by Liz Crowe
“Tell me exactly what happened here.” He pointed to the dead woman. The gruesome sight of her slit throat did nothing to mar the beauty of her face, even in death. Caleb swallowed hard.
The youngest man leaned forward and stuck out his hand. “I’m Major Bulent Evin. I know your friend Adem Broussard. We grew up together. He called me this morning to make sure I accompanied the group here.”
Caleb nodded, not trusting his voice. Bulent’s odd combination of French-Turkish accented English was broken but between them he understood the committee investigating the incident since the ransom notice was received nearly fourteen days ago, had been all over the site of Tarkan’s hostage prison home. It was in the unofficial Kurdish nation; the remote, god-forsaken portion of border between Turkey and Iraq that neither country gave a shit about, it was so desolate. Bulent cleared his throat. Caleb gave him a small nod, indicating he wanted the whole story and would translate the necessary details to those family members who needed them.
“Lt. Deniz had been targeted for turning, as a spy. He was subjected to water boarding, dental manipulation, sensory overload and deprivation, starvation, and electroshocks, designed to break his will and make him reach out to bond with a member of their group. A female.” Caleb put a hand over his eyes. Bulent continued, his monotone voice providing vivid and horrific details of torture sessions alternating with days of complete isolation and hunger. “About a year ago, the woman was brought in. Helped him, fed him, gave him, ah, comfort.” Bulent put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “They didn’t know him very well, but they do understand human psyche. Knew that he’d be broken enough to form a bond with her.”
Caleb jumped up and walked to the wall of windows overlooking the water separating Europe from Asia. “Go on.” His voice stayed low. While inside he screamed with frustration.
“We believe that the woman was turned. That she actually bonded with him as well. About ten days ago, there was a shoot out here, in the compound. We arrived five days ago, and were able to surmise that Lt. Deniz had escaped but is injured, likely from a gunshot wound. We tracked him for about fifty miles when the trail went cold.”
“And the woman? He didn’t kill her did he?”
“No. One of her group members did it. We found traces of Lt. Deniz’s DNA on her body. The child she carried was his.”
Caleb had to restrain himself from punching a hole in the wall. “Good Christ. Can this get any worse?”
“We have our very best men on the case still. They’re canvassing every village in the area, questioning everyone. We had a good lead this morning when we found the equivalent of a convent full of women with some medical training. We feel sure he was there for a few days. They said his fever was so high they didn’t think he’d make it through the last night they saw him. Three days ago he disappeared from there without a trace.”
“His condition at that time?”
“They were able to get him to eat some and pulled the bullet out. But they have no access to any antibiotics. The fever was likely from infection.”
“And now?” Caleb kept his eyes trained on the new bridge going up to join the three that spanned the Bosporus. His jaw ached from clenching it.
“Now we continue to search, to question everyone we can lay hands on. We will find him Mr. Blessing. Dead or Alive. That we promise you. I promise you, for Adem’s sake.”
Caleb glared at the men sitting with Bulent. “Get out. Take my card on the table. I want calls every single morning and night with updates. If there is no update, I want a call anyway telling me there is no fucking update. If I don’t get this, I go to the press. I’m an American citizen. You do not want me bringing this to light in the European Union much less the fourth estate of the U.S. You really, really, do not want that.”
He turned and watched the assholes scurrying around, gathering their sick photos and files. Bulent remained still, observing him. Caleb’s voice shook with emotion as he pointed to the door Vivian had walked through. “Do you know who that was? Who you were speaking to earlier? That is the daughter of the former Consulate General of the United States of America to Turkey. She is fucking connected and her son chose Turkish citizenship over American and chose to serve. He deserves your best effort. Deserved it two God-damned years ago actually.”
They stood, looking at each other. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Caleb pointed to the door.
***
Caleb tapped his foot all the way up to the top floor of the Conrad Hilton, one of the oldest and most prestigious hotels nearest the Deniz building. He was twitchy, hungry, thirsty, his eyes burned, and his back ached from the long flight. Images kept flashing around in his brain. Tarkan, the woman, the torture chamber he’d been forced to see in photos, empty but for the instruments and dried blood, and the echoes of the screams he’d no doubt hear for the rest of his life. Screams of agony and terror that the man he loved had uttered for the last two years. The woman’s face — beautiful, without a doubt. Caleb wasn’t surprised she’d fallen for Tarkan. He was like that. Drew people to him like flies, even in his extremity. Caleb groaned and leaned his head back on the mirrored wall as the elevator made its slow way towards the penthouse floor.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty space. “I’m so, so sorry. Oh fuck, I’m sorry, Tarkan.” He hammered his fist against the wall, when the elevator disgorged him onto his floor. Blinded by tears he found his door, but before he could slide his key card, it opened.
Adem.
His lover held him, shushed him, poured him a glass of red wine, fed him some cheese, turned on the shower. Caleb was never more grateful for silence. The vision of his new love, gloriously naked with him in the huge shower, made his knees give out. He slid to the floor and let the steaming hot water beat down on his head. Adem lifted him to his feet. Took shampoo and washed his hair, gently, letting the suds flow down his body. He soaped him all over, industriously hitting all the important spots before meeting him halfway under the water, holding him close and kissing him until Caleb saw stars.
“Oh God, Adem.” He groaned as their soap slicked bodies collided, and Adem pressed him against the cool Italian tile wall, kissing his way down Caleb’s neck, sucking his hard nipples, as his hand worked his stiff cock slowly up around the head, then back down, under his balls before moving back up again. “I don’t want you to…I mean….” He gasped and clutched his lover’s neck, threading his fingers in the long wet strands of his hair, bringing his face back up so he could bury his tongue deep in the other man’s mouth, sweeping through, as his hips bucked to the rhythm Adem set with his hand.
Adem pulled his mouth away. “Shush, my love.” He let go of Caleb’s shaft, and cradled his face between his wet hands. “I’m here. I know. It’s okay. I want this. You’ll know it’s me and not him. But I will help you find him, I promise.”
Caleb stared into the other man’s deep green eyes. “But…why?”
Adem’s lovely smile lit up his face and Caleb’s heart. “Because I love you, Caleb. I want you to be happy. Until we find him, one way or another, you will never, ever be fully mine.”
Caleb wrapped his arms around Adem’s neck, kissed him long and deep. “I need you,” he whispered when they parted. “So much.”
“I know.” Adem ran both hands down Caleb’s back. “Let’s get out.” He reached back and shut the water off, grabbed towels but before he could hand one over, Caleb had him pressed up against the wall, grinding his erection into Adem’s, gripping his firm ass and holding him close.
He propped the other hand against the wall and stared into his lover’s amazing eyes. “Don’t ever leave me. I mean it. I don’t know what will happen if we find him. What condition he’ll be in or if he’ll remember, or if I can…oh shit. What a mess.” He let his head drop, his brain going into shutdown while his body continued to rev, continued to need.
Adem tilted Caleb’s face back up, kissed him again, then moved back, breathing heavy. “I need you. Now.” He grinned,
took Caleb’s hand and led him to the bed.
This time, for the first time in weeks, when Adem filled his body, fucked him, gripping his hips and reaching for Caleb’s cock at the last moment, he cried out again, with love, ecstasy, and longing — and it was Adem’s name he shouted, over and over until he was hoarse, and they collapsed together on the bed, both of them asleep in minutes.
Chapter Ten
Three Weeks Later
Darkness. And water. They used water to conduct the electricity more effectively. The shock treatments usually came right after the water boarding, when he was covered, soaking, shivering and retching, curled into a ball, naked. Darkness terrified him now. They liked to come at him when his guard was down, at night, when he could slip into something resembling sleep. Tarkan thrashed around on the small cot. Only half asleep—which was the only way he ever rested anymore. The odor of his own burning flesh seared his nose, the buzzing after they zapped him and brought him to, seated, gasping, covered in sweat still felt real. “Fuck.” He stood and paced. His feet ached from walking.
He’d run from the women after he couldn’t stand their stares anymore. They’d known, somehow of his terrible act. That he’d left his beloved and his own child behind, left them dead. He had to keep moving. Or he’d start killing people. He sucked in a huge breath of country-scented air. The summer night was soft, not too oppressive, since he was so far north, he knew. A breeze stirred the curtains at the small window. He put his hand on his chest, forced his heart to calm, his pulse to stop racing. Focus. He had to focus. A hand on his shoulder made him turn and grip the neck of whoever had touched him.
He squeezed, hard. He would not be taken again—ever again. Fingers clutched at his arm, and as the trees shifted and moonlight streamed in, he saw a face. A face he knew. He let go and dropped to his knees, rocking back and forth, keening and unable to face the fact he was within seconds of snapping the other man’s neck. The man who had fed and clothed him, housed him, and given him purpose for a short while.
“I’m an animal. I…oh God…I can’t be trusted. Please. Just kill me. Please.” He had no tears, just noise. The other man held him, long into the night, their bodies finally intertwining, molding together, lips, tongues, hands, legs all indistinguishable. “I love you,” Tarkan whispered into the dark as the man entered him. “Caleb.”
Sunlight streamed into the window. Tarkan groaned and rolled over, his leg and hip draped over the man’s next to him. He felt lips on his hair and let himself enjoy the sensation of the man’s body just a few more moments. But he had to go. He’d healed some, eaten, worked the farm, and eaten more. At night, the man’s body soothed his soul. But he had to go.
If he caught a train, he could be back in Istanbul within three days. He knew where he could hide. The Cicek Pasaj—the ancient Flower Passage in the old city. It had been his favorite spot to hide as a kid, watching the decrepit buildings get gentrified, revived thanks in no small part to his father’s construction company’s largess. He could hide there again. Watch and observe and see. See if he thought he could resume his old life.
“If not, you know where I am,” the man said, before slanting his mouth over Tarkan’s. Tarkan gasped as the man worked his way down his body, sucking his cock down his throat, releasing, using his lips and tongue on his balls and lower. Tarkan lifted his hips, cried out, and filled the man’s throat with his essence. Tears streamed down his face. He was bad. He left her, alone, with her child. His child. “No!” He cried. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! My beloved!” His heart split once more as the man cradled him, held him while he sobbed, no more tears this time. Just noise. He simply had no tears left.
***
Tarkan left the next day. Belly full, body sated, heartbroken, but resolved. Caleb—he had to find him. Had to tell him. The man held him close. “Don’t go.”
“I must.” He bent his knees, tested the strength of his weak thigh. He’d built back some stamina, but his stomach had shrunk so much over the last two years he’d probably never be as robust as he had once been. The man kissed him. Tarkan allowed his heart to break again. Then walked away, headed to the train station, enough money in his pocket to get home. Towards civilization—to his redemption, or his death. But he had to see him once more. “Caleb,” Tarkan whispered to the fogged up window in the train car that carried him to his city.
The rocking of the train lulled him to sleep and his dreams were of blond men with beloved, familiar smiling faces. And of a beautiful woman with a dark-haired baby at her breast.
Chapter Eleven
Two weeks later
Emre sipped his tea, tried to calm his fevered brain, to process the sight of his father, reduced to a mere shadow of himself after a month, his lips always blue, his once strong body laboring to move air through his lungs. Ayla ran around the huge grassy yard, chasing kittens that his mother had brought home yesterday. His infant son slept in a portable crib on the tiled patio. He caught sight of his beautiful wife, her face turned to the sun as she had one of her interminable phone conferences with the States.
“Baba! Baba! I caught one! A kitten. Look!” She had the damn thing in a death grip around its neck. Her Turkish was perfect, better than many adults’. His mother smiled and put one hand on his shoulder, the other on his father’s, who sat next to him in a wheelchair, wrapped in a blanket. “Look! Baba!” She tried to clamber up into her grandfather’s lap. Both Vivian and Emre reached for her.
“No, my darling, don’t. Poor Baba, he’s tired.”
“Stop. Both of you.” The older man’s voice was low, breathy. “This is all I want from the rest of my days. For my grandchildren to sit on my lap. Right, my beauty? My princess?” Ayla grinned at her grandfather and stuck her tongue out at Emre. The old man cradled her, telling her yet another Hodja folk tale, making her giggle. Emre rolled his eyes. Those damn stories. Half of them weren’t even appropriate for children but still they were told and all delighted in the telling.
If he closed his eyes, he could pretend this was perfect. Ideal even. His life, in his beloved homeland, his city, with his entire family all around him, happy, loved, and whole. But it wasn’t. It was far from that. He stood, stretching. Kissed Elle on the lips, his mother on the cheek, and made his way inside. Caleb was due over any minute. He had news, he said. Tarkan had been seen. Emre hadn’t told anyone. Nor had he told his parents of the woman, the extreme details of the torture their son had endured, their dead grandchild. It didn’t warrant telling. It served no purpose other than to horrify.
Elle had held him that first night after Caleb had told him everything. He’d finally broken down with her. Let her take some of his burden like she kept asking for. He’d sobbed like a child, describing the horrible evil his only brother, his twin, had endured. The survivor guilt nearly overwhelmed him many days. But Elle kept him strong. And focused on the goal: finding Tarkan.
He greeted Caleb and Adem at the door. Emre didn’t care that Caleb’s lover accompanied him but wasn’t sure how his family would react. “Thank you,” he said to the tall, slim man with long dark hair. “For everything—for helping with the military, for being here, with Caleb.”
Adem shrugged, his hands in his jeans pockets. “I hear there is a Buyuk Anne somewhere I need to charm with my kitchen skills.”
Emre smiled and led them both out onto the brightly lit patio. “Anne, Caleb is here.” She hugged the tall blond man.
Caleb pulled Adem alongside him. “Vivian, this is Adem. He is my, um, he is with me.”
Emre watched, nervous, as his parents took a breath. His mother hesitated about a tenth of a second before pulling Adem into her arms. “Welcome. I’m sorry we are such a mess right now.”
Adem’s laugh made Ayla look up from her grandfather’s lap. “Uncle Caleb!” She cried in delight. He picked her up, flipped her around to his shoulders, staying close to Adem. Ayla patted both of their heads. Adem shook Levent’s hand.
“No worries whatsoever. Chaos is
the name of my game. And I’m happy to help any way I can.”
His slightly accented Turkish made Emre’s father frown. “Are you French?”
Adem sat in the empty chair next to him. “Oui, I am. But just as Turkish. Split my time between the two. Have a couple of restaurants.”
“Tarkan!” Buyuk Anne’s cry of the one name they all avoided saying made everyone startle. The older woman made straight for Adem, who, to his credit, sat, and endured her hands on his face, his neck, shoulders, and arms. “Oh. I’m sorry, young man. I thought…you were with the erkek arkada over there.” Tears stood in her eyes. Adem guided her into the seat he’d just vacated, kissed both her hands, and pressed them to his forehead in a traditional greeting that made her smile through her tears.
“Buyuk Anne. It is an honor. Please, you must show me your kitchen. I am but a humble cook myself. Learned at my own grandmother’s knee. But I understand you are a legend. When you feel strong, I would love to watch you work.”
Emre glanced up at Caleb, saw the love in his gaze, combined with the agony he know must be reflected in his own. He touched the blond man’s shoulder. “Come. Let’s talk.”
They settled into the third-floor sitting room. Caleb leaned forward and white knuckled his own hands. Emre waited.
“There was a farm, near the Black Sea. The troops found it, questioned the owner who finally admitted Tarkan had been there. For nearly a month.”
Emre held his breath.
“He was…stronger. But emotionally unbalanced. Unhappy, unable to sleep. Until the very end. The last week he was there. The man…he…oh fuck.”
Emre put a hand on Caleb’s clenched fists. “It’s okay.”