CopyCat

by Shannon West

  “You came back,” I said, rather unnecessarily.

  He must have thought so too, because he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I told you I would.”

  “I didn’t hear your car.”

  “I didn’t pull in your driveway—I parked in the street about a block away and walked down. I plan on staying here tonight to listen for your intruders. It’s better that no one notice you have company.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “And better that no one knows you’re fucking a suspect.”

  He looked at me sharply, but then shrugged again. “That too.”

  Smirking, I took his jacket from him and hung it up on the tree stand. “Do you want anything to drink?”

  “Maybe just a cola, if you have one. I need to stay awake tonight. I got a nap earlier, so I should be good to go.”

  Feeling nervous all of a sudden, I jammed my hands down in my pockets and rocked back on my heels a little. “So what do we do now?”

  “Just follow your normal routine. What time do you usually go to bed?”

  “I go upstairs to watch TV or whatever around this time, I guess. I don’t go to bed until maybe eleven or so.”

  “Okay, do what you need to do to get ready so we can go upstairs and turn out these lights down here. See if anything starts up later.”

  I nodded and started turning off lamps and getting ready to go upstairs. I had a routine I’d followed since my grandfather died. First I took any glasses or dishes to the sink to rinse them, then went back to straighten pillows and put away books and things. Everything has its place, Gavin. Shipshape is what we called it. Pick up after yourself and no one else has to do it.

  Connor Todd watched me with a little smile as I put things away and turned off the lights. Finally, I joined him at the foot of the stairs. “Okay, I can go up now.”

  He nodded and gestured for me to precede him up the stairs. When we got to my room, I was nervous all out of proportion. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in my room before, but I felt a little shy all of a sudden. I settled on the foot of the bed while he went over to my TV and started looking through my DVD collection. Actually, it had been Miguel’s gay porn collection and he kept part of it here to watch on the nights he stayed over. Looking through some of the titles and the lurid covers, Connor Todd raised one eyebrow at me. I raised my chin a little, sensing disapproval. It was okay to do it, but not to watch movies about it?

  “You can watch one if you like.”

  “No thanks,” he said, putting the top one back down. “Not anything I’d be interested in.”

  It was my turn to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Really? From what I remember, you could show those guys a thing or two.”

  He flushed darkly and ignored me, turning on a regular TV program and then sitting down in an armchair by the bed. He still had the remote, and was idly flipping channels, his face hard and unyielding.

  “Does it make you nervous to talk about being gay?”

  He gave me a sharp glance. “Why should it?”

  “Are you out, then?”

  “I don’t march in any parades, but yes, to my friends I am.”

  “But not to your family?” I persisted, focusing on what he’d said or maybe not said. “Your work?”

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  “Oh, so you can ask a lot of questions, but I can’t?”

  He shook his head, looking irritated, but I kept staring at him. “Not to my family, no. They’re all pretty conservative and wouldn’t—wouldn’t understand. As far as work goes, it’s none of their business, so long as it doesn’t affect my job.”

  I kept my regard on him, noticing that he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “But they would probably think our relationship would affect your job, right?”

  He scowled at me and tossed the remote on the bed. “Do we have a relationship I’m unaware of? We fucked a few times—that’s it.”

  I turned around quickly and stared at the TV. Some comedy was on with a loud laugh track. My chest felt tight and my breath seemed to catch in my throat. I felt a sting at the backs of my eyes, like just before I started to cry. I choked it back mercilessly. If any tears fell, I would have to kill myself.

  A friend of mine in my high school art class wrote a poem once when she and her on-again, off-again boyfriend broke up. I didn’t understand poetry—never had—it was full of a lot of context and what my teacher called metaphors that I simply didn’t get. I knew enough to know her poem wasn’t very good, even though one phrase in particular stood out, and I’d never forgotten it. Your words come at me like knives, and I feel my heart’s blood dripping down my chest. A gruesome image, but for the first time I had some idea of what she might have meant.

  “Thanks for clearing that up,” I said, trying to pretend like I didn’t care. “What was I thinking?”

  He blew out a breath and came over to sit beside me. He didn’t touch me, thankfully. If he had, I think I might have hit him.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly. “I’m sorry—it’s complicated, Gavin, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  I shrugged, feeling kind of brittle and stiff. “It’s not that complicated, Connor. I get it. Don’t worry about it. All I am is a good fuck, right? Or at least I hope I’m good. I do aim to please.”

  I felt him start to put his arm around me then, so I jumped to my feet. “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home.” I managed to walk to the bathroom when all I wanted to do was run and slam the door behind me like my teenaged friend who wrote the poem. Well, what had I expected, really? Of course, a man like Connor Todd couldn’t have an open relationship with another man, and especially someone like me.

  I locked the door behind me, stripped off my clothes, and adjusted the water in the shower. I let the water run extra hot to help thaw out the chill I was feeling, and I stayed in there a long time. By the time I got out, I was feeling a little better, more ready to face Connor Todd. Wrapping a big bath towel around my waist, I unlocked the door and went out, immediately feeling the hot blast of his eyes on me.

  I ignored him, or pretended to and went to my dresser to dig out some sweats. I usually slept in just my underwear, but not tonight. Behind me, I could hear my favorite DVD playing. So he had decided to watch my porn after all. I listened with half an ear to one of the scenes I liked, the one where the boy went to a bar and got picked up by the handsome stranger. The voice drifted over to me loud and clear. “I’m going to get fucked by somebody tonight. It might as well be you.”

  I whirled around in horror and found Connor Todd looking at me and shaking his head. “I always wondered about that line. It was one of the first things you ever said to me, and later I realized it didn’t even sound like something you’d normally say. Now I see why.”

  “I…uh…”

  He got up from the end of the bed and walked slowly toward me. Stopping in front of me, he tugged gently at my towel, glancing up in my eyes to give me a chance to stop him. When I stood there, frozen, he pulled at it and the towel dropped to puddle around my feet. “I can explain.”

  “You can?” He bent down and nuzzled his face against my neck and my knees went weak. I clutched his shoulders to steady myself.

  “Yes.” I was mortified to hear the breathlessness in my voice. “I—I can’t always think of clever things to say, you see. You know, when I first meet someone.” He wrapped one hand around my cock, not moving, just holding it gently, as his lips moved down my chest to land on one of my nipples. He dropped a kiss on first one and then the other before his tongue came out to circle one of the small nubs. My cock twitched in his hand, eager, apparently to get some of the attention my nipples were getting.

  “Go on,” he said. “You were explaining.”

  “Well, I…I watch a lot of movies and…oh…” His teeth had scraped against the tip of my nipple, and I was wondering if I could stay on my feet much longer. As if he could read my mind,
he turned me around and nudged me toward the bed. I stumbled backward a step or two, and he followed me, his mouth and hand never shifting even as he lowered me down with his other hand wrapped around my neck. He put one knee on the bed beside me and leaned over me, releasing my cock but really fastening on my poor nipple, sealing his mouth around it until I thought I might lose consciousness.

  When I moaned aloud, he pulled back and smiled down at me before blowing across the nub of flesh, sending a shiver down my spine. “Now here I was,” he said, “thinking you were all suave and sophisticated, even though you looked like an innocent angel that night.” He bent down to lick at the nipple again, as if he was afraid it needed his attention. “I was almost disappointed, because I thought you were probably someone who did that all the time—picking up a lot of men in bars.” He straightened up and began unbuckling his belt while he toed off his shoes. “I was even jealous, thinking of you screwing other men—even that first time, I didn’t like it one damn bit.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head and slipping down his pants and underwear all in one move, freeing that gorgeous cock of his. It was pointed at the ceiling, flushed a deep pink with just a pearly drop of pre cum glistening on the head. I leaned forward, wanting to taste it on my tongue, but he pushed me back down.

  “I still don’t like the idea of you with anybody but me.”

  “B-But you said…”

  “What I said was bullshit, and we both know it. I’m having a hard time with all of this, but I’m through taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, and I won’t do it again. Forgive me, baby?”

  “Yes.” I watched him as he pulled out a condom and the lube from the drawer beside him. He put the condom on and squeezed lube in his fingers. His movements were easy and natural, not hurrying at all. Looking down at my eyes, he pushed my legs back and began to move his fingers in a light circle around my hole, massaging the tight ring of muscle with a steady pressure.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anybody before, Gavin. I have feelings I don’t know what to do with. If you can give me some time…”

  I would have promised him anything right then, too desperate for more of his attention to think clearly. He smiled and pushed in one finger, working it in and out with slow, even strokes. My hips were moving without my conscious knowledge, and I was making sounds like a half-starved kitten. They embarrassed me so much I clamped down on my tongue, pressing my lips tightly together. I was able to stifle the sounds pretty well then until his finger crooked up and touched my prostate.

  “Answer me, sweetheart. Can you give me some time?”

  “Yes! Yes! Oh shit!” I yelled and groaned deep in my throat. He smiled and slipped in another finger to take its place alongside the first. I don’t remember much about what happened next, but I remember him teasing me with his fingers until I clenched my jaw and vowed not to scream. Finally, he pulled his fingers away and the tip of his big cock nudged against my hole. He sank into me then, and I rocked my hips upward, wanting more of everything, helplessly moaning because it felt so good.

  His grip on my legs tightened and his thrusts became harder, deeper. His hand closed around my cock again so I could thrust into it, the friction almost driving me out of my mind, but he slowed me down and matched my thrusts with his.

  He shifted his weight and changed his position just a bit, and his cock raked over my prostate, driving me seriously crazy. He bent lower and gave me a kiss that was downright filthy, not to mention sexy as hell. He thrust his tongue inside my mouth, making me accept it, take every sweet bit of it. I was feeling overloaded with sensation and couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t thrust hard enough. When the orgasm swept over me at last, its raging current almost drowned me with pleasure that was too much, too deep. I gasped for breath after I was able to breathe again and clung to him, wrapping my legs around him, my heels digging into his ass. He must have come at the same time, because he was breathing hard too, and I could feel his hot cum burning inside me.

  Finally I was able to let him go, and he got up to go to the bathroom and deal with the condom. He came back with a warm cloth and cleaned me tenderly, then collapsed on the bed beside me, wrapping me up in his arms. I buried my face in his neck, just breathing him in. I was dimly aware of him reaching for the remote with one hand and switching off the TV. Then I matched my breathing to his and drifted away in his arms.

  Chapter Five

  I dreamed about flying. Standing on the top of a mountain, poised at the edge of a cliff, I knew I was dreaming even in the middle of this one, because no way would I get that close to the edge of anything. I was too scared of heights—well, falling from heights, that is. Anyway, my grandfather was beside me and he was urging me, “Go ahead. Jump.”

  I turned to look at him like he was crazy, and he put a hand in the middle of my back and pushed. Not a hard push, but it was enough to make me stumble backward and suddenly realize there wasn’t anything beneath my feet. I flailed my arms and suddenly I was held aloft by what felt like the air currents below my feet. I reminded myself that it was all a dream anyway and turned in mid-air like an acrobat, falling back into an air current that cradled my body and held me up. Relaxing, I rode it down, soaring over the valley below. It was so peaceful and serene that when the first loud thump came from downstairs, I wasn’t just startled awake, I almost fell out of bed.

  I sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to decide if it really had been a real noise that woke me up or just my imagination—one of the auditory hallucinations Dr. Francis claimed I was having. Or maybe I was still dreaming. I felt for Connor Todd in the darkness, but the sheets were empty and cold beside me. Alarmed, I called out softly to him and turned on the lamp on the table beside the bed. There was no sign of him, either in the bedroom or the bathroom. I glanced over at the clock. Half past three in the morning—close enough to the devil’s hour to send a chill racing along my spine.

  Another sharp thump landed somewhere below me and this time I did fall out of bed in my haste to get up. I picked myself up off the floor and moved quickly to the dresser. Pulling out some sweatpants, I put them on and grabbed a t-shirt. I was surprised to find Connor Todd’s heavy flashlight still sitting on top of the dresser. I grabbed it and was gratified to feel its heavy weight in my hand.

  Then moving very quietly, not turning on the lights, I opened the door and peered out. There were no lights on downstairs as far as I could tell. From below in the darkness I could hear the tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the living room. It was so still and quiet, with that listening quality to the darkness again.

  Then I heard a sound that I easily identified. It was the sound of someone dragging a heavy object downstairs.

  I moved as fast and as silently as I could down the stairs, avoiding the ones I knew squeaked when you stepped on them. Still no sign of Connor Todd. I knew he hadn’t left—he said he’d stay awake listening for noises, and besides, he said he would stay all night. I knew he wouldn’t have gone back on his word.

  I moved as quietly as I could into the living room and stopped in the middle of it to listen again. Voices—very muffled and low, but definitely voices came from somewhere beyond this room. Straining to hear, I eased into the kitchen and heard another thump, this time from behind the wall. I stepped in something slightly wet as I crept around the kitchen so I risked turning on the flashlight to look down at it. A small patch of blood gleamed up at me from the floor.

  My heart stuttered, but I made myself step over it and follow the little trail of droplets. If the blood belonged to Connor Todd, I needed to find him right away. The thought of him lying somewhere hurt made my knees a little weak, but I pushed that aside and kept going. The droplets of blood ended abruptly at the paneled wall just inside my studio. Kneeling beside it, I felt carefully around the edges, searching for another little lever like the one upstairs in my closet. I found one on the bottom left hand side, up unde
r the molding as the other one had been.

  I pulled gently and again there was a subtle shifting in the dark as the panel swung open with a little click. Looking into a wall of darkness, I listened for at least a full minute, counting silently to myself. Still no sound at all, so I switched on the flashlight.

  I was looking into a narrow passage. I trained the flashlight upward and saw old wooden beams reaching up to the second floor. Long cobwebs floated gently from the beams, and the walls above me wore a coat of gray dust. Bringing the flashlight down further, I saw that the dust didn’t extend to the lower five feet or so, but wide streaks remained, as if the dust had been wiped away. On someone’s clothing as they passed through?

  It was cold inside the corridor, and I wanted nothing more than to turn away and go call for help, but I’d seen something else on the dusty floor—the little droplets of blood continued down the passage, along with a long smear of dirt. Something had been dragged through here, and recently. There was a confusion of dusty footprints on the floor as well, all leading off into pitch blackness.

  Taking a deep breath, I crawled inside and stood up. I turned my flashlight down the long passageway and moved off following the trail of blood. I followed the tunnel-like corridor for a long time, and it quickly became obvious these passageways wound all through the house. I came to a bend in the hall and saw a set of narrow steps leading up to the second floor. It all seemed very old, yet the wood had been replaced in places and pale new wood gleamed up from risers leading to the upper floors. Someone had patched them and not too long ago.

  Who had built this maze of passageways? It could only have been the original owner of the house, Sebastian Brooks, from the age of the thing. This house had to have been a significant part of the Underground Railroad in the area, and the abolitionist Brooks a major player.

  It quickly became obvious that someone had been using this long tunnel more recently. But who? My mind immediately went to the missing paintings. Had Miguel somehow discovered the passages and hidden the paintings here? It seemed farfetched, but it was possible. We’d spent a lot of time here in the old house while we were together, and though most of the time I was around somewhere, Miguel never went places with me or did anything so mundane as to push around a shopping cart.