Exposure

by Todd Young

  A few moments later, they were in the river again. Then Rafe was climbing out. “Come on, Jack,” he said from the bank, a bright smile on his face. “Climb the tree again.”

  Jack nodded and got out, warmth flooding his chest. He followed Rafe up the branch, and as he lifted his foot, did the same again. This time he pressed forward firmly with his knuckle, and again he heard a groan.

  And again Judge was a witness to it, a bright smile lighting his face.

  As they were getting dressed, Rafe took a very determined look at Jack’s cock, and Jack hoped that whatever feeling he had for Mike was now being cast upon him.

  12

  Back at the house, Rafe served coffee. Then Jack said he had to be going. He walked to the door, followed by Rafe. The afternoon was a little clouded now, with a silver haze. It smelled like metal.

  “It might rain,” Rafe said, and held out his hands.

  Jack wandered toward his car.

  “Are you coming by tomorrow again?” Rafe said.

  “Sure I am. I mean, I will. I’ll have to question Sissy’s parents and her brother. But maybe you want to come with me.”

  Rafe nodded.

  Jack started the car.

  Em and Carol weren’t home. Jack fixed himself some tuna on toast and then went to bed for an hour or so. When he woke, it was seven p.m. He heard voices in the kitchen. Em and Carol.

  “You’ve been busy today,” Carol said.

  “Have I?”

  “Now you’re a private detective and everything.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “And you’ve changed your name,” Em said.

  “How on Earth did you …?”

  “Small town,” Carol said.

  “You didn’t say anything to anyone, did you?”

  “What? About you not being a private investigator?” Em said. “No. I said you were one, so you’d better keep the story up.”

  “You’ve been with Ralph all day. Em says he’s a love interest of yours.”

  “A love interest!”

  “Isn’t that the case?”

  “Shit. I don’t know.”

  “He’s a very attractive young man,” Carol said. “I can imagine the two of you together, but are you sure he’s available? As I understand it, he was mad about Sissy.”

  “No.”

  “Not really.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Em frowned at him. “So he is gay?”

  “He’s not open about it.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  He swung his hands and looked from Carol to Em and back again. They didn’t seem to want him, so he excused himself and walked out to his car. He simply had to see Rafe again.

  He drove out to Wendchester and parked his car beneath the tree. It occurred to him that he could simply walk up to the house and talk to Rafe, but what would he see then? Perhaps nothing.

  Rafe was at the back of the house, at the dining table. He ate soup from a bowl, tomato soup by the look of it, but he was dressed as Jack had seen him last night, in white: sneakers, watch, cap, jockstrap.

  Jack lit a cigarette.

  Rafe spooned the soup lazily to his mouth, slow spoonful after slow spoonful. It didn’t seem to occur to him that Jack might come back, or might watch him. He looked assured of his safety. He slopped first one, then a second, then a third spoonful of soup onto his chest and abs, and Jack was reminded of blood. Rafe didn’t seem to think it was a problem. He sat on at the table until the bowl was all but empty. Then he drank from it.

  He burped, got up, and walked into the kitchen. He took the bowl and spoon with him, but set them down on the counter top. Then he wiped the bright red soup from his chest and abs with a dishcloth.

  Jack watched from the veranda, his face close to the glass.

  Rafe opened the dishwasher. A cloud of steam rose into the air. He began to unpack it, took a pot and a pan out and stacked them in a cupboard. Then he started on the glasses and mugs, on the plates and bowls, and finally came to the cutlery. He pulled the entire console out and set it on the bench. He took a knife, a long carving knife out, opened the drawer, but then stopped. He turned the knife over, put the thick, blunt edge against one side of his cock and balls and made a cutting motion followed by a face.

  “Oops,” he said, and bent forward in mock pain.

  The next thing out was a soup ladle. He turned this end on and hit himself playfully in the balls with it. Then he found a pair of tongs. He opened them, put them between his legs, and closed his balls in them, sliding the catch all the way along to the end. He made a face, breathed heavily, and then picked up the ladle once more. He hit himself once, a second time, a third time, and then came, a bright white bubble of cum spurting from beneath his jockstrap.

  He blushed, looked ashamed, put everything away quickly, and then turned and took off the jockstrap. He rinsed it in the sink.

  13

  The following day, Jack arrived at Rafe’s at about ten thirty a.m. A geranium was flowering on the veranda, and Jack spent a few moments inspecting it before he rang the bell.

  Rafe opened the door with a frown. He was dressed in white shorts and a white hoodie with blue trim, in what amounted to a sailor suit. His feet were bare.

  “Can you blow your horn when you come?” Rafe said. “I like to know if someone’s outside.”

  Jack nodded.

  “I’m having coffee—if you want some.”

  “Sure.”

  Rafe pulled the door open wide, and then closed it behind Jack. He led the way to the back of the house. His ass jounced beneath the tight white shorts. The family room was bright with sunshine. A mug of coffee sat half-drunk on the table. Rafe walked into the kitchen, poured another mug, and brought it back to the table.

  “Here you go,” he said. He took a seat.

  Jack sipped on the coffee and then looked up at Rafe, who watched him closely. Their eyes met. Rafe’s pupils dilated quickly until they were large and black. Jack was aware of his own pupils dilating and would have been embarrassed if Rafe hadn’t been staring at him so fixedly.

  “Did you sleep well?” Rafe asked, but didn’t break eye-contact.

  Jack nodded, his eyes locked on Rafe’s. He felt his cock firming in his trousers, but he’d remembered underpants today, a pair of boxer briefs in a fabric that had just become available.

  A knock at the door startled both of them. It was the police. Jack followed Rafe to the front door, where two detectives introduced themselves as Wilmott and Casey.

  “We’re investigating the disappearance of Sissy Caraway,” Wilmott said. “Which one of you is Rafe Carter?”

  “I am,” Rafe said.

  “And you are?”

  “Jack. Jack Thomas.”

  Rafe drew his head back and frowned at the name. He glanced from Jack to the detectives and back again. But Jack knew better than to give a false name to the police.

  “He’s a private investigator,” Rafe said. “I hired him to find Sissy. She was my girlfriend.”

  The detectives nodded.

  “Hi, there,” Casey said.

  “Have you worked in town before?” Wilmott asked him.

  Jack shook his head.

  “We’d like to interview you. Both of you. We can do it now, or you can come down to the station before five p.m. today.”

  “Now,” Jack said.

  Rafe nodded vacantly, then pulled back the door and led them into the hall. He motioned at the armchairs and took a seat on one end of the couch. Jack hovered for a moment.

  “We’ll interview the young man first,” Casey said. “If you’d like to wait outside?”

  Jack nodded. He opened the front door and stepped onto the veranda. Two cane chairs sat side-by-side, so he took one and leaned back. A moment later he heard Wilmott’s voice from inside the hall, followed by Rafe’s and then Casey’s. Given his position, the conversation he heard was patchy at best.

  “Can you te
ll us about your movements on the tenth?”

  “My movements?”

  “What did you do that day?” Casey said.

  “Oh, I prepared for my party. I drove into town, got some ice, some alcohol. By the time I got home, people were already arriving.”

  “Were you with Sissy?” Wilmott said.

  “No.”

  “When did you first see her?”

  “About eight.”

  “And she was alone?”

  “No. She was with another girl. Jennifer.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But you’d been going out for how long?”

  “Five weeks.”

  “And you didn’t speak to her?”

  “It wasn’t that sort of relationship.”

  “So you didn’t speak to her at all?” Wilmott said. “Not during the entire party?”

  “She wanted to dance at one point.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About eleven thirty.”

  “Did you dance with her?”

  “No.”

  “And after that?”

  “I didn’t see her again until later, until about one thirty. I got a message from one of the guys. She wanted to meet me up in the hayloft.”

  “Who was the guy?”

  “Aaron.”

  “And what did you do up there?”

  “She was lying in the hay in her bra and panties.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “I don’t really remember. I was too drunk by then.”

  “But you were the last to see her?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Not really.”

  A crop duster appeared, apparently from nowhere, and flew over the house. For three or four minutes Jack wasn’t able to catch a word.

  Then Rafe said, “That isn’t true.”

  “Mike says you threatened her at school one day.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “He says you wanted to kill her.”

  “But that’s just the sort of crap Mike carries on with.”

  “So you didn’t want to kill her?”

  “No.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where do you think she is?”

  “Shit. How would I know? Dallas. Or maybe even New York. She’s run off before. She could be anywhere.”

  “So you have no idea?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Thank you Mr Carter.”

  Jack cleared his throat. A moment later the front door opened and Rafe appeared.

  14

  “What is your interest here?” Wilmott began.

  “Mr Carter hired me.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “As a private investigator.”

  “And what are you supposed to be doing?”

  “Looking into Sissy Caraway’s disappearance.”

  “How are you doing with that?”

  “I only started yesterday.”

  “I see. And you know Mr Carter how?”

  “I met him … in town,” Jack said, but was aware of having told his first lie.

  “And what conclusions have you reached.”

  “I think there is little reason to suspect foul play. The girl has skipped town, I think. At least, that is what I’ve been led to suppose.”

  Wilmott frowned at Casey. “So you don’t think her disappearance is suspicious.”

  “I’d be surprised to find she’d been murdered.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “No.”

  “You never met?”

  “No.”

  “Did you interview anyone yesterday?”

  Jack hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Who was that?”

  “A young man named Beau. I don’t know his last name. He lives in that trailer park south of the river.”

  “And what did he have to tell you?”

  “Not much. He overheard a conversation between Rafe and the deceased.”

  “The deceased?”

  “Sorry. Sissy.”

  “You think she is deceased?”

  “No. It’s just your language. The way you talk. I got caught up in it.”

  “What did he hear?” Casey said.

  “They were fighting about sex. The girl wanted sex and Mr Carter didn’t.”

  “Is this the scene in the hayloft?”

  Jack nodded. “She tried to entice him, and in the end, he gave in.” His second lie.

  “They had relations that night?”

  “I believe so.”

  Casey glanced at Wilmott. “Is that a supposition?”

  “A supposition?”

  “Are you supposing that?”

  “I deduced it.”

  “I see.” He paused. “And what does Mr Carter say?”

  “He doesn’t remember.”

  “Have you worked on cases like this before?”

  “No. This is my first case.”

  “Your first case?”

  Jack felt himself coloring.

  The two men glanced at one another in some confusion. A smile tugged at the corners of Casey’s lips.

  “And what training have you had?” Wilmott said.

  “None.”

  “I see. Thank you Mr Thomas.”

  15

  “You gave them a false name.”

  The police had left. Jack and Rafe were standing in the hall, watching through the window, and had just seen the cruiser disappear from view.

  “No. I gave you a false name.”

  “So your name isn’t Markman? It really is Thomas?”

  Jack nodded, staring earnestly at Rafe, who had tears in his eyes.

  “Why would you do that? Give me a false name?”

  “I’m not really a private investigator.”

  “You’re not …? But why …?”

  “Why was I in the yard?”

  Rafe nodded.

  “I was watching you.”

  “Watching me?”

  “I saw you at the supermarket one day and I followed you home. I thought—I think—you’re beautiful.”

  “Me?”

  Jack nodded.

  “But?”

  “What?”

  “What did you see?”

  Jack outlined what he’d seen on Friday night, when Rafe had used the brooms and mops.

  Rafe blushed. “I …”

  “It was beautiful.”

  A tear dripped onto his cheek. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I just … I get so … so like I want to …” He paused. “What else did you see?”

  Jack explained how he’d seen him in his bedroom, using the trophy.

  “But I was upstairs.”

  “I climbed the tree.”

  “You climbed the … Shit!”

  “Sorry. I just … I’m, well, I’m mad about you. I love you. I mean, I’m in love with you.”

  “You’re in love with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long have you been watching for?”

  “Since Wednesday. I saw you at the supermarket on Wednesday.”

  Rafe stared at him, his eyes wide. “So you’re like—a peeping Tom.”

  “No, Rafe. Not like that. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s just that, when I saw you at the supermarket, you looked so young, so troubled and so beautiful.”

  “I was worrying about Sissy.”

  Jack nodded.

  “I couldn’t get her out of my head that day.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t imagine it was anything like that. I just wanted to see where you went, to see where you lived.”

  “But you came back again.”

  “I know.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. I just, well, I fell in love with you. You’re so … beautiful.”

/>   “I’ve never thought that before.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  They stared at one another for moments. Rafe wiped the back of his hand across his nose again. “What did you tell the police?” he finally said.

  “I told them I’m not really a private investigator.”

  “You’re not …?”

  “No, Rafe. I only said it as an excuse, as a way of getting close to you.”

  Rafe nodded. He lowered his head and Jack took a step forward. He reached out with both hands and placed them on Rafe’s shoulders.

  “I tried to make it sound good. I said I didn’t suspect there’d been any foul play, that I didn’t think she’d been murdered.”

  “Why did you say that?” Rafe muttered.

  “I just …”

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know?”

  “You know I killed her.”

  “Oh, Rafe,” Jack said. He drew him into his arms and cradled his head. “You really killed her.”

  Rafe nodded.

  “I pushed her off the hayloft. She grabbed my cock and balls and I pushed her back. I didn’t mean to kill her, but I pushed her hard. She toppled backwards and her head hit the mud guard on the tractor. There’s a dent there. I can show you.”

  Jack remained silent. Part of him didn’t want to know. Something in him was telling him to run. Another part of him was noting how good it felt to have Rafe in his arms.

  He simply had to keep him safe.

  “So you pushed her?”

  “It wasn’t like she fell.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Jack nodded. He gripped Rafe a little tighter. Both of them were hard now.

  16

  Rafe led him out to the barn, where the wind was rattling the boards. The old tractor looked as though it hadn’t been moved in years. Some streamers were strung from wall to wall, and a giant sign announced Happy Eighteen Rafe. Empty beer cans littered the hay.

  “You see here?” Rafe said. He pointed to a spot on the mud guard of the tractor.

  Jack leaned forward to take a closer look. A shallow depression marked the guard. But for that and an odd feeling there was nothing to suggest that anyone had been murdered here.

  “Was it an accident, Rafe?”

  “Not really. I wanted to kill her. She’d been going out with Mike for so long.”