CHAPTER ONE

Brian stared down at the knife in his hands, his breath coming in deep, short gasps. He cried out as his fingers relaxed, dropping the hideous weapon to the floor and into the pool of blood.

"Uh…" His mouth did not seem to be capable of making any intelligent sound as his mind fought to grasp what had just happened.

What had just happened? Everything seemed so misty in his mind as if it were trying to block out what had happened, but how could he forget it when the consequences had left a body upon his carpet?

He could hear a gasping noise and he realised that it was coming from himself.

"Oh God…" Brian murmured.

He sunk to his knees and tried to peer at the body of the dark haired man before him. Was he alive?

Two glassy, blood shot eyes stared back at him and fixed an accusing glare upon him. The dead eyes almost pierced his soul with their malevolence and sent trembles of fear rippling along his skin and flowing into his blood.

Murderer! They seemed to shout the word silently at him. Murderer!

Brian found himself screaming in horror. He backed away from the body on all fours and then he felt his hand press into something warm and wet. He pulled his hand sharply up and his eyes widened in terror as more droplets of sticky blood rolled down his fingers and fell to form thick puddles upon the carpet. Once it had been white. Pure, innocent, but now like him it was polluted and stained with death and blood.

He screamed again and then turned his back upon the body as if by ignoring it he could somehow make it vanish and leave him in peace. He curled himself up into a ball at the corner of the staircase and clutched his knees protectively to his chest.

"I'm a murderer, I'm a murderer," he whispered to himself.

Tears stung his eyes. He had never hurt anyone before, but now…

His eyes flickered back to the blood and he whimpered slightly. He shouldn't have done it, he should have thought of some other way to stop him. Why had this happened to him? Why?

Maybe God had sent this man as a test, to see what Brian was truly like. The truth was spilt in front of him now and spelled out in the bloody body upon the floor. He wasn't a good person. He was a killer.

He looked down and suddenly caught sight of the blood that coated his shirt and hands. Smears of the redness soiled the carpet beneath him and there were even a few speckles upon the walls.

Brian backed away in horror and a gurgling whimper escaped his throat. He found himself stumbling to his feet and limping towards the front door with it's broken window. He felt his arm catch against the stair rail and a shooting pain shot up his arm as the rail caught the knife wound that had sliced his arm earlier. The pain did not matter though. He had to get away from here!

He had killed someone!

He yelped as he almost tripped over the man's bag full of the videos, CD's and valuables he was trying to steal before his bloody hand finally groped the doorknob. He gave a cry of frustration as he fumbled to wrench open the door before it finally swung open and led the way out into freedom.


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The cool, night air felt fresh upon his sweaty skin and for a second he lifted his face as if he could somehow be cleansed of the deed he had just committed. He jerked his face back down to the ground as he realised that he was looking up to heaven and he did not deserve that place anymore. He wanted to hide his face from god and the angels above which would be sure to be glaring down at him in anger at having taken another's life.

Wheezing he stumbled into he park and the darkness the trees offered. He felt the need to conceal himself. Hide. Hide before they found out what he had done.

He looked down and suddenly saw blood upon the bench. He glanced across at his arm and saw that the deep knife slashes were still bleeding freely. For a second everything about him spun sickeningly. He felt weak, dizzy and ill with the guilt inside of him.

There was a lot of blood covering his clothes and looking at the ugly gashes upon his own body, he realised that most of it was probably coming from him. His hands though… they were covered in the blood of another. The blood of his… victim.

His heart pounded in his chest, trying to make up for the large amount of blood that had leaked from his wounds. The dark world about him seemed to tilt and swing around him in a crazy dance of dizziness. He felt sleepy and his limbs were beginning to feel heavy.

It was so tempting to curl up and sleep upon the bench, sleep and then awaken from this dream in the soft warmth and pleasant safety of his own bed. If only that could happen, if only this were a nightmare. Things like this didn't happen in real life did they? Could someone really turn from innocent to murderer in a few short seconds?

He lie down on the bench for a second and closed his eyes. His arm throbbed painfully and he could feel the wet blood soaking through his jacket. Blood from his own wounds that stung and ached to cruelly force his mind to accept the reality of the situation.

He couldn't stay here though. What if someone saw him?

'There he is! There's that Backstreet Boy that murdered someone!'

He needed help. He needed someone would understand what had happened.

'I didn't mean for this to happen!'

He hadn't meant for it to happen, but it had and now he would have to face the consequences of the entire situation. Tears blurred his eyes at the thought of what would come and what would happen when people found out.

He couldn't face this alone. He deserved to be alone after his actions, but his quivering emotions were screaming out for help.

He dragged his body to its feet and began to limp back along the path. His eyelids drooped and tried to shut away the world around him. He was so tired and his energy felt as if it had evaporated from him.

Unconsciously he placed a hand to his bleeding arm to try and prevent further blood loss. He was made aware of his action when a spurt of pain shot along his arm as the fingers touched the sore wound.

Slowly he managed to stumble out of the gloomy park and he stared at the roads before him. Which one led home?

His head hurt and he could barely think straight. His vision was beginning to blur as well, engulfing everything in a hazy fuzz.

Straight, straight on. Of course that was the way home. But did he really want to return? The result of his actions tonight would still be lying upon his hallway carpet, waiting for his return so it could taunt him even more.

'Murderer, murderer. Brian is a murderer!' the chant whirled about his head.

His feet froze as he stared at the road home. The way home which would take him back to the nightmare he had just left.

He bit his lip and nervously glanced about the quiet road. Help. He needed help. He couldn't cope with this alone. He had to explain what had happened to someone so that they could make it all better.

He suddenly saw the payphone by the wall. He closed his eyes and the image of a dark haired, handsome man flashed into his mind. Kevin. Kevin would understand what he had done, wouldn't he? Kevin wouldn't condemn him as a sick, perverted murderer would he?

His feet began to lead his body towards the phone. Inside his guilt was consuming him, like worms upon a corpse. It felt like they were in his chest and slowly eating his soul away from him.

His fingers trembled as he attempted to place the coins into the slot. He cried out as one slipped to the floor with a faint clink. He looked down and realised that his hands were still covered in blood. He whimpered slightly and began to madly wipe his hands upon his shirt to take the awful substance out of his sight.

Finally the coins were slotted in with a dull thump and, with a shaking hand, he began to punch in the digits of his cousin's phone number.

His heart pounded deeply in his chest as he listened to the steady rings. He wanted to hear Kevin's voice. He wanted Kevin to make everything better, but how could he? How could Kevin change what had happened? And what was he going to tell him?

He froze suddenly and took in a sharp breath. How could he explain it to Kevin?

'Kevin, I'm a murderer!'

"Hello?" a sleepy voice suddenly said.

Brian jumped slightly. He had not realised that someone had picked up the phone. He tried to open his mouth, but his mind was screaming at him to keep quiet. Keep quiet and nobody would know what had happened.

Maybe it hadn't happened, maybe it was just a nightmare…

"Hello? Anybody there?" Kevin's voice asked.

Tears were beginning to slide down Brian's face, sending tingles along his skin. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted someone to stop what was happening.

"Kevin?" he whispered into the phone.

"Brian? What's up?"

"Kevin," Brian repeated. His voice was beginning to catch in his throat as tears streamed down his face. How could he tell Kevin what he had just done? He was a murderer.

His hands began to tremble as a sob found it's way out of his mouth. He slammed the phone down upon the hook and scrambled to get away.

He couldn't tell. He couldn't bear to hear Kevin's disappointment, shock and disgust which would surely come if he found out what had happened.

Brian was alone. Alone with his guilt.

How could he have been so stupid? He couldn't tell Kevin, he couldn't tell anyone! What if the police found out? He could go to jail. What if he got the death penalty?

Sobs filled his throat as he ran through the night. What was he going to do?

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