Drawn Together

by Z. A. Maxfield

  Now he dreamed that he came home and no one was there to greet him. He wandered the deserted house; all the things he knew and loved were in place, but his grandparents were nowhere to be found. He searched outside and all over the property, but everywhere he looked was devoid of human life. Even in the town, there was no one in the drugstore, the market, or the movie theater. No cars filled the parking spaces, and no customers waited outside the A&W.

  In his dream, Rory felt the first fat droplets of rain fall from a darkening sky, and as they fell, all the buildings melted away as though they were made of sugar icing. When the rain in Rory’s dream fell in earnest, the entire town of St. Antoine’s Parish disappeared completely as if it had never existed, and with it the sum total of all the real love Rory had ever felt from other human beings in his life.

  Rory clawed his way out from under the T-shirt covering his face and rose up from his sleep, taking deep breaths. For a time, he didn’t know where he was. A gentle hand came out of nowhere to stroke the side of his face. Yamane.

  “You were dreaming. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” lied Rory. “It was just a dream.” He felt wetness on his face but wiped it off with the shirt he still held in his hands. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re coming up on Des Moines.”

  The events of the previous night were coming back to Rory, squeezing him like a band around his heart. He’d always hoped that when he fell in love, real love, it would feel like home to him. He tried to give that to Yamane, who either couldn’t or wouldn’t believe in it. Now, with Amelia threatening his grandparents and Yamane as different and distant from him as the sun, he wondered if he’d ever feel home again.

  24

  Rene Chanfreau looked out the window of his squad car. He felt like he was on a slow amusement park ride, on a track, motoring around tiny St. Antoine’s Parish. He took the familiar route, hardly feeling as though he needed to even steer the car himself, he had done it so often. He’d agreed to do the job because his daddy had done it, and his father before him. Often, people talked to him as though he were his dad, or even his grandfather, referring to things that happened when he was in the Navy, or before he was even born.

  Young people left St. Antoine’s; they didn’t stay there. Like Rory Delaplaines, they came back during the summer to get some vacation booty and run amok. Chanfreau liked Rory more than most. He was a decent, respectable boy. He’d been on Chanfreau’s mind lately for some reason, and the sheriff had been out more than once to see the boy’s grandparents.

  Lately he’d seen a few people in and out of their house that he didn’t recognize, and one of them, the man Euphonia called Ethan, made him wonder. Chanfreau made careful mental notes. He’d seen a woman, a dark-haired, overdone, sharp kind of female, who looked to be about his age, early thirties. She had two men with her who looked like hired muscle, which set alarm bells ringing in Rene’s head. There had also been a slow-looking, younger man with them who trailed along like a pet. All these people had never been here before. They drove rental cars, all in the name of Ethan Calderon, a onetime cop from New Jersey.

  From the look of things, one of the Delaplaines family had bitten off more than he could chew, and he was putting his money on Claude, St. Antoine’s own kingpin of the senior center drug trade. Chanfreau hated to admit it, but he really liked Claude and had looked the other way more than once. If Claude had stepped on dope-selling toes from one of the other, larger parishes, he’d have to put a stop to the whole thing.

  Chanfreau drove by the motel where he knew the outsiders were staying, and he saw something move behind one of the strips of vertical blinds in an upstairs room. Chanfreau had the creepy feeling that Calderon was keeping his eye on him, even as he was keeping his eye on Calderon. So far in St. Antoine’s, current population 873, Rene’s biggest case had been the emergency removal of a huge hive of bees from the inside of a terrified woman’s chimney. He hardly had to drive around, except to get some dirt on his patrol car so his deputy could wash it off once a week. Rene sighed and turned the corner of Center Street, heading to the drugstore. Yancy, the pharmacist, was a sharp-eyed, intelligent man. If the strangers had put even a foot out of line in town, he’d know it.

  Rory drove the seemingly endless interstate as darkness fell on Wednesday. Yamane slept beside him, looking strained, even in sleep. They’d been guarded and distantly polite to one another all day; nothing like the sweet, erotically charged day right after Vegas. For his part, Rory didn’t know what words to say to Yamane, so he said nothing. How could he explain what he didn’t understand?

  According to the news, there was some foul weather coming up from the south into Missouri and Iowa. Yamane would no doubt be disappointed to hear it. As the first rain spattered down around Kansas City, Rory decided they’d driven enough and pulled into a Comfort Inn with a Denny’s right next door. He touched Yamane’s shoulder to let him know it was time to wake up.

  “Rory?” Yamane rubbed his eyes. “Are we stopping for the night?”

  “Yeah. There’s a Denny’s next door to the motel.”

  “Let’s get something and eat in the room. I just want to sleep. You go on ahead; I’m going to smoke.” Yamane turned away.

  “Okay.” Rory went into the office to secure a room. He watched Yamane smoke from the inside where he could see him without being seen. Yamane looked so tired. For the first time since they’d met, Rory thought Yamane might have looked his age. He was still beautiful, but in a haunted kind of way that made him seem translucent. His dark eyes were shadowed with concern as he took a drag on his cigarette, the beautiful hands holding his cigarette and lighter as though he didn’t know what they were.

  As Rory watched, Yamane leaned back against the truck and put his arms around himself. He was probably cold. He seemed very small there, next to the huge vehicle, and Rory’s heart felt tighter somehow. More drops of rain came down, and Yamane looked up at them as if he’d never seen rain before. Rory filled out the information card and paid for the room.

  Once inside the room, their silence continued unabated. Rory set up his laptop and got out his map, while Yamane put their toiletry kits into the bathroom. When he returned, he stood just inside the sleeping area of the room with his back against the wall.

  “Rory?”

  “Hm?” Rory was checking his e-mail. “Did you say something?”

  “Nothing,” said Yamane, still wrapping his arms around himself.

  Rory turned off his laptop and walked to where Yamane was standing. “Are you cold?” “Not really.” Yamane’s eyes began to shimmer. “I just feel…”

  “Me too…” Rory took Yamane into his arms. Rory lifted Yamane off his feet and turned with him, walking to one of the double beds. “Kiss me like you did that first time.”

  Yamane pushed Rory back onto the bed and kissed him, climbing on top of him. “Rory… Rory…” Yamane murmured against Rory’s lips. “I know I hurt you. I am so sorry.”

  “Shh,” whispered Rory. “Just kiss me.”

  Rene Chanfreau returned to the sheriff’s office concerned. He had spoken to Yancy, who told him that the strangers in town were looking not for Euphonia and Claude, but for Rory and some Japanese man. Chanfreau knew that Rory often picked up strays, although in his experience they tended to be beautiful young women. That an older woman and a whole bunch of men were in St. Antoine’s Parish looking for Rory Delaplaines didn’t feel right somehow. He picked up the phone in his office and looked up a number from his Rolodex. Just in case, he thought he’d call Rory’s mom and see what was what.

  “Hello?” a woman answered.

  “Hello.” Rene consulted the Rolodex again. “Elizabeth? Is this Elizabeth Hutchins?” There was a pause, as though the listener didn’t know what to do. “Yes, that’s me…”

  “Hello,” Rene began. “This is Rene Chanfreau, from out to St. Antoine’s Parish
. Nothing’s wrong at all, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, okay?”

  “Uh, sure,” she said. “Are Mother and Daddy Delaplaines okay?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine, ma’am. I wanted to ask about Rory. Is he there in New Orleans with you?”

  “No, sir, he’s not. He went to California to chase that artist he’s so crazy about. I guess he got into some trouble somehow, though.”

  Rene felt the skin on the back of his neck pucker. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know much about it. I guess he got mugged and half beat to death, but the officer said he got back in his car and drove off so it couldn’t be too bad. Rory’s tough; he’ll be fine.” She didn’t sound like she believed it 100 percent. Rene could hear a man bellowing in the background.

  “Did you get the name of the officer you talked to, Mrs. Hutchins, or better yet, the phone number?” He crossed his fingers.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got it right here on the fridge.” She muffled her voice -- probably with a hand over the receiver -- and yelled something that he couldn’t understand. “It’s a number from over in Long Beach, I guess. Do you want it? My boy’s not in trouble, is he?”

  “No, ma’am, Rory’s a good boy. It’s probably nothing,” said Rene. “But I’ll look into it, okay?” He took down the number, double-checked it with her, and then rang off. He looked at what he’d written. Jenkins. Detective Jenkins.

  Rory and Yamane sat across from each other on the double bed. In an unprecedented gesture of goodwill, Rory was letting Yamane smoke a cigarette. Yamane sat cross-legged, watching every move Rory made. Rory just stared back at him.

  “Can you talk to me?” Yamane asked.

  “I’m so tired. I can’t think straight anymore.” “I see. A lot has happened. Do you regret --”

  “No. It’s not like that. I don’t regret anything; not about you…never.”

  “Can I draw you?” asked Yamane, putting his cigarette out.

  “Sure,” said Rory roughly. Yamane was concentrating on his sketch pad. He looked up and caught a slight softening of Rory’s features.

  “You’re kind of a player with men, aren’t you, Yamane? You’re like I was with girls.”

  Yamane pushed his hair behind his ear with one shaking hand, while the other stilled in the act of drawing. “I know it could seem like that.” He smoothed the paper out with his hand and began to sketch in the empty space on the page. “Especially after Vegas.”

  “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything about that.”

  “You say that.” Yamane filled in faces, sketching quickly and quietly. “But you don’t mean it. You want to know. I would in your place, even if it hurt. I went with a man to his room and we had sex all night. Not for either of us was it making love. I suspect he was married with children, and something exotic about me attracted the connoisseur in him. He was kind. He didn’t mind that I called out your name when I came, but he bit me so I wouldn’t do it again.”

  “You called my name?”

  “Sure. I wanted you. You know that. And the day before, if you recall, you told me, ‘I can’t.’ So I thought, well, what the hell? I’m an adult and I wanted him. He was confident and attractive, and just about your size. He really, really wanted me. I liked that. I’m not particularly proud of it, but I’m not ashamed either.”

  “No…you shouldn’t be. How many times have I done that? It’s all so confusing. I want something different with you.” He plucked the sketchbook from Yamane’s hands and tossed it on the floor.

  “Rory?”

  * * *

  Rory fought the impulse to toss away civility and simply rut, but lost. He wanted this man. He ached with it. He wanted more than to simply renew his connection; he wanted to possess Yamane completely. Rory pushed Yamane over onto his stomach, ridding his lover of the few obstacles of clothing, not caring if he left others still on. Rory rolled a lubricated condom on his cock and used a couple of fingers coated with his saliva to prepare Yamane for him. He clenched his teeth, trying to get out words he knew he needed to say, but finally gave up.

  “What I feel for you, Yamane,” he said, gripping Yamane’s hips and raising them to his throbbing cock. “I can’t begin to say with words.”

  Yamane gasped. “I understand.”

  “Ready?” Rory tried to be as gentle, as careful, as he could.

  Moving slowly at first, Rory waited for Yamane to open, to relax against him. The unbelievable pleasure he felt when Yamane began to meet him with a small amount of resistance melted his resolve. Yamane was so hot, so tight, that soon Rory was pushing harder, going deeper with every thrust, grinding into him as his balls slapped Yamane’s thighs.

  Yamane braced himself against the headboard while Rory rocked and twisted on him. Reaching around Yamane’s body, Rory grasped his cock, working it with one hand while holding Yamane’s hip in a punishing grip. Yamane pushed back hard against him, his cries smothered in a pillow.

  When at last Rory felt Yamane climax, he allowed himself to tumble into his own searing orgasm. Rory thought about telling Yamane that sex had never meant more or been more powerful for him that it was just then, but abandoned that in favor of maintaining his connection with kisses and gentle nudging. He wanted to stay like this, locked with the man he loved, forever.

  25

  At ten a.m. on Thursday, Rene Chanfreau finally got ahold of the detective named Jenkins and learned the whole sordid tale of Rory’s encounter with the psychotic Amelia Gianfranco in Long Beach. He cursed soundly as he hung up the phone. He got up from his desk, calling for Ruthie, his dispatcher, to radio his deputy to meet him at the Cajun Heritage Motel. He had known something wasn’t right about those people. Their interest in Euphonia and Claude disturbed him. Damn. Jenkins had called the authorities in New Orleans -- why wouldn’t he? He couldn’t possibly know that Rory spent his summers mostly in tiny St. Antoine’s Parish. Chanfreau was out of the loop, as usual. Rory was on the run heaven knew where, and that crazy woman was trying to flush him out using his grandparents as bait. Shit.

  Anthony Laforge, his deputy, was waiting for him just outside the motel. They went to room 203 and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Neither of the two rental cars he’d seen before was in the parking lot. He used the key card the manager had given him to get into the room. He announced himself as he entered. What he found there made him sick. Anthony literally hurled his breakfast over the balcony. Buzzing flies were already gathering in the summer heat over the corpses of the two stocky men Rene had thought were hired muscle. Rene and Anthony cautiously made their way around them to the bathroom where Anthony found another man.

  “Damn!” shouted Anthony. “This one’s alive.” Rene whipped out his radio to get an ambulance on the way, but the way the man was looking, he didn’t think much of his chances. They did what they could for him and tried to keep him comfortable till the paramedics arrived.

  “She shot us,” the man said, something like wonder on his face. “She sent Ethan away to do something. He wouldn’t have let her shoot us. He told me. He wouldn’t let her.” The slow man’s voice faded. Rene felt sickened.

  Calderon was gone, and Rene didn’t know where. Amelia had cut her ties to him. After the removal of the wounded man in an ambulance and of the two dead bodies by the medical examiner, he waited in the room, alone. He wasn’t sure if Calderon knew what had happened here today. He might have guessed, in which case he’d probably be long gone, but if he didn’t know, he’d walk right back into this room when he got back. And Rene Chanfreau had every intention of being there when that happened.

  Rory could hardly face Yamane over their Grand Slam breakfasts at Denny’s. Even as a teenager, he couldn’t have acted like that. They’d made love, nuzzled, shared secrets, and humped like animals. Yamane colored every time their eyes met. Rory sipped his coffee. If he looked at Yamane he’d probably spit it out. He didn’t want to laugh, but it was a little funny. Rory started to do the
hand motions to the happy pancake dance, humming the tune under his breath a little, and Yamane held his napkin to his mouth trying to chew and laugh at the same time. Their eyes met then bounced off each other as if they were magnetic opposites.

  “So.” Yamane cleared his throat. “So, today we keep going down the I-35?”

  “Do we? Okay.” Rory started to laugh again.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Yamane snorted. “I just can’t look at you without…”

  “Remembering…”

  “Last night…” Yamane sighed. They finished their coffee in two quick gulps and paid the bill. Rory left a nice tip for the waitress and they practically ran out the door, laughing.

  Rory helped Yamane into the truck. Yamane gave him the ‘I’m not a princess’ look, but Rory ignored it. He took Yamane’s hand in his. The closer they got to home, the more he worried about what waited for them there. No matter what happened, he wanted to stay by Yamane’s side. He wondered, though, if keeping Yamane with him might be exactly the wrong thing to do.

  “Kiss me,” he told Yamane. “Then let’s get on the road.” Yamane obliged him.

  Ethan opened his door at about four o’clock in the afternoon after running another useless errand for Amelia. The second he opened the door he was overcome by the awful smell of blood and death. He entered the room warily, knowing something terrible had happened there, and swallowed hard. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he made out a figure standing by the window.