by John Inman
When that thought hit him, Derek’s breath was almost stripped away. Another chill raged through him.
He slid his hand from the attic door and curled his fingers around the doorknob. His heart started hammering like crazy. Fear. He knew it well. Fear had become second nature to him now. Fear for his own life. Fear for Jamie’s. Fear for everything the two of them had only begun to share. Love. Each other. A future together.
Derek squeezed his eyes shut, focusing his attention, gathering his courage, summoning his strength.
Releasing the doorknob so it wouldn’t rattle, he pulled himself to his feet, biting back a groan. He had to get his head on straight before he attempted any sort of attack on Tommy. Otherwise he might get him and Jamie both killed.
He forced himself to stand there, slow down, breathe in, breathe out. He listened to the storm for a minute, let the damp night air flow over him. It felt good, that air. It refreshed him, as much as he could be refreshed.
Derek rolled his head around, trying to loosen up the muscles in his neck. Trying to get nimble enough to launch a rescue. Trying to think how best to go about it. And as he stood there thinking, pulling himself together, he listened to Tommy blathering on like a madman. He was screaming now. Furious. Derek could imagine him leaning over, bellowing in Jamie’s face. Spit flying. Threatening. Accusing. Terrifying.
Once again, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the doorknob.
Then the words coming through the door caught his attention. He leaned in closer, his ear to the door. Jerod. This time when he heard the name, he made a connection. Memories snapped into place with almost mechanical precision. A young face, a smooth, inexperienced body. Stolen moments driven by lust. An awkward ending to an affair that never should have started.
And suddenly Derek knew why he was here.
He knew why Tommy wanted to kill him. And why, perhaps, he thought he already had. Otherwise, Tommy would have finished him off back in that room. Left him bleeding alongside poor dead Oliver Banyon, stuffed inside that ridiculous chifforobe like forgotten luggage with a kitchen knife stuck in his throat.
He reached up and touched his injured head. The pillowcase was soaked, but still kept the blood that continued to seep from his wound from running into his eyes. He had certainly bled enough all over the floor back in that room for Tommy to think he was dead.
He shook thoughts of himself away and let his memory carry him back to another time. Remembering the boy Tommy was ranting about on the other side of the door. Recalling their brief love affair. Simply an extended bout of tricking, in Derek’s eyes. But to Jerod so much more. He had been handsome and young and troubled. Derek remembered how the young man wept when Derek ended their relationship. How Jerod had pleaded with Derek to love him.
And how Derek had turned his back and walked away. Damn near ran, in fact.
Months later, Derek heard the boy had committed suicide. He was so ashamed to think it might have been partly because of him, that he never mentioned Jerod to anyone. Not even Jamie knew.
Was that why the pictures inside the house were gone? Did Jerod grow up here? That must be it. Derek knew now how the others were connected to Jerod by what Tommy had been screaming about on the other side of this door. And while they might have all been involved with Jerod too, none of them knew about each other. Derek had never seen the old couple who owned the house. Oliver Banyon, Cleeta-Gayle Jones, and Mr. and Mrs. Jupp were all complete strangers to him. And none of them had ever seen each other, apparently, or someone would have said so. Removing the pictures with Jerod’s face in them cleverly kept them all in the dark as to why they had been brought to this place.
To be slaughtered.
And now Tommy thought he was down to his last victim. Jamie. Since he had nothing to fear from the rest of them, he was taking his time with this one. Taunting Jamie. Explaining it all to him. To Jamie. To the one person who never had anything to do with Jerod at all.
Derek knew, Derek knew, that if anything happened to Jamie it would be entirely his fault.
Derek’s trembling fingers tightened on the knob. Slowly, quietly, it began to turn.
JAMIE SCOOTED his ass an inch or two to the right. Not enough to capture Tommy’s attention, but enough to edge him closer to the baseball bat propped in the corner. It was about five feet away. He couldn’t just reach out and grab it. He’d have to stand. He’d have to lunge forward. And Jamie wasn’t entirely sure he had the strength to do that.
Then Tommy uttered Derek’s name, and the baseball bat was momentarily forgotten.
“Before Banyon, Jerod fell in love with your boyfriend. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.”
Jamie tried to think. He and Derek had both bedded lots of men, sometimes they even shared them. Not at the same time, of course, but individually. Had Tommy’s Jerod been one of those faceless tricks that every gay man has buried in his past, the kind of trick that might have been fun for a while but wasn’t memorable enough to survive the test of time?
“For a while,” Tommy said, his eyes mean, his voice sad, “when Jerod was just starting college in San Diego, he almost came to grips with his homosexuality. After he got away from the fuckers who raised him. He tried to live his life as he really was. He tried to be himself. He dated Derek for a while, but Derek broke his heart. Later he survived an affair with good old Ollie, the professor from hell. Or I should say he tried to survive it. But he never really did. Banyon was the last person Jerod tried to find happiness with. When it fell apart, he gave up. People who knew him told me. If I had known where he was living at the time, I might have helped him. But it was only after his death that I started digging around.”
“After his death…,” Jamie pondered, trying to understand. Trying to put the pieces together.
Anger ignited in Tommy’s eyes. “Yes! And nobody mourned him. Nobody cared. I was the only one. The only fucking one.”
“I—I’m sorry,” Jamie stammered, cowering in the face of Tommy’s rage. And cowering, too, under the constant onslaught of his own injuries, his own pain.
His broken finger throbbed endlessly now. The agony had become excruciating. Before waiting for Tommy to acknowledge what he said, before even taking the time to think about what he was going to do next, he gripped his finger in his good hand and snapped the broken bone into place. The pain was so exquisitely sharp, he screamed out. He swallowed bile and stared down at the finger. At least now it was sort of straight. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about the missing fingernail.
Tommy watched him like an entomologist studying a new kind of bug. There was a newfound respect burning briefly in his eyes. But there was a smirk on his face as well. “Maybe you’re not so faggoty after all. That took some guts.”
“Fuck you,” Jamie snarled, edging another millimeter closer to the bat in the corner. “Tell me about Derek. Tell me about Derek and your friend.”
But Tommy ignored the request. He eyed him coolly, then picked up his narrative where he’d left off.
“I was talking about the Jupps. Don’t interrupt me again.” The muscles in his jaws flexed, and a spot of spittle formed in the corner of his mouth.
Jesus, Jamie thought, he’s going rabid on me. This fucker’s really crazy.
Calmly, Tommy resumed his tale as if there had been no interruption at all.
“The Jupps weren’t exactly party people, so I lured them here under the pretense of work. I knew they’d be desperate to earn some money, since their finances had taken a hit lately, what with the old man’s prison sentence and all.”
He smiled down, waiting for Jamie to respond, so Jamie did. “The newspaper clipping.”
Tommy made a noise somewhere between a snarl and a gurgle of laughter. The hatred that suddenly flowered in his eyes made Jamie cower before it.
“Yes. The newspaper clipping. Old man Jupp spent two years in prison for operating a gay conversion clinic. I don’t know why his skinnyass wife didn’t do time too, but
she didn’t. Jerod went to them on his own, you see. They promised to cure him of his homosexual desires. Make him straight. Make him normal. After three months in their clutches, Jerod killed himself. He took a gun to his head and blew his brains out. And nobody cared! They didn’t even mention the name of the second suicide in the newspaper when Jupp was sentenced. Jerod was simply forgotten. Lost in the shuffle.”
Tommy was so furious, he was shaking. A rope of snot slid from his nose, dampening his upper lip. Tears of rage filled his eyes. His face was almost purple with anger.
“Two years!” he screamed. “That’s the sentence they gave old man Jupp. For beating two young men down so badly they couldn’t face living life another day, they gave him two lousy years.”
Jamie bit back his own sob. Even with his life hanging in the balance, the story of Jerod’s sad existence had touched him somehow. Still, he had his own safety to worry about now. His and Derek’s. For who else could be making those little noises outside the attic door? Derek wasn’t dead. Even if Tommy thought he was.
“And Derek,” he said, trying once again to draw Tommy’s attention away from those scurrying noises outside the door. “Tell me about him.”
Tommy turned his back on Jamie and strode toward the attic window, still clutching the pick in his hand. He stared out at the storm, at the gray of an approaching dawn peeping through the rain. While his attention was centered on the sky, Jamie edged closer to the bat in the corner.
Tommy’s voice wafted across the room, blending with the cries of the wind outside, the rumble of distant thunder. “Derek was just another man who broke Jerod’s heart. All those hurts were accumulating inside his head, I think. He fell in love with Derek, and Derek turned his back on him. Refused to even see him again. I heard about it from some of your friends, who don’t mind spilling their guts if somebody buys them a drink. Apparently you were the only one of Derek’s friends who didn’t know about it. Anyway, Jerod was running out of places to turn, of people to reach out to. After Derek, he gave himself to Banyon, who used him and threw him away. Jerod once again found himself alone.”
Jamie cleared his throat. He tucked his injured hand against his chest, trying to control the pain. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here. Like you said, I didn’t know Jerod. I never met him.”
Tommy turned from the window and stared back at him. A streak of lightning fizzed across the sky behind his head, illuminating the surprised expression on his face. Once again, a grumble of thunder stuttered through the air. The rain continued to lash across the window pane at Tommy’s back.
“Would Derek have come without you?” Tommy asked as if it was the simplest thing in the world to figure out. “Would he have left you behind for a long weekend? I don’t think so. I guess that leaves you as collateral damage, my friend, as they say in military circles. I needed you here, see. As bait. And maybe so you could do what you’re doing now. Provide me with the last person I can explain it all to.”
“To ease your own guilt,” Jamie said.
At that, Tommy faltered, but only for a second. “No,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “To clarify my motives. There was nothing else I could do, you see. Everyone who brought about Jerod’s death had to pay. Surely you understand that.”
Not waiting for an answer, Tommy turned again and pressed his face to the attic window, gazing out at the storm.
A strange thought suddenly entered Jamie’s head, yet he knew immediately it was the truth. He also knew that by saying it, he might hasten his own death. But it was worth the risk.
First, while Tommy was turned away, he inched closer to the baseball bat. It was so close now, he could almost reach out and touch it. One quick lunge and it would be his. But could he move fast enough? And would he still have the strength to wield it as a weapon?
“Look at me,” Jamie said, all but commanding. Tommy wheeled around, an inquisitive look on his face.
Jamie stared back, trying to act fearless. Trying to show he wasn’t afraid. He spoke loudly so Derek could hear his words on the other side of the attic door. If Derek was really there at all.
“You said you couldn’t find Jerod. You didn’t know where he was living. Not until after he died. That doesn’t explain why Jerod didn’t come searching for you. You said you were lovers. You said he meant everything to you before Jerod’s adopted parents sent him away. Why didn’t he try to find you? Why didn’t he run away from his life and come to you for help?”
Fire lit Tommy’s eyes, a fire as bright as the lightning flashing through the sky behind his head. He gripped the gardener’s pick so tightly his knuckles went white. Hatred flared in those burning eyes, but Jamie refused to cower beneath them this time. This time he faced the hate head-on.
He raised his voice, hoping his words would carry out onto the stairs. “It’s because he didn’t love you, isn’t it, Tommy? He didn’t care about you the way you cared about him. Did he?” Jamie leaned forward, matching Tommy’s hate with contempt of his own. Unshrinking. Refusing to back down. “Do you think he saw how insane you were even then? Huh, Tommy? Is that what you think happened? Did his folks really send him away because the two of you were having sex, or was it because they saw how crazy you were, the same as Jerod did? Which was it, Tommy? Explain it to me. If he loved you so much, why didn’t he come looking for you?”
A bolt of lightning struck the roof over their heads. The immediate clap of thunder was so loud that both Jamie and Tommy cowered beneath the blow. The dusty room was suddenly lit by fingers of orange flame that sprang to life, reaching through the latticework where the attic wall met the eaves above the window. The blast from the lightning shattered the glass. Wind swept in through the opening, fanning the flames the lightning ignited.
In the flickering orange light, at that very same moment, Jamie cried out, “Derek! Now!”
Praying he was right about Derek being there at all, Jamie lunged toward the bat. He deftly snatched it from against the wall as he rolled past. Hurling himself to his feet, he whirled to face Tommy before Tommy could take a single step in his direction.
With a scream of pure rage, Tommy ignored it all—the fire, the wind, the rain blowing in. The fucking baseball bat. He barreled across the room, the pick held high in his hand, his eyes and the blade of the tool aimed directly at Jamie’s heart.
In that same moment, as Tommy’s bellow of outrage flooded through the house, Jamie saw Derek batter his way through the attic door, the machete raised high above his head.
Derek tore into the room, his eyes as mad as Tommy’s. Tommy staggered in surprise, whirling to face the bloody figure barreling down on him from behind.
At that very moment, Jamie launched his own attack.
With a strength born of malice and his own madness, Tommy flung himself at them both.
DEREK CRASHED through the door and the first thing he saw was the flames eating into the corner of the ceiling. The storm was pouring through the broken window, and Jamie was clambering to his feet, a baseball bat clutched in his one good hand. Derek realized quickly that Jamie was injured, his other hand tucked away for safekeeping against his chest.
But the injury didn’t seem to slow him down much.
The moment Derek stormed inside, Jamie hurled himself forward, swinging the bat wildly, aiming for Tommy’s head, clearly intending to knock it right out of the park. Instead, the blow caught Tommy on the shoulder, but it caught him hard. Tommy roared in pain. With the pick still raised high in his other hand, he dove at Jamie like a wild animal focused on its prey, wailing out his fury as he lunged.
Derek ran forward to intercept Tommy’s attack. Sweeping the machete through the air before him, he felt the impact of the keen blade as it sliced easily through the knuckles of Tommy’s clenched fist. A look of horror crossed Tommy’s face when a sprinkle of something dropped to the floor at his feet. At the same moment, the pick tumbled from his hand and struck the floor behind him.
Tommy stumbled to a stop
and stared down in horror at the three bloody fingers scattered across the floor. He wailed in pain as the blood from his injured hand splattered across his face.
Derek was so shocked by what he had done, he almost tripped. He stumbled to a stop, letting the bloody machete fall to his side.
Jamie, however, saw the opening for what it was and, racing forward, swung the baseball bat one last time.
It struck Tommy above the left ear and sent him hurtling backward across the room. Tommy reached out blindly, grabbing the sill of the broken attic window with his bloody stump of a hand. Battered by wind and rain, he turned to glare at them one last time, a look of hurt and horror etched across his young face. A trail of blood leaked from his ear, staining the collar of his shirt. He clutched his mangled hand to his throat, the blood from it spilling out onto his chest. He gave his head a shake as if to clear it, and blood from his head wound spattered across the floor.
With an anguished cry of either pain or confusion, and before either Derek or Jamie could take a step to stop him, Tommy squeezed himself over the windowsill and hurled himself into the approaching dawn.
If he screamed at all as he fell three floors to the ground, the sound was lost in the cries of the storm.
Jamie and Derek, stunned, collapsed where they were standing. Only when they were seated on the floor and no longer had to worry about falling flat on their faces, did they lift their eyes to each other. Their smiles were weak and rattled, but they were there. Barely.
“I knew you’d come,” Jamie muttered.
“Always,” Derek answered.
And crawling, because that was all they had the strength to do, they met in the middle of the room. There, they clung to each other for far too short a time.
With his face buried in the heat of Jamie’s neck, Derek whispered, “I know how Tommy was planning to get away.”