Reznik:

Two hours and twenty-nine minutes of freedom and counting, that's how long it had been since Reznik's release.  The world had changed in the overlapping years and any life he'd meagerly scrapped together of his few remaining memories was so fragmented that nothing of substance could be derived from them.  He had no home to return too, faceless shadows were both friends and victims, even the town looked something out of a novel he'd once read, to him it all seemed conveniently contrived, a fake life.  By all appearances the people looked content in this *fake life*, even though at some point he'd known a secret so shocking it would've thrown their little white picket fence worlds into chaos.  Now that he couldn't remember the secret he was happier for it, he would've been happier still if he hadn't known of its existence at all, for now it was like a forgotten trauma needling away at the back of his brain. This trauma was like an invisible puppeteer silently, methodically controlling both word and deed and there was no way to slap away the invisible hands, no way to tend the old wounds, no way to heal.  Perhaps it was just insanity he'd been locked up in the Madhouse for a long time after all, he'd been given a bottle of pills, supposedly the pills would lull him into a false complacence, a sort of muted normalcy that would sooth the paranoia but he'd already thrown those pills away after having taken a half-a-dozen so he could sleep without the tragedy of dreams.  Sleep he did on the park bench for about an hour, scraggly beginnings of a beard, unwashed unkempt hair, worn and tattered clothes, he would've looked like a bum if his body hadn't been so solidly built and if he didn't yet retain an unusual vitality and boyishness.  In any case he was not a boy anymore, he'd been not much more than one when he'd been locked up at only 22, now at 32, a full grown man the only difference was that he was more ruggedly handsome. The years had been kind to him though kind enough to make his actual age difficult to pinpoint and his smile was just the same boyish lopsided grin it had been all those years ago. He wore this disarming grin now as he tore off stale pieces of bread and tossed them to the chattering mallards clamoring at his feet. 

He had no money and his ID card no longer bore the name he was born with, he could no longer be his given name Reeve Kushnir (not that he'd went by Reeve since childhood) instead it bore a more innocuous name, one that would allow him to live as a stranger, incognito.  This name had nothing attached to it, nothing or no one belonged to it, he did not know who "Gabriel Raisian" was nor who this man would become but it didn't matter because Gabriel was free, Gabriel was an innocent man that bore no memories that might distort or corrupt him. Gabriel may not have bore the weight of his former name "Reznik" but he still bore the instincts and appetites of his former self even if his former self was just as elusive and untouchable as this "Gabriel" person.  In any case Gabriel or Reznik had wanted for the touch of another human being for ten years, had he lived an ordinary life he probably would've been married by now with a few brats, maybe a dog and some sort of job (probably manual labor because that's what he was built for).  Fate was a cruel mistress though she'd not been kind to him, she'd woven a harrowing tale for him, an interesting but virtually unlivable life and yet he'd survived somehow without accomplishing even the prerequisites for living in society, a diploma, a job, a spouse, or even offspring.  Without these prerequistes he was not only alone but a bit alienated; he didn't mind being an outsider though so long as he couldn't interact at his own leisure.

Dren:

The women had rough hands, despite their soft words. Their hair were long enough to drape over his chest when they whisper against his ear, and their hands, that much bigger and stronger than his own, were hot and shaky when they wanted something desperately. Women had two different faces. In the morning they were nuns, and in the night, midnight, when no one would visit the orphanage and offer to adopt children to ease their own ache, women would become tyrants. This seemed odd, since women in the storybooks always seemed thin and weak in their dresses, had the voices of larks, and kind and smiling when they faced little animals. Though they had crowns on, they didn't drape over little boys in the middle of the night and demanded things that were never mentioned in the storybooks. Perhaps women who were nuns were of a different species. There were many different kinds of animals in this world, and Dren was taught to respect them all equally.

And then, he woke up. Blood had dried into a crust over one side of his cheek and eyes. He rubbed his eyes a few times to remove the crusts before opening his eyes. That was a good nap. Sleeping with men in between his arms always allowed him to have something to hold onto when women came into his dreams at night. Men were the opposite of women, he had been told, the tyrants over the head of women tyrants. Men could control women. The first time he realized this, was when the man in his tight clutch remained dead in his embrace throughout the night, all the way until the time he woke up. That had been the best sleep he'd ever had because in his dreams he could send the men to shoo the women away. He thanked the dead man, and applied the method to the rest of his naps.

At times, Dren wondered if he belonged to the women species or the men. Women were strong at night, but men were strong all the time. Men were strong all the time but men were predictable creature that required drinks to survive. His very first adoptive father was the perfect demonstration. So men weren't that much better than women. Men were just better than women when they were dead and in his arms when he needed a nap. Dren picked himself up from the cold carcass on the bed, showered, brushed, and then fixed himself a plate of eggs and sausages before he left the man's habitat. Red, messy short locks breezed by his somewhat baby fat cheeks as he stuffed both hands in his black shorts pockets. He wasn't sure if he would be back at the man's house. It smelled rather cold after the man had died. Well, at least the man had some food in his fridge. Maybe he would go back after all.

R:

Reznik watched the drones of people ebbing and flowing through the park like cogs on an assembly line, with each new face, he sought some association, anything that might help him gather his barrings, but nothing within him stirred.  Everyone around him was not only a stranger but alien, for they were neither brutal guard nor confused manic comrade but beautifully and dreadfully normal.  He saw pretty girls, he felt the expected hot-blooded ache but with his current unkempt appearance they seemed almost afraid to look at him, no doubt they'd seen his kind before, the lost train-wreck of a man still sitting under the shadow of the Institute, which was a building so huge it was almost inescapable.  During his time in the asylum when he'd been isolated from women, there had been men, there had been suggestiveness and rough hands, once a hot mouth, but nothing more and he couldn't decided what he'd thought of it, perhaps a boy would do better, for they yet retained some semblance of innocence and softness and he was tired of this coarse existence.

A boy might feed him and put him up some place, perhaps even steal him some clothes, a boy would do to fill the lonely ache at least for a time, but preying on little boys was probably not the sort of thing Gabriel would do, Gabriel he imagined was an upstanding man, he'd get a job, work hard, take a woman, buy a house, take his sons to soccer games, Gabriel was not crazy or filled with paranoia, he did not have some silently raging history with its seeping toxins, he'd had good kind parents poor but respectable, immigrants probably Armenian since all his names real and false seemed of that derivation.

Bumming a cigarette from a passing man he pressed it between his lips, lit it, inhaled deeply.  The guards all smoked, he never saw them without a limp half-dead cigarette disfigured between their lips, and when they played cards with the patients they bet this precious commodity for blowjobs,, Reznik had won a lot of cigarettes though truth be known they were just barely worth the threat of losing and the taste of rage and piss in one's mouth.  He'd once had a young guard in his mouth, a clean newbie, one not yet soured by the place that had been alright, strange but kind of sexy in a disturbed way.
 
In any case he found himself reminiscing about this young guard whom had been suffocatingly boring but pretty enough, when the red head walked by him and it was Reznik's instinct that took the thin wrist, not hard but firm enough so the boy couldn't easily wretch free.  "Hey kid...keep a bloke company for a bit?"  He asked letting go now and smiling his disarming smile.  "The ducks here...they've no use for anymore...now that I'm out of bread...fickle bastards..."  He teased patting the bench with a large hand.  Reznik was a good-looking man even beneath the unshaven face and the dark-brown hair that was mussed, uneven, and in need of a good trim, he had good eyes, intense eyes, eyes so green they almost didn't seem real, he had a sensual mouth, a lopsided boyish grin, strong jaw, big hands, strait nose, strait teeth all accounted for, and a gladiators musculature. His was a body that had labored, that had fought, that had never even in isolation grown complacent, he'd continued with the sit ups and push ups perhaps only out of boredom but he'd not withered away like many of his fellow captives, and he had a natural tan so he'd not grown sickly looking.  His clothes were another story they were dated and torn from an obviously violent skirmish, there was even blood though he knew not whose blood.

D:

He had been in deep thought when he was interrupted. Deep thoughts, about how the sausage and eggs would have tasted better had he thrown in some ketchup. Or was it mustard? This is why these thoughts are deep. He knew no answers to them. Well, it didn't hurt that he tried, but then he was interrupted. The hand that caught his wrist was large and warm. Briefly Dren contemplated whether or not he should categorize this action as unappropriate intervention, because he neither liked being caught nor did he like touching warm bodies. What was he looking for before he had those deep thoughts about sausage and eggs and ketchup anyway?

".........Is bread good?" Dren asked, turning to look at the adult that had caught his wrist. Face a somewhat childish and innocent expression, wide, pitch black eyes darted from the adult's hand to the birds that were a little away. The man was by himself, hair unkept, face unshaved, and sitting in a park bench with worn out, stained clothing that smelled familiar and good to Dren. Dirty fabrics. Dirty clothes. Something about that smell triggered a familiarity in the back of Dren's mind, and so he did sit down, all the while noticing the difference between their built. This man was strong. This man could chase woman away easily. Ride on top of their heads when they demanded other things. Maybe this man's body would keep for a few more days and would make great decor for his bed. Maybe he should choose a different carcass now that the last one had bled through the mattress.

Suddenly Dren grinned, a sunny, bright, cheeky smile that a young boy his age were given the rights to. In his white cotton shirt and black shorts he looked younger than he was that year, with rosy cheeks and feathery, deep red eyelashes that framed what naive expressions he wore on his face. Habitually he looked up at adults, being a bit shorter than expected at his age, and beamed, and got what he wanted with that sickly sweet, docile little school boy's looks. He turned slightly on the bench, one pale leg bent and tucked beneath his own weight as his other leg swung as though according to a cheerful little song. Grinning up at the stranger who smelled vaguely like blood and danger, the child used his free hand to capture the man's hand that was on his wrist. Together he held the stranger's hand up in between his palms, the redheaded child asked with giddy enthusiasm, "Do you think they would like candy instead? I have chocolate coins!!"

R:

Reznik knew that there were adults that couldn't be trusted, knew what horrors they were capable of, felt it in his bones, in the back of his skull, but children were different, children he'd never had a reason to suspect of any underlying malice.  He was just naive enough to believe that the world hadn't yet run her dirty fingers all over their souls.  So this cute little bundle of boyish charms didn't stir anything in him that would cause him to hesitate much less provoke his over-developed survival instinct. That said he was still certain those eyes held something they weren't readily revealing, even children had their secrets, and this boy knew the mysteries of an entire world, one he'd long since forgotten.

The sudden and enthusiastic grabbing of his hand temporarily disarmed him, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held a hand, if in fact he'd ever held one.  So many years of violence, of rough and brutal hands, the same hands for both pleasure and pain he couldn't imagine the other life he must've been living before his incarceration. Was his former life malignant as well or had he once known the pleasure of delicate things?  He did not know but this boy seemed fragile to him, not a hard husk of a human being, and so to him this boy was beautiful, something living and warm and even if he would break or mar this delicate thing he wanted the youth to belong to him, even if it was only for a moment.  His one hand was nearly as big as both the boys, he did not as it were have thick clumsy hands but hands that were more like weapons, defined and powerful.  No doubt he could crush all the delicate bones in the youth's hands if he just flexed his fingers with the right intent but of course he did no such thing.


"I don't know about my friends but I wouldn't mind...."  He said certain for some reason that chocolate and animals should not mix.   So long as they were out in the park like this the boy was reasonably safe; he really couldn't afford to provoke too much suspicion it would ruin Gabriel's good reputation after all.  Reznik, however, was regarding the boy with an interest that was bordering on inappropriate, his eyes wondered from the sweet face to the swinging leg over every inch of the other's body and then back again.  When they arrived back at the other's face though he was smiling that silly lopsided grin of his, that made look younger, harmless somehow and perhaps he had once been the carefree lovable idiot that the grin implied.

D:

"Really?" The child giggled lightly, and turned the stranger's palm upward while dropping a piece of chocolate into the man's hand with his other. He closed the stranger's fingers over the man's palm to prompt him to take the candy, temporarily lacing their fingers together, before letting go, pulling out another piece of chocolate coin for himself. The metallic wrapper glimmered faintly in the daylight.

It seemed slightly off to Dren's eyes that a man with such a healthy built and attractive looks would sit on a park bench, dressed in torn, stained clothes, looking in all his glory like a hobo. Most hobos, Dren knew, smelled like piss and hang overs, and not blood. While this guy seemed like he did not mind sitting around feeding ducks all day, he seemed well fed, and so meals had to come from somewhere. Government homeless temporary shelters neither fed enough nor had ever told of familiar strangers as good looking and well built as this one. Certainly, this man could have just became a member of the street roaming rats today, but the man lacked the usual helpless despair and anxiety that Dren usually observed in people who'd just given up on their original ways of living.

And the way this man smelled. The scent of blood was not the strongest in their current encounter, but it took threat to know threat, and just by the difference in their hands the child knew difficulty when he saw one. It was a given that most adults who took Dren home were at least twice his size, but not every one of them seemed as strong. There was a definite difference between size and strength. Dren usually picked men who had homes, though. Those with certain mediocre status, great pride, insignificant but sustainable wealth: Dren fed off of these men like a leech, before one day he felt like he lost interest, and wanted to rearrange the men for a better use. Cold bodies were so much more friendly. They never demanded anything, disagreed with anything, and all they did was to offer their weight in their embrace, where a child could rest without worries and wake up with a smile on his face.

The metallic wrapper discarded, the redheaded child sucked on the flat, round piece of chocolate happily, watching the stranger beside him with amiable, curious eyes. "Do you make friends with birds all the time?" The child said, blinking once or twice like a small, harmless animal.

R:

"Animals are simple...they don't want for much...and they don't ask a bunch of complicated questions..."  He said leaning down close to the boy for a moment to whisper the rest as though it were some great secret. "These days it would seem I'm curiously low on answers..." Reznik continued looking into the sweet docile face, not sure just how much the boy was following but it didn't really matter.  His voice was husky a bit raspy perhaps under used was the best way to describe it and the words seem to take a while to move from his head to his mouth; he wasn't certain but maybe this was not his first language though his voice had a certain neutrality to it that really made it hard to pinpoint its origin.  "Alas there are just some things animals can't do for you..."  He said smiling sideways at the boy, though he did not bother to specify what he meant.  Unwrapping the candy he put it in his mouth thoughtfully, sucking on it and then concluding that he did in fact have a taste for sweet things.

The kid didn't seem to belong to anyone nor did he seem to come from a generous family, he wasn't sure if this kid could provide him with certain resources like food (certainly he'd been fed at the Institute if in fact the cardboard parody of food they were served counted as food but it nevertheless sustained), clothes, or a shower but he was certain that the lithe body was capable of providing him with something, something to sooth his ache for companionship. It wasn't just sex that he wanted, a passing fling would do, a good fuck but he was alone now and being the social sort well a little fun with another member of the human species would give his mind something different to prey upon.  "Do you live around here kid?"  He asked not knowing a thing about the town sitting on the park bench watching which directions passerbyers moved and which directions they avoided had somehow seemed a relatively good way to establish the general layout of the city without moving.

D:

"Mm!" The child made a happy noise, nodding as he sucked on his candy. "I live with my dad just around the corner over there!" He pointed with a small hand, and continued to swing his free leg in a cheerful manner. His daddy....his daddy....the term made him smile. They were all his daddies. He could be adopted by anybody, and for any amount of time, after all. The dad that he currently referred to was, at the moment, cold and stiff in his own blood soaked bed. A very warm and tender smile appeared on Dren's face as he thought back on that particular image.

Vaguely he wondered what the direction of this conversation was going. Dren knew perfectly well that not every grown men out there preyed on young boys, and not every pedophile automatically preyed on him. That would have been a narcissistic line of thought. The stranger in front of him, however, he did not know enough to assume much of anything.

Though he did like the man's presence. It was stimulating and different from the anxiety that pedophiles emitted when worried that someone would see them touching children, or the despair from homeless men who had not much to care about any longer. This man in front of him, however, felt more like a child. Like one of those ambiguous, neglected children he would meet in a play area, who looked for something to focus on instead of worrying over the fact that they themselves were out of place or had lost their way home. On the other hand, feelings were feelings, and feelings were tricky things to interpret.

"Why?" Dren tilted his face slightly to the side, his light grin ever present on his face, "Do you live around here as well?"

R:

"Your dad probably wouldn't want you talking to a suspicious guy like me...he's warned you about strangers right?"  Reznik asked eyeing the boy for a moment before offering up one large hand.  "I'm...Gabriel Raisian...you can call me Reznik...that's what all my friends call me..."  He said taking the boy's hand and giving it a shake as if somehow by this simple salutatory act they weren't strangers anymore.

Reznik's face became thoughtful for a moment as if the child's simple question as to where he lived were some complex math equation that he had to solve but without a calculator or an intact brain as was the case he could not riddle out the answer.  "I am not sure...maybe I did once but it was a long time ago..."  He said smiling lopsidedly at the boy.  "I don't remember..."  He continued tapping the side of his head as if somehow that single gesture would explain his current state.  "But I haven't got anywhere to go now...not unless you know of someone willing to put a poor sod up for a few days...I'll work for my keep...I've got to be good for something don't you think?"  He asked looking at the boy directly again, wondering if this kid might if only for a few days take him in, at least till he got his barrings about him.

D:

Dren looked blank and confused for a moment when he heard about how his dad warned him about suspicious strangers, but he let the man shake his hand without saying anything. He himself had no special home to return to, and he had no interest in helping the poor and needy. The body on his bed was yet to be disposed of, and Dren wondered how the man would react if he did take Reznik back to that house, and thereby inevitably seeing a dead man on the owner's bed.

"Reznik...." He chewed on the name as though it was a new piece of candy in his mouth. "...You want to come stay at my house, then, Reznik?"

.......Actually, the idea sounded like fun.

Perhaps most would be worried about consequences at this point, but Dren was a child that acted on impulse. Granted the things he did were extreme and not expected of from a child his age, they still stemmed from impulses that controlled his very being. So as soon as the idea entered his mind, the redhead's small grin widened. Looking back up at Reznik as the man spoke.

Good for something?

"Of course you're good for a lot of things, Reznik!" As he stood up to face Reznik, the child held the man's larger hand in on hand and swung it between them like a kitten's bouncing toy. And again he tilted his head as he grinned. "Daddy would love to meet you!"

R:

Reznik had seen many dead bodies, piles of rotten carcasses, suicide victims at the Institute, carnage from wars, some of the dead had fallen under the weight of his own hands, he remembered not their names or faces, not anymore but he sensed it.  He was not a heartless killer only an efficient one, he'd been trained as a weapon, he'd done his job but not without question.  He knew remorse but guilt was a sickness he would not bare.  Guilt was for people who could not face what they had done, guilt was for people who sought to soften a blow by inducing pity from others, guilt was a mechanism to keep a weak-mind from unraveling or breaking in the face of its own crimes.  He did not feel he'd always made the right choices but they'd been his own and somehow he accepted these dark unbearable things only to learn in the process that nothing was ever truly unbearable.  His nightmares were glimpses into his madness, into his crimes, windows to some darker time but he never gave into the depression, because depression stole action, and action was what was needed to make a new life for himself, to keep himself from falling into old deleterious patterns.  He had no idea this innocent boy, a boy he wanted for something sweet and soft and pure to hold onto might led him down a likewise twisted path. His naivety had led him down the first twisted path years ago when he'd thought he could make a difference by being a soldier.

"You think your old man would mind?"  He asked still laboring under the assumption that *daddy* was in reference to an actual paternal figure and not a lover.  "I can sleep just about anywhere kid...give me a little food...a shower...maybe some clothes that don't smell like offal...and I'm all set...I don't mind sleeping under the stars..."  He said with same sort of wistfulness one expected from a true rootless vagabond. "Though I'd prefer sharing your bed..."  He added being more brazen and taking the kid's hand though they were right there on a public park bench in broad daylight, but Reznik lacked the fear of consequence.  There were those who feared consequence and never acted, those who either out of stupidity or vanity believed themselves above consequence, those who did not understand the gravity of their behaviors and those who even knowing the consequence simply had balls to take the beating owed to them, he was the latter. This fact perhaps either made him terribly naive and idealistic or it made him a masochistic perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was both idealist and masochist. In any case he did not expect an innocent boy to quite catch the insinuation in his voice nor the suggestion in his words, he did not even bother to delude himself by linking the boy's enthusiasm with his base motives, which was to say no where in his mind did he try and justify the preying on this small boy, he knew only what he wanted and he'd take it, it was simple.  "Let's go meet this old man of yours then..." He said rising and pulling the boy to his feet and rather close to himself.

D:

"Of course he wouldn't mind! Daddy's really nice!"

Dren smiled amiably up at Reznik as though the suggestion to share his bed passed through his ears like air. It was a nice suggestion though, he thought to himself, before he began to lead the way. A really nice suggestion.

The city they were in was quite large, despite the looks of this simple town residencial area. From the park and outward, streets  narrowed and turned and buildings suffocated one another. Crimes happened at a rapidly increasing rate, and at this point, beneath the sunny afternoon, comfortable atmosphere, residents were already used to reading in the papers about at least three or four dead teens or homless folks found somewhere just a little away from here. Dren swung their hands back and forth according to some inaudible, happy tunes as he walked a little ahead, guiding the man toward his recent place of habitat.

It is in another city that Dren had came into existence, but it was in this city where his first adoptive father had taught him all sorts of useful things. Dren loved all that he had been taught, and practiced the knowledge repeatedly without hesitation. Briefly, he wondered if he would live long enough to adopt a child of his own. Perhaps he would be a great father, too, and chase away the women in their heads with scissors and many other forms of affection. Dren was bad at cooking, though, and that might pose some problems if his adopted son got hungry. He had a sporadic mindset and tended to think off on a tangent when he wasn't demanded to answer to anything. But before he lost his train of thought, he blinked, and remembered that he had a toy in his hands.

"Hey Reznik..." The child guiding the way said without turning back, still walking ahead with his back turned against the man following behind, "Wanna hear a secret?" A pitch black eye was visible from behind the dark red locks that framed his face as he turned the slightest bit toward the man behind him.

They came to a stop at the door of one of the old, yellow, unattractive townhouses before the child unlocked the door. The edge of a smile was now visible once more. "My daddy really likes to sleep in." He said, making a sign with his finger for Reznik to be quiet as he pushed open the door.

"Quietly now..." he whispered, a ghostly and innocent sound, "Don't wanna wake him up from his sweet dreams....!"

R:

Reznik felt an odd tightening in his chest at the youth's words, there was something off he could sense it and yet he still allowed himself to be led into the ugly yellow house not knowing what to expect but not really assuming anything.  Once inside the smell of death was heavy in the air and it made him feel momentarily sick to his stomach.  His face didn't change much in expression didn't wane at his displeasure, it was oddly calm but his lopsided grin was gone.  The way that smile fell from his face was rather heart-breaking and his serious face with those intense deadly eyes though sexier was frightening.

Dren was old enough to understand the concept of death the trauma perhaps was a different story but he felt this kid knew that *Daddy* wasn't ever going to wake anymore (he did not have to see the man to know this all predators recognized the smell of death it was instinctual) and the fact the boy could smile and hold his hand like this, it was odd behavior wasn't it?  Not unlike the behavior of some the men back at the Institute. Placing a heavy hand on top of the boy's head  "That dad of yours he ain't waking up no more kiddo..."  He said looking out of the corner of his eye.  "You knew that though didn't ya?"  He asked not really needing an answer to confirm it.

"We're going to give this guy a nice private burial...bring me some clean clothes...(bucket and needle and thread) a good knife...all the disinfectant and alcohol you can find and the content of your spice rack...we'll deal with him...then I'll deal with you..."  He said though he didn't explain what he meant by *deal with*.  He didn't know how the man died, he didn't lay the blame of the death on the boy, maybe it had been accident,accident or not he did not seem to be inclined to alert the authorities, perhaps because he didn't trust them.  This too was instinct to clean up a mess, a strange instinct that killers sometimes had, he'd never been the sort to leave a dead body lying even the body of an enemy, he always buried the dead as properly as he could given the circumstances.  They couldn't bury the man in broad daylight in the yard but they could clean up the corpse and prepare it.

"Ah shit it stinks in here....like a fucking butcher shop..."  He said heading closer to the direction of the smell it wasn't likely anything that the kid could do physically would stop him, well maybe a round of bullets.

D:

You knew that though didn't ya?

Dren's sweet, naive grin disappeared from his eyes, but not his face. His lips remained widened in a small, docile smile as he looked up from beneath Reznik's hand atop his head. His eyes spoke of confusion and building anxiety, as though he wasn't sure why the man would speak of his toy this way. For a moment, the child simply watched the man moving away and toward the master bedroom and did not follow immediately.

He listened to the instructions given to him, and blinked. The guy knew what he was doing. This confirmed Dren's earlier observations and thoughts on how the man could pose a threat. He added 'familiarity with the dead' onto his current mental list of descriptive phrases for the new toy on his hands, and cocked his head to the side as he thought about more suitable ways of approaching and handling the new piece. Like a jigsaw puzzle, each new pieces unfurl options and features that entertained him to no end. Pitch black eyes stared, as though hungry for something, while remaining patiently hidden within the shell of a docile herbivore.  He stood where he was for a moment watching Reznik's back curiously, before his voice came softly from behind the man's back.

"But...." All of the sudden the child sounded timid, as though he was talking to Reznik as a stranger for the very first time. "But why?" Boys his age understood the concept of deaths indeed, but anyone at any age could panic and deny the concept of death altogether had they been neurotic and extreme enough. If Reznik was familiar with death, Dren would throw in a bet that the man would recognise the many reactions human beings have when facing death and extreme dangers.

With seemingly a new found force the child ran pass the older man and spread his arms wide open, stopping in front of the dead body like a reeled up guard dog. "No!" Dren whispered in a forceful tone this time, innocent, childish eyes widened, face pale, as though his mind was in disarray and panic. "No! What are you trying to do to my daddy? He likes sleeping and you'll wake him up!"

He couldn't stop the man physically, but he could use the opportunity to give the man an impression that Dren truly was no threat in any possible way.

R:

Stopping at the doorway Reznik had to squat rather far down to be at level with the hysterical child.  "That smell is going to reach the neighbors sooner or later...sooner or later someone's going make a call...if we preserve the body right it'll keep longer...you want him to sleep peacefully? This is the only way..."  He said and then his face become more relaxed for a moment he was talking to a child, even if a disturbed one.  He was not scared of the boy and he took the kid by the back of the head rather roughly and kissed him full on the mouth, and although there was no tongue it was not a simple peck, it was more substantial than that, a kiss both rough and tender. Pulling back he pressed his forehead against the boys; he wasn't really good with delicate things but in his own way he meant well.  For awhile he just squatted their close to the youth not saying anything holding the back of the other's neck.

"I'll take real good care of him...you'll see he'll look as good as new...and I'll be real careful so he doesn't wakeup..."  He said rising to his full intimidating height again.  "Can you get me those supplies?"  He asked and though he asked there wasn't anything in his voice that left room for objections; with or without consent he'd take care of this body but it was better if he could get the kid to cooperate.  He could not, however, let the boy see what he was going to do even if the kid had seen the dead body, even if the kid had been responsible he wouldn't make the youth watch it maybe someday when Dren was an adult he'd teach him how to do it, but not now.

D:

The kiss surprised Dren a little. He had been expecting some sort of 'hey, calm down now I'm not trying to hurt your daddy' talk that adults favored often. Either that, or perhaps a rough push to get Dren out of the way, because adults often threw away politeness as soon as they started to worry about themselves. This sudden intimacy was surprising, and even though it might not have been a personally meaningful action to anyone in this room, Dren briefly wondered to himself whether or not this was how Reznik dealt with every person: through sexual relations. The suggestion to share his bed (even though it was under the assumption that Dren had not understood fully the meaning) and a kiss to a child to get his message across: it all seemed to skip over the worries that most people had about sexual relations with a child, or someone atypical as sexual partners. It was something slightly different and interesting. Something wanting and black and grinning writhed and stirred within the redhead's mind, but he choose to continue his facade as the two pressed their heads together.

Forcing tears on cue was something he learned and deemed useful in many situations, and this was one of them. He did not sob or wail, but quietly blinked as one or two salty droplets fell from the edge of his eyelashes as Reznik stood up, seemingly determined to prepare the body and not calling the police. Keeping his head down as he let the tears drop onto the ground by his feet, Dren then lifted his head and looked up with a smile on his face. A smile and wetness on his cheeks, shaking frame and widened, naive looking eyes, a combination that portrayed a very picture of helplessness and despair.

"You'll take care of daddy? You'll be careful so daddy won't wake up?" the words spilled from between the child's smiling lips. He rocked a little on the balls of his feet with his hands behind his back as though he was a coy child asking stupid questions. Then he turned, small, pale hand trailing over the door frame as he left the room, sounds of his ghostly giggles echoing a little in the small space between the bedroom and the kitchen. "I'll~ help~ you~!" Dren said in a sing song voice, as he left with a wide, wild grin on his face.

R:

Reznik did not as it were deal with everyone through sexual means, only those he intended to claim.  He was not so graceful or so delicate as to quite understand the way relationships worked, if he wanted someone he took them, he was not cruel only forceful and dominating and he did not seem to understand there was another way, that there was an etiquette to it. In any case the kiss had really been the equivalent of a slap, something unexpected to jolt th boy, but for a boy as troubled as this one somehow the kiss had seemed the more jarring alternative, he didn't remember it but his own father had slapped him around a lot and perhaps that's what steadied his own hands when it came to fragile things.

When the boy moved Reznik took a step into the room, the smell almost enough to knock him back, it was revolting and he could feel in the back of his skull the sharp prickling of some repressed tortured memory triggered by the scent.  Pulling up a stool by the bed he checked the corpse for signs of life of which their were none, it was a fresh corpse but one beyond the hope of resuscitation, of course he'd known that to start and yet it was instinct to check.  The man did not look like the boy, not in coloration or structure or any discernible and readily apparent manner, of course that alone did make him draw any particular conclusions, this man had been intimate recently as well but whether it was with the boy or not he didn't know and whether it was the boy who'd inflicted the fatal injuries on the man he did not know that either.  The only thing he did know was that there was something fucked up about the child in the other room, this would've provoked paranoia in another man perhaps, in him it was oddly comforting.  Ten years amongst the criminally insane, years of brainwashing and desensitizing in the military and he had grown more comfortable with deviation than normalcy.

D:

The dead man looked in his early forties, narrow and angular face with a strongly defined nose, well shaved, well groomed brunette with some silver hair, and had a bit of beer belly, but was not particularly heavy otherwise. Across his chest beneath a blood stained wifebeater were a series of deep, messy wounds that had already turned purple and blue around the edges. His fingers were bent in all the wrong angles, and there was a large rip from the edge of his bottom lip all the way to the right side of his cheek. The throat had been slit open, where most of the blood had visibly spilled from, and the blood soaked mattress had already acquired a layer of stiff, cracked dry blood on its surface. Dren did not do much this time, in comparison with his previous games, as he had only slaughtered this one two nights ago. The weather in this area, though bright and cloudless during the day, did not reach twenty degrees celsius even during the noon time, which kept the body pretty much under room temperature and less rotten for the time being.

Dren liked the dead man's slightly boney knuckles. He sang to the sound of these bones popping out of their joints.

"Do you want pepper or salt?" The sing song, cheerful voice came, as the child appeared at the doorway as mysteriously silent and sudden as a cat. In his right hand was a bucket, and inside the bucket were a sewing kit, two different kitchen knives to choose from, a few bottles of rum and vodka, and draped across one shoulder were pale blue bedsheets. On his other hand, was a couple of spice containers, which he waved around in the same manner he had offered chocolate to Reznik earlier that afternoon.

"Are we making a sandwich?" The child giggled as he dropped the bucket beside Reznik's feet, throwing down the bedsheets, before shaking the salt shaker all over the dead man's wounded chest. It was as though he forgot that this was his supposed 'daddy' from a few minutes ago, and was now convinced that it was a piece of lunch meat.

R:

Rolling up his sleeves Reznik seemed lost in thought when he looked through the bucket and carefully laid out what he'd been given to work with, it would have to do.  The corpse was a bit older then he'd anticipated and by now the rigor mortis was in reverse, by 72 hours the unnatural rigidity would cease all together some of it he could probably work out through massage, cotton balls could be placed behind the eyes to prevent them from looking so sunken, he hadn't asked for any but he was sure there were some in the bathroom.

Once he was set up he went to work ridding the corpse of the remaining stitches of modesty; he didn't quite seem to hear the boy or if he did he tucked the comments away for the time being in the recesses of the subconscious mind.  The corpse had been sorely abused, he could do but so much but he'd do what he could to restore the man at least reasonably to his previous appearance.  As it was easier to work on the flat surface of the floor then the bed so he spread out the sheets, the man had done most of the bleeding he could possibly do so he wasn't to worried about leakage and the solid wood floors were easier to clean then had their been carpeting.  He did not ask the boy for help when he transferred the corpse to the floor and in fact he did surprisingly well considering the awkwardness of moving dead weight so effortless in fact did it appear that it was almost frightening.  First he'd reposition all the misaligned joints, then clean the corpse as best he could, then stitch all the wounds neatly, he'd preserve the man as best he could (probably gut him and remove the internals) the cold would do much to help that process, what the cold would not do was make digging a grave easy.

He already had the man's blood on him, the man's terrible smell but he didn't seem to notice any of that anymore.  "Do me a favor and keep guard...outside the door alright...don't let anyone into the house...and no matter what don't come into this room till I tell you its okay..."

D:

What mysterious game are you going to play by yourself here? The child cocked curiously his head to the side, watching the man working meticulously on preserving the body. He himself never did take the responsibility of stitching together what he maimed and slit open, not because he had any reasons against such a concept (in fact, he found it interesting, like watching the Discovery Channel), but because the very thought of putting a body back together after it was played around with thoroughly never crossed his mind. He didn't understand, and was never taught, to respect the dead. He didn't respect the living either, so to speak. Dren only knew he had fun, and the thought gave his steps a little extra bounce as he shrugged and left Reznik's side for the door.

People needed training, or at least a certain extent of knowledge to preserve the dead, right? This toy must be from a unique, interesting place! Such a fun piece, so far away from the police and laws and social norms! Childish excitement riled up from the balls of his feet and up to his lower stomach, until his whole body shook for a few seconds, rather like a spooked kitten. He couldn't really differentiate the feelings between threat and entertainment, but it made his current moment interesting just thinking about how to pick this puzzle apart.

The child crouched at the doorway with his back against the wall outside the bedroom, and casually he played around with a pair of sharp edged scissors that he repeatedly stabbed into the wooden floor beside his small, bare feet.

R:

With the boy having left the room Reznik set to work on the corpse realigning the joints, each one making a sickening cracking sound as he moved it back into place, the wearing of the joints the give and pull were enough to suggest the man's fingers had been dislocated a number of times.  What had happened to this man?  His body was a grotesque network of scars and yet his face was peaceful in a way, not frozen in some horrible twisted expression of horror or rage.  Had the man been willing at least to some extent?  Had Dren lured the man here?  Had the boy done these unthinkable things?  These were not questions he ever imagined actually posing to the boy, however, he knew that even without his prying the truth would invariably come out in the end.

A long time passed as he cleaned the body with the disinfectant every crevice (until he knew the man as thoroughly as any lover though he derived no special pleasure from it); he even filled the bucket temporarily with water from the adjoining bathroom so he could wash the caked blood from the man's hair, he stitched the man neatly with tight little stitches, closing the gaping wounds, he removed the eyes from their sockets so he could fill in the cavity a little more with the cotton balls he'd found before stuffing them back again, all this so that the eyes wouldn't appear so deeply set; he massaged the stiff muscles until they yielded and the man wasn't quite so rigid, he rubbed some of the herbs into the skin itself, did what he could about the smell and used lotion to somewhat rehydrate the man as he had no means of injecting anything. As for the last part of the process he made the smallest incisions possible, removing all the organs from the epigastric and chest cavity, the organs he placed in the bucket, including the 25 feet of intestines, after which he cleaned the cavity thoroughly, using his make shift ingredients the spices the alcohol to preserve the body as best he could, had they resin he could've preserved the corpse considerably longer. In any case once he'd done what he could he sutured the man up with the same tight even stiches.  The organs could be preserved in jars, even sold on the black market perhaps but he'd bury them alongside the body in a box like the ancient Egyptians.  Unlike the ancient Egyptians he did remove the heart and did not take the brain out through the nose but left it.  Once he was done and the man was at least adequately prepared and he'd covered up the contents of what was in the bucket he went to the door.  Usually a thorough process would take days, weeks perhaps but for him it took about 2 hours to complete, it was the best he could do for now and the man really did look the better for it, though he was wrapped in one of the clean sheets for lack of clean clothes.

Opening the door his hair was mussed standing up in an odd yet somehow cute way as though he'd inadvertently run bloody fingers through it, he looked worn out but somehow more relaxed now that the hardest part had been dealt with, he'd feel even better when the body was 6 feet under.  His clothes were stained and he was even more disheveled then when they'd first met, he also smelt more strongly now not only of blood but of disinfectant as well.  "I need you to get me some jars..."  He said using his hands to show the boy the size he wanted.   "Can you do that?  And do you think you could find some clothes?"  He asked he didn't mean just for the naked corpse in fact he'd bury the man in the sheet he'd swaddled him if necessary but more for himself.

D:

Stab stab stab. His rhythmic movements of scissors stabbing was interrupted when the door opened, revealing a tired looking Reznik, running a bloody through messy hair. Eyeing the man's stained fingers with curious eyes, Dren mentally licked his lips hungrily at the sight of the blood.

Within the last 2 hours Dren had became unfocused once again, having nothing but the wall in front of him to look at and a mysterious game of body transforming within the room behind his back. It made him pout a little, the boredom and the curiosity that hooked him easily. What was Reznik doing in the room? Why did he need to straighten the dead man up? And where were the spices used? Was it fun? Why couldn't he play too? So in the process of thinking these thoughts in repeated, circular sequence, the boy had, without really noticing it, stabbed nearly every inch of the wooden floor boards close to his sides. Sharply defined, deep hole could be seen around where he had been sitting, and small cracks appeared from where the scissors had stabbed through. Come to think of it, he never really realized that there was space beneath floor boards, but upon inspection, it wasn't enough space to put anything significantly entertaining into, like a rabbit, or an arm.

Dren threw away the scissors mildly before standing up with an easy smile. "Do you want the cookies in the jars as well?" He said, while making a short trip to the kitchen and coming back with three jars (cookies, sugar cubes, and wild rice) emptied of their contents (except for the one cookie he held in his mouth). And then he peered around the door quickly, before blinking up at Reznik. "There're clothes in the closet in there..." he pointed at the bedroom where the body resided in.

"Can I go in yet?" The redhead asked, bouncing on his feet as though excited to see a christmas present. "Did you make a big sandwich?"


[To be continued...]