Showing posts with label gay crime thriller. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gay crime thriller. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Shadow's Night: Chapter 12 - Saturday Helper
After shooting a man while on a bender of drugs he was supposed to
sell Conrad flees the city and goes to a place where he believes no one
will find him, the home of Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years
in juvenile detention. But he knows he can’t stay for long and
Conrad’s greed inadvertently causes Simon to confront his past and his
life in a small town where memories run deep. How will Simon survive
Conrad’s path to darkness?
Saturday morning, Kevin walked to Thad’s photography studio located on Main Street. He was dressed in a pair of slacks, button down shirt with tie, and sweater, but he wore sneakers. Thad hadn’t told him what he needed help with but he wanted to look professional. He imagined it would be a lot of getting babies to look in specific directions, maybe a couple family portraits. He pulled open the front door and stepped inside to find a teenage boy, obviously younger than himself, sitting patiently in the waiting area but there was no one at reception. There never was, Thad said he couldn’t afford to hire someone, and that’s when he made the obvious connection. He looked to the door that led into the photography area, held up his finger to the young man, and walked to the counter where he saw a sheet with a list of names and times.
“Are you Bryan?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, I’m early.”
“No problem, I think I’m late. Just let me check with the photographer.”
The photographer? God, he was overdoing it to sound professional, especially in this town, he thought. Kevin put the list back on the counter and opened the door, looked back to Bryan who winced with anxiety, and left him there. There was a small hallway, a door for the printing room, another for supplies, which he passed until he was in the actual studio area, a large space that had been converted from a general store. In the middle of the room there was all of the equipment needed for portraits and Thad in the middle of it, slightly panicked.
“Oh good you’re here,” Thad said.
“Yeah,” Kevin said before stepping closer.
“There’s someone out in the waiting area, they’re early. Could you deal with it?”
“No problem, I’ll tell them ten minutes.”
“Perfect,” Thad said.
Kevin watched for a moment as the normally calm man double checked everything before turning away and walking back to the waiting area but this time through the door to the receptionist area where he turned on a light. The small area was suddenly illuminated but it only made it look sadder as there was little there, shelves and surfaces were empty. He grimaced at the sight before looking out to Bryan who looked back at him expectantly.
A year or two younger, with glasses and acne, Bryan could have been his friend in high school. If Bryan had been in the theater department, he thought, even then he probably would have worked on the set. He probably wouldn’t have believed in himself enough to try for a part. Even now, as he sat there staring back there was an air or desperation about him, an uncomfortable presence. Gay or straight? Kevin thought he would be straight and slightly homophobic because everyone, even relatives, assumes he’s gay because he talks more about computers than girls. Kevin suppressed a laugh at his own joke and cleared his throat.
“The photographer will be ten more minutes. I guess you’re early after all. He has to let the lights warm up.” Was that a thing? He shrugged his shoulders, it had to be something he overheard Thad say sometime. “I might be able to find something for you to read if you’re bored.”
“No, that’s okay,” Bryan said before pulling his phone from his pocket.
Kevin looked away to the chair and the desk. He could tell easily that the chair would need to be adjusted if he wanted to use the desk. He shook his head. There were intentions. And disappointments. He turned the chair, dusted it with his hand, and sat. He looked up at the backside of the counter and he could barely see Bryan’s eyes on the other side. He groaned and stood, looked down to the chair, to Bryan who was preoccupied with his phone, to the list, the phone, and back to the chair.
“This is going to be a long day,” he said.
********
“So how was it? Senior class pictures can be a bit of a drag but it’s good money. I bet you’re feeling like I owe you more than a piece of pizza and twenty bucks.”
The sweater in his lap, Kevin looked back to Thad who was putting away the equipment and sighed. His instinct was to say something sarcastic but he stopped himself. It had been a long day but strangely rewarding. For once he looked at the people younger than himself, the high school students, as something outside of himself, something he could no longer identify with because he didn’t worry about the same things, have the same desires or expectations. They worried about how they looked and that this image would be so meaningful, a measure of their life.
He didn’t have those worries, not exactly. He had been through a year of college, had an internship, was saving money, and there was Thad. He was working with these high school students as a photographer’s assistant, maybe if he did it a few more times, asked some questions it could be something he put on his resume. But there was something else, their secret. They were lovers of a sort, a couple. Were they a couple, he asked himself. No, there was no commitment there, just limited options.
“It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Kevin said.
Thad looked to him.
“No that’s not how I meant it. I’m sorry, it’s just kind of weird being your assistant. You know, working for you. And they’re all from my high school. Some of them probably know who I am even if I don’t know who they are.”
“You’re that famous?”
“Well, when you beat the hell out of three football players in a locker room... but, I’m not one to brag.”
“Three?”
“It’s a long story,” Kevin said.
“You’ll have to tell me someday,” Thad said. “Sorry if it was boring but thanks for helping me. I had quite the night and I was running late this morning.”
“No problem,” Kevin said. “I was guessing who was gay and straight all day.”
“I used to play that game.”
“So why were you late anyway?”
“Oh, uh, no big deal, just my ex-boyfriend called me last night. His father died and it was kind of a surprise. No one really expected it. We just got to talking.”
Kevin felt his stomach sinking as Thad talked. He wasn’t sure if he regretted asking Thad the question or if he should dismiss somehow, forget about it.
“It’s kind of crazy when you get to talking with someone and you realize it’s been years. I hadn’t really thought about it for some time. I mean it’s like I enjoyed everything about getting older but then someone dies, an ex calls, and it’s like bam, this is life. But, anyway, it’s not something to really talk about right now. Where do you want to eat? Or do you want to go back to my place?”
“Let’s go back to your place,” Kevin said.
“Really?”
“Yeah sure,” Kevin said.
Together they closed the studio and walked out the side exit, down the alley to the parking lot where they got into Thad’s car. Kevin looked around but there was no one to see him, to see them. He had been known as the town queer since high school and his very public outing but for Thad a reputation could be ruined. Would those high school guys feel comfortable with a gay photographer? Would their parents? It’s not like he was in the closet but there were no rainbow flags, no visibility.
They drove to Thad’s home, a Victorian style house that looked too big for one man, too expensive. Anywhere else, Kevin told himself, but this town is going down the tubes and property value with it. He probably got it for a steal, he thought every time he saw it. He pushed open his car door and looked back to Thad who seemed to have everything he needed in his hands. He followed the man up the stairs and to the front door. Thad stopped to check the mail. Kevin looked back at the other houses, up and down the street. He saw some children in the distance riding bicycles, trying to live out the last hours of the summer break when the sun always seemed to linger just on the horizon. He heard Thad put the key in the door and it snapped him back to the moment, to Thad who smiled back.
“Come on inside,” Thad said.
Kevin followed after him into the house where he instantly felt at ease. He half expected a dog to be there but Thad told him before that he had too many dogs in his life already and he wasn’t going to get another one until he was an old man. The home was comfortable, lived in. He smelled vanilla and something else. Thad walked around the house and turned on the lights to the living room, the hallway, and the kitchen. He looked through his mail, set it on the counter, and opened the refrigerator door.
“I think we should order in.”
“There’s only one place that delivers,” Kevin said. He walked to the kitchen and stopped on the other side of the refrigerator door.
“You don’t like their food?”
“It’s fine. It just sucks that there’s only one place.”
“God, I used to order from like five different places when I lived in the city. Thai, Japanese, and real Italian food, my favorite was Japanese.”
“Well here we’re going to have to settle for pizza,” Kevin said.
They looked each other in the eye, both of them were tired but they wanted something else. They didn’t want to eat. Thad closed the refrigerator door. He moved to Kevin and took hold of his belt with one hand, the other went to Kevin’s face. They kissed, deeply and passionately. They pulled at each others clothing and dropped it to the floor. Kevin began to step back and pull Thad with him. They broke from their kiss.
“What about the food?”
“Forget the food,” Kevin said.
Saturday morning, Kevin walked to Thad’s photography studio located on Main Street. He was dressed in a pair of slacks, button down shirt with tie, and sweater, but he wore sneakers. Thad hadn’t told him what he needed help with but he wanted to look professional. He imagined it would be a lot of getting babies to look in specific directions, maybe a couple family portraits. He pulled open the front door and stepped inside to find a teenage boy, obviously younger than himself, sitting patiently in the waiting area but there was no one at reception. There never was, Thad said he couldn’t afford to hire someone, and that’s when he made the obvious connection. He looked to the door that led into the photography area, held up his finger to the young man, and walked to the counter where he saw a sheet with a list of names and times.
“Are you Bryan?” Kevin asked.
“Yes, I’m early.”
“No problem, I think I’m late. Just let me check with the photographer.”
The photographer? God, he was overdoing it to sound professional, especially in this town, he thought. Kevin put the list back on the counter and opened the door, looked back to Bryan who winced with anxiety, and left him there. There was a small hallway, a door for the printing room, another for supplies, which he passed until he was in the actual studio area, a large space that had been converted from a general store. In the middle of the room there was all of the equipment needed for portraits and Thad in the middle of it, slightly panicked.
“Oh good you’re here,” Thad said.
“Yeah,” Kevin said before stepping closer.
“There’s someone out in the waiting area, they’re early. Could you deal with it?”
“No problem, I’ll tell them ten minutes.”
“Perfect,” Thad said.
Kevin watched for a moment as the normally calm man double checked everything before turning away and walking back to the waiting area but this time through the door to the receptionist area where he turned on a light. The small area was suddenly illuminated but it only made it look sadder as there was little there, shelves and surfaces were empty. He grimaced at the sight before looking out to Bryan who looked back at him expectantly.
A year or two younger, with glasses and acne, Bryan could have been his friend in high school. If Bryan had been in the theater department, he thought, even then he probably would have worked on the set. He probably wouldn’t have believed in himself enough to try for a part. Even now, as he sat there staring back there was an air or desperation about him, an uncomfortable presence. Gay or straight? Kevin thought he would be straight and slightly homophobic because everyone, even relatives, assumes he’s gay because he talks more about computers than girls. Kevin suppressed a laugh at his own joke and cleared his throat.
“The photographer will be ten more minutes. I guess you’re early after all. He has to let the lights warm up.” Was that a thing? He shrugged his shoulders, it had to be something he overheard Thad say sometime. “I might be able to find something for you to read if you’re bored.”
“No, that’s okay,” Bryan said before pulling his phone from his pocket.
Kevin looked away to the chair and the desk. He could tell easily that the chair would need to be adjusted if he wanted to use the desk. He shook his head. There were intentions. And disappointments. He turned the chair, dusted it with his hand, and sat. He looked up at the backside of the counter and he could barely see Bryan’s eyes on the other side. He groaned and stood, looked down to the chair, to Bryan who was preoccupied with his phone, to the list, the phone, and back to the chair.
“This is going to be a long day,” he said.
********
“So how was it? Senior class pictures can be a bit of a drag but it’s good money. I bet you’re feeling like I owe you more than a piece of pizza and twenty bucks.”
The sweater in his lap, Kevin looked back to Thad who was putting away the equipment and sighed. His instinct was to say something sarcastic but he stopped himself. It had been a long day but strangely rewarding. For once he looked at the people younger than himself, the high school students, as something outside of himself, something he could no longer identify with because he didn’t worry about the same things, have the same desires or expectations. They worried about how they looked and that this image would be so meaningful, a measure of their life.
He didn’t have those worries, not exactly. He had been through a year of college, had an internship, was saving money, and there was Thad. He was working with these high school students as a photographer’s assistant, maybe if he did it a few more times, asked some questions it could be something he put on his resume. But there was something else, their secret. They were lovers of a sort, a couple. Were they a couple, he asked himself. No, there was no commitment there, just limited options.
“It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Kevin said.
Thad looked to him.
“No that’s not how I meant it. I’m sorry, it’s just kind of weird being your assistant. You know, working for you. And they’re all from my high school. Some of them probably know who I am even if I don’t know who they are.”
“You’re that famous?”
“Well, when you beat the hell out of three football players in a locker room... but, I’m not one to brag.”
“Three?”
“It’s a long story,” Kevin said.
“You’ll have to tell me someday,” Thad said. “Sorry if it was boring but thanks for helping me. I had quite the night and I was running late this morning.”
“No problem,” Kevin said. “I was guessing who was gay and straight all day.”
“I used to play that game.”
“So why were you late anyway?”
“Oh, uh, no big deal, just my ex-boyfriend called me last night. His father died and it was kind of a surprise. No one really expected it. We just got to talking.”
Kevin felt his stomach sinking as Thad talked. He wasn’t sure if he regretted asking Thad the question or if he should dismiss somehow, forget about it.
“It’s kind of crazy when you get to talking with someone and you realize it’s been years. I hadn’t really thought about it for some time. I mean it’s like I enjoyed everything about getting older but then someone dies, an ex calls, and it’s like bam, this is life. But, anyway, it’s not something to really talk about right now. Where do you want to eat? Or do you want to go back to my place?”
“Let’s go back to your place,” Kevin said.
“Really?”
“Yeah sure,” Kevin said.
Together they closed the studio and walked out the side exit, down the alley to the parking lot where they got into Thad’s car. Kevin looked around but there was no one to see him, to see them. He had been known as the town queer since high school and his very public outing but for Thad a reputation could be ruined. Would those high school guys feel comfortable with a gay photographer? Would their parents? It’s not like he was in the closet but there were no rainbow flags, no visibility.
They drove to Thad’s home, a Victorian style house that looked too big for one man, too expensive. Anywhere else, Kevin told himself, but this town is going down the tubes and property value with it. He probably got it for a steal, he thought every time he saw it. He pushed open his car door and looked back to Thad who seemed to have everything he needed in his hands. He followed the man up the stairs and to the front door. Thad stopped to check the mail. Kevin looked back at the other houses, up and down the street. He saw some children in the distance riding bicycles, trying to live out the last hours of the summer break when the sun always seemed to linger just on the horizon. He heard Thad put the key in the door and it snapped him back to the moment, to Thad who smiled back.
“Come on inside,” Thad said.
Kevin followed after him into the house where he instantly felt at ease. He half expected a dog to be there but Thad told him before that he had too many dogs in his life already and he wasn’t going to get another one until he was an old man. The home was comfortable, lived in. He smelled vanilla and something else. Thad walked around the house and turned on the lights to the living room, the hallway, and the kitchen. He looked through his mail, set it on the counter, and opened the refrigerator door.
“I think we should order in.”
“There’s only one place that delivers,” Kevin said. He walked to the kitchen and stopped on the other side of the refrigerator door.
“You don’t like their food?”
“It’s fine. It just sucks that there’s only one place.”
“God, I used to order from like five different places when I lived in the city. Thai, Japanese, and real Italian food, my favorite was Japanese.”
“Well here we’re going to have to settle for pizza,” Kevin said.
They looked each other in the eye, both of them were tired but they wanted something else. They didn’t want to eat. Thad closed the refrigerator door. He moved to Kevin and took hold of his belt with one hand, the other went to Kevin’s face. They kissed, deeply and passionately. They pulled at each others clothing and dropped it to the floor. Kevin began to step back and pull Thad with him. They broke from their kiss.
“What about the food?”
“Forget the food,” Kevin said.
Friday, July 4, 2014
Shadow's Night: Chapter 20 - Proof of Having Been (excerpt)
After shooting a man while on a bender of drugs he was supposed to sell Conrad flees the city and goes to a place where he believes no one will find him, the home of Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years in juvenile detention. But he knows he can’t stay for long and Conrad’s greed inadvertently causes Simon to confront his past and his life in a small town where memories run deep. How will Simon survive Conrad’s path to darkness?
Everything has been put away and cleaned, Simon thought, there was no more evidence, no proof of what happened, and yet there was a pain in his stomach and his chest that had he been older he would have thought it was a heart attack. It felt almost as intense as the pain in his thighs and buttocks from the whipping she had given him upon his return. In that same place as it had been years before until the sin was beaten from him, his brain was rendered useless, and his body, his skin throbbed with each heartbeat. He had almost refused her. He had thought about fighting her, but then he thought about Heather and that he wanted to see her again. By giving in he thought he could guarantee something... if not her permission, then at least her good grace.
Why did his mother have to ruin things? Why did she have to be the way she was? No, more importantly why did she have to be his mother? We don’t choose family, he answered. We are born into it. We are a product of it. We are a part of it. And we cannot easily leave it. Her illness had gotten worse. It was one thing to take out her violence on him with beatings and spankings but this, attacking his girlfriend with a knife, was something else. Oh god, would she even still be his girlfriend? Was there a relationship after this? Could she still trust him? What about his mother? She had said to put her somewhere. Like prison? Like an asylum? She had been to a mental hospital before several times, a few when he was young and once he had her committed himself after he returned but she didn’t stay long. She could be convincing, intelligent, and aware when she needed to be. She could get out of those places.
No, the next thing was prison, but he hated the very feeling of that idea. Prisons did not change a person. Prisons were there for punishment. How much punishment did she need? One month or six months, three years or five years, and it wouldn’t be easy to slide her past the mental hospital. No, if she said the right thing his mother might not even make it to prison.
What was left? A therapist who she would visit once a week, once a month, and maybe he’d prescribe something else that her family doctor wouldn’t but he hated the idea of drugs, of doping her up so she would be more compliant. No, she hated drugs, and he hated them too. That was why she turned to the church. She went at least every Sunday, sometimes more if she felt the need, but it didn’t actually do anything for her. What god could she pray to that would leave her this way? What god would keep him beholden to her? What god that could not, did not, punish her or stop her?
No, there was no satisfaction there and he felt the compulsion again to take the knife up. Maybe he’d have to stab her or maybe he could get her to stab herself but it wouldn’t make any difference because he would be supplying the knife. Murder or suicide but there was no justice to her death. Besides the knife would be too bloody, and even if she killed herself there would still be suspicions. The town would think he did it. That would be the end of him and any hope of a relationship with Heather.
It had to be something else, like maybe falling down the stairs. He could drag her there or else wait for some opportunity. But when would be the right time? How would she fall? Would she be guaranteed to die? If she didn’t, if she was still alive, then he’d have to finish her. But how could he do that without leaving any evidence? A pillow left fibers, fingers left choke marks. And worse she could be seriously injured and completely dependent on him for everything including all of her personal care. He shuttered at the idea of bathing her, dressing her, and putting her to bed. At the very least if she died he’d still be a suspect.
No, he told himself, he had to wait it out, see what Heather said and take it from there. In some way the best thing would be for her to be locked up and then maybe he could leave her, leave town. He had his escape plan, his life raft, of nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and funds in a savings account. That would be enough to start somewhere else, start over. Heather could go with him. She would have to leave her father but maybe she would do it.
They could go anywhere, maybe drive across the country until they found a place. Maybe they could start a business or she could go to college and he’d get a job somewhere even though there wasn’t much need for someone with a G.E.D. and no work experience. He’d work anywhere, he told himself, any menial job just to be away from here, and yet it was a fantasy because he didn’t even know if Heather really liked him, if she still liked him. It was a familiar pain from when his father had left him.
Eight years old at the time, and his father had moved out of the house for work. That was one thing, something he barely noticed because his father returned almost every weekend and for holidays but it didn’t feel right. It went on for a year and it felt like his father was always lying to him, especially as he gave him a number to call to talk, to ask for help. He had called only once and got a woman. There were children in the background. Was she a girlfriend? Was his father living with another woman and with children. Did he have a new family? It was only made worse as his father tried to explain away everything, tried to make him unsure of what he had heard until there was no point in arguing. He never called back.
But that was only one incident. He still came that weekend and successive weekends until there was the big argument between his parents. They were threatening each other with divorce. They were threatening each other. His father didn’t come back for a few weeks but they talked on the phone a couple of times. His father promised to stay in touch, promised to take him on vacation, and take him on trips, but they felt like more lies. And then suddenly it was over. He stopped calling. There were no more visits, no more promises and no more lies. Simon didn’t think much of it at first. After about nine months he remembered thinking about his father, trying to wish him into existence on some night he was arguing with his mother but he wasn’t there and he didn’t call that phone number. He didn’t want to speak to that other woman. Eventually he forgot about the man in his daily life, in his need for some other parent and it was just him and his mother.
His thoughts were broken by the sound of Conrad coming into the house. Simon was flat on his back on his own bed by then and he didn’t move even though he had an impulse to do so. He had an impulse to go to Conrad right then and tell him about his mother, Heather, and what happened, to try and work out some plan. But there was no plan to work out. Conrad was terrible with plans. Conrad didn’t make plans. He would only think the worst. He would worry about his own safety, maybe he’d leave or maybe he’d threaten to do something himself. He could call the police. No, Conrad wouldn’t have a solution, he told himself.
And yet the pain in his stomach felt worse, because wasn’t that what people were for, to help you in times of need. Simon closed his eyes as he felt himself about to cry. His eyes watered so he opened them again to let the tears be contained there as little pools of water until they dried out. He wouldn’t give the satisfaction of crying over something like this. He had been through worse. And yet it still hurt, he could still feel, and the worst sensation was the emptiness and the loneliness. He balled his fist and opened his mouth to cry out but there was no noise, no sense in making any. He knew he had to keep it all inside but when he closed his eyes to keep the feeling he felt the tears roll down his cheeks and he began to sob, little, almost controlled spasms that moved from his gut up into his face.
It all had been something. This life it had to mean something. His suffering had to have a reason. And yet there was nothing, no one there to witness it so it felt like it had no meaning at all.
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Everything has been put away and cleaned, Simon thought, there was no more evidence, no proof of what happened, and yet there was a pain in his stomach and his chest that had he been older he would have thought it was a heart attack. It felt almost as intense as the pain in his thighs and buttocks from the whipping she had given him upon his return. In that same place as it had been years before until the sin was beaten from him, his brain was rendered useless, and his body, his skin throbbed with each heartbeat. He had almost refused her. He had thought about fighting her, but then he thought about Heather and that he wanted to see her again. By giving in he thought he could guarantee something... if not her permission, then at least her good grace.
Why did his mother have to ruin things? Why did she have to be the way she was? No, more importantly why did she have to be his mother? We don’t choose family, he answered. We are born into it. We are a product of it. We are a part of it. And we cannot easily leave it. Her illness had gotten worse. It was one thing to take out her violence on him with beatings and spankings but this, attacking his girlfriend with a knife, was something else. Oh god, would she even still be his girlfriend? Was there a relationship after this? Could she still trust him? What about his mother? She had said to put her somewhere. Like prison? Like an asylum? She had been to a mental hospital before several times, a few when he was young and once he had her committed himself after he returned but she didn’t stay long. She could be convincing, intelligent, and aware when she needed to be. She could get out of those places.
No, the next thing was prison, but he hated the very feeling of that idea. Prisons did not change a person. Prisons were there for punishment. How much punishment did she need? One month or six months, three years or five years, and it wouldn’t be easy to slide her past the mental hospital. No, if she said the right thing his mother might not even make it to prison.
What was left? A therapist who she would visit once a week, once a month, and maybe he’d prescribe something else that her family doctor wouldn’t but he hated the idea of drugs, of doping her up so she would be more compliant. No, she hated drugs, and he hated them too. That was why she turned to the church. She went at least every Sunday, sometimes more if she felt the need, but it didn’t actually do anything for her. What god could she pray to that would leave her this way? What god would keep him beholden to her? What god that could not, did not, punish her or stop her?
No, there was no satisfaction there and he felt the compulsion again to take the knife up. Maybe he’d have to stab her or maybe he could get her to stab herself but it wouldn’t make any difference because he would be supplying the knife. Murder or suicide but there was no justice to her death. Besides the knife would be too bloody, and even if she killed herself there would still be suspicions. The town would think he did it. That would be the end of him and any hope of a relationship with Heather.
It had to be something else, like maybe falling down the stairs. He could drag her there or else wait for some opportunity. But when would be the right time? How would she fall? Would she be guaranteed to die? If she didn’t, if she was still alive, then he’d have to finish her. But how could he do that without leaving any evidence? A pillow left fibers, fingers left choke marks. And worse she could be seriously injured and completely dependent on him for everything including all of her personal care. He shuttered at the idea of bathing her, dressing her, and putting her to bed. At the very least if she died he’d still be a suspect.
No, he told himself, he had to wait it out, see what Heather said and take it from there. In some way the best thing would be for her to be locked up and then maybe he could leave her, leave town. He had his escape plan, his life raft, of nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in cash and funds in a savings account. That would be enough to start somewhere else, start over. Heather could go with him. She would have to leave her father but maybe she would do it.
They could go anywhere, maybe drive across the country until they found a place. Maybe they could start a business or she could go to college and he’d get a job somewhere even though there wasn’t much need for someone with a G.E.D. and no work experience. He’d work anywhere, he told himself, any menial job just to be away from here, and yet it was a fantasy because he didn’t even know if Heather really liked him, if she still liked him. It was a familiar pain from when his father had left him.
Eight years old at the time, and his father had moved out of the house for work. That was one thing, something he barely noticed because his father returned almost every weekend and for holidays but it didn’t feel right. It went on for a year and it felt like his father was always lying to him, especially as he gave him a number to call to talk, to ask for help. He had called only once and got a woman. There were children in the background. Was she a girlfriend? Was his father living with another woman and with children. Did he have a new family? It was only made worse as his father tried to explain away everything, tried to make him unsure of what he had heard until there was no point in arguing. He never called back.
But that was only one incident. He still came that weekend and successive weekends until there was the big argument between his parents. They were threatening each other with divorce. They were threatening each other. His father didn’t come back for a few weeks but they talked on the phone a couple of times. His father promised to stay in touch, promised to take him on vacation, and take him on trips, but they felt like more lies. And then suddenly it was over. He stopped calling. There were no more visits, no more promises and no more lies. Simon didn’t think much of it at first. After about nine months he remembered thinking about his father, trying to wish him into existence on some night he was arguing with his mother but he wasn’t there and he didn’t call that phone number. He didn’t want to speak to that other woman. Eventually he forgot about the man in his daily life, in his need for some other parent and it was just him and his mother.
His thoughts were broken by the sound of Conrad coming into the house. Simon was flat on his back on his own bed by then and he didn’t move even though he had an impulse to do so. He had an impulse to go to Conrad right then and tell him about his mother, Heather, and what happened, to try and work out some plan. But there was no plan to work out. Conrad was terrible with plans. Conrad didn’t make plans. He would only think the worst. He would worry about his own safety, maybe he’d leave or maybe he’d threaten to do something himself. He could call the police. No, Conrad wouldn’t have a solution, he told himself.
And yet the pain in his stomach felt worse, because wasn’t that what people were for, to help you in times of need. Simon closed his eyes as he felt himself about to cry. His eyes watered so he opened them again to let the tears be contained there as little pools of water until they dried out. He wouldn’t give the satisfaction of crying over something like this. He had been through worse. And yet it still hurt, he could still feel, and the worst sensation was the emptiness and the loneliness. He balled his fist and opened his mouth to cry out but there was no noise, no sense in making any. He knew he had to keep it all inside but when he closed his eyes to keep the feeling he felt the tears roll down his cheeks and he began to sob, little, almost controlled spasms that moved from his gut up into his face.
It all had been something. This life it had to mean something. His suffering had to have a reason. And yet there was nothing, no one there to witness it so it felt like it had no meaning at all.
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Friday, June 6, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Shadow's Night - Chapter 04 Blood Brother
The sound of knocking, then the sound of the doorbell awoke Simon from a nap on the sofa where he was flat on his back with one hand against his chest and the other hanging off the side. He let out a moan and sat up. There were no expected guests, no one would have been invited, and proselytizers had stopped coming years ago.
There was more knocking, the doorbell, he got to his feet and walked from the living room into the foyer, passed the game room and the parlor to the front door that he opened cautiously, leaving the chain still attached. He was blinded by the sunlight and held up his hand to shield his eyes.
There was a glare as a form stepped into the light and he could make out it was a young man he didn’t recognize. Was this someone from town? Maybe a newspaper boy? Hadn’t he heard all of the terrible stories about the place, about him? He winced as he tried to get a better look but he realized he’d need to take off the chain.
“Who is it?” Simon asked.
“Simon? It’s me Conrad,” the stranger said.
“Conrad?” he asked.
He thought about the people in town, relatives, and then he remembered it. Conrad, of course, but how the hell did he find me? He unfastened the chain as Conrad stepped closer. For a moment they were caught in an awkward standoff as each was unsure what the other would do but finally Simon opened the door and invited him inside. Conrad stepped into the house and kept his eyes on Simon. They looked at each other, assessing subtle differences, unsure how to greet the other.
It had been years since they had been together. It was a different place and time for both of them when they were truly equals dressed in grey sweat pants and sweat shirts. Each of them had gotten back to their own lives and how they changed showed that. Conrad was dressed in a tank top, shorts, sandals, and sunglasses. He had more muscles, notably his biceps, and he had tattoos, professional ones. Simon was dressed formally in a button down shirt, vest, tie, slacks, and dress shoes. He had a mustache.
Would a handshake suffice? Maybe a hug? Simon thought about the options and he didn’t like either of them. He didn’t like this familiar person from his past being there, reminding him, and yet he had always been curious.
“Hello blood brother,” Conrad said.
Simon smiled at the greeting and held out his hand. Conrad took it and shook his hand before pulling him against his chest and wrapping his left arm around Simon’s side to hug him. Simon was caught off guard by the action and had it been anyone else he would have resisted more, fought back, or complained but he didn’t. He let it go, even after the hug was too long and became awkward and uncomfortable. Finally, Conrad let him go and they stepped back from each other.
“What’s this blood brother shit?” Simon asked.
“We are you know. Or don’t you remember?”
“I remember, too well. But how did you find me?”
Conrad tapped his head.
“You told me the town where you lived and it was pretty easy after that, after all I knew your name and lots of other things about you.”
Simon winced at the comment. As nice as it was to see Conrad it was also reminder of his past, a connection to a time when he had been weaker, vulnerable. What was it that made people friends? What was it that bonded them? And why did they think the relationship, whatever it was, could be mended so easily or had never been destroyed? He pushed the thoughts aside and focused his mind on Conrad who sat before him with a familiar half smirk on his face.
“So this is your mom’s place?”
“Yeah, she’s upstairs in her bedroom,” Simon said. “Don’t worry she’ll probably stay up there it’s the afternoon and she’s probably watching her religious programs.”
“A little Father, Son, and Holy Ghost action?”
Simon winced at the comment. Conrad had always been easy to mock religion and church, and though Simon didn’t believe in any gods he still felt guilty about mocking them. It was Sunday school, he thought.
“There really aren’t too many Simon Winters in town. I only had to ask at the gas station. They knew the place.”
“That easy,” Simon said.
Conrad smiled and nodded. Simon was near as he had remembered him with thick hair and dark eyes that always looked like they were inspecting everything and everyone. There was a darkness there, he had come to know it, but there was also a sincerity and kindness of someone who wanted to live in a perfect world. He was handsome in his own way but not confident.
“So what brings you here? You just wanted to see me?”
“Well, I uh, kind of was passing through because I’ve been out of state. I wanted to go see my mom. She still lives in my hometown but I don’t really have the extra money for a hotel room.”
They stared each other in the eye but Conrad wasn’t going to give in, break or confess. He felt like his lie was working. This made sense.
“She’s pretty sick. She has cancer.”
Simon broke from the eye contact and looked to the coffee table, to his hands that he rubbed nervously on his pants. He had been caught trying to tell if someone was lying and he really couldn’t tell if he was. He had his reasons to not trust Conrad but he also had his reasons to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“With me having been in juvenile hall, well it’s not good for me to be at the house too long or even stay around town there. The cops there hate me. I’d get a ticket just for crossing the street if they saw me. And I’ve been working out of state so I don’t have a place around here. I remembered you and I know it’s not like we’re high school friends but we were close. You probably don’t want someone bringing up the past but I thought, I don’t know, you could help me out.”
Simon felt as if a ball of string in his chest had come undone. He felt so bad for the person beside him, the person he had known, whose mother was dying of cancer. He took a deep breath and let his shoulders relax. It would be awkward but it could work. He looked to Conrad, then past him and up to the ceiling where he imagined his mother in her bedroom. This would need some careful explanation, he thought.
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There was more knocking, the doorbell, he got to his feet and walked from the living room into the foyer, passed the game room and the parlor to the front door that he opened cautiously, leaving the chain still attached. He was blinded by the sunlight and held up his hand to shield his eyes.
There was a glare as a form stepped into the light and he could make out it was a young man he didn’t recognize. Was this someone from town? Maybe a newspaper boy? Hadn’t he heard all of the terrible stories about the place, about him? He winced as he tried to get a better look but he realized he’d need to take off the chain.
“Who is it?” Simon asked.
“Simon? It’s me Conrad,” the stranger said.
“Conrad?” he asked.
He thought about the people in town, relatives, and then he remembered it. Conrad, of course, but how the hell did he find me? He unfastened the chain as Conrad stepped closer. For a moment they were caught in an awkward standoff as each was unsure what the other would do but finally Simon opened the door and invited him inside. Conrad stepped into the house and kept his eyes on Simon. They looked at each other, assessing subtle differences, unsure how to greet the other.
It had been years since they had been together. It was a different place and time for both of them when they were truly equals dressed in grey sweat pants and sweat shirts. Each of them had gotten back to their own lives and how they changed showed that. Conrad was dressed in a tank top, shorts, sandals, and sunglasses. He had more muscles, notably his biceps, and he had tattoos, professional ones. Simon was dressed formally in a button down shirt, vest, tie, slacks, and dress shoes. He had a mustache.
Would a handshake suffice? Maybe a hug? Simon thought about the options and he didn’t like either of them. He didn’t like this familiar person from his past being there, reminding him, and yet he had always been curious.
“Hello blood brother,” Conrad said.
Simon smiled at the greeting and held out his hand. Conrad took it and shook his hand before pulling him against his chest and wrapping his left arm around Simon’s side to hug him. Simon was caught off guard by the action and had it been anyone else he would have resisted more, fought back, or complained but he didn’t. He let it go, even after the hug was too long and became awkward and uncomfortable. Finally, Conrad let him go and they stepped back from each other.
“What’s this blood brother shit?” Simon asked.
“We are you know. Or don’t you remember?”
“I remember, too well. But how did you find me?”
Conrad tapped his head.
“You told me the town where you lived and it was pretty easy after that, after all I knew your name and lots of other things about you.”
Simon winced at the comment. As nice as it was to see Conrad it was also reminder of his past, a connection to a time when he had been weaker, vulnerable. What was it that made people friends? What was it that bonded them? And why did they think the relationship, whatever it was, could be mended so easily or had never been destroyed? He pushed the thoughts aside and focused his mind on Conrad who sat before him with a familiar half smirk on his face.
“So this is your mom’s place?”
“Yeah, she’s upstairs in her bedroom,” Simon said. “Don’t worry she’ll probably stay up there it’s the afternoon and she’s probably watching her religious programs.”
“A little Father, Son, and Holy Ghost action?”
Simon winced at the comment. Conrad had always been easy to mock religion and church, and though Simon didn’t believe in any gods he still felt guilty about mocking them. It was Sunday school, he thought.
“There really aren’t too many Simon Winters in town. I only had to ask at the gas station. They knew the place.”
“That easy,” Simon said.
Conrad smiled and nodded. Simon was near as he had remembered him with thick hair and dark eyes that always looked like they were inspecting everything and everyone. There was a darkness there, he had come to know it, but there was also a sincerity and kindness of someone who wanted to live in a perfect world. He was handsome in his own way but not confident.
“So what brings you here? You just wanted to see me?”
“Well, I uh, kind of was passing through because I’ve been out of state. I wanted to go see my mom. She still lives in my hometown but I don’t really have the extra money for a hotel room.”
They stared each other in the eye but Conrad wasn’t going to give in, break or confess. He felt like his lie was working. This made sense.
“She’s pretty sick. She has cancer.”
Simon broke from the eye contact and looked to the coffee table, to his hands that he rubbed nervously on his pants. He had been caught trying to tell if someone was lying and he really couldn’t tell if he was. He had his reasons to not trust Conrad but he also had his reasons to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“With me having been in juvenile hall, well it’s not good for me to be at the house too long or even stay around town there. The cops there hate me. I’d get a ticket just for crossing the street if they saw me. And I’ve been working out of state so I don’t have a place around here. I remembered you and I know it’s not like we’re high school friends but we were close. You probably don’t want someone bringing up the past but I thought, I don’t know, you could help me out.”
Simon felt as if a ball of string in his chest had come undone. He felt so bad for the person beside him, the person he had known, whose mother was dying of cancer. He took a deep breath and let his shoulders relax. It would be awkward but it could work. He looked to Conrad, then past him and up to the ceiling where he imagined his mother in her bedroom. This would need some careful explanation, he thought.
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Saturday, May 24, 2014
Shadow's Night (Excerpt) Chapter 05 - Boredom
It was late and no one was in the coffee shop. Breakfast had the most people, lunch was stretched out, and after people got off work was the most sporadic, but any time she could Heather sat transfixed with a book. She was supposed to be learning the business, her business, but it was boring. Her father owned it and she had been running it since she graduated from high school, a deal they had worked out given her lack of ambition to go to college. Going some place local felt too much like going back to high school, if they weren’t the exact same kids it was still too close, and she didn’t feel like going away, not with her father the way he was, not with the business being his only support.
She was reading Breakfast of Champions that evening, thinking Vonnegut got it wrong and that she lived in the asshole of the Universe and that if she wasn’t careful she might live there for the rest of her life. She moaned at the thought. She wanted a distraction and she thought about Kevin. She hadn’t talked to him in weeks since he had been back to class. She took out her phone and called him.
“Come down and visit me,” she said as soon as he picked up. “I’m bored and no one is here.”
Alone in his room with one hand pressing the phone to his ear and the other scrolling through his dashboard he looked to the clock. He was bored too and there was nothing he had to do immediately. He agreed and ended the call before he got up from his desk chair, tightened the belt to his jean shorts, and made sure his fly was up. He stuck his phone in his pocket, checked the weight of it there, and headed out.
No one was there to notice him leave. He slipped his shoes on at the front door, pulled the door shut behind him making sure it was locked before he turned on his feet and made the quick five minute walk to Main Street and the coffee shop. He looked through the main window to Heather who looked back with her chin propped on her hand still bored. He opened the door to the smell of coffee and baked goods. His hands in the pockets of his hooded jacket he walked to the counter.
“Do you want something?” she asked.
“Uh,” he said before he looked back to the two people by the window. “I don’t know. Calories, you know, maybe just a tea.”
“No problem, go have a seat and I’ll bring it over,” she said.
He suddenly felt guilty for her waiting on him, and he hadn’t even paid. He reached into his pocket for the few loose dollar bills but when she saw him she shook her head and motioned for him to go where she had told him to go. He pulled out the dollars anyway and put them in the tip cup before he walked to the table, did a quick assessment of where she would need to sit to keep and eye on the door and sat in the opposite spot. He listened to her. She was getting a tea for herself, something to eat.
Was it something to share? He groaned at the thought. He was hungry, just a little bit, but he knew he’d look better if he denied it rather than indulge. She stepped out from behind the counter and walked to him where she set down a tray. There were two teas and two scones.
“You’re mean,” he said.
“Just a few carbs,” she said. “Besides you get plenty of exercise.”
“This will be an extra mile, maybe half,” he said.
“Skinny Mr. Kevin,” she said. She saw him wince at the comment. “Sorry, it just came to mind. We haven’t talked about it in a while. Does your father still check up on you?”
“Sometimes,” he said.
“That’s nice,” she said. “He cares.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, blow my brains out maybe.”
He recoiled at her sarcasm.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she said. “I’m going to buy bullets with my tips.”
He raised an eyebrow at her and crossed one leg over the other to turn away from her slightly mocking her desperate, bitter attitude. She pulled her hands to her face and let out a grunt of disgust before she stretched out her arms and lay face down on the table for a second before she raised her shoulders with an inhale of air.
“That bad?”
“I’m here breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday. I can take time off here and there, I convinced my father to get someone to help but it’s all just the same. It was bad when there were more people I knew from high school but there’s been two classes since we graduated. They get dumber each year. Somehow the place became hip.
“God, the other day there were a group of teen girls in here who talked about the television show Friends the whole time and how they wanted to go to New York. Boy are they going to be disappointed.”
“Reruns,” he said. “It gives us such bad impressions.”
“My father likes it but ugh, I’d rather be in some bookstore somewhere, reading quietly in the back, only sell things occasionally.”
“People would steal your books,” he said.
“No one steals books,” she said. “They’re not worth anything.”
She broke off a piece of scone and stuck it in her mouth, began to chew. Kevin watched her, looked at his own scone, looked away.
“How’s class?” she asked.
“Boring but I’ll get through it,” he said, “we’re supposed to research our local town and write a piece about it for our final paper. It’s not due for a long time though.”
“Not much to write about here,” she said.
“Some white people took land from some natives who suffered on a reservation until a loophole allowed them to open a casino where poor people of all colors go to gamble and buy cheap cigarettes.”
“Wow, that doesn’t sound bitter at all,” she said.
He laughed mockingly at her causing her to smile.
“So really what do you want to do?” he asked.
“Tarot card reading,” she said.
“Aw, come on?”
“No, it’ll be good.”
She got up from the table and went behind the counter to her bag where she retrieved a cloth bag that held her Tarot cards and returned with it. She sat across from him with renewed energy. She opened the bag, got out the cards, and shuffled them. She held them close to her body with her eyes closed, readied herself across from him before she slid them in his direction. He picked up the cards. They had been through this several times but each time he relied on her instruction and her creativity for what the cards meant.
“You deal your own fate,” she said.
He shuffled the cards, toyed with her a little before she instructed him on how to lay them out for a twenty-one card reading. She looked at them for several minutes when something else caught her eye, a spark. She looked up through the main window to the sidewalk where she saw a young man, a stranger, Conrad, with a cigarette in his hand signaling for someone to join him. The stranger was handsome. He wore a leather jack, the collar up towards his face to protect him from the wind.
“Who is that?” she asked.
Kevin turned on his seat to look out the front window. He looked to the young man, was captivated by his handsome face, his button nose, and kissable lips. He didn’t have to be gay, he thought, anyone would want him.
“Holy shit,” Heather said, “look who’s walking up to him.”
Kevin turned a little more to see the direction the young man was staring to see a familiar person stop in front of him. He knew that face.
“It’s Simon Winters,” she said.
Kevin turned around back to her, his muscles and joints slightly ached by the way he was turned. He let out a grunt of pain and looked her in the eye before he turned back to see the two young men outside the coffee shop talking, then he looked back to her with one ear listening for the door.
“Do you think they’re coming in here?” she asked.
“Has he ever come in here?”
“No, I’ve never seen him in here. He usually sticks to himself. I only ever see him in the library sometimes but he’s always alone. I’ve thought about going up and saying something to him.”
“More like getting his autograph,” he said.
“He’s infamous, not famous,” she replied.
“Is he moving in this direction?”
“I think they are,” she said.
They looked to the door where Conrad pushed his way inside followed by Simon who walked with his hands in his pockets. Heather jumped to her feet and made her way behind the counter to where her patrons took turns looking at each other, the selection of baked goods, and coffee.
“I’m terrible at this,” Conrad said.
“I told you I’ve never been here,” Simon replied. He was annoyed for having been dragged along and didn’t want it to be any easier.
“Can I help you?” Heather asked.
Conrad leaned against the counter and looked into Heather’s eyes, looked her over before looking to Kevin who sat staring back at him. They caught each other’s eyes and looked away, each with nearly the same thought, he’s cruising me, here. Conrad shook off the thought.
“I usually just get black coffee and a scone,” he said.
“We can do that,” she said.
“What about your friend?”
Everyone looked to Simon who held up a hand of slight protest. He looked to the floor and out into the street trying to show no interest.
“He’ll have the same,” Conrad said.
She rang up the order but she wanted to know more. She had an idea.
“I uh, usually call out a name,” she said.
“Conrad,” he replied.
Heather and Kevin looked to each other as Conrad began to count out cash. He paid with a ten dollar bill and when he got back the change he dropped a dollar and the change in the tip cup. Simon looked ready to leave but Conrad led him to a table where they sat. Conrad cast one last look across the room to Kevin who had focused back on the Tarot cards on the table. He spied the young man’s muscled calf and the way he played with his hair. Maybe there were queers here after all, he thought, and maybe I should get to know them.
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She was reading Breakfast of Champions that evening, thinking Vonnegut got it wrong and that she lived in the asshole of the Universe and that if she wasn’t careful she might live there for the rest of her life. She moaned at the thought. She wanted a distraction and she thought about Kevin. She hadn’t talked to him in weeks since he had been back to class. She took out her phone and called him.
“Come down and visit me,” she said as soon as he picked up. “I’m bored and no one is here.”
Alone in his room with one hand pressing the phone to his ear and the other scrolling through his dashboard he looked to the clock. He was bored too and there was nothing he had to do immediately. He agreed and ended the call before he got up from his desk chair, tightened the belt to his jean shorts, and made sure his fly was up. He stuck his phone in his pocket, checked the weight of it there, and headed out.
No one was there to notice him leave. He slipped his shoes on at the front door, pulled the door shut behind him making sure it was locked before he turned on his feet and made the quick five minute walk to Main Street and the coffee shop. He looked through the main window to Heather who looked back with her chin propped on her hand still bored. He opened the door to the smell of coffee and baked goods. His hands in the pockets of his hooded jacket he walked to the counter.
“Do you want something?” she asked.
“Uh,” he said before he looked back to the two people by the window. “I don’t know. Calories, you know, maybe just a tea.”
“No problem, go have a seat and I’ll bring it over,” she said.
He suddenly felt guilty for her waiting on him, and he hadn’t even paid. He reached into his pocket for the few loose dollar bills but when she saw him she shook her head and motioned for him to go where she had told him to go. He pulled out the dollars anyway and put them in the tip cup before he walked to the table, did a quick assessment of where she would need to sit to keep and eye on the door and sat in the opposite spot. He listened to her. She was getting a tea for herself, something to eat.
Was it something to share? He groaned at the thought. He was hungry, just a little bit, but he knew he’d look better if he denied it rather than indulge. She stepped out from behind the counter and walked to him where she set down a tray. There were two teas and two scones.
“You’re mean,” he said.
“Just a few carbs,” she said. “Besides you get plenty of exercise.”
“This will be an extra mile, maybe half,” he said.
“Skinny Mr. Kevin,” she said. She saw him wince at the comment. “Sorry, it just came to mind. We haven’t talked about it in a while. Does your father still check up on you?”
“Sometimes,” he said.
“That’s nice,” she said. “He cares.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, blow my brains out maybe.”
He recoiled at her sarcasm.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she said. “I’m going to buy bullets with my tips.”
He raised an eyebrow at her and crossed one leg over the other to turn away from her slightly mocking her desperate, bitter attitude. She pulled her hands to her face and let out a grunt of disgust before she stretched out her arms and lay face down on the table for a second before she raised her shoulders with an inhale of air.
“That bad?”
“I’m here breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday. I can take time off here and there, I convinced my father to get someone to help but it’s all just the same. It was bad when there were more people I knew from high school but there’s been two classes since we graduated. They get dumber each year. Somehow the place became hip.
“God, the other day there were a group of teen girls in here who talked about the television show Friends the whole time and how they wanted to go to New York. Boy are they going to be disappointed.”
“Reruns,” he said. “It gives us such bad impressions.”
“My father likes it but ugh, I’d rather be in some bookstore somewhere, reading quietly in the back, only sell things occasionally.”
“People would steal your books,” he said.
“No one steals books,” she said. “They’re not worth anything.”
She broke off a piece of scone and stuck it in her mouth, began to chew. Kevin watched her, looked at his own scone, looked away.
“How’s class?” she asked.
“Boring but I’ll get through it,” he said, “we’re supposed to research our local town and write a piece about it for our final paper. It’s not due for a long time though.”
“Not much to write about here,” she said.
“Some white people took land from some natives who suffered on a reservation until a loophole allowed them to open a casino where poor people of all colors go to gamble and buy cheap cigarettes.”
“Wow, that doesn’t sound bitter at all,” she said.
He laughed mockingly at her causing her to smile.
“So really what do you want to do?” he asked.
“Tarot card reading,” she said.
“Aw, come on?”
“No, it’ll be good.”
She got up from the table and went behind the counter to her bag where she retrieved a cloth bag that held her Tarot cards and returned with it. She sat across from him with renewed energy. She opened the bag, got out the cards, and shuffled them. She held them close to her body with her eyes closed, readied herself across from him before she slid them in his direction. He picked up the cards. They had been through this several times but each time he relied on her instruction and her creativity for what the cards meant.
“You deal your own fate,” she said.
He shuffled the cards, toyed with her a little before she instructed him on how to lay them out for a twenty-one card reading. She looked at them for several minutes when something else caught her eye, a spark. She looked up through the main window to the sidewalk where she saw a young man, a stranger, Conrad, with a cigarette in his hand signaling for someone to join him. The stranger was handsome. He wore a leather jack, the collar up towards his face to protect him from the wind.
“Who is that?” she asked.
Kevin turned on his seat to look out the front window. He looked to the young man, was captivated by his handsome face, his button nose, and kissable lips. He didn’t have to be gay, he thought, anyone would want him.
“Holy shit,” Heather said, “look who’s walking up to him.”
Kevin turned a little more to see the direction the young man was staring to see a familiar person stop in front of him. He knew that face.
“It’s Simon Winters,” she said.
Kevin turned around back to her, his muscles and joints slightly ached by the way he was turned. He let out a grunt of pain and looked her in the eye before he turned back to see the two young men outside the coffee shop talking, then he looked back to her with one ear listening for the door.
“Do you think they’re coming in here?” she asked.
“Has he ever come in here?”
“No, I’ve never seen him in here. He usually sticks to himself. I only ever see him in the library sometimes but he’s always alone. I’ve thought about going up and saying something to him.”
“More like getting his autograph,” he said.
“He’s infamous, not famous,” she replied.
“Is he moving in this direction?”
“I think they are,” she said.
They looked to the door where Conrad pushed his way inside followed by Simon who walked with his hands in his pockets. Heather jumped to her feet and made her way behind the counter to where her patrons took turns looking at each other, the selection of baked goods, and coffee.
“I’m terrible at this,” Conrad said.
“I told you I’ve never been here,” Simon replied. He was annoyed for having been dragged along and didn’t want it to be any easier.
“Can I help you?” Heather asked.
Conrad leaned against the counter and looked into Heather’s eyes, looked her over before looking to Kevin who sat staring back at him. They caught each other’s eyes and looked away, each with nearly the same thought, he’s cruising me, here. Conrad shook off the thought.
“I usually just get black coffee and a scone,” he said.
“We can do that,” she said.
“What about your friend?”
Everyone looked to Simon who held up a hand of slight protest. He looked to the floor and out into the street trying to show no interest.
“He’ll have the same,” Conrad said.
She rang up the order but she wanted to know more. She had an idea.
“I uh, usually call out a name,” she said.
“Conrad,” he replied.
Heather and Kevin looked to each other as Conrad began to count out cash. He paid with a ten dollar bill and when he got back the change he dropped a dollar and the change in the tip cup. Simon looked ready to leave but Conrad led him to a table where they sat. Conrad cast one last look across the room to Kevin who had focused back on the Tarot cards on the table. He spied the young man’s muscled calf and the way he played with his hair. Maybe there were queers here after all, he thought, and maybe I should get to know them.
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Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Shadow's Night Promotional Sale
Shadow's Night After shooting a man while on a bender of drugs he was supposed to sell Conrad flees the city and goes to a place where he believes no one will find him, the home of Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years in juvenile detention. But he knows he can’t stay for long and Conrad’s greed inadvertently causes Simon to confront his past and his life in a small town where memories run deep. How will Simon survive Conrad’s path to darkness?
Sample Chapters: ch 1 - http://queerwordsmakestories.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadows-night-prologue-going-home.html
ch 2 - http://queerwordsmakestories.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadows-night-unpublished-excerpt.html
ch 3 - http://queerwordsmakestories.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadows-night-excerpt-unpublished.html
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Friday, May 16, 2014
Shadow's Night (Excerpt) Chapter 02 - Spilled Blood
After shooting a man while
on a bender of drugs he was supposed to sell Conrad flees the city and
goes to a place where he believes no one will find him, the home of
Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years in juvenile detention.
But he knows he can’t stay for long and Conrad’s greed inadvertently
causes Simon to confront his past and his life in a small town where
memories run deep. How will Simon survive Conrad’s path to darkness?
Present Day...
Rain fell against the windshield of the parked ‘94 Lincoln as it sat in the back of the grocery store parking lot away from customers and light. Inside the car two men, Conrad and Marcus, sat contemplating their fates and what one of them had done. Conrad, the younger of the two, looked out through the splattered rain drops into the night sky. He wanted to confess something they both knew. He wanted to say it even though it didn’t seem rational.
There had been minutes of silence between them after Marcus had picked him up and driven him to the lot. Marcus had been a mentor and his lover for over two years. He was a strong man, tough and unsympathetic. He had decried sentimentality and empathy on a regular basis. And Conrad was afraid how the man would react.
“Marcus, I shot someone,” Conrad said.
When Marcus didn’t respond he looked to the older man who sat next to him blowing smoke out of the partially open window. Marcus knocked ash onto the floor. He stroked his beard, scratched at his throat as if he were massaging the words there.
“Tell me about it,” Marcus said.
“I was over at Tina’s. It was early morning so no one was there. I was playing 9-Ball alone just to hone my skills. I had been up a few days snorting Ritalin and whatever else so I was scratching and getting frustrated. I was lining up a shot and not paying attention, bam, he blindsides me.”
Conrad thought about the way the enforcer hit him, lifted him from the ground and sent him flying into a nearby table, the feeling of the edge against his back, falling to the ground, and the way the carpet felt on his hands. He shook off the memory.
“I look up and it’s Dylan. He never liked me and he’s got this look in his eye because for once he’s justified to kick the shit out of me.”
“But how did you get mixed up with that sadistic bastard?” Marcus asked.
“He had that pharmaceutical connection. I thought it would be easy money. Everyone at the clubs and parties wants the pills because they know it’s uncut and high quality and I knew I could overcharge them. It would be a hustle but still it would be worth it. The weed from you was good but this was... I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s your life. You were being an entrepreneur.”
“Anyway, he’s on me but it’s like he’s toying with me. That was the worst part. I’m saying anything I can to get him to stop. I say, ‘I’ll do anything’ and he laughs at me. He tells me he had a bet that I’d try to bribe him with sex and how fags were good earners but could never be real members.
“I start to get to my knees but I’m dizzy and he grabs hold of my hair, I fall against him. He starts laughing. That’s when I got my gun from the ankle holster and I press the barrel up into his balls. Fucker turned white as a ghost, he was scared of me or some freak accident.
“I had him good. He lets me go and backs away. I get to my feet but stagger. He moves like he’s coming at me but there’s too much distance and I steady myself. I can feel as I look at him, this maggot is mine.”
“You shot him?”
“No, not like that. I was ready to let him go. I just wanted some sleep. He starts saying things like how this isn’t over and how I owe money, and how the next time he sees me it’s personal, that he’ll take my head off and let guys use it for a toilet. It all felt so weird. I knew what I was doing but I don’t know. He says to me, ‘Next time I-’ and that’s when I pointed my gun at his chest.
“He held out his hand and you know the funny thing is that I shot it. I shot his hand. I’ve barely used a gun but it just popped up, bam. I see him start to go weak but I’m thinking I have to finish this so I shoot at him. One shot hits the wall, another hits some glass, and I’m panicking so I close on him and bam, bam, he’s down and out.”
Marcus sat in the passenger seat slowly nodding.
“What do I do now?”
“Now you run,” Marcus said.
“What? Why? No one else saw me. Did they?”
“Some waitress named Brenda saw the whole thing from behind the door. She called the police, said you shot him in cold blood. The police have a sketch of your face and a description. They don’t know your name but they’ll probably find fingerprints. The Brotherhood got to her after that which is how I know. I heard it from her directly, and they know your name. They’re coming after you.”
“Even you?”
Marcus gave him a look and Conrad let out a nervous laugh.
“I care about you but this can’t be fixed. You have to get out of this city and start over somewhere. You can’t go home and you can’t go to any relative’s place. Drive out to the West Coast and get lost there.”
“What about us?”
“Maybe one day, when I retire or maybe I can meet up with you sometime, somewhere on a vacation but you know everything I do is with the club.”
“I’ll be alone,” he said. He didn’t know if he loved the man. He didn’t believe in love. But he did need the man. He could rely on him.
Some part of him wanted to be just cold and calculating. Some part of him wanted to believe Marcus cared. He wanted to believe it wasn’t a facade like when he pretended to be tough and when he pretended to be straight. He had to find out. He had to make the man feel something for him. He winced and looked to his hands. He felt like he could cry but he knew that would be too weak to Marcus. He had to have strength enough to hold the tears back.
“Do you have enough?”
“I’ve got a little of what I was selling, some cash I was going to pay him, a few things but nothing of real value.”
Marcus reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a roll of bills wrapped in rubber bands. The wad had been stuck together for some time and was old and not bills recently taken from a cash machine.
“There’s three grand there in small bills mostly. That’s the best I can come up with right now from my squirrel fund.”
“I need more than this,” Conrad said. “I can’t live like I did before when I was on the street. I can’t go back to that.”
“Do you have some place you can stay for a while? I can get you some more money unless you find some of your own.”
Conrad slouched in his seat as he tried to think over his friends in life, someone the police and the gang wouldn’t know about, couldn’t find through a simple background check. There was one name that came to mind, they had been close once for a brief time but never stayed in contact. It would be easy enough to track him down.
“Yeah, I might know someone,” Conrad said.
“Good, take the car and drive out now, as far as you can. No one knows what you’re driving so don’t get panicked. You find a place off the main road somewhere and crash for a few days to sleep this off. We’ll stay in contact through my second burner phone, no one knows about it.”
“This guy, he lives-”
Marcus silenced him with a finger.
“I don’t want to know where. You need to get safe, let this blow over, and I’ll contact you.”
“Thank you,” Conrad said.
“Come here,” Marcus replied.
Conrad leaned over to hug Marcus but was lifted to his lap where they embraced and kissed as the older man ran his hands under the younger man’s shirt to his shoulder blades where he grasped at the skin there.
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Present Day...
Rain fell against the windshield of the parked ‘94 Lincoln as it sat in the back of the grocery store parking lot away from customers and light. Inside the car two men, Conrad and Marcus, sat contemplating their fates and what one of them had done. Conrad, the younger of the two, looked out through the splattered rain drops into the night sky. He wanted to confess something they both knew. He wanted to say it even though it didn’t seem rational.
There had been minutes of silence between them after Marcus had picked him up and driven him to the lot. Marcus had been a mentor and his lover for over two years. He was a strong man, tough and unsympathetic. He had decried sentimentality and empathy on a regular basis. And Conrad was afraid how the man would react.
“Marcus, I shot someone,” Conrad said.
When Marcus didn’t respond he looked to the older man who sat next to him blowing smoke out of the partially open window. Marcus knocked ash onto the floor. He stroked his beard, scratched at his throat as if he were massaging the words there.
“Tell me about it,” Marcus said.
“I was over at Tina’s. It was early morning so no one was there. I was playing 9-Ball alone just to hone my skills. I had been up a few days snorting Ritalin and whatever else so I was scratching and getting frustrated. I was lining up a shot and not paying attention, bam, he blindsides me.”
Conrad thought about the way the enforcer hit him, lifted him from the ground and sent him flying into a nearby table, the feeling of the edge against his back, falling to the ground, and the way the carpet felt on his hands. He shook off the memory.
“I look up and it’s Dylan. He never liked me and he’s got this look in his eye because for once he’s justified to kick the shit out of me.”
“But how did you get mixed up with that sadistic bastard?” Marcus asked.
“He had that pharmaceutical connection. I thought it would be easy money. Everyone at the clubs and parties wants the pills because they know it’s uncut and high quality and I knew I could overcharge them. It would be a hustle but still it would be worth it. The weed from you was good but this was... I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s your life. You were being an entrepreneur.”
“Anyway, he’s on me but it’s like he’s toying with me. That was the worst part. I’m saying anything I can to get him to stop. I say, ‘I’ll do anything’ and he laughs at me. He tells me he had a bet that I’d try to bribe him with sex and how fags were good earners but could never be real members.
“I start to get to my knees but I’m dizzy and he grabs hold of my hair, I fall against him. He starts laughing. That’s when I got my gun from the ankle holster and I press the barrel up into his balls. Fucker turned white as a ghost, he was scared of me or some freak accident.
“I had him good. He lets me go and backs away. I get to my feet but stagger. He moves like he’s coming at me but there’s too much distance and I steady myself. I can feel as I look at him, this maggot is mine.”
“You shot him?”
“No, not like that. I was ready to let him go. I just wanted some sleep. He starts saying things like how this isn’t over and how I owe money, and how the next time he sees me it’s personal, that he’ll take my head off and let guys use it for a toilet. It all felt so weird. I knew what I was doing but I don’t know. He says to me, ‘Next time I-’ and that’s when I pointed my gun at his chest.
“He held out his hand and you know the funny thing is that I shot it. I shot his hand. I’ve barely used a gun but it just popped up, bam. I see him start to go weak but I’m thinking I have to finish this so I shoot at him. One shot hits the wall, another hits some glass, and I’m panicking so I close on him and bam, bam, he’s down and out.”
Marcus sat in the passenger seat slowly nodding.
“What do I do now?”
“Now you run,” Marcus said.
“What? Why? No one else saw me. Did they?”
“Some waitress named Brenda saw the whole thing from behind the door. She called the police, said you shot him in cold blood. The police have a sketch of your face and a description. They don’t know your name but they’ll probably find fingerprints. The Brotherhood got to her after that which is how I know. I heard it from her directly, and they know your name. They’re coming after you.”
“Even you?”
Marcus gave him a look and Conrad let out a nervous laugh.
“I care about you but this can’t be fixed. You have to get out of this city and start over somewhere. You can’t go home and you can’t go to any relative’s place. Drive out to the West Coast and get lost there.”
“What about us?”
“Maybe one day, when I retire or maybe I can meet up with you sometime, somewhere on a vacation but you know everything I do is with the club.”
“I’ll be alone,” he said. He didn’t know if he loved the man. He didn’t believe in love. But he did need the man. He could rely on him.
Some part of him wanted to be just cold and calculating. Some part of him wanted to believe Marcus cared. He wanted to believe it wasn’t a facade like when he pretended to be tough and when he pretended to be straight. He had to find out. He had to make the man feel something for him. He winced and looked to his hands. He felt like he could cry but he knew that would be too weak to Marcus. He had to have strength enough to hold the tears back.
“Do you have enough?”
“I’ve got a little of what I was selling, some cash I was going to pay him, a few things but nothing of real value.”
Marcus reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a roll of bills wrapped in rubber bands. The wad had been stuck together for some time and was old and not bills recently taken from a cash machine.
“There’s three grand there in small bills mostly. That’s the best I can come up with right now from my squirrel fund.”
“I need more than this,” Conrad said. “I can’t live like I did before when I was on the street. I can’t go back to that.”
“Do you have some place you can stay for a while? I can get you some more money unless you find some of your own.”
Conrad slouched in his seat as he tried to think over his friends in life, someone the police and the gang wouldn’t know about, couldn’t find through a simple background check. There was one name that came to mind, they had been close once for a brief time but never stayed in contact. It would be easy enough to track him down.
“Yeah, I might know someone,” Conrad said.
“Good, take the car and drive out now, as far as you can. No one knows what you’re driving so don’t get panicked. You find a place off the main road somewhere and crash for a few days to sleep this off. We’ll stay in contact through my second burner phone, no one knows about it.”
“This guy, he lives-”
Marcus silenced him with a finger.
“I don’t want to know where. You need to get safe, let this blow over, and I’ll contact you.”
“Thank you,” Conrad said.
“Come here,” Marcus replied.
Conrad leaned over to hug Marcus but was lifted to his lap where they embraced and kissed as the older man ran his hands under the younger man’s shirt to his shoulder blades where he grasped at the skin there.
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Shadow's Night - Prologue Going Home (Excerpt)
After shooting a man while
on a bender of drugs he was supposed to sell Conrad flees the city and
goes to a place where he believes no one will find him, the home of
Simon Winters, an old cellmate from his years in juvenile detention.
But he knows he can’t stay for long and Conrad’s greed inadvertently
causes Simon to confront his past and his life in a small town where
memories run deep. How will Simon survive Conrad’s path to darkness?
Eight years ago...
They’re going to remember me, Simon thought as he walked out of his high school headed home, anyone messes with me they’re going to remember it. I might not be big, I might not be strong, but if I have to fight, if it comes down to it, then I will scar them in some way, I don’t even have to win, just leave them with something so they remember. He thumbed the knife in his pocket. His jaw was tight and shoulders raised.
The school year had started easily and he was looking for a new start after the summer he had but over the last few weeks, intermittently, a group of boys, led by his new archenemy Josh, had begun teasing him. The first time he had mistakenly thought as they drove by and honked the horn it was some kind of hello and he had even, foolishly, waved back but he regretted that the next day and successive days when they would pass. They honked at him, yelled at him, threatened him, and even tried to swing at him with their hands and a baseball bat.
That was bad enough, but then it became something else as he passed Josh’s house. He hated that house. That house had been the site of his great embarrassment just that summer. The year before he had become infatuated with Josh’s sister Lucy who was in the same grade. He thought it was mutual. She flirted with him every time they were together, more when they were alone. She had been flirtatious and he had been awkward. She would touch and rub against him. He wanted her badly and had even asked her out but she politely refused.
It started with an impulse to see her, maybe something romantic like throwing stones at her window. It was easy to find but he didn’t have the courage. However, he found that sometimes, especially if he waited long enough he could see her undress.
It was his secret until his mother followed him one night. He was in the darkness with one hand down inside his pants waiting to see her again. His mother was quiet, or else he was too absorbed, but she grabbed him from behind. He let out a scream of panic that became screams of pain as she struck him. The neighbors opened their front doors. Lucy came to the window. His mother pulled him to their front lawn. By then Josh and his father were on the front porch. He remembered Josh was in his boxers and for a moment he wasn’t sure who should be more embarrassed.
He thought for a moment his mother would make him apologize but she didn’t. She dragged him away and back to their home, made him bare himself, then spanked him with the belt that had been left hanging in his father’s office. He felt as if his sin, his mischievous act, had been beaten from him that night as the pain was burned into his flesh.
Sometimes he wanted to try and rub that pain as he passed by the house except he was usually too distracted by Josh and his friends. Sometimes he thought they would run out and chase after him but one of the boys had another idea. They got eggs. It became a sporting event. Any day they got back before he passed they would throw eggs at him, only once coming close enough to get splatter on his pant cuff. He started to think about a day when it got worse. He said something, they said something, or maybe they thought of something else.
It was the same as the time before when boys in his same grade made him take off his jeans and hand them over after school. He had to walk the rest of the way in a pair of white briefs, trying to cover himself with his hands and shirt, sneaking through yards if he could but risking double the exposure. The old people in the neighborhood watched their yards like a hawk ready to confront anyone who dared cross their manicured, green lawns. He managed to sneak inside and up to his room without his mother noticing and he thought it was over. The next day at school all his classmates knew. Most didn’t say anything directly, just whispered behind his back, but others, other boys, they teased him, especially in the locker room. Eventually the principal found out and confronted the boys, making Simon recount the incident in front of them. The boys were threatened with suspension and his mother was told but little else came of it. His mother only tried to console him when he got home.
But he vowed to himself that it was a once in a lifetime event. He would only be humiliated like that once. The next time someone might get over on him, beat him, strip him, but he would fight and he would mark them, leave a scar in some way. He ran his thumb over the backside of the blade enjoying the feel of the blunt edge of the metal. He had one plan for how to react. He wasn’t going to flash it. He wasn’t going to threaten them. His advantage was that they thought they had the upper hand.
He walked along the familiar route, head down. The boys’ car passed him. He felt a lump in his throat. He got within 100 yards and for a moment he thought about trying to go some other way, but they’ll know I’m chicken, he thought, so he continued on. He walked steadily as he usually did.
Even when they threw the eggs he didn’t try to jump around and dodge them. He let them hit as they usually did, but then he found himself doing something else. He turned and gave them the finger. It was a motion, a gesture that he felt ripped him from path in space and time, pulled him into some intangible present. The boys yelled and taunted, grabbed at their crotches and flipped him off. But he didn’t walk away. He stood there for everyone to see, all the neighbors. The boys began to call for him, invite him, and feeling half-possessed he walked in their direction. He took his hand from his pocket as he stepped onto the grass.
“Come on pervert,” Josh yelled.
He didn’t want to fight them, not really. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to confront them. He was the new cowboy in town and they were the bad guys. He paid little attention to anything else, just them, but especially Josh. He didn’t notice the grass, the birds in the trees, a bright blue sky, an airplane passing over, just them. He got within ten feet and stopped. There were five of them and Lucy, she was on the porch. Had she organized this as some revenge?
“What do you want pervert?” Josh asked.
“I want you to stop,” Simon said.
Josh mocked him, adding an extra lisp to the phrase. Everyone laughed.
“Quit it,” Simon said.
“Or what?”
“It’s not right,” Simon said.
“Why don’t you walk away so we can have some more practice,” Josh said. “We still have about a half dozen eggs that needs used.”
“No.”
“What did you say? I’m giving you a chance to walk away from this. You don’t want me to kick the living shit out of you. I’ll do it. I will beat you senseless, maybe pull off your faggot clothes, make you walk home naked. Post some pictures of that on the internet, spank your ass.”
“You’re a moron,” Simon replied. “You sound like a faggot talking about pulling off my clothes and spanking me. Is that what your dad does before bed?”
He didn’t know where the last sentence came from, his skin burned from the intensity of it. He had crossed over another threshold. There was no going back. He thought to run away, but when he looked for a path, a direction out, Josh was too close, they all were.
“My boys here are going to kick your ass,” he said.
Simon stepped back but readied himself.
“Your boys? You need boys? Are you too much of a faggot to fight me alone?”
Josh pulled at his shirt, up over his shoulders and off, threw it to one of his friends. Several years older he had been going to the gym regularly. His muscles were impressive, if not intimidating.
“Do you like this faggot?”
“Leave me alone,” Simon said.
“Or what?”
Josh’s friends began to circle him and Simon dropped his back pack to the ground beside his feet, stepped away so he wouldn’t get caught on it. He stared at Josh but was wary of the young man’s friends so he kept his attention open, ready for any move. But the friends didn’t act, they weren’t ready to participate. They wanted a show, a performance of Josh beating Simon. He readied himself by raising himself on the balls of his feet. He noticed Josh was more flat footed, over confident.
When Josh moved to grab him he let himself be over taken but grappled back a little trying to hold him enough, slow him down. He wasn’t prepared for the blows to his back, his sides, his face. Punches and slaps meant to embarrass not severely harm, not initially. Josh tried to manipulate him into a headlock, a chokehold, but he fought back, escaped. They circled each other. Simon didn’t throw one punch. He knew he couldn’t get past the long arms and guard of his opponent. He waited until they were locked up again before he tried his one move by pulling Josh to the ground. It was a Judo move he had read about. He didn’t expect it to work. He fell atop Josh who was quick to roll with him until he was on top.
“I’m going to fucking tear off your head and shit down your neck,” Josh said between grunts. He grabbed at Simon’s arms, his wrists, but Simon had one last move. He reached for his pocket. “I’m going to mess you up.”
Josh didn’t notice. He laughed as he slapped and toyed with his prey. It was the opening Simon needed as he pulled his knife out. He flicked open the quick action blade and stabbed up into Josh’s soft belly. He was surprised by the feeling of it, the moment when it hit and went straight into him, then when it stopped.
Warm blood ran down over his hand, onto his shirt, he could feel it against his skin. “What the hell?” Josh said. He pulled himself away and Simon held onto the knife. Josh almost got to his feet but fell back on his ass. He looked around before his head hit the green lawn.
“I’ve been stabbed,” he said.
Simon pushed himself away, first he sat up, then he got to his knees. He cleaned the blade of his knife on his jeans, looked to the rest of them, but everyone else was in a panic. Two of the boys were on their phones, Lucy ran to her older brother, grabbed at him. She wailed and cried. He had crossed another threshold. He thought about running home, hiding somewhere. He thought about the attic but there wouldn’t be enough time. He knew he couldn’t hide from this.
Police were being called. No one else wanted to fight. He threw the knife into the dirt before him making it stick up, available for use but also making him unarmed. He didn’t have a choice in what would happen next, he told himself. If Josh lived or died he didn’t have a choice, the past was some violent moment that would pull through the rest of his life. He felt like he wanted to cry but stopped himself. There was no weakness, he had been weak once but never again.
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Eight years ago...
They’re going to remember me, Simon thought as he walked out of his high school headed home, anyone messes with me they’re going to remember it. I might not be big, I might not be strong, but if I have to fight, if it comes down to it, then I will scar them in some way, I don’t even have to win, just leave them with something so they remember. He thumbed the knife in his pocket. His jaw was tight and shoulders raised.
The school year had started easily and he was looking for a new start after the summer he had but over the last few weeks, intermittently, a group of boys, led by his new archenemy Josh, had begun teasing him. The first time he had mistakenly thought as they drove by and honked the horn it was some kind of hello and he had even, foolishly, waved back but he regretted that the next day and successive days when they would pass. They honked at him, yelled at him, threatened him, and even tried to swing at him with their hands and a baseball bat.
That was bad enough, but then it became something else as he passed Josh’s house. He hated that house. That house had been the site of his great embarrassment just that summer. The year before he had become infatuated with Josh’s sister Lucy who was in the same grade. He thought it was mutual. She flirted with him every time they were together, more when they were alone. She had been flirtatious and he had been awkward. She would touch and rub against him. He wanted her badly and had even asked her out but she politely refused.
It started with an impulse to see her, maybe something romantic like throwing stones at her window. It was easy to find but he didn’t have the courage. However, he found that sometimes, especially if he waited long enough he could see her undress.
It was his secret until his mother followed him one night. He was in the darkness with one hand down inside his pants waiting to see her again. His mother was quiet, or else he was too absorbed, but she grabbed him from behind. He let out a scream of panic that became screams of pain as she struck him. The neighbors opened their front doors. Lucy came to the window. His mother pulled him to their front lawn. By then Josh and his father were on the front porch. He remembered Josh was in his boxers and for a moment he wasn’t sure who should be more embarrassed.
He thought for a moment his mother would make him apologize but she didn’t. She dragged him away and back to their home, made him bare himself, then spanked him with the belt that had been left hanging in his father’s office. He felt as if his sin, his mischievous act, had been beaten from him that night as the pain was burned into his flesh.
Sometimes he wanted to try and rub that pain as he passed by the house except he was usually too distracted by Josh and his friends. Sometimes he thought they would run out and chase after him but one of the boys had another idea. They got eggs. It became a sporting event. Any day they got back before he passed they would throw eggs at him, only once coming close enough to get splatter on his pant cuff. He started to think about a day when it got worse. He said something, they said something, or maybe they thought of something else.
It was the same as the time before when boys in his same grade made him take off his jeans and hand them over after school. He had to walk the rest of the way in a pair of white briefs, trying to cover himself with his hands and shirt, sneaking through yards if he could but risking double the exposure. The old people in the neighborhood watched their yards like a hawk ready to confront anyone who dared cross their manicured, green lawns. He managed to sneak inside and up to his room without his mother noticing and he thought it was over. The next day at school all his classmates knew. Most didn’t say anything directly, just whispered behind his back, but others, other boys, they teased him, especially in the locker room. Eventually the principal found out and confronted the boys, making Simon recount the incident in front of them. The boys were threatened with suspension and his mother was told but little else came of it. His mother only tried to console him when he got home.
But he vowed to himself that it was a once in a lifetime event. He would only be humiliated like that once. The next time someone might get over on him, beat him, strip him, but he would fight and he would mark them, leave a scar in some way. He ran his thumb over the backside of the blade enjoying the feel of the blunt edge of the metal. He had one plan for how to react. He wasn’t going to flash it. He wasn’t going to threaten them. His advantage was that they thought they had the upper hand.
He walked along the familiar route, head down. The boys’ car passed him. He felt a lump in his throat. He got within 100 yards and for a moment he thought about trying to go some other way, but they’ll know I’m chicken, he thought, so he continued on. He walked steadily as he usually did.
Even when they threw the eggs he didn’t try to jump around and dodge them. He let them hit as they usually did, but then he found himself doing something else. He turned and gave them the finger. It was a motion, a gesture that he felt ripped him from path in space and time, pulled him into some intangible present. The boys yelled and taunted, grabbed at their crotches and flipped him off. But he didn’t walk away. He stood there for everyone to see, all the neighbors. The boys began to call for him, invite him, and feeling half-possessed he walked in their direction. He took his hand from his pocket as he stepped onto the grass.
“Come on pervert,” Josh yelled.
He didn’t want to fight them, not really. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to confront them. He was the new cowboy in town and they were the bad guys. He paid little attention to anything else, just them, but especially Josh. He didn’t notice the grass, the birds in the trees, a bright blue sky, an airplane passing over, just them. He got within ten feet and stopped. There were five of them and Lucy, she was on the porch. Had she organized this as some revenge?
“What do you want pervert?” Josh asked.
“I want you to stop,” Simon said.
Josh mocked him, adding an extra lisp to the phrase. Everyone laughed.
“Quit it,” Simon said.
“Or what?”
“It’s not right,” Simon said.
“Why don’t you walk away so we can have some more practice,” Josh said. “We still have about a half dozen eggs that needs used.”
“No.”
“What did you say? I’m giving you a chance to walk away from this. You don’t want me to kick the living shit out of you. I’ll do it. I will beat you senseless, maybe pull off your faggot clothes, make you walk home naked. Post some pictures of that on the internet, spank your ass.”
“You’re a moron,” Simon replied. “You sound like a faggot talking about pulling off my clothes and spanking me. Is that what your dad does before bed?”
He didn’t know where the last sentence came from, his skin burned from the intensity of it. He had crossed over another threshold. There was no going back. He thought to run away, but when he looked for a path, a direction out, Josh was too close, they all were.
“My boys here are going to kick your ass,” he said.
Simon stepped back but readied himself.
“Your boys? You need boys? Are you too much of a faggot to fight me alone?”
Josh pulled at his shirt, up over his shoulders and off, threw it to one of his friends. Several years older he had been going to the gym regularly. His muscles were impressive, if not intimidating.
“Do you like this faggot?”
“Leave me alone,” Simon said.
“Or what?”
Josh’s friends began to circle him and Simon dropped his back pack to the ground beside his feet, stepped away so he wouldn’t get caught on it. He stared at Josh but was wary of the young man’s friends so he kept his attention open, ready for any move. But the friends didn’t act, they weren’t ready to participate. They wanted a show, a performance of Josh beating Simon. He readied himself by raising himself on the balls of his feet. He noticed Josh was more flat footed, over confident.
When Josh moved to grab him he let himself be over taken but grappled back a little trying to hold him enough, slow him down. He wasn’t prepared for the blows to his back, his sides, his face. Punches and slaps meant to embarrass not severely harm, not initially. Josh tried to manipulate him into a headlock, a chokehold, but he fought back, escaped. They circled each other. Simon didn’t throw one punch. He knew he couldn’t get past the long arms and guard of his opponent. He waited until they were locked up again before he tried his one move by pulling Josh to the ground. It was a Judo move he had read about. He didn’t expect it to work. He fell atop Josh who was quick to roll with him until he was on top.
“I’m going to fucking tear off your head and shit down your neck,” Josh said between grunts. He grabbed at Simon’s arms, his wrists, but Simon had one last move. He reached for his pocket. “I’m going to mess you up.”
Josh didn’t notice. He laughed as he slapped and toyed with his prey. It was the opening Simon needed as he pulled his knife out. He flicked open the quick action blade and stabbed up into Josh’s soft belly. He was surprised by the feeling of it, the moment when it hit and went straight into him, then when it stopped.
Warm blood ran down over his hand, onto his shirt, he could feel it against his skin. “What the hell?” Josh said. He pulled himself away and Simon held onto the knife. Josh almost got to his feet but fell back on his ass. He looked around before his head hit the green lawn.
“I’ve been stabbed,” he said.
Simon pushed himself away, first he sat up, then he got to his knees. He cleaned the blade of his knife on his jeans, looked to the rest of them, but everyone else was in a panic. Two of the boys were on their phones, Lucy ran to her older brother, grabbed at him. She wailed and cried. He had crossed another threshold. He thought about running home, hiding somewhere. He thought about the attic but there wouldn’t be enough time. He knew he couldn’t hide from this.
Police were being called. No one else wanted to fight. He threw the knife into the dirt before him making it stick up, available for use but also making him unarmed. He didn’t have a choice in what would happen next, he told himself. If Josh lived or died he didn’t have a choice, the past was some violent moment that would pull through the rest of his life. He felt like he wanted to cry but stopped himself. There was no weakness, he had been weak once but never again.
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