Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2016 05:37:11 -0500 From: Kody Boye <boyekody@gmail.com> Subject: His Touch of Ice - Part 13 DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, and contains scenes of graphic violence and explicit male/male sex. If you are not of the legal age to read this, or are uncomfortable with this sort of content, please turn back now. HIS TOUCH OF ICE (The Ice Men, Book 1) is copyright © Kody Boye. All Rights are reserved. ______________________________________________________________________________ I kept expecting Guy to come in sometime during the night, after I'd fallen asleep or when he suspected I had. However—not once did I wake up to the sound of the door creaking open or the mattress shifting beneath a second person's weight. By the time I woke up the next morning, I realized he hadn't come in at all. The door hadn't opened an inch. Maybe he really was genuine. I sat upright and ran the balls of my fists across my eyes in an attempt to help adjust to the light streaming into the room. The lone window open, the white curtain billowing in the breeze of a cool new day, I turned my head to the bedside clock and gawked at the fact that it was nearly ten in the morning. Shit. I sprung from bed, pulled the window shut and the curtains in place, and dragged a plain white tee over my head before darting out into the hall to locate Guy. No TV. No appliances. No footsteps. Just as I'd expected, he was gone. Had he already left for work? I looked down at my scant attire of lounging pants and tee before venturing out into the hall, peering up and down the hallway to see if maybe I'd missed something. The guest bathroom door was open, as was his bedroom door directly down the hall, which meant that he was either gone or left it open in case I needed something. As I expected the former, I stepped into the living room to see if his coat or keys were missing. Both were gone. "Guess I'm roughing it on my own," I mumbled, starting toward the kitchen. I slid into the miniscule space and was just about to open the fridge before I saw another sticky note affixed to its surface. Frozen stuff in the freezer, it said. Sandwich in the fridge, bread and condiments in the pantry. At least he was thorough. I prepared a slight breakfast of ham and cheese stacked between toasted bread and heated up a pair of hashbrowns before seating myself at the bar and reaching for the kitchen remote. I regretted hitting the ON button almost immediately. "Initial reports are saying that the body of a young man was discovered on the shores of Lady Bird Lake early this morning in the hours just before dawn. Though authorities are not releasing many details, the jogger who discovered the young man described him as appearing `frozen,' giving rise to the question as to whether or not this young man was the latest victim in what police are calling The Lady Bird Killer, who's suspected of storing their victims in extreme temperatures before dumping the bodies. I'm Taylor Armson, and this has been your morning news." "Shit," I whispered, clicking the TV off with a resounding sigh. I'd thought this was over—that the man, or woman, who did this had simply packed house and moved on to some other unfortunate end of Texas—but it appeared that was anything but the case. That trail had been abandoned for a reason. It'd been stalking grounds. But when the last victim was found six months ago in a city where crime was as scattered as it was varied, it didn't take much to forget the idea of a killer being on the loose. I glanced out of the living room window at the upper end of Sixth Street. Thank God I'd gotten out of my jogging habit, otherwise I'd be dead. My appetite soured but unwilling to waste perfectly good food, I forced myself through the sandwich even though each bite felt like a tender knife within the corpse of an attractive young man until I was finished. One hash brown I ate half of. The remaining bits I ground up in the garbage disposal without much thought. I stood there for a few minutes, glaring down at the sink as if it would answer the questions to all of life's problems. Soda in the fridge, a post-it said near the counter. While I could've sworn Guy had leaned in sometime that morning to tell me such a thing, I opened the fridge to discover that there was, in a fact, a twelve-pack waiting for me—resting perfectly where a soda rack would've normally been placed. After retrieving one from the pack, I walked to the sofa and cracked it open. Bliss. ____________________________________________________________________________ If you enjoyed this installment of HIS TOUCH OF ICE, consider emailing the author with your thoughts or donating to him via Paypal at boyekody@gmail.com. You can also download the novel for free on Smashwords, Amazon Kindle, or any other major eBook retailer, or buy the Audible version online via Amazon.com. You can visit the author online at www.kodyboye.com.