When Shane combed through the apartment, before Trenton woke up, he'd found a few items of note.
The first was the painting in the bedroom. It was massive, and the sight of something so vain as a huge depiction of Trenton's own face in his bedroom somehow managed to deepen his disgust for him. So did the half a pharmacy of drugs in his nightstand. Pill bottles, cocaine, heroin. He still didn't know exactly what it was that Boyd overdosed on, but clearly, she'd had options. The thought made his blood run cold.
On his way back out into the living room, he caught a touch of Boyd's scent. It was faint, but it was still there, and he went still as soon as he noticed it.
Then it was gone again. She had to have been here only a few days ago, so it made sense that traces of her were still lingering.
Underneath the clean, light scent he knew there was the dark, musky tang of fear.
After that he'd laid out his tools, waited for Trenton to wake up. As soon as he saw that he was awake, he got up and walked over to the stereo, which was still lightly playing music. He sifted through Trenton's CD collection. What awful taste. Boring electronica, hip hop record after hip hop record. He finally stuck a random disk in the stereo, pushed it in, and then cranked up the volume. The song had a heavy bass beat, which made it perfect for his purposes, and he walked back over to Trenton.
He touched the edge of the tape.
"That should be loud enough that no one will hear you if you scream," he said. His tone was flat, and he moved with a direct economy of body language. He clearly wasn't too worried about being found out. The very fact that he'd chosen not to obscure his face should be a clue to Trenton that this encounter was planned out to end a certain way.
He reached behind him, into his bag, and pulled out a very long knife.
"If you scream, I'm going to cut you. And since no one is going to hear you, it's a futile endeavor." He positioned the knife with the tip resting flat against Trenton's collar bone.