“I’ll be there. Nothing could keep me away.”
“And if I announce that I’m dedicating the I c minor nocturne to you… ?”
He laughed. “Hell, I don’t even know what a c minor nocturne is.”
“Well, you’ll just have to learn, that’s all.” I took his hand and squeezed it.
“I want you to be careful, Jamie.”
I looked around.
“No, I mean when you’re out alone around campus. These killings… You’re not the biggest guy, and… ”
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
“Josh had a brown belt.”
“Oh.” As I had once before, I decided to be bold. “You’ll just have to protect me then.”
I leaned over to kiss him.
“Not here! Someone might see us.” He got to his feet and brushed off his pants.
“Tim.”
“Come on, let’s get back.”
“You just said we were back together.”
“We are. I mean, we are. But not here. Jamie, we’d both lose our scholarships.”
“This isn’t Ebensburg. There are laws.” I had checked.
“The hell with the laws. If they decide they want to cut us, they’ll do it. Come on. Besides… now, with all these disappearances and killings… Jamie, we have to be careful, that’s all. People are a lot more tense than you can realize.”
We walked back to my dorm. There was small talk, nothing too heavy. I brought him up to date on some of our friends back home. He saw me to the front door. I looked into his eyes, wanting to kiss him. He shook my hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So much for my reunion with my old love.
* * *
A week before Thanksgiving. I had taken to school, loved everything about it. Under Roland McTavish’s instruction I was improving my pianism. Under Coach Zielinski I was improving my swimming. I nearly set a school record for the butterfly. Tim cheered me on, which I honestly think was the only thing that gave me the energy to do it.
There were more disappearances. A promising new quarterback, a goalie on the hockey team, and a voice major I had met briefly, a baritone. Only the quarterback had been found, inexplicably mutilated like the others. For a while the school authorities wanted people to think the missing men were simply, well, missing. But each time a body turned up it was harder to maintain the pretense. People talked, rumors spread. There was something terribly wrong on campus and it was spreading like a plague.
The first student musical program was set for just before Christmas break. I told Roland I wanted to play the Chopin second sonata, the one with the funeral march in it. I said that with the atmosphere, a funeral march seemed appropriate.
“I haven’t played this before, Roland. I’m not sure I’ll be good enough by the recital.”
“You’re not ready for that, Jamie. It’s a complete bear. There are only a handful of pianists in the world who can really play it well. Argerich, Pollini, Ashkenazy, maybe one or two others.”
“I still want to try.”
“If you’re prepared to be embarrassed in front of the department, fine, go ahead. I’ll work with you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I felt a bit smug. “Thanks.”
“You’re asking for it.”
“Everybody does, one way or another, Roland.”
“If you want to play something by a gay composer, how about some Schubert.”
“It’s not just that. Chopin is special to me.” I hesitated. “What about Schubert? I didn’t know.”
“He lived in a house with a group of ‘bachelors.’ He was never involved with a woman. And he died of syphilis.”
“How cheery.” I really hadn’t known. And I had never explored his music, really. I made a note to start. Again I hesitated, not certain whether to ask. “Did you know the singer who disappeared, Roland?”
He frowned; I don’t think he wanted to talk about it. “No, not really. The voice teachers all say he was good.”
Roland was a large man, a bit shaggy around the edges, not what you’d expect in a music professor. He had a lover and was quite open about it. That made him unusual on the faculty; most of them were much more circumspect. He was my advisor, too. We had become friends over the months, and had talked about a lot of personal things together. He knew about Tim and me. What little there was to know.
“Roland, I don’t know what to do. I still love him, but… ”
“You should find someone in the Music Department.”
“The department’s not much more open than the swim team. Too much pressure to conform.”
“Be yourself. You have to be, to be a good musician. Have you listened to Thibaudet’s recordings?”
I knew what he meant. The great pianist was quite open about himself and had made a fine career. “But, Roland, he’s the only one.”
“Then make it two.”
It was too upsetting to think about. I knew I could trust Roland, but how could I trust anyone else?
Justin Hollis and I became friendly. I think it was because he was so completely clueless about music. I always felt one-up on him. When he dove from the high platform he was quite graceful, quite beautiful really. It seemed that Grant and he were only friends after all, or else they were being more than usually cautious. Most of the jocks had girlfriends; most actually wanted them. The ones who used their girls only for cover… well, that was okay with everyone as long as they maintained the pretense.
One afternoon Justin and I went and watched the gymnasts work out. Grant’s event was the rings. Hanging there, suspended by his own strength, every muscle in his body taut, he was a bit like a god. When he moved, he was even more so. I watched Justin. He was a bit in love. Not Grant. Unrequited. Grant seemed oblivious to everything Justin was feeling. Maybe that was what drew me to Justin.
Afterward, we headed to the Z for sandwiches. I hated the place, but everyone else seemed to go there without thinking about it.
Tim was there. He was sitting with a girl, a blond in a cheerleader’s outfit. They were giggling together. He saw me and waved, and I dutifully smiled and waved back.
Her name was Glinda, which caused a good bit of joking around the locker room. “So are you Dorothy, then, Johanssen?” That kind of thing. I always laughed extra loud, so he’d hear me. I was never certain how he felt about her, whether he was using her the way some of the other guys used their girls, for cover. He never looked at her the way he looked at me.
Since that first night we had been friendly but not very much so. Tim’s old caution came back. He kept a discreet distance from me without ever becoming too open. My feelings for him were… tangled. At times I still wanted him, very badly. At other times…
I decided to say hi to them; I crossed to their table with a big artificial smile.
“Hi, Glinda, Tim.”
The both said hi. Glinda had a milkshake, with only one straw. I used to fixate on details like that, as if they might tell me something.
We chatted. She said she was going home to Iowa for the holidays. Not having any family I really cared about, I had decided to stay on campus and work on the sonata. Tim wasn’t sure yet. He looked really uncomfortable, which pleased me. I made my excuses and rejoined Justin and Grant.
When we were finished, just outside the Z, Tim caught up with me. Grant and Justin went on ahead.
“Jamie, I need to talk to someone.”
“What’s up?”
“Not here. Someplace where we can be alone. Just a second.” He dashed back to Glinda, said something to her and kissed her.
We headed to the library and found a secluded corner. He was upset about something.
“My parents are getting a divorce.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t what I had expected. “Well, I never had the impression they got along very well.”
“They never did. I guess this has been coming for years. But it’s still… ” He had a habit of not finishing his sentences,
especially when they dealt with feelings.
“So, are you going home, then?”
“I don’t know. I think probably not. The last thing they need is me there. But I’m really bummed out about it. I’m going to need company.”
He was asking. For three months I had waited for it. Now, I wasn’t sure how I felt.
He touched my hand again, as he had that first night. “Can I… you’re staying too, you said?”
I nodded.
“Can we hang out together?”
“I have a really rough sonata to learn.” I didn’t want to make it easy for him.
“Jamie, please.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “Well, listen. Norm’s going home too. Why don’t you stay in my room for the weekend?”
It was bolder than he expected, I could tell. Hell, it was bolder than even I expected. He looked around to make sure we were alone. I thought he was going to kiss me. But instead he only said how much he’d like to spend the holiday with me.
For better or worse we had a long weekend’s date.
A week later there was another disappearance. A history major, a captain in the campus R.O.T.C. The police were completely baffled. People tried to carry on with school as usual, but it was harder and harder to keep up the pretense.
* * *
And then the holiday break came. Norm left on Wednesday morning. Tim brought his things over that afternoon. He needed me; knowing if felt so good. He hardly stopped smiling. “Should I go home and get my TV?”
“What on earth for?”
“So we can watch Macy’s parade.”
“Somehow, Timothy, I think we’ll find other things to fill our time.”
“Well, okay, if you don’t have any culture… ”
We both had a good laugh, cuddled for a while, then went out for a sandwich at the Z. For once it was nearly empty and nearly quiet. The weather had turned cold; there were snow flurries predicted. Tim looked sexy as hell in jeans and a red sweater.
That night we made love five times. Five! And it was wonderful holding him, feeling him hold me. Even the sound of his breathing seemed sweet. I was still a kid, I guess.
After the fifth time, even he was too tired for more. We lay side by side in the dark room. I would never have thought that crummy little dorm room could seem so wonderful. Moonlight poured in, the only illumination. Neither of us seemed ready for sleep.
I kissed him for the hundredth time. And he was much better at it than he used to be... “You’ve been practicing, Tim.”
“Well… ” He was embarrassed by it, I could tell. “It has been two years, Jamie.”
“Two years very well spent, if you ask me.”
“You shouldn’t talk about it like that.”
Not sure what he meant, I got up and switched on my keyboard. I started to play the Chopin sonata. For a time, he sat and listened. Then I felt him standing behind me. He kissed the back of my neck, very gently. “You can’t really be thinking of me when you play that.”
“I can and I do.”
For a moment he was silent again. “I don’t feel like that.”
“No, but you make me feel that way.”
He kissed me again, long and deep, and before I knew what was happening, we made love still again.
* * *
The whole weekend passed like that, just the two of us, being young men in love, ignoring the rest of the world, even the part of it with giant balloons. It seemed so perfect.
The world, the campus, the mysterious deaths and disappearances all around us, none of it seemed to matter.
Tim and I saw a lot of each other in the next weeks. I practiced the sonata till I had it down perfect and understood every bit of feeling Chopin had poured into it. He was separated from his lover so many times, for so long. Everything he felt, I felt too when Tim wasn’t around.
Neither of us were going home for Christmas, either. I had nowhere to go; and his house was a battleground, or so his sister’s letters said. I couldn’t wait for more of him.
Over lunch at his favorite sandwich shop he asked me to move in with him at the end of the spring semester. “Scott’s graduating. You can have his bedroom.”
All I could do was grin.
* * *
It was three days before the end of the term: the day of my recital. Backstage I was nervous as hell, not just because I’d be playing before a demanding audience for the first time. I had my little speech of dedication rehearsed. A quartet played some Haydn; a tenor sang some Schubert; then I was on.
I adjusted my tie and stepped onto the stage. Tim had promised to be in the front row. He wasn’t. I scanned the audience, and there was no sign of him.
I went numb. I wanted to cry but of course it was impossible. Wanting to be anyplace in the world but on that stage, I sat down and began playing.
I seemed to go into a trance; my fingers played without my mind being conscious of it. I had practiced so hard, and I knew the music so well. But when I came to the second movement, the scherzo, I found it suddenly too much for me. I missed several fingerings, I blew a chord. I covered well enough, and I didn’t think most of the audience noticed. But I saw Roland from the corner of my eye. He knew.
Then came the third movement, the funeral march, and I found myself again. I poured everything I was feeling into it, the pain, the grief, the awful disappointment.
The audience was hushed. Somehow I knew I was playing it as Chopin had wanted it played. I kept glancing sideways, hoping Tim would show up. Tears came to my eyes. I tried to tear through the brief final movement, the presto, sending my agitated soul into it. But it was too much for me. This time I was sure the entire audience picked up on my mistakes.
The audience applauded. Game try, Jamie. I tried to avoid looking at Roland.
Then I saw someone else in the audience. In the fifth row, just off the aisle, was Danilo. He seemed enraptured; he was not moving, not clapping, just watching me. I hadn’t seen him since my first day on campus, but I remembered what he had said to me then.
People crowded around me. Nothing much they said registered. I wanted to get back to my room and be alone.
Just as I was finally about to leave the stage Danilo moved through the crowd to me.
“Congratulations, Jamie. You must be very happy.”
“No.” I didn’t want to look at him. “I’m not, really.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“My teacher told me I wasn’t up to it, and he was right.”
“But you played with such deep feeling. Everyone was moved. I could tell.”
There were too many people; the crush was terrible. “I don’t mean to be rude, Professor Senk—Semenk—”
“Danilo. Please.”
“I really don’t like to be rude, but I’m not feeling at all well. Thank you very much for coming.”
“It was my pleasure, believe me.”
I asked Roland to make my excuses and slipped into the wings. My overcoat and scarf had been moved from where I left them; it took me a moment to find them. Then I headed for the rear exit.
It was cold, much colder than when I’d gone in. Night had fallen and a gentle snow was coming down. I hadn’t used the rear exit before; it opened into an alley, which led into several more. There were utility lights at the back of several buildings or I would have been in complete darkness. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings.
Or so I thought. Every alley I tried was a dead end. There had to be a way out. It was so confusing I almost forgot how much Tim had hurt me.
The snow began to fall more heavily. I found my way to a larger alley. There was a streetlight; snowflakes filled the cone of light.
And then I saw the body, lying alongside a dumpster. Young man. Naked. Bright red hair. Cut open, throat to crotch, exactly as the news stories had described. Eyes torn out. Genitals cut off. Worse than that was the agonized expression on his face. And I recognized him; it was Grant. A large rat was chewing busily on his insid
es.
He lay perfectly still; a layer of snow was beginning to cover him.
“Grant!” I chased the rat away and shook him, foolishly, as if there was a chance he could answer me. “Grant!”
I looked around helplessly. What could have happened to him? Was whoever did this still here?
The snow let up a bit and I could see the end of the alley and a street beyond it. I covered him with my coat. Then I ran and found the nearest emergency post, and pushed the signal button.
A voice came through the speaker, almost obscured by static. “What’s your emergency?”
“I found a dead body. A boy. Like the others, I think.”
“Where are you?”
I told them.
“We’ll be right there.”
I stood there waiting, looking around, not knowing what to do or what to expect.
Poor Grant. I hadn’t known him all that well; I didn’t even know his last name. Justin would be shattered. I went back and stood over his body, staring at it, absurdly, as if it might tell me something. He looked… I don’t know, not peaceful the way the dead are supposed to look, but frightened, in pain. I touched him: cold, literally, as ice. If only Tim was there with me, I found myself thinking, he’d somehow know what to do, somehow he’d make it better. Laughable thought.
The campus police arrived, followed a moment later by the city police and an ambulance from the morgue. A dozen or more of them combed for evidence, took photos of Grant’s body, knocked on nearby doors. A detective questioned me and I told him what little I knew. “His name was Grant.”
“First or last name?”
“First. I don’t know his surname. I didn’t really know him very well. Friend of a friend… ”
After a few minutes they let me go. I’d have to get back to my room and call Justin. I was dreading it.
I passed near the museum, and unexpectedly there were lights on in the Egyptian Galleries, not bright ones, soft spotlights highlighting various exhibits. I couldn’t see anyone inside. One shaft of light fell directly on the statue of Horus. Stupidly, I stood in the snow staring at it, I don’t know for how long, as if it might have some resolution to the horrible things that had happened. Bizarre thing, for a moment I thought I saw it move. Then the lights dimmed. There had been no one there to dim them, but that hardly made an impression.
The Blood of Kings Page 3