The long, narrow hallway was lit only by a black light, the blue glow shifting the vibe from a party atmosphere into a more eerie one. There were three rooms on either side of the hallway, each shrouded by different colored, heavy curtains with a neon number above each. At the end of the hallway was a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
People pay extra for this? Weird. He squinted down the hallway, the color of the hallway and the reflection from the mirror making his head feel fuzzy for a moment.
He spotted the white box on the wall between the rooms labeled 5 and 6, a telltale red cross on the front of it. He made his way over, eyeing the pool of blood in his hand to make sure that it didn’t spill over. This area, unlike the rest of the club, had carpet. That seemed like an odd choice, but he dismissed the thought. He was just trying to find a way to distract himself from the pain in his hand.
He heard voices coming from the room with the 6 above it, gaudy silver curtains hanging in front of it and obscuring his vision. Maybe they hadn’t heard the announcement about the club closing? He’d have to mention something to Tariq or Ophelia when he finished wrapping up his hand. He pulled the white box off the wall, balancing the container on his knee as he opened it and pushed aside loose bundles of adhesive bandages, the edges of them yellowed from sitting so long without use, and grabbed a roll of gauze still in its original packaging.
He tried prying opening the cardboard backing of the package with his teeth, but only the top of the cardboard came off, leaving a thin layer of stubborn paper over the back. He snapped the first aid kit shut and set it on the ground, the sudden movement forcing some of the blood in his palm to run down his forearm. Thank goodness he was wearing black.
He thought he saw the silvery curtain move and looked up, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. No one came from behind it, but he strained his ears for a moment, turning his head to the right to listen with his left ear. He could hear whispering, like the kind of whisper a parent does when scolding a child in public. Caleb gnawed on the inside of his cheek, trying to make out the words while hoping he wasn’t eavesdropping on someone having an intimate moment.
He stood up straight, moving a little closer, but not so close that if someone were to walk out, they would think he had been listening in. His stomach twisted, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him as well as the urge to get away, but a low, raspy moan drew his attention back to whatever was hidden behind the curtain.
There was swift thunk, like the sound of someone punching a pillow, and then the unmistakable sound of a slap. Caleb’s heart jumped into his throat as he heard the gasping and wheezing coming from behind the curtain, the sound of footsteps drawing closer.
“Just fucking kill me already,” a man said, his voice trembling, sounding like it was caught between anger and despair. Caleb reached out to the curtain, ready to pull it back.
He paused, wondering if it was the right thing to do. He could hear his heartbeat and he was sure if he looked down, he would see his heart beating through his shirt. Every part of his body screamed at him to turn around and leave. It was none of his business. If someone was getting their ass kicked for something, they probably deserved it. Caleb was barely strong enough to carry drinks back and forth all night, how was he going to help someone who was getting beaten up?
“You can die when I’m done playing with you, and not a moment before,” a lower voice said, hushed and sounding like it came from someone who was smiling.
This person is going to get really hurt, do something! Caleb grabbed the curtain and pulled it back quickly, hoping the suddenness of his movement would spook whoever the assailant was and get him to leave. He looked down, seeing a fit man on the ground who appeared as though he had scrambled up against the steps into the recessed room. He looked down into bloodshot green eyes in a familiar face that had made his last few weeks of high school a living hell. His stomach dropped and his chest tightened. Not because he was scared that the bully that had picked on him even after the accident would poke fun at him again or would say something cruel for cruelty’s sake.
It was because the man that looked back him was a mess, somehow simultaneously bigger and more fit that Caleb had last seen him, while also incredibly small and meek. The skin around his right eye was puffy and purple and the white of his cornea was bright red with burst blood vessels. His lower lip was split in two places, and his shirtless torso was covered in a rainbow of bruises at different stages and colors in the healing process. Blood was smeared across his neck, back, and arms, and he was actively bleeding from a torn flap of his skin where his neck and shoulders met. Caleb slowly realized there were at least a dozen other wounds on him, some looking like deep punctures, others appearing as though someone had been using him as a chew toy.
“Run,” Adam Nolan whispered.
Caleb felt the blood run cold in his veins as he finally tore his gaze away from Adam, looking at the others in the room. It wasn’t just one guy beating up his old classmate, it was four.
The blond man who had been crouching at Adam’s feet stood up slowly, his cold blue eyes focused intently on Caleb. He flashed a toothy grin, almost like he was baring his teeth on purpose, showing they were tinged red with blood. “What do we have here?” he asked, cocking his head.
His eyes fell to Caleb’s hand, still held out loosely even though the blood had long since escaped his cupped hand and soaked into his sleeve.
Caleb noticed the three other men with the blond were doing something with their hands, like they were communicating, before their gazes settled on him as well. One of them took a step forward—a big guy who towered over the others in the room. A little gasp escaped Caleb, the sudden realization dawning that he was about to wade waist deep into a world of pain. With his uninjured hand, he bent down and grabbed Adam’s hand, pulling as hard he could to bring him to his feet so they could run.
Adam’s legs buckled beneath him before he could completely straighten up, crumpling to the ground in a wordless heap. “Come on!” Caleb urged, looking back at the four men in the room, who were looking at him like a kid would look at a shiny new toy.
Wait. No. The blond one is missing.
Caleb blinked, feeling frozen in place with indecision. He heard sobbing from below as Adam curled into a ball on the ground, the skin on his back revealing several stitched-together gashes and more bruises and bite marks. What the fuck was going on?
“Well, aren’t you just a treat?” He felt the cool breath on the back of his neck before he heard the voice of the blond man come from behind him. He didn’t even have a chance to gasp before a hand closed over his mouth and another gripped the back of his neck, shoving him fully through the curtain and into the room.
Chapter Three
Caleb pulled at the hand over his mouth, prying with both hands at the fingers keeping him silent, his head and neck screaming with pain as the man shoved him toward the low table nestled in the middle of the room.
“Stop that,” the man behind him said, his voice eerily calm as he dug his fingernails into Caleb’s cheek.
He winced and lowered his hands to his sides, glancing back and forth between the three other men in the room. They sat on the couch as if nothing untoward were happening in front of them. The two men on either end of the couch were rapidly gesturing to each other, the third, bigger man shifting his gaze from his center seat as each one took turns. Caleb realized they were signing to each other. He desperately wanted to know what they were saying, suddenly terrified by the prospect of what they might be saying to each other about him. Could people plan a body disposal in American Sign Language?