God, Vic groaned. Kyle.
His eyes narrowed as his face fell into a scowl. Why now? He’d almost been home free…
Kyle stepped back from the time clock but didn’t move away. Vic glared at him, waiting. Kyle took another step back, that shit-eating grin of his sliding into place. “What a day, huh?” he asked. With a brotherly gesture, he tapped his fist to Vic’s shoulder.
Vic’s expression darkened, both at the touch and the question. His gruff voice sounded downright menacing when he asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh! Saturday.” Kyle laughed. “What a day. Sorry about that thing with the gas and all. Your hand all right?”
Unconsciously, Vic curled the hand in question into a fist. Kyle noticed and cleared his throat. No matter what Matt said, Vic would never like this guy. “Thanks for coming, you know?” Kyle tried again. “It’s been ages since I last saw Matt. He’s looking real good.”
A low growl started in Vic’s throat. The back of his neck prickled with anger; if his scalp wasn’t shaved, the hair on his nape would’ve stood on end. Kyle heard the warning and stumbled over himself to clarify, “I mean, you guys look great together. You must be treating him real good. I never…I mean, when he was with me…”
Without dropping his gaze from Kyle’s flustered face, Vic grabbed his time card and shoved it into the clock so hard the ka-CHINK it made punching him out resonated through the locker room. More than a few conversations broke off as other coworkers glanced over, curious. Kyle ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair and smiled around the room, as if to assure them things were cool.
Into the silence, Vic barked, “What were you saying to me?”
“Nothing,” Kyle answered, a little too quickly.
He laughed again, a disarming sound, and stood aside as Vic pushed past. Vic headed for the door that led to the employee parking lot and to his retreating back, Kyle called out, “Thanks again for being there! See you tomorrow, I guess?”
Vic didn’t answer. He heard Kyle give one last laugh. “All right,” his coworker said, as if Vic had replied. “See you around.”
Then Vic hit the door and stepped out into the muggy sunlight of another late afternoon.
* * * *
There was a battered, stand-alone mailbox a few blocks from Vic’s apartment. Nondescript, its dark blue faded by long days in the sun and weather, the mailbox was unremarkable in and of itself. Like any of the dozens of other mailboxes that dotted the streets of Richmond, this one stood at its post like a sentinel, an embodiment of the U.S. Postal Service’s unflagging motto. Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night…
But this mailbox was special to Vic for the sole reason that it marked the spot where, when his lover was home, the mental connection they shared started to come in loud and clear.
Matt’s psychic ability was limited—he had a small range, and could only pick up Vic’s thoughts, which suited him just fine. More than once he’d told Vic, “You’re the only person whose thoughts I care to know about, anyway.” With a sly grin, he’d added, “And what you’re thinking about better be me.”
But for Vic, the skill that had first alerted him to the powers Matt’s seed gave him threatened to drown out his own thoughts at times. It was a constant burden, like the super strength, but one Vic eventually learned to tune out. He wasn’t the kind of guy given to deep bouts of introspection, and the last thing he needed was to have half a million voices fighting for supremacy in his mind. He trained himself early on to keep the mind-reading ability under control. He pictured it as a huge Tupperware container in his head; he could open the top seal just a crack, let one thought or three escape, sift through them if he needed to, but he rarely took the lid off completely. Depending on his powers that day—if he’d recently had sex, for instance, and Matt had boosted his sixth sense—Vic had at his disposal anywhere from five hundred yards to half the city in his mind at one time.
This evening, the noise was down to a dull roar. However his other senses had been heightened, fortunately the mind-reading one was not among them. Vic couldn’t reach very far into the descending dusk, so it was with something akin to relief that he passed the familiar mailbox and opened his mind to Matt’s loving touch.
Nothing greeted him in reply.
Suddenly the descending evening felt darker, the air colder. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and told himself not to panic. Matt had probably fallen asleep in front of the TV, that was all. Vic just had to ease into his lover’s closed mind…
Still nothing.
Not even the quick blip that happened whenever Matt was angry or upset at him, a sound Vic had come to associate with his power being filmed by the six o’clock news. Whenever Matt closed off to him, he always gave Vic a quick taste of their connection before he sealed it shut, as if preparing him for the argument that would greet him when he walked in the door. But tonight, nothing indicated that his lover awaited his arrival. Vic reached out, stretching his mind to its limits, for the first time pissed that he couldn’t reach out farther. ::Matty?:: he called silently.
No response.
Worse, there was nothing. Matt wasn’t just blocking him; Vic couldn’t even sense his lover’s presence at the apartment. Unbidden, the image of Matt tied hand and foot surfaced in his mind, a sinister suggestion.
Vic lashed out, his mind straining beneath sudden fear. ::Matty? If you’re there, say something, will you? This isn’t a joke. Talk to me, babe. If you can hear me…::
Apparently, he could not.
* * * *
Chapter 22
Vic’s fear lessened when he turned onto his street and didn’t see Matt’s car. His lover must’ve run out for something, that was all—to pick up dinner perhaps, or grab a few items from the store. He had probably waited for Vic to get home first, but Kyle held him up at the time clock and he was running a little late. More than likely, there was a note on the fridge in Matt’s block handwriting, explaining where he went. Circled with a heart, too, if Vic knew his lover. Maybe even written in red ink.
Once he pulled to a stop in front of his building, Vic sat behind the wheel of his car for a moment, debating on whether or not to retrieve the tie-down straps from the trunk. In the end, he decided against it—the whole bondage thing just left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe later they could talk about it, and if Matt showed interest in the idea of being tied up, then Vic could always run down to get the straps then. But he wouldn’t push it. It had to be mutual desire, not just the by-product of his own mind and whatever fucked up power he’d drawn this time.
He lingered on the steps leading to his building, glancing both ways down the street as if he expected to see Matt pull up at any minute. When the street remained empty, Vic hurried inside and took the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach their apartment. Inside, he noticed the only lamp lit was the one in the living room, which he had turned on himself before leaving for work. It was a three-way bulb, turned on low, which bothered Vic more than he wanted to admit—once Matt got home from the gym, he always turned that lamp up to the highest setting as night descended. Which must mean he hadn’t been home…
No. Vic shook that thought away. It doesn’t have to mean that, not necessarily.
But as Vic looked around their apartment, he began to suspect maybe that’s what it did mean, because the only note on the fridge was the one he himself had left there earlier in the day, and in the bedroom the bed was still stripped bare of its sheets, and Matt’s gym bag wasn’t in its usual corner on the floor by the closet. No worn swim trunks were among the clothing in their hamper. No damp towels hung from the shower rod in the bathroom. The porcelain in the bathtub was bone dry; no one had showered recently, something Matt would do when he came home. There was nothing to indicate that anyone had been in the apartment since Vic left that morning.
Back in the hall, Vic grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle and listened to the uninterrupted dial tone, a signal that th
ere were no voice mail messages waiting. Despite that, he dialed the voice mail number just in case Matt had called. But there were no messages, not even any archived ones. He thumbed off the cordless phone as he mulled things over. If Matt wasn’t home by now, where in the world could he be?
Then it hit him, so swift, so sudden, like a punch in the gut that knocked the air from his lungs.
Matt was gone.
Not gone as in for good—his clothes still hung in the closet, and his toothbrush sat beside Vic’s on the bathroom sink. That small fact calmed Vic down, evened his breathing, stilled his racing heart. The toothbrush was there, and Matt’s cologne sat nestled beside Vic’s shaving cream on the back of the toilet, and his glasses lay folded on his bedside table. So he hadn’t left, really. He just hadn’t yet come back.
Sitting on Matt’s side of the bed, Vic dialed the number to Matt’s cell phone without thinking and listened to it ring a full three times before he remembered it had been lost. Had Matt found it earlier in the day, or was it still missing? When the ringing stopped, Vic’s heart leapt, but it was just his lover’s recorded voice in his ear. “Hey, this is Matt. Leave a message and I’ll hit you back.”
After the beep, Vic didn’t hang up. Instead, he listened to the empty air and tried to focus his mind down the open line—maybe he could route his thoughts through the line the way he had when Jordan called Matt at work. Then he could figure out where the phone was and maybe find Matt that way…
But if Matt didn’t have his phone, what was the use?
Vic hung up in disgust.
Maybe Matt was still at work. Without a working cell of his own, Vic had been out of touch all day. Maybe Matt had to work late, for whatever reason—maybe he had an impromptu swim meet, or an early evening water aerobics class, and Vic was worrying over nothing. With that thought in mind, he raced into the living room and snatched up the phone book. On an empty page in the back of the book, Matt kept a list of frequently used numbers; Vic would call each one in turn if he had to, if only to ease his troubled mind. The gym’s main number was near the bottom of the list, labeled WORK. Dialing quickly, Vic prayed for someone to answer.
He just got the recording.
“Damn it.” He slammed the phone on the coffee table; strength swirled through him like a drug, heady and quick, and he heard the plastic receiver crack where it struck the wood. Then he noticed two numbers penciled in under the gym’s on Matt’s list. One had the same first three numbers as the gym, the other was somewhere on the south side of Richmond. Sinking to the couch, Vic dialed the first number; it rang and rang, then clicked as the line was routed to another circuit, then began to ring again. After an eternity of holding his breath, Vic heard the gym’s answering service pick up.
He didn’t bother to leave a message. That number was probably Matt’s direct line, and Vic knew he didn’t have his own voice mail system; Roxie took his calls. She practically ran the gym, and it came as no surprise to Vic when he dialed the second number that she answered the phone. “Roxie. Vic.”
Through the line he heard her take a drag on a cigarette, then blow the smoke out into the receiver. “Vic who?” Before he could reply, she laughed. “Oh! You. Hey there. What’s up?”
Vic cut to the chase. “Did you see Matt today?”
“He didn’t come in.”
Her words sank to the bottom of Vic’s stomach like stones. “What? You mean at all?”
“I didn’t see him.” Another puff on her smoke, and she added, “And judging from the stack of phone messages I’ve got waiting for him by my computer at work, I don’t think he snuck in without me noticing. What’s up? He sick or something?”
Vic didn’t want to admit he didn’t know, but he also didn’t want to get Matt into trouble for skipping work, whatever his lover’s reasons might’ve been. “Didn’t he call in?”
“Nah.” Roxie took a drag on her cigarette, signaling an end to the conversation. “Listen, nurse him back to health for me, you hear? I don’t want to have to be the one to explain to a roomful of rowdy kids why the pool’s closed again tomorrow. I got to go, Jeopardy!’s coming on. Take care, both of you.”
“Sure.” Vic hung up, numb.
* * * *
Part of him wanted to tear through the city streets like a dervish until he found Matt and brought him back. Another part wanted to stay where he was, wait for Matt to come home…he’d feel stupid if he got all worked up only to find Matt checking out at the grocery store. But his earlier thoughts of Matt, bound and stimulated like an extra in a porn flick, made Vic suspect his lover wasn’t standing in line at Food Lion. If only he knew where to start looking, he’d rush out there and find him…
Again he tried to open his mind, but he found it difficult to concentrate. Everywhere he looked, he saw something that reminded him of Matt, and a desperation began to claw at his throat, making it hard to breathe. His gaze roamed the living room walls to settle on a handful of picture frames atop the television. Matt in bed, wearing nothing but a thin sheet and a sexy grin. A close-up of the two of them, a black and white shot taken in a photo booth and blown up to a decent size—Vic’s arm around Matt’s neck hugged his lover close as his lips pressed to Matt’s temple for a quick kiss. And Vic’s favorite picture, snapped through the closed balcony door without Matt’s knowledge—his lover in one of the chairs on the balcony of their apartment, wrapped in Vic’s flannel robe as he stared out at the scenery, dark curls windblown, profile flawless.
On the dining room table sat Matt’s morning coffee cup. His dress shoes peeked at Vic from under the phone table in the hall. A bottle of suntan lotion lay on the end table near the couch, right where Matt had dropped it after they returned from Kyle’s. Vic imagined he could still feel those strong hands rubbing the cool, creamy lotion into his bald head.
Rising to his feet, Vic clicked off the three-way lamp. Darkness enveloped the room, as if a candle had been snuffed out. Vic skirted the coffee table and lowered himself to the couch again, eyes slipping shut. Much better. He could already feel his mind expanding into the night. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his hands into fists, then held his breath as he relaxed each muscle individually: his fingers, his arms, his shoulders, his neck. When he exhaled, a slow, measured breath, he felt the tension that had been wound so tightly in him disperse. He took another breath, held it, felt his mind open even farther to the world around him. Another breath; his whole body loosened as his thoughts extended out.
The city lay beneath his mind’s eye like a map, the streets clearly defined right where he sat in the center of everything and unraveling into nothing where his mind couldn’t reach. Each human soul was a spark in the darkness, a small flickering light like a beacon guiding him on. Vic relaxed, and the psychic web he had spun out over the city began to descend. As it touched the lights, thoughts whispered by him, snatches of conversations, secrets and longings and half-remembered dreams. Like distant signals on a radio dial, they came and went, filtered through his mind as he searched for someone somewhere who might know something about his lover. Several times he’d hear the name, Matt or Matthew, and once a sharp reprimand, Matty, no! Each time he chased it down, followed the thought as it meandered along in the thinker’s head, where he searched through memories to see who that particular one referred to, but it was always someone else with the same name, not his Matt.
Vic moved on, glancing over unsuspecting minds in his search for his lover. Like the faintest breeze, he stirred through the city, Matt’s name a sigh he left in passing. Quite a few people found themselves suddenly thinking the name—a poet scribbling notes in his journal in a café downtown wrote Matthew instead of his girlfriend’s name and had to scratch it out; a young woman having sex cried out his name when she climaxed, upsetting both her husband and herself. A new puppy was christened Matty; so was a newborn baby boy. So many strangers heard Vic’s mental search that the name began popping up everywhere, clouding his senses, blinding his mind. With a grunt of d
isgust, Vic started to reel in his power. He’d never find Matt this way.
Then it happened. One moment Vic was drawing back to himself, extracting his mind from the others he’d touched; the next he felt a click that seemed to lock his mind into the black confines of a small prison cell. He could see nothing, and all thought disappeared. The only things that existed were the dry cloth that choked his mouth, silencing him, and a steady hum that vibrated somewhere between his legs. A dull sound rose around him, holding back the darkness, a sound that came from a tortured throat, in an effort to cancel out the hum that threatened to shake him apart.
With an instant of clarity, Vic realized that somehow, someway, he’d managed to get inside Matt’s head.
The cloth was a gag over Matt’s mouth; his eyes were either closed or blindfolded, Vic couldn’t tell which. Though his hands and feet were tied, Vic sensed that Matt was no longer perched on the stool but lay on the floor—hard carpet pressed against the left side of his face, and the musty smell of mothballs told him this was probably a closet somewhere. ::Where, Matty?:: Vic prodded. ::Where are you hiding?::
But his lover’s mind was blank. Vic suspected it was a defense mechanism, a way of blocking out the world around him, much like the tuneless sound coming from the back of Matt’s throat. The vibrating hum bothered him, though. Where did it come from? What did it mean?
Miles away in his own house, on the couch in his living room, Vic felt the stirrings of an erection press against his work pants. Suddenly he knew—he felt the tight silicone squeeze of a cock ring as if it were around his own shaft, not Matt’s. There was a bullet vibrator built into the ring, nestled in the space between Matt’s cock and balls. Vic felt its unceasing shudder against his own nuts. Two heavy, weighted beads hung from the bottom of the ring; the silicone attaching them had been stretched and the first large, vibrating bead was now wedged in Matt’s anus, where it jittered away in the heated folds of puckered skin. The second, smaller bead jittered along his perineum, exciting the delicate flesh between his balls and his ass to an almost obscene level.
Bonds of Love Page 19