“You filthy, red-haired, arrogant bastard!”
Noud rushed down the stairs, his lips pressed tightly together, forcing himself not to shout—or rather, not to scream it into the suffocating air of the stairwell. He was about to explode with rage. The visit to Timothy had done more harm than good. Not only had he learned nothing about Bernard’s mysterious half-hour disappearances and that eerie deathly moan in the night, but he had even ended up inviting that soft-voiced, irritating creep to the birthday party. And yet, there had been a moment when he thought he was getting somewhere. When that big, puffy face betrayed that Timothy knew something. But then, with almost ridiculous speed, the bastard had pulled himself together. From that moment on, the air between them had vibrated with tension, while Timothy, with that fake, bored expression, played along with the party-organizing charade. Damn the whole thing.
At the entrance, he waved the taxi away. He didn’t care that he had already paid the hefty fare for nothing. He just had to walk, to run, up the steep streets. He would call another cab once he was out of breath. Until then, he would keep going as fast as his legs could carry him, hoping to drain some of the tension tearing his body and mind apart. Enough energy to power an entire city for a day, probably.
Head down, fists clenched, his arms pumping rhythmically in front of his chest, he covered the distance. His usually perfect, thick hair now clung, damp and sweaty, to his forehead. The fine fabric of his shirt was soaked under his arms. His throat tightened, the urge to cry rising in it, while horrific images flashed through his mind. He saw Bernard naked, tied to Ted’s bed. Then the scene flipped: now Ted was in their bedroom, bound the same way, not as a prisoner but as a partner in some obscene game. The images grew darker. Ted falling helplessly down the stairs, Bernard collapsing beside him in panic and fear. And finally, Timothy appeared, grinning with that infuriating, smug expression as he called out playfully:
“Bernard, my stallion!”
A roar burst from Noud’s throat before he could stop it. His voice bounced between the apartment buildings lining the narrow street, shaking the windows of the terraced houses.
*
He didn’t even shower; just collapsed onto the couch as he was. For a few minutes, he wondered what the taxi driver must have thought of him, first waving him away, then calling him back. Finally, he shrugged and pulled his phone from his pocket. He logged into the Slovak couple’s camera feed—Dajana and Adrian—and watched their living room as they sat down to their early dinner. Their meaningless chatter about “a better life” suited him perfectly now. They were talking, as usual, about the money they’d earn once they finally put down roots. Adrian, true to form, was lecturing about how much harder they had to work than the locals for the same bit of respect.
“I wish I knew what the hell Viktoria’s doing at Ted’s,” Dajana said suddenly.
Noud shot upright as if struck by lightning.
“What do you care?” Adrian shrugged. “They’re probably screwing.”
“With Ted?!” Dajana gasped.
“Why not? Just because that jerk turns you off…”
“He turns everyone off,” Dajana snapped.
Adrian shrugged again.
“I expected more from that woman, but hey, these rich folks are all the same. They never know what to do with themselves. I bet Günter’s a total flop in bed, and Ted’s a beast. That’s how it always goes.”
“That’s it?” Dajana sneered.
“Of course that’s it.”
Noud’s ears rang so loud he had to press his hands against them. Bernard, Ted, and Viktoria, living under the same roof, seeing each other several times a day? What the hell was going on? And most of all, what was it that he wasn’t supposed to know?