He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 52

The bassist's eyes had only just started to adjust to the darkness when an unseen force shoved him into the wall behind him. It was Roger, and it wasn't long before the two tangoed violently in the dark, throwing blind fists and opened hands and swapping back and forth between the shadowed corridor's two walls until they found themselves on the floor, struggling for dominance, for victory. At last, Roger had pinned Tim down, the brunette's legs kicking furiously at the air and his arms stiff as he tried to keep the blonde away from him.

"Get off me!"

"No!"

"I mean it! Get—"

"Guys?"

The two froze, a blinding light shining on them and illuminating the horrific scene. Blood spattered and streaked the floor and walls and dripped freely from the boys' noses and mouths. The blonde's lighter had been kicked to the side, and the brunette's saw lay beside them under the blonde's hand—his other pressed flat against his captor's chest, inches away from his neck. Both panted desperately for air, catching the breaths they'd lost during the fight.

Suddenly, the beam of light swung to wall, its holder stepping forward and revealing himself to be none other than Neil, dressed in his maid's outfit—without the apron—and sporting bags under his exhausted eyes.

"What's going on here?" he murmured, using his free hand to rub his eye. "I heard—"

"You heard nothing, Neil," Tim growled, clenching his jaw. "Go back to sleep."

The sixteen-year-old looked to Roger, hoping to see in his eyes the truth; that something was going on, and that he wanted him to go and get help.

Neil saw no such thing.

What he saw instead was a look of annoyance, of anger. It was a look he knew all too well; a look he hadn't seen in a while and didn't think he'd ever see again. Yet there it was, slathered boldly across the blonde's face.

Slowly, without saying anything else, Neil backed away, taking with him the flashlight he'd shone in the older boys' faces and leaving them to their fist fight in the dark.

Roger instantly wrapped his fingers around the handle of the saw and picked it up off the ground, doubling the size of Tim's eyes and inciting him to cry out, "Wait, wait!"

"Why?" the blonde snapped, twisting the tool side to side. His gaze locked on the faint glint emanating from the blade, just like the brunette's had. He felt it too, the way the saw told you its story; the way it enticed you to make more, just by holding it.

Roger came close to succumbing to its power when Tim rattled off frantically, "I can get us out of here!" subsiding the overwhelming urge that consumed his captive and turning his attention back to him—his blue eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out the latter's silhouette against the black ground.

"The door's locked, Tim," the drummer reminded him bluntly, as if he could possibly forget why they were down there, or why they harbored so much animosity towards one another. "You said that's the only way out."

"I meant once we're up there," the bassist whispered harshly, daring to pluck a hand off his bandmate's shoulder and pointing up at the ceiling—his bloody finger trembling ever so slightly in the pitch-black air. "Once she lets us out."

Roger chuckled sardonically and brought the saw over Tim's neck, suspending it over his fragile skin.

The brunette could sense that the blonde was more than ready to swipe the blade across his throat, digging in deep and avenging all the boys who'd wandered through the front door and never left, and the boys who were still here, lingering in the shadows and waiting for the basement door to be opened, to be taken away from the filth they'd been cloistered in; so before his fear could become reality, he exclaimed, "Now hold on!"

"I'm not holding on—"

"We kill her."

The drummer pulled back, repeating as if Tim had spoken another language, "We kill her?"

"We kill her," the bassist affirmed his suggestion, sitting up on his elbows and repelling Roger further back, like a magnet. "I know her, Rog, and I don't care what she said. She's not letting any of us out here. Nana, she lied. The pageant, it's just a ruse to shame me for who I am, for what I've done; to take you all away from me."

The blonde remained quiet, still, conflicted.

"Roger, listen to me," Tim pleaded, clutching the blood-spattered button-down and yanking him close. "If any of us are going to make it out of here alive, we need her gone, and you're the only one I trust to help me get rid of her."

His blue eyes flitted restlessly in the dark, searching for the deception hidden within the brunette's desperate gaze. When the task proved impossible, he shook his head and picked himself up off his captor, pointing the saw down at him like a gun and sneering, "I'm not your new Freddie, Tim."

"I didn't say you were," he argued, his hands raised in surrender.

"Then stop acting like it and leave me the fuck alone," Roger growled, dropping the saw to his side and turning away from him. "I'm not playing this game anymore."

He only got a few steps towards the brighter end of the hall when Tim scrambled to his feet and called out, "Roger, please!" The blonde stood still, turning his head over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of the pair of eyes that stood out in stark contrast to the shadows consuming the rest of his body. The brunette dared to shorten the distance between them and muttered apologetically, "It was never supposed to go down like this."

"Oh, yeah?" Roger spun back around, his arms crossed—the saw aimed at the wall—and his back straight. "Then how was it supposed to go down? What did you see this all coming to?"

Tim fell silent, his lips pressed tightly together and his hands balled into fists by his sides. He honestly hadn't given much thought to his efforts since capturing the blonde. After all, Neil and John had been his father's doing, left in his care when his father split, and Brian was merely collateral, something to lure Roger in and keep him there. Now that he had him, his focus shifted to getting him to give in, to play along with his fantasy, yet the blonde was still resistant, fought him with every chance he could get, and denied the feelings he had clearly shown for him. What happened after that was taken care of was unknown to the brunette. Would they move away together? Start new lives elsewhere? Or would they both end up dead at his grandmother's hands before any of that could happen? He didn't know.