6 The Desire to Kill

A lump had formed in my throat. "Hugh," I managed to choke out, "what happened?"

His jaw moved, no sound came out. I realised that now wasn't the time to talk. Wordlessly, I knelt by his side and opened my arms. He hesitated for a moment, then threw himself into them, and I held him until he cried himself out, not caring about my ruined shirt. No one would dare to ask about it, anyway.

I should have felt happy that he was in my arms again. Instead, I felt only desire. The desire to kill. One more piece to complete the puzzle. Now that he had finished his bout of terror and hysteria, I propped him against the wall and stayed in front of him, hands resting on his knees. His hands reached for them desperately. I knew he needed the contact.

"Are you ready to tell me now?"

He shook his head miserably. "They'll kill me" he whispered.

The pain intensified. My hands moved to his face.

"I'm so sorry," I said. My voice was hoarse from the suppressed tears that threatened to spill. "I should have noticed earlier. I should have protected you. I should have-"

"They'll kill you too, you know." His face was bleak. "You don't owe me anything."

I racked my brains for a persuasion. "Please. If you don't do it for yourself, then do it for me. I owe myself this."

He stared uncomprehendingly. "What-"

"Just tell me!"

He gave in.

"..Hunter, Boyd, McLean, McKinney and Wayne."