I sighed, looked away from the masked man and back at Jeffrey, who was staring away from me, as though he was lost in thought.
Why was he hanging around me anyway? Other than sticking by my side, he had showed not that much genuine interest in me. Aside from a brief kiss that didn’t even let me taste his tongue, I had no real reason to think I would be leaving with him that night.
I came to a decision. I would ask Jeffrey if he wanted to get out of here now. My destination of choice would be my place or his, but I could even be coerced to find a quiet bar where we could have a drink and get to know each other.
But this would be a test. If he was interested, he would agree to come along with me. After all, the truth was, in spite of my uncertainty about his feelings toward me, he had shown little interest in anyone or anything else at the party. So, if he didn’t want to get out of here with me, so be it. I would go home alone.
Or I would drop by the bathhouse on Clark Street, or stop at Big Chicks on my way north. Maybe I would still find someone who wanted to come home with me.
And if I didn’t? So what? I’d get a good night’s sleep, provided no one broke into my apartment and took the chef’s knife from its block.
The last thought caused an icy frisson of fear to travel through me, and I knew I wasn’t so cavalier about Jeffrey coming with me.
I didn’t want to be alone tonight.
I turned to Jeffrey, caught his gaze. He grinned at me. What was I afraid of? Of course he’d come with me.
I leaned in, placing a hand on his muscular shoulder, you know the one—that looked like he had stuffed half a grapefruit under the smooth skin? “Look,” I whispered. “This whole scene is getting a wee bit tired for me. You wanna get out of here?”
He leaned back a little, looking me up and down. I felt as though I was being appraised.
And then he said the magic word, the word that turned the evening from a vague disappointment into one that was full of promise and possibility.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
He took my hand in his, and we left the masked man standing in the hallway, his gaze burning into my back. I turned and called over my shoulder to him, “Have fun.” This last part was just to ensure he was not expected to join us.
Still, I worried that he would follow us down the hallway to Tabby’s regular bedroom, the one with the king-size bed and the leather headboard and fluffy down comforter, with its mountains of pillows. That’s where everyone had thrown his coat when the party started.
Jeffrey sorted through the pile on the bed and pulled out a long, black leather trench coat, shiny and looking as though it would go almost to his ankles. He removed the wings from his harness and shrugged into the coat. I could see why he had worn it; it covered all his exposed skin. Sad but practical.
He stuffed his wings into a black leather backpack and hoisted it over his shoulders.
I found my own jacket, long enough to cover my bare ass and package, sheathed in its jock strap.
“Ready?”
“Oh yeah.”
We started out of the bedroom. I was full of optimism.
I felt like someone was following us as we made our way to the front door. But when I looked back, there was no one there.
Chapter 6
Once we were outside, I felt even better, like I could breathe again. The night air had turned chillier while we at the party, and I leaned into Jeffrey’s sizable form for warmth and connection. The wind, from off the lake, had picked up, sending plastic bags and other bits of trash tumbleweeding down the deserted street.
Jeffrey slid his arm around my shoulder. Finally I was getting a little affection from him! Maybe he was just shy—and perhaps I was right about him not being much of an exhibitionist.
He leaned his mouth close to my ear, his breath hot. “Did you drive?” he asked.
“No, I’m afraid we’ll have to depend on the good old CTA. Unless you have a car?” I paused for a moment. He shook his head.
There was no way to get from point A to point B without simply asking. “So, you want to come by my place for a while?”
“You guys. You all think the same.” He shook his head, and I withered inside. Had I overstepped? Was I moving too fast? But then, he must have understood when I asked him to leave the party that home—his or mine—would be an ultimate destination. At last, he put me at ease when he smiled and said, “Sure.”
We headed down the street, toward the el stop.
As we walked, we passed a dark, shadowy alley. Jeffrey paused and looked down it. “Wait,” he said softly. “I want to kiss you. Can we have a moment alone?” He nodded toward the mouth of the passageway, filled with darkness and blessed emptiness.
I, of course, was only too happy to respond in the affirmative to such an offer.
We started down the brick-paved alley, the shadows engulfing us.
After we had traversed about half its length, Jeffrey pushed me against a brick wall—the back of an apartment building. It was dark and cold. I really just wanted to hurry to the el stop, get on board, and travel safely to my apartment on Sherwin Avenue.
But if Jeffrey had other ideas, well, in spite of the cold, that could be exciting, too.
He leaned into me and his lips found mine. He kissed me passionately. Yet, when I attempted to open his mouth with my tongue, he kept it firmly closed. What was with this guy and French kissing, anyway? Were we not going to get into any deep kissing the whole night? Good looking as Jeffrey was, I didn’t know if I would be into that. Kissing had always been the high point of any encounter for me.
I kept my eyes closed, trying to settle for this mashing of our mouths together. Jeffrey was hot and the pressure of his mouth against mine, along with the feel of his hard, muscular frame glued to mine was intense and erotic.
Jeffrey paused to struggle out of the backpack and set it on the ground beside us.
“Getting more comfortable?” I whispered. I don’t know why I was keeping my voice soft. The night was late, and it seemed as though there was no one around us for miles. Even the noise of traffic on nearby Clark Street had slowed to the sound of a lone car every few seconds.
“Yes,” he whispered back and leaned in again to kiss me.
Then he stopped.
“Let’s move over there.” He nodded toward a Dumpster. He took my hand and led me to a small alcove between the Dumpster and the brick wall next to it. He pushed me into the alcove, smiling the whole time.
“You boys,” he huffed, “are so trusting.” He set his backpack on top of the Dumpster. The garbage within stunk, and I was feeling, paradoxically, grossed out by the smell, and the hot possibilities of what was about to happen. Was he going to fuck me right here in the alley? Demand a blowjob? I was up for either one. And ashamed of myself for not insisting we go somewhere more private.
Before I had a chance to think about what he was saying, he leaned into me again, rubbing himself against me while, with one hand, he unzipped the backpack. From his movements, I could discern that he was taking something out of the pack. Poppers? Condom? Lube?
I opened my eyes and looked to my left where the Dumpster was.
And froze.
Jeffrey was pulling a knife out of the backpack. It was a hunting knife, and its silver caught the dull light of the moon above for just an instant. The blade was long, culminating in a wicked-looking hook at the end, perfect for gutting. I tried to swallow and found the saliva in my mouth had vanished almost simultaneously with the appearance of the blade.
Oh my God. All at once, my heart rate increased, a line of sweat trickled from my hairline and coursed down my back, crawly. I thought immediately of the wings and the black feathers.
I thought of headlines about the “Stranger Danger” killer and how one of the victims was found, Jack the Ripper style, slit to ribbons in an alley.
I thought of the words: I’ve been inside your house.
I wanted to scream, but the shriek lodged in my throat.
I could only whimper, pushing my hands against that massive, strong chest I had so admired and now could see would be my downfall, pinned as I was against a brick wall at my back and right side, a huge metal Dumpster on my left.
He lifted the knife up and smiled at me—that perfect, beautiful smile, so completely alluring and innocent. The last thing I would see?
“What are you doing? Please…no.” I managed to say, my words coming out in a rush of constricted air. How long would it take? Would it hurt? Was there any way I could talk my way out of this? Fight my way out of it?
I pushed against his chest and realized it was like pushing against the brick wall at my back. Jeffrey was strong and I was not. I thought mournfully of the times I had considered going to the gym and then thrown it over in favor of having a dirty martini at Sidetracks or just vegging out on my couch.
“Please,” I whimpered. Tears were rolling down my face. I couldn’t recall when they had begun.
He pushed against me with his body, pinning me to the brick wall. The brick scratched against my back. I beat against his chest, trying to wriggle from his forceful grasp, hoping to slide out from beneath him. It was all I could do, and at the very least, my frantic movements were preventing him from getting a good enough purchase so he could plunge the knife into my chest or throat.
“Hold still!” Jeffrey said between angrily clenched teeth. “You did want to get penetrated, didn’t you?” His giggle was high-pitched and made my bowels feel loose with terror.
I summoned up all the strength I could find, all the muscle my racing heart and surging adrenaline had given me, and shoved. My movement did cause Jeffrey to lose his footing and stumble backward.
But not for long enough to do anything to save myself. He lurched back at me, the hunting knife raised high.
I cowered against the wall, eyes shut tight, and prayed for it all to be over quickly.
There was a hot sear of pain down my chest, followed by a rush of blood. Is that all there was? Being stabbed to death didn’t really hurt that bad, thank God. I heard a grunt and through my blurred vision, saw what I thought was a dark shape behind Jeffrey and I noticed a quick movement. It was almost like a wraith, a shadow from out of the darkness.
And then I saw a flash of white face, a mask?
The masked man! Was he an accomplice?
Or my savior?
I began to slide down, down, the rough brick and mortar scraping against my back as my knees buckled.
Almost simultaneously, Jeffrey lifted the knife higher, preparing, I suppose, to plunge it into my chest and still my hammering heart. My vision, going in and out, clarified for just an instant, and I watched as the masked man lifted something heavy above his own head. It was a cinder block.
The masked man brought the concrete rectangle down hard and decisively on Jeffrey’s head. There was a thud and a squishing sound as the block made solid impact. He fell away, freeing me. I stayed curled on the bricks of the alley in an almost fetal position.
I looked up at the masked man, who was pulling the white oval away from his face.
Who was it?
That question would have to wait, as an unrelenting blackness rose up from within, to claim me and deliver me from this horror.
When I came to again, I started heaving, laughing, and crying at the same time. The now unmasked man stood in front of me, hands at his sides, staring.
The mask sat atop his head. Even in the dim light, I could see his face.
And I knew where I had heard that voice before.
“Tom? Tom Horton?” I struggled to at least get to my knees, not sure I could just yet manage a full-standing position.
He nodded, and a terrified but relieved grin spread across his features. It had been my neighbor, my one-date wonder, trailing me throughout the night. But I couldn’t help but ask, “How did you know?”
He didn’t answer. He squatted down beside me and placed his hands on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about that now. Call it a hunch. But something wasn’t right.”
I tried to get up, and Tom pushed me back down to the dirty ground. “I’m afraid if you get up, you’ll just pass out and hurt yourself. Stay here.” He pushed me more firmly into the alley floor and standing back up, pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the police, and getting an ambulance here for you.”
It made me remember. I was dying. I had been stabbed. I almost wanted to laugh. Who goes out to a party thinking they’ll be stabbed to death by the end of the evening? It seemed ludicrous. Unreal. Something that happened in one of those slasher movies I so enjoyed.
I reached down groggily to my chest, and my hand came away sticky, warm, and wet. Like a child, I held my hand up in wonder to Tom. Was this what shock felt like? Was I about to die, the life running out of me onto the bricks?
“It’s just a small flesh wound,” Tom said quickly. “I made him miss. Could have been worse if you weren’t wearing that jacket.” Someone on the other end picked up the call, and Tom started telling whoever it was where we were and what had happened.
Behind Tom, I could see Jeffrey begin to stir. He was trying to pull himself up. Tom chattered on into the phone completely unaware. I watched in horror as Jeffrey reached for his hunting knife, which lay, just out of reach, on the pavers.
I wanted to say something but found my capacity for forming words failed me. I reached out with a foot to try to nudge Tom’s calf—and succeeded. He looked behind him and, with the phone still at his ear, stomped on Jeffrey’s outstretched and grasping hand. Jeffrey groaned and crumpled back to the pavement. Tom bent to take the knife, holding it gingerly by its very tip, and set it on top of the Dumpster, out of reach.
He squatted down beside me again and reached out to tenderly stroke my face. “You’re gonna be okay. Help is on its way.”
I wanted to thank him, to say something that would let him know the enormous gratitude I felt for him saving my life, but these thoughts at that time, were not so clear and I was certainly incapable of translating my emotions into coherent words.
All I could do was nod, and then everything went dark again.
Chapter 7
“Where do you keep your cheese grater?” Tom peered out at me from the kitchen. He was making me dinner, and the smell of tomatoes, garlic, and basil filled my apartment like some sort of Italian fog, making my mouth water.
I called from the couch, where he had insisted I “stay put” while he fixed supper, “There’s a can of grated cheese in the fridge.” My mother used the stuff that came in the green can. If it was good enough for her, it was good enough for me. And Tom.
“Honey, you won’t want to eat that crap once you taste Parmigiano-Reggiano, freshly grated.” He moved a few more steps into the living room, a wooden spoon in his hand. He even wore an apron someone had bought me long ago, which bore the legend, “Kiss the Cock.” Yes, you read that right.
He looked adorable. And I might just follow that apron’s instructions before our night together was through. I couldn’t imagine a tastier dessert recipe than those three words.
I guess I was a little distracted, because Tom stood over me, with an expectant look on his face and his hands on his hips. “Well?”
“Well what?” I laughed. Maybe the three glasses of red wine he had poured for me while he was cooking were not helping me to think clearly either.
“A grater?”
“Check in the cupboard next to the stove, on the left. I think there’s a box grater up there.”
“Thank you.” Tom leaned down to give me a quick kiss of gratitude, pressing on my chest as he did so.
“Ouch!” I cried, struggling away from him.
He stood quickly, back stiff. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. It’s been a couple of weeks, but it still hurts if you press on it.” I smiled to show him there was no real harm done, but my chest, from where I had been stabbed, still throbbed with the pressure from Tom’s hands and his leaning
his body weight against it.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just promise me you’ll still kiss me and hug me.”
Tom grinned, and for a moment, I failed to understand why he hadn’t impressed me on our single date, so many months ago. Now I was completely smitten. And—I thought—as he walked away, returning to the kitchen, he had a damn fine ass, like a little ledge pushing out his Levi’s.
He called over his shoulder, “You have absolutely no worries there.”
Cora passed him on his way back to the kitchen, her toenails clicking on the hardwood. She paused at the couch, judging the distance of the jump, hopped up, and settled in beside me. In moments, her eyes closed and she was snoring.
I leaned back into the couch and took a sip of wine. I swallowed it slowly, savoring its dark, almost smoky flavor with its hint of blackberry, and closed my eyes.
It had been two weeks since Jeffrey McDonald had tried to kill me in an alley running parallel to Clark Street. Jeffrey McDonald, the “Stranger Danger” killer, the one who had taken the lives of three of my gay brethren, who were not as lucky as I was. He was the killer with the hot body and the disarming smile. The murderer who preyed on the gay men he consorted with, but secretly hated, perhaps because deep inside of himself, he hated his desires toward his own sex.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and remembered how hot I had been for Jeffrey, how trustingly I had followed him into that alley. In my darkest moments and in my most fearsome nightmares, I played out how that night would have gone had not Tom followed us from the party, acting on equal parts jealousy, suspicion, and intuition.
I imagined, or dreamed, of him stabbing me, that alluring smile never wavering. Images of a spreading pool of blood disappearing into the bricks of the alley stayed with me. I thought of him walking away, wiping my blood from his hunting knife on that long black coat. I wondered if he would have felt some satisfaction. Would he have been happier? Would there have been some kind of release for him?
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