Games Boys Play by Zoe X. Rider

he’d scrubbed off most of the blackout from around his eyes, traces remained, crinkled in the corners of his eyes, smeared near the side of his nose.
    “Shit,” Dylan said. “What am I doing? You don’t want to sit here all night.” He started pulling the tape from Brian’s chest. “So what happened after he shoved you against the wall?”
    “He tied me up like this and gagged me.”
    The tape tugged at Brian’s shirt.
    “Then what?”
    “Then nothing. He was waiting for some other guys to show up, it sounded like.”
    “What for?”
    Brian shook his head. “They never showed anyway. He was on the phone complaining about it.”
    Dylan, crouching, had moved to the tape around Brian’s left foot and ankle.
    “Ever seen him before?”
    “I told you, I didn’t see him at all. He was wearing a mask.”
    “What kind?”
    His foot was able to move a little, and then the last of the tape was pulled away and dropped to the floor. It never felt so good to have his foot flat on the floor. “Black ski mask. Eyeholes, no mouth.” His heart raced like he had in fact been attacked by an unknown intruder.
    “Did he sound familiar?”
    “Nuh-uh. Not that he said much.” He slowly stretched his leg in front of him, his knee complaining during the movement but then settling into a warm, happy freedom from pain.
    “So he just left?”
    “He got a call and left.”
    “He just… left .”
    “Yeah.”
    “How long ago?”
    Brian used the back of the chair to scratch an itch on his upper arm. “Fifteen minutes, maybe?”
    Dylan looked up at him. “You don’t think he’s coming back, do you?”
    “No. I mean. I don’t know.” Dylan’s expression of worry looked so genuine that an edge of doubt started to scratch in Brian’s head. But that was silly. Of course the intruder had been Dylan. “He didn’t say.”
    Dylan glanced over his shoulder at the door, then turned his attention back to the tape around Brian’s right foot.
    “Do you think he’ll be back?” Brian asked.
    “There’s no telling, I guess.”
    Brian’s foot dropped to the floor.
    Dylan said, “We should call the police,” as he pushed to his feet.
    “You think so?”
    “After we finish getting you out of this.” He helped Brian stand, and just as he got there, Dylan’s grip tightened on his arm. Dylan turned his face toward the front of the apartment.
    “What?”
    “Shh.”
    Brian listened.
    With his ear still angled toward the door, Dylan slid his gaze over to Brian, his eyes a little wide, his eyebrows a little high. It was enough to get Brian’s heart racing again, even though he knew—he knew —the guy wasn’t going to come back through the door, because the guy was standing right there gripping his arm.
    Right? His mouth had gone dry all over again.
    “Shit,” Dylan whispered. “I think— We’ve gotta get out of here.” But there was only the balcony, and where would they go from there? Splat? Dylan pulled him by the arm, and he followed, not toward the balcony but the hall. Dylan was walking fast, dragging Brian along, Brian’s legs still a little stiff and shaky from his ride on the chair. The hall was more of an alcove, darker than the dining area had been, with three doors off it: bathroom straight ahead, bedroom just before that on the left, and before the bedroom door, the coat closet.
    Dylan slid the closet door open. Jackets and outerwear hung from the rack. Stuff he had no other place for was piled on the floor. Dylan pushed him in nonetheless, Brian stumbling against boxes, getting a face full of a wool coat as he crouched, with Dylan’s hand on the top of his head to guide him, to get under the closet bar.
    “Just a sec,” Dylan whispered, turning away, sliding the door half-closed with Brian inside.
    Between the wool coat and the door, he couldn’t see where Dylan had gone or what he was up to. He heard boots hurrying back, the door swept open again, and then Dylan was climbing into the cramped closet