Gay Royalty

by Aaron Riley

  As the vice president, Gunner was next. “Congratulations, Joshua.” He quickly sliced his hand and let the blood flow.

  Cameron did the same before handing over the knife to Joshua. He held the blade in his hand remembering the last time he cut himself for the club.

  It was the best day of his life. Joshua had been a prospect for the Dog Soldiers for two years when they finally patched him in. He almost cried at the table as the ritual blood sacrifice began. He gladly cut himself and let his blood join the club.

  Now he was just as happy as he was that day. But he knew he had a ton more responsibility now. He nodded to the other members and cut himself. Joshua watched as the red dripped from his wound and joined with the others.

  Flash smiled. “Let's welcome our new sgt-at-arms.”

  Chapter Three

  Christopher landed at Phoenix International Airport with just a backpack filled with a change of clothes. He only needed the outfit he was wearing; black pants and a black suit jacket, the chosen uniform of male agents.

  A taxi picked him up outside.

  “Where are you headed?” the driver asked. The cab smelled like cigarettes and take-out food.

  “Jimstown,” Christopher replied.

  The cab driver turned back to Christopher and took his sunglasses off. “You sure?”

  He laughed. “Yep. Jimstown.”

  “Sorry. It's just I don't get many fares that want to go there.”

  Christopher spent the drive in silence. His parents could've picked him up at the airport but he hadn't told them he was coming home yet. He thought about it but couldn't get himself to pick up the phone.

  He actually thought that he might stay at hotel. He hadn't talked to his parents in a few months. Christopher hung up on his mother the last time they spoke. His mother wanted Christopher to come home for Christmas but he was too busy on a case. He understood how his mom felt but there was nothing to do about it. Some things were said by both parties that they probably wished they could take back.

  Christopher wouldn't be able to keep his appearance in Jimstown a secret. Word would get around to his parents and that would only make things worse.

  The cab pulled up to an old Victorian-style house. Tall slanted roof with long windows on both levels. A large white porch wrapped around the entire house. Christopher had a lot of memories attached to this place. Some good and some bad.

  Christopher paid the cabbie and he grunted a thank you. Christopher stood on the sidewalk, unable to move. “Come on, Christopher. It won't be that bad,” he told himself.

  He forced his way to the front door and knocked. Footsteps coming down stairs could be heard. The door opened and Christopher's mother stood there with her mouth open.

  “Christopher? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

  “Hi Mom. Everything is all right. I'm in town for work and I was wondering if I could stay here.”

  Lindsay Taylor smiled, wrinkles showing below her eyes. “What a surprise! Come in. Come in.”

  Christopher walked past her into the entryway and Lindsay closed the door behind them. Everything looked exactly how he remembered it. The wood floors, the chandelier hanging from above, the side table against the stairs that held the phone.

  “The house looks great, Mom.”

  Lindsay led the way into the kitchen. Nothing had changed. The white-tiled island, the wood cabinets, and the appliances were all from the early 90's. “It's been a long time since you've been back home, Christopher.”

  He knew that it wouldn't take long for his mom to bring that up. “I know. Work has kept me pretty busy.”

  Lindsay opened the fridge and brought out a pitcher of yellow lemonade. She didn't even bother asking Christopher if he wanted any. She just poured two glasses and handed one to heim “Work. Work. Work. Don't you do anything else?”

  Christopher took a sip and remembered the summers drinking lemonade in the backyard. “I like what I do, Mom. I don't need anything else.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  Christopher knew this was a minefield. Not that he couldn't talk about it but more like he didn't want to talk about it. Last time they talked about his work, Christopher's mom tried to convince him that his job was bad for him.

  “There's been a string of murders at the community colleges that I've been brought in to investigate.”

  “The news of that has been spreading around. It's just terrible what's been done to those young girls. I can't fathom a man or woman could do that to another human being.”

  Christopher had seen it all too much. Humanity was capable of doing anything. “Do you know any information that might help me?”

  He knew the minute it came out of his mouth that it was going to be taken the wrong way.

  Lindsay put down her glass and scoffed. “Do you think I associate with murders and rapists?”

  “Of course not, Mom. I was just hoping you had maybe heard something.”

  “How long do you need to stay here?”

  That was it. It didn't take long for Christopher to overstay his welcome. “I'm not sure. As long as the investigation lasts. But if you don't want me to stay, I could go to a hotel.”

  “Hogwash! I won't have it going around town that my own son is staying at a hotel. You can stay in your old room. It's just the way you left it.”

  “Where's Dad?”

  “On another of his business trips. Said he was going to be gone a few days.”

  Christopher grew up believing that his father really was going away on business. He realized it when he got older that his father was taking little vacations to get away from his mom.

  “Where did he go off to this time?”

  Lindsay left Christopher alone in the kitchen to drink his lemonade. He knew that it was going to be tough coming back home and He was completely right.

  Christopher lugged his backpack up the steep stairs and went into the first door on the right. His mom wasn't kidding. The room hadn't been touched since he left. A movie poster of Silence of the Lambs still hung above his bed. It was the one movie that made him feel like he could make a difference. It was the movie that inspired him to join the FBI.

  And now he was on the hunt for his own serial killer.

  Chapter Four

  Christopher crouched down in the hot sun and examined the pavement. A dark blood stain was the only thing left of Felicity Glen.

  He looked up at the large community college standing before him. The whole place had been built after se had left Jimstown. The town wasn't as small as he remembered. Students ran by, almost knocking Christopher over.

  The file told Christopher that the time of death was estimated around 8:30 pm. “What was she doing here so late?”

  The young cop didn't know if Christopher was talking to him or was asking a rhetorical question. Christopher looked up at him and Randall Hillsby knew he needed to answer back. “I'm not sure,” he replied with a shrug.

  Randall was a fresh face on the police force. Barely out of the academy and the station pairs him up with an FBI agent on a big-time case.

  Christopher knew what was really going on here. The local cops wanted to solve this case on their own. The only help Christopher was going to get was from a rookie cop who was barely wet behind the ears.

  “Do you know when the last classes of the day end?” he asked.

  Randall scratched his goatee. “I believe 10:00 pm.”

  Christopher stood up and stretched his back. “So it's entirely possible that she could've been here attending a class.”

  Randall nodded.

  “I'd like to see the body now.”

  “But the captain told me that nobody is to see the body.”

  Christopher flashed his badge. “Do you see this, Officer Higsby? This is my I-Get-To-Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-I-Want Badge.”

  Randall didn't even try to argue.

  –

  The morgue was small and cramped with dead bodies. Even though the
town had grown in the past years, the morgue had stayed the same.

  A short bald man with a gray apron on pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But officer, I'm not allowed to let anyone in here.”

  Christopher pushed past him and shoved his badge in his face. He did it with a smile too because this was the best part of his job. It made all the hard training at Quantico worth it.

  He squinted at the coroner's identification. “You're going to let me in, Mr. Kipper. And you're going to let me in right now.”

  The FBI badge did its job. Kipper took Christopher and Higsby to a body draped with a white cloth. He flipped the sheet off the corpse and revealed a young girl with grayish skin. The smell was bad but Christopher had been around enough dead bodies to be used to it.

  Higsby bent over and puked his breakfast all over the clean floors.

  “Well that wasn't very nice,” Kipper said.

  “Higsby, go outside and get some air.”

  He nodded, holding a hand over his mouth.

  Christopher returned to the body and pulled the rest of white cloth off her. Felicity was skinny and definitely in shape.

  A dark purple slash across the neck was the only visible wound on the corpse. “What can you tell me about the victim?” Christopher asked.

  The coroner walked to the other side of the table. “Victim was killed was a single slash across the neck.” He flipped over her arms and revealed black bruises. “The victim was being held against her will but there are no defensive wounds on her hands.”

  Christopher looked closely at her hands and concurred. “What does that mean?”

  The coroner took off his glasses and cleaned them. “In cases like these where a knife is the primary weapon, the victim will put up their arms in defense to stop the blade.” The coroner put his hands up to mime the position. “The fact that she has no defensive wounds means that the knife was a surprise.”

  “Any signs of rape?” Christopher knew that it was common in serial killers of women. Especially when they were younger.

  “Not in any of the victims.”

  Christopher tried to picture what would've happened the night Felicity died. He imagined Felicity walking home after class ended. It was night time, not very many lights. A man in the shadows followed behind her. She turned to confront him and that's when they struggled and he bruised her arms. A knife came out of nowhere and cut her across the throat.

  She died almost immediately from bleeding out.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the knife?”

  “This wound was done by a long blade. Could be a hunting knife or large kitchen knife.”

  “Seems more likely that the killer wouldn't be caring around a kitchen knife in the middle of the night.”

  “Is the school going to be closed?” the coroner asked.

  “That was going to be my next call. Four women from the community college are already dead. That should've happened before I even arrived here.”

  Chapter Five

  “I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying, Principal Reeves.” Christopher switched the cellphone from one ear from the other. “Four girls from your college have died. There's no indication that this is going to stop.”

  “I don't think you understand what you're proposing. Closing the college down isn't something that can just be done with a flip of the switch. If we close the school down, students are going to go somewhere. Even the ones that stay are going to be afraid of returning. Not to mention, the school wouldn't get the money it needs to continue. It just can't be done, Mr. Taylor.”

  Christopher pulled the phone away from his ear and took in a deep breath. This guy was turning out to be a complete asshole. He didn't give two shits about the wellbeing of his students. He only cared about money.

  “Let me put it this way, Principal. If you don't close down the college, more girls are going to die. The newspapers would love to hear that you had a chance to stop it but instead allowed the killings to continue.”

  Christopher could hear the man changing his mind over the phone.

  “I will notify the school that we will be closing tomorrow for just a few days. That way nobody will freak out. It will be easier to convince the parents.”

  “Fine do whatever you have to. But make sure the school is closed until this case is solved.”

  Christopher hung up and collapsed onto his bed at home. The twin-sized mattress hadn't been changed since he was a kid.

  His mom was already asleep for the night when Christopher got home. The house was quiet and Christopher was exhausted from the day but his mind was still running a mile a minute. He needed to get his mind of these girls. He needed a drink.

  Christopher grabbed his wallet and the keys to the rental car the FBI had provided him.

  –

  The only bar in town was the Eight of Spades. Christopher had been too young to drink when he still lived in Jimstown. There was no better time than now to try it out.

  The parking lot was packed with trucks and rows of motorcycles. The one-story building needed to be condemned. The roof was about to collapse in on itself and many of the windows were boarded up. A neon sign with an eight of spades playing card blinked brightly. They definitely didn't have bars like these back in Washington DC.

  Christopher was almost ready to turn around and go home. This wasn't his usual scene. But the heaviness of the day couldn't be escaped.

  He pushed through the creaky wooden door and was bombarded by the smell of cheap liquor and ear-splitting loud rock.

  The Eight of Spades was the only bar around Jimstown and was a safe haven for the criminal and undesirables. There were no tables or chairs, save the stools at the small bar on the far side. Everyone gathered around pool tables, holding large beer steins.

  Christopher was definitely out of his element but nobody seemed to notice as he walked through the crowd of bikers with their leather jackets. Peanut shells crunched under his shoes. He shouldered his way to the bar and caught the attention of the blonde bartender wearing a short leather skirt and only a bikini top.

  The deafening music made it hard to hear but Christopher understood that the bartender was asking what he wanted to drink.

  This wasn't the type of place to order a fruity cocktail. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Whiskey on the rocks.”

  The female bartender nodded and got to work. Christopher spun around and looked at the crowd. These definitely weren't the type of people that he normally would associate with.

  The bartender handed him a short glass filled to the brim with whiskey and ice. Christopher took a sip and tried not to cough. He wasn't used to drinking straight alcohol and he'd have to baby this one or else he'd have to be carried home.

  Christopher went to take another sip when a man bumped his arm and the drink spilled on his white blouse. The cold icy liquid was a shock to his system as it was definitely going to stain. He was about to curse until he saw who bumped into him.

  The man was huge with a closely shaved head and blue eyes. He had the perfect amount of stubble that framed his square jaw. A white wife-beater barely contained his bulging pecs.

  The man leaned over to Christopher's ear. “Sorry about that. Let me buy you a new one. What are you drinking?”

  Christopher tried to speak but couldn't. His brain wasn't sending the right signals. The man just stared at him with a smile as he eyed Christopher up and down. Christopher gulped and replied, “Whiskey please.”

  The man snapped his fingers and the bartender was able to hear it over the music. She came over and the two of them shared some pleasantries. The bartender laughed and slapped his shoulder. Christopher felt a jealousy that was foreign to him.

  How could he possibly feel jealous over someone he only knew for a few seconds? All he knew was that he wanted to know more about him.

  The man came back with a glass of whiskey and handed it to Christopher. “Want to talk outside?” he shouted into his ea
r.

  Christopher smiled and nodded. The unnamed man parted a way through the crowd and Christopher followed. He took many sips of whiskey until they made it outside.

  The cold air and silence was a nice departure from the inside. The alcohol began to hit Christopher right in the head.