The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.33 Fox in a Snare

June 16, 1:45 pm

Justin could not have been more surprised, or more pleased, to see Howard Gunderson emerge from the house alone, and walk into the center of the street.

Cautiously, he scanned the neighborhood around the boy, who stood with his palms open and his eyes lifted to the sky. Howard had left the door to the house open, and Justin squinted, trying to see if Richard lurked there.

Where did the bastard go? Is he still somewhere inside the house? Did he go after Keith to protect him? Did he just abandon Howard, having no use for him now that Keith was gone?

The questions ricocheted across Justin's mind, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on them. The fact of the matter was that Richard Pratt was nowhere to be seen, and Howard, the boy he loved and the boy he desired, was standing in the street with his arms outstretched. Vulnerable... and alone.

"Justin!"

He heard his own name through the glass of the window, muffled but clear. Not only was Howard alone, but he was actually calling to him!

Does he finally understand that I'm his destiny? Justin wondered. Has he given up any struggle to resist his fate?

He knew he should be cautious, but now that he could see Howard again, his obsession became so strong that nothing but possessing the boy mattered. He couldn't even take the time to go down the stairs, but launched himself through the upstairs wall, chancing a reset in his desperation to get to his victim. He landed heavily in the yard and was on his feet and racing across the lawn within seconds.

Howard is right there. Standing in the street. Waiting for his new master. Justin's ghostly body quivered in anticipation of the delights to come.

The boy looked calm and serene. His tire iron was gone and his hands were open, palms to the sky. His head was tipped back, baring his soft, pink throat, and only the beat of his pulse there betrayed his terror. Justin thrilled with anticipation, and he vowed not to let the boy expel him this time. He was stronger now. He wouldn't give him a chance to resist. He would push the boy's mind so far down into the well that he could never claw his way out.

That is, except when I decide to bring the boy up to play from time to time.

He knew he would. He longed to feel that sweet young body as his own. He longed to feel that tender mind, suffering. He longed to bathe in that pain and terror until it dripped from his eyelashes and fingertips.

"Justin!" the boy's voice said, stronger this time, but with a strange lilt to it that was familiar, but he couldn't quite place.

Justin darted quickly into the street on all fours, like some kind of ghostly, human-shaped spider. He stopped less than a car's length from the boy, preparing his hatred the way that God had taught him.

He is so soft and vulnerable. So fragile. And he longs for me to bend and break him as much as I long to do it.

Preparing his leap into the boy, Justin realized he was still a little afraid of Howard. More than he should be, by any reasonable measure. The tire iron was gone. The boy looked helpless. And Richard was nowhere to be seen. There was no reason at all that he should be afraid, and so he pushed that emotion down deep, as his chest rose and his eyes narrowed.

"Hello, my lovely," Justin hissed, with a still and small grin.

He continued to creep forward. They were only a half-dozen steps apart now, and Howard finally brought his chin down and stared blankly into the street before him. Justin wanted to see Howard's eyes wide with the terror of what he knew was coming. But there was no fear on the boy's face. There was only resignation, as if he was an exhausted rabbit being circled by a hungry wolf. That weakness triggered the primal blood lust in Justin that all predators knew, and he gathered his strength in his limbs as he prepared to strike...