Sitting on his bed, he dropped his head to his knees and forced himself to breathe. What was the worst that could happen if she told? A media circus came to mind. His chest tightened and he drew his breath in, slow and steady. Richard was famous and the media would be all over this. Everything Mitch said would be scrutinized and he remembered very well what Paul had said all those months ago. Regardless of his age, it would be one testimony against six and even with medical evidence it would be sketchy.

He lifted his head and scanned his room. He could run away. It was so tempting, but it wouldn't really solve anything. Besides, where would he go? Throwing himself back onto his bed, he stared at his ceiling blankly. He was being stupid again. He couldn't run from this, but he could face it.

With a rueful laugh, he tested the feeling on his tongue. "Richard raped me." That didn't sound right. "Wayne Guider raped me." That sounded worse. "Richard Carter. It was Richard Carter." Not just Richard anymore. That last name added so much to it. It made it a person.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He'd have to apologize to Cynthia tomorrow.

"Mitch?"

Paul?! His eyes snapped open, his head simultaneously turning to the window where he saw Paul's face poking through the curtains. If Mitch thought it was cold outside, that was nothing compared to how he felt inside. His stomach dropped, his throat closed, it took great effort just to force out even a single word.  "Paul?"

"I'm so glad you're safe." Paul lifted himself up and slid into the room, dropping to the floor in a crouch. "I was afraid I wouldn't get here first, afraid I'd miscalculate or..."

Mitch sat up as Paul stood. He felt defensive, on edge... hopeful. "What are you doing here?"

With a grin, Paul walked up to him. The man was so much bigger than him and he felt small, looking up as Paul leaned down and took his face in his hands, kissing him softly on the mouth. "We have to get out of here. Get some stuff together, if you need anything else, I'll buy it for you."

Mitch didn't move. They had to go? But he'd just gotten home. In Richard's room, time had almost stopped. Every minute had felt like hours. Here... here it felt like only yesterday that he'd stepped out of Paul's car. "Where are we going?"

Paul grabbed his iPod off the desk and unplugged the charger, passing it to Mitch. "Anything else?"

Hesitantly, Mitch shook his head and Paul took him by his arms, lifting him up gently. "We have to go now, okay?"

Mitch didn't move, "Where?"

"I don't know." Paul started for the window and Mitch pulled back.

"I..." He was torn and confused. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"Mitch, I love you." Paul didn't even have to hesitate. He'd had ten hours on a plane to think this through and he knew one thing for certain - he'd do anything it took to protect Mitch. He wasn't for sure that he loved Mitch, but he'd say it, because he thought maybe Mitch might come with him if he did.

Falling back onto the bed, Mitch stared at him with overly large eyes. "You what?"

"I love you and I'm going to protect you, but I can't do that if we stay here." Clothes, Mitch would need clothes, at least some. Grabbing the school bag off the floor, he dumped its contents and went to the dresser.

"What?"

"Richard knows where you live, or he'll find it and I think maybe I've got a few hours on him, but that's about it."

"Richard?"

Paul heard the desperate panic in Mitch's small voice and stopped throwing clothes in the bag, looking back. Cursing, he dropped what he was doing and fell to his knees in front of the pale, shaking boy. "Come on, breathe, Mitch, it'll be okay. I'm going to take care of you. We'll get in my car and drive somewhere safe that I know Richard won't find and then we'll call the police and tell them everything. As soon as they've picked him up, I'll bring you right back here, okay?"

Mitch's hand touched his and he took the slender fingers in his own, turning the hand up to kiss the palm. After a moment Mitch nodded and Paul smiled, grabbing the bag and thrusting it at the boy. "Let's get out of here."

He climbed out the window first and then offered a hand to Mitch, who crawled out after him, nearly falling into the grass. Paul took the bag from him and grabbed his elbows to help him stand. "My car's around the..." but Mitch wasn't looking at him. Mitch was looking past him and the sick shock that was written on his face told Paul everything he needed to know.

"Bugger."

"Got it in one, Paul. I always knew you were smart." It was Richard and no matter how jovial his words may have sounded, Paul didn't have to turn around to know that he was utterly pissed, it was all there in the tight undertone of his voice. "Mitchell-dear, come over here."

Paul hadn't looked away from Mitch's face, so he didn't miss the minute shake of his head. Paul tightened his grip on the boy's elbows. "He's not going anywhere with you." He winced as a gun cocked behind him.

"Yes, he is, because if he doesn't, I will find that little friend of his and I'll show her exactly what he went through before I cut her open. What do you think, Mitchell-dear, think I can make her cry?" Mitch sagged in Paul's grip. He'd stopped shaking. "You know, Paul, that was pretty stupid of you, talking to the kid's friend, but I guess you didn't know who she was, did you? Hell, I didn't even figure it out until I was half way here.  Love the internet, they archive everything nowadays.  Now, what say you let him come to me."

"Richard, please..."

"Shut it, Paul." Paul closed his eyes and cringed as he reluctantly let go of Mitch and the kid walked away from him, toward Richard. He'd fucked this up so bad. He should have gone to the police first. He should have... he should have phoned Mitch's father, hell, anything. Turning around, he faced Richard. There was a deadly confidence about his best friend, the man he'd thought he knew.

Richard grabbed Mitch's arm as soon as he got close enough, yanking him to him, but he kept the gun aimed at Paul. Richard was impeccably dressed, his hair still damp from a fresh shower, an unwrinkled white, button down shirt, untucked around a pair of acid wash jeans that pressed tightly against Richard's thighs. He'd been back in London long enough to go home and get his gun and a shower.

With a tisk, Richard shoved the boy behind him, towards the running car at the curb. "Get in the front seat, Mitchell-dear. If you try anything, I'll shoot Paul."

Paul had to force himself to focus on Richard, because if he watched Mitch, he would have to see the defeated boy crawl into Richard's car without a word or even a sound and pull his knees up, wrapping his arms around them defensively. "Richard..."

"No, you are going to shut your bloody mouth and do exactly what I say. You are going to go around the corner, get in your car, and follow me. We'll take care of this together."

Paul flushed angrily, "I'm not helping you kill him."

Richard shrugged, "Maybe not, but you will come with me, because you know that if you don't, he'll die alone." Stepping forward, Richard moved behind Paul, leaving him an unobstructed view of Mitch, and pressed the gun to his cheek, whispering, "Imagine his face, Paul, scared, looking around for help while I wrap my hands around that delicate little throat. Do you think he'll fight me? They usually do, but then Mitch isn't like the others, is he? If I hadn't gotten that offer, I might have just kept him. He's so perfectly broken."

Bile rose in his throat, but Paul forced it down.

"So, you get in your car, and then he'll have someone to look at, someone he trusts that can be there when he dies. If you're good, maybe I'll let you hold his hand." Richard danced out of the way, laughing when Paul forgot himself and turned around, swinging a fist at thin air. "Ah, ah, Paul, you know better than that."

Richard couldn't help smiling. This was so much fun. Not to say that Paul hadn't always been fun, but over the years it had become a bit tedious. Now, the impotent rage in his best friend was palpable and Richard moved forward, holding the gun to Paul's temple. This wasn't just fun, this was fucking hot. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Paul's, savoring the way they meshed together, even when Paul wasn't willing for it. Lovers since grade school. Richard knew everything about Paul - about his body, about his emotions, about where to touch him to make him respond.

Pulling away, Richard touched his nose to Paul's and whispered, "Get in your car, Paul, and try and keep up, you wouldn't want to lose Mitchell-dear. Not just yet, anyway."

He slipped Paul's locked cell phone into his palm, just in case, before backing up, holding out the gun in a purposefully lazy fashion until Paul finally relented and turned, walking through the yards to where his car was parked. Richard waited patiently for him to round the corner out of sight before relaxing his posture, tucking the gun in the back of his pants. Paul was a problem, but one that he had plenty of time to fix. The problem in his car, however, needed immediate tending.

Storming up to the car, he glowered down at the boy. Mitch's muddy feet were on the seat, dirtying it with heel prints, and his arms were wrapped around his knees as he stared fixedly forward. "Put your bloody head down."

He slammed the door and Mitch immediately dropped his feet to the floor, ducking his head down to rest on his knees. Richard got in the driver's seat and looked at the boy, fighting the urge to bite at his lower lip. It was a habit he'd broken himself of when he'd decided to be an actor, but occasionally it came back to haunt him.

He hadn't lied to Paul, the kid was well and truly broken. His reaction to Richard, utter terror followed by complete resignation, was all the testament he needed to that, but still... it wouldn't do for Mitch to come back to his senses and try to jump out of the car, or anything else equally as stupid.

"Sit up."

Mitch did so, saying nothing even if Richard could see the confusion on his face. Opening the glove compartment, Richard pulled out the small bottle and rag that he'd thrown in before leaving.

It had been a near thing, actually. He'd almost missed it, but the little assistant had been so nervous when she'd brought him his coffee that it had been obvious something was up. A quick look around had confirmed that Paul was nowhere on set and after a few minutes of interrogation, the girl had admitted that he'd left, saying they were having a fight and he wanted some time alone.

Time alone indeed. Another call, this one to the driver, had further confirmed his suspicions. Paul had made a stop at the apartment and then been dropped off at the airport not thirty minutes prior. The only thing that had saved him was that unlike Paul, Richard didn't have to be secretive. All it took was a few minutes explaining that he and Paul were indeed having a fight, that it over something stupid that would sort itself out in a few days, but that Paul had jumped a plane back to England instead of talking about it. The director had been so horrified at the idea he'd have to re-film the footage yet again that he'd readily agreed to let Richard use the company's private jet.

So, while Paul had been sitting at the airport, waiting to board his plane, Richard had been in the air, on his way. He'd gotten a good two hours on him, enough time to go home, get cleaned up, grab his gun and anything else that looked handy, including the chloroform he kept in the storage room. Shaking a good amount of it onto the rag, he grabbed Mitch's head with one hand and held it over the boy's nose and mouth with his other.

"Breathe."

The other thing he loved about Mitch was that while he may have been broken, he still fought on occasion, usually when it was too late to do any good, but that made it all the better. At Richard's command, he had shook his head and determinedly held his breath, trying to tug free of Richard's grip on his face. His finger nails bit into Richard's hands and he kicked his feet against the floor of the car, but it didn't matter, because he wasn't going anywhere and even he knew it.

Less than a minute later, Richard felt the pull of fabric as Mitch sucked air into his starving lungs and watched the satisfying roll of Mitch's eyes as the drug pulled him into unconsciousness. The first time he'd had to use this stuff was with Greg. He'd had it with Duncan, but Duncan hadn't tried anything and even if he had, it wouldn't have mattered. No one was going to pick Duncan out in a passing car, hell, only a hand full of people probably even knew he was missing. Violent tempered Greg, on the other hand, had been a different story.

Richard put the bottle back in the glove compartment and shut it, leaning Mitch over so his head rested on Richard's lap, out of view to any passerby.

If Mitch thought he'd had it bad, he would have been horrified to know what Greg had gone through. Sure, Greg hadn't been hit, because he'd thought at the time that Paul would draw a line there, and he had also never been forced to suck cock, because with the way he gnashed his teeth when anyone came close to him, no one was putting anything in or even near his mouth, but there were worse things; like having your head forced under water during sex, or having to stare at blank walls for a week because the television had been taken away entirely, or being forced to go nude for almost a month because you fought too much over taking your clothes off. Richard had found many, many ways of keeping Greg in line.

With a happy sigh, he put the car in drive and rolled forward. In just an hour, he'd be rid of Mitch and without the kid there to cloud things up, Paul would be his again.

*****

Paul beat his hand against his steering wheel, taking several deep breathes before following Richard out onto the road. This was bloody crazy, it was fucking insane. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?

It was midnight and there was almost no traffic on the road, not that it would have mattered, because Paul couldn't see Mitch's head in the car anyway and there wasn't much hope that anyone else would. He turned onto the main street, matching Richard's speed.

How the bloody hell had Richard gotten here so fast? God, but Paul had royally fucked this up beyond any semblance of repair. Richard had Mitch and Paul was being forced to drive along behind them like some puppy. He didn't know how he could even hope to keep Richard from doing what he wanted to, but he did know he had to try.

As focused as he was on his thoughts, it was no wonder that when Cynthia popped her head up into his rear view mirror and said, "Hey," he nearly swerved off the road.

Righting the car, he looked back at her sheepish, pale face and gaped for several seconds before he could respond. "What in the bloody hell are you doing in the back of my car?!" She started to sit up, but he reached back, pressing down on her shoulder.  "No, just stay the hell down and answer my bloody question."

"I recognized your plates and we needed to talk."

Cursing, he watched for any sign that Richard knew what was going on. He'd slowed down a little, but wasn't pulling over. Adjusting his mirror so he could see her, he tried to think of something to say.  "This... is not a good time, Cynthia."

She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, well, then, let me just step out of the moving car. What's going on, anyway? Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be in America with lover-boy, making a movie or something?"

"I do not appreciate your sarcasm right now." She didn't respond and he sighed, looking at the angry set of her jaw. "All right, look, I came back to get Mitch. Richard wants to... finish him off and I was trying to get here and get Mitch out before Richard could."

"Trying?"

"Yeah, well, Richard showed up."

Cynthia sat up a little and Paul reached back, pushing her lower again.  "What happened?"

"I'm in a car alone, shoving your head down. What do you think happened?" She didn't say anything and he stared forward at Richard's tail lights. "Richard had a gun and he took Mitch. He wants me to follow him to wherever he plans on..." He couldn't say it this time, because Cynthia had turned a funny shade of yellow and he was afraid she'd be sick. "Calm down, I'm not going to let him."

"What are you going to do? Call the police?"

"Not unless you have your phone on you." She shook her head. "I'll work out something when we get there, okay? Right now, I need you to keep out of sight." She nodded and slunk even further onto the floor of his backseat.

They drove in silence for a while, Paul's temper bowling near the surface. What the hell had she been thinking? He had aided and abetted in the kidnapping and rape of her best friend and she just got into his car without a cell phone or any means of protecting herself?

Not that Cynthia being there made much difference. He'd still be fighting Richard, he'd just be doing it for two people, because if he lost, Cynthia was in danger, too. Actually, now that he thought about it, Cynthia would have been in danger if he lost, anyway. Richard knew who she was, knew Paul had talked to her and if anyone knew Paul's failings, it was Richard. He probably wouldn't take the chance guessing as to whether or not she'd gotten anything out of him. When he finished with Mitch, he'd hunt her down as well.

This whole thing was so crazy. How had it gotten this far? How could he not have figured out what Richard was doing?  It seemed so obvious now. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense when he thought about...

"Paul, I'm pregnant."

The car hit grass this time before he managed to pull it onto the road and he'd half twisted in his seat before remembering that he couldn't turn around to look at her. "You're what?!"

She was gripping the seat in front of her, her eyes wide. "Pregnant, so I'd really appreciate it if you kept the car on the road."

Pregnant? How could she be pregnant?  She was only fifteen, and why would she be telling him any... "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes."

He glared at the road. "Are you sure it's mine?"

He didn't need to look to feel her anger. "I'm not a slag, you know.  I don't exactly go spreading my legs for the entire school."

"You spread them for me readily enough." She swatted him, hard. "Hey, watch it, I'm driving!"

"I only slept with you, because I knew there was something you weren't telling me! If you'd only fessed up to everything in the first place, none of this would have happened."

"You what? How did you know I wasn't telling you everything?"

She sat up a little, but was careful to keep her head lower than the dash board. "Come on, Paul, honestly. You're like an open book."

"Paul, buddy, get your lazy arse up." They both froze at the sound of Richard's voice.

"Bloody hell." Leaning over, he fished his cell phone off the passenger seat where he'd thrown it when he'd realized it was locked.

Cynthia huffed, "I thought you didn't have a cell."

He waved at her to be silent and hit the speaker button, sliding it into the clip on his visor.  "Hey, Richard."

"What the bloody hell is going on back there?"

Paul flinched and cast a scathing glare at Cynthia through the rearview. "I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

He sighed and closed his eyes for a minute before opening them again to watch the road. What he wouldn't give for a coffee about now. "When you had the black eye, after you took Greg home, what really happened?"

Richard chuckled, "Is that all?"

"Just answer the bloody question."

"Greg wasn't as gullible as you, Paul. The moment I told him he was ‘going home', he tried to jump me, but you remember Greg. He was, what, five-foot-eight? Fighter or not, he couldn't hope to get the better of me. A sound beating, some carefully administered drugs and we were on our way."

Cynthia had a hand over her mouth and she was breathing deeply through her nose. Paul reached a hand behind him and clasped it into hers, squeezing for a moment before letting go.

"How can you do this, Richard? They didn't deserve to die, none of them and Mitch... he's just a kid."

"Hm, yes, he is, isn't he? Such a sweet one, at that. Tell me, Paul, did you fuck him while I was gone?" Paul's breath caught in his throat and he wanted to tell Richard to shut up, but the words wouldn't come out. "You had him to yourself for days. Did you lay him down, kiss him, undress him, whisper sweet nothings into his ear while you shoved your cock up his tight arse?"

"Stop it." He sounded pathetic, even to himself.

"Poor Paul, but you did, didn't you?"

He bit his tongue before forcing the answer out. "Yes."

Cynthia gasped behind her hands and he looked at her. The surprise and disgust were there, clear and easy to read. Mitch may have told her a lot of things, but he hadn't told her about that.

Richard laughed loudly, "I always knew you liked him. From the very first moment you laid eyes on him, I knew. In fact, you're the reason I even noticed him at all. I'd been eyeing that dark skinned little number that was popping around the dance floor like he was on speed, but you only had eyes for Mitchell-dear. I couldn't understand why, at first. He was scrawny and young, with big doe eyes, but there was something about him."

Tears were running down Cynthia's face and both her hands were over her mouth so tightly that the skin under her fingers had turned white. Paul wanted desperately to turn off the speaker, but he was afraid Richard would notice and he couldn't give him any reason to suspect that they weren't alone. God, was Mitch hearing this?

"The way you danced with him between us, I might as well not have been there. That and you'd never warned any of the other boys away - you'd never told me no. Maybe that's why I wanted him so badly, because I wanted to test the limits of my control over you."

"No." It came out before Paul could stop it. He didn't want to even imagine that what had happened to Mitch was his fault.

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it? You were right, he is special, Paul, very, very special and now he's going to be very special in a whole in the ground."

Richard hung up the phone and Paul swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. It was all his fault. Richard was right, he had been looking at him. Not that he'd been thinking particularly lustful thoughts at the time. He'd seen him come in, staring around at everyone as if he wasn't really sure what he was doing there. Mitch had been so cute, with a refreshing openness among the throng of people doing their best to make a spectacle of themselves.

His feelings for Mitch had only grown over the last few months and maybe saying that he loved the kid wasn't as much of a stretch as he'd thought it was. He certainly was willing to risk a lot for him.

"Paul, did you really...?" Her voice broke a little and she stopped, unable to continue.

Did he what - fuck him, stare at him, like him, want him? Not that it mattered, because, as always, Richard knew him better than he knew himself and the answer to all of them was, "Yes."

Cynthia nodded and he could see she was crying, her back shaking with suppressed sobs. He'd get them out of this, both her and Mitch and he'd take them home and do whatever he had to in order to make it right.

After a few minutes of silence, he unclipped his phone and passed it to Cynthia, telling her to have a go at figuring out the password. More silence, interrupted only by the beep of her systematically putting in numbers.

It was nearly half an hour before Richard turned off onto a narrow, worn down road. They had to be getting near, Richard hated driving, he wouldn't go any further than he had to.

"Paul?" Cynthia had put the phone her knee and was shaking. "Are we almost there?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me where we were going."

She was silent for nearly a minute before looking at him, "I have a gun."

He stared at her, "You what?"

"Paul, look out!"

He turned his eyes back to the road just in time to slam on his breaks and avoid rear ending Richard. They had stopped.  Was this it? He looked around him. A long row of high hedges was on one side of them, the other was a dense covering of trees and the road stretched out so far in front and behind him that he couldn't see where it ended either way. There was a little light on one of the hedges that illuminated the small patch of roadway they were on, but everything else was dark and... quiet. He cut off his engine and the only sounds left were their breathing.

With his hand on the door, he watched Richard's car, waiting for him to get out. "Cynthia, you okay?"

"Yes."

"Good." Richard's car door opened and he got out, pulling Mitch across the passenger seat and out the driver's side. Mitch looked disoriented, clinging to Richard to help himself stand. He'd drugged him, then.  With what, Paul couldn't be sure, but he was relieved that Mitch had most likely not heard the conversation between him and Richard.

He moved to open his door, but Cynthia's hand stayed him. "Wait, what about the gun?"

Oh right, the gun. He could use it. It would certainly put him and Richard on more even ground, but if it came down to that, could he really shoot Richard, the man who had been his best friend and constant companion for more than half his life? He didn't know, but he knew that if he couldn't and Richard took the gun away from him, that left Cynthia utterly defenseless and he couldn't take that risk.

"Keep it, you may need it. Stay here until you're sure we're a good distance from the car, then I want you to scale that damned hedge and get help. There's probably a house or something on the other side, but just get to it and have them call the police." Without waiting for a response he got out of the car and walked to Richard, who was holding Mitch's upper arm in one hand and the gun in the other. It wasn't pointed at anyone in particular, but then it didn't have to be.

Richard grinned at Paul and cocked his head toward the forest. "Let's go for a little walk."

Paul followed him without a word. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, or say. He wanted to beg for Mitch's life, but how many times had he watched Richard's boys beg, only to be laughed at or ignored? The only thing that he knew for certain worked on Richard was cold, calm logic, but as far as that went, it wasn't logical to let Mitch live, not if they wanted to stay out of jail.

"Richard..."

"Mouth closed, Paul, we're almost there."

Mitch stumbled over the uneven ground, but Richard only tightened his grip, holding him up and forcing him to continue to walk. This was insane. Richard had been his best friend, the little boy that liked to tease other people, but always stuck up for Paul. He was the teenager that had hesitantly kissed Paul in a broom cupboard their third year while they were skipping class. He was the young man that had always gotten what he wanted, not because people gave it to him, but because he took it, he earned it. He was... he was a murderer and a rapist and Paul was no better than him, because he'd helped him keep those boys and he'd taken the drugs and raped them, as well. It didn't matter that he only had vague, half recollections of it the next morning, he'd still done it.

Worse yet, he'd been completely blind to who Richard really was. When had this all started? When had Richard gotten like this, because it wasn't something he was born with. No one was just born without basic human emotions. Why hadn't Paul noticed the change?

He stopped and Richard stopped as well, looking back at him, annoyance clear in his sagging posture. Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists in frustration. "What happened to you? When did you become this thing?"

Richard looked at him blankly for a moment before he broke out laughing, half doubled over, but still keeping his grip on Mitch. "Oh, Paul, that's great. That right there, that's why I love you so much." The idea that Richard loved him made Paul feel cold, but he stood his ground, gritting his teeth against the anger of being laughed at. Straightening up, Richard continued to smile that naturally dazzling smile that made everyone trust him.

"The thing is, love, that I've always been like this."

Paul shook his head in denial. "No way, Richard, I've known you since we were five. You were a nice kid."

"Because I didn't want to get in trouble! I remember it like it was bloody yesterday, mate. All year, the teachers had been keeping an eagle eye on me, like they expected me to assassinate the kid next row over or something and I noticed that they never did that with you. No, with you they turned a blind eye on everything, even when you had someone else with you. So, I decided I wanted to be your friend. It took me forever to scare off your other little friends without you noticing, but it was worth it, because, you know what? I was right. With you around, no one ever looked twice. Not the teachers, not the authorities. In fact, the only people who ever so much as glanced askance at me were your parents and, lucky me, your father was too afraid he'd get you in trouble, as well."

It wasn't possible, it just wasn't. Paul wasn't willing to believe that he'd let Richard play him like that for this long. "You can't possibly have thought all that through at five."

"Of course not.  At five I just wanted to pinch extra cookies, but it didn't take long after that." Paul felt ill. It was one thing to think he may not have noticed Richard going through a gradual change, it was another to know that he had been manipulated almost his entire life.

"Remember Thomas Kippling?"

It took him a moment to understand what Richard was saying. The name was familiar, but from where? "Wait, the nerdy chap from private, the one you were always teasing?"

"Just the one!" He noticed Mitch tugging at his trapped arm, but Richard ignored the silent protest. "Remember how I left him alone after fourth year?"

"Yeah, you said you got tired of him, that he wasn't any fun anymore."

Richard raised his eyebrows, "Oh, he was still fun, it's just that I'd gotten what I wanted from him, was all. In fact, I got it several more times after that, right up until we graduated and the best thing about little Tommy was that he never told anyone."

Paul closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. Kippling had been an annoying little shite at times, always running into people in the halls and knocking things over, but he'd never done anything to deserve that, especially not between fourteen-year-olds. God, that was younger than Mitch.

When he looked up, he wished to god he had brought the gun, because, best friend or not, he would have shot Richard where he stood. It would have been a kindness. Mitch gave up trying to get his arm free as Richard shook him by it, still not even bothering to look at the boy. Richard only had eyes for Paul. It had always been that way, but how much of that was a lie?

"Did you ever care about me, or was I just a convenient toy?" It was self-inflicted punishment to ask, because whatever the answer, it was only going to make things worse, make it hurt more.

Richard dropped Mitch's arm and the boy stumbled, falling on his arse. He didn't try to get up and run, only sat there, staring numbly at Richard's legs.

"Paul, of course I care. If I didn't, you'd be long gone. Actually, I rather think I love you. The very thought of you leaving makes me so bloody angry that I could kill. You looking at anyone else the way you look at me, puts me in a rage. That's why I took him, Paul. I control you, I am the one you look to for everything." Richard's face had drawn tighter with every word and Paul didn't doubt that what he said was true. Not that Paul would have called it love, obsession would have been closer to the truth.

"Let him go then, Richard. He hasn't told anyone and he's not going to. I'll... I'll never question you again.  I'll do whatever you tell me. Hell, I will sodding well kidnap whoever strikes your fancy next, but let Mitch go."

The anger dissolved into resolution. "No, I'm going to kill Mitch." He ignored the whimper from the boy on the ground next to him. "I'm going to wrap my fingers around his slender little throat and I am going to choke the life out of him, but that's not going to fix anything, love, is it? You'll still think about him. You'll pine for him. When I fuck you, you'll be thinking about having him under you and I'm not entirely sure I can live with that. I'd rather have you dead than against me, Paul. So, make up your mind. Either you're with me or you're not."

Paul stared at the gun that was now leveled at him and he tried to think his way out of it, but he couldn't come up with anything. He could rush Richard, but in the end, Richard was stronger than him. He could run, but Richard would just shoot him in the back. He couldn't talk Richard out of this. He just prayed that Cynthia had managed to get over the hedge and away from here.

"I'm sorry, Richard, I can't be with you on this."

Richard's expression went blank, his face relaxing into a careful mask of neutrality as he cocked the gun. "I'll miss you, Paul."

"No, you won't."

The mouth twitched upward, just a little. "Maybe not."

He kept his eyes open, he wasn't even sure why, except that he couldn't take his eyes off Richard's face, that face that he'd known for so long, that he'd memorized in love and friendship. It was twisted and contorted now and Paul hardly recognized it at all, but he couldn't look away. Richard's finger tightened on the trigger.

He heard a wordless cry and he thought maybe it had come from him, only it didn't sound like him, and a moment later, the back of Mitch's head shot into his view, not obscuring Richard's face, because Mitch was too short to do that, but it eclipsed the gun, blocking the flash of it going off and Paul tore his eyes away from Richard as Mitch fell, crumpling to the ground, clutching his chest.

"Mitch!"

He lunged forward and saw Richard move to train the gun on him again. Even as he dropped to Mitch's side, turning him over to survey the damage, he knew it wasn't going to do any good. Paul looked back up at Richard, waiting. It felt like someone had pressed pause on the world, they stared at each other, neither moving. He didn't even think they were breathing.

The world careened into movement as another gunshot rang out and the side of Richard's head exploded.  Richard fell onto the ground, his eyes staring forward, unblinking. Paul looked over and saw Cynthia standing a few feet away next to a tree. She must have followed them from the car.

A chocked breath from Mitch drew his attention and he looked down, seeing blood spreading quickly over the boy's shirt, just over his heart. Paul cursed as he lifted the fabric up and pressed his palm against the wound, but it kept bleeding and Mitch's face was ashen, his usually bright eyes dulling.

"No. No, no, no." He pressed harder onto the wound, but he could literally feel Mitch's heart slowing to a stop.

He wasn't aware of Cynthia until she fell on the ground next to him. "Oh, god, Mitch."

She reached out and touched his face, but Paul knew it was already too late. The heart under his hands had stopped beating and the flow of blood had slowed. Mitch was dead.

"Cynthia."

She sobbed, brushing Mitch's hair back from his face. "Mitch, come on, talk to me, please?"

Paul grabbed her hands, heedless of the blood that he was smearing on them. "Cynthia, look at me." She tried to pull away, but he moved his hands to hold her face, gently, but firmly. "Cynthia, listen, you have to get Richard's cell, okay? It'll be in his car. You have to get it and you have to call the police."

Hesitantly, she nodded and he let her go, watching her run back through the woods. He looked down at Mitch and carefully closed the boy's eyes.  Paul took Mitch's hand and lifted it up to press it against his lips. He was still warm. Paul stayed like that, even after the body had gone cold. He could hear Cynthia sobbing hysterically and he knew that he should go to her, but he didn't want to leave Mitch alone with Richard.

He didn't realize he was crying until he heard the police sirens in the distance.