Page 30 of Seth

Gustavo scrambled to his feet, but the ground slipped away from under him. He slumped back on the bed, butt naked, eyes never leaving Hans’ slack face.

His legs shook when he got to his feet once again. With an unsteady gait, he approached the hanging body and touched the beautiful face of his lover.

“Warm,” he stated, dumbfounded. His fingers fumbled over Hans’ neck, found the slow but steady pulse. “He isn’t dead.”

“No, he isn’t,” Diego replied as he turned to the door. “You, come here. Help me take him down.”

A guard, dressed in a black uniform, shied into the room.

Anger rose in Gustavo’s chest. He turned to his friend, fisted the flaps of Diego’s jacket, and yanked. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I thought–”

“Say what? That I warned you? I can do it now.” Diego shook off Gustavo’s grip. “I told you so. Four of our people are in intensive care.”

His memory revived an odd dream where he saw dark eyes watching him from above.

“He was here.” He turned to Hans, examined the knots, his position, then the red splotches covering his body. “Is it ketchup?”

“Marinara1.”

“Wait, look at the knots. Every rope supports the limbs, even the neck. He distributed the weight so evenly, the skin around the ropes barely swelled.” Gustavo droned, then looked at the guard who fiddled with the ropes attached to the doors of the bathroom and closet. “Wait, don’t take him down. Diego, give me your phone. Now.”

“He will come around any moment. Do you want him to wake up like this? What’s wrong with you?”

“Fuck. You’re right.” Gustavo gathered Hans into his arms. “Release the knots.”

The body, falling into his arms, almost knocked him down. Holding himself upright with sheer willpower, Gustavo carefully rested Hans on the bed, then asked, “Bring a wet cloth, please. I don’t want him to know what happened.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later,having removed the last evidence of intrusion from the room, Gustavo dressed and stormed outside. With quick steps, he approached the guardhouse, watching the people in biohazard collect the evidence in the blazing light of searchlights. One of the guards sat on the ground, the doctor flashing penlight into his eyes.

Hand on a shoulder, Gustavo pushed the young doctor away and squatted before the guard. “What happened?”

“Someone attacked me from behind. He injected something in my neck.” The guard had to clear his throat twice to finish the thought.

“Did you see him?”

The clean-shaven chin moved from side to side. “No, but I heard him. He sounded like a snake hissing. Maybe an old smoker or he had a throat injury.”

Gustavo straightened up, approached the guardhouse, and examined the broken-down door and the clots of silverish glue stuck to the frame. “Can anyone update me?”

Diego pressed his shoulder to the wall, threw a glance inside the building. “There’s nothing to say. The chemical analysis didn’t turn back yet. We assume the intruder used some chemical weapon, supposedly through the ventilation on the roof. The servers went down from overheating, so we only have partial footage of the night. My guys are checking it now. Whatever equipment he used, he didn’t leave anything behind except for the dog.”

“A dog?” Gustavo frowned. “What dog?”

Diego thrust his phone forward, showing a photograph of a white and black collie. “A bitch in heat. The dogs went crazy.”

“Take her to the vet. Check if she’s chipped. Also, where is the damn footage? How on earth did he pass this all?” He turned on his heel, gaze grazing over the landscape. Head tilted, he fumbled over his pockets, plucked out his phone, and dialed a number. “Where the fuck are you?”

“In position, Patrón,” the male voice droned, and Gustavo suspected that Rafa fought back a yawn.

“Why didn’t you follow him?”

“Who, Patrón?”

“Mayr.” The phone cracked in Gustavo’s fingers, but his voice remained calm.

“But Patrón, he hasn’t left his home for four days.”