by Ofelia Grand
The burn from the man’s palm was excruciating. All of Larry’s energy was pulled out of him, ripped from his every bone. Not at all like when he used it himself. Here, he was being torn apart, energy wrenched from his every fibre. The room blurred, the ministers’ gleaming eyes partly hidden away under their hoods swirled around him. None of the pain subsided as his surroundings slowly grew dimmer. The darkness closed in from the edges, taking over his vision, and within seconds, the Nothingness had swallowed him.
No sounds could be heard, nothing could be touched. Darkness. There was nothing, and yet he was there, as if he only existed inside his own mind.
Larry screamed.
A Man to Touch
Travis squinted at the clock; he had to go soon. Michael wasn’t nearly as strict as Mrs. Dixon, but he didn’t want to be late. He would turn off the movie right after he’d seen James Dean in the chickie run against Buzz. Sighing, he watched Dean throw away the cigarette as the cars raced towards the cliff…they simply didn’t make men like him anymore.
He turned off Rebel Without a Cause and took the DVD out of the player. How many times he’d seen it, he didn’t know. He should stop pining after James Dean—it was probably what made him see men from the ’fifties in the bathroom mirror.
Travis pursed his lips. What if I’m not mad? What if there was a man in the mirror? And, in that case, how long has he been there? His cheeks heated. Shit, I’m never jerking off in the shower, ever again.
***
The man by the bar was hitting on him, Travis was pretty certain it was so. He was a bit old, probably around thirty-five. It didn’t matter, though. Travis wasn’t looking for a relationship. He had no time for that sort of thing, no matter how much he wished he could have someone.
At any rate, a man flirting with him in the pub had to be better than hazel eyes watching him through the bathroom mirror—if they’d been there at all. A smile stretched his lips. How would his life be if, when he came out of the shower, there was someone real to give him a suggestive look in the mirror? Someone who would follow him into the bedroom and lie down beside him on the bed? Someone he could talk to, touch, love?
Maybe a night with the man at the bar would make him forget about James Dean lookalikes and his stupid hopes and dreams. To feel the warmth of a real man for a few hours had to be better than a week full of fantasies.
He carried a tray with four glasses of white wine to a table of middle-aged women who were obviously celebrating something. He gave them one of his best smiles and added a wink as he put the glasses down in front of them. There was a good possibility of getting a great tip from the group, so he kept his smile in place even as a small hand touched the back of his thigh and moved upwards.
“Anything else, ladies?”
“We’ll let you know,” one of them said, and the hand cupped his buttock as he was about to turn around.
“You know where to find me.” He smiled and left, trying not to think of old-lady hands travelling his body.
When he reached the bar disk, the man who’d been eyeing him all night grinned. “Aren’t you popular tonight?”
Travis shrugged. “They’re just having a good time.” He tried not to show his distaste.
“And are you as well?”
Travis took in the raised eyebrow and the knowing smile. “Not really.” His breath quickened. Those eyes held an offer, and Travis thought maybe, maybe, he would take the man up on it. He deserved a little fun, a little distraction. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held or touched—other than by drunk women.
“Do you want me to show you a good time?”
Okay, that was a somewhat creepy question, but perhaps he simply lacked flirting skills.
“Maybe.” He didn’t think the man had heard him since his voice was little more than a whisper, but he guessed the blush creeping up his cheeks gave him away.
The man chuckled. “Adorable. When does your shift end?”
Should I do this? What if he’s a serial killer? He guessed he wouldn’t have to worry about men in the mirror if he was. “Erm…not until closing time.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
Travis swallowed hard and nodded. He’d never gone home with a stranger, never been with anyone he hadn’t spent a few weeks getting to know first. He must be losing his mind.
The last hours of his shift went too slow and too fast at the same time. The man was nursing his beer, seemingly content to wait while Travis ran back and forth carrying tray after tray of alcoholic beverages to the thirsty crowd.
It had been a good night tip-wise, and while he’d started to second-guess his prior decision of going home with a strange man, he felt lighter than he had all week. The tips alone would feed him for a couple of days, and it was only Friday. On Saturdays, he usually earned even more.
As the clock drew nearer to closing time, people started to trickle out of the pub, and in the end, the man at the bar was the only one left. He watched Travis as he took the last glasses to the kitchen and untied the little black apron he had around his hips. Travis was feeling a bit uncomfortable but figured it was mostly nerves.
He went behind the bar to fetch his tips from the jar he kept there, changed it to bills in the till, and said goodbye to Michael. Not until then did he allow himself to look at the man waiting for him. He was handsome, his dark hair cut short, and stubble adorned his chin. His dark-blue eyes made Travis’s breaths come faster. No backing out now.
“Erm…I’m Travis.”
“I know, I’ve heard your name being called the entire evening.”
Travis blushed as the man stood and indicated Travis should walk ahead of him.
“Mm, I’ve watched that tight arse scurry around the tables for hours now. I can’t wait to get my hands on it.” Heat radiated from him as he came up behind Travis when he stopped to open the door. The chilly September wind ruffled his hair, bringing a scent of the ocean with it.
“I…erm…live a few blocks away.” It was probably stupid to invite a stranger back, but all Travis wanted was to go home. Most of all, he wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn’t very well change his mind now, could he?
“Excellent.” The warm breath against Travis’s neck had him shivering; it was both pleasurable and not all at once.
***
Larry paced the flat. Where is Travis? The evening had dragged on at a snail’s pace, and Larry was twitchy, nervous in a way he hadn’t thought possible for a shadow. He stuffed the cigarette he’d had between his lips for the last ten minutes back into the pack. He wished he could’ve lit it. His hands were shaking, and the dark rooms were emptier today than any other day. He wanted Travis to be here, wanted to sit down next to him and feel somewhat normal, if only for a few hours.
The three days in the Nothingness had lasted for years. He had no problem admitting he was scared—scared of the queen, and scared of the ministers, scared of the Nothingness. The queen set the rules and the ministers made sure they were followed; he’d just never imagined they’d be able to do that. How did they know what he’d done? How could they steal his energy?
He shuddered. Only Travis could make him forget about them, forget about the numbing darkness and the excruciating pain the minister’s touch had caused. Only looking at Travis—as he scrawled his numbers down on a piece of paper, as he slept, or as he laughed at something on the TV—could calm Larry down.
He hoped Travis would take one of those showers he sometimes did when he came home from working the bar. Travis didn’t mind him watching…how could he when he didn’t know Larry was there? And Larry didn’t mind watching the suds run down Travis’s body at all. He didn’t mind watching as Travis caressed himself under the spray of water. He absolutely loved watching those times when Travis fingered himself, when he squeezed his eyes together and rested his forehead against the tiled wall…how he would fist his cock and moan while working the fingers inside of him. Larry let out a frustrated groan. He wanted to touch Travi
s in the shower.
The days since he came back from the Nothingness, he’d found he was unable to move away from Travis. He wanted to be close to him every chance he got. Travis was lovely, and the desperation with which he counted his money every time he returned from shopping made Larry want to help more than ever before.
He had to find a way to do it without involving the queen—he never wanted to see a minister again for as long as he existed. Not that Larry had much experience in holding down a job. He’d helped out at the garage by the service station when they’d had any jobs he could do. Larry loved the smell of petrol; he loved the sound of engines and the atmosphere down at the service station.
He guessed they were all gone now, Fred and William and the others. They’d been nice to him, had taught him everything he knew about engines and gearboxes. All he’d ever wanted was a car for his eighteenth birthday. He didn’t get one. He didn’t get one for his nineteenth, either, and he never did turn twenty. Not that his father would have been able to give him one that year, but by then, Larry had managed to save a little on his own.
A key rattled in the lock. Larry turned around and started walking towards the door. He smiled as he waited for Travis to open it. Why isn’t he opening it?
Larry took a few more steps until he stood facing the scarred surface of the wooden door. He hadn’t been outside the flat in sixty years. The queen had said he was bound to it, and he wasn’t sure what it meant, but he was afraid if he tried to leave, he would cease to exist. Not that he really existed now, but at least it was better than the Nothingness, and who knew what death truly looked like? Larry didn’t believe in heaven; he hoped there was a place like it, but deep down, he thought death was the Nothingness, and he did not want to be there.
The door opened, and Travis stumbled inside while kissing another man. A cold sweat washed over Larry. His skin tightened, his nostrils flared, and an acid burn welled up inside of him. Who was this stranger, and what the fuck did he think he was doing with Travis?
Travis moaned, and Larry wanted to punch something. He couldn’t move. Part of him wanted to storm off into the bedroom to hide. Another part wanted to tear the man off Travis and yell at him to never come back.
But Larry couldn’t do any of it. Instead, he stood there gaping as his little fairy-tale fantasy of the two of them watching TV together got smashed into a million pieces. The thought of Travis being with someone else had never even crossed his mind. It should have, of course. He should’ve been prepared for it, since Travis didn’t know they had a…relationship. He didn’t even know Larry existed.
Larry turned and walked away. His soundless stomps did nothing to make him feel better.
Travis let up a strangled cry, and without thinking, Larry dashed back out into the hallway. It took a while for him to understand that the metal glinting in the dark was a knife. Icy bounds held him immobilised as the man pointed the blade at Travis’s throat.
“Give me the money.” The man’s growly voice yanked Larry back into the now. What money? Does Travis owe this man money?
“I don’t have any.” Travis’s voice wavered, his eyes were wide, and Larry could see him shaking.
“The money you put in your pocket before we left the pub.”
Larry floated rather than walked up to the man. He didn’t know what he should do. What could he do?
Travis reached into his pocket, and Larry wanted to scream. He shoved the man in the chest, but his hand went right through. He tried again and again, but he was too freaked out to focus on solidifying himself. The blade grazed Travis’s throat, and a solitary drop of blood trickled down the skin. Larry’s fury was blinding. He grabbed the man’s wrist, strived to stop him, but his terror made it impossible to concentrate. Focus, damn it!
Travis hardly managed to get his hand out of his pocket before the man snatched the money from his fingers. The sound of the bills crumpling in his fist was louder than his footsteps as he hurried out of the flat.
Travis slid down to the floor, his entire body shaking, and Larry fell to his knees in front of him. He reached out, tried to comfort Travis by rubbing his arms. Now, when the man had left, he could make his hands at least somewhat solid.
“No.” Travis looked up, right into Larry’s eyes, and again Larry could’ve sworn Travis saw him. “It’s my money. I need that money.”
Before Larry could respond, Travis was up on his feet. He ran straight through Larry, but that was only part of what caused the terrible cold inside of him. The biggest part was seeing Travis run out of his front door, his steps echoing in the staircase as he stormed down after the man.
Taking a Chance
Larry stared at the open door. He had to do something. He could get down to the front door of the building faster than Travis—if he could travel outside these walls.
Prickles spread inside as he stalled. This was one of those moments when he had to take a chance. The cloaked shapes of the ministers appeared in his head as a reminder, but he couldn’t let Travis risk his life without interfering. He had to take a leap, had to force himself through the barrier and get down to the entrance.
What’s the worst that can happen? He’d already died on those stairs once; this couldn’t be any worse.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on falling through the floor. The icy cold piercing his gut was there, as always, when something went through him, but this time, it was more. He was being pulled to pieces, like he was part of the flat and now was torn away from it.
He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to descend. What use was there to being able to travel through walls if he couldn’t do it at will? Nausea fisted his insides, but he pressed on, fought against the invisible rubber band that kept pulling him back. His vision blurred as he fought to continue to fall through the floor and into the hallway of the flat beneath.
He shut his eyes to save himself from the sight of hanging between floors. Even though he couldn’t perspire, his skin was coated in sweat. A burning pain pulled at every part of him, but he kept on pushing downwards.
He needed to get through one more floor and braced himself for the cold as his body slid through. The pull tried to yank him back, but he had to get to Travis. Travis was more important than Larry’s insides being torn apart.
Horrendous pain shot through him as he hit the first floor. He hadn’t needed to breathe in sixty years and yet he gasped for air. His skin burned, the core of him icy cold. He stumbled through the wall and came out on the first landing. Footsteps echoed above him, and he prepared for the impact.
He couldn’t do anything but pant. The pain inside made his vision blur, but it didn’t matter. Travis could get killed.
He squeezed his eyes together as something inside of him snapped. Like a broken elastic, one part flew up towards the flat and another flung itself inside of Larry. He fell to the floor, steadied himself on his hands and knees. It took a second or two to figure out the noise he heard was his own shriek.
Something crashed into him, and he toppled over and tumbled down the last few steps towards the door without even trying to soften the fall. He wasn’t alone. The man’s knee went right through his stomach as they both landed in a heap on the floor.
Larry faded. He heard Travis coming, sensed his presence beside him, but he could no longer see the world. Fear scratched at his chest. Would he end up in the Nothingness again?
There was something about Travis. He could feel it, clung to it. Whatever it was, it anchored him, but he couldn’t get in, couldn’t form the connection he needed to be able to stay.
***
Reaching the landing on the first floor, Travis saw the crumpled shadow of a man, a young man—the man in the mirror.
The dark-haired man from the pub groaned while he lay on top of the shadow, or rather inside of it—him. Travis shook his head, but then quickly caught himself. Before the man could get his feet back under him, Travis plucked the crumpled bills out of his hand.
The trans
lucent man from his bathroom was fading fast. Chilly hands grabbed hold of his arm. He couldn’t see them, but they were there. Desperation. Travis could feel desperation and fear, but he was pretty certain it wasn’t his own. The dual sensation of emotions both on the outside and the inside made him lightheaded. He clung to the railing and waited for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t.
The silhouette was almost completely gone now, and Travis didn’t know why, but watching it fade made his throat close up.
All that remained were the terrified eyes. They didn’t look at Travis as they had in the mirror. They didn’t see, and yet the fear in them was palpable.
The air around him turned frigid. Thousands of tiny little fingers tried to find a way inside. He could deny them, he was almost certain, but as he watched the hazel eyes grow fainter and fainter, something inside of him ached to reach out.
He sucked in some air and let the cold seep inside of him. It will be fine. But even as he thought those words, he began clawing at his chest—it was too full. He needed to get it out of him, to get it away from him. The oily form continued to press itself inside. He couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t care. He gasped, desperately tried to get some air into his lungs, but his throat was too clogged up to let anything pass.
His nails scraped at the already bloodied skin as he tried to claw his throat open. Nothing helped, the presence continued to pour inside. It shoved Travis’s very essence out of the way to make room for itself inside of his body.
He slid down to the floor as a cold liquid filled him, drowning him from inside. The lock in his throat opened up, and he gasped for air. Slowly, his chest began to rise and fall again.
“What’s going on out here?”
Travis looked up to see Mrs. Rose standing on the landing above, dressed in a hideous pink dressing gown and with curlers in her hair.
“Erm…” Travis wiped the tears from his cheeks and got to his feet. Something moved inside, sending a shiver through him, and it took all of his efforts to keep standing.
