Nurture

by Sarah Masters

  “No one seems to care that someone is luring gay men into filthy alleys to die,” Lil said bitterly.

  “Vic does.” Brian ran a soothing hand down Lil’s back. “He’s doing his best.”

  Lil nodded, but his expression wasn’t forgiving. “What kind of person does it take?” he wondered. “I was angry for a long time, at everything and everyone, and I don’t get it. How much do you have to hate the world to do something like that? Over and over, like once couldn’t possibly be enough?”

  For all Lil sounded confused, Brian was the one who leaned on him, settling against his lanky form and under Lil’s protective arm, and for the first time, I thought maybe I understood Lil. His drinking and his problems, even the skirts. The man knew who he was. It might have been a nightmare for him figuring himself out, but now he knew, and I suddenly understood how Brian found that attractive.

  Chapter Three

  Carl sat in his car and brooded. It hadn’t taken long for the wail of sirens to split the air and the blue lights of police cars to slice through the darkness. Three cop cars had sped past him, and he’d put his head down as though searching in his glove box. Now, he stared ahead, spatters of rain plopping on the windshield, and turned his thoughts to Paul.

  He’ll be needing a piss right about now.

  He laughed, loud and hearty, and covered his mouth with his hand. Biting down on the pad beneath his thumb to stop the laughter didn’t work, so he gave it free rein until tears wet his cheeks. He ought to be getting back to Paul’s really, but a ball of spite knotted hard in his gut. Who was he kidding? His relationship with Paul was all but over, yet he couldn’t let him go. And if he did, he couldn’t stand to let someone else touch him, need him, possess him.

  Rage built inside Carl, and for the first time since he’d allowed himself to act on his violent urges, the need to kill again so soon goaded him. He usually went a while between murders, but tonight something had snapped. A new level had emerged—one that burned through him, bringing whispering voices that told him to take action now while the police were occupied with the latest body.

  He thought of Paul pissing the bed and laughed again. Opening the car door so he could get out, he was careful to lock the vehicle behind him once on the sidewalk. He surveyed the area for any nosey bastards who might be watching. No one was about, so he walked toward town once again before stopping abruptly beneath a streetlight.

  Tiny bloodstains marred his shirt.

  I thought it hadn’t splashed.

  “Fuck!”

  Carl ran back to his car. He opened the rear door then rifled through a holdall on the back seat. He pulled out a polo shirt he’d worn to play squash the other night then crouched behind the door to swap his clothing. The polo stank of sweat and the sport’s club changing room, but he didn’t give a shit. He stood to lean inside the car again, rooting about for his jacket. Once done up, it covered the shirt and all its wrinkles. He locked the car, pissed off at the wasted time, then walked to town, his pace quick, hands in his pockets.

  As he strode past Jilly’s, he smiled at his audacity.

  The doorman was busy shouting at drunkards in the line outside. “You can’t come in, all right? Place is closed.”

  A woman teetering on high heels, skirt showing her thonged ass, her hair a severe bob, staggered up to him. “But people are still in there. I can see them through the window.”

  “Everyone already in there has to stay in there until the police have finished taking their names and addresses. Look, I’m telling you, you’re not getting in tonight.”

  “Asshole!” the woman shouted. Her knees jolted, and she grabbed a nearby man for support.

  Carl sauntered past, chin to chest, and made his way to the end of the block then around the corner. The pink neon sign for Brewster’s flashed, the glow hazy on the rain-slicked pavement. His excitement level increased, and he battled the urge to laugh again.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Irked at his lack of self-control, he approached Brewster’s. He peered through the window. Packed enough that his presence probably wouldn’t be noted, the bar played a hit from the eighties that reminded Carl of summer days and hot sticky nights. He elbowed the door open then pushed through the crowd, heading for a guy nursing his pint of Guinness in the far corner. Head down and foot tapping to the beat, the man looked out of his mind on booze.

  Carl nudged him.

  He raised his head to stare at Carl with glassy eyes.

  “Do you, uh…?” Carl nodded at the drunkard’s cock.

  “Uh, have done, though I don’t make a habit of it,” he slurred, and one knee jerked. “Ah, fuck it. Yeah. Why not?”

  “After you,” Carl said, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

  The dude necked back his drink then almost missed putting the glass on a small table. He weaved through customers, and Carl kept close behind, face lowered into his coat collar, eyes downcast.

  Outside, Carl said, “Will the alley do you?”

  Carl’s prey nodded and took the lead, walking down the street in a wavy line. Carl followed, keeping to the shadows, and they reached an alley between two shops. The man disappeared into its mouth, and Carl glanced left then right before pursuing. Darkness seemed a tangible thing, oppressive and thick, and swallowed them whole. Carl tripped over debris and staggered forward, his curses heavy, echoing in the still air. His hands met with the man’s back, and Carl patted him to get him to stop.

  “Here,” Carl said. “I can’t wait. Up against the wall. Face it.” He squinted, trying hard to make out his target’s shape. Carl stepped up close. “You like it hard and fast?” His breaths left him in puffs, and he concentrated on forcing himself calm. “You like it like that, huh?” He imagined the guy nodding, and his cock hardened. Pulse thudding loud in his ears, Carl reached for the knife. With his free hand, he smoothed up and down his victim’s back, creeping his fingers into his hair. Gripping it—God, he loved this bit—he yanked back the quarry’s head and raised the blade, using his senses to guide him in the darkness.

  “W-what’s that?” the dude asked, trying to twist out of Carl’s grasp.

  “Just a little toy,” Carl whispered, pressing it against a soft neck that would gape open in seconds. He closed his eyes, savoring the throb of his cock for a moment, then drew the blade across.

  Heat splattered his face, the copper stench of blood heady and arousing. Cum spurted in Carl’s jeans, and he sagged with the man, body juddering, a whispered “Ah!” leaving his mouth. Heart beating hard, he dropped his kill and arced the blade downward, striking flesh by luck, not judgment. He hacked and stabbed, images of Paul tied to the bed seeping into his mind. Anger that Paul hadn’t come on command ripped into him, and he raised the knife again and again, the blood on his face already drying, making his skin tight.

  Bloodlust sated, he straightened up and slipped the knife back into his inside pocket. Cuffing his face, he hoped he’d wiped all the blood away. Realization slammed into him that if he didn’t clean up, he’d draw attention to himself.

  “Fucking shit!”

  He made to turn and leave the alley, but a vicious thought struck him—one he couldn’t resist obeying. Hand in jacket pocket, he withdrew Paul’s wallet. Pulling down his polo shirt’s hem, he covered his hand and flipped open the wallet, extracting one of Paul’s credit cards.

  “You didn’t come,” he said and tossed the card to the ground.

  Wallet back in his pocket, he walked toward the alley’s end, sloshing his feet through a puddle. He kneeled and scooped up as much water as he could and splashed his face, drying it with his damp sleeves. “Fucking teach you not to come.”

  At the end of the alley, he lowered his head a bit and gave the street a once-over, waiting while a gaggle of women exited Brewster’s and tottered off up the road. He stepped out onto the sidewalk then walked back the way he had come, past Jilly’s, now devoid of a queue, and headed for his car. Once seated inside,
he repositioned the rear-view mirror so he could check out his face. He smiled at having cleaned off most of the blood.

  “Fucking A!”

  He gunned the engine then pulled away from the curb and took a right turn, intent on returning to Paul’s and teaching him a damn lesson he’d never forget. Thoughts of what he’d do to him filled his mind on the journey, and he alternated between laughing and congratulating himself on his killing expertise.

  Outside Paul’s place, he parked. Locked up. Walked to the front door, fatigue overtaking him at an alarming rate. He let himself in then went into the kitchen to drink a cold beer, hoping it would wake him up before he went into the bedroom. The bubbles stung his throat, and he chuckled again at the irony.

  Bet his throat stung… Bastard should have been more careful.

  Beer gone, he dumped the bottle in the trash and made for the bedroom.

  The door was closed.

  I left it open…

  He turned the handle and kicked the door open, filling the threshold to scare Paul with his appearance. The bed stood empty, the silk scarf resting on the rumpled sheets, and a burst of anger boiled in his gut.

  “What the fuck?”

  Though annoyed at himself for doing so, he crouched beside the bed and looked underneath. No one there. He stood then barged into the bathroom, noting Paul’s jeans and a few toiletry items had gone. Carl stalked into the living room, heart thudding so painfully his chest hurt. His lungs felt as though someone squeezed them, and he struggled to inhale. Staring at the empty room, he clenched his teeth and fists, the backs of his eyes painful from the pressure growing inside his head.

  He released a yell then quieted, mindful of the neighbors hearing him.

  “Shit. Fucking shit!” he whispered.

  Carl turned and reached the front door, his mind trying to work out where Paul would have gone without his wallet.

  Brian’s? No, Lil doesn’t like Paul. Who else would help him?

  “Think!”

  He yanked the door open and left the apartment, feet thumping on the ground, rage growing, festering. In his car, he started the engine, shoved into gear, then veered away from the curb calmly in case anyone watched.

  The drive home was fraught with different scenarios. Carl coached himself to keep calm and deal with finding Paul in the morning—if the police hadn’t picked the limp dick up before then. He grinned as he imagined how it would go. Cops finding the credit card and the body—and he had no doubt they’d find it tonight, what with door-to-door inquiries about the other jackass he’d killed. Paul being found and hauled in for questioning. Paul denying it, shitting bricks at being in trouble.

  What did I see in him again?

  He batted away the answer, not wanting to face up to the fact that Paul was good for him—to him. His relationship with Paul was the closest Carl had come to loving someone. Fucked if he could show it the way Paul wanted him to, though. Didn’t Paul see Carl just wasn’t like that? He needed the violence, the control. No way could he get down with any of the vanilla shit. And he thought Paul had liked the roughness too.

  Unless he was lying. Or too damn weak to tell me where to get off.

  But wasn’t that what Carl wanted? Someone to bully?

  “Damn fucking right!”

  Carl parked on his driveway then leaned across to the back seat for his shirt. He sat for a moment, contemplating tonight’s events. Shit, it seemed to have gone on forever. Seemed it had been hours ago that he’d fucked Paul. He peered at the dashboard clock. Just past ten.

  “Jesus.”

  He left the car, locking it with the key fob as he walked away. Inside, he flicked on the hallway light. Moving to the large leather-framed mirror on the wall, he inspected his face. Flecks of dried blood smattered his hairline, and he reached up to pick some off. A flake stuck to his fingertip, and he brought it to his nose, sniffing heavily. It smelled of nothing. Disappointment thundered through him, and he studied his reflection, trying to see the person behind the mask. If he was honest, he couldn’t find him—he’d lost himself too long ago to even remember what he used to be like.

  Carl shrugged and took the stairs two at a time, going into the bathroom to set the shower on hot. He dropped his shirt to the floor then stripped, suddenly eager to wash away the filth of those men. The water burned his skin, but he gritted his teeth and scrubbed himself clean. Finished, he stepped out of the stall then dried his body, walking into the bedroom afterward to slip on some tracksuit bottoms.

  “You never know, the police might be round at any time, asking if I know where Paul is.”

  His heart rate sped up. My clothes…

  He strode into the bathroom to scoop them up then jogged downstairs and out into the back yard. Carl stared up at his neighbors’ windows to check if any lights blazed. They didn’t. Satisfied he was safe, he piled the clothes on the grass before going inside to get some lighter fluid and matches. Back out in the yard, he doused the clothes then set them on fire, watching the red, yellow and orange flames devour the fabric, thankful they burned despite being damp from the rain. Dark gray smoke billowed upward, gusting his way on a sudden stiff breeze. It caught at the back of his throat, and he coughed, returning inside for a glass of water and closing the back door so the smell didn’t get in.

  Carl stared through the window at the flames for long moments, replaying the killings and fabricating scenarios. Would the police call on him with regards to Paul? And if they did, what would he say? He shrugged.

  I’ll deal with that if it comes to it.

  He went back outside, pleased to see the fire had gone out and only ash and small material remnants remained.

  What if the police call round and see this?

  He clamped his jaw tight, thinking.

  I’ll vacuum it up tomorrow.

  Pleased with his ingenious idea, he turned and headed back inside—inside to bed, where he could rest his weary body after a damn fine night’s work.

  Chapter Four

  Much as I tried, sleep kept dancing back, just out of my reach. Every bone ached, and despite Lil’s reassurances, I wasn’t convinced ribs hadn’t been cracked. He said bruised, but I figured that was quibbling. Like calling the Atlantic Ocean a pond. Semantics. Pain was pain, and it pushed sleep away just the same.

  It didn’t help that the couch, while comfortable, as far as it went, was way too close to their bedroom door. The thing wasn’t soundproof. I knew Brian and Lil were trying to be quiet. I knew they needed the release sex gave. I’d seen the tension I’d brought into their home stretching Lil’s shoulders tight and straight and pinching the skin around Brian’s mouth into a glower. I’d noticed how close he’d stayed to Lil, and how free Lil had been with his reassuring caresses. In public, they weren’t a demonstrative couple, so the dynamic surprised me. I’d always imagined Brian holding the fragile cross-dresser together, and now, well, maybe I’d had it backward all that time.

  They quieted, eventually, and I found a relatively restful position half-sitting against the tall arm of the couch with my head propped on a thick cushion. I flung a heavy quilt around my shoulders then dozed. Flashes of the previous day and night kept pulling me back, shaking and sweating, into the dark, quiet living room. I ended up just staring into the blackness. Oddly, the thing that finally banished Carl’s anger-distorted face and the memory of his violence from my mind was the thought of the stranger from the park. Just his face, the way he’d watched me as the car had passed. I was used to people leering like they wanted me. Guys especially, who figured a pretty, skinny little thing would be an easy lay. And normally, before Carl had become possessive, they’d have been right. But that wasn’t what I remembered seeing in that park guy’s eyes. I didn’t know what it was. Just not lust.

  I didn’t really notice that the dark had become less so until the bedroom door opened quietly. Lil emerged into the living room, followed closely by Brian, a sheet draped around his bare shoulders. He walked Lil to the front door
and leaned on him as Lil wrapped his arms around him.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Lil said.

  Brian gazed up into his face, nodded then straightened.

  “Good boy.” Lil cupped Brian’s face, kissed him firmly. “Don’t leave him alone here, yeah?”

  I almost surged up, livid he would think I couldn’t be trusted, but his brow drew down, a grim mask taking over his features as he kept talking.

  “He needs you with him. He might not be my favorite person, but he shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  Brian nodded, and I sank back, confused.

  “And remember what I said. Do not let that asshole in this apartment.”

  “I’m a big boy, Lil.” Brian straightened a bit and squared his shoulders. “Carl does not scare me.”

  “He scares me. He’ll want to get Paul back, one way or another. He’ll start with flowers and candy, and I don’t care if he sings a fucking love ballad. Do not let him in—do not leave Paul alone with him.”

  “You don’t really think Paul would go back to Carl now?”

  “I know people like Carl. I know how they work. They get under your skin.”

  He shivered and pulled Brian closer to him, seemingly more for his own comfort this time. Memories, maybe?

  “Trust me, babe.” He kissed the top of Brian’s head. I’d never really noticed the height difference before. “Ice cream and old movies on the couch. Undivided attention that has nothing to do with Carl or sex. I said I would help you with Paul, and I will. Do what I’m telling you. He needs this. I’ll try and get home early if I can. And please don’t go to the pool. Just stick close to home and be safe.”

  Brian maneuvered himself away from his lover again. “Life doesn’t stop—”

  “Paul’s boyfriend raped him. Whatever either of them calls it, that’s what happened. Some things can go into a bit of a holding pattern while he deals with that. Besides, you didn’t see the bruises. I doubt he’ll give you much argument if you suggest staying home and not showing that shit off to the world.”