Masters of Midnight

by Michael Thomas Ford

  Bradon trembled with the rage inside of him. He tossed the journal across the room, and when it fell to the ground in pieces, he kicked at it until it was torn into several unrecognizable sheets.

  And then, without hesitating, Bradon walked into his father’s study. Above the fireplace mantel was a large wooden stake encased in a glass and mahogany display case, lined with a deep blue velvet sheet. The stake was over 500 years old, and had been used to kill Victor’s grandfather. It had been in his family for centuries, as a constant reminder of the threat the human species posed to vampires. When Victor insisted on marrying Rachel, Victor’s parents had the stake couriered across the Atlantic as a wedding gift. It was the last contact he’d ever had with them.

  Bradon opened the display case slowly. His hands trembled and sweat poured from his face. He was almost blinded by the tears as they streamed down his face and across the heavy wooden stake.

  He walked slowly and deliberately out the study door and down the stairs to the dark basement where he and his father had separate bedrooms. He could hear Victor snoring inside his room, and he quietly opened the door. He held the massive stake in front of him, careful not to drop it or bang it against anything on the way.

  He stood outside his father’s casket for several minutes, crying silently. Then he took a deep breath and opened the casket lid. It was dark inside the basement, but dawn was only about half an hour away. Bradon walked over to the heavily draped window and pulled the curtains aside, so that a little light was creeping in through the ground-level windows.

  He walked back to his father’s casket and looked down onto his father’s face. It was pale white and beautifully handsome. Victor’s well-plucked eyebrows were arched just slightly, and his thin lips were upturned into a half-smile. He looked very peaceful.

  Bradon raised the heavy stake high above his head. Taking a deep breath, he hammered it down into his father’s chest, right between the ribcage, with all his strength. Victor’s eyes popped wide open. He stared at his son for a brief moment. Bradon twisted the wooden stake deeper into his father’s chest as a wave of tears cascaded down his face and fell onto his father’s lifeless body.

  When he was sure Victor was dead, he walked slowly to his own room, opened his casket and crawled into it. He closed the lid and fell immediately to sleep.

  A Bright New Day

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some company tonight,” Daniel asked as the last of the passengers departed the plane. “The good thing about working one of these red-eye flights is that they don’t book us for another one until a full eighteen hours later. We’d have plenty of time to be together before I have to fly out.”

  “Thanks,” Bradon said, as he leaned in to kiss Daniel on the lips. “But I’m really beat. Besides, I’m moving into a brand-new place. It’s not furnished yet or anything. I’d be a terrible host.”

  “Like I’m worried about that.”

  “You’re very sweet, Daniel. And pretty damn hot in bed, too. At least if that little quickie in the rest room is any indication. Maybe we can take a raincheck?”

  “Sure. Here’s my card. It has my home and cell phone numbers on there. I fly into San Francisco at least a couple of times a month. Call me. Anytime, really.”

  “I promise.”

  Daniel gave Bradon another quick kiss on the cheek and a hug, then scooted him off the plane. As soon as Daniel turned his back, Bradon deposited the card into the nearest wastebasket on his way out of the boarding tunnel.

  At four in the morning the airport was empty and it took no time at all to get his luggage and find a cab. It was a short ride into the city, and Bradon was fascinated with the new skyline. It was so different than that of Boston. Already he could tell he was going to enjoy his new home.

  “Here you are, sir,” the taxi driver said. “At 234 Paris Street. Pretty nice neighborhood. Wouldn’t stay out alone after dark for too long, though.”

  “Thanks. Not bad advice. Here you go,” Bradon said and handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks, man. That’s very generous.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Bradon got out of the backseat and carried his two pieces of luggage up the stairs to his new home. It was an old nineteenth-century Victorian that had been recently renovated. In the two weeks since his father’s death, Bradon had scoured the classifieds and the Internet, and had found the place in no time. Over the previous six months he’d become quick chat room buddies with a realtor in San Francisco with the screen name of HotPropertySF. They’d had cyber sex a couple of times, and hit it off really well. Once Bradon decided on the Victorian, he’d sent a message to HotPropertySF. He gave the details of the house and asked the realtor to do whatever it took to secure the sale. A week later, after Bradon paid cash for the house, the realtor was happy to make all the arrangements to prepare the house for Bradon’s arrival. And he was personally very excited to finally meet his Internet buddy in person.

  A private contractor had already been out and constructed the basement to his specifications. Even his casket had been delivered and set up downstairs in his bedroom. A minimal amount of questions were asked. Apparently the people of San Francisco lived up to their reputation of live and let live with no questions asked. That suited Bradon just fine.

  Bradon stood just inside the front doorway and inhaled deeply. The faint smell of fresh paint still lingered, but the house smelled fresh and clean, almost new. Bradon set his luggage down near the front door and walked around the entire house without turning on any lights. He liked the feel and the layout of the house. It felt instantly like home to him, even without the luxury of furniture. That he could get to in the next couple of weeks. There was no rush.

  He was tired. He left his suitcases upstairs and walked downstairs into his bedroom. It was large and spacious. The small windows that lined the upper part of the longest wall were draped in a heavy material similar to the lightproof drapes he’d had back in Boston. His casket was in the corner opposite the windows. He walked over to it, opened it and stared inside. No visions of his father’s blank and dead face staring back at him. That was a good first sign.

  Bradon stripped naked and climbed into the casket. He thought momentarily about closing the lid, then decided against it. The drapes looked to be of finest quality, and he felt sure the sun would not filter in. He’d never slept with his lid open before. The cool, damp air in the basement felt good against his naked skin, and he drifted to sleep in his new home, with the lid to his casket open for the first time.

  The next few weeks were spent buying furniture for the house and arranging for daytime deliveries. Bradon was able to shop online for all the furniture during the evenings. He’d sweet-talked HotPropertySF into agreeing to stop by and let the delivery people in at opportune times so they could set the furniture up to his directions. Bradon, of course, would be barricaded behind his locked bedroom door, deep in sleep during the day. He’d made sure the realtor understood that the basement was off bounds to everyone. He could set up what little furniture he needed downstairs by himself in the evenings.

  Cabin fever set in soon after his new home was furnished. Bradon found himself getting restless a few short hours after he woke. There were a couple of prime-time television shows he enjoyed, but after eleven p.m., there was absolutely nothing to hold his interest. He didn’t want to start going out to the hundreds of bars that San Francisco boasted. At least not yet. He hadn’t felt the urge to feed for a couple of weeks, and hoped he could put it off for at least a couple more.

  He decided instead to join a gym and get back into his workout routine. Bradon enlisted the help of his only friend in San Francisco again when he decided to look for the right gym. As luck would have it, HotPropertySF was also a workout enthusiast, and was more than happy to recommend the gym he himself patronized.

  Bradon had always loved working out, and his well-muscled body was a testament to his dedication. At three or f
our in the morning there were hardly any exercise fanatics still lingering around, and he was accustomed to having the gym almost to himself.

  So, when in the middle of his bench press reps he was interrupted by another male voice, he was caught off guard.

  “You’re extending your arms just a little too far.”

  “What?” Bradon groaned as he strained to put the weight-laden bar on the resting arms above his head.

  “On your extension. You should never lift the bar so far above your head that your arms are fully extended. You’re locking your elbows for a quick second right before your release and descent. That’s not good for the elbows.”

  “Really? I’ve never heard that before.” Bradon sat up and looked at the young man sitting at the bench next to his. He was glad that he was panting already from the workout, because one look at the man made his heart pound loudly in his chest and took his breath away. The guy had short, tousled light blond hair. His eyes were a light brown that bordered on hazel, framed with long, thick eyelashes. His smooth skin was perfectly bronzed and glistened with the sweat of his workout. He was several inches shorter than Bradon, but his body was meticulously muscled and worked to complete, in Bradon’s opinion, an overall picture of perfection.

  “It’s true. I used to be a personal trainer. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “I didn’t think you would,” Bradon stammered, and wiped his hand on his tank top before extending it. “I’m Bradon.”

  “I thought you might be. At least I was hoping. I’m Kirk,” the ex-trainer said, as he shook Bradon’s hand. “Kirk Courey. Otherwise known as HotPropertySF.”

  “Whew!” Bradon said, as he wiped his forehead. “I was beginning to freak a little.”

  “I have to admit I had an ulterior motive when I recommended this gym. I’ve been wanting to meet you in person for six months.”

  “Me too. Sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

  “No problem,” Kirk said. “Moving can be a bitch. But you’re here now, so, mind if I join you? We could spot one another.”

  “That’d be great,” Bradon said. He laid back down on the padded bench as Kirk walked around to the head of the bench and weight set. Bradon closed his eyes and tried not to look up at Kirk. He knew he couldn’t trust himself in situations like this. But Kirk was standing too close to Bradon to avoid it. Bradon could feel the wisp of air blow against his cheek as Kirk’s legs planted themselves on either side of Bradon’s face. He could smell the musky scent of clean sweat and a trace of soap. He opened his eyes and looked at the muscular legs on either side of his face. They were thick, with silky strands of soft blond hair dotting the thighs seductively.

  “You gonna start lifting or just stare at my legs all night?” Kirk asked, chuckling as he lifted the bar from its resting post and held it high above Bradon’s chest.

  “Sorry,” Bradon stuttered, and blushed as he reached for the bar.

  “It’s okay,” Kirk said, as he wedged his legs even closer to Bradon’s face, now in a better position to spot the heavy bar. “I just like to embarrass people. Especially guys I find really attractive. It’s a fault of mine, I guess. I try to catch them off guard and put them on the defensive right away. Kind of gives me an upper hand.”

  “You think?” Bradon panted, as he finished his set. “Your turn.” He stood up to make room for Kirk to lie on the bench.

  “It seems to work well enough, at least so far.” Kirk lifted the bar effortlessly over his chest and head, lowering it all the way to his chest and then lifting it back up.

  Bradon noticed that he followed his own advice when lifting the bar.

  “And what if you’re off the mark? What if you pull that stunt and it turns out the guy you’re toying with is straight?”

  “Guess I’d have to cross that bridge if and when I come to it. Hasn’t happened yet. Am I right?”

  Bradon blushed. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Good. Single?”

  “What?”

  “Are you single or do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No, I’m single. No time for a boyfriend.”

  “Nonsense. Everyone has time for a boyfriend. Now, whether or not they really want a boyfriend is another story altogether. But time isn’t really an issue.”

  “You’re really quite confident, aren’t you?” Bradon asked, as he helped direct the bar back to its resting post.

  “Hell yeah,” Kirk said as he jumped to his feet and flexed his muscles. “Why the hell shouldn’t I be?”

  “Maybe arrogant would have been a better choice of words,” Bradon said as he reached up to take the bar again.

  “Nah. Confident is the right word.” Kirk straddled Bradon’s face even closer than before, and spread his legs wide to get a better stance for spotting. “I’m really not arrogant at all. I mean, I know I look pretty good by most people’s standards. But looks only last so long, and then all you’ve got are your brains and your personality. I like to think that as long as I’m in possession of the whole package, I’ll be okay in the end.”

  “Looks like you’ve got the whole package to me,” Bradon grunted out loud, as he struggled to raise the heavy bar. He was staring directly up the open legs of the flimsy shorts Kirk was wearing. From his vantage point he could see the white cotton pouch of Kirk’s jock strap. It was bulging to near capacity, and Bradon found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

  “I can’t believe you’re staring at my crotch,” Kirk said, as he settled the bar into its resting post and walked around to sit on the bench next to Bradon.

  “Well, I can’t believe you were thrusting it out there in front of my face like that.”

  “I was spotting you, Bradon.”

  “Well, I couldn’t help it. It’s not like I pulled it out and did anything with it.”

  “Thank God. I mean, I have a reputation. I’m a decent girl.”

  Both men laughed and continued working out. Having the sexual tension between them out in the open and joked about actually made the workout more tolerable.

  “You wanna go grab an early breakfast?” Kirk asked, as they finished up.

  Bradon looked at his watch. It was just a few minutes before four o’clock.

  “No, I can’t really. Maybe we can take a raincheck?” Bradon said, realizing it was the same put-off that he’d used with Daniel.

  “Nonsense. Rain checks are only used for people who want to get out of doing something. Either you want to and you will, or you don’t want to and you won’t.”

  “I want to. But really, I can’t . . .”

  “Look, I’m asking you to breakfast for a little bacon and eggs. I’m not asking you to move in and set up house or anything like that. At least not yet. So stop beating around the bush. What is it? Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Kirk said, and wrapped his arms around Bradon’s shoulders. “Now, can I trust you to keep your hands and your eyes to yourself while we shower and get cleaned up, or do we need to take showers separately?”

  “I really can’t be trusted.”

  “Fine, I’ll go first. You go take a couple of laps around the track. I’m a quick showerer, so I should be done by the time you complete three laps.”

  “But I don’t like running.”

  “Tough. I don’t like being ogled and fondled in the shower.”

  “But—”

  “Go on. I’ll be out in ten minutes tops.”

  Bradon slumped his shoulders, but trotted toward the running track anyway as Kirk disappeared into the locker room.

  “So in all the hustle and bustle of the big move, you never did tell me why the big decision to move to San Francisco?” Kirk asked, as he swallowed a piece of English muffin and followed it with a mouthful of fresh-squeezed orange juice. “Not that I’m complaining or anything, mind you.”

  “I just needed to get away from my past and start all over.”

  “Bad relationship?”

&nb
sp; “Kind of. But not the kind you’re thinking of.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I’d rather not. I’d much prefer hearing all about you.”

  “Boring really,” Kirk said, as he devoured the last of his big breakfast. “I’ve lived in San Francisco for a little over five years now. Moved out here from Iowa. Just knew it would be much easier to come out out here. And it was. I fell in love with someone who wasn’t ready to be fallen in love with, and we split up about two years ago. Been dating a couple of guys off and on since then, but nothing serious.”

  “You must have a serious case of insomnia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know too many people who get into working out and having breakfast at two or three in the morning.”

  “Oh, that. Well, I used to be a personal trainer, and I worked normal daytime hours. But I got bored with it. I worked for my dad’s real estate company for a year or so, and I really liked it. But I get bored easily, so I stopped doing it full time. I still do it a little on the side, hence the screen name. But for the most part, I sling drinks for all the fags in Castro. For the past year I’ve been working as a bartender at the Midnight Sun. Have you heard of it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a great place. Tiny little video bar in the middle of Castro. Packed to overcapacity every single night of the week. I wanted a change of pace. Figured I’d give bartending a try. I really love it. The money is good, the tips are fabulous, and it’s a great place to meet guys.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun. I’m sure you’re never short for dates.”

  “Nah. But to be honest, I don’t really date that much. I used to, but then I just got tired of the whole scene. Most of the guys in San Francisco aren’t looking for anything real substantial. Mostly just one-night stands, and I’m really not into that very much.”