“I went to a hunting party once, I didn’t like it.
Terrible people. They all started hunting me!”
Vegas sits on the couch, staring at the closed laptop on the dinner table as if it’s an unexploded bomb. It might as well be one. He hasn’t touched the thing since yesterday; for a moment he even pondered throwing it away, as if that would help.
Quite frankly, he has no idea how he spent the time since looking at that email. His mind doesn’t seem to work as it should; every thought seems to be frozen, but this is good. This is very good. This is self-protection. Vegas needs a break, his life has been a total shitstorm these past months, he needs a break to breathe, to rest, to heal. What he doesn’t need is additional stress in the form of this.
There is a coffee mug on the coffee table. When did he make himself coffee? At some point he must have eaten something too. Vegas stares numbly at the mug. He must have spaced out, because when he blinks, there is much less light in the room. The sun is setting. Oh. His head and wrists hurt, so he goes and takes some more painkillers.
The laptop is kryptonite, but his mobile phone should be okay. Vegas finds a few more messages from Porsche, each one increasingly irritated. Oops. He should probably send a reply. Maybe later, when he has the energy to do that.
It’s a new day, well, the new day is almost over, but he automatically sends another message to Pete—Pete… No, not going there right now—‘Hanging in there? Life sign, please.’ And gets another ‘Fuck you’ emoji as a reply. Alive and kicking, it seems. Good. That’s good.
What is good? Another blink and it’s dark outside. Huh? When did that happen? He keeps losing track of time. Maybe he has a concussion after all? Should he go see a doctor? Vegas’ thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell. Oh. Maybe he’s already called the doctor for a house call? Confused, he shuffles to the door. Damn painkillers must have worn off, his whole body aches again. The next apartment he rents will need to have a bathtub so he can take a long soak in hot water, which would be heaven for his sore muscles right now.
Vegas finds himself standing in front of the door, wondering why he came here. Wasn’t he on his way to the bathroom to take a hot shower? Then the doorbell rings again. Oh. Right. He opens the door and there is Porsche. Oh. It seems he forgot to answer all those messages.
“Vegas…” Porsche takes a thorough look at his best friend and sighs deeply. “What the fuck? What on earth has happened now?” And without waiting for a reply, he walks past a still confused Vegas, heading for the living room.
What’s happened? Oh nothing, just my world coming apart at the seams. Small things to be glad for, Kinn didn’t come along with Porsche this time.
Vegas slowly follows Porsche back to the living room, where he is turning on the lights. “Have you been sitting here in the dark all the time?” Porsche asks Vegas and frowns. “You haven’t been drinking, right?”
“Alcohol and painkillers do not mix well,” Vegas reminds him tiredly and carefully sits on the couch again, breathing through the pain in his aching body. “You should’t have come here, Kinn will be upset.”
So will Pete… still not going there…
“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts, I think I fell asleep and then I got distracted and forgot.”
“Never mind Kinn. He needs some excitement in his life now, and that I am most willing to provide. He’ll have a glorious fit about this visit, rant and rave for an hour, which is a great way to de-stress for him, and then we’ll have even more glorious makeup sex.” Porsche grins cheekily, while wandering into the kitchen.
Vegas groans. “Too much info. Please keep in mind this is my cousin you’re talking about. There are things I really do not want to know about him, and his sex life is one of these things.”
“Don’t be a prude, Vegas,” Porsche shouts from the kitchen. “Want some food? Because I’m hungry.”
“I suppose I could eat something…?” Vegas doesn’t have a clue when he ate last. He pops some more painkillers while Porsche gets busy in the kitchen, and after a while they have dinner in the living room, slouching on the couch. Just two besties, spending time with another.
“So… spill the beans.” Porsche has found a bottle of beer and leans back, giving Vegas a stern look while taking a sip from the bottle. “I want to know how you ended up like this. Chan had a minor temper tantrum over the tasks you gave him, and so did Kinn. That is pretty impressive even for you, to upset both of them at the same time. So… what mess did you get into now?”
Knowing that Porsche won’t take no for an answer, Vegas sighs. “I ran into an unhappy ex, and things kind of escalated.”
“Your ex? I didn’t even know you had an ex.”
“Nah, Pete’s ex. Well…” A glance at Porsche and yeah, ‘It’s complicated’ won’t do as an answer this time. “So Pete had this patient that he had a one-night-stand with.” Did he though? Just have a one-night-stand? Vegas isn’t so sure about that anymore. He isn’t sure about anything… not going there… “And the guy wanted more, so he started stalking Pete. And he got rather upset when Pete and I hooked up. So the idiot thought it would be a great idea to abduct me.”
“Seriously?” Porsche listens with wide, delighted eyes. “This sounds like the plot of a soap opera.”
“Take a look at me—I can assure you this wasn’t a soap opera. The asshole tasered me, chained me up and used me as a punching bag for a few days.” Vegas winces slightly as he tries to find a more comfortable position to sit in.
“You’re really loosing your touch, Vegas, to let someone get close enough to you to taser you,” Porsche says teasingly, but there’s worry in his eyes. He’s right, no Theerapanyakul family member should make these kind of basic mistakes.
“I was distracted,” Vegas mumbles tiredly. “I know it was stupid, it won’t happen again.”
“So what did you do then? Free yourself and beat the shit out of him, sending him to the hospital?” Porsche is aware of Vegas’ anger issues, so of course this is what he expects to have happened.
“Nah. I broke free and killed him.” Look how smoothly the lie flows out of him. Vegas is even a bit proud of himself for this.
Porsche arches both eyebrows, looking a bit stunned. “Seriously? You really killed him even though you’re a cop? I thought you wanted to be one of the ‘good guys’?”
That Porsche can discuss the murder of another person so casually makes Vegas’ heart ache for him and his lost innocence.
“Yeah.” Vegas shrugs with nonchalance, even though he cringes inwardly. “Well, it couldn’t be helped. I just kind of lost control when I broke free and took it out on him.” No one must ever find out the truth. No one. He can’t even tell Porsche.
“Why did you involve Chan then?”
“Because the asshole beat the shit out of me. I took care of the body, and then I was out of energy to deal with the rest.” Vegas shrugs and then winces, because that hurts.
“Let me see,” Porsche insists. “Up with the sweater. Let me have a look. I can help patch you up if you need it.”
“Hell no,” Vegas shakes his head in alarm. “For all I know, your paranoid boyfriend has installed cameras in my home, just for this kind of situation. Or he will burst in just as you are inspecting my bare upper body. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks.”
Porsche seems to find that notion hilarious. “Forget about Kinn, shouldn’t you be more concerned about your own little vicious cinnamon roll of a boyfriend?”
… Pete… Vegas swallow hard. Not going there. “Yeah well, I think it’s very unlikely that he will show up here right now.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Porsche takes a sip of his beer. “Don’t tell me he knows what you did to his ex?”
“Do I look like an idiot? Of course I didn’t tell him.” Vegas believes he deserves an award for lying so smoothly. “He’s just pissed off that I disappeared for a couple of days and then came back looking like this and refusing to tell him more about it.”
“Normally I would advise you that communication is the key to a good relationship, but in this case I agree, telling him would be a bad idea. I don’t think he would cope well with it. Best not to draw him into this dark world of ours.”
Oh Porsche, you sweet summer child. If you were to see a glimpse of the Pete I saw killing Tawan, you would run away screaming.
“Yes, I agree, I would rather not have him know I killed someone in a fit of rage.” My rage is nothing compared to Pete’s rage though. Vegas sighs again.
“He’ll come around,” Porsche reassures him. “Give him a few days and he’ll be back; he is utterly besotted with you.”
Vegas smiles faintly. He isn’t worried about Pete falling out of love with him. Then his eyes fall on the laptop and he swallows hard. They have other problems.
“Porsche…?” he asks tentatively. “What would you do if you found out that Kinn had been lying to you?”
“Lying as in cheating?” Porsche sorts softly with amusement. “Fat chance in hell of that ever happening. I got him firmly wrapped around my little finger. What did your honeybun do, hide a couple more ex’s from you?”
No, he’s pretending to be someone else. “I’m just trying to figure out what the consequences of me lying to him might be. How he might feel about it, that’s all.” Vegas fakes a smile even though he feels more like crying.
Porsche gives him a hard look and Vegas averts his eyes, because he isn’t sure how long he can hold up this mask in front of his friend.
“It really depends on the lie, Vegas. And on the reason behind the lie. Kinn is very good at withholding the truth about certain matters. He doesn’t outright lie to me, but that doesn’t really make a difference. Sometimes I get very angry with him about this, because it hurts not to be trusted by someone you love. But he always has a good reason for doing what he does. Well, it often sounds like a good reason to him, but I usually disagree. What it comes down to is that I have learned to make an effort to listen to his reasons and to try to see his side of the story. I try to understand why he decided not to tell me the whole truth. As I said before, it is all about communication. You need to learn to talk to each other. To listen to each other without blowing up right away. And to give in and forgive.”
Vegas can’t help but feel astonished. Who would have thought hothead Porsche would turn into such a sensible guy?
“Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?”
Porsche laughs and even Vegas has to chuckle, wincing because that makes his ribs hurt. Porsche notices of course.
“Just lift the damn sweater and let me take a look, Vegas. I swear I won’t move or touch, I just want to see how badly bruised you are.”
Vegas rolls his eyes and then gives in and lifts the edge of the sweater, exposing his chest. He knows it looks bad; the bruises, welts and burns have had time to turn into a kaleidoscope of colours.
Porsche’s smile disappears from his face and he looks grim. “Damn it, Vegas. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Really. I’ve had worse, trust me. I know my body well, I just need a few days of rest, food and painkillers, then I’ll bounce back and I’ll be as good as new.”
Unfortunately that is true. Porsche never saw him when he was beaten by his father, otherwise he’d know that Vegas speaks the truth.
“Well, it’s your decision.” Porsche doesn’t look happy about it, but at least he refrains from pressuring Vegas about it. “Is there anything else I can do for you then? Let me send you food for the next few days so you don’t have to cook and can take it easy?”
“Well, I won’t say no to that offer.” If he spaces out while cooking, Vegas might accidentally burn down the building.
“Perfect, it’s a deal then. Let’s watch a movie and then I’ll leave you alone again. If I go home already, Kinn won’t be angry enough yet. It will be more exciting if I stay a bit longer.” Porsche grins and wiggles his eyebrow at Vegas.
“You’re completely nuts.” Vegas can’t help but laugh. “You really enjoy teasing my cousin, huh?”
“Yes. But I enjoy the makeup sex even more,” Porsche replies and then quickly ducks out of the way when Vegas throws a pillow at him. Both laugh and then Vegas gets a few more hours that don’t require him to think about anything else, a few hours where he can pretend that everything is just fine.
----------------------------------------
Tranquil. Dark. Silent. Blissful undisturbed sleep. Until the ripples start again.
… white noise…
… Tem’s voice in the darkness…
… white noise…
… There is no misunderstanding, it’s all a big fucking lie…
… white noise…
… You need to trust me, Vegas…
… white noise…
… You need to stay away from him, he is not who you think he is…
… white noise…
… He’s been lying to you the whole damn time…
… white noise…
… Not so flippant anymore now, are we Pete…
… white noise…
… What the fuck are you doing, pointing a gun at me, Vegas…
… white noise…
… You can’t be serious…
… white noise…
… Put the gun away, Vegas, did you not hear what I told you about him…
… white noise…
… He is a goddamn liar, would you please listen to me, Vegas…
… white noise…
… He’s been manipulating you this whole time…
… white noise…
… Will you stop pointing the damn gun at me, I’m not the bad guy here…
… white noise…
… Stop looking at him, Vegas, and listen, really listen to me, damn it…
… white noise…
… I got evidence, so much evidence…
… white noise…
… put the gun down and I will show you…
… white noise…
… you are not going to believe it…
… white noise…
… this isn’t the real Pete…
… white noise…
… I swear I am not lying…
… white noise…
… Stop threatening me with the gun already, I am not the enemy here, he is…
… white noise…
… he’s a monster…
… white noise…
… a monster…
… white noise…
… monster…
Vegas jerks awake with a scream. Monster Monster Monster. Tem’s words echo in his head and he groans and buries his face in the palm of his hands. Stop it, he thinks in desperation. Stop it, don’t do this to me. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to remember. Don’t do this to me. I want my happily ever after, don’t ruin this for me. I hate you, Tem. Couldn’t you just stay dead and silent? Why do you have to do this to me, why?
Vegas is too upset to fall back asleep. One glance at the clock—it’s 5 am, he might as well get up. He has a cup of coffee and prepares some porridge in the rice cooker. Then he goes to sit on the couch again, staring at the closed laptop as the sun rises.
He killed his best friend for a man he doesn’t even really know, as it turns out. Vegas yo-yo’s between anger and hurt. And guilt. Damn, he feels so guilty. Guilty for not listening to Tem. Guilty for killing Tem. Guilty for not trusting the man he can’t seem to stop loving. Guilty for spying on him and secretly investigating him. Guilty for loving an obvious liar. Guilty for not being able to stop wanting Pete despite everything. Because he wants him. God, how he wants him. Vegas wasn’t kidding when he said he feels as if he can’t breathe without Pete.
Pete lied to him. He freaking lied to him. And it’s not just about a small thing; this is huge. Stealing someones identity is a serious matter, it’s a crime. Who are you? Why did you do it? Vegas feels so lost, so unsure what to do next. Doubt is gnawing at him. He’s had his fair share of people attempting to get close to him because of his family name. There are many who want their moment in the spotlight, to mingle with the rich and famous. And then there are those who try to get close to the Theerapanyakuls for other reasons; traitors, infiltrators, sent by other families. Why did you do it? Are you just using me? Who sent you?
Vegas heart aches. Why can’t he have just one good thing in his life for once? Why did he give in and allow himself to fall for this damn liar? If it weren’t for the painkillers he’s still taking, he would get drunk, just to be able to forget about this unfolding nightmare for a while. Not the healthiest way to deal with a problem, he’s aware of that. I hate you, he thinks but knows that it’s not true. If it were so easy to just switch off his feelings, to change from love to hate, or just indifference, then he wouldn’t be sitting here, feeling miserable. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? What else are you lying about?
At last he goes and opens the laptop. He does not look at that photo again. Instead, he writes an email to Arm. It’s short and concise.
‘Hi. Help me out, please, I know you have connections. I need a computer forensics specialist who takes on private customers as well. Can you recommend anyone to me? /Vegas.’
Time to get to the bottom of all this. Before … if… he confronts Pete, he needs to gather more facts, he needs to gain an understanding of why Pete—or whatever your real name is—is doing this. And I will start with Tem’s computer, Vegas decides.
----------------------------------------
Vegas doesn’t message Pete that day. He doesn’t message him the next day either. He stays at home and rests, watching TV the whole day to distract himself. And while he’s watching one mind-numbing series after another, Vegas is building a mental wall, stone by stone, row by row. A buffer to protect himself.
He sleeps a lot. Porsche is true to his word and sends the most delicious food three times a day. Vegas applies ointment on his bruises and other wounds, he takes long hot showers and his wall grows taller and taller. Stone by stone. A nice, sturdy wall that will keep all the hurt away from him.
On day three Arm send him the details for a forensic computer specialist. Bingo. Vegas contacts him to discuss the details. Then he gets dressed and heads out for the first time in days.
Everything outside is just like he remembers it. It feels strange. His life has taken a turn for the worse and he somehow expected to see this reflected in his surroundings too, but the world doesn’t really care about Vegas’ life apart from himself.
Vegas drives to work and heads in to the office, ignoring the curious looks he is getting. Tem’s computer is still right there, untouched. Vegas unplugs all the cables and simply takes it along with him. If anybody should ask, he will say he is taking it to tech support. But no one asks. They all do their best to stay out of his way and that suits him just fine. For the briefest moment Vegas is tempted to check if Pete is in his office, but he ruthlessly squashes that thought again and builds another row on top of his mental wall instead. Not going there. Bloody liar.
Once he’s loaded the computer into his car, he sets out across town, heading for Tem’s apartment. He has the keys, and if he is lucky, Tem’s relatives won’t have been able to empty the apartment just yet.
And he is lucky. The apartment appears untouched. Someone’s been around to open the mail and empty the fridge, but everything else is just like he remembers it. Vegas feels his throat constrict as the memories of the time he spent here with Tem come crashing down on him. He has visited the place a lot throughout the years. There are memories about his time with Tem everywhere and it’s very painful to know that his friend is gone and will never be back again. And it’s all his fault.
Since he doesn’t want to get caught here, Vegas pulls himself together and starts to systematically search the apartment. Not that he expects to find anything besides the laptop he was looking for in the first place. He takes it along and heads for the parking garage and Tem’s car—the spare keys for that he found upstairs too.
Thankfully the car has been released from police custody again and sits in its usual spot. With the key, it’s easy to open it and extract the chip for the navigation system. And since he’s already at it, Vegas takes the chip from the dash camera as well. Let’s see what you were up to while you told everyone that you were on vacation.
Then he makes another call and goes to meet the computer specialist. He leaves everything with him; the two computers, the navigation chip and the dash camera chip. Vegas gives him a list of the data he is interested in: all emails Tem has been writing in the last 4 weeks, all the websites he visited, what he searched for online and the places he went. I will get to the bottom of this, he vows. I will find all your damn evidence and then I will make up my mind about what to do next, but I need all the facts first. And he adds another row of stones to his protective wall.
----------------------------------------
It’s late afternoon when he finally arrives at his apartment building. He’s tired. It’s time for more painkillers and some rest, but when he rounds the corner of the hallway there’s another surprise waiting for him in front of his apartment door.
Pete is sitting on the floor there, with his back against the wall, staring at his hands, seemingly lost in thoughts. He looks unhappy, Vegas notes. The sight of him is like having a car slam into Vegas’ protective wall. It shudders violently. Pete—or whoever this really is—has gotten under his skin badly. He doesn’t like feeling so damn conflicted.
Once again Vegas wishes he had never met Pete. He wishes he could just switch off every wayward emotion he is feeling right now. And he doesn’t want to be attracted to Pete anymore either.
Fuck off. Get out of my life. Leave me alone. Damn liar.
But instead he’s hit with the memories of Pete’s first visit here; drunk Pete and his wandering hands grabbing his ass, and how cute Pete looked slumped against that exact wall, while Vegas was unlocking the door, fighting to regain his composure.
Fuck. The wall trembles some more.
Vegas swallows drily, hoping that his voice won’t reveal his inner turmoil. “What are you doing here on the floor?”
Pete casts him a fleeting sideways look and then returns to staring at his hands. “Oh, you’re finally home again…”
Yes, he definitely looks unhappy. No sunny smile in sight, even the clothes he is wearing are in muted colours. He looks depressed, Vegas notes and his heart clenches painfully. He’s obviously not dealing well with having killed another human being.
“I’m waiting for you,” Pete mumbles softly, still refusing to look at Vegas.
“Why didn’t you wait inside? Did you lose your key?” What’s going on here? Vegas is confused. And he doesn’t feel ready for this meeting either. Everything still feels way too fresh and raw after Tem’s bombshell.
Pete looks at his hand, opens it, and there’s the apartment key. “I didn’t dare to use it,” he explains quietly, twirling the key between his fingers.
This is making no sense and it just adds to Vegas’ confusion. “Why?”
Pete sighs, staring at the key in his hand as if were a live grenade. “Because I’m scared.”
Oh fuck. Vegas’ heart skips a beat, and his damn protective wall is shaking in its foundations. Not good.
“What on earth is there to be scared about? You think I would booby-trap the door?
He expects Pete to smile about this notion but instead the other man just looks solemnly at the key in his fingers. “I am scared you changed the locks,” he eventually explains. “Idiotic, huh? I’ve been sitting here for the longest time, but I can’t bring myself to try and see if the key is still working. Pathetic, right?” And then he looks up, daring to look at Vegas for the first time, and there is so much misery in his dark eyes.
All the work of the last few days goes up in smoke at that sight; Vegas’ protective wall just crumbles away as if it never existed in the first place. He was a damn fool to believe that this would work at all. He can’t protect himself against this man. Pete is part of him, they’re intrinsically intertwined at this stage, and removing one from the other just isn’t possible anymore. Fuck.
“Pretty pathetic, yes,” Vegas agrees quietly. “You really are a melodramatic idiot, Sunshine.” With a sigh he walks up to him, leans down and plucks the key from Pete’s fingers. “We have an argument, I don’t text you for two days, and you think I have called it quits? Let me remind you again: you are my missing puzzle piece, and I told you I would stick to you like superglue. Even if I wanted to walk away, we are kind of stuck together now, for better or worse.”
He unlocks the door and walks into his apartment before the astonished Pete can reply in any way. Leaving the door wide open.
I am so screwed, Vegas thinks. I am so damn screwed.
----------------------------------------
They end up in bed. Of course they do. Neither of them is good at talking about problems, so instead they talk with their bodies. The sex is slow and intense. Vegas makes love to Pete as if this is the last time he has the chance to worship his body. Every touch counts. He wants to memorise Pete’s scent, the softness of his skin, the expressions on his face, the way he moves and sighs, the taste of him, the feeling of their skin against each other and Pete’s hair running through his fingers. He wants to burn every single detail deep into his memory, just in case everything goes catastrophically downhill from now on.
Afterwards, when they are curled up in bed, wrapped around each other with the sweat slowly drying on their heated skin, Vegas nuzzles the side of Pete’s neck.
“I love you,” he exhales into his ear. “I love you so damn much. Please don’t break my heart.”
Deep down he hopes that this confession will somehow make Pete open up to him. Talk to me. Please talk to me and explain everything. I don’t want to have to find out by myself.
Pete stays silent though, just sighs contently. Vegas is well aware of Pete’s unwillingness to talk about love. It seems difficult for him to openly confess what he feels for Vegas. That’s okay, because Vegas can sense the intensity of Pete’s feelings towards him. He will come around eventually and open his heart. And maybe tell him about everything else too. Who are you? Why are you lying to me?
There is a rumour that Kinn once shot one of his former boyfriends because he turned out to be a traitor. It has to be a mere rumour, no way Kinn would have been able to kill someone he loves. Vegas can’t imagine shooting someone he loves as much as he loves Pete. If he turned out to be a traitor, Vegas wouldn’t be able to do him in. He might as well put a bullet straight through his own heart.
He spoons Pete and trails kisses along his shoulder. “You really have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers quietly against his skin. “Sometimes it feels as if I can’t breathe without you, and I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but I can’t help it, that’s how I feel.”
“Vegas…” Pete sighs and snuggles deeper into his embrace. “You really are a hopeless romantic.”
“Only with you. You waltzed into my life and stole my heart. And now you’re stuck with me, because I will never let you go again.”—no matter who you are—“Maybe we should just leave the country. Move abroad. Somewhere far away from here.”—maybe running away will solve the whole issue—“I’m pretty sure I could find a job abroad and so could you. We could leave it all behind, the whole mess with my family and the killer, and have a fresh new start.” And maybe then you will tell me who you really are and why you are doing this.
“Now you’re being plain silly, Vegas. This isn’t a soap opera, you can’t just pack up and move to another country as the mood strikes you. Just forget about it, I think we’re doing pretty fine right here where we are.”
From the tone of his voice, it’s clear that Pete isn’t taking him seriously. Vegas knows this is a stupid idea himself. But still…
“We’re not doing fine—I recently got abducted, and I have a serial killer coming after me too, do I need to remind you about that? The more I think about it, the more going abroad sounds like an excellent idea. What do you say, run away with me?” Vegas buries his face in Pete’s neck and inhales his scent. He smells so good, Vegas really can’t get enough of it. He truly is addicted to Pete in every way.
Unfortunately Pete is more down to earth about everything, and the idea of running away doesn’t seem to appeal to him at all. “Request denied. Now are we going to sleep or do you want to watch a movie first?”
Vegas sighs. It was worth a try. His brain is buzzing with thousands of questions that he doesn’t dare to ask. Who are you? Why are you lying to me? Why can’t you just talk to me? Are you going to break my heart?
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
But instead of voicing all these questions, the only thing he says is, “A movie sounds fine.”
----------------------------------------
Tem wanders though his dreams, sprouting endless monologues, just his half of a conversation that got lost in white noise and is now finally resurfacing. Vegas tries to weave the snippets all together and it’s confusing. Pete’s voice haunts his dreams as well, telling his side of the story, a side that doesn’t quite add up with what Tem is talking about. Who is right and who is wrong? Who is lying? It is all so damn exhausting. I just want to sleep, Vegas thinks. Let me sleep. How am I supposed to function if I can’t get a good nights sleep?
Vegas’ life goes back to normal, but that’s just an illusion. What is normal after all? Vegas feels as if he’s been dropped into an alternative reality. The man who calls himself Pete seems to think they can just ignore Tawan’s death and move on as if it had never happened. He refuses to talk about it; instead he keeps himself busy by working overtime, coming home late or staying at his own place. Everything between them just seems ‘off’ somehow.
Caught between his doubts, insecurities, righteous anger at being lied to, and sleep deprivation, Vegas is starting to feel increasingly anxious and frustrated, which is never a good combination. He tries to rebuild his wall but all it takes is one touch from Pete, one look, and everything comes crashing down again, leaving him vulnerable. He’s grasping for life lines, in this case Pete, because he simply can’t help himself. He can’t stop himself from wanting Pete, from needing him. Pete seems to sense the inner urgency that has taken hold of Vegas and reacts by withdrawing further, which in turn only makes Vegas even more anxious. It’s a downward spiral.
Sometimes, when the nightmares awaken Vegas in the middle of the night, he finds the bed beside him cold and empty, and Pete standing in the dark living room, staring out the window. He brushes Vegas off when he asks what is going on. ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ becomes a mantra. Communication is everything, but neither of them is talking, at least not about the important things. Pete is obviously having trouble processing the trauma of Tawan’s death, but he’s refusing to accept any help that Vegas tentatively offers. He needs counselling, but of course he can’t just go to another therapist and talk about how he killed someone, and Vegas doesn’t know how to help him.
The only way he knows how to give comfort is with his body, but Pete has started to reject even that. No sex, no kisses, not even hugs.
“Don’t. I’m not in the mood,” he insists as Vegas winds his arms around Pete’s neck, pulling him close into an embrace.
Vegas pauses, then reluctantly ends the hug, giving Pete a helpless and frustrated look. “Stop pushing me away. I know you’re having problems right now, but I’m trying to help, and you’re shutting me out.”
“You’re getting too clingy, Vegas.” Pete frowns at him and increases not only the emotional but also the physical distance between them by walking towards the kitchen.
That comment hurts. “Of course I’m clingy. I love you, and you’re not doing well. I want to take care of you.” Vegas follows him, fighting down the frustration he feels.
“Well, stop it. You need to dial it down, Vegas, this is starting to stress me out.”
Vegas gives him an incredulous look. “Dial it down? We’re talking about my feelings for you here. Maybe you should go back to reading that clever little book of yours, because I can assure you, right now feel like I’m the only one trying to make this relationship work.”
Pete slams his psychologist mask back into place and gives him a haughty look. “Life isn’t just about how you feel, Vegas, so maybe you should give me the space I ask for.”
I must not get upset with him, Vegas reminds hinself, but damn, it’s increasingly difficult. He’s trying, really, he is, but he’s also coming to the end of his rope.
“Life has been all about you, ever since my abduction, which you also conveniently do not want to talk about. Would it have killed you to show just the slightest bit of concern or offer just a little bit of comfort to me? You’re not the only one who has been through hell recently. Stop shutting me out and talk. Porsche says communication is really important.” And as soon as the words have left his mouth, he knows he’s made a mistake.
Pete’s eyes narrow in anger as soon as he hears Porsche’s name. “Are you talking about me behind my back? Seriously? With Porsche?”
“Porsche is my best friend, who else am I supposed to talk about my problems with?” Vegas throws his hands up in exasperation. Why are they fighting again? Why can’t they just talk instead?
“So I am a ‘problem’ now? You didn’t like what you saw me do to Tawan and now I’m a problem? And you go and talk about it with your best friend who you’ve probably had a crush on for ages?”
To say that Pete sounds irritated would be an understatement.
“Pete!” Vegas is struggling hard to keep his temper in check. All of this sounds so unfair, he hasn’t had enough sleep, and who is Pete anyway to throw a temper tantrum like this when he’s been the one lying about everything the whole time?! “That is so uncalled for. Stop trying to deflect from the real issue here!”
“And you should stop trying to act as my therapist, you’re unqualified!”
Pete is fuming. He stalks past Vegas, heading for the exit.
“Stop running away!” Vegas yells after him. “I am so damn tired of you walking out on me! It’s the middle of the damn night, come back!”
“Go to hell, Vegas!”
Pete slams the door shut on his way out of the apartment.
Vegas finds himself alone, once again, and the frustration turns into anger. What the fuck was that about?! And before he can stop himself, he falls back into old habits and with a flick of his hand swipes everything clear off the kitchen table. Mugs, glasses, a plate—everything crashes to the floor and breaks.
“Fuck!” Vegas yells. “Fuck fuck fuck!” And he kicks the table too. “Fuck!”
----------------------------------------
The next day Vegas heads back to work. He goes through the database findings looking for more clues about their serial killer, but after a few unproductive hours the ever-growing uncertainty within him spurs him to make another trip across town, this time to a place he’d rather not see again, ever.
The door is easily broken into. He flips on the lights and sighs. God, he hates this place. Everything is spotless; Chan deserves a medal. The chain is gone, as is the couch, the coffee table and the seat that were all drenched in blood. The whole place smells of cleaning products. Gloves on, Vegas heads straight for the office area he remembers so well. He’s here for Tawan’s computer.
Vegas can feel himself slipping into total paranoia; it feels horrible. He can’t shake the feeling that things between Tawan and Pete weren’t exactly as he was made to believe, and he hates himself for turning into such a jealous idiot. He wants to believe Pete, but now that the floodgates of suspicion have opened, doubt piles upon doubt and he’s unable to rein in his scepticism about basically everything.
If Pete’s lied about his identity, what else has he been lying about? He seemed awfully familiar with Tawan. He even kissed him—a fact that still irritates the hell out of Vegas. Just a one-night-stand? I think not. And that’s where the computer comes into play. He needs to be able to look at all the data, the social media posts, the emails, instant messenger messages and such. To put his mind to rest. I hate this. This isn’t me. I hate this version of me. Why do you have to lie to me, Pete? Look what you’re making me do.
Since there’s nothing else here that interests him, Vegas just packs up the computer and leaves, dropping it off at the forensic specialist who is already working on the other computers. Vegas needs answers, and he is determined to get them. And amidst all of this he can’t shake the feeling that he is overlooking something really important. But he just can’t remember what it might be.
----------------------------------------
After two days of radio silence, Pete returns as if nothing ever happened, and they start dancing around each other on eggshells again.
The uncertainty of everything is driving Vegas insane; that’s the only excuse he has for going through Pete’s wallet, taking photos of his ID card and all the other cards he finds in there while Pete’s taking a shower. The ID looks real, it has to be an exceptional forgery. He hates himself for doing this. But he hates being lied to even more.
He’s finding out the hard way how it feels to be totally dependent on another person, and he doesn’t even understand how he got to this point. Hell, he doesn’t understand himself. Is this really how love is supposed to feel? The thing between him and Pete feels vastly different from what his cousin and Porsche have. I am so screwed.
----------------------------------------
Back at work, he locks himself into his office, calls up a private browsing session and starts googling. Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham. And doesn’t find much at all. An address. It occurs to him that he’s never been at Pete’s place—let’s just keep calling him Pete for now—in fact, he knows awfully little about his boyfriend, coming to think of it. A LinkedIn page. Vegas notes down the information listed there too, but it’s not very informative. No photos anywhere. He knows all this already; on the surface everything looks fine and normal.
After a brief moment of hesitation, he pulls an USB stick from his pocket and inserts it into his computer. He got the stick from his father the day he graduated from the police academy, in the hopes that Vegas would use its special capabilities for the best of the family. Well, needless to say that didn’t happen. The stick has been resting in the back of his gun safe, untouched for years. But this seems like the perfect time to make use of it, even if it goes against everything Vegas stands for as a cop.
Logged into the police network, all it takes is one click and the nifty little program on the stick acts like a master key, giving Vegas nearly unlimited access to information he normally would be logged out of. He’s a bit shocked by the sudden, limitless access. No wonder his father was so keen for Vegas to use this. It would be a disaster of unheard of proportions to give Khun Gun this kind of admittance to the police network and their affiliates. Vegas shudders when he thinks about what sort of evil his family could bring upon the city with this.
Vegas types ‘Phongsakorn Saengtham’. Open sesame…
And the information unfurls before him. Everything there is to know about Pete in the official channels. Where he was born and when. Where he lived. The cars he owns and has owned. His tax returns. Health records. Any traffic offences. Health insurances. Entry and exit date for the country. His high school grades.
Holy shit, this is unnerving. He needs to find out who wrote this program and put them behind bars. I wonder if Uncle Korn has this program too…
Vegas works his way to the unexpected wealth of information and soon one thing becomes clear—the records have been altered. Not all of them, just the ones at the top layer, the ones that people would look at when doing a routine check.
For example, those files show Pete as being just about two months older than Vegas, but according to the photo he saw, the real Pete should be much younger. And indeed, when he looks through the insurance data history and older tax records, the real age is revealed. Twenty-two. Vegas has to admit, in his increasing paranoia he has started to wonder if all this might just be an elaborate ruse from Tem to make him mistrust Pete. He is really going insane.
Buried deep in the data he comes across another photo of the real Pete. He was much younger then, and there is absolutely no resemblance to the Pete he knows. It’s disheartening.
Think, Vegas, think. Someone has been altering the data. Who?
“I’m pretty good with computers, I dare say.” Pete gives him a dimpled smile, outing himself as a computer nerd.
Shit. No way. So where is the real Pete? According to the travel data, the real Pete has been spending an extensive time abroad in the US. For studies, it’s listed. He returned to the country about a year ago and hasn’t travelled since.
Vegas makes a note to check LinkedIn to see what universities are entered there, and to check if the real Pete is still on record as studying there. Maybe he should go talk to the parents. But a check reveals that they’re both listed as deceased and there are even death certificates for them. When did they die? Also about six months ago.
Six months. His Pete started working here at the police department around that time. What happened six months ago? Vegas needs answers, but instead he has to stop his research because other police work interferes.
----------------------------------------
The data from the forensics expert arrives a few days later. Vegas decides to deal with the Tawan issue first and soon wishes he hadn’t done so.
That man was seriously disturbed, completely obsessed with his therapist. There are photos of Pete, lots of them, taken from a distance. Tawan has also been googling Pete’s address. Vegas’ address too. There are photos of them together. Damn stalker.
And then the e-mails. Long, winding emails full of romantic drivel that Pete patiently and professionally answers, keeping Tawan at a distance, reminding him of their doctor/patient relationship again and again.
Vegas feels sick to his stomach reading them. Disgusting. Why didn’t Pete stop counselling Tawan earlier? How could he endure this for so long?
Then he stumbles across an email that sends a shiver of ice down his spine.
“I’ve dealt with them. We can be together now; there is no more obstacle. I’m so excited, this will be the beginning of a new life with you. Are you excited too, my love?”
A glance at the time stamp of the e-mail, then at his notes, and Vegas swallows hard. Shit. It’s the same date. The exact same date as listed on the death certificates of Pete’s parents. Shit. Their cause of death is listed as traumatic brain injury and internal bleeding due to a car accident. Holy shit. Tawan killed Pete’s parents? This nightmare is getting worse and worse.
Right after this incident it appears that Pete transferred Tawan to another therapist and cut down any further communication between them to a bare minimum. And Tawan wasn’t happy about that. His messages get increasingly desperate at the point when Vegas enters the picture.
What Vegas can’t find is any conclusive evidence that Pete and Tawan had more than a one-night-stand. He should feel reassured by that, but somehow the relief he hoped for isn’t materialising. Something feels off, but at this point Vegas doesn’t trust his own ability to draw the right conclusions anymore.
As for Tem’s data… this is just painful. Every document investigating Pete just reveals his friend’s deep desperation about the relationship between Vegas and his therapist. Bank statements. General insurance information. Credit card transactions. Medical records. Work contracts. School records. University records. Travel records. So much new information. Tem was nothing but efficient.
The real Pete was a psychology student, as it turns out, studying in the US. There is a long list of classmates and teachers; Tem seems to have called or mailed each of them, gathering information. The real Pete seems like a gentle, quiet soul, well liked by everyone but sort of forgettable. Unassuming. Just average. Nothing stands out. And according to Tem’s files he unexpectedly dropped out of university about a year ago to complete his studies back home in Thailand. There are photos too. All showing a Pete Vegas never met.
With real Pete’s return to Thailand, Tem seems to have run into a dead end information-wise. The apartment listed is that of the Pete Vegas knows. Somehow the real Pete disappears into thin air, only to be replaced by the therapist Vegas knows and loves. Tem seems to have found no record or written evidence of the real Pete since his return to the country. If he ever returned.
It looks like the psychiatric office Pete worked for as a freelancer before joining the police department only knows fake Pete. That’s where he ran into Tawan too. Tem seems to have been frustrated about all of this as well, Vegas can feel his growing frustration while reading through his notes.
Both Tem and Vegas are baffled that the fake Pete passed the vetting for his current job as a police department counsellor. Then again, as Vegas observed, the false identity is masterfully forged, and with these credentials, of course no one expected anything.
Who on earth are you, Vegas wonders at night, watching Pete sleep peacefully beside him. What are you running from that you have to take someone else’s identity? Why can’t you talk to me about this?
The uncertainty hurts. Once again Vegas just wants to turn off his confusing feelings for this man, or get them under control somehow. He wants a buffer zone. He feels as if he’s being relentlessly battered by one revelation after the other. He just wants to love and be loved without any complications, he is tired of fighting, he is tired of all the damn lies. Please trust me, he thinks and traces Pete’s eyebrows with his fingertips, careful not to wake him up. Please open up. We can figure this out together.
----------------------------------------
Tem’s notes end abruptly; the last thing he wrote down was an address. A quick check reveals it to be the address of the deceased parents. Vegas decides to skip work, not even bothering to call in sick. No one will dare question him about his absence anyway; they know Vegas Theerapanyakul can do whatever the hell he wants in this precinct, with no real consequences. Instead, he follows in Tem’s footsteps with the help of the data from the navigational chip of his car. He ends up in the quiet, upscale neighbourhood where the parents of the real Pete used to live.
Vegas wouldn’t call this a rich area, but the people living here are certainly upper middle class. The streets are clean, the lawns immaculate. Most houses are behind high walls and gates. There are CCTV cameras at every corner and the cars parked in the area are also of the more expensive kind; Audis, BMWs, even a Mercedes.
Once he’s parked his car, Vegas walks up to a beautifully wrought iron gate. Like most of the houses in this street, the property is surrounded by a high, white-washed wall. The house itself, the part he can see, has clean lines and is relatively modest looking. It’s in the middle of the day and Vegas cannot see any cars parked in the driveway. He has no idea if there is anyone living here at the moment. But the grounds and the garden seem well looked after.
Hmmm… After a moment of consideration, he wanders over to the neighbouring house and rings the doorbell there. After a while, an elderly lady with an abundance of laugh lines on her wrinkled face answers the door and looks Vegas over curiously. He isn’t wearing his uniform today, but he’s neatly dressed as usual. Boring, Pete would call his style. Vegas calls this ‘dressing professionally’.
With a smile, Vegas flashes his police ID. “Detective Theerapanyakul. Would you be so kind to answer a few questions about your neighbours?”
“Oh dear, is there a problem? Which neighbours? The ones with the cats?” The woman seems confused and slightly intimidated. Vegas is used to this reaction to his badge.
“Please don’t be concerned. These are just routine questions about the couple who used to live in the house to the right from you.”
“Oh. The Saengthams. Are you here about the car accident? Again? One of your colleagues was here a while ago, asking questions about them too.”
She looks adorably confused, just a sweet old lady who rarely has to interact with the police and is thereby nervous.
The colleague must have been Tem, Vegas figures. “Ah yes, my partner.” And then he takes a guess. “The one you showed the photo album to.”
“No dearie, that wasn’t me, that was Ploy from across the street.” And before Vegas can stop her, the little old Lady calls out in a surprisingly loud voice: “Ploooooy! I know you’re lurking, come over here and talk to this nice young man!”
Before he can even recover from the surprise, Vegas finds himself surrounded by a small group of senior citizens, mostly women, who are all delighted to make his acquaintance.
“The Saengthams, such lovely couple, such a tragedy what happened back then,” he’s told. “Both of them, gone within the blink of an eye, because of a runaway driver. Have you finally found the culprit?”
“I am not at liberty to divulge this information…” Vegas gives the ladies his best professional smile. “… but I can tell you there has been some progress in the investigation; that’s why I’ve returned to go over some general facts again with all of you.”
They must all be bored out of their minds, because Vegas has difficulties keeping up with all the information they excitedly offload on him now. What he learns is that Pete’s parents were well-loved in the community. They had been living here for a long time, and their son Pete was the apple of their eye. The whole neighbourhood knows how proud they were when he went to study abroad.
And that’s why none of them understands why he didn’t return home after the terrible accident that killed his parents. Such scandalous behaviour, they all agree on that. Not filial at all. No respect towards his deceased parents. He didn’t even come home for the funeral. Once again they all agree that he must have fallen into some bad company abroad.
“It must be drugs,” Ploy insists, and the group nods vigorously in agreement. They’ve all heard on TV how wild things are at those American universities. No discipline.
Vegas takes notes. He shows them the photo of Tawan but none of them has ever seen him before. Then, out of curiosity, he asks about the house. The real Pete must have sold it, he learns. To fuel the supposed drug addiction. The fact that really worries Vegas is that the real Pete hasn’t shown his face around here since returning from the US. Not once. Even his parents, and thereby their neighbours, were not aware that he has been in the country for a year already, way before his parents funeral; they were all under the impression that he was, and still is, studying in America. Instinct tells Vegas this doesn’t bode well for the real Pete. People don’t tend to go missing for a year and then pop up again all of a sudden. And that makes Vegas anxious. Damn it, Pete. How are you involved in all this?
The group starts to disperse eventually, as Vegas runs out of questions to ask. He is just about to return to his car when something else occurs to him and he stops Ploy from leaving. “One last question. Do you have the contact information for the new owners of the house?”
The old lady shakes her head with a smile. “Unfortunately I can’t help you with that, detective. I’ve seen him just a few times, such a private man. I think this is just a secondary home; he’s rarely around.”
Ploy excuses herself and heads back home. Vegas just stands there, taking an unhappy look at the Saengtham property. Fuck. He should go home. He should just drop this investigation. The man who calls himself Pete loves him, isn’t that enough? Vegas should just forget about all this, pretend he never received this information from Tem, and just live his life and be happy with Pete. He should just go home. But he doesn’t.
----------------------------------------
Gaining access to the property proves to be ridiculously easy. Locks were never a problem for Vegas. It seems that if he wants to find out who Pete really is, he will need to start looking right at the source. Vegas is running out of options and he would rather not start searching Pete’s apartment just yet. If he even has an apartment. Doubt raises its ugly head again. He’s never been to Pete’s place, he just assumed… Well, shit. Maybe this right here is Pete’s place. Should he really do this then? The need for answers proves too strong though; it doesn’t really matter if Pete lives here or not, Vegas needs to search the property.
He isn’t worried the slightest bit that the neighbours might see what he is doing. After all, what are they going to do? Call the police? Just as he’s about to enter the house, he suddenly remembers that he forgot to do something really important: he needs to switch off his phone. Imagine Pete checking that idiotic App right now, wouldn’t that be embarrassing to explain? Vegas shudders just thinking about it. He’s not ready yet to confront Pete about the whole identity scam.
Once he’s turned off the phone, Vegas slips into the house and closes the door behind him. It’s a lovely house, even inside. White walls, a mix of modern and antique furniture, not that much decoration. Vegas wonders if the interior’s been changed in any way since the death of the Saengthams. It doesn’t look like it. The new owner of this house really doesn’t spend a lot of time here. The air inside is stuffy; it smells dusty, as if no one has opened the windows for quite a while.
Some of the furniture has a light layer of dust on it. Dust motes float through the sunlight filtering through the large windows. Vegas checks out the kitchen first, but can’t find any fresh food anywhere. The only thing in the fridge is bottled water. A quick check of the cupboards reveals a couple of Instant Ramen bowls. The trash is empty. This doesn’t feel like a lived-in house, so Vegas relaxes slightly. The chances of being discovered will be relatively low, he figures.
Vegas searches the upstairs next. There are a couple of bedrooms, bathrooms, and an office devoid of any computer or printer. The layer of dust is thick in here, it hasn’t been used for a long time. Neither have the bedrooms, apart from a smaller one. This is the only bedroom with a pillow and a blanket, apparently it is used occasionally.
It’s warm in the house; the air conditioning has been turned off. Vegas is sweating. He searches every room not even knowing what exactly he is looking for. But there is nothing. Some old folders with unimportant papers from the couple who used to live here. Even frames with their family photos. All untouched, no one has bothered removing them. It feels a bit eerie, walking past them, always under their watchful eyes. If Vegas was hoping to find something pointing him in the direction of the real Pete, he will have to leave with empty hands. There is nothing and it’s frustrating as hell.
The last thing to do before leaving is checking the walled garden, because Vegas is thorough. He’s getting restless, he’s spent way too much time here already. As far as he is concerned, this property is a dead end. Stepping outside, he takes a deep breath of fresh air, damn that feels good. The air inside of the house was really way too stuffy.
The garden is meticulously groomed; a gardener probably comes regularly to take care of the plants. Vegas makes his way around the house, but doesn’t see anything of interest. That changes when he rounds the corner. There is a surprisingly large greenhouse ahead. Well, that’s an unexpected find. They live in a tropical climate, why would anyone have a greenhouse here?
The glass panels are foggy with condensation; it’s impossible to see inside. Old people have strange hobbies, Vegas thinks. Maybe they were collecting orchids? He read a book once about an orchid collector, and just never really understood the fascination with those flowers. Or flowers and plants in general. Vegas has no green thumb; he even managed to kill a cactus through sheer neglect. Just a quick look and then he will drive home.
When Vegas opens the creaky door to the greenhouse, he is hit by a wave of stifling heat that is so humid that it feels like breathing water. The heat is the first thing his mind registers but then comes the smell. Wet earth, decomposing plants and above all, a heavy, sweet fragrance, almost cloying in this intensity.
Vegas’ heart skips a beat. And another one. Despite the scorching heat it feels as if he’s been dropped into a frozen lake. While his mind is still trying to make sense of the view in front of him, he is already moving forward, one step at a time. His legs might as well be covered with lead, they feel just as heavy. Vegas staggers into the greenhouse, straight into a hellish kaleidoscope of dark green, red, and black, with a sprinkle of bright orange.
So much red.
It is everywhere.
So much red.
In a stunned daze, Vegas stumbles haltingly through the greenhouse, skimming his fingers along the silky sea of red flowers. So much red. Red everywhere. His stomach roils, his nostrils, mouth and throat are coated with the sugary scent that permeates the air.
What the hell?
Vegas can’t seem to think. His mind is frozen, all fluttering thoughts suspended. It’s a strange feeling. He can’t think, but he can still feel, in fact his mind is a huge mess of raw feelings right now. Horror first and foremost. He’s standing in horrified silence, the soft texture of the silky flower petals caressing his fingertips. What a nightmare. What a fucking nightmare. What is the meaning of this?
From somewhere behind him a soft voice breaks the silence. “Asiatic lily hybrids. ‘London Heart’, to be exact. They’re breathtaking, aren’t they?”
Surprised shock ripples through Vegas.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Amidst the sea of flowers, he finds himself turning around, towards the entrance of the greenhouse, and that voice. That very familiar voice. Should have turned off that phone sooner—the thought unfreezes and flutters through his mind. This is going to be awkward.
But all it takes is one glance at the man casually leaning against the doorframe, and Vegas’ danger sense emits an unearthly screeching alarm that sends shockwaves of adrenaline through his whole body and he freezes in mid-motion. Awkwardness will be the least of his problems.
It is indeed Pete. But at the same time, it isn’t.
Changeling.
Doppelgänger.
Skin walker.
This is not the Pete he knows. Vegas experiences a brutal visual flashback to a stranger with a blood-smeared face and dead eyes, lost in a killing frenzy, stabbing into an already dead body. His breath hitches in panic and his heart skips another beat.
Pete’s lips curve into the familiar smile, but coupled with this dead, calculating look, the effect is simply bone-chilling.
“Do you like my flowers?” he asks softly.
Vegas’ mind, locked in its frozen state, is trying to make sense of it all, to connect all the dots.
What the hell is this supposed to mean?
My flowers?
Pete’s flowers?
Oh.
And standing there like a petrified statue between the blood-red lilies, Vegas world falls apart.
… no…
… no…
… no…
All his frozen thoughts unfreeze simultaneously and flutter around in a dizzying frenzy and Vegas can hear himself whimpering in distress.
… little ray of sunshine
… the abdominal cavity has been opened, emptied and now gapes like a red and black maw with pale streaks of bone reaching outward like clawed hands
… a pleasure to meet you. I’m Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, your therapist. Just call me Pete
… an eerie blood-red meadow of flowers and as the centrepiece—holy shit—this used to be a human being
… the Cheshire Cat is smiling again, slow at first, but then the smile widens and there’s a wicked gleam in the depth of his eyes
… a bucket full of thick glistening strands of nastiness
… I merely acknowledge the fact that your monster is smart as hell
… fluff ball
… if you sabotage this partnership one more time, I’ll make you regret it
… mine
… from the head down towards the waist the victim has been flayed
… you chose me
… hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side
… you know what happens when you make one-sided decisions? You get to live with the consequences of your decisions
… This is so nice and normal, I never had anything like this before
… he drilled through the tissue and then threaded the cable through that hole before wrapping it around the wrist a few times, fastening it with an ordinary knot
… you saved me
… I fear an ‘I’m sorry’ simply won’t cut it this time
… congratulations Vegas. You got yourself a boyfriend, let’s go steady
… the victim has been opened up like a can of sardines, unzipped like a zipper
… I love you
… You are going to be the death of me, aren’t you? I haven’t decided yet
And like a ray of sunshine piercing the darkness, Pete’s familiar voice intrudes, cutting through all the messy, fluttering thoughts. “Well, isn’t this a rightful mess? You really shouldn’t have come here, Vegas.”
Such a pleasant voice. Vegas loves that voice so much but right now it only sends shivers of dread down his spine. So distant and cold. Wrong, this is wrong.
“I suppose we have Tem to thank for this mess. You must have started to remember.” The stranger wearing Pete’s face—because this cannot be his Pete—tsks as he studies Vegas calmly. “Have I lost you to white noise or can you still hear me? Nod if you can understand, please.”
Vegas nods numbly. Skin walker. Changeling. Doppelgänger. Not wanted here, go away. He wants Pete. He does not want this frightening stranger wearing Pete’s face because the implications—‘Do you like my flowers’—the implications… notgoingthere… notgoingthere…
… Tem. Always Tem… Talking talking talking…
… You are not going to believe it…
… This isn’t the real Pete…
… I swear I am not lying…
… Stop threatening me with the gun already, I am not the enemy here, he is…
… He’s a monster…
… He is THE monster…
… Come to your senses, Vegas, he’s killing people…
… I’m begging you Vegas, please believe me…
… He’s a cold-blooded killer…
… You can’t possibly be okay with this…
The implications. NOTGOINGTHERE. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Pete. No! NOTGOINGTHERE. Absolutely not going there! I. Refuse. To. Go. There!!!
Vegas’ mind is battening down the hatches in a desperate attempt to cope with this massive shock. Tem. Buckets. Flowers. Wings. Killer. An imaginary net catches all those wildly fluttering thoughts connected to them, tosses them into a black room, locks it and throws away the key. Much better now. One thing at a time. A lonely thought flutters by. Should have brought my gun. Another thought flutters through the darkness. But hey, that’s not a problem, Pete brought a gun. And after a slightly longer pause there comes another fluttering thought. Isn’t that my gun? Sure looks like my SIG P320SP.
Oh.
Vegas is still a shell-shocked mess, but things are starting to shift into focus again. Pete—his Pete?—is not only leaning casually against the door-frame of the greenhouse, watching Vegas closely, he’s also holding a gun in his right hand. How did he get that out of Vegas’ gun safe? Never mind that now. Why is Pete holding a gun? And the way he is handling it shows that he is very comfortable and familiar with handguns. The cognitive dissonance this sight causes in Vegas is mind-jarring.
“What the fuck is all this supposed to mean?” Vegas almost doesn’t recognise his own voice, it’s brittle with distress.
“Oh Vegas…” The stranger sighs. “Just as I expected, you are not dealing well with this at all.”
Dealing well with what?—large red blossom with petals that shift into solid black, with vividly orange filaments—NOTGOINGTHERE! The runaway thought is caught, locked up and gone again, leaving Vegas confused. Isn’t that his gun Pete is holding? Why is Pete holding a gun again? He shouldn’t be holding a gun, he doesn’t know how to handle it. Or does he? Hesitantly, Vegas takes a step forward.
And suddenly he finds himself staring in disbelief at the barrel of his own gun, now pointed at him. Vegas’ cop training kicks in and he stops moving. Everything else is shoved on the back burner; the gun is the problem he needs to deal with first.
“I don’t understand, what is the meaning of all this?” he hoarsely asks again.
“Be a good boy and don’t move.” Pete’s voice is oh so calm and frighteningly detached.
None of this is making any sense! The heat in the greenhouse is oppressive, but Vegas feels so very cold that he’s shivering.
“What the hell are you doing, pointing a gun at me? Cut the crap, Pete.” Vegas’ voice is actually trembling now.
The gun doesn’t waver, it maintains its aim right at him. Pete’s hand doesn’t even tremble. The level of control he has over his body is astonishing, and Vegas is caught between reluctant awe and terror. None of this is making any sense! What is going on?!
“Pete…” This is Pete, right? He looks like Pete. But at the same time, he doesn’t. Because Vegas shouldn’t feel such overwhelming bone-numbing terror when facing the person he loves, right? “What are you doing? Put the gun down…”
“This really is an unfortunate development,” Pete muses cooly, giving Vegas a thoughtful look. “We had such a delightful time together, what a bummer to have it end like this. A pity, really.”
“Pete… please… Please put the gun down.”
None of this is making any sense, what is Pete even talking about?! Vegas wants to reach out to him but doesn’t dare to move. His danger sense is still howling at full volume. This isn’t a joke! His instinct tells Vegas that the man before him fully intends to use the gun, and since that man is Pete, it leaves Vegas in a state of stunned confusion. His world has truly fallen completely apart.
One thing at a time, the gun needs to be dealt with first. “Please… I know you don’t want to do this. I don’t understand why you are doing this but you don’t want to hurt me, you know that, right? You’re not going to be able to pull that trigger, so just… put the gun down, please? I’m begging you…”
The most heartbreaking fact about this situation is the look on Pete’s face. He’s so terrifyingly calm, too calm, as if he’s locked away every emotion, everything that has made Vegas fall in love with him in the first place. This isn’t his Pete, this is a stranger wearing his skin. All of this feels like a nightmare.
“You know you’re not going to actually shoot me,” Vegas pleads with him once more, his voice breaking. He feels close to tears.
Pete—no, the stranger pretending to be Pete—regards him motionlessly. He remains completely unreadable, which sends tremors of unease through Vegas. Especially when he speaks, at long last—his tone of voice is alarmingly detached. “What makes you think I won’t shoot you?”
Vegas wants to throw up his hands in exasperation, but his survival instinct tells him very firmly that any sort of movement right now would be a very bad idea. “Because you love me, you dumbass!” He feels his resolve starting to crumble and tears start gathering in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you love me… you can’t shoot me because you are just as crazily in love with me as I am with you!”
Another wayward thought flutters past —killer… monster… buckets… flowers… wings… NOTGOINGTHERE—before it’s locked away again and gone.
Vegas is pouring his heart out like this, and what sort of reaction does he get? A slight frown, and the flicker of an unknown emotion in the depth of those dead eyes. “… I’m in love with you…”
The toneless way Pete phrases it makes it sound more like a question than a statement. It causes Vegas’ heart ache even more.
“You love me, so you are not going to shoot me, Pete. Just put the gun down, come over here and hold me, please.” At last, a tear rolls down Vegas’ cheek, followed by another one. He can’t help it. This is just too painful. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. He’s falling apart.
“Please… What on earth is happening, why are you doing this? Please stop, please. I really need you to hold me right now, can’t you see?” It’s such a surreal situation, how and when did everything go so horrifically wrong? Vegas doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t. The person he loves most in the world is aiming a gun at him and this really shouldn’t be happening. “You’re not going to shoot me because you love me, Pete,” he repeats with a broken whisper.
The sound of the gun firing registers in his brain at the same time as something kicks him in the chest hard, knocking the wind out of him. The bullet slams into him with so much force that he’s knocked backward. It burns; a red-hot poker through his chest. Vegas doesn’t even have time to make a sound before his body goes into instant shock and shuts down, and then he is falling, hitting the ground so hard that his head bounces off the compacted earth. There’s nothing but shocked disbelief before he’s swallowed by the darkness and dragged down into the abyss.