Henry's End

by Julie Richman

  With a reassuring smile, Schooner was off, heading down the steep wooden staircase toward the patio. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he whispered, “Showtime,” to himself.

  Moving through the crowd with a slow grace, the athletic blonde was getting his fair share of double-takes as he scanned the crowd looking for his target. Out of his pants pocket, he pulled a small disposable camera and took a few random shots of the packed club.

  With the bar straight ahead, he continued to move in that direction, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark indoor space, he was pleased to find the Marine bellied up to the bar. Snapping a few more shots, this time clearly of Cody as he approached, he put the camera back into his pocket and made his way up to the bar, where he stood right next to his target.

  “Is that a bottle of Glenfiddich 18 year old I see on the back shelf?” Schooner asked the blue-eyed bartender with the Merlin tattoo.

  “It sure is.” The bartender was impressed.

  “I’ll take a double. Straight up.”

  “Now, that’s a man’s drink,” the Husky-eyed guy standing next to him commented.

  Schooner turned, making eye contact, “Yeah, well, it’s my drink,” and tossed back the single malt scotch.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” Cody commented.

  “It’s not a place that I usually come. But it happens to be a favorite spot of a friend of mine,” he paused. “Although he hasn’t been here in a few weeks.”

  “Too bad your friend didn’t bring you here before,” Cody was starting to flirt.

  Just on the other side of the bar, Ryan was watching Cody flirt with the incredibly handsome blonde and wondered if he and Henry had broken up. With the way the big Marine was eyeing the equally built guy, Ryan assumed the two were no longer together and wondered if that was why he hadn’t seen Henry all month.

  Ignoring the Marine, Schooner turned to Ryan, “Do you guys have interaction with the management and staff of other clubs around town?”

  “Gay clubs?” Ryan clarified.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, we do. We kind of have a reciprocal policy as far as no cover charges for staff and usually the bar managers stay in touch, especially if there’s been problems around town.”

  “Oh interesting. So if there were someone that they wanted to warn their staff to keep an eye out for, that info would get shared?”

  Leaning with his elbows on the bar, chin in hand, Ryan corroborated Schooner’s supposition. “Oh absolutely, that’s totally critical in keeping both our patrons and community safe.

  Nodding his head, Schooner reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a disposable camera, handing it across the bar to Ryan. “Good. Then you’ll probably want this.”

  “What’s on there?” The Marine was suddenly interested in their conversation.

  Ignoring him and focusing on Ryan, “You may want to share the photos on there with the other bars.”

  The bartender looked at him quizzically and Schooner continued, “Dude’s a closet-case fucking homophobe who landed a buddy of mine in the hospital seriously injured after he beat the shit out of him for being, as he put it, a ‘fucking fag’.” Schooner turned to the Marine, his voice dripping with venom, “Sound familiar, asshole?”

  Caught off-guard, it took but only a second for Cody to recover, his face hardening, shoulders falling back, taking him to his full height, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, just like you didn’t know you had a wife and kids.” Inches from him, Schooner’s chest was nearly grazing his opponent’s. “Henry’s mistake was trusting you.”

  “Henry?” Ryan’s voice was filled with shock. He stood paralyzed for a moment and then looked down the bar, signaling something to one of the other bartenders.

  “He sent you to fight his battles?”

  “Listen, you douchebag coward, I don’t need to lay a hand on you to fuck you up.”

  “You think you can fuck me up?” with a raised voice he chest-bumped Schooner who didn’t budge.

  “I already have, you moron,” laughing, Schooner just smiled calmly in his face.

  Inches from his target, Cody’s eyes narrowed, taking in Schooner and making a final assessment on the best way to take down the other man who held his eye contact steadfastly. This was going to be exactly the kind of fight Cody loved, knowing his training would give him the edge to do some serious damage to his opponent.

  Security at The Hole could easily be mistaken for either Hell’s Angels or members of ZZ Top. Schooner watched as they descended upon the Marine from behind, each grabbing an arm, the element of surprise immediately registering on Cody’s face.

  “Time for you to leave, scumbag,” a raspy-voiced bouncer yanked Cody away from the bar as they started to drag him toward the patio and the establishment’s exit.

  “Hey Asshole,” Schooner yelled out and the security detail stopped.

  Sneering, Cody looked back at Schooner, vendetta raging from his intense blue eyes.

  Lifting his scotch glass, which he was thrilled to find Ryan had wisely refilled, he tipped it to Cody, “Enjoy your new hell hole in Baghdad, douchebag,” and with a smile, he threw back his scotch and turned back to the bar.

  “Grab a glass for yourself,” Schooner offered and Ryan quickly filled a second glass. Clinking glasses, “To banishing scum.”

  “How is Henry?” Ryan was concerned.

  “Healing. At least externally.” Schooner’s concern matched the bartenders.

  “I guess I should let the other bars know.” Ryan lifted the disposable camera.

  “I don’t think he’ll be around long enough. That fucker has no clue how quickly he’s about to be deployed.”

  “You weren’t kidding about Baghdad?” Ryan’s voice registered shock as he poured himself and Schooner another drink.

  With a slow handsome smile, Schooner shook his head, “No. I took the pictures just to fuck with him. Extra insurance. My family is very fond of Henry. They’ve known him a long time and couldn’t believe what that animal did to him. My dad has some pretty influential contacts and he made some well-placed calls.”

  “He peeled out of here like a bat out of hell,” Edwin was upon them. “He was pissed.”

  “Edwin, this is Ryan. Ryan, Edwin is a good friend of Henry’s.”

  Pulling out another rocks glass, “So nice to meet you.”

  “Put that thing away,” Edwin gestured to the glass. “I want a pitcher of something yummy and I want a pink straw.”

  Laughing, “Of course you get a pink straw, handsome. I wouldn’t dream of anything else.” Ryan smiled at Henry’s older friend.

  He could feel him slip into the cool crisp sheets and spoon him, his long, muscled body fitting perfectly to his length, but he was too tired to roll over and even acknowledge his presence. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in so long and his entire body ached with fatigue.

  The soft kiss on his shoulder brought a smile to his face. He loved how tender he could be.

  “How are you feeling,” his voice a seductive breath.

  “I’m ok. Tired, but ok.”

  “I worry about you. You know that, don’t you?”

  He just shrugged.

  “I worried about you the whole time I was away. Worried you wouldn’t love me anymore when I got back. Worried I’d die in the middle of that squalid war zone and no one would tell you that I was dead. Really, I worried about that. I was so afraid if that happened that you would think it was my choice not to come back to you.”

  “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “All I thought about over there was coming back to you. This. Right now. Feeling you next to me. What it feels like to be inside you. That’s what kept me going when I was on missions and nights when it got really bad.”

  He felt his hand snake around to the front of him. His flat palm sliding smoothly over his hip bone toward his groin.

  “You got so thin while I w
as away. You really need to take better care of yourself.”

  His hand was now encircling his cock and as much as he didn’t want to get hard for him, his damn penis had a mind of its own. As he started to stroke him, he hardened, saluting the captain.

  “Yes, this is how I know how much you missed me, how much you still want me. You never could resist my touch and I love how you are a slave to it. No matter what. A slave to me. You’ve been my slave since that day we met. Do you know how much I love that?”

  Love that? Is he serious?

  His grasp tightened on his cock.

  “Ouch. That hurts.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” His grip remained firm.

  “Yes. I know how much you love that I’m a slave to you.”

  “Good.” He continued to squeeze.

  “You’re hurting me.” The pleasurable pain had crossed the threshold to agony.

  “Oh, don’t be such a fag, Henry. You know what it’s like when I really hurt you.”

  “Please stop. I’m so tired. Please just let me sleep. I need to sleep.”

  “You’ll sleep when I let you,” he hissed.

  He could hear himself scream as his hair was yanked by the roots and his head slammed into the wooden headboard. One time. Two times. Three times.

  It was the same every night.

  Drenched in sweat, he shivered as his tee-shirt clung to cold, clammy skin. With his stomach cramping and that God awful headache, he put his head in his hands and pressed the sides of his skull with the heels of his palms, silently begging for the pain to stop.

  With a sigh, Henry turned on the light and reached for the bottle of painkillers. He sat there for a moment, after swallowing the acrid tasting pill, trying to slow his breathing. Opening the drawer of his nightstand, he withdrew his PalmPilot and scrolled down to the calendar function.

  Putting an X on the date, he added the consecutive number. 127. Tonight was 127. No wonder he was so exhausted. Night 127 of the nightmare. It altered a little, but generally remained the same. And the aftereffects never wavered.

  The dream was like a prophecy.

  “You’ll sleep when I let you sleep.”

  Henry was quickly losing hope that he’d ever let him sleep again.

  It had been almost six months since the attack and with Edwin’s help, he was getting out of his apartment every day and finally driving again. At first, it had been a walk up the block for basic necessities and then the five block trek to his therapist’s office. Eventually they began including coffee shops and book stores in their journeys, places where Henry could relax without constantly looking over his shoulder.

  “I told Schooner about the nightmares,” Edwin blew out the smoke from his Galoises, as he picked up his latte.

  Shaking his head, an “ugh” sound escaped. “Is that why he wants me to come meet him at his Carlsbad facility? Is it some kind of intervention?” Henry’s friend had opened one of his Level Nine, or L9 as they had become known, fitness and entertainment complexes in Carlsbad the year before. It was his most southern location and people were actually driving up from San Diego to join the famed facility and say they were L9 members.

  Rolling his eyes, “No, I don’t think so. Maybe he just wants to get your tight little ass in the steam room and have his way with you, with what I imagine, and I imagine nightly,” his smile bordered on sinister, “to be one formidable cock.”

  “Why’d you tell him about the nightmares?” Henry was picking at the crumbs of his cranberry-orange scone.

  “Because I’m worried about you and I know he is, too. We want you to get your life back on track, the way it was before.” Henry was still on medical leave from his very understanding company, “And I just wanted to hear his voice and touch myself.” Edwin puckered his lips and blew Henry a kiss.

  “You are a lecherous old thing,” Henry laughed, his face relaxing, and the handsome boy Edwin once knew, a boy he no longer saw often enough, was again sitting across the table from him.

  “It’ll do me good to take the drive,” Henry acquiesced, “and I guess work out. It’s going to be painful. I haven’t been on a treadmill in over six months.”

  “Well I’ll let you see your friend alone this time,” Edwin pointed his cigarette at Henry, “but next time I’m coming with you, and if I’m really lucky, coming with him,” he finished with a shimmy of his shoulders.

  Only Schooner, Henry was smiling as he walked into L9/Carlsbad. He’d been to two other L9 locations, but this was his first visit to this one. Just walking through the parking lot toward the entrance he could already envision the space into which he was about to walk. And his first step through the door did not disappoint.

  The two-plus story ultra-modern glass and steel structure resided on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The unobstructed 180° view was breathtaking and inspiring. Halting a foot within the entrance, Henry stood mesmerized. Beyond the main fitness facility with its SkyTrack, was an infinity pool that rivaled the landscape of a five-star resort. Beyond it, ocean and sky stretched to true infinity.

  Only Schooner. Henry realized he was smiling, feeling a pride for his friend that one can only feel for those they love deeply. A man that half of southern California thought they knew, yet who was truly known by very few, camouflaged by the perfect mask.

  “Can I help you,” the perky blonde behind the desk asked, sharing a warm smile.

  “Yeah, hi,” Henry was brought out of his reverie. “I’m Henry Clark, I’m here to see Schooner.”

  Her smile brightened even more, “Yes, he’s expecting you. Let me page him.”

  He appeared out of nowhere, and as Henry watched the big blonde cross the facility toward him with a lithe grace that used to dominate southern California tennis courts, he knew that his smile matched his friend’s. They enveloped one another in a warm hug that caused staff to turn to see who their boss was greeting so intensely.

  It had been nearly a month since they had seen one another, the longest they’d gone since the attack. Henry felt an immediate purge of stress, just seeing Schooner.

  “You’re looking great, except for those circles under your eyes, but I think those surgeons might have made you too pretty,” Schooner kidded.

  “Afraid of the competition?”

  Laughing, “Bring it on.” He slung a muscled arm over Henry’s shoulder.

  “So I understand Edwin had a little chat with you.” Henry broached the subject first, so as not to be blindsided by his friend.

  “Yeah,” Schooner nodded his head, “that’s pretty alarming, H.”

  “Tell me about it. My nights are hell.”

  Stopping in front of the glass wall overlooking the ocean at the far end of the club, Schooner turned to Henry, his face serious, his blue eyes almost stormy, “You are letting him continue to steal your life and that is what I don’t like, H. Stop giving him the power. The asshole is in a shithole in the Gulf and he’s never coming back to sunny, warm southern California. I can guarantee you that. So, take the power back.” He gave Henry’s shoulder a squeeze.

  “I wish I knew how. I’m in therapy twice a week. I never miss a session. I take the anti-anxiety stuff when I need it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this and I just want you to hear me out, OK. Come with me.”

  They exited the back of the facility out onto the pool deck.

  Stopping for a second, Henry took in the view, breathing the sea air deep into his lungs. It felt good, evoking memories of bicycle rides along the water. He hadn’t ridden his bike since before it all happened.

  He followed Schooner off the left side of the deck down flag stone steps onto a lusciously landscaped path that led to a small building that had been obscured by the trees. Unlike the main facility, the wood structure had an earthy feel to it.

  Before they entered, Schooner turned to Henry, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Crossing the threshold, Schooner stopped and removed his shoes and Henry fo
llowed suit. From a side room a woman emerged, greeting them with a warm smile.

  “Ivy, this is my very good friend, Henry Clark and H, this is Ivy Mattheson, our lead Hatha Yoga instructor.”

  “So nice to meet you, Henry.” She took his hand in both of hers, shaking it warmly.

  The jolt of energy from her hands that transferred to Henry took him by surprise.

  “I was hoping the two of you could spend a little time together so that you could give Henry kind of an overview of the healing properties of yoga and what medical studies have found.” Turning to Henry, “I’ll be in my office in the main building when you’re done. Take your time.” With a touch to Henry’s shoulder he was gone.

  Shaking his head, “I knew he had something up his sleeve.” Henry’s smile was warm as he said it, knowing his friend had his best interests at heart.

  “Come, grab a mat, we’ll sit.”

  Facing Ivy, “So how much did he tell you?”

  The petite brunette shook her head, her long braid swishing like a tail, “He didn’t tell me anything, just to clear my schedule. That he had a friend he wanted me to meet who he thought could really get a lot from the benefits of yoga.”

  Smiling, Henry shrugged, palms in the air, “OK, sell me.”

  Ivy laughed, a warm throaty sound that matched the warmth in her doe-like brown eyes, “Henry, I couldn’t sell hot soup to an Eskimo, so I’m not going to try to sell you on Yoga being the greatest healer on the planet. Although I think it is. But if you have stress issues, relaxation issues, focus issues, blood pressure issues, sleep issues, back pain, depression, PTSD – then I might be able to help you.”

  “OK, you’ve got my attention.” Henry was already relaxing from the calm atmosphere and Ivy’s centered demeanor.

  “What do you know about Yoga?”

  “Very little,” he admitted. “I’m here to be enlightened.”

  “Aren’t we all,” she volleyed back playfully.

  The next forty-five minutes were spent introducing Henry to some simple stretches and poses, with Ivy explaining yoga’s connecting of the mind, body and breath.