The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  “So what happened then…?”

  “I brought Pierre here,”

  “You didn’t take him to the hospital?”

  “I didn’t think a trip to A&E was the best course of action…”

  “Can anyone corroborate this story.”

  “I called a taxi and that’s how we made our way home…?” Chris offered.

  “Remember the company?”

  “I can’t… but I should be able to tell you the number,” Chris smiled. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, he had six missed calls from Pierre. He ignored them and found his call log. He recited the number to the detective.

  “What about the girl you was out with?”

  “Alexis? Like I said… she was having a sexual liaison… otherwise engaged and knew nothing,” Chris even faked the hint of shame.

  “I’d like to talk to her,” Jean offered. He finished his tea and placed the cup back on the tray.

  “Sure. I’m sure you know her anyway, you two have a mutual friend. Samuel Le Bont.” he offered innocently, but its intention was definitely not. He studied the look of surprise that briefly washed on the detective’s face.

  “Samuel Le Bont is not a friend…” Jean smiled, but it felt a little insincere on his lips. This interview was suddenly over and they both knew it, Chris had expertly played a good hand.

  He stood, “thank you for your time Mr Bourgh, and please compliment your Aunt on the tea,” he bowed politely.

  “No problem, if you have any questions you know where to find me…” Chris stood with him. He accompanied the detective back to his shoes, he opened the door in time to see Pierre pull up on the roadside in his car.

  Chris grimaced a little at the timing.

  “Be seeing you Mr Bourgh,” the detective tipped his head as he stepped out. Pierre was hurtling up the garden path and he looked flustered. Panicked almost even.

  He stalled when he clocked the detective, suddenly he realised how guilty he looked. He flushed a little and faltered.

  “Mr Brassard?” the detective greeted, he turned to Chris and gave him a strange look.

  “Pierre darling,” Chris greeted enthusiastically but it sounded forced.

  There was a brief moment there on the path where all three men understood something was right there in front of them. But nobody could see it clearly enough, this ménage trois of secrets was teasingly out of reach.

  The detective left, sparking a cigarette up as he climbed back into his car.

  Pierre rushed into Chris’ house and Chris shut the door.

  “Oh hello!” it was his Aunt. She smiled warmly and extended a hand to Pierre, she clocked the unusual appearance and the stitches holding his nostril together. If she was perturbed by this punk-ish boy, she didn’t show it.

  “Pierre this is my Aunt,” Chris introduced him, even though he wasn’t feeling particularly inviting.

  Pierre tipped his head, “what a lovely house,” his compliment had the desired affect. She smiled and batted her hand in front of her face in mock-modesty.

  “Is this your boyfriend? The one fighting in the alley…?” she asked.

  Pierre slowly slid his direction to Chris, like he didn’t know the answer to that question.

  Was he? The last time they’d spoke it had been a fight, not that they’d ever confirmed it in any official capacity beforehand. But right here in this moment Chris needed to get his Aunt off his back, he needed to have a very private conversation with Pierre.

  “Yes, he is,” he answered with a faked smile. Pierre’s face softened a little but the unspoken words he was desperate to say still burnt hotly in his eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ll rustle us up some tea!” and with that she turned and disappeared back towards the kitchen.

  After a few seconds Chris and Pierre were alone.

  They regarded one another heatedly for a moment, neither sure where to start or what to do.

  “Come down for six!” they heard his Aunt call.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  In his bedroom the two of them had so much to say, but had no means of starting. Neither of them knew where to begin, it was like a mess of knots. Chris hovered near the window unable to look at Pierre, while Pierre sat on the corner of the bed staring at the wardrobe.

  “What happened Saturday night…?” Eventually Pierre broke the silence, he sounded a lot calmer than he was feeling.

  “I told you…” was the answer.

  “You’re lying!” suddenly Pierre was spinning him around and pushing him against the nearest wall.

  “I told you!” Chris snapped.

  “You’re LYING!” Pierre finished the shout with a punch next to Chris’ head. The darkness present in Pierre’s eyes was surprising, there was a potential of great violence in the boy.

  Chris’ face puckered up and he grabbed Pierre’s arms, then pushed him backwards.

  “I fucking saved you!” he hissed angrily.

  “Saved me? Fucking saved me?!” Pierre exasperated, “Saved me from what? A detective came to me this evening and asked me how my nose ring ended up at the crime scene of Damian Le Bont’s murder!”

  Chris didn’t answer. Shit, the nose ring! Why hadn’t he thought to collect it? Fuck! He had left evidence, evidence that implicated Pierre. He turned away and sighed angrily.

  “Answer me!” Pierre demanded angrily, but his voice was cracking. Slowly Chris turned around, was there tears in Pierre’s eyes? Were they tears of fear? Or rage?

  “I saved you from him…” Chris hung his head in defeat. He didn’t know why he was confessing, it went against every grain of his being. That self preservation didn’t seem to be working in Pierre’s presence.

  “From him?” the anger emptied the room and left a vacuum in its presence. Pierre closed in, he placed his hands upon Chris’ arms and sought eye contact. “From him?”

  “He abducted you. Spiked you with whatever…” Chris shrugged. He couldn’t bear to look in Pierre’s eyes. Was he about to sign his own fate here? Suddenly the concept of love seemed like a folly, like it was nothing but his own downfall. “He took you to that shack and…”

  No stopping this now Chris thought to himself, “he was gonna kill you, so I…”

  “Killed him?” Pierre finished the sentence. There was a strange quality in the air, it hung like mist. Apprehension and surprise.

  Chris nodded.

  “You killed him…?” Pierre repeated softly. His face shrank downwards and his expression slackened.

  “He was going to kill you…” not that Chris knew he was the Fairy Killer at the time, he was just a weirdo who needed to die. He still couldn’t bear to bring his eyes up to Pierre, lest he saw something he didn’t want to see. Whether that be pain, shame or disgust.

  Pierre was astounded, he couldn’t believe his ears. He had long suspected there was something about special about this boy, but this was a revelation to surpass all others. Wasn’t there an expression about killing for those you love?

  “You saved me…” he whispered. His finger curled under Chris’ chin and brought him to look in his eyes.

  Chris didn’t have a response. He wasn’t sure what he saw in Pierre’s eyes.

  Pierre filled the void with a kiss. A soft and gentle kiss.

  Now it was Chris’ turn to be astounded, he pulled back in confused surprise.

  His green eyes affixed to Pierre’s where he saw some unidentifiable cocktail of emotion swirling in them. Then Pierre kissed him again.

  Chris had expected this to be the end of everything, expected Pierre to leave dramatically. For him to ring the detective and throw Chris to the wolves. The kiss was not something he would ever have thought of.

  Again Pierre kissed him, but this time Chris allowed himself to reciprocate.

  And then their hands burst into life, Pierre tugging at Chris’ clothes. They struggled and combated with their each other’s attire, when finally naked they melted to the bed.

  They w
rithed together, naked skin upon naked skin. Their hands drew across one another, touching and enjoying the feeling of flesh both soft and hard. And then Chris was on his back, Pierre kissing the nape of his neck.

  Chris dragged his lips back to his own, hungry for more kisses. Hungry for more tongue.

  Pierre slipped a leg over, climbed into a straddle of his lover.

  “You fucking saved me…” he whispered, “you killed for me…”

  It sounded like a boast, like it turned Pierre on. Hearing the words fall out of his mouth did arouse Chris a little too. He felt Pierre’s hand around his dick and before he could comprehend he felt the firmness of Pierre’s anus against the head of his dick.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” Pierre whispered in Chris’ mouth, then he straightened up and manoeuvred Chris’ dick into alignment. He felt Chris’ hands place themselves on his hips as he felt his ass slowly yield to the dick he so hungrily desired. He leaned back and sank down on the dick, in one slow and gentle motion.

  Chris groaned and clawed at Pierre’s hips as his dick stabbed into the warmth tightness of his ass. He had no words to express the ecstasy that was currently vibrating through him.

  Pierre swallowed the entire length of his dick, he stalled as he needed a long moment to acclimatise to the sizeable presence inside him. Then he leant back down, cupped Chris’ hands with both hands and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

  “Fuck me baby,” he whispered.

  Chris needed no further encouragement, he felt his hips slowly come to life.

  Their sex was slow, gentle and exploratory. There was no rush, no haste, nothing but the sweetest of emotions. They rocked together, enjoying their connection. Enjoying being inside and outside of one another.

  Chris felt his climax begin to build after a short while, his breath catching in his throat.

  Pierre sensed this, he began to work his butt up and down. “Come inside me baby, give me your seed…” he whispered.

  Chris felt his balls begin to tingle, his hands pinching into Pierre’s hips as the sensation unfurled and began to creep up his dick.

  Pierre felt the sudden change in tempo, he quickly stooped down and pushed his lips against Chris’. Hungry lips met his the moment Chris ejaculated, he climaxed and bucked violently. His entire body stiffening and jerking as his dick unloaded spunk deep inside him.

  Pierre was jerking his own dick and as the dizzying height of Chris’ climax fell away he felt a fresh load of semen splatter on his chest. Pierre moaned into his mouth as he reached his own climax.

  Then they kissed, rolling tongues together.

  And they remained in that state for a long heavenly moment. Chris inside Pierre and Pierre outside Chris, the punk boy with a dragon tattoo on top and his killer lover beneath. They kissed like it was the first time they had ever kissed, perhaps it was. They were two souls utterly naked, masks stripped away.

  It seemed in the darkness of murder they saw each other more clearly.

  ---------------------------------

  Jean had gone to the Commissioner after interviewing Chris and Pierre, where upon he received new instructions to hold back on the investigation. The press was happy the serial killer was dead; that would suffice for the time being. The next evening he heard that Samuel Le Bont was coming back to town at last, the news of his dead brother must’ve finally reached his ears. So Jean was waiting for him in Sam’s warehouse, the decrepit base of operations, sat in his office chair smoking a cigarette as he did so.

  He idly picked at the varnish peeling off the desk. He was angry, rightfully so. The ashtray beside him was full and he deposited a sliver of varnish in amongst the ash and butts.

  He heard a commotion, checked his watch. Eight twenty one pm.

  A quick peek through the office window informed him that Sam had finally returned, bringing with him several crates. He cleared a space on the nearest table and cracked one open with a crowbar. Behind him his motley crew began to bring more of these wooden crates in.

  Jean didn’t have to wonder about the contents for very long, Sam tugged a shiny black AK47 free from the wooden box. Straw fell away and scattered on the floor.

  The gun drew a crowd of admirers as the workers abandoned their posts and came to see it. One of them must’ve tipped Sam off because he suddenly looked up and saw Jean in the window. His face dropped a fraction.

  Jean beckoned him. That knot of anger tightened hard in his stomach. He yearned to beat the shit out of the kid, to remove him from the Earth as well as the game. But it was too late for that now, he had his bet placed. Sam dropped the gun back in its box before he told his crew to continue unloading the weapons. He then came to the office. He was not impressed to find it thick with cigarette smoke.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Jean asked calmly, but he was just a volcano about to erupt. A seismic event just waiting for the right trigger…

  “Getting guns… to win your pathetic little-” Sam answered, it sounded smart and it was like gasoline to Jean’s temper. He rounded the desk in a flash and grabbed Sam at the back of his head in a flash, he slammed the young man’s face into the desk and held it there.

  “YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME!” he roared in the young man‘s ear.

  “What?! No I haven’t!” Sam cried out.

  “You told me you didn’t know who the Fairy Killer was!” Jean growled in his ear.

  “I didn’t…” He received a punch in the gut for the audacious lie. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry!”

  “You fucking knew all this time!” Jean hissed angrily. He dropped the boy and readjusted his shirt. He was a gnat’s breadth from beating the asshole to death.

  “Of course I did, but I couldn’t shop my brother!” Sam argued as he climbed to his feet. “He needed to work it out, and he wasn’t threatening us! He was killing a few queers, so fucking what!”

  “You fucking lied to me…” Jean emphasised the indiscretion. He slowly turned around, Sam had a gun aimed at him. A cheap shitty pistol. Probably would break apart before the bullet left the chamber.

  “Where the fuck did you get that?” Jean turned back to the desk and sat himself at it. He would’ve liked to have felt better for hurting Sam, but it hadn’t alleviated much of his frustration. Sam followed the bent detective with his gun, but it still raised no reaction.

  “I’ve had enough of your shit! You don’t own me!” Sam hissed through gritted teeth.

  Jean fixed him an indifferent look, then proceeded to roll his tongue around his teeth. He plucked a cigarette from his packet. “But I do own you Samuel…” he finally answered.

  “NO. YOU. DON’T!” Sam closed in, shoving the gun in the detective’s face.

  “You can’t shoot me you little shit. I’m the only one stopping you from spending a life inside.”

  “I’ve got friends…”

  “I’ve got bigger friends,” Jean exhaled a plume of smoke at Sam, “much bigger friends.”

  “They don’t scare me…”

  “They should. They could wipe you out like that,” he clicked his fingers, “you’re nothing to them. Fuck all. Just some little shit cutting his teeth on the drug market. A nobody.”

  “You’re just another bent little cop…”

  Jean sighed, “I should’ve picked Xander…”

  “Don’t you dare talk about him…”

  “Well he wouldn’t cause me as much shit as you do!” he offered flatly. “Now drop the fucking gun,”

  Sam hesitated, but eventually he lowered the gun.

  After a long pause Sam took a seat in the chair opposite Jean, the chair he usually reserved for visitors. He did notice, much to his chagrin, that he was sat as a visitor at his own desk.

  “…Do you know who killed my brother?” his anger had dissipated. “I’m assuming you’re working the case…?”

  For a moment Jean nearly told him his theory, but he decided to hold back. It would do Sam no good to go on a warpath just yet.

  “Not y
et,”

  “When you do…” Sam warned darkly.

  Jean didn’t answer but he did wonder what Sam would do if he knew that the chief suspect in the detective’s head was Christopher Bourgh. He contemplated asking what the nature of his friendship with the long haired boy was, but he decided it wasn’t an appropriate time. It might arouse suspicions. That curiosity would have to go on hungry for a while yet.

  “You have more pressing issues… The powers-that-be are getting impatient,” the ball was rolling now, eyes were turning to Melun and bets were placed.

  “Oh don’t worry about that, it’s gonna be a show…” Sam promised.

  “I don’t want a show Sam, I want you to win…”

  “Oh Xander won’t know what hit him…” Sam promised with a dark smile.

  --------------------------------

  Chris was sat in his studio idly painting as he waited for Pierre. Inspiration had struck following the evening when Chris had confessed to murdering Damian Le Bont, it was like a floodgate had opened and a deluge of emotional inspirations were pouring forth. Their relationship had strengthened tenfold and so too had Chris’ feelings for him.

  It was a little nauseating, but he realised he’d fallen in love with the boy. He had revealed the deep darkness deep inside him and the boy hadn’t run. If anything it had only consolidated his feelings.

  He’d not heard any more from the detective either, but he was sure he would reappear on the horizon at some point soon. In fact life had settled right back down.

  He heard footsteps and his first thought was Pierre, but then he counted too many. He turned to the open doorway in time to see Sam accompanied by Alexis.

  It was the first time he’d laid eyes on her in a few days. She was sporting a black eye and a cut lip. It shed a tragic light over the leather jacket and torn black jeans. Sam led the way into the room, dragging her by the arm.

  “Christopher!” he greeted enthusiastically. Alexis flinched behind him, like the volume of his voice hurt her. Sam came up to Chris extending a hand, but it hung in the air.