Tuesday, July 28th, 7:30 p.m.

Justin is on his way to Lakevallée, driving too fast, trying to control his desperate urge to get to Brian. After deplaning at 6:10 p.m, he tried calling Detective Horvath a couple more times but didn’t succeed in reaching him. He also tried to call Brian, but again, the call failed to connect. He hasn’t slept for more than a day and should be exhausted, but he is too stressed out to rest. He keeps seeing Jason’s eyes, keeps hearing his desperate words. He sees Brian’s face, too, a myriad of possibilities turning around in his head as he thinks about the homicidal maniac who took Jason’s life.

If Carl has flown to Billings to relocate Brian - like Justin thinks he has - the blond needs to get to Lakevallée before it’s too late. Besides, with the flash drive Carl will be able to act. It contains all the evidence the FBI needs, the connections, the proof of organ trafficking, the names of the persons involved, the files explaining who was killed so rich individuals could live.

And it also contains Jason’s last testimony - the irrefutable proof that Harry Malone is a sick motherfucker.

***

“I don’t want to die.”

Jason explained everything that led up to his death in the video that Justin had watched. For the young hustler, it all started with a random encounter on Liberty Avenue. It ended with a death sentence, since he saw something he shouldn’t have and stole a flash drive he should have left behind.

“I met this guy a couple of days ago,” Jason revealed in the video. “He offered to pay me six hundred bucks if I agreed to go to a party with him. So I went.”

Justin remembers how pale the hustler’s face looked as he spoke.

“The place was huge and damned impressive - one of those isolated houses on the outskirts of the city that you can’t see from the road, hidden in the middle of nowhere, with a single drive secured by a tall gate - so I knew whoever owned it must be someone important. When we arrived, I saw a lot of cars parked outside. Inside, people were milling around: men, women, all there to party and even some who were having sex out in the open. Booze, drugs - ecstasy, cocaine, crystal, you name it - were flowing. I stayed with my client for a while. I took some E, and then we went upstairs to fuck. I gave him a blowjob and he fucked me twice before he fell asleep. And me? I wanted to pee. Fuck... I just wanted to pee.”

Jason paused, briefly burying his face in his hands. Staring back at the camera, he took a deep breath before continuing, “The music was still loud even though it was late, and I looked for an upstairs bathroom, but the one I found was occupied by a couple fucking. So I went downstairs and along a corridor leading to the other aisle of the house, thinking other people wouldn’t have gone there and that I would be able to find a free bathroom... but the place... was so fucking huge, you know? I got lost.”

A dry laugh escaped Jason’s lips. “That’s when I heard a scream coming from under my feet. And because I’m totally stupid, I didn’t turn away.” He looked paler as he remembered, chastising himself, “Shit, why the fuck did I stay?”

His face twisted into a pained grimace. For an instant, Justin had thought Jason wouldn’t be able to continue, but the hustler eventually resumed, “I found the door to the basement and went down the stairs… I’m not sure why I kept going... The screams got louder, so yeah... I walked toward… I… When I reached the bottom floor, everything around me was dark, except for a dim light coming from a door on the other side of the space. The door was ajar. Nobody in that room could see me in the dark, so I approached, and that’s when... I saw that guy. He was tied up in a chair, facing three men. He was... covered in blood, repeating the word “Please” again and again.”

Jason breathed out the last word, his voice breaking a little more. He was crying now. “I noticed right away who the guy in charge was. He was tall, thin, wearing a… a fedora, and he had the kind of suit only big money can buy, and he should have been… handsome, you know? But he looked… he looked crazy to me. He had this bland look on his face, and a… creepy smirk, not an obvious one, just… he… he acted like he was having a barbecue or something.”

Jason paused at that point, frantically wiping the tears from his eyes. Justin remembers thinking that the hustler looked younger than his age, his eyes darting from the camera to an unseen spot. “At first, I didn’t understand what the psycho was saying, talking about how it wasn’t acceptable to deprive people of what they wanted - that a doctor’s duty was to operate on his patients, not to rat on the guy who paid him big money to do his job.” Jason muttered almost inaudibly, “The man tied up in the chair said his name. Malone. Then, he called him Harry, and he kept… he kept begging for his life, repeating that he couldn’t do this anymore, not when he knew people were chosen and killed to save those patients. And he begged some more. But Malone didn’t care. He said something to one of the guys who was standing by his side, and that’s when I saw the… the knife and understood the guy was going to... die.”

Justin had felt a wave of nausea hitting him as he helplessly watched the hustler’s confession. “I mean, it was really happening.” Jason continued, stammering, “I… I wanted to do something, I swear. I couldn't… let a man be killed in front of me. But I… I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the floor. I was… shaking. Yeah, I… I remember I’ve never shaken like that before. I don’t even know why I’m… remembering this now.”

“And then... it was too late.” Jason said in a whisper, fresh tears falling from his eyes, although he didn’t even notice. “Malone raised the knife and stabbed the blade into the guy’s gut. In his fucking gut. He did it slowly. It was… he was enjoying it… he smiled, for Chrissake ! And watched the guy suffocate on his own blood.”

At that point, Justin had briefly paused the video. Imagining the scene was excruciating. He’d known Malone was dangerous, but hearing Jason’s story and seeing the terror in the sixteen-year-old boy’s eyes as he described the murder were not the same thing.

The blond couldn’t help but think that it could have been Hunter in that basement, instead of Jason.

“I almost… cried out.” Jason had reappeared on the screen when Justin pressed play again. “I remember fumbling my way up the stairs, praying they wouldn’t hear me. I just wanted to hide, disappear. I was pretty sure they didn’t see me, but… fuck. I needed to hide. I couldn't think, and I couldn't find my way out, so I ended up in another room. It was an office. I waited, tried to drag my feet out of there, but I was… terrified they would find me, so I hid behind the desk.”

“I don’t know how long I stayed hidden there. I don’t remember much from being in that room, but there was a laptop on the desk and I somehow ended up checking it, instead of leaving as fast as I could. Who does that, huh?” Jason lamented, nervously passing his hand through his hair. “The screen was locked. I see myself clicking on that fucking mouse again and again because of that fucking image running through my head of that guy dying, although it was fucking locked. But there was a flash drive plugged into the laptop. So I took it.”

“I didn’t think.” Jason confessed. “I never meant to steal from Harry Malone. But I did. I did and now, I’m fucked. I don’t know if he knows about me, but I’m pretty sure I saw a camera when I finally came to my senses and ran out of there. And I… it’s… I can’t… go to the police. I’m a whore, Hunter. Cops don’t trust whores and I don’t trust them. I don’t know who to trust anymore. And Malone is… It’s too much.”

“Hunter, if you’re watching this, it means you found the flash drive in the sweater I gave you today. There is a file about the guy who was killed. His name is Dr. Oliver Barns. He is… was... a transplant specialist. It’s the…” Jason checked his cell phone. “the twentieth of October. Maybe you’ll know what to do.”

That was when Justin understood why the police had never found the flash drive. Jason had given the sweater with the hidden evidence of Malone’s trafficking to Hunter before he was killed, hoping his friend would discover it. It was never in the possession of the police, which is a blessing, retrospectively, since Malone’s influence within the police force has been proved since then. Hunter never found the flash drive, however. Justin assumes he put aside all of Jason’s belongings, including the sweater, after the hustler’s death, probably too overwhelmed by his grief to ever go through his friend’s things again.

“Forgive me,” Jason pleaded, addressing Hunter. “I should have told you everything. I just… I didn’t want to put you in danger, but if anything happens to me… I… I can’t let the evidence I have disappear. I have a copy of the files on me, but if I…” Jason stopped talking for a few seconds, unable to control himself.

“Fuck, I don’t want to die.” Jason broke down and, with one last desperate look at the camera, abruptly shut down the video.

***

Same time, Connor’s house

Connor is sitting on the couch, fiddling with a knife. He watches the blade shine in the reflection of the light from a lamp on the end table. He approaches his wrist with it, placing the blade against the skin. It would be so easy.

His eyes dart toward the picture he set on the sofa earlier, showing two teenage boys smiling at the camera. They seem so carefree. Even he looks happy, which he doesn’t remember ever being. He did feel something close, though, when he was younger and caught Gabriel staring at him with that fond look on his face or when his friend smiled at him.

He questions why he has kept this memento of the two of them, why he didn’t destroy it. It makes everything so much harder, somehow. He received a call thirty minutes ago informing him that he was coming, that things will end soon, whatever that means. Connor is scared shitless. He also feels like an asshole because a part of him is happy it’s ending, if it means he will stop being trapped like a lab rat in a fucking cage.

He debates ending this now, so that he won’t see what’s coming next. But of course he won’t, not when it could endanger Gabriel, and… Brian.

Gavin will probably kill him the first chance he gets anyway. Their relationship started civilly enough; Gavin showed up in Lakevallée at an exhibition entirely devoted to Connor’s work during the cold winter of 2004. The man pursued Connor, pretending that he was an agent named Frank Summers who had fallen in love with the artist’s work. And Connor was stupid enough to believe him, bragging that he could do so much more.

Making replicas of his own work was always a game. He did it for years, never once telling anyone about his special ability. When he met Gavin, he felt validated as an artist. Gavin knew exactly how to manipulate Connor, boosting his ego, telling him how special he was. They spent nights locked up in Connor’s studio downtown, with Gavin raving about the brunet’s talent, repeating again and again that Connor didn’t belong in Lakevallée, that he knew people who would pay big money to exhibit his art all around the world.

At the time, Connor was desperate to escape his life, so Gavin’s promises made him reckless and oblivious. He showed his newest replica to the fake agent on an icy morning in January, wanting the man to be even more impressed by his talent. It worked like a charm.

One day later, Gavin set his studio on fire and forced Connor to watch a life’s worth of work burn to the ground. Only a few paintings escaped the fire: the ones which were exhibited at the gallery and the hotel, and three other canvases - ‘Emerald Darkness’ and its replica as well as the painting he made for Gabriel all those years ago, which he kept in his office at home.

Connor threatened to go to the police, of course, but since fate loves to laugh at the brunet’s expense, he soon discovered that Frank Summers - whose name is really Gavin Allen - is an FBI agent. He is also a hitman, working for one of the most influential criminals in America, a man named Harry Malone, who trafficks art, and other things, all around the world.

Connor met Malone two days after the fire. Since that day, he paints replicas, but not of his own work anymore. He’s pretty sure this is the sole reason Gavin hasn’t killed him yet. He is valuable to Malone, and Gavin can’t do as he pleases.

“Hello, Connor,” Gavin’s voice interrupts his thoughts, just as Connor’s phone starts ringing on the kitchen counter. The brunet was expecting him, so he isn’t surprised, but he can’t stop the chill that runs down his spine at the man’s greeting. “Nice of you to leave your door open. Although it’s pretty dumb, if you ask me. Not that you’ve ever been smart.”

Connor has never understood why Gavin hates him so much, but he does. As he turns around to gaze up at his tormentor, he sees it again in the man’s eyes, the hatred.

“Gavin... don’t frighten the kid. He’s family after all.” another voice comes from the door. “Although probably not for long, now.”

Connor peers past Gavin’s body - noticing three other men standing beside him - and freezes. Leaning into the entryway behind them, looking at him with a small, cruel smile, is a man he hasn’t seen since his former studio was burned down.

“Tick, tick, tick… the game is almost over,” Malone intones, staring right at him.

***

The chalet, same time…

“He isn’t picking up,” Gabriel informs Brian as he strides across the living room of the chalet, toward the door where the brunet is standing.

“Maybe he’s jerking off remembering the feeling of your ass,” Brian quips, grabbing the keys to Gabriel’s pickup from the dining table and inquiring, “Shall we?”

Gabriel nods several times, as if convincing himself to move. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He takes the keys from Brian’s hand and his jacket from the back of the couch.

Brian locks up the chalet and follows Gabriel to his car. He slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut as his friend turns on the pickup.

Several minutes later, Gabriel parks near Connor’s Mustang and kills the engine, staring at the house.

“You ready?” Brian inquires quietly when Gabriel shows no signs of moving.

“Give me a minute,” the blond replies.

“Sure,” Brian responds, opening the door and slipping out, observing a bald eagle flying over the lake while the sun slowly disappears behind the centuries-old oaks to the west. Everything is quiet out there.

“So, how do you want to proceed? We barge in there and tell him we know he is a forger?” Gabriel questions as he finally exits the vehicle.

“Well, I’m sure if we’re wrong about our theory, your boyfriend will be delighted to know we have so much faith in him.” Brian counters derisively, leaning against the pickup’s passenger door.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Gabriel immediately retorts, ignoring Brian’s valid point.

“Yeah. He is just the most important person in your life. My bad.” Brian deadpans as Gabriel walks around the car to join him.

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gabriel protests, pausing by Brian’s side.

“Took you long enough to admit it.”

Gabriel’s head spins as he gazes up at Brian. “You’re one to speak.”

Knowing exactly who Gabriel is referring to, Brian lets out a dry laugh. “He’s better off without me.”

Gabriel frowns, and Brian can see his friend heard something in his voice that is stopping him from contradicting the brunet. In moments like these, Brian finds it harder to lie. It would be easier if he could tell the truth, if he could have someone to lean on and talk to about his nightmares, about what he has gone through during the past six years. Moreover, Justin only left two days ago, and he is already fighting not to let the fear of never seeing him again mess completely with his mind.

Brian peers at Gabriel, silently daring him to question him further. The blond stares back at him for a few seconds, his face unreadable. “Let’s go,” he finally announces and starts walking toward Connor’s house.

Brian watches him move away, then follows him.

Gabriel stops at the front door, staring at it quizzically. “It’s open,” he says, before pushing it open further. “Connor?” he calls, entering the house with Brian on his heels. “It’s Gabriel.”

The room is quiet. A single lamp is turned on by the couch. Gabriel approaches and stills as he looks down at the coffee table.

Brian joins him, noticing right away what made his friend pause. “How old were you?” he inquires as he picks up the photograph of Gabriel and Connor.

“Fourteen,” Gabriel elucidates. “We took that picture in a field full of cows, the first time we got drunk. Connor dragged me there and spent all the time looking for their shit, because he wanted to see flies.” He smiles, remembering. “I’d stolen a bottle of vodka from my old man. Connor was completely wasted and kept marveling at how beautiful and delicate flies were. That they were as unappreciated as he was. He kept smiling at them and trying to catch them to give them a hug. I think he managed to kill a dozen in the process.”

“That explains his goofy smile, then,” Brian volunteers, teasing, “You had quite the haircut, though.”

“Well, I had to save him from the charging cows which were tired of seeing his ass.” Gabriel counters and snatches the photo from Brian’s hands, before going toward the staircase. “Connor must be upstairs.”

“I’ll check his office,” Brian proposes, watching Gabriel disappear up the stairs.

He is about to open the door to Connor’s office when he hears a muffled, loud noise coming from the second floor, like something heavy had fallen to the floor. “Gabriel?” he calls, stepping back.

“Upstairs!” He hears a voice and frowns, not recognizing it as Gabriel’s. He approaches the stairs and slowly ascends them, until he is standing in the hallway.

“In here!” the voice calls again, quieter this time, coming from Connor’s studio.

The door is ajar, but Brian can’t see anything inside, so he pushes it open. The room is dark - the curtains have been pulled - but he can still discern a man who resembles Connor, sitting motionless, his hands behind his back. He shouldn’t be sitting like that, he muses, taking a step forward, his mind refusing to analyze what his eyes are seeing.

His feet connect with something on the floor. Bending down, his blood runs cold as he realizes he is touching an unmoving body, instinctively recognizing his friend. “Gabe?” He breathes out, suddenly feeling a sticky substance on his hands. “Gabriel!”

“Alas, your friend can’t hear you anymore,” is the last thing he hears, before he feels an arm encircling his chest while something pierces him at the base of his neck, and passes out.