31 July 2009


It is the saddest funeral he has ever seen. Not because he particularly cared for either corpse, though given the circumstances they died he half expected one of the coffins to shuffle off by itself. The cold distant witch who had shaped the young man, the distant man content to let his destiny run over him like a Challenger tank...the perfect combination to produce the creature staring at him through a wall of lacquer.

He stared into those eyes and even frozen in time as they were they looked right through him. Sydney swayed a bit. The pints were catching up to him and he was glad he'd taxi'd here. He considers the photo, feeling a desperate urge to urinate on it. But he was in enough trouble as it was. He stuffed his hands into his pocket and turned to leave, running directly into the bulldog man, the other Sydney. Sydney bounces right off of him and falls to the ground, realizing quite well he's lying on top of a grave with the face of Jake peering at him on the one side and a ruthless psychopath on the other.

'I hear you've made inquires,' hisses the bulldog man.
'Inquiries? What inq-'
Before he can finish the man has lifted him into the air like a teddy bear and flung him against a tree. Something cracks and he doubts it's the tree. Now Sydney is right in his face.
'You should stop, if you know what's good for you. Never think of my godson, never once, not even for a second, or you will find yourself with a bag over your head one minute and the next in some arsefuck of a country where I'll make sure everyone knows all about you.'
Sydney Thomson tries to open his mouth in protest but instead of words he throws up all over himself.
'You're pathetic,' says the man. He tosses a cheap bottle of gin at Sydney Thomson's balls so hard that he doubles over in pain. 'I'm watching ya, and if you so much as think of trying to find him, there is no government or person on this planet ta save ya. Go get drunk and fall into a pond, for the good of everyone, for fuck's sake.'
And with a parting kick, of course right in the bollocks again, the bulldog man is gone.

In his younger days his mind might have worked here, a-ha, a protector, how can I use that to my advantage, some sort of desire stirring in him, but now all he feels is terror and sickness and he quickly seizes the bottle to shut it down.

It takes several gulps before it occurs to his soggy brain that the bottle was already opened when he got it. His hands are shaking and he lights a bent cigarette to stop them, but of course, it chooses that moment to start pouring an icy rain.

30 July 2009

A question of trust.

They're in the cramped room, it's almost getting stuffy but a storm is coming across the water and the rumble of thunder carries a cooling breeze with it. Some radio station is playing music that sounds like it came from a World War II movie and it was Jake's pick, Sam wonders how spent so many years just a few feet from him, listening to his breathing, and still finds so much about him so amazing and new. Jake is trying to sing along, a waste of time because the song's in French and of all his amazing talents Jake can't carry a tune to save his life, now he's remembering the upset boy being told how he made Handel sound like a plane coming apart in mid-air. Jake had sulked for days but apparently never completely gave up.
'Do ya trust me,' whispers Sam.
'Really trust me, I won't hurt you,' and he won't, he's just...curious.
'Close your eyes,' he whispers, and peels off his brother's jeans, his hard-on standing full at attention, slowly pushing his legs apart.
'Relax,' instructs Sam, and Jake gasps a bit as he starts to explore, first one finger, and then Jake relaxes and it's two and three and his hand now, watching Jake sweat, his lips parting slowly as he moans, his teeth catching a white flash of light as his tongue darts out.
Sam clenches his fist and starts to massage him gently inside, Jake trying to play with himself, but no, no control allowed, Sam goes down on him and he can taste that he's close, so he goes a bit deeper in before slipping it out as fast as he dares, suddenly his mouth full as Jake cries out a bit and he swallows and starts to slip it out all the way but Jake rolls Sam over and pushes it back in, it's all Sam can do not to gag as more and cum shoots out, thrusting all the way back against his throat.
And then Jake is lying beside him, gasping, he lights a cigarette while Sam starts to jerk himself off and he's flicked a cherry right on his head, teh pain so intense he tries to jerk harder but Jake has plans, he can feel the lit end so close to him he thinks he smells something burning, but all he can feel is like floating, floating, doesn't even know what happened next except he feels drunk, before he can gasp for air, he's tasting a mouthful of himself mixed with nicotine and wine.

29 July 2009

There's blood and a desire as yet unsaid.

“no more fish ,no more fish say it Jake, no, more fish” and as Sam says it the last time Jake joins in and they both shout “NO MORE FISH” together and Jake falls back on the bed laughing and Sam dives on top of him and after a long kiss from Sam, Jake makes a show of whipping his mouth and says “urgghh, no more fish Sam, no more fish”. “Ah ya very funny fella” says Sam in his mock Chinese accent, “very, very funny falla, marry me, make me happy, one time mister” and now it’s Jakes turn to attack Sam and he pins him to the bed and as he kisses Sam, he feels Sam’s teeth come over his bottom lip and bite and there’s a taste of blood in Jakes mouth so he breaks from Sam and wipes his hand across his mouth and yeah there’s a trail of blood and saliva on his hand. “Careful Sam, you drew blood man you bite me and cut my lip” and Sam is shaken back to the here and now here with Jake, “ah sorry Jake, I didn’t mean too” and he watches as Jake walks to the bathroom to clean his lip up and as Jake walks away from him he watches his ass and wonders what his fist would feel like inside there.

28 July 2009


Sydney Thomson is kicking himself cuz he can't sleep. He's fumbled around the house twice, noticing offhandedly what a shambles it is, checking through empty beer cans to see if there is something to salvage, wondering why he is so obsessed.

Jake's just a kid. A kid who's already completely fucked up his life, and how can he even be thinking about trying to track him down anymore. Why? He's gotten him fired, interrogated by the local police who suggested not to subtly maybe he move to another town, and that freakshow bulldog of a man who belonged in a serial killer movie. With barely any effort the boy has completely derailed his life.

He needs a drink, that'll help him sleep, but there's nothing left so he forces himself to choke down some awful-tasting cough syrup before noticing his sister bought it so there's no alcohol in it. He's starting to think about vanilla before he stops himself, at least for now.

"Let him go," he says aloud, hoping that will work. "Just let him go."

But he's tossing and turning still and fuck it, he hits the vanilla which almost makes him puke, he'd imagined it might taste like vanilla ice cream but it's nothing close, but the alc in it works a bit, calms his nerves.

Sleep starts to come to him, slowly, and he hopes the hellspawn will leave his dreams alone, leave him alone forever, but somehow, he's not sure he's being completely honest with himself there.


"Sydney..Sydney Thomson, it's Marsh, where have you been man".
"Away for a few days, that's all, absolutely all, nowhere really" Sydney's answer belies the fact that he was imprisoned by some psychotic maniac who seemed to think he was mixed up with an international organ transplant gang involving that odious boy, the one whose photographs now lay burnt in his sisters garden bonfire.
"well" says Marsh down the line "I have just seen the most remarkable thing, here just outside Calais, Jake, shopping of all things, like he lives here, a very peculiarly picnic bag he had too".
"and" says Sydney in a world weary, beat up, life beat out of him kind of way.
"and, well, nothing" says Marsh.
Sydney replaces the receiver and tries not to think about the call.
But why would Jake be France of all places specially after those murders, why would Jake be in France surely he's required at home, funeral arrangements and the such and as Sydney starts to ponder thoughts of Jake return, his skin creamy white with public schoolboy red cheeks, the way he stood, his chest, thighs the way he laughed he wonders would he ever be free of thee boy and then he wonders does he want to be?

27 July 2009


Jake swears and sweats in the sun, he had no clue France was so fucking hot and while Sam may be having more interesting things on his head atm all Jake can think of a is a giant ice cream cone. He finds the village after what seems like the longest, hottest 2km he's walked without a tree in site that was much taller than he was. An old couple is sitting on a bench, eating ice cream no less, and Jake thinks to himself how cute they are, how he hopes Sam and him will be like the someday, and then promptly eliminates the thought when the man stands up and pronounces to his wife that he's just loving Belgium, not realizing he's literally staring at a French flag. Stupid Americans, thinks Jake. He finds a currency exchange and is pleased when he gets twice as many bills back as he gave, wondering if it really is less expensive here. A simple grocery store and he's frozen in place at some sort of tart sitting in the window, it's gigantic and overflowing with several types of berries, it looks so good it practically gives him a hard-on. Inside, he gathers up a couple of those, some absolutely huge sandwiches with chicken and cheese. He quickly locates a couple of bottles of bitter lemon, and without thinking he picks up a bottle of wine as well. The man behind the counter says, non, non, and he suddenly realizes he probably should not be trying to buy wine, risky. But it turns out the man simply is directing him to a different bottle, which in broken English he says is better, cheaper, and best of all, a lot larger. He picks out some lemons with faith he will successfully capture some fish for supper, hopefully a less pissed-off fish, and the man insists on providing him with a picnic basket which Jake finds a little embarassing. but now he has the bitter lemon to keep him cooled down. He likes the newness of it, if someone had told Jake a few months ago he'd be excited about a picnic on the beach, he would've laughed himself to death, but it is nice and he feels happier now than he thinks he ever has.

Sam, his thoughts.

Sam’s lying in bed trying to push these thoughts from his head, he doesn’t want them there, not after the incredible sex he and Jake have just had. Two hours of touching and being touched, two hours of feeling like the centre of the universe where everything had stopped to honour their love. Now Jake’s gone into town to get some food and coffee and Sam’s alone, alone with his thoughts, thoughts where he pulls Jake’s hair hard, back to expose his neck a neck to be bitten and sucked hard as his hands twist and puncture nipples with fingers and needles, his hands that twist and pull hard on Jakes balls, fingers, a fist that get pushed inside Jake. He shuts his eyes as if to close out these thoughts but the nightmares there behind his lids, he see’s Jake drugged, tied, arms pulled taught, every part of him vulnerable and exposed, exposed to Sam and his desires for blood and pain, he shoots his eyes open and for a split second his mind is thinking about the ceiling but then the thoughts return, damn it Sam.

25 July 2009

A New Day

A new day breaks over the boat, dark night slowly crawling along the deck to be replaced by a dull red from a new sun, then as it rises the clear colour of day is exposed bringing with it what?
Jake is awake and making notes in his head as to what needs to be done, accomplished, achieved and he's bursting for Sam to wake so he can tell him. As Sam stirs Jake runs to pour some coffee and no sooner has Sam opeened his eyes than there's a coffee beside him and Jake and houses, food, banks, maybe bikes.
"Jake, hold up will ya" Sam say's and takes a slug of coffee, "come here" and Jake sits on the edge of Sam's bed and Sam pulls him into a hard hug.
"Now what's with this list, house, bike, what else" and Jake starts his mantra list over again and Sam still can't quiet get his sleepy head round it all.
"What do you say Jake, if we just make it up as we go along, no plans, no back up just us, what do ya say"?
Jake leans back taking his weight on his arms,
"Thats kinda new and radical for me".
Sam laughs "yeah it would be, but what do you say, give it a go"?
and Jake realises he's only here, where he wants to be, with the person he most wants to be with because there was no plan, just a reaction to a series of events and he laughs and says "yup, but that kinda sounds like a plan to me", and they both laugh hard so hard Jake falls onto his back and as they lay top and tail Sam tickles Jakes feet and Jake tries to pull away but Sam has his weight across Jakes ankles so he can't pull away.
"No plan, right" says Sam increasing the pressure.
"No plan, apart from no plan, yeah" says Jake and Sam smiles and says "yeah no plan, apart from that plan Jake".

22 July 2009

invisible in plain sight

They made the crossing without the drama of the night before, except for a very large frigate that got much closer than Sam wanted it to, though Jake didn't seem to alarmed for some reason.  The sun was bright and warm and Sam probably only got a bit freaked out because the ship that came close was just close enough to notice him lying out on the deck naked, nursing a beer, eyes closed.
"By the way, Sam, you got an audience," offers Jake, laughing, and Sam scrambles to his feet, probably a poor idea if he didn't want the 'audience' to see everything he had to offer.  The crew of the ship is gathered against the rail, some with binoculars, and he can hear them laughing and see them waving, with no good options he just shrugs and waves back.  Hope they enjoy the show, he says, and then decides to get Jake back for not warning him by dragging him onto to the deck and kissing him on the lips.  That plan backfired, though, because apparently Jake likes the attention and pushes Sam's mouth open, kissing him, and now the laughter is broken up by cheering.
"Should charge them admission," mutters Sam, sitting down with another wave to their audience which gets some of the men to raise a Dutch flag over the side.  "Eesh.  You're gonna get us killed, Jake."
Later Jake finds a fishing pole and surprisingly something is stupid enough to bite the hook, a very large something judging by the effort Jake is putting in to not looking as if he's fighting with it while Sam laughs, and when he finally drags it on board, whatever he's caught is not happy at all and has big teeth.
Sam throws a sneaker at its head, which stuns it long enough that he can wrestle it into the cooler.  They're sipping beers naked on the deck and watching the cooler jump around like it's haunted.
"I think I know how to clean it," offers Sam.  He usually hates fish, but is feeling so guilty now that they have to make it for dinner.
And they find the comfort of land again, though they're both getting use to the sea a bit.  It's a deserted beach in what he guesses must be France, there's and old sign on top of the short cliffs above them which is crumbling but indicates a town a few kilometers away.  Jake is trying to get a fire going, he's got all the sticks arranged except for two that he's trying to rub together furiously to make fire.
"Uhm, Jake," says Sam.
"Shaddup, I'm getting it," growls Jake.
After about five minutes of the struggle, Sam laughs and takes out his lighter, quickly starting a fire from the dry grass on the bottom while Jake glares at him.
"You can clean the fish, then, asshole," says Jake, pretending to sulk and handing Sam the big knife from the boat.  It's not a pretty process, thankfully the smoke keeps anything from flying too close to the butchery he's performing, and the sixty pound fish ends up being a few small pieces they pierce onto sticks and cook a little.  It tastes really good, actually, Sam's never liked fish and hated being dragged by dad for fish and chips and 'little conversations about life,' but this tastes nothing like that, and just sitting here on the beach with Jake naked and munching away is nice.
They sit by the campfire and finish off the last beers, thankfully Jake was aware enough earlier to put them into a bag in the ocean off the side of the boat so this time they're cold and refreshing.
"I like this," says Sam, and he does, he's never felt so relaxed in his life, and they pile on top of each other in the small cabin of the boat and talk about tomorrow, getting up with the sun and visiting the village for some supplies, listening to the crackle of the dying campfire they built, full from the good fish and each other's company, alone under the night stars with the soft hiss of spent surf evaporating on the sand.

Brown Eyes and Winter Sun.

"Come on Sam, wake up, we have to get out of here, off this Island"
Sam slowly comes too and the dirt digging into his back is a reminder of what's happened and where they are.
"why,whats the hurry".
"I've been out and looked around and we are on fucking Alderney, you know the Channel Islands where everyone knows everyone and news travels fast"
Sam stumbles to his feet, wiping sleep from his eyes.
"K Jake, good to go"and both boys walk away from the wartime turret, leaving its ghastly history intact for others to stumble across as they had done.
The sun slams into Sam's eyes and he raises his arm against it to shield his eyes.
"Now where" he asks Jake.
"The boat and then France I guess" says Jake.
Jake fires the boats engine and Sam pushes the boat away from the wall and jumps, he almost falls into the water and when he scrambles aboard Jake's laughing at him.
"Shape up Sam, shape up"
Sam laughs and flex's his muscles.
"latter" says Jake, "later" and he disappears into the cockpit where he studies a map of the shipping lanes and sets a course for France, well he thinks he does.
"coffee" Sam comes in with a tray, coffee and some old bisects.
"I've just about finished here" says Jake "lets go outside"
Sam takes the tray up the five steeps and sets it down on the long seat at the back of the boat.
They both drink the coffee and ignore the bisects.
Suddenly Sam looks up at Jake out of his dream and says
"I really wanted to die Jake and now I don't".
Sam looks at him, all vulnerable, sadness pouring from his deep brown eyes.
"I know Sam, I know, but now we gonna live OK". Jake looking deep into those brown eyes, almost falling into them.
Sam smiles and Jake thinks it's like winter when the sun hits your face for the first time in months and says
"good Sam, good, cos I wanna live along with ya".
and they watch as the water disappears under the boat, taking them where?

Alderney, the island of silence

It was probably the worst awakening he'd ever experienced, because he woke up mid-air, seconds before slamming hard onto something in the dark and getting a face full of salt water right when he chose to gasp in surprise.
He struggled up, dizzy from the pitching of the boat, shivering and trying to not panic, and ran onto the deck where Jake had decided to try to deal with the situation himself. That was just Jake, who was barely a hundred-forty pounds soaking wet as he was then, and he looked terrified, something Sam hasn't seen in his eyes since the boy was maybe six. He's managed to take down the sail with minimal damage and now he's fumbling with the key.
"Do you know what you're doing!?!" yell Sam, feeling lunch, breakfast, and last night's dinner about to come flying up.
Jake doesn't answer, nor does he look very happy, but his head dips in relief when the engine comes on.
"Wave!" yells Sam, pointing wildly, "Fucking wave coming at us!" knowing there's a better way to tell his brother where it is, but Jake gets it and turns the wheel hard into it.
The wave keeps getting closer and bigger and Jake is fighting with the wheel and the throttle to try to turn her, and now Sam panics and throws all his weight against it. Their combined force turns the boat just in time, they smack into it more or less straight on. Jake sprawls to the ground and Sam gets a face full of the wheel, but all the bad visions of Poseidon Adventure appear to have been avoided for now. It's not a perfect result though, for a full minute he feels like the entire boat is pointed straight up and then airborne before it comes down hard on the backside, and he screams, feeling as if his arms are about yanked out of their sockets but sure as fuck not about to let go of the wheel. And then there's another, and another, and Sam is fighting to keep her aimed right into them while Jake keeps hitting the throttle as if that might make things better, kid's seen too many movies, thinks Sam, it isn't making a damned bit of difference.
"What the fuck is that?!?!" yelps Sam, it's a giant black shape almost dead in front of them, and he doesn't know the answer, just knows, don't hit it, and there's a slight scrape but they barely miss it. And suddenly more of them. And more. Rocks.
"Stop going so fucking fast!" he yells, not even sure if that's the right advice, but ever so sure that bumping into one of those is a bad thing. They're surrounded by them and suddenly the wind is gone, the waves go calm, even though the rain is coming down twice as hard now.
He hears a really strange noise, it sounds like birds or something, before realizing it's Jake laughing, blood trickling out of his nose and a ridiculous expression on his face.
"Land ho!" Jake yelps before cutting the throttle to almost nothing and falling to the deck, laughing hysterically.
Sam sees it now through sheets of rain, cliffs, big ones, and a sandy beach right ahead, he's never felt so relieved in his life. There's a crumbling old concrete building on the beach. Jake leaps to his feet and jumps right into the water, killing the engine and dragging the boat to shore like a possessed demon until they're safely on the sand.
Sam is more than happy to get off of the boat and stumble with his brother to the shelter of the old concrete building, out of the rain, grabbing a cooler from the boat they never checked which he hopes has food in it.

The concrete building has the feel of doom about it. Water trickles down from strange huge holes in the structure. He plops down the cooler, and opens it.
"Unless we're going to a beach party, this isn't helpful," he says, staring at several dozen cans of beer.
Sam feels haunted by this place, and soon he starts to understand why. He kicks over a trunk by accident and in archaic print the words "Fleischkonserve" leap off of a bunch of old round tins that spill out of it.
"My god," he says, he can only understand what this is because he studied German, and Jake looks at him with curiosity.
"They're rations from the Second World War for German soldiers," says Sam, and he sits down in the dust to study one, now noticing that just underneath the muddy floor are dozens of empty shell casings of all sizes, and a curious white thing is poking up from a dirt-crusted backpack next to him.
"Rations is food, right?"
"Well, yeah, just, I don't know if they're still safe to eat."
"I'm starving," pronounces Jake.
He opens the army-issue backpack, and finds a crumbling diary of some kind, the words in it too blurred for him to read in that alphabet, but the white thing poking up says it all, a young man in a Wehrmacht uniform, looking proud and scared who might be seventeen if that. Something in his eyes seems so sad. He shows it to Jake, who looks but doesn't speak, he struggles with his Swiss army knife against a tin before it opens with a pop, sniffs it, and tastes a little bit.
"Don't eat that!"
Jake makes a face. "It tastes like shit but it doesn't taste spoiled. Give me a beer, quickly, please..."
Sam tries a little of it while opening beers for them. "Ugh," he says, drowning the taste with the beer, but Jake is right, it just tastes like dirty feet, not like rotten food. And he realizes just how hungry he is, and they dig in, nothing like a meal of sixty-year old soldier food and warm beer.
"I think that used to be chicken," says Jake, and Sam laughs.
The rain is easing some and he's feeling full, but not sick, thankfully, and now he's sipping his beer and trying to read the diary while Jake studies the photo.
"He looks so scared," Jake says.
"He's writing something here about his true love or something, I think, it's damned hard to read. 'Fate brought us together, and fate brought me here, and if fate so chooses for us we will be together again soon, but I believe we are fated to be together in eternity without regard.'"
Jake says, "True. Want another beer?"
"Yes. I mean, I'm just trying to translate what he wrote down here."
"Dated 14 October, 1944, 'We are lost here but the commanders will not accept it. I hope my words reach you through the ether and we shall join hands again someday in the not too distant future, in a place without all this death and war.'"
Jake has lost interest, though, now he's poking around through the mud himself.
"Fuck," he says, and Sam looks up to see him holding a tattered piece of cloth with two gleaming lightning bolts on it. In his other hand is a pistol, something Sam has only seen in war movies, and his sneaker has just kicked a gleaming skull with an unmistakable round hole in the side of it.
Thunder rumbles.
Jake looks scared, and Sam hugs him to make his brother feel better, but now he's wondering how many skeletons and bullets are under the mud they have no choice but to sleep on tonight.

21 July 2009


"Jake, where are we going" says Sam who is just starting to understand he's on a boat somewhere in the English Channel.
"France, Belgium, whichever we hit first" says Jake.
"don't you know then"
"well its kinda guess work but what does it matter" says Jake.
"what will we do when we get there" Sam asks.
"continue Sam, continue".
"with what"
"our affair, our lives, our journey".
"but to where" Sam still not understanding.
"anywhere man, anywhere, what does it matter".
"but Jake, you re always the man with the plan" Sam says laughing.
"I have a plan, I just told you, anywhere, anyhow".
Jake undresses and Sam smiles at him as does.
The two boys, brothers naked, adrift.
"this is how my life has felt for years" says Sam and Jake takes his hand and holds it and says
"and now it feels like this, is that any different?
and Sam lays his head on his brothers chest and smiles and says "much different Jake, much".
"I'm glad then" says Jake.
"Jake I wonder what happened back at the cottage, I thought I heard sirens when I was throwing up".
"don't know, don't care" says Jake.
"No neither do" I says Sam.
and they drift, the only sounds are water hitting the boat as it moves through the smooth sea, the wind in the sail and each others breathes, but Sam thinks he hears a distance voice saying careful Sam, careful.

19 July 2009

Open water

It lasts all of five minutes. Then Sam yells, 'pull over pull over fuck!' and Jake is using his mobile trying to act like he's talking on it and pulled over for that reason, not because Sam is projectile puking out of the side of the car. He's about to give up that illusion when something like ten police cars come screaming by.
He hits the radio.
"...casualties in a domestic dispute, resulting in a standoff with police. The suspect is armed with a rifle..."
"Oh, fuck me," he says, remembering the display case with the rifle in it. "Fuck me."
He kicks the dashboard hard, it's all coming apart, and the glovebox falls open and fuck if just maybe Sharon might have thought about helping them before she got the better of herself. Their passports are there, plus there's a big envelope in it with a lot of quid.
"Fuck me," he says, and Sam is wiping his mouth.
"Fuck me," he repeats, sweating. They'll be tracking the licenseplate of the car any minute now.
He runs around to the side, hopping over Sam's puke, and thank god it poured the rain, checks to see if there's cars coming, scoops up the muddy ground and tosses it all over the car, frantic, almost to the point where it barely looks like a VW.
"What the fuck are you doing," says Sam, finally starting to get over the sickness, though it's pretty obvious he's in the clouds.
Jake has the address, ten miles, it's the middle of the day on a Monday so they should be mostly alone, and he starts to GPS it before it occurs to him the damn thing is a homing beacon so he rips it out, smashing it. He knows more or less what direction to go and just guns it, right into a bunch of thick shrubbery, but then there's a dirt road and open sky. He's done damage, that's for sure, like six lights on the instrument panel are telling him to stop, pretty sure he wiped out the oil pan at least. But there's only a few miles to the docks their 'friend' Peter, who's prolly lying in his own blood atm, told them about, and under pressure of a few dozen vodkas with Sam, they know where the key is hidden.
Sam is laughing, he can't stop, and it's starting to piss Jake off. There's no one around, just a few sad boats and their target, a boat maybe forty feet long give or take.
"You know how to sail?" asks Sam, drooling a bit and laughing again.
"Of course," lies Jake, who has only been on a boat once, on a pond, and got so sick he puked himself. It's now or never, though, and he isn't being patient, he grabs the wad of cash and the passports and stuffs them into a bag with all the pills they stole and takes the jack from the trunk and drops it onto the accelerator and slips the car into drive and the Phaeton takes off like a rocket, bouncing off a pier before flipping over and disappearing into the sea.
Nothing like shutting down options, he thinks, but there's no time to think, and Sam is useless.
Fuck this bad planning. He struggles to pick Sam up, and fuck, stop laughing, dammit, tossing him into the cabin of the boat.
To be stopped by a knot is embarassing, but he's just staring at it, now, trying to figure out how the hell someone tied this thing up. Finally he figures it out and is a bit shocked when the boat seems to get a mind of its own and starts to peel away, he leaps at it, just barely catching it while losing a tooth, clawing his way onto it. A sail swarps overhead, almost knocking him out, and for a minute he just tries to hold it the right way before realizing he can control it from from a lever.
"Fuck, fuck," Jake says. This isn't how things go for Jake. He's supposed to know this shit well before it happens, and he's sweating like crazy, now he's sort of figured it out but the boat is getting tossed up and down and he has to puke over the side.
The port is way back there behind them, disappearing now, a speck, and nothing in front, and he's got it trained to west-southwest, by the compass at least it should be aiming that way. The chop calms, then, and the sail stretches its legs and now it's moving fast, where, he isn't sure, just away.
He stops and wipes the sweat off his face, the sun burning him but he doesn't care, it's just fresh air and salted spray and he drags Sam off the cabin floor to experience it.
He strips off his T-shirt and then all of it, and Sam looks at him with a strange expression, starting to realize that he's on a boat in the middle of the ocean and Jake is acting a little insane.
For once, Jake has just realized, he has no control over any of it, and it's the best feeling he's ever had.

Play The Stakes Sam, Play The Stakes

Jacob senior sits, gloves on, holding the gun, think man, think, but the earlier absinthe
is making him drowsy, no ones going anywhere soon he figures so he places the gun beside him and lays out on the sofa.
Five miles away Sam barrels the VX down a country road going where? Neither he nor Jake Jr have a plan as yet, the only plan is to put some distance between them, Mum, the Dr dude and Dad, beyond that there’s no plan and that bothers Jake Jr bothers him a lot, he always has a plan, a back up plan and then some more.
“stop Sam, stop” Jake Jr shouts above the engine, Sam brings the car to a halt. Jack Jr gets out and walks to the boot,
“pop it Sam will ya”
Sam pushes a button on the dash and the booth pops open. Jake takes out the plastic bag they loaded the pills and scripts into, slams the boot and walks back to the passenger seat.
“Sam ya gotta trust me on this one OK, but I promise, I absolutely promise it’s gonna be safe and it’s gonna make us for life OK, me and you, together, forever man, promise, OK” and he leans across and kisses Sam.
Sam breaks the kiss.
“yeah, course, anything, for you, me, us right Jake”
“anything, never parted OK, Sam, promise” and as he talks he undoes the top of a plastic bottle of water, holds the bottle between his knees and pulls out of the plastic bag the percocet, xanax, thorazine and valium they took from the Doctors house. He tips out six of each into his hand and starts to grind them into a power.
“what you doing?” says Sam.
As Sam questions him, Jake tips the powdered pills into the plastic bottle, replaces the top and shakes, the clear water clouds.
“look Sam, this is safe, totally safe Ok, I’m not gonna let this go bad, but we have to maximise this opportunity, get Dad onside and Sharon and the Doctor outta the picture forever, Dad’s the weak link here, Sharon’s the fucking danger to us and possibly that Doctor, right”?
“yeah I guess” say’s Sam.
“so this is the plan, you’re gonna drink this, then we gonna drive back to the Doctors and park up and as you get drossy I’m gonna haul ya ass inside, Dad will WTF it, and I’ll tell him that between them, Sharon and the good Doctor drugged you and forced me to kiss you and shit”.
“that’s mad” says Sam.
“gotta a better plan“, says Jake.
“no, but”
“look Sam, your problem has always been, the stakes, you never play the stakes, higher the stakes the bigger the reward, for once Sam, play the stakes”. and with that he shakes the bottle at Sam.
Sam holds out his hand for the bottle and as he does Jake puts his arm around him.
“its gonna work Sam, believe me, its safe”.
Sam slugs the contents in one.
“good man“, says Jake, now back to the house.


"Im not comfortable with this," whispers Sam, "I mean, mom knowing and all."
"Don't worry 'bout it," whispers Jake, "In about sixty seconds, I'm gonna push you really hard against that bookshelf."
"What? Why?"

"So," Sharon said, and Cardiff is coming back to her now, back before all the drugs and that "strategic marriage" of hers, "How have you been?"
She's only half-paying attention to the camera. It will take her sons a few minutes to get somewhere damaging, anyways, at this point it isn't even close to Ofcom's "watershed" content, and, to be honest, Peter is looking quite handsome, his sideburns flecked with grey, and he's a doctor, I mean after being stuck with a copier salesman all this time, that's food for thought.
"It's drafty in this old house," she says, wincing at the bad excuse to close the door on the room they're in.
He looks at her, uncertain.
"I was married, you know, Sharon. She died. I have a son."
"Don't we all," she says, glancing at Sam and Jake doing some sort of roughhousing, laughing, and wonders if it's a little off that she finds it somehow erotic. It must just be Peter, the love of her teenage years, the only light in that existence in the 'Estates,' what a name for that horrible place.
She leans in and tries to kiss him, which he dodges.

"Trust me," whispers Jake again, and presses a hand against Sam's stomach, Sam looks down and sees the 'VW' logo glinting in the dim light on the key.
"What are you going to-"
Before he can complete his phrase, Jake pushes him, hard, which, even though he was warned, knocks him right off his feet, into the bookshelf with a crash.
"Owwww, why'd you do that!?"
But Jake has dragged him to his feet and pulling him so hard he thinks his arm is about to come off.

Sharon is peering into Peter's eyes, and it's starting to make the man a little uncomfortable. The feelings just aren't what they were, god, that hurts, how many years ago was that? And she just up and disappeared on him one day. He cried for weeks because of that, and now she just re-appears, thinking somehow fate must be at work? No, things don't work out like that.
"Shit," he said.
"What?" she replied with a giggle, but then notices he's looking at the TV. Static.
"No, the wiring must be wet, it's not quite put tog-"
There was a loud click.
"What was that?" she asked him.
They look at each other and then at the door.
"Shit," he repeats.
And the voice from the other side.
"The next time you plan on hiding a camera...turn off the fucking red light, ya stupid fuck! We trusted you...you dumb bitch."
Peter rushes to it and pounds on it, stupidly demanding they open the door, like, only in the movies would someone actually be stupid enough to open it, and this is a solid oak door, could throw a pissed-off gorilla at it and it wouldn't break. No windows, just the door, and they were stuck.

"Pay dirt!" says Jake. He's found the 'stash' - several dozen bottles, percocet, xanax, thorazine, valium, everything.
Sam is standing there dumbfounded when he notices another box of pills.
"What are these for?"
Jake reads the label, puzzled, finds a book and starts flipping through it.
"Shit, that's even better."
Jake's mind is churning, he wishes he'd noticed this earlier, these prescriptions are all written from the Doctor to himself, or his wife...would've been prime blackmail material.
"This is all anti-cancer shit, not even legal in this country anymore. You know how much we could sell this for? And I'm not saying we should sell it here, there's countries we could get to where one or two of these bottles would pay for us to live for a year!"
"Let's get out of here before they get out," said Sam, feeling vaguely queasy, this wasn't how he wanted any of this to go at all, why the fuck did his mom try to pull that shit? Jake was every bit the son of Sharon and all the baggage that came with it, and was it a good thing Sam was in love with him? I mean, what the fuck could she possibly have done to make them so...evil to each other? Was Jake just playing him for fun, too? Where would it end?
"Not yet. One more thing to do."
"What? Why? Let's just get the fuck out of here."

Jacob Sr. is nursing a headache. He's not sure this absinthe isn't like every other relationship in his life. He drinks a little, it gives him a pounding headache, he drinks a bit more, it goes away and feels pleasant for a bit. He's starting on his third glass when the mobile buzzes in his pocket, scaring him so bad he knocks over his drink.
"Jake? Are you okay? Where are you!?"
He listens to the other end of the conversation in disbelief.
"You're okay...unh-huh...Sharon did what?!...where?!...wait...how can I find you...what do you mean you think it's better if...you have the VW? What?...wait...let me come get - the address? okay..."
He waves at the bartender for a pen and starts scribbling furiously.
"Why?...Jake, I'm worried about you and Sam...you're sure...really sure?? Jesus. Jesus fucking christ, she forced you and Sam to...what?!?!!...fine, stop yelling, fine...just promise me...you'll call me every day...and be safe, okay? Jake? Jake?"
He throws his money on the bar, thanking the bartender.

His blood is boiling. Not to mention the bitch took the VW so he has to stuff himself in the Mini, not a nice experience for a man his height, and thirty minutes later he's found it, a rundown little shack in the middle of nowhere, condoms everywhere, a few empty bottles of wine, glasses with lipstick on them, and...pills all over the place, from Sharon's bottle of valium it looks like. It looks like they must have really been enjoying themselves.
The man, whomever he is, must have a Firearms Certificate, there's a rifle in the case and the head of some unlucky animal stuck above the mantle, ghastly, thinks Jacob, barbaric, and his vision is starting to blur with rage. The bitch has been stepping out on him with this guy, yet she blames Jacob for their marriage? And making Sam and Jake do that...disgusting thing. He flips his mobile open and starts to dial '9-9-9' but, no, there's a rifle right there and justice just a few feet away, besides, if the police get involved, they'll try to find Jake, he'll have to testify about what she did, and he can't do that to his boys. They deserved so much better for parents.
He hears Sharon and her 'friend' banging on the door, just like Jake said they would be.
Time to even out the score and end all of this for once and for all. Conveniently, the man has his hunting gloves right next to the rifle, and he puts them on, trying to think if he touched anything, glad he was smart enough to park the Mini round back, glad it's pouring the rain and dark out.

Sharon Her Sons And A Ghost From Her Past.

Sharon's conflicted in three ways she can immediately think of.
The drugs from Pain Garden are still thrashing her system and she zoning, Sam and Jake and that kiss, what was that? and then there's Peter, how long ago was that?
She lights a cigarette cos it's gonna buy her some time.
She lights and inhales and as she does every ones looking at her, she's aware of being studied, she throws her head back and lets out a long stream of smoke from her lips and inhales again, the awkwardness intensifies, your call Sharon thinks and she exhales.
"Sam, Jake go inside a wait for a minute will you".
The boys turn.
"no wait" they stop and turn towards her.
"I take it you have been at the cottage"?
Sam looks at Jake to answer, better if Jake answers, he has a way about him that will cut through this angry indifference.
Jake smiles and steps towards his mother.
"yes we were there for a day and then these locals turned up drunk looking for trouble and there was a fight, Sam got us out and we came here and called you".
"ahemmm, soo glad" Sharon says in her best southern states American accent, she only uses in times of extreme sarcasm. She inhales again.
The boys look down.
"ahhh see and are you two an item now, I mean the kiss looked more than brothers"
Sharon knows an advantage when she sees it and any hold over Jake is not to be sniffed at.
"Mum", Jake says and nods towards Dr Peter, whoever he is.
Jake's assessment which is razor sharp tells him her hold over him can't last if he can dig out this Mum and Peter thing.
"Peter do you have a room the boys could go too, I need to talk to you". Sharon ssays taking command.
Peter looks away from the boys and says"sure, first right off the landing, upstairs".
"well Sharon says looking at her sons, off you go".
They walk into the house and up the stairs, into a spare bedroom.
"shit, shit, shit, she knows" says Sam.
Jake walks towards him, takes him in his arms, kisses his lips softly and says
Sam pulls away, "she knows about us"
"as I said, and"? Look Sam, don't sweat it, Sharon's a fuck up, she's not going to hold power for too long believe me" Jake takes his brother back into his arms, pulling him close and kisses him again, this time longer and with the passion of lovers anew.
Sharon sits on a long five seater sofa, Peter is opposite her in a leather high backed chair.
"this is awkward" she says.
"don't see why" says Peter, "that was a long time ago".
"the younger one, Jake has a passion for power like you don't know" Sharon says.
"can I"? says Sharon as she pulls another cigarette from the pack she has been holding since she arrived.
Peter gets up, fetches an ashtray and places it beside her on the sofa and sits again.
"did you send them to the room with the cameras in"? Sharon asks.
"yes" says Peter grinning.
"lets see then" says Sharon shifting in her dress.
Peter picks up a remote and turns on the flat screen on the wall.
They both watch as Jake and Sam kiss, then Jake breaks away and walks to the door, opens it, listens and then closes it again, he walks back to Sam who is stood frozen and again takes him in his arms and kisses him and as he does he runs his hands over Sam's body and Sam as he is kissed places his hands on the small of Jake's back and pulls him closer.
"Interesting" says Sharon, can you record this by any chance"?
and Peter picks up the remote and pushes a button and small red light comes on.

18 July 2009

Coming home?

Sharon curses to herself under her breath while smiling at the valet and tips him generously, hoping he doesn't notice that she's concentrating way too hard on putting one foot in front of the other, and the pain is shooting up her spine something fierce. As soon as she pulls away from the nondescript building, safely out of view, she fumbles with the cap on the Diazepam and sucks down a couple, cursing because she drops the cap and all she can do now is keep driving with a giant illegal bottle of valium sitting in the cup holder like a cup of Starbucks. She lights a cigarette and drops that, too, scorching her dress before it rolls onto the floor, by instinct she bends over to get it and bangs her eye on the wheel.
Of course this is making the VW Phaeton swerve wildly and wouldn't you just know it, there's a policeman right behind her. Now she's really starting to panic, throwing the valium into an empty bag from some godawful fast food place her sort-of-husband liked to stuff his face in, just in time.
"Ma'am, are you okay?" asks the officer.
"Why, yes, sir, why wouldn't I-"
But she catches a glimpse of her face in the mirror, which doesn't look so good at all, the bruise from the steering wheel already starting to swell up.
And she knows how to play this, looking down as if she's scared of this idiot in his ridiculous uniform.
"Please don't call this in officer. My husband will find me, I mean, find out, if you do."
He steps back, peering at her, trying to judge if she's lying, and Sharon knows that means she's got him, when a man tries to figure out if she's lying, he's done for.
"Where are you going?"
Trying to get control of the situation. Good luck with that one, idiot.
"I'm, I'm,"
Now the cop is starting to realize she doesn't want anyone to know where she's going. The man who did this to her eye can do much worse if he finds her, and it's his turn to look down.
"Look, ma'am, you were driving erratically, and, well-"
"I dropped my cigarette," she says, rushing the words out and trying to keep the frightened expression consistent.
He nods, pretending to take stock of the situation, looking up and down the road even though there's not a single car on it.
"Very well," he says at last. "This time, I'll let you go. But go and get that eye looked at."
He hesitates.
"If you want me to help you with your, your, situation," he starts.
"I don't think you can, Officer," she says, and that's enough for him. He nods and then he's gone and she's fumbling with the GPS, her wits enough together now that the valium is working to realize she has no idea where the hell she's going.
She presses "avoid major highways" without a second thought. She should not be driving in this condition. And two hours and ten minutes later she finds herself on a dirt road that's more out in the country than she ever believed possible in Britain, at least these days, and there's the address, which of course has the same damn highway she was on right behind it, probably thirty minutes from where she had turned off to avoid another run-in with the police.
She steps out, still a little unsteady, and drops her purse and everything because she sees Jake and Sam, kissing each other, and not in a way normal brothers would, alone in their world, hidden from the highway and the house, not expecting her to come up from some farm road.
Jake looks up, a little shocked at first, but he smiles, even though she can see stitches across his forehead and an ugly bruise.
"Hey ma," he says, and it strikes her as even more odd that this spawn of hers she had always been a little afraid of, manipulative, vindictive, angry all the time, now he seems...happy. Something makes her mind tell her to sit down without even considering there's nothing to sit on, and she lands hard in the dirt.
"Moms," says Sam, and he hasn't called her that for at least two feet of his height, "we need help. We need your help, and we need it bad."
She can't find words, dammit, Sharon, you picked a hell of a time to be stoned off of your ass, not even really conscious she's still sitting in the dirt looking up at her sons, and even better is that the Doctor they refer to pops his head around the corner, having heard the voices, and she feels like she's in one of those movies where the background zooms in on the character because, damn it...
"Peter? Is that, is that...you? Oh my god."
He stops and his eyes flash in recognition.
The memories flood back and she feels as if she's right back there, even the accent she spent years trying to smooth out is bubbling up in her throat like a lunch of live snails.
"Sharon? Sharon Davies? From Fairwater Estates?"


Sharon, feels what, after three days at Pain Garden and fistfuls of pills not a lot she guesses. It's like void land, no pain, no emotion, just shut off the ring of her mobile sends her into a little trance and then she realises where the sounds coming from looks at the screen, number unknown.
"Sam?..... where, at a doctors house, you alright"?
Sharon slugs at a litre bottle of still French water, which for some reason she thinks is gonna help repair her body.
"pick you up"?
Sharon considers her options, which are zero, she's a well paid PA to these little brat's Dad and what? How's she gonna say No.
"OK, when"
she slugs another shot of water.
she sighs deep.
"K.......OK, I said OK, Sam, just chill a little"
somethings not right here, she thinks.
"where's your car Sam"
she pulls the phone away from her ear as Sam blasts some language her way.
"OK, Sam address?......, an hour or so I guess".
She writes the address down and reads it back to Sam.
"now...OK...now, I'm gonna start now Sam, so just stop with the shouting, on my way, bye"
and she shuts down the call, picks up her car keys and sets off to pick the little fuckers up.

10 July 2009


He had to hold Jake's hand while the doc stitched him up, after thirty minutes of arguing all Sam did was find the man's freezer and sure enough there was vodka in it so he gave Jake a big chug and another and another and he brushes his hair and tells the doc, "Okay."
And he holds his hand, it's been too soon for the vodka to really help a lot, and the doc pauses and sees Sam's eyes and knows a hospital is going to happen over his dead body and he sighs and drops some more vodka on the cut, and Sam is holding Jake's hand and his little brother practically breaks his fingers while the doctor starts to stitch it up.
And he tells Sam to leave Jake, let him get some rest, and the doc takes off his glasses and looks at Sam's eyes, and maybe thirty years or more separates them but he can tell Sam's mind is trying to get there fast so he asks him what he's going to do and Sam just starts to cry before he stops himself.
"Look, son," the man says, and Sam sees some sort of disappearance in his eyes when he says that last word, some loss.
"I should never have done this, I mean, y-"
"Do you believe in love, Doctor?"
And the man looks down and Sam knows he's holding back something, and all the doc says is, "I'm a man of science. Medicine."
There's a long pause there while the man stands and paces before he takes the vodka and pours them each a glass and he puts his hand on Sam's face, gentle-like, and Sam is thinking, uhmmm, okay, what does he expect.
"You look just like him," the Doc finally says, and Sam knows when to shut up. "He jumped on a ship headed for Mexico a year and a half ago last week, and I never heard from him again, then his mother died three months ago..."
Sam doesn't know what to say except sorry, but before he can get it out the man has a picture of a kid who looks just slightly older than Jake, and he's crying and grabs Sam's hand and Sam just jumps on instinct before giving him a hug, and now this man who should be so much more grown up than he is starts to cry like a baby, and tells them, he's not working at the hospital anymore, he lost that desire when she died and all he wants is to know Jackson is safe and maybe when Jake is well enough they could try and find him and tell him Dad loves him and if he wants come home...
And Sam just nods and lets him cry a bit, and the man mumbles something about 'whatever it takes' and he's gone, and he turns to Jake, who's stretched out on a few blankets on a wide table that turned into a stretcher for now, and he climbs up there with him, careful not to wake him, hoping Jake doesn't kick like usual cuz he's gonna wind up on the floor if so, and looks up, and it's a skylight overhead and he stares up there, all those stars, all those worlds, and wonders if they will belong in any of them.

02 July 2009


They've hurt Jake, is the first thing Sam thinks and he doesn't know how badly. But the big fat one in front of him gurgles a laugh and raises the bottle to his lips and what happens next is so fast yet seems to go slow, it's all fuck-self-preservation-they-hurt-my-little-brother, and he wriggles an arm free and slams his hand into the bottom of the bottle, forcing the bottle and its contents an impossible distance into the man's mouth. Another gurgle as the man throws his hands up, he's a fat man and losing his balance means bad things will happen.
The other hand holding him lets go and he hears a yell of surprise as fat man slips, and not in the right direction, it's a good ten feet down to the stream behind him, boots frantically struggling to regain his drunken balance, but he's already drowning in a half gallon of whisky, and he disappears from sight, and the man behind Sam yelps out a name with a tone that only a brother can produce, and chases right after him, his mind just as blank as Sam's with fear, so blank he doesn't know or care the stream might be only a couple of feet deep there, so shallow there is barely a splash wherever he landed, just an ear-piercing scream of pain and thrashing.
Sam has the bottle and turns, Jake is blinking, but not aware enough to do anything to help, so Sam swings the bottle at the man holding him, this isn't like the movies, no, the bottle doesn't break, but something else goes crack really loud, something very bad, and the man's eyes start to fill with red before they roll back and he drops the ground, a rewarding trickle of death running from his lips. The fourth one stares at Sam, looking like he can't decide whether to fight or run or maybe he's just wondering if there's any Whisky left in the bottle. Sam's adrenaline is rushing now, and the man takes off into the woods.
Now all he can think about is Jake, who's stumbling a little now, and if the scrawny one is going to come back with more of them, and he picks his brother up, thinking to himself he hasn't picked him up like this since the boy broke his toe at soccer practice, and all he can think to do is run, back to the cottage, out of this place, away from this hateful world. He hopes the fat man drowned and pictures him trying to claw his head above the water in the soft slippery mud, hopes his mind is filling up with the rule of 3's, just three minutes is all he has, and hopes his half-breed brother shattered his legs, hopes they all die slow and painful, for hurting his love.
And he's running, he has their money and their clothes and dresses Jake, who's stumbling all over the cottage, dazed, and all he can think is run, like they talked about, run, somewhere no one will ever find them, and then they're on the road, almost into the path of a white BMW which swerves, because, well the man behind the wheel didn't expect two boys covered in mud to scramble out of the woods.
The man in a gray pinstriped suit leaps out of the car, seeing Jake, his slurring and mumbling.
"Please, sir, please, my brother, he's hurt," and Sam has enough presence of mind to not give details, just keeps repeating himself over and over before the man puts a hand firmly on his shoulder and says in a voice so calm and quiet, "I'm a doctor. I can help your brother."
And he tells Sam to put him in the car, keep Jake awake, his house only a few miles away, just keep him awake is all you have to do, and Sam is crying so hard the man speeds up. He's starting to feel calmer and now wonders what they've chosen, a life full of random terible and random lucky things, and knows he wouldn't have it any other way as he gently brushes Jake to keep him from falling asleep.

Whiskey dreams

Jake and Sam don't wanna move. The stream, the Sun, their new found appreciation for each other combine in an intoxicating mixture. The joy they're feeling is almost too good. Jake playfully grabs at Sam, tickling him relentlessly for a moment. Sam responds by attacking back. The feelings of playful affection have a new edge to them. Something new and forbidden intensifies the feelings of joy mixed with something else. It's uncontrollable, this feeling. Sam knows others would judge them calling it wrong. He simply can't stop himself from remembering things he'd thought about and dismissed in the past. His body responds in memory of the things always left unsaid and anticipation of things that are, and will be. He grasps at Jakes hand, but to no avail,in a half hearted attempt to gain an advantage. Jake responds by taking control and nailing him to the streambed pinning him down on his back with his own weight. Sams own excitement obvious to them both Jake decides it's time for an other round. Where is this energy coming from? he wonders. Neither of them got much sleep last night. Sam looks into his eyes in curious wonder. A million and a half thoughts in his mind; desire to continue naked in his eyes.
Suddenly things just aren't right. A crashing noise as a fawn breaks through the brush upstream shatters their perfect world in an instant. The hair on Sams arms stands at attention. For no reason whatsoever Sam is terrified. Something primal causes him to pause, a single finger to Jakes lips. The unspoken demand for silence palpable between them. Fight or flight is demanding that he decide, though he's unsure why, or what's causing it. The skin on the back of his neck prickles through him into Jake, they feel eyes upon them, though from where they can't tell. Suddenly from beside them their dread is confirmed to have a reason.
"Well, what d'ya reckon we've got here lads?" demands a loud and cruel voice. "Looks like we've caught a couple of girls frolickin idn't it boys?"
The look of fright frozen on Jakes face forces Sam to look in that direction reluctantly. The sight before his eyes sends even more chills up his spine. He shudders involuntarily while looking into an sadistic pair of ice blue eyes.... and an other... and an other... and an other. The last pair was brown not blue, but every bit as drunk, and evil, and mean. "I told ya we'd find somethin to do out here boys" the one who'd spoken before almost crowed with glee. Grinning lopsidedly he takes a pull off the bottle before handing it to one of the others. Looking like something out of a nightmare there stands before them these four. They probably would get on just fine with in a different time and place. Sam quickly glances from one pair of eyes to an other in a futile attempt to find some kind of aquittal. Thing is he's not finding it. They're all trashed, too far gone to really have any kind of sense. A feeling of dread prickles hot all over his skin as his heart misses about twenty three beats. Nausea overwhelms him for the realization that they can't possibly get away in time. He could maybe make it, or maybe Jake, but no way would they both get away. Fear of things that hadn't even begun turned the warm water in the stream to ice. Moving faster than any drunk should suddenly the two of them are being pulled dripping wet out of the stream. Sam is suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of cheap whiskey wafting off the breath of the face that's suddenly much too close for any sort of comfort. "Alright girls, looks like we're gonna join your little party!" slurs the voice, behind him now. He's being held from behind and can't see Jake. But he can hear him threatening them, then suddenly there's the thud of a fist hitting something soft yet hard at the same time, and Jake goes quiet.....

01 July 2009

Sydney and Sydney

The sack is pulled off of his head, and his heart is pounding so much he can barely breath except to sputter, "Who are you and what do you want with me?"
The other man, who has just introduced himself as Sydney, looks at him with an unblinking stare, the posture of a pouncing pit bulldog, and says, almost as if it were an afterthought, "Sydney Thomson, may I call you Sydney, I know, it's going to be confusing, but haven't you ever watched the court shows on television, what they tell a barrister never to do?"
"Never ask a question if you aren't fairly sure of the answer."
"I am a citizen of the UK. I have rights. You have no reason to detain me."
"Well, that may very well be true if we were the police. However, I think," and he fingers the prepay Sydney stole from Jake Jr., "I think they would have plenty of reason as well. But before we get to that point, you have some explaining to do."
"Explain what? The same person who set me up with those phone calls, the one who's phone you're holding? It's all a fraud. None of it is real."
"Jacob Junior?"
Sydney notices he doesn't surrender a last name and that makes him more nervous than ever before he can only say, "Yes."
"You see, I know the young man in question. He is-" checking his watch "-about eighteen hours away from being declared a missing person, and the last information we have puts his mobile phone a few miles from your house."
"What are you accusing me of??"
The bulldog pounces, right in his face, and with a snarl, "If you hurt so much as a hair on that boy's head, you will suffer a death so-"
"I have a heart condition, please!" yells Sydney, "I'm cooperating!"
"You say you are cooperating, but you really aren't, are you?"
"I have all the files from the school, yes, we got those quite easily, where you recommended Jacob Junior as an, and I'm quoting here, 'outstanding addition to the student body with great potential,' right?"
"Well as a matter of fact I did, and-"
"Now according to this you met with him alone, let's see, three times, before even meeting with his parents? Is that, is that procedure, is that normal, I mean, not just for you, but in general?"
Sydney nods.
"I mean, this would ordinarily be a matter for the local police, but now that we have all of these calls to Dubai, Islamabad, let's see, Tbilisi, the list goes on, not to mention that nice trick of a frequent call to a pre-paid mobile in a port city, well, you see where this is going, right, Sydney?"
"He approached me!"
"He approached you?"
"Yes, because it was either this school or the military school-"
"Something wrong with the military school?"
Sydney Thomson feels his chest tightening.
"I have done nothing wrong," he says.
"Oh, there isn't any need to tell me that, I mean, trust me, we'll find out."
A long uncomfortable silence while the interrogator taps something onto his own mobile phone.
"So now what?"
"Are you going to keep asking questions you don't want to know the answer to, you arrogant ass? The local police will begin processing your house, as well as this phone which contains some pictures of Jacob Junior I wish I had never seen, on top of everything else incriminating about it, so they can begin their investigation of you. In the meantime, they will begin combing the woods around here to see if they can recover the bodies of him or his brother-"
"His brother?!"
"Yes. They're both missing, and there is only one suspect. As they are doing this, our agencies overseas will begin to look into your contacts there-"
"I have no contacts there or anywhere! I'm a schoolteacher!"
"Well, not anymore, are you? We know you visited Cairo in 2002-"
"To scatter my wife's ashes by the pyramids!"
"Poetic, really, I give you credit, for a so-called ex-science teacher, that's poetic. Look, Sydney, you're going to jail. For what and for how long, well, that depends very much on whether we find our information before you tell us what we need to know."
Sydney swallows hard, "I am a British citizen! I have rights!"
"What do you want? You're not getting a barrister from me. Or do you just want me to pipe Billy Elliot into your cell for you?"