Into The Light

by Wolfe, H. M.

  The scheme was pretty simple. With the help of his son Carter, Isaac Williamson picked his victims from the rich folks who only had one, troubled, under-aged child. He convinced the client to sign guardianship of their only heir to him. Within a year, the client died, and the orphan became Carter's patient.

  The psychiatrist messed with the kid's mind, making them sign a will in his or his father's favor, then he got rid of them one way or another. Everything was going smoothly until Elliott Spellmann happened.

  CHAPTER 12

  "There's no point in crying over spilled milk," Isaac Williamson said, patting the spot next to him, inviting his son to take a seat on the comfortable leather couch. "Now, relax and tell me how things are going with the Spellmann brat. That has already taken too long."

  "Don't worry, father, he will be dead sooner than you think," Carter's answer came in an assuring voice. "The little whiner won't see it coming. His mind is already so messed up that, when he finally decides to end his miserable life, no one will be surprised."

  The Boston lawyer smiled ferociously. "That is exactly, what I needed to hear, after all the bad news. Would you be so kind and share with your old father?"

  "Of course, it would be my pleasure, as always. You see, when you sent Spellmann here to New York, to work at your law school friend's firm, I was confused and disappointed by your decision. I have to confess I thought you had developed a soft spot for that pathetic, form of life. Pretty soon, I realized how wrong I was," Carter sounded genuinely repentant.

  ”When was that?” Williamson asked, satisfied that someone as brilliant as his son recognized the superiority of his intellect.

  "Well, Spellmann came out to you when he was fifteen, and Mister Weldon's law office shows zero tolerance to the employees having a deviant sexual orientation. A little too conservative for my tastes, but this exaggeration serves our purpose excellently." It was Carter's turn to harbor a satisfied smile.

  Williamson rubbed his hands together, in a gesture of evil satisfaction. "Working in an intolerant environment would put extra pressure on Spellmann's shoulders, and he will eventually give up. Brilliant!"

  "Thank you, father, I don't deserve your praise," Carter said, slightly dipping his head. "Things will happen just as you described. More than that, the whiner's only friend is another gay guy in a similar situation. Of course, there's also the stupid bitch he took in, but how could the stray help him?"

  The Boston lawyer had a thoughtful look. "There is something you didn't take into consideration, son. You didn't manage to completely break him then, what makes you think you will succeed now?"

  Carter cleared his throat, visibly embarrassed, knowing his father was right. No matter how much he played with the kid's mind, how harsh the punishments implemented on him were or how hard and far the brat was pushed, he didn't give up. At some point, his personality split, and, instead of leading to his destruction, this helped Elliott to survive.

  By day, he was a brilliant student who had graduated Harvard Law School at the incredible age of eighteen, the one who was admired by his fellow students and professors alike. When the sun set, however, Elliott was the helpless victim of his therapist, suffering unspeakable horrors at Carter's hands.

  Somehow, no matter how badly they beat him, the teen managed to pick up the pieces, stick them together and continued to play the charade, deceiving everyone. He kept quiet about the psychological and physical abuse to the point that he didn't even inform his lawyer. In his naivety, Elliott saw him as a father figure, and he didn't want to upset the attorney by telling him about Carter and his cruel ways.

  "Maybe I didn't succeed in breaking Spellmann back then, but that was because I was stubborn and didn't take a partner to help me."

  Suddenly, Isaac Williamson wasn't so sure his son was as intelligent as he thought he was. "Why the hell would you need help with breaking that pathetic excuse of a human being down? Involving an outsider in our business would...”

  "With all due respect, father," Carter abruptly interrupted the older man's furious tirade, "you sent Spellmann to New York because the police were starting to get nosy. We wouldn't want that to happen again, would we? Involving someone else means getting ourselves the perfect scapegoat,” a sly smile formed on Carter's lips as he spoke.

  "You know what, son? Now I regret that I didn't twist your arm into studying law, instead of leaving you to choose your future career. You would have been a hell of a good lawyer. Now, tell me, please, I want to know everything," the Boston lawyer rubbed his hands together once more.

  ”Well, there is this guy, Richard Benard. He is the nephew of Mister Weldon’s wife. As a lawyer, he has zero competence or inclinations, but because he likes the finest things in life, the dude is considered perfect as the office’s image. Being the privileged asshole he is, Benard hasn't any enemies, but he can't stand Spellmann and the other closeted gay lawyer.”

  ”And? How exactly did you use that to our advantage? What did you make him do?" Williamson asked, curiosity filling his voice.

  "In exchange for a considerable amount of money, I gave him some notes in my handwriting, to sneak them under our client's door. It will make him lose what little sanity he still has." Carter's eyes sparked of evilness as he pictured a terrified, devastated Elliott.

  "So long, Spellmann," the Boston lawyer gleefully exclaimed."It is about time we get rid of him. It's taken too long already. Plus, everything went wrong from the beginning, because of that madman's interference in our plan."

  Initially, Williamson recalled, letting out a long, frustrated sigh, Jacob Spellmann and his wife were supposed to die in a car accident, when Elliott would have been around fourteen years old. But the twisted-minded scientist decided he wanted the boy as a lab rat for his crazy experiments, and everything went down the drain.

  It took two years for the lawyer and his not-so-respectable friends to track down the facility and get the kid out of there. His state of mind was very fragile, but he proved to be tougher than Williamson and Carter estimated. The lawyer dismissed any thoughts of Elliott, turning once again to his son.

  "Enough of this! Tell me about the new case. I want to know every little detail."

  "My current project's name is Ezra; he's almost 19, the only son of a respectable, wealthy woman named Selma Redmayne. No matter how hard I tried, I managed to find only a little bit about the father. All I have is that he left his wife when the boy was two and that he made Ezra the only beneficiary of his will."

  "Did you meet the target yet? What is he like?" Williamson already could smell the blood to be shed, so he could get his hands on even more money.

  ”Well, he is a little different than the other ones, that’s for sure,” Carter replied, a thoughtful look in his eyes. ”Of course, little Ezra is as sweet as can be and head over heels in love with me, but there’s something about him that bothers me a lot.”

  ”What do you mean by that?” Williamson frowned.

  "I don't know, sometimes the kid has a strange spark in his eyes as if he's warning me not to mess with him. Speaking of those eyes… sometimes, they give me chills down my spine." After staying silent for a few seconds, Carter spoke again. "I just had an idea. I think I know how to break little Ezra's mind and body." A cruel, twisted rictus formed on the psychiatrist’s lips as he spoke.

  "There's my son, that's how I like to see you," the Boston estate planning lawyer said, lightly clapping his hands. "Go, bring them down, show them what you're made of," he continued, clapping Carter on his back.

  "I will do that, and even more, father. Soon, that brat will be dead, and the Spellmann fortune will be finally ours to enjoy.

  **********

  Elliott lay in bed, completely relaxed, smiling weakly. For the first time in months, he didn't dread going to work on Monday. It wasn't anything wrong with the job itself. It was the way everyone looked at him that bothered the young lawyer. Although he stayed as deep in the closet as he could, Elliott was almost sure
that at least four people suspected he was gay.

  One of them was Mister Somerset's primary assistant, Gloria, who he was sure would never betray his secret. The other two were his co-workers, but, besides some innuendos here and there, they didn't express a particular interest in Elliott's private life. But there was also Richard Benard, the man who hated his and Mallory's guts.

  Because he was related to one of the senior partners, the man had a nasty attitude, treating everybody, except the big bad bosses, like dirt. Every Monday morning, Benard asked Elliott who took him to bed over the weekend, what gay club he frequented and so on. It was like a ritual for the man, who enjoyed seeing the desperate expression of his victim. The pleading look in the young man's eyes.

  Well, not anymore. This morning, Benard would be in for a big surprise, because he would meet an entirely different Elliott. One who would not try to hide away, hoping in vain that he could avoid his tormentor. Of course, he will try to figure out why the target of his bullying would be so unresponsive to the teasing and taunting, but he would never find the answer to that.

  Because it was not a what, but a who, Eugene Brentano, the man Elliott attempted to kick out of his life four days earlier, had come back and taken his heart away with his soft voice, gentlemanly manners and the concerned expression he harbored every time he looked at the blond lawyer.

  But the thing that swept Elliott off of his feet, making him fall into Eugene's open arms was the ferocious determination in the man’s voice when he spoke to Christine and Mallory in the kitchen. "I would kill and bury with my own two hands anyone who even thinks about harming him," Eugene said then, his words freeing Elliott from the chains holding him prisoner.

  Later, after dinner, the two of them had an in-depth, long talk about what each of them wanted from an eventual relationship and how they pictured the future as a couple. What they could have, if Elliott would agree to it, was not something for everyone, Eugene warned him.

  First, they would have to trust each other, to be completely honest with one another. At this point, the blond instinctively started to shiver, memories of his past, with Carter, resurfacing brutally and pulling him under, assaulting his mind, suffocating him. Eugene didn't yell at Elliott to stop faking it. He didn't hit or punish him in any other way.

  Instead, the man took the young lawyer in his strong arms, carrying him upstairs to his room, where he gently placed the blond on the bed, in a sitting position, and started to massage his shoulders. Under Eugene's skillful hands, the muscles in his back, and shoulders began to de-stress, Elliott gradually relaxing.

  Then there was the note. The white piece of paper on the corner of the dresser, same shape and size as ever. So insignificant, so easy to ignore. As simple as it looked, it was the source of the blond's nightmares for over six months. More specific, the words it contained were the ones that kept him awake almost every night and brought back memories of a horrible past.

  Elliott closed his eyes, praying for the note to be ignored by Eugene, but that didn't happen. The older man noticed the square piece of paper that hadn't there moments earlier. Went straight to it, picking it up. When he read the words written there, Brentano took a seat next to the blond, without saying anything.

  Elliott froze on the spot, seeing the redness creeping up the man's face, and his eyes narrowing, the tell-tale signs of an incoming wave of rage. He started to shake uncontrollably, scurrying away from Eugene's touch.

  "Babe, don't do this to me, don't push me away, please!" the older male implored, his eyes filled with pain and concern. "The last thing I want is to hurt you," he continued, tentatively touching Elliott's cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  "I am so sorry you had to see this, it's not going to happen again. You won't see something like that again, I swear, I..."

  "Who wrote this? Who plays these dirty mind games with you? I want the name of the motherfucker who messes with someone so precious to me," Eugene spoke, gently but firmly.

  "It's Carter. Carter Williamson, my…former therapist and…" Elliott was unable to continue, hanging his head low in shame. "He never loved me, I… I can't speak about this."

  ”This Carter bastard… is he here, in New York? Is he from the city?” the older man continued to ask questions in the same soft voice from earlier.

  Inhaling sharply, Elliott raised his head, looking straight into Eugene's eyes. "He lives in Boston, is one of the most reputable psychiatrists there. His father...Carter is the son of my lawyer, Isaac Williamson, who doesn't know anything about what his son did to me."

  "Do you believe you are ugly, worthless and a filthy, stupid, little whore? Because I don't believe that. I will show you right here and now how much I value you."

  With those words, Eugene started to slowly, carefully undress Elliott, leaving him in only his briefs. Then, he began to kiss the blond all over his face, descending to his neck, chest, hands, and finally to his legs. Lowering his head, the Detroit Mafia boss slightly parted the young lawyer's legs, kissing his inner thighs.

  Feeling Eugene's warm breath fanning against his skin, Elliott started to let out moans of pleasure, arching his back, begging for more attention. When the young Brentano raised his head, casting the blond a questioning look, he answered with a whimper, wrapping his arms around the other man's neck and offering his mouth for Eugene to take in a passionate, heated, savage, sweet, never-ending kiss.

  Eugene's heart hammered in his chest, so hard that, for a moment, he was afraid it would break his ribcage, bursting out of it. He broke from the kiss, then drew a much-needed breath of air as he admired the young man spread on the bed for only him. Elliot was his to worship and posses. Without realizing it, Elliott took the first step in surrendering control to Eugene.

  "My beautiful one, you don't know how hard it is for me right now to control myself, to hold back my lust, to put a stop to the urge of taking you. I want to mark you as mine. But I have to do it, for your good… and mine," Eugene spoke, lightly touching the blond's chest with the tips of his fingers.

  "I…I understand, I do," Elliott whispered, his chest constricting in pain. "Thank you for your honesty and… for all the rest. It was good, I only wished it… never mind."

  "No, babe, you don't understand, what you think is not true at all. I'm only trying to tell you this is not the right time for us to be together, not while you're still haunted by a past I can't do anything to shelter you from." Eugene's voice was sincere, his eyes filled with adoration.

  Elliott jolted awake suddenly, then smiled at the fresh memories of him and the man who, in such a short time, had become so important to him. Stretching lazily under the warm blankets, he stalled a few more minutes in bed. He then went to the bathroom and started to perform his morning ritual. Half an hour later, the blond was dressed entirely, suit, tie, and everything. He then headed downstairs to eat breakfast.

  Halfway through his plate, Elliott was interrupted by the beeping of his phone. He smiled, seeing that was Mallory calling, most likely to check if there was still something left for him to eat.

  "Hello, early bird!" the blond was the first to speak. "Christine set a plate aside. You better come before it gets cold."

  "Good morning, Spellmann, I never say no to a breakfast cooked by my lovely girlfriend. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for the car. It's all I wanted and more."

  "What car?" Elliott frowned, although he was aware Mallory couldn't see him.

  "The one you… wait a minute, are you saying that it wasn't from you?"

  "No, I didn't buy you a car, new or otherwise."

  ”OK, then, I’m on my way to your place.”

  Twenty minutes and several whistles of admiration later, the two young men were on their way to Weldon, Somerset &Associates, trying to solve the mystery of Mallory's new car. After parking in the spot reserved for the junior partner of the firm, both lawyers headed to the reception area, noticing the discreet signs Miss Gloria was making in their direction.

  ”Good mo
rning, Miss, you look gorgeous as ever,” Elliott gave her a bright, sincere smile.

  "Look who's talking, Mr. Handsome! You look better than ever, my boy. They must be exceptional", the woman smiled back.

  "Yes, he is," the blond blurted out, not realizing what he was saying.

  ”You look good too, Mallory, baby,” the receptionist-assistant said, after checking the other young man. ”Now, move your pretty little asses into Mr. Somerset's office. Alastair Stark arrived two minutes ago. They are waiting for you two," she added in a conspiring voice.

  After knocking on the door two times in a row, Elliott and Mallory heard Somerset's voice telling them to come in and take a seat. The young men entered and sat, but, instead of relaxing, Mallory froze on the spot. In front of him, staring into his eyes, was the charming, much older redhead who’d stolen his heart a few weeks earlier.