C | Chapter 9.2 | Confession | Crack in the Vice

When did it start?

Ian first sensed something was wrong in his life when his mother occasionally left the house for her charitable activities. She’d tell him she’d be gone for two days but then return the next day. When he greeted her excitedly, asking why she was back early, she replied, “My son, are you feeling sick?”

The problem wasn’t with her schedule—it was with Ian’s concept of time.

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A whole day had vanished while his mother was gone. Ian was deeply unsettled but kept quiet, thinking it was best not to make a fuss.

After all…

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“There were strange marks on my body.”

Ian remembered that morning. Bruises on the inside of his thigh, a large mark on his ankle. His lower body ached, his back felt strained, and he felt sluggish all day. The unsettling realization that he couldn’t remember the lost day made him feel profoundly disturbed.

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“Around midnight. That’s always when I’d lose time.”

For months, Ian struggled with a shapeless fear before finally confiding in someone. That person was Leo.

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Leo had been home on leave and was staying at a hotel in town. When he had nothing to do, he spent time with Ian without question. For fifteen-year-old Ian, Leo was the one adult he could rely on unconditionally. Ian trusted him deeply, perhaps obsessively, and finally shared his secret—not because Leo happened to be there, but because it was Leo.

“Honestly, I didn’t have much to say. I just told him that something terrifying seemed to happen around midnight. I didn’t even know what it was. At first, Leo joked about it, asking if there was a monster in my closet. ‘Monsters need power too; it’s not their fault,’ he joked, trying to lighten the mood. I should have been annoyed, but I held back. Leo’s leave was almost over, and he’d be going overseas. I acted a bit more miserable, telling him I was really scared around midnight. Leo told me to just stay awake then. He’d call me from overseas, he said. That’s when I got upset—because I realized he’d leave no matter how much I clung to him.”

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Leo said he’d catch a night flight back to Washington for work. Ian couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving and stayed in his room all day. Just before his flight, Leo paced in front of Ian’s door, hoping for a goodbye. But Ian couldn’t bring himself to say farewell.

“Ian. I’ll see you next time. I’ll come back, I promise.”

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Leo whispered through the door before leaving. The sound of his footsteps echoed in Ian’s chest, matching his heartbeat. Ian clutched his chest as if trying to hold onto Leo’s departing steps.

Please, don’t leave, Leo. Don’t leave me alone here.

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Ian kept repeating those silent words.

Don’t go, Leo. Midnight is coming soon. When it does, I’ll…

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I’ll lose something again.

Eventually, he couldn’t stand the fading footsteps any longer and threw open the door, running to catch him. He grabbed Leo just as he was about to descend the stairs. Leo turned around and hugged him. Foolishly, Ian cried into his arms once again. Parting was far more painful than he’d imagined.

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“My mother worried about me all day, but she didn’t want to cancel the camping trip she’d planned for months. I told her to go. So, that day, the day Leo left, it was just me and my stepfather in the house.”

The two of them, as they usually did when Ian’s mother was away, ordered a pizza and watched a pay-per-view program from SmackDown. Ian knew it was a drama crafted by wrestlers acting as characters, but he was fascinated by their bodies—those physiques trained and honed to create superhuman physical feats. More than the contrived good-vs-evil storylines, Ian focused on the impressive techniques that let them fight and throw without severely hurting each other.

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Half-dazed, Ian chewed on his pizza, watching the screen intently. His stepfather laughed at him, handing him a soda. “Boys will be boys,” he said, amused. Ian replied flatly, “All the boys at my school are the same way. After pay-per-view events, they talk about it all day in class.” His stepfather chuckled, “Nothing’s changed. Boys were the same back then too.” Ian drank two cans of soda as they chatted and watched TV. When the program ended, he was so full that he felt sleepy.

Watching Ian doze off, his stepfather suddenly asked,

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“Do you like Leo?”

Ian thought it was a difficult question to ask a fifteen-year-old foster child. Teenage emotions remained raw even after the adrenaline rush of a wrestling show.

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“….”

Ian avoided answering. But he didn’t deny it, either. It was his way of rebelling. Yes, I like Leo. Even if you think it’s wrong, even if you plan to lecture me, I can’t help it. I still can’t believe he left. But he promised to see me again once I turn eighteen, and I’ll believe in that.

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“How did that happen?”

Was he asking why he was gay? Or why he liked Leo? His stepfather’s question was sharp yet vague.

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“He’s kind to me.”

Ian chose his words carefully. But once he said it, it sounded ridiculous. He quickly added something that sounded more plausible.

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“No one has ever been as good to me as he is.”

But even that didn’t feel quite right.

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“With no expectations.”

Now, he felt closer to the real reason.

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“And he’s handsome.”

There were plenty of handsome men, but Leo was different. Ian had never felt this way about anyone—where just looking at him made him forget time. He was happy simply watching Leo. His heart raced. Most of the time, their moments together were lively and joyful, but truthfully, Ian would have been content just to watch him stand silently.

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“I see.”

His stepfather didn’t lecture him, telling him it was too soon to decide he liked men. Instead, he just scrutinized Ian with his sharp blue eyes.

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“And then I felt drowsy again. My hands and feet were so heavy that I forced myself up to wash up and go straight to my room. I planned to follow Leo’s advice to stay awake until midnight if it scared me, but at some point, I lost track.”

He woke up to his phone alarm.

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Leo had set it up. “I’ll be on a flight then, so I might not be able to call. This is a substitute,” Leo had said with a smile, recording his voice for the alarm. Ian had felt his heart race, wondering what Leo might say, but it was just, “Don’t fall asleep.” Ian grumbled. “That’s it? You could’ve said something more comforting.” “Nope.” “Stingy.” “My voice is too smooth. If I whispered sweetly, it’d be like a lullaby, and you’d sleep right through it. That’d defeat the point.”

Ian wanted to call him out for his shameless self-praise, but he couldn’t deny it. Whenever Leo lowered his voice and whispered, Ian felt every hair on his ear stand up, tingling with heat.

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Leo placed the phone in his hand, his fingers brushing his face. Ian looked at him without flinching. He must have looked like a boy in love. Leo, already handsome, lowered his voice even more and gently touched Ian’s face.

“If you still feel the same when you’re eighteen, then we’ll do it.”

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Ian knew this wasn’t just a casual promise. The fingers tracing his face were warm. And they trembled slightly. After a while, Ian nodded. Leo briefly touched his lips to Ian’s forehead. The kiss left an indelible mark in his mind, not just on his skin. Perhaps not only on his forehead, but also on the cheeks he’d brushed, the shoulder and arm he’d grazed, the waist, the chest and thigh he’d touched lightly.

But the handprint now left on his cheek wasn’t Leo’s.

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– Don’t fall asleep!

At some point around midnight, Ian’s alarm, set up as a playful reminder by Leo, woke him.

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“My stepfather was on top of me.”

Where had the drug that made him so compliant, so submissive, been hidden? In the soda can he’d handed with a smile? The pizza slice he’d shared? Or somewhere else? The drug he’d unwittingly taken was robbing Ian of his memory as his stepfather devoured him, his gaze blank, his limbs limp. His stepfather whispered, “You’re mine, Ian. No one can take you.” Ian wanted to say, “I want to kill you.”

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His mind kept drifting. The only thing that remained was his thoughts of Leo.

“I told you, Leo. A monster shows up at midnight. The monster was downstairs, not in my closet. Not in some Pixar cartoon.”

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Leo was gone. Ian was left in a blank, shattered state, his drugged eyes absorbing everything, storing it not in his memory but deep in his unconscious. Ian continued living an ordinary life, unaware of anything the next day. His unconscious only sounded the alarm around midnight.

“My mother’s music box was there.”

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As the beast’s heavy breathing filled his ears,

Ian’s subconscious noticed the broken music box, which had been there for a long time.

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“I didn’t know why it was in my room. Or maybe… I did.”

Ian’s mother had placed the music box, a gift from his stepfather, on the top shelf of his closet. Since childhood, his stepfather had loved taking photos of Ian. Though they shared no blood, his stepfather welcomed him with open arms, always calling him “Pretty One.” Every time he took Ian’s picture, Ian, shy and grateful, managed a smile. Ian had no memory of his biological father, who died when he was very young, so his stepfather’s devotion was both a blessing and a burden. But his stepfather never once displayed those countless photos on the walls. Ian’s mother was obsessively devoted to church and charity, an addiction he hadn’t recognized at fifteen, a compulsive escape from something she desperately wanted to avoid.

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“I realized then. Maybe my mom knew too.”

Ian closed his eyes, a heavy tear forcing its way out from under his eyelid.

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“I… really wanted to die.”

The next day, Ian pretended to go to school, only to return home. If anyone at school informed his stepfather, he’d simply say he felt unwell. His stepfather was always keenly aware of Ian’s condition—not out of concern but due to the secrets he held. Realizing this made Ian sick.

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In the empty house, Ian searched his stepfather’s study. In the desk drawer was his stepfather’s gun. Ian remembered the time he’d taken him to a shooting range, a cheap thrill for impressing a young boy. His stepfather thought Ian wouldn’t remember anything, but Ian was sharp. He remembered his stepfather’s actions and knew he could fire the gun. Ian took it and hid it under his pillow.

That evening, he was alone again with his stepfather. Pretending to eat, he later secretly threw up everything his stepfather brought back from a nearby Korean restaurant. He wasn’t well. But this time, he didn’t feel his consciousness slipping. Trembling, he prepared for the night.

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At midnight, footsteps began echoing toward him. Unlike Leo’s receding steps, these grew louder. Click. The locked door turned as if on routine. Ian hadn’t realized his stepfather had a key. “Pretty One.” His stepfather whispered, climbing onto the bed. Feigning sleep, Ian pulled out the gun from under his pillow. “Die!” He gripped it with both hands and pulled the trigger.

Click.

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But the safety was still on. Panicked, Ian’s stepfather wrestled the gun from him. Ian resisted, desperate not to let it go. His stepfather pinned him down with brutal force, trying to overpower him. Ian felt his wrist would break. His resistance, all his strength, was gradually failing him. In that moment, what frightened him more than his stepfather was his growing despair.

“I was terrified. I wanted to kill him and die too. But I was afraid I’d fail, that I wouldn’t be able to die.”

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Ian broke into sobs. His stepfather pulled him close by the wrist holding the gun, licking away his tears with a repulsive tongue. The thought crossed his mind that it would have been better to lose his memory again, as usual. Ian gave up on killing his stepfather. He only wanted to die.

At that bleak moment, when Ian had surrendered all hope and wished only for death—

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“Leo… came back.”

He didn’t know why, but Leo returned. Leo tore his stepfather off him. That adult who had always been unstoppable was effortlessly thrown to the floor.

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In a daze, Ian fumbled to release the gun’s safety, fixated on the thought that he needed to fire and end it all. Leo held out his hand. “Give me the gun, Ian.” Ian shook his head. “No. I’m going to kill him.” Leo was firm. “No.” Ian pleaded through tears, “Don’t stop me, Leo. Please… I’ll die too, so…” Leo said calmly, “Give it to me. If you shoot, you can’t undo it. There’ll be gunpowder traces. It’ll be easy for the police to figure out what happened.”

“I… didn’t understand what Leo was saying. But I couldn’t refuse him. Even though I only wanted to kill him at that moment, I couldn’t have done it in front of Leo.”

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Ian finally handed the gun to Leo, crying. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Leo. For trying to do something like this.” Leo took the gun, then calmly released the safety. Ian’s eyes widened. “Leo…?” Leo pointed it at his stepfather, who chuckled in disbelief. “You wouldn’t really kill me, would you?” Leo replied, “Yes, I would.”

Bang. The bullet pierced his stepfather’s forehead. Three more shots to the chest. Those shots were to ensure the kill, an instinct of a professional.

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Thud.

Leo’s gun, wiped clean of prints, fell to the ground. Blood from Ian’s stepfather pooled at his feet. Ian stepped toward Leo, crying. “Don’t come any closer,” Leo’s voice was cold. “You’ll get gunpowder on you.” Ian froze.

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“I couldn’t believe it. That he’d killed someone for me. I thought, of course, he’d try to stop me.”

Standing in the blood puddle, Ian asked, “So… what now, Leo? What happens to us?” Leo looked at the body, Ian, and the gun lying beside the corpse. He looked at Ian the longest. Ian didn’t want to cry, but the tears came. “Leo… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this. I just… I just wanted to die. I’m sorry.”

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I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He sobbed over and over, the guilt unbearable. He was terrified of what would become of Leo, who’d become a murderer in his place. If not for him, Leo would have been awaiting an overseas posting in Washington by now. He’d ruined Leo’s life with his own wrecked one. How could he take responsibility for that? Love me, Leo. Save me from this. But that was too much to ask of Leo. He should never have tried to hold Leo to his life.

“Run, Leo,” Ian said, hastily wiping his tears. “I’ll tell the police I killed him. I won’t say you were here. Go, Leo. Run far away, like you said. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. Just run.”

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Before the night ends. Run, Leo. Just run.

“No, don’t,” Leo shook his head. “There’s no proof you fired the gun. They won’t believe you.” “Then what? What happens to you, Leo?” Ian cried desperately. “I can’t let you be a murderer for me!” Leo spoke, trying to calm Ian’s trembling figure. “I’ll run.” But he wasn’t gentle. His tone was firm and absolute. “You don’t know anything.” Leo said, his face set in cold resolve. “Forget it. Forget that this man was ever your stepfather. And forget me.”

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And then Leo was gone.

“I waited a long time to make sure Leo got away safely before I called the police. They suspected me of shooting my stepfather. But no traces of gunpowder were found on me. Just as Leo said, there was no evidence to prove I was the shooter.”

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Ian stuck to his story with the police. He said he’d seen nothing, only the body. But his story was riddled with inconsistencies. Why was his stepfather in Ian’s room at the estimated time of death? Why did Ian’s body show suspicious marks? Why had the gun from his stepfather’s study been used? That meant the killer was likely someone who knew the house well. Even as Ian’s mother cried, devastated, the police didn’t relent in their sharp, interrogative questioning.

“It was terrifying when they kept asking the same questions. I was afraid that if I slipped up, they’d find out Leo was there. So I kept changing my story. At one point, I even said I wasn’t home that day. I’d been at camp. The police told me it was my mom who’d gone to camp, and they played back my 911 call. After that… I couldn’t remember the events of that night properly. Without trying to lie, I just kept forgetting the truth about that night. But forgetting made me feel relieved. I thought if I kept pretending I’d forgotten about Leo, the police wouldn’t know about him.”

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It was during this time that Ian’s memory impairment was discovered. It also came to light that he had been affected by the new Rohypnol, which caused hallucinations and memory problems. The police developed a theory that Ian, addicted to drugs readily available near college campuses, had developed conflicts with his stepfather due to this. The police suspected Ian but didn’t have enough evidence to formally charge him. His memory impairment, which was deteriorating into schizophrenia, made it virtually impossible to pursue the case further.

And so Ian ended up at Rosehillman.

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