Between These Walls

by John Herrick

  When the man on the screen took a half-step back, Hunter caught his first glimpse of the woman’s loins. Hunter’s blinked once and opened his eyes wider. His mouth opened into a round O. At the age of six, he’d couldn’t remember seeing a woman naked, except his mother once. But this woman looked different—fuller, perfect, with a different color of hair, even down there.

  Sure enough, the man slipped out of his navy-blue briefs and—Hunter was shocked. The man looked different from Hunter. This man had hair down there and his—whatever had happened to him, Hunter could recall it happening to himself but he didn’t understand why. But this man’s was much, much larger than Hunter’s.

  Bryce, Pete and Drake had leaned forward. Drake burst out laughing, pointed at the screen, and made a joke Hunter didn’t understand. Whatever it meant, the other two guys cackled, hurling comments at the woman as if she might hear them.

  Before long, the man had begun to thrust himself against the woman. She still didn’t seem in trouble. She continued to make noise, but her noises had grown louder, closer and closer to a shout. And before Hunter knew it, it looked like part of the man, the stiff part, went missing. The man and woman moved together.

  Pete glanced over the back of the sofa. When Hunter noticed Pete turning around, he broke eye contact with the television and followed Pete’s line of sight, in case Pete had decided to look for something else.

  Pete looked confused. “Where the hell’s Ethan?”

  “Shut up, man.”

  “I don’t believe this!” Pete threw his head back and laughed, then returned his attention to the rear corner of the room. “Dude, are you seriously jerking off right now? Right here in my basement?”

  “Shut the fuck up, man! You turned this shit on!”

  Though that corner of the room was dark, Hunter caught sight of a figure with its back turned toward them. It looked like Ethan’s shape with one arm in vigorous motion.

  Hunter returned his attention to the television screen.

  Bryce peered down at his little brother and nudged him. When Hunter looked up, Bryce shook his head in a firm No gesture, but Hunter shook his head in response and looked back at the television to see what would happen next.

  “Hey guys, maybe we should turn this shit off,” Bryce blurted out. “My little brother’s here. He’s only six.” With another nudge to Hunter, he whispered, “Hunter, are you okay?”

  Pete rolled his eyes. “He’s okay. Look at him, he’s learning something. His eyes are glued to the TV. Hunter’s probably amazed at the dude. Tell the truth, Hunter. Your eyes are fixated on the guy’s pecker, am I right?”

  Another round of cackles.

  At that, the man on the TV separated from the woman and turned her around so she faced the table.

  Bryce looked down at Hunter once more and shot to his feet. He lunged for the television and pressed his chest against it, blocking their view, stretching one arm across part of the screen as though to block more of the view. With his free hand, he started pushing buttons on the television until the screen went dark.

  “What the fuck, man?! Turn it back on!”

  Ignoring the remark, Bryce grabbed Hunter by the arm. “Listen guys, I’d better get him out of here. He’s too young to see this.”

  “Hell, man, we’re too young to see this! Look at her—”

  Bryce didn’t wait for a round of agreement. In an instant, Hunter felt Bryce’s hand under his armpit, hoisting him from the sofa and dragging him toward the stairs.

  * * *

  Bryce didn’t say a word for most of their four-block trek home.

  The neighborhood remained the same, yet Hunter sensed from his older brother that something had changed. He sensed discomfort. Bryce’s strides seemed a tad longer than usual, judging from the way Hunter needed to take an extra step every few seconds to keep up with him.

  Bryce towered over Hunter in height. Along the way home, Hunter peered up at his brother’s face and tried to decode what he saw. With a sober expression, Bryce fixed his eyes straight ahead. Was he worried? Fearful? Hunter couldn’t put a finger on it, but yes, something seemed wrong.

  They passed house after house along the suburban street. After countless bike rides through this neighborhood, Hunter knew each house. He found comfort in the familiarity of its order: The two-story house with the maroon shutters sat beside the ranch home with the little pear tree in the front yard. Next came the two-story house with the rock garden on either side of the front door.

  As he nodded at the pattern of homes, Hunter’s mind returned to Pete’s video. He’d never seen anything like it. What were they doing on that television screen? Why had Bryce gotten furious? Maybe it was Hunter’s fault. As Hunter thought back to the images on the television, his stomach grew sour, the way it had one summer afternoon when he’d swallowed two heaping tablespoons of butter.

  Hunter didn’t know what was wrong, but judging from Bryce’s reaction, he had watched something bad.

  As they passed beneath a tree, Bryce’s shoulder brushed against one of its branches, which sent the tree in a shudder. Its motion startled a bird, which darted out of the tree and escaped into the sky. Hunter listened to the frantic sound of wings flapping as it escaped from view.

  At last, when they were yet a block away from home, Hunter felt his brother patting his shoulder. Though a gentle pat, the size of his brother’s large hand jostled Hunter’s tiny shoulder with as little effort as it had required to set the tree branch in motion.

  Bryce broke the silence, his voice subdued, as if someone could overhear him through an open window.

  “Look, Hunter, I didn’t know Pete was gonna put that stuff on TV. Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew about this, so you can’t say a word to them, okay?”

  Hunter gazed up at his brother. He bit his lower lip in a childlike manner and nodded—anything to please his big brother. The broken silence brought comfort to his young soul, a return to normalcy. A barrier broken, Hunter hoped. The freedom brought a hop to his next step. He harbored so many questions about what he had seen minutes earlier and hoped Bryce would ask him if he had any questions. The awkwardness of the journey home had left Hunter afraid to ask on his own initiative.

  “It’ll make sense when you’re older,” Bryce continued. “Just forget you ever saw that video, okay?”

  And with that, the conversation ended.

  Hunter never forgot the images on that television screen.

  No matter how hard he tried.

  PART 1

  SECRETSSILENCE

  CHAPTER 1

  Had Hunter seen what he thought he’d seen? Had he given Hunter a second glance?

  At twenty-six years old, after so many years, Hunter wished the temptation would release its grip on him.

  Hunter’s heartbeat increased at the possibility of mutual attraction, but he steadied himself.

  Surrounded on three sides by frosted glass walls, the conference room sat in an interior section on the fourth floor of a suburban professional building. Pipeline Insurance Corporation offered extensive packages for life, home and automobile coverage. Its customers ranged from individuals to small businesses to large corporations.

  Hunter had pursued this potential client by phone for three months, trying to get one foot in the door to explain the benefits of his own company’s products.

  Two weeks ago, he had secured an appointment for ten o’clock this morning with Jake Geyer, a manager in the technology services department.

  Hunter had expected a few Pipeline staff members to attend the demo session, but at the last minute, the others had canceled. This occurred often with Hunter’s cold-call appointments and, after four years in sales, Hunter had learned not to take offense when it happened.

  Side by side, Hunter and Jake sat at a large, mahogany table, facing the frosted glass walls. The polished surface of the table cast a reflection of Hunter’s laptop computer.

  “So the program offers dynamic address formatting to
satisfy postal standards,” Hunter explained. “The program is Internet-based and interacts live with our central server. As you know, to obtain discounted rates for bulk mail, the postal service has strict requirements that vendors must meet. Our program ensures compliance at the point of entry.”

  Jake stroked the stubble beneath his chin as he examined the sample data-entry program on Hunter’s laptop screen. With one arm bent at the elbow, the sleeve of his polo shirt wrapped taut around his bicep, revealing enough shape to suggest Jake worked out. Jake wore stylish, olive-green glasses, which blended well with his dirty-blond hair and enhanced the color of his green eyes. Hunter estimated Jake was only a few years older than he. Thirty years old at best.

  “I understand how meeting those standards benefits us,” Jake said, “but our data entry staff keeps a printed document of postal standards on hand. One question my director would ask is, ‘What does your product accomplish that we can’t accomplish ourselves?’”

  Hunter had anticipated that question. Every prospective client asked the same question during their first meeting. But Hunter, who worked with the software every day and understood its benefits, had learned to respect his prospective clients and allow them to grasp the concept at their own paces. Moreover, Hunter had discovered that he could read between the lines. Individuals would express their own needs and desires through their comments and questions, which, in turn, helped Hunter customize a case for how his own company’s product offered a solution. For Hunter, the sales pitch focused less on convincing a client of their need than presenting his product as a hero that would save the day. Hunter believed in the product he sold. He viewed his visits as opportunities to enhance the work of others.

  “That’s a good question,” Hunter said. “You mentioned on the phone that you enter a large collection of records to your database throughout each day, plus a load of address changes when people move to new apartments or buy new homes. I assume you run quality-assurance reports on those entries?”

  “Yes, we deliver the reports to our data entry staff each morning.”

  “Do you ever find errors in those updates?”

  “Nothing major. The data entry clerk might enter a wrong digit in the street address. They might spell out ‘Street’ or ‘Post Office’ instead of using the postal abbreviations. Things like that.”

  “That’s typical for my prospective clients. The benefit our program would bring is to eliminate that second step from your business process. By formatting your addresses automatically upon entry, we eliminate user errors, which increases your efficiency rate and allows your data entry staff to start its day entering new data instead of revisiting the prior day’s work.”

  Hunter glanced over at Jake, who nodded. Hunter sensed Jake had absorbed and understood the details.

  Shifting in his seat, Hunter scooted so his back settled flush against the back of his chair. For the last few months, he’d felt recurring soreness in his lower back. Though frequent and lasting several hours at a time, the aches didn’t occur daily. The pain level ranged from minor discomfort to occasional bursts that would stab his lower back like a knife. He could sense it wasn’t a medical issue, though, and attributed it to stress on the job.

  Hunter continued his pitch to Jake Geyer.

  “Plus,” Hunter added, “we receive regular updates to verify the physical existence of homes and buildings, which helps prevent a wrong digit or character in your address. Our data ensures that, yes indeed, a building actually sits at 1234 Main Street and hasn’t been torn down. That would increase your deliverability rates and eliminate the cost of mailing material to addresses that don’t exist. You can take the money that used to go down the drain in returned mail and reinvest it to increase your profit margin.”

  Jake glanced over at Hunter, held his gaze for a few seconds, the way he had several minutes ago, then examined the laptop screen again. Though Hunter wasn’t sure, he thought he caught a change in Jake’s eyes during contact. Jake’s pupils had dilated a trace.

  Why did he glance at me?

  Sure, it’s a normal human response in a business scenario. Yet Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if Jake was focused on Hunter’s explanation of the program, or if he’d used the glance as an excuse to take a quick inventory of Hunter’s eyes.

  Jake tapped the edge of the laptop. “So this is the program here?”

  “Sure is. I can walk you through a demo if you want.”

  Jake slid his chair toward the laptop, leaned in closer to the screen. And closer to Hunter.

  Jake set his glasses aside to view the screen, so perhaps he was nearsighted. Hunter noticed Jake’s eyes were closer to olive than standard green.

  Hunter picked up the scent of a fresh shower. The scent was pleasant but possessed a sharp tang. Men’s shower gel.

  Hunter’s heart rate began to roll with the steady pace of a treadmill. A quiver ran up his thighs. His right arm rested on the mahogany table an inch from Jake’s.

  Hunter wished he didn’t enjoy the proximity. Such simplicity would come to his life if he could free himself from the appeal he found in other men.

  When in the company of others, often he wondered if he was the only one who struggled like this.

  He forced himself to refocus on the screen ahead.

  “Here’s a sample program for a magazine subscription company.” Hunter waved his finger over the program window. “The company isn’t real.”

  “How about the colors and layout? Our software application is branded with our logos and a couple of company Intranet links. Is this what the program would look like if we purchased it?”

  If we purchased it? When a client started talking about purchase scenarios, Hunter considered it a positive indicator. Hunter smiled with fresh vigor. He stretched his lower back to the left, then to the right.

  “We integrate our software into yours. We’ve done it that way with all our clients. Our product is compatible across any format you throw our way.” He pointed to a small icon of a company logo beside the address line. “We incorporate that little icon into your screen in case you’d want to visit our website to research a particular address further. Other than that, you won’t notice a difference onscreen. It’s seamless; everything else gets woven in behind the scenes. We store our data on our own server, so you maintain full privacy of your data.”

  Hunter paused to allow the logistics to soak in, swiped his finger along the laptop’s touchpad, then tapped it. “We’ll create a new record for Hunter Carlisle.”

  As he hit the keys on the keyboard, Hunter kept his eyes glued to the screen. But in his peripheral vision, he saw Jake tilt his head and run his fingers through his hair, the way you do to make yourself appear casual. But then, as Hunter continued speaking, he noticed Jake had broken his gaze from the computer. Jake’s irises moved toward Hunter’s face and lingered there, assuming Hunter didn’t notice. Hunter felt a flutter in his chest. He could hear the soft sound of Jake’s breathing.

  If Hunter could create a product, he would invent a method to read another person’s mind. In times like these, a mind-reading tool would allow him to decipher why Jake studied him with such intentness. For all Hunter knew, Jake could be trying to figure out whether Hunter was an honest sales person who believed in his own product. Yet Hunter couldn’t help but wish for a kindred spirit, someone who struggled with the same attractions he did.

  For someone to find him attractive—a mutual attraction.

  He wanted to ask but knew he couldn’t mix personal affairs with professional business. Not that he would dare to out himself anyway.

  Hunter cleared his throat. Jake’s eyes darted back to the screen.

  Okay, he didn’t want Hunter to know he’d sneaked that glance. The question for Hunter was, Why?

  Statistics would render chances slim that Jake held any attraction toward Hunter. Hunter knew the percentage of those who concealed homosexual urges was small. But he also knew that percentage wasn’t zero. Hunter remained
aware that, with all the people who crossed his path in a year, someone out there harbored the same secret he did.

  The question was, who are those someones? For Hunter, attempting to find the answer carried, at minimum, a heavy risk. And Hunter hadn’t sharpened his senses enough to detect those someones on his own.

  The what-if scenarios, like the one in which he found himself right now, felt like mental torture: a continual flow of questions never asked and never answered. After all these years, it exhausted him.

  “In my mailing address, I typed the full words ‘Street’ and ‘Suite.’ Also, I typed ‘4738’ as our street number—but our address is 4739. There’s no building at 4738,” Hunter said. “Now, keep an eye on that address line when I move to the next field.”

  When Hunter moved his arm, he brushed Jake’s arm by accident.

  But Jake didn’t move his arm right away. Usually others did. It took Jake an extra second before he even blinked.

  With a hit of the Tab key, the cursor moved to the next data field. In the address line, as Hunter had predicted, the street number changed to 4739 and abbreviations replaced the full words Hunter had mentioned.

  “And that’s how it works, in real time,” Hunter said. “Without those abbreviations, a piece of mail to that address would not have qualified for a discounted mailing rate. And with a nonexistent street number, unless your postal worker delivered it on his own initiative, the piece of mail would have returned to you, with the cost of postage wasted. And with our program, your data entry staff wouldn’t have needed to correct the address in the morning, despite the address errors typed into the record. Multiply that by the thousands of addresses you enter and use per year, and it can add up to a lot of savings.”