Date: Tue, 29 Aug 2017 12:28:58 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Lake Desolation 20

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.

*****

"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."

*****

Lake Desolation 20: A Different Kind of Hero

By Bear Pup

Thursday (11)

*****

Joshua arrives and we move from the limo directly to the cab of the truck.
"I'm so sorry, Larry. Christopher told me you lost, well, that you lost
your family. Please know that mine will be there for you, son." Logan turns
his head into my chest.

"Thank you, Joshua. He knows. I always knew. You are really good people.
Larry is, well, we've got a lot of work ahead of us."

Joshua turns to driving but I can see from the set of his jaw and shoulders
that he's worried for both of us and mortified by his failure to believe
the Larry myth. I know that there will be a time that he will find out, and
my soul shrivels at the thought. I will lose him and his family's trust
forever. It is the price, though, of Logan's freedom and the survival of my
soul.

We're home before we really know it. While we were in The City, the freeze
had come hard so Joshua could roll across the frozen land without worrying
about the Track N Go's. He just drives straight to the cabin, hardly
noticing the transition from road to track. We get out and his eyes get
huge. "Oh my God, Stettler! I forgot your luggage! I'll run straight back
and..."

"Joshua Miller, you'll do no such thing. Christopher will be gone by now
regardless. Anyway, he's coming over for dinner this evening. I'll call and
tell him to bring them." I pull out the shiny red iPhone and Joshua's eyes
bug out.

"Stettler McKay! You're joining this century?" he jibes. He turns to Larry
to continue the joke and quiets when he recalls the 'tragic circumstance'.
He speaks softly and carefully. "Larry, you are a good influence on this
man. I am so sorry for your loss and if there's anything we can do,
call. But, son, Stettler's one of the good'uns. You let him take care of
you, okay?"

Logan nods mournfully, still in his depressed funk from the limo drama.
Joshua frowns sadly and gives me a tip of his hat before departing. It
takes forever to break back into the cabin once it's secured, but when I
finish, I realise that Logan is staring at me and has been since we
arrived.

I pull him to me and kiss him with a desperate passion. "I need you, Logan,
and I really do love you, and I'm ready to let you love me back, not as a
character, but as a person. Can you help me grow up a little?"

He looks into my eyes, flicking from one to the other. "No, Jake, but I'll
help you grow a little down. I think... I think being young makes you
understand how little is yours to control. You lost that, Jake, because
you've had so many years where you did have control. Now, though, I'm
freezing to death. Can we g-g-g-go inside, please?" I lift him -- he is
gaining flesh again but still lighter than a feather -- and carry him into
the cabin.

I sit Logan in front of the hearth and kiss him on the forehead before
opening the flue and lighting the kindling. I set about the ritual of
bringing the cabin out of hibernation as Logan feeds the hearth
increasingly-large pieces of wood. The hearth-fire builds until it is
crackling and warming the whole cabin. I join Logan on the mountain-goat
rug and gently start removing the layers that swaddle him, shedding my own
as well; he stares into the fire. This was a process that I'd refined with
Maria, and know just about the right pace so the cabin is the right temp as
each layer comes off.

When we are both down to jeans and long-sleeve T's, I pull Logan to me --
'bro-hug' style, I think it's called -- and join his fire-enthralled
gaze. I wait until I feel him start to relax into my side before turning
and kissing his hair. "What are you thinking, Logan?"

He turns up and towards me and I see the tear-tracks on his face. "Logan?
Talk to me, please?" He sighs deeply and turns back to the fire, obviously
not willing to look at me as he says whatever is consuming him.

"I wanted it. I could taste it, Jake. I could *taste* it, that fix. I meant
everything I said, Jake, but I also knew that a big part of what drove my
rage was... was getting back on the train, b-b-b-b-back in the dance,
Jake. I'm, I'm never gonna be whole again, am I? I'm, n-n-n-n-n-never
gonna--"

"Hush, love. Be still. No, I'm sorry but you'll never again not have that
need, at least from what I know. My Joseph never got past it. But you have
something now that you never did before: Someone who will never, ever let
you go, never let you into that particular dance again. Someone who will
shoot the musicians if you begin to sway to the rhythm. Someone who is a
mean, ornery, stubborn old goat who is devious, tenacious and
unrelenting. Me, Logan. You have me."

I let him cry then, knowing that there are too many things going on. Logan
is grieving the fix he didn't get, hating himself for wanting to fall and
loathing the fact that he was disappointed that he *hadn't* fallen. He will
turn on me in the next day or so, railing about what I'd done "to" him. I
sigh. Joseph had said things at first that nearly killed me, but he was
screaming rage at himself and I was a target of opportunity. Logan notices
the sigh and pulls closer, his tears fading. I wait until I feel him relax
even more, waiting for the soft snore. I gently lay him back on the
mountain-goat wool and softly coax him into a curl. I throw my coat over
him and move quietly into the kitchen.

I am not really in the mood for cooking, but I want something on hand that
will feed Christopher if he agrees to stay. I find a weird thing that I
always made when Maria went meatless. I call it 'fungal lasagne' (Joseph's
term, actually). Whenever I find enormous white-button mushrooms (I loathe
portabellas), I slice, season and sear them as I would beef in an Italian
steak dinner or veal tournedos pounded thin. That becomes the 'meat' layers
with the pasta, wine-based tomato sauce and cheeses. I've had more than one
occasion (not here at the cabin of course) when a picky vegetarian
complained that I was serving her beef, the mushroom ploy being so
effective at mimicking the flavour.

It's in a low oven, covered. As long as we have at least an hour and a
half, it can stay there for more than three hours before I pull the cover
and let it crisp, and will always be perfectly cooked. Ah, the magic of
pasta!

I boot my laptop and write something to show Logan when he wakes, then deal
with my routine mail. Wally asked if I "liked the Reuben" still. Babs
requested a 'hangover stipend' since our Bill's Burger Bar night cost her a
day and half of productivity. Yeah, couldn't be the booze; it had to be
Stettler's fault. Lawyer stuff that I, well, wasn't really ready to deal
with. Lastly, a few forwarded items from my reading service.

My young lover rouses about when I'm finished. "Logan, I have something for
you to read."

"No trouble," he yawns hugely, "but can I hit the W/C first?"

He comes out and I show him what I've written. He makes a few changes and
we agree to send it to the Savannah Morning News and (keeping the myth
alive of relations there), the Boston Herald and Boston Globe. Logan
reminds me of another important paper that needs to know, the [___-___] -
American-Irish News, Ciaran Devenish, Publisher (and forger of new
identities).

***** John Lawrence Mallory, 48, and Louisa Sophia Mallory nee Mendez, 46,
both of Savannah, passed away December 23, 2016, in London, England. John
was a respected local architect and Louisa a beloved instructor and mentor
at St Andrew's School where she taught English for Speakers of Other
Languages. They are survived by Sophia Jane Farrier (m 2014 to Jonathan
Farrier) of Kensal Green, London, England and Lawrence Logan Mallory,
Freshman at the U of Miami, Fl. John and Louisa were in London to join
their family for their grandchild's (Charlotte Rose) first Christmas and
died in a traffic accident. A memorial service will be held January 4, 10
am, at the Cathedral Parish Center on Lafayette Square. A special
commemoration for Louisa will be held January 4, 7 PM, at Skinner Dining
Hall on the St Andrews School campus. In lieu of flowers, please send in
memorium donations to either Saint Andrews School or Coastal Pet Rescue.

*****

"I wonder how many people will show up?"

"Huh?"

"Sadly, Logan, there is a very strange subset of people who attend every
funeral or memorial service they can find. I can't honestly tell you
why. Maybe just to thumb their noses at the Grim Reaper? Who knows?"

Logan tenses and his voice betrays his nerves, "Do you think it will cause
trouble? Make people ask questions?"

"I shouldn't expect so. St Andrews won't be open and there's likely already
a funeral or memorial at the Parish Center. Most folks will suspect a typo
in the obit." He starts to relax a little. "And it won't come from us,
anyway. It will come from a very nice lady named Isabel Roth who lives in
London. She is obsessive about 'realitisation' -- her word -- inserting
story elements from her plots into the real world for her fans to dig
up. Obits are one of her favourites. It makes her most-devoted readers feel
they're in on the secret. I'll tell her I'm thinking of trying it. She'll
never even blink."

"Okay. You know something, Jake? I actually feel sad for Larry, losing his
family like that. Is that, I dunno, seriously fucked up?"

"No, love, it's not. No more so that the thousands who sent hate mail to
Doyle for 'murdering' Holmes. Or for actors who have lived a character for
years on TV; McLean Stevenson comes to mind. True or not, people say he was
appalled when it was revealed, literally during the last day of filming for
a season, that his M*A*S*H character never made it home and was killed off
when his plane crashed. People get invested in characters, especially ones
they're playing."

"What's that incredible smell?"

"Fungal lasagne." I laugh at the look. "Sorry, my son named it that. It's
lasagne that uses mushrooms instead of meat. It keeps forever and heats
well. I wanted something big enough that Christopher can join us if he can
stay."

"Um, about that. What, um, what do we say?"

"That's up to you, Logan. I'm not going to run things like I did
before. I'll make a suggestion, though; There are few people that Maria
ever trusted more than that young man. Hal, the sheriff's trooper, would be
another, but we can't jeopardise his job. Christopher is also a genuinely
good person."

"So, you're suggesting we tell him everything?"

"No. I'm going to tell him that I love you and that you are not really my
nephew. He may ask for more about you and your past, but he won't push
much. What you tell him is up to you. He's a damned smart kid, though, and
might have suggestions for peeling Larry even further away from the
convenience store business if you trust him enough to tell him."

"I'll think about it. You know your 'suggestions' do sound a lot like
instructions, right?"

I laugh, "Baby steps, Logan. I can't do a one-eighty in the space of a day,
my love."

His voice is soft, tender. "I like that, you know, when you call me 'love'
or 'lover'. Can I... could I call you pet names?"

I blink. "I, well, I never thought of it. I, I'd really like that, Logan."
I'm tearing up and he pulls me to him.

"Don't go getting all weepy, Papa Bear, or you might find that your morning
oatmeal is too hot."

I smack his ass playfully. "You just HAD to say oatmeal, didn't you?"

Unlike the roaring monster diesel of the Miller Family, Christopher's Jeep
is apparently very quiet. Logan and I both jump when there's a knock on the
window (up here, no one really knocks on doors, since most houses have
entryways like my... our cabin).

I move to the window and peek out to find the young man shifting from foot
to foot, distinctly nervous. I go into the entryway and lead him through
into the warmth. Crap, I think, I didn't tell him about the luggage. "Take
off your coat and have a seat, Christopher."

"Oh, not yet, Stettler. I have to get your luggage. It's in the Jeep."

"I'll help with that," Logan says quickly and sloughs on a coat. The two
boys -- how else can I think of them? -- are back in moments and Logan logs
the outer door against the wind as Christopher piles the bags to one side
of the inner door.

"I'm, uh, sorry, but I don't have anything to offer you to drink other than
pop or tea."

"Tea would be great, sir."

"Hot or iced, and if you sir me again I'll spank you, young man." He laughs
and asked for hot tea. I brew three cups. Remembering, I add a dash of
sugar to Logan's. "Anything special you like in it, son?"

"No, s-s-Stettler," he makes the save of avoiding 'sir' quickly, "just
plain is fine." He settles in the chair, as Logan is on one end of the sofa
and I take the other end. "Um, about today? I'm really, really sorry. It
was wr--"

"No, it wasn't." Logan's voice is stronger than I'd heard it in a long
time. Sure, certain and calm. "I was an idiot and you saved me from
seriously fucking up my life and, I think, Jake's as well. Anything you
ever need, you ask me. Anything, Christopher, and I mean that."

"No," he says slowly, "I don't believe in owing. If I did, I'd owe Stettler
and Maria more than I can ever pay. But, well, I'm not sure how to ask and
it's none of my b--"

I cut him off this time. "It is your business. You were important to Maria
and will always be important to me, and Larry is right, you saved me
today." I take a deep, ragged breath and plough onwards. "Christopher,
Larry is not my nephew, and I am deeply in love with him. Rather, we're in
love with each other."

Christopher blinks placidly and suddenly frowns. "And?"

"Huh?" Logan and I echo each other.

"You seriously think I didn't know that when I picked you up that morning?"
Logan and I look much like owls at that point. "Apparently you
do. Okay. Stettler, did you ever meet Jamie? Jamie Downing?"

I start to shake my head and then recall, "Yes. Yes, I did. Maria adored
him, if I recall. He was your friend in high school, right? Beautiful
smile? Great laugh?"

The boy smiles. "Since second grade, actually." Christopher's eyes go a
little distant. "Yeah, I remember now. We'd see the two of you out and
about, Tinney's or the boathouse or such.

"Jamie was my bestie, closer than a brother. He's is off to Penn State this
year with his lover, Mason. Stettler, don't be shocked. You're not the only
gay person on Earth, you know. I was the first person he told, and also the
first person he, um, anyway. So, I knew the signs of two people in love who
might not happen to be boy-girl."

"So why didn't you say something?" I was aghast. How many other people knew
this?

"What? Like, 'Your new boyfriend is really cute' or something? What did you
think I would say? I mean, it was so nice to see you happy again that l
could have sung for joy, Stettler."

"So, um, Christopher," Logan's voice is still calm, but some of the
assuredness is fading, "you're not upset? I know, well, J-- Stettler had
told me how much Maria loved you. You don't, you know, think it's--?"

It is Christopher's turn to cut someone off, apparently. "Hell no! Maria
would come back and box my ears if I so much as thought that. You think
she'd want Stettler pining away out here turning into some old coot of a
hermit? No offense!"

I chuckle. "None taken. I used the same word for myself just the other
day. And, yeah..." there is a soft wonder in my voice as I realise some of
the things Maria's ghost didn't say aloud. "You're right. My
'cootification' is not something she approved of. On the other hand, she
seems very much to approve of... of this young man."

Logan blushes as Christopher looks him over in more detail. "So, you're not
a relative. If I can ask, who are you and how did you and Stettler find
each other?"

Logan looks to me for a long time then back to Christopher. "He found me
freezing to death about a quarter mile away. I was in withdrawal. He took
me in, saved my life and gave me a new one. In the process, I fell in love
with him and, eventually, he did with me."

"I object to the order of the falling part, young man, but not the
substance."

Christopher looked between us for a minute and then back to Logan. "You're
not from the South, I know that. In fact, I think you were in the class
ahead of me at SCC." He has an edge of challenge to his voice and I see
Logan calculate and make a quick decision.

"Yes, I was at Saratoga Central Catholic for the last three years of
school. And yes, I was 'that stoned kid'. And you suspect more than that,
too. A guy at Sarasota Springs High shot me up and hooked me on morphine. A
couple weeks ago, I was out of my mind and tried to rob a store and almost
killed a woman. I came out here, frankly, to die. Jake stopped me from
doing that and got me through the withdrawal." Throughout, Christopher's
expression does not change. "And now, I'm sorry, but you get to choose what
happens to me. It's not fair, but you have to decide if I go to prison, and
I won't interfere. And I'll make sure that Jake -- Stettler -- doesn't
either."

I start to speak and realise two things: I have no voice and nothing to
say.

Christopher looks at me, then Logan. He reaches out his hand. "Hi. I'm
Christopher Connelly. I'm glad to meet you, finally. What's your name?"

Logan, dumbfounded, reaches out and take his hand. "I was born Logan
Mendez. But if you decide I get to stay with Stettler, I'm Larry
Mallory. So tell me, Christopher, who am I?"

Christopher doesn't answer the question itself. "Tell me about the
convenience store. What really happened?"

I feel tears rolling on my face as Logan's calm, simple voice responds. "My
mom passed away. I wanted to stop, I'd always wanted to stop, but every
time I hit withdrawal, I caved and used the savings to buy drugs. When that
ran out, I knew I couldn't survive withdrawal and I found what I thought
was an unloaded gun in a drawer. I pulled the gun in a convenience store,
panicked, dropped it and it went off. I thought I'd killed the woman, I
really did. I realised just what a twisted, sick, worthless fuckup I'd
become. And I ran. When I couldn't run any more, I stopped. Stopped not far
from here, waiting to die."

"And the drugs?"

"I still crave them. Every day. I think I always will. It's what I was
planning when I told you where to drop me off. I won't deny that. The
easiest thing I could possibly do is go back. Only this time, it wasn't
just Jake that saved me, you did, too."

"Do you know who it was, that woman you shot? You look at the news lately?"

For the first time, Logan's voice breaks and he lets out a sigh and a sob,
and begins to cry softly. "No. No, I don't know. I, I'm not sure I'm
st-st-st-strong enough to read about what I did."

"Then you really were strung out. Because you've met her. Dr Beth Masters."
Logan's eyes go wide. "The woman who came to school every year? She
preached that drugs were not the problem, that society's treatment of
addiction was. That the disease drove the need and the need drove the
violence. She was on TV three nights ago. She condemned the police
investigation and, if I recall correctly, promised to testify in court that
the person who 'dropped the gun' was just carrying it, and that there was
no robbery, and that the 'perp' was a six-foot-five white guy that looked
precisely like the District Attorney."

Logan basically melts across the couch and into my side and I hold him as
he shakes. Christopher looks appalled, convinced he's done something
reprehensible. I smile at him through my own tears, "Sorry, Christopher,
but I think you saved Logan twice today. Maria was always right about
people. You are a very, very good man."

<eof>

Beta Reading shout-outs to Dan, Daniel, Peter, Skip and Jamie, with a
caveat: All of the remaining fuckup are mine. They found dozens and have
really made this chapter and even my writing better. I cannot thank them
enough.

*****

Now on Tumblr: Bear Pup -- Beyond Nifty https://orsonbearpup.tumblr.com/ -
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