Phantom knew Ezra was starving for answers. After getting some sleep and food—and once Ezra had gently applied numbing cream to his welts—Phantom decided it was time to talk.
On the couch, with his back turned toward the armrest, he let the words flow from his lips—hoping they wouldn't catch when he reached the painful parts.

"About three months ago, Lola came to me. A friend of hers had gone missing. I was able to follow part of the trail; it led to an officer who'd taken a bribe. Esai and I went over there in the middle of the night. We just needed to rattle him a little, question him—that was it."

The tightness in his chest was already creeping in. Instead of keeping his gaze on Ezra, he let it drop to the brown leather of the couch between them.

"We broke in. As we went up the stairs, I heard someone sobbing. Down below, in what looked like the basement. I thought maybe it was the missing girl, so I went to check it out. We found a filthy mattress with a bowl of dog food." The images came rushing back, and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "There was a boy. Twelve, at most. His own son. And I..." He took a deep breath—and groaned when his ribs flared with pain. "I'd seen something like that before. When I was fourteen. My best friend hadn't shown up at school for a few days and I had a bad feeling—especially since I knew his dad was a bastard. He used to hit him sometimes. I climbed through his window and eventually found him in the basement. Naked and covered in blood, curled up like a dying animal."

"No way." Ezra's eyes went wide.

Phantom clenched his hands into fists. He could taste bile. The memory gripped him, and he couldn't pull away.

Mason had dropped to his knees beside his friend.

Dwight whimpered softly. "Please, stop. I can't take any more."

Panic gripped his chest. He didn't understand—what had happened?

"It's me, Dwight." Mason raised a hand, meaning to place it on his back. But it was such a mangled, bloody mess that he couldn't bring himself to touch it.

His voice seemed to stir Dwight from his dazed state. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Mase." His voice was hoarse, and his gaze darted past Mason. "You need to get out of here."

"You need to get out of here."

Dwight's bottom lip began to tremble. "He knows. He knows." He stood up, face contorted in pain. His hand found Mason's shoulder and gave him a shove. "Go. Before he—"

"Who, Dwight?"

But he already knew, even if part of him refused to believe it.

Footsteps creaked above. Dwight's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. Mason tried to lift him. For a moment, his friend got halfway up, then collapsed again.

He needed a hospital. He needed—

Now the stairs creaked. Heavy men's boots descended.

Dwight's father.

Mason didn't want to leave him. But there was no way he could take on someone that size alone. He needed a weapon—he needed... Yes. A weapon.

At the back of the basement was a small window. A rickety table stacked with paint cans stood beneath it. He climbed up, pushed the window open, and squeezed through. On his stomach, he slid across the grass and pulled his legs out behind him.

Then he started running.

His brother had a gun. He'd found it a few months ago, while looking for a CD.

The bedroom was empty. Mason yanked open the drawer, shoved aside all of Travis's socks, and found the gun. He grabbed it and rushed outside, crossed the street, and ran into Dwight's yard. Without thinking, he dove back through the window and landed on the table.

He heard muffled sobbing. Quickly, he jumped off, sending the table crashing to the floor. Mason sprinted around the corner and froze.

In the dim light, he saw Dwight's father, pinning his son to the mattress, grunting as he thrust into him. He looked up, dazed, when he saw Mason.

Then he grinned. "Oh, look at that, Dwight. That little shit over there needs a reset too. I'll pound his ass until he pukes at the thought of another man ever touching him again. Feels like it's my duty, really, since his own dad never managed to raise him right. What a blessing that he doesn't have to be ashamed of his son."

Mason charged. He yanked the gun from behind his waistband and flipped off the safety.

The man froze. Good.

Mason shoved the gun against his face and pulled the trigger—again, and again, and again.

"Phantom? Phantom!" Hands cupped his face.

Phantom looked around wildly. He pushed the other person away and scooted back. His back burned. His face was wet. Panicked, he rubbed his hands over it—until he realized it wasn't blood. It was tears. He was crying.

"I..." He stared at Ezra, lost.

"You had a flashback?"

Phantom couldn't speak yet, not until his racing heart calmed down. He tried to shake off the images he'd buried for so long.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice hoarse. He rubbed his chest with a fist, where he could still feel his heart pounding. Around it was a hollow, dragging emptiness that had been there ever since Dwight said he wanted to end their friendship. Maybe it was time to finally talk about it after all these years. Would that shrink the void? Could something else fill it instead?

"I used to have a best friend. Dwight. We were inseparable as kids, and when we were fourteen, we developed feelings for each other. We kissed a few times, in secret, because... well, you know what it was like where we grew up. His dad found out. Locked him in the basement. Beat him and raped him. To 'reset' him—to make him hate boys and never want to be touched by one again."

It was like electric shocks ran across the welts on his own back.

With his gaze lowered, he kept going. Told him how he'd found his friend there, and how he'd gone to get a gun and shot the man dead.

"And then a few months ago, when we found that boy in that basement... I lost it. I don't remember anything, but I shot that guy dead in his bed."

Ezra said nothing. Phantom looked up and saw the emotions on his face. Helplessness. Disbelief.

"I don't know what to say, man. What that guy did... that's fucking sick. And that you were fourteen when you killed him... That must've left a mark. What happened to Dwight afterward? Aren't you guys friends anymore?"

"Not long after, someone was found hanging from a tree, wearing a rainbow tie. It caused a huge stir—you probably remember it. My brother tried hard to save money so the three of us could run away together, but Dwight was terrified. And what his father did... it broke him. In the end, he gave up on our friendship. He didn't want to see me anymore, was too scared someone would realize there'd been something between us. He ended up in foster care and moved to another city."

"And now that you're both adults?"

Phantom shrugged. "It was never the same after what his dad did. I think I reminded him of everything that happened, and he wanted a fresh start. And I... My brother died a few months later, and I had no one left, and I missed him so fucking much. But I was too afraid to reach out, afraid he'd push me away, even after my brother died." Phantom bit his lip. "I did look him up recently. He's a successful doctor now. In a relationship. The fresh start did him good." A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Better than me."

"Well, you didn't have a foster family backing you up. You were on your own for years, and I think you've done great, all things considered."

Phantom managed a small smile. "I'm doing my best."

Ezra scooted closer and took his hand. "And you don't have to be alone anymore, okay? I'm here now." He looked him straight in the eye. "And thank you for sharing this with me. That must've been hard as hell. And yeah—it's fucking twisted that you were forced to kill that man. But there was no one else to protect that kid. And the fact that you were willing to go that far for your friend says a lot about your strength."

Phantom looked down at Ezra's hand wrapped around his own. "I would've done anything for him. That's what made it hurt so much when he didn't do the same. When he gave up on us. On me. I don't think I've really let anyone in since." He looked up again, heart pounding faster.
And now I'm letting you in. While I'm planning to kill your brother the first chance I get.

Tears stung his eyes. Ezra could promise him anything—could swear he'd stand by him no matter what. But once the truth came out, Ezra would drop him too. Would want nothing to do with him.

Then he'd be alone again.

And fuck—he didn't know if he could take another blow like that.

If it would be the moment he shut down every last bit of feeling and turned just as cold as the man who had killed his brother.