by Hal Bodner
But of the ride itself and the route they took, no details would remain.
Deauxfines’s home was set apart from his neighbors at the end of a cul de sac in a part of town Jake never knew existed. The surrounding houses were small and weather worn, but well kept. Some of the wood siding showed signs of dry rot, but for the most part, the paint was maintained. Though the flowerbeds and window boxes overflowed with riots of vibrant hues, tendrils wildly snaking to the ground and overwhelming the picket garden borders, the lawns were all freshly mown and neatly trimmed. The colors of the houses were astonishing. Sky blue and deep guava pink, trimmed in buttercup yellow or deep orchid, shocking mint green and orange like the meat of ripe melons. Deep, lush scarlets and blazing whites so stark and blinding in intensity that even though twilight was beginning to fall, they made Jake want to close his eyes against the imagined reflection of tropical sunlight.
In contrast, Tyler’s house was plain, kept up just as nicely but painted a mundane dark reddish-brown, rich and warm, with a creamy beige trim around the windows and doors. Against the plumage of the homes on the rest of the street, Deauxfines’s place was as a bland, nondescript cygnet to a flock of fluffy yellow ducklings. The lawn was as crisp and neat but the flowerbeds held few colorful blooms. Instead, they were filled with a variety of unusual plants, spiky or puffy, which at first looked as if someone had devoted loving attention to a large plot of weeds. When Jake got out of the car, their strange perfume filled his nostrils and he recognized them for the rare spices and herbs they were.
The front door was imposing, painted such a dark and glossy brown that Jake initially thought it was black. Heavy wood planks were banded with large straps of iron; upon closer inspection a thin tracery of carving was revealed, part primitive picture and part composed of words from a language he did not recognize, the letters looping and flowery. Even the hinges, also of heavy iron, bore infinitesimal etchings of a similar script, lightly engraved into the rough metal. Surprisingly, the door was not locked. Tyler merely pushed it open. Jake looked at him askance.
“None would dare enter uninvited while I am gone,” was Tyler’s only explanation, and he motioned for Jake to proceed him inside.
When the door closed, they were engulfed in darkness, pitch black so deep Jake stood frozen in place so he wouldn’t collide with any furniture. Not even a prickle of light oozed past whatever heavy material shielded the windows from curious eyes. Then the scratch of a match and Tyler’s handsome face, wearing an intent expression, was awash in the dim glow. He touched the flame to a candle and muttered something under his breath. Jake put his hand on the door to brace himself as another wave of dizziness swelled through him. By the time the motes stopped dancing in front of his eyes, the room was aglow with dozens of candles. Strangely, Jake had not noticed Tyler lighting them even though he’d only been dizzy and definitely not unconscious. They seemed to have burst into flame of their own accord in tandem with Deauxfines’ putting the match to the first taper.
“We are safe from him now. He cannot hear us or observe.”
“Thanks. I lost sleep over that.”
Jake could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. This whole experience was beginning to move past the mildly unnerving to the point where he almost expected men with white straitjackets might be lurking in Tyler’s future—or worse, in his own. But Tyler could not repress a grin as he again read the thoughts in Jake’s mind, and his chuckle was reassuring. There was a good-natured, companionable quality to it, as if the two young men shared an old joke together, and Jake felt his burgeoning trepidation ebb away.
“Come,” Tyler commanded, stern again, and he opened a door leading deeper into the house.
“Uh-uh.” Jake folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “Not until I get some answers.”
Though he sensed he and Tyler had much in common, not only acquaintance with Mark Hartner but other things as well, and he had no doubt—and how he knew this baffled him—they shared a common purpose, he was wary. Tyler was a complete stranger and under ordinary circumstances, the oddity of their meeting and their arrival at the islander’s unusual home would have been off-putting enough to turn Jake right around and send him out the door again. Tyler wanted something from him. Hell, that wasn’t unusual. Most men who brought him home wanted something from him. But in Deauxfines’s case, Jake didn’t get a strong impression that sex was the goal. Oh, it was certainly one of the menu options; Tyler reeked of sensuality. But the aura of imminent sex took a back seat to something Jake could not yet put his finger on.
He looked around the room, taking in the strange decor without understanding it a bit. The walls were painted with spirals of color in weird patterns, interspersed with snippets of phrases in what looked like the same writing that covered the door. The furniture, while fairly normal looking, was sparse: a couch covered in a brown and white floral print, faded and showing wear on the arms; several upholstered chairs, all in shades of beige and brown without any two being from the same set; a small wooden dinette in one corner; a few tables, most of them holding an assortment of strange objects, carved icons and things that looked like taxidermy animal parts. The entirety of one wall was taken up by a huge wooden cabinet with hundreds of tiny drawers, each drawer bearing a hand-lettered label from which Jake was too far away to read. The top of the cabinet displayed more of the statues along with several photographs in flaking gilt frames.
The place was homey in an Addams Family kind of way. Oddly, though some of the objects and trinkets appeared to be quite expensive, and the expansive calligraphy on the walls must have cost a pretty penny, unless Tyler had done it himself, it was not the home of a particularly wealthy man.
Jake moved closer, intrigued by the picture on the mantel, and his hand reached out to take up one of them to better examine it: a smiling dark-skinned youth standing on some kind of dock or pier under a bright sunny sky, wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue cut-off shorts. Before he could touch it, he found his wrist caught in an uncomfortably tight grip. He turned to find Tyler’s expression had changed again. He couldn’t identify the emotion but it caused him to grow cold and a shiver of something unpleasant stirred at the base of his spine.
“You?” he stammered.
“My brother.” His voice was calm and level, holding no indication of the emotional turmoil on his face. “Gone now. Come. Come with me to where you must go and I will answer your questions. All of them.”
Jake’s eyes widened as his vision took in something hanging from the ceiling almost directly above Tyler’s head.
“Is that...an alligator?”
Tyler laughed, his white teeth flashing in the dark umber of his face. “All of your relevant questions, that is.”
“This is too weird.” Jake hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “We’re complete strangers and this place is...I’m just not comfortable and...”
Deauxfines seemed to take pity on him. Either that, or he was afraid Jake might bolt for the door.
“I confess that I am the one responsible for bringing Mark Hartner into your life. I make no apologies for that. I had my reasons which you will soon learn if you come with me.” He motioned to the open doorway. “In my blindness to my purpose, I did not realize he would... affect innocents. For that, I regret. Will you come now? Answers await.”
Jake took quick stock of the man before him. Although Tyler was much taller and sheathed with lean muscle, Jake was no slouch in the physique department. He figured as long as he kept on the alert for any monkey business, if things turned ugly or if any actual danger cropped up, he’d have a good chance of getting in a decent punch or two and escaping. Shrugging, he went into the hallway, making sure to stay conscious of how far Tyler walked behind him.
“There is another door at the end,” Tyler told him. “Open it and go down the stairs. I will be along.”
Jake moved past what he assumed must be bedrooms until he reached the plain wooden door. He examined it carefully and checked i
t for any visible way of it being locked to trap him inside. Once opened, it revealed a dark stairway lit by what he assumed was a pool of candlelight at the bottom. Still uneasy, but now curious, he began to descend while Tyler muttered in the rear and filled the space through which he’d just passed with a burning thatch of sage which Jake had not seen him light.
Before he reached the bottom, he heard the door shut and the click of an inside bolt. He frowned, wondering if he could smash through it without injuring himself too badly if he needed to flee. Tyler was capable of inspiring fear, there was no doubt about it, but Jake somehow knew any menace was not directed at him personally. The target seemed to be Mark Hartner. It wasn’t much comfort but Jake got the distinct impression that he was in no immediate danger.
That impression changed the moment he stepped off the last stair and moved into the candlelit basement room.
The walls were partially smoothed stone, mortared with tightly packed dirt, graced by unlit torches secured with more of the inscribed iron bands. The ceiling was earthen, held up by rough wooden beams and much higher overhead than he’d expected given the length of the stairway. There were manacles screwed into one wall, arm and leg restraints, oiled and shining, with more of the things dangling from chains secured to some of the wood pillars. The entire far end of the room was blocked by a grill of thick iron bars driven deeply into the floor and ceiling. It was a cage or cell and the open lock hanging from the hasp looked no less effective for its antiquity.
A small waist-high fireplace interrupted the side wall, with flames merrily burning and supplying the room’s illumination. Set on a bar above it, a concoction in a battered iron pot bubbled and released a thick overly sweet fragrance into the air. More of the little icons sat on the mantle, along with bottles of alcohol—Jake recognized some of the shapes—which had either had their contents replaced or merely had the labels peeled off.
In the center of the room, however, was the object which riveted his attention. It was a very large, low stone bench with thick leather cuffs attached to chains bolted into the four corners. It was big enough to hold a man, stretched out and spread eagled, and at the thought, Jake felt his stomach grow cold and he whirled to leave.
But Tyler Deauxfines blocked the way out.
“It is an altar, my friend,” Tyler told him. “Not a torture table.”
“Could have fooled me,” Jake muttered. He felt his forehead grow moist and his armpits dampen; his shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. Some of the perspiration was caused, no doubt, because the basement room was unaccountably hot. The nasty-looking equipment provided the other impulse for his sudden sweating.
Tyler captured his gaze, the dark mahogany brown eyes meeting Jake’s tropical blue ones and passing an order which Jake could not refuse to obey. For the second time that day, he found himself unable to muster the strength to move, even given his terrifying surroundings. This time he felt no menace in his plight.
“I will show you. Look.”
Tyler took up one of the leather cuffs and wrapped it around his own wrist, leaving the buckle and clasp hanging free. Yet even though the restraint seemed to be open, it had been secured. With a sharp twist of his hand, it sprang open and thumped down onto the bench.
“Velcro. Not very strong.” Tyler smiled. “What I do here is largely ceremonial.” Then, he seemed to reconsider what he’d said and amended it. “Well...largely, anyway.”
He approached Jake again and placed both of his hands on his shoulders. The paralysis vanished.
“There can be no sacrifice without willing participants, do you understand? You must agree to what I will do or I can accomplish nothing.”
“Sacrifice?” Now, Jake felt real fear.
Tyler burst out with laughter. “No, no, my friend. It is not that kind of sacrifice. There will be no hot irons or axes for the cutting off of heads. It is a spiritual ceremony, though there are physical parts of it that you may find mildly...unpleasant.”
He removed his hands from Jake’s shoulders, allowing his palms to linger and trace the muscle of his triceps with a light brush. Jake felt his skin tingle at the almost nonexistent contact, and when Tyler held him at the waist, his stomach fluttered and his groin grew heavy.
“Here.” The voodoo priest snatched two stools from the corner and placed them several feet apart next to the altar, taking a seat and motioning for Jake to join him.
Once Jake was perched facing him, Tyler smiled again and said, “I would offer you the hospitality of a drink.” He motioned to the bottles clustered above the mantel. “Rum is traditional but I fear you do not trust me enough yet.” He winked slowly and slyly, as if sharing a private joke between them. “I could have drugged it, no? So I could take advantage you and ravage your so beautiful body.”
Jake felt his face flush with warmth. When spoken aloud so casually, the thoughts that had been percolating in his mind seemed melodramatic and, in fact, downright silly. He was the huskier man. He was closest to the stairs. And when Tyler smiled like that, he seemed incapable of harming a fly—positively charming, actually. Jake’s dick perked up anew and he shifted on the hard stool to give it room to expand, half hoping Tyler noticed.
“You will excuse me?”
Tyler began unbuttoning his shirt. It was woven from some white gauzy material, not entirely opaque. While in the bar, Jake had been unable not to notice the way the translucent cloth billowed down from Tyler’s shoulders, alternately revealing and tantalizingly hiding the smooth, dark hard muscles beneath it. But now, in the humid heat of the basement, the fabric was plastered to Tyler’s skin, leaving very little to Jake’s imagination. Normally, he might have been nonplussed at the way Tyler was slowly and teasingly undoing the buttons, fiddling with each one, tugging it before letting it pop open to reveal bare flesh. But the mini-strip tease was turning him on and he longed to get a full view of what Tyler had to show underneath the garment.
Slowly, his chest was revealed, lean muscled, the rich coffee tone of his skin ruddy with the heat. Hairless, a velvet smoothness which Jake was urgent to reach out and stroke, his small nipples already hardened into little points which Jake wanted to enfold in his tongue to taste their warm spice. The flat stomach bore eight distinct plates of rippling muscle separated by deep indentations, as if chiseled by a master sculpture. The shirt hit the floor and in the flickering light, Tyler’s torso looked like a glistening stone effigy of some ancient fertility god, an island youth in the bloom of manhood, created by the universe for a single erotic purpose. Jake imagined him, naked and proud, in the center of a circle of worshipful young men, their mouths licking at his body, their hands grasping at his flesh, seeking to please him, to gain his favor and attract his manhood’s attention while he stood accepting his rightful due before making his choice of which lucky acolyte to grant his favors to.
“You can join me, if you wish. It’s hot in here, no?”
The words broke the spell of Jake’s momentary fantasy but, in spite of the incongruity of their surroundings, they seemed to make perfect sense. In the back of his mind, the mortuary assistant thought he might be in the throes of a mild hypnosis, but it didn’t seem to matter. He crossed his arms and grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, tugging it over his head and casting it aside, making sure to flex the muscles of his chest, shoulders, and back while he did so, hoping to arouse Tyler’s interest as much as his own was peaked.
“So beautiful,” Tyler muttered.
Jake hadn’t seen him rise, hadn’t seen him reach out until he felt Tyler’s index finger resting gently in the hollow of his throat. He shivered with delight as the taller man drew his finger down the center of his chest, sliding it through the sweat-dampened hair, across his solar plexus and the flat plane of his belly, lingering at the waistband of his jeans before removing it almost reluctantly. Tyler’s hands were suddenly massaging the remaining tension from his shoulders but he did not notice him move behind.
Jake moaned and pressed back, feeling Tyle
r’s hard, pulsing dick through the thin covering of his lightweight slacks against the center of his back, wanting to feel it lower, wanting it probing against the crack of his ass, penetrating him, connecting with a spot deep inside which would create indescribable pleasure. It would wipe away the stain left behind by Hartner’s brutal rape in the shower, cleansing him as the hot water and soap had failed to do, teaching him the delights of being sexually subservient to another man—delight which Jake had always denied himself in the past—allowing him for the first time to experience the pleasure Jake had so often granted to others.
Tyler’s hands roved forward, playing in the hair on Jake’s chest, fingers flicking lightly over his nipples and causing them to stiffen with hardened tips. He found his own hands gripping the seat of the stool, fingers digging into the rough wood as he fought the desire to stand up and turn so they stood, chest to naked chest. But just as the impulse seized him, he felt Tyler pressing down on his shoulders again to keep him in place and he abandoned the idea, at least for now.
“You saw the picture of my brother upstairs. My older brother by a year. His name was Theodore but we called him Tito.”
The words came to Jake as if through a fog, softly in the tone of a parent reading a bedtime story. But they held an undercurrent of something not very conducive to sending a youngster off to sleep: anger and an emotion which was darker and even more powerful.
“I came to your country...after. Tito and I were children of the islands. We lived in a fine house, not impressive by your standards but it was large and made of wood and not just mud brick dried in the sun. We shared it with our mother and father, our grandparents, and their parents.” Jake could hear the wistful smile in Tyler’s voice. “We are normally a very long-lived people, you see.”
He moved around to Jake’s front and as he continued speaking, he began to tug on the drawstring holding his slacks closed. Jake made to rise and attack his own zipper, but Tyler stopped him.