A Night with no Stars - 27. Danse Macabre

He didn't think he had been lying there for longer than a minute or two when he was stirred by persistent coughing. His cheek was pressed to the ground, and he was feeling dizzy. He looked up with difficulty and saw blood on the grass. His breathing had gotten worse again, even though it'd already settled since his tormentors had left. He was no expert, but something seemed to be wrong, and he was convinced that if he stayed here, he was just going to get weaker by a minute, until he finally closed his eyes and never opened them again.

He lifted himself to his knees, leaning on his hands, and felt like that tiny movement had taken most of the strength he'd still possessed. It would have been really easy to lie back down and just drift off. It was tempting, but dying was less so. No, dying was out of the question.

He made a few experimental half-steps and half-crawls in a random direction. He didn't know where he was. They hadn't been driving all that long—no more than fifteen minutes excluding the break—and the car had been facing north when they'd thrown him inside, so they might have ended up somewhere around Łomianki. On the other hand, the woods looked like any other and could be anywhere.

He dragged himself forward, panting heavily but not intending to stop because dying was out of the question. Not here, not in some random, disgusting forest. But everything was getting slower. He had barely covered several meters before leaning against the tree, knowing he couldn't keep resting because the longer he didn't move, the more impossible taking another step seemed. He pushed himself off the tree, trying to keep going, but instead he fell forward, not able to even raise his arms to support himself. He stilled, counting the seconds ticking in his head.

He felt so hollow inside. There was a stabbing pain in his chest every time he tried to breathe. Everything hurt, and he didn't even know if he was heading in the right direction. He couldn't find any motivation within himself to get up. For the first time since he'd been brought here—or rather, for the first time ever—he let himself entertain the thought that he was going to die. He knew what he did was dangerous, that he might not make it to a ripe old age, but he'd never actually thought that he would die at eighteen. It couldn't be today, of all days. Fuck, it couldn't...

But it clearly was. His heartbeat was going to become slower until it finally stopped, and he was going to die, bloody, muddy, and alone. Was there a more pathetic way to go? And why did it have to be in the woods? He hated nature. Couldn't he have gotten stabbed in the fucking alley? What an irony.

He wouldn't leave anything behind except for a few songs that the world was going to quickly forget about. He would never drive too fast only to feel the wind in his hair. He would never go on stage. He would never start a family. He would never have sex again. He would never see Maks.

Maks. He was going to be devastated. He was going to fall apart—Aleks knew he was—and regret that he'd ever come to love him. In a few years, the mere thought of him would only bring back pain. That pain would also fade after a while, along with the memory of Aleks; both would get buried at the bottom of Maks' mind. It was only natural; every living thing protected itself from suffering. No one could just keep hurting forever. If Maks managed to forget, it would be good. Better for him in any case.

He wondered what time it was. How had he reacted when he hadn't heard from Aleks at noon? He hoped that he'd kept his head and hadn't tried to meddle, but he doubted it. Sometimes he felt Maks was even more of a loose cannon than him; he just used to keep it hidden deep inside. It was as if Aleks was his catalyst. Suddenly, he wished they had never met. He hadn't done him any good; he'd just ploughed into his life, turned it upside down, and now he was going to shatter it and disappear. That was what he did—made a mess, then disappeared. He could never build anything worthwhile. The only thing he could do was destroy.

It was all so fucking pointless. He was going to die in this damn forest anyway; that couldn't be helped, but Maks didn't know that and was probably going to get involved anyway. Fuck, wherever you are, don't do anything, he tried to convey to him telepathically. Don't be an idiot. We don't have to both end up dead. Just keep going as if it all never happened, as if I were nothing more than an elaborate hallucination.

He closed his eyes. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard a swoosh. At first, he thought his ears were deceiving him, but no. It was a car. And it was close. He opened his eyes.

Fuck, he had already accepted his fate, and now a car? That was sadistic on a whole new level. It was no more than a tiny chance that if he tried to make those God knew how many more steps, someone might find him, and there was a small possibility of seeing Maks again.

Must be worth it. Slowly and carefully, feeling like every minuscule movement was just injuring him further, he got back on his knees. He wasn't even walking; he didn't think he would have been able to keep himself up right now. He was crawling towards the source of the sound. It wasn't sensible. His body was protesting vehemently; it was pure desperation. The trees started to thin out. Much to his surprise, it wasn't even a forest road, but a legit paved road, though a rather narrow one. He stumbled on it on all fours, burning his hands on the hot asphalt, but that was the least of his problems. He collapsed, mightily uncomfortable, barely sucking in air. He closed his eyes and thought that he'd done all that he could. This was it.

It took ages for another car to emerge. It could either run him down or pull over; these were the only two options. Even the first one didn't sound so bad, at least it would be quick, and he would stop fucking struggling for air because he wouldn't need any.

Tires screeching quietly, then nervous footsteps. "Oh my God, sir, are you all right?" called a young, clearly traumatized female voice. Aleks rested his forehead on the ground. Did he look all right? "Don't move! I'm calling for an ambulance!"

His last thought before he let his consciousness slip away was that he was really the luckiest bastard on earth.

***

Maks scrambled onto the poolside, panting. He was dizzy, and his ears were ringing. They were ringing a lot; in fact, he couldn't hear anything but the ringing. And he ached. He kneeled on the tiles and looked himself over, but he didn't see any injuries. He touched his face and discovered that even his nose had stopped bleeding at some point. It had just been a shockwave. It had jolted him backwards like a doll and made his whole body hurt like a bitch.

He glanced at the pool where Adrian had just surfaced, surrounded by frenzied trails of blood. He looked down, and he saw that the water dripping from his clothes was slightly pink. He was hit by a sudden surge of nausea. He swallowed the gastric juices that went up to his throat, and the tears burned the corners of his eyes. He pressed a fist to his mouth and huddled down, taking deep, even breaths through his nose, staring at the dead body drifting in the water, and waiting for his hearing to come back. It didn't.

The inside of his head was a jumbled mess, intensified by the lack of noise outside of it. Only some of his thoughts were discernible—random, fumbled flashes. The gun had fired—clearly—while pressed right to Adrian's shoulder. If he hadn't been underwater, he would have probably made it; he wouldn't have bled out so quickly. What about traces? They were everywhere—his shoe prints, blood trails. He should get rid of the DNA, or...

His own pragmatism and indifference scared him. How could he think of covering his tracks when... when what? When he was in the presence of a dead body while he had lost his hearing and Aleks could be dead? The most important part was still finding him, but now Maks had no idea how to go about it anymore, and he also needed to...

Too many thoughts at once. He sat down, closed his eyes, and did his best to relax. The smells of blood, wood, gunpowder, and chlorine were mixing in the air and itching his nose. He tried to clear his head before raising his left hand and snapping his fingers right next to his ear. Nothing, not a fucking peep except for the whirl of air, as if the world had been muted. He kept breathing, trying to hold back his increasing panic, and did the same with his other ear. Mostly ringing and... maybe some muffled sound?

He needed to move. He needed to not sit back and freak out. His hearing might come back, he might not go to prison, and Aleks might be alive. And when all those wonderful developments occurred, he didn't want to sit at the poolside being useless.

He inched towards the edge of the pool and reached out, feeling quite surreal. He gripped the leg of Adrian's pants and drew him closer. The contents of his stomach went up again. He put his hands underwater and blindly searched through his pockets, trying to forget that he was touching a corpse. From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a wallet he recognized as Aleks' and some soaked paper. Their faces were distorted and barely distinguishable, so he crumpled it and stuffed it into his own pocket. He checked the wallet. All of Aleks' cards, his ID, and his driver's license seemed to be in place.

He straightened up and spent a moment staring at the blurry gun lying at the bottom of the pool. It seemed a prudent thing to do, so he dove back into the water to fish it out. It was peculiar—for a moment, he could pretend that he didn't hear anything because he was submerged and not because his ears were fucked. Provided that he was also able to forget that he was literally swimming in blood. He climbed back up, realizing that it fit better into his hand now, as if they were already acquainted—him and his gun. Shame it was probably broken now. Just like him. One shot, end of story.

He gaped at it for a long time, dazed, and had the strange impression that it wasn't his hand holding it. What the fuck was he even doing? How was he going through all these motions without as much as a thought? It must have been because of shock. It just hadn't sunk yet. It hadn't sunk that...

He didn't even know if he had been the one to pull the trigger. Adrian had been an idiot to struggle like that, and he had been defending himself. It's not like he had killed anybody. He glanced at a dead body in the pool. It's not like he had killed anybody. But the gun had recognized him and fit right into his hand. Maybe he had pulled the trigger after all.

Murder, checked.

The sound was jarring when it forced its way over the ringing and right into his brain. His right ear ached from sensory overload when he looked around wildly. He leaped towards the lounger, where Adrian's phone still lay innocently, now playing some trashy song and flashing the name 'Partyka' on its screen. Maks stilled, only now remembering the phones. He walked back towards the house to pick up the one belonging to Aleks from the ground. Adrian must have dropped it when he'd jumped him. The screen had broken again, and it was an even bigger mess now. He took his own phone out, but of course it was dead. Which wasn't surprising; he had taken a swim with it. He disregarded it for now and went back to the lounger where Partyka was still calling. Was he an ally? Maks had just killed his relative, so probably not.

He had not. He had been present when his relative had killed himself in his utmost stupidity. That was the version he was going to feed himself from now to eternity.

He tried to use Adrian's phone to call the people he'd been talking to and squeeze the answer out of them, but it was password-protected. So he unlocked Aleks' and started to anxiously look through its contents. Who could help? He checked the messages.

Yesterday, 7:34 p.m. From: Wincent. Hey, can we talk? It's important. Tomorrow at noon at the club?

Maks frowned. Aleks had met with Wincent? He'd gotten this text before their morning conversation, but he hadn't said a word. Maybe he hadn't made it. Maybe they'd gotten to him before. Maybe...

Maybe Wincent had been involved. He worked for Partyka, but Partyka hadn't sounded like he'd authorized whatever they'd done to Aleks. It had all been Adrian, but what if Wincent was in cahoots with Adrian? But Maks had seen him earlier today, and he'd looked concerned, so maybe he wasn't...

One way or another, he was a guy Aleks had left for someone else—for him—so he probably wasn't all that fond of him. He suspected there was no love lost between him and Aleks either.

Yeah, Wincent was out. Who else?

Suddenly, he got hit by a stroke of genius. Kostek. He found his number, curled up on the cold tiles, and pressed the phone to his right ear. He could hear the signal over the ringing, even though it was a bit muffled, like during a phone conversation with a bad connection. Well, he was going to have a phone conversation, so he could pretend the connection was bad. He moved the phone to his other ear out of curiosity. Nothing. His heart sank, but he put on a brave face.

"What's up, kid?" Kostek asked instead of greeting, already sounding suspicious, like he was surprised by the call. Fuck, the ringing had gone down somewhat, but it was still there, and everything else was slightly muted. Maks could understand what he was saying, but barely.

"It's... it's Maks. I'm a..." he broke off awkwardly and cleared his throat because his voice sounded a bit strangled in his own ears, and he didn't know if it was his hearing or him still being out of breath from his dive. He pondered for a bit how to introduce himself because there was no time for small talk, but Kostek should still know—

"I know who you are," he assured him quickly, sounding too concerned to be uncomfortable. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah, look, Aleks... Aleks is in trouble," he uttered, not intending to beat around the bush. "Some people took him. I think they hurt him." He felt like an idiot because it sounded like a C-grade movie. It was the truth, though, so apparently his life had become a C-grade movie.

There was a moment of shock on Kostek's side, but it passed quickly. "What do you mean?" he asked inanely before clearly getting a grip. "I need more details. What people? Where did they take him? What have they done to him? Speak up!" He sounded like he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to panic already or if he should wait a bit longer. Maks was glad that he at least spoke loudly, even though it hurt his eardrum.

"Adrian," he blurted, involuntarily glancing towards the pool. "His friends or... something, I don't know. He called them and told them to make sure they... finished," he explained chaotically. "Can you find him?" he asked, because that was really the only part that interested him at all.

"Fuck. Hang on, let me think," Kostek snarled anxiously. "Tell me what exactly—"

"We don't have time!" Maks protested, wanting to shake him badly. "We might already be too late, and I don't know where he is! I don't know where..." he broke off, feeling a frenzied panic replace his previous composure because they didn't stand a chance. How were they supposed to find him? They didn't even have any leads, and the truth was that Aleks could have already been dead. Maks had spent the last hour shutting this notion out because he'd known that the moment it consumed his brain, he was going to fall apart and lose any incentive. He would just plop down, burst into tears, and wait for the police. And he couldn't give up on Aleks.

It wasn't real. Aleks wasn't dead, not after everything that had happened. They hadn't gotten through all this shit, only for him to be killed by a couple of thugs. That would have been the dumbest ending to their story. If Aleks died right now, it would mean that there was no fucking point to anything.

He didn't know why he was trying to rationalize it. He knew there was no plan, no outside force watching over them, adjusting the script. There was only chance, and it was the truth that there was no point to anything when all was up to chance. Aleks had shown up by chance, and he could just as well disappear by chance, along with all the meaning and purpose he'd brought to Maks' life. He thought selfishly that he shouldn't have let himself depend on him so much. He should have had the minimum of self-preservation and never let him become the most important thing in the world. To the point that the mere thought of him not being there made Maks feel like something was being ripped from his chest.

Not long ago, the thought of him not being there would have gone way over his head, but now the proof of the fragility of human life was drifting in the pool not far from him. Death, which only this morning had been light years away, had now drawn disturbingly close because it had been so easy. One movement was enough to make someone permanently gone, and Aleks was just as fragile as Adrian floating on water right now. It was fucked. It meant that everybody was walking this earth pretending to be invincible, when in reality they were just flimsy little things, falling into pieces from a stronger gust of wind. He tried to convince himself that it wouldn't have been so easy with Aleks, that he must have been made of something tougher, and that he probably had nine lives like cats. Only realistically, he knew that Aleks had just one life, and it could be terminated just as easily as anyone else's. That was his most frightening thought so far.

Fuck, he couldn't start crying while on the phone with his brother. No matter how bad it was, he needed to at least try to keep his dignity intact.

"Okay, hold on," Kostek barked, clearly on edge. "If we are to find him, you need to give me something. Did you hear what Adrian said? Did you see anything? Did you see the car?"

"Black Volkswagen Golf, I think," Maks recalled. "It looked like it was about to give out. Adrian spoke to the driver. He gave him Aleks' phone. But I don't know if it was the car they used to—"

"Where was that?" Kostek interrupted him rudely.

"In the... club thing... in Żoliborz—"

"Yeah, I know the place," Kostek muttered darkly. "And did Adrian go with them—"

"No." This time, Maks cut him off, hearing his own voice from afar. "He's not there."

"Do you know where he is?" Kostek pressed.

"We don't have to worry about him anymore," Maks mumbled quickly.

"What do you mean, why not?" asked Kostek, taken aback.

"I shot him," Maks blurted before clamming up. He didn't know why he had said that and why his common sense hadn't stopped him from just putting it out there. He should have been more careful with what he was saying, but this was Aleks' brother, and for some reason, he didn't believe he would just leave him to fend for himself. Either of them. "Or he shot himself. I don't know, it was an accident—" he started to explain really fast until his words meshed together.

"Is he alive?" Kostek cut him off candidly, not even listening to his rambling.

"No," Maks breathed.

"Okay. Okay, let me think," he asked. His voice had gotten much quieter, which wasn't ideal. Then he murmured something too softly for Maks to catch.

"You need to speak louder," he said bluntly, considering he had already admitted to murder. "I appreciate you whispering, but I think I damaged my hearing."

"Oh, man, that's rough," Kostek said reflexively, sounding like he felt genuinely bad for him and clearly raising his voice. Maybe he was an all-right dude when he wasn't either weirded out by gayness or pissed at the world. "A gunfire?" he guessed rhetorically. "Both your ears?"

"Just left, mostly," Maks said conversationally, wondering why he wasn't more panicked by this. Now that he had told someone, it seemed more manageable. "Any ideas?" he asked, only half-joking.

"Don't drink," Kostek advised immediately. "I mean, booze. It makes blood flow into your inner ear and enhances the ringing. It's probably not permanent. Avoid loud noises. Gonna get better after a few hours."

While that was slightly uplifting, even though Maks hadn't been planning on drinking, he would still have liked to have an option. But maybe it was fine, because the only way for him to want to get drunk right now would be if something irreversible happened, and if something irreversible happened, then he wouldn't give a shit about his ears.

"So."

"Yeah, I asked where you are," Kostek recalled, clearly getting back in task mode after this short lull.

"His house, I think," Maks answered immediately. "Adrian's, I mean. South of Warsaw, a bit past Konstancin, but not as far as Góra Kalwaria. More or less. I don't know. I followed him."

"And you're just chatting?" Kostek screeched comically, appalled. He sounded like that was way more stupid than shooting someone underwater. "You need to get out of there! What if that psycho comes back?" It took Maks a moment to realize that the psycho was Partyka. "What about Adrian?"

Maks eyes wandered towards him again. "He's in the pool," he answered truthfully.

Kostek had the audacity to snort. "Okay, is there anything that can lead anybody to you? Don't bother with fingerprints; you're clear. Besides, those are not the kind of people who call the cops. But they might be onto you themselves, so get rid of anything that might link this to you or Aleks, okay?"

The sound of his name made Maks break out in a cold sweat again, but he pushed the worry away. One thing at a time. The problem was that one thing at a time made him think of the picture, and Adrian couldn't have been the only one to see it. It pointed at him and Aleks anyway, didn't it? There was nothing he could do about it, though.

"I already did," he informed him in a shaky voice, looking around just in case. "I have Adrian's phone," he said when his gaze stopped at it. "But it's password-protected. He called these people from it. Could you...?" he trailed off, not really sure what he was asking.

"Yeah," Kostek muttered thoughtfully. "I've got a guy, but I'm not sure if he will—"

"We need to find him," Maks said firmly, because he had an unpleasant feeling that Kostek hardly knew any better than him what to do, and he was completely overwhelmed and had zero faith in himself and needed to dump at least part of this awful responsibility onto someone else. "I can give you the phone—"

"We don't need the phone to hack into it. Listen, you've got to get out of there," he repeated strongly. "Go home. We'll do what we can to find him."

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to go home now," Maks objected fiercely.

"So what? You're going to drive around the city, hoping to stumble across him?" mocked Kostek. "Especially since I'm sure you look very inconspicuous and not at all like you just killed someone?"

Put casually like that, it was like a slap in the face. "I... I didn't," Maks started, but he couldn't really find an excuse. "I didn't mean to do that. It was..." He couldn't help but glance towards the pool again and stare at the body. "It was..."

"Hey." Kostek's voice softened. "It wasn't your fault. You said yourself that it was an accident. Besides, this asshole deserved it, didn't he?"

Does anyone?, Maks thought inanely. "Yeah," he said reluctantly, thinking about that guy and Aleks, and about that guy and his sister—he probably had done the world a favor.

"Right. Let's try to at least get you out of it, yes?" Kostek suggested calmly, clearly finally figuring out that Maks was not in the best frame of mind and needed to be treated with kid gloves. "Go straight home. Take a shower and spend the rest of the day practicing the model citizen act. Got it?"

"Got it," Maks said dumbly, already knowing that he wasn't going to listen. He was going to keep looking until he succeeded. He wouldn't rest until there was any chance that Aleks was going to be found alive and well. "Shouldn't I... get rid of the body?" he asked timidly.

The silence on the other end sounded judgmental. "You want to get rid of the body," Kostek deadpanned. "Do you have any idea how heavy a dead body is?" No, Maks had no idea. He had never had any reason to contemplate it. "Look around. Are you telling me that you can make it look like nothing happened there?"

Maks did as instructed. The whole scenery was way too calm. A gentle breeze was moving the crowns of the surrounding trees. The birds were chirping. The body was drifting in the pool filled with dirty pink water. Wherever he had stopped in the last hour or so, he'd been leaving wet, pink trails after himself, but by now he was almost dry. The sun was scorching.

"Get the fuck out of there," Kostek repeated patiently when the silence stretched. "If he's out there, we're going to find him. I'll keep you updated."

He stared at the phone for a while after Kostek hung up. He felt like he had no control anymore; in a matter of hours, everything had slipped from his hands. The worst part was that this shit he had gotten himself into, which would most likely result in him ending up in jail or six feet under, hadn't helped Aleks at all. He was still gone. He could still be dead, which made it the most pathetic rescue mission in the history of rescue missions.

He straightened up, took the gun and both phones, and walked through the patio on cotton legs. He paused to skim the crime scene again. For some reason, he felt bad just leaving it like that after all he'd done. Maybe he should...

Yeah, fuck it. It was a relief that he didn't have to wrap the body up in a carpet or make any kind of fuss. He hadn't been fully aware that it'd been his plan until Kostek had spelled out for him how stupid it was. Had he really intended to wrap the body up in a carpet and dump it somewhere? On his own? Did he think he was a fucking expert on getting rid of bodies now?

He got to his car, still feeling an unpleasant touch of metal on his stomach, as if nothing had changed during these couple of hours. He started the engine and very slowly rolled on the gravel, painfully aware that he still couldn't hear in one ear and feeling his hands trembling. Only halfway through to Warsaw, where the side road he followed looked especially deserted, he stopped the car, got out, and leaned against the railing. He wasn't really nauseous anymore, so he just breathed for a while before getting back to the car, still quite unnerved. He drove in a trance, wondering obsessively what was going to happen now. To him and to Aleks. To them.

Was he ever going to see him again? Was he ever going to see anyone, or was everyone going to find out what he'd done? Would he become a disgrace and spend the rest of his life alone behind bars, without a soul to give a shit about him, because nobody but Aleks would have ever listened to his side of the story, and Aleks would be dead?

He parked by his building with the nagging impression that it was wrong and that after everything that had happened, he shouldn't have a place to come back to. This apartment belonged to a Maks who had never killed anyone. Who had never done anything and had been a blank slate. He wasn't that person anymore.

There was a part of him that expected to see Aleks after opening the door. He almost believed he would see him lying on his couch, and his eyes traveled there involuntarily. He deflated, closing the door quietly to protect his ears. He wasn't here. Of course he wasn't; he couldn't be. He locked the door very thoroughly, as if it were going to help, pulled the gun from beneath his hoodie, and, after a long consideration, hid it under his bed. He took Aleks' phone with him to the bathroom, switched the ringer on, and put it on the washing machine to make sure he heard when Kostek called. He had never before scrubbed his skin so hard, as if he were trying to tear it off. He gaped at the last faint traces of blood disappearing down the drain. He spent ages under the stream, trying to drown himself in it, but he still didn't manage to wash off that abhorrent feeling that had overtaken him in that blasted place. Maybe he would never manage to wash it off.

He dried his hair with a towel, staring at the phone the whole time and willing it to ring. That sickly feeling—the one that had been clutching at his heart ever since he'd entered his apartment, or since he'd run from the crime scene, or maybe even since Aleks had left this morning—had been intensifying, and by now it was making it difficult to breathe. The chance that Aleks was going to come back was decreasing with every passing second. It's been a little over two hours since Adrian had spoken to his thugs, which was after they'd left Aleks alone to die. Maks squeezed his eyes shut, feeling treacherous tears beneath them, but he wasn't even able to cry. He wasn't able to do anything, like he was broken inside. Eventually, he felt fed up with being left on his own with his thoughts, so he took the colorful glass bowl from the washing machine—the one full of tiny cosmetics stolen from the hotels—and threw it at the mirror. Shards of glass splashed onto the floor, then stilled, and the unbearable silence came back. Maks leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths. Even such a small disruption of the superficial, deceptive tranquility had made him feel a little better. Maybe he was more like his mother than he'd thought.

He needed to get dressed and leave these claustrophobic walls. He was just wasting time while Aleks... his Aleks, his one and only boy. He might be fucked up, but there was no other boy like him in the world, and no other boy for Maks. He'd never loved anyone so much; he hadn't even known that he could love so much, and it had just been a fucking accident. How stupid to end up loving someone by accident. But he had asked for it. They had both disregarded the risks. But more than anything, that little shit had asked for it. He had been playing with fire even since they'd met and then putting up an act, so Maks wouldn't have worried. How could he have done this to him? He must have known how it was going to end. How could this little piece of shit have deliberately given him hope that he was going to get away from this unscathed? That they were going to get away from this unscathed?

He slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He felt that if he wasn't going to let the tears go, they would blow up his skull. He hid his face in his arms. It had all gone as badly as it could have, and now it was too late to fix it. How was he supposed to find him? Where was he supposed to look for him? He didn't think he'd ever needed anything as much as he needed to see Aleks right now. He needed to touch him and tell him what had happened. He would have understood like no one else. And he wanted to yell at him. He would have given away anything right now to be able to yell at the alive Aleks.

He was going to get up, pull himself together, pick up the glass pieces from the floor, and then call Kostek, or maybe go on another suicide mission; he wasn't sure, but he knew he had to get out of here. He didn't manage to do any of these things because suddenly he heard a quiet knocking at the door. He froze, feeling his heart pound in his chest, before he headed unsteadily to the hallway.

He looked through the judas before moving away from the door and taking a deep, calming breath. The knocking continued. He retreated under the opposite wall, resting his forehead on his fist and thinking furiously. What did he want? Did he already know? Did everybody know? Aleks' phone started to ring in his hand. He glanced at it, hoping it was Kostek, that he had found Aleks or could get him out of this, ideally both, but the letters on the screen didn't say 'Kostek'. He pressed the green button and raised the phone to his left ear before cursing and moving it to the other one.

"Don't be stupid and open up, Maks," said a low voice, and it was twice as terrifying because he knew that the source of it was right outside his door. His fingers tightened on the phone. "You don't want to know what will happen if you don't. And neither of us wants to make a scene, which will be unavoidable if you force me to break down the door. That would be rather suspicious," he added derisively.

Maks put the phone away before looking around wildly, and then jumped toward his bedroom, fell onto his knees, and reached under the bed. He held the gun to his chest, ignoring the fact that it probably didn't work, and even if it did, the gunshot would have woken up the entire building. He still felt safer with it, so he got back to the hall on trembling legs and first turned the upper lock, and then the lower one. He tried to just crack the door, but Wincent pushed them at the same time and barged inside, almost ripping out his arm in the process.

"Get moving," he snapped, contradicting his tone by politely closing the door behind him. "We've got to go."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Maks objected hotly, retreating back against the wall. He tried to aim the gun, but his hand was trembling, and Wincent just rolled his eyes at him.

"You're not going to cooperate, are you?" he asked rhetorically, as if he already knew the answer. He took a threatening step forward.

Maks attempted to melt into the wall. He lifted his hands to push him away before hissing in pain when Wincent brutally grabbed his left wrist and twisted his arm.

"It will be much easier if you come along on your own," he murmured. He didn't even glance at the gun, which was hanging uselessly at Maks' side. He was too petrified to do anything, because at this particular confrontation, he stood no chance. Wincent could probably knock him down with one swipe. How much guts must Aleks have had to have sex with this guy? He was smaller than Maks; Wincent could have broken him in half by accident.

His eyes filled with tears from the increasing pain in his arm. "Get away from me—" he started weakly when the thug reached toward his other side, but he didn't go for the gun. Instead, his hand slipped into the pocket of Maks' hoodie and fished out Aleks' phone.

"Congrats. You just proved that you were there today, genius," he remarked in a conversational tone. He put Aleks' iPhone into his jacket, and something inside of Maks protested violently because he needed that phone. It was his only contact with Kostek and his last link to the love of his life. "Listen carefully. You messed with something you shouldn't have messed with. And trust me, it's better to go with me than with the next person who is going to come for you," he informed him coldly.

Maks looked up, trying not to appear scared and completely failing. "The police...?" he uttered, unable to tell if it was a question or a statement.

Wincent snorted. "The police are the least of your worries, Snowflake," he said indulgently. "Let's go," he ordered again.

Maks had no intention to just surrender, so he decided to take advantage of the fact that Wincent had drawn away and lunged to the left to grab an ugly sculpture his mom had brought him from Morocco, but Wincent pulled him back by the neck before pinning him back to the wall. Maks stood on his tiptoes to get further from his hand and draw some air, but he still started to choke, and barely a second later he felt a touch of cold metal right at his temple.

"Give me one fucking reason not to," Wincent hissed menacingly. Before, he had seemed amused by Maks' fighting spirit, but now he was clearly aggravated. "Because I'm sure you're aware that I have a pretty significant reason to blow your brains out, and I don't need more than a single one," he growled.

Maks cowered in terror, though he logically knew that if Wincent had wanted him dead, he'd have killed him already. Still, at no point had he been this scared of Adrian. He had just been an insecure moron, playing the tough guy while hiding behind his buddies. Wincent, though. Wincent was an actual, dreaded, vicious gangster who probably ate fools like him for breakfast. And Maks... Maks had been screwing his guy. Fuck, he was already dead.

The fist tightened on his neck, the barrel of the gun pressed harder into his temple, and he was distantly aware that Wincent's finger was resting at the trigger. He mewled softly before squeezing his eyes shut, expecting it to happen any second now. Maybe it was better this way. If Aleks was really gone, then at least it would be quick, and even if Wincent didn't end his miserable life now, someone else probably would have, either Partyka, the police, or anyone else. He suddenly felt like the whole world had started some kind of manhunt after him, and how on earth had he managed to achieve that in one day? Only this morning, he had still been the Maks who had never even gotten a parking ticket.

Come on, he urged Wincent inside his head. What are you wanting for?

He felt the grip on his throat loosening and looked up warily. Wincent was eyeing him with open disgust. "How did you convince him, huh? Money?" he asked disparagingly. "I don't get what else Aleks could want from such a sissy. You can't be that good in bed." He slowly lowered his gun.

Maks swallowed heavily. "You would need to ask him," he rasped out.

Wincent eyed him in deliberation. "I'll do that if I get the chance."

Maks felt his eyes widen; he straightened up and temporarily forgot that he was scared out of his mind. "What have you people done to him?"

"Are you going to come along quietly, or do I need to—?"

"Tell me where he is," Maks demanded belligerently. He felt way more confident when Wincent withdrew slightly; apparently he wasn't intending to harm him after all, and he had information about Aleks that Maks was going to pull out of his head, though he wasn't sure yet how he was going to do that.

He took an impulsive step forward, but Wincent just rolled his eyes, switched the gun to his left hand, and gripped the barrel before taking a swing and striking Maks right in the temple. For a split second, he felt a dull, pulsing pain before he was surrounded by darkness.