by Lisa Henry
Maybe . . . maybe that sleep clinic.
Daniel threw the cuffs onto the floor.
Fuck that. They’d just want to try him on a new drug or something. Daniel had been down that path before, and his parents knew it, so why the hell had his mom turned up on his doorstep and told him they were going to give him money to go? Maybe they were just sick of him hanging over them like a fucking pall.
Daniel closed his eyes and tried not to see Kenny Cooper’s face.
Tried not to think about how, right now, a bunch of people were lighting candles for Kenny.
In prison, Daniel had thought about killing himself. Not when he was still frightened, or confused, or crying so hard he couldn’t say his own name, but later. Days and weeks later, when the first shock had worn off. When it still felt crazy and unreal, but less sharp around the edges somehow. When killing himself seemed like the only recompense he could make. A life for a life, and all that. He might have done it as well, if he hadn’t suspected the real truth lurking under that simple equation: he wasn’t thinking of atonement, he was thinking of escape. And he didn’t fucking deserve to escape. He’d made this nightmare, and he deserved to live in it. Then, when his lawyers called in the doctors and the doctors started asking about his sleepwalking, Daniel had felt hopeless all over again. It should have been good news. Mom, Dad, guess what? I’m not crazy after all.
Too bad he was already a killer.
Too bad he was . . .
Daniel felt himself falling and flinched awake, his heart beating rapidly.
Too close to going under.
Shit.
He climbed off the bed and paced the cabin for a minute.
He remembered reading something about that sensation of falling. When he was a kid, a cousin or someone had told him that if you dreamed you were falling and you didn’t wake up before you hit the ground, then you died for real. Which was probably the same bullshit about swallowed chewing gum staying in your stomach forever and ever, until you got old and dropped dead. The sensation of falling, he’d read, came from some part of the brain that remembered when people still lived in trees. Some ancient piece of monkey memory that warned you to grab hold of something before you fell.
Daniel went into the bathroom and dug around in the cabinet under the sink.
He found a pair of nail clippers and teased the metal file out. It was old and rusty, but the hooked point was still sharp. Daniel stood, leaned against the wall, and dug the end into the heel of his hand. The sharp sting brought him back to where he needed to be—the here and now—but as soon as he let up the pressure, his weariness flooded back in again.
Daniel pushed the file in deeper.
There was always a moment when his courage failed. Always a moment when a voice in the back of his head told him he didn’t have the guts to do it. Daniel clenched his jaw and pushed harder. An excruciating moment of resistance, then the file split his skin. Blood welled.
Daniel sighed in relief and closed his eyes.
Wasn’t going to sleep.
Wasn’t.
Just had to make it hurt until Bel got here.
Bel must’ve been a mile out of town when he saw Daniel walking on the side of the road. Daniel didn’t react at all when the headlights on Bel’s car hit him. Bel braked, backed up, and swung the cruiser around. He would have hit the siren if he thought it would make a difference.
He drove past Daniel, pulled over, and got out and waited for him.
“Daniel, what’re you doing?”
“Hey.” Daniel smiled. “It’s you.”
“You call me the Harnee’s kid, and I reckon I’ll have to use lethal force.”
Daniel’s smile widened. “You messin’ with me, Bel?”
“I guess I am.”
Daniel stepped closer, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and swinging his hips. “You wanna mess with me for real?”
“Maybe later,” Bel said. “Get in the back, and I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No, there’s fire there.” Daniel frowned. “And a pig’s head. And the bug spray, Bel.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Bel kept his voice even.
“And Kenny’s there. Wrote ‘faggot’ on the guy’s cock.”
Bel reached out and touched him gently on the shoulder. “None of that’s there.”
Daniel leaned into his touch. “Yeah, it is. Tonight it is.” He pulled his hands out of his pocket. “I burned my hands.”
Bel took his hand. “What’d you do?”
“Burned ’em.”
Bel squinted at the wound on Daniel’s hand in the gloom. “This isn’t a burn. This is blood.”
“I don’t wanna go back,” Daniel said. “Kenny’s there.”
The vigil. Maybe tonight, Kenny was there, whenever Daniel closed his eyes.
“Okay,” Bel said. “You want to stay at my place tonight?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. He leaned his head on Bel’s shoulder. “Wanna go home.”
Bel stroked his hair, staring off at the roadside. “Where’s home, Daniel?”
“Dunno.”
“Get in the back,” Bel said gently. “Lie down on the seat and I’ll take you to my place.”
Last thing anyone needed was for someone to spot Daniel in the back of a police car tonight. Not when the whole town was saying prayers for Kenny Cooper.
Daniel could see every face but Bel’s. There was a tribunal staring at him—his mother, his sister, his father. Kenny Cooper, his face burned, charred skin hanging off. The sheriff. The officer who’d booked Daniel after he’d been arrested. Ms. Davenport. And Bel. But Bel was turned away. He wouldn’t look at Daniel.
A wall of flames went up between Daniel and the people staring at him. But Daniel wasn’t scared. Just a magic trick. He needed Bel to turn, needed Bel to see him. He walked right through the flames.
And then the fire was gone, and everybody but Bel vanished. Daniel put a hand on Bel’s shoulder, but Bel just groaned.
The bed. They were on a bed. The slot machine shuffled images in Daniel’s mind: the cabin, his old dorm room, Bel’s bedroom, his mother’s house.
Daniel crawled over Bel and slid off the mattress. The floor was cold. He went to the kitchen, got a box of crackers, and ate a few. Went back to the bedroom and turned on the light. Bel was lying on his back with his head facing the doorway, one arm under the pillow. Daniel could see Bel’s face now. That was good. Bel’s face was beautiful. He was young. Twenty-three was real young, but Daniel didn’t mind. He smiled at sleeping Bel. Then he picked up some papers he found on the floor. There was a pencil in a cup on the night table. He had to lean over Bel to get it. He backed up and settled cross-legged on the floor a few feet from the bed.
Then he started to draw.
He kept stopping to look at Bel. He’d sketch for a few minutes, then stop and just watch. Bel was a quiet sleeper—no snoring. Daniel’s cock was hard, and usually that meant he should leave the cabin and get in the car. Tonight it meant he should stay near Bel.
He couldn’t go into town. Tonight was for Kenny.
His hand hurt. He looked down at it. Flexed it.
Hurt. Bel had put a bandage on it.
He drew Bel’s face—that quiet face. He shaded the lips, but Bel shifted, and Daniel couldn’t get the nose completely right. And then he couldn’t take it anymore. Bel was too beautiful to just sit here and draw.
Daniel set the paper and pencil aside. Climbed on the bed and peeled back the comforter. Bel was in just his boxers. Daniel’s cock ached, and his whole body felt prickly, like he had to move, had to find a way to scratch an itch beneath his skin. The slot machine tried to give him Marcus, a boy named Steve from his freshman year of college, then a brittle-skinned guy from Greenducks who was missing a canine tooth. But it landed on Bel, three Bels in a row.
He reached into the slit of Bel’s boxers and caressed Bel’s cock with his fingers. Felt it stiffen. Bel’s breathing hitched, but he didn
’t open his eyes. He pushed his hips toward Daniel. When Bel was hard enough, Daniel slowly lowered Bel’s boxers and took his cock in his mouth, pushing his tongue down the length of it. He closed his eyes and hummed. This was perfect.
This was how he would worship Bel.
Daniel opened his eyes a minute later because Bel’s hand was twisting in his hair, pulling. It hurt. A loud sound, an angry voice. Footsteps? Not footsteps. Tires squealing outside. The smell of gasoline. Of smoke. Broken glass. Not real, though. Bel said that wasn’t real.
Daniel lashed out, striking Bel’s arm.
“Daniel!”
Daniel’s eyes were already open, and yet it seemed like they opened again, like there’d been a second set of lids keeping reality hidden. Bel was pulling his hair, saying, “No,” and “Cut it out.”
Daniel’s memory of the last few minutes shrank to a black pinprick and disappeared. He froze, his mind scrambling for something to hold on to, some memory of what he’d been doing.
The hand in his hair hurt. He wanted to struggle, wanted to fight. But instead he concentrated on Bel’s voice.
“Wake up, Daniel. Wake up, right now.”
Daniel whimpered as Bel shook him. He tasted salt in his mouth. Bel’s boxers were pulled down to his thighs. He was with Bel, in Bel’s bed, except he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here.
“You awake?”
Daniel tried to nod.
Bel let go of Daniel’s hair. Took him by the shoulders. He was angry.
“You know what you just did?”
Daniel looked at Bel’s cock, hard and wet against his belly. Felt the ache in his own jaw. Wasn’t too hard to figure out. Daniel closed his eyes.
“What were you thinking? Were you asleep?”
Daniel didn’t know whether to apologize or not. Seemed like there were worse things he could have been doing than sucking Bel’s cock. But maybe that wasn’t all he’d done.
“Daniel? You can’t do that. You understand me?”
“Sorry,” Daniel said. “I didn’t mean to.” He looked down at himself. He had a few cracker crumbs in his pubic hair. Shit.
Bel swung his legs over the edge of the bed, lifting his ass off the mattress so he could tug his boxers back up. “Not while I’m asleep, and not while you’re asleep. What the fuck? Did you do anything? Besides what you were doing to me?”
How should I know? Daniel glanced around the room but saw no signs of destruction. “Must’ve ate some crackers.”
Bel rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I leave you alone for a few hours, I find you wandering on the roadside after you’ve gouged your own fucking hand. I go to sleep, I wake up to you blowing me.”
Daniel forced himself to breathe. He hadn’t seen Bel this upset in a long time. “You should’ve let me finish,” he tried to joke.
“I don’t want that from you. Not while you’re sleeping. You know that.” Bel’s voice was sharp enough that Daniel flinched.
“Don’t see why not,” Daniel muttered, rubbing his wrist—where a cuff would have been if Bel had any sense. If Bel had done what he was supposed to and locked Daniel up. What was Bel doing blaming Daniel when he was the one who’d fucked up? Tonight was Kenny Cooper’s fucking vigil, and Bel had left him alone.
“Because it ain’t right,” Bel almost shouted. “It ain’t fucking right!”
Daniel didn’t respond. He felt as miserable as he ever had.
When Bel spoke again, it was several minutes later, and his voice shook. “I’m sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to yell. Just, it scares me. To see you . . . You really don’t remember?”
Daniel shook his head.
Bel put a hand between Daniel’s shoulders, and they stayed like that for a minute. Then Bel hoisted his legs back onto the bed and settled against the pillow with a sigh. “Can’t believe I didn’t hear you get up. I’m dead tired.”
“At least I didn’t leave,” Daniel pointed out.
“Yeah,” Bel said. “At least.”
“Probably stayed ’cause of you.” Daniel leaned down to kiss between Bel’s pecs. Bel’s erection wasn’t quitting, that was for sure, and Daniel’s hadn’t flagged. Maybe there was a way to save the situation. They were both awake now, weren’t they? “Better I tried to blow you than some guy at Greenducks.”
“Jesus, don’t talk like that.”
“Don’t like stories about me being bad?” Daniel stroked Bel’s chest, running his finger around Bel’s nipple and watching it tighten.
Bel glanced at him and gave him a slight smile. Ruffled Daniel’s hair but also pushed Daniel’s head away. “Try anything again when we ain’t both awake, and I won’t let you come for a month.”
The threat stung, even if it was a tease.
I can’t fucking help it.
Yet part of him was thrilled at the idea of Bel punishing him for what he did in his sleep. The excitement wasn’t even sexual. It came more from a sense of relief.
Maybe the only way to control what he did when he was asleep was for people to hold him accountable. His parents had tried to when he was a kid, then had given up. Kenny Cooper had made to teach him a lesson, and it had worked, for a while. Daniel hadn’t gone into town for months afterward, even once he’d healed enough to. Then he’d burned Kenny, and he’d almost gotten punished for that, except the law had knocked the charges down.
“Do it.” There was a hard challenge in Daniel’s voice.
“What?”
“Punish me. Make me sorry.” He crawled toward Bel. “You said you’d be in charge.”
Bel looked uneasy. “What’re you doing? I don’t want to play this game right now.”
“Come on!” Daniel shouted, striking the pillow by Bel’s head. “You’re a fucking cop, ain’t you? What’re you so scared of?”
Bel put his hands up. “What the fuck, Daniel? Lie down and go the hell to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Daniel got up on his knees. “Look how hard I am. You’re hard too, and we’re both awake. Tell me what to do, Bel. I need it. And don’t tell me to go to bed. I can’t sleep tonight, I don’t want to, not this fucking night, okay?” Daniel knew he was rambling, knew he sounded crazy. Didn’t give a fuck. “I’ll do anything you say.”
Bel’s face flushed, and his breathing quickened.
Fuck yes. You want to play. You want to stop being so fucking careful with me. You want to treat me like an animal. You want me to know what I am.
Daniel’s cock hurt it was so full.
Bel leaned forward. “That what you want, Daniel?”
Daniel stared right at him, seeing the darkness and fire in Bel’s eyes and hoping whatever Bel did, it would hurt, would leave Daniel without any thoughts of his own. Without any thoughts of Kenny Cooper or the fucking vigil. “Yeah,” he whispered.
“How bad?” Bel’s voice was low, savage, and Daniel almost laughed, not sure if he was delighted or scared.
“So bad. Stop fucking asking me questions, Bel.”
“I’ll give the orders here.” Bel pulled down his boxers. His cock was dark and full. “Finish what you started.”
Daniel hesitated only a second, then plunged toward Bel’s cock. Kissed and licked Bel’s stomach, working his way lower until his lips touched the thatch of hair around Bel’s dick.
Froze.
Fuck.
He pulled his head up.
Just do what he says. You were doing it anyway a few minutes ago. It ain’t a gun, obviously, so just wrap your stupid brain around that fact and do it.
Daniel slid his hand down Bel’s stomach. Rubbed the head of Bel’s cock with his thumb, spreading wetness around the ridge.
Bel grunted. “Quit teasing and get to it.”
Daniel had only tried sucking dick while awake twice since Kenny. Once he’d made it all the way through—though he’d shaken for hours afterward—and once he’d left the guy in the restroom with his pants down and fled home. He wished his subconscious could be smarter, more subtl
e. Instead of some goddamn psychological paint-by-numbers picture: Guy made me suck his gun. Now I hate sucking dick.
Look at that—he didn’t even need therapy.
He scooted down the bed. Ran his palms down Bel’s legs, then pushed his hands inward, watching Bel’s muscles tense and quiver. He wanted this. Wanted to do it for Bel. He lowered his head and planted a kiss right below Bel’s navel.
Stalling.
“Fucker. I’m gonna shoot down your throat.”
It was too easy to imagine what it would be like to have a bullet go through the back of your throat when you had a gun in your mouth. Daniel had thought he could sense precisely what places would be torn apart; could feel, in advance, how much it would hurt; could count how many seconds it would take to die.
Couldn’t get his mouth open. Jaw was broken. When the gun went in, so did more blood, and that was what choked Daniel, not the gun itself. He sprayed the barrel with it when he coughed.
He sucked in a breath, trying to get enough air to stay conscious.
“Daniel?”
He wasn’t sure what happened. One minute, his lips were against Bel’s skin, the next he was lying with his head pillowed on Bel’s stomach, tears running down his face. He could feel Bel’s muscles contracting under his cheek. He tried to open his mouth. Was relieved when he could.
’Course you fucking can. This is now.
“Daniel,” Bel whispered, his hand on Daniel’s hair, stroking.
Daniel couldn’t answer. The tears kept flowing. His mouth worked silently.
“Hey. Come on, sit up for me.”
Not a chance. Bel finally dragged Daniel up the bed until Daniel’s head was tucked under Bel’s arm. Daniel buried his face in Bel’s side.
“You’re all right. We ain’t doing anything now. It’s okay.” Bel smoothed Daniel’s hair. “It was a bad idea.”
“I want it.” Daniel forced the words out. “I want you to make me.”
“No,” Bel said. “Not like this.”
