Trapdoor

by Vixen Phillips

  “Yeah.” It might even have been the best meal I’ve ever had, and I’m ashamed for being so distracted. “Thanks.”

  With a sigh, he wedges his body between me and the open window. “Will you tell me nothing?”

  Maybe I don’t want this cigarette, after all. I butt it out on the ledge, then poke it down into the pack. “I think we need a Plan B.” I try and play it casual, but as I hold him in my arms, my lower lip starts to tremble. Too many shadows, haunting my head.

  “Do you think—? Do you think…I’m a good dad, to Damien?”

  “Of course,” he murmurs without hesitation, gripping me tighter. “Raven—”

  “I’m nothing like my old man, you know.” I gaze over the top of his head, out across the dark side of the city. “Apart from the drinking. Never told you why I had to leave home, did I? Ma—after he died, she got ill. They sent her to a mental institution.” I shrug. “Anyhow…every night, when I was real little, Dad would get in, blind drunk, and beat the crap out of both of us. She never did anything, she never said anything, she just— She let him do it. To her. To me.”

  Let’s see if you still want to get close to echoing those three little words by the time I’m done here. “But eventually, I learned to defend myself. So he couldn’t pick on me anymore. He could only pick on her. Sometimes, if I was feeling resentful, if I remembered all the nights I spent alone, praying for Death—” I close my eyes. “Sometimes I let him get away with it. Just to teach her a lesson, for never once protecting me.”

  Something wet tickles my cheek, but I don’t much care whether Pegasus sees me cry. My true nature is far more ugly. “I’ve never forgotten, not since they sent me to live with Monty. I don’t protect my son from anything. And Monty’s betrayed me. So now…what right do I have to feel anything? I’m no better than my old man.” The realisation kicks me hard in the chest. For a moment I can’t breathe.

  Then he sighs, and kisses my eyelids. “Oh, Raven,” he says.

  We sit on the bed, and he pulls me against him, and I let my head fall into his lap. “I don’t understand you,” he whispers, stroking my hair, my cheeks, my lips, one long wisp of lilac trailing against my skin, tantalising me through my sorrow. “How can you think you’re this horrible person? You have emotions, intelligence…beauty.”

  I laugh bitterly, but he’s not giving up.

  “Why else would I be here?”

  I shrug. “You just never figured out how you’d be better off with anyone but me. You don’t realise what a horrible person I am, cos—”

  “Because?”

  All right, then. “Because you love me,” I whisper, reaching up to touch his face.

  He smiles down on me, angelic, serene, and presses a finger against my lips. At last he says, “I met so many horrid people, Raven. They killed my mother. They might have killed your mother, in their way. But not me, and not you. And you’re not one of them. Trust me; I know. I’ll never lie to you. Damien needs you. You deserve him. You deserve happiness.”

  A different confession. “You make me happy.”

  “I hated my mother, too, you know. Only once that I can remember, but I remember it was enough.”

  I sit up; our noses press together. His soft velvet shirt tempts my fingers. I fight the urge to pull it off him. “What happened? Tell me.”

  He sighs and draws back. “It was the day before she died. My father held me down on the living-room floor. He read something—I think it was meant to be out of the Bible. Then he cut off my hair, from where I’d asked her to braid it. I screamed for her to help me—until he brought out the belt, anyway—but she just stood there, crying. I didn’t understand why he was punishing me. I only wanted to look like my mother; I had done nothing wrong.” He frowns, eyelids fluttering to obscure a darker thought. “I didn’t figure it out until later—much later—that none of this was to punish me. It was all for her.” He smiles as I take up his fragile hands, kiss each and every finger in turn. “I think this was the only time I saw my mother cry. The next day…she—”

  I hold him tight. Then, “I don’t care what anyone says,” he tells me. “We deserve this. We deserve a chance to be happy. Just once.”

  Is he crying, too? But that’s okay. I can play this role, I can make it all better, I—I’ve got to. “Yeah.” I try and return to our kissing, my fantasy from the music store, but he pushes me away and jumps off the bed.

  “Why don’t you roll a joint, or something.”

  Did I do something wrong? “Do you want to share?”

  He shrugs. “I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t, and feeling like maybe I need to.”

  I don’t know why, but I’m so relieved I actually smile as I retrieve the foil from my suitcase.

  · § ·

  I even get him to smoke some for himself, though it makes him cough so violently that we revert to the traditional shotgun toke, and I don’t try and encourage him again. Fifteen minutes later we switch off the light and fumble a way out of our clothes and into bed, both well and truly stoned. Pegasus squeals as my tongue teases his nipples, then moans with delight as I spiral down his belly. Breathing in his rose-scented skin, tasting him on my lips, I wish—

  I wish I could go further. But I can’t, not yet.

  I free his hair from its binding, and lie over him. “So beautiful,” I whisper in the moon dark. “I’ll never let you cut it. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to.”

  He murmurs something under his breath. I pick up just enough to know he’s teasing me. “You can be whoever you want, with me. I’ll always protect you,” I answer. A vow, and another promise.

  “I’ll come up with a Plan B, my sweet,” I hear him saying, but the words drag me too close to the surface, too close to pain, regret, consciousness. I don’t want any of those things here with us tonight. Even if it means I’ve got to forget—

  Damien—

  Which I could never do. Trapped and helpless in too many ways, I let him roll me over, crawl on top of me, start kissing his way down my face—

  “Peg?”

  Down my neck—

  “Mmm?”

  Across my chest—

  Out comes his tongue, leaving delicate trails of spit where my stomach dips away from my ribs. What was my question? “What do you reckon happens, when we die?”

  He lingers a moment, tracing patterns through the saliva, then slowly works a now moist hand over the head of my dick. I clench my teeth, stifling a moan of beautiful agony. “Why should you ask me this?” he murmurs, closing his fingers around me. Together we gasp, as he squeezes too hard and pushes down towards my balls.

  “Does it matter, the reason why?” I ask, once I’ve gathered my thoughts. “I just wondered…where you thought you’d be going the other night?”

  There’s a moment’s silence. And then he whispers in my ear, “Close your eyes, and I’ll show you.”

  I start to ask what he means, but a strange sensation drives every thought and memory from my mind. I cry out in the darkness, reach for his head, try to pull him off me, try to warn him how this is too much. But somehow, my hands just get lost in that beautiful silky mane. I breathe in violent sobs, my thoughts left to collapse in on themselves again.

  His tongue licks greedily over my foreskin, my balls, my thighs, and then suddenly, impossibly, I’m inside his mouth, warm, and wet, and—home? I’ve begun moving against him, trying to work my way deeper into his mouth—

  You should stop. Now. He’ll hate you for this tomorrow. First you get him stoned, then you let him do this, and you’re not stopping him—oh, God.

  Somehow he’s sucked me all the way in. My cock presses up against the lining of his throat in an identical rhythm to how he squeezed me with his hand—

  Then he pulls back, just far enough that I’m overcome by a sudden wave of longing and loneliness. But he isn’t planning on leaving me at all. One hand wraps around the base of my dick, and he’s devouring me again, his hand moving against his mouth in the opposite
rhythm. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Of course I don’t mean a word of it, as the heat burns through my cheeks, my heart thumping. I think I’m going to—

  “Stop…Pegasus,” I whisper hoarsely, more desperate to drag him off. His only response is to swallow me up again, and bite down on me, hard. I surrender control, and go back to running my hands through his hair. Outside and inside I’m moaning—sobbing and shuddering and sweating and throbbing—and spilling into his mouth.

  I lie sprawled on the bed, arms outstretched, fighting to catch my breath. He waits for my hard-on to die down completely before he lets go and falls against me. I wrap my arms around him, precious thing, hoping the wet heat on his cheeks is nothing more than perspiration, not tears. Half of me can’t believe what happened.

  Our heartbeats return to some speed approaching normal, and he wriggles up my body till his head rests next to mine on the pillow. “Sorry, obviously I was still a bit peckish,” he jokes, but falters when I don’t say anything. “Did—did you like that?” he feels compelled to ask.

  I almost laugh in his face. What a question. And then, there’s my secret. “No one ever did that for me before.”

  He giggles, then rolls onto his side and pulls me across with him like a blanket. I snuggle into his soft little butt. Only… What’s the etiquette in this situation? Should I—? Am I supposed to—?

  “Anyway, how did that answer my question?” I say instead, nuzzling into his neck.

  “Perfectly, I thought.” One more giggle, before he elaborates. “It doesn’t matter, Raven. Death, I mean. It doesn’t matter where. It only matters who with. Do you see the difference?”

  I frown. “Sort of.” Not really.

  “Souls joined, no more barriers, no more cages between anything…spirals to true freedom. If you find your soul mate— At least, some people call them this. I think this is what they should mean.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Raven,” he responds in a cheeky voice. Then, more seriously, “When we die, we unify, same as drops of water returned to the ocean. I always thought I should die alone—it was what I’d always been told, only…the other night, I began to realise…” He trails off. Is he asleep?

  “What?” I insist.

  “I’ll never leave you.”

  “Angel.” I touch my lips to his cheek, right before he escapes me, into the sanctuary of dreams.

  Chapter 10

  Pegasus: The Rapunzel Syndrome

  What is this?

  I’m lying on my back, watching the light bulb on the ceiling expand to become a ball of flame. Gold and amber and red—phoenix wings and phoenix tail—unfurl to encompass the entire room. Ashes drift down, cloaking my body in embers, and burst into musical notes as they touch my body: C-sharp minor, E-flat minor arpeggios. The plaster dissolves into a cloudy vortex. Red swirls to purple, and fades to blue.

  A blue glow, spiralling overhead.

  So why am I not afraid? I’ve felt this song, I recognise this place that all men fear. I’ve been here before, or nearly so—

  Tranquility, found in the eye of the storm. It feels so right, as though this is the moment I’ve been waiting for, all of my life.

  Waiting for death.

  The blue glow descends, cloaking me in a warmth that burns brighter than flame and sinks deeper than flesh, until this is all I see, all I am. Blue pales to white, and I’m flying.

  No. This isn’t right. Where am I? Where are you taking me?

  Home, a voice whispers inside me, and I cry out in surprise, the two sounds echoing around the emptiness that somehow isn’t empty, building up into a melodic symphony of sorrow and regret. C-sharp minor, E-flat minor, arpeggios tinkling inside my head. That voice—

  A voice I haven’t heard for nine years.

  Now, I am afraid. I want to run, want to hide, want to escape, but when the fog starts to clear, I’m floating above the room, somewhere inside the cloud-ceiling.

  Below, on the bed, the symbol—the physical form that I and the others call Pegasus—dreams. He looks so peaceful in this sleep, so I turn from him, willing myself to face the light. Only this seems to be dissolving, too. The only thing left is for me to become this feeling of sky. Warmth flares as hands reach down to part the clouds, to pull me into embrace.

  I thought you would never return to me.

  Mother.

  I don’t understand. How is this happening?

  Mortal thoughts. Human thoughts. You haven’t yet learned to break the shell, mon ange.

  No, not that. Something is wrong—

  You brought only half of yourself to me.

  I struggle to make sense of this. Groping blindly in the light with hands that have no form, for a presence that is formless. When meaning comes, it sends a sickening jolt through my gut. No. I can’t have been wrong, Mama. You always said—you always said this is how it would be, when—

  Raven, where are you?

  Patience. The warmth spins threads of light around me, soothing fear and dulling agony. Soon, he comes. Did you not realise? Long before you ever knew, then he made this choice. Long before he even knew himself.

  The warmth drains slowly, leaving only emptiness. She’s moving away.

  You must wait here. You will know what to do. When it is over, you will find me. Both of you.

  No, Mama! Don’t leave me. Not again.

  Patience, she echoes, and a rainbow traces a memory of my body and hers, interwoven, before its colour disappears. I shall wait for you, as I have waited, always.

  Mother!

  But she’s gone. And I’m still here.

  I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be without you, Raven. How long must I wait? Is this my punishment? But I thought—I thought that was the point of being there. I thought, once I was here, then everything would be—

  What a fool I’ve been, thinking I could cheat death. Trick it into offering me happiness. Why should things be different? Why should anything ever be different?

  So, is this really death? Then my funeral—? I hope they didn’t bury me in a box, underground, far from the sea. Did I die in my sleep? Whose hand cut the thread? Or was it simply that which we call Fate?

  A cold mist settles in. Hugging myself offers no protection; the chill penetrates so deep. Of course. I have no physical presence here. I can’t use it to hide from the cold or the pain. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe, after everything, this is hell.

  Now on the horizon, flecks of ice come swarming along a spiral path, all headed towards a central point. Whiter than white, each little flake seems filled with such purpose, joining together to mould a cage like spun glass. Once this sculpture has taken shape, I understand, at last. With a secret smile, I begin my approach.

  Raven stares out from behind the bars of the cage, watching me with confusion, but no pain. Inside, I’m already healing, becoming whole again. He crouches before me, naked except for the silver cross, and the thorns that bind his wrists and ankles. His turn to wait, but not for so long.

  Where am I? he whispers, as I kneel before him, examining the lock on the cage. I unfurl my wings, allowing my love for him to flow around us both, an aura of white gold, my own phoenix thing.

  Home. You’re home, Raven. And I’ve come to set you free.

  · § ·

  I peel open my eyelids and focus on the ceiling, ensuring it remains constant. The pulse in my ears, throbbing continuously, brings me only relief.

  No blue glow, and no wings. No death, then. Not today.

  A weight presses down on my bladder, and wrenches me into the physical world. I start to crawl out of bed, only to fall back and bang my head against the steel frame. What the—?

  I glance over my shoulder, only to discover one wrist has been tied to the metal frame. Tightly, too; no matter how much I jerk my arm about, the scarf that binds me refuses to work itself free or break. “Fuck.” I inspect the knot. I can barely make out the loop. Patience will be required to slip out of this one. Patience I do
n’t have.

  Crossing my legs underneath me, I begin wishing away the need to go to the bathroom. I’m not going to wet my pants, like a child. Or Father will come—

  No, that isn’t right either. I’m not there anymore. I’m no longer a child.

  What did I do to you this time, Raven? What did I do, to make you want to punish me?

  And now I remember. It’s been hanging over our heads like a thundercloud, ever since that night I went down on him. Today. Today is Tuesday.

  I was supposed to meet him…afterwards. Five o’clock; we’d arranged it, down the local hotel. Guess this is his subtle way of letting me know I’m not welcome.

  A tear trickles down my cheek, as the pain in my bladder grows to a sharp twinge. No, no, no, no, no! Another trickle runs hot down my thigh. I clench my eyes shut, straining against all my instincts not to allow any more to escape. I’m no longer a child. And you’re not my father. You can’t humiliate me like this.

  Too late creeps closer and closer. I scan the room, desperate to find something—anything—within reach that might help. At last, on the bedside table, beside the photo of my mother, I glimpse one of Raven’s lighters. I grab for it, flicking it several times, struggling with one hand to get it lit. Tears of frustration stream freely down my cheeks, but at least not down my leg.

  Finally the spark catches, and the flame leaps up. I try to steady my shaking hand as I lower it towards the scarf. I’m terrified the tiny light might flicker out prematurely, but once it makes contact with the fabric, the flame takes off and zooms towards my flesh. I grab a pillow, beat at the fire until it dies out, then race into the bathroom. At last—

  When I’m done, I lean against the mirror, staring a hole through my own reflection. That was too easy. Too easy for you, Raven.

  I dash out of the bathroom, straight for the table by the door. The place where I always leave my keys. They’re gone.

  Just to be sure, I turn everything on it upside down, but they’re nowhere to be found. I know where they are.