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Failing Upward Ch. 02

By: el_wing



Chapter 2 Boy Meets Llama 

I only held the card up to the white light of the windshield for an instant and of course that's when the llama appeared. I never did find out whose llama it was, or where it went after I hit it doing about 45 mph. The beast ran off. 

I wasn't as lucky.

Fuzzy llama karma-- Next thing I remember, I was taking baby steps in a yellowed hospital gown with my ass sticking out, being lead by a pretty student nurse. The words "gotta piss bad" fall out of my mouth. I remember, I should be embarrassed. I stopped, reached around and clutched the draft together. I flashed-back to five years ago, snapping the shower curtain shut with my sister's face screaming, 'don't use all the hot water.' 

I suddenly I didn't feel the urge to pee anymore. I asked how long I've been here, and the cute nurse scratched her nose and said, "Three days." 

Three days gone. A blank. Nothing. I was cold. So cold. The IV leaking into my veins, chilled like ice. Each step shot pain up my leg into my chest. Every breath felt like a long sharp needle driven into my right lung. All this because I was just going to read a little bit of the card. 

"Sit down--" I moaned. "I need to sit." My confused, pained face tells the student nurse she'd better get someone who knows more than her. 

As I tried to find comfort on the rock hard bed, my head throbbed more. I learned the rest of my story from the big night nurse named Bernice who the student nurse corralled to take care of me and tell me of my plight. Bernice was one of those employees who made it their business to know everything about everybody. She knew about Lenny, the night watchman, who took home McCall's Magazines on the sly to his mom. She knew about Jill, the dietitian, who ate off the patients' trays. 

In her big deep voice, she told me I've been talking like a drunk to a bartender ever since I got here, and how happy she was to fill my glass. I confided about my parents and my family, about their death. Apparently, I told her about my boyfriend. 

I corrected her, saying, "Don't you mean my girlfriend?" She winked at me. Not her, too. 

She must have meant Sid. He did have a habit of making sweet puppy dog eyes at me. So what if he has a crush. He has always been the cuddly type-- touchy, feely. And I've always been a lot like that myself. Can I help it if I'm affectionate? I could see how Bernice might get the wrong impression.

I decided I'm a bit scared of her. She could easily beat me up. The way she just tossed me on my side to move my pillow like I was some twig. She could be dangerous if she wanted to be although I think she liked me enough to not snap me in half. Then she made some comment about "having lots of gay friends." 

I said to her, "But I'm not gay." 

She winked at me again and said, "Sure you aren't, hon. And that wasn't your boyfriend here visiting you either." I don't bother to argue with her about this. I decided, better to ignore her. I asked her to tell me what happened the night of the accident , and she gladly told me.

Seemed I knocked on a farmer's door, and he refused to let me in. Bernice said I gave a wonderful performance of Old MacDonald peeking through his moldy door curtains then pinching them shut. The farmer called the ambulance. Can't say as I blamed him for not letting me in. Most people don't go knockin' with blood all over their shirt and pants unless they're in some bad B film with a guy in a hockey mask close behind. 

Bernice told me I kept saying, "damn prick, damn prick." She gave me a lecture, "You need to be more forgiving. You have no room to judge others." She must have thought I needed religion or something. Then I realized she thought I was referring to the farmer, not the thorn pricking my finger. Shit, that thorn hurt more than my concussion and the punctured lung together. 

Bernice said I nagged her along with every nurse and half the orderlies on the floor for a mirror. At first they'd either get me a mirror or take me to the bathroom to show me my reflection. Later, tired of my requests, they ignored me. Still, I kept repeating, "Is my nose broken?"

I didn't feel the sharp pain in my head until then; I never knew a person had to recall pain like they recall a memory. I reached for my nose and a slicing pain shot through my skull. I asked her if it was broken. The nurse said no-- "but you look like shit." I didn't know nurses on duty were allowed to cuss, but who was gonna stop her?  

"My head hurts. Do you think I could get something for this raging headache?" I asked her. 

That's when I got lecture number two from Big Nurse Bernice on the evils of drugs. She assumed for some reason that I was under the dark influence of some illegal substance at the time of my accident. She said I came into the emergency room babbling about 'A llama, Glenda the Good Witch and Rock Hudson,' and in 'A highly agitated state.' Shit, I felt agitated right then, but not because I was strung out.

I did remember the llama and Glenda. Vaguely. North by Northwest, but that was Cary Grant not Rock. 

Bernice went to get the doctor on call. He came in to check on me-- his name was Dr. Doctor. I started to laugh. Was I in some Marx Brother's film? He read over my charts, wondering why I'm giggling. I flashed to Groucho with a cigar, 'Either this man is dead, or my watch has stopped.' 

Dr. Doctor told me I was in shock-- No shit, I think. Wonder why I'm laughing like an idiot? Flying twenty feet out the windshield into a row of trees might scramble your brain, too. 

He explained I should get a ticket for not wearing a seatbelt. Who was he, Ralph Nader? I thought, what's going on here? First I'm lectured by Bernice the nurse on the evils of drugs and now Dr. Doctor on proper seat restraints. Weren't these health professionals? So, was I unsafe at any speed? My mind saw in some skewed way, I was fortunate. Bernice told me about my car-- landing upside down in the river bed after going down the ravine. My poor dead Mustang's top, crushed down into the driver's seat. My car was most likely totaled. If I hadn't gone out the windshield, I might have been totaled, too. 

Then there was the cost of replacing or repairing my car. My head hurt more. How much would that cost on top of my hospital bills? 

Money. And lack of it. So the next question to the doctor was how long much longer I had to stay. He was noncommittal-- "A few more days," he said, shrugging. After all, he was a doctor-- probably owned a two-hundred thousand dollar house at least. He wouldn't be concerned. Keeping me and my sore body in the hospital lined his pockets, but it was costing me. My deductible was high, but when I worked for eight-ninety-five an hour at a greenhouse, I guess I should count myself lucky to have any insurance at all. After Dr. Doctor left, I was alone in my room. I still got no peace. Taking a simple breath hurt. My finger throbbed-- I imagined I was Giovanni, in Rappaccini's Daughter, and the thorn like some poison coursing through my veins. I decided sleep was the only answer, but the cold streak of pain refused to fade. I pressed the call button and begged for "good" drugs so I could sleep. 

Bernice was kind. She gave me a shot in my IV. 

I woke, and my IV was gone. It was morning. The nurse on duty told me they were sending me home-- but only after a psychologist visited me to talk to me about my drug problem. 

What the fuck was this? I had no drug problem. But I was too tired and in too much pain to argue with the prim little psychologist who flitted into my room. I just sat, listened and answered her questions about my 'so called' problem. I was fine with it all until she asked me what drug I'd taken the night of the accident because toxicology said the substance in my system was "unknown."  I looked at her-- some washed-up preppy wanna-be do-gooder trying to feel my pain-- and thought, God, I guess there's a place in the world for women like this. Just not in my world. Especially not today.

"Listen," I said. "I don't take drugs. I admit I've smoked pot before, but not in a while. That day I was working and on a delivery. I was straight." 

My eye twitched when I said the word straight. 

She scratched something down on her little note pad, and I heard her mumble "taking drugs at work." I frowned. She looked up. 

"The first step is admitting you have a problem," she said. 

I groaned. Silence. She was waiting for me to either have some epiphany, rant or crack. I didn't give. I could wait as long as she could. Maybe. I stared up at the clock on the wall. 

But I decided I wanted to go home. So I simply said, "I have no drug problem. I didn't take any drugs." I held my mouth firm. At least I hoped it looked firm to her, so she'd bug off. She wrote a bit more on her prissy pad and wrinkled her nose one more time. 

"Have it your way, Mr. Grant," she said to me all righteous-like, then left my room. I picked up the phone to call for a ride, hoping Lynn was home. The phone rang and rang. Lynn hadn't left her machine on, so I tried her cell phone. No answer either. I tried each of the guys from the band, one by one. All either were working or not able to pick me up. My list of friends grew shorter and shorter. I looked at the prescription in my hand for pain killer and wondered why they're sending me home so soon, but they always send you home early when you belong to an HMO and your insurance sucks. 

I resorted to calling Alan. He couldn't or wouldn't take me home, but he told me Sid would be glad to. 

I didn't want Sid to, and I couldn't say why. Well, yes maybe I could say why, but I wasn't gay no matter how beautiful a man he was. Or that he was kind to small animals and children. Or that his nose looked cute when it twitched. I wasn't having those feelings, and I didn't want Sid to get the wrong idea about me. 

I sat feeling sorry for myself because I had no friends to take me home. I didn't want to wait so I called Yellow Cab. 

I called a nurse who helped me find my clothes. She took me for a ride in the wheelchair, down to the lonely lobby. I waited for the taxi in the front of the hospital like some invalid. I thought, what no goodbye from Bernice? The strange nurse handed me my flowers I got, making me feel more rejected than I already was. You'd expect from working at a flower shop, I'd get lots of people sending me flowers. Hell, no. 

Two stinking deliveries? I felt bitter. I worked in a flower shop because I liked flowers. Maybe some guys would feel offended by getting them. Not me.

I held onto the planter I with my good hand-- a gift from the band. The card read, "Get Well Soon" with all their names on it-- none of them in their own handwriting. I held an arrangement of a dozen red carnations steady between my legs. At least the staff at Keller's all signed their names-- even Alan. 

The cab pulled up, and I struggled in. What little cash I had left in my wallet, I ended up handing to the driver. I felt even more pitiful.

I got home, and I found more flowers sitting inside my enclosed porch-- Alan, what a lazy son of a bitch. Couldn't even wait to give them to me in person. 

Man I hurt when I kneeled to pick the suckers up-- three yellow roses in a bud vase with no card attached. Stupid Alan probably lost the card. Then I remembered I needed to tell Mr. Keller about the sick roses. I didn't really need to tell him about the "misplaced" card. I couldn't remember what happened to it; what it said, or if I read it even after all the agony the card had cost me. 

All I remembered was the card, the light, and the llama. 

Why did the llama cross the road? To get to its llama mama. 

What sounds do llama's make when struck by a car going 45? Snap, crackle and pop. 

Now, this haunted bud vase minus one card? Shit. Then I remembered-- my beloved guitar was in the backseat! Save me from myself! Must be it was bad Karma trying to read a customer's card. Probably bad Karma sent directly from the Dali Llama himself. Not that I haven't been guilty of reading a card before (or any of my compatriots either), but one punctured lung, two black eyes, my dead Mustang and one hell of a head ache seemed a high enough price... Not my guitar, too! And look-- my finger was festering. Instant Karma gonna get you... Well, maybe I'd shine on, but it'd have to be later. 

Right now I had to go puke.

------------------

I had a few visitors that week. Lynn came by after stopping at the hospital and finding out I was discharged. She made me lunch. Some of the guys from the band came over with Bud Lites, but I didn't think mixing my pain killers with beer was a good idea. So much for my 'drug' addiction. I called Keller on Friday and told him I thought I could come back to work Monday. I also thought I should pass on the info about about Mrs. Lancaster's roses. 

Then there were the flowers with no card. 

I wasn't sure I wanted to know who they were from-- three yellow roses. The same as my delivery that day. Was this some kind of sick joke?

When I accused Alan of losing the card, Mr. Keller got all weird and put Alan on the phone. Couldn't Keller just look up the order and tell me what the card said?

I heard him in the background on the canned intercom calling Alan out of the greenhouses to the workroom. 

"What's up, Wes?" he asked.

"Where is the card to the roses I got?" I asked. "There isn't a card. Who are they from?"

"I'm not supposed to say." 

I think I knew.

"The flowers aren't from me," Alan said. "Although you do have a nice ass. If you're worried about the secret admirer from the bar the other night, sorry to disappoint you. It ain't him."

That was me. Three yellow roses in a vase and an over-active imagination.

"What's the big secret then?"

"Wes has a boyfriend!" Alan teased. "And I'm not telling who. I promised him I wouldn't say." 

"Him? Fuck. Very funny Alan. Stop with the fag jokes. I'm sick of them." I waited for an answer. "Well, who then? It's not like we have so many mutual friends. I'm really not up for your crap. I had an accident, remember? Unlike some people, who will remain nameless that have unreal accidents and make others do their work for them. You know-- and then suffer because of it..." 

"Is this some type of guilt trip?" 

"No, blackmail. How would you like me to tell Keller about..." 

"All right," he interrupted. "Sid sent them, ok? So, he likes you. Is that a big surprise?"

"Sid? Shit. No," I held my head; it started to pound. I need more Vicodine. "He knows I'm straight."

"He didn't want you to get the wrong idea, you know-- 'cause you're friends and all," Alan paused. "Wow, Wes. I'm sorry. I'm just having fun with you. I was telling Sid about what happened before the accident-- about the delivery. I guess I do feel guilty. Fuck. I sent the flowers." 

"Thanks," I said. "I'm not sure if you mean it, or you're just messing with me more."

"Well, I'm sorry," Alan said. " Gimme a break. Like I was saying, I told Sid, and he felt bad. He told you that when he came up to the hospital." 

"I don't remember Sid visiting me," I said. "But I don't remember much right after the accident." 

Bernice seem to think my boyfriend visited me. Must have been Sid...

"You know he's gonna be pissed at me for telling you." 

"Telling me what?" I asked.

"Shit. I didn't tell you. Well, don't tell him." So, Sid did send the flowers. I knew it was too thoughtful for Alan to have done.

"I won't tell." Truth was, I was pretty sure Sid had a crush on me. I'd been wondering about it for sometime.

"You know, he probably did want you to find out," Alan said. "Do you think he'd really trust me with a real secret? Someday you'll figure it out. Everyone in the world has, but you."

"Figure out what?" I asked.

"Wes," Alan whispered. "You are gay." 

That was it. I hollered into the receiver: "I don't like guys' hairy assholes." Then punctuated it with: "Fuck you."

"Told ya!" Alan taunted. "I'm irresistible. Sorry, can't have me. I am straight-- as much as you might want me. I gotta go. Need to finish watering the back houses," Alan paused. "Hope you feel better soon." 

"You readin' that off a card it the shop?" I shouted.

"Have a nice day!"

Failing Upward Ch. 03



Since the doctor gave me the thumbs up to go back to work as soon as I felt comfortable, I decided to see who my sub in the band was tonight. Not that I'm worried or anything. I was irreplaceable. It's just that the band, Failing Upward, was my life. While the flower shop centered me, the band excited me. It was important to have enthusiasm in life. I couldn't imagine going to work every day of my life hating what I did. If I didn't have the band, my day job wouldn't be fun. It would be work.

We were playing tonight, or the band was, so I decided to go hang out. Maybe watch a few sets. Maybe I'd feel up to playing-- take my Gibson along just in case. Hmmm, well, I still have that guitar. But I knew I couldn't jump around on stage. Heck, when I bent over for my guitar case, I almost vomited from the pain. Second thought, guess I wouldn't take my guitar. That's out. Still I could at least get out of the house.

Watching The Price is Right and Nick at Night got old fast. I needed excitement. I thought, why not pick up the phone and call Lynn and ask her if she'd like a night out with yours truly? Normally I would never go anywhere with Lynn unless I was driving. Lynn had the nasty habit of ditching me or any one else she happened to be with she didn't want to boink and taking off with the lucky (or unlucky, depending how the sot viewed it all later) guy. 

Yeah, my best friend was a slut. Finicky, she wasn't. Lynn slept with any half-way decent looking guy that was interested in showing her a good time. She'd slept with all members of the band and most my friends. About every one but me. But fucking your best friend was never a good idea. There was this one drunk, sloppy night, we almost did. But she said she didn't sleep with men prettier than her. 

She also said I should save myself for the right guy. That kinda ruined the mood. I was glad it never happened. I don't need those kind of complications. Or diseases. Besides, I loved her. Not in that way-- but as a friend. Sex can strangle a friendship like crabgrass. At least that was always my impression. Besides, I thought of her more like a sister. Incest? That was just wrong.

The shame of it was Lynn was brainy and beautiful. She spoke four languages and had a Master's in Economics. When she walked into the room all the men knew she was the most beautiful because she knew she was. It was attitude. Why someone who had that much going for her would have so little respect for herself confused me. I knew the Freudian arguments why Lynn slept around-- she wanted her daddy's love or some such shit. I think with AIDS and all she'd be more careful. A person just couldn't go get a shot anymore and be all-better-- this wasn't the 60s. 

She was my sister's best friend, before she was mine. My sister always loved Lynn for what she was inside. Not the way she looked, or how she acted. I ended up loving Lynn because she was there for me when I needed her most, and I was there for her, too.  

But I wished she'd get off her theory that I was a fruit. Sometimes it'd be easier to just make her and world happy and if I said, 'Yes, you're all right; I'm wrong. I'm a queer.' 

But I wasn't. I could admire a beautiful woman; I could admire Lynn. And I didn't look at men on the street and think, 'hey, nice ass.' And what was with the double standard? I heard Lynn talk about other women. She'd comment on how beautiful or hot other women were. I didn't see how my appreciation of men was any different. 

I picked up my phone and called Lynn to go out. If Lynn got friendly with anyone, I could get a ride home easy enough from one the guys in the band. 

---------------

The Road House. A dive built out in the middle of nowhere. 

The bar attracted students from two nearby colleges, and during the summer months, the bar drug in locals along with a few of the 'die hard' all year college crowd. Built on scenic Pine Lake, you'd think the owners would keep up the property better. Still, taxes would increase if the place looked too nice. Maybe it was a way around the system. 

The outside of the building was constructed from old field stone and stained pine planks, now pealing. The sign in front needed repair and paint. The inside was no better-- pine wainscot walls lacquered with the quaint veneer of years of cigarette smoke. The ceiling, built of the same dark pine, was low. So low that John, our six foot plus lead guitarist had to crouch when he was on stage. His solution? Jump out on the floor and play. 

The locals and college kids loved Old John. When he jumped out, they liked to play air guitar next to him, and it made for a what Ed Sullivan used to call 'a pretty good shoo.' John's odd ball sense of humor got in the way on occasion-- like when he said something off-color to one of the campus hotties. Sometimes they get offended. Most times they met up with him after the show. It never failed to amaze me-- if you were a guy in a band, you could look like Quasi Modo and still get laid on a regular basis if you wanted. Not that John was Quasi Modo, just that he ain't that good looking; he was balding and heavy set. Women wouldn't give him a second look on the street. On stage-- or at the Road House off stage--he suddenly became as attractive to them as Orlando Bloom. 

Lynn and I got there after the band began warming up for their first set. John was at it already: some cute blonde was sticking her 34C's in his face, with John on his knees cranking out the jams and inhaling her cleavage. I walked by John and waved. I went and leaned against his amp, scoping out a good place for us to sit. Since there was no "back stage" at the Road House, we were limited to the audience. There was a spot in the front with a group of college boy regulars who were more than happy to ogle Lynn for the evening. 

"Hey, Wes," yelled, oh... what's his name? After a while they all looked the same-- college boys with the perfect white teeth and scrubbed faces. "Heard you were in some car accident. How are you?" Their eyes never left Lynn. Was it Lynn's fault she was a penis magnet?

"Yeah, I was. I'm better," I yelled back. The guy pulled a chair out for Lynn to sit down, ignoring me. I pulled a chair up from the next table and sat down, wincing. I had nixed the pain killers today so I could have a few drinks. Maybe I should have nixed the drinks instead.

"You look like shit with those black eyes," the college boy said and shook his head toward the stage. "They sound great tonight. Of course not as--" I strained to hear. Sitting next to amps wasn't conducive to good conversation.

As normal, the dance floor was empty during the first set. Only large quantities of beer give most guys the nerve to ask women to dance. The crowd hadn't reached saturation yet.

I decided to check out the reason why I'd come. My eyes pulled to the stage. I studied the guy who was subbing for me. Not bad. I couldn't decide yet if I'd anything to worry about, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

Shit.

"Want to dance?" Alan stuck his face in mine. 

"Fuck you," I answered. "You're not funny." 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lynn said. "You don't have to bite my head off though if you didn't want to dance."

I grabbed her sleeve and pulled her head next to mine and yelled in her ear, "I thought Alan asked me. Sorry. I'd dance with you but my ribs are still really sore." 

"Do you want to come sit with us?" Alan asked. Or panted. Every time he was around Lynn, I swear, he followed her like a bitch in heat. I hesitated. I wasn't up to hearing Alan's mouth, but I didn't want to be rude. I thought... put on the top of my mental list... stop worrying about being rude to others. 

I looked over at Lynn, and she nodded. Lynn flashed her extra white teeth around the table at all the college boys and said, "Thanks for letting us sit here, guys." 

I looked at their disappointed faces. As we stood up I whispered in the ear of the guy sitting next to me, "Guess you won't be gettin' lucky with her tonight." 

For a moment there, I thought he was going to punch me. 

We made our way over to Alan and Sid's table. Damn, it hurt to walk. Sid flagged down the waitress for a new round of drinks. 

"What'll you have? I'll buy this one," Sid said.

"I'll have a rum and coke," I said. 

"Same here," said Lynn.

"That'll be two rum and cokes, a shot of Seagram's, and a coke," Sid said to the waitress. Sid's staying sober as usual, to assist Alan in his usual drunken squalor. 

I was watching the stage intently for quite a while, studying my replacement when Alan bent over and asked, "Worried? He's really good, Wes. Great voice, too. I think you should be." Alan smiled. The fuck. I hated him.

"But does he have my legs?" I asked.

"No, but maybe your tits," Alan came back. I felt my face flush, and I imagined punching Alan in the face, and seeing that lopsided smile smeared with blood. But I had started it. Bad to mention my legs, no matter how good they were. And I wasn't sure what made me more pissed--Alan's stupid comment, or Lynn's hiccupping laughter afterward. 

This wasn't a good sign. Lynn was being sucked into the Black Hole that is Alan. Time to play Dr. Phil with Lynn. I nodded my head toward the side door trying to get Lynn's attention. No luck, she was too entranced by Alan. I decided I needed to use a straightforward tactic.

"Need to use the restroom? Come on Lynn. Now." 

"You girls hurry back," Alan taunted. I ignored that one. Anything to get Lynn away from the bastard.

I shoved Lynn through the crowd toward the back door. 

Lynn pushed me back asking, "What's with you?" 

"I have this really creepy feeling you're going end up screwing Alan tonight," I said.

"I really do have to pee," Lynn said. She grabbed and pulled me toward the women's room.

"I can't come in here," I said, and I grabbed the door frame. One hard yank, and she pulled me in. I started to run back out, but curiosity got the better of me. I always wondered what the inside of the ladies' restroom looked like.

"This sure is a lot cleaner than our bathroom. The sinks' sparkle, and you even have a cute little arrangement that's not really an arrangement." I pointed to a basket next to the sink.

"That's potpourri," she said. "To make this place smell nice."

"Like I don't know what potpourri is? I was just trying to make bathroom small talk. God."

"Who's out there?" a voice squeaked from behind the third stall. 

"Nobody," said Lynn. "Not to worry. Just me and a gay guy."

"Okay," the voice answered uncertainly. Lynn walked into the next stall and shut the door. I stood, wondering what the Hell I was doing in the women's room. I needed to sit down, but the counter was so pristine; I didn't feel right, putting my ass there.  

I looked away from the stall into the mirror above the sinks. Man, I did look like shit. The green fading bruises clashed horribly with my blue eyes. I looked kinda pasty too. 

Must be bad lighting.

"Man," Lynn said. "I had to go bad."

"Lynn," I began. "You always told me, 'Please stop me if I try to boink Alan.' Well, here's your red flag, baby. I know the script. I've seen you do this countless times with countless men." Lynn responded by flushing the toilet. She stepped out, adjusting the front of her silk blouse as she stepped next to me to wash her hands.

I read denial all over Lynn's flawless features as I stared at her in the mirror. Her mouth was set. How could she not even know herself well enough to see the signs? Maybe she just didn't give a shit.

"You're crazy," Lynn said. She inspected her profile in the smoke stained mirror and wiped the lipstick from the corner of her mouth with her index finger. "But he does have a great body." 

"Yeah, and he's the biggest asshole I know." I knew that would hit a nerve with her. "You keep telling me you're an asshole magnet-- Well, I think you attract dicks, but you pick assholes. You know--the biggest asshole wins. Well, Alan is the Elvis of all assholes." 

Stall number three began laughing--- Lynn slammed her foot into its door. 

"Hey, this is serious," I yelled at Lynn, and then pointed to the stall. "See, she probably knows Alan, too." 

"I'm not going to jump Alan. And since when did you care who I sleep with?" 

"I don't care as long as it's not Alan." 

"What about Sid?" 

We stood locking on each other's reflection in the mirror. 

"Now that's the mother of all blank stares," Lynn said, as she burst out laughing. "Don't worry. I don't think Sid's preferences lean to the fairer sex. And he's way too short for me. He is incredibly cute though-- big brown dreamy eyes. But, you know, I like tall men." 

"Oh, I thought it was all men. Or maybe men like Alan--yeah, tall, dark and jerky." 

"What ever happens between Alan and me, happens." 

"Enough of your 'Que sera, sera' shit." 

"How long has it been since you got laid anyway, Wes? You sure are a bitch--" now that hurt. "You could use a good piece of ass." More laughing from the stall. I banged on the door this time. 

"What the Hell are you doing in there?" Lynn yelled in to the girl behind the stall door.

"Being entertained," she answered.

"Hmm," Lynn commented. "A new form of bathroom humor?"

"What do you think?" I asked the unknown woman in stall three. "I'm right aren't I?"

"No," said the faceless voice. "You're definitely gay." 

"That's not what I was asking," I said. Was this a world-wide conspiracy against me? 

"I think he likes you," Lynn said.

"Alan? Right. Sure," I said.

"Honestly, Wes. I mean Sid. You are so naïve when it comes to love and sex. You have over half of the bar panting after you most nights when you play and sing, and you think they are just clapping 'cause they think you're talented." 

What the hell did that mean? ... I had no talent? 

"You could get laid by most of the bar," she continued. "And haven't you ever noticed how Sid looks at you? Take my advice," she said conspiratorially. "Take Sid home and jump him good. I think he might even need it worse than you." 

"I thought we were talking about Alan? Don't change the subject. Hey, where are you going?" 

"Going? Going? I guess I'm going to make Alan beg for it for about, say, a half an hour more. Then I'm going take him home and fuck his brains out." 

Wonderful. Best friend and worst nightmare--together. The band stopped playing as we walked back to the table. Lynn gave me an "up-yours" look so I decided I'd be the one to ditch her tonight. 

"I'm going to go talk to the guys," I pointed toward the stage. 

"Can I come too?" asked Sid. 

Shit. I thought, Lynn was right, but I didn't want to be rude. I answered, "Sure." We both walked up to John. He and Smith, who played bass, were sitting on the edge of the stage drinking complementary Miller from the tap. 

"You look 180 better than the last time I saw you," said Smith. 

"Yeah, I feel only 90 degrees better, though," I answered. "Who's the sub?" 

"Some guy came up to us the night of your accident. Said he could play. It was like our 1-800 psychic friend saw you weren't gonna be here. He even had a guitar out in his car. Talk about a stroke of luck."

"Yeah, real lucky," I agreed. Who was this character anyway? Short like me-- maybe a bit taller. Not unattractive, but not great looking either. Brown, expressive eyes though. To look at him, he has a sense of humor. 

"He's pretty good, too. Says his brother is some big time manager dude. Name is Les Zante." This is getting better and better. Maybe his uncle owns Capital Records, too. "He knows all the covers we do and even the originals." 

"He knows the songs I've written?" I asked.

"Yeah, weird isn't it?"

"Where'd he come from? I can't remember seeing him in the audience-- you know, a regular or something? He has to be if he knows our songs." Suddenly I felt a sharp pain return to my temple. "Hey, I don't mean to sound cliché but the room has started to spin. Shit. I've only had a few rum and cokes."

"Wes? Are you ok?" Sid grabbed my arm to steady me. I shrugged him off and walked back to our table. 

"You turned kind of gray there for a moment," Sid said. "I thought you were going to pass out." 

"Me too. I'm feeling better now. Must be hearing about my replacement made me queasy. I feel like I got kicked in the head. Not that if they threw me aside for this new guy, the end of the world would come, but Jeez. Bad things happen in threes--isn't that what they say? Do you believe in Karma? I don't think I did anything in this life..." 

I stopped. No use going on and on. Sid didn't need to hear my problems. 

"I can't say that I believe in Karma or not," Sid said slowly. "I like to believe that I mold my own destiny. Or is that an oxymoron? Molding destiny? As for reincarnation, if I lived before, I'd like to think I was someone who had vision--you know--like Dylan Thomas." 

I laughed. He was kind of cute-- if I was gay, I might find him attractive. Lynn was right; he had really nice eyes. God, maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink, I thought, looking down at my empty glass. Damn. Why did she have to put those ideas in my head? 

'"Dylan Thomas, I always thought of myself as e.e. cummings." Cummings? Now that didn't come out the way I had intended. 

Beautiful eyes, I thought. Must look away. God, I hated rock heavy uncomfortable silences. Always happened when the room got quiet. I looked down at the bottom of my glass, and I heard the rusty nails scraping together in Sid's chair, creaking as he fidgeted. He cleared his throat and sat forward.

"How much do you remember?" he asked.

"About the night of my accident? Not much," I said. "I guess you came up to see me." 

"I was worried when I saw that guy coming out of your room at the hospital."

"What guy?" I turned to Sid. 

"You know the guy at the bar that asked all the questions about you." 

Silence. News to me.

"What? He was at the hospital visiting me? I don't recall that at all."

"I asked you about him. You told me everything was cool. So, you don't remember me visiting you at all?"

"I said, I don't remember a thing," my voice sounded hoarse. And short. It just came out that way. "I'm sorry. I don't remember anything right after the accident. The doctor said it was either shock or the head injury. I don't remember much. I don't remember anything," I paused. "You know more than me." 

"To tell you the truth," he said, "you were really out of it. You talked about a llama...I guess you hit a llama or a cow or a deer or something. At least that's what the nurse at the hospital told me. You also told me about some roses and an infected finger. I asked you about the guy that just came out of your room, and you said something about Alfred Hitchcock's sister's brother and a card. Strange. What the hell was that about?" 

"I saw the movie North by North West the day before the accident. And the card, that was off an arrangement I was delivering. I found it on the seat of my car. I must have fallen off."

"Makes perfect sense-- "

The band was beginning the next set. The guy who was playing in my place was starting to piss me off. The audience liked him. He was bowing and blowing kisses. Shit. What a show off.

"Do you want to go out for some fresh air?" I asked. "The smoke in here is starting to get to me." Sid nodded, and we walked to the door. 

Lynn winked at me on the way by. 

Bitch. 

We walked outside around the back and leaned against the side of the building. I wondered why I really came out here with Sid. Maybe it was the drinks. Sid jangled the change in his pocket, and I picked at the hangnail on my thumb. Maybe Lynn was right. Maybe I did need to get laid. I was so horny. Sid was definitely looking good to me right now. 

"What am I missing?" I asked. Sid gave me a long, hard look, biting his bottom lip. 




Failing Upward Ch. 03



"Shit." He said. "I don't know if I can say this a second time."

"What?" I asked. But I was afraid to know.

"In the hospital, I told you." 

I didn't think I wanted to hear this. 

Sid rolled a piece of gravel under his left boot back and forth. 

"You looked pretty cute in that hospital gown," he chuckled. 

I even had to laugh at that. I guess Sid was trying to pick me up. Funny. I didn't feel insulted. I felt kind of, well, interested.

Maybe it was the way his thumb was nervously rubbing the leg of his faded denims. I had to ask. 

"What did you say?"

The music quit playing inside. I heard Sid breathing. 

"You really don't remember anything that I said to you in the hospital, do you?"

"No, I don't." 

"It wasn't important." 

I knew by the look on his face it was-- at least to him. I noticed his hands shaking before I realized mine were. I knew I should have said, yes it's important. I should have said, tell me. But the truth was I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know because I was afraid as much for what I was feeling as for what he had to tell me. I suddenly felt light headed and nauseous. Without the stone wall for support, I would have collapsed.

"I'm sick. I think I need to get home-- " I said.

"I'll take you." I didn't even answer, just followed him to the car.

---------------------

I felt his breath prickling tiny the hairs on my neck as he leaned in close to unlock the door on my side of his orange vintage Cutlass. I don't think feeling his muscular forearm pressed against me as he reached around to unlock the car was an accident. I felt light headed. Not from rum and coke. Mixing friendship and sex was like mixing drinks-- never a good idea. Besides, I thought, I'm not gay-- although I did like Sid. 

My mind was saying no, while my body was saying yes, please, and Sid leaned in closer, pressing himself into my back. It was intoxicating. And no liquor involved. As he pressed himself in a little closer, testing to see what my reaction would be, I felt my insides turn over. Not an unpleasant feeling either. I felt Sid's firm answer to my gentle push. Then, I came to my senses. What was I doing? I pulled myself away-- my cheeks hot. But it had felt so good. No. This would cost too much. 

-------------

I noticed him then, standing near to the back entrance of the Road House. I recognized him at once-- the yellow light filtering down from the rafters sharpening his unforgettable profile. The man who ordered the flowers that day. 

"There," I pointed. "Is that the guy who visited me at the hospital? Lancaster? He's watching us. What do you think he wants?" 

"Yes, that's him. Hey, you?!" Sid shouted. "Come here!" The man cast an impassive glance, turned and walked in the other direction. Sid started after him. 

With both hands, I grabbed the back of Sid's t-shirt to stop him. 

"Let him go," I whispered to Sid. "I'm not in any shape for a back alley brawl tonight." 

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Are you ok?"

I couldn't look Sid in the eye. I turned and walked back to Sid's car.

"I think I better get home," I looked across the top of the car at him then ducked into the passenger side quick. 

All the way home, my brain flipped and flopped. I rewound the events of the last weeks. Tonight, the strange guy, Lancaster. And what the fuck was that going on in my head with Sid? 

My brain flipped to Sid leaning against me by the back entrance. I knew I was in trouble when he sniffed my hair. I got scared when I realized I enjoyed the feel of him against me. 

Flip-- I remembered feeling his good vibrations-- you know what I mean. When I searched his face-- I was actually blushing. Then, flop-- I gave for a moment. I almost succumbed. I almost said, let's go to your place. Then I remembered someone else's voice coming out of my mouth saying, "I think I better go home." 

Hello... quit day dreaming... 

Then I heard the words again, and Sid's words. I came to my senses--

"Isn't that your place?" 

"What?" Ping! Back to the world. Shocked, I saw what Sid was referring to-- my house-- on fire. 

Fire trucks and firemen swarmed around like angry bees. Sid slammed on the brakes and parked the Cutlass tight to the curb. I just sat there for a moment-- stunned, my sweaty body stuck to the white bucket seat. Sid opened my door. He led me like one of the Night of the Living Dead up my driveway. Why was my life falling apart? My house? 

"Three," I said. 

"Huh?" 

"I think this is three," I said. "Bad luck come in threes. I has for me."

I wanted to cry, but I pushed it back. What was a house compared to other parts of my life I'd lost? This was nothing. My guitar was in there, but that was replaceable. Pictures weren't. My parents and sister. All I had left of them, was in there, burning down with my home.

We walked up to the scene. At least I think we did. The fire marshal asked plenty of questions. Like how much insurance I had on my house and contents; where was I before the fire; what time I left my house. The fire started in the living room with some type of accelerant. 

Someone burned down my house, and they think I did it.

Now playing... Wes Grant in... Arson Suspect # 1... 

I was the only suspect for the moment although they keep telling me they always ask such questions in situations like this. 

Now... After successive weeks of bad luck, I topped it off with the perfect evening...

I heard Sid telling the fire marshal about my accident, about the band. And Sid added, "His home's turning into a skeleton! Can't you see he's upset? He's just recovering from head trauma." 

The fireman looked at me like I was some half-drowned kitten. He asked me if I had relatives in town. I said, no, but I told him where I worked and that he could get in touch with me there. He let me go, although I wanted to stay. Kind of a self torture, I guess. But Sid made me go.

He put me in his car and drove me away. Kinda to save me from myself. I rode just staring straight ahead not saying a word for a while. Then I turned and studied Sid's face. 

Funny how you can look at someone hundreds of times and never really see them. 

"Where do you want to go?" he asked. 

"I would say Lynn's, but I think she has a guest tonight that I don't feel like dealing with."

"Alan," Sid replied.

"Of course." 

"Listen, why don't you come home with me? I promise I wouldn't try to get in your pants." He was frowning-- after years of hanging out with Sid, I knew that studied look. He was worried. It was just that I wasn't sure what he was worried about. The fire? The stranger? My health? Getting laid? Well, probably not the last one...still. I've known Sid a long time. He was one of those nice guy types. The type a girl's mom would like them to bring home. You know. He scored 100 on the mothers' check list: 

Does he come from a good family? Check! 

Does he have a good job? Check! 

Does he call his mother at least once a week? Check! 

Does he take off his shoes at the door? Check!

Does he stand up and give his seat to women and elders on a bus? Check!

He didn't like it when people called him a nice guy. When they ticked off all these great attributes, and he turned the 'awe- shucks, that's not really me' on, which only proved the point. 

Before tonight I never really looked at him as anything more than a friend. He was a guy that hung out in the same crowd. Someone I had known a long time, but really don't know that much about other than basic info: computer geek. A nice guy. Plays golf. Likes to work on cars. Gay. 

I'd known inside for a while that he would like me to be more than a friend. But, 'I'm not gay.' Shit, I thought, that's becoming some kind of mantra now for me. 

Besides sleeping with a friend never worked. The relationship soured, and you'd lose a good friend. Sid was a friend I won't want to lose. I didn't want that to change. I almost blew it tonight. Then, why did I feel disappointed? Not good. Nope, not good at all. And now he was studying me back. Add one more item on the check list: good guys never break their promises. He promised he won't try to get into my pants. 

I'd managed to avoid going to Sid's place for years. Inside, I knew why I avoided it. 

----------------------

I'd seen the outside of his small ranch house many times. Driven by loads. His house wasn't at all what I had imagined on the inside. Not neat and orderly like Sid.

"You really don't concern yourself with details like, say, sanitation," I commented, looking at the trash all over the floor.

I turned around to look at him, "Sid?" By the expression on his face as he fell over the coffee table, I could tell he was as surprised to see the room in this condition as I was. He picked himself off the floor rubbing his shins, cussing. 

"What in Hell is going on here?" he asked. That was when we heard a crash. Sid began checking the rooms and came out a few minutes later with a scrawny tabby cat. 

"I think the noise was Babe here." 

"Party on Babe!" I said, inspecting the room further. "Next time invite me. Looks like you and your fellow felines had a smashing good time." I scratched the cat behind the ear, then flopped myself down on the well worn sofa and looked at the tossed room. Sid and his cat took a seat next to me. Sid started to frown again. 

"Wes, I think you better tell me about that delivery you made before the accident."

And my hand--at least I thought it was mine-- started to move-- into his hair. God! I actually ran my hands through his hair-- "Que Sera, Sera."



Failing Upward Ch. 04



Chapter 4: Hidden Hills

I leaned over. I thought of kissing him. I did. 

But Sid turned his mouth away. 

"For years you've avoided this moment," Sid said. "Now, it's here, and I don't want it. You know why? Not just because I promised I wouldn't get into your pants, or because you drank too many rum and cokes, or because you've just been through a traumatic week."

I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes. 

"Alright, Mr. Psychoanalyst, tell me why," I said. "Oh, wait, let me guess. It's because I'm needy. Or maybe I'm sexually confused."

"No," he said, his body falling back into the couch next to mine. "You're doing what you've always done. Avoiding. And what ever you're avoiding, it's big. You'd rather fuck me than have to admit it to yourself."

God, I felt like crying. 

"Damn." I began to bang my head into the back of his couch. A tap at first. Each time after, harder than the last. Feel something. Feel something. Finally, the wooden frame gave a satisfying crunch against the back of my head. 

"Enough," Sid said, pressing his hand firmly against my forehead and stopping me from damaging his furniture, or myself, further. 

"You're avoiding," he said. "Now, you're beating the Hell out of yourself doing it."

I opened my eyes, looking over at Sid. His fingers slid down off my forehead to my jaw, loitering a bit before sliding them away. I chewed the inside of my cheek.

"Tell me about the delivery that day," he said, his fingers left their impressions like a stamp, a haunting reminder. 

I don't see how the delivery would be related at first, but I felt better after telling Sid all I remembered about the roses, Glenda, and the accident. I even fessed up about trying to read the card. Sid asked me if maybe I had read it and just didn't remember. I told him it was possible.

Lying to yourself was easy.

 He was wrong about me avoiding. 

 I faced my parents' death. 

 I faced my sister's death. 

So what I skipped out on grief counseling. So what I ignored Father Thomas knocking at the door. So what if I stayed home and let my voice on the answering machine do the talking? 

Tonight I needed Sid. So what? 

I knew what. 

Avoiding was like lying. I'd practiced avoiding so well my whole life, I don't know the difference. The ultimate avoidance: denying who I am. 

I hated the voices inside my head. My father saying I'm weak. Father Thomas telling me to say fifty 'Hail Marys' and twenty 'Our Fathers' and maybe I won't go to Hell. 

Tired and hurt, my body and head ached, but the pain wasn't unbearable. I just needed rest. Being the good guy, Sid took the sofa, and I took his bed. Sid insisted I get a decent night's sleep. 

I heard Sid's feet moving around outside the bedroom door about five minutes after I went into his room. Part of me wanted to ask him in. His finger's impression remained; the intimate contact settled me. I wished he'd touch me again. Shit, I wanted him to touch me again. I didn't care if I ended up in purgatory. But Sid wouldn't come in. For that to happen, I'd have to ask. I wondered if he'd changed his mind about getting into my pants. After all, I changed mine. But I wouldn't ask. He might have said no, and I knew I couldn't handle rejection again tonight. 

So, I said nothing. His loss. Not mine.

I couldn't sleep. My mind wouldn't switch off. I thought about my family. My father, who I guess, was right about me all along. My sister, who I loved more than myself. My mom, who could grow love from rocks and topsoil. I thought of Me, who missed them all.

Shit, I started to cry. 

It was always a mistake to stare at a digital clock when you're trying to sleep. 

-----------------

I jerked awake to the sound of banging on the front door. The realization that this was not my bed or my home came to me an instant later. 

I smelled coffee wafting into the room and felt the twinges behind my eyes of one of those caffeine withdrawal headaches. I looked at the clock, 3:47 pm. 

I pulled myself out of bed and strained to hear the voices in the other room. I heard a woman. 

A woman in the other room, and I was in the bedroom? In my underwear. Just my luck, the old cliché with a twist-- the other man hiding in the bedroom with the angry girlfriend banging on the door demanding, "Let me in."

 Suddenly... pulling out a steak knife from the cutlery drawer, she stabs the two-timing bastard boyfriend in the chest. 'You deserve a more painful death than this,' the jilted lover wails and wacks off his wanger-- 

Wait. 

Sid doesn't have a girl friend-- obviously. 

And wasn't that Lynn's voice? 

Mmm-- The Temptations, 'It was just my imag-in-a-tion, running away with me...'

I got out of bed, pulled on Sid's old bathrobe, and headed out to see what all the noise was about. I rounded the corner to the kitchen. 

"Shit!" I yelled, slamming my big toe against the door jam. I hopped around in circles, inching my way into the kitchen. 

Lynn looked surprised to see me. 

Hmm, Sid hadn't told her I was his guest.

"Wes! You scored!" She said, slugging Sid in the arm. "Oooh, baby. Did you show him a good time?"

"Shut up, Lynn," I said. "What are you doing here?" 

"Looking for you," she squealed. "I was worried. But this is great. I'm so happy for you. At least for this..."

"Coffee. I need caffeine," I said, noticing blood on the vinyl floor. "And a band-aid. Ouchless, please."

"I think you better sit down," Lynn said.

"I already know. I don't have to sit down. Why do you think I spent the night?" I inspected my throbbing toe then her face. I didn't like the look on her face or Sid's. "Well, maybe I better."

"I think you had," Sid said. 

I sat down on the barstool, wincing as I picked off what was left of my toe nail. 

"Your house wasn't all that burned last night. The Road House burned right to the ground. They think it was arson. But here's the good news; I have your Gibson right here, see? It's safe." She handed me the case.

But this couldn't be my guitar. That was my guitar case alright, but not my Gibson's. The case was my Fender's-- must be someone got outta my car. I opened the case, I saw it-- the guitar I loved-- my candy apple red Gibson ES-335 just like the one B.B. King plays. But I was sure it was at my house-- the one I used to have. How did Lynn get my guitar? I pulled out of the case. It didn't feel right.

At this point though, I didn't care. They'd have to pry it out of my dead and withered hands. Oh, wait. I looked closer. Nope, this wasn't my guitar. No scratch on the neck where I gouged it on the garden rake in Smith's garage. 

"What are you trying to pull? Where'd this guitar come from? And how'd you get this case?" I asked.

"What did you do to him last night any way?" Lynn smiled, changing the subject. "Sweet of you to protect his virtue, saying you hadn't seen him since last night... Then, out he pops from the bedroom. Real cozy."

Sid got cozy next to me, sliding his arm around my waist. Sid was kinda having fun with this whole idea of us having done the light fandango. Maybe if I let her think we did she'll get off my back, or at least quit trying to fix me up with guys who wanted to get me on my back-- or all fours. 

I put my arm around his waist in return, and he brushed a quick kiss to my temple-- the prickle of his chin. Was that a tingle I felt where his lips were?

"Aren't you two going to ask about my night?" She asked.

Just because I didn't have a love life, I didn't know why Lynn thought I'd be interested in hers. Did she think I nursed voyeuristic tendencies? Her and Alan. I guessed bad things do happen in more than three. 

"Spare me the gory details," I said. I know Alan was Sid's best friend, but as to why I could never quite calculate. Sid couldn't understand why we couldn't get along. 

 Sid: Alan and I are a lot alike.

 Me: Oh, let's see, Sid. How alike are you? Alan watches The Man Show, and you watch Oprah. Alan is a man slut, and you practice safe sex. Alan has two-timed every woman he professed undying love for, and you, Sid, are the quintessential good guy. 

I never came out and said, 'Hey, you're gay, and Alan's not.'

I was never sure of that one. Alan rides me about it so much. Maybe he doesn't ride Sid because Sid's cool with it. That and Alan has been Sid's best friend since elementary school. 

Sid tried explaining to me once why he was Alan's friend. He told he thought I don't get along with Alan because I'm a lot like him. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

I gulped down the coffee, and it burned my throat. After everything else that had happened, I really didn't give a shit. They both looked at me funny when I frantically grabbed my throat and choked. I had to laugh. They both looked so funny. In fact, everything became funny. I couldn't stop laughing. I thought this is what it's like to be hysterical-- tears streaming down my checks. That was funnier yet. Now I was half crying and laughing. 

"I think you better lie down on the couch," Sid suggested.

"Maybe he needs to do this. He's been through a lot. May be he should come home with me. No? You don't want to? Still, you're going to need some clothes, Wes. I don't think you can fit Sid's pants." She bit back a grin. "My brother is your size. I can bring some of them."

I was breathing normally now.

"Have you called your insurance agent yet?" she asked.

"Of course not. It's Saturday," I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. The last place I wanted to stay was with Lynn. Too many strange men coming and going. Literally. Not only that. Right now, even after someone tossed the apartment, Sid's place was still cleaner. I didn't have a lot of options.

"You can stay here with me," he offered. Now that wasn't an option-- at least, it wasn't a wise one.

"Far be it for me to step between a budding romance. Still, I'll bring over some clothes. I've got to get home; I've got to get ready. Alan's is going to pick me up at 5:00." 

Well, I sure didn't want to stay with her if he was there.

"Bye, Lynn," I said. I heard her shut the door and the hollow sound of her shoes clacking down Sid's cement steps before I realized she never told me where this Gibson came from, or how the heck she got the case. 

"I guess you have a house guest for a little while," I said, practicing a new riff. "I hope you don't mind."

"Great. It will be great. Make yourself at home. I picked up earlier. It's still trashed though. Besides, I'm worried about all that's happened... I've been thinking and maybe there is a common thread that ties them all together. I've looked around the apartment and nothing is missing. But the way all the cabinets were emptied and drawers turned over, I'm sure they were looking for something."

"You think this is all connected," I said, and I knew who we both suspected. The man who came out of my hospital room. The man with the flowers. He's probably some old psycho-groupie. "My finger is still sore," I mumbled. "I can't play bar chords." The thorn. 

I started to rummage through the case, searching for a pick.

"Have you ever been hypnotized?" Sid asked.

"No. Why?" I laughed. 

"I have this friend who's a hypnotist--"

"Are you suggesting I might remember what the card said?"

"Actually, I was thinking along the lines of the conversation that transpired between you and Mr. Lancaster at the hospital. I have this friend who runs this weight loss clinic using hypnotherapy."

"I'm in safe hands-- a weight loss guru-hypnotist," I said, placing the guitar back in the case. "I hope he won't make me cluck like a chicken."

"Great, I already set up an appointment. We gotta go; he's fitting you in."

"He won't turn my brain to mush will he? You know, I haven't been having the greatest string of luck lately." I thought for a moment. "Maybe he could get me to quit biting my nails." And maybe he could make me not want Sid, but I kept that one to myself. 

"Your nails are fine." That sounded like a boyfriend speaking. Shit.

"Well, hey, and while he's at it," I said, "see if I was Marc Antony in a past life."

"Let's go."

We cruised down 29 Mile Rd just south of town when it struck me, "Ah, Sid? This weight loss clinic-- it doesn't happen to be at Hidden Hills?" I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. 

It was. 

"Jeez, a nudist camp," I said. "What fucking next?" 

"It's been my experience that most people are really curious about what does go on in nudist colonies, which is nothing. But people have ideas about orgies and wife swapping. It's nothing like that. Don't tell me you haven't wondered?"

I just gave him a dirty look, but he was dead on. I always wondered. I knew Sid's parents were nudists-- left-over sixties' flower children. His parents both professors at Albright College-- dad a professor of sociology, mom of World Lit. I always thought it would be confusing, watching your parents walk around in birthday suits. I wouldn't want a naked image of my parental units buzzing in my brain. Sid's were scary enough.

"I hope you don't mind, but I wrote down some questions for him to ask you. Look them over." I scanned over the questions Sid handed me. I get car sick anyway and reading didn't improve matters-- and just thinking of Sid's parents walking around naked with martinis made me queasy enough.

"This friend of yours, he does have his clothes on when he hypnotizes you?" I didn't think I could be hypnotized with someone else's dick hanging out. Too distracting. But what I was really worried about was having my dick hanging out. "Can I keep my clothes on?"

"Yes," Sid smiled. "And don't worry. I'll keep mine on, too." Then he smiled wider. "Or would you like me to take mine off?" 

I fidgeted. Oh, he was joking. Okay, I got it.

As we pulled into Hidden Hills, the muzak from the building played, "The Sound of Music." 

Just perfect. Now I was thinking of Sid naked.

I looked around. I don't know what I expected. Maybe nude people jogging up and down the trails. All the way down the drive, and zero skin. I started to feel disillusioned when I spotted a bouncing white belly exiting the building. I said belly, because that was really all I could see. We were parked next to Mr. Large Intestine's car, and I crouched way low in the seat, trying hard not to wonder where he puts his keys. He was on my side of the car, and I wasn't into making eye contact to any panoramic view of his nether-regions. Hearing Sid's laughter, I slid back up in my seat, looking at Sid.

"I think this is too much nature for my taste," I said, making sure not to turn my head. 

"You know, that car door does open." Sid pointed out.

"Very funny. Can we wait until this guy gets what he wants out of his car? I have a creepy feeling his ass is pressed flat to my window."

"He's gone, Wes. Come on. It's time. The doc's waiting for us." I took a deep breath. Might as well start a little self-induced hypnosis now.

Suddenly, the landscape filled with skin. "Oh, gosh," I said, "here comes another at 3 o'clock. Hell-o! Gravity is not your friend." 

A tall red headed man-- er, woman waved at me. "Oh, my God, that's my neighbor," I said. "There's no fucking way I'm getting outta this car now."

"You have to, or we'll miss the appointment."

"Sid?" I asked. "Is this guy any good?" I closed my eyes-- either weight loss via hypnosis didn't work, or these people weren't taking advantage of the clinic. "Does he have some kind of license?" I asked.

"He's a psychiatrist. He has a license. He belongs to the ASCH-- a health care specialist organization for hypnotists. You'll be fine. Now get out of the car." I held my breath and kept my eyes down.

We got out of the car and walked straight through the front doors. I was relieved to see the waiting room was empty and both receptionists fully clothed.

"Hey, Sid," waved receptionist number one with the really big 80s hair.

"Doctor Deal is waiting in room one," said receptionist number two, winking at Sid. 

Both receptionists were checking me over.

"Alice is a good friend of my mom's," Sid explained. "I bet she's calling her right now. Or else she already had Mom on hold..." 

Sid led me to the back room. 

"And what's behind door number one?" Sid said, crooning in a faux game show announcer's voice. "It's a prepaid ticket to a dreamlike state! And here to tell us about the travel package is Dr. Peter Deal... Dr. Deal?" 

A man, who I took for Dr. Deal bowed, pointing flamboyantly inside the room.

"Why yes, Wes has won a round trip ticket. But let me start off my telling this fine winner about the trip-- the myths and truths of hypnosis, as it were. First, a person will not do anything they wouldn't ordinarily do. We call it the power of suggestion for a reason. It is merely a suggestion. I can't make you do anything you wouldn't morally do-- Like sleep with Sid here-- unless, of course, you were already inclined to do so."

Sid cleared his throat. Just how much information did Sid share about his personal life? 

"Second, this is not magic or some sort of cheap parlor trick," the doctor continued. "This is science. Almost anyone can be hypnotized, but creative types are more suggestible. From what Sid tells me, you fall into this category. As for past lives, forget it. Spontaneously reverting to a past life just doesn't happen much. I've been doing this for eight years, and I've only seen it once--a famous actor who comes here." The doctor rolled his eyes. "Actors have vivid imaginations-- this one did." He paused. "Finally, on the subject of repressed memories-- I understand you want to remember something you have forgotten-- so, I want to be clear here. Recovered memories most often are not memories at all, but creative stories invented by the subject. I'm not saying that people can't remember where they put the keys to their Lexus under hypnosis. They can and do. They also remember with out hypnosis. More often than not, it's their best hunch."

"A Eureka moment under hypnosis?" I asked.

"Exactly," he said. "And I also want to say, I won't let Sid here suggest anything off the wall while you're under."

"How comforting," I said.

"Now, where're the questions that you prepared?"

"Here," Sid said, handing him the steno pad.

"Ready?" he asked, and I nodded. 

"Lie back on the chair. Now, close your eyes. Tense your whole body. Now slowly relax every part of you. Start at the top of your head and move down...slowly... relax. Now you feel very light. Pretend you are weightless. Floating. Slowly lifting to the ceiling..." 

At this point, I really did feel light headed. He lifted my arm. 

"... you are walking through a garden. It is the most beautiful garden you've ever seen...you hear water gently flowing in a stream... you feel at peace... ahead you see a beautiful sunset... you walk toward it... one...two... three steps you take... with each step you take, you are more and more relaxed... four...five...six, the sunset is getting closer...seven... eight..."

"Wes? Wes?" I heard in a fog. I wasn't clear at first where I was. Then I remembered and looked at my watch-- 6:34. I think it was Sid and Dr. Peter Deal calling me, but my vision was blurred.

"What did I say? Did I tell you what the card said?" I asked.

"No, you didn't," said Sid.

"What about Mr. Lancaster. What did he say to me?"

"You couldn't remember anything about that either," Sid said.

"Then what the hell did I talk about for over two hours?" I asked, tapping my watch.

They looked at each other. 

"Hmm, where to start? Do you want to take this one Sid?" I stared at them.

"You have a really excellent imagination," Sid said. "I told you we should have recorded him," he turned to the doctor. "I took notes though." He leafed through the yellow memo pad that had the questions on it. Now it was filled with his notes.




Failing Upward Ch. 04



"Well?" I said. I didn't like this. What could I possibly have said that could fill that many pages?

"You could be the next Taylor Caldwell," Sid sat forward in his seat. "You recalled a past life. You were this school teacher..."

"What the hell? How did this happen?" I turned to the good doctor. "I thought you said this type of thing doesn't happened. Spontaneous..."

The doctor held up his hand. "This wasn't spontaneous...exactly..."

"Then what exactly was it?" I asked.

"Exactly?" the doctor said. "When I got nowhere with the questions, Sid mentioned that you said you wanted to stop biting your nails. And also about being Marc Antony. Very cliché you know, everyone's Napoleon, Marc Antony or Cleopatra." He paused a moment. I think he was waiting for me to back hand him or something. 

"Don't blame Deal. It was my fault. He's worried about malpractice. All I said was regress," Sid said. "And Bang--you started talking about your life as a school teacher named Daniel Camden in the year 1870 living in Freeport, Michigan. Man, you think you're having a bad time in this life. What's happened to you in the past weeks in nothing compared to what that school teacher went through."

"That," said Deal, "is exactly the point. A way for your psyche to heal. Telling yourself...life could be worse. Very constructive." 

I wondered if he was trying to justify letting Sid "suggest" a past life to me. Didn't strike me as very professional. But look where he practices. I searched at the walls for his diploma. What University did he hail from anyway-- the Pillsbury Doughboy School of Psychology?

"The mind has many ways to heal itself," he added. Where'd he get that aphorism from-- a fortune cookie? 

Now, the good doctor was checking his watch.

"Sorry we've kept you after hours," I said sarcastically.

"This is Saturday. The whole day is after hours. But I do need to go."

We walked out the door to the car, and I kept averting my eyes, trying not to see too much anatomy. 

"I admit it... I'm curious. Tell me about my past life," I said, shutting the car door.

"At first you talked about everyday details. For example, this teacher signed a contract forbidding him to date or get married, or he would lose his job."

"Most teachers had contracts like that back then."

"Really? So that would be something you'd already knew. Like prior knowledge. Interesting. Also, you talked about this married man, a local pastor. He left flowers, wrote love notes, followed you. The admirer got you, I mean Camden, fired from his teaching position."

I didn't like where this was going. It sounded too much like a Salvador Dali painting of my recent life experiences.

"The inflection in your voice was different-- your word choice. It was you, but not you. At first I thought the whole previous life thing was funny. But when you read the note that Pastor guy gave you-- I mean the schoolmaster... Well, I'll let you read these notes over that yourself... They were pretty sexually explicit-- what the so-called minister wanted to do to the schoolmaster. Bondage, and well, you get the idea. And how this Camden confronted the pastor after the pastor got him fired from his teaching position. Then the pastor flipped-- his notes turned more graphic, violent."

He handed me the memo pad. "I wrote it down the best I could. The man was psychopath-- he left a dead starling sealed in a gift wrapped box-- its neck broken." 

I shook my head. This was no past life, just my imagination. Not even original either. I've read that scenario and seen it on made-for-TV movies more than once.

"The schoolmaster found the package, setting just inside his front door next to his coat stand," Sid said. "It was Sunday. Camden was furious. He decided to confront his tormentor again. Only this time in church. When he shoved his foot in his boot, he felt a sticky a sharp pain. The sick bastard put a straight razor in his boot along with clotted blood from some animal." 

"All made up," I said. "I lifted that straight from the 'Cruel Shoes' skit," then I recited animatedly. "Carlo looked incredulous. 'No, Anna, you don't understand, you see, the cruel shoes are...' "

"Enough of the Steve Martin impersonations," he said. "Do you want to hear more or not?"

"Carlo disappeared into the back room for a moment, then returned with an ordinary shoebox," I decided I better stop with Carlos and Anna. I'd rather do Steve Martin than listen to this, but Sid was getting pissed. I could tell because he kept rolling up and down his window, in jerky, jagged motions. "Sorry, go ahead."

Suddenly, Crack! A bird hit Sid's wind-shield. 

"Shit," Sid said, braking. "What the fuck kind of bird is that?"

"Kamikaze pigeon," I answered, catching my breath from the seatbelt 's pressure. "Mission successful, too."  

"Look, it cracked my freaking wind-shield." 

"Don't you think you better stop the car and wipe it off? It's disgusting." 

Sid barely acknowledged me. I guess he wasn't going to stop his car. We were almost to his place anyway. He sighed and looked over at me.

"Camden confronted him in church," Sid said, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "He went in front of entire congregation and told them what their minister'd done. Camden waved the letters in the air. He handed a deacon some of the letters the pastor penned. The pastor denied it all. His wife looked at one of the letters, and said it wasn't her husband's handwriting."

"Sounds familiar-- late-night movie plot maybe?" 

"Satan was whispering into the schoolmaster's ear, that's what this reverend told his congregation. Said Camden spewed lies from the devil. No one believed Camden, or if they did, they were too frightened to step forward. The school teacher packed. The pastor showed up at his door seeking forgiveness-- or that's what he claimed. Camden didn't trust him. He told him to leave--" Sid hesitated. " Maybe I should stop and get the blood off my car." 

"Keep talking." Might as well hear it to the end. 

Sid pulled into his driveway and parked the car. 

---------------- Chapter 5: Strangers in the Night

Sid pulled the garden hose off the side of the house and rinsed what was left of the errant bird off his Cutlass. I stood, hands in my pockets, waiting. He wiped the car dry carefully with an old chamois, inspecting the damage. 

"I wonder if my insurance covers replacement for wind-shields?" Sid wondered aloud.

"Probably, but it also depends on your deductible. How high is it?" 

"Two-hundred." 

"It'll cost more than that," I said, sitting down on the concrete steps, my back flat against the black wrought iron railing. I thumbed through the note pad, reading key words. "So, tell me the rest of the schoolmaster's story."

"I don't want to get into the rest-- I mean, not in detail." He paused. He sat down next to me on the steps-- his knees touching mine. 

"Fine," I said. "Give me the abridged version." 

"The minister killed Camden," Sid said, scratching at a spot of dried paint on his pants. "Then he rummaged through Camden's home and took the notes he'd written. He wrapped the body in an old wool blankets from the bedroom, then buried him in the woods next to the church."

"How'd he kill him?" I asked, flipping the pages of the memo pad.

"Camden turned his back on him, and first the good minister hit him in the back of the head with a cast iron door-stop-- then seeing the fight was out of Camden--" Sid paused. "He strangled him."

I read a few of the comments Sid had written down. His notes seemed to end there. 

"So, he got away with it," I said. My heart pounded. My hand holding the pad shook. I couldn't hide it. Sid saw my mouth trembling. Fuck, what was wrong with me? 

"You know," Sid said, resting his hand on my knee. "It's like Peter Deal said-- you know, your imagination in over drive." I think Sid said this as much for his own benefit as mine. "Well, you're right. He did get away with murder. Everyone believed Camden left town. A couple of people did come looking for him-- his sister and her husband. Yeah, and get this-- her name was Emma Lancaster."

I wasn't surprised. This was my imagination, after all.

"She wanted to know what happened to her brother," he said. "She and her husband went to Freeport, looking for him. Someone from the congregation told them the lie that Camden became infatuated with the local pastor. She didn't believe a word of it."

I glanced down at the pad in my hand. 

"Let's go in-- I'm starved," Sid said. It hadn't occurred to me until that moment that all I had today was coffee, no wonder I was shaking.

We found a brown paper bag of clothes from Lynn wedged inside the door. In neat black marker she'd written: have a good time tonight. Folded inside I found three pairs of worn jeans, a black sweater, assorted t-shirts, socks, plaid flannel pjs and a package of unopened briefs. I hated briefs.

Sid laid his keys on the counter and stretched. 

"Why don't you take a bath and relax. I'll make dinner," he said.

Sounded perfect. I took the memo pad. Not the most relaxing reading material, but I had to read it. I grabbed a t-shirt and red flannel pajama bottoms from Lynn's care package and headed for the bathroom. 

It was spotless. 

Towels stacked. Shampoo lined up. Floor sparkled. One look in the medicine cabinet, confirmed my suspicions-- Sid was a neat-freak. I set the pad down on the counter. His handwriting was even neat. I stripped off my clothes and adjusted the water to super hot. Sid kept the air-conditioner set to 'create iceberg,' making the hot bath water welcome. Besides, sweating in a hot tub would get the ache out of my neck. 

I inched into the tub and stretched back. I picked up the pad, careful not to get it wet, and I read. The parallels to my own life were disturbing-- at least in some areas. When I got to the last couple of pages, I stopped. I'd already skimmed that part outside on the steps and got the idea-- no need to revisit. Fuck. Why would I ever invent shit like that? It made me sick. I'd almost feel better if this was a past life, not invention.

I closed my eyes and nodded off for a bit. I woke, and the water had cooled. I flicked the drain lever with my big toe. Sid's dinner smelled delicious. Definitely chicken. And a hint of vanilla. I dried off and dressed fast.

I stopped short when I walked out of the bathroom. Soft music, candle light. Candles, that was where the vanilla scent came from. Sid walked out of the kitchen with two goblets and a bottle of white wine.

"Dinner's ready," he said, noting my glance at the table. "God, this looks bad doesn't it? I don't get to cook for anyone much. Gives me a chance to stretch my culinary skills." 

"Don't apologize. It looks great." I smiled. He'd gone to a lot of trouble. I can't remember anyone going to this much trouble for me. Linen napkins-- even. I sat down, and Sid poured me some wine. I took a sip. Not cheap stuff either. I helped myself to the main dish. 

"I know it's just a casserole, but it's my mum's recipe," he said, watching me eat. 

"It's fantastic," I said with my mouth full. "I don't cook much. The only home-cooked meals I get anymore are from Lynn, and her cooking sucks dick." 

"Whoa! Slow down," he said.

"I was hungrier than I realized." I said, washing the casserole down with some more wine. Sid refilled my glass. I took another roll and a second helping of the casserole.

"I was reading your notes while I was in the tub. What do you think of this past life shit?"

Sid stared at me. The room was quiet except for Frank Sinatra, crooning in the back ground. He seemed to come to some resolve. 

"I don't believe in past lives. But I do think that there were details of what you said that sounded real. Too, real. There was one element that disturbed Dr. Deal," Sid said, touching the rim of his wine glass a moment. "Don't you wonder why you don't remember anything?"

"I hit my head on the steering wheel. I was in shock," I said, pouring myself some more wine.

"No, I meant while you were hypnotized."

"I've never been hypnotized before. I don't know. Was I supposed to remember? My knowledge of hypnotism comes from late night movies and articles in magazines. But as I recall, doesn't the hypnotist say something like, 'when I count to three you will remember nothing'?"

"Yeah, or 'when I count to three you will wake up and remember everything.' "

"Then, I don't remember? Is that a problem?"

"Peter told you not to remember. He thought it might be better if you didn't. He thinks maybe it's not a past life."

I laughed. "What the fuck is it then? My future?"

"He thinks you should go to another psychiatrist. To talk about this I mean."

I gave Sid a blank look. "Talk about what?"

"It might be repressed memories." 

"Didn't Dr. Deal imply that repressed stuff was a bunch of shit? No," I said, choking on my wine. "I read the rest of the notes. Maybe it's symbolic. I saw in a movie once how objects and events under hypnosis can be metaphors."

"Maybe, I don't buy the idea of repressed memories either. Still, you should take what Peter said seriously," Sid said. "I'd say go to him. But I think he's too close to my family. Even if there's nothing to this repressed memories, talking to someone wouldn't hurt. You've been through a Hell of a lot. What you told us under hypnosis, God, it was so real-- ever think of going into acting?" 

"No," I laughed. "You know-- I'll think about this counseling thing, but drop it for now."

"What about going over to your house tomorrow?" he asked, changing the subject. "You probably should go check out the damage. I'll go with you." 

"Yeah, I should," I said. Truth was, I didn't want to face it. Family photo albums, my old acoustic guitars, the upright Grande piano, all the music I'd written. If Sid went with me, at least I wouldn't have to face it alone. 

"This discussion is too serious," I said. "I'll help you clear the table, and we'll talk about it later." 

We picked up the dishes, scraped and rinsed them off. I had a light buzz from the bit of wine I drank. Sid filled the dish washer, and I went to get the casserole dish, humming and singing with Frankie to "Strangers In the Night." 

I turned around. Sid was there, and Frankie was crooning 'something in your eyes, was so inviting.'

I hesitated, looking at his eyes, then down at his lips. He leaned into me heavily, pressing my back side hard into the table. His shoulder brushed past my arm as he blew the candle out behind me. The casserole clattered to the table.

Sid shifted his body, but didn't pull away. Instead he pressed his body into mine, face to face. I leaned back as he leaned forward. He pushed his hips into mine. Both my hands grasped the edge of the table, supporting my weight. My arms buckled a little as he kissed me once lightly on the lips. He drew up, searching my eyes begging for permission. God, he had to feel my erection through this thin flannel. I pushed up into him, permission granted-- 

I wanted to taste his lips. One hand delicately circled my ear, and I felt his other hand on top of my left hand, clutching the table. I waited. He pressed into me harder. My arms buckled and gave, elbows and forearms fell flat to the table in back of me. He looked into me, through me-- and he kissed me again, this time, mouth open. I tasted him-- white wine with a bit of lemon.

His tongue tickled the roof of my mouth, making me harder. It felt strange. Strange and good. His finger toyed with the fine hairs in my ear. Our teeth clanked together. God, he was wicked, the way he rhythmically rocked his hips into mine. I can't believe how much I wanted him. How much I loved this. I squeezed my eyes tight, rocking-- an odd yet delicious sensation. His tongue flicked the inside of my cheek and then twirled around inside, tasting me. 

My turn. I pulled my mouth away and gasped, then went in for more. I shoved my tongue as far down his throat as I could. Sid's teeth clamped down, and my throat constricted in strangled surprise. His teeth had me-- not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to keep my tongue prisoner in his mouth. He sucked on it hard, persistent, running his own tongue under mine. I felt like a guitar's E string, wound too tight, ready to pop. The trembling in my arms moved up my shoulders, into my chest. Shit, Sid's simulated fellatio was gonna make me come like some adolescent boy right there on the table. I was shaking hard and right on the edge, gasping into his mouth. 

He knew I was desperate. He let go. Stopped-- pulled away. My eyes flew open, wide with surprise. Just one more suck, one more push, and I'd have come right against him. He read the question in my eyes.

I tried to pull myself away from the table, but my legs won't hold me-- sweat dripping off me in the air-conditioned Popsicle of a room. I couldn't speak. I bit my lip, struggling to get my arms out from under me.

I saw Sid, fighting with some kind of internal decision-- my sincere hope was that he planned to pin me on the couch or finish me in the bedroom. But no. He frowned and cleared his throat. 

Finally I managed to spit out the words, "Why did you stop?" He opened his mouth to speak but didn't. Then, he moved over to the couch to sit down. I just stared at him in disbelief. Had I just imagined what happened? I gathered myself up to stand.

"What was that?" I asked. "Some kind of test?"

"No, not really," he said. "I promised I wouldn't do this. Not doing too well."

"You were doing fine."

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" He asked. "Shit. Don't take this the wrong way, but-- you know, I'm your first. I'm like your experimental model. You know the problem with being an experimental model is that they usually don't work out. You test them and then--"

"So what was that all about? Taking me to the point of no return and leaving me there?"

"I want to be around a lot longer than a test model. I think that's a bit more important than your dick."

"Seems to me, I'm the one being tested, not you. And what am I supposed to do with this?" I said, grabbing my crotch. "Go beat off?"

"That or sit down, watch TV and play Scrabble with me."

"Play Scrabble? Are you fucked up in the head? I have a huge hard on here, and you're the reason, and you want me to play Scrabble?"

"That or watch old movies--" Sid said, picking the remote off the coffee table and turning the TV on. He looked over at me and sighed. "Listen, I've waited for you for a lot longer than one stupid evening. I'm not going to blow it by fucking you because we're both horny. You're not the only one with a hard on."

"Shit," I yelled. "I guess I'll go beat off in the bedroom!" 

"Go for it," he said, throwing me the Kleenex box off the end-table. 

"You fuck!" I said, catching the box. I stomped off into the bedroom. I almost slammed the door, but then changed my mind. I left it open. Let him listen, the shit.

I threw myself down on the bed. I made sure my moans would carry well out into the other room. I was getting into this. I figured the more vocal the better. After a few minutes, Sid turned down the sound to the television a bit. The ass was listening. Good. I got myself hotter, and hoped he could hear me jerking my cock up and down. He could have been in here. And just before I came I cried out, "Hey, Sidney! This is for you!" And when I came, I swore unintelligibly. Very satisfying.

I noticed Sid had turned the sound completely off on the TV. 

He was groaning. Must be he's doing what I did. I laughed. 

Ha, ha, I had the Kleenex. ---------------------

I woke sore and tired. I vaguely recalled dreaming that I was flying-- I wasn't myself. In my dream, I glanced at my hands seeing little brown sparrow wings. I remembered someone telling me I was weightless. Caught in an air current, I heard a clicking in the distance up ahead. I glided toward the sound-- into an old broken down bell tower. Then I woke. 




Failing Upward Ch. 04



Shit. Then, I remembered last night. The disappointment I usually felt knowing a great dream wasn't real diminished. I heard the click, click, click from my dream-- and it was Sid banging on his computer keyboard. I also remembered my little revenge last night-- if a screaming maniacal masturbator could ever be vengeful. 

Sid was working on a Sunday morning. What a work-a-holic. I never work on Sundays. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock and groaned-- 9:22 with a dot. 

What was the real purpose of those stupid digital dots anyway? Why can't they make them straight forward and say am or pm? There was no universal dot meaning-- on one clock the top dot means am, another it's pm. Probably some type of traveler's conspiracy theory-- to never know night from day. I imagined the evil clock maker now with his magic wand on the assembly line tapping each clock as each rolled by, "Dot... no dot... dot... no dot..." 

I had an urge to pull the covers back over my head and sleep forever. Maybe I could fly out of this mess of a life like a sparrow in my dream. Maybe nothing else would happen if I just stayed in this bed. Although, last night I would have preferred something did happen other than with my own hand. 

Might as well get up and face Sid.

I sorted through the clothes Lynn gave me. I held up the jeans-- relaxed button fly Levis. The only time I wore skin tight anything was on stage. I only wore them then because the other band members razzed me to wear leather or stupid fish net. I hated it.

I sat on the edge of Sid's bed and looked around his room-- something I hadn't done before now. All the furniture in the room matched. All colonial antique cherry. Very nice collection. I felt relieved to see dust collecting on the dresser. I was beginning to worry Sid's neatness was pathological. 

He had novels stacked on the floor next to the bed and some spilling underneath. I checked the titles and authors. An eclectic taste-- sci-fi, classics, detective novels--I noticed a few of my favorite authors, Amy Tan and Tolkien. The Dead Zone by Stephen King, half hidden under the bed. A book of poetry by e.e. cummings on his night stand.

I always have the urge to open closets. I know it was nosey just like looking in people's medicine cabinet or secretly reading cards, but I couldn't resist. Just a regular closet. More organized than my dad's, messier than Lynn's, and much neater than mine. 

Sid knocked on the bedroom door. 

"Yes?" I said, snapping the closet door shut.

"Just checking to see if you're up. I need to get some clothes. I forgot to get some out last night." Ahh, yes, last night. 

"You can come in." He was up, but not dressed.

"Nice boxers," I said. Silk Looney-Tunes with royal blue background.

"One of those Christmas presents you can't take back," he said, bending over. My his ass looked hot in them. I wouldn't take them back. "There's cereal in the cupboard, milk in the fridge. Help yourself," he said.

I went out to the kitchen grabbed a cup of coffee and then walked over to his desk. I wanted to take a look-n-see at his monitor and find out what he was working on so diligently on a Sunday morning. He walked out about then and caught me in the act.

"Just doing a little research," he said.

"This doesn't look like java script or html to me. Why's a web page designer browsing on the Later Day Saints family search site?"

"Caught me. I was looking up your past life. The one I didn't believe in. Guess what, there was a Daniel Camden born in Michigan during that time. Here is the print out. Notice there's no death date."

"There's nothing on here about other ancestors," I commented, reading the sheet.

"That's not unusual, many of the birth records prior to the 1900's don't mention ancestors. But if we have his birth date, sometimes you can find out family history and places of employment." 

"Interesting, but is it really important?"

"I know you. You'll wonder. I'll work on this while you're at work tomorrow," Sid said. "Oh, yeah, and you had a phone call from Smith earlier."

"He's up already?" Lynn's out telling the world where I'm residing-- big mouth.

"The band is worried about you. They want you come to practice at Smith's later today." We usually practice there or in my basement studio-- the one I don't have anymore. Goodbye studio. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach thinking of all the equipment and memories destroyed. "I told him we were going over to your place later this morning to check it over. Do you still feel up to it?"

"Might as well."

---------------------

We avoided the topic of last night until the ride to my house. I was thinking about how much I hated going to see my burned up life when I alluded to my behavior. 

"No, it was my fault. Seriously, Wes. I'm sorry. Not sorry how it turned out, but sorry for starting it."

So, he liked listening. 

"No," I said. "I wanted it. Then I acted like an ass." 

"Wes, you're a friend, first and foremost, regardless of whatever else I feel for you. I want you to stay at my place-- especially with everything that's happened." 

"So that means-- what? Until you're sure you're not just a free sample?" I asked.

"No, not free sample-- experimental model, which means I won't start anything again until I'm sure."

"Sure of me?"

"Sure of us both," he said, turning down my street. And there was my home.

In the daylight, it didn't look as bad. The old place was still standing. Glass crunched beneath our feet as we walked around the outside. We noticed most of the damage was in the front living room and my bedroom directly upstairs from it. The only unbroken window was the one to my back door. The stale smell of burned plastic and insulation clung in my nose. I delayed going inside for as long as possible until Sid broke through the yellow tape and ventured inside first.

Maybe it was best I saw the worst right away. 

Nothing was left of the living room. The wall eaten through, springs sat on the floor where the sofa once was. Ironically, there was still logs left piled next to the fireplace. I knelt down into the charred sticks and ashes where my old oak bookcase once stood. All my photo albums, diaries, books and personal letters were gone, transferred into piles of ashes. This had to be the focal point of the fire-- the hot spot. The fire so intense, it burned a hole where I could see into the basement through the hardwood floor. Looking up, another hole gaped, reaching into my bedroom. From here, I could see the charred rafters of three floors. 

I looked back around me, remembering all the hard work I'd done pulling out the old olive shag carpet and stripping the oak floors. As I looked down in to the pit, I could tell the fire only scorched the basement. The real damage was from the water, putting out the fire.

We walked back to the kitchen. It was salvageable. One good scrubbing and the room would be unchanged. There was a bit of water damage to one wall, but the tile floor wouldn't have to be replaced.

The staircase was fine. It looked like the fire had just flashed up the walls to the next story. Soot blanketed the upstairs. Boot imprints stamped the upstairs hallway. My bedroom was a loss. This looked like a hotspot also. I could see daylight through the ceiling.

"Maybe you could add a sky light when you rebuild?" Sid commented, trying his best to cheer me.

Nothing left to do but look at the basement.

The studio was a loss. A torrent of water worked its way down through the floor and in its wake everything was saturated in the basement. The padding on the walls reeked. There was standing water at the bottom of my twelve string guitar case. The fine wood had warped. I would sit down, but there was no spot that was dry or not covered with soot.

"Let's go," I said. "I've seen enough." We sloshed across the basement floor, up the stairs and out the back door. I didn't bother to look at the piano. 

I needed to get out of here. I needed to take a bath. -----------------------------

I didn't think I'd ever get the smell out. It lingered in my hair and clothes. I threw them aside. I jumped in the tub and scrubbed and scrubbed. I put on clean jeans and t-shirt. I still smelled like fire. I think smells can hold you captive. They stay with you. Even though logic tells you they're gone, they stay with you.

I kept thinking I smelled it in my hair, my body all that afternoon. Following me. Not the whole while, but it came and went. Just enough to stay in the back of my mind. A reminder.

Part of me wanted to go practice with the guys. Part of me was afraid to. Since the night I saw my substitute on stage, I felt like I'd been turned in for a better model. Sid was not the only one with a complex. Although I had no real reason to feel this way, it was kinda like the smell of soot in my hair-- came and went yet never quite left. Sid tried to convince me I had nothing to worry about. 

I grabbed the guitar, and we left.

--------------------------

Smith's garage has horrible acoustics. It's not unusual for objects hanging on the wall, like hammers and saws, to vibrate, fly off and hit you while playing. Pruning sheers leave nasty scars. Still, without my studio, we were limited to where we could practice. Jimbo's wife kicked us out of their house years ago, and John never had a residence long enough to practice in.

When Sid went to drop me off, I could tell he wanted me to invite him to stay and listen. He's done it before, and the band never cared. We like having an audience. Spouses, friends and significant others often sit and listen to us play, argue and joke around. I almost sent Sid down the road until I saw the substitute was already hooked up in the garage.

"Hello beautiful," John said giving me one of his smothering bear hugs. "Looking better. Your black eyes are almost gone already." He winked at Sid.

"We want you to meet the man who was nice enough to sub for you," John said, scratching his head. "We were thinking about adding another member. Now, don't get the wrong idea. Sid told me you thought we wanted to replace you. Like we could ever replace you? You're one of the best as a writer and a musician. But you know that what the band has needed since the very beginning is someone with a strong distinctive voice. I think he can bring that to our band. He's an adequate guitarist, but exceptional vocalist."

"You're so full of shit," I said to John. "You have a great voice, so does Jim. What the hell is this really about? Connections?"

"Well, yeah, that's another part of it. I can't say it isn't. We would never replace you. Shit, you were a founding member of the band! You're what's kept us from tearing out each others throats. You've kept our heads above water. You're the wind beneath over wings for Christsake."

"Enough of the mixed metaphors. I came here to practice. So let's do it."

I sat the guitar case down. "And by the way, where'd this guitar come from?" I asked.

"We bought it. So shut the fuck up," John said, smacking me in the shoulder. "We care about you, dumb ass."

" I deserved that. Thank you. It's just like my old one. Where'd you get it?" I asked.

"Bought it from the new guy," John said. Shit, I was beginning to feel ungrateful again. 

That's when I opened the case, and there it was under the guitar.

"Holy, Shit!" I yelled. 

Everyone thought I was off on another nut, and Sid bent to look at what the Hell was in my guitar case. He stood up. The card was in his hand.

"The missing card!" I said.

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"Long story," I replied, looking at the envelope in Sid's hand. The top was ragged and a bloody thumb print-- my blood-- stained the front. I must have opened it after the accident. Odd, I never ripped envelopes open. Sid pulled out the card and looked at it-- 

He turned it over and showed it to me. All I saw were a series of L's and O's.

"Ones and zeros," Sid said to himself.

"Ones and zeros? What does that mean?" I asked.

"Binary code-- you know-- for computers."

"You think that's what it is?" I asked Sid.

"I can't think of anything else it could be."

"But why would he send his mom flowers with a card written binary code?" I asked. Sid shrugged. And how the heck did it get into my guitar case, I wondered.

"What are you two talking about?" John asked. "Let's jam, Spam!" Leave it to John to use archaic guitar witticisms. 

I plugged my guitar into the amp and turned to face our new member. 

"Here," John said. "I want you to officially meet our new member, Les Lancaster Zante."

"Lancaster? Your name is Lancaster?" I stopped tuning my guitar. "You don't happen to be related to the Lancasters that live out on River Road?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's my grandma. Why? You know 'er?"

"Small world," said Sid. "Too, small."

After finding out who the new mysterious band member was, I didn't want to practice. But the show must go on. We practiced the rest of the afternoon, but I couldn't get into it. I had to admit though, that Lancaster had a great voice. Better yet his voice meshed with the rest of ours like he was created for that purpose. Fucking hell.

I didn't like how things were progressing with my life, and I told Sid so when we got back to his place.

"I got no home-- I got no car. I have a Hell of a head ache. And I think my finger's still infected. I'm on my third antibiotic, and it's still not working. It hurts like a bitch when I play the guitar."

"Better call the doctor tomorrow and have him call in a different antibiotic," Sid said.

"You know what I think? I think that rose carried some kind of heavy virus like e-bola, and I'm dying from it right now."

"That's not funny at all," Sid said.

"I'm not being funny; I'm serious."

We dropped the topic and fixed leftovers from last night. Afterwards, Sid got out the Scrabble board-- even though I wanted to play Battleship. 

I've played Scrabble with Sid once before. He cheats. Last time he got the triple word score on some 'confrabricated' word, claiming he had no dictionary to look it up. Jeez, ever heard of Webster's on the internet? 

After we got to playing, I suspected Sid was letting me win. I didn't say anything. It's pretty sorry when the guy who wants to get into your pants throws a Scrabble game. 

He put away the Scrabble board, and I helped him pull out the sofa bed. He didn't try anything funny. Fuck.

Before I went into the bedroom, I kissed him on the lips good night, and I took my time. He didn't seem to mind at all, but I made sure I kept my mouth closed.



Failing Upward Ch. 05



Chapter 6-- Lucky Charms

I jumped up. I was late for work-- 8:32 with a dot. 

First day back to work and draggin' ass. Coffee bit my nostrils, and a heat wave prediction from Chet Sands, Channel Three's ace weatherman, bombarded my ear drums. Sid was up and hadn't woke me. 

"Shit, I'm late," I said, stumbling out of the bedroom shoving my right leg in my pants. I head butted Sid and rocked back on my heals, falling smack against the wall. 

"Whoa," he said. "You sure you're up to going back?" 

"I'm fine. I gotta to go to work," I said, ticking off each reason on my fingers. "I have $23.54 in my checking account. I have to file the insurance, and I have to do it today at lunch. I have to check out the policy on my car. And I have to know how much they'll pay on the house." I caught my breath and shoved my other leg into my pants. "-- but it'll be a while before the insurance pays off-- if they do-- if I don't end up in jail for arson. No use putting this off. I need to get it started. Sucks having no car-- or house." Amazing. Half way articulate-- and with no caffeine. 

"I'm gonna walk down to Johnson's insurance at lunch--" I added, "although I'm sure they'll cancel my policy after this." 

"Listen, you need money. Here," Sid said, reaching for his billfold and pulling out a couple of twenties. 

I shook my head, ducking into the bathroom. 

"I wasn't asking for money," I said, calling out as I shut the door. 

"I know you weren't, but you need to eat," he said, pressing his mouth against the door talking over me while I piss. "Do me a favor, eat something first before you go in. You're already late. I'll call work." 

"I need coffee," I said, flushing the toilet. "But I'm not a breakfast person." 

In the vanity mirror, I seem normal. My black eyes had vanished; I looked rough but not bad. I washed my hands then brushed my teeth with the extra Scooby-Do toothbrush Sid gave me. Stepping out of the bathroom stretching, my traitorous stomach growled 'feed me,' reverberating into the kitchen. Funny, I could have sworn my toe nail came off when I stubbed it the other day. I must have been mistaken.

"You need more than coffee," Sid said, rummaging through assorted cereal boxes in the cupboard. He pulled them out, jostling each one next to his ear like a kid rattling his piggy bank. "Maybe I should throw some of these away. Not enough for a bowl full in any of 'em. You like Captain Crunch?" 

"That's good," I said. I was hungry. "Actually, Captain Crunch is my favorite." 

I searched the inside of the fridge, blurry eyed. I slid the milk from the shelf over to the counter while Sid dug out a spoon and bowl from the dishwasher. Plopping down on the leather barstool, I poured a heaping bowl full with skim milk. Whole was better, but I was ravenous by then; I'd gobble cereal dry. My stomach yowled again, welcoming the first bite. 

"Sounds angry, I think it wants eggs and bacon," he said, plunging his hand deep into a box of Lucky Charms. "Mmm, green clovers!" 

"What, no toy surprise inside?" I laughed-- er, giggled. "This cereal's fine. Eggs and bacon another day," I said. 

"Bacon and eggs," I whisper, half to myself. Mmm. One of the olfactory memory meals that I loved. "That does sound good-- and something I could make. What if we go shopping after I get out of work, and I'll make breakfast for dinner tonight?" 

"Does sounds good," he said, throwing back bland oat cereal into the box and casting in again. I munched and drank my coffee while Sid called the flower shop for me. Who was he, my friggin' secretary? His neck cupped the phone like my mom's used to-- talking all proper and polite. It was Mr. Keller on the other end. Had to be. If he was talking to Alan, his arms would wave around his head instead of tight and acting all constipated. All the while he sorted out the marshmallow charms and popped them into his mouth like accounts.

That's when he turned his back to me, and I noticed his shoulder muscles twitch rhythmically. Little ticking spasms. His navy 'I Love NY' tank top stretched taunt across the spot, betraying movement underneath. I held my breath. No, that didn't make me want him at all-- 

He hung up.

"Everything's cool," he said. 

--and that quick smile he slipped me when he clicked down the receiver, nope, that didn't warm my heart. 

"Take your time finishing breakfast," he added.

I choked back, "Thanks, Sid." 

------------------------

We pulled up in front of the greenhouse at the same time as Alan. He waved as Sid stretched over the seat. 

"I'll pick you up at five. If you decide to knock off early today, just call. You know my cell phone number. I'll be in and out all day." 

In and Out? Shit. My hand pulled on the door handle and missed. 

"Wes?"

"Yeah?" 

He hesitated, leaning further over the console. For a moment there, I thought, hey, he was gonna kiss me in broad fucking daylight in front of work, Alan, and the world. Instead, his hand brushed my chin, and he smiled, "Bye."

I stumbled out of his car and crossed the street with the memory of In and Out and his fingers lingering on my chin, and how only days ago I was thinking of one-hundred and one reasons why I shouldn't be gay, and now I'm thinking of one-hundred and three reasons why I should be. Alan stood in the front room, watching our parting scene through the showroom window. I limped up the stairs, avoiding Alan's stare. He closed one eye, summing up my perplexed, nervous gate.

"Well, Wes I have to admit... I was wrong about you." I gave Alan a puzzled look. "I told Sid not to waste his time, pining away for you. He kept telling me you'd come around. I admit; I was wrong. So, um, I guess I can't refer to you as the 24-year-old vestal virgin anymore?" 

"That's the most bass ackward complement I ever heard. Let me get this right-- you've hated me all these years, because I didn't sleep with Sid."

"Yeah, that's about right." 

I could not bring myself to side with his semi-civil countenance-- not even for Sid-- when I knew inside Alan was still a slithering, womanizing snake. I wanted to indulge in a few choice words, but I glimpsed Mr. Keller standing in the backroom taking in our conversation. 

Peachy. 

"Now, you look more like yourself. You were a sight at the hospital," Mr. Keller spoke up; I loved the guy. He came to see me. Shucks. "Lucky you're alive-- I saw what was left of your car." 

"Thanks for visiting me," I said, explaining my memory lapse was too long a story to tell Mr. K this morning.

"I'm happy you're back," he gave me a warm suffocating hug. "Sorry about everything-- the fire, your house. Here's some extra cash," he whispered, slipping it into my hand. "What ever you need-- just ask. You're like a son to me, you know. Sid told me you were still a bit under the weather. If you feel like punching out early today, it's okay-- I won't look at your time card."

"I'll see how the day goes."

He winked. "Sid comes from a great family, and I'm glad to see something good come out of all the bad that's come your way. You've had too much happen over the last few years." I looked down quickly, my eyes watering. "Well, I've got to get to the scene of your accident-- check on those sick roses on River Road. I'll be back as soon as I'm through."

"You talked to Mrs. Lancaster then?" I said, looking over at Alan. 

"Yes, she sends her best to you, by the way-- says her grandson knows ya."

"Well, yeah, he's in our band now." 

Alan laughed and walked down the back steps to the greenhouse. Ass hole. Mr. K waved, and I turned around. The door chimed twice. Keller leaves, customer enters. A day in the life at the flower shop.

Easy customer. Took a pre-made bud vase, paid and left. Then I prepared myself for the design room. 

The last time I was gone a week, it took three days to organize the place again. Upside of being gone those days was I missed the Yancey wedding that Saturday. I hated working weddings. Especially, snooty-bitch-my-shit-don't-stink weddings. Weddings are a pain in the ass. When the brides to be come in to place their orders, I always wonder, how long before the divorce? I'd started a pool once, set odds; Alan even got in on the action. But Mr. K made us to stop. 

Not very professional placing bets on newlywed longevity.

I shook my head. Stems in descending degrees of decay, from petrified to mush, covered the counters. Over five rolls of floral tape half unwound, were puckering from water saturation. No one bothered to put the right size of floral wire in the right slots-- When will they learn never to stick number three wire into the nine hole. And the ribbon-- a bolt of yellow pot tie muddied and trampled on the floor and another bolt of white picot ribbon half unraveled on a work bench sopped in water. Trying to put the mess away, I slipped on crumbled Oasis near the bathroom door, catching my balance and squishing my hand in a jelly donut. 

I asked Mr. K about the Lancaster's when he got back. He didn't have much to say-- at first. He raved on and on about the garden. Thinking back, it was spectacular. He said Mrs. Lancaster wasn't home, but the infamous siren, Glenda was. He also met, Les, our new band member. What ever was wrong with the roses, wasn't anymore; they were perfectly healthy. Then, I remembered the leaves I took. Well, they were 'Gone with the Car.' I didn't understand how plants in that wasted a condition could recover so quickly.

"She's more interested in the missing card," he said. "She wondered if you would give it back." Considering her grandson had witnessed its reappearance, I guessed I had to. I told Keller I'd bring it in tomorrow.

"That's fine," he said. "They're a nice family. Very caring. Nice of them to come visit you in the hospital." Crap. My hospital room must have had revolving doors. "An interesting young man, that Les. Reminds me a lot of you. He asked how you were today-- said was he was the one that found you alongside the road and called the ambulance. He's very concerned about you." 

Why would this Les lie about calling the ambulance? Old MacDonald called. I didn't understand. 

"And Mr. Lancaster said he was sorry to hear about your house."

I bet he is, I thought. 

I looked at the clock. Almost lunch time-- I wasn't in any hurry to visit Johnson's Insurance Agency, so I left a few minutes late.

--------------------------------- The insurance company was in a renovated Victorian home. The ginger breading both inside and out advertised a quaint small town atmosphere-- a distinction many of the homes converted to businesses promoted in Andrews. I stepped into the waiting room where it looked like a time machine belched-- the Art Deco furniture out of place. 

Ellen, Mr. Johnson's ample partner and my mom's best friend, stood waiting for me, and we walked back to her office together. 

"I'd been worried about you," she said. "How are you doing, I mean, really doing? Be honest."

I could never lie to her-- I still call her my 'other mother,' an endearing name my mom christened her with long ago. I took a seat in a wing back chair facing her desk.

"I've been worse," I said, smiling best I could. "Guess you'll need my policy number-- its 98692A-37895." 

"And the policy number on the house?" She asked. 

"Well, yes that's the other reason why I came down here."

"Yes, honey. You forget-- I know all, see all. Small town. Um, and the adjuster's already been out to your home."

"What about my car?" 

"A total, pay off will be blue book value." 

"How long?"

"It depends. I'll need a change of address done. Or I can have it sent here and call you. Now, as for your home owner's, we were looking over your policy, and you didn't have contents. The house is insured for replacement value. However, the cause of the fire may hold up matters." She looked up at me over her glasses. "I'm sorry, Wes. I'll do my best to help speed this all as much as I can." 

"Is it because it's arson?"

"Yes. Frankly speaking, I know you had nothin' to do with it honey, but I'm not the one that issues the check." I nodded. Well, that was no surprise. 

"I'll pick up the check here. Call me at Keller's or on my cell when it comes in." We both stood up at the same time, and Ellen gave my hand a squeeze. She sniffed. Hell, she was crying. 

"This is too much a reminder of the fire before. I've felt sick to my stomach since this all happened. Brings back the pain of losing your family in that horrible fire." Shit, now she had me sniffling.

We talked. Really talked.

------------------------

I was late getting back from lunch.

I walked back from the insurance agency feeling like forgetting. My head throbbed from crying. Talking to Ellen about my family's death was healthy. The first six months or so I tried pretending it never happened-- like I could call them up, and they'd be there, and say, "Hello, Mom?" But I couldn't keep that up long. Then, I tried to keep myself busy with work and the band-- not think of what happened. I can't do that anymore. The last couple of weeks it was hard to not dwell on all the shit that gone bad in my life over the last few years or what my life was like before my family died. Ellen made it impossible for me to ignore. 

I stuck it out the whole day at work. Uneventful, except for a pop-in visit from Lynn with more clothes just before closing. She said it gave her an excuse to come down and visit Alan. She left me to a customer and ducked outside to see Alan off.

Sid and Alan were shooting the shit when I came out the door. Sid slid over and opened the door for me.

We drove off with Lynn yelling, "Don't tire him out too much."

On the way home, I told Sid about Mr. K's experiences with the Lancaster clan.

"I don't think this is all just a series of coincidences. This is all linked together some how," he said as he parked the car.

"Yeah, but how?"

"Not sure. I did some investigating today. Some intriguing reading about Emma Lancaster," he said. We both walked up the steps together. "I hope you don't mind, but I picked up a temporary change of address card for you at the post office today. You can fill it out, and I'll take it back for you tomorrow while you're at work." We pulled into the driveway and walked up the steps. I looked at the mail box.

Change of address? He opened the door for me. 

"And Smith left a message on our machine and dropped this off for you," he said, shutting the door.

Our machine? Sid handed me an envelope and tapped the button on the machine until he got to Smith's voice, hesitant and comical:

Yeah, Wes? I hate these fucking machines. You're not home, damn. Any how, why I called... Umm, the guys took up a collection. We figured there's stuff-- yeah, some stuff you might need-- you know. I'll drop it by and put it in the mail box if no one's home. Oh yeah and John says, 'don't forget to buy some leather pants.' And wait, one other thing. We got a gig at the Adam's Den for Friday and Saturday night. We should get together and practice again if you're feeling like it. And the guys said, no pressure. Call one of us. If you can't play both nights, that's ok. We'll see ya there. Oh and hey, Sid-- take care of him.

"Leather pants?" Sid wondered aloud. "Well, you do look hot in them." 

I took a chance and leaned into him, grazing his mouth with my lips and watching his eyes. He didn't pull back. This time I opened my mouth-- cinnamon Life Savers, coffee and the world trickling through rapid beats of my heart. His tongue lightly brushed mine then he stepped back afterward and took a deep breath. That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for.

"What happened today?" he asked. Shit, he knew me too well. I sat down heavily on the barstool. 

"They'll pay off on my car, but it looks like there'll be a hold up on the house because of the arson investigation."

"You know that's not what I meant." He sat down in the stool next to me. "I saw it the moment I picked you up. So, you talked to Ellen, didn't you." I nodded. "Good. You need to talk to someone."

"Even if it's not you? Is this what this is about?" 

"Well, yeah. It has to do with trust. Avoiding. Shit, I want you to talk to me." I knew he was right. I wasn't being fair.

He reached into his pocket and handed me his keys. "Take my car and go to the mall or something. Get bacon and eggs," he smiled. "Buy the leather pants. Here's the money from the band." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and put it in my shaking hands. 

"I don't want to drive," I admitted. Sid nodded and took the keys from me. 

"Let's go then," he said.

-------------------------------

I walked the mall, thinking about what Sid said. We split up and decided to meet up at the car. He said he needed to be alone and think. I know he really wanted me to do the thinking. I stopped in Walgreens and bought a razor and shampoo. Went to The Gap and bought the leather pants and some shirts. I bought real underwear-- boxers. 

I did think. By the time I started for the back mall parking lot to Sid's car, I had a mental list of all I'd say to him. What I needed to say, not just for Sid but for myself. 

Sid left the doors unlocked. I opened the passenger side and stooped in, throwing my bags up, over and into the back seat when I heard someone behind me.

"Excuse me, do you know the shortest way to get to Washington Avenue from here?" I straightened up and turned to face the man who asked. Much taller than me, dark hair and eyes, squinting-- flecks of the setting sun pooling in them. And he stepped in close to me, too close. 

I opened my mouth to answer when he drove the knife into my stomach-- deadened like Novocain. I didn't understand what had just happened until I looked down seeing the glint of the blade. And even then, I didn't comprehend. No malice, no emotion on his face. I shuddered, still numb. Then the pain washed through me as he pulled up and turned the blade. 

Smell of iron and bile. Feel of acid burning, shrill and violent. 

Time slowed. 

I fell backward on to the stark white bucket seat. Strength leaving. 

My vision, bright sparking lights between dead spots. Blood, my blood warming my old t-shirt and skin. Life silently spilling down to the floorboard. The pain became unbearable when he drew out the knife-- a cutting mirage. My body's memory twisting it again and again. 

I choked back a sob, "Why?"

I saw his face, stubble and lines, a flash of pity-- face close to mine. Searching into my eyes-- answering. If I knew the answer, I would say. 

Then, his bloodied hand cradled the back of my head and gently rested it upon the seat's cushion. I thought, this is what it's like to die. I shivered. Cold and pain. 

Then he left me there alone, to look at the crack in the wind-shield and the red of the setting sun. I wondered why. I wondered how long.

Somewhere I heard footsteps and wondered if he'd returned. The driver's door opened, and I heard the ringing of keys dropping on pavement. It was Sid. I heard him far off-- calling 911 and swearing as he lost the signal. His face came close, and his hands lifted my shirt. We both saw the wound together-- gaping and ugly. I felt his tears wet and warm against my cheek. I told him not to cry. 

He left me. Gone. Then he was on the other side of me, lifting my legs into the car. He shut the door. He climbed into the driver's side, shifting into the front seat gently putting my head into his lap. And he fumbled with the keys. My hand stopped him. No time. I heard him say 'hospital,' and the car moved. I heard Sid say, 'Don't die. Hold on. Don't die, I haven't even told you I love you yet.'

I felt a tear trickle into my ear. It was mine. I didn't know I had anything left inside me to bleed. 

As the car moved, space changes. I felt euphoric. Like I was invincible. I'd live forever. I moved my hand up, and Sid grasped it, clenching it tight. My heart clenched with it, just as tight. This wasn't the end. I knew. A clarity filtered over me. I saw inside myself, inside Sid. 




Failing Upward Ch. 05



Sid drove to the entrance of the emergency room. He began to jump out of the car, but I pulled him back. Sid stared at me. I won't let him get out. I took his hand and guided it down to where my body was torn. Our fingers learn together what my body already knew deep inside my starched soul. His hand disbelieved. His face confused. He lifted my shirt.

Nothing.

The wound was gone. Wiping blood away. Angry red scars in its place. Sid's stunned, disbelieving eyes praising. Helpless relief washed over his face as I pulled myself upright in the seat. 

"Let's go home," I said. Sid put the car in drive and sped off.

------------------

Chapter 7: The Universe is a Computer

I still felt cold. Cold and dry. My nerves brittle, standing on Sid's steps-- like I'd snap any moment. I leaned into him-- a soft comfort. Warm and moist. I didn't believe in miracles. But what was this? I reached my hand inside my blood-soaked shirt, still disbelieving. I was there, and I was alive. 

"I think you should go to the hospital," Sid said, turning the key to the front door and kicking it open with his foot. I shook my head no again. I had enough of hospitals. And how would I explain this? How would I get them to understand what happened? I didn't even understand it myself. 

We both staggered through the doorway. My dead weight pulling at Sid. God, I remembered everything. No shock, no memory lapse this time. Every detail a sharp glinting edge like the knife that cut into me. All agony. 

And Sid's words-- "I haven't said I love you yet"-- felt like breaking glass inside my head. I wondered what he meant by yet, and what I might answer back if he said those same words again.

My body steered into Sid, nudging him to the sink. "Thirsty," I managed to gasp. Sid turned on the tap, and I grabbed the nearest glass and filled it to overflowing. My parched lips drained it, then another. I filled a third glass and began gulping again.

"That's enough," he said, taking the water from my hand. "Your body needs fluids, but take it easy." Wrapping his arm firmly around my waist, he guided me to the couch. I fell back, and Sid sat down, the water on the coffee table within arm's reach, then he stripped the offending shirt up and over my head, setting it aside. He unfolded his mom's old tattered quilt, cocooning me snugly inside along with his warm body against my bare skin. My teeth chattered; my body shivered. Sid settled in closer.

"Unbreakable," he whispered softly against my neck. 

"What?" I asked quietly, my body tense. 

"The movie Unbreakable. Everyday Superman. No one could heal like that unless they were superhuman." He was studying me like I was someone he'd never seen before, checking each tiny scar, the creases in my knuckles as I clenched the quilt as if it was some kind of life preserver.

"I don't think Superman ever had to be carried to the couch," I hiccupped. "My finger." Sid touched his index finger to mine. 

"What? You mean the thorn?" 

"Yes," I said. "I'm not the only one who's undergone miraculous healing. The roses." My once blighted finger tingled a bit, as if recalling. "They were sick, now they're well. In a few weeks' time."

"Who did this? Why? You said you never saw him before, but then you weren't so sure," his voice strained, trying to maintain composure. 

I think, the stranger in the parking lot, I had a dreamy feeling that I'd seen him before, but-- "I'm not sure," I said. "I'm not sure of much anymore." I sighed, pulling the quilt tighter around us. Maybe if we squeezed in tight enough together, I'd forget everything else. I felt warmer. I recalled the promise I made to myself walking back to car, that I'd open up to Sid. It was hard being open when you've been closed for so long. I wedged my guilt, prying open my soul. Got to talk to someone. 

Got to.

"His face," my voice cracked, trying not to cry. "He almost seemed sorry-- his eyes. His hands brutal; his eyes kind. He didn't take a thing. Didn't even try. Just asked directions, stabbed me, then helped me fall back in the seat." I wiped my nose and eyes with one clean swipe of my hand. Shit. I looked into Sid's face. So open. Listening. God, he's beautiful. "He held my head. He wasn't crazy. He was almost... polite."

"Polite? The man fucking tried to kill you. More like apathy." I relaxed my head into the curve of his neck, scratchy and safe. 

"You don't understand. It was like he knew," I turned my face up and looked at him. "Like he knew I wasn't going to die." 

"Must be he wasn't sure. Why else even do it? But then why didn't he wait to see what happened?" 

"Maybe he did," I whispered.

"You mean you think he was watching us?" For the first time, I saw real anger in Sid's face like a storm with the heady wind behind. We both sat quiet for a few moments, collecting our thoughts. 

"Sid?" 

He cradled my head with his open hand resting on the base of my neck. I felt his pulse quickening. I silently counted each beat off, trying to get the nerve to say what I've feared for so long. 

"What if the fire at my parents house wasn't an accident?" 

Sid was quiet. These thoughts, they'd already occurred to him. 

"Maybe it was electrical. But maybe it was no accident. I can't help thinking that the fire at my place, the bar. And now--" I steadied my voice, "this attack ... now I think, all this couldn't just be coincidence. Today... Hell, for the last week, I've thought a lot about Mom, Dad and Karen dying. Nothing will ever fill that pit inside my soul where they used to be. Not talking about them in the present tense--like I can call them for advice. Like the day at Lancaster's, I said my mother'ed love to see that garden. I suspended belief long enough to think she could walk right down the path with me." I took a deep breath.

I sobbed. "Why didn't smoke detectors wake them? What it was like for them? Did they suffer? I always thought I could have prevented it. You know, I should have been there... not with the guys. Maybe I would have realized-- or heard. Now, I'm beginning to think I'm the reason-- " My voice cracked, and I wiped my nose with the quilt. 

"That's pretty self-centered of you, thinkin' you're the cause," he said. "And what if you're right? What if this does have to do with you? --doesn't mean you're to blame." 

"I know that. My brain knows that. But that's not how it washes out inside me. Fuck. Look at me. What am I Sid? God. I'm some fucking freak. When you were thinking of taking me to the hospital, I had visions of getting dissected alive to see how fast I'd heal up again-- like some X-Files episode." 

"Hmm..." Sid joked, "always thought you were an alien life form. I guess now it's confirmed." 

"Well, I bleed and feel pain. And I eat and drink. Damn," I said, remembering. "And I was going to make bacon and eggs tonight, too."

"I think we can pass on you making dinner. You should eat. How 'bout chicken soup?" I think I've cried out all the water I just drank; Chicken soup felt right. Yes, it'd have to be chicken soup-- Sid's motherly instinct taking over. I began to think, maybe I'm no longer a desirable creature to him. I needed nurturing instead-- not good. I snatched the quilt around us tighter.

"I'm hungry but not yet," I said. "Don't get up." I wanted to kiss him, but I was afraid. He was too near. And Sid was right. I am an alien-- alien to myself. These tingles and pressures and touches don't feel like they belong to me. Sid moved his face closer, and closer still. He exhaled. Every molecule of his breath alights, sparks. It seemed to take hours for his mouth to meet my lips, and when it did, I moaned far too loud. I sounded too needy. But he didn't pull away. Instead he opened up his mouth enough to breath inside me. I felt his life-- his spirit filling me. With dream like slowness, he parted his lips more and moaned back. And I knew, yes, this was what it felt like to be kissed by someone who loves you.

-----------------------

I get up and ready before Sid for the first time since my stay. I made the coffee and fed Babe a bowl of Cat Chow, scratching under her tabby chin. 

I sipped on the coffee and chewed at my cuticles, thinking they'll grow right back anyhow. I smiled remembering how my mom used to harp on me about chewing them all the time. I wished silently to myself that she could say that to me right now. I wished I could call Dad. At least now I was just wishing and not pretending anymore. In the night, I dreamt that they were both alive. Mom said everything would be fine, and Dad shouted, "Suck it up dumb ass" the same way he always yelled at me in high school whenever I struck out at bat.

I looked over at Sid sleeping on the sofa bed, and my heart turned into one giant knot. What was I doing? Maybe Alan's right about me. Sid should expect more than what I could give. Not that I ever promised him anything but wasn't my staying here a promise? 

I picked up the change of address card and rummaged through the desk for a pen. I was weak or smart; I wasn't sure which. But I couldn't leave. Those kisses last night were too good for words. I filled the card out and laid it on the counter for Sid to take to the post office. 

"Good morning." Sid rolled around facing me. "Ready for work? What time is it?"

"Only 6:45. I couldn't sleep." 

And I know why. My brain was wired after he left me confused and horny. 

Must go to work. My life needed normalcy-- self-healing freak-shows need normal.

"The paper's usually outside the door by now." I could take a hint. I stepped out to get the news. When I came back in, Sid's in the shower. 

I scanned the front page. Today was going to be a hot one. That meant staying on the front room floor at work where it was air conditioned. News? Oh, yeah, someone tried to kill me yesterday, but that didn't make the papers. Opinion page? Letters to the editor, nothing interesting. Then I flipped over to the back of the feature section and saw his face. I ran to the bathroom and pounded on the door, "Sid! Sid!"

"Hold on a minute. I'll be right out!" He opened the door drying off. I crammed the paper in his face. He pushed it back, getting it wet. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust. "Mr. Lancaster is a quantum physicist?"

"No, it's Dr. Lancaster. And he's a prof at Cambridge. And look here," I said, snapping my finger against the paper, "he's speaking tonight at seven in Calvin Auditorium."

"I see that. And the topic-- I read something about this a few years back in a science magazine-- "The Universe is a Computer." He sat down at the counter, towel around his waist. "Could you get me some coffee?" I poured him a cup while he read in silence.

"Do you think you could get tickets for tonight?" He asked.

"Probably, if it's not sold out."

----------------------

On the way to work, Sid outlined what Lancaster's lecture was about-- as much as I could understand.

"They theorize that the universe is this super computer. That the universe has been computing since the Big Bang. Hey, that explains the card don't you see? It was binary-- ones and zeros -- language of the computer. Lancaster must have written a message in the code. You still have the card?"

"Yeah, Glenda told Mr. K they wanted it back. I was supposed to bring it to work, but with all that's happened, I forgot."

"Good, I want to find out what it means before we give it back. Did you get a chance to read that stuff I found on Emma Lancaster?" he asked.

"No." Too busy worrying about hormones for important things like solving this fucking mess. "What about this computer is a universe stuff?"

"See, all the computer uses is a series of on and off switches. One is on and zero is off. The analogy of the computer is used for a lot these days. Like the brain for example-- synapses going on and off. But this theory is more than an analogy; it's real. It is-- a computer. Light. ON. Void. OFF. Do you get it?"

"I'm not the computer nerd here--" I said, "but what I'd like to know is, if the universe is a computer, what is it computing?"

"Well, itself. Or reality." I rolled my eyes. We were just pulling up to the green house, and he was bringing up one of his 'what is the meaning of life?' discussions, which normally I did like get into with him, but it was 7:56 by the clock in his car and almost time for me to punch in.

"I'll call you later," I said, getting out of the car. "Mr. Keller knows a few people at Albright College; I can probably get the tickets if you can't."

"See you at five then." And he drove off. 

Not one word about last night.

----------------------------------------

The phone rang on my first step in the door and didn't stop until two that afternoon. The paper was right-- it turned out to be a hot humid Michigan day--- 96 degrees by two o'clock and with the heat index well into the 100s. Kim Donally, Mr. Keller and I stayed cool on the floor while the greenhouse crew sweated it out in the back forty. Alan ran deliveries so he went from what he calls arid to arctic all day. I mentioned to Alan and Mr. K about our friend, Dr. Lancaster, speaking tonight at the college, and that Sid and I wanted tickets.

Alan said he wouldn't mind going himself and taking Lynn.

"How many tickets do you want then? Four?" Mr. K asked. "I'll take them out of payroll on Friday." He winked at me and started out the door.

"Hey, that's not fair-- just because he's down in his luck doesn't mean he shouldn't have to pay. What about me! I'm a poor single guy!" He yelled after him.

Sid called me first. His Dad said the tickets were sold out. Sid's cell phone cut in and out, but I told him Mr. Keller was trying to get tickets, and we might have company. For the first time I didn't seem to mind that Alan might come along. I needed to do this for Sid. That apology yesterday from Alan helped. Or could be everything that's been happening made me feel petty. Contemplating an evening with Alan and Lynn wouldn't normally be relaxing. Neither should seeing a speaker that I think might be stalking me, especially after my near death experience last night. Yet I was more relaxed than I'd been in weeks. 

I bit the inside of my cheek and smiled. Kisses unbend anxiety. 

Mr. K burst up the steps with the tickets, handing them to me. He reminded me that I was supposed to bring in the card from Dr. Lancaster. I was hoping he'd forget. I told Mr. K I'd bring it in tomorrow.

---------------------------

Reliable Sid pulled up five minutes early. 

Mr. Keller told me to 'scat' and have a good time tonight. I ran out to the car.

"I did some more detective work today," Sid said. "Take a look." He nodded toward the folder sitting between us.

I opened it and thumbed through the pages of faxed and copied old records. Then, I stopped to look at an old group school picture. There were about twenty students in various shapes, sizes and ages. A little girl dead center held up a small slate with 'Freemont School 1869' printed in neat letters. 

"There he is," Sid pointed to him. 

How could this be? Yet, as I took in the picture again-- it seemed familiar to me. Maybe because I recognized the building in the background, but no-- something more. A nervous feeling returned to my gut. 

The face was tiny, smaller than a dime. But there was no mistaking. 

"Fuck," I said, my hands shaking. "This looks like Lancaster."

"Yeah. And here's that information about Emma and her brother." He hands it to me, and I silently read it over. "I can't believe this. He's real. A school master, employed by Freemont school. And look at this, he grew up in a town only about fifty miles from here. And this article about his disappearance from the Gazette... Sid you did some digging."

"It really wasn't difficult to find at all-- internet, college library, telephone groveling. All in my regular day's work. I plan to go lookin' for the school records tomorrow."

----------------------

Back at the apartment I showered and changed. The anxiety I didn't have earlier, was now visiting me. The anticipation of pretending to be a couple was intoxicating-- like foreplay. I heard Sid whistling in the other room. 

"Alan and I thought we could go somewhere to eat afterwards. Sit down and talk in a relaxed atmosphere," he told me through the door. 

"You better finish getting ready. Alan will be here soon. I want to get there early and get a good seat."

"Wes? You're gonna be fucking pissed. I told Alan."

I froze. I opened the door. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him about last night, but I don't think he believes it."

"No shit? Big fucking surprise. No one's going to believe it." Shit, I thought he told Alan we weren't fucking.

"I'm ready, just looking for my tennis shoes... hurry up."

"You're not mad?" 

"What for?" I smiled. His shirt was half buttoned, his hair sticking out on his head and his shoes untied. He was adorable. Now how could I be mad at that?

"Your shoes, they're out here by the door." Sid picked them up and threw them at me while Alan was outside honking. 

-----------------------------

When Lynn climbed out of the car at the auditorium, her breasts almost fell out. Sid's eyes lingered for an instant then looked away. Lynn's breasts have that effect-- kinda like a bad car accident. You don't want to look, but you can't look away. Lynn talks animatedly about her day, and Sid filled her in on the subject of Dr. Lancaster's lecture tonight, which we could both tell, bored Lynn. She was a bright person, but her interests didn't include computers. Period. She hates them. But hand her a Wall Street Journal, and she was in heaven.

"You know," Sid said, "Alan has been thinking about becoming my partner. You might want to rethink your position." 

"Common interests are over rated," said Lynn. "Look at you two, florist by day and bad-boy rock star by night hitches up with number one nice-guy slash computer geek." Sid smirked and patted my ass. 

We sat in the third row, and the auditorium filled quickly. From the buzz we heard around us, Dr. Lancaster was quite a speaker. Sid sat reading the promo info on Lancaster they'd handed out at the door while I gazed up at the ceiling tiles with John Lennon singing in my brain...'I had to count them all, now I know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall...' I looked over a Sid, still engrossed. Hmm, 'I'd love to turn him on.' I sighed, no turning him on right now. 

Hmm, maybe if I put my hand on his knee? There, that got his attention. 

Ahh, he scratched his nose. Handsome nose. Right now I wanted him more than anything in the whole, wide, micro-processing universe. 

The good Dean Whithers ambled out to introduce the speaker. Sid laid his hand over the top of mine, lightly brushing my knuckles with his index finger. 

I hardly recognized Dr. Lancaster when he stepped out. His posturing was different. He commanded the auditorium, maybe conducted was a better word. The audience sat up in their seats like an orchestra comes to attention when the conductor raises his baton. Even Lynn appeared impressed.

The lecture was fascinating. He conveyed the theory in laymen's terms using both anecdotes and analogies. I understood most of what he said--still, there were moments that I was completely lost. I could tell that Sid was getting it, and by the way Lynn kept shifting around that she didn't. I wasn't sure about Alan.

I made direct eye contact with Lancaster exactly three times during the lecture. And I'm pretty sure he was looking directly at Sid and speaking at times.

The question and answer session at the end was the most interesting and confusing. They discussed physics-- 

Sid raised his hand, asking the last question.

"If the universe is unfolding reality as it makes its computations, then aren't you in essence stating that man has no control over his destiny? That it is unfolded for him?"




Failing Upward Ch. 05



"Yes, in a sense I am. And no I am not." He answered. "Quantum theory contains many paradoxes."

"That sounds more like a politician answering than a scientist," I whispered to Sid. Lancaster stared at me. I didn't know how, but I thought he knew what I'd said.

We sat talking a few moments, waiting for the crowd to thin. A well dressed little man with green tennis shoes limped up to us. 

"Professor Lancaster would like to meet you. Would you mind following me back stage?" he asked.

Everyone eyed me. I nodded, curious as to what Lancaster might want.

"Sure," Sid answered, following the odd man back. We all fell behind. Igor, yeah, in Young Frankenstein, that was who this odd fellow reminded my of-- no hump on his back though. 

Then he turned around and said to us: 'Walk this way!' I started to laugh and limp like Igor.

"Stop Wes," Lynn hissed. "That's not very nice."

I stopped. 

We followed. 

Sid did a slow burn. I wasn't sure if he was mad at me or thinking about Lancaster. 

I spotted Lancaster in a group of college students, who were captivated. Lancaster excused himself, and strolled up to us, warmly shaking Sid's hand. 

"Interesting question you asked," Lancaster said, assessing Sid. "Although one I've heard many times before, but interesting. Do we rule our fate or is it manipulated for us? The age old question." 

"We make it," Sid said. 

"You seem pretty sure," Lancaster said, raising an eyebrow.

"I am." 

"Good to meet someone who knows. But the real reason I called you all back here is to see how you're doing, Wes. I must say that you look much better than the last time I saw you. I hear that my nephew is in a band with you. He's pretty talented. We have numerous musicians and mathematicians in our family. The two fields are interrelated you know."

"Yeah, I've heard that you use the same part of your brain for music and math calculations," I commented.

"Simplistically put, but yes," he said. "Les tells me you are very gifted musically. I'd like to hear you play sometime."

"We're playing near here this weekend. Les can tell you how to get there if you want," Sid jabbed me in the side, clearing his throat.

"Ah, we have dinner reservations," Sid said. "Sorry to cut this short, but we really need to be going." 

"Nice speaking to you. Maybe I will see you this weekend. And by the way Wes, I've never thought of going into politics." 

He did hear me!

Sid pulled me away. As soon as we were out of earshot he said, "Are you crazy? Why did you invite him to see you play?"

"I couldn't believe you said that," Alan said. "He's a pervert. A complex one, but a pervert."

"Now I'm going to have to worry about you even more," said Sid.

"It's not like he can't find out where we're playing," I said. "His nephew's in the band."

"Yeah, that's weird," said Alan. "This Les guy appears from nowhere." He looks at Sid. "And 'we have reservations'? Come on! Fuck. You want to be more obvious? There's no place within forty miles of here that you need a reservation for, dick head."

"I don't care what he thinks," Sid said.

"No, shit," said Lynn.

"Well, where do we want to go to eat? I was thinking the Jade Imperial Dragon," I suggested. "Best Chinese restaurant in the tri-state area."

"Chinese," Lynn said, kissing Alan on the chin. "I love Chinese food."

-------------------------

As my foot hit the threshold, I whiffed the sweet, floral aroma of the special house herbal tea. I loved the Dragon with its huge saltwater aquarium partition swimming with colorful clown, butterfly, and damsel fish. And I loved how the water from the tank reflected on the walls. The best buffet. Service great. Clean. The same couple running it for over twenty years, making the best sesame chicken I'd ever eaten. We sat in a booth farthest from the kitchen. I slid in first, and Sid beside me, his thigh brushing against mine. Alan kissed Lynn on the cheek as she excused herself to the little girls' room.

We made small talk while Lynn was gone. Alan stared at me the whole while, but I ignored him. The waitress brought ice water and place settings. She poured the house tea, leaving a small pot on the table. I reached across Sid for the sugar, intentionally pressing my body into his.

When Lynn got back, we ordered; I got my usual sesame chicken, and Sid got Kung Po. 

Conversation. Make conversation. I hated Alan's staring.

"What'd you think of Lancaster?" I asked.

"Most of what he said was, 'wah, wahhhh, whah, whah, waaaahh.' You know, the way the adults all talk on the old Charlie Brown specials on TV?" Lynn complained.

"I thought he was interesting," I said, nabbing a bite of pork fried rice off Sid's plate.

"Reality is an algorithm," said Alan. "I knew the Universe was fucked up." 

"Watch your language," Lynn slapped Alan's thigh. "We're in a public place." 

"There's something about him I don't like," Sid said. "He's shifty. Like he's hiding something. And what was that 'the real reason I called you back here is to talk to you, Wes'? Maybe he is behind all that's been happening-- It was his way of saying, 'I'm watching you.' I don't like him."

"I've read that while many geniuses relate well in their academic world, they have serious problems with intimate relationships," Lynn said. 

"Did you get that information from one of those tests in Cosmo magazine?" I asked. "You know, 'Are you in love with a psychopathic killer? Take this test and see...' Now that's some stimulating reading." 

"Reading's not important in Cosmo," Alan said. "It's the pictures that are stimulating. Lots of nipples. But you three probably aren't interested in women's nipples."

"Sometimes you're such as ass hole, Alan. Guys," Lynn said, leaning over the table to us, "didn't you think that Lancaster guy was hot? He reminds me of Harrison Ford like he is now, not during Raiders of the Lost Ark. Yum."

"He's ok looking," I said. 

We eat, taking bites off each other's plates and laugh. We're avoiding the main topic-- last night's stabbing. I don't really want to talk about it. I'm having a good time except Alan's pissing me off-- treating me so nicey, nice. 

"Listen, I'm sorry about that comment. I can be an ass hole," Alan said, pushing his sweet and sour chicken around his plate.

"No problem, Alan," Sid said.

Being nice-- it wasn't normal for Alan. Might as well bring up my brush with death last night. Alan was going to dance around it all night unless I did. 

"Alright," I said, turning my water glass in circles and staring down Alan. "I know what this is all about, Sid told me, so stop being so damned polite."

"I'm so glad Sid told you," Lynn said. "There really shouldn't be secrets between lovers. I know being too truthful about partners you've slept with can be a problem in some relationships, but in Sid and Alan's case, as close as they are, I think it's wise that Sid told you the truth."

It was like being slammed at 60 mph into a dash board. Lynn immediately knew she'd fucked up mega size. Sid paled. Alan just squirmed in his seat like the snake he was. 

"You slept with Alan?" I asked Sid under my breath. "Is there anyone left alive but me on this entire continent who hasn't fucked you, Alan?" My voice was rising. I was pissed. Hurt.

Sid grabbed my arm and scooted me outside. I rationalized; I hypothesized, then I began to hyperventilate.

"Oh, damn Wes, it's not what you think," Sid tried to explain, but he knew I was close to hitting him and backed up a little. I couldn't believe I was that jealous. 

"We only did it twice," he said lamely.

"Twice?" I said. "YOU fucked him twice?"

"Once that night and then again the next morning," he said matter of fact like. I don't know if I was pissed because he slept with Alan, or if I was pissed because he hadn't slept with me. 

Alan and Lynn walked out of the Dragon and both stood sheepishly by the door. 

"Fuck this," I said to Alan. "Let's go." We all raced to Alan's Olds and got in. He put the car in drive and sped off. 

I didn't notice where we were going; I looked listlessly out the window, pressed tightly against the car door. Instead of street lights and head lamps, my mind projected images of Sid and Alan together. Now I understood. Why Alan always messed with me, and why he never picked at Sid. Shit. I was anxious-- all because I began to wonder if Sid wanted someone else. I felt him grasp my hand, and he squeezed it hard once. I finally looked over at him; it was dark, but I could see he was crying. I squeezed his hand once back, my hand shaking. 

Sid slid in next to me. 

"Please," I said, leaning into him, wanting more, waiting for more. 

We decided at the same time. We met, mouths open, hungry. I kissed his face, tasting his damp salty tears on my lips. One of his hands twisted my hair, tugging my scalp while his other sloped up my thigh, making pin pricks of light heat dance before my eyes. I couldn't see. I groped blindly, my arms reaching. I didn't care that Alan's listening-- maybe I wanted him to hear. 

"Sid," I groaned, my back sliding down the seat away from the door. I clung to Sid, bringing him down with me, pulling his shirt out of his jeans. I undid each button and pushed it off his shoulders, curling one hand against his chest. I reached my other hand and stroked the moist freckled skin of his back. His tongue practiced those amazing gymnastics on the roof of my mouth, sending delicious sensations into every inch of me. 

Then I felt the first contact of Sid's hand on my crotch, and I twitched up in his hand. I cried out too loudly, but Sid filled my mouth with his tongue, quieting me. 

I heard Alan and Lynn murmur in the front seat. The car stopped. Sid's hand fumbled to unbutton my jeans, and my breath came in jagged gasps as he undid each one. I waited for his touch, his strong square palm on me. 

Lynn's blouse flew over seat, next her bra, which landed on top of my head. And Pop, I sling shot her bra back into the front seat (they really do snap). I hiccupped a laugh as Sid's body slipped down mine, lower, then lower still. 

"Shit, don't stop," I begged. That was Sid's hand on me. His mouth moved down my chest, and without his lips to still me, I couldn't shut up. I bit my own lip-- I moaned and mumbled his name. 

His tongue licked my belly, trailing down slowly. I lifted my hips, shaking. His hands pulled my jeans and underwear in one sweep over my hips and down. I wanted his mouth on me. 

I heard Alan and Lynn whispering again in the front seat. 

Biting my lip, I tried to keep quiet. I tasted blood in my mouth from suppressing my heat. I couldn't stand this torture. My hands clutched vinyl; my backside stuck to the seat. I didn't care that I was parking in Alan's car like some horny teenager. All I cared about was the feel of Sid's hot slick tongue as he licked my inner thighs. All I cared about was his mouth. I became light headed. Gasping. He ground hard into my leg, dry fucking it. His tongue biting and nipping. I whimpered and squirmed. Then suddenly, his mouth gulped me. 

"Help me," I cried, slapping my hand over my mouth. My other hand burrowed into Sid's sandy hair. I couldn't believe it was happening. I thought, I'm gonna cry, he feels and sounds so good. 

"What are you doing to him Sid? Killing him?" Lynn giggled. I've muffled my sobs behind my hand, but not well enough. Then I saw her head peek over the seat. "Holy Shit!" she said, then ducked back down. 

I didn't care. 

Fuck. I couldn't hold back. I shuddered. He swallowed me. 

Me. 

Now I was sobbing. 

Sid pulled himself up. He kissed my chin, then my mouth. I tasted myself on his lips, musk and salt. He opened his mouth and moaned. I wanted to do to him what he just did for me, and I reached down to unbutton his jeans. 

Alan started the car, and we began to move. 

Sid moved my hand away. He sat up, pulling me with him and whispered hoarsely into my ear, "I'll finish you off at home."



Failing Upward Ch. 06



Chapter 8: In a Grain of Sand

The ride home gave me far too much time to think. 

About Sid and Alan. 

About boinking. 

I started to fret. What will finally happen when we get home? Will I chicken out? Can something that big fit into such as small hole? Even worse-- what if Sid changed his mind? Gravel crunching under the tires of Alan's Olds told me we're home. The moment had arrived. The car back fired; Alan babied the gas, keeping the old heap from stalling. 

"Night Alan, night Lynn," Sid said.

"Night you two," Lynn giggled. 

I nodded and got out Sid's side of the car. Fifty yards seems like ten miles when you're a horny bastard-- I thought we'd never get through that front door. 

"Let's take this to the bedroom," he said, locking the door. Sid's shirt was still half unbuttoned and his the hair on his head stuck out, both heated reminders of what happened in the back seat less than twenty minutes ago. I tried to act calm following him into the bedroom, but I was worthless pretending. I fidgeted. My face grew hot. Sid calmly walked to the bed and sat down, patting his hand on the covers for me to sit next to him. I did. 

I waited while he stared down at his hands in his lap. Now he fidgeted. Finally he said, "I think we need to talk about a few things first." 

Shit. 

I don't know as I want to hear 'the Ballad of Alan and Sid,' but I think Sid needed to tell me. He waited for me-- I don't want to ask. Please don't make me ask, I think. But he sat mute. It was up to me. 

"Alright tell me then, why did you sleep with Alan?" I hadn't meant for my words to come out with such contempt, but they did. Sid flinched, cracking his knuckles. 

"It happened a few years ago. We were here, at my house one night, partying with some friends. They all left, and Alan decided to crash here. I was drunk," I frowned. "But not that drunk. That's not why-- Alan and I talked about being gay-- what it was like for me to come out, you know, to my friends and family. What it was like going through school, knowing you're different, but not understanding how. He asked me, you know, how was it different? In particular, you know, how was fucking a man different from fucking a woman. I told him a lot different. He wanted to know exactly how different. He asked questions; he was curious. Before I knew it, I let him talk me into it-- some grand experiment for Alan. You know Alan, mister 'I gotta experience everything once.' He just had to know-- had to know what it was like to fuck a guy." Sid stopped for a moment. I didn't like where this was headed. 

I held my breath then slowly let it out. Before I could stop myself I asked, "Well, did you like it?"

"It was okay," Sid said, wiping his sweaty palms against his legs. "The next morning, he wanted to know what it felt like-- to be fucked. So, I fucked him. I did it... Shit, don't look at me that way." Sid rubbed his temple. "Yeah, he didn't have to spend a lot of time trying to convince me. I wanted to. It was good," he admitted, clearing his throat. "After, we avoided each other. Well, okay, he avoided me. After a few months, we ran into each other at the bar one night where your band was playing. We drank beer, talked and pretended it never happened. It's been a non-issue ever since-- that is until tonight."

"Were you, are you, in love with him?" 

"No," Sid spat out the words, laughing a little too hard and a little too long. "Alan's my friend. He's been my friend my whole life. We were in the same class in kindergarten. I was there when he fell off the monkey bars and broke his arm. I used to jump off the other end of the see-saw just to watch him bust his ass. I love him, but I'm not in love with him. I fucked him because I was horny. Shit, and face it-- Alan isn't hard on the eyes." Sid paused. "Yes, I never should have done it, but I did."

"What I don't get is you've had no problem saying no to me. Makes me think that Alan burned you, and you didn't want to be burned again. I think you care more about him than you're saying. You and Alan are just buddies? I think you wanted more from him--" 

"No, you don't have it right at all. Alan is my friend. He always will be my friend-- and just my friend. That's not just the way he wants it-- it's the way I want it. He's not what I want. Not as a lover," Sid reached for my hand. "I know you don't think so, but Alan is an extraordinary person. And yes, he is extraordinarily good looking, but I don't want him. I know who I want, and I've wanted him for along time. Even back then. I've waited," Sid's hand moved onto my thigh. "I waited for you. I want more than friendship from you. More than sex. But I'm not sure if you want the same. That's why I've said no until now."

"What if I said to you, I don't know what I want?-- what would you do then?"

Sid sighed. "You mean will I leave you hanging again? No. I don't have the strength. I want to fuck you so bad right now."

"So fuck me," I said quietly. "Please." His hand moved up to my crotch, brushing my cock. 

"Why don't you take these clothes off, and I'll get what we'll need." 

I took off my shirt as Sid walked across the room to his dresser. He pulled out a drawer and shifted around socks and underwear until he found a few condom packages and a tube of Conceptrol. 

"Sid?" I said. "You know I guess maybe I'm going be woman in this, um, relationship, but I'm not gonna get pregnant. Don't you think that's a bit of overkill?"

"This helps prevent AIDS," he said, shaking up the condoms. "And this," he said, holding up the tube, "protects against AIDS and will make my, um, entry much more comfortable for you." He placed them both on the night table next to the bed. "Now, finish taking off those clothes, and then maybe I'll let you watch me take off mine." Fuck, I hoped I knew what I was doing.

Sid's eyes never wavered from my hands as I unbuttoned my pants. I procrastinated, hesitating at each rivet. I rubbed my cock, tormenting him a bit. 

"Lucky hand," Sid sighed, rubbing his own crotch in return. I stood up, kicking my jeans off. I reached into my boxers and stroked my cock, taunting him more. "You do that very well," Sid said. "You were pretty vocal the other night. But I think when my dick's inside that tight little ass of yours that you'll yell louder." I moaned and nodded, hoping he'll do just that, then slid my boxers off and lay flat back on the bed, watching.

He gave a show, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. He has a beautiful body. Tanned pecks, firm abs. He works out. I wonder what he saw in my pale thin form. The only work out I got was jumping up and down on stage. He dramatically undid his jeans and stripped them off. He has on bikini briefs-- red ones. His hard cock poked out of the top. I could see its moistened tip. My heart pounded in my chest. He pulled off his briefs, and his cock popped straight out. 

I gulped. That is going to fit in my ass?!

I knew he was big, but shit. I mean, he's not huge but looking at his dick-- it was thick and hard and well, quite a bit larger than mine. He sensed my anxiety, closing the space between us. 

"Relax," he whispered in my ear. "I won't do anything that you don't want me to. If you tell me to stop, I will. It helps to talk." He laid his hand on my belly and massaged it. He reached over for the lubricant and put some on his hand.

"So, what do you want me to do, umm, besides try to relax?" I asked.

"Spread you legs a bit," he said. I did what he asked. He positioned himself on his knees between my white thighs. 

"Now, lift up and bend your knees," Sid helped me move my legs. "There."

"I'm going to use the lube on my index finger and thumb here," he said, gently playing with the outside of my anus. 

"Fuck. Shit, that feels good," I said, squirming around, repressing a yell. Shit, I didn't want him to think I was a helpless weenie beneath him. I mean, I knew he wanted me to cry out, but Hell, not yet. 

"Sometimes this helps to relax, too," he said, grasping my dick. He began to slowly, firmly stroke me while he moved his other finger around my asshole in small circular movements.

"Relax?! Shit!" I panted. 

"Now, I'm going to put my index finger part way inside your ass. You okay?" I nodded, pressure and pain flooded me all at once. Sid recognized the panic in my face. "Push back. I know it may sound gross, but push, like you're trying to push my finger out of you with the muscles in that tight little ass of yours." I tried. He was right. It felt strange but good. "Yeah," he said, "like that." He slowly eased his finger farther into me. I panted and moaned. Along with his slow stroking of my cock, I thought I was going to explode. 

He began easing his finger out then pushing it back in again. Gently in and out, each time a bit farther.

I gasped. Fuck what was that? "Right here," he said, "is the prostrate gland. Some guys really like to have it messaged. Do you like that?" 

"Yes!" I hiccupped. He used more lube and began again. My hands were clawing at the quilt. 

"Now I'm going to use my thumb, too." I couldn't speak, just moaned in response. He knew what he was doing. He'd slow up on my cock, backing off, keeping me on the edge. I pushed back as instructed on his thumb and index finger. He brushed the spot inside me again. I felt like The Agony and the Ecstasy-- Sid was Michelangelo, and he was painting my Sistine Chapel. 

Then he wasn't there any more. His hands were gone. He was reaching over me, picking up a condom off the night table by my head. My stomach did a quadruple back flip as I looked at his dick, calculating how much larger he was than his finger and thumb. 

"Don't worry, I'll stop if you want," he said. "Do you want?"

"No," I said hoarsely. 

"Hmm, I didn't think so," he said, unrolling the condom onto his cock. "Safe sex is important. Mmm." Sid lined his cock up to my ass. I felt the tip of it brushing my anus. "Do the same as you did with my finger." He continued to stoke my cock with his hand. "Don't hold your breath. Instead, breath in and out slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth, okay?"

I nodded. He began to push himself inside my ass. Fuck it hurt. I kept breathing the way he told me. He jerked my cock off harder and faster now, using it to distract me from the pain. It worked. 

"So," I rasped, "how much more of you is left that needs to fit up my rectum?" 

I felt Sid chuckling. I looked into his eyes then looked down to try to see just how much farther he had to go since he wasn't answering me. I couldn't see.

"Almost there," he finally said, pressing into me farther. I was starting to see bright colored spots in front of my eyes. Fuck. "There. I'm in." Sid didn't move. I heard him panting now almost as hard as I was. 

Then suddenly, a heat spread from my groin to my face as his hips pushed gently into me.

"Look at me," he said, and my eyes meet his. I searched desperately inside their brown-green depths. I touched his face. The desire, the tenderness I saw in his eyes pitched deep inside my chest, my soul. He took his hand away from my cock, and he pressed the length of his body down on top of me. His stomach against me, sweaty and hot. The intensity of the contact shocked me. I struggled beneath him for a moment-- but my eyes never left his. 

All his weight on his elbows and forearm, he watched my reaction as his hips slowly undulated. I regained some of my senses. The feeling, so perfect. 

"What are you thinking?" I asked. I thought I knew, but I wanted to hear him say it.

He groaned. "God, when I look in your eyes-- I'm lost. Do you know how hard it is not to ram my cock hard into you right now? I've never lusted after any one as much as I have you." 

"Fuck me," I whimpered. Pulling him in, I impaled his cock in my ass as hard as I could.

He thrusted in and out, white hot pain shot through me. Sid slowed and gradually the pain turned to inconceivable pleasure. I groaned and pushed against him. Sid's arms trembled, his breathing jagged. My hands tangled in his hair, urging his mouth to mine. 

"Wesley," he murmured, and that was enough. 

"Make me come," I begged. He bucked into me. Suddenly I feared I would remain this quivering mass, stimulated to the edge of some black hole from which I'd never escape. I began pleading with him in nonsensical jabbering to 'fuck me until I die.' He obeyed, slamming into me, sparks and bright auras filled my vision. I shrieked, just as he promised me he'd make me do. As I came, wet on his stomach, I screamed so loudly I feared his neighbors might call the police. Sid answered my shudders and came inside me. He muffled his cries into my chest as I rocked his head afterward. 

"So," Sid said, gasping. "How was it?"

"It was nice," I squeaked. 

I closed my eyes. Yes, I was most definitely gay.

---------------------------------

I woke up looking at him looking at me. 

"Mmm, good morning," I said. "Sleep well?"

"Wonderful," Sid answered. "How 'bout you Superman? Relaxed?"

"Every inch," I joked. 

"Ready for more?" 

"I want to make one thing perfectly clear," I said.

"What would that be?"

I bit the inside of my mouth. I almost said, 'I love you,' but instead, I said, "Come here, and I'll show you."

-------------------------

I got up afterward and made coffee. We'd spent the most of the morning in bed. Sid was too happy. Not good. It's been my experience in that when something or someone comes along and life gets too good-- that life slaps you back down and fucks you over. Like Mom, Dad and Karen dying, or car hitting a llama, or getting stabbed by a mercenary. 

Sublime happiness made me uncomfortable. Not that I regretted last night. I liked Sid... Yeah, maybe loved him. I know how I felt-- maybe. I just had problems expressing myself.

I knew I was having a serious identity crisis-- details like, was I human? Was the world out to get me? Was it crazy to fall in love now? Deep in the pit of despair, I hung on to a craggy ledge. For what? Hmm, to have sex? The sex was good. Fantastic. More than fantastic. I got hard just thinking of Sid-- like some Pavlovian dog. And Sid wanted it just as much-- it was like I was a bitch in heat, and Sid's behind me, wanting to hump me all the time. 

No, I'm not ready to let go of the ledge yet.

I called in sick. 

Tabloid headline reads: Unknown homosexual couple boink to death.

We did nothing the whole day. Nothing except take off each others clothes over and over again. I wanted to go practice with the band, but every time I tried to get ready, my clothes didn't want to stay on.

And I learned an amazing secret today. I never realized that Sid has a secret signal. His nose twitches every time he thinks about fucking.

...Oh look, Wes is leaning over. Twitch. 

...Oh, now, he's licking his lips. Twitch.

...And now Wes is scratching his crotch! Twitch. Twitch.

Rather cute, really. Convenient, too. 

All these years I'd been around him I just thought he had some kind of impediment.

Reality called at 8:15 pm.

"Sid? You remember?" I asked, sprawling out on the living room floor. "The card on the flowers? Um, did you find out what it said?"

"No," said Sid, rolling next to me and nibbling my ear, "but it's not hard. Just go to a translation site on the Internet and type in the code."

"Why don't you?" 

"That means I'll have to get up, and you're so tasty." I gave him sad puppy dog eyes, and it worked. He groaned and got up. "Now where's that card?"

"Need the code? It's in my head," I said, walking over to his PC. 

"Yeah, I know you remember numbers, but you aren't some idiot savant." 

"Just come here and quit arguing," I said, Googling the words 'binary code translator.'

"This looks like what we need," I said, clicking on the site and typing in the ones and zeros straight out of my brain: 

011101000110111100100000011100110110010101100101001000 00111010001101000011001010010000001110101011011100110 100101110110011001010111001001110011011001010010000001 101001011011100010000001100001001000000110011101110010 011000010110100101101110001000000110111101100110001000 0001110011011000010110111001100100

Then I clicked on "enter." The translation popped up in the adjacent box: "To see the universe in a grain of sand"

"Holy Shit, how'd you do that?" Sid asked. 

"With my hands," I said, wiggling my fingers in Sid's face. "Okay, so I've always remember numbers, big deal. Forget that. What's more important is that this is from my favorite poem and my favorite line from that poem-- well almost. In Robert Blake's poem the line states 'see the world in a grain of sand' not universe. Hmm, so why this line? Why this poem? Why Universe?"

"What if this message was meant for you. 'The Universe is a computer' and maybe you're the sand," Sid said.

Good metaphor, but as for the message being for me-- I thought about that one. That would mean I was meant to deliver the roses that day, that would mean, the delivery van really 'did' break down. The card 'fell off' the bud vase on purpose. I guess it's possible. But What's the Frequency, Kenneth? 

"Bacon and eggs," I said. 

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I wanna make bacon and eggs. Get semi dressed," I said. "We're going shopping,"

---------------------------

We'd just finished checking out when I saw him.

"Over there," I murmured. 

Sid knew immediately. He followed my eyes to the front of the store, watching him-- my face betrayed me, recalling the twisting knife. Sid turned and said something to a cashier, then started winding around shopping carts, toward the main entrance after the stranger. I grabbed the bag and pushed through the checkout line and out the door after them both. 

Another parking lot. At dusk again. Shit. And there was Sid.

His eyes were fixed on the stranger, who glared at me as I zigzagged through parked cars. Sid approached him fast. Instead of turning tail, the intense stranger started toward me. I turned and ran.

A first Sid was confused at the change in direction. He adjusted, feet banging over the hood of a car then pushing a shopping cart out of his way. He sprinted to catch up. The man who stabbed me spun around at Sid.

I saw it coming before Sid did. I yelled, "get down." The halide parking lamp above us sparked on the same moment the gun flashed. The man who stabbed me fell against Sid. 

I felt a sting in my arm. I was bleeding. In slow motion, I watched a man I'd never seen before with a pistol step into a black SUV and drive away. 

Then, people gathered. I ran to Sid, who stood up covered in blood. The pain in my arm was trivial compared to the pain inside my chest. Then relief surged over me-- none of the blood was Sid's. I clutched my arm, catching my breath. 

I heard sirens.

"He took the bullet for me," Sid said, bending down winded. "But he's still alive." He looked at the blood on my sleeve. "You're shot."

"Yeah, I think I broke most of the eggs too," I said, inspecting the contents of the white plastic shopping bag. "The shot went clear through my arm. I'll be okay in a few minutes-- it's already starting to heal; I can feel it." An odd tingling crept from my shoulder to my arm-- like the springy sensation when my foot or arm falls asleep.

The paramedics arrived before the police. Brave guys. A shooting and they raced helping a man they don't know, not knowing whether or not the shooter was still near by. For all they knew, the shooter could have been us. 

The tall lanky haired medic noticed my wound, but the man lying on the ground in front of him needed him more. I felt the blood sticking to my shirt and knew by the time the medic got to me he won't find a wound. 

The police came soon enough. Two officers at first. And then two other cars joined them. They questioned the people milling around the lot. We stayed back, trying to avoid them. Then the cashier pointed to us. I had no idea what to say to the police-- the truth? Who would believe that? They separated Sid and I. Me, I got a female officer, last name Byron. I decided to give her the condensed version of the truth-- as much as was believable. 'Hey, a man mugged me the other night and now we're being shot at, and I don't know why.'




Failing Upward Ch. 06



The paramedic who noticed me earlier came up to check out my arm.

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked him. "Do you know his name?"

"Don't know his name. No ID, I think he'll make it," he said, with an odd expression on his face examining my arm. "Is this your shirt?"

"Yes," I said, wondering how I could talk my way out of this fucking mess. "Well, actually it was given to me, without the bullet hole though." Hmm, now that was fucking stupid to say. "Must have gotten blood on it helping that guy over there," I said lamely. 

"And a bullet hole, too?" The paramedic asked and shrugged, raising his eyebrow to Officer Byron. I'm fucked.

The officer pulled the medic out of my earshot. Sid was still talking to a couple of other officers. Then Byron and walked over to the group, shooing Sid away. Sid scuffled over to me.

"Let's leave," he whispered. We start for the Cutlass when Byron and her partner stop us. 

"Hey, you two aren't going any where. We need to ask you a few more questions. You'll need to come with us to the station." God, I thought they only said that in the movies or on police dramas on TV.

"Guess bacon and eggs will have to wait," I said.

-----------------------------------

After being interviewed, we sat in the lobby on green vinyl chairs with duct tape covering the holes. The yellowed wax on the floor half concealed the cracked tiles-- I'd counted up to 157 cracks when I heard Lynn's voice. I looked up, and there she was along with Alan. Even Alan looked worried. Lynn hugged me and kissed my cheek. I hugged her in return. 

"Let's get you out of here," Lynn said, patting me on the back.

I sat in a daze on the way home. Enough people saw the shooter, so they let us go. They kept harping on motives such as, a drug deal gone wrong or fagots having a lover's quarrel. Sid called Lynn for a ride. He'd get his car later. Sid explained part of what happened on the way home to Sid's house-- I invited them in for scrambled eggs and bacon.

They walked me up the stairs to the house. Lynn put herself to work, putting away the few groceries, and I got out the frying pans. Sid sat down at the counter with Alan. 

"I'd like to know how Lancaster is behind this. Do you have any idea?" asked Alan. 

"Don't know," Sid said. He got up and brought the folder with all the information he'd collected, handing it to Alan. 

"So, this is the stuff you were telling me about?" Alan leafed through the folder. "Wes, ever seen that guy who took the shot at you before?"

"No, never," I said, searching under the cabinet for a bowl.

"Show me where you were shot," Lynn said. I stood up, the aluminum bowl clanging on the counter. Sighing, I pulled off my t-shirt. Lynn inspected the angry red scars that remained there. Alan's attention was drawn from the folder to my arm. "Hard to believe," she murmured. 

"I can't believe this," Alan said. "It's not possible." Hard for me to believe too, I thought, sorting through the silverware drawer for a fork. But it was real. All too real. 

I don't know why I did what I did next. Maybe to prove all of it to Alan. Maybe to prove it to myself. I grabbed a paring knife out of the drawer. I laid my left palm flat on the counter between where Sid and Alan sat. I raised the knife and mechanically stabbed myself through my hand. I felt a crunch. Fuck. That really hurt. 

Sid yanked it out quick, blood splattered on the counter. I was swearing; tears were in my eyes.

"Are you fucking crazy?" yelled Sid. Lynn quickly grabbed a dish towel, wrapping it around my hand. "Why'd you do that for? What are you trying to prove?" Sid asked.

"I'm a god," I giggled between curses, then I felt the familiar spongy tingle in my hand. "Shit, I don't know why I did it, but I'm healing faster each time." I wiped the blood off my hand with the towel and showed them. 

"My God," whispered Lynn. Alan snatched my hand in his, turning it over, fascinated. He looked up at me with the oddest expression. Disbelief. Pity. Awe. All three washed over his face. Me, I'm captivated by the texture of Alan's hand in mine.

Sid cleared his throat. Lynn picked her purse off the counter, and Alan stood up. 

"What a rush," Alan said. 

"I'm not hungry anymore," Lynn said. Her mouth set. It was like she suddenly couldn't get far enough away from me. 

"Need a ride to your car?" Alan asked. Sid nodded.

"Well, I'll see you later," I said. Driving a paring knife through your hand probably was unsettling to others. I guessed I'd better stay here. "See you tomorrow at work, Alan. And thanks for coming to pick us up. Sorry I spoiled your appetites."

All three left, and Sid locked the door behind him saying, "I'll be right back."

Personally I think this part of the evening was a success-- this was the most civil exchange Alan and I have ever had in our entire lives. I cleaned up the blood with bleach. I wondered if my body was as resistant to caustic materials and disease as I do it. 

I decided it might not be wise to drink the bleach.

Well, I was hungry. I finished preparing the eggs and bacon. I was anxious for Sid to get back. I didn't like being alone. I hoped he liked his scrambled. Me, I'd rather have fried eggs. I put the meal on our plates when he returned. I wanted to kiss him, but he was preoccupied. He sat down and ate. He seemed to like the eggs, but picked at the bacon. I liked it crispy. Shit, I forgot to ask him if he liked his bacon crispy or rubbery. Sid didn't talk, just ate, staring into his plate. 

"What was that with Alan earlier?" he asked. I stared at Sid, perplexed. "You were holding his hand like some teenager in love." 

How to explain? Since I was a kid, I always assumed everyone saw and felt the world the way I did. I never knew until I was about twelve, other people weren't like me. 

"It's like, sometimes the way things feel, they have a memory," I said, struggling for the right words. "Like how I recall numbers exactly or a song after I've heard it only once. I feel it. I remember it. As a texture, as a combination of colors. I don't forget. Same with people. When Alan touched my hand, I felt something from him I never felt from him before. I don't mean something sexual or anything like that. I mean something profound. He understood-- he understood me."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel any better," said Sid. 

"But it should, because-- well, because I've always had that feeling with you. And last night, shit. Why do you think I fucking screamed?"

And I know I've had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than I've had for the last twenty-four years of my life, but hey, I want to live dangerously. Call me greedy. My mouth found his, and I moaned as his tongue did those torrid, nerve blinding ministrations. Later as my fingers scratched his back, I screamed even louder. The neighbor's dog howled.

But despite having Sid's warm body next to mine, I didn't sleep well at all that night. 

-----------------------

Chapter 9: In a Rose Garden

At work, and it was Wednesday, hump day. 

The day was slow. I called the hospital, asking about the shooting victim they brought into emergency. The receptionist got all hard ass and wouldn't give me any information, except I heard a muffled voice in the background say, "Don't disturb Samuel Trent." 

I waited and called back an hour later, and said I had a delivery for Samuel Trent. They gave me his room number and extension with instructions that I get the flowers up to him in the next hour-- they were discharging him.

I called Sid to tell him, and he admitted he'd already been to the hospital-- but got stalled at the nurses station. No visitors allowed in his room, he said. 

I already decided-- I'm going over to the Lancaster's and get answers. I fingered the card with the binary message in my pocket. I was taking the card personally-- the least I could do after all the Lancaster's have done for me.

I didn't tell Sid. If I told him, he'd try to stop me. I must have answers. Some things I just know. 

I felt them.

I volunteered to take the delivery-- I felt kind of lousy lying to Mr. K, making it sound as if I'm doing him a favor by hand delivering the card to Emma Lancaster. 

"Since Alan's still at lunch, and I'm bored-- I'll take these deliveries."

Mr. K smiled, "Fine, we're slow. Take your time," which made me feel even more like a shit. Then he reached for the van keys off the peg on the backroom wall. 

"I'll be back in time to help out with transplanting the mums," I said. I opened the showroom cooler, a flash of cold air blasted me as I picked out a rose bowl from the glass shelf for a delivery to the hospital. Mr. K nodded as I picked up a blank get well card and envelope. Mr. K helped me load up Long Tall Sally with a couple of other deliveries, and her sliding door groaned and moaned as I slammed it shut. It was the first time I'd driven since the accident; I was a bit nervous but that's not the only reason why-- I'm nervous about the other decision. The one I made when I reached in the cooler for that rose-- another stop. 

To the hospital.

I didn't know why, but I had to face this nagging inside my head I've had since I got up this morning, and that man being discharged early was the only person who could answer my questions.

Sally's driver's door creaked open; I climbed onto her sun-bleached bucket seat. I placed the rose bowl on her floor next me, sloshing the water around. Fuck, my fingers had a hard time finding the key. When she started, the old girl was shaking as much as I was.

Okay, so maybe it's not a smart thing to do, going alone to talk to a man who tried to gut me. Or maybe I too fucking dense to know better since I'm afflicted with the 'I'm Superman and I'm invincible' syndrome. Or maybe it's that I'm more worried about Sid than myself. I heal-- he can't. Yesterday was too close. I can't let him take anymore risks. Better that I take them.

Maybe I'm not such a super weenie after all. 

Delivering the flowers relaxed me. My last stop before the hospital was a mixed bouquet. I knew the house. Large white Victorian home with moss green trim and geometric arborvitae hedges lined up like clowns in a circus along the porch. I drove by it often, always wondering why someone would paint their front door chartreuse. I rang the doorbell-- from the thumping and bumping I heard inside, I figured I was gonna find out why in a moment. 

Her over-bleached honey blonde hair was piled up on her head. The solid mass of hairspray, bobbie pins and ratted snarls reminded me of the topiary in the front of her house. Her color of house dress was a faded version of the front door. The moment she saw the bouquet in my hand, her thick eyeliner became black flowing rivers of tears, creating gorges in the cakes of bright red rouge on her cheeks. 

"It's my birthday, and I thought my son didn't remember," she sobbed as I handed her the flowers. She sniffed them and sneezed, "thank you." She shut the door, and I walked back to the van. 

I loved delivering.

As I parked in the hospital visitors' lot, I rehearsed in my head what I'd do-- what I'd say. I flipped open the glove compartment, taking out a pen. Carefully printed on the blank envelope: 

Samuel Trent

Rm 304

Morrison Hosp 

I picked up the rose bowl off the floor then started for the entrance.

I pushed the revolving door with my shoulder and walked straight past the visitor's desk where I usually leave deliveries. I waved at Mrs. Eva Archer, the prim gray haired volunteer at the desk

"Taking the flowers straight up to the room," I said. "Going to be discharged right away and don't want to miss him."

As the elevator door closed, I practiced Dr. Deal's breathing technique. Yeah, do a little self-hypnosis. One, two, three... In through nose, out through the mouth. Hmm funny, wasn't that the same technique Sid used to get me to relax? and push? God, no time for horny now-- man of steel must shovel in nerves of steel. The elevator squeaked open, and I smiled wide when I saw my buddy, Big Bernice, behind the nurses' station. Must be she's on the day shift now. 

She grinned right back and pointed her clipboard at me, "Hello there. You're looking dandy and well enough to be making deliveries, I see." I hold up the rose bowl. 

"Yes, slow day. Thought I'd bring it up personally and waste even more time," I lied.

"Nice to see you Wesley."

"See you later Bernice." I started toward room 304. The door was shut. I opened it slowly, cautiously walking in, closing the door silently behind. He was sitting up in bed, dressed. 

"I've been expecting you," he said dispassionately, straightening his tie. "Your lover was here earlier, very persistent. A personality trait of his?"

My lover. He knew about Sid and me. My mouth opened to speak-- 

"How--"

"You really shouldn't scream so loud."

I flinched. He'd heard. God, he must have been outside the house. 

"Is intercourse more intense with your suped-up senses? Have a need to release that charged tension?" He laughed.

"Fuck you," I said. "That's none of your business." 

"Everything you do is my business," he said slowly. "What you think, what you feel, and what you do. I knew you would come here to see me. You're inquisitive. I made certain at the desk I'd only see one visitor-- you."

"But the police," I swallowed hard, "you've see them, haven't you?"

"They've been taken care of," he said. I placed the rose bowl on the cheap plywood dresser then shoved my hands deep down into my pockets to keep them from shaking. 

"For me?" he asked. "A rose does seem appropriate." His eyes invaded mine, judging me. Steel blue and cold, unforgiving. His gaze haunted me, recalling the fierce grip as his hand twisting the blade. He had stared inside my soul as my body shuddered. His eyes met mine with the same intensity now. 

But I don't take my eyes from his; I don't look away. I know he saw the monstrous fear inside me, but I damn well would not let the fear overwhelm me. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Why?" I asked. 

He sat forward, on the very edge of the sanitized hospital bed, and his lips curled into a whisper of a smile. "I should ask you why. Why do some live, why do some die? You want to know why I stabbed you? Because that's what I do. You were a just a job to be done. In your case, a test."

"To see if I'd die?" I asked.

"No. I already knew you wouldn't die. Your car accident proved that. What I needed to learn was, do you feel pain?"

"Pain? That's crazy. Of course I feel pain." I've felt far too much of that in the last weeks. Right now the memory of it was crushing me. 

"You are an unusual creature. One among a very few left," he said. "There are others like you who heal-- yet they feel no pain. Nothing. Pain is the rapturous ingredient. There was once another who did feel pain. With that pain came other gifts-- over the years we've watched and waited. You might be the one. Are you the one Wes?"

"I hope not," I said. "I don't want you asking for directions ever again." He laughed a bit and held his side. 

"My society isn't the only one with an interest in you. Be thankful those who I work with are interested in you. Without us, you would have been at the mercy of men like the one in the parking lot yesterday. Those men would cut you apart piece by piece and put you back together just because they can." He moved to the edge of the bed, closer to me. "You don't understand yet what you are-- what you are capable of. What can you do, Wes? Just heal yourself? Each time you heal, you heal faster. I see by your eyes, I'm right. You have scars now. Soon you won't even have those. You have a strength. I see how afraid you are, but you still came here." He paused. I didn't feel strong. My legs were weak. I needed to sit down. Or leave this room. Get as far away as I could. "What about someone else? Could you heal them? That's what that gunman wanted to know yesterday in the parking lot." 

I felt like he slapped me.

"He shot at Sid to see if I'd heal him?" Panic crept into my mouth. Sid's life almost forfeited for a test? 

"I must say that I was curious what the outcome would be," he said, "but it was too soon. Even if you can heal someone else, I don't think you could yet. I may be a killer, but I don't kill wastefully."

"I don't understand any of this," I said. "I'm nobody."

"You understand," he said. "Take my hand," he ordered. I searched his face. What can he do to me in this room that's anymore horrible than what's been done to me already? I haltingly pulled my trembling hand from my pocket and touched his. "What do you feel?" he asked me.

A surge of tingles and points of light filtered through me. "You want me to do something. Take you somewhere," I said. At contact, images mingled and a calm settled over me. "You won't hurt me. Not today."

"Very good," he said. "Yes, I was right about you." He stood up. He was much taller than me. Not thin, nor muscular, but his body radiated a fierce energy, jolting my senses. I reeled back, letting go of his hand.

"I'll take you to Lancaster's then," I said in a hushed voice.

We walked right out of the hospital. No signing insurance or release forms. No wheel chair. Just walked out. The calm I'd felt was replaced with reason. I was afraid again-- my heart palpated as irregularly as my feet's hesitant gate. Walking to the van, I was scared shitless. 

Suped-up superman? I sure as fuck didn't feel super. As he walked two steps behind, the clomp of his hard hollow steps vibrated up through my legs. I didn't look back. Didn't have to-- his energy seethed into me like I was some kind of cosmic sponge. 

Eye of the storm. That was what it was like in the van when we both ducked in. The hairs on my body standing up, electrical charges zapped me; the air ionized, yet still. 

"You know Lancaster?" I asked.

"We're acquainted." 

I drove through town on automatic. A sadness filled me, thinking that all that I might feel for Sid might only be the result of that fucking rose thorn-- my lust and hunger for him just an overactive sensory drive. I worry about what I feel and for his safety. Every moment that I was near him, he was a target. It was selfish to think that I didn't want to lose anyone else I cared about, but it was true. I didn't want to be responsible. And this other group or what ever cult they were, they were watching too. I think this was how Daniel Camden, the school master, felt-- stalked and cornered. At least he only had to worry about himself. Me, I had to worry about Sid. And thanks to my big mouth, the whole world knew we were involved-- at least any one standing within shouting distance from Sid's house.

As we started down the back country roads, I didn't care any more how vulnerable I was. Sure I could feel physical pain-- but what was physical pain next the anguish of seeing pain inflicted on some one close? Maybe I should be like Camden, alone.

I wound around into the Lancaster driveway. I hadn't looked at my passenger once on the drive over. I knew he'd been studying me the whole way. Now I turned my head and acknowledged him. 

"We have company," he said, nodding to Sid's Cutlass parked by the house. 

Suddenly, there was a hell of a lot more at stake than just my ass. The wooden screen door opened. Sid and Lancaster stepped out with Glenda behind. I threw the van into reverse and stepped on the gas. Trent put his hand over mind, stopping me. No backing out now.

"I won't hurt your friend..." he said, "much." Then he winked as he got out of the van.

I wasn't sure whether Sid wanted to hug or punch me. Lancaster and Trent nodded a silent secret elite signal. I'd read too many books on conspiracy theories. During the last few weeks, I'd gained a new appreciation for them. 




Failing Upward Ch. 06



Sid wore his frayed old kaki shorts and a white Nirvana t-shirt. Unshaven and hair shaggy, his eyes assessed Trent, then me. "You're fucking crazy getting into a car with him." 

"A van," I corrected. Like it fucking matters, but I just wanted to argue. His cheeks were flushed-- our eyes locked. Twitch. That's my nose instead of his. Trent was right about my hormones in overdrive. Panting over Sid right now was so fucking out of place.

"Do you have the card?" asked Lancaster, bringing me back from a particularly good fantasy where Sid's flicking his tongue in that way he has.

"Um, yes. But what is the importance of the message?" I asked. Sid moved closer to me, standing protectively beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine. 

Not helping.

"The message is sentimental, not a secret code," Lancaster answered. I reached into my back pocket and handed him the card.

"Just a moment. Can I see it again?" He handed it back, and I placed my thumb on top of the bloody imprint. It wasn't mine.

"Here," I said, returning it. Now that was interesting. Maybe what was important wasn't inside of the card. Something about it had to be important for them to want it back this bad. I saw the way Glenda's eyes flashed at it. No, not sentimental.

"I think we should take this little discussion to the garden, don't you Dr. Lancaster?" Trent suggested. Lancaster tipped his head and began walking toward the direction of the rose garden. 

I observed Sid carefully as we poked our way down the overgrown path. He spent half his time making sure I was fine and the other half watching Glenda. Today she resembled a sultry wood nymph. If I didn't know Sid had no proclivity toward woman, I'd have been jealous. As we neared the inner garden, the roses' sweet fragrance swept over us, the scent nauseatingly overpowering. My head clouded. As we walked through the threshold, I stumbled, dizzy. Sid stepped next to me, but Lancaster held him back.

The climbing roses bloomed in every corner of the garden. The blood red blossoms jetted with bright orange stamens and pistols, trailing along the ground and up lattice trellises. The fragrance was heady but no longer sickening. A pressure mounted in the back of my brain-- not unpleasant. The heavy scent tingled inside my nose. 

Sid was enraptured by the place. Each one of us fell under its spell, silenced by its uncanny beauty. As I brushed past a tendril of one of the thorny vines, I spied a tiny movement. In this dreamlike place, I could almost believe these roses were human, thinking, feeling. 

There. 

Again. 

From the corner of my eye the branch reached for me. I looked at Sid; he didn't notice. I stood still and slowly waved my left hand past a thorny offshoot. Yes, it moved toward my hand slightly. I passed my hand by it again, and the same happened. Sid looked at me oddly. He didn't see it. Neither did Trent who cast a questioning look at me, but Glenda and Lancaster both watched intently. They saw. 

I pushed the experiment further, passing my hand near the bramble a third time. The briar caught my knuckle, leaving a bloody beaded scratch. The branch reacted. Even Sid and Trent noticed. The tendril curled as if in a swoon. I found myself feeling much the same. A biting heat swept through me as Sid grasped my elbow. The smell of him aroused me as much as the sensual touch of his hand. My cheeks heated, and my cock hardened. The image of me throwing Sid down in the dirt and fucking him right in front of them all came to me vividly. Then, I recovered. I bitterly remembered the roses' intoxicating bite. 

I felt naked; I felt scared, and finally angry that this thing has played with my emotional life. I was no longer sure if what I felt for Sid was real or some genetic aphrodisiac induced by this anthropomorphic rose. 

My thoughts drifted. I vaguely heard voices that I couldn't understand. My world spun. 

---------------------------

I opened my eyes, and Sid was near me, hand in my hair, saying my name. I saw an old Steinway piano with cracked varnish. Yellowed sheet music scattered on its bench. An old wing back chair sat near where I lay. Battered throw rugs like a crazy patchwork covered the worn hardwood floors. The pillow behind my head was lumpy and the blanket on me musty. I was inside the Lancaster's home sprawled on their couch, recalling a garden, roses and my lust. 

"He's awake," Sid said. I sat up, cautiously stretching my legs to the floor. Sid moved protectively next to me, and I scooted away a bit.

"What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my wrist. 

"About four," answered Glenda, sitting down near me in the wing back chair. "Not unusual for your first time in the garden since your exposure to Mica."

"Mica?" I wondered. 

"Yes, the name of the rose is minuo micamundus. We prefer the shortened version Mica," she said. Lancaster and Trent came into the room. 

"You are like me?" I asked, looking to Glenda then to Lancaster.

"Yes," Lancaster answered, "we are."

I needed to find away out of here. The roses' effect filtered even into this house-- a part of the furniture, the people within. The need to know what I am, seemed unimportant now. All I could think of was false love and hope. I hated the place, and the two that made me this thing. I know now it's not the rose that's human; it's me that's inhuman. 

"I need to get back to work. I should have been back a long time ago. My boss is probably wondering," I said.

"Yes, he was," said Glenda. "He called not long ago. I explained to him that you weren't feeling well. He's a very nice gentleman."

"Yes he is," I said. 

Why be polite? I just stood up. I was wobbly, but Sid was there. 

"I'm leaving. Now," I stated flatly and walked to the front door.

"You sure you should drive?" Sid asked.

"I'll be fine," I said. "Follow me to work, and we'll drop off the van then go home." 

Home. Hell, where the fuck was that anymore?

-----------------------------------

I sat in the living room with Sid mindlessly watching MTV while eating chilidogs with extra onions and munching Doritos. I popped the cap off a Miller Lite and took a gulp to chase the nasty nacho aftertaste from my mouth. What else could I do to be less appealing? 

Maybe fart. 

Pick my nose.

Damn. The more I thought about what that Samuel Trent said, the more it made sense. I did begin to find Sid uncommonly hot right after my accident. In the rose garden, he was forbidden fruit. Shit. Even now as he swallowed his beer, his neck looked like it could use a few choice nibbles. He wasn't safe-- from me or any unknown assailants. 

I took another bite of the chilidog. I don't usually like onions on them, and these stink like hell, making my eyes water and my nose run-- hopefully a real turn off for Sid. 

I wondered, if two people who eat the same gross food, does the gross food cancel each other out? Sort of like when you multiply two negatives, they equal a positive? 

one Bermuda onion X another Bermuda onion = hot sex.

I should have picked a less phallic food for dinner. Shit, seeing him eat that hotdog. An now he's intentionally sliding it in and out...

Fuck. 

"Have some more Doritos, Sid." I spun around, crunching the chip bag. Stupid fucking hard on. I took a swig of beer, swallowed some air and tried to belch loud, but it came out pathetic. I could tell from the half smile Sid gave me, he thought I was cute. He snaked his hand onto my crotch and pressed firmly. I moaned. Shit, so much for trying to resist. Looked like I'd blown off another band practice tonight. Not even pungent, eye burning onions could save Sid from me now. My mouth clamped on to his, and I threw all my weight against him, pinning him into the couch. 

Mmm, two negatives--

I've wondered what it would be like-- to feel him like he'd felt me. I whispered to him, "I wanna fuck you," and he groaned low, deep down in the back of his throat. I licked his ear, bit his neck then sat up, grabbing his arms and pulling him to the bedroom. We undressed each other. Off flew my t-shirt. I unzipped his kakis and reach in, jerking his cock. He played with my ass, kneading it with his fingers. He slid his hands down my pants. I pushed him back onto the bed and kicked off my jeans, twisted at my feet. Sid was kicking off his shorts and then slipping his t-shirt over his head. He got on his hands and knees on the bed as I reached for the lube on the night table.

He said, "Fuck me now" in an urgent dry rasp, and my stomach dropped out. His thighs trembled. His perfect shoulders aligned. Sid looked obscenely delicious. I positioned myself behind him. There was something so base and animalistic seeing him like that-- I felt like I'll come right then. 

White and blue sparks shot through my brain as I my hands clawed his waist. I stopped and wondered, was this what Sid wanted, or what he thinks I wanted? 

What do I want?

I knew I wanted Sid. I dropped the lube to the mattress, and Sid gave me an puzzled frown. Both my hands slid up past his waist, across his shoulder blades. I bent over his back, hugging my arms around his shoulders and pulled him upright against me. He sat on his heels, and I molded myself to him. My chest safe against the line of his back, my hips and cock snug against his ass. 

"Fuck me?" Sid asked. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

My mouth kissed his earlobe, and I answered, "No, I'm not going to fuck you, Sidney. I'm going to make love to you." He turned around, facing me, kissing my mouth. He had corn chips in his teeth, and I didn't care. Nacho cheese, onions and beer were secondary. I rolled on top of him, my erection on his. Skin to skin. And I sighed. 

Maybe I really do love him.

-----------------

Sandpaper Box

Last night I dreamt about the roses. They spoke-- warning me. I tried to recall what they said as I transplanted the mum seedlings. Sweat streamed in salty rivers down my bare chest and back. The greenhouse roof vents were flung wide open, and the large inset wall fans roared, blasting over the flats of recent cutting and seedlings I'd toiled over. A hundred plus trays of them, all lined up on the clay topped benches. Still it must be 100 plus degrees in this hothouse-- and the closed-in space where I labored, made it all the hotter for me cramped in the very last isle of the very last greenhouse. Heat and humid dead air. I only had a few feet between the potting bench and the glass, and I carefully stretched back stopping my hand within an inch of the glass greenhouse wall. 

Not even ten o'clock, and it was stifling. I wiped a bead of sweat off the end of my nose with the back of my hand. I filled another flat with the white beads of Pearlite, compost and peat mix piled high on the old cement and oak potting bench. I leveled the mix off with a swipe from the back of my arm. The potting mix stuck to my sweat and hairs. I brushed off the dirt and sweat on the leg of my jeans. 

I thought about Sid.

I clicked off reasons why I shouldn't tell him how I feel, but finally I admitted to myself that it was one part concern for his safety and one part self preservation. After last night, I knew what I feel for Sid is real, lust and all. I knew I loved the honest, selfless person he was. That realization was as scary as the shit I'd been through the last weeks. 

As Sid smoothed my hair and huddled tight against my chest last night, I almost told him how I felt. My mouth couldn't untangle the reasons knotted inside my jumbled head. Reflecting back, I realized that I was afraid for him and afraid of him. I looked into his solemn hazel eyes-- afraid he'd say he loved me, or even more afraid he wouldn't. 

I finished another flat of mums and turned to get the next when I had one of those instinctive 'someone is watching me' creeped-out sensations. Last night's warning dream flooded back, and there he stood at the end of the isle... the man who shot at Sid in the parking lot. 

In one flash, I knew. I was being crushed from the inside out. Lights, emotion, texture and utter helplessness. Not one morsel of control. I clutched the bench, hyperventilating. Every detail from the hypnosis--I suddenly recalled. I even heard Dr. Deal counting backward-- three, two, one. 

And I remembered this time.

The comprehension was agony. Each detail a prism cutting through me. No longer words in Sidney's notebook but an occurrence. A living experience. I knew that man in front of me from the fog clearing in my brain. He was the sharp edge. He stepped closer, blocking the narrow isle as I remembered him blocking another doorway. 

The minister-- Camden's assailant. 

The stalker-- The shooter in the parking lot.

All the same. 

I cursed his name. "Shackleton!" 

He picked up a handful of potting soil then let it sift through his thick fingers, eyes burning through me. 

"What is it like to be buried alive?" he asked, voice like breaking glass. 

The overload of stimuli fired my fight or flight instinct. I'm cornered. No way out. I rejected the desire to run through the glass side wall. I don't like to fight, but I can take care of myself if have to-- I've been forced to brawl with drunks in bars. I quickly measured him up-- he was larger than me by at least a head, and built hard like most of the bouncers I've seen who kick men's asses twice my size one-handed. 

My scrawny self won't stand a chance unless I distracted him and got in the first shot and scrambled over him fast. Even then I'd need luck on my side. 

"Get away from me," I choked out, stepping back again. 

"Get away from me," he mocked. Taking another handful of the dirt and rubbing it in his hand, he laughed. "Being planted cold in the ground turned Lancaster old. Yes, our Dr. Lancaster was young before I shoveled the sandy soil on top of him. What aged him? I wonder. Was it the dirt or the oppressive cold darkness six feet under? I must ask him some time. Sad really. It was months before his sister Emma found the spot in the woods where I buried him. I wonder what it was like for Camden? Imagine-- but you don't have to imagine, do you?"

"Reliving experiences. The notes were very concise and fairly accurate," he said.

He knew I'd been hypnotized. 

"You've been in our house." The thought terrified me-- this man inside, rummaging through Sid's desk by the computer. 

He inched closer to me. I had to get around him some how.

"You could feel what Camden went through. What did it feel like Wes? Lungs burning, weight of the earth crushing. Camden couldn't feel the pain, but you could. Yes. Tell me, the mental torture, was that worse? What was it like Wesley?" 

I am Wesley, I struggled, assuring myself. I bit my lip, tasting blood. My blood, I thought. Who the fuck am I? Camden? Lancaster? All mixed together, but the same. I couldn't breath, couldn't speak. And who was this man? He can't be real. I counted mentally backward, hoping I was under hypnosis again and would wake up from it all.

"Get the fuck away from me," I said, finding my voice. "What are you? You're not fucking human. You can't be alive."

"I'm alive. And just like Lancaster, I don't feel pain. Not physical pain. It's sad not to feel. Life is flat. That's why I like watching pain so much. Can I watch it now?" He was quick, grabbing my wrist before I had a chance to get away. He twisted it. The pain was nothing. That I could stand. What I couldn't stand was his evil seeping into my pores; I thought I would vomit from its stench.

"Let go of me," I yelled, struggling. Fuck, I thought, shut up-- they'll hear; they'll come. Shit, Alan and Mr. K were in the front. If they helped me, what would this sick fuck do to them? Sure, he could hurt me, but I'd heal. Maybe a scar, but my friends would suffer death. 

Adrenaline pumping through me, I swung my fist, aiming for his mouth. My knuckles burned when they hit his teeth. His head snapped back. I spun and twisted in an effort to get around him and free.

His hand wrenched my wrist around, popping joints. He spat out his blood on my chest while I struggled, twisting around. 

"I could bury you," he hissed, "but I know what happens. An experiment loses its appeal after a time. It becomes boring. I need something new. What should I do to you?"

How do you get away from someone who feels no pain? I slugged him again-- this time I aimed for his nose. I felt a sickening crack as my fist landed. My hand throbbed. He laughed, ratcheting me closer. My head reeled from recalling another time when Shackleton pushed himself into Camden. I tried the same trick Camden used many years ago. I swept my leg around the back of his ankle and threw him off balance in an effort to trip him. He buckled and recovered. Then I jerked my knee into his groin as hard as I could. Fuck, the sick bastard's dick was hard. My stomach turned. He smiled, twisting my arm harder, pinning me back onto the cold cement of the potting bench. 

"Your scars are almost gone," he rasped into my ear, tracing a finger down my bare chest. "Your eyes and body lived through Camden, can you live through another and feel their pain? What about your friend? He makes you squeal. Maybe I could make him squeal."

"You leave him the fuck alone, or I'll cut off your head," I spat.

"You could try. I could cut off yours, but it's such a pretty head," I recoiled as he touched my cheek. He smiled and licked my ear. "Or better, I could take you now, but I'd rather you came to me, to us, on your own. In the end, you'll have no choice." He shoved his cock against me. I swallowed back bile as he ground his erection into my hip bone. Then he let me go of my arm.

He turned and walked away from me. After I caught my breath, I stepped around the corner of the potting bench, watching over the isles of bedding plants as he left out the side door of the greenhouse, limping. I was shivering cold, then burning hot. I ran out the door after him, but he was gone. 

Then I bent over and threw up. Odd though that he limped.

I wondered why some one like me had a gimp. 

---------------------

I wiped my mouth. My hands shook as I pulled my t-shirt over my head and pushed my arms through. I put my head between my knees and stayed that way for a good fifteen minutes before I felt composed enough to go up to the front room and see Alan and Mr. K. I could stay in the greenhouse, but it was too fucking hot and too much of a reminder of that sick bastard. 

Then there was Sid.

I didn't tell Alan, but I wouldn't have any choice but to call Sid. Not telling him would put him at more risk. That psychopath was already in the house. Sid already put himself at risk going after him. If he knows what Shackleton is, Sid'll be more cautious. My biggest concern was that Shackleton would go after Sid to get to me. I was glad Sid was up at the university around people today. 

I thought of just taking off. Packing it all up and leaving. But if I left, I wouldn't be taking Sid out of harm. Maybe I didn't have a choice. But until I knew what that sick fuck was up to, I wasn't going any where with Shackleton. I knew what he did to Camden. However, in the end if I had to go with him to keep Sid or anyone else I cared for safe, I'd do it. But I wasn't walking into Hell with Shackleton unless there was no other way.

Alan stared at me when I walked up the back steps.

"You look like shit," Alan said.

"Heat exhaustion-- I just threw up out the side door of house four." 

Alan's eye twitched as he scrutinized me. "Superman pukes," he said. "That's a new one."

"I think I'll go sit down in the office for a while," and I walked back, closed the door and flopped down into Mr. K's old oak captain's chair. It wasn't two minutes later when Mr. K poked his head inside the door then walked up to his desk and sat down on top of it, facing me.




Failing Upward Ch. 06



"There's plenty you're not telling me," he started. I opened my mouth to begin to speak, but he placed his finger to my lips, hushing me. "Plenty of it I've heard around. In this business, you hear people talk. I don't understand any of what's going on with you, but what ever trouble you're in, know that you can talk to me. If you don't want to now, that's fine too. Know I'm here and that I care, son." He leaned over to me and hugged me tight. 

I started to cry. What a fuckin' baby. Mr. K didn't mind me getting his shirt all wet, he just hugged me tighter. Alan walked in with a wet towel, and I'm bawling. Shit, Alan'll never let me live this one down, but instead of making fun of me, he placed the towel on my forehead and kissed my cheek. 

"If you don't mind, I think I'll rest here a few minutes," I said. They both left quietly and shut the door, leaving me to think about what happened. 

What ever this group that Shackleton was in bed with wanted, it wasn't just to experiment with me. I was sure they wanted to know what made me different and why. This was all a puzzle. One giant jigsaw, and no one was sharing the pieces. I wondered why Camden/Lancaster aged. Being buried alive, that was piece of the puzzle, too. A grain of sand. Camden was buried in the earth-- near Lake Michigan. Sandy soil. And the soil in the rose garden, it was sandy. It was hard to solve a puzzle with six feet of earth haunting you. Being buried alive was almost as bad as feeling that sick bastard pressed up against me. 

Pressure built up in the back of my brain and in another time, I am Camden, and I'm laughing. 

Camden and Lancaster are the same person. I was pretty sure now that Emma and Glenda are the same person, too. It would make sense. I wondered about Les-- he had to be like us. He must be. He's related to Lancaster. I had a few questions for him tonight.  

I wasn't missing band practice again.

What fucking got to me was how I could be part of this mess. All the past questions came back to me. The questions that I'd pushed from my mind over the years. Details I'd known the answer to but didn't want to face. Questions I'd asked my parents, but they always evaded. 

My mind struggled to understand how two people who loved me so much could lie to me my whole life. They had many opportunities to tell me the truth. Or maybe it was just I didn't want to know. Deep inside I always knew I was adopted. 

I could deny it no longer. I must face it if I'm going to help myself-- and help anyone who is unfortunate enough to be close to me. If I don't-- Shit. 

I was in third grade when I asked Mom the first time. It was my birthday. I brought chocolate cupcakes and vanilla ice cream for my class after lunch. The party was fun. Then came last recess. Carol Arnette, a big hairy man-girl whose mother was the principal's secretary, enjoyed picking on other kids. Today I was her new target. She pushed me, saying that the man and woman that I lived with weren't my parents. She said she knew because her mom told her-- she'd read it in my student records.

"No," she said, "you don't live with your real parents because they didn't want you." I called her a liar. It's so fucking degrading even in the third grade to have your ass kicked by a girl. She clobbered me in the face, giving me a bloody nose. I couldn't hit her back-- maybe she didn't look like a girl, but she still was one-- so instead I pushed her down in the mud, messing her brand new red and white polka-dot dress. 

We both ended up in the principal's office. When Mom came to pick me up, I told her what Carol Arnette said. Mom got quiet and said, "Sometimes people say things because they don't feel good about themselves. They say mean things because they hurt so much inside." She went inside Principal Moore's office and quietly shut the door. 

That was Mrs. Arnette's last day as secretary for the school.

Three years later I asked again. This time my science teacher, Mr. Williams, told the class about Gregor Mendel and his peas. Then he gave an example of how two blonde haired parents can't have a black haired child. I asked Mom, and her answer to that one was, "Is he a genetics specialist?" The next day, Mr. Williams told us he was mistaken-- two blonde parents could have a black haired child. My cheeks burned as he looked directly at me. 

I didn't ask again until high school. When I went to get my driver's license, there was a problem getting my birth certificate. I began to suspect something was wrong. I asked Dad this time. All he said to me was, "You're my son and always will be." Looking back, I see the answer as more of an admission than denial. Still they did produce my birth certificate-- and I put it into a separate compartment in my mind. I didn't think of it again until three days after they died-- at the funeral. I always knew. But it didn't matter. They were my family no matter what. 

-------------------------------------

I didn't want to go back to the house-- not until I talked to Sid. He knew to look at me, something was up the moment I got in the car to pick me up. 

"Let's go for a ride," I said. I told him I remembered every thing from Dr. Deal's hypnosis session. I told him about what happened in the greenhouse, who Shackleton was. I told Sid he'd been in Sid's home. I told him the threats. 

I told him I was adopted.

"I want you to be careful," I said. "No more chasing after the bad guys."

"I won't if you don't pull another stunt like going to the hospital or Lancaster's without me."

I wasn't sure I could promise that one. 

"I'll try not to," I answered.

"Then I'll try not to," he said. "Let's go home and get something to eat before you go to band practice tonight." I nodded and let out a long strained breath. I hadn't realized until then just how long I'd been holding it.

I insisted that we check every window, every latch, when we got home. I didn't want to find Shackleton hiding in the house or any other surprises. My guess was that he just picked the lock on either the front or back door. If we kept the deadbolts on from the inside when home, he wouldn't be able to get in without breaking glass. Sid checked the basement windows, and I checked the attic. I called John to ask him to pick me up tonight. I didn't want Sid leaving the house open to another invasion. Just because you're paranoid, don't mean they're not after you...

We threw together some sandwiches and ate. I was fine until we picked up the plates, and Sid slipped behind me when I was putting away the dishes. John started pounding at the front door at the same time. I jumped. I knew it wasn't Sid's touch, or John's knock, but the memory of Shackleton's hands on me that had my brain all fucked up. 

"It's me," Sid reassured me. 

I turned around, kissed his mouth and said, "I know. I'm just edgy." I picked up my guitar by the couch and kissed Sid goodbye again, pressing my body into his, hoping to collect some of his good Karma.

"Be sure to bolt the door the moment I leave. I'll call as soon as I get to practice and before I leave again."

"Don't forget." 

"I won't."

I remembered Shackleton's limp as I got into the car. 

----------------------------------

We were all set up, and Les hadn't arrived. I was tuning my guitar to John's as Les pulled in, his car lights blinding every one of us. 

"Fucking ass wipe," Smith swore, tripping over his amp cord. "Turn off the fucking headlights, dumb ass! Hell's fucking kitchen, don't you have any sense?" He yelled as Les got out of his car.

"Sorry," Les said. "It won't happen again."

"Better fucking not happen again. I could have been a human shish-kabob on one of these rakes."

"You know, Smith," Jimbo said, "if you took all this shit and put it away, it'd be a lot safer to play in this garage."

"Then where the fuck would I store all this crap?" Smith asked, scratching his crotch with his guitar pick. "I use this stuff all the time. All of you god-damned pansy-asses can just play around a few sharp objects. Dangerous? You don't know dangerous. How the hell are we gonna play in a biker bar if we can't even jam with pruning sheers?" 

"So you're sayin' your garage is the band's warm up for a gig with the Hell's Angels?" Les asked, laughing.

"Oh shut the fuck up you stupid cock sucker and get me a beer," Smith ordered. "God damned newby needs to know his place."

I suddenly was getting a new appreciation for Smith's smart ass-isms. 

"Get me a beer too," I added. 

Les opened the rusty old dented fridge in the corner of the garage and reached in for the beer, asking, "Am I allowed one too?"

"Only if you suck my dick later," Smith said. Les gave him an odd look and pulled out three bottles, hanging on to their necks, clinking them together. 

Les handed Smith his beer, then handed me mine. I watched Les as he twisted off the top, waiting for him to take a swig. 

"He's serious, you know," I said. "And his dick is really big." 

Les sprayed a mouthful of Miller Lite into Smith's face. 

"After that, you damn well better be good at giving head," Smith said, wiping the beer off with the back of his hand.

Les kinda laughed and choked at the same time as Smith stuck his face into Les' space and gave one of his up-yours smirks, and said quietly, "I'm not joking." 

I couldn't help myself-- what a great opening. I began singing: 

I started a joke, which started the whole world crying. 

Oh if I'd only seen, that the joke was on me.

Jimbo and John picked up on it and began playing along, singing in harmony-- 

"Oh no--"

Smith, joining in:

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing. 

Oh, if I'd only seen, that the joke was on me...

That's when it happened. Les sang-- his voice lazy and melodic with a slight quaver-- hauntingly beautiful. We all continued to play as he continued singing alone. As his last note faded, we fell silent, dumbfounded. 

He was good. Better than good. He was, Hell, better than me. Better than any of us. 

Smith cleared his throat. 

"Not bad," John said. "I like it. Needs more bass though." 

------------------------------

I called Sid as soon as practice got out. I decided to catch a ride home with Les-- I'd get a chance to corner him with a few questions. Not only that, but save him from Smith, who kept pointing at his dick and asking Les to stay for a while and help him out with his hard on. 

Not that I didn't enjoy watching Les getting embarrassed, but the joke was getting old. Plus I think Smith was half serious, especially after he heard Les sing. And the way Les blushed, I wondered if he was half interested in helping Smith out. We fucked each other over enough in this band with out literally fucking each other over.

But I had more important details on my mind. As we got into the car, I asked him. 

"Yes, I'm like you," he answered. "A lot more like you than you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Do you remember anything at all about the night of your accident?" 

"No, why? What should I remember?" I asked, fastening my seatbelt. "Your family needs to stop playing with me and tell me what the hell is going on. I'm tired of guessing, and after today, it's getting too dangerous to be playing God Damned mind games."

"Why, what happened today?" He said, checking his rear view mirror.

"That sick son of a bitch Shackleton cornered me in the greenhouse, threatening to hurt Sid."

"That's interesting, because he watched the whole practice from across the street, and now he's following my car." 

"Shit," I said, turning around in my seat to see. 

"Listen, I'd love to tell you everything I know, but my Uncle doesn't want me to. He wants you to remember it. But shit. This is getting too dangerous. At least I'm living with some protection, but you're really open to this man. He is seriously dangerous." I noticed his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel tight. He eyes darted watching me, the road and the rearview mirror as he pulled into our driveway.

"Maybe you better come in," I said. 

"No, he's not going to follow me home. He's going to sit outside and watch your place."

"You know who, and what he is then?" I asked, straining to see where he'd parked. 

"I know exactly what he is. Confession time. My Uncle and I followed Shackleton into Sid's house the other day. We sorta read the notes, and what was in the folder. Well, pretty much nosed around all through his place afterwards. Sorry."

"Fuck! Who are you to do that? This is crazy." I started to shout. 

"You should know that Shackleton's been in Sid's place before and yours. The night of the fire, too."

"What gives you the right to keep this from me? Tell me everything now." I swallowed and stared at him. I was living in a sandpaper box. I felt raw and exposed.

He didn't look at me, he stared at the sparkling constellations out his windshield, deciding. 

"I can't," he said, finally.

I got out of the car and slammed the door. That sandpaper box just closed in a bit more around me as I noticed Shackleton parked half way down the block under a street lamp. I rushed to the door, driven by fear and anger. My body and soul raw and chapped from the day's constant sanding. I wanted to jump into Sid's arms the moment he opened the door and saw his sunburned nose and fine white laugh lines crinkling up, glad to see me. He'd been standing waiting for me to come through, must have heard my voice. I didn't even need to knock.

Sid bolted it behind me as I made my way the couch and carelessly fell back, dropping my guitar case to the floor, taking Sid in. I told him about my conversation with Les, watching him chew at the inside of his cheek as he listened. 

"He's out there. He followed us home," I said finally. "Maybe we should call the police."

Sid frowned and nodded. Reaching for the cordless phone, he punched the buttons as he walked toward the front picture window.

"Tell them the guy that took a shot at you and Trent is parked across the street," I directed Sid what to say. As he talked to dispatch, he squinted hard through the glass panes, his laugh lines deepening. 

"No, I can't see him from here." He hung up, snapping the blinds shut. "They're sending a car to drive by and look." 

Then I remembered. "He limped away."

"What?" He crossed the room and sat down. I welcomed the cushion's gentle shifting of his weight into mine. 

"When Shackleton walked away from me, he was limping. If he heals like me, why would Shackleton limp?" 

"Don't know. Could be an injury from before he was transformed. Maybe those don't heal."

"Something's not right. Maybe he isn't the same," I said. Sid's thigh brushed mine. I smiled, and his nose twitched. 

"Of course they're not the same. You're different; you're special. Especially to me." I snuggled in closer to him, laying my head on his shoulder.

I yawned. "Tired..." I whispered, covering my mouth. 

"Too tired?" His lips grazed my temple, humming sweetly against my skin.

"Mmm, no," I answered, nudging him down flat on the couch. My chaffed body, stung from the day, was healed by Sid's soft touch. He soothed the psychic hurt inside as his hands glided against my neck. 

I found my fingers unzipping his jeans. My breath quickened watching his pupils widen in anticipation. He raised his hips and helped me shimmy his jeans down past his knees. I slipped my thumb under the elastic of his briefs, coyly brushing the head of his dick. He shivered as I boldly reached in, pulling his cock out, bending my head down. His hands followed my head-- my lips faltering just a breath from him. My thumbs nervously pressed hard into his hip bones, leaving imprints.

I thought, how difficult could this be to do? I wanted Sid in every way he had me. I wanted to make him feel as good has he made me feel.

"I'm more hungry than tired," I whispered, knowing the effect my words would have on him. 

He moaned, "God, Wes. Please." And I bit my lip then bent in, kissing and licking the length of him, looking up at him, memorizing his color and lines. Damp locks clinging to his forehead. Watching Sid's face flush and eye lids flutter incensed me, and I teased him more. Blowing him made me feel both powerful and powerless. My tongue tasted salt and musk, darting on the head of his cock. Grasping him, I slid him carefully into my mouth. His thick cock twitching, I flicked his corona with the tip of my tongue then slid my mouth up and down a little, infusing the texture of his penis into the contours of my mouth. Every ridge and bump, I loved. God, I wasn't prepared for how wonderful Sid would feel-- his pulse beating hot inside my mouth. Heat and light sparked through me as my I felt the stretch in my jaws, slipping him down deeper into my throat. His fingers found my hair and twisted and pulled. He felt so good-- quivering and straining, moaning my name. My cock was rock hard, rubbing into Sid's leg-- rubbing and moaning. 

He was watching me. 

I slowly slid him out of my mouth, meeting his eyes. Tightening my jaw, I began a smooth, firm embrace. My lips and throat hugging his beautiful cock, floating up and down from the head to base. I clasped the base of his cock with my hand and swallowed. His thigh muscles tensed; he was so close. I slowed, and he gasped, "Don't stop."

I took him as deep into the back of my throat as I could, and he clutched my back and hair. He ground his hips, and I met his thrusts as he fucked my mouth, then he was lost; I was lost-- coming with such intensity that I thought I'd climax with him without his laying one hand on my cock. I swallowed him all, and the whole experience surprised me-- how much I wanted him, his seed, the most intimate part of Sid. He pulled my hair, willing me to his mouth. He kissed me greedily, tongue hard and urgent. I whimpered into his mouth, like a child who wants more candy.

His hand cupped my cock, my stomach did hand springs as he pressed the length of me-- God, I wanted out of these jeans. 

"Sid..." I murmured against his mouth, willing myself to say the words. "I..."

Four sharp raps on the front door cut me off and brought me out of my bliss. 

-----------------

Chapter 10: Knock, Knock

"Who is it?" Sid called, struggling to pull up his jeans. 

"The police," came the muffled answer.

Of course they're gonna say 'the police.' Yeah, like they're gonna say, 'Yes, it's us-- a roving band of axe murders. Please open your door so we may hack you into pieces...' 

While Sid quickly finished fastening his jeans, I jumped up for the door. A peep-hole would be handy, or a window with the right perspective convenient, but since there was neither, I clinked the chain on and braced my body against Sid's door. Legs locked, I opened and cautiously peeked out.

Hmm, it was the police. 

Sid, who stood protectively behind, helped me to relax by rubbing my shoulders as I let the officers in.

"You called in the report?" The skinny dark haired officer asked. 

The other office stood next to him. A goofy looking character, butch hair cut and big ears. A real life Barney Fife-- sticking his thumbs in the band of his holster as he listened. Sid just politely nodded. 

"No vehicles parked on the street within the next few blocks," said Barney. "No black SUVs on the streets. No suspicious looking characters in the neighborhood..." 

I wasn't surprised. All I heard after those words was Andy Griffith whistling his theme song. I needed to stop watching Nick at Night. 

I always wondered how a police officer, like Barney here, identified a 'suspicious looking character.' What made one person look suspicious and another not? Lurking in the bushes? Wearing dark sun glasses at night? Slinging an semi-automatic rifle? Yes, these might be indicators. Even more intriguing, could things look suspicious?




Failing Upward Ch. 06



Caller: Please send the police to my house immediately... the hide-a-bed... I think it might be concealing something. 

Dispatch: Officer to 121 Maple, resident reports suspicious furniture.

Bang-- I jumped. The officers slammed the door, bringing me back to the light. Sid was bolting the door. 

"Well, that was a waste of time," I said, stepping behind Sid and fitting my chin into the hollow of his shoulder. I let my index finger trail along the fine hairs on his neck. He shivered. Mmm, our time could have been better spent... "Maybe we should finish what we started." 

Knock, knock at the door again. 

"Who's there?" Sid asked.

"Police!" 

I almost expected Sid to ask back 'Police who?' like this was some bad knock, knock joke from elementary school. 

"Police!" the shout came again for the third time that evening. Funny, it didn't sound like Barney or his partner, but the voice did sound familiar. Before I could stop Sid, the door was ajar. Sure as fuck, it was Shackleton. Wham-- I threw my body against the door. But Shackleton didn't budge; he allowed the door to slam in his face. This was a game to him-- a laugh to let us know he was still there and watching.

After bolting the door again, Sid turned to me. "I sure fucked that up." What an understatement, but I kept my mouth shut. 

Then Shackleton rapped at the door again.

"He's fucking with us," I swore, throwing the light switch off in the kitchen and rushing into the living room. "Turn off all the lights-- I don't want him to see where we are."

"But... th- then it'd be dark," Sid stuttered.

"Duh, yeah. I don't want him to see us, and I don't want you to become a walking target through the windows, ok?"

"But then we can't see either." Sid hesitated, fumbling with the dining room dimmer switch. 

This was no time for Sid to be afraid of the dark.

"No, shit," I said, turning off the lamp in the living room. 

"I don't like it all dark." Sid stumbled into me. "See... I run into things."

We both tensed as we heard another tap, tap, tap. 

Sid whispered, "Let's go to bed. He can't see in there-- the shades are drawn. And I don't care if it's dark in the bedroom-- it's supposed to be." 

I grabbed Sid's hand with a reassuring squeeze. Alan told me years ago, Sid was afraid of the Boogie Man when he was a kid. Had nightmares for years. That explained his fear of the dark. Hey, and maybe he still was afraid of the Boogie Man. I was, because he was tapping at the front door again.

Hand in hand we inched blindly through the darkness to the bedroom. As soon as we were next to the nightstand, I let go of his hand. Both of us stripped off our clothes in silence, getting ready for bed as quietly as possible. My nerves rattled, and my thoughts clattered. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Shit, this was the first time since all this started that I wasn't lusting after Sid as he stripped down near me. It was dark, but I could make out his silhouette stiffening from Shackleton's constant knocking. Sid was more uptight than me-- if that was possible.

I slipped into bed, and Sid slipped in behind, spooning himself against me. He kissed the fine baby hairs on the back of my neck and squirmed his hips closer. I couldn't hear Shackleton tapping anymore-- I let Sid's heat obliterate everything in my world screwed up and wrong. I just wanted him beside me. He sensed my need, moving his hand around my waist, fondling me. I liked to think he needed me just as much. 

I closed my eyes and kept myself quiet, balling my hands into fists to keep from moaning. I nudged my ass into his cock, and he gently answered with slow deliberate friction. Then I rolled around, facing him.

The electrical charge of his cock brushing against mine sent me searching for Sid's mouth. The second jolt of his hand encircling his cock and mine tight together caused me to clank my teeth into his. Sid pushed me over onto my back. His soft bottom lip brushing my earlobe and whispering, "Some men like this better than ass fucking-- rubbing cocks together until they come." 

Between feeling his cock sliding against mine and his hand skillfully embracing both of our shafts, I couldn't speak. He rubbed both heads together, rolling them in his palm. That, along with his little confessional, sent my heart skipping and my stomach flipping. 

Finally able to speak, I asked him, "What do you like best?" 

I bit back a moan as he answered, "Don't know-- not finished yet." 

Fuck. I felt like I was going to come right then. I groaned in disappointment as he moved his hand out from between us, them moaned in delight as he slipped his right leg between mine and ground his cock against me. Both cocks were slick from sweat and pre-come. I desperately groped my fingers through his sandy hair. I'd always been a bit embarrassed that my cock bent a bit to the left when I was erect, but now this little eccentricity made for a perfect fit, hooking Sid and I together, never breaking the friction. I don't think at that point I would have heard Shackleton if he was smashing down the front door, the blood pounded so hard in my ears. Sid's incredible stomach muscles tensed against me, and his sweet sighs swelled my chest. I kept willing myself to keep from crying out. In futility I finally muffled my cries, burying my mouth against Sid's cheek. I loved the taste of his salty sweat and the smell of our sex. I moaned all the more. 

God. 

He was forced to take my mouth just to silence me, flicking his tongue around in every space in my mouth. His soft lashes flitted gently against my eye lids as his teeth bit my lower lip. We rocked against each other with hard and deliberate thrusts. Slick and wet. This was no quick fuck. We were slowly building a fire. The heat and friction sparked deep inside our souls. Our chests, lips and cocks locked together, igniting. Equals. I shook, and Sid trembled. As I felt myself falling close to the edge, coming, my heart locked with his too-- ready to spontaneously combust. 

And I called out his name, too loudly. But I didn't care. 

After I came, I still rocked against Sid, holding my breath, waiting for his seed to mingle with mine. I became afraid of what I'd do without him. I held him all the tighter. He covered my face with salty kisses as he came. 

We both lay still-- our long soulful kiss broken as we heard the sharp deliberate taps on the bedroom window. 

I closed my eyes and kissed Sid's brow for reassurance. Sickness seeped into my heart, and I struggled to shore it up fast as Sid whispered, "Ignore him." 

I tried. I tried so hard. But my mind couldn't still my heart's worries for Sid.

I hoped Sid didn't know Morse code. But I figured, he must with his analytical mind. As Shackleton tapped his message out a second time, I vainly tried to forget what I heard by pulling Sid close to me. But I couldn't sleep or erase the haunting words: 

Can you save him?

------------------------------

At eight am, I made Sid call ACE Security to install an alarm system and put a peep hole in his frickin' front door. Then I called into work, and explained to Mr. K that I wasn't coming into work today. He didn't ask any questions. 

No way I was leaving Sid alone. Every time I closed my eyes, images of Shackleton at the door last night played out-- only with a much different ending. I was surprised Sid didn't argue with me when I suggested we put the charge on my Visa, forgoing the estimate and just get it put in-- today-- now. Fuck the cost. I can be an impulse buyer, but Sid analyzes every purchase. After last night, he agreed with out one word except to say, he'd pay me back. 

I didn't care.

At 10 o'clock, the security company'd be here. Sid was also supposed to meet a client at noon about updating their web page, and I made him cancel. I didn't want him out of the house-- not unless he was in a public place. Sid didn't like me telling him what to do, but I told him I didn't give a flying rat's ass. After that psycho-bastard knocking on the window last night, I was afraid. That question terrified me. "Can you save him?" I hoped I'd never needed to answer it. Maybe the message was for Sid, maybe for me, maybe both. I didn't sleep at all last night thinking about what Shackleton might do to Sid. I don't think Sid got much sleep either.

The security company was right on time. They installed door and window sensors and a glass-break detector, which picks up the thump of window being hit and sound of shattering glass. No more knocking on windows for Mr. Shackleton. 

Of course Sid called Alan and blabbed everything that happened last night. Shit.

Sidney spent the rest of the day on Internet searches for our cast of suspects. He didn't come up with much-- just enough to confirm my suspicion that Glenda and Emma were one and the same person. 

I spent the day playing the guitar. 

I was working on a new song I'd written, when I looked up at Sid and noticed him watching me. I guess playing a D minor diminished, C major, followed by a A minor while singing the words 'Rubber cement' thirty-six times in succession could be irritating to some people. I gave Sid my best grin and said, "I prefer writing music on the piano." 

He looked at me dead pan and said, "I don't think it'd sound any better on the piano." I sorta got pissed off by his comment-- guess I was being a temperamental artist. I missed my studio, my home. I jumped up and went into the kitchen and banged green bean and Campbell's soup cans around in the cupboard, pretending I was looking for something to eat. 

"Hey, I was just messing with you. Don't have to get all pissy with me."

I opened the fridge and got a Coke. 

"Well, I'm sorry. Guess I've got the jitters. Tonight's the first time since all this happened playing in public-- and the first time with Les. I always get edgy before a gig, but I'm feeling really uneasy about tonight. I don't know if it's safe for you to come."

"You're not leaving me here. No way. Nothing will happen in a crowded barroom. I'm not going to hide like a coward. Besides, we've both safer there than here."

I hated when he was right. 

"I think you're worrying has more to do with this new guy Les. You're worried he's replacing you." 

Now why did Sid have to bring that up? 

"Don't look at me that way," he said. "He can't replace you. The guys in the band love you. Besides, you're better than that Les."

"You didn't hear him last night. He's incredible. But you're right; I was worried about being replaced. Not any more. I'd like a few answers from him though. We need to find out what his Uncle is up to. I think he's going to be there tonight. I don't know if I'll get much of a chance to talk to him, but you can."

"I'll be glad to talk to him."

------------------------------

As we rode to Adam's Den, my hands tapped while I hummed along with Corbain gargling "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on the radio. Every time Sid looked at me in my black leather pants and fish-net shirt...

Twitch. 

I slapped his hand away from my crotch. I don't feel right sauntering into the bar with tight leather jeans and a raging erection. But pulling over to the side of the road for a remedy wasn't an option tonight.

"Ouch. Stop that," Sid said, after I swatted his hand again. "Sorry, you're just so hard to resist. How am I supposed to concentrate on protecting you when you're wearing that?" 

"Protecting me? You're the one who needs protecting. Just stay out of the way if any trouble starts, and I'll be fine." Sid pulled into the back loading dock behind the bar where we were playing. Ted Blandship, one of our sound men, waved at us as he took a drag off his cigarette. 

Adam's Den was a cut above most band bars in the area. Near perfect acoustics with a stage that over-looks the audience. The pay was substantial and timely. Most importantly, the bouncers were real bouncers-- not some drunks paid to bang heads-- any heads. They watched the band like mother bears watch their cubs. And the waitresses never had to worry-- an unwelcome slap on the butt earned the poor slob a spot at the curb outside. And no one ever threw crap at you on stage. The management promoted the top notch atmosphere. I felt better as I walked in. Sid was right; we'd be safer here than at home. It was the ride there and back that worried me most. No pulling off to the side of road for a quickie.

The owners, Bill and Rob Plonski, ran the bar for going on eighteen years. They liked to book bands well in advance. The Bone Yard Bastards and the management had a difference of opinion last Saturday. And the band walked-- leaving no live entertainment. The owners didn't take to disc jockey's on week ends-- flesh and blood bands pulled in crowds with money. That and Bill and Rob both liked our band. We're good, reliable and we could draw a crowd. They knew we were free, so they called us when the other band took a hike. To get a gig here on such short notice was unusual. I don't think the owners would have let the other band walk if we weren't available; they were businessmen after all.

While I helped set up, Sid found a seat with Alan and Lynn up front, saving a seat for me for between sets. All the band was here except our newest member. We were just starting to tune up when he got there, with some lame excuse like he couldn't find the place. I'd been looking out on the floor for his uncle but didn't see him. 

"Is your uncle coming?" I hollered over the amps.

"What?" he yelled back.

"Is Lancaster coming tonight?"

"He can't tonight, but he gonna be here tomorrow." I gave Les the thumbs up. 

"I think we're ready," Ted hollered.

John gave us the nod, "One, two, three," John ripped off a power chord, and we we're off.

During the first couple songs I distractedly watched the floor for Shackleton or Trent's unexpected appearance. I looked over at the table and noticed Sid quietly watching me and scanning the bar-- looking for the same characters-- and Lancaster. I didn't like him watching out for me; I wished he wouldn't. The guys in the band would look out for me; they have for years. We were a family. We watched out for each other.

As I played, I started to relax. We sounded the best we ever have. Les was terrific. I didn't feel intimidated or like I was being replaced. Instead I felt euphoric. I always felt a buzz or rush on stage-- but this was different. We were interconnected. John, Jim, Smith, me and this, Les. The other band members and I have played together, Hell, we grew up together. But this, this was transcending all my expectations for any group. It was Les, that was the key. It wasn't just that he anticipated each hesitation, each movement on the neck of my guitar-- we anticipated each other's. It was uncanny.

When we both sang into the speaker, and it came out magic. And I wasn't the only one noticing. The other band members did-- waitresses weren't waiting on their patrons, instead they stood blocking the isles, watching. And the ones that matter the most, the patrons, heads faced our stage, listening to us not talking to each other.

The crowd hooted and hollered when John said, "This the last song of our first set. So get up out of your seats! We're gonna to play a song that one of our members wrote..." John motioned to me. We all looked at him. John had decided to change the usual order. The reaction from the crowd told us he made the right choice. It was one of those fast, hard, crowd pleasers 'What I Need.'

Don't need dreams, 

Don't need fame.

Don't need you

To feed my pain. 

What I need 

I can't have.

'Cause I can't have

What I need.

By the end of the first verse, the floor was packed. We've never had that many people on the dance floor during a first set song.

When we were done, we got one Hell of an ovation. And we weren't even done for the night. Right then I was so high I didn't think I was ever going to come down.

The whole band pulled up seats to our table, and we had more rounds of beer bought for us than we'd ever drink the whole night. I was slapped on the back so many times on the way to my seat, that I thought I was bruised to the bone. The first thing out of John's mouth when we sat down was, "Les' voice melds with yours-- it's surreal, man!" I smiled, and put my arm around Les, who was smirking. 

I messed his hair. Then lifted my beer up, and cleared my throat, "Here's to Les. And to Failing Upward. May we all Fail and Fall upward." Everyone drank-- except Sid.

"I hope you won't be disappointed," I said as I patted Sid on the knee, "but Les' uncle can't come tonight to see us."

"He said he'd come tomorrow night though," Les added.

"We've never played like this before. I hope we can keep this up for the rest of the night," Smith said.

I looked over at Sid. He caught me looking at him and smiled. "You sound better then you ever have," he said.

John slapped him on the back, "Thank you Sidney Raymond. You must be one Hell of a good fuck to make his guitar hum the way it is." 

Sid grinned into his glass, and my cheeks got hot.

"It's not just me," I said, trying to ignore the comment. "It's all of us. I can't believe how great we sound. Les, you're incredible."

"Where have you been? I don't ever remember seeing you around," Sid said.

"I grew up here. I used to come listen to you play all the time before I went off to college. I played in a band at school. Not a rock band though-- alternative."

"That's cool as long as it's not any of that rap crap," said Jimbo. I noticed that Bill, one of the owners, had come up and was standing behind Alan.

"You're in rare form. Maybe we could extend this arrangement?"

We clanked our bottles together and hooted.

By the end of the second set, we were burning down the house. I even jumped out onto the floor and played (something I never do), and I think John was going to be able to score with over half the women in the bar. I noticed Smith eyeing Les with renewed appreciation. 

Smith got plenty of laughs when he boldly pinched Les' ass. 

We played the usual 'I Want You to Want Me' for the last song of the second set. We liked to do our cover of the song as a solid set ender, its pounding rhythm always gets people pumped. Tonight though, it had a bit more meaning for me. I'd thought all week about this song-- it was one of Sid's favorites that we played. When I began to singing, I looked right at him. He didn't drop his gaze. I got done with the line "I'll get home early for work, if you say that you'll love me" when I heard another voice break in with mine. It was Les. 

I never looked back at Sid again until the last bar of the song. 

Man had I fucked up.

Lynn walked up to me after we quit for break. 

"Wes, I need to talk to you. What the fuck is wrong with you? You'd better stop flirting with that new guitarist. I thought the two of you were going to start screwing on stage. I know a lot of it is show, but did you have to rub yourself up and down on his leg? Haven't you noticed Sid at all? Look over at him. He's a mess. He's been drinking since you started this last set, and you know he never gets drunk." 

I looked over at the table, and Sid was sitting there, staring into his glass. 

"I think you better go talk to him. Tell him you're sorry," Lynn and I walked up to the table. My passion on stage was over the top and heck, cruel-- but it was for show. Shit, Smith kissed him-- I didn't. Still, I could see how Sid might take my performance wrong. Probably not a good idea to dry hump his leg. We got near the table, and Sid's doe eyes caught me with such painful intensity that I thought they'd crushed my heart to pulp. I'm such an stupid ass hole. 

That was when the fight started. 

I saw it begin in slow motion-- 

Two guys at the table next with their backs to Sid began yelling intelligent jabs like, "Fuck you ass hole!" and "Don't touch my woman!" The bouncers came out of nowhere, but not before the bigger guy with a 'Do It 'til Ya Die' t-shirt on had the smaller one on the floor pounding him into a bloody mass with his fist. The poor guy on ground pissed his pants-- or else he spilled his beer in a conspicuous place. The big guy picked the little one up off the floor, just as the bouncers grabbed him. The big dude with t-shirt threw a round house punch, missing the poor little schlep and hitting Smith right in the eye. I went over and played mommy-- got Smith ice. Any way, by the time the commotion ended, our final set was ready to begin again. I looked over at Sid. It's a huge cliché, I know, but the show must go on. He hadn't moved during the brawl, still staring into his beer.




Failing Upward Ch. 07



His hand jerked, the back of it resting on his brow. I imagined from that shadow of a frown, last night's over indulgence haunted him a bit. But as I lay in bed watching, his tawny eye lashes fluttering as he slept, nothing I could recall was as beautiful.

I loved the way his nose twitched as he slept, and I hoped he was dreaming of me.

He moaned in his sleep, brows furrowing. I was tempted to reach out and touch him-- or run my tongue down his hard chest. But if I did that, I'd spoil the perfect magic of his naked body sprawled enticingly beside me. I'd been admiring him now for a good sixty-eight minutes according to the digital clock.

God, and he loves me. 

And the band was incredible last night. When I think about how incredible Sid was, well, I chewed my cuticles and thought of ten more ways I could show him how much I loved him.

Then his eyes fluttered again, only this time they blinked open. 

"Hi... I love you," I whispered.

"Mmm, so that really did happen last night," he said, carefully adjusting the pillow under his head. 

"Yes, really. How ya feeling?"

"Not bad, surprisin'ly. But I haven't moved much yet. That might change things."

I raised up on my elbow and leaned into him. "Would a kiss hurt or help?"

"Help, I'm sure." 

Oh yes. That nice long, leisurely morning kiss multiplied then extended on to his neck, dipped down to his nipples, then started all over again languishing at his mouth. 

"Nice," he yawned, mussing my hair. "At this rate we'll never leave here. Stay in bed all day."

"Fuck and talk. Sounds good."

"Or talk and fuck. Sounds better."

Why did Sid always have to spoil things by talking? Not that I didn't want to tell him ten ways I loved him-- it was just that I had those ten ways I'd show him already planned out. 

"Maybe I should start with sorry," he said. "Are you ok? I didn't mean to be so forceful last night."

"Shit, don't apologize. Just don't ever drink that much again. I've done lots of stupid things when I was drunk. I don't even need to be drunk, to do stupid. Last night-- I did stupid. I was just afraid to say how I felt. Then the way I, um, acted with Les. Sometimes I get carried away on stage. You know, it's just this whole idea that I'm gay; maybe I went overboard. You've always been so comfortable with yourself. Me, I feel odd or queer-- er, maybe that's not the word to use, but with everything else that's going on now, I was confused."

"You've got a lot to deal with, without me pressuring you. Then we've avoided talking about us and all that's going on is complicated by our relationship-- like how it can be used against you. I want you to know, what ever happens, I'm not sorry for us."  

The way he said that, like it was some premonition, twisted me inside. 

"So you do know Morse code?" I asked, and Sid nodded. "Sid, I'm sorry I got you into all this."

"I think we both better quit with the sorrys and think about what we need to do. Right now we're both just waiting for Shackleton to make the next move. Maybe we should make the next move instead."

"Like what?" I had absolutely no clue as to what to do to keep Sid safe. Lock him in the house? Go to Lancaster and ask for protection? Or do as Sid suggested and make a move first? I didn't like the idea as Sid as bait. If he did seriously get hurt, I wasn't sure at this point I could heal him. 

We needed help. Lancaster was beginning to look like our only answer. I wondered what he said to me in the hospital. Suddenly, it struck me. 

"When you came up to the hospital to visit me, what did you tell me? Remember the night of the fire? Before you took me home, you asked me if I remembered what you told me at the hospital. And I couldn't remember. When I asked you-- you told me it wasn't important. So, what was it? What did you say?"

"What do you think? I told you I loved you," Sid said, rubbing his temple. "But you already guessed that, didn't you?"

"I wasn't sure. I thought maybe..."

"Yeah, but that wasn't why I asked you that night. It was what happened after I told you that I wanted you to remember. When I visited you-- you were acting dopey-- talking nonsense about llamas. Then you told me to come closer-- you had to tell me something. Then, Shit, I couldn't believe it-- you kissed me. And right when you did, this big old nurse comes barging into your room and laughs." 

"That was Bernice." 

Now it all made sense. That was why Bernice kept bugging me about my boyfriend. Explained her winking at me all the time. Shit. 

"Yeah, she kept pinching my cheek."

"Just how did I kiss you? Like a friendly peck? Maybe you should demonstrate."

"With this headache I probably feel pretty close to how you did. Come here." 

I rolled over on my side closer to him, and he kissed me tenderly on the lips, slowly opening his mouth just a bit, brushing his tongue along my bottom lip. Nice.

"I did that? Wow. I'm pretty good." 

Sid slapped my ass, and we started to wrestle-- Sid found every ticklish inch of me, taking particular sadistic pleasure teasing the inside of my thighs with baby pinches. Either Sid was incredibly hung over, or he let me win, but I ended up on top of him, pinning his arms down, both of us panting hard. His face flushed with want as he hardened underneath me. Me? I was already pretty hard from that kiss earlier, but now a deep need filled me, creeping from my stomach and tightening my balls. 

"Now you pay. I get to be on top this time, and do that thing we did the other day. You know," I said, lowering my voice, "what some guys prefer." I ground my hips into him hard.

"Oh fuck, Wes. Shit, that feels good." 

Touching Sid in any way normally would send an aurora of light and heat through me without sex, but these bursts became near explosive during. It transcended the normal sensory realm-- not just through my eyes or ears or finger tips-- but some extrasensory-radiation spiraling through me-- always leaving me just on the edge-- like the euphoric bliss just before orgasm.

Maybe it was the sound of air gasping from his lungs or maybe the feel of his cock twitching next to mine, coaxing me-- but I imploded; the spiral began taking me. Pushing his arms down tighter into the mattress, I tried to reverse the process. I felt my own body begin to collapse into him. I sucked at the nape of his neck, like it was the last thing I'd ever taste my whole life salty and sweet. I needed to be with him, instinctively rubbing myself against him, feeling our balls, cocks and every curly pubic hair merging together-- all the while wanting something far deeper than just tactile stimulation. I needed a deeper release.

I reached between us like Sid had done and curled my hand around both our cocks. The thrill of feeling his pulse beating through my hand and through my cock was major sensory-overload. I honestly didn't know how Sid did this the other night without coming right away. Both silky smoothness and solid heat slipping through my hand, I willed myself not to cry out, not to come. As I quieted myself, I realized that every time we'd fucked before that moment, I'd responded with physical, animal lust, compounding it with my own denial and hidden carnal desires. I had let my senses rule me. Sid allowed me that, to unleash them all. But now, the forbidden fell away. The emptiness gone. I knew what I was, and what I wanted. I focused on him instead of me. I concentrated on Sid-- how his bottom lip trembled slightly; how his nostrils quivered as I slowed my strokes. Milking his lips with mine, my eyes wide in his, I knew I needed to do more than show him I loved him. I needed say it. I slipped my hand away from us both, letting sweat and our fluids mingle in a feverish heady friction. 

"I love you," I said, a little louder and a little more forcefully than I had intended.

Sid, giving my ear little wet kisses, whispered back, "Wes, I think I've always loved you." 

Then it just happened. 

Crying during sex might not be a cool thing to do, might even be kinda gay, but damn, I couldn't help it. I felt him coming through me. I started sobbing as Sid came and was blubbering and sniffing as I came. Afterward, I wrapped myself into him, and he dried my happy tears with the cotton sheets, making me feel even more infantile. But fuck, I didn't care. I wasn't even embarrassed. Being in love, I didn't feel hollow anymore.

"What was that?" I asked.

Sid rolled over and laughed. "You mean Babe making noise out in the other room or me making you cry? Never made anyone cry before. Not sure what to think." 

"How 'bout I make coffee while you take a shower. I'll scrub your back." 

We both stood on our wobbly legs and went into the bathroom. Sid threw a wet wash cloth at me while I was trying to piss. 

"Clean yourself up, you hussy."

I wiped myself off with the wash cloth. I borrowed Sid's ratty red robe. I studied my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth; I didn't look any different. I rinsed my mouth out, spitting, then rubbed my chin. I needed a shave, but I'd do that after a shower. I looked the same. Seems like you'd would look different when they're in love.

The water was running in the shower so I hurried. 

I whistled, sprinting through the living room, expecting Babe to run through my legs. She should be mewing for breakfast. Instead I heard her in the kitchen, squeaking the barstool. Probably lapping the butter on the counter. Sid must have forgotten to put it away again. 

I ran right to the front door to get the newspaper. 

The door was unlatched. 

Then I heard the squeak again. From the corner of my eye, I saw him. Trent. He had on old denim jeans with holes in the knees, a dingy t-shirt and a faded Cubs ball-cap. He hadn't shaved today either.

"Good morning," he said, petting Babe. I heard her purring in his lap as he stroked her. She nuzzled his hand, coaxing him to continue. Clumps of her hair were all over his clothes; he'd been sitting there a long while, listening.

"Shit. How did you get in? What do you want?" I said, keeping my voice low and steady. I heard the gurgle of water running down the drain from the shower.

"This is an illustration-- instruction on how easy it is to get to you."

I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. He watched my eyes flicker to the bathroom-- my concern too obvious. 

"No need to worry. I'm here to protect you, not to hurt you or your friend. You needed this little lesson. You aren't safe here. No alarm, deadbolt or flimsy chain is going to stop Shackleton and his warped followers."

"So I'm supposed to follow you, trust you, just like that."

"You did before. You have even less of a choice now. You stay here-- your friend in the shower will be dead."

"You also stuck a knife in me. Excuse me for holding a grudge."

I hesitated. Sid was calling me from the bathroom. 

"We could go to the Lancaster's," I blurted out.

"Who do you think's protecting them?" 

The water turned off in the bathroom, and I heard the shower curtain rings scraping against the rod. He was in league with Lancaster? I didn't like that at all. More secrets.

"You both need to come with me to the Lancaster's. Now."

I stood in the open space between the kitchen and living room, bile building up the back of my throat. Lancaster sitting at the counter would be hidden from Sid's line of sight. I was pretty sure he wouldn't hurt Sid, but I wasn't positive. If I could touch his hand like before, I'd know his intent. I stepped forward. Just touch his hand, I thought. Then, I heard the bathroom door opening and Sid calling me again. 

Sid would rush in if I warned him. 

Sid walked toward me from the living room. Robe flopping open-- his naked body pink from the hot water. Must be he could sense the panic in me because confusion washed over his face as he stepped forward. I looked over at Trent.

"The water started getting cold waiting. I thought I heard..." 

Sid crumpled the robe together as he stepped next to me and saw our guest.

"Why'd you let him in?" 

"I didn't. He let himself in," I said.

I couldn't believe Babe still sat content in Trent's lap even after Sid came into the room. 

"I was just explaining to Wes here, how it's not safe here. He needs protection."

"So, you're offerin' protection now?" Sid asked.

"Yes." 

Sid squinted, left eye twitching as he thought. His gaze fell onto Babe. 

"Ok," Sid answered quietly.

"Ok?!" I shouted. 

"Babe trusts him."

"He's a hit man for Christ's sake, Sid. He fucking stabbed me."

"Animals sense things. And he's right; we need protection."

"Listen to your friend. Come with me; I'll take you to Lancaster's. I can't promise you'll be safe there, but if you stay here, you'll never save Sid. You want to save him? You must go to Lancaster's. Exposure to Mica is necessary for if you want to be able to heal him." 

I knew he was right, but he also had his own motives, and I was sure they had nothing to do with concern for our safety.

The barstool creaked as he shifted to face Sid.

"After you're dead, do you know what Shackleton will do to Wesley? He'll play with him like a lab rat. No worse. He'll get get his deviant jollies off then play with him like a lab rat-- a lab rat that never dies." 

I had to know if he was sincere, and there was only one way to find out. I stepped up to Trent and grabbed his forearm. 

His intent wasn't to hurt us; I sensed it from him. Maybe Babe was right.

"We'll get dressed and get a few things together," Sid said. 

We really didn't have any choice. I threw what few things I had into an old suitcase of Sid's, picked up my guitar, and Sid, I and Babe went with Trent. 

----------------------------------

They weren't surprised to see us. I walked into the musty living room and sneezed. Les and Glenda took our things, and Lancaster motioned for Sid and I to sit on the same lumpy couch I lay disoriented on just days before. Sid fidgeted more than I did, fingernails scratching the tops of his legs through denim. I reached over and held his hand tight. To Hell with appearances. 

While Sid squeezed the piss out of my hand, Dr. Lancaster's pale-blue eyes measured my nervous movements-- my tennis shoes bobbing, knees jostling and scratching invisible itches on my shoulder. Then there was Trent's steady stare, making me chew my nails. I wondered what the fuck they were waiting for? Talk or else take me to the garden and hook me up with the roses. 

Even in here I could smell them. They crept inside my nose, seeping in through my pores, enveloping me. The sensual pangs returned; Sid's thumb messaging my hand became the most erotic gesture I'd ever experienced (save this morning). My cheeks burned, and the silence in the room ate at me to the core. Sid rubbing his thigh against mine wasn't helping either. Considering the company, I didn't want them to notice...

Lancaster cocked one of his bushy white eyebrows and crossed his legs. I was sure he knew. My cheeks got hotter.

Waiting, waiting. 

I thought of screaming. Not a good idea. Instead I gave in. I spoke. I asked the first question that popped into my head.

"So if Shackleton is like us, why does he have a limp? I don't have my appendectomy scar any more. Can't be because he had an old injury. Is it like your aging or what?"

"First, you're making a wrong assumption-- that Shackleton is like us."

"Actually, that's not an assumption. It's what he told me."

"Well, he's a liar. He is not. He's made. He had to alter himself to become immortal." 

Immortal? Fuck. That was a new one. I guess I never thought of myself as immortal until then. But what do you call someone who doesn't die? 

"He learned how to alter himself-- he heals, feels no pain, but he had to change himself on a molecular level to do this. Transfusing himself with a serum derived from our cells-- then infecting himself with the rose. He wasn't the first to do it. There have been others since, but the effects are limited. They reverse after a time without a transfusion and re-infection. Shackleton and others like him need regeneration-- old wounds and injuries reappear. In a way they are like leaches living off of us. And right now, Shackleton is a leach that needs a transfusion." 

Sid's hand was sweating in mine. I squeezed. I wasn't horny anymore. 

"You already figured where Shackleton intends to get his next fix from. But he's waiting to see if you're the one. He's got time yet."

My throat became dry; I didn't want to ask, but I had to know: "So you didn't become old just because you were buried. The transfusion-- Shackleton took your blood. Was that what changed you?"

"It had to be part of it. But not all." 

"So what are we?"

"A line of the same blood, the same family. Lancaster is just a last name-- not our real name. My real first name is Daniel-- I'd like it if you'd call me that."

Same blood. All the same. What is he to me? 

Trent sat, observing, waiting for me to ask. I chewed on my nail some more. The motion wasn't lost on Lancaster.

Glenda and Les came into the room. Les leaned his shoulder against the oak doorframe, and Glenda sat on the arm of Trent's chair, twirling her hair. 

"Are you my father?" My voice crackled as I asked it. 

"No, I'm your uncle. I'm sorry son..." Lancaster or Daniel, scrunched forward in the old rocking chair, moving closer to me. He rested his hand on my knee. "--your parents are dead."

"But you said we're immortal." I felt dizzy and sick. Parents I knew and the parent I never will know-- all dead. Maybe I should have asked how, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"I told you all this before, Wes. In the hospital. That I'm your uncle, and Glenda's your aunt."

"...and I'm your brother," Les said, so quietly that I wasn't sure I heard him right at first. Then it all made sense. Then I felt Sid shaking; he was laughing. What the fuck could be that funny?

"Last night-- that was your brother's leg you were humping--" Sid blurted. I didn't see the humor in that at all, although I imagined Sid could. 

Rubbing up and down his thigh was the last thing on my mind. I was stunned. How could I have a brother and not know it? 

"I think it's time you two talked. Les, take your brother out to the garden," Glenda said.

Les motioned his head for me to come on and as I got up, Sid stood to follow, and Daniel moved his hand from my knee to Sid's, halting him.

"They need to talk together, without you there. Don't worry. He'll be safe. You are the one in danger now. Stay here safe in the house with us. Wes will tell you everything when he comes back."

I gave his hand one last squeeze and said, "I'll be ok," although I wasn't sure that was true. We were on our way to the garden, and I felt like some kind of human sacrifice. 

I followed Les' slight form out the back door and through the yard. He was small like me; fine bones, large eyes, but not much else was the same, save our musical talents. In that we meshed perfectly. May be I should have known last night on stage what it was I felt-- that connection. I wondered if he was adopted or if he was raised by our parents. I had to ask, had to know. So I asked--

"They were my parents by blood," he answered. "And after they died, Uncle Daniel took me in. I've been here or away at college since."

I wanted to ask, why did they keep him and not me, but my mouth wouldn't work. 

Les stopped. "I know what you're feeling. The roses crush your senses-- block out everything. It was like that for me too in the beginning. I still feel it some now, but until you're truly immortal, it consumes you."

"That's not all it does. Shit." Up ahead, I saw the entrance, saw the roses. I flicked the sweat off my forehead as it ran into my eyes, burning. I thought of Sid, in the house waiting for me. I remembered the last time Sid and I were in garden together, how much I wanted Sid-- wondering what I'd be like to throw him on the ground and fuck him in front of everyone. 




Failing Upward Ch. 07



I blinked. I was flushed and breathing hard. Damn. Les was looking at me oddly. 

"I'm afraid I can't help you out with that, being your brother." 

I looked at my feet. Standing in poison ivy, not good. Addled with sweat and sex from the rose's influence, I swabbed my brow with the bottom of my t-shirt. My eyes were still stinging; my heart still seizing. 

"God. Do I have to go in there? I can't breath."

"You must do this. Come on." 

I stepped through first. 

Sudden bursts of light like shards of broken glass, slashed in through me then out again. Numbed, my eyes no longer stung, and my heart steadied. Breathing in through my nose out then through my mouth, I tasted the sweet thick essence, insinuating itself through my pores and into my blood. The tendrils reached out to me. I let them. The barbs hooked into my forearm. A voice murmured, lie down. I obeyed, resting, my face upturned to the crisp cloudless sky, then closing my eyes. Heart pounded through my chest, rushing to my groin and finger tips.

I felt like I was floating.

Swimming. 

Buoyant in a lake of ice water. I shivered. Cold pricked on my face, sharp needles of ice, piercing my chest, arms and through my clothes. I heard summer dried grass snapping in the wind, and the same breeze kissing my face. The tooth of a briar nicked my eyelid, and I slept.

----------------------------

I opened my eyes, recalling a hazy lustful dream of Sid touching me, willing me to come. My vision cleared and I remembered where I last was, and saw that I was still there in the garden. Wispy clouds and long shadows from the elms, falling cool against my legs. A crunch of leaves and I turned my head. Les sat behind me, chewing on a blade of grass, legs crossed up and into his chest. 

Embarrassed, I jerked my hand from where it gripped my cock, jeans wet from the memory of my dream. I sat up still disoriented and heard Les reciting Walt Whitman in a sing-songy voice:

 I celebrate myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

 I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

 My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same...

My brother, who I knew nothing about, held the blade of grass straight out toward me, and I took it from him.

His lips trembled, and he sighed. 

"Why? I suppose you want to know why," and Les said it as a statement, not a question. Yes, I did want to know why. I wanted to know what he knew and not some transcendentalist mumbo-jumbo. 

Then with out a word from me, he began to speak:

"They gave you up to save you. They knew what you were. They hid you in plain sight-- where no one would suspect. The town where they lived. I didn't know about you until after they died, six years ago... The worst day of my life happened six years ago."

I pulled my knees up, hugging them while Les plucked up a new blade of grass and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. 

"It wasn't long after a record breaking heat wave. You might remember that summer. Humidity and sweltering heat-- six days hot as Hell with sky high heat index. At night from my room, I could hear power line's vibrating. I'm sure you were listening to it in your neighborhood, too. The hum resonated everywhere-- every fan and air conditioner running on max. Dad rejected air conditioning years ago. Called it unhealthy. He said going from 68 to 98 degree all day wasn't good for you. Mom sort of believed him since he was a doctor. But really Mom and I knew he was just too cheap to get central air."

"By the third night of the heat wave, I decided no more waking up in a puddle of sweat. I packed a few clothes and went to a friend's air conditioned parent-free apartment. Mom bitched at Dad about it. Told him that they were driving me out of the house. The next day she nagged him into getting central air put in."

"Thursday, August 12-- Mom called and said Rex's Heating and Cooling just finished putting in the air. I didn't go home that night. Stayed at my friend Bill's. It was late. I remember the pounding on his door at three in the morning. Bill yelled go away, thinking it was one of his drunken friends wanting a place to crash. I don't blame him for not answering. Then the phone started ringing. I put the pillow over my head to drown out the noise. It wasn't until the second round of door pounding when it struck me that maybe something was wrong and maybe I should answer the door. I got up. Bill yelled not to answer. My insides said different-- they said, open the door."

"I looked through the window. Aunt Glenda stood there on the steps with her hair uncombed and half dressed. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw her-- since her hair is always perfect. I opened the door, and she grabbed me, crying. Bill came out to see what the commotion was. I tried to get out of my aunt just what had happened. Then I noticed Uncle Dan on the steps behind her. He was the one that told me. Logically, I know it wasn't his fault. He was just the messenger. Mostly I blamed myself, after all they put in central air because of me."

"The cause of death according to the coroner was carbon monoxide poisoning from a natural gas leak. He said they were already dead when the leak ignited. But that wasn't what killed them. Neighbors felt the concussion from the explosion blocks away. There was no way to physically identify the bodies. They asked for dental records, and they thought the physician records might help. I drove over and got their records from Dad's office. I remember, I sat them on the car seat next to me. I wanted this to be over. But in the back of my head I knew. I had to look. I opened up the folders, and there you were."

"I never knew who I really was or what my parent were until I started asking questions about you. I had to find you. All my questions brought Shackleton to town. Blame me for bringing that piece of Shit here. Well, after he showed up, they had to tell me. They brought me to the garden here. I became like them. But I still wanted to know who you were, and where you were, even after they told me how dangerous it'd be for you."

"I figured it out by accident-- who you were. I saw you play. One night a few years back, I went to a college party you were playing at. I knew, but didn't know. I felt a connection watching you play because you played like me. I started going places where you played. Finally, Uncle Daniel had to tell me just to keep you safe. I stayed away. Still, Shackleton figured it out. And when your family died..."

His eyes were down, and I waited for him to continue, instead he rolled up like a cocoon in front of me. He just pulled up farther into himself. Then he sniffed and I knew he was crying. I wiped the tear off my cheek too.

Blame. I needed some one to blame. Myself for one. I knew how Les felt-- because I felt the same. I still couldn't forgive myself-- that I wasn't home. That I wasn't dead. Some days I wished I was dead with them. 

For the first time I believed maybe it just wasn't my imagination. Maybe my family's death was no accident. But it didn't make sense that Shackleton was behind it if what Les was telling me was true. Why kill them? I still wondered about Trent-- his role in all this. 

We both sat in grass, the magic of the garden between us. Both sets of parents, gone. The only way I'd ever know my birth parents was from this man sitting tied up in knots in the grass, swishing a blade of grass in his teeth. I thought I should ask him who I resembled most-- mom or dad, or if one of them liked peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches like me. 

Les slid his legs out straight. I noticed then his reason for sitting with his legs crossed against his chest. Guess that runs in the family, too. Nocturnal emissions. He blushed and stood up.

"Ok, I've got a question for you. Is Smith interested or is he just fucking with me?"

I brushed off the seat of my jeans and checked my arms-- no scratches. 

"He's pretty particular. I mean-- he doesn't sleep around." 

I probably shouldn't encourage this relationship, but seeing the disappointment in his face, I added, "He's definitely interested." 

------------------

The Community

Real life masquerading as a dream, that's what it was. 

I stepped behind Les, awestruck by this great circular foyer so different from the front entrance of the house. This was no simple Michigan farm house. I wondered who built it and when. Four long windows on the concave wall cast long dense light beams, intersecting at the bottom step of this grand staircase. Its dark banisters beginning at the bottom floor and arcing up toward where Les pointed. 

"I'll take you up to your room. I imagine Sid's there." 

As I walked up to the stairs, I couldn't make out the finials, not until I was close enough to actually touch them-- the oak dark from layers upon layers of varnish felt cool under my fingers. The carvings were difficult to make out. Instead of using my eyes, I spread my fingertips, running them along the grooves and ridges, feeling the shapes and textures.

My fingers recognized what these carvings were-- Leaves. 

Rose leaves, carved on the banisters. I let my hand slide up feeling the chilled wood and finely hewn ridges, the petals and vines winding up the railing. The spindles were carved vines, winding around and down. I noticed each spindle was unique. 

The massive staircase wound gracefully into a lazy semicircle. I cautiously stepped ahead, eyes gaping up. A runner covered the center of the stairs, creating a surreal jumble of color, a kaleidoscope of swirling nonsensical patterns. Down at my feet, I saw the worn oriental carpet-- scarlet, indigo, drab white with flowing lines of gold and black. The rug seemed as alive and breathing as the roses in the garden and as haunting as the wood of the staircase. 

At the top, the oak railing splayed open, facing opposite of where we began at the bottom of the staircase. 

I was anxious to be near Sid, to see his soft smile and hear his soothing voice. I needed familiar. These foreign sights and sounds were painful; I ached for his touch. Two steps from the top, I wondered where, which door, he was behind. 

A heavy oak door with brass knob and keyhole guarded the top like a sentry. The other, four lesser doors, curved around the open stairwell full circle like dutiful soldiers. All shut tight. On the opposite side, a sixth door stood open, a mirror image of the sentry at the top of the stairs. We turned right and around, following the same worn oriental runner covering the hardwood floors, pulling us. We stopped at the door parallel to one at the top of the stairs, the one open. 

There was Sid. 

The room was the room of my dream-- that frayed rug on the floor the same. That large six-sided window frame with the inset seat where Babe lay curled up on faded teal cushions. All the same.

In my dream, the oriel-window beamed warmly on his face as he smiled then kissed me. 

As I stepped in now, he raised his head. Light bent softly onto his strong solid hands. He was putting away my shirts into the drawer of an old maple dresser. He smoothed out my top shirt and giving it one last pat, stood up and smiled. He walked over and sat down on a large four-poster bed, waiting for me to speak. I was happy, so happy to be near him. 

In my dream, he pulled me down on that same bed. Those same hands that the light gently caressed also caressed me as he inched them into the tight space inside my jeans. 

That soft bed. His firm grasp.

In my dream, he had me hard in his hand. Here, maybe I wasn't physically in his hand, but I might as well have been. I felt the heat spread to my groin.

My cock thickened; my face grew hot. As light from the bow-windows crept across his face, I didn't know if my garden images of Sid were mirages or memories or wishes. Did it matter? All I needed to do was touch my flesh and blood Sid, and it would all be real.

Silently knowing, Les quietly left, shutting the door behind him. 

Walking up to bow-window, I could see the garden. 

I brushed my hand across my crotch; my come dried, jeans sticking to me. I needed to tell him about the roses. Partly to share with him the passion of that moment, and partly to make that dream come real. 

Sid pointedly hadn't commented on the stain in the front of my jeans. Instead, I answered the question in his eyes, "I dreamt of you-- in this room. It was so real." 

My body hummed. I watched his mouth gently curve into just a hint of one of his devilish, I know-what-you're-thinking smiles. Latching on to that moment, I sucked a breath deep into my lungs and thought about licking that smile off his lips.

Then the roses' fragrance corralled me. Even with the windows closed up, their influence made me buckle. My eyes misted, and I swooned. 

The smile left Sid's face. 

"I could see you," he said. "I was beginning to worry; you lay there so long on the ground. I was thinking it was a mistake to let you go out there. After the last time when I carried you back, it made me sick in the pit of my stomach to let you go there again. I know these people tell you it's so damn important to go out there and get inoculated. Important?" he paused, and his lip quivered a bit. "I can't help wonder. Important for who? Important for them-- that's what I think. Hey, I know you're doing it for me. Well, don't. I don't like it. What I saw down there was creepy. The way those roses grabbed at you-- like some obscene caress. Looking at you right now, I can see their effect."

"I know it's more than just healing. I've said before how I see and feel things. This intensifies it. Sure I'm worried about you. I'm selfish. I love you. I'm not going to lose you. I'm not doing it just for you. It's for me. I have to."

As my fingers parted the thin yellowed lace curtains to peek out, a familiar specter leapt into my brain. 

It was Sid. 

"I admit it's twisting me, changing me," I said. "My senses. Just a second ago, when I touched this curtain, I saw or felt the last person who touched it-- you, so you don't have to tell me what you were thinking..." 

I knew what was in his head-- I saw what he was thinking, feeling. I felt his doubts about us; his fear of this place and those in it. I felt it without even touching his skin.

"Les says he's your brother. And that Dr. Lancaster says he's your uncle. But what if this is all a lie? They're all after something. You're the one with the extra-sensory stuff going on. You were as shocked as I was when Les said he's your brother. If they're all telling the truth, why didn't you already know?"

I sat down next to Babe in the window, sprawling my legs straight out like the cat's and resting my back against the frame. 

How could I explain something I didn't even understand? 

"I can't control it--" I said. 

I was so tired. Mentally gone. 

"It's not like I can look into some crystal ball and know it all. For years I just thought I was good at hunches. You know, I had good intuition or some such shit. But now looking back, I'd always known something wasn't right with my family. I guess I brushed it off-- like ignoring all those years I was adopted. You told me--" I scratched my nose and yawned.

"And you're right-- I'm damn good at denying the truth. Shit, maybe I don't know truth when I see it. Still, I'm trying to face what I denied for so long. Give me some credit. I think for the most part Lancaster's telling the truth. I believe that he is my uncle. But you're right, not to trust him. He's hiding something still. I'm sure he is--"

Sid interrupted, "It's not just that Wes; that I don't trust that you know the truth-- it's because you're so trusting." 

"But I don't think Les is hiding anything. He's genuine. He's worried about me and you. He blames himself. He didn't know about me until a few years ago. He told me as soon as he learned it was his questions that brought Shackleton here. He tried to back away when he found out the bastard was here, but Les still kept asking about me. This is as hard for him to believe as it it for us. Hard to believe he and I grew up in the same town and never knew we lived only a few miles away from each other." 

I closed my eyes. So tired.

"You know, I wonder how much my parents knew," I continued. "I wonder if they died because they knew too much. And Les' parents... You knew didn't you? You knew his parents were dead. All that internet searching-- you knew. You didn't have to protect me. You should have told me as soon as you found out." 

I sighed. Sid got off the bed and walked up to me. I slowly opened my eyes. He leaned into me, kissing me softly on the lips, straddling my legs. 

"With it being so much like your own parents death and all, I didn't want to bring it up. Not unless I could figure out some connection. It's just that it doesn't make any sense," he said. 

"Nothing makes sense. Nothing except you." 

Sid shifted his hips.

I wanted Sid. Inside me. 

"Please--" I whispered, "fuck me." 

I knew this lust was part of the hunger left over from the garden, but I didn't care. Even now I was using sex to avoid real questions, Sid had me right from the start, even before this mess with the roses. I was always avoiding the hard questions.

I thought that telling him I loved him would dispel any anxieties he had, but that touch of the curtain forced me to feel Sid's doubts. I felt all his misgivings as he watched me in the garden. I knew he was afraid that I might come to think of him as the flavor of the month. Now, instead of answering his doubts, I was feeding them. He wasn't just worried about Les and others lying to me, he was worried I was lying to myself. After all I was so good at it. 

Veiled by the curtain, the rose garden resembled an Impressionist's painting. Stark blue blocks of sky above. Below the roses, sanguine dabs of paint, prominent. Strong green brush strokes became patches of grass with dandelions, flecks of gold. I wished Sid saw the garden as I did now, no longer malevolent, instead-- a refuge. 

His hands deftly moved, unzipping my jeans. He touched the spot there where he made me come in my dreams. I knew he couldn't resist; I couldn't resist. I rocked into his hand, shuddering and bucking in hedonistic pleasure. Time, I thought, in time he'd see how much I really do love him. Then my heart twisted, wondering if we'd be granted the time.

He sucked my tongue out of my mouth into his, and I groaned. His hands pulled my jeans and boxers down to my knees, thumbs caressing the inside of my ticklish thighs. I dug the toe of my right tennis shoe into the heal my left, forcing it off-- flop onto the floor. Sid's lips left my mouth briefly while he concentrated on undressing me. He flung off my other shoe and stood up, removing my pants and throwing them in heap on the hardwood floor. 

"Don't move," he ordered. I watched as he opened the same drawer in the maple dresser he'd just put my clothes into, pulling out the lube and condoms. As he stretched out next to me and took off his shirt, I still could have stopped him. Talked to him. Reassured him somehow. But instead, I let him continue. He stripped off his own jeans, heat next to me, watching my cock rising. 

He grabbed my knees, sliding me down and pulling them apart. He scooted Babe to the floor. My hips were flat against the cushions, my head and shoulder up and against the window casing. He spread my knees apart farther, bending them into me. He sat between my legs, his cock pointing in just the right direction. Fuck. I leaned forward and his cock brushed my ass, blood rushed to my head and cock. I took the condoms and lube from his hands.




Failing Upward Ch. 07



"Let me," I said, tossing the condoms aside. "I don't think we have much to worry about. I'm Clark Kent, remember. Besides, I have this need to feel you come hard up my ass." 

I smoothed the lube onto my hand while he devoured my mouth. His cock was red, hard and eager as my hands grasped him. I thought how beautiful looked, the light from the window dappled across his face. His breathing was ragged, and he thrust into my hand, placing his hand on top of mine. My cock ached, now painfully hard and bobbing up and down against his belly. His stomach glistened from my precome. 

His mouth broke from mine, and picking up the lube, he smeared it liberally on his fingers. While his tongue swiped inside my mouth, he tormented me, circling my anus with his slick fingers. Dipping slowly inside me, he methodically stretched me. 

I whimpered and moaned pathetically (as usual). Then Sid sat up and laughed-- one of his deep lusty guffaws. I hiccupped as he pushed his thumb and forefinger into me harder. 

"What's so fucking funny? Jesus, Sid. I love you. Come here. Stop teasing and fuck me." In my jacked-up firework-mind, what I said made perfect sense. 

I started to sit up when he removed his finger and shoved the tip of his cock into me. 

"You aren't going to cry again are you?" He asked, inching in and stretching me open. 

"Probably," I moaned.

"Good."

I pulled my legs up higher and my legs shook as I felt my muscles clench in my bowels as he slipped inside me deeper and deeper. Inside me, completing me. I felt his balls against my ass. I grabbed his arms and pulled him into me, thrusting my hips. I raised my knees higher, his tongue wet in my ear. 

My arms hugged him into me-- my mouth against his neck, moaning and whimpering.

I was trying hard not to cry. I thought I was doing well-- until Sid whispered, "Come for me" into my ear. The tingle of his hot breath and the dancing lights in my tummy made me love him more. I wanted him all. Now. 

I reached down between us and milked my own cock.

I answered, "No, you come in me." 

No more gradual build up, no more slow deliberate motions. I pushed into him, balls slapping and my head crack-crack-cracking against the window frame. I lifted my legs, and he hit that spot, making me cry out and my insides turn to fire. Each time his cock slammed into me, I was reduced to a quivering mass. All pleasure and pain. I locked my quivering legs up and around his waist, as he pumped into me harder and faster-- his breaths in sharp, fast bursts. Almost there. Blood rushing in my ears. 

"Yes, yes, yes," I hollered. I felt like I was some guy screaming in some bad porn flick. I came hot and dirty, my juices smearing him as he pushed into me. I could feel my ass contracting, milking his cock.

He cried out louder than me. 

The sun warmed the left side of my face while Sid's cheek warmed my right. I collapsed my body into him, unfolding my legs down neatly until they rested around the backs of his calves. I didn't want to move. Just remain tied up and spent with Sid on top of me, and in love with the look of my come on his rippling belly, and the feel of his come trickling out of my whorish ass. I felt dirty and proud of it. I remembered the old joke about being ridden hard and put away wet and laughed. It was fucking great.

"What's so funny?" 

His mouth looked so sensual with tiny beads of perspiration, I could have sworn they were calling out 'lick me'-- so I flicked my tongue along his upper lip, giggling.

"Now, I think you have gone crazy," he said.

"Oh, shut up. My turn to laugh. Don't move, you're spoiling the moment. I want to keep this feeling the rest of my life. You know, the one where I'm the lonely pioneer woman, and you're rascally outlaw burning and ravaging my crops. Oh, take me again, you brute."

"Mmm, sounds like a great fantasy; we'll have to reenact it some time."

"You might have to tie me up."

"You kinky guy."

"Kinky, crazy and horny. But seriously, my fantasies-- they all have to do with you. Dreaming about you--"

"Dreaming, speaking of dreaming-- what happened to you in that garden away?"

"I got really horny for you. Couldn't you tell? Maybe I am a bit crazy," I said. "I admit, I don't understand a lot of what's going on in my body. I feel like a teenager when I'm near you; God all I want is sex, sex, sex. That's confusing enough. Well, at least up until we fuck each other's brains out. Then I'm not confused at all. Makes perfect sense. Other times--" 

I took a deep breath, curling a wisp of his hair at the nape of his neck around my finger. 

"Sid, I know details about people. I've always been able to do that since I can remember. But it's not something I can control. It comes and goes. Now, since this, sometimes I can call on it, and sometimes it just comes to me. And it's not just little flashes or feelings like it used to be. It's these great big panoramic shots. When I touched this curtain. I felt you through another object. That's never happened before. I saw you watching me down in the garden. And I knew some of what you were thinking-- how scared you were for me. Shit, if I was even half way coherent down there, I would have been terrified." 

I looked out the window, recalling what Sid witnessed-- vines coming alive like barbed tentacles. My free hand reached out again to the curtain. 

"Now when I touch it, I feel us, brushing against the curtain. Our sex. God, more than sex. Us." Sighing, I pressed at the back of his neck. "Maybe feel isn't the word-- it's hard to explain."

"Try. I'm listening. I want to know."

"It's like colors and touch and sound together. Like when I kiss your mouth," I said, brushing my lips lightly to his. "I wish you could experience what that feels like."

"I just did. And it felt pretty damn good."

"That's exactly what I mean. I know what it feels like for you, too. I see into you. I did just then. If you could only see into me, you'd know for sure."

"Know what for sure?"

"Know for sure that I love you-- not just for today, but always." I kissed him again, hoping that maybe he could see into me just a little bit.

-------------------------------------------

We'd fallen asleep in a tangle when I woke from a tap at the door. Les' voice timidly called, "Dinner." Begrudgingly, I pulled myself away from Sid's warm body, yawning. Sid's stomach growled, answering Les' call. I mused on how I'd become Sid's willing pupil, stuck together with his instructor. God, this felt so right-- and only a few weeks ago I would have been shocked by all that I've learned from my dear teacher, not just about pleasing and being pleased, but about what I am, and I want to become. 

I nuzzled a bit closer again, trying to get more of his warmth.

Les tapped on the door again. I groaned and answered, "We'll be there in a minute." 

I thought, maybe I should shower, but I didn't want to wash away our love just yet. Being a bit crusty until after dinner was like a naughty little secret. 

Babe was pawing to get out. She wasn't the only one hungry and needing to use the bathroom. Sid mumbled he needed to go, too. 

I reluctantly got dressed. Opening the door, I found Les still waiting for us at the head of the stairs.

"I was beginning to wonder if you two were ever coming out." 

I laughed.

"Yeah, I think I've come out."

As we descended the stair, the aroma from our dinner floated up-- pork, fresh baked bread, and spicy cinnamon mingled with the ever present roses. My stomach growled. I was damn hungry. Enough to eat pork chops. I always got heartburn eating pork chops. 

Sid excused himself to the bathroom, and I followed Les into the dining room. Everyone was seated and waiting. Heads up. Looking. Glenda gave me a small haunted smile like she was ashamed. Dressed in a simple floral sundress, she looked so young, innocent. 

Uncle Daniel (must get used to calling him that) stood and pulled out a chair for me. Stepping away from me just before my hand neared his. Always keeping that distance. I was keenly aware of his distance, always afraid of the possibility of my touch-- afraid of what I might see? a branding snapshot into his soul? Further proof that he's hiding from me. 

Touching the chair, I got no sense of him left behind from his touch. Drat this extrasensory stuff inside me that comes like a whim. I sat, carefully unfolding the napkin in my lap, pretending not to notice their uncomfortable silence. I knew I'd walked in on one of those moments-- the kind where you know you're being talked about just before you stepped into the room. The long, sad silence slapped me in the face-- I felt the burn on my cheeks from the imprint. 

Stealing a glance up, Trent arched back in the chair, feigning disinterest. 

Sid bounced in, breaking the spell. 

"Let's eat," said Les, and my uncle bowed his head in silent prayer. 

We passed our dishes to Glenda and my uncle served. I found I'd lost my appetite. I cut up my chops and pushed them from one side of the plate to the other. Sid must have been famished or else he just didn't feel the weight of this silence-- he cut big hunks one after the other. 

I looked up, and Trent's icy blue eyes were still regarding me. I decided I'd have to be the one to step across the line in the sand. 

"How long have you lived in this place?" I asked Glenda.

"I had this place built years ago-- around 1814." 

Sid dropped his fork on the plate with a clang. 

"What? 1814? How old are you?" Sid asked.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's impolite to ask a woman her age?" she giggled. Sid squirmed in his chair uncertainly. Making someone her age angry could be dangerous. "Don't feel bad. I don't count anymore. Let's just say I'm much older than this house. Much, much older."

"You're kidding?!" said Sid, shocked. His disbelief turning to awe. He glanced over to me. For the first time I think it occurred to Sid what healing really meant. I wondered, what changes my aunt and uncle had seen-- the history they'd lived. I bet they could tell some incredible stories-- 

"I was wondering about some of the antiques-- especially the staircase in the back. All hand carved-- it's beautiful."

"Oh, yes. That staircase is old-- much older than this house-- old as I am. We had it brought here from one of our first homes overseas," she said. 

I watched as she concentrated on cutting her meat up in delicate bits. Funny, she was being intentionally vague, and I wasn't sure why. What difference would it make to her if I knew how old she was, or where she'd lived in the past? 

"Do you have any other 'homes' in the states?" I asked.

"Yes," said Lancaster. "I don't reside here most of the time. This is Glenda's home. Mine home is near Chicago. Les has been there many times."

Les nodded and drank his iced tea. I sipped mine, wrinkling my nose. Not enough sugar and too much lemon for my taste. I swirled the tea with my finger-- the ice cubes tinkling on the side of the glass, echoed in that big old dining room. 

"We have other places, too. Summer and winter homes. Some near, some far."

Now that was really vague. 

I was tired of small talk. 

"The first time I came here delivering the roses, you meant for me to get stuck with a thorn," I stated. "What happened after, with my car? Was Les there or not?"

"I followed you," Les admitted. "Actually, it was my idea to follow you. And when you got in the accident, I called the ambulance and Uncle Dan." He sat forward toward me in his seat and tears were in his eyes. "I thought you were dead when I saw the car-- and when you weren't in it-- I was worried. I figured Shackleton had you. Then I found the card and opened it. Later, we found out you stumbled up to an old farm house and went to the hospital from there."

"I felt bad later," he added, "tricking you to come back here by putting the card in your guitar case, but it was the only way we could think of to get you back here. We figured you'd return the card-- either out of obligation or curiosity."

"I don't believe this. Ever thought of just asking straight out? 'Hey, wanna come over?' Why trick him to get him back here? Why? To get to know him 'cause he's family?" asked Sid, his cheeks flushing. "I don't think so." 

Les piped up, "Of course because he's family. Why else?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know," said Sid.

The ice in my glass had disappeared from my sloshing it in circles and was watered down enough to be drinkable. I took four gulps, then the glass slipped from my hand to the table. Clunk. Didn't spill-- but I had everyone's attention.

"How many times do I have to go out into the garden before I'm one of you-- you know, one of the immortal?" 

My words sounded like a line from a bad Highlander episode to me. I almost laughed. Almost. I willed myself to meet my uncle's stare. 

"Or is indoctrinated a better word for going out into the garden? Is there some other euphemism you 'immortals' use for this process?" I asked sarcastically. 

"Human sacrifice, more like," said Sid, voicing my thoughts exactly. 

I was with Sid on this. It wasn't the process that had me irked. It was all this manipulation to get me here and into the garden the pissed me off. 

"Blood letting," said Lancaster. "I suppose you could refer to it as that. Although not entirely accurate, since Wes called on the roses. I've never seen the roses do that before. I was shocked when I witnessed." 

"You're saying that Wes did that?" Sid asked.

"Yes, and from what our Les told us, it was even more spectacular earlier today," Lancaster said.

"I wouldn't call it spectacular; I'd call it frightening," Sid said under his breath.

I noticed Les nodding, agreeing with Sid. 

"What happens to a regular person who gets stuck with one of those thorns? Anything?" I asked, curious.

"Usually nothing," said Glenda. "With a few sensitive individuals, they'll have a reaction. Become ill, some seriously ill. There's a theory in the Community, that those individuals who are sensitive to the rose are part of our bloodline-- removed many generations and were never influenced by the rose."

"What's the Community?" I asked.

"A secret organization--" Lancaster said, "in the beginning the Community was made up of mortals who knew about us. They helped to keep us secret. We formed as an alliance; we helped them gain power, and they gave us anonymity. People had different reasons for joining the Community. Some are scientists and scholars, seeking knowledge. Some just wanted power. Ask Trent about them. That's the organization Trent belongs to," Lancaster said with a hint of contempt in his voice. "For years, hundreds of years, they were a benign group, just watching us. Then they wanted and asked. Now they often take. With this new leadership, the Community is becoming more and more meddlesome."

"Meddlesome is being too kind," said Glenda, eyes burning into Trent across the table.

"I thought you were only a hired gun-- a hit man. You didn't say you belonged to any organization," I said to Trent.

"I said I worked for them and followed their orders. That means belong," he looked from me and pointedly to Glenda. "I am sworn to them. That doesn't mean I agree with all they do."

"Orders are orders," she snorted.

"The Community's leader is a made immortal," Les said to me.

"You mean like Shackleton?" I asked.

"Yes, made immortal, but no, he's not like Shackleton. He has a moral responsibility, a moral code," Trent said.

Glenda laughed into her iced tea. 

"What moral code is that?" she asked. "The one where you kidnap innocent people and take what you want from them? He's no different than Shackleton in that respect." 

"They are left unharmed," Trent replied.

"Unharmed?" Sid sputtered. "Just because Wes doesn't have a scar left on the outside doesn't mean there was no harm in what you did."

"I'm sorry for that. But it was necessary."

"Necessary? Why?" Sid asked.

Trent chewed his pork chop, staring thoughtfully at Sid, then myself. 

This dinner conversation wasn't good for my digestion. My stomach hurt. Or maybe it was just the pork.

"There is much going on here you do not yet understand," Trent explained. "Your uncle and aunt here aren't untarnished either. Hiding what they are often comes at a high cost." 

"As in human lives?" Sid asked.

"Many of their people believe no mortals should know their secret. They feel the Community was a mistake. It's true that history has proven that those they trusted often turned on them, trying to destroy what they are. Now, no mortal who knows what they are is safe."

"My God," I said. "My parents." I instinctively grabbed Sid's hand under the table. 

"Yes," Trent answered.

"Hey, wait one moment," Les said. "We had nothing to do with your family's death, Wes. The Community was behind that."

"The Community had nothing to do with their death," Trent said, vehemently. "Maybe you sitting here had nothing to do with their deaths, but you are fools to think your people had nothing to do with the Grant's death."

My head was spinning; I felt nauseated. My family. 

Secrets.

Sid. Alan and Lynn. They knew. God, what will happen to them? 

"Excuse me," I said. 

I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

---------------------

Self-Preservation

My head ached, and my stomach lurched-- the dinner conversation scrolled through my brain. All the secrets, all the half truths, all to protect me. Now I had to conceive of a way to protect those I loved, or they'd end the same as all I'd lost. 

I slid down farther into hot water of the big old claw-foot tub. Relax. I must relax. 

I hated getting cleaned up and leaving Sid, even for a moment. Steaming all that jumbled and confused emotions out of my head, helped. I had to think.

I didn't want to leave Sid in this house-- I didn't want to take him with me. I didn't think anywhere was safe anymore. 

Not for him. Not for me. 

I plunged my head under then buoyed up. I shook my hair, spraying water on the wall, then sank back down. I hoped the womb like comfort of a bath would help me gain some clarity. What to do? How to figure out this riddle?

Can I save him. Can I save us?

Blood. They needed mine to derive the serum. The Community and people like Shackleton took it from immortals, harvesting us like some crop. I was some new exotic strain with healing properties. Why would the power to heal be so important to someone who could live forever? Shackleton and the Community weren't benevolent; they wouldn't bestow this gift on mankind. 

Shackleton implied he hated his flat existence. Was that all? He wanted to feel? This was a hell of a lot more than curiosity on Shackleton and the Community's part. 

Power and control. Isn't that what most men like Shackleton wanted? The steam from the tub loosened the jam of information cluttering my mind. I sorted out the pieces I needed-- all the parts-- the Community, power and the whole idea of eternal life. As far as I could tell, there wasn't much difference between Shackleton and the Community except that the Community was subtle and more polite. In the end, I believed they essentially wanted the same-- power and control.

What good was living forever if you got to hide? Maybe bestowing a healing touch would get them what they desired.

Obviously, mortal people would envy and distrust those who live forever. That was why these immortals kept themselves secret. They weren't indestructible. Exposed as immortals, they were probably killed and hunted in the past-- at least that's want I assumed from the comments made at dinner. 

People fear what they don't understand. 

What better way to gain the average man's trust than to be able to give some gift in return?

Cheating death. Yes, maybe my blood might help others cheat death! Maybe that's what they wanted from me. A chance to come out in the open. 




Failing Upward Ch. 07



It would be the immortal's version of coming out of the closet. 

That had to be part of it.

Or was there some other power I was missing or didn't have yet? 

Power. How ironic that I felt so powerless when they sought me for the power they wanted. 

I slipped under the hot water, head and all. Eyes wide open, watching water bubbles float up and burst as the reached the surface. Above the bathroom loomed, distorted and foreign. Swirling opaque ribbons of water, bending my perception-- they paralleled my life. Dreamlike. I held my breath. Why? Why hold it? I can't die. My lungs burned as the last bit of oxygen left me. Stay under. After all I can't drown, I can't drown. Brutally forcing myself to stay below. Being buried alive under water was no different than under ground except you can see light. It crushed all the same. I imagined if I felt no pain, I'd feel no fear. 

Was that good or bad?

I panicked, gulping water. I broke the surface, choking. Not sure if I'd won or lost. 

I got up and dried off, then went upstairs. Our band had another gig tonight, and I had to be ready. 

Sid wanted to come, but Glenda had advised against it. I was worried about Shackleton, too. But Sid was convinced he was safe in public. He'd spent a good hour convincing Glenda he should go. In the end, she'd given up. 

Even though I felt my aunt and uncle wouldn't harm Sid, I wasn't sure how safe he was. And considering what I learned from Trent about others like myself, Sid was in a Hell of a lot of danger. 

Then there was Shackleton and his test. 

Having Trent and my uncle for body guards tonight made me more nervous than relaxed-- not knowing their true motives. Worse, they knew about dangers I couldn't even conceive. Now my stomach was in knots thinking of all that was said and unsaid at the dinner table. 

Becoming famous, my music-- all unimportant. After last night, I should be jazzed to play again. Now-- I all could think of was Sid.

He came up to the bedroom while I was trying to finish getting dressed. Problem was I'd have to wear the same black leather pants, blue jeans or these ugly red leather ones that Lynn gave to me as a joke along with that last bag of hand-me-down clothes. John fucking insisted that I wear leather pants on stage. He thinks the women come just to see my ass in tight leather. Personally, I wondered about him sometimes. 

I was struggling into the red leather when Sid walked through the door. They were two sizes too small. I sucked in what little gut I had to zip them up, flailing around prone on the bed and yanking the zipper.

"No underwear?" he observed.

"Fuck," I said under my breath, praying I didn't snag anything valuable. 

Sid burst out laughing.

"Your face is as red as those pants."

"That's not funny," I said, struggling to stand and falling back down into the bed. "I don't care what John says, I'm not wearing these. I can't breath in them. Shit, I can't even stand; I'm being squished to death."

Sid threw a sock at me. "Oh look, you forgot to put this in the front."

"Like it'd fit! Very funny, why don't you do something useful? Throw me my jeans."

He threw me the black-leather ones instead. 

"I think you need to wear these." 

"I wore those last night."

"Since when do you care about fashion, Mister I-wear-the -same-tan-jacket-everywhere?" 

Fuck. Now was that nice? I didn't even have my lucky tan jacket anymore-- it burned in the fire. Damn.

Sid was just like John-- having a leather fetish. Me, I was in to comfort. I missed my jacket. And those old hole riddle jeans on the bed looked perfect to me. But...

Well, off with the frickin' red-leather Iron Maiden torture-device and on with the black-leather kink. If they made Sid happy-- well, why not?

I slipped them on and began fastening the buttons. 

"Your ass really does look good in those," Sid said, walking around me like he was a tiger, and I was his prey. "Problem is, I'm not the only one who's admiring it all night long, but I guess I can stand having all those eyes lusting after you as long as I get to touch what's inside when we get home."

"Shirt. I need a shirt." I stuttered.

"What about that black leather vest? It'd go nice."

"What is it with you and leather? Do you like whips, too?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you that." Sid pulled out the drawer and tossed me the black vest. "Mmm, don't see any whips. Maybe we should put that on a list along with the pioneer woman outfit?"

"You're crazy," I said, putting on the vest, and I started for the door. "Put them on the list."

Sid reached around and pinched my ass. 

"John will be pleased," he said. "The sluttier the better as far as he's concerned."

--------------------------------

With much restraint, we got to Adam's Den. Trent drove, and I spent the whole time keeping Sid's hands out of my pants. We were late. I raced to the front to talk to the crew, and Sid met up next to me, listening intently as the sound man gave us instructions. John began telling us minor play order alterations. Shit, I loved the way Sid was rubbing my neck. I closed my eyes, not listening much at all, becoming engrossed in his hands, loosening me up. 

"Thanks," I sighed. 

Almost time. Picking up our instruments... Tuning... 

I scanned the room. People lined up along the walls. No empty seats--a full house. I heard Smith's nervous slapping on his bass. Jimbo's chatter behind me made me concerned-- his drum sticks stiltedly tap, tap, tapping. He never gets hyped before a show. Seems everyone was rattled-- all worried we might not be able to top last night's performance. Les was tuning his guitar for the fourth time. At least I had Sid to distract me earlier, but now I was concerned. Worried about being worried. That's what I'm fucking best at.

I guess I needed to be Miss Cheerleader and pump them up the band like I usually do when they get down. Tonight I needed it as much as they did. Time to dust off our band's cheer. 

I stood on the edge of the stage, turned facing the band and cleared my throat.

"Which way are we goin'?!" I yelled.

"Up!" shouted John and Smith together. Jimbo and Les' heads popped up. The stage crew stopped and turned.

I waved to Alan and Lynn sitting at the front table. Then in one clean leap, I jumped off the stage landing on top of their table. I turned to the band again and cupped my hands around my mouth, hollering.

"I said... Which way are we going?" 

"Up! Up!" John and Smith yelled back. 

"And which way are we failing?!" I screamed.

"Up-ward, up-ward, up-ward!" The band chanted. Smith jumped up and down and shouting. Les hopped on one foot than the other. The chant 'up-ward, up-ward, up-ward' spread into the crowd. As soon as it reached the front doors, I leapt off the table back onto the stage.

"I think we're ready to play now, boys!" I yelled, swiping my guitar from the floor-- back to the crowd. I waved as they cheered. 

Yeah, I bet my ass did look good. 

Alan and Lynn were waving, too. I smiled back; Sid was sitting with them now. I caught Sid's eye and winked at him. He blew me a kiss. 

I noticed Trent and Lancaster seated farther back, which wasn't lost on Sid. He kept glaring back at them.

This was it. We were ready-- just a bunch of smilin' assholes, and John the biggest smilin' asshole of them all. I suspected John never went to bed last night--at least he didn't sleep. Smith danced around, giddy and giggly. 

"Hello? Tommy Tutone?" John's gravelly voice broke into the mic. "Is Jenny home?"

Les began singing. 

 Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?

 You give me something I can hold on to.

 I know you think I'm like the others before

 Who saw your name and number on the wall.

Music-- the ultimate therapy. The rhythm, the vocal harmony. It pleases my soul. I needed this. 

Tonight was different than the night before. We were different; I was different. While last night was exhilarating, tonight was just plain fun. Les had the crowd singing 867- 5309 with him in the very first song. The crowd loved us, and we loved them. Nothing we played fell flat. The chemicals were mixed, and our science project was about to explode.

The first set zoomed by. I spent the whole first break, having Sid try to feel me up under the table. 

"Sid's in much better spirits tonight," said Lynn. "Last night he looked like it was the end of the world. Tonight he's on top of it." Between groping my crotch and watching Dr. Lancaster, Sid didn't seem to hear a word she said. 

"I hear it's going to snow," she said.

He massaged my cock. God, that felt good. Hard not to moan. I knew my face was getting hot. Table clothes hide a multitude of sins.

"What? You think I'm not listening?" Sid said, "--of course you're a Ho."

I pushed his hand off my lap. Not that I didn't like his attention, but I had to get up sometime.

Sid shifted his eyes to the good doctor's table again. 

"He's not here to watch his nephew; he's here to watch us," he whispered to me.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," said Lynn, overhearing. "What's up? And who's that good looking guy with him?"

"That's Trent. The guy who took the bullet for me. He's our great protector now," Sid said sarcastically. "We're staying at the Lancaster's." I kicked Sid under the table. I wished he hadn't told them that. The less they knew; the safer they'd be.

"They're there for protection? I'd think you'd want to be as far away from them and their house as possible," she remarked. "Why don't you both stay at my place?"

"No," I said sharply. "We need to stay there." 

I shifted positions, and I felt Sid's hand squeeze me again. Not fair. And I think Alan was figuring out what was up. Everyone would as soon as I stood. What the fuck did I need with a sock in my pants when I had Sid?

"Gotta go, the boys are calling," I said, blushing as I got up. Fuck, she was eye level with my crotch.

"Last night must have been a hell of a make up session," Lynn snickered.

The second set was better than the first. During the middle of the set, Trent and Lancaster invited themselves to sit with Sid, Lynn and Alan. I could tell Alan was getting pissed at Lynn for flirting with Trent. Go Lynn.

I took another swig of beer as we got ready to play our last song before break. This time I didn't want to fuck up. I played for Sid and sang "I want you to want me" and meant it. 

The last verse-- that's when I saw Shackleton watching from the front doors. I stopped. Forgot the chords. Lost my voice. Les took up the break in my void like a professional. Sid followed my eyes to Shackleton at the back of the bar. Before the last bar of the song, Sid's table was watching him. Trent stood up.

With the last note, I put down my guitar and jumped down off the stage.

"Ignore him," said Trent. "He won't try anything here. Too many witnesses."

"That's comforting," I said, pulling up the chair next to Sid. I was sweating hard, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. As I watched the back, Shackleton met my eyes, nodded, turned around and walked out the door. 

"He's gone. Just here to mess with our heads I'll bet," said Sid. I hoped he was right. 

Those few beers I had went right through me. Shit, I didn't want to leave Sid. But I had to go bad. I stood up.

"Piss break," I announced. And Sid got up to follow me. "You don't need to hold my hand. He's gone." If Shackleton was still lurking around, I wanted Sid safe with Trent and Lancaster, not me. 

Les walked up to the table to join us. I patted him on the back. I almost introduced him as my brother to Lynn and Alan, but I thought better of it. Not smart to let them know anything more. They knew too much already.

I went back the bathroom, getting more than the average high fives, handshakes and prods. Girls followed me. Most were regulars. All I needed was one more well meaning fan, patting me on the back or trying to kiss me. I'd piss my pants before I'd get to the bathroom soon. 

I danced up and down in front of the urinal. So many buttons. 

Sweet relief. Finally. As I finished, the hairs stood up on my neck. Shit, I only thought that happened in cheap novels, but I felt him. I should have known he'd find me alone in the bathroom-- the sick bastard. 

I turned to face him. He looked different-- a faint white scar creased his face, running from the center of his cheek to his jaw-line. He looked thinner. Un-kept. 

He stepped closer.

"Everyone knows I'm in here," I said bluntly, walking over to wash my hands.

"Of course they do. I just wanted to have a few words with you-- alone."

I stepped up to the sink and washed them quickly-- I felt sick to my stomach suddenly. 

"I've already had more than enough words with you alone to last a life time--" I said, drying my hands, "now get out of my way." 

I stepped past him, and he grabbed my arm. Not again. My guts twisted, recollecting how he pressed against me in the greenhouse.

"I tell you when to move," he said.

"Let go of me." 

He released my arm as two strangers came into the bathroom. As I turned to leave, they blocked my way. 

I stopped.

"I have one word to say--" he said, smiling as he uttered "Sid." 

I waited. Fuck. 

"I thought that'd get your attention," Shackleton said. "You want him safe? He's not safe where he is. Your trust is misplaced. They're lying to you. All of them. Come with me. Sid will be safe then. Surrender yourself to us and nothing will happen to him."

Someone was in the stall to the left of me, listening. 

"If I do, how can you guarantee no one will hurt him?"

"I'll make an oath. Right here. I don't break oaths. I'm the one person who will always tell you the truth Wesley."

I was tempted to let him have me. Give up. Keep Sid safe. Then someone flushed the toilet in the stall, breaking my thought. 

No. I still had a healthy sense of self-preservation. I loved Sid. I'd give my life for him, but I didn't think an oath meant shit to Shackleton. 

"Ok, you said what you wanted. Anything else you want to add?" I asked.

"A time will come soon when you ask me to help you." He grabbed my arm, and I saw into him-- he knew it. I was right not to go with him. 

I pulled away from him as the man started out of the stall, head down. The two men stepped aside, letting me rush out. Shackleton's voice echoed behind me as the doors swung shut--

"You'll beg me."

-------------------------------

I kept my mouth shut about Shackleton when I went back to the table, but Sid knew. I couldn't hide it from him. Trent leaned back in his seat, watching us both. I was washed out. 

"Head ache," I said-- which wasn't a lie. I had a raging one by then. 

Trent stared into me. Sid didn't buy it either. Then they both saw Shackleton strut out of the bathroom and wave at me. Trent scrambled up. We watched as he followed Shackleton out the back door.

Sid's hand closed tight over mine under table. 

"What happened?" he whispered. 

"The usual harassment-- said I'll beg him for help. But that was it," I lied. Lancaster was still looking after Trent. 

I had no time to think about it all. John hopped up to the stage-- it was time to begin our last set. I pushed my chair back and staggered up.

"You sure you're ok to play?" Sid asked. 

"I've played in a lot worse shape then this."

"That's for sure," said Lynn. "I could tell some stories."

Thank God for Lynn. I squeezed Sid's hand and stood up. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time Wes stuck his head under the table and threw up into my purse?" she asked.

"Oh, God! Not that story," I whined.

"That's what eleven shots of Tequila will do to a virgin drinker," she laughed. "That was the night he told us about this dream he had where he was wearing a red tutu and tights. He reenacted the song and dance in he had in the dream. Wes, you looked so cute singing 'I Feel Pretty' on top of the table right over there." Lynn pointed, leaning into Sid. 

"Fuck, don't remind me," I said. God, how many times did she have to tell that story? 

"The best part though was that final drunken pirouette. Wes fell into the arms of that bouncer over there." 

"He doesn't look like your type," said Alan, nudging me.

Now that Lynn completely humiliated me in front of everyone, I thought I'd better get back on stage. John was tuning up. 

Despite the way I felt when I picked up my guitar, I played well. The first few songs I went through the motions, but then I got caught up in the addiction-- the applause, heat of the lights, vibration of the amps.

From the front table, they sat-- my friends, an uncle I barely knew and my lover. Music coursed through my veins and came out in chords of lust, love and pain. Sid coyly smiled at me over the rim of his glass-- probably imagining me in a red tutu and tights. Or maybe mentally removing my black leather.

Falling into his smile, I thought for a brief instant, everything was going to be all right. 

------------------------------

The door shut to the bedroom. Sid backed me against frame, pressing his thumbs hard into my hipbones. His mouth rushed for mine, his tongue lolling on my teeth and rolling playfully inside my mouth. My leather jeans gripped my cock like a hand, as his dick urgently rubbed against mine. 

I forgot everything. I only felt his touch.

"I've been waiting for this all night," he whispered, thumbs sliding in a V, meeting at the base of my cock. "I want to taste you." 

"God, yes," I moaned. 

Slowly, he got down on his knees in front of me, both thumbs parallel, following my shaft up to the tip of my cock. I loved and hated that he enjoyed teasing me this way. He smiled as he pushed up the leather vest and licked my tummy. He took his time unfastening the top rivet of the leather jeans he loved. He winked at me, then looking down, he licked his lips as he undid the next rivet, exposing the head my cock. He grinned up at me again-- like a fucking Cheshire Cat, teasing me with his eyes and giving me one of his boyish crooked grins. Then meandering his tongue down my belly, he looped around the head of my dick-- tongue just brushing the tip. 

Shit, my knees buckled. 

He was pleased with my reaction. He took charge, holding me firmly against the door. 

When he was sure my feet were steady again beneath me, his hands let go-- 

His fingers haltingly unfastened more rivets, taunting me with his lips as he did. I shook and moaned-- my hands trembling and desperately clutching his hair. His face became an irresistible torture for me-- I watched the pearls of sweat running down his brow and the sucking and blowing of his cheeks. He explored every sensitive part of me, building up my want until he knew I was near to collapsing again. His tongue tickled the super-sensitive underside of my cock. He nipped and licked the head of my dick. 

His warm agile fingers pressed in degrees of need, releasing the last button, freeing me. 

As I touched him I saw inside him, feeling his thoughts-- his heat. It was all too much. God, I loved him.

He hesitated. 

"Look at me," he said. 

I bit my lip-- his breath so hot and close against me.

"Sing 'I Feel Pretty' to me," he joked. 

I choked back a laugh as his teeth gently raked against my cock, lips devouring me. I felt the pop of his jaws as his mouth opened and slid me in deeper yet. I pressed my back to the door, praying I could remain upright as my legs trembled. I loved how the contours of his mouth and tongue moved against the length of me. My head spun with every swirling tongue motion, and heart jumped as my cock dipped over every ridge in his mouth. I loved how Sid's brows twitched and eyes tightened. My mind wrapped around how much I desired and loved him. I closed my eyes. God, he was beautiful and felt beautiful. I restrained myself best I could, letting him do all the work, fucking me hard with his mouth. Wet and warm. Sliding in and out, faster and faster.




Failing Upward Ch. 07



I could feel his cock bumping against my shin. I pressed my leg into him. 

But best was seeing into him, feeling how much he loved doing this for me and to me-- how he lost himself in the process.

"Open your eyes-- look at me," he said. I opened them, looking down. Seeing him there on his knees with my cock hard and eager in his mouth was all it took-- 

I felt a warmth building at my spine-- Sid felt it, too. He knew I was near; his fingers cupped my balls, and they tightened in his hand. I whimpered. Then I came-- legs giving up, collapsing. I cried out. Sid braced me up with his hands as he swallowed. When finished, he smiled up at me sheepishly-- his lips moist. 

Fuck, he was hot.

I summoned what little strength I had left in my rubbery bones to pull him up to his feet and kiss him. 

"My turn. What's your desire?" I asked, his dick straining against me. "My fingers around your cock? My lips? Or a little of each?" 

"When you put it like that-- how about a little of each?" 

"Mmm, yes," I said, grabbing his shirt. I pulled him toward the bed. "This mattress hasn't been properly tested. It's nice and firm-- like you. Time we christened it, don't you think?"

I fell down on my back into the bed, pulling the waist of his jeans. 

"Let's get these off," I said. 

Maybe after some practice I could be the tease Sid was, but right then I wasn't in the teasing mood. I hastily unzipped his jeans, yanking them down and off along with his underwear. I stood up, throwing them to the floor and whipped my own clothes off. Flopping back down beside him on the bed, I impatiently unbuttoned his shirt, kissing his chest as I did and spending a few choice moments biting his nipples-- but not too long though-- just enough to make him moan and squirm. I wanted to get right down to what was important. That beautiful big cock. 

I touched him. 

I used my eyes-- the ultimate foreplay for Sid. I knew what my eyes did to him. I let them dance on his dick. Then I let my eyes bend up into his, and I purposefully slid my body down-- eyes never leaving his-- mouth placing strategic kisses over his heart, then lower, just above his belly button. I kissed underneath, planting a tiny trail down the soft fuzz leading to the base of his cock. I kept my hands stroking him, thumb toying with his moistened head-- all the while, watching his face.

"I'm going to make you come hard in my mouth," I said firmly, holding his gaze my eyes wide. I took one swift lick up his shaft, then I filled my throat with him. He spasmed; his breath hissing in sharp bursts and fits, his thigh muscles tightening. 

My eyes imbibed in his beauty-- the high flush of his checks and chest, the soft sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead, and the trails of sweat flowing through his chest hairs. He saw the want deep inside my eyes, my heart. 

He thrust up into my mouth.

"Wesley," he moaned, hands raking the back of my neck. "I'm coming." 

I swallowed him as far back into my throat as I could, gorging myself on him. His eyes, clear and shining, reached into mine. His lips gently parted, and he whimpered my name. After I finished drinking down the last of him, I nestled my face into the dip of his pelvis. I heard him murmur, "I love you." 

I wiped a tear out of my eye.

Damn, now I was crying when he came.

----------------------------------

I woke from one of those dreams where you have to pee bad, but can't-- instead you're tormented by visions and sounds of trickling mountain streams or raging rapids. Had to piss. Had to piss. What was it with me and my bladder recently? Dreamy comfort was replaced by urgency. 

I gently moved the sheets aside. I glanced over at Sid. Moonlight bathed the room, softly framing Sid's face. His eyelids danced and lashes fluttered. My finger brushed a hair from the corner of his eye, then leaning over, I kissed his forehead.

"I love you," I whispered. The corner of his mouth turned up. I slipped my feet to the floor. So hard to leave him. I put on Sid's old bathrobe, hugging the heady smell of him to me, and started down the stairs. 

Babe followed me, rubbing my legs.

The Moon illuminated the staircase. We descended the surreal space. I held the railing to keep from stumbling as Babe ran in and around my feet. As I came to the last step almost toppling over, I heard raised voices. I stopped, trying to make out who was arguing. I quietly made my way toward noise, padding through the hallway behind the stairs, following the voices. 

Babe mewed. Then I heard Les, distinctly say: "This is none of your business." 

Then I heard Glenda: "We told you years ago-- that this came with a price."

I stepped closer to the closed door and pressed my ear to it.

"I never knew I had a choice," hissed Les back. "If I'd known, I never would have done it."

"You don't mean that," said Glenda.

"Like Hell, I don't."

"You can't be with him-- or any other mortal," I heard Uncle Daniel say. "It's not fair to him. You will remain the same. He will change. This never works. Your Aunt Glenda told you-- she married one of them once. Mortals will never understand us."

"This is shit. Like I can pick who I fall in love with."

"You can pick who you spend time with," Glenda said, " and who you are intimate with-- and it can't be with Smith or any other mortal. That is the rule."

"Whose rules? Your rules? And what happens if I break them?" 

"Nothing will happen-- to you," she answered.

"Is that a threat? So I'm supposed to pretend I don't care-- or else Smith gets hurt? What about Wes? When are you going to explain these rules to Wes?" Les asked. 

My heart stopped. Babe brushed against the door. No one spoke in the other room. I wondered if they knew I was listening-- then my uncle continued:

"There is more going on than you understand. And as for Wes, he was already involved with Sid. We couldn't stop it."

"I understand a lot more than you both think. You didn't want to stop it. We tricked Wes to get him here. We tricked him to stay. Sid is the only reason Wes is here in this house. None of us have ever had a choice. What's the reason you had to make Wes and I into something unnatural? To be like you? I'd love for you to explain that one. And Sid. You've used him. You wanted Wes to be involved with him because it serves your purpose. I read my Mom's letters to you Aunt Glenda--"

"Her letters? You've been sneaking in my room? You have no right!"

"I can't believe you're preaching to me about what's right. I read it all today. You won't tell me. Besides-- they're letter from my mother. I know Mom and Dad never wanted Wes or I to become what we are. They kept us away from here for a reason. They wanted both of us to have a normal life." 

"They had no right to make that choice," Glenda snapped. 

"Choice?" Les choked. I heard him laughing. Then silence. Finally Les spoke up again, voice quivering.

"God, I believed you-- all these years that you cared about me. Instead it's some fucking grand design that you give a shit about. Not me. Not Wes and not Mom and Dad. Now I know-- just how dearly my parents paid for keeping us from you." 

I heard a sharp slap. 

"I loved your parents," she said, sobbing. "We had nothing to do with their death. I love you and your brother. Making you one of us was done to protect you. We made that choice. I'm not sorry."

"You make this sound like some grand sacrifice on your part. If this choice was so fucking righteous, tell me-- explain why dragging us down to the roses was necessary. I need to know-- Wes needs to know. You had no right to make choices for us," he replied. "Never ask me to take Wes out to that garden again. I won't do it."

I heard someone walking toward me. I jumped back. No where to hide. The door opened, and Les saw me standing there. His eyes met mine in silent understanding as he brushed past me-- he knew I was listening the whole while. I looked past him to Aunt Glenda and Uncle Daniel.

Babe ran between them. I turned, walked to the bathroom door and went in.



Failing Upward Ch. 08



Mosquito Bites

The mosquito bit my hand. 

Sid lay next to me, gently snoring. I lay on my side, cheek resting on the stiff white pillow case. I considered the mosquito for some time, left hand resting on the pillow next to my face. It took its time. Finally, swollen and gorged with my blood, it drunkenly buzzed away, leaving that familiar itch behind.  

I sighed. All that little mosquito wanted was a meal. Only a little of me. Silly really to think that a few days ago I would have swatted it dead with out a second thought. This morning I scratched the bite with my stubby nails and watched him fly to the window and bang his bloated body into the glass, thinking maybe I should let it out.

I rolled over and pulled the sheet over my head and Sid's both. I was being ridiculous. 

Sid's arm folded around me, and he kissed my ear. 

"Didn't sleep well, did you?" he yawned.

"No, not at all," I mumbled.

How much should I tell him? With every word I uttered, he plummeted deeper and deeper into this abyss with me. Should I tell him about what I overheard on my trip downstairs to the bathroom last night? Or about the discussion I had with my aunt and uncle afterward? I'd been thinking since waking-- it came down to doing what Glenda and Daniel thought was best, or what my heart thought was best. 

Would Sid be my partner or not? 

I wanted to protect him and love him. I never dreamed those two desires might diverge. 

As his hand slipped lower, I remembered his doubts. That I'd change my mind-- I knew I'd never change my mind-- I'd always love and want him. But I also wanted him alive. He didn't deserve a death sentence. 

But this wasn't my choice to make. 

So many choices were made for me. As much as I wanted to keep Sid safe, I didn't have the right to make choices for him. In the end if it came to me leaving with Shackleton, that's the way it would have to be. That was my choice to make.

I had to start some where. I rolled over and faced Sid.

"We have to talk," I said.

I told him about the argument between Les, Glenda and Daniel last night. I told him how both my aunt and uncle waited patiently for me, and how we talked. I wasn't as bitter as Les. Maybe if I knew more, I would have been as bitter as him. 

"For the first time, they brought up our older brother, Alex. He was given a choice. My birth parents told him they were immortal and gave him a choice although they counseled him against becoming like them. He became estranged from the family because of his choice. He isn't like us and never will be. His choice. My uncle said he made that clear to Les years ago."

"He's the manager Les spoke about-- "

"Yeah," I said, curling up closer to Sid. "There's something else you need to know-- it's about my aunt being married. Remember all that research on Emma Lancaster you dug up? Well, we know her husband; you know him really well... Dr. Deal." 

"Peter? No way. I don't believe it."

"Who suggested I get hypnotized? You or Dr. Deal?" I asked. Sid frowned and started to speak, but bit off his words. I got my answer. "I thought so. We've been manipulated all along."

"He's one of them. I don't believe this," he said half to himself. "I've known him most of my life; he's like family. He comes over for dinner-- Thanksgiving, Christmas. He's gone on vacations with us-- Madrid and..."

Sid was upset. I didn't blame him-- this betrayal was of the worst kind. A close family friend who probably never was a friend at all. Hopefully, I was wrong. Maybe Deal's friendship was real. I knew that his parents loved him. Peter this, Peter that. Gawd, sometimes I wondered about the three of them--

"Peter and Glenda... they aren't still married are they?" he asked.

"They haven't been together for a long time. Glenda said they'd never divorced. He's a made; Glenda helped him-- "

I didn't know where to begin with the whole forbidden love crapola. 

"What happened between them? Why aren't they together?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't say exactly-- But I got the idea from what she said that she helped him become immortal so they could be together. Maybe he tricked her." 

Sid knew what I was leading up to with out me saying-- that two people, one mortal and one immortal, could never last. His face darkened, and he was stiff and still. 

"Like I told you before-- immortals have some kind of code that forbids close relationships with mortals. I think it has more to do with keeping themselves secret."

"I'll grow old, and you won't. That I'll regret loving you; you'll regret loving me-- is that it?"

I held my breath and found his hands, grasping them both tightly in mine. 

"Believe me-- I'll love you no matter what time does to either of us. I love you. That's not what worries me. I'm terrified about the now. What's going to happen to us-- to you. They see you as a threat. I'm more concerned about keeping you alive today than what the Hell might happen ten or twenty years from now."

"You're thinking of Shackleton and his damn test."

"Yes," I admitted. "But for now we don't have to worry about him. He's gone-- but he'll be back."

"He's gone?" Sid said hopefully.

"Trent lost him last night," I explained. "One moment he was chasing Shackleton; next Shackleton was gone. Vanished like Houdini or something. Abandoned his car. His apartment. Lancaster said members of the Community tracked him to Detroit Metro. Shackleton boarded a flight to Chicago along with a couple of other men." 

We still weren't safe. I knew it; Sid knew it. I didn't know what called Shackleton away, but I was sure it would lead to misery for us both. We didn't have much time left. After last night, I was weighing the option of seeking the Community's help. But Sid was a mosquito to them; I wasn't much above that. Lab rat maybe. I didn't trust them with either of our lives. I was beginning to wonder if there was anything to do other than run or fight them ourselves. 

"Sid, I have to go back down into the garden. I know you don't like it-- but I have to do it. I have to be able to save you because sooner or later, Shackleton or someone else is going to try to kill you. I can't let it happen. I can't lose you."

"Shit," he said. "How will you know when it's enough? How many times will it take?"

"I don't know-- I only know that I'm not ready yet."

Sid's arm pulled me closer. His chest was damp against mine. I kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Wes, I don't want to die. I'd be a fool not to be afraid. But God, I'm more afraid for you. If you save me, what they'd do to you-- it'd be worse than death." 

I knew he was right. I didn't want to think about Shackleton. I'd rather be dead than have him touch me. 

"Maybe it would be better if you can't save me--" said Sid. "He'd leave you alone."

"How can you say that if you died it'd be better for me? You are the only truth in my life." 

Now I was spouting off like young hunk in some cheap romance novel.

"But if they get you-- " 

Might as well go all the way with the Harlequin romance--

"They can't keep me forever. I'll come back to you... and I've got to believe there is something more we don't know about. They're worried. There's something important being kept from us." 

"I'm going to the garden with you," he said determinedly. "I'm not leaving you alone out there."

The garden.

With Sid.

God, the images of him that we going through my brain. Sweaty. Chest heaving. Hand grasping my cock. 

A timid knock came from the door. Then again. 

"I bring coffee... " came Les' voice quietly, "...and bagels."

Sid smirked. "Guess, we'd better get dressed," he said.

"Just a minute," I answered, throwing our sheets aside.

----------------------------------------- 

When I opened the door and looked into his green eyes, I saw concern in Les' face. Thoughtful of him to bring breakfast. We all sat down-- Sid and I on the bow-window seat and Les on the over stuffed chair by the maple dresser. We silently drank our coffee, assessing each other. I was impressed he remembered-- just enough cream and plenty of sugar for me, and Sid's was black. Les bit his lip then set his jaw. He reminded me of Lynn just before she was ready to give up one of her sisterly secrets-- you know, the ones only women tell each other, like 'Susan's right breast is larger than her left.' 

Guys don't do that. I didn't expect that kind of info from Les or Sid. Or the kind of validation which comes after spilling their guts. Like Lynn-- giving away the secret then saying she only told me because I was safe and cuddly and-- friggin' gay.

That used to upset me.

Clink, clink, clink. Les' spoon battled with the inside of his coffee mug. His finger tapped the handle-- maybe he was waging a battle within himself and not sure how much to say, or what. I was surprised my aunt and uncle let him come up here to talk to us. Maybe they couldn't stop him-- or maybe they didn't think he knew enough to cause harm.

Didn't matter to me. He knew a heck of a lot more than either Sid or I did. And to be cliché-- knowledge is power.

Sid knew about Les' parent's death before I did. I was still a little upset with Sid he didn't share that information with me from the beginning. Neither of us were going to make that mistake again. From now on two heads together. And from the look on Les' face, maybe we'd have a third head, too.

"Where to start..." Les said.

"How 'bout with Shackleton?" Sid suggested.

"Best to understand your enemies," he acknowledged, taking a big bite of blueberry bagel and chewing. "Shackleton's a psychopath. He is seriously deranged. You know his history with Uncle Dan. He has this obsession with immortals-- our family in particular. When he first trashed your house, Wes, we searched Shackleton's apartment and nosed around. We out found Shackleton has a hobby-- cameras, video-cameras. He's taken plenty of snapshots you and the band: eating, shopping, working and hanging at home. Some video, too. No nice way to say this-- he's got some compromising ones of you and Sid."

"Fuck! Video or pictures?!" Sid asked.

"Both." 

Disturbing-- but I wasn't surprised. Probably beat off watching them. Not much different from his obsession with my uncle years ago and stalking me now. Then he sent notes and dead sparrows. Now he wrapped on windows and took lewd pictures. 

"Sorry we kept that from you. Evidently, he's watched you for a long time. I'm certain he burned your house and broke into Sid's. We found album after album of pictures. Some of me. Hell Wes, he had pictures of the inside your parents' house. He had pictures..." Les stopped; his jaw tightened. My hands began to shake. "...of me inside our parents' house. What bothered me most was Uncle Dan wasn't surprised. He knew all along. I'm sure Shackleton murdered our parents. He had pay stubs in the apartment from the business that fucked up the gas line and killed my parents. He left the stubs out from Rex's Heating and Cooling on the coffee table-- Shackleton wanted me to find them-- he wanted me to know."

Les wasn't chewing on the bagel any more. He set his coffee aside, too. 

"Dear uncle knows exactly what's going on and why," Les said. "He knows the connections. And he won't share. What upsets me most is I believe he and Aunt Glenda could have prevented our families' deaths-- they let them happen. This isn't about dirty little secrets or because they're afraid of the Community. It's some grandiose design or some such high-minded garbage-- I just don't know what could be so important that they'd let people they love die."

I sat with the cinnamon bagel in my lap-- half eaten. I picked at the cream cheese. My head ached. I needed fresh air. I heard the mosquito buzzing near my ear. I glanced at him-- trapped between the curtain and the window. I moved my hand to brush the curtain aside. It swayed before my finger touched it. Old windows. Wind blows right through them.

"Shackleton is dangerous. He's evil. The Community has an agenda-- making them dangerous also. But the one's who are the most dangerous are people like us-- the old ones." 

"Old ones," I repeated. "This feels so familiar. Like an old sci-fi thriller or maybe a Peter Cushing movie." 

Machinations from a third party. Great-- Old, powerful beings. 

Most likely omnipotent. 

"So you're saying there is really no winning this," I said, impulsively reaching for the lace curtain again. This time it clearly moved before my finger brushed it. 

"You'd prefer I said yes, there is a way out." Les cracked a sad smile. 

"They want Wes."

"Yes, they're after what he has," Les said plainly. 

What do I have? The buzzing and battering against the window continued. Both hands at my sides, I looked at the curtain. There. Just a whisper of movement-- but I saw it move. And again. 

Sid was silent. Les, too. I closed my eyes and pictured the curtains being drawn aside by my hand-- the mosquito free.

I heard Sid's hushed voice ask Les: "Fuck. Did you see that?" 

He buzzed by my head. I opened my eyes. The curtain still swayed and billowed. 

"I think I might know another part of what they want from me," I said.

--------------------------------

It was necessary. I had to go down to the garden now. The more exposure I had to Mica, the more control I could have over what happened to us. I knew they were worried, and I knew why. What else could I move with my mind given time? If any of those with designs on this power waited too long, they won't be able to get to me. I had to go to the garden-- become stronger. We needed more time. 

This was it. Les understood, but he won't go into the garden with me. 

"You don't have to go with me either," I said to Sid. "You might be a distraction."

"Actually, who's to say that this isn't part of the process," Les observed. "I've been through this myself, and don't get embarrassed, but I don't think getting, um, stimulated is just a by-product of the process. I think it's the point."

"What the fuck does that mean?" I asked.

"Sex is the most basic and most complex part of life. It is life." 

"Make love not war. Let's go before it gets too hot out," Sid said. "All I need is a sunburn." 

Les chuckled as Sid stood up and got the Concepterol from the dresser. Sid stuffed it in his pocket as nonchalantly as possible. Didn't work. Les smirked. Sid's face flushed and mine did too. Although my blush wasn't from embarrassment-- more like lust. 

Les followed us as far as the back door, then watched us walk out. I took my time. Sid fidgeted beside me. I could see Glenda hanging out the laundry on the other side of the house, pretending not to see us and where we were going. 

Side by side we walked down the worn path. A hazy morning with a subtle breeze cooled our skin. Our feet, wet with dew, squished as we walked. Sound from farm fields carried up and over the hills in the still of the morning-- a tractor plowing, a chick-a-dee calling. Sid reached his hand out to mine. I thought of everything I had to lose. Days like this with someone I loved beside me. As we stepped to the entrance of the garden, I realized my cheeks were wet with tears. Part afraid and part hopeful. 

He slapped his arm. 

"Damn deer fly," he grumbled. "They always leave a big red welt on me after they bite." Sid dug at his arm. I could see his skin blister where the fly bit already.

The garden's fragrance seeped into me. Or rather I welcomed it in. Invited it in. 

Come in, come in.

Dew. Our tennis shoes soaked and shiny. All in the garden drops of dew sparkled like diamond chips. Some still clung to the grass. Some dappled the fine hairs on the roses' leaves, and some reflected off their velvety crimson petals. Instinctively I spread my fingers for a rose. I snapped off a blossom, breaking its neck. I heard a cry--

But no, that was from me.

With my right hand, I brought the bloom to my face. Gently I twirled the flower between my thumb and forefinger, caressing my cheek, my nose. My tears mingled with the prisms of dew. I felt Sid's eyes on my back. Slowly, hesitantly I reached toward the barren stem of the winding rose I'd plucked. I grasped its stem tightly in my palm. The thorny vine wound itself around my wrist-- once, twice, three times, then tightened-- the barbs digging into my pale flesh. My blood trickled, dropping dark to the ground. 

The familiar swoon began, but this time a change. A clarity, a single purpose swelled through me as Sid's hand supported my elbow. I turned, and with a violent yank, broke the vine, driving the thorns deep into my skin. 

My mouth found his. I fell to the ground, or maybe he pulled me. All was cloudy except Sid clear before me. All I could feel was his heat against me. Like the barbs inside my flesh, I wanted him inside me. His tongue, his fingers, his cock, and I told him so.

He moved on top of me. His cock grinding into mine. My arms wrapped around him. I felt him flinch in pain. The vine around my wrist raked his back. 

"Sorry," I moaned.

He answered by reaching for my bloody wrist. He kissed it, attentively unwinding the rose and then laid the vine aside. His fingers began to pluck out my thorns. 

"No, leave them," I said. 

On his index finger, I spotted a bead of blood. I brought his injured finger to my mouth and closed my eyes, sucking on his fingertip. He moaned and rocked against me. He unzipped my jeans, pushing them down along with my underwear. He unfastened his, grasping his own cock, slicking it up with the lube from his pocket.

Then his fingers danced around me. Milking my cock. Moving around my balls and maneuvering coyly around my ass. Making me cry out. Teasing me as he loves to do, as I love him to do. 

As I love him.

Then he drove his fingers inside me. The garden, the roses blurred. His face, I memorized every playful freckle, every tiny white scar. I shook and begged for him to bury his fingers deeper. No sparks or dancing lights this time. No dizzy spell. Just Sid. All Sid--his knees to my thighs, his hand to my cock, his fingers inside me, his eyes in mine. Together. 

As his wrist turned, pulling up and down on my dick, his fingers found the spot inside me. Fuck, I was helpless. All for him. I knew I was coming already. Stop! Too soon. But what did it matter? I had him, and God he felt good. I spilled over his hand. His eyebrows arched. He was more surprised than me. I kind of chuckled-- like I beat him at his own game. He hadn't anticipated my orgasm either. 

His fingers left me.

He eased his cock inside, little by little, slowly filling me. He wouldn't let me win that easily. Heat spread from my groin to my face. My cock remained hard-- harder from the pressure of Sid inside me. He held my knees and pushed them back against my chest-- lunging deeper inside me. He smiled and kissed my knee.

I reached for my own cock. Sid sighed in appreciation as I began to pump my dick in time with his thrusts. Then he let go of my legs-- throwing all of his weight into me, his mouth finding my neck, sucking on it like a teenager giving their first hickey. His hands on my chest and in my hair.

What was he doing to me? Along with the intoxication from the roses and my wrist throbbing, Sid was pushing me to the edge of another climax.

Then his mouth found my tongue. He sucked and chewed on it. All the while, thrusting into me, aiming perfectly into just the right spot with his perfect dick. I whimpered beneath him. He loved it. I didn't believe I could come again. Not possible, I thought. But I felt myself on that edge. This time I didn't fall right over the top, he kept me there on the precipice, aching. 

Finally releasing my tongue, he spoke to me. Bringing his mouth next to my ear, murmuring, "I love you" as he climaxed. His shudder brought me close, so close. But no release. Then I felt his hand on mine, helping me, his thumb playing with the tip of my cock. 




Failing Upward Ch. 08



"I don't think I can come again," I choked. 

I guess that was some kind of challenge to him. He lowered his head down until his warm mouth found me, burying me in the back of his throat. I whimpered and came. 

"I love you," I gasped, combing his wet sandy bangs back with my fingers. 

"Now, aren't you glad I came to the garden with you?"

------------------------------

We both fell asleep. Not sure how long. Time seemed to fall away in that place. We woke, and the sun had dried up the dew, and Sid's ass was pink. 

I normally would have been baked, too. But nothing-- not even a tan line. Super healing comes in handy. No burns. 

I gently shook Sid.

"Wake up, you better get out of the sun."

Sid groaned and stretched against me. Felt nice.

I helped him up. I was dizzy, but able to stand and support Sid, who seemed to be the one who had a problem waking up. I studied at his face more closely. His eyes weren't focusing. What I'd mistaken for a burned cheeks was a flush. I felt his head. He was burning up with fever. 

Shit. 

"Sid, you need to get back to the house. Come on, help me," I coaxed, patting his face to get a reaction. I think he understood; he put his arm around my waist, and we managed out of the garden and started toward the house when Les ran up and helped. 

"I've been looking for you to come back for awhile," he said. I wondered if he'd watched out the window, but I didn't ask. I bet that was quite a show. 

"Sid's sick. You think it has to do with the roses?" I asked. 

Les nodded. I realized how stupid the question was after it left my lips. Of course it was the roses. I'd scraped the thorns across his back. Then there was the thorn in his finger. 

"Will he be ok?" I asked. 

"Yeah, probably. Depends on his sensitivity. He'll be out of it for a while." 

We helped him up the stairway to our room. I heard Trent and Glenda talking in the hallway as Les and I helped Sid into bed.

"This is all my fault. I was careless," I mumbled as I took off his shoes. "Sid, I'm sorry. Can you hear me?" 

He groaned. I think that was an answer. I loosened his shirt then held his hand as I sat on the edge of the bed. 

"Don't be so hard on yourself. He might even have suspected this would happen."

"Suspected? Why?"

"Why do you think Dr. Deal had such an interest in him?"

Sid's mouth moved. His eyes closed. I wondered if he could hear us. 

"He's not one of us. He can't be. Sid would have told me." 

"No, but I bet somewhere down the line in his family there was an immortal. Just like Deal and Shackleton."

Trent and Aunt Glenda stood in the doorway listening.

"Deal's father was a well known botanist. Guess what he studied in particular?" Les said, eyes on Glenda.

"Roses," Glenda broke in, "and plants." 

She leaned against the fame, and she should seem small and insignificant near the massive doorframe. Yet, even in that simple aqua housedress, she looked otherworldly-- like some nymph. 

"He was looking for a plant, you know, the fountain of youth," added Les. "His interest was in Mica. I think he did love you Aunt Glenda-- I think he still does-- just that pleasing his father was more important."

"He lied. He never told me--" she said, "who his father was, what he did. He kept his father's plans secret from me. Then he robbed us, took plants from the garden and gave them to his father. And it wasn't just a fountain of youth his father was interested in. Some kind of weapon. They did it for money."

"Biological warfare has been around for centuries, since man understood disease and poisons," Trent added. Not surprising that a killer would have an interest in mass destruction.

I laid my hand across Sid's sweaty brow. He was cooler; his fever broken. Still he looked sick and vulnerable. Listening to Glenda condemn Peter Deal seemed an irony to me. She hated him for stealing the roses. They were trying to steal Sid's life. 

"How is that any different than how you've treated me? You lied to me to get me here. You've put Sid in danger. Now he's sick. I'm sure you had some idea what was going to happen when you watched us walk out into the garden together."

I looked over at Trent by the door. What was he doing here? A killer. Helping us? I wanted to trust him. Part of me said trust him-- the other part said run. His eyes had a quiet patience that I liked. From the very beginning, he was a contradiction to me. He didn't enjoy his job, but he continued out of duty. I knew that from the first time he looked into my eyes as he turned the blade, but--

I don't know why I found it necessary to make excuses for what he did to me. Despite everything, part of me honestly liked him. 

Part of me liked Glenda, too.

"No family claimed me after I married Peter-- Daniel only did after that terrible incident with Shackleton," she said. "I was Emma Lange-- outspoken and stupid. I was in love."

"So it cost you your parents' approval," I said bitterly. "It cost our parents' their lives." 

Les nodded in agreement. 

I rubbed the top of Sid's hand with my thumb, then turned it over. The tip of his finger was red and infected. I was reminded of my first poke from the thorn. Now, the briars I'd driven into my wrist were visible under my pale skin. No wounds.

"Will he be ok? You said some people get very sick. The same branch was in me that stuck him. What will that do to him?"

"The same vine?" she asked, walking up to Sid. She lightly touched his forehead. "He'll be fine." 

I snorted. Fine? I wanted explanations. 

"I want to know-- does it make a difference?" I demanded.

Her lips trembled. Fuck, she acted like she cared. 

"Yes, he's bound to you now. It's sad when they're a mortal. He will live. Whether he'll be whole or not-- I don't know. It's never fair for a mortal, but there was no choice in your case. You needed to be bound together-- "

Making decisions for me again. Choosing for me.

"What I need is to be told. This is bull shit. Enough of this walking around blind. I need to know what is happening to us. Tell me."

"Just as you needed to remember in the hospital and we could not tell you--" she explained, "it is the same now. You need to understand yourself. We can not tell you what you are. You must discover it for yourself."

"Who are you? Fucking Yoda?!"

"Shut and listen young Skywalker," Sid said hoarsely. 

My head spun around, and he gave me a half-assed grin. He was hurting, but he was here with me. 

"I must be delirious--" said Sid, words slurring, "what she said just made sense to me." 

"Of course it does-- " I said. "Goes with that fancy university learning you have and all that eastern religion mumbo-jumbo your parents stuffed in your head. They've been reading crytals since you could string three words together." 

I had the urge to hug him-- so I followed my impulse.

"I think we should let Sid get some rest," Trent said. Glenda agreed. 

They left-- Les last. I went to stand, and Sid pulled my hand.

"Don't leave."

"I won't. Ever. Not unless you tell me to." 

I stretched myself next to him and kissed his forehead. No fever, that I could tell. Much cooler.

No, I wouldn't ever leave him-- not unless I didn't have a choice. ---------------------

Taking Down Laundry

It was a week since Sid and I went into the garden together. Since then, I'd gone alone every morning. 

In the afternoons, I'd spend my time with Sid or at the piano in the family room downstairs, trying to compose.

Although on the outside Sid seemed better, he was reflective and subdued. Making love was quiet and slow, so unlike our passionate encounters before. He insisted I go to work at the flower shop last week, but I wouldn't. 

I didn't want to leave him. 

In the late afternoon, we'd take long walks in the woods. We'd hold hands and listen to twigs snap beneath our feet and sit by the pond and reflect.

I struggled to go to a few band practices, going through the motions. I played with the band on Friday and last night. Sid watched, sipping his Coke, chatting with Lynn and Alan, but he didn't grab me under the table once-- and I even wore my black leather.

It was Sunday and still no sign of Shackleton. The man haunted me even as I slept. Trent's contacts at the Community told him he was still tucked away in Chicago, but I still expected him to be around every corner, behind every tree. His memory was like a vulture picking at my brain. 

I know the thought of him haunted Sid, too. I tried getting him to talk to me. What a role reversal. Sid was usually the one trying to get me to open up. Now I was trying to pry open his door. I thought he was more confused than I was about how why he felt so melancholy. Sid was locked away tight, and it frightened me.

Glenda said it happens this way when one becomes bound to the other, and one is mortal. The feeling smothers. 

I'd been downstairs, tinkering on the piano for about an hour. I'd played the same few bars over and over-- inspiration and concentration both failing me. I stood up and slid the piano bench in, deciding to go upstairs to talk to Sid. 

As I neared our room, I heard Les and Sid talking. Instead of walking in, I stood outside the door. I felt sort of dirty eavesdropping, but I was much too curious to walk away and not know what was being said. Maybe Sid might open up to Les. 

"... as Deal is to me and always will be," Sid said quietly.

"Yes, he's a friend of your family. I understand that."

"No, you don't. He was more than a friend to me at one time. He was my lover-- my first."

"Oh."

"I loved him. I was young. But it was one-sided. It's just, I wonder now, with Wes, is this some sort of pattern for me switching one immortal for another? Am I attracted to Wes for himself or what he is?"

"You were attracted to him long before any of this from what Alan told me, but I can't answer that one for you. That's a question you have to answer for yourself..."

I felt sick. Physically ill. Why hadn't he told me about Deal? Or how he was feeling about me?

"I know I love him. I need him. This is all such a mess. And Wes blames himself for everything that's happened. He's so intense. He worries over my every ache. He watches me constantly-- like I'll disappear. Hovering over me like I'm gonna be dead tomorrow. When he goes down to the garden, I'd like to go with him, but he gets so uptight. He's barely smiled or cracked a joke all week. That's not like him. The only time I've seen him semi-relaxed was playing in the band the past two nights. He doesn't even relax when we make love."

"Yeah, even on stage last night he wasn't the same. Smith asked what was wrong with him. But you've got to realize, Sid, he's going through a lot of chemical changes in his body, not just mental-- and right now, so are you. It's fucking with both of your minds-- no wonder it's messing with your hearts. He has a real reason to be afraid for you. Then there's the sex. I'm convinced that there is something chemical there going on too. I've read my parents notes on it. "

"Don't I know," said Sid. "After this last time in the garden, I felt what it was like for Wes fucking me. It's overwhelming. I felt like I was going to break in two I wanted him so bad."

I turned walked quietly back down the stairs. I had a lot to think about. I went out to the garden again.

------------------------------

Glenda was preparing Sunday dinner in the kitchen when I came back. She'd just finished chopping carrots and started cleaning broccoli. 

"Need a hand?" I asked.

"Not here, but you could be a dear and bring in the laundry off the line for me? The basket's in the breeze way."

"Sure, I'd be glad to," I said. She was smart not to let me around the kitchen. And since I could fold a mean t-shirt, I nodded and headed out to get the basket. Besides, it was the least I could do-- she'd washed Sid's and my laundry. I picked up the old wicker laundry basket and let the old wooden screen door snap behind me. 

She had remnants of clothes line left in the basket. Must be she had to put up more to accommodate us. I laid them over the side of the basket and pulled off the sheets first and folded them. Then a few of Les' shirts and Glenda's house dresses. Must be Uncle Daniel used the drycleaners. Nothing for him on the line. Lastly I took off Sid's and my laundry and folded them. 

I chuckled thinking about what Glenda thought of Sid red underwear. I went back into the house and picked up our laundry off the top-- then I had this epiphany. So I've lost my sense of humor? I worry too much? Well, I'd show Sid. 

The blue paisley house dress looked about the right size and that bit of clothesline would work. Nothing like a bit of role playing to liven up your love life. Move over black leather, hello lonely pioneer woman and rascally outlaw. I skirted around Sid and Les, who were talking in the living room.

"Putting away our laundry," I explained, brushing past them. Just before I went out of the room I turned and said, "Meet me upstairs in a few minutes-- I'd like to talk to you." Then I winked and smiled for good measure. Sid gave me a dopey quizzical look, and Les raised his eyebrow. Then I bounded down the hallway and into the anteroom and up the stairs. 

I put our clothes on the dresser and stripped. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Taking Glenda's house dress probably wasn't the brightest. Still, it's not the kind of thing you'd ask permission about: 

 Me: Hey, I want to have kinky sex games with my boyfriend-- would it be ok if I borrowed this dress? 

 Glenda: You not a size seven are you? Sure!

I pulled the thin cotton over my head. The dress zipped up the back. How do women fucking do it? Hook their bras, pull up a zipper up that starts at the ass-crack and runs clear up to the crook on their neck? Are they contortionists? 

I looked in the mirror and laughed. Since I had no waist or tits, it wasn't a big deal-- just hike up the back and then zip. I was pretty flexible. I didn't fill it out at all like Glenda, but the blue and violet in the paisleys did bring out that winkle in my eyes. The question was-- did I look like a lonely pioneer woman? Too bad no bonnet. Hmm, I pinched my cheeks.

That helped. I picked up my boxers.

I could do a Sharon Stone-- part my legs. Sid could snatch a free shot. My dick jerked alive. Yeah, no underwear for this little tryst. I decided to let my boys breath. 

I knew I needed to get into my role- psyche myself up. Little House on the Prairie style-- Shit, I lost my erection. Thinking of Melissa Gilbert as Laura Ingalls Wilder made me lose my stiffy. Same would probably would happen to most guys, I frowned. 

Now what's my motivation? 

Hmm, maybe Sid's body, Sid's mouth, Sid's cock fucking me silly? Oh, yeah-- that worked. The color was back in my cheeks again.

Now, to tie myself up. That was tricky. Damn plastic cheap clothesline. Not really rustic or frontier like at all. Have to use our imagination and pretend it's horse hair. I used my teeth to get the clothes line around my wrists and then looped it through to pull the square knot tight. Looked pretty convincing. Now to get into the bed. I sprawled out, trying to look the part. Put myself into character. Appear helpless, vulnerable. I practiced whimpering. 

Not convincing.

I examined the head board. Now, if I looped my hand back over one of the bedposts that might work. The frame where it was attached was about three to three and a half feet high where my hands would stop and catch. I giggled. Standing up on the bed, I put my back against the poster and looped my hands backward over the top of the bedpost. Then I sat down. 

Big mistake. 

I misjudged the height of the headboard. It definitely was a few inches up higher than I expected-- or my arms were a few inches shorter. But this wasn't about comfort. I struggled to get my legs out in front of me. Hmm, seeing me straining bound to the bedpost would lend to the drama of the moment. Yeah, make Sid hot. 

Take me you, fiendish outlaw!

The door--

The brass door knob turned. The door creaked open. I held my breath. Fuck! Les walked in.

Sid stood behind him. A stunned embarrassing silence then... 

Hysterics.

"Stop laughing!" I yelled, pulling against the cords on my hands. I sputtered and moaned. 

Dang, I messed this one up. Maybe I should have made it clear I wanted to talk to Sid-- alone.

"I think I'm gonna piss my pants," Sid said, slapping Les' back.

"I think I'd better leave..." Les barked.

"No shit!" I said.

Les jabbed Sid then walked out the door. Then poking his head around the corner, he added, "Gosh you're pretty!" 

Then door banged shut. I heard Les out in the hallway cackling.

"So, what's this about?" Sid asked, wiping his tears. "A reaction to your overhearing the conversation Les and I had?"

"Well, yes, I guess partly... " I stammered.

"You do look cute. Nice dress. Color brings out your eyes."

"This wasn't the reaction I was hoping for... " I whined. "I'm sorry I listened, but why didn't you just tell me those things yourself?"

"We weren't sure you were listening until you went down the stairs," he explained, grinning wider. "And I don't ask you about your past sex life although looking at you now, maybe I should have."

I felt myself blushing and getting hard again. Sid's eyes fell on my crotch-- Tent City in my matronly house dress. 

"That's exactly why I love you," Sid laughed.

"Why? Because of my ability to get hard in difficult situations?"

"No, because you'd put on that dress for me," he said, walking over to the bed, fingering the clothes-line. "How did you manage to tie yourself up like that?"

"God, with my mouth and tongue. Want me to show you? They're pretty agile. I'd like to put them to good use again-- they're all warmed up and ready."

"You sure are a lonely pioneer woman. But you could have let me tie you up..."

"Yeah, but that wasn't the effect I was shooting for," I explained, as he leaned over close to my face. "I didn't think that just seeing me in the dress would do it for you."

Sid laughed, then bent into me, kissing my mouth, opening up to him wide. I whirled my tongue deep inside his mouth. He pulled back, breathing hard.

"You're right about that."

He sat next to me on the bed, sinking the mattress down more and pulling the cords taunt on my wrists. I winced. 

"Too tight? Should I loosen them a little, dear?" he asked.

"No, they're fine. Thank you, sir." 

"This dress is too distracting," he said, fingering the neck. "Nice... cotton blend?"

"Yes, I think."

"Material is light, thin," he said, then with a sudden violent jerk, ripped open the dress at the neck to the waist. Then with one more jerk, ripped the dress rest of the way off, exposing my chest, crotch and thighs. 

"Hey, you ruined Glenda's dress!" I cried.

Sid hunkered back and rubbed his hands together in mock anticipation. 

"It's old. We'll buy her another." 

His half grin grew wider still at he saw my cock jerk up, thrilled. He enjoyed himself thoroughly as he inched his hand. He teased and grasped me, then bending his head down, he took one long lick on the end of my glistening dick, then looked up at me. 

"I didn't actually b-borrow this dress..." I stuttered.

"Somehow, I figured that one out for myself," he said, spreading the thin cotton dress apart and pushing it back up to my shoulders. I moaned as his warm mouth closed over my left nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue. He pinched the other, and I yelped.

"Are you going to ravage and burn my crops, too?" I asked hopefully.

"Yeah, sure... give me a moment."

He stood up and stripped off his jeans and t-shirt. 

"Oh, God," I moaned, admiring his swollen cock as he pushed down his underwear. "It's so big. You aren't going to make me suck that are you?" 




Failing Upward Ch. 08



"You're too good at this." 

He climbed back on the bed on his knees and straddling me, bouncing his cock near my mouth. 

"Open up those beautiful lips, sweetie," he said, voice hoarse. I mustered the most wonton look possible and gazed up into his yes. I opened my mouth achingly slow and took him into my lips, gulping him in as far I could. His hands kneaded and tugged my hair, and his hips lurched forward. Just the reaction I was hoping for. His cock rubbed fluidly in and out of my mouth, I tried hard not to catch him with my teeth as the friction increased. The cords bit into my wrists, but I hardly noticed. His cock was all I wanted, tasting him only made me harder and hotter. 

His hands pushed my face deeper into his crotch. I loved it because he loved it. I could tell he was close to coming-- his thigh muscles tightened. 

He jerked himself out of my mouth with a gasp.

"Shit, I'm going to shoot off right away if we don't stop," he said breathing hard. "I need to slow down." 

What he really meant was, I'm not through with you-- I have to stop so I can tease you more. I knew what I was in for when I hooked my wrists around the bedpost-- that was kind of the point-- to see how far he'd tease me. To give him permission to let go. 

Of course I wanted to let go just as much.

He reached under the pillow for the Concepterol (Sid's handy-dandy hiding place for expediency), and he smiled wickedly at me. My heart raced and pulse pounded in my temples. God this was delicious. 

"Crimony! Do that again with your eyes," he blurted. "Your pupils are still so wide-- they're screaming fuck me."

"How 'bout my legs open wide. See, they're screaming fuck me, too. And here lookie-- I'll spread them for you. Or how 'bout my lips, yeah, read my lips; they're screaming, too-- Oh, fuck me, fuck me."

He unscrewed the cap and squeezed some on his fingers. 

"You floozy. You're no lonely frontier woman-- you're really a saloon trollop." 

"No, I'm just lonely. You don't know what it's like with only sagebrush and chickens to keep you company-- my only excitement is riding my pony at a trot-- the saddle my only friend... " my last word stuck. He shoved his fingers inside me. 

"Thought that'd get your attention, mam. Ain't that better than a cold hard saddle?" 

My insides hitched and my knees curled up as his fingers explored me. I was whimpering and squirming as he caressed and stimulated my prostate. Sid's breathing was labored watching me. God this was great.

"Thank you," I choked out. "Such kindness..." The chords pulled on my wrists, the memory of the thorns beneath biting into me. 

Sid grasped my cock and stroked it slowly rolling his thumb across my glans. Sweat was pouring off me. Glenda's dress and the sheets were drenched, and my body slipped down farther into the bed, cutting the cords deeper into my wrists. If my dick hadn't have been doing all my thinking for me at that moment, I might have stopped him myself, but I was too close to a spectacular orgasm to really give a shit. Besides, my arms had fallen asleep awhile ago.

Then he noticed. 

And stopped.

"Shit, you're bleeding," he said. 

I honestly felt bad to see him panicked. First he scooped me up, then he knelt next to me near the headboard and began carefully untying the knot on my wrists. 

"Damn this is tight," he said. I watched him above me, using his teeth to loosen it. 

"Tied with my teeth. Told you I had a talented mouth," I teased. The clothes-line came free, and I felt the release, my arms flopping uselessly down to my sides. The cords had cut into me, but it wasn't that bad. Not as bad as the look I got from Sid's face as he stared at them.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," I said quietly. I tried to reach for his face. First try, my arm wouldn't respond, second try, it jerked up to his cheek. I tested my finger by brushing it under his eye. "See," I whispered, "just fine. Now, finish what you started. Fuck me." 

I managed to pick up the lube with my other hand. 

"I'll help you," I said, motioning for him to slide down beside me. "Give me your dick." 

He scooted down into the mattress next to me. 

"I love you," he said, kissing me. Fuck, he sucked on my tongue. He knew that always made me hot. My cock twitched. His nose twitched back. I giggled.

"What's so funny?" he asked. 

"You and your cute nose... "

"Huh?"

I squirted the lube into my hands and found his dick. He gasped.

"Hmm, I think the rugged outlaw's gun needs firing. What do you think? Ready for some target practice?" I asked.

"What about shooting beer bottles off stumps?" he joked.

"Um, well, while that feat could put you into the Guinness Book of World Records, I much rather you put your special talents to use another way. Say, like fucking a lonely pioneer woman up the ass?"

He nodded. 

I spread my legs, and he rolled on top of me. 

"Ok lady, here I come," he groaned. 

That's what I'd been waiting for since the door knob turned.

He gently pushed his cock inside me-- slow and easy. The pressure and heat built up, burning my chest and lungs. I gasped. My arms found his ass and pushed him in farther. I bit his neck and then kissed his jaw-line. I felt his balls. 

"I want you, always," I whispered into his ear. He moved inside me. Slowly. slowly. Back arching, hips pumping in largo. Each thrust was a musical phrase, and he slurred my notes. 

He chest heaved as our mouths met. And as our tongues danced in time, Sid began to increase his tempo, and I felt him reach for my cock, and I moaned into his mouth. I loved tasting his cock and having him taste mine. I loved fucking Sid. And I loved feeling his cock rubbing against mine, but this was what I loved most. Feeling him inside me, rocking into me, and that practiced hand working my cock like some great conductor. 

The blood pumped from heart to my groin, as Sid lead this huge crescendo. I was coming-- I raised my knees and hugged him tight to me, wrapping my arms around him. I cried out, my come spilling sticky over his hand and onto my belly. Sid trembled and tensed his ass and thighs, then relaxed, spent. The end-- Fine.

We held each other and nodded off. And before I fell asleep, I wondered again for the millionth time this week, if I could find a way to make Sid immortal like me.

------------------------------

We took our after dinner walk as usual-- Sid and I explored the great outdoors of southwestern Michigan. Past the gardens, into the old oaks, elms and huge sassafras trees. Through the umbrella of the hardwoods, where the sun dips and dapples the plush carpet-thick moss and foliage below. We took our time walking down the hill, following a farmer's old fieldstone wall-- a long forgotten property marker. From the top of the forest hill, we saw the small pond we'd adopted. It's marshy, with fuzzy cattails and lavender liatris invading the edges. Perfect and serene. We sat on a old rotting log near its edge and watched the day recede. Feeling the stones grow cold next to the pond and watching the shadows deepen, we listened to bullfrogs and the crickets sing. We waited for the first fireflies to come out and dance. 

We shooed away mosquitoes, watching an old painted turtle sun himself with the last beams of the day. Out here, we could both think and not hurry. If we wanted a slow leisurely kiss, Sid and I reclined on the cushy old moss. 

And we did. Soft sweet lips and wind whisping through the ancient oak above. Fingers ran smooth in his sandy hair, and I inhaled the dank smell of insect repellant on his neck. I raised my head as I heard a branch snap. 

We sat up from the mossy bed and watched a doe, her white tail bouncing up and down past us then into the brush. 

Then I heard crunching leaves over the crest of the hill. 

"I think we better get back," Sid whispered, cautiously. He heard it, too. Crunching of leaves and twigs. I thought it was behind us over the crest of the hill and now I wasn't as sure. I saw movement in the brush where the doe appeared. Not a deer this time. Too loud. Probably what startled her. We both got up and started away from the noise and around the pond when we heard Trent's voice. 

"You shouldn't be out this far," he commented, stepping out in the open. I felt like kissing him-- I was so relieved. 

We walked toward him.

"Scared me for a moment there," I said. Then I noticed Trent looking up at the crest of the hill. My eyes followed his. Shackleton stood with two other men, one with semi-automatic rifle pointed with Sid in his sights-- the other with some sort of video camera. Shackleton started down the hill. 

I heard myself yell 'no' as lunged to get between Sid and shooter. I heard the shot, and the impact threw me sideways into Sid. I stumbled grabbing Sid to pull him behind me, trying to shield him when the second shot ripped open my shoulder and hit Sid in the chest. His shirt ripped from my hands as he flew back. The crack of the back of his head hitting a rock echoed in the silent wood. 

I fell down to my knees beside him, and cradled his head in my lap. He grasped my right hand tightly. 

It was that projector in my mind-- what I couldn't remember. Every bit I'd forgotten, I now recalled. The accident, the hospital. This second shock brought it back to me.

Panic and doubt ate me. There I was crying, the back of Sid's head sticky in my hand. Afraid I couldn't do it. I looked up to Trent-- his face etched with guilt. 

He'd failed. 

"Wes, I'm cold," he said, coughing. Blood. He'd coughed up blood. "Cold," he said again. I lay down, hugging him to me, sobbing into his hair. 

Can you save him?

His blood warmed my chest, and brushing his face with my hands, I prayed for guidance: how was I supposed to heal him? So much blood-- part of it mine. I tasted metal in my mouth. I pressed my forehead into his and begged for some great splendid light to show me the way out of all this. 

"Show me now," I begged. Laying on hands as if I were a healer in some old time revival. False healer. Please don't let me be false. I opened his shirt, and I saw the cavity-- the bone and the blood; how could I heal this? I laid my hand on the gaping wound and asked-- no, pleaded with myself. Please work. Please heal.

I could hear them all near me. The camera humming, shallow breathing. Ticking. All watching, waiting. 

Sid coughed again, spattering my face with droplets of blood. 

My hand shook violently as I pressed it tighter to the wound. The other held Sid's hand tight. 

"Heal," I whispered. "Heal, heal, heal." Then, "Oh God," my heart pounded in my eardrums-- his grip loosened. No warm squeezing return of my hand. His eyes-- the light was leaving them. I let go of his hand and pressed his chest into mine. Clutching his back, blood soaking me. 

"No," I cried. "I won't let you go." I closed my eyes, reaching into that black pit to find those bright sparks inside. Remembering what it was like to feel him inside me, making love to me. I had to find that. 

"I love you..." I choked.

The spiral and lights. Hard and soft. Loud and clean-- pure light. I heard and felt him. "Please," I said. "Please." And I took it into me. Dizzy, like I was falling. But no, I was still kneeling, searching his eyes.

His back was smooth against my hand. 

Can you save him?

He gasped. 

Sobbing, I watched his eyes lids flutter, pupils widen.

I kissed his forehead and rocked him in my arms. Wiped the blood from his chest. No wound remained.

"How touching," Shackleton rasped. 

I broke away from the joy and pain, meeting Shackleton's eyes as he stood above us. The red angry scars on his face and neck were hideous reminders that he was slowly falling to pieces-- that he needed to steal my blood to be whole. Trent stood next to him. He did nothing. Shackleton reached out to shake Trent's hand, and Trent pulled his back in disgust. 

"What? No handshake to seal our deal, Trent?"

"Deal?" I choked.

"You don't think we could have gotten to you this easily without Trent's help?" 

"What the fuck is he saying Trent?" I rasped.

"I told you from the very beginning. I take orders. The Community needs what Shackleton knows, and they need what you have. He can make the serum from your blood. They want it. First we had to be sure that you were the one."

"Fuck you," I cried.

"I'm sorry. Better the Community than Shackleton alone. Sid will be safe now. We'll leave him here with your aunt and uncle. He'll be fine as long as you come quietly with us."

"Could you turn off that fucking video camera?"

Trent nodded. The camera clicked off. 

"Film captures so many treasured memories," said Shackleton. He took the semi-automatic from the sniper. A sadistic smile played on his lips as he looked down at Sid. "He's very attractive. I can see why you enjoy his company so much. And his touch makes you scream out, doesn't it Wes? Makes me wonder, what it'd be like--"

"Stop that Shackleton, that's enough," said Trent, stepping closer to him.

"Now the question is, are you coming or do we kill your boyfriend for good this time?" Shackleton sneered, resting the rifle's muzzle against Sid's head. 

"Fuck, I'll go with you. You want me to beg? Fine. Please take me. I'll go. But if I do and you do come back here and touch him, I swear, I'll find a way to kill your sorry ass no matter how fucking long it takes."

"That's hardly polite."

"Oh, Suck me," I spit at him.

"That can be arranged," he answered. 

Trent stepped next to me and pulled a syringe from his pocket. The same icy blue stare was in his eyes, and I recalled that first day he stabbed me. Then another shift in those eyes. Pity?

He jabbed the needle into my arm with same piercing look he had when he turned the blade. And then time slipped away.



Failing Upward Ch. 09



Close Your Eyes and I'll Kiss You...

I woke from a horrible dream. 

Or was this the dream? The room scored my eyes-- hot bright pin pricks bounced off the stark white walls, stabbing through my eyelids. The light cast a long shadow, swabbing my brain. My eyes refused to focus; my arms refused to move. 

I couldn't turn my head.

Every breath burned. I couldn't clear my throat-- my mouth was so damn dry. 

Sleep.

All I wanted was a peaceful dream. All I received were phantasms. 

----------------------------

I'd been fading in and out. Waking to nothing. Seeing little, knowing less. My last clear memory was of Sid... of Trent. My mind was muddled between nightmares. One waking and one sleeping.

I woke once thinking I was back in the hospital bed after the car accident. I heard Bernice joking-- but it was just an echo in time.

The bed was just as hard and unforgiving as the one I'd been in weeks before except now my backside was sore and raw from days and hours locked in the same prone position. No windows in this cubical-- I recalled the sunny ones facing east, and how upset I was when the sun woke me. Now I'd throw up those blinds, and kiss the windows. This was a sterile room with no happy flowered curtains or cushy recliners. It did look like a hospital room. Maybe even was a hospital room-- I wasn't sure. I was hooked up like a vicious dog-- an IV in each arm, one with blood going out, another with fluids coming in. Then there was the fucking decatheter. I hated those fucking things. At least I was out cold when they put it in...

I was too weak to raise my head. Too weak to say much but a few syllables-- not that there was anyone to speak to most times. 

A pretty blonde woman, a nurse, came in and out. Nothing like Bernice. She was slim and professional. Did her job, then left. No talking, she came in, took vitals. 

Still, her hands were sure and kind. Sometimes I'd wake and see a sad look in her eyes. I'd turn away. 

She came in alone most times. Sometimes she'd bring in an attendant. 

Or she followed in Shackleton. With Trent.

I heard them come in a few times, buzzing and buzzing, and I didn't understand, and I wanted to understand. What was happening to me? And Shackleton and Trent-- they sounded like that mosquito beating at my window. I couldn't make sense. 

Me? Spinning and falling. They were draining me of life and keeping my brain from firing. I heard them argue... about me.

Enough for today. He'll never wake up. How much blood was enough? 

I wanted to know the same.

----------------------------

How much time later, I wasn't sure. Seemed liked days, could have been hours-- Shackleton came in again with Trent. They tried to wake me. My eyes rejected me. First I couldn't open them, then I wouldn't open them. I instinctively recoiled when Shackleton touched me. Hate. That was what I felt. Hate oozing out of him. Hate and lust. 

Questions. More questions. I remained mute, faking a dead, benumbed silence. 

"Can you move objects with your mind?"

"Can you influence people-- can you change things?"

Then Shackleton's sour breath whispered next to my ear, "I know you hear me."

He licked my cheek, but I refused to flinch. I feigned sleep as his hand slid down my thigh. Every muscle in my body wanted to recoil, but I fought it-- fought it with every speck of will I could grab deep in my guts.

Trent. I thought I'd seen something good inside him. He had to know that just a touch from that sick bastard tortured me.

But Trent said nothing.

----------------------------

I woke again alone in the room with confused thoughts, wondering where I was; why I was. Then I remembered: I was a brittle twig snapping under Shackleton's feet. 

He walked down the hill, over and over. My brain was merciless-- replaying the whole last few minutes I had with Sid. The shooting, the blood. 

I hoped Sid was safe. And Lynn. And Alan.

If I had tears, I would have cried.

I heard the door open, and she came in-- the kind nurse. She was surprised that I looked at her. Her eyes shifted down, unable to look at me, unable to connect. I physically hurt from her cast-down blue gaze. Although I didn't blame her for looking away, I wondered how many she'd taken care of like me-- how many discarded souls lay in this bed before.

"Good afternoon," she said, clearing her throat. 

Afternoon. Morning. Evening. Time didn't matter. Day? I didn't know what day. I would have laughed if I still had a sense of humor.

She clinically checked my IVs, nodding her head, punching each bit of information into her electronic notebook. Setting it aside, she lifted up the itchy sheet. Then I saw why I couldn't move my hands. They were strapped to the bed. She pretended not to care when she touched my hand, but she did; I felt it. A corner of hope pooled inside me-- someone in these walls gave a shit about what happened to me. She felt something. 

She took my blood pressure then she lifted the sheet, and it bunched at my waist. The cool of room hit me, and she pressed the cold stethoscope to my chest. I shivered. 

"Take a deep breath... now let it out," she instructed, pulling down the sheet further. Fuck. I didn't even rate a shitty hospital gown. She modestly covered me up again. 

She ducked into the bathroom, measuring my fluids. I could hear her dump out the urine in the toilet then flush. 

She washed her hands and came back, taking my temp. 

"Would you like a sip of water?" she asked after she punched in more data. 

I nodded-- God, would I.

She helped raise my head; her hand cradling on the back of my neck. I took one hard gulp. My throat clenched.

"Slowly," she coaxed, and I swallowed twice more. 

"How long have I been here?" I managed to ask. 

"Almost two weeks." 

The words stuck in my head like darts. Two weeks in and out of nothing. Two weeks flat on this bed, spinning from one tangled nightmare to another. Two weeks. 

She gave me a few more sips. My throat thanked her-- I actually smiled.

Then my stomach gurgled. 

"Want something to eat?" she asked.

Food becomes Nirvana to you when your only nourishment comes one drop at a time from clear plastic bag. God, I needed to get my stomach lining off my backbone. 

"Yes, I would, but..." I closed my eyes. How had my life become so fucked up? I was afraid to eat. He was waiting for me. What would happen as soon as Shackleton knew I was coherent? Now that I was drinking and eating...

This was some kind of fucking mind game-- otherwise, why restrain me? I was too weak to move. I didn't even want to think about why I was naked.

"I'll get you something bland." 

She left. 

I almost called after her and asked her not to leave. The room was cold, and I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. Sudden violent tremors possessed my body. I tried to still my shaking, but my body refused to listen. I wasn't sure how much blood they'd siphoned. I reasoned the chill was probably physiological. Better thinking I was racked with cold from thin blood than shaking with fear wondering what Shackleton would do to me.

When she came back, I was still shivering. She wrapped me in scratchy warm blankets and fed me nasty oatmeal without any brown sugar. It tasted like heaven. She scraped some off with her spoon that I'd dribbled on my chin. 

"That's enough," I said, shivering again. "Thanks."

I felt like a one-year-old being spoon-fed. Damn.

"What's your name?" I managed. Might as well make small talk. Better than thinking.

She hesitated. "Angela-- Angela Bowes."

"So, " I asked, "how long am I in for?" Bad question. But I needed to see her reaction. 

I didn't like it.

Her brows furrowed and nose wrinkled a hair. She touched my hand-- I saw her thoughts: You're not ever leaving.

I thought, what a stupid question, you fool. No one like me leaves this place.

I stared at the wall behind her. White glossy paint on stucco. Nothing on the walls. Not even a chart. Plain.

Then I met her eyes. 

"Why are you here?"

She twirled her hair silently for a moment, deciding if she should answer me, then she tipped her head. A small confirmation. 

"I owe the Community. At least I owe Fredrick Rogers my life and my family's life. I came here to pay the debt."

"That's why you work here as a nurse?"

"No, I could work anywhere for the Community in any capacity. But I am a nurse. I chose this."

"But why? I m-mean--" my teeth chattered, "you're a good person, why would you want to be part of this?"

"What if I wasn't here with you today? There would be some one else instead-- someone who either might not care or someone cruel."

I guessed, forcing herself to watch people converted to vending machines was a testament to the type of soul she was. Empathetic. Honest. Kind. She did care. She'd tell me. As much as I didn't want to hear the truth, I had to know. 

"Could you be straight with me then? Tell me what to expect?"

"I was told, as soon as you were awake to give you your first injection..."

"Injection?"

"Yes, I have it here," she patted the front pocket of her smock. "It's the serum-- he's already used it on himself, but he wants it injected into you also."

"You mean Shackleton?" I asked, and she nodded in return. "Why?"

"Probably to make you stronger, so they can draw more blood-- make more serum." She hesitated.

"And?"

"There's so much I don't know. Usually we just use serum we have stored. This was made from what was drawn from you. Dr. Shackleton's orders. I don't know why that was necessary-- I only know that you're not the same as the others. They're interested in you." 

"Does he know I'm awake yet?"

"No, I haven't told him. But I'll have to soon."

Her voice quaked, betraying her disdain for Shackleton. She knew he was dangerous. No sense putting her at risk, too.

"Give me the serum."

She reached in and pulled out the syringe; I fixed my eyes on the needle emptying into my IV. 

As it leaked in, a warmth spread up through my arm to my heart, and then in red hot ribbons the serum coursed through the rest of my body. I tasted the roses in the back of my throat, and my cock hardened. A stiff dick and a decatheter-- not on my list of turn ons. It pulled. My eyelids were heavy and my heart, my head wanted Sid. I whispered his name. 

I felt Angela checking my pulse again.

I was dizzy-- the lights exploded in my head just like my first days in the garden. Just like then, I lost consciousness and dreamed...

I was back in Sid's apartment-- our first night together. Sid's chicken casserole clattered from my hands to the table. Vanilla candles burning, Sid had me pressed down on the dining room table, digging my backside into its edge as his cock ground delightfully into mine. He sucked on my tongue trapped between his teeth. I groaned. Instead of pulling back this time, he reached for my jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding his hand around my cock, stroking me slowly. I buckled beneath him as his hand milked me, and I whimpered into his mouth. I let him push me flat onto the table. He released my tongue.

I had another chance. I told him now. This time, I whispered, "I love you" into his ear. 

Then suddenly we were in the garden, my jeans thrown aside in the dirt, and Sid's cock was inching inside me, expanding me. His hand moving urgently around my length, swelling me-- 

I knew this was just a dream, but it felt so real-- so good. Sid felt real-- his musky precome and sweat spilling through my pores. He drove into me harder. I felt myself flushing. As he thrust into me deeper, he came. I called his name over and over, telling him how much I loved him, weeping into his neck. Maybe he could hear me, maybe he could feel me in his dreams. Please, I wanted that-- to be back with him.

Then I heard a knocking, and I felt a cold jolt. One of those sudden lurches, bringing me from a dead sleep to wide awake, leaving me sick and abandoned. 

I opened my eyes, and there he was, Shackleton, standing next to my bed-- moving the covers off me. His face and body healed-- no longer scarred on the outside, but his inside was a teaming mass of depraved infection. 

His eyes rested on my cock, still hard from my dream and the serum. I slunk back down into the unforgiving mattress. 

"Get the fuck away from me," I choked as Shackleton reached out his hand to paw at me. Another hand snatched his arm, yanking it away.

Trent.

"That's enough," he said. 

Angela was on the other side of the bed, and she pulled the sheet and blanket back up under my chin. I felt like kissing her.

"It's not enough. We've got to make him talk-- find out how he does it."

I didn't quite understand what he meant. Does what? Heal others? Move objects?

"What's the matter?" I said. "Isn't the super-serum you make doin' it for you asshole?"

It happened so fast, Trent couldn't stop him. He hit me hard in the mouth. I spat my blood back at him. Trent grabbed him, slamming him into the bathroom door. 

"Trent, you're going to regret ever fucking touching me," he hissed. "And you..." he said to me, "you will never see your precious boyfriend again. The Community will let me do to you what ever I see fit. If you were smart, you'd be nice to me."

I took what be nice meant was that I should let him fuck me. I'd rather be dead.

He slammed out the door. Angela shifted her weight from side to side at the foot of the bed, and Trent watched after him, gripping my mattress.

"Nice guy," I said.

"If he comes in here without me, call me right away," Trent told Angela, and she nodded. Just how fast could he get to my room? I hoped pretty fucking fast.

"How's your mouth?" he asked.

"I've been hit a lot harder. Coward. Hits me when I'm tied up." I pulled at the restraints. "You couldn't do something about these, could you? It's nice that you want to come in and save me, but don't you think I'd have a better chance if I could at least try to fight back?" 

I pulled against the straps on my wrists again. Trent's mouth twitched, and he scratched his cheek.

"I'd like to, but I can't. They don't want you getting up and out of here."

"Like I'm in any condition to just walk out. And I'm so fucking dangerous. It's not like I'm Jackie Chan, and I gonna kick ass escaping. How would you like it being tied to a bed while a psychotic pervert ogles your privates?"

"I'll see to it he doesn't get in here."

"Like you protected me a moment ago-- or before," I said. "I'm reassured... Shit."

"What would you prefer? Let Shackleton kill Sid? He intended on taking you without my help that day. I didn't know until that morning he had the Community's backing. Then I had no choice. I had to do it."

"And Sid is unharmed? He's going to stay safe?" I asked. 

Trent shot me those stone eyes and answered, "Yes, he's safe."

"Touch my hand," I said. "Prove it to me." He hesitated a moment, then his hand rested on mine. I thought of Sid. I ate the grief, letting it fill my empty stomach-- keeping it hidden down there. No way I was going to let him know how bad I hurt. 

"He's going to stay safe. Swear," I said.

He blinked. 

"Swear," I repeated.

"I swear."

I closed my eyes. He'd keep his word. Sid would stay safe. I'd like him to swear he'd keep me safe, but that wasn't something he could promise and keep. He read my thoughts exactly. 

"The Community wants Shackleton's help, but they won't condone him beating or molesting you. I'm here to make sure he doesn't harm you. They need you in one piece. The problem is, the serum they made from you isn't working the way they thought it would. They thought it would mimic your abilities. Instead, it works the same as our other serum-- no different."

"So, they need to find out how I do it? How do they intend to do that?" My head ached so much my teeth hurt.

"Not sure. But they've got experts with theories-- and they want more than theories. They want to know how you heal others and move objects. Some of the Community think you're a dangerous person. That's another reason for those restraints. There are some who've had a theory all along about your abilities. One person it particular was sure the serum won't work. Now they're starting to listen to him instead of Shackleton."

I closed my eyes. God, I was having difficulty following Trent's explanations. 

"I don't feel dangerous," I said, then I lost consciousness.

-----------------------------------

I heard voices-- Shackleton's, Trent's, and some voices I didn't know. One person sounded familiar. My mind was shaking the mist so I couldn't quite place who it was. 

I could pretend to be out cold still, but I didn't see a purpose-- so I opened my eyes. 

He stood beside Trent, leaning-- left leg crossed over the right. He nodded and smiled at me, reciting this:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand And Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour

"Dr. Deal," I said, "I didn't know you fancied poetry."

Attention all on me now. 

"That poem is what you're all about my boy," Deal grinned. "Seeing the universe in the simplest things. All things--all sciences. Your parents were bioastronomers. They weren't innocents-- they knew who, and what you were."

"And what am I?"

"More dangerous than an H-bomb. Kind as a kitten. Naive as a two-year-old."

"That's not very flattering," I remarked. 

"I think it is flattering, very flattering," he responded, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Bioastromony was just a hobby of theirs-- not a career. Kind of like Sid's parents delving into crystals."

"You say that like it's blasphemy."

"Yeah," I continued, "it is. A bunch of New Age hocus pocus-- just a bunch of sciences all rolled into one. They searched for intelligent life outside in the universe. I don't believe in it. Extraterrestrial life! More New Age crap."

"No, they were serious scientists."

"They were my parents. My father was a family doctor, for Christ's sake. I knew just how serious they were about their hobby. So, you have me here, tied to a bed-- why? And for what? Because my adopted parents were Carl Sagan wanna-be's? Or maybe I'm an alien life form and don't know it. Seriously, what do you think I am? What do you think I'll do? Close my eyes and make the Universe disappear?" I asked.

Alarm crept into couple of the stiff white shirts' faces. They stepped back. 

Shit.

"Wes, you don't know just how close you came to the truth," Deal said.

I laughed. 

"Oh my God, The truth is out there. What is this? An X-Files convention?"

"Wes, what do you think happens when you heal yourself?"

"I don't know. I'm no scientist."

"I think you do know. I think you've known pretty much how it all works from the beginning, you just don't want to admit it to yourself."

I thought he was giving me a whole lot more credit than he should. I had no clue.

"I found heaven right under my nose. Mom and Dad used to joke about bioastronomy. Know what I think? Universe? I don't need no stinkin' Universe. I have a rose. Eureka! The answer is there. Look, Mica's stuck right in my wrist, little thorns! Oh yeah, and I bet William Blake's related to me, too."

"Well, you're part right," he said.

"I knew I was related to Bill."

"The rose is important, but it's not the Universe-- not even close." He scooted closer to me on the bed and put his hand over mine. "And you're an alien."

"You're cracked. I was right about you-- working at a nudist colony has over-exposed your brain."

"Tell me what it's like when you heal," he said. 

"Why the fuck would I tell you anything? If what I have is so damn dangerous, I sure as shit don't want any psychotic having the power." I stared directly at Shackleton.

He sneered at my comment, puffing up as he stepped next to my bed.




Failing Upward Ch. 09



"You little fuck. Do you think these people give a rat's ass about what happens to you or how they get their precious power?" he asked.

No, I didn't. I had no delusions about any of them. As Peter's finger brushed the top of my hand, I knew he'd seen Sid, and I knew he was here to help me. I didn't know why he wanted to-- right now I didn't care just as long as he got me out of here.

"I know you can see into me right now," said Deal, ignoring Shackleton. "But there's something else that sets you apart. Why don't we do this in reverse-- I'll tell you what's happening inside you and see if I'm right." 

I closed my eyes. Maybe they'd all go away. Count to five.

One.

"When you touch someone, you become part of them. Connected. But what you do comes from outside yourself. You pull it in and use this power. What happens to time when you do this? I'll tell you what--"

Two.

"I think you alter time. Turn it back. You aren't really healing, you're taking your body back to a time before it was injured and restoring it. I think this is what all the healers do-- "

Three.

"--only you can do this outside of yourself. Shift ahead-- move an object; heal Sid-- move back."

"Nice theory." 

Four.

Damn, that made sense. Of course there was no fucking way I could know if he was right. I kept my my eyes closed. I clenched my fists. 

Five. 

I wished them all out of the room. 

I opened my eyes. 

Nope. They were all still there. Relax. I needed to be sure and relax. I practiced the breathing Peter used on me. You know-- exhibitionist hypnosis in three easy lessons. Breath in and out. Slowly. 

"Leave," I whispered. "Be gone." 

Rats. They all still stood around me. 

In back of Trent, the door slowly opened, and no one walked in. I'd done it. I opened the door.

"I'm tired," I yawned. "I think it's time for all of you to go."

--------------------

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Angela tried for the third time to find a good vein to start a new IV, slapping my wrist with two fingers to get my veins to pop. Time to give the gift of life again. 

I used to give during the Red Cross blood-drives two or three times a year. My veins never collapsed before. She jabbed the needle in for another try. No luck. I don't think I'll give at a drive ever again.

"I'll try one more time." I looked away this time as she stuck me. She sighed with relief. Found one. 

Before she hooked me up completely, I risked asking to use the bathroom. I hoped she'd let me go. After making me suffer digging for veins, I thought I might stand a chance. I'd beg. Look sad. Maybe whine. Nothing more degrading than pleading for permission to take a shit, but I felt desperate to get out of these restraints. 

"Angela. I need to... you know... Ah, do you think I could use the toilet?"

Math equations. She was adding and subtracting pros and cons in her brain while I gave her my best pathetic puppy eyes.

"I promise I won't try to get away... just let me up and go," I pleaded. 

It worked. She started undoing the restraints. 

"Thanks."

"Good thing Dr. Shackleton ordered the video camera removed in this room, or I'd couldn't do this--"

She leaned over me and unstrapped the other side. My arms felt disconnected as I raised them-- I watched my hands open and close like Frankenstein, thinking they weren't even my hands.

Now to sit up. My legs felt detached too-- like the ghost limbs amputees feel that aren't there. I managed to stand on my first try without Angela's help. With my bladder-baggie strapped to my leg, I wobbled ahead. Still Angela stuck close beside me. I was unsteady, but my legs worked on automatic. Surprising how well I walked after being flat on my back for over two weeks.

She shut the bathroom door behind. Good. At first I thought she was going to follow me in-- times like these I needed privacy and plenty of reading material. 

No reading material here. 

After I finished, I washed my hands and got a close look at myself in the mirror. Circles under my eyes and pasty complexion. I scratched the black scruff on my chin-- never could grow a descent beard. As I traced my fingers up to my temple, it struck me like an off-loaded semi-trailer, why would a man obsessed with taking pictures of me remove a video camera from my room? 

So no one else could see. 

I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. Sure fucking burns when strawberry jam toast and oatmeal comes out your nose. 

"Are you all right?" Angela asked, knocking at the door.

No, I wasn't. I recollected Shackleton's touch and heaved again. So much for breakfast.

My hands shook on the cold porcelain sink as I pulled myself up. Turning on the cold tap, I splashed the icy water in my face. God, I'd wanted outta of here. 

Time to quit avoiding. Pushing Shackleton out of my mind wasn't going to make him go away. I couldn't count on Trent to watch his every step. Angela wasn't on duty 24-7. And I hadn't seen Peter again in the last few days. Sooner or later Shackleton was going to get me alone. No cameras-- no witnesses. 

I turned off the tap, unrolled some toilet paper and blew my nose.

"Fine, just peachy," I mumbled, wiping my mouth. 

Dang, does any one say 'just peachy' anymore who isn't gay? Fuck it. What do I care what Angela thinks? Not like she hasn't heard me moaning Sid's name. If she hasn't figured out from that, well... 

Avoiding again. Why? In this place, I had only myself. 

If Shackleton smelled fear in me, I might as well just spread my legs and let him fuck me like a whore. I had to use the same weapon my uncle did years ago; I had to emasculate the son of a bitch. Taunt him, tell him he couldn't get it up for Aphrodite. Stand up to him (yeah, like I could do that being strapped to a bed). 

Problem was... how to do it? What could I say to him that would castrate the sucker?

My hands were ice cubes. I ran the hot water, warming them.

Angela knocked at the door.

"I'll be right out..."

My breath steamed the mirror, clouding my reflection-- kind of a metaphor of what I was in this place, a fuzzy non-person. Maybe if I wrote my name on the mirror I'd be a person again. Practice my own form of empowerment. 

Abracadabra, I'm Wesley Grant, and I'm somebody. 

"What am I gonna fuckin' do?" I blurted, pressing my forehead on the cool glass. I could tap my heals three times and say, "there's no place like home." Trouble was, no ruby slippers.

I had to get home on my own. I had to find his vulnerable spot before he found mine. As much as I hated the idea of him touching me, letting run his hands over me was the only way I would find his weakness. Only then could I see into him then.

The back of my throat burned. How could I choke back the fear with his hands on me when I couldn't even swallow it alone here in the bathroom? 

Angela tapped at the door again. I didn't want her to get in trouble, better go back. I took a deep breath, and turned the knob. Taking three shaky steps, I walked back into the room.

I lay back down on the bed. She chewed her lip as she refastened the restraints, not as tight as before, but not loose enough to get free. Maybe she should have left me harnessed to the bed. My stomach knotted as she strapped me back in-- sometimes knowing what other people feel about me hurts. Causing other people pain sucked.

Having the taste of bile in my throat wasn't helping either. 

I felt the questions in her head. She was wondering what happened to me in the bathroom. She was pretty damn close to being right. Confirming her suspicions would only make her feel more responsible for me and hurt her more than she was hurting now. I closed my eyes. Please, don't ask. 

She buckled the other side, but before she left, she squeezed my hand. There was kind of a finality to her closing the door. I couldn't expect help. Facing Shackleton was going to happen. I couldn't give him power over me. I decided to try some of that self-hypnosis clap-trap Peter and Sid had both used on me. Breath slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Imagine some place safe and peaceful. 

I tried to think of an oasis. Only one place where I felt safe. Like in all those corny country music songs, I only felt safe in the arms of the one I loved. 

I rested my aching eyes and slept. Keep me safe, Sid.

-----------------------------

I lost track of time again after that day. I don't know how much blood I donated. A haze descended over me. The world became cramped and tight. 

Finally, time became separated again, and I could string thoughts together. It was the serum; they were building me up to take me down. I had nothing to think on but my situation so I decided to spin 'what ifs' through my mind. It seemed preferable to staring at bumpy white walls and dwelling on how hard the bed was. I'd live a few moments in the past-- think of what was, and what wasn't. Like Frankie, "regrets, I'd had a few." 

If only I'd been brave enough to face what I was years ago. 

If only.

Maybe regretting the wasted time and the life I could have had with Sid wasn't constructive but self pity was preferable to thinking about Shackleton. 

I sighed. Now, it was possible I'd never get a chance to "travel each and every by way" like in Frank Sinatra's song. Frankie and Sid. God, I remembered Sid's first kiss to "Strangers in the Night." 

I intentionally ignored all Sid's hints years ago. Soft smiles. Light touches. Aching to win me, watching my shows-- always approving and forgiving. Like the night I soaked him in beer. I tripped over this amp cord, and fell, splat, off stage on to his table. Glass and bottles everywhere, drenching poor designated driver Sid in beer. Of course, bad luck reigned; we got pulled over by the police that night-- the officers hauled him in. When he said, "Someone spilled beer on me," (not even looking at me) they laughed in his face. In the station he blew a 0.00 on the breath-o-lizer. The arresting officers were flabbergasted that he'd told the truth. 

Then there was that night two years ago college preppies taunted him in between sets at Mac's Place. They threw cold fries and squirted Hunt's ketchup from those cheap red plastic bottles at him. Called him "faggot" and asked him how many dicks he sucked a week. Instead of sticking up for him, I left the table when they asked if he sucked mine. I still hated myself for that, leaving him that way. I hurt him that night. It took me years later to realize getting up and walking away that night hurt me more.

Now, I hurt just recalling him. It was bittersweet thinking of his biting kisses and the hollow of his throat. I anguished over Trent's promise to keep Sid safe. I'd given up all hope of Peter showing up and saving me. I'd waited days for him to reappear. Nothing.

In the midst of my daydreams, I heard the door open and my heart pounded like it did every time, thinking Shackleton would come through the door. Instead, Peter waltzed through the door alone. No Angela. No tag-a-longs. 

"I feel right at home here." He sat on the edge of my bed, patting my knee. "You're dressed like all my regulars."

"Yeah," I frowned. Couldn't he do better than a nudist camp joke? "Not my choice of attire, I'm afraid. Sheets, and its not even a toga. Not really my color either." I kicked at them with my feet. 

"I suppose you know why I'm here..."

"Well, I was hoping I read you right," he said. "But I was beginning to think I was wrong."

"Getting someone out of this place unnoticed isn't an easy task, dressed as you are does raise some complications. Not a big problem-- I've got that covered. The main stumbling block was Trent-- took me forever to get him out of the way. I managed to send him off on a mission today. Now's the time. We may not get another chance."

"You mean right now?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not this second. I have a few distractions to create yet."

I frowned, Trent not being around also gave Shackleton the run of the place. I hoped he was on Deal's list of distractions.

"You sure you can't get me out of here now?"

"This isn't Hidden Hills. Walking out of here in your birthday suit no matter how cute your ass is, isn't going to cut it."

I blushed. He gave me one of his crooked grins. He started to stand.

"I'll be back with some clothes. For now, listen to me. Can you get dressed if I leave the clothes with you?"

"Yeah, I can manage. They pumped me up with that serum earlier."

"I have to disable the video in the main hall and the stairwell. I only have a small window of time without raising much suspicion. There will be a closet unlocked in the hallway. Go in it and hide until I come back. It wouldn't take more than ten minutes. I'll come get you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll be as fast as possible."

He looked down at me and sighed. 

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

He shrugged and thrust his hands in his pockets. 

"I owe this to Sid. For some reason he thinks you're the most important person on earth, and since I think he's pretty damn important too, I want to see him happy. Then there's Glenda who happens to love you. And I didn't have anything going this week-- kind of dead at the old nudist camp." 

"Thanks. This can't be easy going against the Community." 

"I don't owe the Community my loyalty. And don't thank me yet. Wait until you're out of here." 

-----------------------------

I couldn't sleep-- not even if I downed four bottles of Nyquil or a handful of sleeping pills. 

I waited. And counted. Not sheep. I didn't count the wrinkles in the sheets either. I thought of counting all the men Lynn fucked that I knew, but I was hoping that Peter wouldn't be that long. Instead I counted kisses. True-- a dorky time filler, but I was a dork afterall. 

I began by compartmentalizing kisses. Some had subtle differences-- Mom's comfort kisses for skinned knees were awfully close to her so-sorry-your-girlfriend-dropped-you kisses. And how do you define some of them? Shit, the way Sid sucks a tongue should be sold like Viagra. 

I stared at the white ceiling, counting Mrs. Robert's kiss on graduation day. How do I categorize that? I remembered her peck, light on my cheek as my knuckles turned white gripping my mortar board. She thanked me for being her number one poet in her Creative Writing. 

As I spackled in the pits in the ceiling above with my brain, I silently thanked her back. 

I counted all Sid's kisses-- bruising and soft. Kind and hard. And I counted on being able to steal countless more from his lips-- if only Peter would show up soon and get me out of here.

I was counting grandma kisses when the door opened.

Finally I was getting out of here. 

Then Shackleton stepped in. My eye started to twitch-- fucking nervous spasm. Always happens when I got stressed and tired. 

He braced the old wooden chair under the door knob and turned, facing me. I closed my eyes and counted, but not kisses. Instead I counted to get myself under control. I had to go to a safe place and stay calm. I imagined Sid-- his hands massaging my temples, pulling me close. 

Relax. Relax.

Eye, stop twitching.

I heard Shackleton's feet scraping across the floor. Closer and closer.

"Open your eyes. Don't you want to see your next fuck?" I felt the sheet move, then he picked it up and flung it off me. 

I opened my eyes, staring at him hard. His eyes scraped over my body like jagged glass. 

"We can't have this," he said, tugging at the catheter. 

"Fuck, that hurts, you ass hole," I yelped as he yanked it out. He ripped the bag off taped my leg and threw across the room. Urine splattered out of the tubing all over the sheet and the crotch of his pants. 

"Scream. Yell," he taunted. "Call out to your buddy, Trent. No one will come. They're all staying away. They don't care. It's just you and me Wes. Time to get acquainted..." He pulled the familiar syringe out of his pocket. "Want a fix?" 

"Sure," I answered. 

He frowned. He didn't expect that answer from me, but reverse psychology didn't work. He plunged the needle into my IV anyway, rubbing my wrist with his thumb. My stomach lurched. Then in an instant I felt euphoric. That damn serum. 

I looked at my pee on his nice pressed slacks and laughed. 

"Piss on you! That's all your getting outta my dick." He looked into my eyes, face turning red. That worked-- not my comment, but my hysterical mocking laughter. Didn't matter that I forced it. My eye twitched, and he smirked. In an instant he jumped on the bed, knee slamming my chest and knocking the wind out of me. His ankle rubbed against my cock-- 

Fucking roses. I was hard. Not good. 

One of his hands clutched my throat. Not tight enough to cut off my wind, but tight enough to make me dizzy. At least I couldn't vomit if he was strangling me.

Talk. Quick, while I still could.

"What's the matter?" I rasped. "Can't get it up? This is a chronic problem for you, isn't it? Hey, Sid knows this herbalist... " his hand crushed my throat, and he dug his knee into in my sternum. Fuck that hurt. 

"I don't have a problem," he hissed. 

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, happens to a lot of people. I heard eating too much red meat causes impotence. How much do you eat? Maybe you should cut down. Or maybe take a little ginseng and you might be able to get it up-- if you're lucky," I choked, trying my best to giggle. It was working. 

He let go of my neck and clamped his hand over my mouth. 

Now would be a good time for Deal to come back.

He started unfastening his jeans with his other hand. This wasn't going well.

Shit. 

He moved his knee from off my chest and slid down, shoving it between my legs. He took his hand off my mouth. I only had one shot.

"Pretty pathetic that you can only get your rocks off messing with someone who can't fight back. What sport is there in that?" 

His eyes narrowed, then the corner of his mouth raised. His hands went for the straps on my right hand.

"I wanted to flip you over anyway."

I kept silent. I didn't want to do anything that would make him change his mind about freeing my wrists. 

Right hand free. Then the left. 

I reached up to grab him, but his upper body spun me over with out much of a fight on my part. He body slammed himself on top of my back, wrestling with my hands and pressing my face hard into the mattress.

He told me once, life for him was flat without pain. Maybe it was time to make his world round again.

As his hand covered my mouth and nose, I sunk my teeth into his hand, and I gagged as his blood filled my mouth. 

His body crushed me; I gasped for breath. What crushed wasn't the weight of his body, but the weight of his nature. Like some dense black hole, his specter sucked me in. He struggled to get hold of my hands and wedge them behind my back. I squirmed, twisted, kicked and bit. Desperate, I reached both of my hands in back of my head for his face-- this had to work. My thumbs blindly felt for his eye sockets, then feeling his lids, I dug both of my thumbs in. White hot wires seared from my brain to my spine, and I willed myself to push the pain I felt into him. The resistance my thumbs met was more than his flesh and blood. There was a dank pit in Shackleton. Now I filled it with every raw nerve ending I could seduce. In through my thumbs, I stabbed my pain into him. 

Take that, you sick fuck. 

He screamed. He shrieked. The man who'd forgotten pain now remembered what he hadn't felt in over one-hundred years, repayment for all the suffering he'd inflicted on others.

His hands flew to his eyes. I shoved him as hard as I could, and I jumped off the bed, legs wobbling. I looked back to see him on the floor, clawing at his eyes.

I ran for the door. 

As I kicked the chair aside, my toe cracked. I knew I broke it, but I felt no pain. I wondered if I transferred his inability to feel to me, but as I frantically tried unlocking the door, I felt it throb. I was never so relieved to feel pain in my life.




Failing Upward Ch. 09



My gory fingers slipped on the knob again. Shit. 

He swore. Blindly pulling himself up to stand, he heard me at the door. He stumbled toward me. 

I couldn't get the fucking door unlocked. My hands kept slipping.

Open. open. open. 

He lunged at me.

It turned, and I was out, dragging the chair through the doorway with me. I was in luck-- through just in time. The door slammed shut, and he hammered against the other side. I took a quick look in back of me, no one was coming down the hall. He was right-- no one cared about my cries-- too bad they weren't mine. 

I wedged the doorknob through the chair's slats, driving a sliver into my palm. He turned the knob and pulled. I spun the chair legs across the door jam, preventing it from opening. Christ, the man was fucking strong. Shackleton yanked, and one of the legs snapped on the chair. His hand groped through, trying to find out why the door wouldn't open. He shook the chair, trying to work it around and loose.

"When I get a hold of you, there'll be not light, no hope," he hissed. "Your life from now on will be one long agony and I'll be there to make it Hell."

I turned and ran. 

Suddenly I heard voices in the hallway to the left. God, Deal said to hide in the closet. I tried to open the door on my right. Locked. Yeah, but which fucking door was it? There were over ten in the hallway. My luck he hadn't even unlocked it yet.

"Get in here now!" Shackleton hollered. He heard them coming too. He pressed his head through the crack in the doorway. "Grant's escaped!"

My hands slipped on the next door handle. Locked again.

"Get him!" he screamed.

I ran across the hall. 

"Please open," I begged, as it swung free. I wiped the door knob. The dark, musty linen closet smelled like salvation. I scrambled inside, shut and locked the door behind me. 

Feet pounded past the door and muffled voices filled the hall. I took three deep breathes then I felt around in the dark for a place to hide. Shelves, sheets, towels and a light switch. Just a small closet. This must be the one Peter told me to hide in. Hide? I scraped my back flat against the rough stucco. Useless. All I could do was stand and hope no one opened that door.

I could see now why Sid hated the dark. I was tempted to turn on the switch, but I was afraid someone would see the light go on from under the door. I was shaking. Fuck. Where was Deal?

I listened. I heard Angela yelling, "Take him to the infirmary." 

"He's some where close," said Shackleton. "Find him." 

Then I heard someone else yelling, "You check this hall, and we'll go down the others." 

Keys jiggled and doors were opening. They were searching the rooms in this hall way. They were opening every door. Shit, nowhere to hide and nowhere to go. They'd take me back to that room-- back to Shackleton.

I balled my fists. I was trapped, but at least I'd put up a fight. I heard a key clang at the closet door. The tumbler clicked, and my door slowly opened. 

I held my breath. I was staring in Angela's gray eyes, and I didn't know whether to kiss her or to leap past her. I unclenched my fists and blinked. She flipped the light switch and said, "No one in here." She gave me a curt look then snapped the light back off, stepped slowly back and shut the door in my face. 

She turned the key behind her. I stood listening as she unlocked the next door, then the next. And when all was quiet, I pulled one of the blankets off the shelf next to me, and I wrapped the scratchy wool snug around me. I sighed as my back scraped down the wall, sitting heavy on the floor. Putting my head on my knees, I cried huge tears of relief.



Failing Upward Ch. 10



Trapped in the closet. Eye sockets puckered and seeping, he saw me. In the dark, he saw me. Blind and all seeing like one of the Graeae, who passed an eye between them, he saw and devoured me. Scalpel in his hand, he cast me into the musty sheets. I had no trick like Perseus to escape, no room to move. His clammy hands all over me, his evil countenance oozed into me like his empty orbs. Face sliding off like melting wax, he decomposed, and I turned my head. 

Shackleton's putrid mouth grazed my ear, he kissed it, whispering, "I love you Wesley" as the scalpel pierced the nervous pulse point on my neck. The rotting flesh on his fingers left a trail as they slithered down my chest. He hissed my name again as he drove his decaying body into mine.

I screamed.

"Hey, wake up."

Clamping his hand over my mouth, I jumped. Peter jostled my shoulders, his face square in mine.

"We'll be lucky if no one heard you," he rasped. He switched on the light. My eyes darted around trying to find Shackleton hidden in the closet somewhere-- behind the towels, underneath the blankets. Fuck, it was so real.

"You have to put these clothes on fast. We don't have much time." Then he frowned, grasping my elbow. "Come on, get up."

I fell back as I tried to stand. "Are you ok?" he asked.

"Of course I'm not ok. Fuck." I grabbed the clothes he'd thrown at me and began struggling to shove my legs into the stinky janitor coveralls. "Yuck. You could have at least found something clean... like what you've got on."

"They'd notice you then. No one will look at a janitor twice." 

Stiff from unknown filth, I pulled the coveralls over my hips. 

"Is this some new shade of green?" I asked. Covered in some kind of slop-- ew-w-w, highly gross-s-s. I finished buttoning the front as he handed me an equally grimy hat. I think it once matched the overalls, now it was brown and kaki camouflage. I guess after all I'd been through I shouldn't be too concerned about head lice but...

"I turned the video off in both the lobby and stairwells," he said. "We need to get going. I'll ride down in the elevator with you. I must get off at the lobby. You go to the basement and out the service entrance. As you get off the elevator walk straight down the hall. Turn to the first hall way on the left. You'll see the doors to the service entrance-- they're clearly marked. An old blue beat up Ford truck is out there near the ramp. Get in that. I'm going through the lobby-- I have to check out of the building. Wait in the truck for me. I'll meet you out there." 

He reached in his pocket.

"Here, put these on," he said, handing me a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses with the right ear piece duck-taped.

"Do I look like Buddy Holly?" I whispered.

"Maybe if he was a custodian who never bathed."

"I can't help it-- you gave me these righteous threads, and hey, I've been in a bed for weeks with only sponge baths." 

Peter grabbed the knob. 

"Hmm, sponge baths with Angela. That's not a hardship."

"Well, she's not my type," I said, smelling my armpit. "Why'd you turn off the cameras to the stairwell if we're going out the elevators?" I asked.

"A decoy. They'll think you're going that way."

"Seems like they'd suspect you."

"Believe me, they won't. Long story, I'll tell you after we're out of here." He opened the door. I followed him out, both of us casually walking down the hall. Deal took a parting glance behind him. "How'd you get in that closet anyway? I never unlocked it."

"Someone must have." We turned left down the hallway. No one in sight. 

I didn't think I unlocked the door. But now I wondered. This telekinetic power kind of freaked me. Or was it telekinesis? I thought back to what Deal said about this having to do with me not actually moving the object but altering time-- I wondered how that worked. It didn't seem logical.

Peter stopped in front of the elevator. 

Going down.

The bell rang, and the door opened. We had company.

The guy didn't look familiar. Dressed in street clothes, I decided he was probably no one important. Deal stepped in before me. He nodded at Peter. Deal leaned in to push the elevator button, he hesitated; our visitor was going his way-- the lobby button was already on. Peter stepped to the back of the elevator next to him. I punched the basement button and stepped in the corner on the other side of the elevator.

The fellow standing next to Peter wrinkled his nose at me. These clothes sure did stink. I was kinda glad I didn't know what from...

"Caught him yet?" The man asked Peter. 

I guessed by 'him' he meant me. I looked at him from beneath my hat brim. The guy was balding and about my height. He scratched the shiny spot on the back of his head. 

"Not that I've heard. Just came from Grant's room," Peter said, ignoring me; I was a janitor after all, a non-person.

"We told them we'd have trouble if we brought him here. No one ever listens to psychiatrists. I heard he got free from the restraints with his mind. He blinded Shackleton."

Ahh, so this was a peer of Deal's, a fellow psychologist. And judging from the way he was shifting his weight around, he was worried about me being on the loose. 

"You hear all sorts of crazy rumors," Peter answered.

"So, you don't believe Grant's got powers?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Peter smile. 

"I didn't say that," he stepped ahead to the center of the elevator, then glanced at me. "Our floor." 

My stomach lurched as the elevator stopped, and they both got out. I kept my head down as the doors closed. 

Soon I'd be free.

I looked up. Very unsettling hearing people talk about me and my powers. Next stop basement. As the doors opened, I looked out cautiously. Dark with the haze of florescent lights. Dank basement smell. No movement. All clear. Then I stepped into the corridor, acting like I belonged. A house-keeping cart with a mop and wash bucket blocked the isle, and as I elbowed around it, a man yelled: "Get in here and clean this up!" 

I ignored him and started to walk away. A man stuck his head out of the door in front of me, shaking his Ice Mountain water bottle at me like some teacher pointing a piece of chalk at student for writing on a desk.

"Hey you lazy fuck, get in here with that bucket. We've been paging hazardous wastes forever." 

Fuck, what was I supposed to do now? I rolled the cart ahead of me through the door, trying to look as if I knew what I was doing. I heard the security lock buzz as the door shut behind me. 

I looked at the floor. Just a couple of test tubes. Not like I hadn't mopped before, but hazardous waste? I'd better clean it up fast and get out of here.

The Ice Mountain man had issues. Besides needing to visit a dentist, he had an anger management problem. His face was red, and he was chewing the inside of his mouth. 

"Dumb fucking janitors. Lazy as hell. Look at that trash over there--" He trust the water bottle by my face, just missing my nose. The trash can was pretty full. He uncapped the bottle and gulped down the rest of the water. He took it from his lips and grimaced. "What the fuck you lookin' at?" I jumped back as he kicked at me, just missing my shin. 

"Stupid retard. Over here," and he swung his shoe toward the mess on the floor. "Clean it up. Christ, you'd think we were asking you to perform brain surgery!" He slammed the empty water bottle down on the shelf next to him. The shelf rattled. If he didn't stop, I'd have more to clean up.

The asshole eyed me with contempt for a few more seconds then turned and stomped off. I could walk away, but I he'd hear me go out the door--probably swagger after me if I didn't clean this up-- maybe kick at me again. Didn't need to call anymore attention to myself. Someone might recognize me.

Just my luck.

I snapped on some rubber gloves from the cart and carefully picked up the broken glass. Fuck, at this rate Peter'd beat me to the truck. If I didn't show soon, he'd risk coming to find me. All I needed was to be responsible for another person getting hurt. I hurried. I was dropping the bits of glass in the cart's waste receptacle when I noticed the label. Neatly written on one shard of test tube was the name Grant. 

Shit, it was the serum! My serum, made out of my blood. Now, that was the hazardous waste.

Then I scrutinized my surroundings. A storage area, and there on the shelf in front me was the serum-- made from my own blood. Shit, I couldn't believe I almost missed it.

I mopped up the rest, then looked around to see if the ass hole was near by. Nope.

I'd never stolen anything in my life--not even candy from of store as a kid. So I wasn't what you call experienced at thievery. But this looked pretty easy-- and even though I reasoned this wasn't stealing since they made it from me, I still had a pang of guilt. Still--

It was for a good cause.

And it was mine.

I decided to steal it.

I took the empty Ice Mountain bottle off the shelf and unscrewed the top. Then I emptied five of the vials into the water bottle and screwed the cap back on. I hastily shoved it in my side pocket. 

I started to put the empty vials back, but then I had a thought. Maybe if I dunked the test tubes in the mop water...

Who would get this serum? Shackleton. I admit I felt a sort of sick satisfaction as I dipped each test tube in the cloudy water and snapped the stops back on. Yeah, this wouldn't make up for what he did to me and Sid, but it would come close. As I put them back shelf, it was pretty apparent they weren't the same. The serum was clear, and the water was cloudy. Why not try some telekinesis? I ran my right hand across the vials. 

Pesto-chango.

I pushed the mop ahead of me, and opened the door. I looked back to see if the ass hole noticed me leaving. No where in sight. 

But on the shelves the vials I'd filled looked clear. 

It worked. Fucking amazing. Next I should try water into wine. 

I was thirsty...

The heard the door's mechanical click behind me, and it was done. I began to get doubts about what I did. After all, who knows what was in that mop bucket? Injected into Shackleton, I didn't care. But what if it wasn't. Maybe I assumed too much. 

I pushed the cart down the hall, then abandoned it around the corner. I rushed down the corridor searching for the service entrance sign. I found the door. There it was in big red letters. I hoped no alarms sounded when I opened it. I held my breath and pushed. 

No sound.

I was never so happy to see sunlight in my life. I jogged across the dock and down the ramp like a colt after a Spring rain. I spotted the blue Ford as I reached the end of the ramp. Peter sat inside. 

I skipped to a halt along the passenger side and hopped in.

"What happened? What took you so long?" he asked, as he turned over the ignition and slipped the truck into reverse. 

I buckled the seat belt.

"I was detained," I said, pulling the water bottle out of my pocket and setting it between my legs. 

"What? You were thirsty?" He stepped on the clutch and put it in drive.

"Not exactly," I said, clutching the bottle. "This is the serum."

He stepped on the gas. 

"It's what? How the Hell did you get that?" The truck lurched into second gear.

"I walked into the lab and took it."

We pulled up to the guard-station, slowed and were waved through. 

"You just took it?"

"You could say it fell into my possession."

He cracked a big grin. 

"Boy, you've got some balls." He looked at me with an bit more admiration then I knew I deserved, but I didn't tell him any different. I decided to let him think that retrieving the serum was a Herculean effort. 

"Ok, so tell me why you did it. Why'd you risk it?"

I squinted my eyes; no excuse, we were driving away from the sun. I swallowed. I was certain he knew the answer already. 

"For Sid."

"I fucking thought so. You're making a mistake."

Now, he was voicing my own misgivings. Leave it to a psychiatrist--

"I'll let him decide. It's not like I'm making up his mind for him." Which was completely true. Since I was tricked into this whole mess, no way was I going to do it to Sid.

"Christ, think about it. You know what his answer will be. He can't say no. He's bound to you. And even if he wasn't, I think he'd still do it to be with you. It's a mistake. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't."

For a psychiatrist, he sure was projecting his own feelings on to me. I rested my head back in the seat. Might as well know where he was coming from. After all, I did want what was best for Sid.

"Why not?" I asked.

"You wouldn't understand." 

Now that wasn't an answer I expected. I sat mute for a few minutes as Peter merged on to the interstate. We were heading east on I-94 away from Chicago. I must have been near Chicago somewhere.

"I wouldn't understand how torn it makes you feel, is that it?" I asked finally. I stared at him waiting for a response. His eyes narrowed. I continued, "How do you think I feel? All I know is if I don't get Sid to become like you, next time Shackleton's tries to kill him, I might not be there to save him."

"I understand," he said, nodding to a woman an SUV he was passing. Three kids were buckled in the back seat. "But I think you're wrong."

"Wrong? About what? Being able to stop him or about changing him into one of us?"

He sighed and scratched his ear. "Both."

"Since when are you Mr. Cryptic? Maybe it's because you still love him and want him yourself."

Shit, I didn't really believe that, but I needed to put him off center. I did know he still cared for Sid. Maybe pointing a finger at him will get him to tell me the truth.

He was quiet. 

"Yeah, I still love him, but that's not it." He glanced over at me for an instant, eyes burning into me.

I guessed I came closer to the truth than I intended. 

"He won't be able to feel pain ever again. You don't know what that's like. It can drive a person crazy. At first, you love the feeling, the euphoria. But years go by and the highs leave. With no pain, you have nothing to gauge pleasure with-- life becomes stale. Dry. Flat. You look for what's new. You want to feel something, anything. There's a part of me that understands Shackleton. I hate that part of me. After a time, there's little you see which is bright and shining. The world becomes dark. Sometimes you'll see a little light."

"Like with Sid?"

He nodded. Shit. 

"A time will come when Sid will feel the same way. He will know you are the reason for this feeling. Blame is not always something you can reason away. He knows it was his choice, but he will always know you are the reason. Understand? He will hate you for offering it to him."

Maybe I didn't want to hear this.

"Like you hate Glenda?"

"Yes, like I hate Glenda. The agony is, I love her too."

"She says you betrayed her, not the other way around. She said you tricked her into making you immortal."

"Yes, it's true. But I held it against her since she had it to give. That's part of the long story I was going to tell you later."

"Why not now? We've got a long ride ahead."

"You need some sleep. I have a feeling you need to talk about more than this, like what happened with Shackleton. But not now. Besides," he said, watching me slump into the seat, "it's stifling in here. You look like shit and smell worse. I'm going to find some out of the way Motel and get a room. Take a nap until we get there." 

No need to argue. I closed my eyes, and I was out.

--------------------------------

I smelled coffee. 

I rolled over. The mattress sunk down in the middle; the pillow smelled like cigarettes. Must be Peter found that roadside motel. I vaguely remember taking a shower and getting into bed. Not much else. 

The sun was filtering through the ugly olive curtains, and I felt a hand brush my cheek. I sat up, smacking my forehead hard into Peter's nose.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said. "Is it bleeding?"

"No. You forget-- it doesn't hurt."

I tried to recall the feeling I got from him as he was touching my cheek. I didn't understand why he was so close. He handed me a cup of coffee. I sipped it. Hot. Very hot. Burned my mouth. He gulped it down like it was iced tea.

"What was that a minute ago?" I asked. I brushed my cheek where he'd touched it. It was wet. 

"You were having a bad dream. Remember?"

"No." Probably better I didn't recall. 

"You were talking in your sleep too." 

I took a tentative sip of the coffee. Better.

"What did I say?"

"Not so much what you were saying-- you were crying. You were asking Sid to forgive you--"

Now he was going to psychoanalyze me. 

Wonderful.

"I see now why Sid loves you."

He was always doing that-- blurting out things I didn't expect. Where the Hell that came from, I didn't know. He sees why Sid loves me? Like I'm so fucking unlovable. I sure as Hell didn't know how to respond to it. Sometimes the best thing to do is to not say anything at all-- put the metaphorical ball in his court. Instead of uttering a word, I took another sip of coffee and watched his face over my Styrofoam cup. 

Silence.

Then he cleared his throat.

"I knew he wanted you even then. But he didn't think he could have you. I wanted him. I still do. Being older, doesn't necessarily make you wiser. I'm still attracted to beauty. That was part of why I wanted Sid. He's honest, sincere. He's handsome, good. But he wanted you. I thought for a while he was infatuated with you; you're beautiful. You've heard it before from your fans and groupies. You have an aura. When Sid would talk about you, I thought it was just wanting what he couldn't have."

"You don't need to explain this to me."

"No, I need to. I didn't want to hurt him. That's why I let him go. That and he really wanted someone else and so did I. What I did years ago to your aunt changed me. I was torn between pleasing my father, and what was right. I chose my father. I lost myself in that decision. If I would have chosen Glenda, life for me might have been different. Would she have asked me to become immortal on her own? I don't know. But she wouldn't hate me."

"I don't understand what this all has to do with me. I'm not deceiving Sid to get what I want. I wouldn't do that."

"Maybe you're deceiving yourself." He sat down on the bed next to me, resting his coffee on his knee.

"Riddles. More riddles. What? Do you think I really don't love him?"

"I didn't say that."

"Fuck, you sound just like Sid. Hey, I know I've had a hard time admitting what I am. I'm gay. That was hard to admit, but I did it. Then Bang! Hey, I'm a supernatural freak show! I can live with that. I opened up my arms and fucking embraced it. I hated it at first. But now, I know it's what I am. Just when I get comfortable with that, I get taken like some experimental lab rat to hideaway where I learn people think I'm some kind of weapon. They think I can alter time and space. If you mean that I'm not comfortable with myself as some kind of space alien, time-altering, side-show-- ok, I don't embrace that. And," I took a deep breath, "if you think I don't really love Sid-- and I mean really love Sid-- you're wrong."

We both stared at each other-- each daring the other to speak. Then he leaned into me. 

His mouth met mine, opening. I found myself returning his kiss. Pressing my mouth into his, tongue moving against mine. Then I bolted back, chest heaving. 

"You're wrong," I said.

--------------------

Less Than Zero

I guess getting injected with serum twice in one day fucked with my libido. That was the excuse I was going with anyway. That and curiosity. When Peter started kissing me, I became like Alice in Wonderland, curiouser and curiouser. I'd never seen into anyone else with that depth ever with the exception of Sid. 

Then when I pulled away from Deal, I was surprised. Not just from the kiss but from what I saw inside him. By now nothing he did, said or thought should be unexpected to me-- but this was. 




Failing Upward Ch. 10



This kissing test had nothing to do with my loving Sid. Test? No, maybe not a test-- more like an experiment. Peter knew I loved Sid, and he knew how much. He'd known before I even admitted it to myself. 

No, this wasn't about love. It was about intimacy and its invasion. Peter's personal experiment to see how intimacy worked in reverse. I'd always believed Sid saw into me. Stupid of me to never come right out and ask. Well, now I knew. Amazing what I learned in one long French kiss.

Espionage ala tonsil hockey.

As for Deal's motive, I knew it now. He didn't want me. Certainly didn't hold any affection for me. Maybe a touch of lust. But he could get sex somewhere else-- he wanted more than just hanky panky. 

From the way I read Deal, physical sensory experiences entwined with extrasensory experiences in my brain's wiring. I already surmised that one on my own. He just confirmed my suspicions; I was hard wired for psychic sex. 

I already knew Sid turned me on, now I knew he tuned me in. 

My lips burned where Peter's mouth crushed mine. Kinda of an internal-combustive penalty for orally betraying Sid. What was I? Easy? Fucking kissed on a vibrating insert-a-quarter bed in a seedy no-tell motel. The thing was, for a millisecond I actually contemplated giving him another long hard smooch to explore the possibilities. 

I touched my mouth and stared at him. 

"You're wrong," I repeated.

Yeah, one more-- strictly for informational seeking purposes.

Deal sputtered, "Hell, I'm wrong."

But he was; he was wrong. I wasn't a human time machine. 

At least not yet.

I was wrong to even let him in. I wouldn't let him look inside my head again.

I scooted away from Deal to the other side of the bed. I was feeling a bit vulnerable-- after all, I was naked. That and Peter crawling across the bed breathing heavy, made me more than a little nervous. Maybe Peter was comfortable with all his nudist clients, but I sure as Hell preferred clothes-- and his sexual misconduct? Wasn't he breaking his Hippocratic oath? 

His did look hot, his eyes flashing as he sided up to me-- patient/doctor ethics be damned. 

Well, he had to know that his little test went both ways. I learned as much as he did. Amazing what I learned from him in that kiss. Although I was afraid what he'd learned from me--

What was I doing? I grabbed the sheets and yanked them up to my neck.

Scary to know Peter had been watching Sid and I for sometime. When he'd hypnotized me, he took a back seat, hoping I'd remember the conversations in the hospital-- with Sid, with Lancaster. Of course Deal intentionally lead me down the faux past life path to see if he was right about what I was. 

You know-- The One.

Judging by the way Deal's hand was touching my knee and moving up my thigh, he was determined to learn more. Friendly necking wasn't going to get him what he needed. 

He was using me on two levels. Personal research and physical release. 

From the jolts sparking from his fingers to my brain, I was on my way to overload. I pushed his hand away. 

How could I have been so stupid? He knew who I was better than anyone else because he knew Sid. Shit, Sid confided in him. Peter Deal, the trusted family friend. I let him in and let him hypnotize me. Peter'd planned this! Some rescue from the depths of the Community. Rescue? Shit, he was at the Adam's Den bathroom the night Shackleton cornered me against the sink. He didn't stop Shackleton-- walked right out and left me. He sure as hell didn't rescue me there.

He'd told Sid he was going to help me-- and Sid spilled his heart out. Sid believed he was helping me. Instead, he was helping Peter help himself to me.

Hey, Sid! Pass one serving of Wesley Grant to the right! 

Sid told him enough to make Peter think I had some kind of power. I didn't blame Sid for confiding in him. Sid didn't understand. Shit, I hadn't understood until now. 

It's like when I listen to Led Zeppelin with Lynn-- I hear every note, every chord: 

Me: Why that's an A minor diminished followed by a D minor seventh. 

Lynn: Gosh, it sounds so depressing. 

I hear every instrument:

Me: The acoustic and electronic sounds integrate. Listen to the piano, viola and synthesizer.

Lynn: Hey! That sounds really cool!

Face it: She hears a melody; I hear the music of the spheres. 

That's what it'd been like for me up to this point-- I was Lynn. I didn't understand what I was hearing. What was happening in my own body was a mystery. Suddenly, I heard; suddenly I saw; suddenly I understood. Could I blame Sid for not understanding when I hadn't understood myself?

Peter had a limited understanding. He knew more than me, (duh-- that didn't take much). Shackleton-- he understood too much. 

I knew others who understood. Les's parents. My uncle.

Peter knew enough just to be dangerous. He wanted to change his past and thought I could do it for him. Well, part of me would like to change time, too--have my parents and Karen alive again for a start. Get to know my birth parents for another. Yeah, and get answers. Maybe understand how I fit in this confusing universe.

Jeez, I'd like to turn back to the time when my worst worry was what color carnations to put in the next floral arrangement. But I had to live with the now. 

Who was I to fuck with time?

Peter leaned into me, trying to kiss me again, his mouth trying to pry mine open. I whimpered, but this time I didn't kiss him back.

"No," I mumbled into his mouth. "No more."

I scrambled up against the headboard, putting more distance between us. He sat back, studying me. Scrutinizing me, was coming on to me again worth another shot? He decide no and kept the few feet between us the same. After all, he wasn't Shackleton; he wouldn't force himself on me. 

Everybody wanted something from me. 

Everyone but Sid.

Deal was like Shackleton in the respect he wanted me more than to just get his rocks off. Fucking me was another way to get power. Neither understood this was more than about sex. Maybe Sid and I hadn't understood much, but we both understood what the secret ingredient was.

"I need to get dressed." I grabbed the sheets, covering myself and stumbled as I climbed out of bed. Shit, I was still light headed. I didn't relish putting on those gross janitor clothes, but it was better than sitting naked in bed next to Deal. 

He stood and walked over to his suitcase, pulling out some jeans and a t-shirt.

Trusted family friend and Sid's ex-lover. 

I didn't trust him even if he did give me clothes.

He placed them on the chair next to me like some peace offering.

"Sorry, I didn't get any underwear. I didn't feel right buying them at the Goodwill." 

I choked back a laugh, not a peace offering, a Goodwill offering. Then I got pissed. So, I only rated a Goodwill purchase? Big spender. And no underwear. Couldn't even go to K-Mart? Figures. I sniffed the jeans and shirt-- at least they were clean. 

He stood there.

"Can I get dressed?" I cleared my throat. 

"Knock yourself out!" Fine. Let him get a cheap thrill watching me. 

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, pulling the shirt over my head.

"You act like I'm an axe murderer. Hey, it's me-- the one that helped you escape. Remember? You act like not one's ever made a pass at you before."

Ok, maybe I was being ungrateful, but I kept my force field up. One thing I didn't get from Deal was where we were going and why. I'd assumed we were going back to the Lancaster's. Now I wasn't so sure.

"Some place out of the way and safe." He stepped forward. "Don't worry, you won't be alone there with me."

"Will Sid be there?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Glenda will meet us there."

"Glenda? Wouldn't she like to know what you just pulled with me."

"And what did I just pull?"

"Cut the crap. We both know why you just tried to get into my pants. So you want to be a god or just want to know what I know?"

"Yeah, kick me for being a shit. But I wanted to find out what it was like. I knew Sid didn't have a clue what was going on in that head of yours," he said, laughing. "Fuck, you don't seem to have a clue either." 

"Well, now you know I don't know shit."

He shut the suitcase.

"Don't give me anymore lectures about giving Sid the serum," I said, walking over the crusty overalls and retrieving the water bottle. "You're so filled with ulterior motives, you probably aren't cognizant of them all yourself."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Maybe I wanted to look deep into those big blue eyes of yours as I made you come."

I plopped down on the chair next to the door, staring at the floor. I didn't need this.

"What about that long sad story you were going to tell me? Was that a load, or do you plan on sharing that? Least you could do after groping me."

"You act insulted. It's an honor to be groped by me. As I recall, you weren't fighting me off-- much," he said, slinging the suitcase over his shoulder. "Fuck this. We need to get going. It's late. I let you sleep too long." 

I picked up the overalls.

"Throw those away," he ordered.

"Ok."

Guess I wouldn't get to role play dirty janitor and the saucy cleaning woman with Sid. I tossed them in trash next to the bed. 

Too bad. A feather duster had possibilities. 

--------------------------

I made the mistake of asking Peter his long sad story, which meant I couldn't escape bouncing up and down in a hot truck cab with no fucking shocks, listening to him go on and on about Glenda, and how he loved her, and the foolish choice he made to give the roses to his father. Oh... my... Gosh... blah, blah, blah, blah, blah-h-h. Jeez, he told me how he wanted to change his life. What a lame excuse for trying to get in my pants! I absently nodded after each comment he made. Oh yeah, like I agreed and believed him. Right-t-t-t. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to make Peter Deal, angst-worn psychiatrist, go away. By now he realized I couldn't and wouldn't do that for him. 

It was interesting to hear him talk about how he fell in love with Glenda, got married and found my uncle buried alive in the sand. Creepy too.

His regrets over Glenda sounded sincere. 

Still--

Enough was enough; I was done listening to Peter Deal's History of the World Part Four. He was driving down I-196 in a construction zone at a crawl, grinding the old Ford's gears to shit, and all I wanted to know was why he was so certain I could alter time. Maybe if I learned the secret, I could alter time and zap the fuck out of this Easy Bake Oven truck and pop into an air-conditioned Caddy. 

Best way to find out was to ask. Until I understood the mechanics, I was as deaf as Lynn was to Led Zeppelin.

Problem was Peter had trouble hearing too. I bet he listened to Country Music, probably Waylon Jennings. 

I only wished he had as much trouble talking...

"I'm no quantum-physicist or bio-astronomer," he explained. "This is how I understand it-- it's like this-- mathematicians have this word for the square root of negative number. You know what it is?"

"No." 

I hated math. I just remembered numbers.

"It's called an imaginary number. Engineers use them all the time. Ask Sid; he knows."

I closed my eyes. I'd love to ask Sid right now. God, I missed him.

"Any objects with real mass travel less than the speed of light. Objects with zero mass travel the speed of light. Now if something had imaginary mass, the object could go faster than the speed of light. That means that object would go back in time." He nudged my shoulder. "Ever watch Star Trek?"

"Yes-- ah, which one?"

Star Trek, Star Trek the Next Generation, Voyager, Deep Space Nine, the fucking Trekkie show with Scott Bakula that nobody watches...

"All of them. Any of them," he continued.

"Um..."

Wrath of Khan, Search for Spock, the Final Frontier, First Contact, and what ever frickin' number nine was... 

"Each version had these particles-- tachyon particles. Those are particles with imaginary mass."

(number nine, number nine, number nine)

"Ok... so?"

Warp speed, communicators, worm holes, transporter malfunction splitting Kirk in two, good and evil...

"That's what you become."

I laughed. 

Good or evil? 

"One giant tachyon? Is that anything like a Klingon?" I asked.

"No, you're millions and millions of tachyons zooming through time."

Follow the bouncing tachyon ball. 

"So I am an alien being," I said, laughing harder. "This is great."

Andorians, Romulans, Betazoids, slutty alien women who all fuck Captain Kirk...

"No, you're part human. Just less human and more alien."

"Fuck. This is crazy. You're crazy."

If I was green and could belly dance, would Captain Kirk grope underneath my veils too? 

"Crazy?" he exclaimed. "So you think humans were part of the primordial soup? We're all aliens."

"You're the one filling Sid's parents with these ideas. Christ."

Crystals... alien crystals. What were they called? Oh, yeah. dilithium crystals! That's what they gazed into at that Nudist Colony or was that in engineering?

That was perfect. I was an imaginary number. Not a one or zero, an on or off button. I was neither. Less than zero. I knew there was a reason why I was treated as a non-person. Now I knew why; I was an imaginary person. I heard Scotty's voice in the back of my head: "Look out Captain! The dilithium crystal's aboot to fracture!"

I decided to become invisible. I closed my eyes again and fell asleep as he drove down US-31, droning on about time travel. I woke abruptly as my head banged against the cab ceiling. It was late afternoon as the truck bounced down a washboard road. Deal took a hard left. The wooded drive dipped down, then up the dunes. I could smell and feel it in the air-- the cool gritty breeze welling off Lake Michigan through the window, making me ache inside. I scratched my scruffy chin, studying this roomy house on the edge of endless sky straight ahead. White poplars and spiky grass poked of the dunes near the porch, deep footprints circling around the side of the house. This was going to be my home for awhile-- the hide out. Not a hardship at all. As we got closer, my heart started pounding in anticipation.

Peter pulled next to a tan Ford Taurus. As I stepped out of the truck cab, bottle in hand, I noticed the cat asleep on the porch. It was Babe. 

I hadn't dared hope for this. Shit, that was I lie. I had hoped. That was why I was anxious.

The front door swung open, and Sid flew out behind, breathing hard. His hair was wet and dripping. Cheeks and shoulders pink from the sun. His neon green swim trunks clung to him. Water trickled down his legs-- making rivulets in the sand stuck to his legs. 

As we embraced, we both held back, each afraid the other would break. He was cold from Lake Michigan; I smelled the lake water on his neck mixed with scent of his sweat. I sucked the heady combination deep into my lungs. 

I couldn't recall the last time I was that happy.

Glenda watched us, forehead pressed white against the screen door. Peter stood near, behind us on the steps, nodding for her to come out. She cautiously opened the door and stepped around us, following him around the side of the house, making new footprints in the sand. 

"You smell so good," I said. "God, I've missed you."

"I ran full throttle up that dune as soon as Glenda yelled down to me that you were coming up the drive," he said, teeth chattering. "Damn, I missed you." He stepped back. "Ah, I'm getting you all wet."

I threw myself into him, pressing him through me. I loved the way my nerve endings tingled and sparked where ever he touched me.

"Like I care about a little water," I said, noticing his shiver. "You're cold."

"It's that icy water. Not so bad when you're in it, but when you get out..."

"Yeah. I know--" I said, "part of that Great Lakes' experience. Wanna go in and put something dry on?" 

He flashed me that lopsided boyish grin. I really was only suggesting he put something dry on, but--

"Sure. I'll have to change if we go into that air-conditioned house. I'll freeze to death in there."

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, pulling he inside. 

The floor plan was open: Kitchen, dining and living area all one huge space. The lofts above and hardwood rafters danced in the reflected light off the lake. The mirrors of Lake Michigan refracted in through the floor to ceiling windows; the expanse sparkled. It was beautiful. Still, I'd rather spend moments looking at Sid as he pulled me through the house. His grin widened, eyes crinkling. I longed to touch the water beaded in his chest hairs. And I longed to trace my fingers across his back, connecting the dots where the sun forced the freckles across his shoulders to stand out. He was more fucking intriguing than any house.

"Shit," he said. "I didn't even ask... are you hungry?"

"Starved, but I can wait here until you change." He saw my eyes rest on the grande piano behind him, and he glowed.

"I knew you'd love it. Isn't it perfect?" he asked, gliding his fingers across the top. "I mean, I'm no musician, but Glenda says it's a really nice piano."

"It's more than really nice; this is an old Steinway." 

Real ivory. I pressed middle C-- rich sound. I wanted to play, but noticed Sid's shivering in spasms.

"You better change."

"Come on, I'll show you our room." He pulled me up the steep stairway, my knees popping with the last few steps. It was like ascending a ladder. 

Then at the top he pushed open the trap door. 

I crawled up behind him, admiring the view. The door banged shut behind us. I could see the lake sparkling through the window behind Sid. His nose twitched. Suddenly, I was afraid. I realized when he made love to me, he'd know. He'd see. Would he want me still after he knew my torments and my frailties? 

Holy Cow, I couldn't let him just see. I had to tell him-- 

I blurted it out--

"I kissed Peter... I mean Peter kissed me... No, I mean, we kissed each other..." 

Sid blinked, his teeth chattering. 

"That came out all fucking wrong," I said, grabbing a hand full of my hair.

I flopped my hands down to my sides and stared at the floor. Now, he knew. He'd open the trap door and throw me down the ladder.

My hand tightened around the water bottle, and I began choking.

"No..." said Sid, cautiously, stepping forward. "It didn't come out wrong. Take a deep breath. It's all right, Wes. Take a drink."

What? Hadn't he heard me? I looked at the bottle absently. 

Fuck.

"That damn Peter," Sid mumbled half to himself. "I wondered when he was pumping me for information if he was being upfront with me." He stretched his arm out and grabbed my wrist. "Are you ok?"

"No," I yanked my wrist from his hand, staring at the Mountain Ice bottle. "I don't deserve you. You don't understand."

He touched my cheek. Why was he mad at Peter and not me? Why didn't he see what an ass I was?

"What happened to you in that place? Shackleton-- that son of a bitch. What did he do? It must have been awful if you had to tell me about Peter first." 

Then he broke down, sobbing into my Goodwill t-shirt. I hugged him close, holding his head tight. I rested my face in his hair, wet from the lake. His chest was cool through my shirt. 

"Avoiding. Always avoiding what's important," he sobbed into my shoulder. "I heard it all... What Shackleton said to you. You went with him to save me..."

"I went with him because I didn't have any choice. Sid, it's not your fault. Stop this."

"You're so thin," he said, pulling back and searching me face. "And-- you need a shave."

We both laughed-- Sid through his tears and me into the water bottle.

"And you're cold as an ice-maiden." I threw my arms around him, listening to him laughing and sobbing. He lifted me off the floor, swinging me up. As he put me down, his bathing trunks slipped down over his hips. I kissed his neck. "Where did you get these blinding neon green swim trunks from anyway?"




Failing Upward Ch. 10



"Wal-Mart," he said, sniffing. "It was funny. We asked where the bathing suits were, and you know what one of the men in those red vests said? 'Go down the end of the isle then turn west.' Turn west! I think Wal-Mart is the only store in America where it's so large they give ordinal directions."

Now, Sid was avoiding. I dug my fingers into his back. 

"You kept me from giving up," I murmured. 

He hiccupped as I dabbed my lips on his. They were blue and chilled from the water and begged to be warmed. 

"I thought of you, how you felt--" I continued, "your heat, your heart, your soul. I got away... I got away because of you." 

I set the bottle on the dresser.

With a long look in his eyes, I moved my hands quietly down his back, to his waist, his hips. The swimming trucks stuck to his body, and I cleverly worked my fingers inside, freeing them from his clammy skin beneath. Oh, how I wanted to feel that skin next to mine and heat it properly. 

He moaned. 

This was all backwards. I was the one who always cried while he consoled. Now, I kissed his tears. I moaned and while he kissed me. Now, he cried out as I nipped at him. 

My lips smiled against his neck. 

Soon he would know everything there was in me. And I wanted it that way.

The sand on his legs stuck to his swim trunks. He stepped out of them-- milky white against his tanned back. My mouth tickled his earlobe then went to warm his lips again. 

"These need to come off," he said to me, unzipping my jeans. They were so loose, they fell to floor. I hadn't realized just how much weight I'd lost. Not that I had much to lose before, but now I was painfully thin. My body was stark and pathetic next to Sid's. I was embarrassed to take off my shirt.

It was like he could see inside me. Well, maybe he could. He took my hands and pulled me to the bed, and as he tugged my shirt over my head he whispered in my ear, "You're beautiful. Fuck me." 

His cool body and hot words sent a jolt through my cock. He pulled me down on top of him across the bed. I kissed the corner of his mouth, working down to his chest. I shimmied the length of him. 

"You fucking tease," he groaned. "God, I love it." He reached under the pillow. "Here, you'll be needing this--" and he threw me the lube. 

"You think of everything," I rasped. But I wasn't quite ready for it yet. First I needed to find out what Sid and sand tasted like together. I thought Sid was going to break apart. 

"I'm going to come right away if you do that," he moaned.

I came up for air and said, "That's the whole point." Then I buried him down my throat again, bobbing my head up and down. Sid's hips spasmed into me, breaths coming in sharp aching gasps. He was right. It wouldn't take much. I wanted him to come. I knew I could make him come again with me inside him. But for now, I wanted the taste of his come in my mouth. I wanted him to see inside me like I saw inside him. I wasn't afraid anymore.

His thigh muscles went ridged, and his hands bunched in my hair. Then he came. I swallowed him, salty and sweet. 

He pulled me up to his mouth-- Yes, I'll share with you what you are-- open mouthed and wanting. 

My cock pulsed against his. Sid pushed up into me. As I kissed him, I began to feel and see the familiar fireworks. Light and sparks. Bits of thoughts and feelings from him. It washed through me-- the reason why he wanted me to fuck him. He was doing it for me. To give me some control after I'd been powerless. I couldn't deny I was afraid before. 

And it wasn't that I didn't trust Sid. I did. 

That he would think of me first, even now after I was such as ass, made me thank God he loved me and that I had him. He gave me the strength to push that living nightmare away. I opened myself. My soul, my heart and well, yeah, my mouth. Damn, if he didn't quit sucking my tongue like that, I was going to come right away, too.

I grabbed the lube next me and worked it over my cock. Sid smiled and admired my handy wrist action. 

"Think I'm doing a good job?" I asked. 

"I was going to ask if you needed any help, but you seem to be doing just fine all by yourself. Almost like you don't even need me..."

"Oh, but I do..." and I slipped two fingers from my free hand inside him, gently feeling his tight heat around them. "I need you. And I can't wait for you to see how much." 

I watched his eyes as I removed my fingers and pushed the head of my cock against his opening. Amazing how the color changed within his eyes-- sometimes brown with gold-green flecks and now they were dark chestnut, pupils wide. How did he know this was what I needed? I felt the warmth rush from my cock to my face as I pushed past the ring of his anus. He moaned, eyes steady, never wavering from mine. 

See in me. See all of me. 

All the helplessness I felt, all the sadness fled from me. He saw. I moved inside him; he was clenched tight around more than just my cock. His arms pulled me into him, crushing me to him. His mouth searching for mine, my tongue slipping inside. He tasted like light and dew. His soul clenched-- bound to me, the force of my body, slamming into his. As his hands kneaded my ass, he begged for me to fill him deeper. Yes, he saw. He saw and felt my fears-- my hopeless agony as I was strapped to that bed, waiting. And I knew his. How as he looked into my eyes weeks ago in my arms, prone on the ground, life bleeding out of him. 

But now we were safe. He knew how I wanted to keep us safe. Water that I wouldn't drink. Water that was not water. Only yards away.

He bit my neck, bringing us both back. To the bed. To our desire. And I thrust into him faster. The tempo increasing. So many sounds. The bed creaking. Seagulls crying. Sid's deep moaning. My own cries. As I reached for his cock to bring us both to climax, he pushed my hand away. 

"Fuck me," he panted. "I want to feel your cock inside me. Just your cock. Make me come."

God, I could do this. He trusted that I could. I knew I could.

I pushed his knees up against my chest tight between us. I slowed myself. Moving in precise, deliberate strokes. There, my cock found the spot inside him. I smiled as his chest heaved with each aching thrust. It was working; he was whimpering beneath me. Just a few more strokes and--

"Hello?! Wesley?! Sid?!"

Fucking hell! That was Lynn! What was she doing here?!

"Shit," Sid swore. "I forgot..."

Well, understandable... we'd been pretty involved. 

"Where are you both? What are you up to?" she sung out. I heard hushed voices downstairs.

"Lynn and Alan are both here," he said, his voice strangled as I thrust into him again.

Lynn and Alan were always interrupting something important...

"Hi! Be right down--" I choked out, hitting Sid's sweet spot one more time. "Kinda busy right now--"

I pushed his knees back harder into his chest. One-- Final-- Thrust. 

That was it. 

Sid was calling my name loud enough for Glenda and Peter to hear him down by the lake, let alone Lynn and Alan downstairs catching an ear-full. 

I shook and came, collapsing on top of him, smearing his come between us. 

God, it felt wonderful.

I heard laughing downstairs as my face pushed into the crook of his neck. I hummed. Well, I started to hum, then I began to sing love-sick non-sense into his ear. 

My voice echoed off the walls up in our lofty bedroom, then after taking a deep breath of Sid's damp hair into my lungs, I exhaled, holding him close. No letting go this time.

Lynn and Alan would have to wait...



Failing Upward Ch. 11



"You need to eat more," Lynn said from across the table, slapping more potato salad on my plate. "You look like an Ethiopian poster child." 

"He is thinner than usual," Alan agreed. 

I stared down at my pale, scrawny legs drowning in Sid's baggy old swim trunks. Fuck. What a boost to my self-esteem. I moved the chicken leg to the other side of my plate then picked it up, inspecting all sides.

"Almost as much meat on that leg as yours," Alan cracked. Sid shot him a dirty look, and I flipped him the finger ala drumstick. Just when I thought he'd changed, Alan goes and proves himself a true horse's ass.

I sighed. The drumstick looked tasty. Life experience told me, Lynn's cooking was deceptive. I closed my eyes and bit a chuck off. I chewed and chewed and chewed. Damn, I'd never disappear. I finally swallowed. Jeez, must be a rubber chicken. 

I racked my brain for a way to hide the pots and pans from Lynn. Maybe I'd eat more if Glenda or Sid did the cooking. 

Sid sat at the end of the table next to me with Glenda on the other side of him, refilling his glass of lemonade. By the look of Glenda's plate, she hadn't eaten much either.

I quarantined the chicken to the corner of my plate and picked the celery out of the potato salad with my fork. Lifted the salad tentatively to my mouth. Not bad. I ate another fork-full. 

"Like the salad?" Lynn asked. "Alan made it."

Figures.

I scratched my bare chest and watched Sid suffering as he struggled to pry open his buttermilk biscuit. With a clang, he dropped his knife in frustration, leaning back in his chair.

I jumped. Something was moving up my leg. I lifted the tablecloth. Peeking under, I tugged the red and white gingham cloth back over my lap. Crap. I scraped my chair closer to the table. Up, up, up, Sid's bare foot slithered. Now how could I enjoy the potato salad with him doing that?

I slumped down in my seat. The big goof was grinning down at his plate. God no, what does he think he's doing? 

Inching higher, yes, a little higher. There. I closed my eyes and moaned. 

"Will you two stop?" Lynn asked. "This is positively pornographic." 

Glenda raised her right eyebrow, smiling. 

"Go to your room if you're gonna do that," Alan said. "I've cut you both some slack after what you've both been through, but this is ruining my appetite."

"I thought the chicken did that all by itself--" I said, choking as I bit down on a biscuit. I think I chipped my tooth.

Lynn's eyes squinted evilly; she wound up. A chicken thigh flew across the table.

"Ouch," I hollered, rubbing the side of my head.

"Honey, don't--" Alan said, grabbing Lynn's hand too late. Jeez, bopped in the nose with a biscuit. 

"Stop," Sid laughed. "You'll ruin his looks."

Lynn jumped up from the table.

"That does it. I'm not making dinner again," she hissed. 

"Promise?" I asked, nursing my nose.

She slammed a carton of milk on the counter.

"Honey-- ah, dear?" Alan said, getting up from the table. "They're just playing with you."

Sid frantically shook his head, no-no-no-not-playing, behind Lynn's back. He was mouthing the words, 'Fire the cook.' Alan ignored Sid while Glenda gave me a rye smile. She crooked her finger at me, and I bowed my head near hers. Loud enough for only Sid and me to hear, she said, "If I were you two, I'd make sandwiches and go out by the lake. It's the only way you're going to get a decent meal tonight."

Sounded good. Let Sid make love to me in the sand, watching the sunset. Sid lips turned up devilishly over the rim of his glass, and my face grew hot thinking of it. Seems the only thing I thought of the last few days was Sid and what positions I could curl him into. That or how perfect the piano resonated. Maybe I should combine both and let Sid tune me up tonight and curl my body up into his. 

Now that would improve my appetite. 

Glenda whispered into Sid's ear. Since he didn't blush furiously, she wasn't asking him about the picnic on the beach. Probably asking him about the damn serum again. 

When Deal and I told Glenda I had the serum, she was relieved. I thought there'd be an argument. Deal's was the only voice of dissention, arguing about timing and saying the plan was morally wrong. Finally I'd asked, did we have enough serum? And just how many injections would it take for Sid to cross over? Peter grudgingly said three to five. 

I'd taken more than enough serum. 

What bit at me like a pesky mosquito was Glenda's reaction. I thought if anyone would be against Sid taking the serum, she would. I was wrong. The way she was solidly advocating Sid's induction made me suspicious. That's why I'd balked over the last few days; I didn't want him to do this until I found out why it was so damn important to Glenda that Sid become like one of us. I'd asked her. Then I tested my psychic senses out on her to get a closer look-- all I got from Glenda was that this was for the best. 

Best? For whom?

Sid and I had a long talk this morning. His mind was made up. He didn't understand why I was having a problem with this decision-- after all, isn't this what I wanted? Hadn't I taken the serum for him? What if Shackleton shows up over the edge of a dune? What if the Community finds us? All Sid's arguments and scenarios made sense. He was right. It was going to happen; they'd find us. We didn't have a choice. I know Sid feels I'll be safer if he became immortal, but I told him not to do it for me. Do it to save himself. 

Sid looked over at me. Yeah, that's what he and Glenda were whispering about-- I could tell by the guilty look on his face he'd told her our decision. Tonight he'd begin to become like her, like me.

I closed my eyes. Another mosquito bite-- I couldn't forget what Deal said before he left yesterday. If we did this, everything would change.

I started as Lynn snatched my plate away. Then she grabbed Sid's. In a huff, she scraped everything down the sink.

"Do your own fucking dishes," she yelled over the grinding jaws of the garbage disposal. She marched out of the kitchen and out on the deck.

Usually, I'd let her cool off, and she'd get over it. But her reaction wasn't about our flambéing her culinary skills. Sid winked at me as I excused myself from the table. 

I followed her out to the deck. 

Her back was to me and she leaned against the railing. I could tell she was crying. 

"I don't understand any of this," she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. 

I hugged her close to me, cradling the back of her head as it shook with sobs.

"I'm sorry I threw that at you," she said. 

"No you're not," I laughed quietly. "But you're sorry about things you don't have any control over. I'm the one who should be telling you I'm sorry. You're in danger because of me."

"You don't need to apologize for caring. If you didn't care about your friends so much, Shackleton and that group-- that Community-- wouldn't want to use us against you."

She sniffed into my neck. 

"You're my best friend," she said. "I've been so afraid for you. I can't help but think of Karen. I don't want to lose you, too. "

"I know."

"And I feel like a jerk for being jealous. I mean, you used to confide in me. Call me up. Gossip. Now, you have Sid. I feel like a shit for being envious of your relationship with him. It's not fair of me. I've been hoping you two would connect since-- well, since forever."

Jeez, I was the one who should feel like a shit. I should have known what this was all about. 

"You want to go for a walk?" I asked. 

She nodded. I waved at Sid to let him know we were going, and Lynn and I walked down the wooden steps to the beach.

"So," I said, grabbing Lynn's hand, "how is it between you and Alan?"

"I think I love him."

I nodded. 

"He said he loves me," she said, tugging on my hand. "I know what you think of him; I used to think it myself, but he's not the same. This whole ordeal has changed him. It's changed us all."

"Yeah, it has--" I hoped for Lynn's sake she was right about Alan.

We reached the bottom and walked out to the beach. She stopped in front of me. 

"I'm waiting--" she said, tapping her foot. 

"Yeah, I'm in love," I confessed. "I figured you'd already guessed that."

"Of course, but I'd like to hear you tell me about it. Not every day your best friend finds their soul mate. Now share."

"Well, gosh. This is embarrassing..."

I walked on ahead of her. 

"Not as embarrassing as what you two were doing at the table?"

"You've got a point," I said, giggling. "Where do I begin?" 

We stopped, facing each other on the beach.

"He's a great lover. Well, fantastic," I confessed. 

I could feel my face getting hot, and I began rubbing my cheeks-- probably had those bright pink blotches. 

"I should have listened to you a long time ago. I know you're waiting for me to say it-- ok, Lynn, I'll say it-- Yes, I'm gay. Jeez, you were right all along. And my life's crazy. And I have a crazy man after me, but that's ok because I have Sid, and he loves me. He really loves me. And I have a best friend, and she loves me, too. I'm really pretty fucking lucky. There are a lot of people in this world who don't have anyone who loves them."

"How are you, really?"

"I was confused. Now, I'm beginning to figure out all this immortal stuff."

"Sid says you have nightmares--"

I shrugged my shoulders. She wasn't buying it. I kicked sand into the water. So this walk and talk was Sid's idea too? I missed that one. I thought it was about Lynn's and my relationship.

"I don't remember most," I admitted. "I wish I didn't remember others. I had them when I was there at the Community, too. Angela told me. She was a nurse. She was the one person there who was kind. Reminded me a lot of you--"

I sighed, throwing a pebble out. How far would it go? Lynn and I watched the splash in the distance. 

"All the nightmares I remember involve Shackleton." 

There are some feelings and senses that linger. With me, it'll always be my mom's cinnamon rolls at Christmas, Sid's vanilla candles and chicken casserole the first night he kissed me, and Shackleton's putrid blood filling my mouth before I clawed his eyes out.

"You're shaking-- Wes?"

"I'm sorry Lynn. It's hard to talk about it. When he put his hands on me, I saw into him. I can do that-- see inside some people. God Lynn, I'm terrified just remembering what it was like having his slimy hands touching my skin. I didn't know there could be anyone who was irredeemable on this earth, anyone who enjoys another's pain. He's evil."

She squeezed my hand and kissed it. 

"Wes, don't ever be afraid to talk to me. I love you."

"I love you, too."

She tugged my shirt. 

"You need some new clothes."

"Yes, mom."

------------------------------

When we got back inside, I sat down and played the piano. Sid sat next to Lynn and I overheard him whisper, "thank you." What a schemer. 

I decided to repay him by crooning some of his favorite Frank Sinatra songs-- I sucked at Frankie, but I knew Sid would pretend I was great. Then I called for requests. Alan had plenty. I played and sang until the pink evening sky called. 

Sid and I packed a picnic basket of sandwiches, rye crackers and cheeses. Sid cut up a cucumber, and I found some seedless grapes. Glenda tossed in a bottle of wine. I ran upstairs for our towels. Sid dug out a blanket from an old chest.

Throwing the blanket around his neck, he called to me, "Aren't you ready yet?" I clamored down our bedroom stairs. Glenda nodded with a slow smile as I ran past her to get the picnic basket off the counter. Waving goodnight to Lynn and Alan with my free hand, we stepped out the back door. 

Screw the stairs-- we ran down the dune full speed, sand flying behind us. Towels and blanket flapping behind Sid. I jogged down behind him, hauling the basket. When we reached the bottom, we bunny hopped up and down, giggling each time the sand squeaked. Just two kids on the beach. 

Simple memories. Mom, Dad, Karen and I spending summers near Mears, Michigan. Climbing the dunes. I remembered how scary it was-- standing at the top and looking down. Those dunes were so huge and steep, they looked bottomless to us. Karen and I swallowed our fear and ran. The sand squeaking under our feet with each step. And at the bottom, looking up and seeing Mom and Dad, so far away and small. Little miniature parents. Going up the dune burned our lungs and calves, but we'd forget the pain as soon as we go to the top and would run back down again.

I watched Sid jumping. He wasn't worrying about Shackleton or the serum or me. He was living for now. Making our memories. Leave it to Lynn. I silently thanked her for helping me remember. As Sid and I let the waves chase our feet, I did feel untroubled, like a kid again, too. 

I skipped at the edge of the water, kicking water at Sid. This place was made to help me forget and made to help me remember. 

We jogged down the beach. From there, we climbed over two small dunes down to a hidden inlet where we could watch the sun sink under the water. Cozy and private with soft white sand and tufts of grass surrounding us, I spread the fuzzy red blanket. I could feel Sid's eyes on me as I bent over so I wiggled my ass in the air. 

"Come on," he grinned, pinching me. Then he pulled me by the arm, hauling me to the inlet. Our feet sank in the wet sand, making footprints one inside the other. 

"It's not so cold over here," he pointed. "Let's swim." 

Sid drew me into the warmer water of the creek, where it spilled into the cold lake. He splashed me. It wasn't that warm.

"Come on, let's skinny dip," he teased. "No one can see us back here." He'd already kicked his trunks off and with precise aim, pitched them in the middle of our blanket oasis. I chuckled. Crazy bastard. I loved him so much. 

This had possibilities. Must be one of Alan's request songs, "Nightswimming," put the idea in Sid's head. 

I stripped my baggy trunks off-- flinging them wildly. Too bad my aim sucked; the suit stuck twelve feet in the air on a poplar branch. 

He splashed me again, and yelling, "You're climbin' up there to get them down."

"Oh, no I'm not," I said. "This was your idea; you can climb the tree."

"Oh yeah? Maybe I don't want you to put them back on!"

Well, I didn't want to-- not right away, but it was too fucking cold not to put them back on sooner or later. And the water was chilly and the evening breeze off the lake, cool. 

Sid shoved me square in the chest, sending me end over end into the shocking water. I sputtered and flailed. Grasping the sand under my feet with my toes, I stood up. Then I charged him like a fierce bull. No, maybe not a fierce bull-- maybe wounded steer. Well, ok, maybe not a wounded steer, maybe an un-milked dairy cow. 

He stepped to the side and pushed me under. Again. 

Mooo.

No fair. 

As I came up for air, he was laughing. This time I was sly. I huddled down, head just sticking out of the water. Partly for warmth, and partly to take him off guard. I stayed where I was-- bobbing up and down in a nice warm spot. I let him come to me. He dipped under to his neck. Slowly he waded nearer, the gentle current rippling behind him. Then he was toe to toe with me. As I felt his toes scrunch mine, I leaned in, kissing him open mouthed, then I took my left foot and tripped his legs out from under him. 

Yes! I sank his battleship! Victory was mine. 

For one second.

His arms wrapped around my legs and pulled me under with him.

Only this time I felt him hard against me. 

We immerged mouths locked, my legs wrapped around his waist. This was the kind of mouth to mouth I could get used to...

Maybe he could sink his battleship-- in me. I loosened my grasp around his neck and slid down. 

"Look," he whispered. "The sun--"

Aglow and touching the horizon, the sun was taking its last breaths of the day. Sid kissed the corner of my mouth.

"Let's eat," Sid suggested.

"But I'm not hungry for food." 

"Tough. You're going to eat-- you need to. Then I'll eat you."

"Ok!" I yelled, dashing out of the water and wrapping a towel around myself. "Hurry up!" 

Sid knelt down on the other side of the basket, handing me a sandwich.

"Shit, we forgot cups," he said, holding up the wine. He rummaged around in the basket, pulling out sliced cucumbers and cheese. "Nothing to open it with either."

"Give it here." I bit down on the cork, wiggling it back and forth with my teeth.

"God, what a talented mouth, watching you gives me ideas." 

I spat the cork out. 

"I bet it does," I said, taking a swig and passing it to Sid. 

The cheese and crackers did look good. I began to munch on them, watching the sun and Sid. He looked cute, all scrunched down sitting on his heals carefully tearing the crust from his sandwich. He thoughtfully took a bite.

He smiled and crumbs stuck to his top lip. 

"So you and Lynn had a nice talk?"

"Yes, thank you," I said, biting into my tuna sandwich. Pretty good. Huge improvement over Lynn's fried chicken.

"You two are both best buddies again?"

"Yeah, bestest buddies."

He crunched on a cucumber slice, waiting for me to say something.

"I told her about us. And about my nightmares. She brought up Karen. I've been thinking about Karen all evening. I wish Shackleton never would have found us-- never found my family. Then the nightmares would go away-- the ones that wake me up, and the ones I can't escape from."

Sid sneezed and pulled his towel snug. 

"You know how much I love you?" he said. "Nothing will change that."

Sid passed the wine back to me. I leaned across Sid for more cheese. My head buzzed. Amazing, immortals can get drunk.

I smiled lazily at Sid as I gulped the last few drops of the wine. And Sid grabbed his swim trunks next to him, reaching into his pocket.

"I'm going to do it," he said. 

He popped the top off the syringe. Not the ending to the romantic evening I'd hoped for. Wine, cheese and tuna salad sandwiches. Sun dipping down below the horizon all amber and azure, sparkling on the waves. Sid jabbing the needle in his thigh. 

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He recapped the syringe, dropping it in the basket, like it was left-over dinner. His eyes, now dark and dreamy, sucked me in.

I knew the feeling too-- somewhere between need and despair. I felt it in the garden at Lancaster's. I felt it in that white barren room at the Community. All your blood rocketing to one point. Helps when the object of your desire is near. The pain of the memory was so close and tight. I helped Sid with his pain. I climbed in his lap, his cock pulsing against my ass. He wiped the tears off my cheeks.

"Sid?" 

He blinked at me, then suddenly his hands were everywhere-- in my hair, down my chest. 

His tongue found mine. 

"It's ok Sid. I'm here."

With the weight of his body, he pushed me. I landed on my back in the sand. He fell on top of me, covering my mouth, hips and hands with his. I moaned as I felt his heat against mine. And then it began.

The sand underneath me became warmer, and the light pressure of his hand against my wrist merged with the thorns beneath, silently spilling what was him into me. I could taste it in my mouth, the roses. It was like before in the garden; all receded-- only Sid before me mattered. Every nerve ending in me, efferent and afferent, connected to him. The sun reflecting off the lake bathed him in a preternatural radiance. My fingers marveled how beautiful his body was, how god like. My fingertips read him like Braille. Spiraling down his shoulders, to his chest then scrapping his taunt stomach muscles, I read every part of him. His chest glistened in a holy sheen above me. I raised my mouth to its beads, licking them like nectar and drinking the scent of his chest while I moved my hand up and down the hard length of him devoutly. Every hitch in his breath, every burn in his muscles, I felt inside myself. 




Failing Upward Ch. 11



I reverently marveled over the freckles around his mouth as my fingers found their home around his cock-- so rock hard and smooth in my hands. Then his mouth moved down me. Nipping my stomach and then my inner thighs. The familiar warmth spread to my cock. His mouth. He'd promised to eat me. Now he devoured me, whole. The sand was hot-- scorching, the sweat rolling off of me. The sun falling. My semi-lucid brain reasoned the heat originated from us. 

My eyes suddenly became transfixed on Sid's furrowed brow-- the sweat, the gentle creases, his loving concentration. 

I cried out.

"No more," I begged. 

Sid stopped. 

"Wes?" he asked. 

He shimmied up my body. 

"What?" I stammered, as he stopped moving, eyes locked on mine. I could feel him wet between my legs, slippery with sweat. 

"Where's the lube?" he asked quietly. In rapture, I watched his mouth moving, his lips moist. What did those beautiful lips just say? 

Jeez. My swim trunks.

"Ah, up there, in the tree."

"Fuck!" he swore. 

My mind raced. What else was there? Nothing here to use. And I sure as shit wasn't climbing that tree now.

"Spit," I said hoarsely. "Spit in my hand."

Sid choked out a laugh. "Spit? You know how much that will hurt?"

"Not for long," I answered. 

Sid was right. It hurt. Fuck, it burned, but I didn't care as long as he kept that up with his hand. 

"Say you're not sorry," he whispered in my ear. 

"I'm not," I answered. I wasn't sorry he'd taken the serum. I wasn't sorry for us. Maybe I wished Shackleton from our past, but I would never wish this away-- Sid's heat and passion. He thrust into me harder, and I wrapped my legs and arms around his back. Harder, harder. I fell into what Sid was, and he fell into me. I called to him without words. I wanted him deep inside me. Him. His body. His love.

I thought of how when lightning hits the sand, it turns to glass. I wondered if when we came the sand would become fused from our heat. It seemed molten under us, living and flowing. The heat became unbearable. We both shivered. 

We lay in the sand, cooling. He cradled me against the chest I loved so much. I heard the comforting beat of his heart. I looked into his face, his eyes fluttering as he yawned. His chest hairs tickled my nose. I smiled, kissing his nipple. His stomach shook as he chuckled. The sand was cool now against my back. The sand clung to my calves and back as I sat up.

I laughed. My swim trunks had fallen out of the tree. 

-------------------------

We packed the basket up and headed back. The sun was gone and farther down the beach we saw a bonfire. People huddled 'round, waving for us to come over. 

"We're going to get something to drink and put this away first!" Sid yelled back. 

We climbed the steps up the house. Under the porch light, I spotted some variegated hostas growing near the backdoor. Funny. I didn't remember the hostas or the porch light.

The house was dark inside. As I felt around for the light switch, I heard a bang, and Sid swearing. 

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I stubbed my toe on the damn leg of the coffee table. I wish Lynn would quit moving the furniture."

We abandoned everything on the couch and turned on the kitchen light. I was parched. The sex and wine left me dry. I opened the cupboard and grabbed two glasses while Sid slid the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge on to the counter. 

"Do you really want to go back out to the beach?" he asked, pouring the lemonade.

"I'm tired. Think they'll be pissed if we called it a night?"

I heard the sliding door close. Shit. Guess we might not be able to sneak to bed so easily. 

"Hey, Wes! Grab your guitar and play for us in the moonlight."

The glass slipped from my grasp, shattering. I couldn't breath. I stepped forward.

"K-karen?" I stuttered. "Karen?"

I didn't even care I was bleeding all over the floor.

"Oh, your foot," she said, as she knelt in front me. Her hand cradled my foot. Her touch. Her hand. Her fingers delicately pulling the shard buried in my sole. 

"Karen? But you're alive--" I cried. 

My sister. She stood in front of me. Strawberry blonde hair, a little thin, with the beginning of a summer tan that she'd never be able to perfect instead it just joined the freckles together. She gazed at me in wonder, choking back a laugh.

"Well, I'm alive for now." 

Alan walked in. 

"What's wrong honey?" he asked, seeing the blood on the floor. "What happened?" Then he kissed Karen on the side of the head. Not a-- you're my good buddy kiss, but a you're my lover kiss. 

My mouth open and closed, but nothing came out. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Karen was alive. Alan was with Karen, and where was Lynn? 

Like a bucket of cold water to the face, I knew. Everything had changed, just as Trent predicted. Only this wasn't how I thought it would be. Time had changed. 

My head twisted violently to look at Sid. Really look at him. Fear, real fear looked back at me. 

"Sid?"

Then I did the breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. 

"The world was in a grain of sand," I said. "Infinity in the palm of my hand. Eternity in an hour."

Sid blinked. 

"I think Wes had too much sun," he said. "He needs to go lie down. Come on Wes, I'll take you to our room--" 

"Our room?" Karen asked. "Just what happened between you two on the beach earlier?" 

"Come on to bed," Sid whispered in my ear.

"But Karen's here--" I pleaded. "And I didn't even tap my heals three times or say there's no place like home."

"Something tells me she'll still be here in the morning."

He put his arm around me, and I knew at least one thing hadn't changed--

Sid was the same. ------------------------

"Karen's alive," I murmured, flinging my body back onto our bed.

"You did it. You changed time. But how?"

"Lower your voice," I said. "I'll tell you how-- I wished it. Don't you remember? I wished that Shackleton never found my family."

"Those weren't your exact words," Sid whispered.

The room was dark; I rolled over and turned on the brass table lamp next to the bed. I sat up, feeling as stiff and old as the knotty pine headboard my back pressed against. 

"Yeah, not my exact words," I said, stretching. "But close. And I thought something like it too-- when we made love."

"Shit. Did that have anything to do with this?"

I reached my hand in the side pocket of my swim trunks, and there was nothing in it. 

I should have known. 

"Fuck-- of course it did. Les said sex was the point of the whole garden experience, not just an after effect. He was right."

Sid leaned his shoulder into the headboard, facing me. For long moments, neither of us spoke. We just looked at each other, numb and dumbfounded. Then Sid's demeanor changed. His jaws clenched, and he opened his mouth to speak, biting back the words until he could hold it inside no longer. Suddenly he grabbed both my hands, squeezing them so damn hard, I thought he'd break my fingers.

"You have to change it back. You can do that, can't you?" 

No way to ignore his fear's intensity. Shit, mine was plenty intense.

"Slow down," I said to Sid. "We need to think this through. We don't even know exactly what's happened or changed. I don't know if I should or want to change it back."

"But it's not right. This isn't right. I'm not right."

"You look right to me."

"That's not what I mean. Wes, you've changed time. Something in me has changed. I can feel it. I don't like it. And this whole business, changing time-- it's a god-like thing. You know, 'Hey, I'm Zeus the omnipotent from Mt. Olympus. Watch me wave my hand and snuff out the lives of these pathetic mortals.'"

"First, I don't think I did it by myself; you were part of it. Second, if anyone's god-like it's not my scrawny ass. No way I could ever throw thunderbolts."

"It's not right," he insisted.

He didn't understand. I wasn't sure how to explain. I didn't want to go back to where we were-- that meant going back to Shackleton. Sid had to understand. I spun around, twisting my hands from his and grabbing his shoulders. 

"Think of it. What if you could bring back someone you loved? And you did it? Not intentionally; it just happened. Could you wish them into oblivion?" I looked into him. He had to know how it felt for me, knowing my sister was alive again.

"I understand that," he said slowly, "but what if you're not wishing them into oblivion? What if you're wishing them out of a better place?"

"Like Mt. Olympus?"

"Um, I was thinking more like heaven."

I removed my hands from his shoulders and stared down at my open palms. What we'd done wasn't a conscious choice, but anything we did from this point on would be.

"What about my parents? If Karen's alive..."

"Ok, I'll drop it for now. I'm so tired. And I feel like someone's banging a rock on the side of my head."

"Just one more thing before we try to get some sleep-- what if we did change time again, but we couldn't change it back to the way it was before? You've seen the movies where the person alters time and makes it worse. What if that happened instead?"

My back was gritty from the sand on the beach. As I slid down the headboard, the sand was everywhere. In my suit, on the bedspread, probably under the covers now too. I noticed Sid staring intently across the room, looking into the mirror on the dresser. He could see up my swim trunks.

I yawned, admiring his reflection back-- his handsome five o'clock shadow, the soft light in his hazel eyes dancing as they watched me. I could see his fingers rolling the edge of the pillow case. Then I noticed--

"Sid?" I asked. "What did you do with the serum?"

His eyes dropped.

"I left it on the--"

That was another change. Karen downstairs, no lube in the pocket of my swim trunks and now no serum on the dresser. 

A soft knock came on our door. 

"Shit, what now?" I swore under my breath. "Yes?!"

"It's Glenda."

Our eyes met. Sid nodded. Well, we were in agreement over this at least--

"Come in," I said. 

The trap door opened, and Glenda curiously peeked in at us both. 

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Might as well come in," I said. It occurred to me, and I was sure it occurred to Sid, that she might be the only one we could confide in who wouldn't think we were wacko. By the way she studied me then Sid, I got the idea she already suspected something was up between us. She just didn't fathom how big. 

Was she in for a surprise.

"Glenda? When did I first meet you?"

She laughed. Then watching the my face intently, she frowned. "What is this about?"

"What if I told you that I-- Sid and I-- changed things?" I could tell by her grin that she didn't get it. "I don't mean between us-- like in, you know, we had sex. Well, we did-- but that wasn't the first time. Shit. What I mean is--" no other way to say this; I took a deep breath. She was gonna think we were crazy. "I mean we changed this as in we altered time."

Glenda lowered herself slowly, sitting on the edge of our bed, unblinking, eyes not leaving either of us. 

"So, you are the one," she said quietly.

"Well-- yeah," said Sid. "He's immortal."

I sat looking at the moon reflecting off the lake. No body spoke. Glenda sat, legs crossed, eyes bright and studying us intently. She rolled her foot in lazy circles as she thought. 

"And in your time, you two were already lovers?" she said finally.

"Yes," Sid answered, his lopsided grin aimed at me. "She's pretty quick."

"What you asked before, when did we first meet-- why did you ask that?"

"Because in our time," I said, "we met because of this man, Shackleton. We wished him away. Well, at least I did. I'm not sure about Sid."

"Well no, you didn't wish him away," she said, sitting forward and uncrossing her legs. "He exists."

"What Wes means is, he wished him from his family's past. Wished Shackleton never found his family. Well, and I admit, I kinda wished the same too considering what he's done to Wes and his family."

"What did he do?"

"He killed them all-- both adopted and real parents. And Karen."

"Fate has a wicked way," she sighed.

"What does that mean?" Sid asked.

Before Glenda answered, I had one of those feelings-- like I didn't want to know what came next, because deep in my gut I knew, but pushed it down. 

"Your adopted parents-- you never got to meet them. They died before your mother told you-- before she couldn't remember anymore."

"Remember anymore?" I repeated.

I felt like I was Alice behind the looking glass. I could begin to see parts of this new time like they were real memories in my mind. Christ, they were real memories in my mind. What a paradox. Two memories, two times.

"She's in a nursing home. She has Alzheimer's. You were forced to put her there after your father died from a stroke last June."

"Fuck." A horrible choice. I could even recall talking to Karen about it. 

"I met you over seven years ago. You moved in with us, Les and me. Your uncle and older brother visit during holidays and in the summer. And as for Shackleton," she said, "he's not part of our lives-- I know of him through my husband. He's like my father, obsessed with immortals."

"Your husband? You mean Peter Deal?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "He and my father were partners."

"Partners? Partners how?" Sid asked.

"They found a way to make mortals into immortals, by stealing the roses and taking blood from immortals and making this serum."

"Yes, we know all about that--" I said. Now we were getting somewhere. 

"What I don't get is, if there's no Shackleton, then we wouldn't need to be hiding here in this house. So why are we here?" Sid asked.

"Is that why you were here in the other time? Hiding from Shackleton? Well, in a respect, you are hiding-- just not from him."

"Hiding? From whom?" Sid asked.

She laughed.

"Your fans Wes. You're hiding from fans and cameras. We came here after the last concert for a rest. You needed to relax before playing this coming weekend at the Silverdome--" 

In the corner of my mind, I saw my band on stage staring out at over eighty thousand people in the audience in Pontiac, and I felt the terror-- that I'd forget the words like I did at Riverbend Center or fall off stage like I did in Montreal. I panicked, consumed by stage fright. 

"It's the end of your venue," she added.

I jumped off the bed. Was I remembering this Wes's life or had I dropped a bad hit of acid? 

"Fuck! I can't play the Silverdome! I don't even know the set order! Fuck! I don't even know the songs!"

I was dancing up and down, singing in my brain, trying to remember lyrics. My head throbbed.

"Who am I?" Sid whispered.

I stopped. I was so self involved-- I'd forgotten him, and how he fit in to all this. 

"You're the promotional manager," she answered.

"What?" his face was flushed. I knew how he felt, because I was feeling the same myself. I knew he meant, who am I in a larger sense-- as in: who-am-I-and-how-do-I-fit-into-this-shitty-world kind of sense, not who am I-- as in: what-do-I-do-for-my-livelihood-in-this-shitty-world kind of sense. He pressed the pads of his hands into his forehead, like he wanted to crush all the tortured thoughts jumbling up in there together. Then his palms ran across his forehead, stopping at his temples. Fingers touching the top of his head, he squeezed like a vice. I grabbed his elbow, wishing I could sort these timelines into two separate piles and make his pain go away. 

The serum. This time travel. I worried for Sid. I was immortal, but Sid wasn't yet. What was this doing to him? 

"Sid?" I pulled his hands away from his head and replaced them with mine, my heart pounding like hard beating bass drum percussion. He was sick. I imagined an invisible line, willing his pain out, pulling it from him to me. His eyes fluttered, and he kissed my cheek. He knew what I was doing.

"We have a lot to sort out," I said. 

He'd be fine for now, but not unless we had the serum. I turned to Glenda. 

"Just one more question before you go. Actually, I know the answer, I just want you to admit it. You brought us here because you knew what could happen in this place, didn't you?"

"I'm not the Glenda you should be asking this question. That Glenda is in another time."

I stood up and walked across the room. Time for her to go--

"I don't think so," I said, lifting the trap door. "I think both Glenda's knew what would happen out on the beach with the serum."

I lowered the trap door as she crept down, watching her Mona Lisa smile.

"Yes, the serum," she answered through the door.

I heard Sid moan as he flopped backwards onto the bed. Downstairs, Karen's voice carried up to our room, "So Sid's spending the night in Wes's room?"

I lay down next to him on the bed face to face. His lips curled a bit. My hand brushed through his hair, curling a sandy lock around my finger and winding it around and around. I pressed my forehead into his, letting his cool forehead and the feel of his silky hair in my fingers comfort us both. I used to twist my own hair when I was five, and I'd forgotten how safe it made me feel. Our eyes met, searching vainly for some understanding inside each other's depths. 

"It's so confusing," he whispered. "A part of me thinks we've never made love." 

The house was still. I was almost afraid to breathe. We both spoke in hushed voices back and forth, as if we were afraid of disturbing time again.

"A part of us hasn't," I answered.

"On the beach, we changed time when we did..."

"And we changed to a time where we weren't lovers yet..."

"But I remember, on the beach, we almost did, and we did. God."

"Sh-h-h," I said quietly. "Let's try to sleep."

I slipped off my bathing suit, and Sid took off his. He climbed under the covers with me, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I feel so tired and beaten-- like I've been awake for days and days--" I said, kissing the top of his head. "If I could only turn my brain off, I might be able to fall asleep."

"You and me both."

"You wouldn't think I could be stupider in another life than the one before, but I guess I was," I said. "There are so many words I haven't said to you in either--"

"We really haven't needed words much lately."

"Still," I said, thinking about not using words again. I could make him come hard in my hand, but then that would be cheating myself and Sid. I should say what I feel. For someone who bares it all on stage, I sure suck at it face to face.

I turned out the light by the bed.

I didn't like the Wesley Grant in this time. Fuck. He'd come here to this house knowing how Sid felt. This Wes went down to the beach, knowing what might happen. Let's take a picnic, run in the sand and yeah, go skinny dipping? Get Sid hot and bothered without any protection or lube? Leave him hard and dry? Did I know what I wanted? I chickened out on the beach. I'd planned on telling him how I felt. Instead I cheated. Fell back on the old excuse, I'll do it later. Always later. Now that was a cheat. I was a cheat and liar to myself. A bigger liar than in my real life-- or was this the real one? Shit. I couldn't believe I was more confused in this time than the other. 

I was more of an ass now, or maybe more of a confused ass. This Wes spent time in the garden all hot and bothered, fantasizing about Sid-- what I wanted him to do to me, what I'd like to do to him, but not facing it until now-- still stuck in the 'I'm not gay' mode. Only now, because I know what it's like to love him and really be with him, now I don't tell him? Still? 

I felt like my head was going to explode, but I bet I didn't feel half as bad as Sid did right now. Christ, ignoring how I felt about him-- I had to tell him. As quiet as he was, I bet he was wondering why he was even with me-- in any time. 




Failing Upward Ch. 11



So I swallowed and began--

"You know why I never went to your house? Why I never came over even when the whole band went to your parties?" I didn't wait for an answer. I figured if I was going to do True Confessions, it'd be better to just come out with it all, confessing Wesley Grant's This is Your Life parts one and two. 

"I didn't step inside your door because I was afraid. I figured if I went to your house or was alone with you, I'd do it. I'd tell you how I felt-- or show you. God. I'm so pathetic. All along, all along I thought about you. What it'd be like to touch, to kiss you. And I was afraid--"

"So you're saying you've been lusting after me as long as I've been lusting after you."

"Longer... try high school." 

"Yeah, so what?" He slipped his arm around my chest, burying his face deeper in my neck. "We're together now. Why kick yourself over what was?"

"Because I'm still not-- Fuck. I suck at this--" I curled into him, his breathing steady, waiting. "You're so damn patient. You waited around, hoping I'd get smart even in this fucking life. I just don't deserve you."

"You think by putting yourself down I'm really going to see what a bargain I got?"

"Shit, I said I sucked at this. How about this--" I turned over, looking straight in his eyes. "I didn't know what it was like to wake up happy until the first morning I woke up with you next to me. And I didn't know how good it felt to smile until I sang you to sleep. And I didn't know what it was to miss hearing you say the words until I didn't have you there to say them to me--"

"You're doing pretty good for sucking at this. Keep going--"

"When I used to think loving someone forever, I thought, well, that was in fairy tales-- it'd never happen-- at least not to me. That day Trent stabbed me, I thought I was going to die never saying that I loved you. When I found out I'd live forever-- I was all hollow until I told you. Why live forever?-- I didn't want to live forever without you knowing. Then when I realized it was possible; you could be with me forever-- I felt selfish for wanting us to be forever. Now, I know without a doubt, it doesn't matter, because I'll love you no matter what. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't want to live forever, not if you don't love me, and I don't love you." 

"That was really good. You didn't suck at all. Now... do you think we could go to sleep?"

"Shit, I just confessed undying love to you, and you want to sleep?"

"Hmm. I was thinking--" he moved his hand lower, down my stomach, "aren't you still a virgin in this timeline?"

I choked. 

"That means I get to deflower you twice..."

"Like right now?" I asked, hopefully.

"Maybe after I get rid of this headache." 

"Still there?" I asked, kissing his cheek.

"Yes, but not like before--" 

"Aren't you the one who told me sex is an excellent cure for headaches?"

"Yeah, but we don't have anything, and I don't want to use spit again."

"We don't have to-- I have coconut suntan oil in this drawer here."

He laughed as I pulled it out of the night stand.

"So that was Wes's little plan in this timeline?"

"Well, yeah--"

"Come here, beautiful..."

---------------------------------------

"Wes, get up."

He was shaking me. Not like Sid at all; he's the kind of person who respects someone who's deep in slumber. I shifted the sheet, and opened one eye. Sid's nose was almost touching mine, and he was frowning.

"Wes, get up," he repeated. "I remember everything. I am your publicity manager!"

"Yeah," I mumbled, "I remember too. I remember you fell asleep last night before you--"

"Hey, we can hear you're both awake. Get your asses down here!"

"Shit, it's Smith," I said. Les was down there with him. It all was in my head: They're here with us along with Karen, Alan and Glenda.

Sid was right, and I did remember, too. I woke remembering and pressing hard on my mind was the serum. Sid was going to need it soon, and I hoped Glenda was the key to get it. If not from who? Maybe Peter Deal? I sure as shit didn't want to go knocking on Shackleton's door.

"Wes? We need to talk. There's something I've got to tell you--"

"Yeah, there's something I need to tell you too--"

Bang, bang, bang on the floor below us along with Smith's voice in falsetto crooning out: 

"Harder, harder! Oh Sid! Yes! Yes! That's the spot. Yes!" 

"Fuck," I said, throwing the sheets back over my head. How could I think how to get the serum with them making that racket? The banging on the floor increased along with Les giggling. 

"This is not going to be a good day," I sighed with resignation and threw the sheet aside. I sat up, turning to Sid. "Might as well get dressed." I got up, trod across the room and opened the dresser. Hmm, I actually had some nice clothes.

"Yeah well, you forget," said Sid, as I surveyed my good fortune. "This isn't my room; my clothes aren't in here."

Boxers. I actually had boxers.

"Put back on those neon green abominations then," I said, pointing to the floor.

Sid hung his head, "Shit-- they're full of sand."

Bang, bang, BANG!

I pulled on my jeans. I supposed I could give Sid a pair of my boxers to wear, but he looked kinda cute in green--

"Will you two quit!" I screamed. 

Must be late morning. The hazy clouds were just burning off the lake, and the sun was bright. Where was a shirt? Then I remembered, bottom drawer. I picked up grey Radio Head shirt. My fingers brushed the grease spot near the neck. I remembered, we were in Coldwater, one of those small town bars with great food, an Italian name, as I recalled, yes, Cascarelli's. We were laughing, listening to Weird Al on the jukebox then I bit into the pizza sauce and like molten lava, it burned my lip. That's how I got the stain. What was this? This feeling of remembering this Wes's life was odd. Kind of like I was on remote control rewind. 

Fast forward to the now--

"Where's Glenda and the rest of them, anyway?" Sid complained. "They wouldn't be carrying on like this if they were here."

My brain recalled Karen and Alan were going sailing today. But what about Glenda? 

"Wes. What do you remember? Do you remember everything?"

I threw the trap door open, and the racket stopped.

I remembered being scared shitless and ecstatic playing with Failing Upward on this whole tour. Failing Upward had made it. Butane lighters flicker and sway in the waves of people-- all singing the words to my songs. I remembered pretending I didn't want Sid to myself. I remembered Dad dying and the funeral. I remember driving to the nursing home, and Mom thinking I was her brother. I remember--

"Oh look," I heard Smith saying, "the sleeping beauties."

Sid climbed down first with me behind. Both were sitting on the couch, Smith grinning like Sylvester eating Tweetie Bird with yellow tail feathers stickin' out between his lips. Les sat there with a broom in his hand fresh from pounding the ceiling. Fuckers.

Smith took Les's hands in his, and batting his eyes, he blurted out: "Oh Sid? Do you think this means I'm..."

"...queer?" Les squeaked.

"Stop it, you ass holes," I sputtered, turning to Sid. "Doesn't this bother you?"

"They're not making fun of me..." 

Well Hell-- I'll show them all.

I leaned into Sid, mouth open and kissed him, moving my hand around his ass. I knew Smith and Les had a perfect angle. I made sure they got a good look at my tongue action before I snaked my open hand down Sid's ass crack and underneath. Teach Sid for falling asleep last night before properly pulling my petals. My thumb rubbed his ass hole while the tips of my fingers reached under and cupped his balls. Take that.

Sid moaned, and I glanced over at Les and Smith as I pinched one of Sid's nipples with my other hand. I thought their eyes were gonna pop. 

As Sid's hips pushed into mine, I felt his hard, awkward state in that flimsy bathing suit-- poor guy. Therefore, straightening out his situation was just being polite, and reaching my hand down and helping him seemed proper etiquette-- but just as my fingertips brushed the top of his elastic and started creeping in, he grabbed my wrist and whispered, "I think that's enough--"

Sid took one giant step back. 

"Hey," I said. "I'm not done!"

"Don't stop because of us," said Smith. "You know Wes, you might be in the wrong vocation; you'd make a superb gay porn star."

"I'm gonna go get dressed," Sid groaned, running off to his room covering his crotch. 

Shit, he left me the same way. I turned to get something to eat for breakfast. 

"So," I said, "any other plans for the day? Anyone else need harassing?" 

I got out a bowl and then dug through the cupboard and pulled out some Frosted Flakes. Some one ate the last of my Captain Crunch. Probably Smith. I glanced over at them. Ha. Both sat flabbergasted on the couch. I opened the fridge and poured the milk, not too much, I hate soggy cereal. Then I went out to the living room and sat next to them, legs crossed, Buddha style, putting the bowl in my lap. Then without another word to either one of them, shoveled in the cereal. 

I was and wasn't ignoring them. I needed to think. When Sid grabbed my wrist a moment ago, everything was clear. Those thorns were still under my skin; Sid was still bound to me. Sid was going to be desperate for more serum soon. I knew the calling-- like some addiction. I wanted the roses even now. While I found a poor substitute for the roses in the serum, I knew for Sid it didn't work the same way. 

He needed the serum not the roses. 

Maybe the roses would never call to him, but the need for the serum would. I feared the ache would be the same-- maybe worse. After all, he was bound to me. What would that do to him? God, I wanted him all the time. Even now Sid was under my skin like the roses. I itched for them both. I was prepared to fuck him through the hardwood floor in front of Les and Smith moments before. I should be embarrassed, but instead I got hotter thinking of it as they both stared at me like I was some alien being.

"So you think you can just sit there and not say anything about what just happened?" Smith asked.

"And what did just happen?"

The sliding doors scraped, and there stood Karen, sunburned, her shoulders and nose peeling. She was grinning at me as she threw her towel on the chair by the door.

"Sailing good this morning?" Les asked.

"Yes, perfect breeze. You should really come out with us before we leave. You too Wes."

"I will," I said. "I'd love to." Setting the bowl of cereal aside, I stood up on shaky legs. I could do this, pretend seeing her was just an every day thing. Alan came in behind with the orange life jackets. I consciously stepped closer to her. It was reflex, gathering her into my arms and hugging her close. She smelled like Coppertone, cream rinse and lake spray. I touched her hair to make sure she was real, then I kissed her forehead. 

I thought my heart could stand pain. All hurts would heal. But I knew the moment I kissed her forehead, this was one pain that would never go away. My Karen. My sister, was sick. Very sick. And she knew that she couldn't keep it a secret from me although she'd tried once before. 

"When were you going to tell me?" I sighed. 

I began crying. All I could think of was myself and that I was loosing my sister all over again. Not her pain. I felt more of a jerk. Remission gone and more chemotherapy. Suddenly I knew what this little trip to the beach was about for my sister. Memories. A chance to be together.

Maybe my little trip in time was the same.

This was a gift. And I wasn't going to waste it. Of course I'd go for a ride in the boat. I should have gone on the beach last night and played the guitar for her when she asked. 

Sid walked in. I could hear him behind me. Shit, I realized, he already knew. He said he remembered everything this morning. He remembered Karen had leukemia. He tried to tell me. Even in this life, I pushed out the bad. 

"I was going to tell you," she said. "I promise. But it never seemed like the right time. Last night, when you acted so strange. I knew you realized that the leukemia was back."

"What are you doing Karen, protecting me. I'm the one who needs to support you. I love you."

She hugged me tighter, looking over my shoulder at Sid.

"Why do you smell like coconuts?" she laughed knowingly, then whispered in my ear. "You told him. " 

From the corner of my eye, I saw her smile at Sid.



Failing Upward Ch. 12



I screwed up again.

At least I didn't think how it would make Sid feel. We stood alone talking on the porch, the waves roaring as a backdrop, and at first I wondered why he was so bothered by me feeling him up in front of Les and good ol' Smith. I thought it was just a bit of fun. 

I didn't think. 

He told me, "Don't ever do that to me again." The hurt in his face just cut me in two. 

"It took everything inside to pull away from you in there. This isn't a fucking game, Wes. Stop it."

Maybe the cause for my serious lapse in judgment was because I've never had much self-control or at least never exercised it much. To be cliché, self-control and Sid were almost synonymous. To Sid losing self-control was like driving bamboo under his fingernails. To me it was more like a biting off a hangnail. 

Hangnail or not, I did know what he meant. I shouldn't be playing games. This was serious. Thinking I could win playing a game with Fate was ludicrous. I worried that changing time was like shooting craps. Nothing and everything had changed. My family still suffered. Sid suffered. I suffered. Every time I rolled, fate slapped my hand. My life had become just one helpless tumble after another. I had to admit, I enjoyed some of the helpless tumbles (falling into to bed with Sid for one), but the others were nasty falls. Sometimes when a person falls, the best thing to do was to roll with it. Why try to hold on anymore if the end result was being bloody and bruised? 

As he stared out at the lake, his knuckles white, gripping the railing with one hand and his coffee mug with the other, I imagined he was trying to wrestle the dice away from Old Man Fate. For someone who didn't want to play games, he was struggling to play. Didn't he know the odds were stacked against him?

My eyes fixed to the same point as Sid's in the distance. We watched as the dark flickering clouds boiled over the lake clashing against the bright starched sky surrounding us. The wind was gusting and white caps on the waves broke on the sand, slapping rhythmically. The storm would be here in an hour, maybe less. I sucked the ionized air into my lungs, waiting for Sid to speak.

"I don't know anymore how much is you," he said, "and how much is this sickness."

Part of me wanted to reach for him, but another part of me knew better-- knew how he'd react. How he'd step back from me, and his back would stiffen. He couldn't lose his self-control. He was too close to me right now. I could smell and feel him through my pores like the sparks of ionized air around me. Even now I wanted him, and I knew he felt the same about me. 

Only weeks before, I thought the same way he did now, that this feeling was a sickness. Now it'd become part of my life like breathing. Something I couldn't live without, needed but could calibrate. Hadn't Sid taught me? Breathing slow and quiet. Sometimes I'd forget and breath only through my mouth in long hard drags. The need I had for Sid was the same. I was sorry I'd lost myself earlier in front of Les and Smith. Sometimes, like before I'd forget and take Sid in like a sudden gasp from my lips. 

But this was new for him. Part of the process of turning into an immortal was a loss of self. That part was horrifying for me too. 

I blamed the roses and the Lancasters. What would he blame? A vial of serum and me? I should have seen it. Since self-control was so important to Sid, he would feel trapped losing it. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know what you did in front of those two was just you being the Wes I love. Only I feel so different now, like you're some kind of charged electron that I keep falling into. I don't know. God, I can't stand to be without you. It's fucking painful. When I went to go change, I thought I was some heroin addict. Christ, Wes I was shaking. Right now I trying my best not to touch you, and I hate it. I want to touch you. I just don't want to feel like I have to touch you. Do you understand?"

I nodded. Yeah, I knew that feeling. I remember groping him in the back seat of Alan's car. That first kiss in the apartment and my anger when he denied me. 

I knew he didn't doubt I loved him. I was sad that he still wondered how much lust was mine, and how much was in bed with my DNA. I almost asked to go for a walk on the beach to talk about it, but that would be counter productive.

As I stepped tentatively beside him, I noticed Sid's faded gray sweatshirt blotched with wet coffee stains from the cup he was holding. It bothered me. Spilling things all over myself was part of my nature. I was a klutz. Sid? He never spills so much as a drop of beer when he was falling down, shit faced, drunk.

As I watched him frowning at the horizon, I wondered if I'd been fooling myself. Maybe I had no idea at all what it was like for him. He was bound to me. What did that mean? We could stand out on the porch and talk about it, but I didn't want anyone to overhear. 

"Maybe we should go for a drive," I suggested. After all, Sid's car was parked around the side of the house. He nodded. 

"I'll get the keys," he said. I gave him space to breathe, letting him walk off alone to his room. This sadness was a chisel chipping at my heart. Hearing the sliding door shut felt like one more tap. I walked around the side of the house to the car. As the sand pushed cool between my toes, I thought maybe I should put on my tennis shoes. While sand and shoes don't mix, we'd be in the car, and it was going to rain. Ah, I knew it was an excuse to go into the house with Sid. Instead I opened the door to his '72 Cutlass S and waited in the passenger seat, brushing the sand off before I stepped inside. Same white interior, in the same pristine condition-- minus one cracked windshield and bloodstained upholstery.

He came out the back door, head down watching his feet. He had on his old scuffed-up loafers. I wiggled my toes and sighed. 

He stood with his hand on the door handle, hesitating. When he opened the door, it gave the familiar groan of raw metal grating against raw metal. 

"Needs oil," he commented, flopping into the white bucket seat and fiddling with the keys. "You wanna drive?" 

I hesitated. I was pretty sure he was just being polite, but I wasn't positive. Still, I think he'd be nervous with me driving his car-- shit, I'd be nervous with me driving his car. 

"No you," I answered. 

He pumped the gas once and turned over the ignition, smiling-- at least his car was reliable. As he backed out he asked, "Where to?"

Now that was the question. I had in mind cruising around with no particular destination. Now for Sid driving aimlessly was a waste of time. Since I knew the area like the back of my hand, and the only thing he knew was that Lake Michigan was west, it was up to me to decide. Besides, there was a place I was dying to go to.

"Turn left up ahead. We can go to Cherry Point-- it's about twelve miles from here outside of Shelby."

"Cherry Point? Let me guess. They sell cherries. Lots of them."

"Yes, and the best cherry strudel you'll ever have in your life. Almost as good as sex."

Sid frowned and gave me the-- what the fuck did you say that for-- look. 

"Well," I protested. "It's the truth. And the macadamia nut cookies are almost as good."

"You aren't going to make any smart ass cherry jokes like Lynn are you?" Sid asked. "Because I'm not in the mood."

"No, why would I?" I asked. "They're always at my expense anyhow."

What was he all pissy about? He usually laughed at them the loudest. I tinkered with the seat belt, I wondering what Lynn was doing now. Not cooking, thank God. That I didn't miss. But I was hungry.

Mmm, strudel. 

"Seriously," I added. "I love the place."

I rolled down the window part way, just enough to taste the lake. 

"Ok, we'll go there-- direct me."

"Turn north on South 16th-- it's up ahead. Then take until it ends. That's Cherry Point. On the corner of West Buchanan and 16th. It used to be this little roadside stand, but now it's a bit more commercial, landscaping and all that. They sell tourist stuff-- t-shirts and books along with the cherries and fruits and vegetables like you'd find at farmers' markets. But it's their baked goods that I crave."

"So you say. Sounds like you've been going there since you were a kid."

"Yeah," I smiled, rolling the window down the rest of the way. "It's one of those nostalgia things. There's a lot of memories here near Shelby. Silver Lake, Ludington, Little Point Sable, all the places we went as a family. Maybe we didn't travel much outside of Michigan, but we always had a good time here--"

"Seeing the world is great, but it would have been nice if my parents took us around the state. You know I've never even been across the Mackinaw Bridge?"

"No kidding? How about Mackinaw Island?"

"Nope."

I turned on the radio. Reception stunk. Finally found a semi-good station. 

"We'll have to go some day. Great fudge. And that movie with Christopher Reeve, Some Where In Time was filmed there. You know the movie?" 

"The one where Reeve's tries to get back to his lover? What's her name? She was in that show Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Yeah, she was self-sufficient professional family doctor, not a helpless pioneer woman like yourself."

"You mean Jane Seymour," I added.

"Yes! That's her name. 'Come back to me.' Right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, and I'm not a helpless pioneer woman anymore. I can take care of myself."

Sid nodded although he didn't look too convinced as he absently tapped a four-four beat on the steering wheel to the radio. He was too quiet, and he was getting those creases in his forehead-- that meant trouble.

"I've been thinking," Sid said slowly. "What if I stopped? What if I decided not to take any more serum?"

"You want to stop," I said, keeping my voice flat as possible when I really felt like he'd just sucker punched me in the chest.

I turned and looked out the passenger window. From this side of the car there were no dark clouds in the distance; the sky was deceptive, pretending to be a clear, bright day, but I could feel the storm around me and the pressure building in my head. Or maybe the pressure was from what Sid just told me: that he doesn't want to be with me-- not forever. There's no need for him to be immortal now with no Shackleton and with the Community sterile. No need for him to take the serum except to be with me.

I could feel his eyes on me, assessing the damage. I couldn't turn to look at him, afraid I'd give away how I felt. I felt selfish and small, wanting him with me always.

"Since I've never taken it in this time, maybe I don't have to. I don't know. I mean what would happen?"

"I don't know the answer," I said, and I knew my voice gave me away; it was short and cutting. "Turn here."

"Wes, look at me."

I did. I could see the dark in the distance and the pain in his face. 

"I'm sorry Sid. I mean, I don't know what it's like for you. If there's any way you don't have to take the serum, don't."

"This is so hard. I don't know what to do."

"Hello? It's me?! Do you think I have a clue what to do? Fuck no. We came on this car ride to figure this all out." 

I played with the radio dials to keep my hands busy, all the while my brain was doing over 100 mph driving over whys and what fors, searching for avenues to convince Sid to be with me. 

"Sounds as if you changed your mind about going back to our time," I said.

"I thought about your argument, about making it worse. Maybe you're right."

I looked in his face. I couldn't do to him what had been done to me. I could manipulate him. I could beg him. I could cry. Hell, I could easily cry, but for what? Keep him miserable beside me for all eternity? 

"Listen, as far as the serum goes, it's got to be your decision. It doesn't matter to me," I lied.

He frowned, and I knew he didn't believe me.

"So ok, it does matter to me. But Peter was right. You'll resent me, and I don't want that. I'll love you no matter what, so fuck the serum. And I'm sorry for the way I treated you in front of my brother and Smith. I know it's no excuse, but sometimes I get this irresistible urge to fuck your brains out. Or for you to fuck my brains out. Part of it is the roses, but most of it is me. And hey, I've had a taste of the serum too, and it wasn't pleasant. Roses and serum aside, I'd still lust after you."

"Thing is I've always had the urge-- it's the irresistible part I don't like."

"You know, that hurts," I said half jokingly. "I've always thought of myself as completely irresistible and now you've gone and burst my illusion."

"Well, maybe when you're wearing those leather pants..."

"Up here," I pointed down the road. "See where it turns? Park in the field across the street."

Sid slowed and pulled into the lot. There were more than a few customers, good considering a storm was coming. As we stepped outside the car, I could smell cherries and the cool moist air boasting from the lake. I was cussing myself for not wearing my shoes as sharp pieces of gravel bit into my tender arches as I hobbled through the driveway.

I was right. It had changed some over the years, but it was essentially the same-- an old flat white painted barn converted to a roadside stand with white lattice for trim, and the barn doors standing open, inviting the public inside to shop and pick through their wares. I went straight for the pastries while Sid browsed around the shop, thumbing books and knickknacks. 

As I checked out which pastries to buy, I kept thinking about Sid's change of mind. I knew I shouldn't feel like it was a betrayal. It was his life, but there was a part of me that resented he could make that choice.

I couldn't decide on which cherry strudel so I took two. I was deciding on which paper plate filled with macadamia nut cookies I wanted when I heard these little squeals from behind a rack of sweatshirts. Two teenage girls peeked around. A petite blonde with a pink tank top shoved her friend into me. Auburn hair and tangerine lips filled my face, and she sputtered and stuttered. I stepped back. I grinned wide at her-- God, she reminded me of Karen: petite frame, sparkling green eyes and a Jackson Pollack splattering of bronze freckles on her nose and cheeks. But what made me really smile was her fashion color nonsense: just like Karen, she was another redhead who insisted that red was her color. She hiccupped before me, dressed in clashing red from her clunky clogs down to her tight hip hugger shorts and her color un-coordinated purse (which she was frantically digging in). Even her hair ties were red. 

"Mr. Grant?" she stammered, sticking her purse in my face. "Could I get your autograph?" She met my eyes and added: "I have all your CDs."

I noticed Sid watching me and chuckling as the cute blonde eyed my ass. 

"Sure," I said. 

Still scavenging her apple red purse, she sighed with success, handing me what looked like an envelope and a purple marker. I fruitlessly juggled the strudel, cookies, paper and pen. Then I noticed she was looking directly at my crotch. Shit, it was like having my sister ogling me. Both our faces turned red. Hers was almost the color of her purse.

"Could you hang on to these for me?" I asked, and she grabbed both my cherry strudels, then my cookies, caressing them like they were mithril. I cleared my throat. "Who do I write this to?"

"Ashley. Ashley Peters."

"All right Ashley Peters." 

I wrote a short message and handed it back, which set off another giggling cascade.

"Thank you Mr. Grant."

"Call me Wesley." More giggles. Lots more. I thought about winking at her, but changed my mind. After checking out my package, I didn't want to give her any encouragement. 

"Thank you, ah, Wesley."

"Um. Could I have my strudel back?"

"Sorry Mr. Grant-- I mean Wesley."

"--and my cookies?"

Sid was having way too much fun. I could see he had a book, Ghost Ships of The Great Lakes, and a couple of sweat shirts in his arms along with a grin wide enough to split his face. 

I went up to the counter next to Sid to pay. And I heard him talking to the cashier about me. I set my things next to his. 

"Isn't that lighthouse on my shirt the one you're always going on about?" Sid asked, pointing at his purchase.

"Yes, it's at Little Point Sable."

"It's only a few miles from here," the gray haired cashier chimed in.

"Want to go?" he asked me.

I wanted to, but I looked over my shoulder at the girls, hoping they hadn't heard our conversation. I didn't want to get followed. 

"Could I have a quart of cherries too?" I asked the cashier. She turned and poured them from one of the quart baskets into a zip-lock baggy. I said under my breath to Sid, "Sure, I'd love to, but we'd better hurry before the storm breaks."

As I hotfooted to the car, trying hard to avoid the sharpest chards of gravel, I heard the girls calling, "Goodbye, Wesley," and I half assed waved back while Sid laughed into his new sweatshirts. 

I slammed the car door shut behind me, organizing my pastry.

"Now, you weren't any help at all," I said. 

"I didn't want to interrupt-- it being your first real autograph and all." He leaned into me, crooning, "Mr. Grant, your eyes are sooo much bluer in person." 

"Fuck you," I said. "She wasn't looking at my eyes. Whatever happened to sweet innocent teenage groupies?"

"What universe do you live in?" he laughed. "Groupies have never been sweet or innocent."

I opened the strudel on top and carefully ripped off the end, popping it in my mouth. This was the perfect way to avoid what was really eating at me. 

"Well, you do have beautiful eyes Mr. Grant," he said and patted my knee. I tore off more strudel and ate. God it was good. Flaky, melting in my mouth. Tart cherries with just the right sweetness. I think psychiatrists are right, there are some foods that recall memories. I sighed, closing my eyes, chewing. Major comfort food.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Follow Buchanan. It's right off this road on the left side-- of course."

I opened my eyes and took another bite. Sid was staring at me. 

"My God," Sid said. "How am I supposed to drive with you eating that?"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You're over there licking your fingers and moaning. Take at look at yourself in the rearview mirror--"

I screwed the mirror around for a gander. I had gooey cherry juice on the corner of my mouth. I licked it off. 

"Oh, like that's gonna help," he said.

"So now I can't eat?" It wasn't like I was intentionally tormenting him. 

"It's not like we can pull off to the side of the road and park. It's daylight."

"Was I suggesting you do it?" I asked. "This is ridiculous. Maybe you're right. Maybe you better quit taking the serum if it's making you this crazy." 

I wrapped the twisty back around the end of the strudel's plastic bag. I'd wanted to go out to the lighthouse with Sid a few moments ago, but now I was wondering if we shouldn't-- maybe he'd think that was another elaborate ruse to get him horny. One moment he was joking with me, the next he was picking at me. 

Fuck it. This was his idea. We'd go to the lighthouse.

"I'm sorry Wes," he said. 

I wondered what he was sorry about? Teasing me about lecherous groupies? Accusing me of erogenous eating? Or deciding against immortality? 

"Turn here," I said. 

We followed the narrow inlet road along the towering dunes on the right. The sky was dark and heavy over the tops of the trees where the road took a ninety degree turn. We passed quiet private homes and beaches until we got to the state park. The parking lot was almost empty. One last straggling family was packing, deserting the beach. Mom was swiping sand from her two towheaded children's feet, and Dad was organizing the back of their SUV-- coolers on one side and rainbow towels and beach umbrellas on the other. 




Failing Upward Ch. 12



Sid parked at the foot of the main entrance. Actually main entrance was an overly grandiose term for it, more like the main path up the steep dune to the lighthouse. It may be a state park, but it was not tourist beach. Even on perfect days, the parking lot never came near to filling and with the storm looming, it was near abandoned.

Sid threw his loafers in the back seat and locked the car. We walked up the dune; I felt the burn in my calves. A couple brushed by us as we reached the top. Sid tipped his head, cupping his hand over his eyes, capturing the height of the lighthouse. His partially covered his eyes, not from the sun, but protection from the blowing sand. I looked out and saw the storm's curtain pull toward us. It was agonizingly beautiful, dark and frightening. Sid followed behind me as I walked down to the beach.

I sat staring out at Lake Michigan on one of the granite boulders which served as breakers in front of the lighthouse. As Sid settled next to me, I felt his thighs rapt and tense against mine. The swirling clouds and the foaming waves closed together like a smudged swipe from an artist's palette. I silently counted less than one second between the flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Sid reached over and held my hand. For the first time since we came to this time, I felt sincerely happy.

The first drop of rain hit my cheek, and my eye lids fluttered as more drops caught on my lashes. I felt the wet cool sprinkle against my skin urging us to go. I haltingly stood. Sid close against me.

"Your eyes spark and foam just like the reflections on the lake," he said, his breath light against my neck. 

The air was static, and his face drew closer. In slow motion his lips dabbed one chaste kiss on mine. 

"I think we'd better get back to the car before we get drenched," I said, breathlessly.

It started to pour as we ran up the dune to the car. At the top Sid stopped, catching his breath as he looked down at the parking lot. There was only two cars left, Sid's and a car parked directly next to his. 

"Shit," he said. "That car's familiar."

Aquamarine Buick Sky Lark with a cracked headlamp. 

"Yeah. It was in the parking lot at Cherry Point," I said. "Those two girls must have followed us."

I wondered how much they saw on the beach. I was hoping for a quickie in the car. No parking now, darn. Probably wasn't a good idea for two gay guys to park in a public beach anyway-- even less wise for a horny rising rock star and his boyfriend publicity manager. 

I jumped at a flash of lightning and thunder. 

"That was too close," I said, running down the dune for the car.

The sky opened up. Flashes and torrents pounded us and the parking lot. My clothes were drenched, t-shirt and jeans slicked to my body like a second skin. I got to the side of the car, waiting for Sid to get in and unlock it when the door to the Buick next to me opened. I expected giggles and winks instead I got a gun in the abdomen. 

Through the sheets of rain, I could barely see his face, but I could see his eyes. Same cool blue eyes.

"Trent," my voice croaked. Different parking lot, different time, but the panic inside me told me it was the same test only instead of a turn of the knife it'd be a bullet. This time I saw a flash of surprise within those cold eyes. 

I knew his name.

The passenger door flew open, and Sid scrabbled out behind me, grabbing the back of my wet shirt and trying to pull me back. I bristled, waiting for the shot to rip through my gut that didn't come.

"Trent, you sorry son of a bitch," Sid choked, gulping back rain. "Leave him alone. I can tell you all you need to know. Can he heal? Does he feel? Just get the hell out of our lives."

As the rain beat at Sid, my concern turned to him.

"Get back in the car!" I hollered, reaching for the pistol. Then a rush of cutting light and pain tore my skull as Trent butted me hard with the .32, slamming me into the car, shoving Sid backward into the passenger seat. 

Sid scrambled between us, grabbing for Trent's wrist. Dazed, I staggered up and swung blind at Trent, landing one lucky punch to his chin. But Trent slid his left calve around the back of mind and with one white-hot jerk, I slammed to my knees, leaving me gasping and staring up at Trent. He thrust the .32's muzzle under my chin, and grabbing a fist full of my wet hair, he snapped my head back and forth. 

"God damn it, stop," Sid yelled over the thunder. "You're hurting him."

He quit yanking my hair. 

"Then stay still," he said, looking from me to Sid. "And shut the hell up." 

I practiced breathing techniques while wondering how this all happened. Caught again, not a soul around to see. No cell phone, not that I was in any position to call anyone right at the moment. The water from the parking lot was like one torrential river, and I was drowning in it. 

"You think people aren't going to notice he's gone?" Sid asked. "You're kidnapping a rock star!"

His answer was to dig the muzzle of the gun under my chin deeper and drag me half in and half out of the car with my face pressed into Sid's. He punctuated how serious he was by banging my head into the ceiling a couple of times then bringing my eyes dead with his. 

"Tell that fucking utopian Community you work for," I spat, "to bite... my... ass..."

For the second time, confusion flooded his face. Good. 

"What do you know about the Community?"

"What do you want anyway?" Not an answer-- instead, I mimicked Sid's question, but in the same tone a pastor would say 'speak now or forever hold your peace.' I already knew the answer. By the way he his eyes were flickering, he knew I understood I wasn't ignorant of his intentions. 

"What's your fucking mission this time? Catch the immortal? Bleed him dry?" I asked.

Judging by his reaction, I was dead on.

"Mr. Grant, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to drive, and your friend here to shut the hell up," he said as he transferred the gun from under my chin to Sid's temple. 

I was getting pretty damn sick of being called Mr. Grant today. I climbed out and circled around the front of Sid's car, racking my brain for a way for us to get out of this mess. I hoped he wasn't much different than the Trent I knew. His eyes were just as cold and calculating. Still stuck on the Community as the center of his Universe. Hopefully he wasn't as fanatical about the place as the Trent I knew. Maybe I could reason with this Trent; he had the makings of a heart. After all he stopped pulling my hair for a moment when Sid yelled he was hurting me. The major obstacle was that Trent had a shit load of misplaced trust in the Community. If I could get to this Trent, maybe he'd let us go. 

As I got behind the wheel, I watched Trent in the rear view mirror as he slipped into the back seat behind Sid, gun never leaving Sid's temple. My head was a bag of marbles. I needed to think, and the wind rocking the car wasn't helping. 

"Where are we going?" Sid asked.

"I told you to keep him quiet," he said to me. "Drive." 

I turned the ignition and put the car in reverse.

"Wes can't control my mouth. And pointing that gun at my head isn't going to shut me up unless you pull the trigger. So, where we going? The Community? Or maybe a little way station? Let me guess... does the name Shackleton fit into this?"

"All right," Trent hissed. "I want to know right now-- how you know me, and how you know about the Community and Shackleton."

"Shackleton?!" I said. "You are taking us to Shackleton!"

He said nothing. He didn't have to. God, Sid figured that out before I did. 

"How do you know Shackleton?" he repeated. 

Suddenly the only thing that I could see that might save us was the truth. 

"We know you because we've met before," I explained.

"Fuck you. We've never met."

"Yes, we have," I said. "The Community is still hiding things from you. Why does the Community want me? Not for the reason you think. They want my blood to make the serum, but why? Because I'm different?" 

I caught my breath. Better to keep talking. Tell him everything. Well, almost everything. He didn't need to know about Sid's part in all this. 

"They're still keeping their real intentions hidden. Did they say how or why I'm different? I bet not, " I continued, nervously choking back a laugh. "Because I can change time. I've already done it. That's how I know you and the Community and that sorry piece of shit Shackleton."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. You must think I'm stupid."

"Test me then if you don't believe. Since I've never been inside the Community, ask me something about the place."

"All right, easy question: how many floors does it have?"

"Five. And the lab is in the basement; it's where they make and store the serum. The loading dock is to the left of the lab. The walls are all white glossy stucco."

He was quiet for a few moments.

"That doesn't prove anything."

I tried to think of something that would make him believe. Maybe not the place, but as person--

"There's a nurse who works there; her name is Angela Bowes. Angela, like an angel, because that's what she is. She has cool blond hair and kind blue eyes. She works there because Fredrick Rogers saved her family, and she thinks she owes the Community an unrepayable debt. She bares the pain of her patients because she's afraid if she doesn't care, no one will."

The rain hitting the roof increased as I slowed the car at the stop sign. I looked in the rear view mirror at Trent. I could see him thinking, the realization hitting him. 

"She believes she makes a difference to the poor immortal retches who end there," I said. "She does. I know because I was one of them. Not in this time but in another time. She and a man named Peter Deal helped me escape out of that place. She was brave to do it. Angela was the one good thing there. And I think she liked you. Actually, I think she more than liked you."

"Turn left here," he said. "That still doesn't change what I have to do. No one at the Community is obligated to tell me a thing."

I was wet and tired and afraid. As I glanced over at Sid, I caught his eyes. I needed him not to speak. 

"You still don't get it?" I said to Trent, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. "Ok, then hear this. There is no fucking way you're taking me to Shackleton. The man is a psychopath. You don't know what he did to me-- what he wanted to do to me. He's insane." 

My knuckles were white from squeezing the steering wheel, and I took a deep breath, but it was useless-- my voice still cracked. "The man loves his work. He gets off pulling wings off flies, and I'm his favorite fly. Christ, be merciful and unload that gun into my head now. There's no way I'm going, and there's no way in Hell I'm taking Sid to that lunatic. Might as well shoot us both." 

I watched Trent's eyes, trying hard to read him as I talked. For a brief moment, I thought I was getting through. 

"And get this--" I stressed. "It's bigger than just our piss ant lives. Why does he want the serum from me? Ever think on that one? Take one big fucking guess. He knows what I'm capable of. He wants to be able to do it too. He wants to play God. If you take me to him you're giving a psychopathic killer the hands of Time."

I had no choice. By the look on his face, I still hadn't reached him completely. If I had to run into a tree, flip the car end over end to stop this, I would. I watched the gun in his hand slip down as he grimaced thinking. As soon as he moved it away from Sid's head, just one more inch, I'd do it. No cars in front or behind us-- just one wet road and a car traveling over 55 mph. 

There. Lower. 

Away from Sid's head. 

The pistol dropped down just enough. I punched the gas then locked the brakes. Leave it to Sid to have a well maintained car that didn't spin or swerve. Fuck. So I jerked the wheel. Sid and I both had our seat belts on-- Trent didn't. His body slammed against the back of my seat, and the gun went off. It took a few moments to register that it went off through the back of my seat into me. 

I was dizzy and turned around. The car faced the opposite direction. I turned. Stunned, Trent held his head-- a wide flowing gash on his brow. Sid unsnapped his seatbelt and reached for the gun. Trent quietly let the .32 drop into Sid's open palm. 

"Fuck that hurts," I said, poking at the exit wound in my stomach. "And you put a hole in his nice white leather seat."

Sid reached over and placed his hand on my wound-- or at least where it'd been. It was almost gone.

"Christ," Trent said. "I didn't mean to shoot you." 

"That's ok. It only hurts for a while. But look at Sid's floor board; you put a hole clear through it. I think you should say you're sorry."

"You're kidding? Right?" Trent asked.

"I don't think he is," Sid said. Then bouncing the gun up and down in his hand he said, "I guess that means you're letting us go?"

"I'll tell them you got away," he said, opening the car door. "Go back to the house. Go straight there. Don't stop for anyone."

I nodded as Trent shut the door. It was drizzling. At least he wouldn't get much wetter.

"Could you drive Sid?" I asked. "I don't feel much like driving anymore."

We switched places, and as I got on the other side of the car, I looked down at my feet.

"The strudels are ok, but you broke my cookies and squished my cherries."

"At least you know what's important."

--------------------------

We sat in front of the house staring at the door, willing ourselves out the seats, but it wasn't happening. I stripped my shirt off, rolling it up into a ball not wanting to shock my sister with bloodstains and bullet holes. I wiped the blood off of me as best I could with the wet shirt. Still, I was a mess.

"I guess this changes whether or not I take the serum," Sid said.

"Why? Because of Shackleton? I don't want you taking it unless it's what you want. After what you said today, don't do it."

"After what just happened, I don't think we have any choice. I better do it."

"We can talk about it, but before you take it, we've got to have the serum."

We both stared at the front door again.

"Well," I said, "let's try slipping into the house unnoticed. I don't want to answer a bunch of questions."

We go out of the car, and I followed Sid. It was quiet inside as we crept through the door. We slipped into the laundry room, and I grabbed some dry clothes then washed up quick in the bathroom.

"Wes? Sid? Is that you?" I heard Karen call.

"Yeah," I answered. "We're all wet. We'll change and be out in a few." 

We ducked into Sid's room. Throwing my goodies on Sid's dresser, I began stripping off my jeans.

"You're still carrying around that fucking strudel?" Sid asked, pulling off his shirt. "Ah, Wes? Did you see the little gift on the dresser?"

I stepped up next to him shivering. Then stopped. Serum and syringes. 

"Glenda. Has to be. That's what she was up to earlier."

"Damn it, Wes." 

I grabbed the strudel, untwisting the tie and reaching in. Fuck this. I needed to eat. 

"We can flush it if you want," I said, ripping off a piece and eating it.

"But that's perfectly good pastry."

"I mean the serum," I laughed, licking my fingers. 

"I know. I was just being a smart ass," he said. "You know... you don't have any clothes on?"

"You noticed, huh?"

"Hard not to..."

"Speaking of hard," I said, taking another bite and licking my fingers one by one, "would I be teasing you unnecessarily if I stripped off your jeans and blew you right now?"

"Jesus Wes, give me a taste of that damn strudel," he muttered, then kissed me hard on the mouth, his tongue rolling around the inside of my cheeks. 

"Like 'em?" I asked.

"Mmm, good. Nice 'n tart. Just like you." 

I handed him the bag and slipped my hands down his chest. 

"Do you think they'll wonder what we're doing?" he asked, as I struggled with the button on the top of his jeans.

"I'm sure they know." 

The snap gave, and I unzipped him with one jerk. He jeans were cold and wet, and stuttered down his ass and thighs. He kicked out of them. I was cold and clammy, shivering and shaking-- chilled clear through from both rain and fright. I let my body flatten into his, seeking heat. I needed him near me. My mind tumbled and shuddered like the rest my body. I wanted the security of his heart beating through my chest. 

"You sure you want to do this?" I asked. He nodded. God, what a perfect fit, sliding ridged and locked. 

"I want you," he said, reaching for the back of my head. "This is right, so right. Gimme another taste, cherry boy--"

As Sid sampled my mouth one more time, I heard the plastic bag hit the floor, and I knelt down after the strudel. 

He clutched at my hair. I needed his warmth, still chilled from the recent horrors. I let my mind get drunk on Sid to escape. The whole fucking mess that went down in the car didn't exist for a while. Just us. His taste and feel kept me free. It didn't matter if he wasn't with me forever as long as he still loved me. 

That I couldn't stand. If he stopped loving me. Flush the serum. I needed Sid, his caress, his sighs, his heat, his cock in my mouth, not his eternal soul. I felt his thighs tense, his breathing shorten. His fingers knotted in my hair; his legs giving in, swaying. His hip bones pressed against my thumbs as I steadied him. 

Slowly I came back to where I was. I could hear voices in the other room. I heard my name. My skin prickled. Someone else was calling me, not Sid. Shaky and limp, he knelt down in front of me, breathing ragged and satisfied. 

I smiled.

"I swear," Sid said, kissing me. "Your mouth is almost as perfect as your eyes. Almost."

"Yeah, but could my eyes make you come like these lips just did?"

Karen was knocking at the door.

"Come on you two," she said. "Enough. Come out here."

I giggled, rubbing my bony knee into his. 

"I guess I can't return the favor just yet," Sid said. "Why don't we try that thing with your eyes later? See if you can open your legs as wide as those blue eyes of yours and wrap them all around me."

I smiled helplessly as he pulled me to my feet and slapped my ass.

"Now, get dressed," he said. 

As I sat on the bed fastening my jeans, all our troubles flooded back to me. Trent. Shackleton. The serum. I looked up to see Sid standing by the dresser. Even in the quiet of his bedroom, we couldn't escape. -----------------

I was feeling pretty cocky.

We'd been playing Euchre, and Sid and I thoroughly kicked Karen and Alan's asses-- and we were doing a supreme job wiping up the floor with Les and Smith. And now I had a near perfect hand in hearts if I could just get the chance to call trump. Sid was whistling off key and making bedroom eyes at me. Along with the five Becks I'd guzzled, I was feeling as tipsy and giddy as a teenager in love.

"Pass," Les said, scratching his chin stubble.

"I think that's some kind of signal," Sid quipped. "Don't you think that's some kind of signal?"

"Yeah, I do," I said, throwing Sid a kiss on the sly.

"Better than your signals--" Les came back. "At least ours aren't so obvious."

"If they're so bad, then why are we winning?" Sid asked, winking at me as he rapped on the table.

"I saw that! He passed after he gave Wes a signal!" Les jumped up, scamming a look at my hand. "And... and... it wasn't even foreplay!"

"I don't believe that. Look at Sid smiling," Smith said, his snapping his cards with his thumb. "Sid's just happy he's gonna get laid later."

After the shitty day we'd just had, I liked the way Sid ducked and blushed his head behind the cards in his hands; it warmed my soul along with other parts of me- but every so often, I'd catch him frowning. Thinking about today, no doubt. I found myself remembering it too. Sid's chair creaked as he squirmed around. I could see he was thinking too much again-- and not about his cards. I took another bite of cherry strudel and carefully licked each finger. Not good to have sticky cards. That took the frown off his face. I sighed-- strudel almost gone. That's the problem with sharing-- Alan had devoured almost the whole second one.




Failing Upward Ch. 12



"Fuck, Smith did you see that? Sid's nose twitched!"

"That's a signal all right, " Alan laughed, snatching the last piece of strudel. "A signal that he's fucking horny."

Glenda was engrossed in some book, pretending we weren't making spectacles of ourselves. And as long as Karen thought we were cute, I didn't give a shit about anyone else.

"And how would you know that signal?" Les asked Alan and passed.

"I'm not fucking answering that one--"

"Yeah Alan," said Les, "take the fifth."

I took another gulp of beer and choked as I laughed out: "Hearts! Alone!"

I gloated at the groans from Les and Smith as I threw down the right, left and ace.

"Shit, lucky in cards, unlucky in love," Smith said, throwing down the king and nine of hearts along with the ace of spades.

"Lucky at both!" I said, leaning back in my chair, grinning at the rest of my hand-- Smith might have the other two aces, but ha! It didn't matter!

Les threw down crap, and I threw down the queen and ten of hearts.

"Euchre!" Sid yelled.

"That's the name of the game," I added.

Sid leaned across the table and gave me a wet congratulatory smack on the lips. I wanted him so bad it hurt.

"Shit. You should have just laid your hand down," Smith complained. "But you had to drag it out and prolong the pain."

"I think I'll repair to the lavatory and get another brewski--" I said, as I stood up, stretching. I grinned at Les. Let him think I cheated.

I ran to the bathroom-- I could only hold four beers for so long. Then there was Sid. He obviously needed more cheering up. After the fucking lousy day, I'd decided I knew the perfect way to turn it around. So far, it was going well. Friends and family to take our minds off Trent. A few good laughs had changed Sid's brooding. Nothing like watching Smith shoot beer out his nose to lighten the mood.

I came back and retrieved another cold one.

"Ah, where's Sid?" I asked, twisting the top off.

"I don't know, but I could make an accurate guess--" Alan answered.

Both our eyes looked over toward Sid's room. I thought, hey, this was Sid's way of getting me alone. I didn't say anything-- just slipped nonchalantly out of the living room to the back of the house. I opened his door and turned on the light.

"Sid? You in there?" No answer and no Sid. 

I checked my room next. I hiked up the stairs. No Sid there either. After that I searched the laundry room and the bathroom. My mouth went dry and my legs rubbery. I scoured the house like a mother who'd lost her kid at the mall.

"Ok," I said, turning to the euchre crew. "Where is he? Didn't any of you see where he went?"

"What's the big deal? So he went outside without you? Not like you're attached at the hip," Alan joked.

"Maybe that's the problem," Smith said, as he got up for another beer. "He wants to be attached in another place..."

I ignored them as I went to check the porch. So he went outside. Shit.

Sid disappeared. Only gone a few minutes, but I was panicked. They had no clue why I was so upset. Why would they? Glenda was; she understood. It was liked she sensed it. She got up and went out the back door looking too.

I hoped he had just stepped out for a walk to get some fresh air on the beach. All that went through my mind were what ifs--

What if they had him. Worse, what if he had him. The bile spilled into the back of my throat.

I ran out the front door, calling Sid's name.

As I got down to the water, the night sky collapsed into the lake in the distance, and I could see shadows on the beach playing tricks on my eyes. My senses mocked me, hearing voices in the night, seeing movements in the air. The ordinary transformed to insidious: The body floating at the water's edge merely a waterlogged stump. Sid's discarded shirt in the sand was just foam from the lake waves. I raced down to the beach to find the cry I heard was just the wind whispering through the branches of a willow. Still, someone was calling my name. I was sure of it. As I headed for the inlet following the voice, I heard another call down the beach. Someone was calling for me. It was Glenda shouting from the house:

"He's up here."

I spun around and ran back down the beach and up the steep cool sands. I found myself crying from relief half way up the dune as I saw Sid, hands in his pockets, standing on the back porch with Glenda, both watching me struggle up to them. My legs burned with every stride. I climbed the back steps, panting and wheezing from exertion. As I bent before them, all I could think of was all the what ifs that'd gone through my brain. With my head between my knees, I blurted out, "Where the hell were you?!"

"Jeez Wes, I' sorry. I was cleaning my car..."

Note to self : Neat Sid plus messy car equals hours of obsessing. Probably sat through every hand thinking about his car seat.

It wasn't that he was so concerned about anyone seeing the mess I made, bleeding all over his nice white vinyl seat. No, it was his fertile imagination, envisioning my blood, like an unwanted house guest, insinuating itself into pristine folds of his fine Corinthian leather-- oh wait, not leather-- just vinyl.

Sid... leather... imitation leather... what difference did it make? Some kind of God damn Sidney fetish.

Glenda stuck her head in the door and gave the all clear to Karen and the others. Then, shutting the sliding glass, she turned to us-- a million questions on her face. I was just relieved Sid was safe next to me.

"I think you should both tell me what happened today," she said. "And before you start weaving castles in the sky Wes, I want you to know I got a look at the inside of Sid's car before he cleaned it."

So I came as clean as Sid's Cutlass: about Trent forcing me to drive and his plan to take Sid and me to Shackleton and how Trent let us go. As I told her the story, it did sounded surreal. Sid was unusually quiet while I was animatedly telling the tale to Glenda. I knew the serum in his room weighed him down. Reason number two why he cleaned his car, to keep his mind off the small glass vials on his dresser.

Finally I finished. Sid jangled change in his pocket; Glenda memorized Sid's nervous countenance. The crickets chirped and bull frogs croaked, and I listened, waiting. It was Sid who interrupted the night music.

"You put the serum in my room."

She turned her face from him and was gazing at the night sky, and I joined her watching the stars twinkling.

"I thought that's what you both wanted..." she said wistfully.

"It was..." I said.

I felt his thumb brush my hand, coaxing my fingers around his.

"It still is," Sid said.

I imagine I should have felt happy or maybe saddened by his decision. Instead I felt tired. The only thing that reassured me was the squeeze from his hand.

"The constellation Pleiades--" she said, pointing to the southern sky, "you can see it much easier in the fall when it's above us. There are over 500 stars in that cluster-- only six we can see with the naked eye. On a good night like tonight, sometimes you can see the seventh sister."

"How far is it from us?" Sid asked.

"Over 500 light years. It's blue-colored, which means it's a reflection nebula-- reflecting the light from nearby stars."

"I'm sure there's a reason you're telling us this..." Sid said.

"Yeah, like that's where I'm from," I added, laughing.

Glenda smiled and raised her eyebrow.

"People are like the nebulas. Some reflect light, some emit light and others are dark," she said.

"And what am I?" I asked.

"I don't have to tell you that-- you both already know what you are. And now," she said, "I think we should go in."

We stepped into a quiet house. I could hear the evening news coming from Smith's bedroom.

"We'll speak about all this further in the morning," Glenda said.

We stood there awkwardly, watching her walk off to her room. I felt like it was the first time I'd been alone with Sid. I chewed my cuticle while Sid bit his lower lip. We both stared stupidly at each other.

"Ah, we could probably go to my room," Sid suggested, frantically tumbling the quarters and dimes around in his pocket. My mind raced. His room did afford more privacy. Every squeak and whisper echoed off the rafters from my room.

"Yeah, but..." I stopped myself.

"Yeah, but the serum's in my room, right?"

I nodded meekly.

"Listen," he said, stepping a breath away from me. "I don't want to take the serum tonight. I just want you."

I nodded again as he pulled me toward his room. He opened the door quietly, and I went through after. I turned and shut it, and he pressed me smooth against the door. I raised my hands flat above my head, face first against the door. I let my palms open, feeling the cool wood beneath. He moved his own hands on top of mine, entwining our fingers. His breath prickled the fine hairs on my neck, and his thighs warmed the back of my legs. As he pushed gently against me, he squeezed my hands and in a lazy arc, smoothing them out spread eagle against the finished wood.

"I've thought a long time today about wanting and needing," he said. "All your words last night about how much you loved me and what I mean to you, then I spoiled it by telling you I was thinking of changing my mind."

He brought our arms down to our sides, and I felt his chest heavy against my back-- his heart beating through me.

"I was afraid. It's scary to want someone that bad. When the serum takes hold of me, it's like I just need. I have to have."

"And what do you have to have now?" I asked, my palms sweaty against his.

He kissed the back of my ear.

"You."

I swallowed as he leaned hard into me.

"Please, yes," I moaned. 

I closed my eyes and whispered his name. I knew what he meant. Sometimes it was all too much. I pressed my mouth to the door to squelch the strangled cries that threatened to erupt from the bottom of my gut. I loved this. I loved him. I wanted to scream it out loud.

"I want you to know..." I gasped.

His stubble scraped rough and reckless across my neck. I opened my eyes, his face so near to mine. His chin scratched my nose as he kissed my eyelid.

"What?" he asked. "What do you want me to know?"

As he chafed my face with kisses, I tempered my voice, calming the immediacy in my soul.

"I want you to know how much I love you. With or without."

He let go of my hands and reached between the door and me. He slid my jeans over my hips, and they fell to the floor. He moved achingly slow, reaching inside my underwear, touching me. I felt like I'd explode any moment from the pressure of his hands on me.

"Turn around," he whispered.

I loved the feel of him against me so much I didn't want to turn around. Instead I pushed against him, begging.

"Wes?" he asked. "Turn around. If you don't move, I going to pick you up and carry you to the bed like some blushing bride."

I faced him, grabbing the back of his head and pulling his mouth to mine. I sucked at his tongue with the same abandon I'd used on other parts of his body earlier that day. I loved the way I could make him tremble. My fingers went to free him from his jeans. Too many clothes came between us.

He pulled back for a moment. His eyes abating a bit, then growing wide and warm.

"I love you, too," he whispered, "with or without being immortal."

I started to slide down his jeans when I heard the familiar sound of taps on my cell phone, beeping from the floor. I kicked it-- not a very economical solution, but it worked. It stopped.

Sid navigated me to the bed. Our clothes fell like a trail of breadcrumbs across the floor. His fingers deftly slipped my boxers down. I got his jeans off, then threw off his shirt. I relished in gliding his underwear over his tight ass. With a little effort, we pulled my t-shirt up and over my head, letting it drop to the floor last. Then he pushed me backwards on the comforter, straddling me.

His palms loitered from my hip bones and milled around my tummy.

"Now who's teasing?" I said as I bit my lip trying not to burst out in giggles.

Then he gave me one of his crooked smiles. He sat back on my thighs. I have to say, he looked like he was admiring his own work.

Then I heard music. A chiming. I thought, could it be the music of the spheres? But no, this time it was Sid's cell phone.

"It's in the headboard--" he said apologetically. "Probably the damn road manager calling again. I'll turn it off." And he reached over me, discretely tinkering with his phone while grabbing some bottle-- what was it? Coconut? Great minds think alike.

"Now," he said mischievously, holding up the lotion, "what to do with you and this..."

It wasn't a difficult choice to make. 

"This is the first time for half of me--" I said, as he nuzzled my neck, nipping me hard and making me squeal. "How about some close and personal instruction?"

Sid laughed, brushing back the damp hair sticking to my forehead.

"Nervous?" he asked. "Maybe a nice massage to help you relax?"

"Me? Nervous? No way!" I fibbed.

"I admit I am. It's ok for you to admit it--"

He began kneading my neck with practiced hands, working their magic, rolling his thumbs across to my shoulders, then began raking them down my chest.

"Ok. A massage would be good--" I choked.

"After the great oral massage you gave me earlier this afternoon, it's the least I could do to return the favor."

He reached over for the lotion and dramatically smeared some into his palm and over his fingers, smoothing it up and down in a mocking motion. Fuck.

"Roll over," he ordered.

And I obeyed. I felt his thumbs gently press down my spine up and down, and his palms butterflied out, expertly finding the knots and loosening them. Each time trailing lower than the last down my spine until finally his thumbs pressed over my tail bone and his palms massaged my ass. I swallowed hard as he slowly kneaded inward exploring. 

I whimpered. My, my -- the things one can do with cocoa butter and fingers.

Then I felt an odd vibration. What was this? Some new fangled contraption of Sid's? Or maybe some bizarre sensory stimulation Sid evoked? Then I realized, duh, it was Sid's phone again! What do you expect from a cheap, pressboard bed? I was astounded it hadn't fallen to bits from all the recent stress it was under--

"Sorry," he said, taking it out of the head board and shoving it into the dresser next to the bed.

"That's ok. I felt kinda good."

"If you want a vibrator, I can get us a better one then that--" his voice rattled. "Now, turn your head so I can see your eyes and watch me in the mirror and tell me what you'd like me to do with my fingers--"

I met his eyes there, willing myself not to look away from the intensity that sparked within the depths of his eyes.

My throat constricted as I tried to speak, but words wouldn't come. I scrunched the sheets with my fists.

"Not good enough. Tell me with your eyes--"

I looked deep into his pupils, falling into him. He smiled lazily, eyelids fluttering-- hiding a scorching inferno just beneath. My eyes grew wide, throwing back his heat, begging him, "Please," as I pushed up into his hand.

If there was any doubt what type of nebulas we were, it was apparent now. My eyes reflected his-- one hundred suns burning-- a mirror of bright blue heat.

I watched his face as I pleaded again with my eyes. Only with my eyes.

His brow creased and his eyes were bright green searing heat. Through my eyes, I expressed what I felt in my chest-- that familiar warmth spreading until I felt like I would spontaneously combust.

"How do you like my helping hands?" he asked. "Or do you need more?"

All I could do was nod and shoot as much incandescent lust through my irises as I could muster. I think it worked...

"Any first time jitters?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's good," I whispered.

Really good.

He nudged me over and splayed my knees out beyond his shoulders, using more lotion. As he pushed into me, I felt like he was burning me to cinders.

The nervousness in the pit of my stomach spread making the rest of my body tighten. His hands gripped my knees pushing them into my chest, and I pulled his mouth down to mine, sucking on his tongue and lapping his lips as my hips did a push-me pull-you against him.

Pain and joy coursed through me as Sid slammed his weight into me. My lungs burned like I was just finishing a marathon, not beginning one. He rocked into me. The pain ebbed and as he shifted his weight down on to me-- the heat from his eyes flickered like the stars we'd watched earlier. He murmured he loved me as I bared down to stifle the pain. The sweat shimmered on his brow like gems.

As he smiled against my lips, Sid thrust into me deeper yet, and I cried out. Building up to the moment when everything stops in the room but our hearts. I felt the pull from the immortal part of me-- that heat spreading. My hands dug into his scalp, desperately hungering for another taste of his mouth. I was close-- so close.

His scruffy face chafed mine as his hands clenched, increasing rhythm. I looked up at him, flushed and beautiful.

Against my cheek disjointed phrases rushed from him.

And I thought I must be going batty, seeing stars in his eyes and sparkling gems in his sweat and thinking the ringing of his cell phone was the music of the spheres while its vibration shook my world. And from the words that poured from Sid, I believed loving me must be the same. I came like that, spilling over, watching his eyes.

We held each other. The sex was always great, but most times I loved that part more, feeling our pulses slow and holding each other. I loved the drowsy comfort of his arms binding me close.

We lay like that and fell asleep. And I woke to a rattling. I realized it was Sid's phone again, vibrating on the table. Sid stirred, rolled over and reached over the nightstand.

His voice slurred with sleep as he answered, "Hello, Sydney Raymond."

I watched his face change. Restful creases flattened out then shifted to furrowed scowl lines.

"Yes, I hear you." The terse voice, his knuckles white gripping the phone, I knew who it was without asking. He hesitated as he held the phone out to me.

"It's Shackleton," I said flatly. 

Sid nodded.

I took the cell phone.



Failing Upward Ch. 13



An author's note:

Believe it or not this is a finished piece that has a definite plot. The end of this chapter reveals the truth of Wes's situation--no more false leads. Have fun reading. Now the ride gets bumpy.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Dead air. 

Then interference. The sound of sandpaper on raw wood like splinters piercing my eardrums. I listened and waited, watching Sid's face. I didn't have to hear his voice to know Shackleton was on the other end.

"Yes?" I asked.  More dead air, then his voice--

"Look out the window."

I hesitated. So he was out there. I didn't need to step up to the window. I didn't need to look. I didn't need to draw back the curtain. I didn't even need to see him standing twelve feet from our window to know he was there. I didn't need to, but I was compelled to. I took the steps and pushed back the musty curtains. Diffused light from the porch exaggerated his jagged form. The dark transformed him into some unworldly predatory creature-- his tan slacks and brown suit jacket no longer looked ordinary but ominous. 

"Go away--" I hissed.

 I watched him with his Nextel phone pinned to his ear and a self-satisfied smirk pasted on his face. 

"But don't you want to hear my deal?"

"I don't make deals. Not with you."

"I think you will... You see Wes, you have no other choice. Come outside and it won't get messy."

I felt Sid press against my back, looking out the window over my shoulder. He cussed under his breath. 

Shackleton smiled, then stepped back, his face half concealed by the shadows from the tops of poplar trees that stood complacently by of the dunes. His free hand fumbled for something inside the lining of his jacket. I spied a flash of reflected metal-- a gun.

"You wouldn't want anything to happen to that charming young man behind you, would you Mr. Grant?"

"No.." I choked, cursing myself for letting my voice betray my emotion. "I'll be right out."

I flipped the cell phone off as Sid grabbed my arm. "You're not going out there with him. No way."

"If I don't, he'll shoot you."

I'd turned to Sid as the gun popped, glass splintering like icy rain into the room. I pushed Sid, and we both crashed backward onto the floor. I banged the back of my head into Sid's jaw, and I felt silvery fingers of pain in my face as my cheek scraped his. I looked into his eyes-- it took me all of a nanosecond to realize Sid was fine. I winced again.

"Fucking hell," Sid whispered, reaching up and carefully pulling the glass splinter out of my face. He frowned at it, then at me. My eyes watered. "That was close. I think I felt the bullet fly by my head."

He started to stand, and I yanked him down. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" I hissed. I crouched down and made my way to the window, crunching through the glass.

"Careful, he can blow your head off as well as mine," Sid whispered.

"Yeah, I'll be careful-- I'm kinda fond of both our heads." 

I sucked in my breath and got up the nerve to look outside when I heard Smith hollering, "Are you fucking crazy?!" 

I heard the bits of glass grinding under Sid's feet as he pushed up beside me. He gave his 'I'm so worldly' eye wink as he wiped the blood off my cheek. "Might as well peek over the window sill together," he whispered. "I think we'll be safe."

I jumped as someone yelled, "Hell!" at the top of their lungs. "He's fucking dead!"

It was Smith.

"Shit," Sid cursed under his breath as the light from the back porch unveiled the scene. 

Shackleton wasn't really dead. He just looked that way. There Glenda stood, staring down at Shackleton. My senses spiked. I heard and saw all of it, but worst of all I could feel it inside me. The grit of the sand and blood in my mouth-- the pain in my head. I looked at him sprawled face up in the sand, and could have sworn I was looking inside myself. I watched as Glenda gritted her teeth and raised the shovel over her head, winding up for another swing. Smith grabbed a hold of the handle before she let it fly. 

It was like a bird some two-year-old was squeezing and by some miracle released. I jumped free and sprinted out the bedroom and down the narrow hallway, Sid on my heals.

When we rounded the corner of the house, I saw Les had beaten us to Smith. Les stood face to face with Smith-- forehead pressed against Smith's. I could see as we drew closer Smith's eyes searching for mental support and his hand like a claw  gripping Les's arm for physical support.  

Glenda still had the shovel, but it rested against her leg. She kicked it with the side of her foot.

"Jesus Christ, ya killed him," Smith whispered to her, as he tugged away from Les and knelt down in the sand next to Shackleton's body. 

"Believe me, he's not dead..." Glenda said.

"Who is he?" Les asked.

"You've heard his name-- Simon Shackleton," she answered.

"Oh man," Les said, looking at me, his lips thin with worry. 

I knelt down beside Smith, carefully turning Shackleton's head, inspecting the wound. Blood, bones and brains. Damn, those lithe little arms of Glenda's packed some power. I stared up at her. Her expression was peaceful, serene. She looked like Ivan, her  masseuse, had just completed a full body massage. If it wasn't for the bloody shovel in her hand and her jaw twitching, I wouldn't have known she'd crushed the back of Shackleton's skull. 

"How can you say he's not dead?" Smith said, cautiously nudging him. "He's dead. Christ, his brains are on her fucking shovel. Nobody could live with their head crushed like that."

"He's not dead, just resting," she said calmly. 

My head began to throb again.

Sid kicked Shackleton in the ribs. I flinched.

"No such luck,"  Sid said under his breath. "If he was dead, it'd be a relief." Sid kicked him one more time. I could swear I felt a hitch in my side where he kicked Shackleton.

"Hey!" Smith yelled. "That's enough! Have some respect for the dead!"

As I looked at Shackleton, I wondered what was going on inside me. This was new-- except for Sid, I'd never been able to get into someone else's skin with out touching them first. Maybe I'm a romantic but I thought it was special between me and Sid. I'd thought it was because we were kindred souls. Now, this with Shackleton-- my worst enemy-- I wondered about all the assumptions I'd made regarding my powers. Had they always been this way? Were they strengthening?

Shackleton groaned, and Smith jumped, stumbling to his feet. 

"Fucking hell, I don't believe it--" Smith whispered, taking two steps back, "he is still alive. I'm callin' an ambulance." 

Smith turned for the house, Les grabbed his pizza- stained t-shirt, pulling him back. "No."

"No?! You can't just leave him to die. Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?! Who is he?!" Smith asked.

"An obsessed fan-- and will you shut up!" I said. "You'll wake up my sister and Alan. Last thing we need is to explain this to them, too. Fucking calm down."

"Shut up?!? Now you're telling me not to get excited, or I might wake up your precious sister? I think you have serious issue with what constitutes a problem. To me, someone whacked in the head with a shovel is more serious than you sister's beauty sleep. Shit. All of you are acting strange. Tell me what the hell is going on right now, or I'll wake the dead and your sister."

"That's an incredibly bad choice of words-- considering what Karen's been through," Sid said. 

"Oh, don't throw that in my face! Just what I need is more 'Oh, Smith is so insensitive' right now. You're the ones wacking people in the head and kicking their side. And as for waking the dead--shit-- it's the truth! I think I'm in a manic cross between Night of the Living Dead and Nightmare on Elm Street! Glenda just did a Freddy Krueger on this poor son-of-a-bitch..."

"He's no poor son-of-a-bitch," she said.  

"That's harsh-- I mean wishin' an obsessed fan dead is one thing, but clobbering him over the head is extreme, don't ya think? And now you're gonna stand here and watch him die?"

"He's dangerous," Sid said. "He deserves worse."

"Who is this guy?" Smith asked again.

"More like what..." I answered. "You wouldn't understand..."

"Clue me in..."

"He tried to kidnap Wes," Sid interrupted.

"Kidnap? How come I'm the last to know this shit?" Smith asked. "When did this happen?"

"This afternoon," I said. "And it wasn't him, I mean, it was him-- he sent someone else to kidnap me." 

Smith stared at me, eyebrows raised. "What in the hell are you going on about?" he asked. "Nothing you say makes any sense. Maybe you're in shock-- maybe you're all in shock. Nothing any of you are doing makes sense either."

"We'd better tie him up before he becomes fully conscious," Glenda suggested to Sid. 

"I'll get some rope out of the boat--" he answered. I watched him jog off down the dune.

"What?" Smith said. "Tie him up? What for? I don't think he'll be putting up much of a fight in his condition. Don't you think we should be calling the cops? If he's some kidnapper..."

"No," Glenda said, punctuating her answer with the shovel by wedging its point into the sand. She hoisted a shovel full, the grains spilling over the sides. "I know exactly what to do with him." 

"What?" I asked. 

 "Bury him," she said. Her eyes bored into me as she dumped the sand onto Shackleton's chest. 

"What did you say?" Smith voice was hushed, his face a cloud of disbelief. Les stepped closer to Smith, shoulder to his chest. He whispered something to him, although I didn't try to hear because what little composure I had left was fracturing. 

My insides chilled. Goose bumps spread up my arms. Suddenly I felt like I was in the 45- degree walk-in cooler back at the flower shop. I hated him, too. I hated what he was-- is... but-- 

"Over there is perfect," she pointed. "Of course we'll have to make the hole very deep."

I shook my head, "No, no," I heard myself saying. I stared down at Shackleton, and I saw him grimace.

"But I thought you said he wasn't dead?" Smith said, incredulously.

"He's not," I whispered. "Listen Glenda, I hate the guy as much as you do, maybe more, but we'd be like him if we did this."

"I'm not asking for your help or permission. I'm telling you what I intend to do. He deserves much worse. As I see it, it's the only way to keep you and Sid safe. It's the only way to protect the future."

Sid walked slowly up to us, white nautical rope in hand. He kneeled beside me and began binding Shackleton's hands.

"What's wrong?" he mumbled looking at me, tightening the slack in the cord with his teeth. My hands began to tingle.

"Glenda wants to bury him alive..." 

He sat back on his knees and looked at me a moment, then crawled down by his legs and began wrapping the cord taunt around Shackleton's ankles. Sid silently tied his feet. Then he met my eyes for an instant and turned to Glenda.

"Where at?" he asked her coldly. She pointed over to the dark wooded area of the dunes. Sid nodded.

My stomach tightened in disbelief. What was he thinking of? Where was the soft-edged Sidney who gently wiped blood from my cheek just minutes ago?

"You can't be serious," I said, clenching my hands.

"Yeah, I am. It's the only way to stop him-- the only thing that will work short of chopping off his head or burning him alive." 

I shook my head. Sid's jaw set. He wasn't going to change his mind.

"And if it doesn't work?" I asked. "He'll just be really pissed off."

"It will work," Glenda countered. "I'll bury him so deep he could never dig himself out."

I felt the grit in my mouth. The burning in my chest. The crushing weight. The unfathomable darkness. Fuck. No way. "You can't do it." I choked.

"He's right-- you can't do this. Why are you even arguing about this? It's insane," Smith said.

Shackleton's hands clenched. He moaned.

"Stay there with Smith. I'll take care of him," Sid said to me then turned to Glenda. "I'll do it. We can both do it."

I stepped back-- frozen.

"This is fucking crazy! What are you thinking?!" Smith screamed.

Sid grabbed the rope between Shackleton's ankles and began dragging him toward the woods with Glenda behind. I watched-- immobile.

"You're just going to let them do this?" Smith said to Les and me.

"Yes," Les said quietly, starting for the house. "Let's go back inside and talk. I think I have a lot to explain to you..."

"A lot to explain?!" Smith said, following behind Les. "I don't think you could ever explain this to me. I don't know why I should listen to anything you have to say..."

I felt like an acrophobia who's about to bungee jump head first off the edge of the Grande Canyon. My heart pumped and head swam. No way could I let Sid do this alone, but I couldn't move. My legs locked-- like they were tied together instead of Shackleton's. Couldn't force myself to follow. I watched helplessly as they disappeared into the dark of the trees.

"Are you coming?" I heard Smith ask me, his voice sounded far off and surreal. Back to the house. Back where it was safe. I couldn't move that way either.

"No."

I stood there a long time, hours, listening to my own heart pound, my feet cold in the sand. Every so often I'd catch a word or two. One from Sid or one from Glenda. Time slowed, voices slurred. I'd feel like an eternity passed as I struggled to move. Voices rose and fell. Finally I did it. I put one foot ahead of the other, following the line in the sand that Shackleton's feet had made when Sid dragging him. I followed. As I got to the edge of the poplars, I stopped again. 

Listening. 

I heard Shackleton. I heard the sand squeak. I heard Sid cough. I heard disjointed words. I felt like someone else. A specter maybe. As I began to walk following the voices that carried up from the backside of the dune, I became more disjointed. I felt something cold under foot. I'd crushed it. I bent down, thinking at first it was a piece of Shackleton's cell phone until my finger touched it. A piece of his skull-- part of him. I can't explain why I did what I did next-- some madness maybe. I was like Doctor Frankenstein shrinking away from his creation, then irresistibly drawn to the thing that would destroy him.

I slowly reached for it. I had to pick it up. Even as my mind said no, I reached. I had to have it. Profane, repulsive, inhuman yet strangely narcotic-- I picked it up. With a twinge of horror and delight, I laughed aloud. I sounded crazy. I realized as my eyes burned, I was drowning in my own sweat. I stood up, shaking. My chest hurt like I'd punctured my lung. I held it. Fingers twitching, my other hand jerking near than far, wanting to touch it too. Part of me said, drop it. The other part of me slipped it into my pocket.

I wondered how the hell my life could have gotten this fucked up. As I started toward them again, I wished for my old life back, when all I wanted was to own my own flower shop and listen to brides-to-be argue if sonia or minuet sweetheart roses would accent the brides' maids dresses. It was so far away now, I'd almost forgotten that part of me. Standing on dune with a piece of cranium in my jeans pocket, I wished I'd wake up, and this was all a dream-- tap my heals three times and say, 'there's no place like home.'

Then I remembered what happened the last time I wished something away-- this is what happened. All this. Maybe I'd better forget wishing if this is what I got...

As I neared them, I strained my eyes to see although I was terrified-- I already saw it in my mind's eye. Down the slope of the wooded dune, the moon illuminated Sid as he shoveled. He was inside the hole he'd dug with only the top of his head visible above the sand. That same shovel. Sand flew out of the pit. I stood transfixed watching the sand sparkle, casting an eerie haze like hundreds upon thousands of infinitesimal prisms. I had to shut and open my eyes again to be sure it wasn't some aura surrounding Sid's head. But it didn't work. I still saw it all-- it was still there like a ghost behind my eyelids.

Sid was almost finished. The aura was gone. Glenda noticed me first. I don't know what I intended to do or say to stop them. I had no clear argument. I knew why they were here. Sid participated in this abomination to protect me. Glenda to protect order. I suppose in some part of our minds each of us was trying to justify sealing Shackleton in this eternal glass tomb. At least I knew I was. I knew why Sid believed this had to be. I knew why Glenda reasoned this was the only way. I'd watched them and tried to buy into their thinking. I tried. My brain rewound some old insurance commercial selling a policy stating that they're 'people, making a better world.'   I couldn't bring myself to buy the policy-- the deductible was too high. 

"You can't stop us," she said to me. "This will end."

I thought, what melodrama. I choked out a laugh-- almost the same maniacal outburst I had moments earlier in the woods. This was insane. I wanted Glenda to be right-- that this would end. But I knew better. No way to wipe Shackleton's memory off the face of the earth. Not even if I changed time. I'd still remember. The patch of skin on my hip that was rubbed raw from Shackleton's skull would recall...

"Understand," she said to me, "he is nothing-- just a drop. But he could change it all-- make a ripple-- "

Karen used to get frustrated with me because I had a hard time seeing The Big Picture. Now I was pretty damn sure I saw The Grand Design inside this situation. Trouble was, the big picture became small when there's a hole six feet deep with your name on it. As far as I was concerned they were burying me along with my worst enemy. I felt that piece of him leaching inside me. Shit, it was leaching inside all of us. They were burying a part of their souls, too. I wasn't sure if I could talk sense into them. Hell, there was a part of me that didn't want to talk sense into them. Might be best not to. But I had to give it one last try.

I only wished that Shackleton was still out cold. 

I helped Sid out of the hole. His hand was slick from sweat, and I latched onto his forearm to pull him out. With a jolt I felt the intensity of his conviction in this mess. I searched his eyes as sweat rolled from his matted hair like rivers.

"This isn't going to work," I pleaded. "The ground will give him up. Something will happen. Or worse, you'll lose a part of us. It's like messing with time; it's not for us to play with. You said that once-- that we shouldn't mess with time. You were right. Don't do this."

"I'm doing this so you won't end up messing with time," he said. "What other solution is there to all this? What other choice do I have? He'll destroy what you are. He's come after us and come after us. He will not give up. Fuck, just ask him. I bet he hears what I'm saying. No way-- I'm not going to let you be trapped in limbo or worse spend eternity in a living hell with this sick monster. And what if he discovers your secret and becomes like you? What would he do with that power? I don't want to think about it. The only way out other than this is to change time again. That's a throw of the dice. What if it's worse than this? That's why I'm ending it here. It's not your choice, Wes. Not any more."

He shoved Shackleton into the grave with the heal of his foot. Air forced out of my lungs.

"Go back to the house," he ordered and he took a shovel full of sand and dumped it into the grave.

"No!" I shouted. It wasn't going to work. Neither of them would change their minds. Sid said he had only one choice. Now he left me with only one choice, too.

This time I wished for real. In a flash, it all changed.

At first I thought it was Shackleton screaming. Then I realized it came from somewhere else. In my head. Not me. Not him. Like some animal in agony. Maybe it was both of us screaming in terror together. 




Failing Upward Ch. 13



Then I understood why. I understood our morbid connection. My horror. My pain. 

There was nothing in my pocket.

Sid was gone. So was Glenda. Sand cut the inside my mouth as I squinted my eyes to see Shackleton hovering above me. With his shovel, he flung sand down on me. 

I was the one in the hole.
---------------------------



My head throbbed. I wished. I counted. I tried recalling all that was good and decent in my life. But nothing changed. He was still there, and the world closed in on me.

The pisser was since he was determined to bury me alive, it seems he'd at least have said something cruel or maybe even profound to say to me. Shackleton said neither. Worse-- he said nothing at all as he shoveled more sand on top of me. 

I don't know what was worse, him dumping load after load of sand on my chest or his silent disregard for my pleas. Not that I begged-- much.

"Hey," I shouted. "At least give me one last drink! Answer me!"

The grains of sand became thousands upon thousands of centipedes scratching and crawling at my body. I became so desperate, I asked for a cigarette.

"Shit, even a condemned man gets a smoke or one last meal," I told him. "They even get last rites. What the fuck is wrong with you?! Talk to me!"

My hands ached and tingled. And I struggled uselessly against the same white cord Sid had tied Shackleton with. God, we'd changed places, Shackleton and I. My head hurt, and I was confused and dizzy. I wondered if he'd caved my head with the shovel. My knees and hands were raw. What had he done to me? Memories of what he done to Lancaster all those years ago flooded back. The impotent fuck. My stomach turned realizing where else my body was sore. 

How long ago had Dr. Deal hypnotized me? I couldn't recall. Seemed a lifetime ago. But I knew now why I'd felt the connection to my uncle.  Both of us being buried alive was a shared experience. No wonder it felt so real to me. This wasn't some false memory; it was a premonition. 

I struggled more and started cursing at Shackleton. 

"You fucking asshole. Think you're superior don't you? Well, maybe I'm the one in the hole, but at least I'm a man."

I saw the corner of his mouth go up a bit. A little reaction. Unfortunately he thought it was funny. Not the reaction I was looking for.

"I'm not some perverted, psychopath who can't even get off without Viagra or what ever serum you happen to derive out of me," I said, searching for something, anything that might get a reaction. "What do you care about? Nothing! Like watching pain? Ok, you win. You've hurt me. But if you bury me, it's all over."

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't look at me. Instead he looked up at the canopy above us. It was a clear night. Through the leaves I could see the stars. 

Then he picked up some more sand with the shovel.

"For God's sake don't do this," my voice cracked.

For a moment, I thought what I said worked.

He stopped shoveling, licked his lips then stared straight through me like I wasn't there. 

"I took what I needed, and what I wanted," he said.

My throat convulsed as I gulped for air, trying to think of a something else to say. Something that would make him stop. I noticed the edge of his mouth curl and then he picked up the shovel and flung sand in my face, blinding me.

"You are nothing," he said.

It cut and tore at my eyes. I couldn't speak. Now all I could do was listen as he crushed me with shovel full after shovel full of sand. I gagged on it. Then I couldn't breathe. After a time, my mind folded in on itself. No mercy from Mother Earth as she collapsed my lungs. I saw flashes of light behind my eyes either from lack of oxygen or hysteria. I wondered how even I, an immortal, could live without air. With the six plus feet of crushing weight above, my chest cavity caved in agony. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd lose my senses.

Shit, could I move things with my mind. I done it before. I tried now. Why couldn't I move this bit of sand?

Then suddenly I felt weightless-- a blessing, turned to a curse. I thought maybe I'd done it. I was free-- instead, I was in the place that Sid feared I'd end up. Trapped in my own mind, in limbo.

The sound of sand sifting above ceased. After a time, I began to hear things. But none of it was real. The waves on the lake slapping the shore. Birds singing and scratching the ground above me. My mom talking long ago. She was here with me again, telling me to go to sleep and singing a lullaby. 

Sometimes I heard music. Riffs on my guitar, old songs I'd written. Then I'd hear entire musical scores haunting me-- retracing the notes through my head. Like some ancient torture, I'd hear the tunes from movies I detested, The Sound of Music and Yentl. No driving the melodies away. Who knew that hell could be Julie Andrews and Barbara Streisand?

Phantom footsteps and my pathetic imagination inventing someone digging me out. I had no control over what I thought for sometime. 

I tried to remember what I wished for to get here, but I could not. I tried to wish for something else to get me out, but my will refused me.

I kept telling myself, it was because Sid was missing. He hadn't wished. This was my payback. The bad Karma Sid always told me about. I shouldn't have tried without him. That's what it took last time. How did I get things so fucked up?

I began to play over bits of my life in my mind. When you can't see, hear or reach, your world is all in recreating. I suppose I could have recalled instead of playing at being the god of my recreated world, but the world became so much more interesting rewinding and finding a place where you can insert the what ifs. Living inside your own mind becomes the ultimate freedom and prison. You can make all the bad go away. Everyone loves you, and you love everyone. You can live happily ever after. That is until you recall it's not real. I had no idea how many days or weeks passed; I played that game so well.

----------------------------

It was dark and the stars tinkled in the clear night sky. As I walked out to the river, leaves crunched beneath my feet. Alan's old tire swing dipped back and forth and I climbed aboard, launching myself out and over the Kalamazoo River. I sat atop of the old tire and the thick rope prickled my fingers. As I swung out again, the rope groaned against the limb of the old oak. I looked down into the black water as I pitched out and over the river again for the third time. This was the same. I'd done this since I was a kid, and I felt the familiar jolt of excitement in my stomach.

The fall chill slapped my face. As I swung backward over the ground, I leaned back and raised my legs, pumping to get more height when the swing abruptly stopped. 

He hands were on top of mine. He climbed on in back of me, pushing off hard with his leg. I swung out farther than before with the weight of him pressed against me. Warm breath tickled my ear as we flew out over the water.

"Still avoiding me, I see…" Sid said. 

---------------------------

But after a time I could no longer prevent reality from creeping in. With time unknown, life slurred. 

Dreams hold a bittersweet truth. 

Sleep. No matter how many happy thoughts I conjured, my mind knew my body was trapped, and this infiltrated my pretty make-believe worlds. My dreams threw bitter reality at me.

Like before with Sid and I, bits of this new time line crept in. But I was never sure because this stew of new and old memories, woven with my manufactured dream world all became more and more difficult to tell apart. After a time, sleep and waking were so much alike I wasn't sure which was which. Both became nightmares with a pleasant dream or two threaded between. Then came the point where I preferred the nightmares. Memories of singing to my sister or making love to Sid became unbearable since I sensed I might never experience them again.

----------------------------

I lay on my side next to him, sheet crumpled between us.

"You want to come now?" I asked. He bit down hard on his bottom lip-- his eyes following my hand. I loved watching him, watching me.

"Harder?" I asked, and he nodded.

His whole body tensed as I pressed up closer to him, and he huddled into me those last frantic moments before orgasm, spilling over my hand with a gasp.

----------------------------

I woke. I couldn't scream or laugh hysterically. But I could cry. I was still here, trapped in this cold dark place.

Dry and matted, I suffered loving what I thought I'd never touch again and regretted not touching what I could have had, but for my foolishness. I could still feel his hands on top of mine. In the darkness, I could conjure his kind eyes melting me, and feel his scruffy chin scraping mine. I got goose-bumps as his skilled fingers shaped me, forcing me to relive our moments together. My heart still beat. As long as it did, I would love him.

----------------------------

"Good morning," he said, kissing my temple. "Coffee? Cornflakes? Eggos?"

"Mmm, toast. And coffee."

----------------------------

Like before with Sid and I, bits of this new time line crept in. But I was never sure because this stew of new and old memories, woven with my manufactured dream world all became more and more difficult to tell apart. After a time, sleep and waking were so much alike, I wasn't sure which was which. Both became nightmares with a pleasant dream or two threaded between. 

Replaying the nightmare of being buried alive was painful, but far worse became my memories of times alone with Sid. 

I became afraid he was nothing to me in this life. Then I became afraid that he was something to me. If he was nothing, at least he'd be safe from Shackleton.

I worried where he was, and what he was doing. I conjured fates for him far worse than mine. I tried to recall what he was to me here in this time. I needed to know if he was safe. I tried to recall, but I could not.

And I remembered Shackleton's  last words, and they terrified me. He'd gotten what he wanted and needed. What did he mean? 

I was afraid he hadn't just fucked me-- he'd fucked my world. Could he change time now? Feel pain?

What would he do?

----------------------------

When I first heard it, I thought it was some audio-mirage or some long wished for dream. I'd imagined the same so many times before, I ignored it. As the sound increased, I told myself I was hearing only what I wished for. Even when light blinded me and I heard Glenda say, "He's here," I still didn't believe it was real-- not until they pulled me out, and I felt my face wet from Les's tears as he hugged me crying.

I shivered, I choked and sobbed along with them, Glenda, Lancaster and Les. After wrapping me in a moth-eaten red wood blanket, Lancaster carried me out to his car.

The long ride home didn't seem so long. Not compared to the eternity I'd just spend underground.

I scratched myself raw on the way. Sand covered me. What I wanted was a hot bath. Shit, it was fucking inside me, crawling to get out. I didn't think that feeling would ever leave me.

I leaned closer to Les who sat next to me. He told me how long they'd looked for me. It was Lancaster who finally found the spot where I was buried. They weren't sure what they'd find. 

"Thank you, thank you for finding me Mr. Lancaster."

"What's this with calling me Mr. Lancaster? I thought you were over that long ago."

"Sorry, thank you Uncle Daniel," I said. "I don't know what I'm saying."

"Understandable. You're forgiven for calling me Mr. Lancaster. If you've forgotten, I prefer you call me Uncle Dan," he said, looking at me in the rear view mirror. "Do you want to stop somewhere for something to eat? Something warm to drink? You're shaking the springs loose in that seat."

"God, coffee. That sounds like heaven, but as much as I'd like some coffee, I want to go home more." 

I closed my head and rested my head on the seat. I must have fallen asleep, because I jumped awake. I was breathing hard.

Les reached over and squeezed my hand. 

"For a moment, I thought I was back there," I said.

"Well, you're here. After all those months..." Les said.

"I'm going to make sure he never hurts us again," my uncle said. I noticed his hands were clenched white on the steering wheel. "It's something I should have done a long time ago."

And as they pulled into the long driveway at the Lancaster's home, I sat up and pressed my forehead to the car window. Months... I was gone for months...

"The whole world has changed..." I said aloud.

"What?" Les asked me. "What did you say?"

There were no leaves on the trees. Dirty patches of snow lined the drive. How long was I gone?

"Sid," I said louder. "Where is Sid?"

"Sid who?" Glenda asked. 

"Sid?" said Les. He turned to me and jabbed me in the ribs. "Do you mean Sidney Raymond?"  

I nodded. 

"He's a friend of Alan's, our band's manager," Les said to her.

"Why would you ask about him?" Glenda wondered as she looked over the seat at me.

Lancaster stopped the car in front of the house. Massive icicles hung almost to the ground off the old Victorian porch, some were as big around as my calf. 

They really needed to invest in some insulation.

"No reason," I said, watching the crisp light fragment in the huge icicles. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Glenda raised her eyebrow, sighed and opened her car door then came around to mine.

As she helped me out of the car, I noticed she was crying again. 

"You have no shoes," she said. "Maybe your uncle should carry you..." I shook my head as she gave me her arm up. 

Fuck the ground was cold, but I didn't want him carrying me into the house.

I grabbed her arm as we climbed the icy steps (more for my support than hers). My old tabby cat jumped up on the porch railing, then sprung at me. I caught Babe in my arms, and she butted her head against my chest. I instinctively reached to scratch her behind the ear.

"Someone's happy to see you," my uncle chuckled and helped me scratch Babe under the chin. She purred loud enough for everyone to hear. 

"Yeah, I'm pretty damn happy to see her, too. I'm pretty damn happy to see all of you. I'm damn happy to be here at all." I stopped for a moment, gathering my thoughts. Shit, I was so overwhelmed I didn't know how to express my gratitude. 

"I'm just so damn happy," I mumbled. 

Les jiggled the key in the door and pushed it open. There is nothing as reassuring as the snug warmth of home kissing your face after coming in from the cold.  As we stepped in, I turned to Glenda, and whispered:  "Thank you."  

----------------------

"You don't have to tell us what happened until you're ready," Glenda said. "Know that your Uncle and I love you."

She sent me off with some clean clothes. I shut the narrow bathroom door and flipped the lock.

I took that bath right away. I left a pillar of sand on the floor where I took of my clothes. I threw them in the wastebasket next to the sink, ridding myself of the terrible reminder. 

I climbed into the old claw-foot tub. Extra hot. So hot it turned my pale skin angry red. I counted to fifty before I lowered my more tender parts down into the cauldron, then finally slid under the water. After shampooing my hair for the fourth time, I determined that it would be the next century before the last grains of sand were out of my scalp. There was so much sand in the bottom of the tub, I was concerned that I'd block the plumbing when I rinsed down the drain. 

I took my time getting out. Wrapping one of large cushy-blue bath towels around me. The mirror was steamed over; I swiped the glass with a corner of the towel. Man, I looked like shit. 

I dressed in an old pair of my scrubby jeans that Glenda'd given me along with my tatty gray cable sweater. At least I knew my old clothes. I wandered cautiously out to the kitchen. Glenda waved for me to sit down.

I smiled. A friendly cup of coffee waited for me on the table. Cream and sugar already in it.

I sat down and ate in silence as Glenda watched. I kept moving the napkin around on my lap and squirmed in my seat like an antsy 6-year-old. 

She served me left over turkey she'd frozen and warmed up. Said she'd saved it from the holiday, hoping I would get to eat the dinner. I tried at least to muster more enthusiasm after she told me.

The mash potatoes had that 'inside of the freezer' taste. The gravy  was a bit too salty. The turkey was dry. The cranberries were extra tart. And the coffee was strong.

God it tasted good...

I devoured it.

"You want to go lie down for awhile?" she asked.

I had enough reclining to last the rest of my life. But I needed time to think and sort all this out. To tell the truth, I was afraid to close my eyes again. Still I had to decide: What was I going to say to them? What should I reveal?

"Yeah, I think that would be a good idea."

She followed a step behind me like a mother bird watching over her hatchling until I told her I'd be fine. 

I started up the winding old stairway. The same staircase carved with roses and thorns. Mica... my roses. I ran my fingers in the groves just as I had the first time I saw this miracle. 

I heard quiet feet behind me. Les trying hard to be cautious. 

"I thought you'd give it away," he said quietly, grabbing my arm and pulling me up the stairs.

"Give what away?" I whispered back to him.

"All the trouble you went to to keep Sid and you a secret from Glenda? Shit, you almost gave it away…"

So Sid and I were together in this time... made sense, that's why he jabbed me in the ribs in the car.

"Help me out here," I said. "I don't remember. A lot is a blank."

I decided the best way to get information was to play the temporary amnesia card, which wasn't far from the truth.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like what's going on with Sid for a start…"

He opened the door at the head of the stairs and pushed me through. It was the same room Sid and I had shared-- where Sid watched me in the garden from the window. Where he made love to me on the window sill. 

"Sid was pretty busted up after you disappeared. The band members wondered where he was. He never came anymore to watch us play. I finally made some excuse as to where you were because Sid was so beside himself worrying about you. Blamed himself, since he broke it off with you just before. I told him you went off to clear your head-- sort of a mental vacation. In fact at first I thought that's exactly what you did. Then when you didn't come back for days, and we got that note from Shackleton..."

"Note?"

"Yeah, rubbing in how he had you. I thought Uncle Dan was gonna kill somebody. Seriously. Glenda was half hysterical. We ended up getting Trent to help us. He tracked Shackleton down to the cottage by the lake. But he was long gone. We tried to find out where Shackleton took you. I know it sounds weird, but where you were came to Uncle Dan in a dream one night-- he said it was more like a memory. It wasn't far from where Shackleton buried him all those years ago. That's how we finally found you."

I sat down on the bed and looked out the window. The shadows were getting longer.

"Sid didn't understand. I know it was a hard choice for you to make. But considering what happened with Shackleton, it was the right choice."

I looked at him, confused.

"Understand what?" I asked.

"Keeping your relationship a secret. Man, you don't remember anything, do you? Sid thought you didn't want to tell everyone because you couldn't face your family about being gay." Les laughed. "Like they'd have a problem with that. Sid had no idea..."

I didn't tell him then. He'd never found out about me. Not like before. 

"He didn't know we're immortal?"

"Yeah. You were right to keep it from him. Glenda would never accept him. I don't know what crazy thing she'd do if she realized Sid knew. I think you were worried that she might try to make him immortal, too. Now that would be a fucking mess."




Failing Upward Ch. 13



"It sure would," I coughed. 

"Damn right-- not because of the immortal or the gay thing, but because of Shackleton."

Sid was safe. Best way to keep him that way was to keep away from me. 

"Thank God Sid never found out."

"Ha! That's ironic," he laughed. "The night before you disappeared you told him something. Lucky for you and him, he didn't believe one word."

"How did you know?"

"Sid told me."

"What did he say?"

"He said you told him you were an alien from another galaxy."

--------------------

At 10:30 p.m. I sat down to my PC and did a search on time travel. I no longer had Sid, the consummate computer geek, to research and answer my every question. I had to do this, and I kicked myself for not taking the initiative before this-- maybe I could have prevented me from getting all that sand in my hair.

Itch, itch, itch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. I still felt like I had sand on me. God, you never knew the freedom of being able to reach in your pants and scratch your nuts until you can't do it for weeks. I reached in and gave the boys attention. After giving each of them equal time, I scratched my head just because I could. I had fingernails since I hadn't been able to bite them for weeks so I was able to do a respectable job. 

I rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands-- something else I hadn't been able to do in a long time.  I leaned back in the chair. I had so many questions. Most of which had to do with my missing memory of this time and how the last months fit together. I didn't want to gamble changing time again. That meant I was pretty much stuck here. 

I had to know how Sid fit in. Why had I tried to tell him the truth (or at least maybe what I thought was the truth) the night before I disappeared?

I opened up Word and typed out my most pressing questions:

    1. Why don't I remember this time line like I did the first time with Sid?
    2. Could I possibly control the jump through time?

    3. Why would I tell Sid I was an alien?

    4. Did Shackleton have the same powers as I do now?

I knew I wouldn't find the answer to my last two questions on the Internet. The first two, however, I could.

I began my search, and I began it simple. Just time travel. My brain couldn't handle too much at the moment. I skimmed first for credible information, book-marking places I thought were best. I'd go back to them when my brain was up for a crash quantum physics lesson.

Then I stumbled on interesting site.

I couldn't help myself. I read it all. Some physicist at Cambridge wrote that a time traveler should not remember the previous time line.  Not unless that person was protected from it-- like some magic force field. Maybe Sid and I protected each other that first time. This time I didn't have Sid. Maybe this guy was just plain wrong. Had he done it?!

Or maybe there was another reason I didn't remember. There was another time when I didn't remember… when this all started. The car accident. Maybe I didn't remember because of the trauma to my head. Shackleton must have hit me with the shovel too. That might explain it. 

Then there was a third possibility. Maybe it was psychological. Maybe I didn't remember because what happened was just too horrible. Maybe my mind was protecting me from the truth. 

Then I saw the words 'parallel universe' and a fourth possibility that never occurred to me see seemed all the more likely. Maybe I wasn't changing time at all. Maybe I'm in an alternate universe.

Maybe Shackleton was off in another existence tormenting me right now.

Fuck. Now my head hurt.

I added that to my search, and I read on...

The Internet is a time machine of a sort. I looked up, and it was 2:46 a.m. I'd collected some interesting information. I was more confused than when I started. I definitely had found no answers. Instead, I had more questions. I shut down the computer and kicked off my slippers. I got up, walked over to bed and pulled back the covers and tried to go to sleep.



Failing Upward Ch. 14



I woke from a nightmare, finding myself wound up tight in the sheets-- one of those bad dreams where your own cries wake you. Les knocked at my door, asking if I was all right. I kicked the sheets, uncoiling my body, and told him I was fine.

"To see the world in a grain of sand," I said to myself. I knew what that meant now. William Blake was right. 

God appears, and God is Light,
To those poor souls who dwell in Night;
But does a Human Form display
To those who dwell in realms of Day.

I stretched my arms and legs spread eagle, then kicked my feet, slap, slap, slap against the mattress. God, what freedom! I fluffed the pillow and smothered myself with it, then warmed my palms on the top of the quilt, rubbing them up and down, tracing the basket weave pattern in the quilt. All the simple tactile messages I'd missed, I now horded. The sun shining from the bay window baked me underneath like God's toaster oven, and I relished it. I used to hesitate to set foot on a cold hardwood floor-- now I couldn't wait for the experience. It meant I was alive and moving. 

It is true. I appreciated life more, after all my agony. "Joy and woe are woven fine,/ A clothing for the soul divine."

While the pads of my feet were having their own little party on the floor, I heard the timid knock again and knew Les wouldn't leave.

When I opened the door to go downstairs, I freaked-- there stood Les with a dopey grin in pink bunny slippers, purple chenille bathrobe and orange polka dot flannels. 

"You look like hell," he told me. 

"Me?! I guess I didn't take you serious enough when you told me you wanted to run away and join the circus," I laughed. "All you need is a red nose and a unicycle-- "

He cleared his throat, raising his right eyebrow. 

"I..." he began, bowing dramatically, "...wore this outlandish affair you bought for me in your honor--" 

"But I don't think I expected you to wear them all at the same time," I suppressed a laugh.

"Yes you did?! Don't you remember?!" 

"Yeah.. er, well.. ok... I guess," I stammered then turned tail and started down the stairs. He did the brotherly love thing-- he yanked my hair and pulled me back.

I turned around to do the other brotherly love thing-- tackle him to the ground, but I pulled back when he pointed down at his feet and leaned back on his heals, backing off. 

"Hey, stop. See? Ah-h, the slippers are soft and squishy. You don't remember saying that to me, do you? You're the one who told me that! You can remember-- just try harder. You told me, 'These are the best-- they're soft and squishy and sure to make your toes curl.' Hey, and look! I'm curling my toes right now in shear comfort, but you can't see 'cause Mr. Bunny Wabbit's in the way."

I started back down the stairs. He followed behind me, saying, "Hop, hop, hop!"

"Back off Les! Shit, you're scaring me. You keep watching me like I'm some magician's white rabbit. I'm not going to friggin' disappear!"

"Well, excuse me for caring!" 

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry I don't remember. Pink bunny, white rabbit-- I'm sorry! I'll be better after I had my coffee and use the bathroom..." I yelled, throwing up my arms. 

I felt awful when I turned and looked into his face. He had that damn pouty bottom lip quivering, turning my heart to raspberry sauce. But I was glad I didn't take it back, especially after I heard him behind me in that lilting sing-song voice of his chanting, "Bunny hop, bunny hop, bunny hop, hop..." 

Well, if you can't beat-- join 'em. I sang along with him on the way to the bathroom. "The Bunny Hop" echoed down the hall all the way to the bathroom. I turned around when I got to the door and waved bye to Les. At least he didn't hippity-hop on my tail into the bathroom while I was taking a piss. 

After, I dried my hands, humming, and inspected my fingernails (which I still had), then opened the door and found him marching back and forth like a sentry. 

The mood had changed. I felt like I had a fuzzy, purple body guard--

I decided not to say anything else smart ass to him. Hell, he was just concerned about me. I kinda wished he'd hop on my heals into the kitchen--

"Smells good. I'll have a cup of that," I said to Glenda with a yawn.

I sat down to the table-- and watched Les rub his chin and grin at me. Glenda sat down, warming both hands around her coffee mug. She looked at Les and smiled. 

My coffee sat in front of me, and I stared down into it like it contained the mysteries of the universe.

"That's coffee, ya know," Les said. "It ain't tea leaves."

Maybe if I looked harder I could see my future. 

Second thought, maybe I didn't want to look...

"Um, I need cream and sugar..." 

They both jumped. Les pushed the sugar bowl over to me. Glenda poured cream in my coffee. She even stirred it for me. Made me feel kinda goofy and safe with both of them hovering over me. 

"Thanks," I said. Glenda leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Geeze. 

"Hey, he's blushing. That's a good sign, don't ya think, Glenda?" I could feel my cheeks getting hotter, so I took another gulp of coffee to hide my face. 

"What would you like for breakfast? I could make pancakes, waffles--" she bent her head to look at me. When that didn't work, she slipped her fingers under my chin and tilted my head up, catching my eyes, "--or maybe a bowl of cereal?"

"Cereal would be good. But if you don't mind, I'd like to take it upstairs."

She poured my cereal and set it down in front of me. I hated the disappointed look on her face. I decided to compromise and eat my cereal at the table, but I took my second cup of coffee upstairs and went back to my room to research anew. 

Les still followed me, but he got the message that I wanted to be alone when I shut the door gently in his face. 

Sometimes you just can't be too subtle. 

My eyes were scratchy again, and I set down my coffee on my desk then, rubbed them with my palms until I thought I'd pushed them out the back of my head. I stretched out to press on the PC's power button, then leaned back and took a sip of coffee. I waited for Windows to load. 

God, I thought, coffee in the morning is almost as good as sex. How I missed coffee. How I missed the morning. 

Almost as good as sex, but not quite. 

 Sid's cock burns me; it's that bright moment of pleasure/pain as he forces hard into that last tiny space. His heat is liquid, centering my groin, then spreading to my heart then face. He moves achingly slow, fingers digging into my hipbones, mouth teasing my earlobes with nips and licks. His hand achingly slow, skitters past my bellybutton, down, down. Firm and sure, grasping my cock as he bites my shoulder and thrusts harder. My thighs shake and strain to get more of him, everything he is, inside of me...

Stop daydreaming. Fuck! Now, I had a hard on. This wasn't good. Even coffee was making me horny. I lifted it up and looked at it-- must be fresh roasted.

I sighed and clicked on my bookmarks. 

Shit.

How could that be? I scratched my nose. There was a folder titled 'time travel.' I knew I was tired last night, but I didn't remember creating a folder.

I opened the folder. Inside were at least fifty links. 

Not mine.

The Wes in this time did the same thing as I did. He'd researched the same subject. I checked My Documents. He (I) had mountains of research. 

I'd been reading for almost two hours, and my mind was getting fuzzy. My God, I'd done a lot of research. The more I read, the more I realized I was over my head. Without a background in physics, I was lost. Some of it made sense, but most was too technical for me to even begin to understand. I'd found a NOVA site, which was a bit more my speed. Written in plain English so a novice (like me) could understand. It made me wonder, just how much did my counterpart understand? I know he didn't have a background in science. He must have been as confused as me... 

What was left of my coffee was long cold, but I swallowed the last of it. Then I noticed something most curious-- I'd kept a journal-- a live journal. Here was the link!

This was so fucking hard to decipher. And why would he keep a link to it for someone to find? Maybe I did want someone to find it. I wondered...

Fuck! I needed the password. What would I use?

I got it in two tries.

captaincrunch.

Shit, he was me. Maybe he did want the other me to find it. Maybe that's why he left it in plain sight. Or maybe he wanted Les or Glenda to find it. Shit. But no way-- he would have used a different password. One they would know. This is a password for me. Only me. 

The inner thoughts of me-- or not me-- was incredibly exciting. It was like eves-dropping on your alter ego. Me and not me. Cool.

So much for having fingernails-- I chewed them off one by one as I began to read.

----------------------

 19, June 2003  Decided I should keep some kind of record of what has happened to me. Have been reading much on time travel. Since I got into this place (new reality???) I've been confused, yet I know what's gone on before which is pretty freaky to me. My family is much the same. Glenda is still uptight about mortals and can't get over Peter. Lancaster (who keeps telling me to call him Uncle Dan) isn't around much. Les is as kind and sweet as ever.

 I tried hard to blend into this time and space. I think I've convinced them, but every so often I catch Glenda looking at me like she knows. Part of me wants to confide in her-- in someone. But past experience tells me that's not such a good idea. Last time I confided in Les, he blabbed to everyone. That was the last time line. Now I'm here because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Fucking Peter Deal. I can see why Glenda's not with him (at least the Peter Deal I knew in the last time line-- who knows what this one's like). If he hadn't told Trent, then the community would never have found out, and Shackleton never would have found me either.

 The band is the same. Same members. Same groupies-- Sidney Raymond included. What is it with him?

----------------------

Damn! He was like me. Traveling in time! This was incredible. I wondered. Now I was sure. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that the Wes in this time line had the same ability and used it... And some of his experiences sounded similar to mine-- like the off hand comments about Peter, Trent and the community. Sounded as if Les was my alter ego's confident. 

I scrolled down to the next entry. 

----------------------

 06, July 2003  Spent the day at the lake with Alan, Lynn and Sid. Sunburned my back so bad I can't sleep. Sheets hurt like a bitch even when I lie perfectly still. 

 Fuck.

 Wish I would have learned to fall asleep on my stomach (at least in one time line LOL).

 It's all Lynn's fault. She refused to rub sun block on my back after Sid offered to do it. Kept giggling and saying, 'Make him happy; let Sid do it.' Some best friend she is... I almost let him do it, then Alan made a smart ass remark about me getting a hard on. Shit.

 Then to make it all worse, Sid had to go and get close to me in the water. Why doesn't Sid just drop it? I'm not interested. I suppose I should be flattered.

 The guy never gives up. Even after I pushed him away in the water, he still kept offering to rub sun block on my back when we went back to the beach.

 11, July 2003  Is it possible I'm in an alternate universe? I think so. I've always had a problem believing I could change time. All the paradoxes and such. The more I've read on the internet and at the university makes me believe I've never changed time at all-- just moved from one parallel universe to another. That way there are no temporal paradoxes. A person could go back in time and change history, killing their grandfather and still exist because by doing so they've created an alternate universe. No more paradoxes!

 Shit, that means I've left some other version of me to deal with the messes I left in the other times. Not a comforting thought. I wonder if Les or other like me could alter time too? It would make sense.

----------------------

If he's right, then we must have changed places. And if that We was in the time I came from-- he'd be with Sid.. 

With Sid. 

----------------------

 17, July 2003  Shackleton is in town again. He's bad news in any universe. Uncle Dan doesn't want Les and I to leave the house. The band went to play at the Falls last night. When we got home, I thought Lancaster was going to kill us both. Glenda said she'd lock us in our rooms if she had to.

 Christ, you'd think I was in high school again.

 Seems I can't escape Shackleton no matter what I do. I have no interest in becoming his personal guinea pig again, so maybe I better listen to them and stick close to home. 

 19, July 2003  I've been wondering if there are some things you just can't change even if you're in an alternate universe. Maybe there are some events that aren't solid, and others that can never be altered. Maybe it's inevitable that Shackleton finds me. 

 21, July 2003  Shackleton's gone. Left on a jet to the other side of the country. We are released from prison.

 Thinking I should get my own place. Or maybe switch universes (just kidding). Don't think switching universes again would be a good idea. Not until I understand more. Maybe not ever. I don't really want to try out 'free will' again, alter time or switch universes. It takes so much out of me. And what if I'm not really changing things? At least not in the big picture...

----------------------

I was beginning to agree with what this Wes was thinking. Maybe there are some things which can never be changed. Still, I liked to believe in the whole idea of free will. All this reminded me of the conversations Sid and I had even before we knew time could be altered...

God, I was just running William Blake through my brain when I woke up. Now, it was even more poignant: "He who doubts from what he sees/ Will ne'er believe, do what you please..." Sid believed with everything in him that he had the power to affect his future. I wanted more than anything to believe the same. Still, some things are meant to happen. Like Sid and I. 

As I read on, I was becoming convinced of it.

----------------------

 28, July 2003  The band was really on tonight. Had the crowd insanely dancing and screaming. Nothing better than the amps' vibration and enthusiasm. I thought Smith was going to fuck Les on stage. Les told me, he thinks he might be gay.

 Duh?!

 12, August 2003  Went to the 'after' party last night. Think I may have had too much to drink. Sid kissed me, and I kissed him back. That's never happened before. The worst part is, Alan walked in on us. Called into work sick today. Don't want to hear Alan's taunting. 

 12, August 2003  Sid called. Wants me to come over. Told him I'm sick, and that's why I'm at home. He said he thought maybe I was avoiding Alan and not really sick. 

 Part of me wants to go over to his place. But no good would come out of this. I've heard the lecture from Glenda and Uncle Dan too many times. No good comes out of a relationship with a mortal. Trouble is where's a guy supposed to find a hot immortal piece of ass? Not like it's so easy to find. Not like I can meet someone on the Internet. And Sid is always there. He's starting to look good. I think maybe my brain got jumbled this last time when I switched. 

 Still, no word about where Shackleton is or what he's up to...

 28, September 2003  Avoiding Sid is becoming more and more difficult. The guy never gives up. At least when I told him not to call anymore, he listened to that. Still, he hangs out at the flower shop and comes every night to whatever bar we happen to be playing at. I tried being rude, but it didn't work.

 Kissing him was the biggest mistake of my life.

 15, November 2003  A lot has changed. Went to party at Alan's last week. Sid entrapped me on tire swing. Wouldn't let me off. Not until I kissed him again. Did it just so he'd leave me alone.

 Actually, that's a big lie. I wanted to kiss him. I've wanted to since he kissed me the last time. I'm tired of being horny 24-7.

 I went home with him. Guess who's not a virgin anymore ;)

 Had to tell Uncle Dan and Glenda I spent the weekend with some girl. They were pissed, but I told them she wasn't from around here. That made Glenda a little happier.

 I wonder... is it possible to change back to the previous time line once you've left it? Just wondering because if the Wes from this time line comes back, he might not be so happy I'm sleeping with Sid. Not unless, I am him, in which case, I'm ok with it.

 I think...

 01, January, 2004  I am most certainly and positively in love.

 I've come to the conclusion that I probably would fall for him in any plane of reality...

 15, February, 2004  Big trouble. Sid wants me to meet his parents. He thinks I should come out of the closet. The shitty part is that Sidney would understand if I told him the real truth. He'd probably give up his mortality like Peter did for Glenda. I've seen what it did to Peter. NO way I want that for Sid. Now I know why Glenda was so adamant about not getting involved with mortals. 

 I think I should break up with him.

 16, February 2004  Tried to break up with Sid. I couldn't do it. I started to tell him, next thing I knew he had my pants off. Afterward, I knew I couldn't do it. Instead, I tried to explain to him why no one could know about the two of us. I let him believe that my family would never accept my being gay.

 He thinks I should tell them. Says keeping it a secret is a big mistake.

 (Found out today that I can move objects with my mind-- fucking cool)

 29, March 2004  Found letters in Lancaster's room. He's been keeping deeper and darker secrets than mine. For example: What I am. What we are. 

 I feel like I've just finished watching a marathon of The Outer Limits. Once Glenda told me we were from another planet, and I thought she was joking. This explains loads. Why some mortals can become like us... Where Mica came from and our interdependence with Mica.

 We left our universe and came here. And we did it the same way I got here-- by moving from one universe to another. In some plane of reality, everyone is like me... 

 But somehow we lost the ability. Or maybe coming to this time altered us so we could not leave. Until now. Until me. 

 It's all in that flower. In Mica. It's the same here and there (where ever the heck that is). 

 I think Glenda and Uncle Dan suspect. Uncle Dan must or he wouldn't have left all the letters out for me to read.

 I didn't realize how much danger I was in until now. I know why Shackleton wants me. He wants to go back. What I don't understand is why that would be such a bad thing?

 08, May 2004  Shackleton is in town again. Last night we got a call from Uncle Dan at the club we were playing at. After our gig, I told Sid I couldn't see him for awhile. He got really pissed off. Said I was denying what I was. I left with Les and went straight home. Sid called me later that night. Told me I had to make up my mind. Either I was with him and gay or without him.

 I said, 'I guess I'm without you then.' He hung up and didn't call back.

 09, May 2004  Shackleton confronted me at work today in the back greenhouse. The sleaze pushed himself against me and said he was going to get what I had. Went home sick.

 10, May 2004  Going to meet Sidney after work today. Am worried that Shackleton might have been following me. He might know about Sid. Decided I owed Sid the truth. He has to understand he might be in danger too.

 11, May 2004  Sid didn't believe me. Said if I wanted to get rid of him, I could do it without making up some big crazy lie. I almost slammed the car door on my hand just to prove to him I was an immortal alien life form. I said fuck it. Then said lots of hurtful things to him. With the scene I made, no way Shackleton would trouble him.




Failing Upward Ch. 14



Sid believes I hate him.

----------------------

Last entry. I closed my eyes to think. 

It was all there before. Hadn't Glenda told me I was from Pleiades? Sid was there when she told me...

I had a bad feeling about all this-- I knew Shackleton better than the other Wes. Shackleton would only want to go back if he thought there was something he wanted. Like power or pain.

My guess was he intended to inflict both. I had to stop him. 

I was racking my brain trying to think of what to do when Lynn called.

----------------------

I hesitated to go to the New Year's Eve party at Alan's with Lynn. I did want to see Sid, just not at a party with everyone slobbering drunk.

I also wanted to see Lynn. I needed to talk to her.

When I got into her car, I was so fucking nervous she thought I was having a breakdown. Fucking bad time to have an anxiety attack. By the time we were half way down the driveway, I was hyperventilating. It made Les's excuse me more credible-- that I was gone those months because I needed a mental vacation. 

Nice way to put I wigged out.

"You want to stay here?" she finally asked, stopping the car. "I mean, we don't have to go out in public. If you'd like, I could go buy some champagne. We could toast the new year in together at my place."

"No," I said, putting my head between my legs. "I need to do this."

"Count to twenty backward," she said, as she turned out of our driveway. It worked. That and the relaxation technique Sid taught me. I imagine green grass waving, barn swallows swooping over a lazy creek and the sweet smell of honeysuckle.

"Listen, I know you're nervous about seeing Sid again..."

There went my happy country paradise...

"You know about Sid? Christ!" 

This wasn't good. I thought I was going to hyperventilate again.

"Of course I know. You're as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss book. Besides, Sid confirmed it."

I started chewing my nails, and she slapped my hand away from my mouth.

"Will you stop that!" 

"What ever..."

"Don't be mad at Sid for telling me. I sort of tricked him into it." She sighed, then reached over and squeezed my knee.

"Hey big guy, just admit it-- you love him."

"I don't believe this... "

No way Sid could be kept a secret. What was I doing coming to this party? I wanted to connect with Sid again even after all the other Wes had sacrificed to keep him safe. 

"You're going to be fine. Let him come to you. He always does. Then, tell him you're sorry and everything will be the way it was before."

"But it won't be," I whispered. 

I'd go to this party. See this Sid. He had to understand it was over. He wasn't my Sid. He belong to the Wes in the other time-- the one I traded lives with. If by some chance I could trade places with the other Wes, I was going to do it. Then that Wes could make the choice to go back to Sid, but I wasn't going to make that choice.

As soon as I walked into the room and saw him, I knew it was going to be hard.

Those sad puppy eyes of his followed me around the room. Smith tackled me and I landed half on the sofa and half on the coffee table. Sid pulled me up by the elbow.

"Take it easy," he said to Smith. 

"I'm fine," I said, pulling away from Sid.

"Yeah, he's fine. See?" Smith said, giving me a one-two punch in the ribs, "but are you fine enough to play with us Wednesday night? What do you say? Please?! Come on!"

"Ok, ok, I'll be there," I said. "But only if you stop it. I'm tender, you know."

I stepped backward on top of Sid's foot, and he handed me a beer.

"You look like shit for someone who's been on a mental vacation for over six months."

What was I doing? 

 Wesley, get that stupid grin off your face. Stop looking into Sid's eyes. God, he's twitching his nose. 

I had wondered-- if you have sex with your partner in an alternate universe, would that be considered cheating? Now that was a real temporal paradox.

"Thanks," I said, as I twisted off the top. "You look great."

Had to get away from him fast... 

I started walking toward the hallway, and he followed me. Shit. 

I brushed past Lynn as she lolled against the wall talking to her many admirers. I watched her drag her enameled fingernails up her leg, hiking that skirt up a bit higher. Each male panted for more. Lynn was a walking libidinous bug zapper. Alan buzzed closer, a more interesting specimen of a horny insect sans victim. Looked like she was charging up for him. Now she was giving him those, 'come fuck me' eyes. 

I turned my head to say something to her, and she winked at me. 

"Um-m, I have to use the bathroom," I said. "Be right back."

When I came out, Sid was gone. So was Lynn. She was seated on Alan's lap, sucking his face in the corner. I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. Lynn was with Alan again, and where the fuck had Sid gone? I sat down on the sofa and watched reruns of the Twilight Zone while Jimbo sat next to me and told me in detail about his infected finger. Three episodes of sci-fi and twenty-thousand words on puss. Geeze.

I kept looking at the door, wondering where Sid went. 

Lynn finally took pity on me and quit tormenting Alan long enough to get me another beer, rescuing me from Jimbo. She sat on the other side of me and animatedly told me about her summer romances. How many different places she did it ('Wes, did you know canoes can be amazingly stable?'), what position ('Bark like a dog for me, honey') and with whom ('I think that was with Jeff, or was it John?').

I know I was getting one of those glazed over looks round about the time she got to telling me all about the lime vodka shooters' contest. I casually looked to the door as another guest arrived fashionably late.

"Hey you!?" she said to me, waving her hands frantically in front of my face. "If you want to know, he went to the store to buy a few liquid refreshments, but that's right... you don't care... so that wouldn't be you who keeps looking at the door every time someone comes in. And, oh yeah, you probably could give a shit where he is-- so forget I told you."

"I didn't ask."

"Hm-m-m, you can never do anything the easy way, can you Wes?"

"Oh, fucking hell. I might as well just spread my legs for any handsome sailor like you do."

"If you don't mind, I'm going to go find Alan. It's getting close to twelve-- time to 'spread my legs' ya know! At least one of us should get a kiss tonight..." 

She got up and wiggled her ass across the room. Every guy in the room watched. 

Bitch.

"A kiss?" I hollered across the room. "Is that what you call it now?" 

I decided to escape the traditional ringing in of the New Year, and I got my coat. 

I found myself walking out the back door and wandering out to the river. I shoved my hands deep in my pockets. The air had that same crisp, icy feel-- I just had to go out there and see if the swing and tree were there. Were they a memory or just a dream buried in the sand? 

I stopped. The tire swing was up ahead. 

It was much the same... tonight the leaves were stiff and frozen from winter, not dry and brittle. The water was still black, but the river's edge was crusted with ice and littered with leaves and twigs. I leaned against the old oak and watched a lone Butterfinger wrapper float by. I reached out and pushed the swing. It flew back and hit me hard with a thick, hollow echo-- I noticed a slug of ice in the well of the tire where the snow had thawed and frozen; I turned it upside down and knocked it out.

My hands were cold, and I cupped them, huffing into them for warmth. Giving up, I shoved them back into my pockets and looked toward the house, half expecting to see Sid. After all isn't that what I wanted when I wandered out here. 

Fuck it, I thought, as I took my icy hands back out of the flannel lining and jumped on the swing.

Amazing how alert you become after sitting your ass on a cold tire. The night was so still I had no trouble hearing him come up behind me. 

I pretended he wasn't there and swung out over the river, looking down into the water. The same dark water stared back. I wondered what time it was. When I swung back, Sid stopped the swing and turned me around to face him.

"Thought you'd be out here," he said, planting his foot inside the tire and rocking it back and forth. 

"You left..." I said.

"You left first..." he came back. 

I caught the sting of his double meaning and started to wiggle off the swing, but he stopped me. With one leap, he was on top of me, straddling my legs, the rope between us. Our eyes locked. He moved his warm gloved hands tight over mine. 

"That should keep you from going anywhere," he said, deliberately shifting his weight forward. 

"You're squishing me." He gave me that lopsided grin and rested his forehead on the rope. He smelled like potato chips.

"You never complained before..." he said, looking up at his wrist. "Last time I followed you out here, I ended up taking you home. It's almost twelve, Cinderella."

Sid began to count down: "Ten... nine... eight..."

This wasn't what I'd planned. But god, he looked like my Sid...

"seven... six... five..." 

I couldn't take my eyes off his mouth.

He sounded like my Sid.

"four... three... two..." 

I slowly tilted my head, edging closer. Potato chips. And cinnamon.

He smelled like my Sid.

"one.."

The rope creaked as his lips brushed mine. His hands squeezed mine tighter. My lips slowly parted as his tongue pushed through them.

He tasted like my Sid.

I kept reminding myself-- this isn't my Sid, even if that hand of his kneading the back of my neck felt like his. 

"Happy New Year," he whispered into my mouth, and I all could do in return was moan. 

And that was how I let myself get carried away. 

--------------------

We were half way to Sid's house with his hand tugging on my zipper before I realized what was happening. I almost said stop, but suddenly my jeans went z-z-zip, and I felt a familiar light breeze. My brain was wavering between 'What the hell am I doing? I'm supposed to be backing off,' and 'What the hell are you waiting for? Fuck me so hard I can't stand for a week.'

His hand began creeping down my boxers, his skilled fingers arcing in and around when I blurted out "I'm not who you think I am..." 

He rolled his eyes at me then looked back at the road, but he continued with his roving fingers, teasing me with seemingly accidental nicks. 

"You aren't going to start with that 'I'm an alien' crap again-- because I tell ya-- that can really spoil the mood." I jerked forward after another of Sid's fingers brushed like a feather against my cock. He looked at me innocently. Accidental? Hardly-- ah, even in this reality, Sid had my sexual tension honed to an art.

His next move wasn't as subtle-- the edge of his fingernail circling the head of my dick. My half erect cock jumped to full attention in his hand. "Oh Christ, oh fuck," I cursed.

"That's what I like-- encouragement," he said, turning into his driveway with his free hand. 

"M-maybe th-this isn't such a good idea..." I bit my tongue; I thought I was going to cry it felt so good.

He put the car in park and turned to me. "A little late to change your mind, don't ya think?" 

I squirmed around in the seat as his thumb boldly played with the head of my cock, slathering pre-come around. "Oh god..." I moaned, sinking down in the seat.

"I think we better take this in the house-- I don't need my neighbors gossiping."

NO shit. Wasn't he the sensible one? He gave me a squeeze, and I grabbed the door handle tight. He took his hand out of my pants, and I tried to fasten them, but there was more there than before and my damn hands kept trembling. How come Sid could unfasten my jeans with one hand, and I couldn't manage with two? I finally gave up, took a deep breath and got out of his car, pulling my Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt down to hide my crotch. 

As I followed behind him, I kept repeating to myself that I couldn't let this go any further. I came here to talk to him-- to explain. I had to talk to Sid. Must keep resolve.

I lagged behind as he walked briskly to the door. I ran my hands through my hair. Fuck, he was in a hurry, in such as hurry, to get inside. I needed time to think. He fumbled and dropped his keys twice. It was like he knew-- knew I was gonna change my mind and say those four dirty words... 'we need to talk.'

As my foot hit the door jam, my tongue was still numb as I vainly tried to articulate the words. What came out was garbled. I licked my lips. Fuck, my mouth was dry. The instant he saw me lick my lips he grabbed my shirt. One sharp tug and my chest was crushed against his. Now he was biting down on my tongue. I never had a chance to whimper no. Instead, he pushed me against the door, one hand behind me deftly throwing the lock while his other hand accomplished its mission, releasing my cock from my half open jeans. 

I could no longer resist; I was at his mercy. I ground my cock into his hand; I could feel every finger around me-- firm, smooth. My eyes wide open, I watched transfixed as his eyelids fluttered. It felt so good, so good.

Then he came up for air, opening his eyes. God they were beautiful. All I could think of, all I could remember, were those months without him, believing I'd never see his nose twitch or eyes crinkle just as they were right now. My heart missed him. I tried to convince myself this was my Sid in so many ways, yet inside I knew he wasn't.

Still, I bent in for another kiss-- just one more taste. As I did he said, "I love you," making my heart twist even more as he waited for me to say it back, but I couldn't. 

"Maybe I deserved that..." he said as he rolled his head in closer to mine. 

My heart was pounding so hard I thought he could hear it as he waited to hear the words 'I love you' in return. Each tug of my cock became more urgent. 

I could see my silence hurt him, and I tried to kiss his cheek-- make the hurt go away, and he turned his head.

Then his hand stopped. 

"Ultimatums do that--" he said, kissing the corner of my mouth, "they come back and bite you in the ass."

His hand tensed against me. Then gently, he slid it off of me, wrapped it around me, hugging me close.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into my ear, "so sorry, I tried to make you choose between your family and me. Now, I don't know why I forced it. I guess I wanted all of you. Every part, the private and the public. God, I missed you so much. It doesn't matter. I don't fucking care. We can stay locked together and never let the world see us, no one need know that you're gay-- just as long as you stay with me, just as long as you love me."

God, he was so much like my Sid-- same sweet measured mixture of conscience and countenance. I could only hope to be more like him. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "Forgive me for making you choose. I won't do it again. And if you don't feel right being here, I'll take you home, but I would like you to stay." 

Truthful, loyal. Shit. He's Sid through and through. He patiently waited for me to answer, his lips pressed to my ear. 

"I don't want you to take me home..." I said honestly. "But..."

As he leaned against me, I felt him flinch at my last word.

What would the other Wes do right now? I wish I knew what my counterpart would do. I hoped he would tell him the truth. I had to make him believe. Wes had a reason to tell Sid what he was the night before Shackleton appeared and turned our lives into a nightmare. He loved Sid, and as I looked over at him I knew I loved this Sid, too. I loved him enough to not just fuck him and let him think I was the same person. 

I took a deep breath, and Sid gave me space. 

"Shit, I guess I've spoiled the mood," I said under my breath.

I surveyed the room. A few things were different-- living room furniture no longer facing the picture window, an added oak entertainment center and saltwater fish aquarium, but most of the furniture looked the same. I scratched the top of my legs. Nervous, nervous, nervous and very, very, horny. I wondered what my Sid was doing with the other Wes at this very moment.

"Fucking hell," he said. "Well, we might as well both sit down and be comfortable while you're shooting yourself in the foot."

I took a seat, and he plopped down next to me. Too close. I scooted over and pressed myself against the arm of the couch. I decided the best way to keep my resolve was to keep my distance.

"Shoot myself in the foot? Hey, not a bad idea. Gotta gun? That's one way I could prove it to you." 

"What's wrong with you! Don't joke about shooting yourself--"

"Who's joking?" 

"Stop it! You disappeared for months. No one would tell me where you were. Christ, Les acted scared-- like he didn't know what happened to you. Now you wonder why I might be concerned when you start talking about shooting yourself?!"

Hmm, or maybe that fork over on the counter-- I could stab myself in the hand again. It worked once before with Alan and Lynn-- but considering Sid's mental state, probably going too far.

"Well, I'm not nor have I ever been suicidal-- so put that out of your mind. I'm indestructible. Kinda like the rock of ages. Still, I'm not out looking for pain or to end it all. In fact, I do have a self preservation switch in my brain. Lately though I think its malfunctioning-- it should trip instinctively. Seems like by now fight or flight should be hard wired into me. Fucking faulty wiring."

"What in holy crap are you talking about?" 

"Sorry. I'm babbling. My brain's a bit confused. Switching parallel universes can be a bitch. Maybe it's some kind of interstellar jet lag." God, I knew I must have sounded insane to him especially when I began to laugh maniacally at my own bad joke. 

I wiped the tears from my eyes and took a look over at Sid. He was frowning and chewing the inside of the his cheek. He was freaked already, might as well go for it.

"I know I sound crazy, but I am from another universe."

"Not this again..." 

I ignored him and kept going...

"I switched time lines with the other Wes. Um-- we're both aliens. Now I'm here in this time trying to decide what the fuck to do next. Do you have anything to drink? I think a shot of something hard would do the trick..."

I stood up and walked out to the kitchen, opening the cupboard under the sink where I knew Sid kept his stash. Bingo, Jim Beam.

"Listen, you're either trying to get rid of me or you're schizophrenic. Either way, this relationship is most likely fucked."

"There's a third option," I offered, dragging the chair from the counter to reach the cupboard above the fridge. 

"What's that?"

"The other possibility is that I really am an alien..."

I climbed up on the chair. Now where he were his shot glasses, in this mess? I looked down. Shit, jeans still undone. I reached in the cupboard, pulling out two glasses. Oh, well.

"Hm-m dusty..." I said, blowing inside one of them. 

I jumped down from the chair and looked at Sid, then hiked up my pants. 

"Fuck you, Wes. No, I take that back, fuck me."

"I'm serious," I said. "I'll prove it to you. I can move things with my mind." 

I unscrewed the whiskey then set it down on counter and finished wiping the glasses out with my t-shirt. 

"Hey, that's not sanitary!" he said.

I poured the shots and waltzed out to the other room. 

"Did Wes know where you kept your liquor?"

"What is this first person shit? You sound crazy."

"Did he?"

"He must or you wouldn't have known where to look." 

Smart ass, I thought as I handed him a glass. I tried to look cool as I threw back my Jim Beam, but I never was suave about drinking. Fuck, that burned. As I choked and turned red, Sid elegantly downed his and sat back watching me, rolling the glass between his thumb and fingers. He didn't have to act so amused.




Failing Upward Ch. 14



"If you're not Wes, you give an excellent impersonation of him."

"Shit. I didn't say I wasn't like him-- I said I wasn't him. I knew where you kept your glasses. Did Wes know that? And did he know you stash porn magazines in a cardboard box at the bottom of your linen cabinet? I know, and I know because I lived here in another time."

Sid fidgeted in his seat, "Now you're scaring me." 

Good, he was starting to take me seriously.

"I don't care if I'm scaring you as long as you believe me. I am an alien. I can move things with my mind... I'm serious," I coughed. "Tell me what you want me to move, and I'll do it..." 

Despite gagging on the shot like an ass, I did feel braver. Even if it was a false sense, at least I'd psychologically trussed myself up-- so to speak...

"Ok, if you won't choose what to move, I will. Set down your glass."

He shook his head. "This is stupid--"

"Go on, set it down," I coaxed. Sid frowned and gave me a doubtful shrug as he smacked the shot glass face down on the coffee table.

I was amazed how easy it was. I made the glass fall over. I kinda felt high. Wow. What a rush.

Sid eyed me doubtfully, "How'd you do that?"

"I told you-- I am an alien. I have acute mental powers, along with other abilities."

"Yeah, right," he said, raising his right eyebrow. "How'd you really do it?"

"I told you."

"Ok you wise ass. Then let's test those 'acute mental powers'-- move something really big-- like the entertainment center."

"I don't know--" I frowned. "I've never moved anything that big before-- at least not successfully."

"What difference does the size make? Size shouldn't matter!"

"Size doesn't matter?! In whose universe?!" I said. God, he was cute, blushing like that. I smiled at him. Ok, maybe I could move the entertainment center. Just for Sid. Hey, I wasn't Luke Skywalker, but I'd give it a try. 

I thought he was going to shit himself when the whole thing tipped. 

CDs clattered to the floor. His Italian glass paperweight collection rolled like so many colorful marbles off the shelves, banging to the floor like bowling balls. The DVD player slid out, hanging by wires. I jumped up, catching the TV just before it hit the floor.

"I didn't think it'd work," I said. 

I pushed the TV back and turned around. Sid hadn't moved. He was staring past me, mouth open, at the DVD player. I shoved it back in quick.

"Sorry..."

As I turned around and stepped toward Sid, I realized my jeans were half down. Shit, I still hadn't fastened them. Wishful thinking maybe... As I yanked them up and tugged on my zipper, I felt the ball of my left foot slip on one of the glass paperweights. For the second time that night, I fell head first into a coffee table, thinking 'some superhuman alien I am-- can't even traverse a room.' 

I laid still for a moment, too embarrassed to show my face. Sid rolled me over. As he wiped the blood off my forehead with the corner of his shirt, he revealed a cleanly healed wound.

"Just who are you, exactly?" he asked. 

------------------

I told him everything. I told him who and what I was-- where I came from. I told him about Shackleton, about my Sid. About being buried alive. I also told him that even if he looked, smelled and tasted like my Sid, I still couldn't sleep with him.

He believed me. He believed all of it. And as we got into his car to take me home he asked me if I was sure that I didn't want to stay. I guess he believed everything except that I didn't want him. I told him, no I wasn't sure, but he should take me home anyway.

The last thing he asked me as I got out the door was what I going to do. I told him I didn't know.

I walked in the door and looked at the old Grandfather clock-- it was past four in the morning. Part of me wanted to sit at the old Grande piano and play. Just lose myself for awhile in melody, but instead I went up the stairs in a haze to my room. I stripped and sprawled out on the bed. I was too mentally waxed to even try to beat off properly-- so I decided to sleep it off with a hard on.

The last time I looked at the clock it was 4:57.

------------------

The next morning I wasn't awake and up long before Sid called. He wondered if I needed to come over and talk some more. It wasn't some pick up; it was genuine concern on his part. Sid meant well, but I couldn't go. As much as I wanted and needed someone to talk to, I knew what would end up happening if I was alone with him for too long.

I knew I had to get back to my Sid, and I was willing to bet that the other Wes looking for a way back to his Sid, too. Trouble was, how?

Later in the afternoon, he called again. This time from his cell. Said he wasn't taking no for an answer. He was on his way. We'd go somewhere public to talk, but he had to talk to me. I told him I'd borrow my brother's car and meet him somewhere. No sense having Glenda all suspicious about Sid.

------------------

We met at Denny's on Michigan Avenue. The place was shiny and silver with too much flashing neon and glittering red vinyl-- one big nostalgic faux 1950s Drive In. An old Sinclair gas station sign on the front wall greeted me along with the rather oily waitress in an black skirt, flats and a stained white blouse. I nodded for her to take me over to where Sid was seated. I could see him over the counter, reading the menu in the back corner booth. Bill Haley and the Comets was screwed to the wall behind Sid's head. As I got closer, I was surprised to see it was a genuine autographed photograph. There didn't seem to be any real non-smoking section. The whole place smelled of grease and cigarettes. I picked up my menu and poked my head over the top, watching Sid as he nervously sat rubbing his thumb on the handle of a white coffee mug. 

"I couldn't sleep last night, thinking about all you said," he began, turning my cup over for the waitress to fill.

The sparkling vinyl seat burped as I scooted around to sit closer to Sid. 

"Everything Wes said to me the weeks before he disappeared-- I kept going over it. Maybe he said something important-- something I missed..." he stopped and looked up at the waitress, waiting for her to finish taking our order so he could continue. I asked her for more cream and a ham and cheese omelet. Sid went for pancakes with bacon. 

I swatted the three sugar envelopes back and forth against the palm of my hand before ripping them all open with my teeth and dumping them into my coffee. I felt Sid's knee brush mine under the table. 

"You wanted to talk to me. I'm listening..." I said. 

"It's about the night he told me the truth-- when I got pissed and laughed in his face."

I smelled my coffee.

"You said you wanted to go back to the other time," he said, "but you weren't exactly sure how to do it. I think I might. Well, he told me that night-- something about a heightened emotional state and sand. He mentioned getting sand from the lake before. White sand. On Lake Michigan. He said he had to have it-- called it a catalyst. You said it happened to you by chance-- with him it was intentional. At least some of the time. Maybe not that last night with Shackleton."

"He said he need to be highly excited or agitated?"

"His exact words were a heightened emotional state..."

"Like sex..." I said half to myself, "or watching Shackleton buried alive."

"He said the first couple times it happened he was at the lake cottage... then he made it happen."

"He made it happen? How? I couldn't do it, and I was buried in sand."

"Probably wasn't the right chemical balance, you know, in your brain. Maybe it's endorphins."

"...or something like it. I think you might be right. Did Wes ever mention Mica? Or a rose, thorns or anything like that?"

"No, not that night," he said, swirling a fork full of pancake in syrup. "Wait. Yeah, he did... he told me once that Glenda always cut roses from their garden and brought them to the cottage."

"I think I know how he triggered it-- at least the first few times by chance."

"What's the rose have to do with it?" 

"It's the catalyst. Like a drug... um, it's hard to explain," I said, feeling my cheeks burn just thinking about it.

"It happened to you by chance," he asked, "but not the same way?"

"No," I said. "It's only happened to me twice. Second time I told you about-- we were burying Shackleton then I switched. First time Sid was with me when it happened, and he came with me. At first, I thought he could do it too, or maybe it was us together but now after what you've told me, I'd think I just brought him along with me."

"So how did it happen-- you know, that first time?"

""The ultimate heightened emotional state," I laughed, "...sex on the beach." 

"Gee, I guess he really did come with you," he laughed. "If you need help recreating the moment, I'll make the sacrifice."

"Well, thanks for the offer but the point is not to take you with me," I said. 

"Still... what if you do this and nothing changes for me? What if my Wes never comes back? Will anyone be sitting in front of me? Even if Wes is, who will he be? Some new version who doesn't want to commit or says they're not my Wes? I'm beginning to wonder if the last Wes who was here was even my Wes..."

"Yeah, I've thought of that-- what happens to the version of me I leave behind-- do they remember the remnants of me, my past lives I've been through? I don't know. I wondered at first why I didn't remember my past this time. I think it's because we switched places. Right now he's somewhere talking to the other version of you-- the one I love. I bet he wants to get back to you."

I picked at a hangnail with my thumb, then gave up and chewed it. The gray haired woman in the booth to the right scowled at me.

"All I want is to get my old life back," I said.

Sid sat on the edge of the seat, his face down, turning his coffee mug in his hands. 

I went to reach for more cream, knocking it over instead. I grabbed a handful of napkins and sopped it up. Sid took the rest out of the dispenser and helped me.

There weren't enough napkins to do a decent job. We left the soggy mountain in the middle the table, and both of us sat thinking and staring at the mound. 

"But you're just like him," he said, eyes never leaving the napkins.

Our waitress hadn't noticed. I stared at the mess sat between us, not bothering to wave her over-- I rather she didn't help us. No one could.

"But I'm not him. Don't you want him back?" I looked up, studying his face.

"Of course I do."

He looked up at me. As our eyes met, a light crept into his, and I knew he wasn't completely convinced. A piece of him believed I was the Wes he loved-- crazy, confused, uncoordinated.

"I have to get back," I said. "I have to."

Sid sat back into the vinyl seat cushion, resignation washing over his face. 

"All right," he nodded, although he didn't have to say it. I knew he'd already made up his mind to help me because that's the kind of person he was.

"Wes told me he could do it at will," he said. "On stage."

"But what about the sand?"

"You don't need a whole beach. Just a handful. Maybe a grain."

"But not just any sand."

"Yes."

I scratched my head. William Blake. Of course. I only needed a little. A grain. Probably still had some on my scalp. Maybe. I checked under my nails. Shit, none. The rest of the sand-- all down the drain.

"My clothes. It was in my clothes... but I threw them away. I didn't want to remember."

"Then they're still there-- unless. Ah, what day is garbage pick up?"

"I don't know. I hope they're still there. I'll go right home and dig them out."

"So, you're playing with the band Wednesday night? I guess you could try and do it then."

I sighed. I really did need to do this. I reached under the table and squeezed Sid's hand then, nodded to the waitress for the check.

"Yeah, I guess I'll try then." 

TBC



Failing Upward Ch. 15



Author note: Thanks to everyone for all the feedback. I'm sorry this story isn't everyone's cup of tea, but this story is hard to categorize since it blends sci fi, fantasy and romance. If it's not for you, pass it by. Since the premise is about the process of finding out that Wes is jumping universes, saying this upfront uncovers a major plot device in the story. 

If you find the story too difficult to follow at this point, wait until it's completely posted, then read it in its entirety. I'm post one chapter per week and have only five more chapters to post after this until the end. 

Thanks,

el

--------------

Rotten food, paper towels, junk mail. All frozen. Shit. What was this? Last week's chicken? Ruined my appetite. Bona Petite my ass. I felt like a homeless man, digging around in the two garbage cans by the back door covertly scavenging for my old jeans and shirt. It was the sand. It had to be. I opened the bag and emptied it on the ground before me. I dug around on my hands and knees searching. Sand, sand, I had to have the sand. At least it was cold enough that it didn't stink, but my fingers turned to stiff ice sickles digging around. In the second can my numb fingers finally found my clothes in the very bottom trash-bag. I reached into the front pocket of my soiled old jeans and brought out a handful of sand, as white and sparkling as the snow around me, then put it back. The front and back pockets of my jeans had more than enough sand for my purposes. I tried not to dwell on where my clothes had been as I carefully rolled them up and put the trash back. 

I crept through the mudroom door and slipped into the kitchen. I washed my hands first. My cold hands burned as the warm water poured over them. I dried them on a towel hooked to the cabinet and then began my quest. Now, trying to find the zip-lock baggies to put the sand in was next to impossible in this kitchen. There was more than twenty old wooden drawers every one of them stuck. By some miracle, I caught the silverware drawer before it fell to the floor. With each squeak, I tensed and looked up-- certain I'd see Glenda come around the kitchen counter and ask what the hell I was doing in her kitchen. I found the baggies in the side of the linen drawer. I pulled one out tucked it in my pocket then ducked through the dining room, down the ante room and up the stairs. I needed sanctuary. I had to think. Could I do this? Could I get our lives back? 

I had until Wednesday. I'd go to work tomorrow... maybe. At the least I should stop in and see Mr. Keller. At least as far as I knew my job at the flower shop was still there.

I went to the wastebasket by my desk and meticulously emptied the sand out of my pockets into the baggie. I sat cross-legged, leaning over the basket, careful not to spill any evidence on the floor. I felt kinda like a bad boy-- like I was filling a baggie with some contraband substance and trying to keep it from my parents. My fingers were still stiff, cold, and shaky. I couldn't get the fucking bag to seal. I tried again. Shit. I placed it between my legs and blew on my hands to warm them. There. At last... Yellow and blue do make green.

I held up the bag; it swung lazily like a pendulum, and the light from the old lamp on my desk made the sand sparkle hypnotically. So much trouble from something so simple. I drew myself up off the floor then I threw my old clothes under my bed. I put the baggie in my underwear drawer under my socks like a teenager hiding his stash from his mom.

I felt out-of-sync-- like an old clock wound down, ticking off each second slower and slower. My arms and legs felt detached. The house was still. 

I took my twelve-string Alvarez out of the guitar case and curled up on the cushions in the old bay window. I pressed my spine into the frame and ran one finger down the sheer curtains. Pulling them aside, I gazed down into the frozen garden below. It was easier for me to think playing my guitar. I turned back to my twelve-string. Memories of my lover's bite on the very cushions I sat on now filled me. My head banging against the frame of this same window. I remembered the thorny vines below, and they haunted me. I closed my eyes; they waited, dormant and lonely below in the cold garden. I could feel their song through the strings. As my thumb caressed the smooth maple neck of my guitar, I connected with the other me-- he was me. That Wes and I the same. The realization vibrated through me with the strings, our thoughts and our passions in tune. We both wanted the same things. Sid. The roses. Our old lives back. And the garden... the garden wanted us-- called to us. I scratched my wrist where the thorn hid beneath my skin-- where it hid beneath the other Wes's skin as well. My face became hot, and my eyes misted. Christ. My cock was hard. How long had it been since we'd been down there?

Too long. It had been too long since we'd been down there.

I wanted to go outside to the garden, but I moved away from the window onto my bed instead. It was cold and hollow outside. Going there would solve nothing just fill a void. As I thought of Sid and moved my fingers over the frets, my head finally cleared. Wednesday I would try to go back to my universe, to my Sid, and if it didn't work, I made up my mind that I would never try to slip into another reality again. It was too painful moving in and out of other lives. 

I wondered what I'd be going back to... I worried about Sid. My uncle and Trent told me how hard it would be for Sid to deal with his new immortality and all that went with it. Not being able feel pain-- that would be the hardest. Sometimes I thought it would be better if my brand of immortality granted me the gift of no pain, but I knew life would be flat. I thought about what my Sid gave up by taking the serum. 

If I stayed here, the Sid in this time might make the same choice as my Sid had. I couldn't stop myself from loving this Sid, but I could stop myself from making this Sid immortal. 

Then there was Shackleton off destroying my life in another universe. 

My mind whirled. I decided I'd wash the rest away the rest of the day one chord at a time. 

------------------

Tuesday morning there was no hiding. I hoped I could sneak out and avoid Glenda's third-degree, but no such luck. I had Les's car keys in hand when she caught me at the door. 

She corralled me by pulling my coat and dragging me to the table. In a bathrobe and slippers, her hair was piled on top of her head, face freshly scrubbed, glowing. 

"Get out in the kitchen and eat something! I'm making pancakes." 

I surrendered and sat down and watched her leaning over in her blue terrycloth bathrobe, testing the griddle with a drop of cold water. It popped and fizzled.

"Ready," she said, pouring the batter then pointing to the counter. "Coffee's ready, too. Have some."

I got up, took a mug out of the cupboard and poured a steaming cup. I scratched my palm then hunted for the sugar.

I sat back down with a black cup of coffee.

"You must be desperate to avoid me if you're sneaking off without a cup of coffee," she observed, lifting the edge of one pancake, peeking underneath. "You can't skirt this forever. You have to talk about it sometime."

Not sure exactly what she was referring to, I shrugged and feigned indifference. I figured she was probably referring to my ordeal with Shackleton, but better to not jump to any conclusions-- like maybe she knew I had the hots for Sid (m-m-m Sid, nice round ass, soft eyes, strong hands and those incredible flecks of freckles sprinkled across his shoulders-- god I needed HIM!). 

Then again, maybe she was just fishing for information and suspected that I'm not really Wes or--

"I know there's nothing I can say-- I can't imagine what it must have been like being buried like that," she said, systematically flipping over the pancakes one-by-one. "Or what happened with that man, Shackleton. You've been keeping too much to yourself, locked up in your room. I'm worried for you, Wes. Your body is here, but you're still not with us. I keep looking for our Wes and every moment or two I'll see him and then the sparkle dancing in your eyes fades. I want to see your eyes sparkle all the time again--"

"I don't think that's going to happen."

She flopped each pancake off the griddle onto a red Fiesta platter. She set it on the table next to the syrup. I stared down at my reflection in my sunny yellow plate. Nope, no sparkle today.

"I don't remember..." I said, the bright colored dinner plates not doing much for my appetite or appearance.

She stepped behind my chair then placed her hands on my shoulders, massaging my neck with her thumbs.

"I don't believe you. Les buys it, but I don't. You've always been one to avoid what's unpleasant."

I choked on my coffee-- now that was the understatement of the year! "Unpleasant? Fuck!"

She pinched my side.

"Ouch!" 

She wagged her finger at me then plopped pancakes on my plate and smothered them in syrup.

"Maybe it's cool to swear like that around your friends, but not in front of me," she scolded. "Wes?"

"Sorry."

"You do remember," she said firmly. 

"Some," I admitted, taking a small bite. "But not all."

"What do you remember?"

"I'm not certain how long I was there, but I do remember being buried. I remember Shackleton throwing sand on me-- the grit in my mouth. He wouldn't talk to me just shoveling more and more sand on top of me. I remember not being able to move and how I itched. That sand was like little pieces of fiberglass rubbing through me. You know how wonderful it feels to be able to scratch now?" I automatically scratched my head, my arms, the top of my legs. "All I could do was dream and think. After awhile, I couldn't tell what was a dream, my imagination from reality. I didn't hope anymore." 

She put her arms around me and hugged me tight.

"I think I have some idea what it's like to be insane," I said, resting my head back against her robe, closing my eyes. Then I heard someone else behind me, and my skin sparked in pinpricks, and my eyes flew open; I spun to see my uncle listening intently. I don't know how long he'd been standing there, or how much he'd heard. I sensed it wasn't long. He smiled sadly at me then walked to the table and quietly sat down across from me.

"What about before?" he asked. "What do you recall?"

"With Shackleton? I don't remember. Nothing at all. To tell you the truth, I don't think I want to remember what happened, or what he did to me so please don't make me try to remember..."

I swished my coffee around in my cup, struggling not to cry. I frowned down, and the sunny yellow plate mocked me. Glenda pulled up a chair and sat down next to me, her knees touching mine. With that simple touch, I felt her kindness more keenly than her soft words.

"I know what he did to me," my uncle began, "and I hoped you were spared that but this loss of memory..." 

"We don't want to force this on you," she said. "Maybe it's best you don't remember, but we want to know where he kept you. All these years and we've never found where Shackleton lives-- where he hides. If you know, your uncle would end all this forever. He'd never bother any of us again." 

I had a good idea how he would end it. Pretty similar to Glenda's solution before-- only a bit more permanent and grisly. Not a comforting thought especially when I pondered that same fate could be mine by Shackleton's hand-- or worse it could be the fate of someone I loved.

I hesitated. I knew where he'd taken me before-- to the Community, but this was a different time and place. Shackleton took the other Wes somewhere. I doubted he took me to somewhere sterile like the Community. This was all so confusing, not knowing where my life began here. 

"I don't know where," I said honestly. "My guess is somewhere near where he buried me."

"We've searched for years there. How he can keep where he hides a secret, I don't know."

With no one to stop Shackleton, he probably preformed horrific acts on me. Judging from my condition before Shackleton buried me and my past experience with Shackleton, I thought my uncle's suspicions were right. I just didn't want to think about the hell Wes in my universe was living through now. That Wes knew where Shackleton took me. All the more reason for me to try to switch back. If we could, then he could tell Uncle Dan and then maybe they could stop Shackleton-- at least in one universe. 

Maybe I should try to remember. What if I could never go back?

"I don't know. It's all a blank, but I have nightmares. I'm not sure what is real anymore."

Glenda reached out, thumb brushing a tear off my cheek. Transfused in the touch was love and protection. No malice. As her finger left, I still felt it there, a calming reminder.

"Wes, look at me," he ordered, and I raised my eyes to his. I felt them pierce through me. "Tell me. Who are you?"

"I was Wesley Grant. I hope I still am." 

He reached over and grabbed my hand and in one instant I knew what he knew-- that I wasn't his Wes. I stared into his eyes. We understood each other.

"I need to go see Mr. Keller. I need to go to the greenhouse. I have to see that some things haven't changed," I admitted.

Glenda frowned, looking from me to my uncle. She studied both our faces. She knew some silent words had passed between us. She just didn't know what. 

"Eat," she said, pointing at my pancakes. She hesitated, deciding what was the best action to take. "It's time for me to wake your brother." Glenda started for the door, tightening the belt of her bathrobe, then turned. 

Uncle Dan waited for her to leave the kitchen, then asked: "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

"Yes, but--" I concentrated on my plate. "I don't know where to begin."

"Go visit Mr. Keller, but when you get home tonight we'll talk, just you and I."

I nodded, and then he left me alone in the old kitchen to finish my pancakes and think.

------------------

The sign on the front of the store said "Help Wanted." I had to admit I was a little pissed that they'd try to replace me at the flower shop. I'd always figured I was pretty indispensable. I sucked it up and opened the door. Probably needed to hire two people to replace me. I'd thought about calling first to let Mr. Keller know I was coming in-- maybe if I had Mr. Keller might have taken down that stupid sign. Mr. Keller was standing at the front counter on the phone when I walked up the steps. He turned as he heard the door ring. 

His face glowed when he saw me. Change jingled in his pocket with his free hand and with the other he cupped the phone. I'd never seen him get off the phone so fast. Next I knew I was in this crushing bear hug my legs swinging around and around as he spun me. I felt his belly jiggle as he laughed. His smock smelled of Cuban cigars and Sea Breeze. He set me down with a kiss on the cheek. Guess I didn't have to worry about any stupid Help Wanted sign.

Alan walked up the steps from the back greenhouse.

"About time you decided to show up..." he whined, throwing me an empty watering can. "Make yourself useful and give the plants on the front room floor a drink."

I caught the can then set it down then leaped into Alan's arms and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. 

"Hi to you too!" I winked.

I'd never seen Alan blush before.

It was almost like being home.

-------------------

I wasn't in much of a hurry to get home and talk to Uncle Dan so I took my time getting home. I drove by my old house, which was still intact and untouched by fire. Obviously it never was my house-- I could just make out colorful red and blue swing-set over the six-foot privacy fence surrounding the yard. A tri-cycle was left haphazardly in the driveway, ready to be crushed by the white mini-van parked in front of it. The lawn had yellow patches. 

Next I drove by Lynn's apartment. It looked the same-- a familiar old Ford truck was parked in her driveway instead of her white Intrepid. The curtains were replaced by shades in the front window. Alan came out the door and went to his truck.

As for my parent's house-- it wasn't there. Nothing remained. A modular home stood in its place all symmetrical and plastic with pointed corners and neat square juniper shrubs lining the drive. 

I hadn't wanted to know what life was like for Wes here, but I'd skirted around the painful memory of my family. They were still gone, Mom, Dad and Karen. Our family home erased. I lived with my aunt and uncle now. 

This ride down memory lane made my stomach churn and my throat tighten. Nothing felt real. None of this. What I sought was the familiar; what I found was foreign. For a few fleeting moments at work, I felt myself. Now, it was washed with the uncanny feeling that I didn't belong in my own skin.

I thought about tomorrow night and what I hoped would happen on stage and prayed that bit of sand would work. 

Soon I found the car driving itself down Sid's street. His Cutlass was there, not a speck of salt on it all clean and waxed, chrome glinting in the setting sun. I smiled and hummed. That was the Sid I knew-- his car was a polished and shiny extension of his psyche. I drove around the block on autopilot, finding myself back where I came from and romancing thoughts of Sid with his hands between my legs with me sprawled out in those comfy white vinyl backseat of his. Mechanically I pulled into his drive way. I could have called my turning the steering wheel happenstance; I knew better. I sat in Les's car for the longest time, swearing under my breath for even being in Sid's driveway. I still felt sick to my stomach, but I didn't leave, cursing my weakness. I could blame the pain in the pit of my gut on reliving the past or maybe on skipping lunch or maybe even on those pancakes this morning. I pressed my forehead against the steering-wheel then decided to punctuate my idiocy with a bit of self-loathing, banging my forehead against the wheel chanting, 'stupid, stupid, stupid' when suddenly the god damned car alarm malfunctioned. I sat up and fumbled for the keys in the ignition to turn the thing off. Can't find the button... fucking fabulous, I thought. 

Why am I even trying? I should just go see Sid. I threw my hands up in the air and gave in. I grabbed the handle and started to open the door when the alarm turned itself off. Quickly my brain reminded my dick what a fatal mistake it might be for me to get out of the car. But it was too late-- as I slammed the door and put the car into reverse, Sid sauntered out.

He knocked on the driver's window, and I jumped. I had hoped I could back the car out and pretend I hadn't seen him. Now I was screwed. Or maybe he was screwed. I smiled to myself. Screw, screw, screw. Not an unpleasant thought. So I put the car in park, left it running and rolled down the window. I tried to look cool. I kinda slid my body closer to the window, flopped one wrist over the steering wheel while I adjusted the rearview mirror with my other hand, checking myself in it. My unavailing nonchalant 'I could give a fuck' aura wasn't cutting it. 

"Are you going to come in or not?" he asked, and I turned my head and looked at him: The rich gold of the setting sun caught Sid's eyes. God, they looked perfect. I looked back up into the rearview mirror. Not smart. Not smart to look in his eyes. Sid cleared his throat and my eyes slid back in his direction. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and he bounced up and down to keep warm. 

"Well? Are you getting out?" he repeated. I could see the breath puff out of his mouth. Great lips. Why did he have to look so damned handsome in that old stained suede jacket? 

"Not!" I blurted. "Not! Not getting out!" 

My heart hammered clear up to my throat. I ached to feel something real. Sid was my touchstone, my center. I knew I had the power to make or break that same heart that was clamoring inside my chest. But I had to do what was best for Sid's heart too.




Failing Upward Ch. 15



"Hm-m, you sound sure, but you don't act sure. Better come in."

I could do this. He smiled at me and I smiled back. I turned off the car.

I opened the car door and got out, looking over my shoulder. That's when I noticed the white SUV parked across the street. Fuck, it looked like Shackleton with some other guy I didn't recognize. Probably some minion. That's what I got for becoming so distracted with Sid. I kicked myself silently for becoming too comfortable and believing Shackleton would actually leave me to travel off to some time or place away from here. I took another quick look. No, it was him or some other version of him watching me, watching us from across the street.

I wasn't sure whether to get Sid back into the car and drive off or follow Sid back into the house and call for help. I decided to pretend I didn't see Shackleton and make for the house. 

I couldn't follow Sid into his house quickly enough. 

"What's wrong?" Sid asked, as I nudged him the rest of the way through the door. "What's this all about?" I shut the door behind me.

"Shackleton is outside," I said under my breath as I threw the deadbolt, "I just noticed him when I got out of the car. Hurry, give me your phone..."

I calmed myself and turned to watch Sid. He rushed over to the coffee table and grabbed the phone. As he walked back to me, the phone rang in his hand and he froze. His shoulder tightened then relaxed as he looked at the caller id. 

"It's home... it's your uncle," he said, handing me the cordless. 

A familiar voice croaked "Hello?" Shit, I was so happy to hear Les's voice I wanted to kiss him.

"Yes?! Thank you," I half shouted. "Les, get Uncle Daniel on the phone right now! Shackleton is here. He's outside Sid's house--"

"Fuck!" Les shouted. "I knew something was wrong-- I knew it!" The phone clattered as Les dropped the phone. I waited. Then I heard a dial tone. 

"Disconnected," I said, throwing the phone on the couch. "Doesn't matter. They'll be on their way in a moment. Until then, let's hope Shackleton and his friend aren't wise to us and try to break in."

Sid had moved and stood flush against the wall, straining through his picture window's blinds to see the front door. I stepped next to him to look; a man in a dark trench coat stood with his back to the front door, watching the street. I could hear Sid whispering instructions into his cell phone when I heard glass breaking and a loud thump from the bedroom. 

"They're in the house," he whispered into the phone. "And the doors are blocked."

Sid pulled me away from the window when I heard the frame from the backdoor groan and splinter just as Shackleton came out of the bedroom. Blood pounded in my ears and everything slowed.

Trent broke through the back door. 

"Shit." I sure as hell wasn't sticking around with Sid to find out whose side Trent was on in this universe. With a crash, I flung Sid's old rocking chair out the picture window as Shackleton raced across the room. Trent tackled him as I smashed my hand against a glass claw hanging down, then yanked Sid out the window behind me, trying my best to defect the glass from Sid. We rolled out the window, over the juniper bushes below and into a dirty snow bank. The momentum left us both on our knees in the melting snow. My keys were still in my hand but now they were soaked in my blood. A large shard of glass stuck out between two of my fingers. I was numb. Sid pulled me up to my feet. Our friend who was the door was on top of us, and he swung at Sid, catching him on the chin. Sid barely flinched. The air was quiet around us. I could hear Sid taking a deep breath then his arm came up. Sid slammed a solid punch in the guy's gut, bending him forward. As out attacker straightened his frame, Sid quickly hit him in the jaw. He spat out his blood on his sleeve then reached inside his coat and came at us again. Great, I thought, A fucking switch blade. To make matters worse, I watched in slow motion as the front door opened and Shackleton appeared. He came down the steps and made a straight line to us. 

I shoved Sid toward the car, then turned and hit the man looming over me in the eye with everything I had. I felt the sickening crunch of the glass grinding against my bone and his as I turned my fist. He screamed, dropping to his knees with the blade still clutched in one hand while the other clawed at his face. He made a wild jab with his knife just grazing my arm as I sped off to the car. 

Shackleton was behind me, as I jumped in. Sid was already inside. He hit the automatic door lock the moment I was inside. Sid made our get away like in some old gangster movie, tires burning rubber as we high-tailed in reverse then spun out fish tailing forward down the quiet little suburban street. 

"Shit, sorry about the window," I said, swearing as I ripped the glass out of my hand. "How much do you think it will cost to replace it?" I felt Sid's eyes studying me. I looked over at him, rolled down the window and flicked the glass out it. 

"Don't know-- never jumped through it before this..." he answered. looking behind us. He wiped the blood out his eyes where it trickled from a cut Sid had on his forehead. Other than that he looked unscratched from where I sat. The gash didn't look too deep, but probably would need stitches. Pretty lucky that was all that happened back there. 

He checked behind us again then began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"All this," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "God, all the trouble you went through for Shackleton to not know about me, and he still knew. He's known for a hell of a long time. I actually talked to the son-of-a-bitch months ago before you disappeared. I noticed him watching the house, and I confronted him. He told me he was a private investigator watching the neighbor's house. Said the husband hired him to find out if his wife was going out on him. Man am I gullible."

"I guess Trent must know too," I said.

"Trent? You mean that guy you said helped you before?" he asked.

"Yeah, and I'm glad he was watching today. That was him that came through the back door and tried to stop Shackleton. Hope he's ok. You know the guy has been pretty much a pain in the ass in each universe, but he's true to what he believes in each. I can't help but like him. He came through for us here."

I wiped the blood from my hand revealing a neat scar underneath.

"God, that's amazing. Wish I healed like that," he said, pointing to his forehead.

"No you don't," I sighed. I patted his knee then gave him a sad smile.

"I guess not." 

I watched the road ahead. I could have lectured him on why he didn't want to be like me, but I was too tired and too over-wrought to explain the cost of becoming immortal. 

I saw Sid turn around and look again. "He's not following us."

"Of course not-- he doesn't have to. He knows exactly where we're going."

"How are you going to explain me? Hey," he said, pointing in the other lane. "Isn't that your Uncle Dan?"

He honked the horn as the car sped past us. Sid slowed and looked into the rearview mirror. I turned to see the break lights come on.

"Uncle Dan already knows who I am. But he doesn't know about us. At least I don't think he does. Not sure what I should tell him about that." Sid slowed the car as Uncle Dan pulled around and pulled next to our car. "Maybe I'll tell him the truth," I said quietly.

My uncle rolled down his window, and Sid did the same. 

"You ok?" Uncle Dan asked. 

I nodded back. "Fine. We're both fine, but Sid will need some stitches I think..."

"Meet you back at home. We'll take care of your friend there. I'll follow you."

Sid rolled the window back up and turned to me. 

"The truth, and what would that be?" he asked me.

"What ever my heart tells me..."

Instead of being tough I let it all out. 

I could do that in front of him. If he wasn't driving I would have grabbed and clutched and thrown my face blubbering into his jacket. Yeah, tough me. Instead I used the back of my own hand to wipe my snot and tears. Not very absorbent. 

What I really needed was reassurance. Holding him would probably give me that back. Instead he held me. He leaned into me, his arm enveloped me and he kissed my neck then rested his forehead against my temple while I silently cried. I began to feel that spark and light inside me again. I needed him. Warmth spread, and for a change it wasn't just my hormones in overdrive. After I had a good cry, I told him that I would love him in any universe. I told him what to expect from his Wes when he returned to him. I told him that if his Wes never returned, I would be here. 

For him.

I told him I would yell I love him from my aunt and uncle's roof top. Then I put my arm around him while he cried. 

--------------------------

Uncle Dan's car was parked in the back. I was surprised but thankful to see my uncle beat us home. We wouldn't have to face Glenda's wrath alone.

She stood on the porch, waiting. Sid and I sat in the car as it idled for a few minutes in the driveway. He grimaced then reached over for my hand, and I leaned into him as he turned off the car. The cut on his forehead looked nasty. His eyelids fluttered as my finger tips lightly traced the cut.

"Better?" I asked. Sid bit his lip and nodded-- then he looked into the rearview mirror, lightly touching his forehead, wiping away the blood. His own finger traced the clean scar where the gash once was. He looked at me confused.

"How?" 

"I don't know, I just do it," I answered. 

"This is amazing. You didn't tell me you could heal people. Just think of the money you could rake in as televangelist."

"Well, it's not something that I want to become common knowledge. It's one of those abilities the Community and Shackleton covet. I wouldn't normally do it, but I don't think you're going to get to a doctor any time soon." 

He squeezed my hand and then feigned a cough. "Can you get rid of a cold?" 

I blushed thinking about touching his chest. I laughed then looked toward the porch. 

"Well, not today," I said, nodding to Glenda. "I guess we should get out and get this over with..."

We walked up to the house like two inmates on death row. She fixedly stared at me then Sid. I glared right back at her. She scowled down at Sid's forehead as I climbed up the front stairs, two steps ahead of him. It seemed to me she should act more concerned than pissed off. Christ-- we were both covered in blood. I looked into her face. Her lips and brow were an unforgiving line. I knew she'd witnessed everything in the car-- that was kinda the point of my little exhibition when I healed him. I figured it would save time if she knew what Sid meant to me, that he knew what I was, what we are, besides he had needed attention. He was in pain. As I brushed past her, my hand intentionally came in contact with hers, hoping to get some insight into what she was thinking with some of my psychic sense. Maybe I could pass on a bit of what I was thinking to her. Most times my powers came and went like so much wind, but this time they worked-- like 2000 volts I saw into her. She knew. And she didn't like what she saw.

Well fuck, this wasn't going to be pleasant.

As I walked into the house, I felt something was off. I've heard of times when people know something just isn't right-- like moments before a car accident or some natural disaster. I've had some of those moments recently, too. As I listened to the old grandfather clock tic-tocking, I felt the universe miss-- like it was out of sync. I balled my right hand into a fist. I felt my finger tingling where I'd touched her hand. I was unsure and afraid of what to say. I wasn't at all positive that she wasn't a threat to Sid. 

As she followed us into the living room, I got that familiar ache behind my eyes. Tension headache number 2,012. Finding out that I wasn't the 'Wes' she thought I was didn't make her too happy either. She already figured that bit of the puzzle out at breakfast this morning. Those pancakes were made with love for someone else named Wes, not me. I knew she was afraid of Shackleton. But it was Sid whom she feared most right now. I knew it wasn't going to be easy convincing her that Sid could be trusted without becoming one of them. She hated the idea of bringing a mortal, no matter how noble, into their inner circle. 

I was glad to see my uncle in the living room. I hoped he was on our side. He sat cross legged on the old couch, his rumpled gray suit coat strewn over the arm of the sofa. 

I collected my nerves and pulled Sid's hand, leading him to the piano bench, intentionally divorcing us from them. The legs of the bench scraped against the hardwood floor, reverberating in the hollow room. We both sat down. The bench was hard and unforgiving. Sid was at a loss, his hands fumbling for something to do. I shoved my hands between my legs. He looked to me for a sign-- some help I was. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed his hand. 

Glenda's eyes turned to ice as she stared at our clasped hands. Not the right move on my part. 

My voice came out squeaky. "So you know. I'm sorry. I can't help what I feel." I felt like a kid.

"Feel? Can't help what you feel? Control yourself," she paced the room. "You must or all is lost. Plotting out all the possible ramifications for each action you may take-- that is the way. Shackleton seeks pain for a reason. Feeling makes us weak. He would make us all feel as you do. Bring us down. Break us as he did you. He may have the secret now. You do not have to act on what you feel. Think! Separate yourself! Feeling causes pain. Chaos. It destroys."

She stopped pacing and stopped, facing us. I couldn't believe she had everything so wrong. She thought Shackleton wanted my ability to feel pain so he could use it against immortals. No. He wanted it for himself. 

Her eyes narrowed on Sid. "And you!" she hissed. "What are you? What kind of spell do you cast that causes such desire, such pain, such chaos?"

Sid opened his mouth to speak, but I cleared my throat and found my voice instead: "You're wrong. Sid is not the cause. Neither is pain. Feeling doesn't have to destroy. You've forgotten what it's like. Pain can be a blessing. It is what kept me alive all that time when I was buried alive. I didn't age, didn't break down. Shackleton took nothing from me but time and blood. He never touched my mind or heart. My thoughts were my own, my heart is my own. He took nothing important from me. Nothing that mattered. Look at Shackleton. It's easy for him to inflict pain. He feels nothing. In his twisted way, he's living through others' pain. He doesn't want to give pain away. He doesn't want to shove it on you. He wants it for himself."

"How do you know this? Did he tell you?" asked my uncle.

"I experience it..."

"I think it's pretty evident," Sid interrupted. "Tormenting others is just a plus for him; it's not his goal. He wants power. He wants what Wes can do. Move from one universe to the next."

"You!" Glenda exclaimed. "What do you know about any of this?"

"I know he's a power hungry manic," he answered. "I know Shackleton's insane."

"Why did you bring him into all this?" she asked me. "Why did you?"

"I ask myself that all the time. Do you think I want to put someone I love in this kind of peril? Shackleton knows about him. He knows Wes loves him. He knows I love him."

"So he's using him against you? That's just perfect! This needs to end. End it now with him."

"I can't and neither can your Wes... I love him."

"Love?" she spat. "That is the source of all weakness."

"You say you love me. Do you think that is a weakness?"

"Yes. My only weakness is that I love. You, Les, my brother... It is the only source of pain I feel."

"You should feel it. How can you truly love if you don't know pain?"

"Enough of this," my uncle interrupted, turning to me. "You seem to think you know what Shackleton wanted from you. Tell us if you know."

"I'm not sure. But Sid's right; he is crazy. The insane aren't run by logic. He thinks he knows what he wants, but he doesn't. He thinks he wants to be a god: travel through universes; feel passion and pain; he wants it all. He wants control. He believes my blood carries the answer. I don't know if it does." 

"I suppose you think he wants love, too." Glenda spat at me.

"Ultimately, he does-- but he doesn't know it." I squeezed Sid's hand. "He's searching for it-- but you can't find something when you don't know what you're looking for."

She looked at Sid.

"What are we to do with him?" she asked me.

"Nothing. Leave him alone. What threat is he to any of you? The only threat he holds is in your mind."

"And when you leave, and our Wes comes back to us, do you expect us to just ignore him?"

"His name is Sid, and no, I don't expect you to ignore him-- I expect you to embrace him."

"You expect too much."

"Mom used to tell me that I should set my expectations high," I said. 

"Your mom expected so much of others she ended up dead."

I was dumbfounded. What did she know about my life? My parents? She could never take that verbal slap in the face back. 

"You don't know what I came from. You don't know who I am. I hope I can return to my universe or time-- Wes in this time won't let you touch him either. Hurt him and you hurt us. Harm him-- now or in the future-- we'll all find out exactly how much power I hold. I don't think you want to know. You think love is your weakness, but it's not mine. Love is the source of my strength."

-------------------

We came to a compromise. Sid and I slept in separate rooms. I'd keep my distance for now. I was satisfied Glenda would leave Sid alone. What went unsaid was making Sid like us. I didn't want to bring it up in front of Sid. He didn't need to know this was even an 'option'-- not in this universe.

The night before, I knew Sid would be safe in the room next to me. Uncle Dan stayed downstairs, talking with Glenda late into the night. I stole downstairs and talked to them both-- without Sid. 

As I got ready for my night's performance, I patted the baggie in my front pocket. This had to work. I'd flatted out the sand in the bag and crammed it into my leather jeans and practiced reaching into my pocket with my guitar in my hand. The leather pants were kind of tight, but I could manage to get my hand down in them fine.

Then I did the Coach Davis pep talk in the bathroom mirror. I yelled so loud at myself, Les knocked at my door to see what was wrong. Then I impersonated my high school chem teacher, Mr. Dammarest, giving his pre AP exam pump up. Being nervous and hyped was good. 

Les and I left late to go to the Road House. I'd be nice to see the place again when it wasn't a charred heap like it was in my universe. We left late because I was nervous. I wanted to see the place again, I wanted to set up, get ready, prepare myself-- but I spent half my time talking to myself in the mirror, trying to get into the right state of mind. How the fuck does anyone gets into the right state of mind to jump universes? 

Sitting in the car mindlessly watching the houses go past as Les drove, all I could think of was how much I wanted Sid, but he rode with my uncle. The last hours we'd been kept separated. I believed putting space between us was best. I didn't trust myself with the roses so close and Sid so near. Keeping him at a distance was my uncle's and my way to appease Aunt Glenda. I felt like I was in withdrawal with him so near. My stomach lurched. My hands shook. Christ, when I saw him I broke out into a sweat. I kept blaming the fucking roses. I hoped denying my fix would work to my advantage. Yeah, being edgy will take me back to my Sid. I was terrified tonight would work, and I was terrified it wouldn't. 




Failing Upward Ch. 15



Les hummed the theme song to Gilligan's Island as he made a detour, turning into McDonald's. I counted the greasy smudges on the take-out window as he paid for his number three value meal. I didn't get anything. My stomach was churning enough already without a Big Mac and coke. My legs were jumping like I was wired with caffeine. Les pulled out onto Michigan Avenue, and I pushed down on my knees to stop them from bouncing when he nailed the brakes, and I heard our tires screeching. The car in the far lane stopped the same time we did. My arms didn't react in time-- my nose smacking the dash board. 

"What the fuck?" I hissed, holding my nose. "That's what I get for not putting on my seatbelt."

"Had to slam on the brakes--" Les said, chewing on a fry. "Damn cat just crossed our path." He reached for another limp fry then pointed to the black cat skittering off the side of the road. He looked at me sideways. "You ok? How's your nose?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I bit my fucking tongue, too." 

"Probably tastes better than this quarter pounder with cheese." 

I wasn't one to believe in bad omens, but that fucking black cat had me nervous. Shit. 

The rest of the ride was uneventful, just old country side roads littered with potholes. We pulled into the back lot of the Road House and started to unload our equipment from Les's back seat when Les looked down at me and laughed. 

"What's wrong?" I asked. 

"You better rearrange that bulge," Les pointed to my crotch. "People will think we're in love..."

I blushed as I looked down. Damn tight leather pants gave everything away. 

"Shit," I said, jumping around. "It's the sand--"

"Ha-- that's a new one," Les grinned.

"No seriously, it's the baggie with sand in it." I squirmed around, trying to shift the contents of my pocket.

I heard Lynn's squeal too late. My body lurched forward as she jumped on my back, wrapping her arms around my throat like a boa constrictor. I dropped my guitar case.

"Fuck Lynn, you're choking me!"

She mussed my hair before letting me go and giving me a noisy kiss on the cheek. 

"Can't wait to hear you play again, baby." 

"Yeah, I can't wait to play either." I smiled wide and giggled. She was a beautiful sight. Tight white linen skirt with sling backs. All bounces and bubbles with her hair perfect, lips bright. I thought she looked like she'd burst any moment from excitement. She teetered, beaming beside me. 

"You look great," I said. "Special occasion?"

"Well of course it is!" she said, hitting me hard in the shoulder making me drop my guitar for the second time. "You're playing-- you nimrod!"

Damn that hurt. I massaged my shoulder and picked my case back up. 

Lynn followed us through the back door, chattering animatedly the whole while. I tried to pay attention to what she said, but I was too distracted. She was so much, wah, wah, wah. 

He was already there. I walked in and saw him. Sid leaned against the wall to the right of the stage, talking to Jimbo. 

He hadn't noticed me yet. Sid laughed at Jimbo. I sighed. Christ, Sid looked handsome. Flannel shirt, slow smile and faded jeans. His smile became mine as he turned to me. I waved him over, and I wasn't sure why. I just wanted him near.

Uncle Dan sat at the front table with a glass of beer in his hand watching. He didn't approve, but at this point, I didn't give a shit. Aunt Glenda hadn't come. She didn't like smoke or drunks. I could tell by the way he was watching, she'd expect a detailed report from him when he got home. Uncle Dan. I'd never get used to calling him my that. He just didn't look like anyone's uncle to me... not mine for sure. 

I bent down and opened my case. My palms were itchy and sweaty.

"Help me?" I asked.

"Sure," Sid answered, raising his eyebrow as he looked down, "but first explain why your face is flushed and smeared with lipstick, and why you've got a raging hard-on."

I wiped my cheek, sputtering. 

"Fuck, I... Lynn... I mean... she kissed me... I mean... Oh, fuck!" I felt my face getting hotter and hotter. "It's not me-- it's sand in my pocket. Damn. Want to see?!"

"No, that's quite alright. I've seen enough," he said, waving his hands in front of his eyes.

"Hey, you're enjoying this!"

"Yeah, well, you're so damn cute when you're flustered."

Sid helped set up. My stomach did somersaults and hand springs every time he brushed my arm or leg. Cripes.

------------------

The first set went by fast. I joked and jumped around on stage. Les, Uncle Dan and Sid never took their eyes off me, waiting for my transformation. I did well at first. Songs I didn't know, I faked. I couldn't keep it up though. By the second set, I was so anxious, I started forgetting a lot of the lyrics and riffs I did know. I wasn't sure if it was me or being watched every second like I was going to disappear in a cloud of smoke. As the set ended and we walked to the side of the stage, Les pulled me aside.

"You alright?" Les asked. 

"You can take a break this set," Smith suggested, tinkering with his earring. "Get yourself together. No pressure.You're still not yourself."

I shook my head and said, "No, I want to play. I have to..."

Shit, not myself, Smith didn't know how close he was. John rubbed my back, working out the tension between my shoulders, "You'll get over the first night back jitters before we finish."

I threw back three gulps of water and poured some over my head. Fuck it was hot in here tonight.

I shook the water out of my hair as I stepped out with the guys to play again. My fan club cheered me on as I picked up my guitar. Lynn, the leader, bounced wildly-- waving, blowing kisses, and grinning at me. The sand had shifted again into a big bulge. I felt like that heavy metal rocker who shoves a sock down their pants to impress the ladies. What's his name? Axl Rose? 

I was wired. Sweat dripped off my nose and my hands were slick from both the heat of this close, hot place and raw nerves. By the time we neared the end of the third set, I felt confident. Les belted out the first words to "It's the End of the World as We Know It," and I nodded at Sid, sitting with a strained smile on his face. The dance floor filled in seconds, blocking Sid's table from my view. There wasn't a space left on the floor by the time Les got to the second verse. I noticed the entire band was in their own little worlds. Les was immersed in the story of the song-- eyes closed, fingers effortlessly gliding on his Fender. Smith smiled lazily, watching Les. Jimbo winked at his new significant other, who sat watching us at the side of the stage. John strained his eyes looking through the nuts to butts, searching for that special someone to take home after the show. Someone long on legs but short on brains. And me-- I listened to Les's perfect vocals, and in the back of my mind I decided it was time. 

The place smelled of sweat, beer and cheap cigarettes while Les sang:

The other night I dreamt of knives, continental Drift divide. Mountains sit in a line, Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Brezhnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs. Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom! You Symbiotic, patriotic, slam book neck, right? right

And I stepped up beside him and sang into the mic, my face pressed into his, our voices melding:

It's the end of the world as we know it It's the end of the world as we know it It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine...

The hairs on my arms stood on end as I took a shaky step back, counting one, two, three. 

I closed my eyes and whispered the only thing that would come to me, "There's no place like home." My right hand dropped from the guitar. I open and closed my fist. Silly, honest, pain churned in my gut as I hiccupped nervously, then stretched the leather of my pocket with the fingers on my right hand, reaching, reaching, reaching in. I heard my harem fan club in front of the stage howl as I groped deeper in my pocket. I knew Les's eyes were on me. I felt the bag. Nothing like feeling myself up in front of the crowd. 

The clapping hands, stomping feet faded. I struggled to open the seal on the baggie. I slipped one finger, unlocking one corner, reaching into the sand. Behind my eyes, I saw it glitter or imagined I did. It clung to my damp fingers, becoming a part of me. I couldn't smell the cigarettes or the beer or the sweat anymore. Instead, the room smelled like ozone after a storm. Then I heard Sid to my right calling my name. I opened my eyes, and I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

I was in Pontiac. 

With a jolt I saw an ocean of bodies, swaying in front of me. My eyes adjusted. The sparks of light from the sand turned to hundreds of lighters flickering. They were everywhere-- high, low, thrust up into the seats like twinkling stars in the night. The last notes from the song still lingered in the stadium, and the rhythmic applause vibrated the floor of our stage. I was frozen. 

It worked. I was back.

Smith turned to me, frowning, then raised an eye bow wondering what the hell was wrong with me. John and Jimbo looked to me, and I realized they expected me to speak-- do something. Les stepped next to me, linking his arm through mine where my hand was in still snug in my pocket. My face was hot. Les pulled me forward, hugging me next to him. The chanting, my name and the band's name, the syllables expanded like ripples. I listened for the one voice I wanted to hear. My head turned slowly to the right when I heard it. Sid stood by amps. 

Dressed in a suit and tie. 

Hands in this pockets. 

Jingling his change. 

Smiling. 

For me.

He knew. He knew it was me. 

I laughed and cried, hugging Les. Then I turned to the crowd. I waited my whole life to play in front of an audience this size in this place. I'd been here so many times, and dreamed of standing in this spot on stage. Playing the Silverdome. Shit. And I missed the whole show. Waving my candy apple red Gibson above my head like a flag, I heard Les shout above the crowd. 

The stadium quieted.

"You win!" he hollered. "One More Song," and the place erupted. He cupped his hand to my ear and yelled into it, "Good to have you back."

He pinched my cheek, then took one step back.

"You're on!" he nodded.

I panicked. 

"But what are we playing?" I yelled back.

"What are you crazy? You're playing 'One More Song'... " he waved, bowed, then stepped back beside Smith. Leaving me. Center stage. Alone. 

For the rest of my life, I will never forget that split second of terror. 

I blew on my fingers then wiped the sand off on the front of my legs. I smiled at Sid, then I struck the first chord. I sang the words to this song I'd written for him. Only for him.

My soul gave the best performance of my life.

------------------

Afterward. Cosmic. Surreal. I was hustled backstage, through the corridors, out the back entrance, into the tour bus. No Sid. He'd disappeared. Smith and Les were already curled up together in the back. I sat in the seat in front of them.

"Might as well relax," Les whispered to me. "It'll be a few minutes."

I leaned my back against the window, threw my legs across the seat and waited, watching the front of the bus.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked.

"Off to the hotel. We're staying at the Hilton. I think it's near here..."

"Near here?" Smith mumbled, opening an eye and looking at Les. "It's fucking across the street."

I rubbed my pocket and tried to get comfortable as possible.

"Throw me one of your pillows," I said, looking to the front of the bus again. "This window is hard."

"Mmm, need something soft to lean into?" Smith said. "Sid'll be here in a few. He's just making sure everything's in order for tomorrow night."

I nodded. But I still watched the front of the bus, waiting. 

Sid was loosening his tie as he came up the steps, his soulful hazel eyes meeting mine. Smith nudged my shoulder and laughed but my eyes never left Sid's as I swung my legs off the seat and watched him walk down the aisle. 

He stood in front of me, chin quivering twice as he sat down. He pressed his lips together tight, composing himself. His eyes smiled. When he touched my arm, it was all over with. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him so tight he groaned. 

"Geeze," said Smith, "you think you hadn't seen him for months or something..."

Sid and I both looked at him and laughed. The bus started to move.

----------------------------

I fidgeted, standing in the corner. The elevator doors at the Hilton whooshed shut, and it lurched up.

"How safe is this thing?" I asked, pressing my hand flat to the wall and looking up at the ceiling. Not that someone invincible should worry, but shit, it might be painful falling five stories.

"This is a four star hotel. I'm sure it's safe. Want to test it?" He gave me a wicked smile and punched his finger into the red button labeled 'emergency only.' The elevator lurched again-- this time to a stop. He slammed his body into me, thighs inching mine apart, toes mashing into my instep and cheek pressing hard into my forehead. 

"God, I've waited for this..." he moaned, his mouth covering mine. His tasted like cinnamon Life-Savers. 

Time stopped. I could feel every inch of him-- and I mean every inch-- as he ground me into the corner. I whimpered as he took his mouth from mine. I pulled on his tie with one hand to bring him in tighter, closer. "I've always wanted to fuck on an elevator..." he whispered into my ear then licked it, sending heat straight from my earlobe to my cock. He teeth tugged on my ear as his hard cock rubbed into my growing erection. "Sorry we don't have enough time for that." I yanked his tie again as he broke contact; his nose bumped into mine. "We'll have to wait until I get in you in the room for me to do you proper."

"Fuck--" I moaned, watching him lick his bottom lip. Then he kneeled in front on me, grabbing my hips, rocking me forward so that I had to throw my arms out against the sides of the elevator to brace myself. His hands slid up my calves then pressed on up my legs, caressing my inner thighs, cupping my balls. My legs buckled as he absently brushed my cock and reached for the zipper on my leather pants. 

"This will have to do," he said.

I thought I'd come right there. 

"Jesus--" He pulled my cock out, already hard and anxious to feel the inside of his mouth. I looked at the top of his sandy head, his eyelashes fluttered. I could see his nose twitching. God I'd missed this view.

I leaned back into the corner as I felt the sloppy, slick grip of his mouth. His teeth scraped lightly against the head of my dick. His head jerked a bit as we both heard voices above us. He knew he didn't have much time to tease me. He grabbed my ass and thrust me hard into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. With quick, hard thrusts, he made it his goal to make me come fast. His mouth was urgent. The voices from above became louder. I looked down and saw those perfect lips around my cock and that was it for me. My thighs tensed. 

I came in his mouth as the elevator jerked up. 

I think it was evident what we were doing in the elevator. Sid was wiping his satisfied grin and my come off his mouth when the door opened. I barely had time to put my dick back in my pants and zip them. I knew the moment I saw my uncle's face go from a look of concern to annoyed that he was pissed. 

Sid hustled me off down the hall to our room. I didn't look back once.



Failing Upward Ch. 16



I heard the click of the hotel door locking behind us as my mouth and arms scrambled for Sid. God, he tasted good with my come on his lips. I stopped with a jolt. Fuck, I almost forgot...

"Wait..." I said backing away. "I don't think it's too smart messing around with this sand in my pocket. I really don't want us traveling anywhere else. I kinda want to stay in this universe."

"I thought you had to be in direct contact with the sand."

"Well, it's on my pants, too-- let's not take any chances."

He leaned heavily against the back of wooden chair next to the dresser and sighed, "Well, take the fucking things off first then."

They unsnapped and unzipped again-- no problem. I put my thumbs inside and tried wedging them down; I hopped around, struggling. Fuck. They were stuck. They wouldn't budge. I'd sweat so much that the damn things had become part of my skin. 

"Hmm, maybe I should help..." he insisted.

"No, I can get them off-- just give me a few seconds." I bounced backwards on the bed and squirmed and shimmied and panted. Fuck, my sweating was making them stick worse. I finally stopped and looked up to Sid. "Well, on second thought, why don't you grab the bottom of the legs and pull?" 

Sid latched on to the legs of my leather jeans like a dog on a bone-- first he snapped sharply toward the headboard, throwing me along with it. Then jerked me in the opposite direction toward the foot of the bed. He shook me back and forth, swinging me around broke some of the leather's grip. I felt it slip a trifle. The bed springs squeaked and groaned under each effort; shit, I squeaked and groaned. My legs gradually worming off the bed with each of Sid's contortions. I was forced to reach for the headboard and hang on. 

"Again, harder!" I instructed. He looked up at me with those yummy hazel eyes filled with lust, and I rocked my hips suggestively-- "What's your motivation, baby?" I panted. "Come and get it!"

"Christ," he hissed, and with one snap of his wrist, my slacks were over my hips. Now my bare ass was half off the bed. 

"Again!" I encouraged.

He threw his weight backward-- and with that one hefty tug, I swore he'd pulled my legs out of their sockets. Sid yanked one last time, and they let go, sending him, crashing backward, knocking over the chair.

Three succinct raps fell on our door. We both jumped.

"Hey you two!" Smith yelled from the hallway. "Can't you do it without waking the whole freaking hotel?!" 

"Shit," Sid muttered, picking the chair up. Then he remember I was half naked on the bed and turned to me with a predatory eye. My heart was pounding, and my eyes watering. Erm yeah, and my dick was saluting. 

"Go away!" I yelled, spreading my legs. "Not you--" I said to Sid, "you-- come here." Sid was on me in a moment. His mouth, his hands, roaming my body. His cock shoved hard next to mine. I thrust up against him, savoring the length, raising my back off the bed to get more. I opened my mouth wider and let him suck on my tongue hard. 

I didn't hear anything more from the hallway. Not that I was listening to anything other than our hearts pounding like subwoofers. My hands worked frantically at Sid's slacks, trying desperately to get them unfastened and off. In the same time it took for him to groan twice, I had them undone and pushed around his thighs along with his underwear. Then I reached for his cock and reverently stoked its length. Smooth, soft, the head moist-- god, I'd missed him.

I broke away from his mouth. I spread my knees wider. "Got to have you inside me." 

"Lube. Where's the lube?" he gasped.

"What do you mean? Isn't it handy?" 

"Shit! It's in my suitcase. Fuck. Just a moment--" 

He jumped out of bed and ran across the room where his suitcase sat propped against the wall under the window. He threw it open, rummaging around. He pulled the lube out and stood back up. He was unscrewing the top and rubbing it generously on his fingers and cock as he came back to bed. He spooned into me. I could feel the heat building as he pushed one finger then another rigorously inside me.

"Hurry, now!" I begged.

He flipped me around and was on top of me the moment the words came out of my mouth, pushing my knees to my chest with his left forearm while his right hand guided his engorged cock into me. His mouth hovered, suspended three aching inches from my mouth. He pushed gradually inside me. Not fast enough. I wanted to feel him, all of him in me. I jutted my hips up into him, and he pulled back. 

"Now!?" I pleaded. 

"I missed you," he answered.

"I missed you more." I rocked my hips, teasing.

"I don't think so."

"Prove it," I said, cupping his chin.

I felt his cock slide the rest of the way up my ass. I clutched at his hair, pulling his mouth hard against mine. 

Flash. I saw him. I felt him. His thoughts, his heart. He saw inside me. My brain exploded into so many cosmic pieces as he built up a steadily increasing tempo. Yes, this was my Sid. Any doubts I had dropped like petals. It was the roses. I became intoxicated with the smell of them. It came from inside us, mingling. It seeped through my pores, heating my blood. His touch, his flesh, his immortality connected to mine. He knew I saw his soul, and he saw mine. Bright lights. Sharp and painfully vivid. Flashes of memories. Day and night. 

Texture and color became like air and water to me. 

I seemed to recall blubbering 'I love you' and 'don't fucking stop' sparked with every dirty word I ever knew with slobbering, broken sobs. Sometimes I think the sobs came from him, but most were from me. As I felt him edging closer, near coming, I couldn't separate my longing from his-- not until I felt his hot whispered endearments on my neck and the smell of Mica lingering on his breath-- then, with a tremor, his muscles tightened, and I felt him come inside me. My eyes open, but I became blind. My vision spasmed, overloaded, collapsed. I could smell and feel, but I saw nothing. I closed my eyes tight as he wrapped his fingers lovingly around my cock, pumping slowly, one, two, three times. I whispered his name like a mantra. I came, making a spectacular mess all over my nice, sweat-drenched black fishnet shirt and his hand. 

I didn't move. He didn't move. We stayed linked together until his cock slipped out of me. Even then, we lay still, holding on to the moment. The only movement was his thumb caressing my temple in lazy circles. My lips smiled against the back of his ear. I could see light through the lids of my eyes again and slowly I opened them-- my vision returned.

I didn't know what to do or say. I just felt safe. Sid was here. Sleep crept in, I let my eyes lazily close again, letting peaceful dreams drift me away...

I awoke to Sid's snoring. It really was a lovely thing. I never knew I could miss someone's snores, certainly never thought I could fall in love with them, yet I had. I closed my eyes and listened, allowing them to swell over me. They were a comfort. A reassurance. I opened my eyes again, watching his nose twitch and eyes crinkle. The sun was just nudging through the curtains, warming the sheets. I smiled and wondered if Sid was dreaming of me. I curiously touched his cheek to find out. I felt a bit guilty peeking inside him, like a kid reaching inside his grandma's forbidden candy dish. His sandy lashes fluttered. Oh, yes, he was dreaming of us. A pleasant dream. In his apartment, curled up together. No sex, just plain naked comfort, both of us snuggled together in a quilt on his sofa watching an old black and white movie. 

He sensed me there. His eyes opened, and he smiled. 

"Hello you," he whispered.

"Hello you, too."

He pulled us together, filling in all my sharp edges with his warm body. 

"You don't know how happy I was when I realized that was you on stage. I was so worried that that Wes's plan to switch back to his own universe wasn't going to work. I hoped and wished, but I just didn't dare plan I'd get you back."

"Hmm, are you so sure this is me?" I teased.

He snorted. "No doubt in my mind." He poked me in the side, giggles spilled out of me. I pulled the sheets up to our necks and snuggled in closer.

"When did you realize he wasn't me?"

"Right away on the beach on Lake Michigan," he said, folding me into his chest. "First you were begging us 'Please, please, don't bury Shackleton.' Then, whammo, you grabbed the shovel outta my hand. I thought you were going to toss it over the dune, instead you dug up a spade full of sand and rained it down on Shackleton. You starting flinging the sand down on him so fast I thought you'd just lost it-- you'd snapped or something. You didn't say a fucking word. Nothing. All the way back to the cottage you shook and had a wild far-off look. When we got back to our room, you withdrew. Like you were shell shocked. Fuck, I didn't know how close I was to the truth thinking that... You wouldn't talk to me. You crawled into bed facing the wall, curled up with your knees to your chest. Then I touched you-- er, him. I knew. I knew then. It wasn't you. Dr. Lancaster and the others didn't figure it out until later-- after I got him, Wes, to open up to us."

"He told you what happened?"

"Yeah, everything..."

"Christ."

"You know then..."

"I have a pretty good idea. So Shackleton, where is he?" The sudden realization struck me, "he's still buried alive?"

"Yeah."

I sat straight up. "Fuck."

I didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

"You sure?" I asked.

"Well, who in the hell would dig him up?"

"Yeah, that's true. No one cares about him. Sad isn't it?" Sid looked at me in disbelief and snorted. "Not like me. They found me-- Glenda, Uncle Dan, Les-- they dug me up. They kept looking until they found me. No one gives a fuck about Shackleton. No one." 

I laid back down next to Sid. I was surprised at myself for still feeling pity for him. I couldn't help it. Not everyone had people who loved them. 

We both looked at each other silently for awhile. I was feeling mighty thankful. It could have been so much worse.

"I have a pretty good idea what happened to the other Wes after being buried alive for months," I said finally. "Weird shit goes through your head. Let's say I had lots of time to think on what my counterpart had been through considering the condition I was in."

"You were buried for months?" His eyes welled up, and he hugged me tighter to his chest. 

"I'd rather be buried for months than have Shackleton touch me, torment me, rape me. God, no wonder he crawled up in a ball in bed next to you. I'm surprised he even snapped out of it."

I sniffed his chest. The fragrance was in him. For a change as I smelled the roses, I felt a comfort instead of lust. 

So nice.

"It was bad," he said. "Seeing him all hurting and not being able to do a thing to help. I knew he wasn't you, yet he was. It's hard to articulate. He sounded, acted, even smelled like you. He just didn't feel like you when I touched him. Still, just seeing him-- it hurt. Every moment he was here it hurt because I knew what happened to him and I worried about where you were. What was happening to you. And he was there in front of me, like you. You. It was like he was you. I couldn't separate you from him." 

"It was hard for me too with the other Sid," I confessed. "Life was running smoothly for the two of them in their universe..."

"Yeah. I remember how happy he was when he found out that Glenda liked me. I thought he was going to come out of his skin. It made me happy, too. He told me that if Glenda could accept me in one universe, there was hope for his Sid in another. I thought, Christ, we were together in another universe. Like were meant to be, always. Sid and Wes in love in another universe. It was sorta romantic, you know."

"He's had the whole alternate universe figured out for some time..." 

"Yeah, it was a revelation for me, but not for your uncle. He already figured as much."

"How's that?" I asked. 

"The black hole thing."

"What black hole thing?"

"That's how you do it--"

"Do it?"

"You create a mini black hole and go through into the another universe."

I closed my eyes to think. 

"That doesn't make sense. I don't know a hell of a lot about black holes, but I thought they pretty much devoured and crushed everything that enters."

"Not micro holes. They're unstable, small; they collapse quickly. For some time theorists hypothesized that these mini black holes could be portals into other dimensions. That Hawkings guy wrote a lot about it-- your uncle has spent a lot of his life researching just this. He and Hawking believed mini black holes could be artificially created and be used for jumping into other dimensions. Lancaster, well, I guess he figured there was another way-- I guess you're proof it's no theory."

"Does Shackleton know this?"

Thoughts flashed through my head. Shit.

"Sure. He must."

"And he thinks the serum from me will get him this?"

"No, from what Wes, um, told us, it didn't work. He tried the serum made from your blood over and over, but it didn't work. Shackleton did a complete transfusion from him. All Wes's blood."

I felt dizzy, recalling my time in the lab at Shackleton's mercy. I couldn't begin to imagine the horror my counterpart must have gone through alone with no one, nothing to stop him. Sid saw the terror in my face. 

"I don't know if I could have made a decision like that," I said, "to go back to a world that Shackleton haunted, where I might still be buried alive." 

But even as I said it, I knew I would have taken the same chance to get back to my Sid. 

"I was so fucking torn. I didn't want to send him back," he said, "but I didn't want to leave you there. It was horrible. We talked about it-- for days and days-- then night before the concert we never went to bed-- stayed up talking, going over if he should or shouldn't. In the end, he made the decision. I couldn't say either way-- wouldn't. How could I? He argued he'd be fine. He kept assuring me that you were fine, that he was positive Glenda, she'd find you-- dig you up, like she had your uncle. He was so sure. He figured she'd never stop until she found you..."

"He was right."

"At first I thought he wanted to go back because he was being selfless." 

Selfless. I twisted around thinking on what Sid told me. Was it selfless? He was me after all. I couldn't believe it was selfless. He loved Sid. Was it that he wanted to get back to Sid so bad he was willing to risk going back to a world with Shackleton running unfettered? I would. Or did he feel he didn't belong in this place like I didn't feel that I belong in that other universe? Either way, it was a risk going into the next universe blind.

"Shackleton. He still hadn't gotten what he wanted--" 

"Sick bastard," he said. "He tried and tried getting your power. It didn't work. But Shackleton thought he could get what he wanted from you some other way... See, you made him feel when you touched him. He thought you could transfer other things-- powers. He told you-- I mean the other Wes-- it was chemical."

"I did it. In the lab, when I gouged Shackleton's eyes. He screamed. I hurt him. But if that's true, then..." 

I reached over and pinched Sid's nipple as hard as I could. 

He yelped.

"You felt that!" I laughed.

"Fucking hell, of course I felt that!"

"I mean, you aren't supposed to feel pain."

"I do if you pinch me, you wiener."

"How'd you know that?"

"It happened with Wes. I mean the other Wes."

I wasn't sure if I should be jealous or not. What the fuck did he mean by that?

"What exactly did he do to you?" I said sharply.

He blushed. Fuck. I threw my head into my pillow.

"He bit my tongue, ok? But that was it. I said it was confusing. I mean, he kept coming on to me. He's the same as you. I mean-- you know-- tenacious, sensitive, hot. Almost irresistible. Almost."

"So you're saying I'm not irresistible?" I mumbled into the pillowcase.

"I'm saying I managed to restrain myself until last night."

I turned my head, smiled at him.

"You were almost irresistible too."

I laid on my back and stared at the hotel ceiling. Stucco. White. 

"What if I could make it so you could feel again all the time?" I asked him. "Would you want that back?"

"Sure," he said, looking up at the ceiling with me. "But I don't think that's possible..."

"I do," I said, turning to him.

"How?" 

His eyes sparkled a bit as he waited for me to answer, darting from my own eyes to my lips and back into my eyes.

"What if we were connected, always connected," I said finally.

He started to laugh. "We already are."

"I don't mean metaphorically you ass. I mean chemically-- electrically. Tell me... Shackleton thought he could get this through sex didn't he?"

I was sorry to spoil the mood by uttering Shackleton's name again, but it couldn't be helped. I needed to make a point.

"Yeah," Sid answered. "He told Wes that. I don't know if it was another form of torment or if Shackleton was so full of himself that he wanted Wes to know. The creep explained everything he did to Wes before he did it. He told Wes that strong emotional reactions were what would work. But he was wrong... It didn't work."

"Maybe he wasn't wrong. Not completely."

"No way am I going to let you hurt yourself for me." 

"No," I shook my head. "Not pain. At least not his kind of pain. But I think he was right. I think I know. It is chemical. It does have to do with sex."

"Listen, what do you know about chemicals and black holes and electrical impulses? What makes you think you know what would work?"

I didn't want to give Sid false hope, but shit, I felt it in my guts that it would work.

"Are you crazy?" I pushed on. "Just because cavemen didn't understand what fire was didn't mean they couldn't start one."

Sid looked unblinking into my eyes. I could see the flicker of hope inside him. He wanted it.

"Shackleton was right," I said. "It was through sex. I remember awhile back Les said to me that maybe sex was the point of it all."

"But it can't be just sex. If it was it would have already happened for me, but I'm the same-- unchanged. And Shackleton tried it. He forced himself on Wes. He tortured him. I hated Shackleton so much before, but after Wes told me what he did, I knew I was capable of killing him-- I mean, he hurt you."

"He hurt me. He's probably hurt thousands of other's of myself in other universes. Doesn't mean he's won. Doesn't mean we can't be happy. Doesn't mean I can't do this. Let me. Let me do this."

"I love you. I trust you. I just don't want you to hope for something that might not happen."

I frowned. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wanted this-- but only because I did.

"I don't want you doing this because I want it..."

"No, I do want this. I guess, maybe it's like getting you back. I hoped and wished that you'd come back to me in this universe-- I just didn't plan on it."

"My practical Sid..." I whispered.

He smiled at me with that sweet lopsided grin. 

"Yeah, well, one of us needs to have their feet on the ground."

"Try then? You'll try?" I asked.

"Of course I'll try."

"But you can't just try. You need to believe. Believe."

"Hmm, sounds like planning to me."

The sun shone through the curtains. It was high in the sky. Sid sat up, a silhouette. 

"We need to get up," he said. " It's almost time to go to the Silverdome."

I ached thinking of what I'd taken from him. I wanted to give him what I'd taken back. I thought about the future. Our future here in this universe. I knew the chance we'd ever get back to ours was nil.

Shackleton was here. But so were the people I loved: Karen. Les. The band. 

Life. I could live with this life. I sat up and reached for his hand.

"I'll plan then, but I still don't think sex will do it..."




Failing Upward Ch. 16



No, it wasn't just sex. It never was. 

"But it's not just the act. Make love to me in the garden in June, when the roses are in full bloom, and I'll make it happen."

----------------------

"Um, what do you want? It's a little late for breakfast, but I know how much you like Belgium waffles. Want some?" 

My stomach gurgled. Sid laughed as I flopped over on my back and looked up. He smiled down at me, all ruffled and scrambled from last night's sex. As he picked up the phone next to the bed, my stomach gurgled again.

I was hungry, but... 

"Ordering room service?" I asked, rubbing my traitor of a belly. "I think I'll pass... I have all the room service I need right here." I rolled into Sid and bit his forearm.

"Ouch! Not my arm! You gotta eat-- but, um-m, not me-- at least not now. You're so thin those pointy hip bones are bruising my precious physique." 

I threw the covers up over my head. I knew if I didn't relent, he'd keep insisting. 

"Damn it..." I sighed. "You know what I want isn't on the menu-- It isn't fair when what I want most is just inches away in this very room." 

I squirmed my hand under the covers, inching snake-like toward his exposed ass cheek and copped a quick feel o' Sid. He yelped out, swatting my hand away. 

"Come on! Can I order off of your menu?" I begged. "Ple-e-ease?!" I flung the sheets back, exposing my wicked morning hard on. "For god's sake, take pity on me."

"Later," he said. I saw a twinge of lust flickering in his eyes, weighing out the 'should I or shouldn't I.' He wet his lips in concentration (or maybe longing) as his fingers hovered over the buttons on the phone-- for a moment there, I thought I'd won him over. Then, his stubborn streak threw cold water in my lap. He punched the buttons on the phone, announcing, "I think you need something more substantial."

I laughed. "Um, you're pretty substantial. Maybe we could ask room service to compare-- their chef's Belgium waffles to my Sid's dick. What do you think? I already know your ingredients have more protein."

"Fuck, will you shut up... I'm calling."

"You're blushing! I can't believe you're fucking embarrassed. Or maybe that color is something else-- like desire," I said, tugging on his arm to come back to bed. "Let's take a closer look. Yeah, um-m, it's right here on your label..." I threw back the sheet the rest of the way, exposing his clear interest. "Says here... Nutritional Facts: Serving size, 2 teaspoons; Serving per container, unlimited; Calories, 15; Protein, 2 grams."

Sid rolled his eyes. "Listen, maybe after. Until then, does strawberries and whip cream sound good?" I giggled. "With the waffles..." he amended.

I rolled over on to my back and stared up at the ceiling, resigned. "Yeah, fuck that sounds good--" I sighed. "A ton of strawberries and whip cream, lots of creamer for coffee too... Maybe later we could get creative..." I added hopefully.

He crooked his neck so that his cheek muffled the mouth piece as he talked to me. "Ok, I'm off hold now so be quiet..." 

I turned on my side, watching him closely and following his every breath. I picked at a hangnail while my stomach made low churning noises, not taking my eyes off him. I kind of lost myself staring at Sid's hands in a dizzy, blind lust. Yeah. Basic carnal need. My whole body prickled. And that part of me which hungered for his grip resurrected. I slid into him, coaxing his free hand to show a bit of interest in that starved body part.

"Just one minute," he said to the kitchen. 

He straightened up, moved to the edge of the bed and turned his back to me. No fair, I thought. I scooted toward his warmth. That side of the bed was so, so far away. He turned his head to me, putting his hand over the receiver. "Anything else?" he asked. 

"Bacon would be great." I flexed my cold feet into his back, and he jumped. 

He took his hand off the mouth piece and turned his attention back to the phone, trying his best to ignore me. "Belgium waffles, double strawberries and whipped cream," he ordered. "Make that a pot of coffee, extra creamer and bacon too."

"Not rubbery though," I interrupted. Sid frowned and slapped his hand over the receiver again and pressed his finger to his lips to shush me. 

He looked irritated. What was up with him? I took my feet away and rolled back on to my side of the bed.

He slowly removed his hand from the mouth piece. "Sorry... I want the bacon crispy. Four pieces. Yeah and also a ham and cheese omelet. Great. Toast, too. How long? Ok... Thanks..."

He hung up and rolled over into me. "About thirty minutes," he said.

"What the hell was that about?" I asked.

"What was what?" he asked.

"Telling me to be quiet. What was that?"

"Hello! You're in my bed. Naked."

"That's a bad thing?"

"Think. You're famous. In the spot light. You just can't parade around and do what ever you want-- naked."

"I'm not parading... do I look like I'm parading?! I could though. Want to see?! Here... now I'm getting out of bed. Now I'm parading. Maybe I should open these curtains?"

"Get back in bed and quit messing around! I'm sure the press already knows you're not in your room-- although they may not be too interested in what lucky girl's bed you might have graced last night, they sure as hell would be interested to know you were in bed with me-- your manager. Hello! You're a rock star with thousands of admiring fans... fans who read and watch your every move... fans who don't know you're gay."

I walked back to the bed and got in. 

"Great. In the other universe we had to hide from Glenda, here we have to hide from the world."

"Wes, you're not alone. A lot of homosexuals live their whole lives in secret. Christ. You've got a bigger secret that this."

"Being immortal? That's different. I'm not hiding how I feel about you. That was before. I can't hide how I feel about you. I've tried that; it didn't work, remember?."

"I don't like it any more than you do. I never hid being gay before, but here, in this place, it's necessary. I know it will be hard, but we can do this."

"You're the one who spent all those years trying to get me to face what I am-- now you're telling me not to?"

"It's not just you, it's me-- and I'm not saying that you should deny who you are to me-- I never want you to hide how you feel from me. You just don't need to share how you feel about me with everyone-- it's not good PR..."

I bit my lip. He was making such a big deal out of this... had to be more to it. Sid would never deny being gay. He was always true to himself-- being 'straight forward' was one of the reasons I fell in love with him. 

"So what if people know I'm a homo," I smiled, flopping my head into his lap. "I think you're more important to me than a career. You don't have to do this for me."

"Well, there's the other band members to consider. You're not just messing with your career, you're messing with everyone in the band."

I sure hadn't thought of that-- messing with other people's livelihood. 

"Ok," I said, "but last night in the elevator you didn't seem to be too concerned about anyone finding out." 

"I'd lost my perspective for a moment there. Temporary insanity. You have that effect. But I've been here in this reality a while; you haven't. Les and Smith aren't open. They can't be. I'm sorry-- it's the way it has to be. Where we came from, I had no problem letting the world know I'm gay, but I'm not the same person here. The Sid in this universe does have a problem telling people. It's not just about me..."

"But you're not that Sid... you just said..."

"You're wrong. I am that Sid too now, and you're that Wes."

"Next you'll be saying we don't belong together."

"Don't talk crazy. Of course we belong together."

"But not the same..." I ran my toe up the inside of his calf.

"Yes," he said finally. "I think I have a responsibility to carry on in this universe the way, Sid, my counterpart would..." Sid smiled down at me despite himself. "We aren't them, but yet we are. I don't think that I have the right to change the other Sid's life just because it's the way I think he should live it. I wouldn't want him to change my path."

"Yeah, you're right." I closed my eyes thinking, scratching his ankle with my toe nail. Yes, I'd had thought about that. A lot. That was one reason why I tried to keep Sid and 'my' relationship from Glenda in the last universe. But it wasn't the motivating factor. The main reason was to protect Sid. Maybe not so much from, Glenda, but from Shackleton and the Community. That wasn't the case here.

"Ok, maybe this is a moral dilemma," I shrugged. "It's also about survival." I crossed my arms. "No one's going to be hurt because we're open with our relationship. I mean, other rock stars are gay."

"You don't know what will happen. That's just it. You're making a decision for someone else-- not just the other Wes, for everyone else connected with the band."

"So, this is what it means to be famous? I don't like the cost." 

Sid closed his eyes and rested his head back down on his pillow. 

"This whole discussion-- you're talking like you expect that we're going back to our universe."

"Remember, we displaced another Wes and Sid. My alter ego and yours. I gotta think when we switched on the beach what happened to them was accidental too. How have they rearranged our lives back there?"

"So you changed your mind? At the cottage you said you didn't want to go back."

"I don't know. I don't know what to do."

"If I was them, I wouldn't want to come back. They don't have to hide their feelings for each other."

"Well, they have Shackleton, Glenda and the Community to worry about."

He looked at the alarm clock beside the bed.

"And the rest of my family..." The one reason I wanted to stay in this universe was my sister. She was alive here. 

"I don't know. This whole universe thing. What if after awhile, you become part of the place you're in. I mean physically. You already know that coming into another universe changes you mentally. I don't know if I want this life. I didn't make it, but every day I'm here I feel myself bending. Then there's the roses..."

So that was it, that was the other part. I scratched my wrist, thinking. There was something else going on here with Sid that he wasn't saying. I felt it.

"The roses..." he whispered, and he leaned down and kissed me sadly.

"And secrets..." I whispered, frowning. "I can live with secrets-- what I can't live without is you."

"I'm not leaving."

I wished I could see inside him right now. I tried. Nothing was clear. It was like looking into murky water, I could see the problems at the bottom of the pool, but they were too distorted to distinguish. I thought of my promise to him last night, to make everything all right in the garden. I almost said it again now, 'Follow me home, I'll make it up to you.' Sometimes I get so full of myself I start to believe I can take some kind of magic wand and take all the bad away. I hoped it wasn't the roses influencing my brain like some narcotic-- or at least I hoped what I did see and feel under their influence was real. I asked him to believe in me when I don't even know if I believe in myself. Now, watching him chewing on the inside of his cheek, I filled with doubt. He had to be reading this from me. Had to be...

"What's wrong. I mean what's really wrong."

"Breakfast isn't here yet..."

"Not that. I know something is seriously wrong. Talk to me Sid."

"I can't explain when I don't understand. It's not just this place-- it's the serum. The roses."

I sat up. He rested his head on my shoulder, letting the air escape from his lungs, long and slow.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," I said, kissing his temple. 

"I am too."

I knew just like that-- he was sorry he took the serum. He felt lost. All that I feared was coming true. 

"It's horrible," he sighed. "I don't know how you did it. You had your own hell. I don't know why I'm complaining. I'm being irrational. It's just--" 

He snuggled in closer; I took his hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance as much for myself as for him. 

"You're not being irrational," I said. "This is real. We were both told how hard being immortal would be for you. Lancaster told us, Glenda, and Peter. Then to change universes on top of it all."

He stared down watching as his thumb caressed my hand. Warm, confused thoughts poured out from him into me. 

"When I touch you like that, I see inside you," he confessed. "Sometimes I see things I don't want to see."

"Like what?"

He swallowed.

"How afraid you are."

He knew; I was afraid. Afraid of losing him most of all.

"I see into you too. Not all of it's good-- but most of it is."

"Like how much I enjoyed burying Shackleton?" he admitted. "No so good, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I hate him. I've never felt that before-- to hate someone so much you want them dead. It's not just about Shackleton, some crazy thoughts have gone through my head since I took the serum."

I hurt feeling how alone and distraught he was just one day ago-- to the point of despair.

"I don't blame you for that. You're being protective. What I see most of all in you is this incredible light."

"Sometimes I don't feel so light. I do and say dark things-- I don't even feel like it's me saying them sometimes." He bit the inside of his cheek and studied our hands closer.

Sid's hand began to tremble, and he loosened his grasp a bit. I clenched his hand tighter in return.

"I thought I was going insane. I even told the other Wes that I hated him."

"What happened?" I asked.

"It was stupid. All he did was sing to me."

"You told him you hated him because he sang to you?"

"Yeah. Thinking back, I realize that part of it was he was singing to me, and it wasn't you... I told him to shut up, and he wouldn't. He kept singing."

"Sounds like me."

I tugged at his hair.

"Yeah, that's just it. He was trying to be you. I guess from going from one universe to the next, he was getting pretty good at his filling the role of Wes-- universe number twenty-six and counting or whatever the fuck it was."

"Must suck, going from one universe to another slipping into other people's lives."

"Yeah, well, seems it was his choice. I wasn't as concerned about him as I was for you and where he left you."

"With Shackleton? Not like he did that intentionally."

"Of course he did. He wanted out of there. He got out. Can't blame him. At least he did the right thing by going back."

"Sometimes I wonder if we really have a choice in all this-- I mean the other Wes probably believed I had some responsibility for sending him back-- even if it was pressure from you. I mean, did he feel helpless against the pull to switch universes? He did it so often. Makes me wonder. Sure he figured Lancaster would find me on that beach and dig me up, but that was a risk. I mean, I could still be there in some other universe-- some other version of me. Think of it. He had to be thinking of more than himself--"

"I knew he loved me. At least he said he did."

"Which one of you? Christ!"

"I don't know if it mattered. I know he never acted on it though. Not until the last universe. I like to believe that's the real reason he took the risk to go back."

"You know, we seem to make a decision to jump to another world-- conscious or not, but I don't know. It might be who ever pulls the strings wants it to seem like we have control-- but we really don't. We're just part of a grand design. When we did it on the beach, it wasn't planned-- but the circumstances were perfect. Too perfect. I wonder. We both wanted out. It happened. Now you're here-- I'm here. Shit. Do we control our destiny or not?"

"I want to believe we do. I'm hoping you can."

"If we could go back and have you not take the serum, would you?"

"That's not an option."

"That's not an answer."

"Let's not talk about what we can't change. It won't solve anything."

He kissed my shoulder, then rested his head on the same spot. 

"You're right," I said. "I love you." I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed. We left my promise unsaid."I missed this most-- having you to confide in... to lean on."

"I missed this too. It's easier with you here. It's this whole not feeling pain. You'd think it'd be convenient," he said. "It makes for some unforeseen problems. The band was waylaid in this hotel in Cleveland, and I cut myself shaving. I didn't realize it when answered the door. The maid took one look at me and ran screaming down the hallway."

I coughed into my hand, laughing. 

"Touch is just not the same without pain. I know now what Peter meant and understand why he acted recklessly. You want to feel it. You don't feel much pressure. No pain. You want what you don't have."

"But you do feel when I pinch you?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. 

"And pressure when I touch you..."

"Yeah."

"Like this?"

"Yeah."

"And this?"

"Yeah."

"How about this..."

"Hell, yeah."

"Um-m," I said. "I think that's the door."

"Huh? What?"

"The door... I think the waffles you thought I needed are finally here..."

"Fuck the waffles."

"No, I'm hungry now."

"Fuck."

"I need sustenance. Your fault; you had to order. I'll duck into the bathroom. I wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea. You know-- like there was something going on between us."

I raced in there and stuck my head out the bathroom door, seeing one hot horny man shrugging on his robe and dragging his feet to greet room service.

"Think strawberries and whip cream," I whispered, "and the one-hundred and one ways I can use them..."

I shut the door hearing him mutter, "Fuck" and I smiled to myself. 

-----------------------------

"It's mine, not yours," I said.

"But it's good."

"Um-m, then you should have ordered this, not an omelet and toast. At least you should use a fork."

"It tastes better in your mouth not mine."

"Gross."

"Not gross. Come here."

"You should be full by now."

He pushed me down on the bed and clamped his mouth over mine. Personally, I kinda liked sharing this way. Feeling his cock rigid against mine encouraged my generosity.

I came up for air. And caffeine.

"Need more coffee."

He pulled me back down this time pinning me to the mattress.

"Need more Wes," he demanded.

He bit my neck, and I purred. So much for playing hard to get. Time to switch. I pushed him off and onto his back, straddling him.

"Isn't this an interesting turn of events?" he asked, the corner of his upper lip twitching

"Yeah," I said, grinding my hips into him. "And I know exactly what I should do about it."

He was easy to slip open. After ceremoniously coating my fingers with Land O' the Lakes butter, I took my time inching them into him. His gratifying moans and muscles spasms were incredibly rewarding. Then I turned my attention on myself...

"I can't stand it! Stop lathering the butter on your dick and shove it up my ass you sick bastard."

I had wanted to put some whip cream on his cock and lick it off every incredible inch, but unfortunately, that was all gone-- just a few strawberries and a couple of bites of waffle. So I therefore decided to follow his directions and not to wait. 

I pulled one of his legs over my shoulder and pressed the other up into my chest.

Interesting angle. 

I hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, jutting his hips up so that his cock bounced up and down on that nice hard stomach of his. Well, I kinda wanted this to last, but I guess he wanted a quicky. I knew he wasn't used to being on the receiving end, so to speak. Not like he was going to be sore after...

I was a bit out of practice so, I encouraged Sid to help me. I placed his hand firmly on my cock and had him help me guide it into his waiting ass. 




Failing Upward Ch. 16



I didn't want to hurt him. Still, from the way his left hand was grabbing my ass and his right was working my cock into him, I gave him what he wanted; I thrust forward. I choked back a gasp as he clutched my butt harder. 

He was so fucking tight around me. I blocked out the room and concentrated on Sid. The muffled echoes from the hallway gone; the smell of coffee fell away; the starched and scratchy hotel sheets chaffing my knees no longer mattered. Only him. Every ripple in his chest, every spasm from his ass magnified. I knew I couldn't help but come soon.

"Do it hard. I want to feel it," he panted, and I began a steady rhythm. I looked down at him. Sweat beaded across his forehead while his eyes devoured my body. I enjoyed being eaten alive this way. His gaze swallowed my heaving chest, my shaking thighs, my aching arms then stopped, dining on my cock sliding in and out of his own ass. His moans intensified as he watched. 

"God you're beautiful," he said, arching his back. "Keep doing that." With each of my thrusts, his cock pulsed and jerked-- all big, flushed and engorged, looking almost as incredible as his eyes eating me. Shit, it made my heart clutch inside my chest.

"Like that?" he teased, making his dick jerk. "You can touch it you know."

"That's not all I'd like to do with it..." I was pretty flexible, but I not flexible enough to blow him right now. So instead, I took my hand that propped my upper half of my body off of the mattress and wrapped it around his cock and let Sid's legs support my weight. God, he had great legs. Strong, sculpted, every muscle defined. The back of this right thigh braced my chest, his knee slung free over my shoulder. His other knee was anchored against my left shoulder. His hand still cupped my ass and my scrawny biceps looked kind of pathetic next to his-- but the way Sid was watching me jerk him off, I almost believed he thought I was an Adonis or something.

He laughed, mashed his cock into my hand. "Not Adonis-- you're more like Botticelli's David." Fuck, he read my mind! His lips parted and his nostrils flared as I tightened my grip in answer to his comment. Amazing. I decided if I concentrated on how the veins pulsed in his cock, I might be able to hold on a few minutes more. At least maybe I could get him to come first.

Maybe not. My mouth found his forearm. His salty sweat splayed with the rose's sweet, addictive concoction, coating my tongue. I heard him say, "Harder. Harder," and I was gone. I came, burying my cock as deep inside him as possible, my hips jerking involuntarily with each spurt. After my stupor, I turned my attention to him. I had to taste more of him. He groaned as I let go and pulled out with a pop.

I took him in completely, mating my mouth to his cock. My mouth. God. I'd waited to taste him like this for so long. He bunched my hair in his fists and started saying, "Thank you, thank you." If my mouth wasn't full, I would have chanted the same...

He came in about three thrusts. I swallowed. I licked my lips after, turning my head so he could watch me. He smiled and said, "I love you."

I reached up and tickled him under his arms.

--------------------------

I got dressed and discretely left his room. I made sure no one saw me. I whistled as I slipped the key card through the lock on my door to get into 'my' room.

I hadn't wanted to leave, but we did have a show. And I had to change. Couldn't wear the same thing I wore last night...

I dug through the clothes in marred maple dresser. Not much. Socks, underwear, a couple pairs of faded t-shirts and hole riddled jeans. I threw clean underwear and socks on the bed, then checked the closet. Had to be hanging up in the closet. 

The closet door squeaked as I opened it to see what to wear. There they were. Thumbing though the scary leather outfits, mumbled to myself that they were probably be just as hard to take off as the ones I had on. 

One good look in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door told me I needed a shower. Not that having the smell and feel of Sid on me while I was on stage would be a bad thing-- maybe even a turn on-- but my hair stuck out in odd angles. Not a new look for me, but I had to look together on stage.

Shower. Yeah, shower... besides, I do some of my best thinking in the shower, and right now I needed to do a lot of thinking.

Sid and I needed to talk some more. Pretending we weren't together hurt. I didn't like separate rooms or separate lives. Maybe it was best to go back to our universe even if we didn't know what would be there when we got there, but it had to be a mutual decision. All that talk earlier about what little control I felt I had, probably wasn't what Sid needed to hear from me.

I stripped down and climbed in the bath. At least this hotel had plenty of hot water. I turned my face into the flow of the water for a moment, letting it scald me. I let it; I thought that I needed to feel what Sid could no longer feel.

I felt sick. This was my fault. I'd wanted Sid to be with me forever-- to be like me, but he's not like me. Intellectually I understood that it was Sid who took the serum-- I didn't force him, but he did it because he knew I wanted him with me. No, I couldn't change that. I could get us back where we belonged. And maybe, just maybe, I could make him feel again. What bothered me most was how both of us pretended it wasn't there. It was a big pink elephant we denied was in the room. I'd left the baggy with sand in it on his dresser.

The water was cold. I stepped out and wrapped one of those huge white hotel bath towels you can get lost inside of. I stared in the mirror. Who am I? What am I doing here? I closed my eyes.



Failing Upward Ch. 17



There was Sid holding the bucket out with one finger. 

I didn't understand why until the next moment when my stomach turned inside out, and I thrust my face inside that bucket. I threw up twice. Once after I looked out over the stage and wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. The second time after I registered the thousands and the media. Men behind camera cranes spidered overhead. 

"Thought you'd be needing it..." Sid pulled a Kleenex from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Wasn't sure if he meant the puke pail or the hanky-- I wiped my mouth off with shaking hands, giving Sid a pathetic smile. After, I wobbled off and stood on the edge of the stage. He shadowed behind.

"Here, you might need this again," Sid said, setting the bucket off to the side. Les handed me my guitar, and I struggled to tune it, whispering to myself, 'Don't look up, don't look up.'

What a jinx. Of course I was going to fucking look. 

I did. I lifted my eyes. All those people. The Silverdome spread out into an ocean of bodies. Sweat trickled down the small of my back. My vision clouded. My guts wrenched, and I turned tail, handing my guitar into Jimbo's waiting outstretched arms, and tried to puke into the bucket again. 

Nothing left. 

The world slowly focused. It was like that world was a video with someone else controlling the remote. It wasn't the first time I felt my life was some bizarre video-- I watched helplessly as it played, paused, then fast forwarded. 

I picked my guitar up again, threading my head and arm through the strap, chanting: "I'm Wesley Grant. I am Wesley Grant. I am Wesley Grant." I was beginning to buy into Sid's theory that we became our predecessors. I... I didn't feel like me at all. 

I rested my back against one of the amps and watched. The people around me I thought I knew even smelled wrong. It was like we were taping some over-rehearsed comedy routine. When Les bounced up and handed me a warm coke, I tipped it up to my lips like that was part of the routine too. One, two, three sips, most dripping on my shirt. Smith broke wind. Jimbo jumped back. John held his nose while Sid shook his head in disgust. All steps carefully choreographed to calm my nerves. Then I starting choking. So much for calming me... I bent over gasping and hacking, grasping my knees so they wouldn't buckle and leaving me to fall, splat, on the stage in front of thousands.

"What are you trying to do Smith," Les asked, slapping me on the back, "asphyxiate him?"

I opened my eyes to see Sid's polished loafers staring up at me. 

"Not Smith..." I gasped, "Nerves." Les stepped away, giving me room. Sid leaned down, meeting my eyes.

"Breathe, Wes," Sid said, placing his hand on my back, fingers pressing lightly against my spine. "Breathe, like I taught you."

I nodded. 

"Slow and easy," he reminded me... in through my nose, out through my mouth. Over and over. "That's it," he coaxed. 

Not sure if this part of the routine was what worked or if I just didn't have anything left to barf, but I straightened up and bit my lip. I did feel better...

"You're sure I know all the songs?" I asked.

"For the hundredth time, yes!" 

I nodded again. As I looked out into the sea of people, I slowly pulled charged air in through my nose and out through my mouth again. It worked. First I mentally made my way to center stage-- then I took the eighteen hollow steps to the middle of the platform. I still didn't feel myself; I was the invisible man... the yellow stage lights were barely enough to see my own hands and feet. The whole arena was black; the audience hidden. I could still hear them, feel them. The air dripped; the auditorium swelled and writhed. I felt like I'd been swallowed up by some monster-- Not to compare myself with Jonah, but for a moment there I think I knew what he felt like inside a whale.

Yeah, I was inside this monster-- not a whale, more like a dragon. The roaring, the flickering lights like fiery breath, the careening masses like open jaws-- all just on a sliver of my physical senses-- I felt a chemical charge. No more queasy stomach, no more panic. Just uncoiled energy and want. I fell in love with the moment. On stage, pumped, I felt pitted against this deep desire a musician has to be heard, to be known, to be famous. How could I stay me? Fuck, that wasn't new. I didn't want to fight this dragon. I heard the story about how fame destroys people. I stood euphoric. Maybe this was what Sid warned about.

I looked to him off on the right hand side of the stage. Standing arms crossed, legs apart, feet planted between snaking wires, observing me behind the roadies-- he looked anything but lost. He belonged. He was Mr. Manager. 

I wondered who I was.

Jimbo started. I heard him counting. I heard Smith's guitar and Les sing. Their attention rested on at me. I closed my eyes, played and forgot all but the sound. Only the music. The music took me. I let it.

This was different. New. I opened my eyes and looked around at the rest of the band. To them this was just another gig. To me, it was deifying. On an alter, god-like. Or maybe I was just some supreme sacrifice. Either way at that moment, I didn't care. 

It was the best time of my life. 

When we took a break to change sets and take a breather, I found I didn't want to let go. I went to speak, but I couldn't, my voice cracking uselessly instead. I approached Sid, and he seemed to avoid me. He looked nervous. Maybe I was spoiled from all his attention before. He kept busy attending others the way he had me-- I felt slighted. I knew he was stepping back. Not getting too close. For those moments I grew afraid-- I became less sure that this was part of the act, and fearful that this might be what he wanted. 

I needed to stop thinking, put these doubts out of my mind. I became impatient to get back on stage, to feel the way I did before-- where I was wanted.

When Sid ordered us, "On! Now!" I bolted out, not looking behind. This last set, the applause, the stomping vibrated through me. As I played, I felt a shift, a transformation. Making music had always been intimate for me-- like making love-- a minogue et toi between myself, the band and the audience. The experience was never crude or rough. This was different. It was more like being fucked hard, so hard that I hurt-- so hard I couldn't think. 

Tonight, that was good.

It ended too soon. 

It didn't occur to me until off stage and running back to the bus, how I still felt high. No withdrawal. As I climbed up the steep bus steps, I wondered how long before I bottomed out.

Most of the band and roadies were already aboard. I took a seat in the back and watched for Sid as I listened to the bus idle. 

I sprawled out, legs in front on the seat. I closed my eyes for a while, now and then glancing out the window and waiting. Jimbo came up the isle and sat down in back of me and patted my back. I heard Smith laugh. Les looked nervous. That got me nervous.

"He played better than average today, wouldn't you say?" Smith commented. I turned my head and looked back. Les stared at me, looking more like some analyst than my brother.

"Do you feel it too?" I asked him.

"What?" asked Les.

"This high... this bubble that wants to explode but keeps expanding instead," I explained. "Don't you feel it?"

"That? Yeah, but not like I used to," he said. "For you-- it never goes away. You'd think each time was your first."

I watched him carefully. Something was up.

"Yeah," said Smith, "must be nice to be a virgin every night."

That got my attention.

"Funny you should put it like that..." I admitted, "...still, deflowering isn't the metaphor I'd use for that experience."

"A forceful divestment of your innocence?" Les suggested, sitting up in the seat.

"Closer..." I said.

"Maybe you're a used up whore who wants more..." John said, slapping me hard across the shoulders. "I hear that's what happens to musicians who only get their action on stage."

"Are you suggesting I'm not getting any?" I asked.

"Last I knew you weren't," John laughed. "Maybe if you weren't so particular... But there was some talk that you didn't sleep in your room last night. Is this something you can share with the guys? I mean. If you are getting some action, you might want to elaborate on the details. Was she taller than you? Prettier? Bigger knockers? Come on, tell us..."

"Fuck. Like I'd tell you..." I watched the front steps of the bus. 

"So you did get lucky finally," he said, poking me in the arm. "Shit. I don't believe it..."

"What's not to believe?" I mumbled.

Sid stepped on to the bus, and as the doors to the bus shut, I flashed a stupid big gapped tooth grin.

"Christ. It can't be..." John said, "I read this all wrong."

"What the hell does that mean?" I laughed.

"Forget it," said John. " I don't want to know. No details for me..."

"I want details!" Smith said, springing forward.

"Shut up," Les said, pushing Smith back down in his seat.

Sid knelt down next to the bus driver, head close to his-- speaking to him low, his face tight. Then he stood up. He didn't look at me once. Not good. I stopped laughing. Sid stopped and bent over, speaking to two of the roadies. They both got up, mumbling and left the bus. I turned back to John and the others. Then I noticed Les watching out the window. My eyes followed where Les was looking at. It was Trent and Lancaster-- talking to a few of the roadies. What were they doing here? 

What the fuck was wrong?

The bus jerked forward.

"What the hell is going on?" yelled Smith.

"Change of plans," Sid announced, scanning the faces of roadies and band members. He eyes met mine last of all. "We're heading out now. Bill and Carl will get everything out of the hotel. Sorry."

"Is something wrong?" Smith asked.

"Just an over enthusiastic fan, is all," he answered. "We didn't want to take any chances. There's nothing to be concerned about-- we're being cautious." 

The door opened again, and Trent got on. I watched as Trent took a seat behind the driver.

The bus started to move. Sid grabbed the seats on either side of him, steadying himself as the bus made a sharp turn then walked down the aisle and sat next to me. 

He didn't say a word.

I kicked the back of the seat in front of us. I itched the inside of my wrist, scooting down in the seat trying to get a good look at Sid's face.

"What's wrong?" I whispered. 

His hand gripped the edge of the seat, and I rested mine over his. 

He was lying.

Shit.

The only reason why came down to one word: Shackleton.

I squeezed his hand.

"Let's move up a few seats where we can talk," he said under his breath. I nodded then followed him. I shot a quick look back at Les. His lips were pressed tight together and his jaw clenched, staring at Trent. He knew it was something bad, too.

The others looked on with interest-- except John who mumbled something like, "I was fucking right about who he got lucky with..." and Smith shot back: "Will you shut up!" I wished it was something as simple as a lover's quarrel. 

We found a seat toward the front the bus opposite from Trent and away from the roadies and the band. 

"Is it Shackleton?" I blurted out.

"No," he answered. "But you're close. Lancaster told me it's some men from the community wondering what happened to Shackleton. They know Shackleton had you. They claimed they just want to talk with you privately. They even suggested you come with them."

Panic attack. Shit. My heart thumped hard. My face grew hot. I was suffocating.

"No fucking way-- I'm not going back there," I squeaked, jumping up in my seat.

Sid pulled me back down. "Don't worry. Your uncle told them there was no way they're taking you there. But he's worried-- they're not above taking you by force."

"It's happening again. I don't believe this."

I took deep breaths and closed my eyes.

"They don't want Shackleton," I said. "They could give a shit about him. They want what he had-- what he knew."

Me. That's what they wanted. Me. 

Fuck.

"We have to put them off somehow," Sid said. "Confront them. If they think there's nothing to get from you, then Trent thinks maybe they'll leave us alone."

""How will we make them think that? I don't like this idea at all..."

"Your uncle agrees. But he made it clear; we should chose the time and the place carefully."

"This is never going to end, is it?"

"Relax, it's not like you're any guy; they can't just nab you off the streets. You're a celebrity; you'd be missed. We were thinking someplace public for the meeting."

"Somehow that doesn't sound too comforting."

I looked out the window. Dark. We were on I-94 now. The city lights no longer blotted. The stars twinkled overhead like any other night, with no regard to the troubles of our puny little lives.

----------------------------

Long ride and stiff legs. 

The house was open. 

We were home-- at least home as in the Lancaster estate. Same winding stairs. Mica's essence filtered through every minute corner.

I knew we should talk about what we needed to do. I knew that I should talk to Trent and my uncle. But I pulled Sid up the stairs.

I locked the door.

Sid in my room. 

The windows were open. The room smelled like the garden, the roses.

I pulled his jeans down over his hips, feigning that I had little regard for his raging hard on. Sid threw himself down on the bed while I stood at the foot, pretending his writhing body with the jutting 90 degree cock wasn't there right in front of my cool blue eyes. Sid knew better, however. He took his cock in hand and fisted it, jerking it and staring into my soul with eyes that would make a frigid-housewife cream her pants.

Fuck that. I ripped off all my clothes without regard to buttons, sending one popping across the room. I guess acting ambivalent didn't last. I crawled on my hands and knees facing him, stopping just below his knees, and I watched. 

I reached out for him.

He slapped my hand away-- then gripped himself tighter, trusting his cock up into his hand. A perfect bead of precome formed on the tip. It was like an invitation. I bent my head down and with the very tip of my tongue I slowly rolled it around the head of his cock. He didn't slap me away this time. Instead his right hand massaged the back of neck. I savored the salty taste, felt his thick vein pulse beneath as I careful swirled my tongue around and around, evading that perfect, painful pearl at the head of his prick. He slowed his desperate pumping-- his fingers brushed my bottom lip with each stroke.

I closed my eyes then slid my tongue up his slit to my prize. I heard voices in the hall. All that mattered was inside this room. After, I filled my mouth up to his fist with his length, rubbing the ridged roof of my mouth hard with each stoke. He loved it. His thighs strained, his back arched with his on my gulps. My jaw popped. He hiccupped and held on to the base of his cock for dear life, his thumb pushing against his balls, his fingers white. I opened my to see my cock pink and rock hard, bobbing helplessly between my legs. There was time for that after I finished with what was in my mouth.

Seeing inside him at this moment was the biggest turn on. When he was right on the edge, I had it in me to give him release or keep it from him and make him quiver and moan. Sid kept me at that point. He read me so well for so many years, it didn't surprise me he could pull the same magic in bed. He knew me better than myself. 

I'd hidden far too many years from myself. Sadly, I knew others better than myself-- held their needs first. But when it came to this, to making love, the feel of him trembling and holding the moment, I was greedy, selfish. I wanted to make it last as much for me as for him...

As he rocked and jerked his cock inside my mouth, begging to come, I stopped for a moment. He didn't say a word. Nothing. He wanted it to last too. Wanted to come harder, feel the spasms rack through every muscle in his body. I shoved my index my finger up his ass and he came. His ass pulsed around my finger as I buried his cock in the back of my throat and swallowed. 

He sat up and his lips crushed my mouth, whiskers scratching my face. 

"You taste so good," he said.

"That's because I taste like you."

Then I remembered what was waiting for us downstairs.

His hand met my hard, desperate cock.

"Let's stay here a while..." I said, "in bed... together..." 

He stroked me slowly. "Sure, what ever you want." But we knew it was lie, letting it live in our heads just for a few moments more. 

I closed my eyes and felt his hands moving. God, so good. I came fast. Too fast.

Then we had to go downstairs.

-----------------

I woke hearing a loud bang downstairs. Lancaster was shouting. Glass was breaking. We both bolted out of bed, grabbing our clothes off the floor and throwing them on. I ran out the bedroom door with my shirt half on and Sid right behind me. I stumbled down the steps, grabbing the railing.

At the bottom of the stairs, I heard too late Trent yelling for us to get out. Sid called out behind me as I felt a pinch in my chest. I looked down; the red end of the hypodermic stuck there. Pulling it out was the last I remembered until I woke staring at the white ceilings of the Community.

----------------

The room was bare. All stark white walls, ceiling, door. The floor tiles were cold. I had my clothes on at least. Sid was there in the room with me, still unconscious sprawled in the other corner. I crawled across the room to him. I watched as a white video camera mounted in another corner of the room slowly followed my movement. Before I could reach Sid, the door opened. Three figures came in. My head pounded, but my vision was hypersensitive. I knew what they were thinking without a touch. I saw greed. I saw need. I saw that they didn't care how they got it.

I saw how they intended to get it. I looked at Sid. Fuck.

It took me two tries to get to my feet. But when I did, I looked the tallest one in chest and said, "Just leave him alone-- I'll go with you."

He nodded. The other two got on either side of me, grabbing me by the arms and lead me out the door.

----------------

At least they let me sit in a chair, even though it was hard and rigid. They wanted to talk. Well, ok, I thought, I'll talk. The trick was to tell them enough to make them happy but not enough to do any damage. I decided the best way was to give them some hocus-pocus.

First they asked me stupid simple questions. I went along-- at first. What's my favorite color? What I did I do on my eighteenth birthday? What's my favorite cereal? It occurred to me that these simple questions weren't so simple. The tall guy had a hand held computer, reading and entering data of some type. Asking me when I lost my virginity was going too far.

"Is this some hidden camera game show?" I asked.

"No, the camera isn't so hidden," the tallest guy answered, pointing to the corner of the room. How had I missed that? I thought. Too many distractions, I guessed. They must know something, comparing answers.

I had to do something before I gave away that I wasn't the other Wes. On to the magic show.

I started by making the chair the big dumb looking one was in collapse. Just so they wouldn't think it was a coincidence, I made the ones the two other jerks were sitting on do the same. That seemed to impress them. 

But not enough.

"Psychokinetic..." 

"You can't keep me here," I said, reaching. "You know it's likely I'll be missed... I have a concert in Chicago in two days."

"Mr. Rockstar thinks his fans will save him," the tall one said. "You don't matter here. The Community can make anyone disappear. Remember Jimmy Hoffa? Amelia Earhart?"




Failing Upward Ch. 17



"That's crazy," I laughed. "Are you serious? Next thing you'll be saying Paul McCartney's really dead, and you replaced him."

"Who told him?" the tall one joked.

"What else can you do?" the big dumb one asked.

"Can you disappear Mr. Grant?"

"I don't know, Donald." He was too stupid to realize I knew his name without him telling me, but it wasn't lost on his other two buddies.

"Telepathic, too. Interesting."

"Sure, Alfred." 

"Smart ass. Let's see if you're clairvoyant too," he said, hitting me in the face. "Guess not..." I spat the blood out on Alfred's nice white shirt. 

"Shit, that hurt," I swore.

"Feels pain," the tallest one with the palm pilot noted. I noticed the video camera following the action in the room. 

"Smart observation," I said sarcastically. Then I made the lamp fly off the table and bust against the back of Alfred's head. That was messy. Also scared him. And pissed Alfred off. Really pissed him off-- so Alfred decided to see how much pain I really felt. He kicked the chair out from under me and stomped on my hand with the end of his boot heal then kicked me in the face. Damn stupid jerks who think they're urban cowboys with their steel tipped boots. The blood spurting from under my eye stopped immediately. I think the speed of how quickly I healed scared them the most.

It still fucking hurt though. 

"You really need to be more cooperative," the one with the palm pilot said. "You need to do better than that, or we'll experiment on your friend." For some reason, I couldn't get this third guy's name-- I couldn't read him like the other two. He was either a lot smarter or a lot dumber. Either way, he was the one I knew I had to worry about most. Him and whoever else was watching through that camera.

"You need to do a lot better than that if you want to keep your friend safe," the tall one said.

"Alright, what do you want me to do next?"

"Tell me what Albert is thinking."

"Easy, he wants to stomp my head. Can I sit up? The floor is cramping my style."

"Stand," he said, giving me his hand and pulling me to my feet. That was all it took. Frank. His name was Frank. Seems he didn't know much more than the other two. I guess they were on a need to know basis.

"Can we cut off his head next?" asked Donald. 

Christ, he was serious! 

"I don't think that's the best idea," I said. "It might limit how much information you can get out of me."

Donald looked at me stupidly.

"I'd be dead, Donald." Well, maybe not, but I didn't really want to find out...

"Well, if we can't do that, then at least do that injection thingy..." Donald suggested.

"Thingy?" I laughed, staring at Frank. "Thingy? The Community really scraped the bottom of the barrel to find this blind follower.

Frank laughed along with me. Then he pulled the syringe from his white lab coat as dumb and dumber stepped up on either side of me.

I stopped laughing just before Donald hit me in the face again. He was getting too good at that. Big and dumb can come in handy.

I wasn't in a hurry to find out what was in the syringe. I was reading from them it wasn't the serum, although it was a clear fluid, like the serum. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee seemed to believe it was lethal. I couldn't read any indication from my good friend Frank. I still had a nasty headache from whatever they knocked me out at the house. I didn't look forward to being their guinea pig one more time.

"We've noticed that toxins given intravenously are difficult, if not impossible, for many immortals to reverse," Frank said. "You revived from the sedative quickly. You should have been out a good day not a couple hours. We wanted to see what this would do..."

I figured, why make it easy for them? I started struggling against Alfred and Donald, elbowing Alfred hard in the nose. The crunch was satisfying even after Donald twisted my arm, wrenching me to the floor on my knees. 

"What is it?" I asked. "Drano?" 

"No," Frank answered. "Strychnine." 

"Are you crazy?" Talking to these three wasn't working. I looked right into the fucking video camera. "What if it kills me?" I asked it. "That's a bit counterproductive, don't you think?"

Frank came closer, jabbing it in my arm. That stung. 

"Missed lab the day your instructor went over injections, right Frank?"

"I'm not a fucking nurse... I'm a doctor." He tossed the syringe in the waste basket. A long shot and right in. Not bad. I took another close look at him. He didn't know shit about why they were doing this. Neither did his buddies. 

"What about that Hippocratic oath?" I asked.

Frank planted his foot in the middle of my back and shoved me face first into the floor. 

"Well, your bedside manner sucks big, Frank."

I tried pushing myself up with my arms and his foot came down in the middle of my back-- my chin bit the floor. 

"Floor's good," I mumbled. "I'll stay on the floor..."

He stepped back next to the other two, leaning against the stainless steel cart and watched. I recalled the effects of strychnine poisoning, remembering that it was pretty painful. Something about muscle spasms so severe you suffocate. Not that I could suffocate. Even if I didn't die, it would hurt like a bitch. I started getting anxious, recalling that was the first sign. Actually, I was already anxious. More like twitchy. Not good. 

As my stomach began to bunch up, I thought aloud, "This is bull shit." I expected the Community to do the same thing as they did the last time-- drain my blood, analyze it, run some kind of mad scientist experiment. I just didn't see the logic in trying to kill me. 

"Why?" I asked, looking into the fucking camera. Whoever was watching knew exactly what they were doing. 

I reached to figure out the purpose only to have it slam me in the face. "If I could just get out of here..." I mumbled under my breath. That's what they wanted! Jump. Leave. Change. I almost laughed. Almost. Joke was on them, I couldn't depart this universe. Not without Sid or the sand. Especially not in front of them. Unfortunately, the joke was on me too. 

I knew nervous agitation was another symptom-- but I had that long before Frank gave me that injection. How long had it been? My muscles in my arms and legs were tightening. That and I was sweating buckets. Odd... I didn't remember profuse sweating being part of the symptoms. The fact that I was coherent didn't make sense either. Actually, the floor was starting to feel nice-- so cool, so smooth against my cheek. Thick wax, high gloss, I ran my hand across it. Fuck, the floor was getting me aroused. I could smell their sweat in the room, and I had a familiar taste in the back of my mouth. 

Lights sparked in my brain. The smell of my own blood and Mica from my pores. This wasn't strychnine poisoning.

Fool the fools to fool me. Nice trick.

Then Peter Deal walked in.

I didn't know if I should feel relief or apprehension. I couldn't help but feel hope. Peter got me out of this place once before.

By now my heart was pounding and blood was rushing to my groin. Thank you God I'm on my stomach. 

Peter kneeled down my head and whispered in my ear, "I guess by now you know what we gave you..."

"Yeah, I do."

"It was my idea to give you serum instead-- make you think it was strychnine. I didn't think it would work, and you're far too handsome to die."

"Fuck you Peter."

"Well now, since we've never been formally introduced, you either read my mind or you've known me before... which is it?" he whispered.

"You're so smart-- you guess."

"How well did you know me?" he said licking my ear. That was bad. I started scooting away from temptation. "Not that well? Maybe we could get acquainted?" He pushed me over onto my back. "Is that growing exponentially or are you just happy to see me?"

"Get away." 

"What? You don't want me to talk nerdy to you?"

I couldn't focus my eyes. 

"You don't sound so sure..." he said, I strained my head to look into his face. It looked jumbled, like some cubist Picasso painting. 

"I'm sure. Fuck, what else was in that?"

"Well an interesting concoction-- we added etorphine-- used to knock out elephants, you should have been out by now. Amazing..."

--------------------

I woke up. Life was fuzzy but I could see Sid clearly enough, sitting next to me, legs crossed. Back in the same white room. I wondered why anyone would want an all white room. What the hell was John Lennon thinking? Too bright. It felt like my brain was trying to push its way out of my skull while my cock was trying to push its way out of my pants.

Being injected with that shit is like being in heat. And Sid was right next to me just realizing I was conscious. 

"I was worried. You've been out for so long," he said, leaning toward me.

"Not as long as you think."

"What?" 

"I woke before you and had the pleasure of meeting some of our gracious hosts."

I know he was just rubbing my back innocently, but it felt like the most erotic back rub I ever had.

"We gotta get out of here," he said, fingers moving up under my shirt. I turned over. It was easy to pull him down on top of me. I had my tongue down his throat before he knew what hit him. 

He pulled away, breathing hard. "Christ Wes, did you forget the video camera?"

I looked into it. Shit. 

"I can smell it," he said, gasping. "What did they do?"

I grabbed him and pulled him on top of me again, his ear pressed against my mouth. "They shot me full of serum and tranquillizer," I whispered. "Made me believe it was poison. They were trying to force me to do it."

"Have sex?"

"No, well yes maybe. I don't know. But their main intent was to get me to switch..."

It was all I could do not to rock my hips and thrust up into him. I could feel his cock through my jeans, pressed against mine. He was almost as hard as I was.

"They want to find out how you jump universes?" he whispered back. 

"Yes," I whispered. I couldn't help myself-- I nipped his earlobe. "Peter is here." 

"Christ," he moaned. "Stop talking dirty."

"Peter Deal is here."

"That Peter?" His eyes widened. "Maybe he can get us out of here."

"I wouldn't count on it. He's not the same person he was in our universe." I closed my eyes and put my arms around him. He felt so warm, so good. "I want you..."

I mashed my mouth into his. God, he started sucking my tongue. I went from semi-hard to rigid in one second. 

Sid pulled back. "I want you too, but I don't think that's such a good idea..." his breathing ragged-- "Besides the camera... you see I forgot to tell you something..." I ground my crotch into his. "I've got it... it's in my pocket..."

"God," I moaned into his ear, "you're such a tease. I've got something in my pocket too..." I squirmed harder against him-- his cock rolled over mine and butterflies danced in my stomach. Wanted more-- so I started reaching inside his front pocket...almost there... What's this? 

Then my mind shorted out.

"No," he rasped, grabbing my wrist. "I don't mean my dick, you idiot... The sand. I have it."

My hand flew back like a child burned by a hot stove. He rolled off me. 

"You're just telling me this now?" was all I could say.

"They have to know," he said. "I mean, that I have the sand. They must have searched us. They must have wondered."

"Yeah," I said stupidly.

"They probably haven't connected it completely or else they wouldn't have done that to you earlier," he whispered. "Wes? Are you ok?"

"Yeah," I tried focusing in on his eyes. Such beautiful eyes. Why couldn't I see them? Just a few moments before, I was fine. 

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"Everything's blurry, jumbled. I can't think... must have put something else in that hypo."

Sid went quiet. His hand brushed my forehead. 

"I don't think that's it..." he said. "It's the sand. You almost touched it. It was like you were leaving me for a second there. Like you were fading. Do me a favor, try to sit up."

"Ok." I was dizzy, but I managed.

"Listen," he said, sitting up close next to me, "what if you did it? I mean, got us out of here?"

"To where? I can't help but think we'd still be in the Community in the other universe-- we might be worse off than here."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but then there's them," I said lamely.

"You mean the other Sid and Wes?" 

I nodded. 

"Chances are the Sid and Wes in our universe are having the same conversation right now," he whispered. "But you're right, we can't-- at least not now. The camera. We can't let them know. They can't see." 

Sid tensed. Shoes clicking against tile in other hallway echoed into our room. The door slowly opened. Dr. Peter Deal, Frank and a young woman came into the room. Her face was down, and I held my breath as I watched her chin slowly rise. I looked into her eyes, and I knew we would have a way out.

"Angela," I whispered.

I believed our salvation stood in the doorway. I whispered her name again: "Angela..."

"Angela?" Sid whispered back.

I saw her stare turn from spark to glass as she looked into Sid's eyes.

"How do they know my name?" she asked, turning to Deal. He didn't answer. Instead her mouth set firm as she fixed her eyes on Sid, then cast her eyes to mine. I searched her face to find the same good-hearted soul I knew. She looked into me. I saw confusion, horror, pity. 

"You're the one, aren't you?" she asked. 

Deal ignored her and stepped between us. 

"He knows a lot more than he's telling us," he said. "From what we saw on the video cam a moment ago, he has a remarkable ability."

"Am I that transparent?"

"Can I hit the smart ass?" Frank asked.

Deal shook his head no, and Frank unclenched his fists.

"Enough with the jokes. How did you do it? How did you disappear?" Deal demanded.

"It's magic," I shot back. "I don't know how-- it just happens."

"You're a smart fellow," Deal said, leaning back against the wall. "You know exactly how. Are you going to tell us or do we have to hurt your friend here?"

"Can't we all just get along?" Sid asked.

Frank grabbed the front of Sid's shirt and went to slam him against the wall next to Deal, but Sid was quicker. Frank ended up face first with his arm twisted behind his back in his place. Frank threw all his weight into Sid and they stumbled back and onto the floor. Sid grabbed his hair and proceeded to pound Frank's face into tile. 

Peter yanked him off Frank, who was howling and cursing, just as two steroid filled goons rushed in. Frank staggered to his feet, blood gushing from his nose. Most likely broken. 

"Teach you to touch what doesn't fucking belong to you..." Sid spat. 

Peter Deal pushed Sid up against the door, his hand caressing Sid's cheek and turned away from his touch like it was poison. Deal grabbed his hair, forcing Sid to meet his eyes. 

My heart pounded. I'd been scared shitless before, but this...

I stepped forward only to have one of their strong men pull me back. I struggled, squirming away didn't break the hold. I tried pushing my weight against the biggest one, but he was like a tree. Fuck, and he smelled like home-baked bread. The least he could do is smell the part, like his pal did-- whiskey and cigars. 

"Get your hands off me," Sid hissed. 

"Sid, Sid, Sid. What no please?" Deal said, as rolled his hips into Sid's. I thought I'd be sick. Mr. Pop-n-Fresh Dough jerked me back. "You still haven't learned manners I see. I know we had a parting of ways, but no need to be so rude. I have friends here who will teach you to be more respectful. Or better, I could give you a lesson. I remember when you used to like my lessons."

"That was somebody else. The Peter I knew would never treat me like this."

"Yes, well that is part of it, isn't it? You're not exactly the same are you? How did you both do it? Tell me." 

"Like Wes said-- we don't know."

I elbowed the guy's chest, then tried to spin around. Instead he caught both my arms and locked them tight behind my back.

"Stop squirming you little queer."

"At least I don't smell like the Pillsbury Dough Boy."

"Shut up!" Deal yelled at us. "Angela, give me the serum." 

Her head jerked up as he said her name. She reached inside her lab coat.

"Don't do it," I begged. Angela's hand hesitated as our eyes met. "Please."

Her eye twitched, then she handed the syringe to Deal. One shot of that and Sid wouldn't care who was squeezing his ass. 

"Don't," I said, stomping the man's foot. His buddy slapped the side of head. 

"Then tell me what I want to know," Deal demanded.

"I'm not going to tell you a thing," Sid said, flinching as Deal stuck him in the shoulder. "Neither is he."

Sid's head turned to me as he choked out the word, "no." His eyes were black. 

"Leave him alone," I choked.

God, the serum was working already. I couldn't watch. I couldn't let this happen.

"We have to be together for it to work," I blurted out. "And I need the sand that's in his pocket."

"Here?" Deal asked, and he took his time rubbing the front of Sid's jeans, feeling for the sand. 

Sid moaned, "Wes, no." What could Deal or Shackleton do with the sand anyway, I reasoned. Besides, they had to know it was already there. All I knew was that I needed it to get us out of here, and I needed to know how much they knew. If I gave them a taste of what I could do, maybe they'd go away long enough for us to get ourselves out of this mess.

Deal dug inside Sid's front pocket and drew out the plastic bag. 

"Take this to get it analyzed." 

"No!" I said as he dropped the baggy of white sand into Angela's hand. She held it like it was radioactive. Sid looked at me. I was puzzled. What game were they playing? Deal had to already know that Sid had the sand in his pocket. They'd searched us. They must have already analyzed it and found it was just ordinary sand. Why this production? The only answer I could reason was they must not be certain. They obviously didn't understand its purpose. Two could play this game...

"Give it to me."

Angela's eyes locked with mine. I thought for a moment she might just give it to me. But Deal grabbed her wrist, twisting it.

I felt bad when I saw her wince. Still, I could have used that sand.

"Take it, now," he hissed. I watched as Angela left, her eyes glassy as she took one last look at me over her shoulder.

I let my knees go weak as I watched Sid trying his best to push Deal away. Dough boy's grip loosened, and I saw my chance. I kicked with every ounce of strength I had at the fucker's kneecap with my heal. He screamed like a girl.

I was satisfied with myself for all of one second, then he hit me in the jaw so hard I saw all my previous lives flash before my eyes. 

"Come on," said Deal, "you can have fun some other time."

I think the guy wanted to pound me, but instead he limped out of the room with the others.

I was confused. Why did they leave? I turned to Sid. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't need to ask. He gasped for breath, squeezing his crotch. 

He stepped next to me then leaned in and pinned me to the wall with a predatory smile.

"Very horny," he whispered in my ear.

"You know they are watching." I looked up at the camera. My breath hitched as he bumped his cock into mine. It could smell the roses in his breath and through his skin. Every point of contact, I tingled. My body chemically reacted.

"Let them," he said, unzipping my jeans. He reached in and began fondling me. My mind blurred, my chest pounded. I thought I'd come apart when he brushed his thumb against my jeans. I jerked helpless into his hand. 

"God, yes," I whimpered, biting my lip to keep from calling out his name as he grasped me tighter. The room reeked of roses.

"I'm going to come just listening to you moan," Sid said, licking my ear. 

I was trapped with him in that desperate place-- feeling him, hearing him, made me all the more desperate. The drive to be him, inside and out was almost irresistible. I could smell the want coming on me too. 




Failing Upward Ch. 17



He increased his tempo. I gave in. The whole act was quick. We didn't bother removing clothes. We slid down the wall to the floor. He pushed inside me in such a rush, I didn't notice where we were anymore. Time, place didn't matter-- all I understood was him-- his mouth sucking my neck until it burned, his hands holding my arms so tight they tingled. I clawed at his back, begging him to fuck me harder. 

We came. It hadn't mattered that we were semi-dressed with come smeared on us both. I held his head as he sobbed into my neck, whispering how much he loved me.

I began to sing to him softly, not any melody I knew-- instead a new song came within me-- he sniffed and I held him.

Then I felt it on the other side of the door--the familiar void that was Shackleton. The door opened. I held Sid all the tighter; Sid shivered as he raised his head to see who came in. 

Although the door was to my back, I could see Shackleton enter like I was seeing him through my own eyes. He was alone. The door slammed shut, and he stepped behind us with purpose. I turned to face him. The cold barrel of this gun met my temple. 

"This is cozy," he muttered. The barrel drew a shivering trail from my temple to my mouth. The cold steel tugged at my bottom lip in an obscene caress.

"Don't reach for the gun," he said to Sid, "or I'll pull the trigger. I know he heals amazingly well, but I don't think even he could survive getting his head blown off at point blank range."

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Open your mouth," he ordered. I hesitated then opened as he pushed it inside. I could just as easily be Sid. I shut my eyes as I put my lips around the barrel. The metal bit into the roof of my mouth. "You have lips made for sucking cock," he said, staring down his eyes taking in my open fly and come smeared clothes. He held a test tube in his other hand. He inched that hand down, grazing my spent cock. 

Sid stepped forward and the gun twisted. I gagged. 

The door opened and in walked Deal with Frank in tow, his nose swollen. 

"Mind if I observe?" Deal asked.

"Certainly," Shackleton said.

"It seems I may have been mistaken where the answer lies, not just in his blood," Shackleton explained. "You see the answer was always right here, between his legs and here in his brainstem. What I need now is a sample, and I see Sidney has helped to provide one." Taking his finger from his free hand, Shackleton scrapped a glob of come off my shirt into the test tube. 

He pulled the gun out of my mouth and waved, motioning for Sid to step over. A bitter metallic taste lingered in my mouth. 

"Of course I'll need more later, but this will due for now," he said, shoving me to the floor. He grabbed Sid by the hair, yanking him around then leveled the gun to his head.

"Leave him alone," I said, getting to my feet. "You got what you wanted."

"But I do need more," Shackleton smiled.

"What?" I asked.

"Him."

"No. You can't. You can have me."

"He's coming with me," Shackleton said. "Insurance. I'll keep him some place safe. You'll see him when ever it's necessary."

He began stroking Sid's cheek with the gun and I began shaking. Safe?

"This could prove to be very entertaining for me," Shackleton said, running the gun across Sid's lips.

Sid rolled his eyes, then bit Shackleton's finger. 

"You little fuck!" He screamed, then slugged Sid in the head with the butt of his gun.

Deal stepped up between them, grabbing Sid's arm and twisting it. 

"I'll take care of him," Deal said, pulling Sid away. "I don't want him damaged..." 

Deal rushed out the door, dragging Sid.

Shackleton snapped the rubber stopper on the test tube, handing it to Frank. Shackleton nodded to him. 

Frank wiped his nose on his sleeve, then left. 

"Now it's just us," Shackleton said. "We can be straight with each other. I know you're not the Wes that was here before. You know I'm not the same handsome guy you first met. Tell me, what it's like when you jump?"

"It's nothing spectacular. Not much happens, but it's never the same..."

"We saw you earlier in this room with your boyfriend. It looked like you were transparent-- like a shadow. What does it feel like? What do you see? Do we look like shadows to you?"

"No."

"Now, now Wes. Remember, I have your playmate tucked away. You wouldn't want anything to happen to him? Be cooperative. I might even treat you nice."

"Nice? I rather you weren't."

"Answer."

I was silent. What choice did I have but to give him a taste?

"Most of the time I don't realize it's happening to me."

"Most of the time? How many times has it been?"

"Three or four."

"Which is it, three or four?"

"I haven't been keeping track."

"A man with a photographic memory can't remember-- enlighten me how that works..."

"It's easy if you don't recall who you are," I reached.

"You are suggesting you have no memory?"

"More like I have many memories-- so many that I can't trust them."

"You really shouldn't lie. You don't do it well. You know precisely where you've been, what you've seen. You've met me, Angela, that worm Deal. I see it in your eyes. Those eyes of yours don't hide much. Then there's Sidney. Ah, yes. You were awfully familiar a moment ago for a first encounter. Both of you fit together so well in such an awkward position. Not an act done well without practice. Very talented the both of you. I could sell that tape and make a profit, or better, I think I'll keep it for my personal vault."

He smiled and stepped closer. "No, you don't fool me. You remember everything. How close am I to the truth? You jump through doors in time, planes of reality? What is it?"

"Both, neither. How the fuck should I know?"

"Explain. Now."

I hesitated. The room was still, but there was a distinct vibration. I couldn't tell if it was real or not. 

"It's not time travel," I said. "So forget trying to make yourself some all powerful being by going back and altering an event. You can't change history. You can't go back. I don't go through time. I guess I go through other planes of existence. That's just a guess though. There's no controlling what will happen. I can't. It's random. If you think that you can bend it for your own purposes, think again. It bends you."

I felt the vibration in my legs. Shit.

"Ah, but the experience. The curiosity. All the little unknowns make it all the more irresistible doesn't it Wes? But most of all, the experience has altered you more and more each time."

"Of course it's changed me. My life's been turned upside down."

"Still evading. You know exactly what I mean. You're not the same being physically. You're superior. Psychic."

We both looked at the chrome table next to me. The objects shook-- metal on metal rattled.

"If I'm so superior and psychic, what the hell am I doing here?"

"Look," he said, pointing to the table. "You don't understand. You don't have the intelligence to comprehend the limitless possibilities..."

"But you do?"

"Yes and also you're hindered in other respects..."

"How hindered?"

"You're distracted. You aren't alone."

"What?"

"I said, you aren't alone. You brought him with you. You're familiar. I've seen it before today. I've seen you both. You have the power to take another. I know what you are, and you're going to take me this time. I will learn. I will become like you."

He laughed. 

"No way," I stepped back.

"I will be superior in all respects. Breaking lamps, moving objects? Nothing! You don't understand the possibilities... What I could do with your powers."

"There's no way I can take you. It's not possible."

"Sex. Arousal. I didn't need your sperm-- I just needed to be alone with you, with this sand," he pulled the bag from his pocket then a syringe from his lab coat. "It will happen. First I'll make you beg, then I'll make you come. You will take me." He stepped toward me and I took another step back. I opened my mouth to speak when the door opened. I was never so relieved to see Deal.



Failing Upward Ch. 18



Author note: Only two more chapters to go!

-----------------------

"That was quick," Shackleton snapped, turning to Deal. "I expected you to take your time." 

"Yes, he is very attractive," Deal said as he stepped behind Shackleton. "But he was already spent. Wes, remember not to wear him out in the future. I prefer Sid fresh." 

"I'm not that particular," Shackleton said, reaching out and brushing his fingertips against my cheek. I shrunk back, slapping his hand away. "He looks delicious after a good fucking-- all ruffled and flushed, don't you think?"

The metal table vibrated in back of me. Was that really me doing that? I closed my eyes. If only I could better control what I could do. I cursed my weakness. If I had all this power, why was I so fucking helpless?

Deal stood beside Shackleton. Deal smiled as his eyes rested on the syringe in Shackleton's hand.

"Yes, he does look good," Deal answered, looking from me to Shackleton. "I'll have plenty of time with Sid later, after he's rested." 

"You know, I could assist you with him..." 

Shackleton smirked, "I rather have him to myself." 

"I promise to keep quiet if you let me watch..." Deal reached for the syringe, and Shackleton handed to Deal. I wiped the sweat off my upper lip then took a halting step backward. 

"You're not going to make sarcastic remarks about my bedside manner, are you Deal?"

This wasn't going as I expected-- where Deal comes in and rescues me, like in some Bruce Willis movie.

I stepped back again. 

"I think you'll need to hold him, Shack."

"My pleasure Pete."

Shackleton's cold hands snatched my forearm as I lunged away, jarring the metal table. He yanked me around. I was cornered like a mouse-- that's the way I felt-- tiny and vulnerable. They stood large, shoulder to shoulder. Shackleton's eyes lit up with perverse glee, and I held my breath waiting for Deal to stick me with serum. Deal dramatically held the syringe up, inspecting it closely. As he looked through the clear liquid into my eyes, he winked. 

Shit. I blinked. Had I seen that right? He winked again. At me! With one swift jab, Deal plunged the needle into Shackleton's arm. 

"You fuck!" Shackleton yelped in shock. "What did you do?!" Shackleton collapsed to the floor, swearing. 

I stood stunned. Maybe this was a Bruce Willis movie-- Yeah, Die Hard would be good... I smirked like Shackleton had done to me. Yeah, Shack, take that...

"There you go you horny bastard," Deal laughed, punching me in the arm like some teenage boy who's smacking his buddy after telling some inside joke.

"I had you going, didn't I?" he said to me.

"Fooled me. I thought I was fucked. Literally?"

"Now would I let that happen to you? Oh, wait! I did! I watched! What was that you were screaming to Sid? Oh yeah, 'Fuck me with your monster'? Was that it?"

Shackleton swore at us again from the floor as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Will you shut up. We need to get out of here. Can't they see what's happening?" I asked, pointing at the camera.

"No, Shack wanted some 'privacy' and turned off the cameras."

Deal took his foot and pushed Shackleton back down on the floor. His eyes bled into Deal's, and he choked and sputtered on the cold tile. I reframed from kicking him. It was tempting. Very tempting.

"Why's he acting like that? The serum doesn't do that to me..." I asked.

"That serum was meant for you-- not some ordinary immortal like him. I imagine it's fucking with him something awful..." Deal knelt down. "Poor Shack, just pull that hard dick of yours out and wack off. That's what you usually have to do anyway lately..." Deal stood up, and he pulled me out the door, Shackleton rolled over, trying to get to his feet again. 

"Come back here," his groaned. "Deal, you pig. You can't have him-- he's mine."

"Not today, I'm not," I answered. "But if you wait awhile, Frank will help you out. He might even blow you if you ask nice."

We left, muffled curses came from behind the door. I turned my head. At the end of the hall stood Sid. 

Sid bounced on his heels, smiling. I ran down the hall, beating Deal. 

We stood by a large white door. 

"How do we get out of here?" I asked, turning to Deal. "Where's the fucking handle?" 

Deal placed his hand on a clean panel parallel to the door.

"It's a biometric hand-reader-- security assurance. The hand key is coded for only a few of us." He placed his palm flat on the reader, and the door clicked open. We cautiously pushed the stairwell door wide enough to check the stairwell.

"Come on, we're heading up to the roof."

"Roof?" I wondered aloud.

The vibration-- it was stronger.

"Chopper's up there..." he said, taking the stairs two at a time. I had to laugh at myself. Shit, Shackleton had me believing I was the one vibrating the building... Then I heard Sid huffing behind me.

"Shit, I h-hate helicopters..." he stuttered. "They're so... unsafe." 

I stifled another laugh. 

Yelling came from the stairs below. My legs burned as we reached the top step. Deal ran to the door, putting his left hand on the hand key for the roof door. It didn't open.

"It's still locked. They must know," Sid said.

"No... just the wrong hand... " Deal placed his right hand on the reader, and the door clicked. 

The wind from the chopper hit us. I swore under my breath. Why didn't I get a haircut? My forehead felt like bees were stinging me, my t-shirt slapped my body. We started for the chopper. With less than twelve feet to go, Sid froze in his tracks, staring. 

I yelled into his ear, "After all we've been through, you're afraid of a little helicopter ride? Fuck it Sidney-- come on!" I grabbed his shirt, and thrust him toward the chopper. Deal had already leapt inside. He was pointing behind us. I turned my head. We ran. Whatever Deal shouted to us was whipped away in the chopper's blades, but above the whirling I heard a pop and then three more. Gun fire.

The chopper was lifting.

On the pad, the chopper hovered above our heads. It dipped lower, tipping back and forth like a duck in pond. I pushed Sid up and in while Deal pulled. I felt a burn in my legs, my side was on fire. I knew I'd been shot. The chopper hovered, then lifted. I jumped up. My fingertips grazed the lip of the door. Too high. They were almost to me. The chopper tipped toward me. And I made another try and missed. I could see inside, Deal motioned to the pilot to go down; Sid yelled for me to jump. I tried again. This time I caught the doorframe. Sid grabbed my wrist, and with one swift yank, he pulled me inside. 

I fell on the floor like an old rag.

They were shooting blind at the chopper as it lifted, sounding like popcorn. I waited-- where was the bad guy? But no one clung to the rungs of the chopper like in Schwarzenegger movies. No one dropped and splattered to the ground either. Very disappointing. 

"I thought for a minute you weren't going to wait for me..." The sun glared through, and I closed my eyes. 

"We'd never leave you."

I knew that voice.

My eyes popped open. It was the pilot. She turned and smiled. Angela. The sun's setting rays filtered around her head in a shimmering aura. 

"Are you an angel sent from heaven?" I asked.

"No angel. But my lab coat is white--" she said. "I suppose I do have wings. And I am good."

I listened and watched Sid. His back rested against the frame by the door, his legs hugging his chest.

"What does that make me?" Deal asked.

"You try to be good," she answered, "but you never quite live up to it. It's always been that way with you. I guess that's why I love you-- good girls are always attracted to bad boys."

"What? I'm good," he said, kissing her cheek.

"You enjoyed rubbing up against Sid far too much to be good, hon. You're talking to me, remember? You're no Mr. Nice Guy." 

After the performance in the lab, I wasn't sure why Deal had helped. Frankly, I didn't give a shit-- there was no other available opportunity at the time, but now I had to wonder... why? 

Sid turned to look at Deal. I sat up, scooted over and leaned against Sid's leg. He rested his hand on my knee.

"Where are we going?" Sid asked, looking out over my shoulder in space, eyes unfocused.

"To the lake. Lots of sand there. I can watch you two get it on, maybe catch a quicky with Angela. Nothing like love in the sand--you know to spice up our love life. Then you two can go POOF into what ever dimension you belong, and we can get our Sid and Wes back." 

"Poof? You make it sound so easy," I said. Sid's thumb traced absently back and forth as he stared ahead. 

"Listen, we need our Sid back," she explained. Sid's attention rested on her. "He knows the meaning of the message. Your Sid probably does too, but we haven't got enough time for him to have a eureka moment."

"You talk about me like I'm not here--your Sid, his Sid, this Sid, that Sid. And what is this message? What do you mean?" 

"The Code. Your counter-part knows what the code really meant. 'To see the universe in a grain of sand...' that binary code. There's clues in the poem to your power. Your parents knew. They left the message for you to find..."

Sid looked off again.

"And Sid has the answer?" I asked. "All that time, I thought that poem was just some metaphoric mumbo-jumbo..."

"There's something hidden," Deal said. "It is metaphoric, but not mumbo-jumbo. He knew what it was. He spent months searching, learning. Old Lancaster gave him the idea. When he figured it out-- he was afraid to tell anyone." 

"Even me?" I asked.

"You? You are a different Wes. Our Wes is not the same. You already know that. He and Sid are both close. Sid cares for-- loves-- Wes. But as for Wes-- I think Wes loves Sid-- he just hadn't come to the same point you two have. Maybe they've realized this where ever they are now."

"Maybe..." I said.

"But here, before, Wes had not. He often confided in Sid-- about his immortality and the changes that had taken place. Sid felt helpless for so long. He was afraid of how Wes was changing. Then Shackleton showed up. That's when Sid began to look for the answer."

"Sid told me he knew-- before they left. He told me Wes had changed," Angela confided. "He told me everything except the message..."

"He was going to tell me," Deal interrupted.

"Yes, but he didn't trust you Peter," she added.

"Well, he's just as smart as me there," Sid said, then looking to Deal then to me. "Yeah, funny isn't it? All the time you thought it was nothing. I wonder..." I could see the rich violet sunset refracting off Lake Michigan. His eyes caught the view I was taking in. 

"Why is what I want to know. Why is it important to find out the truth?" I asked.

"To stop him," she answered.

"Is that all?" I asked Deal.

"I'm curious. True. I want to know. If there is some way that I could feel again... Hell, I want that."

Sid nodded. My stomach knotted. So much I didn't understand...

"I'm going to land and let you both off."

"What? We're not going to watch the show?" Deal asked.

Angela stuck her tongue out at Peter. "You wish."

"I always wish." 

We hovered above the ground. Sid dangled his legs over the side.

"No offense but I hope we never see the two of you again--" she said.

Sid jumped out.

"Thank you for helping us. And I hope we never meet again too," I replied, and followed him.

The free blowing sand burned every inch of our skin as they flew off. It went through my t-shirt, down my jeans, clung between my fingers, scraped in my scalp. I itched-- with a nightmare chill I recalled being buried alive. I reached for Sid to feel something real.

Lights from houses down the shoreline moved us farther down the beach, searching for privacy. The shore line looked familiar. We took off our shoes and ran, dodging in and out at the icy cold edge of the water, splashing each like children as went ran. We spied a secluded spot between dunes and investigated the possibility, avoiding a huge dune thistle-- Sid, in one of his know-it-all-Sid moments, gave me an ecology lesson.

"Most unusual. It's called the Pitcher's thistle. An endangered species. Hard to believe a thistle so menacing could be on the endangered species list? Yet this isn't like thistles you seens and such-- it's not a weed. It has an importance in the evolution and adaptation of the dune cycle. You know, it takes the thistle five to eight years to flower? It's roots go over six feet deep. The stalk on the flower shoots over three feet high-- judging from the size of this, it might flower. But after it does, its seeds dry up and ripen, and fly away. And that's the plant's mission in life. It dies, then--"

"Looks like a good place," I interrupted. Sid nodded and smiled. An inlet. Quiet, serene. I knew this place. It was not far from our cottage. We sat between clumps of marram grass while the silvery leaves of poplars spun in the breeze off the lake. I thought about the thistles seeds floating away and starting a new life, and how sad it was that the mother plant would pass on. Life. There and gone. Was it fair to be immortal? The sun was gone-- just the ripe plumb horizon beckoned deep within his eyes. I sighed and leaned into his kiss, so promising and sweet. His hand tucked me safely into the crook of his neck. 

"I'll follow," he whispered. 

"No, we'll go together." 

We fell back in the sand. It was already cooled. He melted on top of me like water seeps down into the sand on the shore. Our clothes washed away by lapping hands. T-shirt, jeans, discarded one by one. He called my name like a promise. We held each other's hands tight, closing our eyes to images of home. That was the last I remembered until I opened my eyes to mist on the boundless lake of early morning. 

---------------------

We found ourselves in the same place. I was naked and my backside was cold. The only warmth came from Sid cuddled around me like a mother cat. His eyelids danced open. 

"It's still you," he mumbled, flashing me those sparkling eyes framed with those familiar smile lines. I hadn't seen nearly enough of that recently. 

"Yeah, it's me. But it looks like nothing's changed."

He buried his head into the back of my neck, then stretched-- I felt the rush of his spine popping. He lolled on his back. He closed his eyes and yawned, then reached his hand into mine and gave it a protective squeeze.

"Um, Wes," he said with a lazy grin, "where are our clothes?"

I sat up, looking around. I didn't see them. Fuck. This wasn't good.

My skin prickled from the cold wind coming off Lake Michigan, and I chaffed my arms to get them warm.

"Tossing them off like that probably wasn't a good idea," he recollected.

"At the time, it was musical." I started to stand. "Although, you know technically they weren't our clothes. Who knows what they did with them-- maybe shrugged them off running down the beach. They could be half way to Wisconsin by now." 

Sid head turned to the large clump of blueberry bushes. I looked too. A slight willow tree up on the dune moved.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

I nodded.

"I hear something too." He stepped forward, and I grabbed his arm.

The wind whistling across the sand was all I heard. 

"What?" I asked. 

"Giggling. I heard giggling."

I turned my head up the dune again.

"I hear it too... it sounds like..." I straightened up. "It does sound like someone laughing." I saw my ratty t-shirt waving from behind the willow tree like some rescue flag. 

Giggles. More giggles.

I smiled.

"Give us back our clothes right now Lynn!" I hollered. "It's not funny!"

"Come and get them!" She jumped out. Green and white polka dot bikini top with faded and frayed cut offs danced and waved my jeans above her head, then with a wicked look hitched them between her legs and ground into them like some exotic dancer.

"Hey, those are mine!" I squeaked.

My scrawny self started up the dune. Sid laughed as I darted my lily white ass after her, cussing her out under my breath. Man the dune was steep. She pranced along the crest, molesting our clothes while sand flew behind her. Now Sid's shirt was getting attention-- she made a production as she rubbed Sid's shirt on her breasts and moaned, "Give it to me stud."

I heard hysterics from the other side of the dune. Fuck. Alan and Les were watching Lynn Live.

I was at the top of the dune-- sure as shit Les and Alan were rolling with laughter on the other side.

"Look at that manly, boy belly with peach fuzz," Alan shrieked. 

"What are you laughing about peasants?!" I spread my arms wide. "Gaze on my Adonis like beauty." I turned to Lynn, who was now within an arm's length of me. "Listen," I said to her under my breath, "you're making me look bad in front of my boyfriend."

"Good!" She chirped, scattering our clothes and laughing at me as she ducked over the dune to the guys on the other side.

The laughter faded on as they ran off.

"Better get back to the cabin you two!" Les hollered over his shoulder.

I picked up our clothes, bare-ass sticking out in the breeze, then tried my best to run back down the dune and look self-important. Well, as self-important as a skinny white boy can look running naked down a dune-- not an easy feat to achieve when you trip simultaneously on your dangling belt and a large chunk of driftwood. I landed face first with my mouth open.

Maybe if I just laid there Sid wouldn't notice the love of his life was a klutz. Sure, I thought, he wouldn't, and my mouth's not full of sand either. The sand squeaked near my head, and I saw Sid's toes peeking near. The cool cast of his shadow fell on my back while I weakly tried to think of something profound to say to him. I turned my head and opened my mouth, but wet sand plopped out. "Gawd," I mumbled pressing my head into my forearm, now that's sophistication. He took his belt from my hand and slapped me a good one on my ass. I yelped.

"Sorry," he laughed, "I guess seeing those nice round globes wagging in the air like that was just too hard to resist. Must be men with Adonis-esque physique have that effect on me."

I laughed at myself as he helped me up. We pulled on our clothes then followed our friends footprints in the sand to the cottage. 

I didn't need to hear or see any more. Alan's chuckles. The Lynn's antics. We were home. A mixture of fear and relief trickled through me. With sadness, I looked over to where the Pitcher's thistle was last night, and it was no longer there. Neither was my sister. 

We walked the line of dunes back. I saw the cottage. As we neared the back door, Alan came out on the breezeway. 

"I was amazed at how fast you could sprint," he laughed at me. "But don't blame Lynn too much. We told her to go out there and get your attention. Figured you had enough alone time."

He leaned against the doorframe. "You remember we're heading home this morning, right?"

"Yeah, sure..." I said.

Alan shook his head and pulled at a thread at the bottom of his washed out orange tank top. 

"You two have been stranger than usual lately. Hope you're over it."

"Yeah, we're over it," Sid said, kicking sand at me.

I blushed and began perving over how good that belt felt on my bare ass. 

"We were just so glad you both made up last night-- we didn't want to disturb you," Alan smirked.

I caught Sid winking at Alan over my shoulder. 

"We thought you'd be safe since Shackleton is still missing. But still, we were getting worried. You never know. I think Les went out to check more than a few times last night."

What is it with the winking? I was beginning to think everyone I encountered had Tourette's.

"We gotta get going," Alan said, opening the screen door. "Everyone else is packed."

Lynn greeted me by throwing one of my crusty old shirts in my face. 




Failing Upward Ch. 18



"Hurry up," she said. "I'd like to stop at Cherry Point before we go." 

Then Sid and I went up to the loft and dug through the dresser, scrounging the drawers and packing. 

I stopped, looking at Sid all hunched over trying to get another pair of jeans into his suitcase.

"I was thinking about what Alan said earlier," I said, "about our counterparts making up last night. We consummated our relationship in another dimension again? That's cool."

"God, Wes... You're so daft sometimes... They already had. How do you think they switched with us to begin with?"

Sid lifted up the mattress and pointed. I guess they came prepared. I wasn't sure whose lube was under the the mattress, but I put it in my case since I had room.

I tucked a dirty pair of boxers inside my backpack. Sid's suitcase was brimming with clothes. I didn't have that problem. I packed light. A few t-shirts, holey jeans, cut-offs, swim trunks and that pair of boxers. I stared inside it.

"What's wrong?" Sid asked. Then he realized. "It's your sister, isn't it. The last time we were here..." 

"Yeah. It's like losing her all over again. I don't want to lose us too."

"Ah, hell Wes, you don't have to worry about that-- I'm in this forever with you. I mean it. Forever."

I could hear the wheels turning in Sid's head the rest of the time we packed. Thinking about mortality, immortality and Blake's poem. I was too. Not as hard as Sid of course. I was also thinking about the lube and how good his cock would feel working my ass. Most all I just needed him to comfort me. 

"Sid?"

"Yeah?"

"Think we'd have time, to you know, mess around?"

He searched the floor, scanning under the bed for anything we might have missed. 

"No Wes, I don't think we have time to 'mess around'-- I think they're waiting for us to get downstairs." Sid sat on top his suitcase to get it latched.

"Ok, geeze, just asking..." 

"Let's go-- we need to get home. We've got to figure that message out."

I slung my bag over my shoulder. Sid grabbed his suitcase and pulled the trapdoor open. I looked back at the bed.

"Where is home, exactly?" I asked.

--------------------------------------

Most of the ride back was wholly uneventful. Even the stop at Cherry Point was flat. I spent most of my time running through my brain what Peter Deal and Angela had told us while shoving my face with sticky cherry strudel. And what was the answer to the Blake's poem? 

I knew we had big problems-- I felt like an ant stuck to the bottom of a shoe. I felt helpless and hopeless. Not even strudel mania worked. 

Mostly I thought about Karen. I scratched my chest where my heart should be, but I didn't feel happy. We were back. I should feel something more than this. Karen wasn't here. No sister. My chest felt like it was being pressed with granite slabs.

I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. 

Then it all became too much. Instead, I mindlessly watched cars whiz by for the last twenty miles while listening to oldies on the radio and licking my fingers clean. 

The whole while Sid sat next to me. Sid was somewhere else. Thinking.

I rolled the window down a crack as we came into town. I missed the smell of the lake. 

"Alan?" Sid said as he scrunched closer to me. "I need to stop at the university library before we head back home."

"Ok," Alan said.

Home. There was that word again. 

Sid slid down the seat and rested his head on my shoulder. He rested his hand on my knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. I laid my head on his and closed my eyes. I felt that old tug on my heart. I wasn't a tin man after all. My mother always told me that home is where you make it. I knew now she was right. 

"You going to check how the computer lab is doing?" I asked.

"Yeah, and I want to check out a book..."

I raised my eyebrow and burrowed into his neck.

"...a book of poetry. Blake's poetry," he said.

"Hmm. Should have thought of that before."

"We've been kind of busy..."

I must have dozed because I woke to sound of gravel from the library driveway crunching under the tires. 

I blew on Sid's cheek and the corner of his mouth curled up. I pushed my back into the seat. 

"Wait here," Sid yawned as he opened the door. "I won't be long."

I heard Lynn mumbling to Alan in the front seat. Then the words, "Work, work, work."

"What did you say?" I asked.

"That's all Sid has been doing lately," Lynn complained. "Work, work, work."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Lynn turned around in her seat. "You know," she looked at me flustered. "We thought taking you both to the cottage would get his mind off this obsession with finding out the secret, but I see we just postponed it." 

"Well, at least they got that lovin' feeling back," Alan cracked.

"Shut up," Lynn said, slapping Alan's arm.

"Why do you call it an obsession?" I asked.

"Well, that's what you called it-- what the hell Wes?"

Shit. He looked at me like I was an alien.

"Um, I guess sleeping on the beach did it to me," I said. Well, it was the truth. "I understand now why Sid is so preoccupied by this. I mean this could solve our problem with Shackleton."

My eye began to twitch. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Always does that when I'm stressed. Or lie. 

"Are you kidding? Solve it? More like compound it-- at least that's what you said before to him," Alan said. "What happened last night anyway? Before you said that this wasn't something Sid should do. You made all those apocalyptic references. What was it you called it? 'The end of forever' or some horse shit like that. Now you act like this is the solution. Which is it?"

"I don't know."

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.

I looked out up into the third floor library windows. What was the end of forever? 

Sid came out with two books in his hand, and my eye was still twitching.



Failing Upward Ch. 19



Author's note: The next chapter will end this story!

--------------------

We were at the Lancaster's-- the familiar washboard driveway jostled us around. Tires spun from the sloppy ruts where the spring thaw and showers had deepened them. Alan fish-tailed the car once or twice again for fun.

The sugar maples had budded and the edge of the pond had begun to wake, green life poking through the brown leaves.

Alan honked the horn as we pulled up to the house. He threw the car in park and sputtered off. He jumped out and went around to open the trunk as Uncle Daniel came out the door. His gait was stilted, head down watching his feet and stepping over puddles in the drive. Half way to the car, he lifted his head. I could literally see a charged aura around him. 

We got out. I'd muddied my hand as I slammed the car the door. Looked like a demo derby special all caked in globs of mud, dried grass, weeds punctuated with bird droppings. I gazed over the top of the car and laughed-- it was the only place that was clean. I met Sid's eyes as I wiped the grim off my hand on the side of my jeans. 

I chewed my lip, nervous habit. But right now, my nails were gross. I skittered over to Sid, grabbing my backpack, anxious to talk to him alone-- tell him what I'd learned. Didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon-- Uncle Daniel stopped in front of me and put his arm around my shoulder squeezing me in an over exaggerated death-hug.

Glenda stood in her usual place on the porch, waiting.

"I'll call you," Lynn said. I'd known her long enough to see she was more than uncomfortable under my uncle's sharp eyes.

Alan and Lynn got back in the car and took off home, leaving the rest of our things at our feet. 

I had to admit, Uncle Dan did look kind of frightening, his brow creased and mouth set like a criminal court judge about to pass hard sentence.

"Come in," said Uncle Dan., giving my shoulders a tight squeeze, then letting go. "We need to talk to both of you."

I frowned. Crap. We followed him two steps behind him into the house.

I knew. Sid knew. The screen door scraped open under my uncle's leathered hand. Glenda held the door and came behind.

"Shackleton?" Sid asked as the door banged shut. 

The first step inside they house it hit me like some airborne narcotic. Roses everywhere. My chest tightened. Glenda walked up to the vase on top of the piano, fiddling. The florist in me wanted to slap her hands and show her right and show her the way you handle flowers, but I reined the designer in.

That wasn't all that needed reining in.

I hungered, itched. As I walked by the looking glass over the mantel, I saw my cheeks spotted red, and Sid's face reflected back, flushed. I watched the room through the mirror. Glenda pretending the roses needed watering. Uncle Daniel watching my back. Les biting his lip. 

"I'll never understand why you dug him back up," Les said, trusting his hands in his pockets. 

I didn't understand what he said at first. I turned and faced my brother. I looked at his eyes, pupil's dilated. His lips moved again. He repeated the words. 

I dug Shackleton back up? Hell why'd I do that? I recalled begging for mercy on his behalf-- how I felt as if it was me being buried alive. And then it became real. I could feel sand, suffocating. My stubby nails dug into my arm, scratching.

"You should have left him there--" he spat at me. "None of this would be happening. I don't understand," Les stepped into my space, nose almost touching mine. "What's going on with you? There's something you're not telling me."

Fuck. I was distressed. Sweating, itching. 

"I'd like to talk to Sid and Wes alone," Uncle Dan said, pulling Les back. 

"Damn, it's always this way. Wes, I want to help." 

I felt helpless to tell him anything. I wanted to, but I couldn't speak. I stood stuttering.

"Don't tell your own brother then," Les said. He began to leave the room, stopping at the old grand piano and picked up the vase, turning to Glenda. "What is it with the house filled with roses? Are you trying to ward something out or keep something in?"

Les set the down the vase with a clunk and turned his back to us.

"Why must you always be impossible?" Glenda asked.

"You know, I give up," he said, waving his hands over his head. "I'll be upstairs if you decide to let me know what's going on." 

"Go upstairs then," Uncle Daniel said.

"This is such a fucking dysfunctional family," Les called over his shoulder. 

"Must you use that language?" Glenda called behind him.

I really had to agree with Les. 

My uncle's eyes rested on the book that Sid clutched tightly in his hand. His eyes were unfocused. I heard a bang far in the house-- Les shutting his door.

"You're not the same," my uncle said, eyes level with mine.

I hesitated, finding my voice. At last I said, "No." He was not surprised. I looked hard into his eyes. They moved like a mist swirling behind. 

I felt it too-- the pull of the roses like the tide. 

The old grandfather clock struck the half hour. 

"Are you displaced?" he asked.

"You could say that." I didn't know how much to say. What to say.

"Do you belong here?" he asked.

Sid looked over at me. 

"I sure hope so," I said. 

"It worked then," Glenda sat down on the couch, face in her hands. "Sid was right."

"I was? About what?" Sid asked. He seemed to come from a dream as he looked to her.

"That you could return to where you came from," she said.

"Oh," I said. My mind tumbled. I sat down on the old piano bench, and Sid sat next to me. I rested my back against the keys.

"You say that as if you were expecting a different answer," my uncle said, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"I was." I felt myself swaying. "What answer were you expecting?" 

"Depends on the question, doesn't it?" my uncle asked.

"What the heck does that mean?" Sid asked.

I was getting woozier with Mica's effect and glad I was sitting. 

"We don't want to upset either of you. We know you've been through so much. I can hardly imagine, but you must know that in your absence much has happened to us-- all of us."

Glenda told us the story. My angst driven behavior at the lake as we buried Shackleton. The family's confusion at my behavior, and how I'd rejected Sid-- the annoyed voice, and the way she stared at my hand on Sid's knee, I realized she wished I rejected him still. 

She stopped as the clock struck six times. We waited for her to begin again. Take up the story. It was a riddle, she told us. Why we had acted oddly. Yet our uncle seemed to accept this. Finally he shared it with her, what he knew. She said she wasn't surprised-- that I was not the same and that Sid wasn't either-- after all, she knew it had to be something like that. Normally she didn't bother herself with concepts like these. Time travel, parallel universes were my uncle's and my parents' preoccupation. Her preoccupation was the garden-- this house. Keeping the family together. At last she spoke of her confusion-- how I'd gone back to Lake Michigan, dug up Shackleton, leaving "that man" free on the beach-- why had I done such a thing? 

"You told us that it was the only way to finish this," she said at last. "We thought it was finished when we dumped the last of the sand on his grave."

It was like she could not distinguish that the two she spoke about--that other Sid and Wes-- from us. I admit that the scent of roses made my mind muddled too. Having Sid so near, made me want him. I had to fight to ignore the heat of his leg against mine and how warm his knee was beneath my hand.

The room was silent for a time. The old grandfather clock ticked the seconds, then minutes. I cleared my throat then I told them our story in bursts. My mind was deadened with Mica's mist while my tongue was loosened. I felt like I'd left pieces of myself behind as I'd told the story. I spoke of how I was buried. How lost I was-- the longing I felt. It seemed the air in the room made the longing all the stronger. I told them how Sid came to be immortal. How I felt remorse and delight in this. How I'd lost Sid for a time, and how losing Sid was like losing a piece of myself. I hoped as I told this, Glenda would come to understand how much Sid was a part of my soul.

At last I told them how this was not finished--that we intended to finish this. But I did not tell them how I intended to do that. How could I when I didn't know myself?

I stopped. Took a breath. Waited. Uncle Daniel stood up. 

"Are you bent on self destruction?" Glenda asked.

"No," I said. "If we were, we wouldn't be here now."

"Will you help us?" Sid asked. 

"I'm not going to interfere with what's going to happen," my uncle answered.

"You should stop them," Glenda said, grabbing my uncle's arm.

"I'm not going to do anything," he answered.

"I'll never understand you," she said to him.

"You know something. You could tell us," I said. 

"I could, but then why do you both need that book?" he replied.

Sid turned it over in his hands. I could feel him shaking.

"We want to know how to stop Shackleton and the Community. Isn't that something we all should want?" 

"It's not that simple," Glenda said.

My uncle knew more. I looked in his eyes. He'd known who I was and what I was from the beginning.

Glenda noticed Sid's hands shaking. My uncle noticed too. I put my hands over his.

"I don't feel well," Sid admitted. 

"I guess there aren't any answers for us here," I said, helping Sid to his feet.

"Goodnight," Uncle Dan said.

As we walked out of the living room, I heard my uncle chastise Glenda, "You could at least say goodnight." 

I helped Sid upstairs to our room and closed the door. He flopped down into the overstuffed chair by the old victrola. Sid opened the book and took a shaky breath.

Roses in our room. My own hands quaked as I picked the vase off the old maple dresser. I strode across the room. I sat on the old cushions in the bow-window, pulling back the yellow lace first then then the faded teal drapes. I opened the window and flung them out like garbage. 

"This is some kind of distraction on Glenda's part," I said, latching the window. "Trying to get our minds off of who knows what." 

I walked back toward Sid. "God I want you," I said under my breath. 

"Ignore it."

"I can't."

"We have to. I'll read the poem. I marked the page--"

I heard the soft knock on our door. Les-- I told him to come in.

"Wanted to see if you were both ok. I know how Glenda can be. And I wanted you to know that it doesn't matter that you can't tell me what's wrong. Just talk to each other. If you need to, you can go down to the garden. I know not much thinking goes on there, but sometimes it's better to feel than think."

"I agree with you, but I don't think this is one of those times," Sid said.

Les smiled. "You know where I am if you need an ear... g'd night."

He stepped out, closing the door behind. 

Sid saw the look in my eye.

"Ignore it," Sid said. I wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or me.

"Ignore it," I repeated. I stared at the ceiling. Stucco. Off white. Some cobwebs.

"Where oh where has my little dog gone," I sang, "oh where oh where can he be..." 

"What the hell is that about?" Sid asked, licking his finger as he turned a page.

"My own form of distraction," I moaned. "And will you stopped doing that?"

"What?"

"Licking your finger!"

I blushed hot thinking of the things that finger had done to me in the past. I wanted to feel him inside me so bad. I sat purposely on other side of the room in a rickety cane chair next to the maple vanity. I gave up singing, and I haltingly told Sid about what Alan had said about the "end of forever" and wondered aloud what it might mean.

After, we sat silent for along time. Shadows grew long. The sun bled red in through the bow-windows. Sid read. I thought.

My arm itched horribly. I dug at it while I felt the world closed in around me.

"It comes down to a message my parents wanted me to find in it," I said, breaking the white hot silence. "Yet, it sounds like you were closer to understanding it than I was."

"I don't think so. It sounds to me like the other Wes knew and didn't want Sid to find out."

"What? What makes you thinks so?"

"If we understand why, I think we'll understand what the message is-- at least it will make sense."

"Sense? What the hell makes sense anymore? If it were me, I'd only keep it from you if I thought knowing it would hurt you," I thought aloud. "There are a lot references in the poem to pain and suffering as necessary to the human experience. Pain, suffering-- what I experience and other immortals don't."

"Like me. Yeah, I thought of that."

"And in giving to those less fortunate-- maybe the message is giving the ability to everyone."

"Thought of that too-- in fact, we both thought that once. That doesn't jive with the end of forever, and it sure won't get rid of Shackleton-- maybe make him less of a nuisance, though."

"True. It's just when I think of the poem-- and us--"

"To see a world in a grain of sand... and heaven in a wild flower."

"Yeah, we've thought of that-- the sand as the catalyst. Or literally each grain is a world with different possibilities. I guess I've experienced heaven in a wild flower, which I'd love to experience right now-- with you."

"Ignore it."

I watched his lips. 

"Yeah. Ok, the rose is now cultivated--not a wild flower-- but there was a time it was wild." 

"You don't seem to be treading any new ground here. Try some inspiration," and he got up and handed me the book. I read it again. I got up and began pacing around the room. Sid got up and began following me in my convoluted circles, trying to read over my shoulder.

"It talks about power corrupted," Sid said, pointing to two verses in particular. "I think your parents chose this because it represents what's gone wrong with the immortals. Look at the Community. 'The strongest poison ever known/Came from Caesar's laurel crown.' But where's the key on how to bring it down."

"Listen to this will you?" I said, stopping next to the bed. I sat down, leaning my back against the poster at the head of the bed. Sid sat next to me as I read aloud:

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion good you may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

"It's telling us not to let passion rule us. Damn if that's not what I'm trying to do now!"

"Quit scratching your arm." 

He reached over and turned my wrist. 

"Look at your arm." His finger brushed over a blister that had formed over where the thorn was under my skin. A red line ran up my arm.

"What is that Wes?"

"You mean the thorn? Forget my arm."

What was he going on about. I almost had it. End of forever? Doubt? Geeze.

"What if it isn't just a line from the poem?" I said rapidly. "What if it's the message, too? The title. 'Augeries of Innocence.' This poem is an omen, a portent. Sid, what would be the end of forever for immortals? No longer being immortal! The poem is about making everything the same through acceptance and belief--looking at the world with open eyes."

"Why is your arm doing this?"

"I can stop Shackleton. I can make him mortal. I did it once-- I made him feel that first time at the Community-- remember I told you how I gouged his eyes and he screamed? I did it through my own will, my own belief. I can do this. I know it."

"Your wrist. Why is it doing this?" he repeated. "The roses in the house, the room, the garden. Maybe this is a reaction."

"Didn't you hear what I just said? What this means? We can be normal again. Everyone can."

"Wes, not everyone wants to be normal."

"Don't you?"

"Yes..."

"You don't sound so sure."

"It's not that. We know what it's like to be this way, going back might not be that easy. I don't like the trade off of not feeling pain but..."

"I see how you are now--especially when you think I'm not looking. You can't hide it forever. Deal told me it eats away until you feel numb. I don't want that to happen to you, to us."

"What I want is for it all to be over. What I feel for you won't change. But the rest? There will always be people who want more. To be the few who have power. It will never be that way. They'll want it back. Shackleton. There will be no end unless he's dead. The Community there will never be a place far enough for you to hide. You think it's bad now. What would it be like with them all wanting what they no longer have anymore and knowing you're the one responsible? Are you saying you'll change everything? You'd have to make them forget, too!"

"God, Sid. I'll love you no matter what. No matter where. You know that. You have to believe too. That's what the poem's about, as long as we believe we'll find each other."

"You're scaring me."

The our silhouette on the wall was long with the last gasp of the sun through the bow-window. I'd first seen this bed in a dream. I recalled how I'd made that dream come true. I'd used sex then to avoid what was to come. I felt the same swoon mixed with fear now. 

"I'm scared too," I whispered. "I can feel him. He's near."

"Wes. What if--"

I put my hand over his mouth. He gently set my hand aside.

The kiss on my forehead let me know that he didn't want to ignore our need any longer.

"I want to feel you close, so close we shut out the world," he murmured.

I tucked my head into that rough spot under his chin I loved. We explored each other slowly, losing ourselves along with our clothes. Heat, sweat. The sparks. Seeing inside the other's hearts. Doing what Sid loved best, fiction slick with spit and sweat. Slow and easy. Sliding and building the heat between us. Him on top, setting a steady rhythm. No need to break our mouths away-- kissing and capturing each other's tongues and moans. Cocks slick with each other's musk and sweat mingled. Hands caressing face, pulling hair, raking backs. Taking our time as all our life's blood swelled into one place. Holding, holding on. We forgot the world for an hour.

Sweat, spit, semen. And then sleep. 

------------------------

I was shivering when I woke up. Cold, damp air. I rolled over-- all I found was wadded sheets and quilts. Sid was gone. I sat up, opened my eyes. The window was wide open. 

My heart raced. My lungs ached. I scrambled for my jeans as I ran to the window. I climbed on the cushions and leaned out the window into the night air. Too dark to see. I scrambled down and tripped, pulling on my jeans as I ran for the bedroom door.

Why the hell didn't he wake me? Where was he? What the hell did he think he was doing? For all I knew, Sid was in the bathroom taking a piss, but I had a bad feeling. As stood looking down at the top of the stairs, fear crept into my throat. The large doors that faced the garden stood open. 

I clutched the railing for support--then let the railing lead me like a friend as I ran down the winding stairs and out the back door into the night. The chime of the old grandfather clock echoed behind me. 

My eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, not that I needed them to guide me. My shoe laces were untied, but I didn't stumble. I didn't need eyes or ears to find him. My old red Converses had a mind of there own, and the garden had its own way of calling. As I entered through the gate, panicked chirps and frantic wings flapped, startling me. House sparrows flew out above my head. A few moments later they reclaimed the branches on the red dogwood, resuming their slumber. 

Shackleton had to know I was here now. While every fiber inside me wanted to shout Sid's name, I didn't want to give Shackleton any more advantage then he already had. 

I dug at the blister where the thorn throbbed beneath and walked.




Failing Upward Ch. 19



Why Sid felt the need to go to the garden alone, I didn't understand-- I only knew that Shackleton was somehow responsible.

I crept silently as possible through the garden, noting how it was coming to life even in the dard. New shoots budding on the dogwood. My sneakers squeaked on slippery dark green patches of grass that sprouted through last fall's covering. Branches on the old maple and oak trees, still naked, moaned as the night wind pushed them. Then there were the roses.

The barren woody vines wound their way through the trellises swaying in the night air, catching at my clothes and skin. I thought of the poem and my purpose. I needed to concentrate. It was near impossible to do in this place with Sid so near. 

And Sid was close. Every atom of my body yearned for him. His heat. My heart pounded and my cheeks burned.

"Wes, over here." I could just make out his face to the right of me. He grabbed my arm and tugged me over. He wore just an old white t-shirt and frayed plaid pj bottoms. His feet were bare. My arm tingled where his fingers were. I wanted him so much I hurt.

"What the hell are you doing?" I whispered. His breath warmed my face. This place always made him so fucking irresistible. Without any warning I took his mouth hard, my teeth scraping his lips. In a rush I knew he became as intoxicated as me. I crushed into my mouth into his, and he answered by crushing mine just as hard-- then he blinked and came to his senses.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he panted.

"Shh! Looking for you, dumb ass," I mumbled, trying urgently to get his interest back. I nudged his nose to get an advantage and chewed on his bottom lip. That usually worked.

He looked into my eyes as I went in for a better taste. 

"Wait," he gasped, his fingers pulling at my hair. "What the hell are you talking about? Why did you come down to the garden?"

"Me? To find you. Why did you?" 

I vaguely remembered Shackleton, and that I should be concerned as I rubbed my wrist raw against the fly of my jeans. I was hard.

"Looking for your sorry ass..." he gulped, pressing his forehead into mine. "I followed you."

My mind slipped over what he was saying like loose marbles while my body leaned on him for support. I was drunk with him. I pulled the string at his waist. Those flannel bottoms needed off. All I wanted was for Sid to slam inside me and make me scream. He had sense enough to pull us behind a trellis and out of the open as I slid my hand into his plaid pjs and groped him. My wrist rubbed against the seam. My fingers stretched down.

"What are you talking about?" My voice tight and level as I found him as hard as I was. "You left me asleep in bed. I woke up, and you were gone. You left the window open."

The he moaned and grabbed my wrist; his eyes warned me to stop.

"I opened the window because you were in the garden. I saw you." His voice shook as he spoke. My teeth nipped at his neck. God, I was dizzy-drunk from the scent of him. He tried hard to resist, but his cock jerked in my hand. 

Then what he'd been saying--it registered. He saw me in the garden. Me. 

I let go. 

"What are you talking about?" I whispered. "I was in bed. I got up and looked out the window, and I couldn't see anything-- it was too dark." Reflex or want, I wasn't sure which, but his arms clamped around me, and he backed me into an old maple tree, knocking the wind out of me. 

"You were there. I saw you," he repeated with such ferocity that I flinched. 

"Then why didn't you wake me up?" I said, rocking my hips into his. 

His face was flushed. He frowned, searching for words. "How could I if you were down in the garden?"

This wasn't getting us anywhere. His teeth clanked into mine. Yikes, was that his tongue? I was confused. He saw me, I didn't see him, he followed me, I wasn't there -- like a bad existentialist dream-- too confusing for my senses at this juncture. God, he was flicking his tongue against the roof of my mouth. 

"Not here. Inside," he whispered, reading my mind. 

...yeah, a nice soft mattress on the second floor... our cocks bumped together. My shivers followed Sid's shivers.

"We better get back before Shackleton shows up," I agreed. 

We pulled each other along the path, mashing mouths, twisting clothes, tugging hair. Thorns tore and scratched, trying to hold us back as we made our way. We were at the entrance of the garden when Sid pushed me into the stone wall, struggling to work open the front of my jeans.

I was torn. I wanted him now. All of him. I was greedy to feel him, but I was afraid. Shackleton was near. We needed to get inside the house. I wasn't ready to let the garden win. I fought against instant gratification, grabbing Sid's ass then pushing him back, biting his neck then thrusting him through the gate's threshold. We were out. I took his hand and squeezed, pulling him toward the house. Distress grew in his eyes-- pupils large, making his eyes dark with want and fear.

A light was on in our room and a few other windows winked with flickers like hope. The back door left open, beckoned. We stumbled toward the lights. What seemed so near, became so far. My body cramped in betrayal. I grabbed my stomach and pitched forward-- every muscle a futile knot. I fell--twigs snapped under my knees. My chest was tight, and I gasped and heaved-- my forehead pressing ground. Cool. Musty. I let my cheeks roll to feel the moist rotting leaves like a healing a blessing, masking for a few feeble moments Mica's grip. I felt Sid's body smooth beside me then every muscle starting from my toes began to burn like a hot iron, and I curled into a ball seeking cool relief from the clammy ground. Sid spoke, but I didn't understand. I tried to focus on his face. Sweat burned my eyes. "Withdrawal," I finally understood-- Sid wiped my face. God, his fingers were a wisp of relief. 

"Get me away from here," I choked. My muscles clenched again. Now like ice. I shook with cold. The core of me frozen solid. I thought, this must be what it's like to turn to stone. 

Then I couldn't breathe. 

Like a jealous lover, the garden beckoned. 

Sid reached under my arms and lifted my dead weight. The haunting refrain filled him; he took only two steps then he turned around. We went back into the garden. He knew what I knew-- the only help for us was inside. Escape? There was none. We had to face this now. The garden, and him.

They were waiting at the gait. 

Shackleton's voice was just as bitter as the taste in the back of my mouth. "Come inside..." was all he said. The sound of his voice and the song of the garden played dissonant. 

My body quit. Sid helped me limply stand. I staggered like a town drunk. Both our footsteps fell hollow as we took the last few feet through the gate, swinging behind us, gun shining in Shackleton's hand. Ok Corral in a woody rose garden: instead of high noon, it was midnight. The night sounds around us were like a dirge's cadence.

"Nice to see you both," he said. "I've been expecting you."

"Expecting or watching?" Sid asked, more comment than question.

He laughed low and quiet. "I got the impression you wanted an audience."

I shifted uneasy next to Sid. My head was still musty, my legs still wobbly, but I had Sid.

"You've helped me so much," he said. "Made me more powerful. I brought you both down here." 

"Whatever," the voice was mine from another time-- the 10-year-old me confronting a playground bully after I'd been pushed in the mud. "You didn't bring us here. The garden brought us."

"I made you see Wes," he said to Sid. "I brought you into the garden with my new powers. I made you believe. I put thoughts in your heads-- I made you see what's not there."

"Christ," Sid muttered. "You sure think a lot of yourself." 

"Smirk if you want, but you know that I brought you here." 

"The garden brought us here, not you," Sid hissed. "I don't have anything to say to you except leave us in peace. We're giving you a choice right now, leave us alone or else."

Shackleton laughed.

"Threats? Sid, how you have changed! I hadn't expected this from you."

"I...we've been through a lot."

"As have I."

"Nothing you didn't deserve--" Sid said, lunging toward him. I held Sid arms tight while Shackleton laughed harder.

"Ah, Karma. I forgot, you seem to believe in that nonsense," Shackleton grinned. "Your mother and father were 60s flower children, weren't they? Your lack of sense must come from them smoking far too many of those funny cigarettes before you were born. You were raised in some commune. Most likely you don't even know who your real father even is--"

"Why you--" I grabbed Sid around the waist and pulled him back. Even in the dark, I could see his face lit with anger. 

"Sid, he's baiting you. Stop. It's what he wants you to do; it's what the garden wants you to do."

His shoulder muscles loosened, and he sucked it a deep lung full of midnight air. I could hear his brain cooling down by counting off to ten. I let my arms go slack around him.

"You misunderstand--" Shackleton said. "I'm here to help you." He leveled the gun at Sid's head and looked at me. "We could do this together. All share in this power. This change of thinking on your part-- I like Sid. I wouldn't mind sharing a part of this with someone of a like mind. It would be a shame to have to take such a mind out of exsistance."

"You won't take anything from us," I told him. "Nothing."

"This doesn't have to be the end of you." The finality in Shackleton's voice made me flinch.

"You aren't going to get any where pointing that 33 at Sid. Put down the gun, and we'll talk."

I stepped toward Shackleton, wedging my body between Sid and his sights. 

I coughed. 

"The way I see it, you don't have power," Sid said. "Your hocus-pocus didn't get us into the garden. Even if by some chance you had something to do with it, so what? It's not worth shit."

I concentrated. I tried mentally forcing the gun from Shackleton's hand, but it didn't work. I didn't like the direction this was going. The garden seemed to be working against me.

"Nothing you have would even tempt us to join you," Sid said.

"I can move objects with my mind," he said.

"Precognition? PK? Big deal. So could Uri Geller. So can Wes."

"I can see what people are thinking when I touch them."

"I've been able to do that since I was a kid," I said. "You're not impressing me at all."

"I can kill mortals with a thought. Can you?"

"Never tried. Don't want to."

"I didn't say I did, I only said I can. There is a difference. So join me. Join me, and he'll be safe."

"Shackleton stop. You're not getting anything, not Sid, not me, not my family, and I'm not going to let you hurt innocent people."

"Don't make it come to this," he said, pointing the gun again at Sid. "I do think your lover has value. I'd hate to destroy something with so much potential."

"Put the gun down. I won't let you shoot him. Besides, someone as powerful as you doesn't need a gun," I said. A thorn caught on the leg of my jeans as I stepped forward. This time Sid grabbed me. 

"Someone as powerful you should realized that guns don't matter," he answered. "That is the shame of this. I could show how to use your powers. Think of what you could do with them. Cure disease. Stop pain. End crime. The possibilities are limitless."

"Forget it." Sid said. "You don't want his kind of power. You never would. You're not that kind of person." Sid looked at Shackleton. "Seems to me you have all the power you need now. Anyone who could conjure up thoughts in other's minds doesn't need much else."

Sid put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I straightened my back. I had to do this. He gave my shoulder two more squeezes then let his hand drop. 

"Wes, you of all people should know that it's never enough," Shackleton said. "I want what I always wanted, to have your powers-- all your powers. I want to move through other universes. Alter perception on a grand scale. I'm close, so close to my goal. I need you to get there."

"You'd like that," Sid said, trying to pull my leg free from the thorny vines, instead the tendrils squeezed tighter.

"Put the gun down," I ordered. "Leave. You don't know what I'm capable of."

"There is much you could do with your power. You are superior. Our benevolence would be endless. We'd care for all mortals like our own children."

"You're talking like we're part of some gods on Mt. Olympus. We're no gods. Shit, you're as human as me."

"Ha. But you aren't. And I'm not. You've always known you weren't like everyone else. The rest of the immortals left walking the earth are only half- breeds. I am but made-- like Deal and others at the Community. You are a throw-back. You are like the first of them who came to our world."

"It doesn't make sense. If I came from some alien race who were immortal, they would still be here."

"They are. They are just in another form. They evolved long ago."

"Into what?" I asked.

I tugged at the woody vine that had attached itself so mightily. I felt it wind around and tighten, its barbs burying into my thighs. I no longer tried to pull away. I understood. 

"The roses," Sid whispered behind me.

I let go of all control. The garden wasn't against me. I was wrong. I'd always had my thinking wrong. Shackleton showed me the way. All along I was doing this the same way he had, with control. Controlling wasn't the answer-- no, the answer was letting go. Letting life be to live itself. That was what my parents had let me know in Blake's poem. We are nature. Selfless.

I smiled. Shackleton thought he understood. He had no clue. As the rose's tendrils crawled and crept across the ground, he stared at me in horror and stepped back.

I heard far off voices. I wasn't sure who or what they were-- the garden had come alive. She became me, and I became her. She woke the parts frozen inside of me. The tendrils wound around-- up my legs to my wrists-- Shackleton's wrists. We became a part of Her. I felt Shackleton through Her-- his lost soul, an empty space. My disgust for him turned to pity. He looked at me with hatred, such hatred, because I pitied him. He fired the gun at me, at Sid. The shots were deafening. My shoulder burned for an instant. Panic and purpose washed through me. I pushed it back and let Her guide me.

I dug hard into my wrist, over the old scar. My nail caught on the barb of the old thorn beneath. A pointed spark of pain shot up my arm. It was stubborn. I bit into my arm, the second try I caught the thorn between my teeth. I closed my eyes. We wished, the garden and I, for all this to end. We wished for Shackleton to be mortal. For all to have a beginning and end. I didn't doubt Her. She was tired. She wanted a place beyond these old stone fences-- she wanted to go home. 

Our memories merged. So many answers. What I was. What she was. She was one of the first. She showed where we came from-- the amber skies and vast plains. She knew my heart too-- what I wanted-- who I loved. 

My parents had left me a riddle. Now I understood; it's how we love that's important.

Our last wishes were the most difficult-- for everything to be as before all this happened. We both wanted to go home. 

Shackleton learned all this too. The pain grew inside him; a poor soul dwelling in the realms of night. To not know love, only hate. He despised us both for having a home. She pitied him more than I for this. She pulled Shackleton to the ground, tearing his flesh from his bones with brutal love. The look on his face was somewhere between rapture and acceptance for he could feel. He was human. I felt for moments there, as life left him and his muscles exposed, blood vessels exploding, that he understood that "which was born in a night to perish in a night." His blood clotted and was welcomed by the ground beneath my feet-- he became food for new life. His muscles liquefied until they could not longer bear the weight of his bones, and he collapsed in a heap. Then I spat the thorn out on the mound that was him. The garden wept for all her years lost yearning. Wept in happiness to go home. 

I stepped over Shackleton's bones and out of the circle where Her brittle vines had dropped. Her last song lingered, more beautiful than any false melody I might ever wish to create. I sobbed for her-- someone I now knew more intimately than I knew myself. My chest ached for Her loss, yet I let go to see She would finally have peace. 

She wept in return for me. As I turned I saw Sid's body, face pale upon the ground, the last flecks of life from Her fine vines kissing his cold lips.



Failing Upward Ch. 20



Author's note: To those who were afraid that I'd kill Sid-- be not afraid! I love them both too much to see them separated. 

Find below three alternate endings. I'd always planned to write a fourth, where Wes would sacrifice his life with Sid so that Sid would be alive and well, but as I said before, I became so attached to them that I could never write such a bittersweet ending.

Thank you to all who have commented and followed Sid and Wes on this journey. I know there were times when comments got rough with readers wondering and asking where this was all going and if I had some vision for an end. I hope those that stayed with this see now that I did. Thanks again. 

I hope to add a few more stories here soon. I also have some one-shots to add for Sid and Wes.

Love you all.

el

--------------------

Alternate Ending A: The Light

Les and Uncle Dan were beside me. I cradled Sid's head in my arms. My tears wet his face and mine. So cold, so cold. Then he gasped. 

I clutched him to me. I'd been so afraid, so afraid that I'd wished him mortal too soon. But I should have know he wouldn't die. He wasn't like Shackleton. Sid was all light. 

I buried my face his neck and sobbed with joy. 

He wet lashes fluttered open.

"Is it over?" he asked.

I nodded and kissed his forehead then hugged the stuffing out of him. We were home. 

--------------------------------------

"Is this another wrinkle?" Glenda said, digging through her vanity. "God, where did I put the Oil of Olay? Could you be a dear Wes and help me find it?"

It was difficult at first. Glenda worrying about laugh lines and crows feet, and Uncle Dan complaining about arthritis in his joints and the crick in his back. I blamed myself, considering that the passing of Old Father Time was part my fault. Sometimes I thought that maybe they did know that I was the cause of their suffering-- that's why they complained so much around me. As I helped Glenda look for her personal fountain of youth, I remembered what Sid said to me just last night:

"Stop beating yourself up for that, they'd never experienced it up to now, so of course they were going to bitch more. It's part of life. It's going to happen to us someday. And beside, you know She wanted it this way."

He was right about Mica. I tried being selfless, but sometimes I just had to revert back to thinking I was the center of the universe.

Glenda had invited us to dinner tonight. I'd noticed a sharp decline in her culinary abilities since "the incident in the garden" (the term that Sid and I now use for that day). It took her much longer to prepare with a poorer result. Still, she cooked a heck of a lot better than me. Sid still had her beat in that department though. 

I followed Glenda to the dining room then to the kitchen, helping her by carrying the chicken to the table. She called, "Dinner's on."

As we sat around the table, I had to laugh. Les looked so happy in love. Glenda smiled at him, knowing the reason for the light in his eyes. She didn't care. She liked Smith. 

Uncle Dan reached for the mash potatoes then the gravy, grumbling about the lumps in both. The old grandfather clock struck seven times.

It was a good evening.

-----------------------------------

I went to work the next morning at the flower shop. Nothing like walking up the steps and smelling the sweet mixture of orchids, daisies and stephanotis. I could hear Mr. Keller whistling as he watered the greenhouse number one out back. 

Alan came in late. Didn't even give me shit as he went out to help Mr. Keller finish watering. I could have sworn Alan was whistling "Everything is Beautiful" along with Mr. Keller.

The phone rang. 

"Good morning, Keller's Flowers, Wes speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um, I don't know... My boyfriend got up this morning and left for work without waking me. I didn't get a morning kiss and hug. Now I'm thinking maybe he's lost interest in me. You think that might be the case?"

"No. Not at all. In fact your boyfriend told me he didn't want to wake you because you looked so sweet and cuddly all scrunched up hugging that pillow with the soft light of morning kissing your forehead."

"All that flowery talk makes me wonder if he's a florist like you."

"Hm-m, could be. He also told me to tell you that if he would have woke you before he left he would have ended up late for work."

"I see."

"Yes, and-- crap the other lines ringing. Have to go. Bye!"

"Bye."

"Good morning, Keller's Flowers, Wes speaking. How may I help you?"

"Sure can, but I don't think it would be appropriate for phone sex right now. Let's say I pick you up for lunch."

"Sure," I said. We both laughed. "See you at 12:30. Miss you."

"Miss you more."

I walked into the backroom, put on my smock and smiled. God I loved him. 

I shoved my hands into the front pocket of my comfy old smock. So what if it made me look gay--

I was. 

-----------------

Alternate ending B: The Story





"Wake up Mr. Grant, your boy friend is here."

Beatrice the big night nurse sure had a lot of nerve. My boyfriend. My wanna be boyfriend maybe. Sid walked in the door looking at me with those eyes. Yeah. Those eyes. The eyes that made me want to crawl under the bed just to get away. They were so beautiful-- for a guy. Not that I would notice something like that. Or the cute way his eye was twitching right now. 

"I hate the hospital," I groaned.

"Brought you these," he said. Don't know how I could have missed Sid holding a dozen red roses in a vase. Must have been distracted somehow.

"I'll leave you two alone," Beatrice said, winking at me at she closed the door behind her.

My cheeks were burning. What the hell did she know anyway?

"Sorry about your car," Sid said. "Guess that llama did it in. Anyway, you'll be ok, that's what's important."

I nodded. Sid turned and set the roses on the table next to the window. As he bent over to straighten roses, I rolled over so I could see him-- I mean them-- better.

"What about the card?" I asked. He took it off the flowers and brought it over. Sid sat on the edge of the bed and handed it to me. 

"I've thought about this for a while," he said. "I've got something to tell you, but I want you to read the card first."

I knew what was coming. Shit. He was going to finally tell me. My heart started pounding. My faced got hot. Why did this matter so much to me? I opened the card, it read:

 I have to tell you a story-- I know it will sound crazy, but I can prove that it's true. When I'm done, if you want me to leave I will, but I want you to think on it before you go deciding what's what, Okay?

I looked up and nodded. Then he told me the story of Mica and Blake's poem. Through the pain killer and a few sips of ice water, I listened without interruption.

I didn't say a word. Just nodded and frowned. It was all too fantastic to believe, but I did. I knew it was all true.

At last he finished and I laid there quiet, staring at my feet. Sid reached out and squeezed my hand. 

Next to my bed was the note I'd left in my car from the three yellow roses I delivered at the Lancaster house-- all written in ones and twos. I'd tried reading it before hitting that llama. I didn't need to know binary. I knew it-- "To see the world in a grain of sand..."

It's funny how sometimes you don't know what's in your own heart until someone shows you the way. I guess I was like an old vinyl record with the needle skipping, I needed a nudge. 

I squeezed his hand and looked into those eyes I'd been afraid to stare into for all these years. 

How could I keep from loving them.

"Want me to go?" he asked.

"No. I had something to tell you too." 

--------------

Alternate ending C: The Answer





I heard the sparrows. Flapping and chirping. I was tired, so tired from finding my way on the path. "You are walking through a garden, a beautiful garden... one... two... three... steps you take.."

I could swear my my eyelids had barbells attached to them. I walked toward Sid's voice. 

"Wes? Wes?" I heard through a fog. 

"Come back to me, Wes."

My eyes slowly opened. Sid frowned at me, touching my brow. 

I was flat on my back. I had on my red Converses, ripped, worn jeans and my orange Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt. He was alive. He was fine. I tried jumping up but my body was like lead.

"What did the card say again?" Sid asked, writing on the yellow note pad. 

I stared up then over. There was Peter Deal. Dockers, lab coat, red tie. The robin's egg blue walls, reprint of Dali's The Great Masturbator on the wall parallel to the bay windows. Sun was too fucking bright.

I managed to sit up. 

"Welcome back," Deal said. "You were under for hours."

I rubbed my temples. Then it all came to me. Sid on the ground. Shackleton. The garden. But I wasn't there anymore. It had worked. She was gone. I didn't feel her. Mica's call was gone. Sid was safe. I was in here, in Deal's office at Hidden Hills-- home of SPF sunscreen 30, polarized sunglasses and loads of naked white people. At first I thought I was in another universe, but no. This was before. I smiled up at Sid, expecting a look of relief. Instead I saw confusion. 

"That was some story," Sid said, kind of bashful. His eyes avoided mine, and he turned to Deal to speak. "Sure you don't believe in past life experiences?" 

"Nah, but the guy has a vivid imagination-- kinky too." He winked at Sid. "I think you might want to test the waters further with this one. I don't think you'll come out dry, if you get my meaning..."

I watched Sid blush. I closed my eyes. He was different, but he was my Sid. My wish was true-- except not as I'd expected. He was not the Sid that went through all that I did. Not the Sid who suffered, not the Sid who gave up his soul to be with me forever. We hadn't wished together. This was before-- before all that pain had happened.

I went to stand, and my legs were Jell-O. I melted into Sid's solid comforting arms. He tried to hold me up straight. Well, not that straight. I fell against him, my chest turning into his. A dopey smile plastered across my face as my own arm slipped around his waist.

"Ah-h, Wes," Sid stuttered, more confused than before. "You're out of it. Better take you home."

"Home," I said. " Now that's a good idea." Sid blushed darker as I leaned into him and realized just how happy certain parts of me welcomed going home.

As he helped me out to his car, he kept stealing bashful glimpses at my face while I just stared lustfully at him. His confusion became a kind of aphrodisiac. 

Sid turned on the radio. 

The ride home began quiet. I was thinking on what had happened, where I was now and how. I'm sure Sid was thinking that hypnosis had addled my brain. 

I closed my eye and reflected. How many people would trade eternal life for true love? I sighed. My fingers brushed my wrist where the thorn had once been. Nothing. I opened my eyes. No scar or thorn. Nothing. 

"That was some story you told," Sid finally said. "Alternate universes and roses-- even had an evil villain."

"What?"

"Don't you remember? You told Peter too. That's strange."

"I remember, just..."

"Just what?"

"Just-- it was real." Fuck! Why'd I go and tell him that for? Now he'd think my brain was addled.

"Real? No, Peter told you to believe it was real. I was pissed at him for that. He told you later it wasn't. Damn, I hope he didn't fuck you up?"

"Fuck me up?" I said. "Nah, he didn't. Besides, I thought you said it was harmless?"

"Yeah, well maybe not, considering you just told me you think it all happened. You still think that?"

I looked at him. "No," I lied. "Actually, I don't recall much of anything. Why don't you tell me?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt." He went on to tell me the rest. I noticed he'd blush every once-in-a-while at the parts he omitted. When he got to the beach he stopped, searching for words.

Finally, I said it for him. 

"We made love on the beach," I said. "You think it was just some convoluted imaginings or wishful thinking on my part?"

"You tell me."

"Wishful thinking."

He smiled and nodded then turned the radio back on. 

We listened and sang the rest of the way home. I sang, he sang (well, if you want to call it singing). Then he pulled up in his driveway. I got out of the car, and as I went up the steps Babe greeted me by rubbing her head against my leg.

Part of me became one of those sad songs that played on our way home. I began to think that maybe it was all a fantasy. It was all so fantastic. The Sid I knew who shared all the pain with me won't be there to comfort and understand. 

As we got in the house, I kissed him. He pulled me against him. I guess I was technically twice a virgin-- reliving our first time. Then again, maybe this was the first if Sid was right. Hard to believe, he felt so much a part of me. 

"I want you to take me to bed," I whispered in his ear.

"You sure?" 

I nodded. Silly question. 

As we went into the bedroom, I panicked. I began to think, what if what I believed happened never really happened? what if this is my first time?

"I don't know Wes. You don't look like you're ready for this to me."

"I'm ready. It's just I need to relax. I'll breathe like you taught me, in through the nose, out through the mouth, right?" 

He looked at me confused. "I don't remember teaching you that."

I was really getting off seeing confused. He was cute with his brow all scrunched, his eyes misty with doubt and lips pursed. Made me want to kiss the doubt right off those lips. Thought I'd try it. 

It worked.

His fingered curled around my head, and he began to take off my shirt.

I had major butterflies in my stomach, and I relished them. He looked at me with such longing. Those eyes of his became golden. 

I was so afraid. I began to think, to believe, that everything before was some wild fantasy. This was real. We were real.

When he touched me through my jeans, I groaned. I helped undo them. As he slipped them over my hips he said, "What's this?" holding up a bag of sand.

I closed my eyes and laughed quietly.

Now he looked at me, wondering. He shook his head. "No, couldn't be..." he said.

"Infinity in the palm of your hand," I smiled. "Only one infinity exists. Took me too long to know the answer, and it was there all the time. Know what it is?"

"What?"

"Love."

He kissed me this time. Sucking my tongue and making me so hard I'd thought I'd explode. Sure this was different. No roses. No psychic sex with nerve endings exploding. But you know what? I still saw into his soul, and he saw into mine. No different. I was his Wes-- and he was my Sid. We were one complete. After all, he had experienced all that I had. Didn't matter that he didn't recall. Just knowing that he'd made that sacrifice for me was what mattered in my heart. As he made love to me slow and soft, I told him what he meant to me.

We were home. We were together, safe. Maybe we didn't have eternity, but we had time. 

THE END