Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2017 17:23:10 -0400 From: Orson Cadell Subject: Lake Desolation 19 Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/lake-desolation/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming. ***** "I can find a fix. I can pawn the watch, the clothes, maybe the phone. You go back to being the brilliant fucking writer and make your money. But leave money to Larry Mallory? He doesn't EXIST 'Mr Stettler McKay'. He NEVER existed! And you know what? I think Larry is the one you LOVED. You create characters, Jake! It's what you do. And you have, have... you created one that I can't BE, Jake. One, day, Jake... one day I pray to God that you find someone you can love and who can love you. Not as a character in a book, but as a real person. I love you, Jake. I love you desperately. But I'm not him. I can't be him. I won't try to be him." ***** Lake Desolation 19: Take the Long Way Home By Bear Pup Thursday (11) ***** I am a very verbal person. Communicating in words is not just what I do, it's what I am. And yet, something happened when he said that which I've never experienced before. I went completely blank. In fact, right now as we approach Albany is the first rational thought I can recall since his monologue. I don't know where I looked, what I saw, what I heard... nothing. I turn now and find my neck stiff and eyes dry as I try to focus on Logan. My voice is a cracked and broken lakebed of summer's depths. "I. I don't have words, Logan. They're... gone. And I don't. I... I guess I don't have a point to make, even. Everything you said is true. Maria even told me. Last week when she spoke to me. That I can't listen. That I can't," my voice breaks for a minute, "can't let anyone love me. And you're both right. And now, now that I've lost it, lost you, I. I'll never get it back. English sucks as a language of apology; there's really only 'I'm sorry' and that just isn't up to what I feel." Logan looks at me and starts to speak and I go on before he can. "Please don't say something like 'we can work it out' or 'give it another try'. Logan, you're right. You've always been right. I am, I guess I always will be, a self-absorbed person. But there is one thing you are wrong on. I am not selfish. Just oblivious." As I say that, I am pulling out my wallet. I pull my driver's license, my insurance card, my passport card (which is so utterly worthless but that doesn't really cross my mind) and my AARP card and hand the wallet to Logan. "Use the credit cards for whatever you want, Logan. Drugs, a place to stay, anything. The pin for cash on any of them is 2710, the day I met Maria in my oh-so-affected British notation. Don't pawn the phone, please, I really beg that favour. I need the dream that one day, one year, you'll c-c-c-c-call m-m-m-m-me." I lose it then, curling into the seat against the door. I feel the car shift and a hand on my back and my body explodes outward. I am halfway up the limo's cabin before I turn, seeing Logan's shocked eyes. "NO! This hurts too much without you c-c-c-c-comforting me or something. I can't take losing you and your p-p-p-p-p-p-pity as well. I can't. I CAN'T!" I curl again, this time against the divider and simply weep. "Um, uh, Mr McKay?" The speaker crackles to life. "Has there, um, been any change in destination?" I find that my voice sounds very much like that of a ghost in an old movie. "No. No, Christopher." "Um, ok-k-k-k-kay. Then we're about ten minutes out, okay?" "Yes. Thank you, Christopher." Moments later, we exit the interstate and I feel us hit the surface streets with their stoplights and traffic. A couple of turns and I feel the limo slow and sense Logan getting ready to exit. The limo coasts to stop and Logan's voice, soft and sad, speaks and I hear him as if from far away. "Jake. I, I really-- FUCK!" The limo suddenly lurches forward and I hear Logan fall back into the seat. "What the hell! Ch-Christopher!" I hear the static of the intercom as Logan hollers into it. "What's going on? I was supposed to get out there. Christopher!" There is no response and the limo is still roaring along. I pry my head up and watch as Logan curses several times as the momentum of the car tosses him (gently; it IS a limo) from side to side. I look out the window as the cityscape vanishes abruptly, replaced by whirring green vegetation then a large obelisk to the right. The limo grinds to a halt and I hear the driver's door open and then the back door. Logan moves toward it but Christopher's bulk fills the doorway. "You!" He puts his finger in Logan's chest and pushes backwards. "Sit Down! You!" He points at me. "Listen up!" We're both staring slack-jawed at this All-American, clean cut, nice, quiet, polite young man who has suddenly turned into a Raging Fury. "I don't know what is going on between you two, but you're not getting out of this limo until you fix it. Stettler," I jump, "when you left for New York, you were happier than since M-M-Maria p-p-p-passed. You pull your head out of your ass and figure out how to get back to that." He spins to Logan again. "And you, you little punk! You made the best person I know happy. You can damned well do it again. No, I am not dropping you in the middle of the fucking projects, you fucking idiot!" Back to me. "And you were going to fucking *let him* get out there? Have you lost your fucking mind, Stettler? Maria would come back and kill me! FUCK!" The limo door slams so hard I slide off the seat, ass thumping on the floor as Logan simply stares at the door, transfixed and petrified in place. A door that pops open again a few moments later and we both recoil. Christopher is obviously out of breath, but his voice is now calmer and, in a strange way, even more worried and upset. "I don't hear talking. I... I'm sorry for yelling. Now talk. Both of you." He closes the door normally then whips it open immediately, voice harsh and loud again. "And this is a cemetery. Fuck this up, either of you, and I swear to God that I'll bury you in it? We clear? FUCK!" SLAM. I look at Logan who slowly turns to me. I'm guessing that his red-rimmed (has he been crying, too?), wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression is echoed on my own face; we both break into near-hysterical laughter at the same time which lasts seconds before we both collapse into dread-filled silence. Time freezes for a minute and my voice echoes in my head. 'Okay. Um, this is Jake. I, well, I need Stettler. I don't know how this is gonna work, talking to you, but I am losing the only thing I ever cared about. I know that makes me a traitor to Maria, but I, I, I think she understands. Can you, um, help me?' 'Why?' I jump (metaphorically -- time still being frozen) a foot. 'You never asked before.' 'Um, cuz I finally realise I'm... I'm... I'm...' 'An arrogant git who thinks he knows what's best for everyone except himself and doesn't bother to even consider any other alternative?' '...yeah. That.' Like a movie reel spinning up, the world comes back. "Logan, I won't take back what I said. You were right. I couldn't let you love me. I couldn't listen to you or Maria or anyone else. And I lost everything I cared about when I lost you." I look and see that he is, at least, listening, looking at me, even if he won't meet my eye. I plough onwards. "But... Logan, 'couldn't' is a past-tense verb. When I lost you, Logan, I think you broke that... that shell of arrogance, that deafness, that blindness. I think, maybe, there is a different Jacob, one who never knew Stettler, waking up inside that shattered shell? And I... I want to know... Do you think you might help the guy inside grow up to *be*better, somehow?" Logan stares at the carpet for the longest time, long enough that the tears finally bead and dribble. A flash of anger at myself, at Logan, at the universe, suddenly flares like a beacon. "And for all the shell-breaking hurt, something hurt me so much more. I NEVER loved Larry. I love you, Logan. It was always you. From the moment I found you; the moment you asked me why I didn't shoot you; the moment you looked at me with loathing for feeding you cream of wheat; the moment when we cried out our loss and grief into each other's shirts. I loved LOGAN then. I love him now. Remember, Larry came days later. I... I was... I loved you so much before he even existed. And n-n-n-n-nothing you said, nothing hurt as much as you saying I n-n-n-n-never loved you, only h-h-h-h-him." And that was all I, or perhaps Stettler, had left. I didn't look down or away, but I let the tears flow freely. I watched a watercolour world of blurry Logans look up, then back to the carpet. Then to the windows. Finally, back to me. "Jake?" His voice is hoarse and gentle and scared and defiant all at once. I use both hands to wipe the tears away. "I want what you said to be true. I am dying inside but I still want it to be true. I once asked you -- do you remember St Vitus's Dance? -- I asked what happened if you start dancing again. I... I." He stopped and shuddered and I wiped away a new set of tears, these of reluctant and desperate hope. "I can *see* the fix I was going to get, Jake. I can see it in my hand, feel it prick my arm, sense it move in my vein, taste it in my own saliva, see the beautiful haze that covers up the pain and sadness and worry when I hit that plunger. And... and it's just like I can *feel* the pain of you turning away from me again. Like I can *taste* the bile if you turn me into a toy that you play with, a doll. "We are both so, soooo close to the dance, Jake, that we can both hear the music playing. I can't, can't, I can't survive another dance, Jake. You have to know that. And it's not just you that can break me, Jake. Neither of us can *just* be strong enough to resist the dance. We have to be strong enough to stop the other from listening to the music. Do you see why I wanted to run? To get the fix? To let the dance carry me away? I. I don't know if I can ignore the music and also keep you away from the dance, Jake." "And I've been dancing so long the music is in my bones. I will fuck this up, Logan. I will fail you, I know it. I will fail myself. I always have. But, Logan, can we... can we try? Can you wait to dance with the needle and I'll fight against the dance to turn away? Even if we fail, Logan. Even *when* I fail. I need to know, Logan, I need to know because it is more important to me right now that the breath in my lungs: Will it hurt so much when we fail that we can't even try?" Logan tentatively closes the foot or two gap and touches my knee. "I'm scared Jake. What I said earlier. It. I. I hate what I said. I. I." He gulps convulsively several times. "I wanted to hurt you bad enough you'd let me go. I. I know that I'm poison, Jake. I know I'm poison to *you*. I n-n-n-n-needed you to hate me, forget me. Let me just destroy myself so I couldn't hurt you worse." Logan starts to sob, hiccoughing his words. "And now, n-n-n-n-now it's t-t-t-t-t-too late! I hate Christopher! I had this! I HAD it! I was THERE. I'd made you s-s-s-s-s-safe! And he RUINS it. I can't d-d-d-d-do it again, Jake. I can't. I can't. I CAN'T!" I grab Logan and pull him into me, smothering his increasingly-hysterical mantra. I rock him back and forth, petting his hair as he weeps and struggles. It is so much like the first time, and yet so very, very different. Logan had been weak as a kitten but was gaining strength, strength that is now sapped by his sobs. The car door opens not-quite-soundlessly and I see one of Christopher's soft hazel eyes. "Take us home, Christopher, please? Just... take us home." Thirty minutes later and we're at Tinney's. Logan is still weeping, quietly and gently now. Christopher rolls down the partition. "Um, Stettler, I'm really so sor--" "Hush, Christopher. You have done so very much for me, for us. Can you go in and ask Maggie to call Joshua, please?" The boy is out of the limo in an instant. "Logan, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" He nods and looks up at me. "We are both a complete wreck. We need to tell them why. Logan, I'm at a loss here." Logan's voice is small and cracked and harsh, "Larry's parents. Dead. Car crash. London. Visiting sister and my new niece. But we need Christopher, Jake. We need him." He curls back into me, crying softly but no longer so utterly distraught. Christopher cautiously opens the door. "Um, Stettler?" "Come in and close the car door, Christopher." He does, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. "You were precious to Maria and you're priceless to me. Yes, this young man makes me very, very happy and, thanks to you, we will be again, I think. I, we, need you, Christopher. Can you come to the cabin this afternoon, tomorrow, sometime? Please?" "Of course, Stettler. Anything. You know that." His face is open and honest and worried. "I swear to God that I'll... that we'll tell you everything. But right now, can you tell Maggie that Larry's parents died in London? A car crash? Please?" Christopher almost melts with relief. "Oh, God, Stettler. I was so, so worried what to say. I. I, well, I think I kn-kn-kn-know a little bit, and I, uh, I don't care. No! I care! I care a lot, but not in a bad way! Fuck, I'm ruining this. Forget it. I'll be there this afternoon. I'll tell Maggie. Joshua is on his way. My real car is a Jeep and I'll see you in a couple hours. Is that okay?" "More than okay." He can see he's made me cry. "You are a wonderful, wonderful person. Maria was always right with those she l-l-l-loved." "Hush or I'll cry, too. Stay here til Joshua gets in. I, um, I gotta g-g-g-go!" Christopher snuffles and makes a run for the restaurant, swinging the car door shut as he leaves. "You're right, Logan. As always. Can you forgive me? Again?" He looks up at me, snuffing out his tears for a minute. The stare is much longer than I think I can bear. He sighs. "Always, Jake. Always. That's what makes it so, so, so hard." Now on Tumblr: Bear Pup -- Beyond Nifty https://orsonbearpup.tumblr.com/ If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY feedback that could make me a better author, e-mail me at orson.cadell@gmail.com Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 33 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 25 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 26 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 19 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Culberhouse Rules: 9 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 8 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 3 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/