Page 1 of His Favorite Color is Blood
Prologue
Logan
Sparks danced through theair like shooting stars until their light died down. The flames screamed through the open windows, tearing through the mesh screens. They were so bright on the background of the dark sky that it almost seemed as if the walls were holding back a nuclear explosion from bursting all over the woods around the house. In the background, the sound of a siren was slowly approaching, but the firefighters wouldn’t be able to do much at this point. The whole interior had been consumed, and Logan turned away from the adults, who pushed him to the back as if they didn’t want him to watch his whole life being scorched.
He pressed his lips shut, swallowing tears he didn’t want anyone to see, as he watched the bright, warm light pulse over the bark of the trees. The usually damp air was now nothing but sickening heat, and he clutched at his throat, unable to breathe through his silent sobs.
A bright yellow dot caught his attention, and he stepped forward, brushing away the tears from his eyes. His heart drummed as the little canary opened its beak, and it must have released its song, but Logan couldn’t hear it through the insistent sound of the approaching siren. All the adults dispersed to make room for the truck, but Logan stepped closer to the tree, and then the little bird spread its wings and gracefully flew down. Its tiny feet squeezed around Logan’s index finger. It buried its beak below the wing, as it cleaned its feathers, uncaring about the chaos that was unleashed around it.
Logan squeezed his jaw so hard it felt as if his teeth were close to cracking, and he grabbed the little body in his fist. He couldn’t breathe as anger closed downhis windpipe. Without thinking, he grabbed the tiny head with his other hand and turned it, as if it were the screw top of a soda bottle. The sharp crunch that followed resonated throughout Logan’s system, but as the bird went limp, he pulled, twisting and turning, until the body fell to the ground, leaving just the head in his bloodied palms.
Tension dispersed from Logan’s muscles.
The firefighters arrived.
Chapter 1
Misha
When the first explosionshook the ground, Misha was so confused he stilled by his desk. Trapped in a room that locked from outside and had no windows, there was no way for him to know what was happening. He took a deep breath and pushed on the desk to roll his office chair to the door. A part of him was afraid he’d wake up Gary and make him furious, but when another explosion made the walls around him tremble, he hit the door with his fist. If that hadn’t woken Gary up, nothing could.
“Gary? Is this an earthquake? Can I stay with you in the living room?” he yelled, but there was no answer.
Misha’s heartbeat sped up when he heard what sounded like firecrackers exploding far away. Whatever the commotion was, maybe it would mean he’d get to leave Gary’s apartment. But how could he make a run for it if he didn’t even know what lay past the electronically locked door to Gary’s apartment? Misha was adept at using the wheelchair. He was fit and good at moving around despite his legs ending in stumps just below the knees. The lack of windows in the whole apartment suggested that it was located underground. He could easily use an elevator, and technically was capable of climbing the stairs, but if he wanted to move farther than that, he’d have to pull the wheelchair behind him every step of the way upstairs.
As his brain thought of ways to escape, conjuring visions of a new, better life that was actually worth living, the sound of firecrackers, which now seemed all too similar to gunshots, erupted again. He slid off the chair and pulled a blanket off his bed, which proved harder than he thought with his fingers stiff and trembling.Moving like an automaton, he rushed under the desk, pushing at the wood, as if it could somehow absorb him if he wanted it badly enough. It didn’t matter that he was twenty-two. In that moment, he was a little boy again, and nothing could possibly save him from the liquor-infused monsters falling over in the corridor.
Misha covered himself with the blanket and tried not to breathe, allowing as little air as possible into his lungs. He wanted to be invisible, melt into the furniture, and disappear out of the monster’s reach. He’d rather have Gary come in, laugh at him, and tell him he was silly for getting scared of some fireworks than risk a possibility that he was up against real danger.
His body trembled at the sound of a loud thud, followed by clatter, and yes, this time it was definitely gunshots. Misha cowered, curling up to seem as small as possible while the pulsing in his neck counted split seconds. There was a round of rapid fire, which suddenly came to a halt, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Misha listened, and while there were still sounds of explosives and gunfire somewhere in the background, he was certain he heard movement behind the door of the tiny space that had become his whole world. Each hair on his body stood up in anticipation of noise.
He squeezed his fingers into fists, unable to think of what he could use as a weapon. His room was the image of what most people believed teenager caves looked like. It contained posters of Russian bands, plastic trophies for swimming—which was especially pathetic since Misha didn’t even know how to swim—a desk, a computer without Internet access, and several books, but not a sharp object in sight or even a broom he could break and use for stabbing. What if Gary got shot and couldn’t protect him anymore? What if someone else took him? What if that person wanted to … hurt him again? Gary was far from a perfect man, but with him, Misha at least knew where he stood.
His heart stopped when the door handle moved. Someone was coming for him. Someone broke in here and would soon find Misha defenseless. If only he had a glass that wasn’t plastic, he’d cut his wrists before the monster could get to him, but in this situation, the best he could do was to repeatedly smash his head against the floor and dread the worst. The clang of the lock was like a punch in the gut, and Misha stared through the tiny gap in the blanket, breathless as the door slowly opened. The first thing he saw was heavy combat boots, which thudded against the floor as a man dressed in black walked in with a gun in his hand.
Seconds stretched into an eternity as the man took step after step inside the small room, but then he abruptly stopped and inhaled a big gulp of air.
“I smell fear,” he whispered, sounding happy about his discovery.
The man was tense, focused, but his face was a monstrosity that made Misha think it was Death himself coming for him. Only after a few moments did he realize the man was wearing a mask, which made his head look like a bare skull, with a pair of thin, well-cut lips visible through an opening that also revealed the man’s smooth chin.
The large, hollow eyes of the skull seemed to absorb light, and the inability to predict what the man was looking at was making Misha want to crawl inside his own body. But the man’s powerful muscles went lax, and he lowered his gun.
Misha’s lips trembled, and he had to bite them to stop his teeth from clattering. Despite all the horrors that he’d been subjected to, he didn’t want to die. Maybe one day he would become useful enough to Gary, and Misha’s world could expand beyond this room. If only he could stop breathing, the blanket would hide his presence. The room was dark without the extra lamp Gary brought in for shoots, so there was a chance the assailant would leave without noticing him.
But just as he thought that, those big black holes of eyes turned toward him, and the man slowly sank to his knee. Every hair on Misha’s body bristled. After an agonizing silence, the man finally spoke.
“Hey there, little bird,” he said, and his voice sounded like the richest, smoothest chocolate, not what Misha expected to come from someone who hid his face behind a mask.
There was nowhere to run, but Misha still pulled the blanket tighter around him and pushed against the corner under the desk as if it could somehow turn into a portal to another dimension and swallow him whole. He didn’t like strangers. They only ever brought pain and misery with them, and this unannounced guest, who came here with a firearm, seemed like the embodiment of Misha’s nightmares. “Please don’t take me,” Misha whispered, unable to blink. “I’m fine here, just ask Gary.”
The man crooked his head, and his shapely lips moved, pale against the matte black of his outfit. “Who’s Gary?”
“My b-b-b-boyfriend.” And there it was. Misha’s teeth clattered. He pushed against the wooden desk when the man shifted closer, and now, in the lightcoming from the desktop lamp, Misha could see that black mesh covered the eyeholes of the mask.
“Was he the one to lock you up from outside?”
