notes from inside Alan Morrow’s file, written by Donald Dellman
The Game Master curves the pole in a sweeping gesture toward me. “Go ahead.”
Nico pauses, and then he drags himself forward.
He reaches the pipe. He looks like he’s preparing for his own execution. The skin on his face is freshly broken and swollen from the days-old cuts and bruises that were just starting to heal. His lip is newly busted, and he runs his tongue over it to wipe away the blood, his lip glistening with saliva.
One hand braced on the cold metal above my head, he works at the rope with quivering fingers.
The Game Master watches. The pipe dangles from his grip like he’s ready to start smashing things again if this doesn’t go how he wants.
The rope slackens. I slide into a sitting position against the pole and wrench the loops of rope over my head and away from me.
When I meet Nico’s eyes, I see everything he’s trying not to say written across his face in a language I’ve learned to read. The muscle jumping in his throat as he swallows. The devastation pooling in his eyes, begging me to tell him there’s another way. He would rather die than put his hands on me the way Billymade him put his hands on those girls. I know he must be scared that this could trigger him to lose control, but he won’t snap. He won’t hurt me.
Just barely, I dip my chin.
He grips his temples. The sound that comes out of him is somewhere between a groan and a growl. His hands drop to his sides and clench into fists, knuckles turning white. The pain etched into his features doesn’t disappear. It creases the corners of his mouth and eyes and transforms him into a predator.
He’s so terrifying that for half a second, part of my brain forgets this is a performance.
Which is exactly the reaction we need the Game Master to see.
“W-what are you doing?” I say, scrambling away from him, eyes wide. “Nico?”
Nico lunges forward to grip my ankle. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for permission to do this?”
I try to twist free, but his hand tightens. In his eyes, there’s no dry humor or affectionate annoyance he usually carries. He looks nothing like the Nico I know.
The Game Master positions himself in the doorway to block the exit. I can practicallyfeelhis attention crawling across my skin.
“I tried so hard not to want this,” Nico says, catching my other foot as I kick out at him. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to act normal, when all I can think about isthis?”
Nico yanks both of my legs toward him. I skid across the gritty tile, back slamming into the floor and head cracking on the unforgiving ground.
Nico crawls on top of me. Cages me with his arms.
He seizes my good wrist and pins it against the floor above my head. I let out a small gasp. Shit, he’s strong.
“I tried… so hard,” he says, loud enough that there’s no question the Game Master can hear. “Tried to convince myself I didn’t want this, because I knew, IknewI wasn’t supposed to. I’ve spentseven yearstrying to untangle which thoughts are mine and which ones he planted, but with you? Sometimes, when I touched myself, I’d see you laid out cold and still, and I’d finish anyway, hating myself the whole time but unable to stop because I liked it sodamn much.”
His lies sound real, but I know they’re only lies, and I don’t want to think about how much they must be hurting him to say.
The Game Master makes a considering hum that lifts every one of my hairs. “You know… I’m not sure I believe you.”
Nico’s body tightens, one hand still clutching my wrist.
“If you truly want to kill her, if this is really who you are, then prove it,” the Game Master says.
What?
“Do to her what you did to the others,” the Game Master says.
Nico lets out a stuttering exhale, as if someone had reached into his chest and wrung out his lungs. Pure terror flashes across his features as he stares down at me.
