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The front door was wide open, and Riley could see Hart walking slowly, exhausted after running for so long. There was blood dripping down his hands. There was also some on his clothes and shoes; Riley would have to clean that later. Hart's eyes were as bright as a star in the night sky, they were so full of life and energy, but when you zoomed out of those marbles, it was just another dark, empty, emotionless face.

“Close the door,” Hart told Riley as he entered the house and began to remove his jacket slowly, hoping he would avoid touching the blood.

“You already have blood on your hands, touching it a little bit more isn't going to kill you,” Riley said as he returned after closing the door, helping Hart remove the jacket, hanging it on the coat hanger after he retrieved it.

“I don't want to stain anything else. It's ridiculous the amount of clothes I go through a month.”

“You could always take my advice and stop killing people.”

Hart looked at him like he had just told the stupidest joke. At least Riley got some emotion out of him, which was pretty difficult to accomplish since Hart usually went into a coma every time he killed someone. Not a literal coma, just a state in which he built a box around him and turned the world off. It was strange to see, but it was the only time Riley ever felt safe.

Without a response, Hart began to unbutton his sleeves. Riley took over, pushing Hart's hand aside and carefully unbuttoning each sleeve, and then going to his chest. Riley and Hart were the same height, so when Riley looked up he was looking straight at Hart's eyes.

“I'm going to town today, do you need anything?” Hart asked, nearly a whisper.

Riley knew he couldn't really have what he wanted, and asking, even as a joke, would only provoke Hart. But what he really wanted was his freedom. Hart already knew that, though. And he wasn't going to get it, ever.

Riley just shook his head in response as he undid the last button on Hart's long sleeve shirt, slightly exposing his pale chest. Riley reached in through the opening and touched his skin with the tip of his fingers. He was particularly warm today, but that could have been because he had been running just a few minutes ago. Riley preferred when he was cold, it was more . . . him.

“I wish you weren't so sad all the time,” Hart said, bringing up his hand to touch Riley's face. “You're too beautiful for sadness.”

“And you're too beautiful for murder,” Riley retorted as he pushed Hart's shirt off.

Riley couldn't help it when his eyes scanned Hart's pale skin. His body was attractive, he couldn't lie about that. It was almost too perfect. His muscles were highly defined and all he wanted was to stare, and maybe touch. Every time he looked at Hart he felt like gravity was pulling him closer.

Correction, that was what he felt whenever he looked into his blue eyes. What he really felt when he looked at – or thought about– Hart's body was pure lust. The man was simply stunning, and he hated it. He didn't want to feel attraction towards a heinous killer. He didn't want a certain area of his body to feel warm arousal every time Hart appeared out of the blue. It was sick and wrong, yet every part of him enjoyed it. How could he hate and love something at the same time, especially when that something was Hart?

“I'm going to clean myself up, okay?” Hart told him.

Riley nodded quietly, avoiding eye contact, mostly because he was still staring. But then he stopped when Hart walked closer to him instead of going up the stairs like he should be. With his hand, Hart touched Riley's chin and forced him to look up into his eyes.

“Meet me downstairs in the basement,” he added.

Before Riley could respond with actual words, Hart kissed him. It wasn't a big kiss, like a peck but with more desire. He did it because he wanted to, and Riley felt that in the kiss. He didn't have time to kiss back, to savor the moment or to taste Hart's lips, because the man pulled back and left, leaving Riley dazzled in front of the staircase.

Riley went to the basement immediately after that. In the time he had been here, he noticed Hart changed the little room a lot to accommodate the way he was going to kill someone that day. For the past week and a half the room had been empty, no surgical table. He now pinned people against the dark walls or hung them by their hands in the dark room.

Hart had given Riley one of the guest rooms so he wouldn't have to sleep in the dark room anymore, and he was mildly thankful for it, but not entirely. Why should he be thankful? Because Hart kidnapped him and he had the kindness in him to not make him sleep on blood anymore? He wasn't going to praise the killer, he wasn't going to bow down and be thankful.

The only positive thing about having his own room was that he didn't have to see Hart kill people. He didn't have to hear their screams or see the blood splatter across the walls. The horrendous cries for help still managed to sneak into his room sometimes. That was when he would hide under the blankets, close his eyes, cover his ears and pray it would stop.

He still remembered the day he tried to stop Hart, how could he forget?

The weather that day had been boisterous. The rain was heavy and blinding. The sky growled every few seconds with few lightning bolts. It was as if the sky was having a war with itself. And not even the sky's battle cry helped mute the sounds of the screaming happening in the basement.

Riley had seen the victims of the day. They were a couple, no doubt. The way they looked at each other as Hart dragged them inside, tied and helpless. They both had fear in their eyes, not caused by Hart, but the realization that they were going to lose each other.

Riley couldn't take it after twenty minutes had passed. He was shaking, his blood fueling with anger as he listened to the sounds of what seemed like a person being choked to death. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, jumping over a couple of steps and nearly tripping as he rushed down to the basement. He didn't pause to stare, he ran to the man whose back faced him unknowingly and he pushed him as hard as he could. Hart fell and looked surprised as Riley mounted him and started furiously punching him.

The woman, who was pinned against the wall with something in her mouth, looked almost hopeful with her eyes wide and tears streaming down her face. Her boyfriend wasn't in such a good state, he was still alive but barely. Her boyfriend was unconscious on the table with blood pooling under him and dripping slowly on the floor.

Riley became distracted by the woman's sudden muffled scream, thinking somebody was behind him, and Hart took the opportunity to push Riley off. Riley knew if he didn't get up he was done for. Hart quickly grabbed Riley, pulling him up on his feet and punched him in the face over and over until his nose broke and his eye ached like crazy.

The woman tried screaming, urging Riley to get up after he had fallen with barely any energy left. But he was losing, Hart always seemed to be better in every way. How could he defeat someone who was never meant to lose?

“I'm- I'm sorry,” Riley managed to speak up, spitting out blood as his vision became blurry.

When he woke again, there was no woman pinned against the wall, no boyfriend on the table, and he almost believed he was alone when suddenly Hart appeared, picking up Riley and forcing him against the nearest wall.

“You ever try to do that again, I will kill you,” Hart warned him and punched him in the gut. Riley groaned loudly as his body arched forward in response to the massive pain in his stomach.

Before Hart left, he brushed his hand through Riley's hair and caressed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he said quietly, “but I will if I must.”

And that was the last time Riley ever fought back.

He looked at himself in the mirror on the wall, his face had healed long ago. But sometimes when he touched his face he could still feel Hart beating him. It was terrifying, what if next time he didn't stop?

He suddenly saw Hart through the mirror, frightening him and stirring him from his reverie. He turned around, clutching his chest where his heart beat fast.

“You scared me!”

Hart walked closer, away from the darkness where the lights didn't touch.

“I thought you would be used to it by now,” he said, forcing Riley to turn around so he could face the mirror again. “Why aren't you wearing your jacket? Aren't you cold?”

Riley looked at the man through the mirror and stared at his new set of clothes, his wet hair that had been left undone and was sort of falling over his face – rare times like these he liked to creepily take in the sight of Hart almost looking normal.

“It's not my jacket,” Riley corrected him, “it's yours, and I don't feel comfortable wearing it all day long. I rather just wear this buttoned up shirt if you don't mind.”

“Very well,” Hart said, extending his arm over Riley's shoulder and pressing his hand against the wall, next to the mirror. The dark room began to open, and Riley looked like he was going to throw up.

“Are you putting me back in there?” he asked, his hands beginning to shake.

“No. But you're going to have to trust me and wait for me inside while I get something.”

Riley stared at the entrance to the dark room, glaring suspiciously between it and Hart. He trusted Hart, that was his problem. The man could do anything to him and he'd still trust him. It could be that he was flat out honest. He had no shame, no regrets, no emotions, making him totally trustful – unless of course he was trying to kidnap you, then he'd lie to you like he was doing it his whole life. But to him, to Riley, he never lied. The closest thing to lying was silence. Whenever Riley made Hart feel like he was put on the spot, he'd just become quiet. But maybe that was for the best. Not everyone wanted to know the truth, especially not Riley in his situation. And sometimes not knowing was better.

Riley willingly entered the dark room, and for a second he expected the door to close behind him but it didn't. He walked further into the room, reaching the table in the middle of the room. The table was empty except for a bottle of black paint and a small brush with a thin end. He picked up the bottle and stared at it, wondering why Hart wanted the both of them in the dark room with a bottle of ink. Painting, that was his guess. But painting what?

“Don't touch that,” Hart suddenly said, scaring the hell out of Riley, again.

“You seriously need to stop doing that. And stop looking like you're proud of making my skin jump.”

“It's not my fault you scare easily.”

Riley stared back with his mouth open. “Yes . . . it is.”

“Are you ready?” Hart asked, ignoring him as he walked around the table to stand across from him.

“Ready for what?”

Hart placed a black box on the table and a syringe. At first Riley could only keep his eyes on the box. It was beautiful, with gold carvings of symbols he'd never seen before. The symbols snaked around a unusual name; Silvern.

“It's my family's symbol,” Hart answered as if he had read Riley's mind.

“And Silvern is your last name?”

“Yes.”

“Hart Silvern,” Riley said thoughtfully. “Wait! What are you doing with a needle? What are you going to do to me?”

“Why do you always assume I'm going to do something to you?” he asked, tilting his head curiously and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Uh,” Riley's eyes wondered, staring at places where dead bodies used to be, “because you kill people?”

“And have I killed you?”

Riley glared, putting the bottle of paint down. “No . . . but that doesn't mean you're mister savior, the hero of the day that chooses not to kill me.”

“We need to begin,” Hart said, sounding almost impatient, but impatience was an emotion, which Hart lacked. He picked up the needle, making Riley shiver. “Give me your arm.”

“No.”

“I need your blood.”

“What on earth for?”

“To make tea,” he replied with a serious look.

It took a good couple of seconds for Riley to process what Hart had just said, and a few more seconds to react. “Oh my God, was that a joke? Please, I beg you, do not joke.”

“Just give me your arm!” he hissed.

Swallowing down the knot in his throat, Riley walked up to the table and raised his arm. Hart took it and pulled Riley closer, using his already occupied hand to look for a vein. When he found one, he took the syringe and pressed the needle through his skin. Hart was never gentle, so he did expect it to hurt a little bit. He drew out a lot of blood, enough to fill the little vial.

When he was done, he took the bottle of paint and opened it, pouring the blood into it. He closed it again and gave it a good shake, staring blankly at Riley.

“Why are you mixing my blood with ink?”

“It's not ink. And I won't tell you what it is, so don't bother asking.”

Hart settled the bottle down and picked up the next item, the box. He opened it up and took out a peculiar looking dagger. It was just as pretty as the box. It had carvings, too, but they were left unfilled. They needed to be traced with . . . paint.

“You're going to fill the symbols on your dagger with my blood? I would say that doesn't sound normal but after being here for over four months, what is?”

“It isn't my dagger,” Hart gently placed the dagger on the table, took the brush and handed it to Riley, “it's yours.”

“Come again?”

“Dip the brush into the paint and carefully fill the symbols. If you mess up, I will kill you.”

“Literally . . . or?”

“Literally,” he stated.

Hart was giving him a dagger and was making him paint it with his blood and who knew what else? He only hoped he could actually keep the dagger, maybe he could use it to defend himself next time Hart decided to unexpectedly attack. Maybe he could kill Hart instead and end it all.

“There is only one other dagger like this in existence,” Hart told him.

“What makes it so special?”

“In time you'll know. But right now you need to focus and paint where the symbols have been carved.”

Riley nodded, grabbing the bottle of . . . substance, and opening it up. He looked at Hart as he reached for the dagger, expecting to get knocked out or something, anything but to actually be given a weapon. Successfully, he grabbed the dagger and dragged it closer to him for easier inspection. He couldn't even begin to puzzle out the markings. They were incredibly detailed with absolutely no flaws.

“Now?” Riley asked.

“Yes, now.”

Riley dipped the brush into the blood and withdrew it after letting it soak up. He started at the base of the dagger, drawing as carefully as possible. He would have been sweating profusely if it weren't for heat forsaking this place.

It only took about half an hour to finish the whole thing. The dagger wasn't small at all, but many of the details were very small and Riley didn't want to find out what would happen if he messed up.

“Can I ask why you're giving me a dagger? I mean, don't you know I could just use it against you?” Riley said.

“Because I need you alive.”

Riley blinked, and before he could question Hart any further, the man took the dagger and lifted it in the air. The walls that made up the dark room burst into flames, and so did the table, startling Riley and making him jump. The fire between them grew larger, becoming wild and untamable.

“What is this?!” Riley screamed, trying to get a better view of the man on the other side of the fire. “Whoa! What are you doing?!”

Hart held out the dagger with one hand and moved it through the fire, letting the flames lick violently at his skin. Riley panicked, but soon calmed as he saw that his hand was fine. The fire was very much real, he could feel the intense heat pushing against his face, making him walk back every few seconds as it grew stronger.

Hart was completely unaffected by the fire. As if things weren't weird already, the man began to whisper in a language Riley had never heard before. It didn't sound right, not at all. He couldn't pick up a single word that he might have possibly known.

The fire was crawling up the walls to the ceiling, drawing closer to the center of the dark room. Besides the fact that it was scary and confusing, it was also quite fascinating and strangely beautiful.

Suddenly the flames went out simultaneously, leaving behind no trail that there was ever a fire in the first place. Now there was just silence and a lot of darkness.

“There's just one last thing we need to do,” Hart said, his eyes focusing on Riley.

“Okay,” Riley breathed out, not bothering to ask any more questions.

-

Hart left immediately after the little show in the dark room. Riley stayed behind and waited in his room, knowing exactly what Hart was going to do. He was going to kidnap someone. It made sense since he hadn't killed many people that week. Riley was almost starting to worry that Hart was becoming normal.

He paced around his room nervously, watching the giant clock on the wall. His door was closed, but left unlocked – because it didn't have a lock. His room actually belonged to Hart when he was a teenager. It wasn't your usual teenager's room. There weren't any posters of bands and artists. There were no childhood toys or photos. Just a queen sized bed, some old furniture, torn up curtains and an empty closet.

Sometimes when Hart brutally murdered people, Riley would hide in the closet, but only if he wasn't afraid of the dark that night. If all was well and there weren't faces staring back at him from the darkness, he would fall asleep in the closet. He never woke up in it, though. He always woke up in his bed, like if someone had moved him. But ever since he was kidnapped, he was a very light sleeper and almost anything woke him up; a little scratch on the window, a faint footstep, and even water dripping. So how did he always manage to wake in mountains of pillows and blankets?

One long hour passed and still no sign of Hart. He thought about exploring more of the house, but he had already done that. He practically memorized every single corner in a day. There was no other exit, nothing. He was stuck there, and even if he had found a way out, the collar around his neck kept him secured inside. He was already dead. Why? What if Hart never returned? What then?

This made him sort of happy to see Hart come home, even if sometimes he came in with a body. At least he knew that he wasn't going to leave him suddenly.

Just as he was getting a glass of water, the front door opened. He heard it. He heard the familiar crying. Riley dropped on the floor and sat against the wall that didn't have a view of the hall. He closed his eyes and covered his ears. He didn't want to see them, didn't want to see the emotion in their eyes. He didn't want to feel responsible when they pleaded for help. He didn't want the pressure on him when they looked at him directly in the eyes and cried for protection.

After minutes cleared, he opened his eyes and slowly dropped his hands.

“What do you want?” Riley asked, sensing he wasn't alone.

“I need you to come downstairs,” Hart replied.

Riley got up, expecting to see a lot of blood on Hart, but he was fine. His suit was clean, his hands – or should he say gloves, were bloodless. Maybe he didn't kill the person yet, or maybe he was going to keep them like he had kept Riley. That was a new thought that never crossed his mind until now. And for a sick reason, he really hoped it wasn't true, he wanted the person to be dead. He wanted to be the only one.

Riley followed Hart down to the basement and it was empty, but the dark room was opened. He couldn't see what was inside because the lights were off, but he could feel like something was wrong.

“Before we go in,” Hart began, holding up the same box that contained the dagger, “I want to give you this.”

Riley took the box without a word, waiting for Hart to finish speaking, as he looked like he was going to say more.

“This is a huge responsibility. Do not fail me, Riley.” Riley felt a wave of goosebumps at the sound of his name. “It is gravely important that you always keep this dagger no matter what, understand?”

“No.”

“Open the box and take it out,” Hart ordered.

Riley looked down, carefully opening the box and pulling out the dagger. It was heavier than he had imagined. His fingers brushed over the symbols, over his own blood. It was dry and there was no difference between real paint and what was used – which he was still clueless about.

Hart didn't need to say it, Riley just automatically followed him into the dark room, carrying a box and a dagger. Before he could turn back and run, the door closed behind them and the lights turned on. What made him want to turn back? Just the person hanging in the middle of the room by their hands. It was a female, no doubt. There was a bag over her head, so he didn't really know who it was.

Suddenly, it all made sense. He looked down at the dagger, his eyes widening.

“No,” he quickly said, turning to face Hart.

“You have no choice.”

Just as he opened his mouth to protest, a ringing stopped him. The sound was coming from his collar. He looked at Hart, waiting for answers, because right now he was frozen and he couldn't speak.

“There is a timer on your collar, if it runs out, you'll explode and everything around you will die,” Hart explained, his eyes finally showing emotion, but one Riley never wanted to see; anger.

“What do I have to do?” Riley asked, trying to keep his cool even though he knew exactly what had to be done.

“Kill the girl and you won't die.”

“What if I don't? What if I kill you instead?”

“You'll still die.” And with that, Hart walked to the middle of the dark room and removed the bag covering the girl's face.

“Melissa?” Riley gasped.

“Riley?” the girl replied, waking up from a previous knock out. “You're alive.”

He turned back to Hart and gave him the dagger. Leaning closer to Hart, he said, “I'm not doing it.”

“Don't worry, you will,” he responded, shoving the dagger back in Riley's hands. “You know why?”

“Because I'll blow up? Well, I really don't care anymore. I rather die than to spend another minute in this house.”

“You die, she dies,” he said simply.

He was making it hard for Riley to refuse. He wasn't going to kill Melissa. Melissa was his friend, and if he could stop another friend from dying then he would, even if it meant he'd die. But in this case, if he died, she died. If not by the explosion, then by Hart.

His hands were getting weaker the longer he held the dagger. His brain was fuzzing with thoughts, ideas, plans, but none of them ended well. If he killed Hart, he'd still blow up. If he let himself die, she would die. If he killed her . . . he'd survive. But he didn't want to kill her.

“You have one minute before she is free,” Hart told him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Hart looked back at Melissa and Riley swore he saw a smile on the man – an evil smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“She knows.”

“She knows what?” Riley asked directly at Melissa.

She whimpered, tears beginning to swell in her eyes.

“I have to kill you, Riley,” she confessed. “Or my little sister dies.”

“He's making us fight? That's his plan?” he whispered to himself.

The chains holding her suddenly snapped open and she dropped on her feet, grabbing a knife from her back pocket. She eyed Riley and his knife, then looked at Hart, then back at Riley again, and Hart, and it took Riley too long to realize she was telling him to move closer to Hart, so he did. They circled each other in the large room like enemy predators about to tear each other apart.

When Riley was in front of Hart, Melissa launched at full speed. Now he wasn't so sure if what he had seen in her eyes was a sign of truce, a sign to fight back and end this once and for all. It was too late to think now, she was coming closer. He did the only thing he could do, he jumped aside and hoped he was right, that she was on his side.

Instead of chasing Riley, Melissa targeted Hart and as soon as she was close to him she jabbed her knife into his stomach. It honestly looked like he hadn't seen it coming, but something about Hart's reaction told him he knew exactly what they were doing.

“If I kill you, there will be no one to kill my little sister,” she whispered to his face.

Riley's jaw fell in shock, his eyes got bigger with fear. He was afraid that she would kill him. He was afraid for Hart.

“Stop!” Riley yelled at the girl. She turned her attention to him, regretting her action a second too late. Hart took her by the neck, pulling out the knife with his other. He didn't kill her, he tossed her towards Riley instead.

Hart fell on his knees, holding his stomach as his blood began to drip down his arm. He was badly hurt and he could die from the wound. The man began to slowly lie on the ground, closing his eyes. Every part of Riley panicked, and something just . . . ticked.

He gripped his dagger and ran straight to Melissa as she got up after realizing what was happening.

“Riley, no!” Melissa screamed as he slashed the air between them. “You're suffering from Stockholm's syndrome! You don't really want to hurt me to defend him, do you?!”

“I'm sorry!” Riley's eyes were becoming watery, he couldn't tame the anger inside him. It was like something had taken over his body. Something menacing.

He grabbed Melissa and made her fall, and that was when it all ended. He climbed on her, using all his strength, he stabbed her multiple times with the dagger. She tried to scream, to say something, but she kept spitting out blood and all it took was a couple of seconds for her to die.

Riley got off her body, shaking as he crawled towards Hart. He wiped the tears in his eyes, smearing blood across his face as he did. When he got to Hart, he wasn't sure if the man was unconscious or not. He was as still as a lifeless body, but he was breathing regularly.

“Hart?” Riley quietly called, shaking the man. “Wake up. Please, wake up. I killed her.”

There was no response, no sign of him waking up, no movement whatsoever. Riley quickly laid Hart on his back, since he had fallen on his side. He pulled his jacket apart and ripped his buttoned up shirt, revealing nothing but blood. There was no wound, no sign that there ever was.

And that was when Hart opened his eyes, the blue in them lightning up and dimming down.

“Good job,” he said.

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[Author's Message]: Holy crap this chapter was full of so much fckery lol. Sorry it took me a while to finish it, I was taking my time and at the end I had some trouble with the program I write with. But finally finished after so much hard work! I hope you guys like the story so far and please remember to vote to show your support. Now remember to leave a comment if you want a chance to get a chapter dedicated to YOU. If you haven't noticed, every chapter so far has been dedicated to someone. :O So leave a comment, even if it's a short one or a long one. I accept all! Thank you so much guys