Vision Quest

by A. F. Henley

  And Arik was scared.

  Not scared of what he was seeing or if the images had any power of harming him. He was scared of stepping too close to the edge. Terrified that he was going to end up chasing invisible monsters. Worried to all fuck that once it started, he might never be able to reel himself back.

  Just like his father.

  Are you losing it, Arik? Now that you've started to maybe, kinda, sorta, possibly believe some of this crap might be real ... are you slipping?

  And how could a voice in his own head sound so very much like the man it mused of? As if it spoke of itself in third person?

  Scenery rolled past the windows at an uncomfortably slow rate. Not that Arik was watching.

  That's right, Arik. Keep staring at the wall. Don't focus on any one thing for too long. Keep your mind clear. That's how this works, right? Just tell him that you don't see anything. That you didn't see anything. That you never see anything.

  Whatever you do ...

  Don't tell him ...

  The problem was that Blaze was right. There was a connection—from vision to vision—and it wasn't simple or pretty.

  The vendor, just a harmless snack guy, a deep-chuckling dude with a wee-pudge belly yet crazily skinny arms, had made it all make sense. Arik was sure the guy hadn't meant to; the man probably hadn't even realized that his sleeve had slipped past the tattoo on his lower forearm. After all, the skin had been pale, much lighter than the revealed portions of hands and neck and face. It was skin, the color difference advised, that was usually covered, even in moments of relaxation and holiday. Poor choice of design? Bad decisions? Regret?

  Or, more likely, something, somewhere, had decided that Arik needed to see, for the sole purpose of exposing Arik to the hidden trigger—the tattoo that Arik hadn't told Blaze about.

  It had been a pentagram, and spooky enough in itself, what with its upside-down design and its devilish undertone, but it was what sat over that design that brought the liquefying flesh, and rivers of blood, to Arik's eyes. That one symbol that seemed to be the pentagram's life partner in every tattoo shop, horror novel, or poster design—a goat's head.

  Which made not only the cause of the vision a pattern, but the resulting effect a pattern as well. It was a very particular, neatly-printed out formula: Arik + Blaze + Goat = Vision of Melting Flesh and Runnells of Blood.

  And that made it all real.

  That meant that Blaze really was there for reasons beyond Arik's understanding, and not just because fate had decided to twine two lovers out of casual strangers. While that didn't mean their story couldn't end as a happily-ever-after, it did, however, mean there was a good fucking chance that it wouldn't. So be it heredity, seeing the visions themselves, or dwelling on the concept that it was all going to be for nothing, insanity was all but guaranteed.

  The limo rolled to a slow, smooth stop outside the massive three-story Plantation-style mansion that Arik had admired from the resort's website for the last several years running. The landscape surrounding the building was meticulously maintained. Pillared porches wrapped the entire structure on both main and second level. A couple of dozen concrete stairs led to the grand, double-doors wherewith a uniformed doorman waited. Century-old trees clung valiantly to leaves weakened by advancing color. Pumpkins and baskets of bright fall mums added splashes of cheerful orange and gold, burgundy and red, to almost every available nook and corner. It was beautiful and prestigious; set up like a scene in a romance novel from ages past. Arik almost expected to hear the rustle of hoopskirts and the click of walking sticks.

  Good enough place as any to lose one's mind, Arik figured.

  The driver's voice, deep but cheerful, rolled into the back seat from the speaker system of the limo. "We're here, gentlemen. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to The Fireward Hotel and Resort."

  Arik didn't wait for the driver to step out of the vehicle. He snapped the handle, fumbled for the lock when it didn't give way the first time, and would have pushed his way through the door had Blaze not stopped him with a palm on his shoulder.

  "You know," Blaze smiled when Arik turned with a lifted eyebrow and a question on his face. "These conversations would go a hell of a lot easier if you had them out loud."

  Arik snorted, extended his hand to catch Blaze's, and all but dragged Blaze out of the vehicle behind him. "Now, where would the fun be in easy, hmm?"

  Blaze

  Blaze let Arik lead them up the wide, sweeping front steps of the Victorian-modeled hotel. The doorman tipped his cap, staff swept away their bags, except for Blaze's, which Blaze refused to relinquish, and the welcome-wagon hurricane landed them in front of an intricately paneled, solid-wood reception desk. Arik made nice with the receptionist, and Blaze took in the faux-candle chandeliers, the oriental carpets, the late nineteenth-century antiques, and the lofted ceilings, which had been such a necessary luxury when the building had been originally constructed. There were some inaccuracies in the architecture where modern builders had repaired molding and fixtures, but Blaze liked the old-world atmosphere of the place immediately.

  "Ah, you have the Master Suite!" The receptionist handed a real iron key to a brown-skinned man with friendly eyes, brilliant white teeth, and a name plate that said, Jakob—Guest Coordinator.

  "Jakob will see you to your rooms, gentlemen, and explain all our amenities on the way. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to call any time, day or night, and all the details are outlined in your guest welcome book." She handed Arik an honest-to-God book with a leather cover and gold embossed lettering. "Enjoy yourselves."

  "Thank you," Arik said, politely. And tightly. And as though there was a pole up his shapely, narrow ass. A pole that did not belong to Blaze, personally, but might have Blaze's name on it, so to speak.

  "First time at the Fireward?" Jakob asked, making small talk as they headed for an old-fashioned elevator with golden grating.

  "It is, yes." Arik's smile was civil but dismissive. Jakob didn't take the hint.

  "Well, you've made a fantastic choice, sir. Let's see." Jakob shoved aside the grating, and the three of them stepped into the elevator car. There were mirrors on all sides, gold trim, and a lever that set the floor destination, as opposed to buttons. Jakob set the lever to floor three, the topmost floor. "There are two restaurants on-site, and both deliver to the room, free of charge, so long as you order within operating hours. Breakfast is served in the ground-floor dining room every morning at eight, sharp. Great spread. Fresh everything, but especially the seafood. Town is within easy walking distance, about six blocks, but there are horse-drawn carriages, too, that can take you. It'll cost a little, but you can't beat the ambiance, and it's faster than walking. There are also Smart cars to rent if you'd rather drive around. Top speed on those things is thirty-five miles an hour." Jakob chuckled as though this were amusing. Arik's smile could have given Blaze's mother a run for the Evil Eye.

  "Everything can be set up through me or through the front desk," Jakob said, with plenty of perk.

  "Excellent," Arik said.

  Jakob beamed, pushed aside the grating, and led them onto the third floor. The carpet was so thick beneath Blaze's shoes that it swayed with his weight. "That way is the Marsh Rooms and the North End Rooms. They share the bath at the end of the hallway, just there." Jakob flourished the iron key. "You gentlemen, however, are in the Master Suite, which has its own sitting room, covered balcony, private bath, and bedroom." He turned the key in the lock and pushed open a wide door. Blaze and Arik stood just inside the sitting area, watching Jakob flit about, opening sliding doors and revealing views of the beach by rolling up hanging shades. "Your bedroom is through there," he pointed to the sliding oak double doors, through which Blaze could see a massive, King-sized, four-poster bed, a dresser, and a sliding glass door with a screen leading onto a balcony. Arik's luggage was at the foot of the bed, neatly stacked on an antique bench.

  "The sheets are Egyptian cotton, though other linens are a
vailable upon request. The bathroom is off the bedroom, and is fully stocked with towels, robes, and toiletries. Your balcony has a view of the private beach, which is open to guests. There's a fridge behind this panel, here." Jakob demonstrated by opening a wooden door that was set in a series of built-in bookshelves in the sitting room. "And the wine, cheese, and finger foods are compliments of the hotel." Jakob finally paused, clasping his hands. He seemed to hesitate, but smiled through his deliberation. "The hotel has an excellent spa package that takes couples downtown for massage and other treatments, if you'd like to indulge. And on-site we have a barber who does an old-fashioned straight-razor shave and warm toweling that I've not been able to live without since I went the first time."

  "Sounds nice," Blaze ventured when Arik seemed lost in his own thoughts, again.

  "Good." Jakob beamed. "And if I may say, and forgive me for imposing, but you two make a lovely couple."

  Blaze laughed, mostly because he couldn't tell if it was a dig for a better tip or not, but if it was, it was a good one. Arik's eyes had gone wide as saucers, and his tongue was still tied. Blaze slipped his arm around Arik's middle. "Thank you," Blaze said.

  "Of course, sirs." Jakob winked and started to leave.

  "Thank you for your help," Arik said, catching the kid and tipping generously.

  "If there's anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant ..." Jakob glanced first at Blaze, shot a quick glance at Blaze's crotch, and smiled winningly at Arik. "Do let me know."

  Jakob left with a gentle click of the door, and Arik stood with his back to Blaze. Arik's shoulders shook, and his fists clenched. "Well, they're certainly friendly on this island," Blaze said, unslinging his bag and setting it next to a sofa. "Must not get out much."

  "Evidently." Arik shoved his wallet into his pocket and stalked toward the bedroom. Blaze followed, admiring the furnishings along the way. Their rooms were done in rich, mahogany with creamy cushions and fabrics. The rugs over hardwood were plush and patterned in trumpeting cherubs and elegant fleur-de-lis. The heavy curtains were rose and cream striped, the shades were deep brown, and the smell of lemon polish, soap, and ocean was in the air. Through the open bathroom door, Blaze could see a claw tub elevated on a corner platform, which had been mosaic-tiled by a master-craftsman. There was also a modern corner shower with a glass door, pedestal sink, and hidden commode.

  "It's a beautiful hotel," Blaze said.

  "It is," Arik agreed.

  Blaze sighed. Arik violently unzipped his suitcase and began stuffing clothing into dresser drawers one item at a time, and, while Blaze watched, Blaze concluded a few things. First, he had to remember this was the man's first vacation in years. Quest-driven or not, the guy deserved to enjoy it. He had obviously paid out the nose for it, and he was trying to do something nice for Blaze, while he was at it. Blaze wanted nothing more than to wallow around in such consideration like the starving dog in need of affection that he was, but he resisted. It didn't pay to get used to such luxuries. The next Quest might find Blaze homeless with an asshole who was trying to kill him.

  And speaking of Quests, Blaze's current strategy of Beat Him Over The Head Until He Cracks and Talks was not working. Not even a little bit. Blaze wanted to kick himself over fumbling that pass, but, honestly, he'd been so caught up in the idea of hemorrhaging, thanks to Arik's particular brand of Visions, that he'd gotten too goal-oriented. Quests never worked if Blaze focused on his own fears, desires, or wants. He knew this. He was there for the other guy not—

  "Maybe I'm here for you."

  Blaze shivered. He put aside his own urges to wrap around Arik and just not let go until Kingdom Come, and he thought of what had worked to get Arik to open up, to relax, to talk, and to trust Blaze. The exchange of information and intimacy worked. Honesty worked with Arik, which was a rare and wonderful thing. And if the man was absolutely convinced that it was his purpose to be there for Blaze, for once, then denying the man the right wasn't going to get Blaze anywhere but uphill without a paddle or a creek in which to row the damned canoe.

  "The last guy killed himself." Blaze put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorframe. Arik froze in the act of refolding socks, though he didn't say anything.

  "I was in London, and my target, as I call them, was this kid in the fashion industry. Big name, at least in the UK." As Blaze spoke, Arik turned around, sat on the bench next to his suitcase, and toyed with a zipper, listening. "Despite having what had to be millions, the kid lived in a shitty room over a wine and spirits. He ate out of tins. He shot up heroin between his toes. He liked to scream himself to sleep." Blaze swallowed, pushing away that particular memory. Kip's nightmares had put even Blaze's to shame.

  "God," Arik whispered.

  "I thought I was there to help him. He didn't seem suicidal, just lost. I helped him get his finances in order. I helped him get away from his ex-boyfriend. I stood by him while he spoke to his parents for the first time in years, came out to his friends who didn't know, got out of the hotel and into a respectable flat, as he renegotiated his contract with a new manager and agent, got a better deal, more money ... Hope. There was a lot of that, near the end." Blaze rubbed his face. "We weren't lovers. It usually does go that way, I'm not going to lie, but not that time. He liked that I slept on the couch and never asked to touch him. He told me so on the last day he was alive." Arik closed his eyes, but Blaze carried on: "He said it again in his suicide note. He credited me with helping him get all his affairs in order so he could die well. And that must have been what it was all about, that Quest, because any time I wasn't helping him get organized, I was staunching nosebleeds. I remember this one time I suggested we go for a walk. This was early on, when he wouldn't leave the room. He agreed, which shocked the hell out of me, and we went into the sunshine. He took my hand, and he smiled at me, and then blood shot out of my nose and mouth, all over his shirt, and sort of ruined the mood." Blaze chuckled, but Arik covered his mouth with one hand.

  "Anyway," Blaze said. "The last one ... was hard. And this one isn't. You ... aren't. And it'd be so easy to get used to that. To all of this. To want it. More than I already do. And that scares me. A lot. And the thing is, I never know what the point of the Quests is, and it is rarely ever what I want. It doesn't go down like I think it should or like I wish it could. Last time affection cost me. This time, I spent days doing nothing but rolling in bed, and I'm intact. So ..." Blaze shrugged. "I don't know what this is all about, and I need your help." Arik got up and started for the bathroom, though he came to a jerky halt when Blaze pushed away from the wall to give chase.

  "And you may be right, for the record," Blaze said, hurriedly. "It could be exactly as you said. That you're the guy who finally gets to be with me, even a little, and—"

  "I'm not going to fucking kill myself," Arik snarled, with volume and venom. He was facing away from Blaze, shoulders set in a rigid line.

  "I don't think you will, either," Blaze said carefully, studying and inching closer to the vibrating man. Every word about Kip had been true. Blaze hadn't wanted to say a damned thing after hearing about Arik's father, but now Blaze hoped he'd chosen wisely and not made a critical error.

  "I am not crazy."

  "You're right. You're not. You might be the sanest man I know." Blaze resisted the temptation to touch Arik's arm.

  "I will not go crazy."

  "I believe you."

  Arik didn't seem to hear Blaze. "I don't have to do this. I'm not going to end up on a ... on a ... I am not my fucking—" Arik cut himself off, growled in his throat, and started for the bathroom.

  This time Blaze did reach out and catch Arik's arm. Arik jerked away, and Blaze wrestled to regain a hold. "Hey," Blaze said, tussling with Arik like a couple of school boys fighting over a toy. "Hey," Blaze said again, but without frustration, this time, because he could feel Arik shaking all over.

  "I'm not going to jump off a ..." Arik panted, shaking his head, refusing to turn or look at Blaze
, and all but gasping. "I'm not going to be like ... I'm not going to do ... Fuck him. Fuck you. Fuck that. I'm not ..."

  Blaze got an arm around Arik's waist, hugging him. Arik leaned forward and thunked his head against the wall, and Blaze pressed himself flush against Arik's back. "It's not going to go that way," Arik insisted through clenched teeth. "I didn't bring you here to watch me die well."

  "I never thought you did, Arik."

  Arik rocked his head side to side. "Supposed to be nice. Supposed to be peaceful. Trying to be the good guy." Arik was heaving for breath, wheezing mumbled words in between. "You're not here to have to ... I'm not going to let that ... it won't ..."

  Blaze shushed Arik, rubbing his shoulders, his neck, and sliding fingers into Arik's hair. "You call the shots, here, Arik. It'll go like you want it to go."

  "Goddamnit," Arik hissed. He breathed. Blaze waited. Minutes ticked by. The quality of light through the windows changed as clouds rolled across the sky. Arik gasped, gulped, and finally spoke. "You don't ... You really don't think—?"

  "No," Blaze said. "I don't think you're insane at all. I don't think you're anything like your father. I don't think I'm here to help you harm yourself. I think I'm here to help you see that what you've always been able to do is a kind of beautiful, not a kind of curse."

  Arik sucked a breath. It was watery, but Arik's voice was level. "Like it is for you?" He laughed, low and mean and dripping irony. "It's really fucking beautiful for you."

  The words stung, and the real truth was on the tip of Blaze's tongue, and he nearly bit it off to keep from confessing his entire life's story.

  Him. This is about him.

  Blaze got it together. "Well, maybe we're here for each other, just like you said. Me here to help you deal with the strangeness without going nuts, and you here to break the ... pattern. My pattern."