Sol Crafter's Blog, page 21

Excerpt: Idlewile, by Harper Kingsley [rockstar]

So this is part of my rockstar story. I’m thinking about sending it around, but hopefully I’m not going to get shot for sharing the first chapter. And if so, this excerpt will mysteriously disappear off the Internet sometime in the future

It’s like one of the unwritten rules of slash writers — at some point everyone produces at least one rockstar story. I have like 6 in the works, so there must be something really wrong with me.

Hope you enjoy. Let me know if you see anything wrongly bad and I’ll make fixies. Unbeta’d.

CHAPTER ONE

He’d been munching on crackers to try and settle his upset stomach, but now the wardrobe woman was scolding him and Mingh was giving him the stink eye. It just seemed as though there was no way he could possibly win.

“What were you thinking?” Mingh’s arms were crossed tight against her chest and her mouth looked angry and pinched. “Eating a bunch of crackers right before you’re expected to sing wasn’t exactly the brightest thing you’ve ever done.”

Idle flopped backward in the makeup chair, ignoring Mary’s upset squawking as she jerked the makeup brush away from his face. “My stomach feels horrible, I think I’m getting the flu or something. It was either eat a handful of crackers, or end up hurking on the audience. What do you think was the better choice?”

Mingh sighed heavily, as though dealing with him was really such a great trial. “How are you feeling now?”

“A little less like I’m going to be sick,” he said, giving her a closed mouth smile that probably ended up looking more like a grimace.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth and glanced at her white gold and diamond watch. “There’s no time for anyone to run out and get you anything. I wish you would have said something earlier, but you’re on in five.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve taken to the stage when all I really wanted to do was pass out. It’ll be fine.”

“For some reason, your reassurances don’t exactly reassure me.” She shook her head, her razor cut bobbed black hair brushing her cheeks. “If you won’t be able to perform, now’s the time to tell me.”

Idle pushed Mary’s hand away from his face and stood up, tugging the blue smock off and bundling it into her arms. “I’ll be fine,” he said. He stepped up to the mirror and carefully examined his appearance for any obvious flaws. There were some fans out there that were just completely obsessed with getting shots of him looking stupid.

“You better be.”

He looked at himself in the mirror and had to admit that he looked good, even with the ridiculous amounts of eyeliner his publicist insisted was part of his image. It made him look dramatic at least, intense in a way that wasn’t natural to him.

And it deemphasized the bags he could see under his eyes. He looked like he’d just dragged himself back from a serious bender.

“I look awful,” he said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

“Stop fishing for compliments and get your butt out there,” Mingh ordered.

“So mean,” he muttered, then had to dodge the swat she aimed at the back of his head. “Watch the hair!”

“You watch the hair and get your ass out there and don’t screw up.”

He gave her a mocking salute, then straightened his heavily studded belt and headed toward the door. “I’m a professional,” he said, then pushed the door open and stepped out into the embrace of the big guys running security and let himself be led toward the stage.

Just having Mingh scold him that little bit had made him feel better. There was just something so nice about having someone that cared about him and not the image he presented. It was a reminder that under it all he was still just a guy.

Idle didn’t let anything show on his face when they reached the edge of the stage and a group of VIP fans were waiting there, tossing their hair and shooting him sultry looks. He gave them a brief nod and had to fight to keep from grimacing at the squeals and the grabby hands that brushed against his back before Security slapped them away.

The oldest girl — with her ultra-teased hair and her black tee shirt with his face on the front — couldn’t have been older than sixteen. There was no way he was ever going to be led down the path of jailbait, and not just because he had no interest in these particular fans.

He did his best to ignore them as he waited for his cue. They were trying their best to capture his attention, but he refused to play their games.

“And now, we are proud to present Idlewile!” the MC — Siobhen Vang — announced, and pointed right at Idle.

He drew in a deep breath and bounded onto the stage with every bit of raw energy he could produce, pasting on a big grin. He hit center stage and spun around twice on his toe and grabbed the microphone with his right hand. “Hello, everybody! Who here is looking to have a great time?” There was a seemingly wordless roar of voices that he took to mean assent. “Me too.”

The music started and lights strobed around him and the audience was nothing but a blur beyond the edge of the stage. He could have been alone under the hot lights, but he knew they were watching him — some to see him fail, but most to see him fly. It was a very powerful sensation, to know that he was the center of all of their worlds, just for this little while.

“There was a moment, when I first saw you, that I knew you were meant for me.

“My heart rushed fast and my breath stalled out, you knocked me down to my knees.”

He danced and spun and dropped to his knees on cue and it was absolutely perfect. He could feel sweat sticking his shirt to his back, but it didn’t matter at all. He just whirled like a dervish and let the music take him where it would.

“I can’t breathe when you’re not there, I’m oxygen deprived.

“I can’t make myself care about anything when you’re not there, it’s a wonder I ever survived.

“Can you feel my heart beating under my skin, pounding away to let you on in?

“You belong to me, and I belong to you, every molecule of my being is calling out to let you in.

“A single glimpse of your face, you lift me up with your grace,

“Baby, you knocked me down to my knees, so baby please, say that you’re meant for me.”

The song ended with him once again on his knees with his hands up in supplication, his chest heaving slightly from the energetic dancing. He smiled and bowed his head when the audience clapped and screamed his name or just screamed at the top of their lungs to make noise.

“That was the amazing Idlewile,” Siobhen said, striding back on stage. “Everyone give him a big round of applause. He deserves it.”

Idle stood and gave one more nod to the crowd, then turned and left the stage, his solo part of the evening’s entertainment done; for the rest, he would be one of many. He could hear the flash of cameras behind him as he headed out of the backstage area toward the waiting room where he wouldn’t have to deal with the slavering fans and their demands for his attention.

He pulled open the green room’s door and hurried inside, slamming it behind him. “Whoo, I think I need a vacation,” he said, then looked around the room.

The whole of the girl group “Shan-Wei” were huddled together in a corner, trying their best to ignore the advances of the teenaged members of “QT Pi.” It was kind of funny: the taller young women in their short black ruffled dresses with the cute and girly white bloomers underneath, and the smooth cheeked boys in their leather and chains trying their best to act all tough.

There was a bunch of actors near the snack table. He felt a perk of interest when he realized one of the women was Jessica Turan. He turned toward her, seriously considering asking her for an autograph, when his attention was caught and held.

Sitting on the reddish-orange couch against the wall were the five members of “Alta Vita.” The leader, Danny Soshin, had looked up at Idle’s entrance and met his eyes. A rather nasty sneer pulled his lips and his pretty blue eyes were narrowed and cold.

“Well, who would have thought that Idlewile himself would make an appearance here,” Soshin said, spreading his knees a little wider and giving Idle a razor blade smile. “Or didn’t you know I was going to be here?”

Idle shifted uncomfortably, finally tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. “It’s true, I didn’t know you were going to be here.” He licked his lips and looked down and away from Soshin’s eyes. “How have you been, Older Brother?”

“I’m not your Older Brother,” Soshin growled.

Idle bowed his head, his hair falling over his eyes to hide his expression. He could feel that they’d caught the attention of everyone in the room and he wanted to straighten his shoulders and pretend that everything was okay, but he just couldn’t do it.

There were only two people in the world that could make him feel this way, and Soshin was one of them. It just completely stripped all sense of pride from him.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. He backed toward the door, reaching behind him to grab the knob. “I’m glad to know that you’re well.”

He opened the door and slipped back through. He would rather wait in the hallway than risk seeing Soshin again.

There were just too many memories and too much pain whenever they were in the same room with each other. It was simply more than he could bear.

* * *

“What was that about?” Jeremy Kines asked, nudging Chris’ shoulder.

“I have no idea,” Chris said. It had been strange and kind of sad.

Idlewile was one of those characters that popped up and disappeared just as fast, though he seemed to have enough talent that he didn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon. He just looked so wild and untamed with his bleached blond hair and his clothes and his neatly trimmed beard.

Chris hadn’t been able to help noticing that Idlewile really wasn’t very tall. He was maybe even a little less than average height, and in person it was obvious to see that he used his clothes to make himself seem bigger and more intimidating. Just by looks alone, he had seemed as though he was about to cause trouble.

Then Soshin had said something and it was like all the sound was sucked out of the room, everyone’s attention drawn toward Idlewile’s suddenly slumped shoulders. Soshin said something else, then Idlewile was backing toward the door and quickly left the room.

Chris shot a furtive glance toward Soshin and saw him slumped back on the couch. Soshin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, smoothly putting them on. Every line of Soshin’s body showed that he just didn’t care.

“It must be very hard for them,” Jessica’s accented voice said.

Chris turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

She gave him that fondly exasperated look he’d come to expect her face to wear. It just seemed as though that was the only way she could look at him anymore, since the romantic love had faded away for the both of them. They were still friends though, so he expected the light slap of her hand against his sleeve. “Honestly, it’s like you were raised in a cave or something. Idlewile and Soshin were in Anathema, remember them?”

“I have no idea,” Chris said.

She rolled her eyes and tossed her long golden curls back over her shoulder. “They’re an idol group, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know them. It was after the group broke up that Idlewile became popular as a solo act.”

“Oh.” Chris nodded his head. To him, it had just seemed as though Idlewile had suddenly appeared one day as some strange finished product — beautiful singing voice and a sense of wildness about him. He should have known there was no way someone could get that good so quickly and effortlessly.

It was just hard for him to imagine Idlewile in an idol group. He just didn’t seem like the type.

He smiled at Jessica. “Have you moved into that new place yet?”

“Yes, actually, I have. Mattie really loves her new room and is excitedly waiting to show it to you,” she said.

“I’ll stop by next weekend,” he said. “My schedule’s pretty busy until then.”

“All right,” Jessica said. “We’ll be expecting you.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he really meant it.

Jessica was beautiful and smart and funny and probably the nicest person he knew. Still, he’d been amazed by exactly how amicable their divorce had been and how easy it had been for them to make the custody agreement for Mattie. What probably should have been one of the worst experiences of his life had ended up being, while not pleasant, not all that bad.

It was tolerable.

They were even still able to talk to each other like people, and that was great.

The door to the green room opened and a stage hand stepped through, her clipboard tucked close against her chest. “It’s time for the finale,” she said, “you’re all needed in position on stage.”

Chris moved with the rest of the group toward the door. They’d all gone through the finale sequence several times in practice so he wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t that great at live performances, but he was basically just being background, so he didn’t have to do a whole lot more than walk out and smile. It didn’t seem all that difficult and it was for a good cause.

“Stars Shine Bright” was a charity benefit that practically all of the entertainment industry had gotten involved in. There were actors and actresses and musicians and sports figures and comedians, and they had all come together to raise money for children with cancer and life threatening illnesses.

From what he could tell, he figured they hadn’t done so bad. They had more than made their goal amount and the show had flowed smoothly. In all, it had been a pretty big success.

There was singing and music coming from the other side of the curtain as he took his place with the others in a neat row. Then, at a particularly loud bang effect, the curtain shot up and he was momentarily blinded by the stage lights. He moved by instinct, following the others in taking three big steps forward and swaying side to side with a big smile he hoped didn’t look too pasted on.

The main attractions for the event were singing and dancing energetically across the stage in their rather risque looking costumes — top hats and glittery vests for the men and women both, though the men wore trousers and the women wore fishnet stockings and black boots. They whirled and strutted and they sang some kind of burlesque number he’d never heard before but that he couldn’t help swaying a little to.

Then suddenly a rich voice broke out over the rest and Chris couldn’t help the way his breath caught.

Idlewile hadn’t donned a costume like the other singers and was still wearing his customary jeans and leather jacket, though he had put on a dark purple top hat and a silver and green feathered eye mask. Even from the back, his strut was all arrogant confidence and his hips rolled in an interesting manner.

Whatever Idlewile was singing, it wasn’t in English. It might have been Swedish or German, though Chris’ tin ear couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it sounded really catchy and it was probably going to become the next hit song. The kids would totally love it, even though they didn’t understand a single word.

Chris and the rest of the background celebrities hadn’t been present during the rehearsals with the main stars and now he was kind of regretting it. The show they were putting on was wild and sexy and there was Idlewile right in the center of it all, drawing every eye to him effortlessly.

It was strange that Chris had barely even noticed the singer before, but then again he’d only heard a few of the songs and had never bothered to take a close look at the guy. But now that he’d seen him… there was no way he was getting that out of his head.

He felt an elbow nudge his side and turned his head just enough that he could see Jessica out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he hissed.

“That’s what I was wondering,” she spoke without moving her mouth; it really was quite a neat trick. “Try to look a little less deranged.”

He grunted and turned stiffly forward. Though he had to wonder if maybe he’d been making a stupid expression on live television.

Idlewile was dancing wildly with the girls from “Teen Age Dreams.” He grabbed A-Yong by the hand and spun her around almost violently, her coattails flipping when he caught her and gave her a quick dip before grabbing C-Sharp. The pink haired girl laughed delightedly, the sound rippling across the stage and out over the audience. Then Idlewile was swing dancing with B-Ko so fast that their feet barely seemed to touch the floor.

Throughout it all, Idlewile was singing with the rest, right into the big finale where his voice soared upward and he abruptly snapped his mouth shut and froze along with everyone else on stage for a long moment. Then they all relaxed and Idlewile’s shoulders hitched up and down with his panting breaths and Chris wished that he’d been able to watch the show from the front instead of just seeing the backs of everyone.

He very rarely felt as though he were missing out when he was at an event, but he really wished he’d been able to see this one.

Siobhen Vang ran back out on the stage, his bright orange sneakers a striking contrast against his navy pinstriped suit. “All right, everybody, that’s it for our show tonight. We all hope that you’ve had a wonderful time, don’t we guys?” He turned to face them and Chris followed the others in shouting out “Yes!”

The audience clapped and cheered and Chris waited until he could leave the stage with the rest. He was proud to have been part of such a worthwhile event, but he was tired and wanted to crawl into bed. He had a busy shooting schedule in the morning and he didn’t want to show up looking like crap.

“You guys wanna go out to eat after this?” Jeremy Kines slung an arm over Chris’ shoulder and his other around Jessica’s waist.

“I have a busy schedule tomorrow,” Chris said, then his stomach rumbled, “but I am pretty hungry. I’m not up to any kind of partying, but I could eat. What about you?” he looked at Jessica.

She rolled her head on her neck. “Well, I suppose I could stand your company for a little while longer.” She smiled that quirky smile she’d made famous. “What I’m really craving right now is a hamburger.”

“That sounds great,” Jeremy said and started tugging them toward the door.

“Wait, what about my stuff?” Chris tried to pull away, but Jeremy just tightened his grip.

“My assistants can grab all that. Geez, man, you need to get at least one PA in your life or you’re gonna go mad.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Chris said.

They were almost to the door that would take them out of the backstage madness and open them up to the madness of fans, when there was the loud squeak of sneakers on the floor. “Excuse me!”

Jeremy let him go and Chris was able to turn and see who was talking to them, or to Jessica rather.

Idlewile was slightly out of breath and he seemed completely oblivious to all the people hovering around him. “Ms. Turan,” there was a faint blush on Idlewile’s cheeks and he kept his eyes downcast, “do you think I could get your autograph?” He glanced up from under long lashes. “I’m a really big fan.”

Chris glanced at Jessica and saw the pleased smile on her face. “Oh, I’m really surprised. I’d be happy to give you an autograph.”

Idlewile flashed a set of white teeth and began patting his jacket and pants pockets. His smile turned into a worried expression. “Crap, I don’t have any paper.” He frowned then looked at one of the hangers on. “Do you have paper and a pen?”

The girl nodded dumbly and hurriedly held out an expensive looking notepad and a pen. “H-h-here.”

“Thanks!” Idlewile didn’t seem to notice the way the girl swayed and would have fallen down if her friends hadn’t caught her. He just turned to Jessica and held out the pen and paper with a hopeful smile. “I’ve watched all your movies. I was really excited to find out you were going to be here tonight.”

“I’m surprised,” Jessica said, “but thank you. It’s always nice to be appreciated.”

Chris couldn’t help once again admiring her cool aplomb. She’d always been so laid back and comfortable in her own skin, but he would have thought she’d have been a little rocked at least. Idlewile was a big celebrity in his own right, so it should have been very flattering to have him ask for an autograph and say he was a fan. But Jessica was taking it with ease, smoothly signing the paper and writing a quick message.

“So what are you doing now, going to an after party?” she asked chattily.

Idlewile shook his head. “Naw, I thought I’d head home.”

“Oh, well after your performance you must have burned a butt load of calories,” Jessica said. “We’re about to go get something to eat, why don’t you come with us?”

Jeremy had this expression on his face like he didn’t quite know what he was doing, but he quickly wiped it away and stepped forward. “Yeah, you should come with us. You can tell me how you did that thing with your leg and got B-Ko to flip around like that. It was nearly kung-fu.”

There was uncertainty in Idlewile’s eyes, and Chris couldn’t help wondering if no one had ever invited him anywhere before. “Well, are you sure you want me to go too?” He licked his lower lip. “I’ll have to change real quick and tell Mingh where I’m going.”

“We can all meet up there,” Jessica said decisively. She never let anything throw her. “I’m thinking Ballos. They have the best hamburgers in the city, and they have a serious no media policy.”

“Cool, I’ll call them and arrange a table,” Jeremy said. He glanced at his watch and looked at Idlewile with something approaching awe, though the singer didn’t seem to notice. “We could meet up there in about an hour?”

“Sure!” Idlewile sounded pleased and there was a rather cute smile on his lips. “I’ll meet you there!” He turned and hurried back down the hall toward his dressing room. There was an energetic bounce to his step.

“I would think he’d be exhausted after all the dancing he did,” Chris said.

“Yeah,” Jessica said.

Jeremy pushed open the door and hustled them across the lobby. “I can’t believe he’s going to eat burgers with us. This is totally going in my diary.”

“Why are you acting so stupid?” Chris asked.

Jeremy paused to give him a look. “Seriously, did you ever expect that we’d be eating dinner with Idlewile?”

Chris had to be honest. “No.”

“Exactly. He’s probably one of the most introverted guys I’ve ever heard of,” Jeremy said. “He tries to completely disappear when he’s not doing a show and paparazzi are always trying to track him down but he’s like a ghost. Haven’t you ever watched StarPop?”

“You know Chris,” Jessica said in a tone of long suffering.

“Yeah, I know him,” Jeremy said.

Chris was somewhat offended. “Hey!”

“Come on.” Jessica linked her arm with his and they stepped out through the doors and faced the red carpet gauntlet to get to their shared limo, Jeremy clambering in behind them.

Chris sighed and flopped backward on the leather seat. He reached up to loosen his tie and sighed heavily. “What a night.”

Jessica had already gotten out her phone and was talking directly to Angel Ballos, her voice oozing charm as she talked him around to having a table ready for them in the back. It sounded like he was pretty busy, but there was no doubt he was going to give her everything she wanted; she’d been one of his best customers since he’d started the restaurant.

“Do you really think Idlewile is going to show up?” Chris asked.

Jeremy shrugged. “I think so. He seemed really excited about eating with us.”

“Yeah,” Chris said.

He felt a little weird at the idea of seeing Idlewile and he didn’t know why.

Ballos was the same as the last time he’d been there with Jessica. An elegant and warm restaurant that catered to celebrities and their privacy.

Angel himself met them and led them to their table. He’d clasped Jessica’s hand in his own and was happily chatting away to her about his new grandson.

They were seated in a booth in a back corner. Chris and Jessica on one side, and Jeremy on the other, a flickering candle resting on the table between them.

“We’re expecting one more,” Jessica said, “so can we just get some bread until he arrives?”

“Of course,” Angel said. “Then you must try my new recipe.”

“Sure,” Jessica said with no sign of hesitation. “What’s it called?”

Angel shrugged with a woeful expression. “It has no name yet. Perhaps I’ll name it after you if you like it. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Chris listened to the man flirt with his ex-wife and all he felt was amused. He ran one finger along the creased edge of his napkin, feeling the fabric.

Finally Angel bustled off and Chris looked across the table at Jeremy. “Looks like we just might end up being the maids of honor at dear Jessica’s wedding.”

Jeremy laughed. “Yeah. I can just see us all now in our beautiful burgundy brides maids dresses.”

“Please,” Jessica snorted elegantly, “burgundy is so passe. For my next wedding it will be cobalt blue all the way.”

Chris turned toward her. “I’m still invited though, right?”

“Of course.” She quirked her lips. “You’re the first one invited to all my weddings.”

They shared a warm smile and once again Chris was grateful that she was so entirely understanding and wonderful. This was the mother of his child, the woman he’d thought he was going to spend his entire life with before things had gotten so out of control. It was nice to know that she was just as beautiful as when he’d first met her.

There was the flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye, and he leaned forward to see past Jessica as a waiter led a young man to their table — or at least Chris assumed it was a young man. He was dressed all in black, from his pants to the rather bulky jacket he was wearing. He had a black baseball cap pulled low over his face and kept his head ducked down.

“And here is the rest of your party, sir,” the waiter said politely.

“Thank you,” the voice was nearly a whisper, it was so low. Idlewile peeked out from beneath his cap and looked at Jeremy. “Do you think I could sit on the inside?”

“What? Oh, sure.” Jeremy slid out of the booth and stood to one side so Idlewile could slide in, their sleeves barely brushing in passing.

“I will be your waiter for this evening. My name is Jean-Paul.” The waiter gave them a polite half-bow. “May I get you anything to drink?”

Chris and Jessica both ordered wine and Jeremy cheekily asked for a beer, but Idlewile kept his head down and asked for a soda. It made Chris wonder for a moment if the guy was even legal to drink, but it wasn’t like it was any of his business.

“Can you also get us one of the big appetizer platters?” Jessica asked. “The one that has some of everything, please.”

“Of course.” Jean-Paul nodded his head at them all, then turned and walked away.

“Hey man, I wasn’t sure if you were really going to come,” Jeremy said.

Idlewile finally lifted his head, though he kept the cap on and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “I didn’t know if I was going to make it,” he confessed. “There were a lot more people waiting to get my picture than I thought there were going to be. Mingh had to get me out of there.”

“And who’s Mingh?” Jeremy asked curiously.

“She’s my manager. She takes care of everything for me.” Idlewile gasped slightly and sat up straight. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself properly.” He clasped his hands together under his chin and bobbed his head quickly. “I am George Idleston, but you can call me Idle. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for formality,” Jessica said, though there was a hint of pleasure in her voice. She had a fondness for people with manners. “Do you know Jeremy Kines and Chris Hart?”

“We have not met,” Idlewile said. His eyes met Chris’ for a brief touch, though he quickly glanced back down at the table. “It is very nice to meet you.” He smiled at Jeremy shyly. “I enjoy watching your show. It’s very funny.”

“You really think so?” Jeremy cocked his head. “You should come on sometime.”

“Really? You want me on your show?” Idlewile pointed at his chest questioningly.

“Sure! It would be great and I’m sure the fans would enjoy seeing you.” Jeremy jerked his thumb toward Chris rudely. “This guy refuses to go on because he doesn’t do so well with a live audience. He freezes up pathetically.”

“Hey, that’s really rude,” Chris said.

“Rude, but true,” Jeremy said. He smiled at Idlewile, suddenly oozing with charm. “You should be on the show. I think you’d really enjoy it.”

Idlewile covered his mouth with his hand for a second, then lowered it and smiled. “Sure. Just call Mingh and tell her when you want me. She handles all the scheduling, but if you tell her I want to do it, she’ll be glad to figure things out. She’s said before that she wants me to do some variety shows, but I’ve always been too nervous to do them before. But you wouldn’t be mean to me, would you?”

Jeremy quickly masked his surprise and shook his head. He’d obviously not expected Idlewile to so readily agree to appear on Game Play. “Of course not. I always try my best to keep my guests having fun as much as possible. Happy people make better entertainment, you know.”

Idlewile smiled and nodded. “Be kind with me, and I will be happy to be on your show. It always looks like you’re having a lot of fun.”

“We do have fun,” Jeremy said, “and you better believe I’m going to call your manager and arrange your appearance on Game Play.”

“Okay,” Idlewile said softly. His lashes were incredibly long, brushing his cheeks as he kept his head slightly bowed.

Chris realized his mouth was hanging a little open and hurriedly shut it. He had just never expected someone that gave the kind of impression that Idlewile did would have the mannerisms of a shy schoolboy. He should have been the powerful singer, exuding raw sexuality from every pore; instead he was completely different from anything Chris expected. There was something oddly refreshing about it.

Chris couldn’t help the way his lips curved slightly upward.

Jean-Paul came back with a round tray with their drinks balanced on one hand and a large platter that steamed gently in his other hand. He set the tray of drinks on a nearby table, then turned to set the platter in the middle of the table between them. “Here you go,” he said, then froze for a second when he lifted his head. His eyes widened and he sucked in his breath. The pulse at his throat fluttered the surface of his skin. “You’re Idlewile.”

Idlewile nodded his head, his eyes downcast. “Yes.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t be doing this.” Jean-Paul stood up and looked around somewhat furtively. Then he leaned closer to the table. “Do you think I could maybe get an autograph later?”

“Of course,” Idlewile said. “Considering I asked Jessica Turan for an autograph earlier, how can I say no now? If you bring some paper and a pen, I’ll sign it for you.”

Jean-Paul’s smile was bright enough to light up the room. “Thank you.” He hurriedly turned and grabbed up the tray and served their drinks. “Are you ready to order now?”

“Angel said he wanted me to try some special thing he makes,” Jessica said, “but Chris here wants a hamburger and extra fries.”

Chris furrowed his brow at her. “Are you planning on stealing my food?”

“I really want a burger,” she whispered, giving him a pleading look. “Please share with me. I’ll love you forever.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head, then looked at the waiter. “I guess I’m having a hamburger tonight.”

“With extra fries,” Jessica insisted.

“And I’ll have the pot roast,” Jeremy said. He looked at Idlewile. “Have you ever eaten here before?” At Idlewile’s shake of the head, he grinned. “You’ve really been missing out. Their pot roast is the best I’ve ever had, even better than my grandmother’s.”

“It sounds delicious,” Idlewile said, “but can I just have some kind of vegetable soup? Anything’s fine really.”

“I’ll bring you something really good,” Jean-Paul promised. He clasped his empty tray to his chest and hurried away.

“He’s not going to tell everyone that I’m here, is he?” Idlewile asked, slumping down on the bench seat. “I don’t think I can handle it tonight.” He looked up at Jessica, all sparkly eyes and white teeth, though he only met her gaze in a flashing glance. “I just couldn’t turn down the chance to meet you, so I had to come.”

Jessica gave a delighted laugh and there was a rosy blush to her cheeks. “You’re wonderful,” she gushed. “How could I have never met you before? I think now that I have been really missing out.”

Idlewile ducked his head, the bill of his hat covering his face. “You’re much too kind.”

“Adorable.” Jessica reached out and took one of the small plates from the middle of the platter and quickly began to fill it with some of everything. “Here. Idlewile, here.”

He looked up and Chris saw his surprised expression before he quickly reached forward and fumbled the plate from Jessica, setting it down on the placemat in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Eat up,” she ordered, wagging a slightly greasy finger at him. “You may like to wear those big clothes, but seeing you up close I can tell you’re way too skinny. I might just have a talk with Mingh to let her know she needs to take better care of you.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Idlewile said. “She’ll make my life a misery.”

“Then you need to eat more,” she said. “The next time I see you, you had better be a lot plumper and healthy looking than you are now.”

Idlewile looked at her for a long moment, then picked up some kind of fried roll between his finger and thumb and took a tentative bite.

Jessica watched him closely, then gave a satisfied hum and began to fill another plate with the appetizers. “You really are quite a cute boy.”

Chris chewed the inside of his lip and didn’t say anything.

Later, after they had left the restaurant and dropped Jeremy off and were on the way to dropping Chris off at his own place, he turned toward Jessica in the back of the limo. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes were sleepy and dry, but his nerves jangled in that way that told him he was going to have a hard time getting to sleep. Which was going to make going to work tomorrow terrible.

“I’m curious, why did you start treating Idlewile like that?” he asked. “I was kind of surprised he took you talking to him that way so easily. I would have thought he’d be offended.”

Jessica tsked lightly, then smiled at him cheerily before flopping sideways to lay her head in his lap. She didn’t even care that her expensive gown was getting crumpled up — her easy nature was one of the things that had drawn him to her. “You’re a man, maybe that’s why you didn’t see it, but it was obvious to me that Idlewile has missed out on a motherly figure in his life. He has Mingh, but I’ve met her before — talk about a cold fish. No, she might have given him all the practical things he needs, but I highly doubt she’s given him the affection he craves.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I swear, ever since you decided to go back to school, it has been more and more difficult for me to understand you.”

She reached up to stroke a hand across his chest, a gesture she knew he liked. “It’s very simple, Chris: Idlewile is a man without a mother. He may think he’s strong and independent, but somewhere inside him he’s desperate for a positive female influence in his life, preferably an older woman that will give him all the love and affection he never got as a child. It’s very sad really.”

Chris gave her a suspicious look. “I’m onto you,” he said. “There’s no way you picked up all that tonight just from having dinner with him.”

She looked him straight in the eye for a long moment with a very serious expression, but he was firm and she finally broke. She grinned and gave a little laugh. He couldn’t help the faint surge of triumph that went through him.

“Fine, you’re right,” she said. “There’s not very much information about Idlewile out there, but it’s a public fact that he’s an orphan. And I’ve heard talk before about Mingh Cheney, like that she’s a ball buster and probably one of the coldest women anyone’s ever met.”

“So he’s a mama’s boy without a mama,” Chris said, shaking his head. “I guess that’s kind of sad.”

She sat up and crossed her arms with a thoughtful expression. “I was very surprised by how sweet he was. I would have thought he’d be very different, considering he was practically raised in fame. He certainly dresses as though he’d have a bad attitude.”

“But he was a pretty good kid,” Chris said.

“Exactly.” Jessica flashed him the corner of her eye as she faced straight ahead, a sliver of a glance. “I think I’m going to keep a closer eye on him.”

He sighed. “You’re going to make him into one of your projects, aren’t you?”

“I really think I am,” she said firmly, turning her head to look out the window. They were getting close to his house.

Chris didn’t know if he was supposed to feel sorry for Idlewile or not. Jessica could be tenacious once she decided to take someone on as a project, and there really was no denying her.

She was Jessica Turan and it was pretty much a given that the whole world should bow to her whims. And he was part of the world, so all he was going to do was watch as she pulled Idlewile into her wake as she’d done to so many in the past.

 

The Red Bead – One

ONE–

Anse was being quiet and withdrawn again, it really brought the mood down. A couple of the girls were shooting him uncomfortable looks as he slouched in the recliner in the corner and sipped from a red plastic cup of too-foamy beer. His left sneaker was half-untied and he didn’t look as though he’d combed his hair, just run his hand through it.

“Hey man, it’s a party,” Lee said. He leaned against the side of the chair, jostling it just a little. He licked his lips at the look Anse shot him and shifted a bit uncomfortably. “You should really lighten up.”

“I don’t feel like I want to party,” Anse said morosely. “I feel more like I want to sit here and not be bothered.”

Lee bent down, bringing their heads on the level. He stared straight into Anse’s mismatched eyes, not sure which one he thought was prettier–the blue or the brown. “Am I bothering you?” he asked in a husky voice.

Anse gave him a flat-look. “Yes.”

Lee straightened up, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Well then. I won’t bother you no more.” He made to turn away, but Anse’s hand shot out and caught his arm, pulling him close. “What?” he asked.

“Just cause I’m in a shitty mood doesn’t mean you have to leave me.” Anse took a drink of his beer, then gave Lee a sideways glance. “Do you mind hanging out with me while I’m being a broody fuck?”

Lee grinned, just full on cheese. “Dude, I’d do a lot more than that.”

Anse sighed. “Just stay with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“All right.” Lee propped his hip against the chair and stayed there, pretending to watch the party happening around them, but really keeping his eye on Anse. He didn’t really mind.

There were times when he thought that he could stare at Anse forever and not ever need to blink. The guy hit his every “Like” button and there was no question about that. Just straight up refined handsome, something that stabbed right through the gut and into the heart or the groin depending on the moment.

Lee had pretty much gotten used to having a permanent hard-on around Anse, and things had definitely moved beyond that. Even if Anse was moody as hell and twice as ornery after too many drinks. In fact, the whole Lotham family were a bunch of loose cannons.

Which was highlighted by the fight building up across the room.

“What’s going on over there?” he said, straining to see through the mass of bodies. He was getting that strange effect where the loud, distracting music was making it hard for him to see.

Anse barely glanced up. “Looks like Kyle’s about to get into it with Syracuse.”

“Should we do something about it?” Lee asked.

Anse shrugged. “It doesn’t look that serious.”

Lee stared across the room, and was a little pleased when the crowd broke up around the arguing pair enough that he could see them through the standing clots of people. Kyle was right in Syracuse’s face, his skin red with anger and a crazy light in his eyes as he argued with the taller man.

Kyle Bonham was one of Anse’s cousins, and from all that Lee knew of the guy, he was pure trouble and probably had been from the second he was born. He had a quick temper and a love of alcohol and he didn’t believe in apologizing or admitting he’d done any wrong. He was about 5’9″ but built like a wrestler, with powerful shoulders and arms that bulged with muscle. He shaved his head bald, which just made him look meaner, and he was definitely the kind of guy Lee could have done without.

Syracuse was just some guy that showed up at the various parties and loved to talk about his home town in California, waxing eloquent about how much he loved it and missed it, and never once mentioning why he’d left it all behind. He was beanpole thin with an Adam’s apple that jutted out aggressively and bobbed up and down whenever he just breathed. He looked like he was made out of matchsticks, but he had a reputation for being a bit of a bad ass and for taking down men that were bigger and stronger than him.

Lee could have told him that Kyle was the wrong sort to pick a fight with. Not just because he was pretty terrifying all on his own, but also because he was a Lotham cousin. And the Lothams stuck together.

He could see Keith and James Lotham edging in from the side of the room, and Neil Bonham was standing in the kitchen doorway watching everything through narrowed eyes. They all looked about an inch away from jumping Syracuse if Kyle couldn’t handle things on his own. Probably the only thing stopping them from bringing on a group beat down was the fact that Anse was still calmly sitting down.

It was strange, but even though Anselm Lotham was the youngest of the group at twenty-three, he was definitely the one everyone turned to in times of trouble. He didn’t seem to even notice it, but he automatically took the leadership role in any situation he entered.

Which is why it was always so upsetting to see him being all broody and down on himself. It made Lee desperate to somehow show him just how important he was to the people around him, not that stubborn Anse would listen if he tried.

“What the fuck…!” The rest was lost in a slurred mumble and a flurry of fists as Kyle threw himself bodily at Syracuse. Except he was really drunk and Syracuse wasn’t, and things moved fast and suddenly he was on the ground and Syracuse was kicking him in chest with his yellowy colored engineer boots.

Syracuse was just drawing his foot back for another kick–this one aimed toward Kyle’s face–when James and Keith took him from both sides. He still put up a good fight, but Lee could have told him it was already over even before Neil dodged into the fray and gave him three sharp pops to the face–there was a reason why they called Neil “Lightning Fists.” Not only was he fast as fuck, but anyone he hit was left pretty close to dead.

There was a faint squeak of springs next to him, and Lee turned his head to see Anse stand up out of the chair and mosey across the room, his shoelace trailing and his shoulders rounded with infinite patience pressed to the limit.

Lee followed after him, just as he always did. It sometimes seemed as though he’d spent his whole life chasing after Anse in one guise or another. But he didn’t know any other way to be. Anse had been at the center of his world from the first time they met.

“All right, that’s enough,” Anse said, stopping his two older brothers and cousin from kicking the unconscious Syracuse.

“He was going to kill Kyle,” Keith said. He was dressed all in black as usual, though his jeans were faded more towards gray and his tee shirt was fraying around the hems. His straw blond hair flopped into his eyes and he pushed it back impatiently, his mouth drawn down into a pinched scowl.

“No he wasn’t,” Anse said. “And even if he was looking to kill Kyle, he’s unconscious now and there’s no point beating on him when he can’t feel it.”

“He needs to be taught a lesson,” James growled. He wasn’t as tall as Keith, but he was burly and there was something about him that just screamed out “danger.” He was probably the most aggressive of the three brothers and definitely not the kind of guy Lee would want to go up against.

Anse didn’t even flinch from his brother’s glare, just shook his head. “I’m not going to be bailing you out of jail if you take things too far.” He turned to Neil, the more level headed of the three. “Grab some help if you need it, but dump Syracuse off at his house. He needs to cool off and I’ll talk to him later.”

“What about my brother?” Neil asked, already moving to grab Syracuse under the arms and get him up.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take him home with us. You can either pick him up later, or he’ll have breakfast with us in the morning.”

Neil grinned, showing off a missing eyetooth. “I feel a little jealous now. He’s gonna be eating a gourmet meal at your house, while I’ve gotta make do with a cold bowl of cereal.”

“No one’s stopping you from showing up,” Keith said, grinning. He had a quick temper, but it never lasted after the fight was over.

“All right then,” Neil said cheerfully, “I’ll just take this guy home.” He started hauling Syracuse away, his muscles bunching under his thin white tee shirt. He looked a bit like James Dean from the back and was definitely a lot better looking than his currently unconscious younger brother.

“Why don’t you two get Kyle out of here? You can settle him at the house and come back if you want,” Anse said.

“Naw,” Keith shook his head, “this party’s about dead and I think I’m ready to turn in anyway. Come on James, I’ll let you drive.”

And just like that, all of the aggression was sucked out of the room. The watching crowd dispersed and the laughter and dancing resumed.

Everyone knew the Lothams and their extended family. They were a rowdy bunch that loved to fight and cause a scene wherever they went. But Anse was the undisputed leader of the younger generation and he kept them in line with just a few words or gestures and everyone respected that.

Lee followed Anse back across the room to his brooding chair–no one had even thought to sit in it during his absence, not once it had been claimed by a Lotham–and he stood over Anse and they occasionally shared a quiet word. And the rest of the night was peaceful, and at the end of it all, Lee drove Anse home and made sure he got to bed all right.

Because even though Anse always looked after his family, he rarely if ever thought to look after himself.

But that was why Lee was there. He made sure that Anse was all right and quietly loved him from a distance.

The Red Bead




001002ONE















Webserial.



Anselm "Anse" Lotham starts out as "just a guy," then events go out of control and he becomes the head of his family. He is hard as nails and nothing can touch him -- except he's haunted by his old online persona of "Eli" and the man he refuses to love. Because once upon a time Anse was a completely different person, back when he still occasionally wore dresses and answered to the name he was born with. But Poppy's dead now, and so is the love she used to have for some boy he never knew.

The Red Bead – 002

002–

I read every single message he sends me, and it hurts me every time. Just looking at the words he’s written and seeing his name at the bottom followed by the ever hopeful plea–”If it’s you, please write back. I miss you”–it makes something ache in my chest and my eyes want to burn.

It’s so stupid how people can just kind of squirm their way into the heart of you when you’re not looking. It’s been so many years, but whenever I look inside, there he is, waiting for me. And I seriously have to wonder why he just won’t give up already, why he has to keep coming around time after time.

Why won’t he just give up on me like everyone else has?

I sigh and do what I usually do and delete the message without saving his email address. And just like that he’s gone again, wiped from my life. But not from my memory.

I stared at the screen for a long while, not even seeing my various email accounts laid out in front of me. So many different names I go by, and for what? Maybe I really am as crazy as I sometimes think I am.

If I was normal, I’d be able to write back to Vlamindar. He’s owed something for all his years of caring about me when I can’t even be bothered to write him back. He’s just so tenacious.

Sighing softly, I X’d out my email and called up my copy of LibreOffice, opening an old Word document I hadn’t touched in forever. Not since I gave up all that Before crap and settled into my new life.

Shattered Mask;

Soul Cry

My soul cries out,

tears and tumbles,

a terrible symphony,

of disjointed mumbles,

cries and screams,

begged out words,

never louder than a murmur.

My soul cries out in misery,

begging for forgiveness and love,

it screams and yells,

yelps and moans,

begs and cries,

never louder than a mumble.

I can hear the words that are said,

the begged out pleas,

the unbased promises.

I can hear the teared up voices,

the terrible harmony-

of a soul in torment.

My soul cries out,

in the voice of the sun,

silent but visual-

to those that will see.

My soul cries out,

in unending,

unmerciless,

misery.

I couldn’t help snorting a little at my own melodrama. All of that teen angst practically had its own odor.

But this was also the poem that he’d first responded to when we met at that stupid poetry website.

It was a long time ago and it’s really hard to remember, but I can almost feel that same rush of pride, anxiety, and happiness I’d gotten when he’d commented on my poem. Then he’d followed me all over the rest of the site, chasing after me, and I’d been nearly a hundred percent certain that he was my soul mate and we were going to get married someday and have lots of biracial babies.

Except the thought of giving birth has always been one of my triggers and always brings up panicked images of a Aliens-type horror scene of blood, entrails, and a slow death.

Back then I was so uncomfortable in my own skin that I didn’t even know what I wanted or where I was going. So is it any wonder that I put together a “relationship” with him built on a tower of lies? Or maybe I was being as honest with him as I could manage, and I’ve changed over the years? I have no idea.

You seriously try to kill yourself, and when you get out of the hospital it’s kind of like being reborn. At least, that’s what I’d told myself when I tried to completely wipe him out of my world.

There was a faint sting in my eyes and I wiped my right cheek, surprised to find wetness, tears. I was crying, but I didn’t even feel a thing.

The Red Bead




001002















Web serial.



Anselm "Anse" Lotham starts out as "just a guy," then events go out of control and he becomes the head of his family. He is hard as nails and nothing can touch him -- except he's haunted by his old online persona of "Eli" and the man he refuses to love. Because once upon a time Anse was a completely different person, back when he still occasionally wore dresses and answered to the name he was born with. But Poppy's dead now, and so is the love she used to have for some boy he never saw.

The Red Bead – 001

001–

Every day of the week except Tuesday and Thursday, I hang around the living room with my brother getting high.

How the hell did my life become this steaming pile of shit? I have no fucking idea. It’s just one of those things that happened to me, like having brown hair and an inescapable love of stupid cartoons.

Which is what I was watching. My brother’s passed out on the couch and I’m watching stupid cartoons while a candle flickers in my left eye.

It’s at times like this that my mind folds in on itself and I can’t help thinking of this boy I used to know, back when I was a girl and dinosaurs walked the Earth. It seems like forever ago, that time when I was fifteen.

Everything seemed so much easier then, even though I wanted to throw my head back and scream every moment of every day. I hated the WORLD then, and I was about 100% sure that the world hated me back. I wanted to go out and burn everything down, to walk with thunder feet and sending people tumbling down to their knees in my wake.

Now I just feel tired. Tired and lonely and old.

I cursed and tamped out the still burning weed with the end of the lighter. It’s a bright yellow Bic that belongs to my brother along with the weed I’m smoking up.

I feel bad sometimes that I don’t have any money to pay for my share, but life’s been pretty much the suck for me and there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m fucking poor, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better no matter what I try to do.

Holding my laptop onto my lap with my right hand, I leaned forward to put the pipe and lighter on the table next to Keith’s coffee mug. Then I went back to tooling around the Internet, visiting and revisiting the same websites and forums I always do.

Sometimes it seems as though the voices of the Internet are controlling me. I’m trapped forever in my obsessions and my supreme inanities.

The thought brings a smile to my lips.

After an hour wasted on Cracked.com, I click the Thunderbird icon on the bottom of my screen and check my mail.

Just the usual stuff–digests from mailing list that I immediately delete without looking at, advertisements from like Amazon and tech websites, then there it is. A header I hadn’t seen in a long time but that I’ve never forgotten.

Is that you Eli?

I don’t know how he does it, but he always finds me. I’ve changed my primary email address at least five times and I’ve never responded to any of his messages, but he always finds me.

My darling Vlamindar.

The Missing Butterfly, by Megan Derr

Title: The Missing Butterfly

Author: Megan Derr

Genre: mm rockstar

Notes: 143 ebook pages

Website: Less Than Three Press

Summary: Cassidy Monarch had dreams—to sing, to be famous, to tour the world at the head of his own rock band. Then his parents were killed in a tragic accident, leaving him to raise his two siblings. Determined to hold on to what remained of his family, Cassidy settled into an ordinary life, his dreams of fame reduced to occasional nights of singing at karaoke dives. But his careful, ordinary life began to fray with his new job, and the beautiful, charming boss who reminds him of all the things he tried to stop wanting.

Malcolm Osborne is a classic rags to riches story, a foster child who wound up with the perfect family and more money than he knows what to do with. He’s wealthy, beautiful, successful, and completely miserable. Then he hires a new worker for his office, a young, hard-working man with a sadness in his eyes that Malcolm aches to banish, hoping that in doing so he will be rid of his own loneliness as well.

Cassidy had to give up his rock and roll dreams with the death of his parents, and his determination to keep his siblings together is really touching. At eighteen years old, he discovers that his parents have left debts he has to pay off and he has to change his life plans to keep his brother and sister with him. He doesn’t hesitate to make the sacrifice.

Nine years later, he’s working as an office drone with the hots for his boss. He goes out on occasion to sing karaoke or play pool, but basically he lives his life as though it’s already over. He’s “a never has been” and has given up any thoughts of being anything else. Except Malcolm Osborne has an eye on Cassidy.

Sweet man with a bad boy image he tries to hide behind a suit and tie, and the gorgeous millionaire that falls for him. Cute and touching, for those that love a romance with an HEA.

Random Thoughts of a Misanthropic Mind

A THIN LINE BETWEEN TOTAL NUT-JOB AND ECCENTRIC QUASI-TRILLIONAIRE:  If I ever become incredibly wealthy, I’m going to be like the guys of Dethklok (Metalocalypse.) Not all violent and crazy, but just some total loon that goes along with anything people say.

Nothing super crazy, but I think it would be cool to just go along with some “I Love Lucy”-esque hijinks and just roll with the situation. To meet all these strange people and be in their lives for a couple of days to just see how it is, but to always have the reassurance of being able to say “Fuck it” and just leave if you hate it. That has got to be one of the awesomest things ever.

Can you imagine going back in time to all the jobs you’ve ever had, doing them, but totally not giving two shits about anything? Would you tell your bosses exactly what you think of them? Would you ask that one chick what exactly that is on her chin? Would you chuck politeness and tell boring-talky-guy that his word vomit annoys you? Or would you go the other route and spend all your time being the crazy friend to different people, the one that always tries to help out and manages it, but only after some highly unlikely events take place?

Basically, how cool would it be to act like Van Wilder and have a ton of money to back you up? I would totally have a Taj of my own, though one that’s not so skeezy.

I think my life would be so much better if I had an assistant and a manager, though my manager would have to be like the guy from Josie and the Pussy Cats (he’s totally the same character in Royal Pains, no lie.) I would be like a real live Jeeves & Wooster if I had the money to pull it off. Plus I’d have a Swim Spa, never ending pool.

—————————————-

COMIC BOOK CHATTER:  So I read this article at Cracked.com and it really got me to thinking about Mr. Freeze and about the different levels of evil. There are just some lines that people don’t want to cross, and you can pretty much see how hardcore a book really is by how far the villain is willing to go.

For cereal, why didn’t his boss let him keep his frozen wife on ice? If the guy was truly Machiavellian, he would have seen this as the perfect leverage to use against the guy — he could keep Fries as a serf for the rest of forever as long as he had the wife housed at his facility. Fries would have been happy to stay there and would have been loyal to his boss for being cool enough to let him keep his dead wife there. I mean, it wasn’t as though the guy was the one that killed her or anything; she had sucky genes. He could have been Fries’ hero, while still totally doing the bad guy giggle in the backroom. That right there was the stereotypical bad guy cutting his nose off to spite his face tactic.

And this is where it comes around to “Dune” once again. That was a movie that had The Evil Empire make a guy betray his Duke by snatching the guy’s wife and raping the guy’s mind into compliance. The dude was so traumatized, that even knowing his wife is dead, he still serves the bad guy and gets a bunch of people killed. He was so mind-raped that it was like he was Imperius’d or something; he served the bad guy just for the possibility of finding out what had happened to his wife. He could have told the Duke what was going on at any time, and the Duke probably would have helped him go after the bad guy. There had to be someone else that knew what happened to his wife.

But the bad guy had the poor guy so twisted, that he’s not even free to have his own thoughts. That’s pretty evil right there.

David Drake’s military sci-fi series “Northworld” kicks it up a notch with one guy being kept in a cage by The Evil King and forced to keep creating weapons. The Evil King killed the poor guy’s brothers (that or the brothers were killed before then, I’m not sure. I need to re-read the books, and you need to read them for the first time), crippled the guy, then even came around to hassle him and threaten torture on a semi-regular basis. That was a bit too much evil, considering the guy nutted out and broke The Evil King’s wife and kids, just shattered them mentally.

So there’s kind of an evil guy balance that needs to be maintained. Too evil and the victim becomes an unstoppable killing machine, and not evil enough and the guy becomes an unstoppable killing machine that speaks with a thick Austrian accent and wants to kill that pesky spandex wearing boy.

This Week’s Kpop MV Picks From YouTube

I love music, but I also love a flashy video So that’s mostly what we’ve got here. All the awesome, baby, all the time.

2NE1 – “I Am the Best” English Version COVER with lyrics (This chick should do her own. I LOVE this!)

Boa’s MV “Eien” English lyrics

2NE1 – “Can’t Nobody” English Version MV

Boa’s MV “Eat You Up.”

This is crazy! Co-Ed School MV for “Bbiribbom Bbaeribom”

Co-Ed School MV “Too Late”

Girl group C-REAL MV for “No No No No No” with cameo by Thunder

Big Bang “Beautiful Hangover” MV

2NE1/ Britney Spears/ Lady GaGa – Judas Is Da Best! (Linuxis1994 Mash Up)

I Am Toxic (2NE1 vs Britney Spears)

 

 

 

Re: Star Trek

From the time I was a child I’ve watched “Star Trek.” I never got into the Original Series — other than the movies — but Jean-Luc Picard was totally my Captain. Then after that it was “Deep Space Nine” and “Voyager.” Each show had its own special charms. (“Kahn! Kahn! KAHN!”)

“Next Generation” — It was all about exploration and meeting new species. It encompassed man’s need to be the first to see something cool. And the vessel of that spirit happened to be one balding Captain, his complete man-whore of an exo, and his crew of Red Shirts. It was 100% Picard’s show and there was no room for any smart-assed kids to try and steal camera time.

“Deep Space Nine” — Started out as the story of a small station encircling the liberated Bajor that quickly became one of the hubs of the Alpha Quadrant. Then it became a war that would decide the fate of everyone and everything in the Alpha Quadrant as the Dominion strikes for conquest. Also, Sisko kicked ass and had a crew of interesting and engaging officers — Bashir, O’Brien, Jadzia Dax — and that gave the show more of a team dynamic.

“Voyager” — Is all about one ship lost out in the middle of nowhere trying to find their way home. At first they are set on staying true to the values of the Federation, but by the end Janeway totally gave the Temporal Prime Directive the middle finger and a straight up “I don’t give a f**k.” And that was awesome.

I think maybe “Enterprise” didn’t do as well as the other franchises due to a story line that didn’t appeal to the public at large. It felt like a step backward to just have a story about people flying around space looking at stuff, but to not have all the sci-fi campiness that is basically a hallmark of “Star Trek.” And that was kind of the issue I had with the “Star Trek” reboot.

Where was all the heart? Sure, there was a lot of flash and it was all sleek and stylish and Spock was totally “teh hot,” but where was the rest of what made “Star Trek” “Star-freaking-Trek!!!” instead of just some show?

There are just some times when I want to slap Hollywood movie makers and tell them to stop trying to fix the shit that works. S’all I’m saying.

 

My Message Against Homophobia

 

I was honestly stumped about what I was supposed to say about the subject of homophobia. I don’t have any stories I feel comfortable sharing with the world at large and just the thought of it makes me uncomfortable.

So that’s what I decided to use as the focus of my post: the fact that homophobia is a very uncomfortable topic. It’s so uncomfortable that I think that’s the reason why no one wants to talk about it or even focus on it for too long.

People just assume that if they ignore all of the bad things that happen, then none of it will be real. Because of that, there are some people that are honestly ignorant of the fact that there is a whole group of people being treated like second-class citizens and that some expect them to just keep their mouths shut and take it.

This hop is not meant to just share the message of being against homophobia, at least, not for me. No, for me this is a hop to make people aware of the fact that homophobia still exists and that people shouldn’t just ignore it and hope that it goes away.

Just displaying the Hop Against Homophobia icon on my blog is my testament:

I do not support homophobia. I do not support racism. I do not support gender inequality.

I do accept the fact that these awful things exist in the world, but I fully believe that as long as a message of peace and brotherhood is being spread around, the times will change. Things will get better. Society’s views will change. The world will become a place where someone can walk down the street and not have to worry about getting attacked simply for the way they look or who they love.

I was happy to accept the invitation to join the Hop Against Homophobia blog hop. And I sincerely hope that you are enjoying your journey from blog to blog and that you are seeing many messages of solidarity about something that should be changed.

~Pax

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I felt the need to share a full-story, so I chose “And A Single Petal Fell” from the upcoming “Pomegranate 01.” Though just to let you know, I took the sex out of the sex-scene. Sorry

Title: And A Single Petal Fell

Author: Harper Kingsley

Genre: mm fantasy

Summary: Prequel to “The Brand,” detailing the fall of King Sanguis Darling and the birth of an unending need for vengeance. Not happy.

Taro has always loved his king, from the moment he was first chosen for life in the royal harem. Unfortunately, King Darling has given his love to another.

AND A SINGLE PETAL FELL

By Harper Kingsley

When he was young, he’d never thought his life would turn out like this. He’d always imagined himself the pampered favorite in some noble’s harem, his every whim his master’s only desire.

He sighed and gazed upward at the gauzy curtains twisting and turning above him in the slight breeze from the open window. The bare skin of his arms prickled a little, but he had no desire to leave his windowsill perch. The firm cushion seat was comfortable under his back and he was lazy in his depression.

There was the scuff of footsteps and he felt someone standing next to him, but didn’t bother to look. “Exuberant Taro?”

“Yes?” Taro glanced at the woman, surprised to find a royal messenger in the traditional green and gold.

The messenger bobbed her head quickly, then held out a Summons, a silver seal disc hanging from a narrow length of red velvet ribbon. “From His Majesty.”

Taro stared at the ribbon for a long moment, then licked his lips and tried to pretend that it hadn’t affected him. “Tonight?” he asked, his throat squeezing tight on the word as he reached out to take the ribbon. She was careful not to touch his skin.

“An escort will come for you,” the messenger said, her voice a pleasant burr if one ignored the coldness.

Taro nodded. “I will be waiting.”

He watched the messenger turn on her heel with a slight flare of her prim green uniform jacket, golden threads sparkling on her sleeves. She strode away with neat boot clicks, her back a perfectly straight line of arrogance.

His eyes moved back to the Summons. Such a tiny thing to mean so very much.

He stroked his fingers over the ribbon, his heart beginning to pound in his ears. Red for passion, a message he had been waiting so long to receive.

He unbent his legs and quietly rose to his feet, gliding across the harem toward one of the private bathing rooms, waving off a half-dressed attendant. “I will call when I need someone.”

The young man looked surprised, but nodded and turned away.

Taro slid the door open and stepped into the bathing room, closing it behind him before finally taking a shuddering breath. He lifted the Summons in front of his face and stared at it, watching the silver disc spin and twirl.

He pushed away from the door and stumbled over to the sink, dropping the Summons on the counter before splashing cold water over his face. Then he lifted his still dripping face and looked at himself in the large silver mirror, seeing that his eyes were blown wide by shock and his expression looked solemn.

He saw himself, and couldn’t help a wide, giddy smile.

It had been a long time since he had last been called by the King.

He couldn’t help the resentment he felt toward Lovely Splendour. Everything he had been taught had spoken of love, loyalty, and forgiveness toward his brother and sister concubines. There should have been no resentment and jealousy, only love.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to clear his thoughts and attain Purity of Being, before Lovely Splendour had arrived he had been the favored concubine and now he wasn’t, hadn’t been for so long that it caused an achingly hollow feeling in his chest.

He’d thought King Sanguis Darling’s fascination for Splendour would fade with time; instead it had grown to the point that Splendour was all that Darling could see.

Taro hated the thought of having been forgotten.

But now Darling had sent for him. He couldn’t help thinking that maybe the man he loved would remember him.

Taro hummed in the back of his throat and turned to fill the tub with hot water, adding a healthy drizzle of scented oils. He took a deep breath of the steam, letting the heady aroma flow through him, loosening his muscles.

Once the tub was full, he filled a bucket with water and knelt down on the floor with a body brush and quickly scrubbed every bit of his skin. Then he used the long handled water dipper to rinse himself clean, watching the water run down into the drain on the floor.

He stroked a hand over the freshly scrubbed, pinkened flesh of his arms and legs, smiling a little to himself. Then he rose to his feet and climbed into the bath, sinking down until his face was the only part of him above the waterline. His black hair floated up around the sides of his head.

He stared upward at the rising steam and couldn’t help feeling happy about being called by Darling. All he had ever wanted was another chance to reclaim Darling’s interest and attention, and this could be it.

He could feel admiring gazes passing over his skin like a touch and it brought a secret smile to his lips as he followed the palace guard down the hallway toward the King’s private chambers.

His doeskin slippers made no sound on the hard wood floor and he could feel the hem of his long jacket brushing against the backs of his knees. He was wearing the clothes he’d had made years before as a promise to himself that Darling would call for him again.

As he approached the door, the guard leading him stepped to one side of the entryway, nodding to the sentry already standing there, who quickly opened and held the door.

Taro allowed himself a graceful nod of thanks as he walked through the doorway, his breath catching as the weight of Darling’s presence fell over him. The Brand on his neck thrummed with the life energy of the King, sending a warm tingle through his whole body.

He heard the door “click” shut behind him, but his entire focus was on the man sitting at the small table, the remnants of a meal spread out before him.

“I came as requested,” Taro said, tipping his head coquettishly. The King was beautiful to his eyes, so tall and manly, with eyes the color of a summer sky.

Darling took a last swallow, then set his empty wineglass down on the table and stood, walking toward Taro with a faint smile. “I am pleased to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Darling reached out and took Taro’s hand, leading him toward the large bed.

Taro could feel his heart beating quickly and his skin prickled with heat. His breath was coming hard in his lungs and he had to fight to keep himself from panting. All of his training meant nothing next to the feelings evoked by the hand of the man he loved in his own.

He stood still as Darling slipped the jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a single sweep of cloth. His shirt followed quickly after and he couldn’t help shimmying his hips as his tight pants were pushed down his thighs and past his knees. He gave a little kick of his feet to free himself and stood before the King nude, his skin gleaming under the light.

“You are beautiful,” Darling’s voice was a brush of warmth against him. Taro’s manhood stood at rampant attention, the head weeping with desperate excitement. Just having Darling’s eyes on him made him tremble with want.

Taro let himself be pressed backward onto the bed, noting that the covers had been turned down in welcome. The sheets were smooth and cool against his burning skin.

It was hard to breathe, his head swam, and all he could see was Darling rising over him and it was glorious.

.

Afterward, he lay on his stomach beside Darling, enjoying the feel of the King’s fingers stroking through his hair and tickling the nape of his neck.

“I had forgotten how much I liked you,” Darling mused. He knelt on the rumpled sheets, naked and completely unselfconscious.

Taro drew in a deep breath. “I waited patiently.”

Darling leaned forward to press a kiss against the back of Taro’s neck, his hands trailing down his spine to caress the smooth mound of his buttocks beneath the silk sheet. “I wish you had spoken up. Perhaps things would be different if you were the vessel of my love.”

“What do you mean?” Taro asked, turning his head to face Darling.

“It isn’t important now.” Darling shook his head, the loose strands of his golden hair brushing his shoulders. “What matters is that I remembered that there was one person that loved me before it was too late.”

Taro pressed himself close against Darling’s thigh, his skin crying out for contact. “Why do I feel afraid?”

“Don’t be frightened. You will be perfectly safe. Everyone in the harem will be safe,” Darling promised.

“From what?” Taro furrowed his brow.

Darling’s smile was sad and his hand was soul-achingly gentle. “I’m grateful to know that at least one person loves me.”

Taro swallowed tears he couldn’t even explain. “I have always loved you. That’s why it hurt so much not to be called.”

“To love where it is not returned surely is the greatest agony,” Darling mused. He lay down on his side next to Taro and drew the younger man closer against him. “Let’s make love until the sun rises. I imagine it will be one of the most beautifully bittersweet sights of my life.”

More than anything, Taro wanted to ask Darling what he was talking about, but before he could open his mouth, Darling pressed a shushing finger to Taro’s lips. Then Taro let himself be drawn even closer to Darling as the King covered his body with his own.

His questions were forgotten as he was drawn into another round of energetic lovemaking.

.

His fingers traced the chain of the necklace Darling had presented him with before sending him back to the harem. Delicate silver links from which hung the King’s personal seal done with gems — an onyx studded silver hoop with an orchid shaped out of rare amethyst sparkling from its center.

It was the most beautiful thing Taro had ever seen, not just for itself, but because Darling had given it to him.

He held the chain up and watched the seal spin. For some reason, he felt as though there was some hidden meaning behind the necklace. Some weight pressing him down.

There was a ruckus across the room and he glanced up to see Delightful Gyre running through the doors. “The city’s under attack!” Gyre shouted, his chest hitching with his pants for breath. His blond hair was in disarray, the long locks twisted and tangled from his running.

“What do you mean? By whom?” Lissome Orchid clutched the front of her shirt.

Gyre’s golden skin was pallid, his gray eyes shining fever bright. “The Horde.”

Beautiful Ponder snorted in disbelief. “You must be confused. Why would the Horde be attacking us?”

“Duke Wrathful Fury petitioned the Emperor of the West for a Writ of War. He’s claiming the entire kingdom by right of conquest. It’s only a matter of time before the Horde enters the palace. I hear the outer walls of the city have already fallen.”

“How could something like that have happened?” Bitter Hazard asked, shaking her head. “We would have heard that we are at war before anyone breeched the walls.”

Gyre shrugged, shaking his messy hair. Sweat beaded his forehead and he made no move to wipe it away. “They are the Horde, the same soldiers the Duke used to subdue the Eastern Colony. They say he’s unstoppable.”

Ponder scoffed. “Someone’s playing a trick on you. We’re not at war.”

Taro couldn’t help remembering Darling’s strange words and how pale and tired he had looked. As though he had been rendered helpless by something he couldn’t control.

He didn’t think, he just leapt up and hurried across the room and out through the double doors, his slippers making no sound on the floor. Ribbons trailed behind him as he ran and he tucked the necklace in his sleeve pocket for safekeeping.

Suddenly there was a large BOOM! that shook the ground and almost sent him to his knees. There was the sound of surprised screams from the harem behind him, but he didn’t pause, just kept running as fast as he could.

He had spent years memorizing Darling’s every move, had ghosted behind him for many long years, watching his every step. All of those years of fervent devotion were paying off now, because he knew exactly where to find the King.

Darling had not had the most amicable relationship with his mother, the Dowager Queen Sanguis Valienta, but he had still been devastated by her death. She had just been such an important part of his life, and he regretted never having been able to please her.

After her death, Darling had begun using Valienta’s sitting room as his private retreat. He had never redecorated the rather feminine room, seeming to find comfort out of having his mother’s things close around him.

Taro ran until he reached the white door and pushed it open to step into the cool stillness of the sitting room. It was shadowed and dark with the only light coming through the large, floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the King’s private garden. There was the scent of wild flowers from the bouquets setup in vases all around the room.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the shadowed figure of Darling sitting with his legs curled up on one of the benches.

Taro looked around, then hurried across the room to kneel down on the floor beside Darling, his eyes running over the King for any signs of harm. “Where are your guards?”

Darling gave a careless shrug. “They realize what is going to happen and have wisely fled.”

“Those cowards!” Taro clenched his hand into the fabric of his tunic.

The look Darling gave him was painfully solemn. “No,” he shook his head, “I cannot fault them their lives, not when I would do the same if I could.”

“Why don’t you?” Taro asked. “I will go with you. We can run far away from this place. We can be happy.”

“What a sweet fantasy.” Darling reached out his hand to brush his fingers over Taro’s cheek. “Unfortunately, for the Duke to have what he most desires, he needs to take my life. He would follow me to the ends of the world.” He looked around and gave a deep sigh. “I have lived a very good life. This is really not so bad.”

Taro couldn’t help himself. He bounced to his feet and flung his arms around Darling. “No, you cannot die. I won’t let you!”

“There are some things that simply refuse to be changed,” Darling said. “Death is one of them.” He hugged Taro against himself, and Taro felt the nearly wistful press of a kiss against the top of his head. “It doesn’t frighten me as much as I thought it would.”

Taro stayed in Darling’s arms and swallowed all of the questions he wanted to ask. He didn’t quite understand what was going on, but he knew that Darling was going to be killed.

“You should leave me,” Darling said against Taro’s hair.

“I’m not leaving you.” Taro pressed closer against Darling’s chest.

Darling didn’t make anymore objections, just held him in the stillness of the sitting room.

The near idyll was broken when the door was flung open and a squad of Horde soldiers ran in, their hobnail boots leaving gouges in the wood floor. To Taro, their faces were nightmarish and demonic, with leering mouths and cruel eyes framed by the cold steel of their helms.

“And still I am not afraid. How strange,” Darling said musingly. He pushed Taro away, moving him to sit on the bench next to him. “Perhaps you are what gives me such bravery?”

“Sanguis Darling,” the squad leader said, strong with his fellow soldiers flanking him. Taro had to bite his lip to keep from screaming at the man, knowing that he had purposely left off the King’s titles and rank as a sign of disrespect. “Your life is forfeit. Take him!”

The soldiers immediately moved forward at their leader’s command, but Taro leapt to stand in front of Darling, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a snarl. “I won’t let you take him!”

His fingernails shone as he made to slash one of the approaching soldiers. Dimly, he heard Darling’s shout, “Don’t hurt him!”

Then he was being swept aside by one strong, gauntlet covered arm. He was airborne for a few seconds before slamming shoulder first into the wall across the room and bounced back onto his feet with a curse. His arm ached terribly, but all he cared about was the soldiers that had already grabbed Darling and were wrapping him in ropes.

Taro snarled and went after them again, his sole impulse to get them away from Darling and somehow save him.

He was charging toward the soldiers when the squad leader said, “No one wants to be haunted by an angry spirit. The last request of a dying man should always be listened to. Spare the concubine.”

Taro slammed into one of the soldiers, kicking him powerfully in the back and sending him flying away. Then he turned toward another and grabbed the man’s helmet and ripped it off before going towards the exposed flesh with his clawed hands.

Just before his nails could make contact with skin, he felt a jolt of pure energy hit him right in the small of the back. All of his muscles clenched and released at the same time and he couldn’t even cry out before he was falling, his muscles jerking and spasming.

He landed on his back and glared at the squad leader balefully. The man slid the shock baton he’d used back into his belt and gestured for his men to move out.

Taro could only watch helplessly as the soldiers carried Darling out of the room by his arms. The King didn’t try to fight them off, just looked back over his shoulder to meet Taro’s eye for a brief moment before he was gone.

Taro’s eyes burned with tears and he vowed that he would forever remember what had happened here and the men that had done it.

He grunted when the toe of a boot nudged against his side. His eyes shifted to focus on the squad leader with fiery hatred.

“I’ll send someone back for you,” the man said in a kindly manner that made Taro hate him even more. “Why don’t you take this opportunity to relearn how to breathe?”

The man’s boots clicked on the floor as he turned and left the room.

Taro listened to the sound of footsteps trailing down the hallway into silence. All of his muscles were clenched painfully and helpless tears had begun to trickle from his eyes and he couldn’t even wipe them away.

I’ll kill you all, he promised. Every last one of you. I’ll kill you. Oh Darling, I’m sorry I was too weak to protect you.

His chest heaved with his grief and rage, but he still couldn’t move. His whole body tingled with pain tremors, but it felt miles away from him.

Eventually a squad of soldiers came and carried him back to the harem. He felt like a sack of grain being hauled around between them.

The soldiers left him with Orchid and Hazard, who loudly demanded to know what was happening, but he had enough control of his body by then to turn his face away and refuse to speak. He just lay on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to will the world into going back to yesterday.

Hazard knelt by his side and covered him with a blanket. Her makeup had smeared across her face in clownish swirls and her hair looked positively frightful. Her voice was a hurried whisper as she tried to catch him up on all that had happened in the harem, but he refused to listen.

All he could think about was Darling being murdered. It could have already been done and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then “…and Splendour ran away. The Duke is furious and they’re looking everywhere for him. They even took poor Precious. She’s just a baby!”

Taro painfully turned his head to look right at her. “Lovely Splendour ran away?”

“Yes,” Hazard said. “And it turns out that the Duke really wanted him.”

“Darling died because the Duke wanted Lovely Splendour?” Taro felt his lips trying to twist into a snarl, but fought to keep control.

“Probably other stuff too,” Hazard shrugged. “I mean, who ever heard of someone conquering a whole kingdom for just one concubine? That seems a bit far-fetched.”

“Darling died because of Lovely Splendour,” Taro said slowly, more to himself than anything else. He just needed to verbalize the thought.

Hazard tried to talk to him some more, but he ignored her, having already heard everything he needed. After a while, she stood up with a sigh and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. A shock baton’s not going to kill you.”

Taro lay there and stewed. Darling was dead because the Duke wanted Lovely Splendour.

Who had run away.

If Taro hadn’t gone to fine him, Darling would have died all alone. He would have thought that no one cared about him and would have died like that, all alone.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, fighting the burn of tears.

.

The next day found Taro sitting with Hazard in front of the largest window. He felt drained, his world set adrift, and he could not help resenting the sun that dared to shine outside.

How could the morning dawn so bright on a world that no longer had King Sanguis Darling in it?

His semi-bitter musings were broken when the harem doors opened and a dirty and disheveled Lovely Splendour sauntered in. His black hair was tangled and he was positively filthy, but he looked unhurt.

Taro felt a wave of heat go through his body and stood and stalked over to Splendour. “Well, well, look at who’s back,” he said.

Splendour gave him a surprised look, then sneered unpleasantly. He opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly Gyre was stepping between them, the younger boy frowning at Taro. “Silence, Taro, or something bad’s going to happen to you.”

The second Gyre spoke, Splendour’s expression lightened and changed and the smile he gave Gyre was all charm and lies. “Help me bathe,” he said, batting his ridiculously long eyelashes.

Taro could only watch as he was ignored and the two left together, heading toward the largest bathing chamber.

He watched them go, then strode across the room to his sleeping nook, jerking the sliding door open hard enough to hurt his fingers. He closed it tight behind him and stumbled toward the middle of the small room.

He didn’t even unroll his sleeping mat, just threw himself on the floor, the tears escaping his control. He scrubbed at his eyes with his trailing sleeves, but he couldn’t stop crying.

Darling was dead. Taro had loved him, and Darling was dead.

Yet Lovely Splendour, the one that Darling had really cared about, was perfectly fine and back in the harem, ready to open his legs for Duke Wrathful Fury.

I’ll never forgive you, he thought viciously.

He would never forgive Lovely Splendour for being the reason Darling was dead. Just when Darling had almost loved him back, Lovely Splendour had murdered him.

Taro’s eyes burned like coals, the stinging pain only adding to his resolve to get revenge. Lovely Splendour would pay.

=THE END=

The Center, by Harper Kingsley [science fiction, horror, novella]

Title: The Center

Author: Harper Kingsley

Genre: sci-fi, horror

Rating: Adult

Word count: 16,991

Summary: Before he used his psychic gifts to work with the police. Before he became Julian Duncan… He was Julian DeVries, a scared boy held at a secret facility known only as The Center. Abused and experimented on, his only desire was freedom and escape from a terrible future only he could see.

Orphaned violently at 12 years old, Julian has lived at the Center as favored test subject and future breeding stock. He has tried to escape several times, but has always been brought back to the scientists that torment him. There is nowhere else that he can go and no other life that he can live…

Then he receives a horrific vision of his future and he has no choice but to try once again for his dream of freedom.

The upcoming sequel is “Cannot Hold”

——————————-

EXCERPT –

“Where are you, you little bastard?”

He quivered and held his hands tight over his mouth, keeping himself from screaming. The feelings of hate and drunken rage were pounding into his brain, making it hard for him to think. Making it hard to know where he ended and that Other began.

Please don’t let him find me, he thought, tears running from his eyes as he held himself tight and close.

He was hiding in the closet inside a big cardboard box, kneeling on a pile of old clothes that had been carefully packed away. He was sure that the Bad would come for him soon. There was no hiding from the Bad.

“Come out, you little shit, before I beat your brains in!” the Bad yelled.

He was very quiet and very still. Though he knew the Bad was going to get him, he still hid and hoped that he would be safe. But there was no safety anywhere. Not for him.

The closet door crashed open and the heavy smell of whiskey filled the air, so strong that he almost choked on it. It felt as though that malodorous amalgam of odors was trying to reach down his throat and rip the breath from his lungs. It was all around him, trying to climb inside his skin and consume him to nothingness.

He was afraid.

He held very still, his hands clamped over his mouth, trying to be quiet. He must have done something though, must have made some betraying motion, because the lid of the box was ripped open and the angry red face glared down at him, the eyes rimmed with madness.

“You little shit, what are you doing in there?” the Bad yelled. “Were you trying to hide from me? You think you’re better than me, don’t you, boy, don’t you!”

Tears filled his eyes, and he wanted to run away, but he had trapped himself. Besides, there was no escape, there never was. Soon the pain would start.

The Bad yanked him out by a fist tangled in his hair and a handful of fingernails digging into his arm. He whined a little, but knew better than to scream. The louder he was, the more pain he was going to feel.

The box fell over as he was dragged out of the closet. Clothes spilled around him, shirts and pants tangling around his legs before slipping free as he was pulled through them.

“No, please!” he screamed, then yelped in pain as he was smacked on the side of the head, his teeth closing on his tongue with a painful snap. He could feel blood filling up his mouth.

Still dazed, he didn’t fight back as the Bad flung him across the room and half-over the small bed.

He screamed in pain as the Bad began whipping him across the back, buttocks, and down his legs with a black leather belt. He could feel his skin splitting all the way down to the bone and blood pouring out of him.

I’m going to die, he thought, and it was terrifying because he was just a little boy and there was nothing he could do.

The fear and the pain battled their way inside him, bubbling up from his very core to sizzle on the surface of his skin. Pain and fear and the terrible knowledge that he was going to die, they surged powerfully strong and mixed together inside him until that was all he knew, then they took him with them down into the darkness.

He woke to find himself lying sprawled across the bed, his shirt and pants soaked with his own blood. The pain was so bad it took him a long time to lever himself to his feet, his knees threatening to fold under him at any moment.

Julian bit his lip clear through to keep from crying out loud in case the Bad would come back and get him. He had to blink hard to clear the tears from his eyes, feeling them trickle down his cheeks in a silent stream.

His hand landed on something squishy and wet on the bed and he looked down at it and paled, biting his lip hard. He couldn’t quite name what that something was, but it was wet and disgusting and he knew it was something horrible.

Ignoring the torn flesh of his back and legs, he looked around the room.

A mewling sound escaped his throat.

The Bad was dead. He hoped the Bad was dead, because there were pieces everywhere, big bloody chunks that turned his stomach.

The main body was lying against the wall, his entire body black with bruising. His eyes had been burst in his head, blood had come out of his nose and ears, and his clothes were ripped and torn as though by razor sharp blades. There was blood everywhere, more than Julian had ever seen in his entire life.

His mind was so dull and slow that he couldn’t have said what had happened. He simply couldn’t understand anything.

Not even noticing the sharp knife blades of pain in his buttocks and legs, he slipped down to the floor, drawing his knees close against his chest. Blood trickled down his spine as he rocked back and forth, his eyes locked on the horror spread out before him.

His throat ached with the need to scream and cry, but nothing came out. The sound was locked behind his larynx, pushing painfully outward without escaping.

All he could do was rock, and rock, and rock. Back and forth, back and forth.

That’s how the men found him later. First policemen and ambulance workers, then after they’d taken him away to the Quiet Place, there were the men in the white jackets that spoke of things he didn’t understand but that he knew he didn’t want to represent him. Giant words they beat against him, labeling him from his flesh inward. But there was nothing he could do because he was just a kid. He had to do what they said because he had nowhere else to go.

They said strange things about how his father was dead. They wanted him to tell them what had happened, but all he could do was shake his head because he didn’t know. The darkness had taken him away, and something had come and torn his father to pieces. Some terrible something had killed the Bad out of his father and left him all alone in the world.

Eventually a man came and took him away. He said his name was Dr. Harold Byers and he took Julian to a place he called the Center. He promised that Julian would be taken care of and would be kept nice and safe and no one would ever hurt him again.

Julian didn’t believe him because all he had ever known in his short life was lies. There was no one in the world he trusted.

Then he met Kathleen Griffin. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was kind and gentle and all he had to do was look into her eyes and know that she would do everything in her power to take care of him. She even stood up to Dr. Byers whenever he wanted to do something that upset Julian, one of the bad experiments that made him squirm and cry.

She was the closest thing he had ever come to a mother. She was the first person that ever loved him just because she loved him and not because she wanted to use him for something.

She arranged with Dr. Byers for them to have their own house on the edge of the Center’s property. He still had to participate in the doctors’ experiments, but they didn’t hurt him as much anymore. She made them be nicer to him, made them explain what they were going to do instead of just hurting him. She made them treat him like he was almost human.

Kathleen made everything better.

Then the men in camouflage and body armor came, with their guns and their knives and their yelling voices. Dr. Byers told Julian that they were some kind of enemy commandos that had come to raid the Center for information and experiments.

Julian didn’t understand why so many of them came right to Kathleen’s little house. He didn’t know why they broke down the door and shot her so many times until her blood sprayed against the side of his face and he could feel it soaking into his skin through his pajama shirt.

He didn’t know why those men killed Kathleen.

But he knew why he killed them back. And it was so easy…

He didn’t really remember the terrible rage that overtook him, that darkness that overflowed through him until he couldn’t breathe through the honey-thick air and there was blood and body parts flying everywhere around him and their screams were sweet victory.

He didn’t really remember what he did… but he would never forget either. A glorious insanity that overtook him, sending him spinning and dancing in a blaze of destruction and death. It would forever lurk on the periphery of his memory, but he was just a little boy and he wouldn’t let it live in his conscious mind.

And when they were all quiet and still, their bodies broken, he fell like a puppet with its strings cut. Just slumped down where he stood as consciousness fled him.

When he woke up, Dr. Byers was there to ask him questions and tell him what had happened because he didn’t remember anything.

The only thing he knew was that Kathleen was gone. She was the only person that ever loved him and now he was alone in the world forever.

He cried for awhile, then he let himself be taken from the hospital to his new room in the main Center compound. It was between many high-security hallways that needed key cards and number codes to access.

There was no one to hug him anymore and tell him that everything was going to be all right. There was no one to tell Dr. Byers “No,” and to make sure the experiments didn’t hurt him too much. There was no one to take care of him and protect him from the cruelty of the world.

He was all alone.

———————————

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?