Elliot’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned on the camera app before extending the selfie stick.
“Good afternoon fellow Faneatics,” he said as he positioned himself with the huge boulder and the exhumation site in the background. The red brick building that used to house an asylum decades prior loomed farther on, with dark clouds gathering above it. But the ugly early-twentieth-century facade hid a gem of history—William Fane’s house, which had been structurally incorporated into the much more severe form of the former hospital. A pearl trapped within red brick and broken plaster and known only to those who wanted to discover the truth about William.
Elliot had wanted to visit it for years, but since the huge property around the structure had been taken over by the local biker gang, the Kings of Hell, there was little chance for him to explore. And given that visitors to the club’s famously outrageous parties claimed no trace of the original building was left, he hadn’t been motivated enough either, but the monumental discovery of the five bodies forced him to finally act.
His blood rushed with excitement when he noticed that several people were already logging on to view the video. “There is no time to waste, so I’ve decided to film live in the very place where William Fane’s life unfolded, and where he committed his crimes.”—He pointed to the pile of dirt by the boulder and to the trampled grass around it.—“This is where William Fane disposed of five bodies. What did he do to each of them? Will their injuries be consistent, or was he experimenting and developing his technique? We will have to wait until the forensics specialists release more data about the skeletons. What we do know already is that one of those young men was missing an arm. I don’t know about you, but as I walk down the paths that he himself used, I imagine him sitting at his long dinner table, feasting on the supple flesh of the man he’d held in his arms the night before. He surely treated his guests to that exotic meat, and took pleasure in knowing that he was the only one who realized just why the meal was so delicious.”
Thinking of the handsome, charming William desiring another man so much he not only wanted to sleep with him but also to physically devour him had Elliot’s stomach in knots, both out of fear and arousal. He imagined William then cleaning the bones and keeping them under his pillow to remember his former lover in vivid dreams.
This way, they could be together forever.
“The fuck are you doing here?” a rich voice bellowed from the direction of William Fane’s former home.
Elliot’s heart stood still for a full second before rushing into a frantic rhythm that sent him back to his feet at such speed the change of position made him somewhat dizzy.
A storm was coming his way after all.
The man was tall, wide in the shoulders, and his lusciously thick hair kept rolling into his face as the wind tousled the long strands. The biker’s arms were covered by a leather jacket with patches at the front, but even so the fury they could unleash on Elliot was palpable without the need for demonstration.
Thinking on his feet, Elliot pulled out the fake journalist’s ID he’d made to trick people into disclosing more information about the exhumed bodies. If it worked on a coroner’s assistant, then it just might help him out against a dumbass biker.
“No need to worry, sir!” He stood straighter to pretend he wasn’t afraid. “I am an independent reporter, and was authorized to photograph the burial site.” As his frantic mind calmed down somewhat he realized that the unplanned guest star could spice things up and make the video even more interesting to his viewers.
The man’s teeth glinted in a menacing grimace, and Elliot’s stomach turned when the cold steel of a gun shone in the faint sunlight. All of a sudden, he imagined being buried where Fane’s victims had been, only with no one to lovingly chew on his flesh and hug his bones to sleep.
“I must have been drunk out of my mind when I gave you authorization to come anywhere near this place,” the man hissed.
“Don’t come any closer!” Elliot’s voice trembled despite his best attempts to keep his composure. If push came to shove, there was a blade hidden in his cane, but it would be useless against a bullet. Driven by a stroke of genius, he used the only other weapon he had, the camera, and pointed it at the wall of muscle. “I am broadcasting live, and I will have proof of any crime you might commit against me!”
The biker slowed down, as if he’d suddenly stepped into tar, and the hand that held the gun very casually dove behind his back. But as soon as the firearm was hidden, he synchronized his gait to the rhythm of Elliot’s heart and approached. “What part of this being private property don’t you understand?”