Prologue — Such a Nice Boy #3
The video continued. The freshman's face was red.
Humiliated. He tried climbing down. Mason's recorded voice became sharper.
Sit your ass back up there unless you want everybody seeing the other video too.
More laughter. The freshman sat. The video ended.
The park became silent again. Mason stared at the glowing phone.
“I deleted it.”
The masked man slipped the phone into his pocket.
“I fucking deleted it.”
No response. Mason's thoughts collided with one another. Someone had sent it. Someone had copied it. Someone at the party. That meant this person had been there. Maybe Mason knew him. Maybe he'd talked to him. Maybe he'd bought him a fucking drink.
“Who are you?”
The mask gave him nothing. Mason's voice shook.
“Look, I'm sorry.”
He hated saying it. Hated how pathetic it sounded. But pride had become considerably less important.
“I was fucking around.”
Nothing.
“I'll apologize to him.”
The black eyes remained fixed on him.
“I'll delete everything.”
Still nothing. Mason's breathing became shallow.
“I didn't do anything to you.”
The masked man's head tilted. Then, for the first time, he answered. His voice was soft. Young. Almost gentle.
“I know.”
Mason's stomach dropped. The gloved hand moved again. Metal caught the faint light from the church. Mason saw the blade.
“No.”
He lunged sideways. The man caught the back of his jacket.
Mason was ripped backward with enough force to choke him against his collar.
His feet disappeared from beneath him. He struck the ground shoulder-first, then his cheek, wet leaves and grit scraping across his skin.
Pain flashed white behind his eyes. Mason kicked blindly.
His heel connected with something. The grip released.
He rolled onto his back. The mask hovered above him.
Mason swung. His fist struck porcelain. The impact split his knuckles and sent a sharp crack through the park.
The masked man's head snapped sideways. Mason froze.
A new fracture had appeared across the mask's cheek.
For one absurd second, neither of them moved. Then the man's head slowly turned back.
Two gloved fingers touched the fresh crack. Mason stared.
“Oh fuck.”
The black eyes lifted to him. Mason scrambled backward through the leaves.
“I'm sorry.”
The figure moved. Mason saw the flash of metal.
Then heat ripped through his side. Not pain at first. Heat.
A deep, impossible pressure followed by a burning sensation that seemed to spread beneath his ribs.
Mason gasped. He looked down. The knife came away.
His hand instinctively covered the wound.
Warm liquid flooded between his fingers.
“No.”
He pressed harder.
“No, no, no.”
The pain arrived. It folded him. Mason screamed and curled around his side, forehead nearly touching the ground. His palm slipped. Blood coated it. Even beneath the weak church light, he could see how much there was. Too much.
“Please.”
The masked man stood over him. Mason tried crawling. His fingers dug into damp soil beneath the leaves. His knees dragged uselessly behind him. Every movement sent another violent pulse through his abdomen.
“I won't tell anybody.”
His voice broke. He didn't know what he was saying anymore.
“I swear.”
A shoe appeared beside his hand. Mason stopped. The masked man crouched. The porcelain face descended until it filled Mason's vision. Mason began crying. He couldn't stop it. Hot tears mixed with the cold sweat on his face.
“I don't want to die.”
The mask watched him. Mason's breathing became ragged. Each inhale felt smaller than the one before it. He reached out. His bloody fingers caught the man's sleeve.
“Please.”
The masked man looked down at Mason's hand.
Then something strange happened. He covered it with his own.
For one brief, impossible second, the gesture felt almost comforting.
Like someone sitting beside a hospital bed.
Like someone telling him everything was going to be okay.
Mason stared into the black eyes. The blade entered him again.
His body jerked. A strangled sound escaped his throat.
The hand remained over his. Steady. Mason tried pulling away.
He couldn't. The trees overhead blurred.
Branches shifted against the night sky, but their movement had become strangely slow.
His body felt distant. Heavy. Cold. The church tower disappeared behind darkness gathering at the edges of his vision.
Mason thought about Tyler. His mother. His little sister asking whether he was coming home for Thanksgiving.
Then, inexplicably, he thought about the freshman.
The kid standing on the table. His face red.
Everyone laughing. Mason tried to say something.
Sorry, maybe. He wasn't sure anymore. His lips moved.
Nothing came out. The porcelain face remained above him.
White. Cracked. Silent. The last thing Mason Kerr ever saw was the darkness behind its eyes.