The Power of Music

Chapter 19

by Josh Chambers


The following story is about the development of a fully consensual and loving relationship between a man and a pre-adolescent boy.  At some point through the story's progression, there will be a graphic display of sexual acts between the man and the boy meant to show the natural progression and development of an intimate and caring relationship.  If the topic of man/boy sex offends you, or if this material is illegal in your place or residence, or if you are under legal age, please leave now.

Any similarities between the characters in this story and any persons living and/or dead is purely a coincidence.

This story is protected under the nifty archives license agreement, and the author (me!) releases the right for nifty and nifty alone to post it on the internet.  Please do not post this story anywhere else without my consent or knowledge. 


Dear readers,


            Hopefully, the promptness of this chapter will come as something of a surprise.  You will probably, in fact think you are seeing things, hehe.  What can I say though?  Here it is.  Once I started writing it, I could not stop.  I knew this chapter would be this way, and I know the next one will be as well.

            So, without any more clutter, I present chapter 19 of The Power of Music.



            Josh Chambers




            The glint of the sun shining off the dirty white hood of the police car made it impossible to see inside.  Josh stood crouched around a corner that offered him some concealment from the place he and his mother had called home for the past year. 

            He had almost run straight out into plain view of the car.  The sound of a CB radio had stopped him, pulling him short just in time.  Peering around the corner again, he saw the police officer was still in the passenger seat, talking on the radio.

            Holding his breath in his throat, he dared not budge one inch past the corner.  He could not afford the slightest chance of being seen.  He waited there, his eyes dead set on the opening, until another officer came out the door.

            "Please call us as soon as he comes home Mrs. Chambers.  We have put out an APB for him just in case.  We'll find him ma'am, don't worry."  Sergeant Warren said gruffly, scratching his thick beard. 

            While he could not see the expression on her face, he clearly heard her `huff' and storm back inside.  Her temper, it seemed, had not changed in the past few hours.

            Once he was sure the police car was out of sight, he reached back to feel the gun, still firmly tucked into the waistband of his shorts.  The cold, hard metal gave him all the reassurance and courage he needed.

            After taking only a few steps into his apartment, the scene unfolding before him brought him to a dead stop.  Like Steven's place, there were boxes everywhere.  Pictures were off the wall, family photos were piled on top the couch.  His mother was there, in the kitchen, banging open cabinet doors, packing plates into boxes.  The speed in which she was doing it though, every plate, every bowl, she seemed to slam into a box with increasing fury. 

            She was packing, just like Steven had been, but with a vengeance. 

            He could barely contain his own anger as he continued to watch her, so absorbed in her task that she hadn't even noticed him walk in.  Only when he was about ready to scream at her did she notice his presence, but when she did, he felt himself recoil involuntarily when she directed her hot gaze straight at him.

            "Joshua Chambers!  Where on the lord's green Earth have you been?"

            Fists clamped together, he faced her straight on, determined to take whatever she was going to throw at him.

            "Young man, do you have any idea what I have been through these past few hours?  First I get a call from your school telling me that you trashed the office and stormed out.  They said you wrecked several thousand dollars worth of computer equipment!  Then I get a call from the police telling me that you were spotted back at McNealy's house again.  Didn't I tell you that you weren't to go there again under any circumstances?"

            Josh's mother shot him a look filled with such hatred and contempt; it took every ounce of his willpower to meet her gaze.

            "Yet you went there, didn't you?  You went there after I explicitly told you not to.  You went back so that man could brainwash you some more, so he could fill your head with more of his filthy lies."

            Her expression softened a little then, but only to be replaced by a look of pure disgust.

            "I swear.  I have to keep reminding myself you're the victim in this.  I can't even begin to imagine what vile things that man has told you, but your behavior of late... I thought I raised you better than that.  Your behavior at school, at the police station, the lies you have been telling me and everyone else.  I raised you to be responsible, and considerate of others, and you have done nothing but disappoint me.  Whatever this man has done to you... he's made you completely negligent of all your responsibilities."

            She shook her head, almost remorsefully, though Josh knew there was no real remorse there.

            "Clearly, I see that I alone cannot help you.  You need to be sent somewhere were the damage that man has caused can be undone, where you can truly learn the values you need to be a devout Christian.  That's why I am sending you to live in South Carolina with your Grandmother.  There is a good Catholic school there, where they still believe in teaching the old fashioned way.  There will be no music there to distract you, and no more silly fantasy books or video games.  No more filling your head with all these distractions god tells us to guard ourselves against.  I'm willing to do whatever it takes to absolve you of your sins and guarantee you a place in heaven."

            She waited then, peering down at him, as if she were placing judgment on his worthless soul.

            "Do you have anything to say for yourself young man?"  When he didn't immediately answer, she turned away in a huff, resuming her packing efforts.  "Then you will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.  I want you to pack up your things, though you will not be taking them with you.  You will be starting clean and fresh.  There will be no reminders of what you had out here to distract you."

            For several minutes he did not move.  The only sounds in the apartment came from the heavy hustle and bustle in the kitchen.  When he did move again, it was to grab at the gun from his back, bringing it out into view, pointing the barrel directly at his mother.

            How easy it would be to pull the trigger and shoot before she even knew what happened.  If he pulled the trigger, it would all go away.  Nothing she said would happen.  He would be free of her.  He could do anything he wanted.  His hesitation however lost him that single chance. 

            "What are you doing with that thing?" she yelled, her eyes widening when he saw what was in his hands.

            She stormed over, moving to take the gun right out of his hands.  He backed up before she could get to him, tightening his grip on the weapon, aiming it straight at her face.

            "I'm not going!  I'm not going to that stupid school in South Carolina!  I'm going to live with Steven!" Josh screamed.

            "Give me that thing," she said, making another move to swipe it from him, a move he agilely avoided.  "What kind of game do you think you are playing at?"

            "It's not a game!" Josh yelled.  "It's real.  I got it from Will's house.  It's got real ammo in it."

            His mother only rolled her eyes, still clearly unbelieving.  "Do you really expect me to believe that?  Do you really expect me to believe Will's parents would give you a real gun?  That they would let you take it out of their house, fully loaded?  Do you have any idea how dangerous a real gun is; what a weapon like that is capable of doing?  Now quit messing around and give me that thing, before you get in even bigger trouble!"

            "I know!  Don't talk to me like I'm stupid a little kid!  I know what a real gun is!  I know all I have to do is pull this trigger," Josh said, waving the gun at her, "and I will kill you, and you will be dead!  I'll never have to listen to another word, or do anything you say ever again!  If you don't believe me, then I'll show you!"

The sound the gun made when the hammer struck the bullet cartridge was deafening.  That and the backlash, from a .44 magnum bullet flying out of the Desert Eagle, a gun that had the same kind of firepower that rivaled the most powerful rifle, knocked Josh clean onto his back. 

Determined to give no outward signs that things hadn't gone as he expected, he scrambled back onto his feet and brought the gun back up.  The hole in ceiling however, gave him pause.  He had hit a spot almost directly above his mother's head, and it looked like half of it had fallen on top of her, the plaster turning her hair white as snow.

His mother was crouching on the floor, with her arms over her head.  In that position, she looked smaller than he had ever seen her before.  Smaller, and much more vulnerable.  All the power she seemed to have over him, it all seemed to evaporate in that moment.

When she slowly rose back up, the look on her face was completely different than anything he had ever seen before.  She actually looked like she was about to cry.

"Dear lord.  How... how has it come to this?"

When she turned to face him, taking a step toward him, he brought the gun back up again fiercely. 

"I'll shoot again, I swear!  And this time I won't aim at the ceiling.  Don't come near me!"

            She brought up her hands then, sinking down to her knees.

            "Honey, please put the gun down.  I know you're not the kind of boy who wants to hurt anyone," she said softly.

            "How would you know?  How would you know what kind of person I am?  You don't know anything about me!"

            "That's not true," she said, putting on a hurt look.  "I know you're a kind and gentle boy who cares for the people around him.  I know... that you try hard at school, and that you're good in church.  Father Roberts tells me how well you do the volunteer activities and your work as an Altar Boy, and both he and I are very proud of you for that."

            He almost felt himself pulled in by those words, but he quickly reminded himself who they were coming from.

            "The only reason I do the church stuff is because you make me.  I hate doing it.  I hate it!  No one cares how well I trim bushes or rake up leaves.  No one cares how I light up the candles in mass.  They just want it done, they don't care who does it." 

            "That's just not true honey.  Both I and Father Roberts really appreciate all the hard work you do.  We can see how hard you're trying.  All your hard work is very appreciated," she pleaded.

            "No it's not.  Father Roberts never pays attention to anything I do, and neither do you.  You never tell me I'm doing a good job.  The only thing you say is when the next volunteer work is."  When she didn't say anything, he sneered at her.  "You see?  You don't know anything about me!"

            For a long time, she seemed completely lost for words.  Maybe she was finally listening to him for the first time.

            "I do know something about you.  I know... that you like music," She said.

            Those words, the last words he expected to hear out of his mother, sent him reeling. 

"How could you... no.  You don't know.  You don't know how much I love music.  You never even listen when I play.  You never even told me if I did a good job at the music competition.  You didn't even want to go.  The only thing you do is tell me to quit when you want to turn on the TV," Josh said, nearly spitting out the words.

"I'm sorry honey.  You're right.  I know how much the music means to you.  Even when you were very small.  You have always loved it, and you have always wanted to play.  It's just... I know how absorbing music can be, and I'd rather you not spend so much time at it."

"Why?  If you know how much I like it?  I want to play the piano.  That's what I want to do when I grow up!  If you didn't want me to do it, then why did you even let me take lessons?"

"Because," She said, shaking her head.  "Despite what you think, I want you to be happy.  I have watched you when you listen to your CDs, and when you play.  I just... I don't want to see you hurt, that's all."

He was hearing his mother's words, but they made so little sense to him. 

"Is it because of Steven?" He regretted asking the question as quickly as he had said it.

"That man's an entirely different matter," his mother said flatly.

"But he's helped me so much.  It's because of him I want to be a pianist.  He loves music so much, just as much as me, and he's showed me how to play better than I ever could with the last teacher.  He said, if I work hard enough, I could play with a symphony when I get older, and even make recordings.  He said that, no matter what, he would help me make my dreams come true!"

She crossed her arms and shook her head.  "Honesty, I wouldn't believe a word that came out of that man's mouth.  You have to realize honey, there is only one reason why he's interested in you, and it has nothing to do with music."

That was so untrue he couldn't even think of what to say in response.  It had everything to do with music. They wouldn't have even met if he hadn't been playing the piano in the music room.

"You don't understand mom.  He's sat for hours helping me, pointing things out that I can do better, and helping me when I get stuck.  You haven't seen him mom.  Sometimes, he just sits there and listens to me with his eyes closed, just like I sometimes listen to him.  If he didn't like my playing, then he wouldn't sit there for hours and hours like that."

"Honey... I know it must seem like this man really cares about you, but haven't you asked yourself why this man wants to spend so much time with you?  You must know that's not normal.  That man's an aberration.  Not only is he a homosexual, but he's also a pedophile.  Do you understand what that means?  A good Christian man will find a woman he can be happy with for the rest of his life, and only in holy wedlock will they participate in any sexual activities.  Only a man and woman can join in that way.  God didn't mean for two men to be together.  If he did, he would have made men capable of having babies on their own.  But that's something only a woman can do.  It takes a man's seed and a woman's egg to make the baby within the woman bloom.  Men who want to be with other men... honey... there is something wrong with them.  It's like having a disease.  They need to be cured."

"NO!" Josh interrupted.  "That's not what Steven said.  Steven said that... germetics... he said that sometimes people just come out that way and they can't help it.  He said there is nothing wrong with them, even through they are different."

"Of course that's what he wants you to believe honey.  That's what makes men like Steven so bad.  Even the government of the very country you are living in condemns pedophiles like Steven.  This society, and every other society in the world has made it illegal for a man to have sex with a boy.  Because it's wrong!  It goes against nature, it goes against everything god has taught us, it goes against everything moral, good and right.  A man like that can't care about you honey.  He only cares about sex.  A monster like that is incapable of caring about anyone but himself, and anyone who believes otherwise is just being fooled."

The gun trembled in his hands.  His finger's itched to pull the trigger.  Her words sounded so vile, so full of hate.  So unlike Steven's when he had explained this.  She was lying.  Every fiber of his being was telling him so. 

"You're wrong!  Steven's not like that!  He doesn't just care about sex, he loves me!  I know he loves me."

"How can a man like that love you?  How could he possibly love you as much as I do?"

 "I know he loves me, way more than you do!  Do you sit and listen to me play for hours, and tell me how good I'm doing?  Do you take me out to nice dinners and show me how to cook?  Do you sit and watch movies with me, cuddle with me, and make hot chocolate?  Would you take me hiking, and if I twisted my ankle, would you carry me all the way down the trail?"  He knew the answer, so he just shouted it out.  "NO!  All you do is yell at me!  Steven doesn't boss me around.  He doesn't call me a sinner.  He doesn't call me a little devil. He doesn't call me a spoiled little brat.  He doesn't threaten to take away all my things if I'm bad.  He doesn't... he doesn't threaten to send me away to Catholic School."  His voice went dead quiet then.  When he spoke again, his words were barely above a whisper.  "I hate you mom.  I hate you.  I want you to die."

Josh raised the gun up in his hands, his words fueling his rage, giving him courage.  He took careful aim at his mother's head.  One shot, and he would silence her forever.     

"May the lord have mercy on me.  He's got you totally convinced, hasn't he?"

Josh gritted his teeth, his finger itching the trigger, holding the gun so tightly his fingers were bone white.  His mother wasn't even looking at him anymore.  She was looking up at the ceiling, like she was praying to god.

"What kind of sick, twisted man would do this to my little boy?"

"Shut up," Josh said, his voice trembling in tune with the rest of his body.  Tears streamed freely from his eyes.

"What kind of man would brainwash a boy so thoroughly, just so that he can have sex with him?"

"SHUTUP" Josh screamed. 

He put his other finger on the trigger.

His mother's eyes were closed now.

"Oh lord, please forgive my son, who thinks this forsaken man loves him more than his own mother!"

He closed his own eyes then and screamed out at his mother with all the strength his lungs could muster.  "If you love god so much, then maybe you should join him!"

The last thing he heard was the thunderous blast of the gun firing again.