Date: Tue, 2 Aug 2005 11:23:40 -0700 (PDT)
From: CloseTheCellarDoor <closethecellardoor@yahoo.com>
Subject: Evil is a Man: The Angel Stretched Out His Hand -- chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Nobody was coming to the door, nobody was answering my knocking, just like
it had been the last time I was on this goddamn doorstep.  Only this time,
her car wasn't out front.  It was in the middle of the day--she must have
been at school.

Well, I'd wait for her then.

But this doorstep wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to wait.  After
all the nights I'd slept over in the apartment, I wasn't about to sit
outside like some fucking vagabond.  I tried the door--locked of course.
So I tried the window next do the door--open!  I removed the screen, and
stumbled into Shannon's living room.

Empty and quiet.  That's why I wanted to come during the day, even if Sam
couldn't join me, instead sleeping the day away in the hotel we had found
downtown.  When the sun went down, the party started in this apartment, and
I needed to catch her alone.

I looked around, trying to remember what had changed about this place, what
was still the same.  I drifted into Shannon's bedroom.  Shannon had never
been one of those sweet, sentimental girls, but she still had had a few
token pictures of us around her room.  Now they were nowhere to be found.
Instead of the typical grouping of empty beer bottles on the dresser, now
there was a messy pile of notepads and textbooks.

Her bed was unmade like always, at least that was the same as before.  I
sat down on the mattress, then sprawled out on top of the wrinkled sheets,
remembering all the times I had spent in this bed.

I yawned... I hadn't had much sleep recently.  Sam had gotten a hotel room
with only one bed again, but this time when he asked me to come to bed, I
refused, telling him I instead wanted to see San Diego during the day and
come and talk to Shannon.  That's why we had come here, after all.  God
knows it wasn't my decision, he wanted me to come here and make peace with
Shannon.

Now I was tired.  I wrapped the bedspread around me, buried my face into
her pillow, and drifted off.

"GET OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKIN HOUSE MOTHERFUCKER OR I'LL MOTHERFUCKING KILL
YOU!"

I snapped awake.  Yup, Shannon was home.  Like I said, she wasn't one of
those sweet, sentimental girls.

I spun around, looking up at her rage-filled face and a baseball bat raised
dangerously over her head.  "Babe, it's me!  It's Brad!"

"Brad?" she asked, seeing my face for the first time and lowering her bat
slowly.

"Yeah!  Holy fuck, calm yourself down, babe!  It's not some whack-job
killer in your apartment, it's me!"

She looked and me blankly for a couple of seconds.  Then she raised her bat
again, screamed like fucking Xena, and charged me.  "I'd rather have
Charlie Manson in my apartment that you, you fuck!"

"Shannon, please, relax!"

"Get out of my bed, motherfucker!  What we're you doing in there?  Smelling
my sheets?  Jerking off?  You're disgusting!"

"I was just resting!"  I slid off her bed and got to my feet, backing away
from the crazy woman with the bat.  "I just want to talk to you!"

"Oh, yeah right, that's why you broke in.  B and E, Brad, B and E.  I could
kill you right now if I wanted to.  The law is on my side."

"Yeah, but then you'd get my blood all over everything, and we both know
that you're not much for cleaning up."

She motioned the tip of her bat towards her bedroom door.  "Get out!  Get!"

"Shannon, babe," I said.  "I didn't come to fight with you."

"Ha!  I bet you didn't."

"I came to apologize.  That's all."

She rolled her eyes.  "I know you're not that bright, but you can't be that
fucking stupid.  You think that you just have to apologize and I'll run
into your arms, kiss you, push you down on the bed maybe and have crazy
make-up sex, and then afterwards I'll invite you to move in here cause you
don't have a place to live, and I'll support you and feed you while you
hang around the apartment and get loaded every day, and you'll be totally
faithful to me--for two or three days?  Nope, sorry, not gonna happen."

"Shannon, look," I said.  "I don't want any of that.  I don't need a place
to live, I have that.  I don't need any cash, I have that too.  And I've
quit dust for good.  I just came to apologize to you, for treating you so
fucked up.  For, you know, all the cheating.  It wasn't just Mandy, there
were others too."

She lowered the bat down, but still held onto it at her hip.  "Yeah, I
pretty much figured that."

"Well, I'm sorry," I said.  "Really.  I was fucked up to treat you like I
did."

"You serious?" she asked me.  "You seriously mean that?  This isn't some
game your playing?"

"No games," I said.

"What happened to you?  How'd you change so quickly?"

"Let's just say it took some outside help," I said.

"Oh no," she said.  "You didn't like turn religious or anything, did you?"

I laughed.  "Something like that, I guess."

"Ah, Brad's gone all born again on me," she joked.  "Well, whatever it is,
it's done you good."  She finally dropped the bat, and surprised me by
taking a step towards me and kissing me.

The kiss didn't do anything for me... I just had no sexual attraction to
Shannon at all anymore.

"Alright," she said as she pulled her lips off of mine with a slight pop.
"I'm willing to give you another shot."

"That's really cool of you, Shannon," I said.  "But I didn't come back here
because I wanted to get back together with ya."

"You didn't?"

"No.  I just came to, ya know, apologize and shit."

"Well, that sucks," she said.

"Hey, babe, we were never right for each other anyway.  Two fucked-up kids
like us don't belong together, you know that."

"Huh.  Well maybe we can still hang out, you know, go out sometimes like
when we were first dating."

"I'm leaving town.  For good this time."

"Well, will you at least call me?"

"I don't think so, Shannon.  It's just not a good idea."

"Yup, okay, I see how it is then.  You may be a new man but you're still an
ass.  No religion is ever gonna change that, Brad.  You'll always be rotten
on the inside."

"I did what I came here to do.  Be petty and immature if you want, that's
not my fucking problem."

"I'm sure you know where the door is, Brad."

*****

"Forget what she said to you," Sam said that night after I had complained
about how badly my little visit to Shannon had ended up.  "You've done much
more for her than you realize.  I think, for the first time, she'll really
be able to move on from your disastrous union.  Hopefully, she'll be able
to find her way."

I lay on the floor of the hotel room, idly tossing the TV remote up in the
air and catching it over and over again.  "You're just saying that cause
you don't want to look like a fool.  Making me go do something that doesn't
do anybody any good."

He looked slightly bruised by my statement.  "You know that is completely
false.  I am the first to admit my own shortcomings, my own missteps--you
know this.  Don't you?"

I caught the remote in my hand.  "Yeah," I said.  "I guess you're right."

But maybe that was even worse.  What was significant to me was not that he
admitted his weaknesses, but that he had weaknesses at all.  For so long he
seemed like a god to me, this immaculate being, perfection.  Now, since
that night in Tucson, he was seeming more and more like a man.  A flawed,
sexual, weak man like any other.

He frowned at me.  "I am not perfect, we've covered that," he said.  "I am
not at God's level or I would still be by his side.  But don't make the
mistake of confusing me for a man, Bradley.  An angel is no man."

He was right, of course.

"Of course I am," Sam told me.  "And besides, how Shannon reacts to your
penitence is not an issue.  What matters is that you truly are penitent."

"So what now?  What are you gonna have me do next?  Am I gonna have to
apologize to every single girl I fucked--fucked over--cause that's gonna
take a hell of a long time."

"No.  We'll stop with Shannon and move on from there."

"Then what next?" I asked impatiently.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow," he told me.  "It's almost morning.  Too late
to make any more progress tonight."  He walked to the bed and threw back
the covers as he started to undress.

I didn't want to follow this road.  I got up and walked towards the door.

"Where you headed?" he asked me.

"I thought I'd go out this morning," I said.  "Get some breakfast.  Maybe
go sightseeing or something.  Hit fucking SeaWorld."

He gave me a very paternal expression of worry.  "You haven't slept for
days.  Come here to bed."

I shuddered.  There was no fucking way I was getting in bed with him
willingly.  "I feel like going out," I insisted.

"It's quite plain that you are exhausted," he said.  "Tomorrow will be a
taxing night for you.  You need to get your rest now."

"But I'm not tired," I said.  "I'm restless."

"I can take your restlessness away," he said.

He came upon me as I backed into the wall.  He put his hands on my arms and
made to kiss me, but I turned my head away in disgust.  My heart was
pounding in my chest and I felt about ready to puke.

"What's changed here, Bradley?  You used to love it when I touched you.
Now you pull away.  You can't hide your anxiety from me, Brad.  I
see... there's an image of someone in your head... a man.  At first I
thought it was me, but it's not.  It's someone else.  Who is this that's
come between us?"

"It's nothing," I said, turning away.  Hoping to God he would just leave me
the fuck alone.

"A memory... it terrifies you, doesn't it?" came his persistent voice from
behind me.  "Who is this man who terrifies you?"

"It's nothing, just a random image that popped into my head.  Some guy I
must have seen in a movie or something, I don't know."

He spun me around to face his fierce eyes.  "You can't lie to me Bradley,
you know exactly who this man is.  Are you going to tell me or am I gonna
have to go inside your head and pull him out myself?"

"Just leave it alone, Sam," I said.  "Leave me alone!"

He gently placed his hand on my forearm, and I shook him off of me.
Determination flashed in his eyes as he grabbed my arm again, this time
with a tight grip.

I tried to twist out of his fingers, but could not budge.  He was as
immovable as stone when he wanted to be.  "Sam, let the fuck go!"

"No," he said.  "I will absolutely not let you keep this buried inside.
It's plain that you are suffering because of it, and I will not sit idly by
and allow you to bear this pain.  You are my keep, it is in the nature of
our relationship that I know everything of you.  There is no hiding from
me."

I could feel the comfort flowing in through his hand onto my arm, and now
it was totally unwanted.  I would not be placated or tranquilized by the
magic in his skin, not this time.  I could feel my guarded memories seeping
slowly into his hand, and I wanted it so badly to be gone.

I pushed his chest away, but it too felt like stone.  I lifted my hand and
shoved hard at his face.

Sam gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw as he grabbed my other wrist in
his other hand.  "I have to do this, Bradley," he said as he forced my
wrists across my body, pulling them with his hands.  Very quickly, he
pressed his chest against mine, locking my crossed arms between us as he
wrapped his own arms around my back, pulling me hard against him.

I couldn't move, my arms were completely useless in his forceful embrace.
I struggled around with my legs as much as I could, but it wasn't helping
in the least.

And then all of that skin to skin contact started to get to me.  Warmth
crept into my body, and as much as it was unwelcome, the pleasant calm took
over me like a drug.

I stopped struggling and fell limp against him, unable to hold my anger or
determination in my mind.  I tried to close off my thoughts to him, but it
was a half-assed effort.  The motivation was already gone--I found it was
so much easier just to let it all go, let it all come out.

"Shh, that's right," he said, his voice just as soothing as his touch.
"That's better.  Now, just tell me everything.  Are you ready to be
completely open and honest with me?"

"Yes," I said lazily, feeling as if he had me hypnotized and I was
powerless to protest any of his suggestions.

"It's your foster father, isn't it?  The man in your head?"

"Yes," I said.  "Stan."

"Tell me about Stan," he ordered me.  "Tell me about what happened to you
in that house."

I nodded, looking past Sam's face and locking my eyes on the light of the
bedside lamp, unfocusing my vision and willing the past back into the
present.

"They brought me there when I was eight," I began.  "Everyone expected a
difficult adjustment--that I would miss my mom too much, that I would act
out or try to run off from my new surroundings.  They couldn't have been
more wrong.  I had never loved my mom--how the fuck could I?  And I had
dreamt of being in a better place for years.

"And here was Stan and Marge, with there large, upper-middle class house in
a nice family neighborhood.  A nice school for once with teachers that
actually gave a shit.  Three warm meals a day and a bed of my own to sleep
in, hell, I had my own room even.

"It was just me at first, Stan and Marge's first foster child, an
experiment I guess.  She was a real estate agent and he was a doctor, both
of them were busy people.  But I had never had any personal attention from
my mom or from her junkie friends, now I was finally getting some.

"Stan was my favorite of the two.  He would take me places, buy me things,
play with me.  Marge was friendly, always kind.  But she never seemed to
really care about me.  She watched me out of the corner of her eye when she
was looking after me.  At first I thought she was just overprotective.  But
now I think she knew I was going to be trouble before even I did.

"I can remember once after I acted up at school, getting into a fight with
another kid.  I had been sent up to bed early.  They didn't know but I
could hear them arguing.  She blamed him, telling him that it was his
bright idea to get a foster kid in the first place.

"Sure that they were going to toss me out if I got in trouble again, and
knowing that as I got older my chances of finding a new foster family went
to shit, I devoted myself to being on my best behavior at all times.  It
was easy with Stan because I really did want to impress the guy.  But Marge
I never liked after I had heard how she really felt about me."

"I think that both Marge and your mother contributed heavily to the
formulation of a misogynistic outlook on your part," Sam cut in.  "Those
were the only two females in your childhood, and from an early age you've
expected all women to be either weak and self-destructive or cold-hearted
and two-faced.  It's been so easy for you since adolescence to bounce from
girl to girl, never paying any heed to their feelings because to you women
are not human, they're lesser creatures.  Hurting them is like slaughtering
cows--unpleasant, but completely necessary if you're gonna get the
enjoyment of having a prime rib on your dinner plate."

"But this story isn't about Marge, it's about Stan."

"Alright.  Tell me what Stan did to you.  I think I already know, but I
want to hear it from your mouth."

I took a deep breath and resumed my recollection.  "There were two pretty
good years there with Stan and Marge.  Marge was always cold and distant
and uninterested, true--but she was still a world of improvement over my
mother.  Stan, on the other hand, really made me feel loved.  Funny, it was
the first time I had ever felt loved or wanted by anyone, and I valued that
so deeply.

"Marge and Stan both worked long hours, and normally after school I would
go to day-care until one of them picked me up in the evening as both of
them got off work.  But Stan started getting Tuesdays off, and those were
my favorite days, because he would pick me up from school in the afternoon
and take me home and play with me until Marge came home in the evening.

"One of those Tuesday afternoons, Stan and I were roughhousing and he told
me something along the lines of how big I was getting and how I was
starting to turn into a man.  He told me to come into his office so he
could give me an examination.

"This was not unusual, as he had examined me from time to time whenever I
had gotten sick.  It was something I enjoyed... his hand on my back, the
cool stethoscope against my chest, his lowered, doctorly voice as he told
me to breathe or stick out my tongue or whatever else it was--all of that
was very calming to me.

"He did all that again, but this time, there was more.  He asked me to take
off all my clothes instead of just my shirt, which I did dutifully.  I
trusted him completely.  That was my biggest fucking mistake.  He told me
some bullshit like he needed to check my dick to see if it was growing
properly, and then he rubbed and groped at me for the longest time with his
bare hands.

"That was the end of it that day.  But every Tuesday when he brought me
home from school, he would do the same thing.  And he would always tell me
that what happened between a doctor and his patient was confidential, that
I couldn't tell anyone about what was going on, and if I did I would be in
big trouble and would likely be taken away from Stan and Marge and sent to
an institution.  So I never did say anything.

"And at first I didn't think there was anything wrong about what he was
doing.  But then he would move things further and further.  He told me that
the only way a doctor could tell if a boy's dick had turned into a man's
was to taste it.  He used that lame excuse to start sucking me off every
Tuesday.  And then, as he told me about sex and hardons and cum and all
that, he convinced me that I needed to touch a grown man's dick so I could
understand, and he started having me jerk him off every week.  Pretty soon
I was kneeling between his thighs, giving the fat slob a blow job every
Tuesday.  I was just a friggin ten-year-old.

"By that time everything had changed for me.  At some point I realized that
Stan was not just doing his duty as a doctor, but that he was getting some
sort of pleasure off of what was happening between us.  I noticed how all
our interactions seemed to change... he was more touchy feely with me, he
always told me how he couldn't wait until Tuesday.  I realized that
everything good that he had ever done for me was not because he loved me,
but because he wanted me to pleasure him.  I sank into a bit of depression,
and I absolutely dreaded Tuesday afternoons.

"Eventually, as I'm sure you can guess, the shithead wanted to fuck me.  He
forced me into it, and it hurt so fucking bad I cried my eyes out and kept
on crying all that night.  That was it, I knew.  Stan was a bad man and I
wasn't going to just lie there and take it anymore.

"The next Tuesday, when he wanted to take me in his office for my next
examination, I flat out refused.  He chased me around angrily, but he was a
fat fuck and I was a fast little kid.  He couldn't physically force me,
especially since he knew if he really pissed me off I might tell Marge what
was going on.

"So, he stopped screwing around with me, I stopped giving a shit about
either of them, and life went on.

"Until Drew came into the picture.  A doe-eyed little boy with less
self-esteem than I had.  I was headstrong, but he would do what he was told
unquestionably.  I knew that they must have got him because Stan had become
unsatisfied with me.

"Drew and I were best pals in a matter of minutes.  He brought me some
happiness in a home that had offered me none for a long time.  I cared
about him, I really did.  And I looked after him as best as I could.

"Stan was doing the same things with Drew that he did with me at first.  He
played with him every second, roughhoused.  I knew where that would lead.
I warned Drew, telling him that Stan was a bad man and that he should keep
his distance.  But Drew had no reason to believe me, and when you're that
age, if someone is giving you attention, you want to believe in their good
intentions.

"I had joined a soccer team that met for practice after school on Tuesdays
to avoid spending any alone time with Stan at home.  But when Drew came
along, I figured I would quit so I could stay home on Tuesdays and look
after Drew.  It was the only way to protect him.

"But I did one better.  I got Drew on the soccer team as well.  He was
under the minimum age, but I convinced the coaches to let him on.  Stan was
infuriated--he must have known what I was up to.  He complained that Drew
was too young to play on the team, but Marge got on his case, telling him
that he was being unreasonably overprotective.  Marge won the argument--it
was the first time I ever really liked her--and Drew stayed after school
with me on Tuesdays, keeping him safe.

"Then one Tuesday, I remember very clearly, I had a field trip to the LA
Zoo that would make me miss practice.  No problem, I thought, Drew would be
fine on his own.  It was supposed to be a bright sunny day.  But I was
seriously worried when all of us kids at the zoo were running around in the
afternoon trying to get out of the afternoon rainstorm.  Soccer practice
would be cancelled for sure, and Drew would go home with Stan.

"I got home that evening, and my suspicions were right.  Stan had picked
Drew up early, and now Drew wasn't coming out of his room for dinner,
saying he wasn't feeling well.  I got up from the table, glared at Stan,
and went to go see what was wrong.

"He was really upset, poor kid, and he told me everything.  Stan had taken
him into his office for one of his examinations.  But he hadn't started off
easy with Drew like he had with me.  He went the whole fucking way, the
evil son-of-a-bitch.  He was still in pain.  I did the best I could to
comfort him, and went back downstairs.

"Stan was telling Marge that the reason Drew wasn't feeling well was
because the big kids were being so rough with him in our soccer games.
They agreed that Drew was just too small to play on the older team.  Stan
told her he was going to have him moved to the younger team--they had their
practices on Monday afternoons.  I was horrified.

"The next time I got Stan alone, I confronted him.  Told him that I wanted
to keep his hands off Drew.  Stan, ever the wily bastard, was completely
prepared for this request.  He told me he'd strike a deal with me.  He'd
keep his hands off Drew if I took Drew's place.  Do whatever Stan wanted me
to do and keep my fucking mouth shut.  Learn to like it.

"What else could I have done?  I agreed.  Stan never had followed through
getting Drew transferred into the other soccer team, but he had me quit.
It was just the two of us at home on Tuesday afternoons once again, and
Stan took advantage of every minute.  It was pure hell for me.

"As time went on, I started acting out passive aggressively, getting into
trouble as much as I could manage.  Drew was acting the same way.
Eventually the two of us got caught stealing bottles of whiskey out of a
liquor store.  Marge had had it with us.  She sent us back to the state
without the slightest hint of sympathy.

"Stan was upset, but he had gotten her to agree to take in another child,
one who was more psychologically stable.

"Before Drew and I were separated for good, I came clean with him about
what had been going on between me and Stan.  He apparently already knew,
although he had no idea that Stan had agreed to keep his hands off Drew.
He told me that Stan had fucked around with him whenever he could manage to
get him alone ever since that first time.  Said he was afraid to tell
anyone about it, even me.  We both agreed that no matter where we were
going, it couldn't be any worse than where we already were.

"Drew probably would have grown up okay if Stan hadn't fucked him up in the
head.  He used to be the sweetest little kid."

"Now you see how ridiculous it is to blame yourself for his death.  If you
hadn't stepped in when you did, things probably would have been much worse
for him."

"So," I said, finally looking at him in the eyes again.  "That's all of it.
Now you finally know all my secrets.  Fuck, you know everything about me
now."

"Yes," he said to me.  "Now I finally understand."  He put his hand on my
cheek and moved forward.  I shuddered in disgust.  "You cringe at my
touch," he told me, but his hand stayed firmly upon my cheek.  "At the
touch of a man.  But this disgust that repels you from a man's touch comes
not from you.  It comes from Stan.  He put it inside you.  What Stan did
was atrocious and he will be punished for it, let me assure you.  But I am
not Stan."

He closed his eyes and slowly moved towards me, his lips parted.  "No," I
said, shaking my head out of his grip.  "It's sick.  It's perverse.  I'm no
fag."

"Bradley, I hate to break this to you, but you're bisexual."

"Fuck no," I said.  "I'm not."

He smiled.  "I'm sorry, but you are.  Every man with the Eversor gene you
carry is either gay or bi-sexual.  It's an inevitability.  And if you
weren't at least bi-sexual, you wouldn't have so loved the feeling of me
holding you.  You wouldn't have let me kiss you all those times.  You've
been programmed to think of love between men as perverted, unnatural--even
hurtful, exploitative, and abusive.  It's time to decondition you."

He kissed me, but I struggled against him, trying to shut my lips and
prevent his tongue from entering my mouth.  But his lips, his tongue, were
so much stronger than mine.

"There is nothing wrong or shameful about this, Bradley.  In fact, it is
entirely the opposite.  It's the physical manifestation of my love for you,
a love that is entirely unconditional by its very nature.  Sex between us
is not something bizarre, it is more natural and right and good than any
other sexual encounter you've ever experienced."

"But you," I stammered.  "You're an angel!"

He laughed.  "And therefore I'm supposed to be celibate, sexless, without
desire?  Angels have always been sexual creatures.  Sexuality is one of
God's most profound gifts.  It's entirely spiritual in nature.  Sexual
ecstasy is the closest means for us to experience transcendence.  Sex is
not evil... in fact, God himself is the most sexual being in existence.
Don't forget that you and me have been created in his image.  He has shared
with us his form, and along with it his sexuality as well.  To deny this is
to turn your back on God's gifts, on God himself.  In his eyes, there is
nothing more right than this."  And he kissed me again, harder than before,
and this time I didn't fight back.  I let him have me.

"Yes," I sighed when he finally broke the kiss.  It had been the most
passionate one I had ever known.  I realized that I was getting hard.  His
touch, his kisses had always given me ecstasy.  But now I was sure that the
nature of that ecstasy was sexual.

He smiled his endearing smile at me.  "You know," he said simply.

He pulled my shirt over my head and returned to kissing me.  His hands
searched up and down my bare torso... I momentarily was disgusted by the
thought of a man's hands hungrily feeling out my body with a driving sexual
lust... but I let that pass.  I knew he was right, I knew this was right.

He leaned down, unbuttoned my pants, and pulled them down along with my
underwear until they were both hanging around my ankles.  He looked down at
my dick, so obviously rockhard and turned on, and then he looked back into
my eyes, smiling with sweet pride.  He kissed me lovingly again, then moved
down.

I jumped as he grabbed my dick in his hand.  "Relax," he said.  "I'm not
going to hurt you.  I could never, ever hurt you."  It was easy enough to
relax as ecstasy poured from his fingers into my dick and up through my
body.  Yes... this was so right.

"I love you so much, Bradley.  I want you to feel so good."

"Yes," I groaned.

And then I moaned uncontrollably as I felt his tongue touch the tip of my
dick... the beautiful sensation was so sudden and so surprisingly powerful
that my whole body spasmed uncontrollably.  As his lips swallowed my dick,
I the pleasure was so great that my body, barely able to contain it,
trembled constantly, and my mind was so focused on the power of it all that
I was unable to think normally.

It felt like forever that my dick was inside his warm, wonderful mouth, yet
it must have been just a few moments before the ecstasy brought me over the
brink.  As my cum exploded into his mouth, he swallowed every ounce of
it... and it was as if he was taking with it all my pain, all my loss and
regret, all my fears drained out of my body in the most divinely powerful
catharsis of pleasure.

When it was done, I fell into the most relaxed, pleasurable stupor, panting
heavily.  Tears were in my eyes.  He stood up and looked down at me with
proud eyes and the most loving smile.  He kissed me so sweetly; all I could
think about was that I wanted him for me, to be mine completely, not just
emotionally but sexually as well... yes, especially sexually.  I wanted him
forever.

*****

I stood there, clutching Sam's hand, and it was enough to make me fully
invisible to the rest of them.  We were standing in a fast food restaurant
in Oceanside, where Sam had taken me.

"Are you sure he's coming?" I asked him for the fifth time.

"Patience.  He's on his way," Sam assured me.

Sam was right.  Casey, with a goofy smile plastered on his face and his
crooked teeth sticking up past his lip, walked into the joint flanked by
Carlos and Jimmy and the other guys.  They all ordered food and sat down at
a table, joking and carrying on as they inhaled their burgers.

"I want a chance to speak with him alone," I said.  "Not surrounded by the
whole crew."

"Come with me," Sam said, pulling me by the hand suddenly.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't bother to answer.  Instead, he pulled into the men's room, a
small, filthy bathroom with just one toilet and one sink.

"What are we doing in here?  You gonna suck me off or something?" I joked.
"This is no time for a blow job, Sam, I've got reparations to make."

"Just shuttup for once and trust me," he said.

Sure enough, a few second's later, the bathroom door opened and Casey
stepped through, his eyes darting nervously around the small room.  I had
to jump out of the way as he moved into the room, almost losing my grip to
Sam's hand.  Casey shut the door and locked it.

I was amazed.  "How did you get him in here?" I asked Sam.  "Jedi mind
control?"

"I didn't get him in here," Sam said patiently.  "I just knew he was
coming.  Oh, lord.  Seems you've had more influence on this poor bastard
than I knew."

Sam was referring to what Casey was doing in the bathroom instead of taking
a piss.  He had pulled a poorly rolled joint out of his pocket and lit in
up with a lighter after another nervous glance around.

"I never gave him any of my dust, I was too damn stingy for that."  He
exhaled a billow of smoke, and I inhaled deeply.  "Ah, see?  Not dust at
all.  Just ordinary old pot."

"Well, he could still get booted from the Core if he fails a pot test," Sam
said, adopting his nagging, self-righteous tone of voice.  "And he's not
allowed to smoke in a public bathroom."

Casey put out his blunt, put what was left of it back in his pocket, and
then finally went over to the toilet to take a piss.

I heard the snap of a lighter beside me, and I turned to see Sam lighting
up a cigarette in his mouth.  I glared at him.  "You're not gonna start
smoking after just complaining about him," I said, trying to be as
self-righteous as possible.

He shrugged, totally uncaring.  "I wasn't the one who turned this bathroom
into a chimney.  I'd go outside if I could but I seem to be attached to
someone."

I pulled my hand away from his, crept up behind Casey, and poked him in the
back.  He jumped frightfully, spilling piss all over the floor and one of
his shoes.

"Who the fuck?" he said, directing his piss back towards the toilet.

"Hey, Casey, how've ya been?"

 "Brad?" he said, turning his head to look at me.  "Jesus, man, I thought I
locked the door!"

"You did," I said.  "I've been in here the whole time."

His eyes looked around the tiny room.  Clearly there were no hiding spots.
"How the hell did I miss you?"

"Forget about it.  How ya been bro?"

He zipped up and turned to face me, offering me the same hand he was just
holding his dick with in a handshake.  "Man, it's so good to see you!"

"Uh-huh."

"I was so worried about you, man.  I mean, I wasn't worried, I knew you'd
be fine and all, but I was pissed to see you go.  Not pissed at you, I
mean, but at the whole fucked up system."

"Uh-huh, that means a lot, bro," I said, not even trying to sound
convincing.

"You don't even know, man.  You have no fucking clue, no idea, man.  I had
your back from day one.  I went through all the superior officers one by
one, telling them how valuable you were to them and how if they lost you,
they'd lose the whole fucking war most likely.  You know, I would have gone
to the fucking president himself, but they shut me up.  Told me if I didn't
stop, they'd kick me out too.  They knew how much damage I could have
caused them.  Shit, man, I almost got my ass booted out, all for you, bro,
all for you.  Cause you're my boy, you know that."

"That's really fucking touching, man," I said to him in my most unmoved
tone of voice imaginable.  "But really, Casey, I didn't come here to talk
about me.  I wanted to talk about you."

"Bout me, huh?"

"Yup, you.  Look kid, you need to wise up before you get kicked out or
worse."  I reached into his pocket and pulled out his blunt.  "You gotta
quit this shit.  I promise you, you are not clever enough to get away with
it."  I tossed the thing into the trash.  "Look, what we did to Omar was
totally fucked, and I'm gonna come clean."

His eyes popped wide open and his chin dropped when he heard that.  "What?
You can't!"

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell anyone that you were involved.  I blame
myself for the whole thing.  What I said about Muslims before--well, it was
just plain ignorant and wrong.  Both of us were wrong.  And if you still
have any bigotry left inside of you, you better take care of it before it
fucking consumes you."

"Uh, okay," he stammered, his eyes still wide.

"And Omar, well you'd better not fuck with him ever again.  He's the damn
finest Marine I ever knew.  You'd better start treating him with the
respect he deserves, understand?"

"Yeah, okay."

"I mean it you little fucker!" I shouted at him,

"Okay Brad, I believe you!"

"Good.  Well then Casey, I'll be leaving now.  Good luck.  Don't fuck up
your life."

I unlocked the door, and held it open for Sam.  He hurriedly put out his
cigarette and followed me out of there.

"You did good in there," Sam said to me.

"That was the easy one," I said.

"Let's go pay a visit to your old roommate."

*****

"Just tell me what it is that you want, Wheeler."

I had found him in his room, what used to be my room, and was now
reconfigured as a single, the lucky bastard.  He looked thinner than
before, oddly older as well, sitting at a small table (a new addition for
our room) having a bowl of tomato soup.  Sam had snuck me onto base and was
now waiting patiently outside, having another smoke.

I took a deep breath.  This was hard to say.  "I just wanted to apologize
for everything I did."

"You?  Apologize to me?  Give me a break, man."

"Just hear me out," I said.  "Cause it's so much worse than you know.
Believe me, the worst thing that happened to you since you came here was
getting assigned me as a roommate.  I was never your friend.  I worked
against you since day one."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Omar, I was the one who trashed our room."

He shook his head in amazement, looking down at his soup.  "You're an evil
man, Wheeler."  He gave a laugh and looked me in the face.  "I knew it was
you.  My gut told me the whole time.  But I convinced myself that it
couldn't have been you."

"Well, it was me," I said.

"But how could you have?  You were with me when it happened."

"It doesn't matter," I said.  "Just know that it was me.  I wanted to make
you think the whole fucking Core resented you.  I wanted you to feel like
the outcast."

"Well, you succeeded, let me assure you."

"None of the others ever disliked you in the least," I said.  "Everyone
worshiped you.  All the prejudice and bigotry was invented by me."

"I could have you arrested," he said.  "You know that."

"I deserve to be arrested for what I did," I said.  "And you were right to
have turned me in for the drugs.  I was out of control, and I got what I
had coming to me."

He stared at me for a long moment.  "Don't worry, I'm not going to have you
arrested."

I smiled.  "I kinda already knew you wouldn't," I admitted.

"Wait a second here," he said.  "Are you expecting me to forgive you?  That
everything would be cool between us?  Cause you and I, Wheeler, we're
never, ever gonna be friends again."

"I don't expect forgiveness," I said.  "I don't expect anything.  I just
wanted to come clean.  Now I can go."  I turned around to leave.  "Have a
nice life, Omar.  God knows you deserve it more than I do.  And keep an eye
on Casey for me, make sure he stays out of trouble."

"Brad?" he said, and I turned back to look at him.  "I do.  I do forgive
you.  Good luck."

I smiled gratefully, and shut the door.

*****

It was so bizarre when you thought about it.  I had always jumped around
from girl to girl, and always--no matter how much I was into them before--I
would always lose interest in them sexually after the first sex was over.
It the only thing I could count on.

Now, here I was with Sam, and although he had sucked me off at least once
every night since the first time he'd done it, my attraction to him was
only intensifying.

We had returned to his LA apartment--he said that the next step in my
progress towards my new self would be found here.  I lay naked upon him on
his couch after he had just given me oral for the second time that night.

Amazingly, I found myself feeling guilty that I wasn't reciprocating
sexually.  He was giving me all the pleasure and taking none for himself.

The idea of taking another guy's dick in my mouth would have made me gag
only a week ago, but now things had changed.  I was not only ready for that
step, I desired it.  I wanted to please him as much as he pleased me.

In all this time, he had never let me see him naked.  He always had a pair
of boxers or shorts on, even though I spent so much of my time buck ass
naked.  I was determined to remedy that right that instant.

As he kissed me softly and quietly in the afterglow of my orgasm, I pushed
my hand into the waistband of his boxers.

Instantly his hand was around my wrist, impeding my progress.  "Not without
my permission," he commanded.

"Sam, I want to please you."

"You please me so much as it is."

"I want to do more," I said.

"No, Brad.  You don't know what you're asking for.  What the price is of
the game you're playing."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Shhh.  Just relax and don't worry."

After that night, my theory that Sam had a non-functioning dick came back
into my head.  If that was the case, I knew it didn't make any difference
to me.  He was a man through and through, and he excited me sexually
regardless.

*****

The next evening, Sam told me to get in his car; that we were going to an
important destination for me.  I knew that this was the next step in my
progress, but he wouldn't tell me what it is we were doing or where we were
going as he pulled out onto the freeway.

I realized what Sam's plan was when he got off on a familiar exit, in a
familiar neighborhood.  My stomach lurched.

"No fucking way, I am not going back there," I said, feeling about ready to
jump out of the convertible if he drove as any closer to my old house.

"You need to face your fears, Bradley, and come to terms with the hurt he
caused you."

"You can't ask me to do this," I said.  "Anything but this.  You don't
understand."

"I understand perfectly.  The one thing that you think you cannot do is the
one thing that must be done.  I'll be with you the whole time, I promise."

I was trembling as he parked the car on my old street and we started to
walk towards the house.

I stopped walking, my heart starting to pound as I set eyes upon the house
for the first time in years.  "There it is," I said to Sam.  It was a
middle-class, pride-in-ownership type of home, still with beige paint and
rust red trim, the large front yard carefully planned and cared for.

"Does it look any different to you?" asked Sam.

"No," I said.  "Same as it ever was."

Just then the front door opened and a woman came out, my ex-foster mother.
She was a pudgy, stout woman with frizzy orange hair and a limp in her left
leg from a childhood injury.

"That's Marge," I said disdainfully.

A group of boys came running out of the house, three of them.  The oldest
one looked about twelve and the youngest was seven or so.  None of them
looked related to each other.  All four of them got into the white van in
the driveway.

"Son-of-a-btich," I said.  "They've still got some.  And what do you know?
All cute little boys."

The van backed out of the driveway and drove away down the street.

"Come on," Sam said, putting his hand on my back and pushing me slightly
towards the house.

As we walked up those familiar brick steps to the front door, an unease
started to ache in my stomach.  I never thought I'd come back here, ever.
Never thought I'd volunteer to revisit the most unpleasant chapter of my
life.

Sam tried the doorknob.  "It's open," he said as he pushed the door ajar
for us.

I slowly and cautiously followed him inside, looking around apprehensively.
Some of the details were different--new pictures on the walls, a new couch.
But for the most part it was all the same.  I felt like the walls would at
any moment collapse in on me just like that bathroom in Tucson.  The smell
was horrifyingly familiar, a mix of Marge's potpourri and medicinal scents
coming from Stan's office.  The nightmares of the past seemed so renewed
and vivid that I almost questioned whether I really was that scared
ten-year-old again.

Sam grabbed my hand, and his strength seeped into my weak flesh.  "This
way," he said.

He pulled me towards the worst room of the house, Stan's office.  The door
was about halfway open, and I could see the dark mahogany desk and bookcase
inside.  The room's lights were off and the blinds were shut, but little
slats of light were streaming across the room, lighting up the thick dust
in the air.

And then I saw him, sitting there at his desk, his hefty, rounded back
towards me, on his computer in dark silence.  His bald spot, which had been
barely there before, now covered most of the back of his head, and his hair
was longer and gray, uncombed.

He clicked on his computer, and I was with disgust the image on the screen,
a young boy naked and posing proactively for the exploitative camera.

Sam let go of my hand again, and the fear rushed back almost instantly--it
came so sudden and unexpectedly that I couldn't help but give a little
gasp.

Stan jumped slightly in his seat, and hurriedly closed the image on his
screen, revealing the wallpaper behind it, a completely mundane sunlit
field of flowers.  His tracks covered, he spun around in his seat, and
suddenly his face was looking into mine, his chubby, creased face.

"Who are you?" he asked me with a mixture of fear and indignation.  "Why
are you in my house?"

And now I knew I would have to speak.  "I let myself in," I said simply.
My voice was trembling, I knew.  Would Stan be able to hear my anxiety?

"Did you, son?  Well, you can let yourself right out, if you don't mind."
All I wanted right then was to follow his suggestion, turn around and get
the hell out.

"But we have so much catching up to do, Stan."  I steadied my trembling
voice as best I could and forced one of my ironic smiles.

"Who are you?" he asked, and then recognition passed over his face.
"Bradley!  Little Bradley, isn't it?"

I nodded slightly.

Stan got to his feet and started to drag his fat body over to hug me.
"It's been too long," he said.

I put my hand up in protestation.  "Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!
Haven't you already touched me enough, Stan?"

The plastic friendliness left him cold.  Sam, who had moved to the side of
the room during all of this and was obviously staying invisible, shook his
head.  "He was hoping you had forgotten," he said.

"Forgotten, huh Stan?" I asked.  "How could I ever forget.  It wasn't one
time, one little fuck-up on your part.  It happened over and over again,
for years!"

He rolled his eyes.  "Oh, you're going to bring that up again?" he asked me
as if I had just complained about the most trivial detail ever.  "After
everything I did for you, after everything I offered, you could have shown
a little gratitude, you spoiled little shit!"

"Everything you did for me, huh?  Like making me take it up the ass over
and over again?  Isn't that what you did for me?  Is that what I'm supposed
to be grateful for?"

He jabbed his finger in my direction.  "You have a lot of nerve, putting
the blame for that on me.  You were always the one begging to take it from
me."

"You're a fucking liar," I said.

"No, you just don't remember.  I tried to avoid your advances for years,
but you just kept on pushing me.  You were a sick, perverted, demented
little screwed up monster, and you were responsible for everything."

"No," I said, shaking my head and looking down at the floor.  It wasn't
true.  It couldn't be true. Could it?  I was a fucked up little kid, and
there were a lot of holes in my memory.

"Don't doubt yourself," Sam told me.  "You know what is true.  This man has
nothing inside him but hate and lies."

I took a deep breath, and looked Stan straight in the eyes.  "You're wrong.
I was doing amazingly well when you took me in, I was a strong little kid.
And then you totally fucked me over.  Everything I had going for me, you
squashed in your fat, greasy fingers.  Same with Drew.  He killed himself
thanks to you."

He shook his head defiantly, with absolutely no sign of remorse.  "You're
the one who screwed up that poor boy, don't put the blame on me."

"Me?  I was the one who saved him from you.  I stopped the abuse!"

"You destroyed his life here, his only chance at a normal life, and then
you cast him off.  His death is squarely upon your shoulders."

"I helped him."

He laughed.  "You've never helped anybody in your life," he said.
"Everything you've ever touched has turned to garbage.  Whether intentional
or not, you have caused nothing but hurt."

I knew he was just trying to get to me, but I also knew that he was right.
More than he knew.

"Don't falter, Brad," Sam said.  "You are the one with a conscience, with a
soul.  This man is the only evil in this room."

Sam's words gave me strength, and I grabbed Stan by his soft shoulder and
pushed him down.  "Sit down," I ordered him.

"Get out of my house or I'm calling the police," he said.

"Go ahead, motherfucker.  Have them come on over, I've got a lot to tell
them.  Been keeping it in all these years, and now it's just ready to all
come bursting out."

"You wouldn't tell the police anything," he snarled.  "You wouldn't dare
tell the world that you had taken it up the ass over and over again as a
boy.  You have more pride than that, I know."

"You're wrong," I told him.  "A few weeks ago I would have never said
anything.  But now, I'm ready to come clean.  To get it all off my chest."

Now he was starting to worry, I could tell.  "Fine, I'll pay you.  That's
what you want, right?"

"I don't want you're fucking money!" I roared as loudly as I could.

"Then why on earth did you come here?"

"To see you like this, shaking in your seat, a fat, old slob of a man, an
insignificant nothing.  To know that I never ever should have been fucking
scared of you."

"Fine," he said.  "You've seen me.  Now, leave me."

I wiped the sweat off my forehead.  "No.  It's not that easy Stan.  I need
to make sure that you don't fuck up any other young kid's life like you did
mine.  I'm gonna call the police, I'm gonna tell them the whole truth, and
there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop me."  I walked over to his
desk and picked up his cordless phone.

"They'll never believe you, you have to know that!" he said.  "Drew's dead.
It's just your word against mine.  Me, a doctor, an upstanding citizen of
society.  And you, a junkie punk kid who was fucked up way before I ever
came into your life.  You have no evidence or proof for anything!"

"I'll be telling the truth," I said.  "They'll know you're full of shit,
Stan."

"Who are you kidding?  People like me never get convicted.  You think
you're gonna change that?"  He laughed, a deep bellied laugh that would
have sounded jolly if I hadn't known it was derived from such malice.

I turned my head away from him and started to dial.  I didn't give a fuck
what he said; I knew what I had to do.

As I pressed the last 1 on the keypad, I heard Stan gasp behind me, then
groan slightly.  So, he was scared of the police after all.

I spun back around to face him as the phone started to ring, and then
dropped the phone as I tripped back in shocked horror.  My eyes filled up
with red, and I realized that there was blood everywhere, Stan's blood.
His body had been ripped open, and his eyes lay open and limp and lifeless.

Behind him, Sam slowly retracted his sword from Stan's body, wiped the
blood off on Stan's shoulder, and put the sword back in its sheath.

I was beyond words, completely in shock.  What had just happened and why?

"He was right, Brad," Sam told me.  "They would have never believed you."

"You just killed him!" I said, my voice trembling again.

"Yes," he said.  "It was my duty.  He had committed unforgivable sin.  His
soul has been promised to hell.  I delivered him to Satan before he could
do anymore damage with his life.  It's part of being an angel, to end the
misery of those like him.  I don't take pleasure in the killing but it must
be done."

 I was still in shock.  My eyes had not left Stan's gruesome expression
frozen onto his face as he must have realized what was happening to him.

"Hello?"  It was a muffled voice of a woman coming through the telephone on
the floor.  "What is the nature of your emergency?"

Sam moved forward and picked the telephone up in his hands.  "Come quick,"
he said.  "Someone has just been killed."  Then he hung up and set the
phone down.

He grabbed my arm and started to pull me through the door.  "We can't
afford to linger," he said.

As he pulled me back to the car, Sam kept on repeating, "It's what had to
be done, it's what had to be done."

"Yes, I see," I said as we were getting into the car.  "But I've never seen
anything like that.  There was so much blood."

"It's just the physical," Sam said.  "Don't let your senses imprison you.
You must accept that that is what death looks like, and death is nothing
evil to be feared or pitied, it is merely a transition for the soul."

I listened to what he was saying, I accepted it without question, yet still
a part of me was crying out, "Stan, dead!"  I had never seen anyone die
before, and it shook me to the core.

Sam leaned over and kissed me, and of course, like always, my anxiety
dissipated.  "I'm so proud of what you've accomplished, Brad.  You didn't
just face your fears in there, you obliterated them."

*****

A few days passed, good days, relaxing days without anymore emotionally
taxing confrontations.  Sam was with me every second, and each moment was
perfect in its own way.  Yet, I was sure that there would be another more
difficult step coming soon, another step up in my progress.  Behind Sam's
ever-constant smile there was a vague sort of sadness, guilt maybe at
having to make me watch what became of Stan.  I figured that's why he was
giving me this time--he was letting me recover from the shock of Stan's
death.

But I had recovered from the moment he kissed me outside of the house.
"Sam," I said one evening in bed.  "I'm ready for my next step.  Where will
we be going next?  Who will we see?"

"Don't you realize?" he said.  "There's nowhere left to go.  No one to
see."  He smiled with the purest amount of pride.  "You've changed.  In
every way imaginable, you've changed.  You're a new person now, Bradley.
The person that I intended you to be."

I smiled, with pride of my own.  "That's it?  I don't feel any different."

"And yet, you are.  Immeasurably different."

I nodded.  "It didn't even take that long, really."

"Because I'm so damn good," he said with a smile.

"Wait a second," I said, the smile fading from my face.  "This doesn't mean
that you're going to leave me, does it?"

He looked at me with big, sad eyes but said nothing.

"No," I said.  "You can't leave so soon, we've barely had any time at all."

"It's time," he said.  "You no longer need me.  I am needed elsewhere."

"No, you're wrong," I said.  "I do need you.  You think I've changed?  I
haven't changed, not really.  I'm still just as fucked up as ever.  You
need to stay with me.  I need your help, Sam."

"You know it's impossible to deceive me, and yet you never stop trying.
You have changed, as much as you ever will.  It's time to let me go."

"No.  Maybe you can just drop me, Sam, but I'm too close to you now to just
let you go."

He shook his head, guilt in his eyes.  "You think this is easy for me?  To
leave you, who I love, to never see you again?  Do you know how many times
I've had to do this?  Trust me, it only gets harder each successive time."

"Then don't do it.  This time, don't leave."

"I can't.  The other angels would--"

"Fuck the other angels!"

"I am a servant of God and I must act on his behalf," he said.  "Even if it
means doing what causes me pain."  He clutched my hand reassuringly.  "We
don't have to part today.  We'll take a couple weeks, just to spend with
each other.  We'll go wherever you want, do whatever you want.  It'll be
our time."

I threw his hand away from me and got out of bed.  "Fuck our time." I said.
"I don't fucking need it.  I don't fucking care.  I'll leave now, right
now.  Quick and painless, that's the way to do it, right?"  I pulled on a
pair of boxers, some pants.

"You can't just walk out onto the street," he told me.

"Why not?"

"Because you are the Eversor.  Without my protection the evil ones will
kill you.  You wouldn't last a few days here on your own."

"I don't care.  I'll take my goddamn chances."

He shook his head.  "Absolutely not.  I forbid it.  I've already got it all
worked out.  I've gotten you a place to live where you'll be safe.  On the
East Coast.  It's much safer there than here.  Whenever you're ready, I'll
get us plane tickets and take you to your new home myself.  But, please
Bradley, reconsider taking some time off just with me.  Do it for my
sake--you don't know how much I'd love to spend some extra time with you.
Please, I'm imploring you."

"Screw it," I said.  "Get the plane tickets for tonight."

*****

"Flying always makes me nervous," Sam said, looking out into the blackness
of the plane window beside me.

"Yeah?" I asked.  It was the only thing I had said to him so far on this
flight.  "Pretty fucking pathetic considering you're a goddamn angel and
all."  I hoped he could hear the anger in my voice.

"It's not the actually flying that bothers me, Brad," he responded.  "It's
being locked in a plane.  What if I was still in here when the sun came up?
I would fry.  That's why I only fly short distances and make sure we are
arriving well before morning.  But still, there's always the chance
something could go wrong, there could be a delay, and I'd be trapped in
here."

I thought about saying, "I wouldn't give a shit if you went up in flames
right in front of me."  But I didn't say anything.  I opened my in flight
magazine and glared into it like I had been all the way through the flight,
hoping he got the picture that I didn't want to fucking chit chat.

After I had read the magazine cover to cover three times, we landed in
Boston.  Sam rented a car and we drove out of the city towards the east
without speaking a single word to each other.  We drove a long time until
we were in a totally rural area in the woods.  The residences were few and
far between out here.

Finally we pulled into a long driveway that snaked for a quarter mile
through the trees and ended up at a small house.

"Here it is," he said.

"You've got to be fucking me," I said.  "I'm supposed to stay here?  In the
middle of fucking nowhere?  Uh-uh.  I'm a city boy, never lived outside the
city.  I'm not living here."

He stopped the car and looked over at me.  "I'm sorry Brad, but you can't
go back to the city.  Any city, ever again.  That's where they'll be.
Going to a city without me to protect you is suicide."

I stepped out of the car and slammed the door.  "How am I supposed to get
stuff?  Groceries and shit?  There's nothing around here!  What, do you
expect me to hunt and forage for my meals?"

He got out of the car as well.  "There's a small town 12 miles from here.
You can do all your shopping there."

"I'm supposed to walk 12 miles?  Give me a fucking break."

"You know I wouldn't make you do that."  He pulled a keyring from his
pocket and tossed it to me.  "Along with the house key, there's a key to
your new car.  You'll find it in the garage.  Nothing fancy, you need to
keep a low profile out here.  But it'll get you around."  He walked towards
the house, opened the front door, and turned on the lights.  "The house is
fully furnished.  You have a nice TV, digital cable, a computer with
broadband internet.  Everything you need."

I walked into the house sullenly.  It was a nice place, but I didn't give a
fuck.  None of this could change the fact that he was abandoning me.

"I've opened a bank account in your name.  You'll find a hundred grand
already in there for you to use at your discretion.  The angels will put an
additional hundred thousand in your account every year."

"For how long?" I asked.

"As long as you are here, alive and well."  He glanced at his watch.  "I
have to leave if I'm going to get back to Boston before sunrise.  My hotel
room awaits me."  He looked at me, imploring.  "Will you kiss me goodbye?
Give me that much?"

I turned my back on him, refusing to speak.

"No, then.  I'm sorry we have to part like this."  He walked towards the
door.  "Be careful of making friends out here, Bradley.  Don't let anyone
get too close.  It could only endanger you.  The only way you'll survive is
if you stay always alone.  Solitary.  You've been independent your whole
life.  I'm sure you'll be able to adjust to this.  Maybe someday, when the
angels have killed off the evil ones, when there is no one here to threaten
you, then you can leave here.  Go where you please.  Even back to Tucson.
Back to your family.  But for now, this is where you must remain.  It's the
most comfortable prison I can manage for you, but it is still a prison,
that I cannot change."

I stayed motionless, silent, as he walked towards the door.  "Goodbye,
Bradley.  You have forever engraved yourself upon my life and my soul.  You
will never be forgotten.  You will never be unloved."

I heard the door shut behind me.  A moment later, I heard the car start and
pull out of the driveway.  And still I stayed motionless.

*****

After Sam left me alone in my `prison,' I found the bed and cried myself to
sleep by dawn.  My sleep was disturbed by fits of anxiety--I'd wake up, and
remember all over again that I was alone.  Every time, I'd force myself
back to sleep.  I didn't feel the pain of loss in my dreams.

Finally, as the sun went beneath the trees, I could force myself to sleep
no more.  I snickered ironically.  I was stuck on Sam's schedule still.  He
was gone, but everything about him was still fucking with me, reminding me
of my loss.

I started to think practically.  This was my new home, like it or not.  I
should unpack, get organized, get used to things.  I was a responsible
adult.  Those were things responsible adults did, weren't they?

I needed to go into town and shop for groceries; that would have to be done
soon.  I looked in the empty refrigerator and wondered how much food I
needed to buy so that I wouldn't have to return to the store any time soon.
I was going to be in this house indefinitely.  How do you shop for enough
food to last an eternity?

I collapsed on the floor onto my knees, once again breaking into tears.
This house was feeling smaller and smaller by the minute.  How could I just
wait here forever?  Why had I agreed to this?  Because it was what the
angels wanted of me?  To keep me safe?  Because it was Sam asked of me?

Fuck safety.  Fuck Sam.  I was Bradley motherfucking Wheeler, and I wasn't
going to sit here forever like some crazy fucking hermit.  I didn't give a
flying shit whether it kept me alive.  Sitting around here watching cable
TV day in and day out wasn't fucking living.  Might as well be dead.

And who the fuck did Sam think he was, anyway, leaving me the way he did,
not giving me any fucking option.  No goddamn way I was just gonna bend
over and take it like that.  I wasn't his slave.  It was my fucking life
and I was going to do what I wanted with it.  Take what I want when I
wanted.

I knew for damn sure there was only one thing I fucking wanted.

I found the gasoline in the garage stacked beside the Nissan sedan, gallons
of it.  I poured it all over the empty frig and cabinets, over the TV with
fucking digital cable and the computer with fucking broadband internet.  I
poured it all over the bed I slept in, the pillow that now held so many of
my dried tears.

And I lit a match and watched it all go up in a burst of light.  I
gleefully started the car, pulled out of the driveway, pounded the pedal,
and shot towards Boston.

When I got to the city, I pulled the car over and got out, taking my pack
full of clothes with me.  I left the keys in the car and left the door wide
open.

"Fuck you, Sam," I said as I left the car, knowing damn well it wouldn't be
long before it was stolen.  "I don't need your motherfucking car."

Instead I walked.  Walked all around the city.  Looking, of course, for
Sam.

I didn't know where the hell to find him, didn't know where the hell to go.
And it was pointless to search for him, I knew.  You cannot find an angel,
no matter how hard you search.  All you can do is hope that the angel finds
you.

That's all I could hope for as I walked the city streets, gazing upwards at
the cloudy night sky.  Come to me, Sam.  I need you.  He had answered my
calls before.

But the sky answered with nothing but a flurry of white snow.  I was
shivering cold now... I wrapped my jacket tighter around my body, but I
just wasn't dressed for this kind of weather.

I didn't care, I kept on walking.  If I freeze to death, it's your fucking
fault, Sam.

I walked and I walked, never conscious of where I was going, walking in
circles perhaps around the city.

I'm not leaving you, Sam.  I want to be with you, not on my own.  With you.

I felt someone grab my shoulder from behind, the firm grip stopping me in
my place.  "You're a spoiled child, you know that, right?"

I chuckled, my heart starting to warm over.  "I know," I said.  "I always
get my way."

I felt his warm, familiar hands move up under the front of my shirt as he
pulled me backwards into one of his embraces.  His hands moving over my
stomach and chest warmed me immediately and suppressed my chills.

He pulled away from me and spun me around, holding my upper arms firmly.
"Look at you," he said, a frown of worry taking hold of his face.  "Your
lips are blue."

He leaned forward and kissed me, and his lips felt like fire against mine,
his tongue slipping into my mouth and warming me from the inside out.

I relaxed in his arms.  I had what I wanted, I had him back.

He removed his lips from mine and took a step back.  There was pain in his
face.  "You don't have me back," he said, shaking his head.  "You must go
on your own.  Forget about me."

"Forget about you?!  How could I ever forget?  Don't tell me to just
fucking forget, Sam.  I'll never forget."

"You need to move on.  Build a life for yourself.  Be happy on your own."

"On my own?  I don't want to be on my own.  I want to be with you.  Why
can't I just stay with you?"

"You don't know what you're asking for, Bradley.  Stay with me, and you'd
lose everything.  As much as I want you to stay with me, I could never ask
that of you."

"Fine.  You don't have to ask.  I'm telling you, I don't care.  I want to
stay with you."

"You don't know what's best for you.  I do.  Now, this is really it,
Bradley.  I'm going to leave, and this time you'll never see me again.  I
don't care how much you call out to me, this time I won't be listening."
He removed his black jacket, he was shirtless underneath.  It amazed me
that he wouldn't get cold like that even in such bad weather.  "Here, put
this on and get somewhere warm."

I let him put the jacket on me, staring at his face angrily.  He was
abandoning me.  He was betraying me.

"Sam, don't go, please," I said, on the verge of tears now, ready to throw
aside all of my pride and beg.  "Without you, I ain't got nothing."

"I'm sorry, Bradley."

I grabbed his chest, held onto it tight, dug my fingers into his skin.
"Sam, I love you.  Please, please don't leave me alone."

He put his hand lovingly on my cheek.  "You're breaking my heart here,
kid," he said warmly.

He was starting to break!  I smiled happily with satisfaction.

But he carefully removed my hands from his chest and stepped away.  "I have
to go now, Brad."

He turned around and started to walk away from me.

After a moment of panic, I rushed after him.  "I'll follow you then, you
fucker," I told him.  "You're not gonna get rid of me."

He didn't turn back to look at me.  "We can't always get what we want,
Bradley."  And then he took off running down the dark street, faster than I
had ever seen anything move.

It a blink of an eye he was gone.  It was almost as if he had vanished--I
had no idea where he had gone.

"Sam!" I shouted.  "Sam, I know you won't just leave me!"

But there was no response.  This time, he was really gone.

My legs crumbled under me as I slumped into the snow on the ground.  I
began to sob quietly.  I had lost him.  I had lost, period.

I wiped the tears from my face and got back on my feet.  The game wasn't
over yet.  I still had one more card to play.

*****

I stood on top of one of the tallest high-rises in the city, on an empty
observation deck of sorts, leaning against the fence that prevented people
from falling to their death.

I know you're out there.  I know you can hear me.  I'm counting to thirty,
and if you aren't here by then, I'm jumping.

Thirty fucking seconds, Sam, that's all you got.  Thirty seconds, and I'll
be dead.

One... two... three...

I climbed to the top of the fence and looked down.  The street beneath me
seemed an eternity away, and would have been completely out of sight if it
wasn't for the soft glow of the streetlamps, lighting up the fog in little
yellow circles.

Ten... eleven... twelve...

I looked up.  The snow was falling softly, drifting downwards slowly,
dancing about in the gentle breeze.  It was so peaceful here.

Twenty... twenty-one... twenty-two...

I climbed over the fence, and carefully placed my footing against edge of
the ledge.  I slipped slightly on a bit of ice, but held tight onto the
fence and recovered my balance.

Twenty-eight... twenty-nine... thirty.

Nothing.  No sign of Sam anywhere.

You didn't come, you motherfucker.

I thought for sure he would have come.  Had he really left me for good?
Was it really over?  Was he even listening anymore, even aware of my
actions?

I didn't know for sure, but I suspected that he was still looking after me.
The fucker must have realized that I was full of shit, that my threat had
been nothing more than a bluff.

You think you're so fucking clever, don't ya Sam?  You predict what I'm
going to do before I even do it.

Well, predict this.

I crossed myself, just in case this would lead me to hell like my poor
foster brother, and I jumped.

A horrible sinking feeling in my stomach as the freezing wind rushed past
my body.  I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to see the ground coming any
closer.  I think I might have screamed a little.

I hit... the wind knocked violently out of me as my body shook violently,
painfully.  I thought I was feeling a split second of pain as my body hit
the pavement before I died.  But the pain lasted for more than a moment,
and I realized I was still falling.

I opened my eyes, and instead of the ground, I was looking into Sam's
angelic face.  He was looking down at me with a mixture of anger and
concern.

"You stupid, insolent child," he said.

I smiled and laughed.  He was holding onto me around my chest--we had
stopped moving downwards and now he was gliding speedily up into the air.
With his hands supporting my back, I was looking straight up at Sam above
me, his face now looking outwards in front of him.  He was still shirtless,
and those white wings framed his body, looking now more huge and powerful
than ever now that they were in action.

 "You think that's funny, what you just did?  A fucking riot, huh?"

"It worked, didn't it?" I said.  "I got what I wanted.  I always get what I
want."

"I should drop you right here, you know that?  Don't you ever, ever pull a
stunt like that again."

"I knew you would come for me, Sam.  You're my fucking guardian angel."

"You didn't know.  You made a guess, and thank the Lord you guessed right.
What if you had been wrong?  What if I hadn't been there to save you?"

"Then I would have made a big fucking mess for someone to clean up on the
street."  I shivered.  The air was already colder than I could bear--add to
that the extra chill of the wind as we flew speedily through the air, and I
was freezing my fucking balls off.

Sam glanced down at my face, looking a bit concerned.  "Here, put your arms
around me and hold on tight."

I wrapped my arms around his chest and placed my bare, numb as hell hands
on his back, below the wings.  Like usual, his skin felt so warm and
comforting.  My hands warmed up almost instantly.

At the same time, Sam slid his hands up under my shirt, pressing his palms
and forearms into my back.  It wasn't enough to really warm my body
thoroughly, but it was enough contact to make me less miserable.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked him.

"I have half a mind to set you down on the street and leave you again."

I shook my head.  "No.  If you do, I'll jump again, I swear to God."

"I know you will," he said.  "After all I've done to improve your life, you
would just toss it all away in an instant, as if it meant nothing to you."

"I told you, Sam.  I got nothing without you.  You're not leaving me the
fuck behind."

"You want to stay with me, huh?" he asked me.

"You know goddamn well I do."

"This is forever I'm talking about, Brad.  If you stay with me tonight, you
won't ever be able to leave again."

"Forever?  Fine, that works for me."

"Can you even begin to conceptualize the meaning of this?  No, it is
completely beyond you.  And yet, what can I do but give you what you ask?"

"So, that's a yes then?" I asked excitedly.  "You're gonna keep me?"

"I'm gonna keep you," he said.

"Thank you, Sam.  I swear I'll do anything you ask of me."

"You'll have to," he said as he stopped flying forward, lowered his feet
until his body was more vertically positioned, and used slow, sweeping
beats of his wings to hover in midair.  "Put your feet down," he instructed
me.

I lowered my feet cautiously until I realized there was ground under me.
Sam let go of me, and at first I clutched to him fearfully, not trusting
whatever surface was under my feet when I knew we were many stories high in
the air.  But then I turned around and realized Sam had placed me down onto
a balcony--we were on the outside of a tall hotel, and Sam was already on
the ground beside me, his wings gone, opening the glass door to his hotel
room.

He ushered me inside the fancy, overly decorated room and shut the door
behind me.  The glass had already been covered with sheets of black plastic
and duct tape--what a pain in the ass it must have been to burn under the
light of the sun.

"It won't be long before morning," he said as if there was something
important to be done before then.

"I'll sleep here, with you," I said, afraid for a second that he would try
and throw me out or something.

He didn't respond, his mind was somewhere else.  From behind he put a hand
on each shoulder and pushed me towards the bed, which I figured was a good
sign.  But he didn't push me onto the bed.  He stood me at the side of the
bed, facing away from it towards the hotel room door.

"You need to shut your eyes now," he instructed me in a calm, commanding
tone.

"Why?" I asked.

"Shut them."

I did as I was told, as I promised I would, shutting my eyes and sighing
with some impatience.

"Good," he said.  I heard him moving about behind me, opening his bag,
clothes shifting, the sound of a belt being removed.  He was undressing for
the night.

Knowing he was behind me, I opened my eyes and looked straight ahead,
looking at his shadow on the wall in front of me.

"Keep them shut!" he ordered.  "I don't have to see them to know they are
open."

I shut my eyes again with a groan.  "How long do I have to keep my eyes
shut?"

"I'll tell you when you can open them, I promise."

After some more shuffling around behind me, I heard him crawl onto the bed.
His hands pulled off my jacket, his jacket really, and then my shirt over
my head.  His hands poured over my bare skin, not frantically or with
rushed excitement, but slowly, his touch as soothing as ever.

Then his hands dropped to my waist, unbuckling my belt.  "Kick your shoes
off, but keep your eyes shut," he said, and I quickly ditched my sneakers
and pulled my socks off with my toes.

He unzipped my pants, pulling them down along with my underwear, and I
stepped out of them, eager to be naked.  I was hoping he was gonna suck me
off again--my dick was hard just thinking about the possibility, and after
he noticed, his fingers grazed over it briefly.

Then I felt his arms around my chest, and he was pulling me back into him,
into the bed.  I sat down on the mattress as he lay down behind me.  He
carefully lowered me onto his bare chest.  He was lying straight down the
mattress, and I was perpendicular to him, my legs hanging off the edge of
the bed and my head nestled against his shoulder.  The warmth of his chest
against my back made me want to touch more of him--I put my hand on his
navel and slowly slid it downwards.

My fingers soon realized that for the first time he was without underwear,
completely nude.  Excited, I moved my hand down further, wanting to touch
him, wanting to hold him.

I got only as far as his pubes before he gently took my hand away from his
body and placed it around my own dick.  "Eventually, I will let you touch
me," he said.  "But not tonight."

His left hand was roaming over my chest, loving it, stopping to rub a
nipple for a second before going on.

"This is your last chance to back out, Bradley.  Do it now before I
irreversibly cut the thread of your fate that should have been, and tie it
to my own line.  You'll give up everything you are and become a part of me
instead."

I didn't know what he was talking about and I didn't care... all I could
think about was that cold, empty, lost feeling that had taken hold of me
when he left me, and how different I felt now, warm, loved, needed, and so
fucking turned on all at once.  There was no choice to make in my mind.
"I'm ready," I said.  "Go ahead and cut."

"You don't know how pleased this makes me," he said.  "I want this far more
than you know.  Far more than you are capable of wanting anything."

Again, I didn't really understand him--how could he want this more than I
did when I had to beg him to give it to me?--but I accepted it regardless.

With his strong hands he pivoted my upper body, pulling my head closer to
his as his soft chest hair brushed against my naked back.  He put his
stubbly check against the back of my neck and his lips on my ear.  "Keep
your eyes shut," he told me in a soft and husky voice, "and open your
mouth."

I opened my mouth slowly, totally under his spell, and beneath me I heard
the soft sounds of skin rubbing on skin--he was touching himself, but I
wasn't sure where.

I felt the palm of his hand on my chin, and ever so slowly, his index
finger slid over my lips and into my open mouth.  The tip of his finger
touched the tip of my tongue, and instead of his finger being dry, or even
coated with my saliva, there was something else there, a different kind of
liquid.  When it touched my tongue, the effect was shocking, and I pulled
my tongue away on reflex.  But the liquid was still there, still sticking
to my tongue, and after a moment I realized that the feeling was not pain,
but pleasure... an odd, electric sort of pleasure.

What was it that I was tasting?  It didn't really have a flavor, and yet
tasted so good somehow, like a chemical or a drug.

But it was just the tiniest drop on the tip of his finger, and it was gone
before I could even start to dissect it, as was his finger.

"What was that?" I asked him.

"Shhh-shhh-shhh," he said, as a father might to an upset child.  "Open
again," he told me.

I opened my mouth again, and his finger moved back in, only coming in
farther this time.  It touched down on tongue, and again there was that
liquid, only much more of it now, coating his whole finger.  Again it was
if the liquid were electric as a current shot through my mouth and racked
my body, my back arching involuntarily.  It was a violent physical reaction
to whatever chemical was in this liquid, but at the same time it was
entirely pleasurable.  It was the oddest sensation--pleasure, had always
been somewhat like a dull ache, coming and going slowly--that was its very
nature.  Now, here was pleasure condensed into a powerful substance,
shocking me and setting my heart racing like the most violent pain
imaginable, yet instead of pain, it was pure ecstasy.

And that got me thinking... was this liquid ecstasy he was giving me, or
acid maybe, or some other kind of drug I had never experienced before?  If
it was, it was far more potent than any drug that I had ever heard of.  But
it couldn't have been a drug--Sam would never approve of that.

"Close your lips," he said, and I wrapped my lips around his slimy finger.
"Suck."

I sucked at his finger, wanting more and more of the liquid that coated it,
this slimy substance that tasted like nothing and yet tasted incredibly
sweet at the same time.  I relished it, letting the slime dilute in my own
saliva before swallowing it--it warmed my throat as it went down.

The mysterious substance seemed to move quickly though my body, skipping my
stomach and going straight for my dick, which burned pleasurably from the
inside out, aching and throbbing, begging to be touched.

No, it couldn't be a drug he was giving me, Sam would never be in the
possession of drugs.  All of Sam's magic came from him, something organic
from his own body.

A thought occurred to me--was this his cum I was sucking off his finger?
But no, it was too thin and smooth a liquid to be cum, it couldn't have
been cum.  But what about pre-cum?  It had just the right consistency, yes.
It was warm as if it had just left his body.  And it tasted mildly
salty... I hadn't noticed the flavor before, but now that there was enough
of it in my mouth, I could taste it.

Of course, I had never heard of pre-cum having this kind of shocking
pleasurable affect on anyone before.  But this was Sam's pre-cum we were
talking about, an Angel's pre-cum, and if Sam's skin could soothe me down
to my soul, I was willing to believe his pre-cum could set a pleasure fire
on my tongue.

Sam removed his finger from my mouth again, and my mind drifted vaguely
back into reality... I was sucking on another guy's jism.  It sort of
grossed me out for a second.

But then his wet finger was back upon my lips, and now it was not alone,
now he was sticking more fingers into my mouth, all of them covered in his
magic slime.  It was an impossible amount of pre-cum, I reasoned.  It
couldn't be what I thought it was after all.

"It is what you're thinking," he said, and so the mystery was settled, and
I didn't care what it was, I just didn't want him to stop giving it to me.

He didn't stop.  More and more fingers full of his pre-cum made their way
into my mouth, each one being sucked carefully clean by my waiting mouth.
And then he must have started cupping his hand and collecting the cum in
little warm pools in his palm, because he started just pouring the liquid
into my open mouth.

I couldn't fathom how he could produce this much of the stuff, but I feared
only that he would run out of what I was sure by now was the nectar of the
gods.

"That's all," he said, letting me lick his hand clean as thoroughly as I
was allowed before he started to pull it away.  I grabbed it with my hand,
pulling it back towards my mouth, sure that I had not licked up all of the
slime.  "Enough!" he said, and pulled his hand away.  "Keep your eyes
closed."

He slipped out from under me, leaving me desperately alone on the bed, my
dick as hard as diamond, oozing out its own meager human pre-cum.

I heard him switch off the lights, and he said, "You can open them now."

I opened my eyes to see him getting into bed beside me.  The room was dark
now, but I could see he was back in his boxers.

I was disappointed.  I was too insanely horned up to just go to sleep.

He put a hand on the center of my chest.  "Relax," he said, and as he did,
my heart slowed and my body calmed.  "Sleep now."  He pulled my naked form
into his arms, and I started to drift off.  "You are mine now.  There's no
going back.  This is where everything will change.  This is where your life
really begins."


TO BE CONTINUED