by Danny Tyran
My master pulled up to a halt on the roadside verge, got out and told me to drive.
I obeyed, but I didn’t pay much attention to the road, only following his instructions about where we were going. I kept thinking of Gaby. I imagined that she was listening to the endless silence, then aiming her attention to hear a creak or see the smallest shadow moving behind the cell door, but only to find emptiness. If she knocked on the door and it opened, she’d go upstairs to find the house completely deserted. How would she feel? Were we going to replace one fear with another even more terrible? The fear of being abandoned, rejected by all those she loved and whom she felt loved by and protected.
I don’t know how long I drove, but I finally decided that enough was enough. I parked the car in a convenient spot and, pouring all my passion and concern into my voice, I told my master what I was worried about.
“Okay, Max. You won. Take us there.”
“Thank you, Master! Thank you so much!”
“Don’t say too much, Max. I’m still not convinced it’s the right solution.”
I didn’t answer but set off back the way we had come. My master had to remind me several times not to drive too fast. But we were so far away! The journey back would take two hours, and we had already been gone that long. I was scared that, by the time we arrived, Gaby would have already escaped from her jail and be desperate because she couldn’t find us. My master even forced me to stop at a restaurant to purchase food. I bought enough to feed three people.
The moment I walked into the house with groceries tucked under each arm, Gaby emerged from the door leading down to the basement. She must have heard us arrive.
“I thought you’d decided that I was completely useless and threw me out like an old sock. I tried to get out and the door opened by itself. Must I stay in jail?”
Our master answered: “No, Gabrielle. You had to free yourself. We left you alone, it’s true. We were driving to Montreal, but that doesn’t mean that we’re abandoning you. Furthermore, I can always find a use for you. You cook a divine roast lamb. And when I need to let off a bit of steam, your pretty buttocks are suitable enough. Plus you give better blow-jobs than any woman I’ve ever known. Isn’t that enough, sweetie?”
Gabrielle met my smile with an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace. “But... I don’t understand. If you had made up your mind to leave without me, why did you come back here?”
“Max?” our master prompted, turning to me.
I explained to Gaby what happened last night and this morning. I told her of my fears about her and our master’s reluctant decision to come back. Gaby smiled at us both and came to kiss me long and voluptuously on the mouth. She then knelt at our master’s feet, hands behind her back and legs spread, saying, “Thank you, Master, for this lesson.” Then she kissed our master’s feet, one after the other, giving them a few licks. She was obviously taking pleasure in doing so.
Our master gave her time to savor her happiness before allowing her to get up. He complained, “I haven’t eaten a bite today, and I’m starving. What about you?”
We sat on the steps at the rear of the house, basking in the bright sunshine, sharing my acquisitions. I hadn’t paid much attention to what I bought, and there was way too much of one thing and not nearly enough of another, but never had a meal seemed better to me than that one.
After we cleaned up, we all went back to Pointe-aux-Trembles and our new life.
Chapter 18
For almost all the journey to our new home, we discussed Gaby’s imprisonment, my fake burial and similar experiences our master had undergone in the past. We also talked about what our new life would be like. We were all so optimistic!
On arrival at our destination, I discovered it to be a beautiful fieldstone house. The property, which included a swimming pool, was encircled by woodland dotted with many cross-country trails. As we were at the southeast end of the road, the river wasn’t far away. Without doubt, we would run along the path near it for our daily outdoor exercises.
The main floor consisted of a large living room, kitchen and good-sized dining room, three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The one adjoining the master bedroom contained a spa. On the second floor were four rooms facing each other in pairs and two bathrooms, one down the hall and the other adjacent to the largest bedroom.
The basement was divided into a large main area that had been used as a playroom or carpenter’s workshop and three other rooms, two fairly small and one medium-sized. Along the wall of the main area, a large hardwood carpenter table was already cluttered with chains, straps and shackles ready to be sorted onto hooks attached to the nearby wall and ceiling. A decorative division, apparently new, was the centerpiece for a St. Andrew’s cross. The two smaller rooms were almost carbon copies of the cell and the laundry-drying room of our old house. The last section could be used as office or storage space.
The person who had been in charge of choosing our new home and making its necessary modifications must have been well acquainted with my master and his “special” needs.
The furnishings were already placed in almost their correct positions. Of course, we’d need to make some adjustments, but we wouldn’t have to move the heavy pieces of furniture far. Most of our work involved emptying the boxes and packing the contents into the cabinets and desk drawers where they belonged.
The night we arrived, we were all too tired to get to work. My master ordered me to go and purchase food at a nearby grocery store. I didn’t know the way, so I asked a pedestrian. Despite this, I managed to get lost and had to back track a few times before I found the place. At least, the stove was already connected. Gaby and I could cook dinner when I got back.
But when I did, two police cars were stationed near the house. They prevented me from entering and wanted to know who I was.
“What has happened? Where are Gaby and my master?”
“Your what?”
“James Teka and Gabrielle Angers. Where are they? What has happened?”
“Who are these people to you?”
“I live here with them. She’s... my… sister, and he’s... more than a father to me. For pity’s sake, answer me!” I was frustrated by their slowness and their unwillingness to understand me and my distress.
“What’s your name?”
“Max.”
“Max who?”
“Does it matter? Max Lemay.”
“But you said Ms. Angers was your sister.”
“What? Why did you say “was”? What happened to her? Is she dead?”
The policeman looked toward the house, as if he was reluctant to acknowledge what had happened there. Then he nodded.
“Oh my god, no! And what about my master? How is he? Is he dead too?”
“A masked man came in to shoot Mr. Teka. Ms. Angers interposed herself between him and the aggressor. I’m sorry, young man, but yes, the girl is dead. Mr. Teka just has a flesh wound on the left side of his chest and has been taken to the hospital.”
“Nooo! Gaby. No!” I began to tremble and sob. I couldn’t believe that my life had gone from heaven to hell so suddenly. I started running back to my master’s car so I could drive it to the hospital. But I didn’t even know which hospital I should go to or where it was, but all I knew was that I wanted to get there as quickly as possible. The policeman held out his hand to stop me.
“Wait, young man, you are in no fit state to drive. I’ll call a back up vehicle. They’ll take you to the hospital. In the meantime, I have some questions to ask.” The policeman, who told me to call him Bill, wanted to know how long we’d been living there, if I knew the people who might be responsible for the killing, why would Mr. Teka be targeted, had he done something, etc.
I told him that we had only just arrived, we hadn’t even spent one night in the new house, and I only knew a few of my master’s friends and none of his enemies, that’s assuming he had any. But what did I know about James Teka’s past? Let alone why a crazy gunman hated him
enough to try and kill him? All I wanted to do was find him as fast as possible and make sure he came to no further harm. He already meant so much to me that I’d have been willing to die for him. As Gabrielle had. Poor Gabrielle! The thought of her tore at my heart. I sobbed even louder.
As promised, a police car arrived and took me to the hospital. I asked at the desk for my master’s room number, but he hadn’t been admitted. He was still waiting in the emergency room to be examined.
That was crazy. If he only had a scratch, he’d have been better off at home with me. I could treat it just as well as they could.
When I saw him, I winced at the excruciating pain in his eyes. I ran up to him and, in defiance of everybody and what they might think, threw myself at his feet, took his hands in mine and kissed them feverishly, as I’d have kissed Lazarus’ hands when he was risen from the grave. I also had lost someone I loved dearly and found him again. He was alive!
I sobbed into his hands, already moistened with my kisses and my tears. He freed one of them and began gently stroking my hair.
“Where is she?” I asked desperately. “I want to see her.”
“There is no point, Max. She is dead.” His voice broke on the words. I looked at him and realized he was suffering just as much as I was, but he was holding back his tears so he wouldn’t make things more difficult for me. I had to be strong for him, to help him overcome this ordeal. “I’d still like to see her one last time. Say goodbye to her.”
“You can’t. Her body is in the morgue. Isn’t it better to remember your sister as she was alive?”
He had a point. I resolved to stay and take care of him. When I sat down beside my master, I noticed that one of the policemen was still there, staring at me strangely. What must he think of what he was witnessing?
“How are you, Master? Must we stay here?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think so. Levis, you can go. We’ll call a taxi.”
Levis was the name of the policeman who was standing beside us. Apparently, my master and he knew each other.
“I’ll take you home, Mr. Teka. It’s no problem, I assure you. What really matters is that I should help you if I can.”
“Thank you, Levis, but there are other people who need your help more than I do. It’s better if you go back to work.”
“As you wish, Sir. But if I can help you, please call me.”
“Thanks, Levis, but I think we’ll be okay.”
The policeman left. The disappointment of not being able to help us showed on his face. I called for a cab and accompanied my master to the main gate of the hospital to wait. The car arrived a few minutes later, and we returned to our new home.
In the taxi, my master told me that a masked man had appeared at the door and begun to threaten him with a weapon, telling him it was time to pay for his mistakes. Then he raised his gun and aimed it in his direction. Gabrielle was nearby. “She threw herself between us, just as the man pulled the trigger.”
While the man was still stunned by his mistake, my master furiously threw his glass of scotch at him, hitting him in the face. Then he threw himself on his assailant and disarmed him. Unfortunately, the man was able to free himself and escape. My master could have tried to catch him, but all he cared about was Gaby. He tried to revive her, but there was nothing he could do.
When we arrived home, the police were still there. They hadn’t finished their investigation and wouldn’t let us enter. One of them told my master that he should go to the nearby police station to sign his statement.
We drove there in silence and spent over an hour waiting to be seen. After signing our testimony, we went back home in another taxi. As the police still hadn’t finished, we got into our car and headed straight for the nearest hotel. I drove, following my master’s instructions. Fortunately, the suitcases containing our clothes were still in the trunk.
At the hotel, I helped my master undress and take a bath, running in enough hot water to ensure he relaxed as much as possible. Then I solemnly washed him with meticulous care. He laid his head on the edge of the bath and let me give him this small degree of comfort. If he had been lighter, I’d even have carried him to bed. But I helped him out of the bath, guided him to the toilet and wiped him off with the same loving tenderness that I had washed him with.
Thankfully, his wound was superficial: only a little tear in the top layers of skin. I asked room service to deliver some bandages and disinfectant. In the meantime, I helped my master spread out on the bed and gave him a massage. During all this time, he hadn’t said a single word. He let me handle and move him as if he didn’t give a damn about anything that might happen to him. I didn’t like it at all.
When the bandages and disinfectant arrived, I treated his injury. Then I drew the covers over him to keep him warm and allow him to sleep. After turning an armchair around to face the bed, I sat and watched him. A few minutes later, I saw that his eyes were fixed on me.
He almost pleaded, “Come to bed with me, Max.”
I lay down beside him.
It was the first time I had ever slept in the same bed as him. He turned to me and murmured, “If you think your life is in danger too, Max, you can go. I don’t want you to take unnecessary risks.”
“Never! I will not leave you when you need me.” I started crying again. It took a while before I was able to pull myself together and wipe away my tears. “If you don’t want me, Sir, or if you don’t want slaves anymore, I’ll leave, but only if you assure me that you will be okay.”
Even though I said those words, deep in my heart, distress at the thought of leaving was threatening to bring back my own tears. I wanted to give him the opportunity to choose what he’d do with his life now. I didn’t want to be a burden on him. But the idea of leaving and losing him after losing Gaby...
“Thank you, Max. Thank you for your generosity. I don’t want to lose you, not you too.” He was trying to hide his silent cries. I began to stroke him gently to comfort him.
After a little while, his trembling decreased slightly and his words poured out, “I shouldn’t have let her come with us. When I put her in jail, it was for a mix of reasons: to help her overcome a block, but also with the hope that she would decide to give up and leave us. That’s also why I was so eager to leave home and left her alone in her cell. Somehow, I knew something awful might happen. For weeks before meeting her and several times after, I dreamed that a guardian angel saved my life and then flew away. That angel looked strangely like her.”
With that, he began to sob and snuggled in closer to me. I drew him into my embrace and continued to caress his neck and back, fighting back tears that threatened to overwhelm me.
“They were only dreams, Master. How could you guess?”
I couldn’t help thinking that if I had not pushed so hard to go back to get her, she might still be alive. I appreciated the way my master never mentioned that fact.
“I’d had premonitions before that. I should have known better and not taken any risk.”
“Come on! What if you dreamed that the house was on fire, would we move then? And what if it was the next house that was doomed to be razed by flames? What if by trying to avoid evil, you initiated it instead? You can’t rely on the premonitory nature of dreams, or how to interpret them, and even less how to protect us from them. If you go on thinking like that, you won’t dare to sleep anymore. You were not responsible, Master. The culprit is the one who pulled the trigger, not you.”
He kissed me with the passion of despair and we made love like never before.
Until now, every time we had sex, it had been little more than seeking sexual release or lessons on the art of giving erotic pleasures to masters or mistresses. This time, he really made love to me, and with such enthusiasm! But when he ejaculated, it wasn’t my name he whispered, but Gabrielle’s. He fell asleep in my arms.
The next day, I contacted the police to see if we had permission to go back home. After making me wait for ages on the phone, I was to
ld that we could. The policeman also told me not to hesitate to call the station if there was something wrong or if we found any clues. They kindly offered to help if anything “unusual” happened. Their offer was sincere, but we can’t always see these things coming.
On that sad thought, we returned to the scene of the tragedy. Yesterday, I had left my shopping bags in the car. Now, they were only worthy of the garbage. On the way home, I made a detour via the grocery store and then the butcher. No way was I going to leave my master home alone. I’d be too afraid someone might come back and kill him.
When we arrived, the police weren’t around, but some journalists were waiting. One of them pointed a camera at us. I told them we had no comment, hoping that would be enough, and they would leave us alone. But they didn’t seem satisfied and kept on asking questions, so we ignored them, brushing them aside on our way into the house.
Inside was a mess. White powder everywhere: on the door handles and furniture. Littering the floor were shards of the glass that my master had launched in vain. And the list went on. Not very far from the broken glass, a large spot of blood had dried on the living room floor. When I saw it, my stomach clenched in agony, and I vomited. More mess to clean up.
“There was no need for all this mess,” my master complained. “I told the police that the murderer had been wearing leather gloves. Of course they wouldn’t be able to find any fingerprints.”
I had purchased a newspaper at the store. On the front page was a picture of our house. According to the police, the murderer might have been trying to kill the previous owner, a member of the Montreal underworld. Had Gaby’s death been the result of a tragic error?
My master didn’t believe that theory. He told me that for the last three years, he’d been trying to prove that two of the slave market’s members had been responsible for the deaths of at least one novice slave, possibly as many as three. My master had convinced some of his friends who were involved in the scene to hire a private investigator to gather evidence regarding these suspicious deaths. Strangely, the person they hired was killed in a car “accident” several months ago. A new detective was brought in to replace him, but so far, he hadn’t been able to uncover anything substantial. “In any case, we hadn’t formally accused the people who we believe to be guilty. Those bastards are cunning. They never dirty their own hands and always have an alibi for the time of death of their victims.”