by Clare London
I stumbled out from the forest again, but something had changed in the view since I last saw it. There was a large object rearing out from the ditch where I first woke, a hulking mass against the pale sky. It was a stationary car. For a wild moment I thought it might be mine and I could drive home.
Don’t drive. It was the voice in my head again. You’re an idiot. Fucking idiot. Look, I’ll apologise, if you want me to. If it makes any fucking difference.
As I got closer, I saw that this one was a wreck, and barely recognisable. It was half in the ditch, the front bonnet completely crushed, and the bodywork burned and rusting.
Steve! For fuck’s sake, he was nothing, right? Just some fun. Don’t run away like some kid, you knew what I was like when we hooked up. Fuck, man, it’s only sex, and if you gave it up a bit more often I wouldn’t need to go find it somewhere else…
There was a fence post nearby and a cluster of small bouquets of flowers propped up against it.
You betrayed me. You humiliated me. I thought you were someone I could trust and love! There was a young man’s face in my mind, laughing at me, mocking me. I couldn’t remember his name but I could remember the pain inside me when I thought of him. I’d thought he was special. I’d been a fool.
You love it, same as I do. Sex. Fucking. But you won’t admit it. Won’t take the fun for what it is. Dammit, Steve, it’s like you’re living in another century, all these principles, all this angst! No one wants this love crap, don’t you know? They just want to get off, and you’re great for that. You’re the best looking guy I fucked for a long time. That’s why I played for you, said all the things you wanted to hear. Body like yours…make the most of it, right? One day you’ll be old and sick with no one interested in you. There’s no happy ever after for guys like us.
I stared at the bouquets, confused, my concentration wavering between the returning memories in my mind and the fresh air brushing my face. Why did people leave flowers where they couldn’t be appreciated? I always thought that a ridiculous thing to do, when there’d been an accident. Morbid and pointless. Why remember someone at the place they died, rather than at their home where they lived?
An accident. There’d been an accident.
Did I know the truth, even then?
Steve, wait up. You shouldn’t drive in that state. Listen to us, we’re your friends. He’s a shit, he’s not worth it. So tell us something new! Okay, so we all knew he was sleeping around but how could we tell you…? Steve…
Wait!
It was obvious now. The car nearby—the small trails of police incident tape, fluttering from the hedge. The sad little messages inside the flowers.
A great guy…so generous…full of integrity…we miss you.
Names, nicknames, wishing the best for the victim, in the future life. Names that I suddenly remembered again—that I knew.
A victim that I knew.
Steve…
I looked down behind the car, and I saw that there was no longer any trail from a body hauling itself up out of the ditch. I looked down at my feet, and realised that there was no trail in the slightly soft ground behind me, not even from my footsteps today.
I had left nothing behind here. Except myself.
I may have cried out. I may have wept.
And then I turned around and ran.
* * * *
I arrived back at the house, panting hard. The delicate shirt was wet with my sweat. My trousers no longer felt comfortable and my feet hurt in the restricting shoes. I had run—fast, furiously—and got nowhere.
Eliot was just inside the door, waiting for me. For a moment we just stood there, staring at each other. His face was unusually grave. I couldn’t see mine, of course, but I imagined the anguish and the shock there. There’d be plenty of that, wouldn’t there?
“I want you, Steven,” he said softly. “I asked for you to come. I always wanted you. And now I’ve called you back. Come inside.”
“How did you do it? How did you call me here?”
“I don’t know.” He looked sad, though his gaze ran over my body, hungry for me again. “My need for someone was very strong. Sometimes I find that when I wish strongly…things happen.”
“Your need for someone was that strong…”
“Steven,” he said softly. “I think that yours was, too. Will you deny it now?”
I stared at him. “You’re not the ghost, are you?” There were tears on my cheeks, although I didn’t know when I’d started crying.
“No, I’m not.”
“I am,” I whispered.
I’d been so suspicious of Eliot’s activities, and yet now I knew I couldn’t remember myself ever eating here. Dressing. Brushing my hair. Washing. None of the usual rituals and necessities of life. All the times he’d left me, vanishing with a strange and inexplicable suddenness. Coming back unexpectedly, apparently at whim.
I hadn’t understood it then, but I did now. It had been me travelling back and forth to him, hadn’t it?
“There’s no need for sorrow, Steven.” The deep voice had never sounded so calm or comforting. And that was what I needed, wasn’t it? “I knew how you came to me. How you left your life. But I tried to keep you from that knowledge. I don’t want you to be upset. Ever.”
“How did you know?” My voice rose, fierce and loud. Eliot was shaking his head slowly, and he looked distressed. Was that for me? “Did you call me specifically, Eliot? Did you bring me here by name—or was I just the lucky bastard to qualify as your gift?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, and I think I believed him.
What had it been? Luck, fate, black magic? I didn’t know, either. Maybe my mind was as strong as his; my need as powerful, making this astonishing thing happen between us. I’d been betrayed and angry with my cheating lover, lost in the life I had, looking for another. Had that allowed some obscene time slip the chance to drag me away, to bring two lonely men together? I was chilled and grieving inside, and I ached all over. All I could remember was the rest and pleasure Eliot gave me. Back inside the house. In his world. In his life.
It was another time, I knew that now. A different world, but with the same, steady emotions. Desire. Devotion. Dedication.
And I’d found my place there.
“If I return, Eliot, how long will it last?”
I didn’t really know what I was asking. But he did. “You can be with me as long as I wish, Steven. And I want you forever.”
I took one, sorry step toward the doorway.
“Enter,” came his voice, just like that first time.
Every inch of my rational mind screamed at me to run away from something I didn’t fully understand. Every ounce of my broken heart wept for the loss of my mortal life. Yet every nerve in my yearning body begged to hold him again, the young man who had taken me in and brought out a passion in me that had been hiding. Hibernating—waiting for the right man, all through my life.
That passion was the gift I’d been waiting to bestow.
I stepped over the threshold.
THE END
ABOUT CLARE LONDON
Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind…she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Fi
nd details of her publications and plenty of free fiction at clarelondon.co.uk, including an invitation to her mailing list. Visit her today and say hello!
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
Founded in 2010, JMS Books LLC is owned and operated by author J.M. Snyder. We publish a variety of genres, including gay erotic romance, fantasy, young adult, poetry, and nonfiction. Short stories and novellas are available as e-books and compiled into single-author print anthologies, while stories over 30k in length may go into print. Visit us at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!