Rubble and the Wreckage

by Rodd Clark

  For him, it appeared his lover was working out some personal frustrations; he was simply the nearest punching bag for Gabriel’s need for physical exertion. As Gabriel tensed, his hands tightening their grip on Christian’s body, he exploded his seed like a rocket being released to the heavens. His grunts of animal pleasure were like a cleansing of worry and inner turmoil. After orgasm it was easy to see the corporeal change wash over him as he fell to his side with labored breathing and reached his hand and yanked Christian to his chest. If his lover had climaxed, Gabriel didn’t know and seemed not to care. But at least he became the other man Christian knew, the one who was gentle and protective of the one in his bed, and for the unsated lover, that was enough to last.

  After a few fixed moments of lying in their heated exchange, Christian jumped from his bed.

  “Coffee . . . chop chop,” he said with a smile.

  CHRIS’S GRIN seemed beckoning as he raced naked to the bathroom. He was a thing of beauty with his perfect ass and his sinewy form. Gabe took a second to scrutinize him as he opened the glass shower door and pulled the knob for water; the steam was immediate, and he watched as the younger man pulled a fresh towel from the rack. Gabe repositioned his body so he could see part of the bathroom and a partial Chris as he showered, but he didn’t move from the comfort of the covers. He was considering the difference between lovers in that moment. The little girl Shea versus his Chris: both were more than adequate in bed, but he thought Chris was brilliant and worthy of more exploration.

  Shea was innocent and had room for growth, but he seemed drawn to Chris’s movements and tiny gestures. He’d observed Chris’s lip curl slightly whenever he was writing quickly, trying to pull his thoughts together, had watched him blow cooling air over his hot coffee on many occasions. It was those simple acts he saw that made him want to pull the man over to him and cover him with kisses. Shea was great, but she’d never solicited such emotion, then again they’d only had one brief encounter and one quick fuck. Gabe slipped out from the sheets and headed to join Chris. It would be nice having his body lathered and rinsed with loving hands.

  COMBING HER shoulder-length brown hair, Shea stared into the mirror and wondered who was looking back. She’d been proud that she had stepped out of her comfort zone and introduced herself to the man across the way, and oh, how she’d introduced herself. But in the security of her own apartment, she felt her satisfaction eventually drain. But moreover, it may have been stolen from her body because within fifteen minutes of her getting home, she’d looked out her front window and caught sight of the man she knew as Chris Rumsfeld. He was leaving his place, and he wasn’t heading to hers.

  She’d expected he would have fallen asleep after their session of lovemaking, but there he was, leaving in a white tank top and his tight blue jeans and boots. The look on his face, as she stood at the window hiding behind the curtain, looked . . . anxious. When she saw him lock his door, she immediately assumed he was coming to her place. Maybe to sleep the remainder of the evening with her with his big arms enveloping her, but instead he just walked past and headed out of the courtyard without looking back.

  She hadn’t dated since high school. Maybe she was out of practice, she thought, because this made her feel discarded and directionless. Their sex had meant something to her, but she was beginning to think it meant less to “Chris Rumsfeld.” Maybe he was just headed out for a bite somewhere, she hoped. Maybe it was her imagination playing with her that the look on his face had been one of drive and need. She’d hoped he’d been as spent as she was, but men were strange creatures and didn’t react the same as women. Maybe he was out to get a drink and feel good about their fucking . . . hail the conquering hero, she thought.

  She was the hero, though. It had been her seducing him, not the other way around. She had picked the persona she needed to illicit sex. She was the one with the guile, and any story of sexual conquest should be hers to tell. But in a flood of reality, she realized she had no one to share her story with. Shea had wrapped her world around her art and her immediate needs for survival. She had few girlfriends. Her life was so encapsulated in her art that if she’d picked up the phone to gossip, she would have found her contact list near empty. It was depressing.

  Running through the events in her mind, she decided it was best to put it behind her and finally go to bed. If she didn’t, she knew she’d lie awake wondering what her unplanned lover was up too, or where he’d gone. She turned on the television for some much needed background noise and got into her nightgown. She was filling her head with too many emotions and plans to notice when the reporter from the Channel 5 news flashed on the TV. She wasn’t paying attention as that same reporter informed a wary public about a grisly find in a nearby National Park. Shea hadn’t captured enough of the story to hear an unsuspecting family who were visiting Seattle had stumbled onto a body while sightseeing, hadn’t heard the reporter identify the victim as Carl Whiting, or that investigators were currently reviewing clues. The reporter’s words and demeanor were intended to increase ratings, shock before the awe. The last words he spoke were to tell his audience of viewers that a manhunt for a suspect was beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  IT WAS A late lunch at the Sage Café for the two lovers. The entire day had been spent visiting shops and walking the district. Never once did their conversation turn dark. Actually, it was a long discussion led by Gabriel on the fate of the universe as they sat at a table for two enjoying sandwiches and colas. Christian sat awestruck at the sight of an animated Gabriel discussing such lofty ideals. It was a side he’d never seen.

  “I tell you, eventually the whole universe is gonna stop completely. Man, I read about it. They call it something like . . . Heat Death of the Universe.”

  Christian leaned in, surprised at how enthusiastic his companion was on a subject so out of the norm for him. “So you’re saying we’re all gonna burn up?”

  “NO, NOT at all. It doesn’t refer to temperature. It means something about the inability of everything to function, like in every sense . . . like stopping whatever energy runs it all and makes life work. They call it ‘thermodynamic equilibrium.’ It’s a term astrophysicists use. I don’t know . . . like some cosmology theory or something.”

  Gabe was excited to show how well read he could be in his learned companion’s company. “I also think it’s called ‘Maximum Entropy.’ I remember the term because I thought it sounded cool. Not sure I’m smart enough to fully explain the definition, though . . . but you gotta read about it, bro. I think you’d be amazed.”

  He was a kid again. His mind was rushing out ideas, and in his excitement he couldn’t explain himself well, but he was dragging Chris along in his story and happy to have a guest for the ride. Over the years Gabe had developed very specific beliefs and personal theories, all of which he wanted to share with Chris, if only to gain the respect he craved. Gabe reached across the table and brushed his lover’s hand as a sign of his eagerness.

  TO THE writer it seemed it was a hand extended in invitation, like children holding hands for security as they crossed a busy street. It was Gabriel’s summons that the two head out for a thrilling adventure together.

  “Dude, if you think about it, and you know we’re all gonna just cease to exist one day . . . then what’s it all for anyway?” As Gabriel rambled on, his ideologies became a clear path to why he’d ended up in the life he lived. Christian could see the dots being connected right before his eyes, the curtain withdrawn and the wizard was standing there, shamefaced. If he really believes all this shit then naturally he’d end up a killer, he thought.

  “Hon, I don’t think you’re supposed to live out your life knowing what happens at the end of it all . . . seems kinda unfair if you ask me.”

  Christian wanted to keep Gabriel talking, he enjoyed it when he rattled on and finally became excited about something, even if it was inane drivel.

  “I just think if the scientists are all right, then we shouldn
’t have to live by some societal pressure of how you’re supposed to behave.” Gabriel was adamant in his beliefs, regardless the ramifications he was failing to see.

  “You have to have societal pressure,” Christian offered. “It’d be anarchy if we didn’t have structure. People would be taking what they wanted . . . killing whenever they felt like it—”

  Christian words were cut short as he realized what he’d said. He had become relaxed and simply forgotten who he was talking to—he regretted those words instantly. He was eating a club sandwich with a killer, but it wasn’t bread and luncheon meat in his mouth now, it was the bone and tissue of his own foot. With the statement released into the ether, he was shocked and embarrassed, and there was no denying that Gabriel could see it plastered all over his face. It was Gabriel who picked up the slack and prevented the words from hanging there in eternal awkward silence.

  “That’s what I’m talking about . . . the whole thing. You have anarchy and people killing people for no good reason, but maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. Maybe we all just fucked it up with religion and expectation and trying to be better men.”

  In his gratitude that his companion had not called him on his fumbled words, he allowed the conversation to continue. “Trying to be a better person is what this life is supposed to be about, I think—the human condition and all that nonsense.”

  “There’s my boy, Christian, again . . . the devoted idealist. I think that’s why I love you so much.” Gabriel had pulled his hand away but never lost his smile. He seemed unfazed by his own admission, making Christian wonder if he’d meant the words to come out so haphazardly. Although they’d never spoke them, the words had always hung somewhere in the significant dark, just to the rear of wherever the two men were standing. Christian smiled at hearing him say he loved him, and equally glad it had been Gabriel who said it first. He grinned from ear to ear, ecstatic at hearing the declaration, and even his stayed expression couldn’t hide his feelings.

  Gabriel was smiling too, eyes bright and contagious with joy. Christian suddenly wondered if he’d accidently said those words. Was he now regretting his stumble, or was it a game used to taunt him? Christian couldn’t tell. He needed to know the answer or risk bursting inside. His companion’s gaze was leveled over the glass of soda he brought to his lips; he was letting his admission linger unattached, adrift in the water and awaiting rescue. It was clear Gabriel was indeed playing with him. The fucking bastard, thought Christian. He is simply gonna let it lie there and see what happens. How cruel he can be!

  After thinking about it for a second, Christian decided the best way for him to win the game was not to play. He would ignore it. It would serve to frustrate his companion, who simply wanted to bat the half-dead mouse from paw to paw and watch as it drew its final breaths. He would quickly change the subject and test Gabriel’s resolve.

  “So after lunch, I was thinking we could hit up the Space Needle. You know, as long as I’ve lived here, I have never gone?”

  Christian munched down his last bite of sandwich, and as he reached for his glass across the table, his eyes came up to observe. Gabriel was glaring through squinting eyes. He didn’t like to lose and fully expected to bait Christian some more. His frustration was coming in waves, making the younger man feel gloriously in control.

  But the power was lost in longer moments, and Gabriel accepted his defeat and shrugged his shoulders as if to say: “whatever.”

  “If that’s what you wanna do, babe, I’m game if you are.” The battle was over without any real victors, and as the two stood up to leave, Gabriel downed the last of his cola and placed his hand in the small of Christian’s back and guided him to the door. As they walked the sidewalk, Gabriel leaned over and completely surprised Christian with a question the writer thought he’d never hear.

  “On the way to the Needle, we have to pass that rat hole where I’m currently hanging my hat . . . wanna stop in and see how the other half lives?”

  He was astonished to hear Gabriel invite him to his very secret lair. It had always stood as a strong, impassable border between them: Gabriel’s privacy and protection, as defined by four walls.

  “I think I’d like that,” he said rather nonchalantly, he didn’t want Gabriel to see how pleased he was just to be invited. It would be one of the last secrets between them, he thought. After all, there can’t be any more, he guessed. So they chatted briefly as they walked with Gabriel leading the way. It was a farther distance than Christian would have liked to walk, but his lover hadn’t told him how far it would be—Gabriel seemed so unaffected by walking everywhere. But he wasn’t, he was accustomed to driving all over the city, even the shortest of distances. But the walk meant more time together, and with no particular hurry to get anywhere, it seemed the perfect way to spend the afternoon with someone who just said he loved you.

  It took an hour of walking to reach the rundown, furnished apartment Gabriel called home. Walking the seedier streets of Seattle might not have been a safe endeavor for most, but Christian was in better company. There was some security as long as he walked close enough to the big man at his side; his lovely bodyguard, his protector. He was curious about how the man lived, and the feeling of sheer anticipation seeped from every pore and brought hairs to attention on the nape of his neck.

  Wide-eyed, he gazed at all the units facing the courtyard. He saw the broken stucco fountain, once ornate and lovely, now just a decaying reminder of former glory. He saw the scattering of chairs and tables amid all the overgrown plants. He could see the beauty that had existed there once, now lost, like those forgotten days. He rather enjoyed what he saw. He likened it to being in the company of some diva from the golden age of film; she had been a star once, but now even heavy face-paint couldn’t hide all the wrinkles. She seemed swathed in costume jewelry, which at one time may have been the real McCoy, but now was just a faint reproduction of its original value. She was draped and gorgeous . . . if only in her own mind. A feather boa might have been wrapped around a faded cocktail dress as her eyes begged to be taken back to a simpler time. A place from her memory where she reigned supreme and everyone took notice. For a writer like Christian, the building had history, many stories to tell, and no matter how dilapidated she’d become he was envious that Gabriel had found it first and grateful he was even allowed to visit there.

  Where the façade might’ve been intriguing, Gabriel’s apartment was a letdown. Inside it was bare of any real life, and the furniture was outdated and out of fashion. Christian smiled as he entered, trying hard to disguise any shame for his lover he might’ve felt. He firstly commented about how much sun Gabriel must get in the morning, gingerly taking steps not to overreach and embarrass his friend.

  “Fuck off, dude, I told you it was a shit hole,” Gabriel said gruffly.

  “Actually, babe, you said it was a rat hole, not a shit hole. And as far as holes go, yours is nice.” He grinned with that. It seemed every word between them sometimes came out as some vague sexual innuendo, even when they weren’t trying.

  “It’s cheap, and it serves its purpose. Remember I don’t have the kind of job where I can take a sabbatical just so I can write a book, and I never had folks with money.”

  “No seriously . . . it is nice . . . honestly.” Christian walked over and hugged Gabriel and nuzzled his nose under his ear. “I never tried to imagine how you lived but seeing this is cool. I like the complex, kinda jealous. I should’ve wondered how you paid for your place at all. I guess I’m just stupid.” He broke away and sauntered through the apartment. “Considering you don’t work, this place is a fuckin’ palace. That’s probably something we’re gonna have to talk about soon, but for now how ’bout we christen the place with sex?”

  He turned with a smile only to find Gabriel looking away sheepishly. It dawned on him that he’d made some big assumptions—his first being in Gabe’s apartment that day.

  “Of course that’s supposing you haven’t already christened the pla
ce with someone else . . .” his words faded off to a mumble as he turned his back to making a false pretense about taking in all the space.

  GABE HAD decided not to throw a line in; let the drowning man sink, he thought. He had nothing to feel embarrassed or ashamed about because sex and love were not mutually tied together. It might have been a conversation they would have explored further, but as if on cue, there was a light tapping at Gabe’s door. Whatever questions Chris may have stumbled over were about to be answered, whether Gabe wanted them revealed or not.

  Gabe stood without moving, he didn’t advance to the door, and Chris was left dumbstruck with a long pause as the knocking continued.

  “Well . . . you gonna answer your door?”

  There was no escaping the moment. Gabe already knew who it was. There was nothing left to do but hate himself for bringing Chris to his place. He hadn’t ever expected Shea and Chris to meet, and he was equally astonished that he hadn’t seen this as a possibility. He just never assumed the bitch would come knocking at his door so quickly after his arrival. Theirs had been a chance meeting. This wasn’t any different he supposed, but he’d totally screwed it all up when he brought Chris home. And now he’d pay for that mistake. He couldn’t decide what to do, and his bewilderment fused him to the floor in solid frozen amazement.