by Evelyn Drake
It took nearly twenty minutes to get Michael from the car, and Steve doubted his success more than once. But with Michael finally free, Steve hoisted the once again unconscious man over his shoulder and made the arduous climb to the road. It took all his strength and used some muscles Steve had forgotten he had .
hen they finally did make it to the road, carrying Michael uphill for the remaining hundred feet to the house felt like the easiest thing in the world by comparison .
Steve knew, though, that surviving the days to come would be anything but easy. It would be a miracle .
7
Michael
P ain was the first thing that entered Michael’s awareness before he even opened his eyes. It was a dull, aching throb that seemed to envelop his entire body and pulse with growing strength with every heartbeat .
He groaned, almost experimentally, in attempt to let some of his pain go, but the vibration it released through his head set his brain on fire. Then all that was left for him to do was breathe. Nothing else, just lay still and breathe. In. Out. In. Out .
There was a tightness to it and his mind conjured an image of an anaconda coiled around his chest and ribs, squeezing tighter every time he exhaled. Breathing became harder and harder until, in a panic, suffocation set in .
A clang to his left jolted Michael from half-consciousness into full awareness. Turning only his head and opening his eyes, a blurry kaleidoscope of colors and shapes greeted him, and the room’s soft light burned at his retinas .
The shapes in front of him took their time to sharpen enough that he could make sense of what his eyes were taking in. A man—a large man—sat in a chair three feet away, facing the bed. He had one ankle propped atop his knee. One hand rested on his hip, the other on his thigh—and that hand looked long .
Michael blinked several times, willing his eyes to clear through sheer determination... and a sprinkling of desperation. He never took his gaze from the “long” hand, and as his vision gained focus, he realized that what he was actually seeing was a gun with the stranger’s hand wrapped around it .
On the bedside table next to his head lay that large, uncut diamond .
Michael rolled his head to face the ceiling, and he closed his eyes. “Just make sure you report it back to the Family quickly.” He managed to get the words out but they felt husky and heavy in this throat, almost as if they vibrated from there instead of traveling up and out his mouth .
He thought of his sister, her beautiful angelic face and the music of her laugh. It was a laugh like wind chimes that filled the air with joy and love. Michael thought of these things as he waited, wanting his last thoughts on earth to be that of beauty and love. Instead, what he got was the continuation of pain. Not one that was explosive or violent, but an all-over body pain that kept him wrapped in a blanket he was unable to throw off .
Michael opened one eye, checking that he was actually still a part of the world. If death was coming for him, he mused, it was taking its time .
Daring to turn his head again, Michael opened his other eye as well. His vision was clearer now and he could take in the details of the man who sat before him. He’s huge, Michael thought, and guessed the stranger’s height at well over six feet. His shoulders would have been envied by even the best linebacker. Every part of the man relayed a sense of bone covered in layer after layer of muscle. Yet, he still hadn’t moved .
Concentrating his sight on the stranger’s face framed with black hair, Michael found himself taken aback. The man who could have doubled as He-Man’s evil enemy Skeletor had a face to match. His skin was pale except the hauntingly dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his cheeks had a gauntness to them of someone who had not been taking care of himself. Put simply, the man looked haunted. And he still hadn’t spoken .
Michael’s hand drifted over his bare abdomen as a sharp pain reminded him of his own condition. Bare. This man undressed me. It was a startling thought, though he didn’t know why. Having that man’s hands on him for reasons besides killing him did make his blood pump a little faster .
His thumb brushed cloth. Giving it a scratch, he adjusted his thinking. Bandages. The man wrapped my ribs. It was the reason for his feeling that he could not breathe, he realized .
“You’re not going to kill me,” Michael said aloud as the revelation struck him. “You don’t bandage up a man you’re planning to kill .”
The big man remained silent and, worse yet, unblinking .
The light in the room had the softness of early morning. He’d lost hours, incredibly precious hours. His family was in the sights of a madman and he had to get there first .
“Well, it’s been fun,” Michael said, leveraging his elbows under him in an attempt to sit up. He either had to get on with dying or he had to get on with saving—one or the other, and at the moment he felt that either would do .
The man next to him still didn’t move .
Michael tried to sit the rest of the way up. Pain shot through him so intense that he cried out, unable to breathe .
The stranger was a blur of action and a fist the size of a dinner plate covered Michael’s chest to slam him back down to the bed. A second later and the big man was prying Michael’s mouth open and Michael thrashed his head from side to side. Pills were shoved in next and then water flooded his mouth, forcing him to swallow or drown. Reflexes kicked in and he swallowed—pills, water and all .
Just as quickly, with his task done, the stranger was off of him and sitting in the chair once more. Watching. Waiting .
It didn’t take long for Michael’s body to grow heavier. The desire to move was still there, but the will to actually flex his muscles had left him. His eyes grew heavy and his vision blurred. The pain that had cocooned him in a thick haze grew thin until finally it just became a memory of how he had felt. Sleep took him then, a heavy, deep sleep that pulled him in, and he lost himself .
When movement stirred him again and he opened his eyes, the light told Michael that many hours had passed. It made his heart sink and his stomach knot. The chance to save the one person he loved was slipping away .
His body hurt again and the bed had changed. It no longer felt like a cloud he drifted on top of. Instead, it felt like a soft vise that impeded his ability to move .
Turning his head to his left, Michael was greeted with the tall, rich brown of a thick leather couch. Turning his head to the right, he faced a home kitchen that would have made chefs around the world envious. In that kitchen walked a man too big and too tall to be anything but a Greek statue come to life. He wore an apron. It was laughable, if Michael were able to laugh. The white apron covered the man’s abdomen and only part of his chest. Its strings were stretched tight around his solid torso. If it had been another time, another place, Michael would have enjoyed the view .
“You have to kill me,” Michael managed to say, only slightly mangling the words. He tried it again, this time getting out the words with enough clarity that subtitles would not have been needed .
The big man looked up from his work and then returned his focus to the food he was preparing. Michael guessed that it was eggs but smelled the enticing scent of bacon as well. People would come back from the dead for bacon, he mused. No wonder I woke up .
Moving one thing at a time, slowly and with great care, Michael managed to get one foot off of the couch and onto the floor. Next, he maneuvered himself into an upright position. Sharp, acute pain accompanied his journey, but Michael was careful to keep his complaints silent in case they incurred another force feeding of pain pills. When he did finally sit up, he was out of breath and his head pounded .
Closing his eyes, he envisioned his sister’s rescue in his head, adapting it and altering it over and over again to accommodate his physical state. He adjusted for taking more pain pills just before the rescue attempt, but saw himself fall to his death in a jump that fell four feet short of its landing .
He couldn’t do it .
Michael opened his
eyes. “You have to kill me.” He was serious this time. Before, he had believed he was about to be killed and welcomed it without further fight. This time, he was requiring it to happen. It needed to happen if his sister were to be saved. “Do it. Please. Get it done with .”
The stranger gave no indication that he’d heard Michael. Instead, he slid a thick, fluffy omelet onto a plate and slide it across the counter toward Michael .
“Eat.” It was the stranger’s first word .
Michael didn’t move .
The stranger looked at him, his eyes glassy with fatigue. “Eat or I’ll force feed you .”
“Hmmm.” Michael grunted in response. But his stomach rumbled and the smell of bacon acted like adrenaline to his hunger, sending it into overdrive. His stomach rumbled again. Yet it was the smell of strong coffee the stranger set on the counter that pushed Michael’s resolve over the top .
Giving in, Michael gingerly leveraged himself up from the deep cushioned couch. It took two tries before he could stand. Then he had to actually straighten his stance. He closed his eyes at first, and found that to be an instant mistake as the room began to spin. He opened them again, and the room steadied. He was out of breath just from standing up, and felt as if he had run a half-marathon. He wore nothing more than his boxers and the bandages that wrapped his chest. Feeling his head, he found the knot that was decorated with a blood-crusted wound .
I’ve got to convince him to do it, to kill me. And I’ve got to make sure he lets the Family know .
Michael eyed the distance from the couch to the kitchen counter as if it were the second half of a marathon. The distance seemed insurmountable. But he put one foot in front of the other and moved his shaky body forward until he was finally able to slide onto a tall kitchen stool .
Before him sat an omelet that had cracked in its center, with a side of bacon with edges cooked past the point of crispy and into the realm of burnt. His stomach growled again. It was the best smelling and most appalling looking breakfast he’d ever seen in his life, though glancing out the window, Michael could see that it was long, long past breakfast time. It had to be late afternoon .
I’ve got to get him to kill me, he thought again as he lifted a bite of omelet to his lips. A groan of unadulterated pleasure followed as the flavors exploded in his mouth. It was true that the omelet had not been the prettiest to look at, but the man knew his flavor combinations and he knew his spices .
Fuck, at least I’ll go out with a full belly! He took another bite, savoring it and then enjoying the feel as it warmed and filled his insides. He took several more bites before sating his sudden voracious need to eat. Then he studied the man before him, wondering how to pull his strings and push his buttons to force him into pulling the trigger. That’s when he realized it, he’s trying not to look at me .
Michael stared at him, daring the big man to look up from his food. It didn’t work. He pushed one hand halfway across the counter, just to the edge of what his pain would allow .
The stranger’s eyes glanced at Michael’s hand and then returned to his food. Michael couldn’t risk reaching any further because his body would object and stop him before the big man ever had to lift a finger. So instead, Michael took a long sip of his coffee, then set it down on the counter and pushing at its far rim, he tipped it over so that all of its remaining contents spilled out over the countertop .
“What the fuck?” the stranger exclaimed as he picked his plate up and stepped to one side before setting it back down. But his eyes lifted to meet Michael’s and Michael saw it. The stranger flinched when he looked at him. There was something about Michael that mattered to the stranger .
“Kill me or let me go,” Michael said, leaning forward for emphasis as much as he dared. He was hoping for the former more than the latter. He couldn’t function. He was a hindrance to his sister’s survival. “Or just turn me back over to the Family alive. But do one of those. Please .”
The stranger’s haunted eyes looked up again. This time his gaze stayed .
“No.”
It was one word and it was crushing. No .
“No to which one? You won’t kill me? Or you won’t let me go? Or you won’t turn me back into the Family ?”
“No,” the big man repeated. But seeming to take pity on Michael, his body shifted as if uncomfortable with himself, and with his eyes on his food, he added, “No to all of it .”
Michael’s stomach sank. He took two more bites and then lifted his overturned coffee mug to drain its few remaining drops. Then, moving carefully, he slid off the stool and walked with slow, calculated steps toward the large glass door fit within the wall of windows, that led onto a balcony that stretched the length of the house .
Opening the door, Michael stepped out into the cool, crisp air, though the humidity was heavy and made what little heat there was cling to his body. His bare feet moved silently over the balcony’s polished boards. Reaching the banister, he moved with care as he leaned over .
It’s got to be thirty feet. The drop was enormous. If his body weren’t so damaged he was sure he could do it. He’d climb the railing, wrap himself around one of the legs that held this side of the house up, and shimmy down in what would probably take ten seconds. He’d hit the ground running and never look back. But in his current state, he was sure that his ribs would make the climb unbearable, he’d fall, and he’d very probably break his back .
Hey! he thought, the idea brightening his spirits. If Gigantor won’t kill me, I can kill myself. I’ve just got to make sure the Family knows about it. His mind raced to figure out how to ensure that the Family would be informed. At this point, he didn’t know who the stranger worked for and he was starting not to care .
The sensation of someone watching him pulled Michael out of his thoughts. Turning, he found the stranger standing in the balcony’s doorway .
“They’ll kill her, you know,” Michael said, noting that the wind was picking up. Behind him, storm clouds were gathering .
“Who?” The stranger’s voice was a rich baritone, and Michael knew that he’d lose himself in that voice given another day and another life. But, not now. Not with so much at stake .
“My sister,” Michael answered, hearing his voice tinge with desperation. “They’ll kill her badly.” His voice broke .
“Not my problem .”
He means it, Michael realized with a start. He’s got no heart. The men I’m attracted to! What’s wrong with me ?
Bunching his weight in his legs and crouching into a shallow knee bend, Michael sprang upward just high enough for his hip to find a perch on the railing. Pain shot through his ribs, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected .
“Tell the Family I’m dead. Promise me. Please .”
The stranger’s face turned into a canvas of blank surprise, and as he surged forward with arms outstretched to stop Michael, Michael let his weight shift so that he was falling through the air. He opened his arms wide to welcome the final kiss of the ground below. He’d denied it his presence for long enough as he leapt from rooftops onto balconies, making jumps that should not have been possible. Now, he was going to give himself to the lover he’d denied for so long .
Hands with an unbreakable grip closed around Michael’s bare ankle, stopping Michael’s fall but leaving him suspended in mid-air upside down. His head pounded and his body hurt .
Taking careful aim, Michael kicked at the hands that held him aloft. But all that did was get his other ankle captured by a hand that could have pulled boats up river with a lead rope .
Michael struggled, twisting and thrashing. He even clung with his hands to the bottom edge of the balcony. Nothing worked. He was being hoisted higher and higher, his lover’s sweet embrace of oblivion slipping away, denied .
In a last ditch effort, Michael flopped his body as a fish might do, swinging himself back and forth, but nothing worked. Instead, he was hauled up and set on his feet on the balcony. The stranger’s face was a mask of fear and
anger .
Oh thank God, he’s finally going to kill me, Michael thought, realizing that the giant had not wanted to lose his kill .
He closed his eyes, waiting for it. A gun shot to the head. Hands around his throat. Whatever it was, he was ready and waiting .
The big man’s hands closed on his head .
Yes! Finally! He thought of his sister, sending her a sweet goodbye in his final moment .
Strong lips covered Michael’s, lips that were aggressive and awkward and demanding. But they were lips and they were passionate .
Michael’s eyes flew open, and he screamed his frustration and anger into the big man’s mouth as his palms flattened on a chest carved from stone. He pushed, but it was like pushing a mountain, and though he knew it wasn’t possible that he’d managed it on his own, the mountain moved away .
Panting, Michael stared at the giant man as they both fought labored breaths. Michael’s entire body cried out in pain, but his whirling mind overrode all of it .
“What the fuck?” Michael asked. It felt as if those words had never been more appropriate in the whole of his life .
“I’m supposed to kill you,” the stranger said. “But I can’t .”
8
Steve
S teve’s vision blurred, and he thought he might go down on one knee. He felt his body sway but a steadying hand on the banister kept him upright .
“You kissed me !”
“I’m supposed to kill you,” Steve said, more for his own ears than Michael’s. “I’m supposed to kill you and leave you dead.” The world twisted and Steve’s grip on the balcony’s banister tightened. How much sleep? Six hours... in the last week? Not enough. Oh God, I’m going to pass out .
He felt himself sway again and tried to hide his struggle, but the growing confusion on Michael’s face told him that his subterfuge was failing. The massive effort to pull Michael back up from his free fall had proved too much for his sleep-deprived system, and he could feel it shutting down now. Manual override .
