California Zephyr Ch. 02

"He got off?" Marc demanded, horrified.

"No... ultimately he went down. But only for interference, in the long run... and possession of indecent materials, namely some of the pictures he took of me, or bought from other guys into young kids!" The disgust was evident in his voice, but he remained incredibly calm. "It's amazing how easy it is to 'lose' vital evidence. I didn't find out until years afterwards that the JP who tried the case was a personal friend of a personal friend... He couldn't very well let Bryan off but he made sure the bastard didn't go down for the Life stretch he deserved!"

Marc sat up, staring at him, open mouthed. "Can't you do anything about that?"

"Like 'what'? It's too fucking late, sweetheart! Like I said... it was a long time ago. Bryan's back inside now for groping some other poor little sod! The Judge is long dead! What's to do?" Rayne sank back in the pillows shaking his head again bitterly. "I'd like to get my hands on the fucker now... that's all I can say! He ruined so many fucking lives...."

His voice trailed off and, after a while, Marc leaned down into his embrace again, cuddling up to him and trying to treat him gently. In spite of himself he gradually drifted into uneasy dreams though.

Marc was still sleeping when the Vampire pulled on a shirt and pants and made an expedition into the outside world. He was concerned about the kid, in truth. It was impossible for him to go on like this (not to mention unfair on Marc) taking and taking from one source without letting the young man replenish himself. Sooner or later he was going to have to let the boy go. To his surprise, that was a disquieting thought. Rayne Wylde rarely even remembered the names of his one-night stands, let alone felt anything more than lust for them. And he felt plenty of lust still for the young man curled up naked and well-fucked in his bed. But first he needed to feed and clear his head.

It was dark outside the window as he stood in the corridor letting the cooler night air spill over him, blowing though his tangled hair and billowing the soft, dark material of his shirt as he sucked in a deep lungful of smoke and held the nicotine down there for a few moments, amazed at how much pleasure this simple, self-destructive act gave him. Even now when it could no longer harm him.

The sounds of iron shod wheels clattering over the tracks felt like a post-industrial lullaby to the singer and he was leaning against the door, nodding slightly on his feet, when something disturbed him. It was a sharp, imperious little voice to his blissed-out ears, utterly impervious to the fact that he was a stranger and far older...

"Your inside of your chest will go black and you'll explode up like a bomb!"

Rayne turned his head very slowly and lowered the filter from his lips briefly to exhale a blue-grey stream of smoke, whipped away by the slipstream of the train. Standing behind him in the corridor was a small, dark-haired girl with long pony tails and a blue and white checked gingham frock which made him think of Judy Garland in 'The Wizard of Oz'. She had on white knee socks... one rumpled around her left ankle... and dark blue patent leather shoes (not ruby slippers, he noted). It was tempting to think that he was dreaming, but something in her solemn, admonishing expression reminded him so much of his precious Sadie that his heart ached.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, sweetheart?" he asked her quietly, ignoring her remark.

"No... we're getting off the train soon," she replied coolly, in an ambiguous, upper-class, mid-western accent, surveying him as if he was a particularly repellent insect she had discovered in a chocolate milkshake. "We're going to stay with my Grandmother. She's very sick. The doctors think she might die and then she'll be with Jesus."

"Lovely..." Rayne said mellifluously, drawing on his cigarette again.

The response did not seem to satisfy her for she frowned at him contemplatively.

"Are you a reprobate?" she demanded at last.

Rayne smiled in spite of himself, exhaling another long streamer of smoke. That was so much like his own inimitable daughter that his next breath caught in his chest. Sadie Rose would be nearly twelve by now... virtually grown up. 'No', his inner voice reminded him soberingly; 'Not quite'.

"A Reprobate? Oh yes, 'absolutely'!" he told his inquisitor with a little nod of his head.

The child seemed to think about this for a moment.

"You're a foreigner," she said at last, with crushing magnanimity. "It's only to be expected!"

Rayne's ice-green eyes widened slightly, incredulous beyond words at such a statement from a child so small: and certainly she was not as old as his wise and precocious Sadie. At that point, the door into the next car shushed open softly and a dark, bearded man leaned out and called; "Katy... come back inside now... put on your coat. We're nearly there!"

He looked up once, warily, into Rayne's eyes and his features paled abruptly. Rayne too registered an instant of shock. The guy was the same one he had seen standing on the platform when he opened the blinds earlier in the day. The one who had briefly assimilated the scene of unbridled, gay male passion in the stationary sleeper car before Rayne yanked down the blind again, shutting the mundane world out.

The child went obediently back into the car without another word, but her father stared at him for a moment longer, fear and disgust warring in his hard, dark eyes before he turned and followed her. As they went back inside, he heard the man say; "Did he touch you, Katy? What did he say to you?"

For a moment, Rayne was too angry even to think. He inhaled the life from the Benson between his trembling fingers and stubbed it out viciously against the wall, then dropped the butt and ground it under his heel.

"Bastard!" he hissed to himself. "Smug, smarmy, god-bothering, tight-assed bastard! How fucking 'dare' you?"

Out of a perverse enmity, he made himself stay in the corridor watching the lights of Salt Lake City shimmer by as the train made its approach and slowed gradually on its run into the station. He was conscious of people congregating behind him, waiting to alight, and finally stepped aside as the California Zephyr squealed and screeched to a hissing, clanking halt in the darkness of a Utah night. They had to squeeze past him to step down from the train and as Katy and her family wriggled by he swore that they avoided his eyes deliberately. Katy was holding her father's hand and as she stepped down into his arms on the platform, she looked back at Rayne quickly.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you," she said.

He mellowed for a second, caught in deja vu, remembering Marc's words to him in the corridor yesterday. The words left his lips like ghosts; like something not connected to him.

"I know, sweetheart."

Then her father whisked her away and turned back with a glint of hatred in his gaze.

"You'll burn in hell, you miserable faggot!" he declared, in a monotone, just low enough that only they two could hear it. "Satan and all his demons will shaft your ass 'til you scream for mercy."

Rayne folded his arms across his chest and puckered his lips at the man insolently.

"They'll have a fucking long wait, darlin'!" he flashed back, deliberately pitching his voice to carry. "But it'll be 'worth' it, I expect! Which is more than I can say for 'you'!"

He slammed the door between them and turned on his heel, sashaying back down the car towards the lounge in a fine temper, ignoring the protests of those new boarders he elbowed out of his way en-route. The little voice in his head declared; 'Toto.. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!'

The bartender in the lounge car was not the same, lean, dark, bedroom-eyed youth who had served them last night. This young man was shorter and stockier; a pugilisitic frame. ('Built like a brick shite-'ouse!' as dad would once have put it.) Dark blond hair was shorn close to the scalp in a classic, number one buzz-cut, but he had the mild, unscarred features of a school teacher. Soft, blue-grey eyes twinkled slightly as Rayne sagged down on the stool in front of him and ordered a double vodka on the rocks.

"Coming right up, sir."

That was something he did like about this train. The service was first class. After a lifetime spent travelling the world with the Whipsnade entourage, in featureless buses, never knowing where he was (or why he was there, half the time!) it was good to rest and relax whilst other people called him 'sir' and fetched him things. He decided he could easily get used to it!

"What happened to the other bar-keeper?" he asked, when the amiable, moon-faced young fellow brought him his drink. "The black-haired kid... about so high..." He held his hand up demonstratively over his head.

"On leave, sir. He's going back to Chicago on the next train east."

"Hmm..." Rayne sipped his drink to cover the irrational surge of annoyance that resurfaced at this news. He had let himself get too inflexible, he told himself, sternly; the young bartender was not his only option. In deciding that the boy would be 'the one' he had set himself up for just such a disappointment.

"Is that a problem, sir? Can I help?"

Rayne's lime-cordial gaze slid back to him, lancing through the dark tangles of his hair directly into the smilingly expressionless face across the bar. The stress had been on the 'I', he thought to himself, not the 'help'. A smile twitched his own mouth and he took a longer swallow of vodka to soothe his rattled nerves.

"We-ell.... I dunno... What time d'you get off?"

The train stood in Salt Lake City for around an hour whilst supplies were booted on board and staff changed shifts. The bar-tender, Cory (according to the badge on his lapel) did not finish until 1am, so when Rayne's glass was empty he took a walk down the platform taking time out to smoke and turn things over in his mind. It was a pleasantly cool night and his mood was lifting, right up until the moment he spotted the black-suited, irate father from the train once more.

This time the guy was haranguing some uniformed rail official and had not noticed Rayne watching him. He kept pointing off towards the sleeper cars now and the Vampire had a sudden grim sense of foreboding. He could guess what the guy was telling this official, and instinct made him drop his cigarette and stub it out under the toe of his boot before he ducked back onto the train, racing up the corridors towards the compartment where Marc was still sleeping, all unawares.

The young man stirred and moaned with dreamy pleasure when Rayne put gentle arms around his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck tenderly through his hair until he woke. More firmly then, he pulled the boy upright, ignoring Marc's protestations.

"You've got to get dressed and get out of here," he whispered in an urgent tone.

Marc blinked at him incredulously "I'm 'sorry'?"

"I don't have time to explain. Get something on, get your bag and go take a shower or something, then I need you to lie low for a while. I'll meet you later in the lounge car."

The young mortal just stared at him blankly. "I don't 'think' so!"

Rayne administered a consoling kiss to the end of his nose.

"Please, darlin'. I really can't explain.. it might be something and nothing. But I swear I'll tell you everything later. You've just got to get out of here. 'Now'!"

He snatched up the boy's jeans and t-shirt, thrusting them firmly into his hands. "Get dressed."

For a moment, Marc's lower lip trembled as he stared up at the Vampire, then he was on his feet, pulling on his clothes without a word. He ran both hands through the tangles of his long, dark hair, tugging at the snarls and pushing the whole mess back from his face. He was still gazing perplexed at the singer when Rayne took his hand and put the strap of the holdall into it, then nudged him gently towards the door.

"Go," he said, more softly.

He saw Marc pull himself together, drawing himself up more resolutely, and wished he had more time to reassure the kid. Then his companion slung the bag over one shoulder, turned away and was gone, stalking out into the corridor and slamming the door violently behind him.

Once he was alone again, Rayne stripped down the bed and turned the sheets, remaking the bunk neatly and fluffing up the pillows. He grabbed up spilled clothing and rammed it into his own overnight bag with the vodka bottle (almost empty now). Quickly he changed, rubbing himself down with the discarded shirt and spraying his lean body liberally with CK1 before yanking on a pair of dark, loose-fitting suit trousers with a very fine pinstripe and a dark green shirt which had a paler, metallic sheen.

He pulled a comb through his sleek, dark hair and ran the battery razor from his laptop case over the twenty-four-hour stubble on his cheeks and chin. A glance in the mirror confirmed that he looked less like a criminal on the run and he blew it a kiss and stashed the razor and his camera back in the sleek, black, rubberised case, tucking it under the bed as a knock on the door made him start.

Deft fingers flicked up the air conditioning and he snared a magazine and slumped artlessly across his bunk, calling out; "Come in... it's not locked!"

At the very last moment he spotted a pair of Marc's underpants on the floor by the bed and snatched them up, stuffing them into his pocket as the door opened and he was confronted by his zealous nemesis and a rather youthful, blond-maned, anxious-looking station attendant. The official's cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around the room, taking it in, clearly comparing the scene to the one obviously described by the older man who accompanied him. The protective father also looked around suspiciously, then glared at Rayne with narrowed eyes.

With a sigh, the singer closed his magazine and said; "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. We received a complaint... you'll understand that we're obliged to look into any allegation of misconduct on our trains." The attendant blushed more hotly, trying to avoid Rayne's eyes.

"Misconduct?" Rayne looked back at him with a bemused smile. "What am I supposed to have 'done'?"

"Uh..." The kid cleared his throat and glanced at the older fellow pointedly. "Uh.. Mr. Hoffman, can you leave this with me now? Clearly there's nothing to see. I'll handle it from here on in."

When the guy did not initially move, he nodded towards the door and added, more firmly; "Mr. Hoffman, 'please'..."

Rayne wriggled his fingers dismissively at the bearded man and grinned. "'Bye!"

At last the guy left them alone, unwillingly, and the young official closed the door. He remained standing there for a moment, unsure of himself now that he was alone with Rayne. The singer leaned back on the pillows again with a casual grace and looked up at him almost coyly.

"So... what the hell is this about?" he demanded, rather more firmly.

"Uh... Mr. Hoffman has made an official complaint. It's a serious allegation. We're obliged to look into it. I'm sorry."

"You already said. What I want to know is, 'what did he say?'" Rayne smiled tolerantly, then sat upright, making deliberate space on the bunk and daring the boy with his eyes to make use of it. "You see, that guy has been making my life a misery since he got on board. I've been a virtual prisoner in this compartment trying to avoid him. He even suggested that I might have molested his daughter, if you can believe such a thing! As a father myself, I resent that."

The attendant's baby blue eyes widened slightly. Clearly this was a different tale to the one he had been expecting.

"He said 'that' to you?" he asked, sounding almost outraged. His voice was little more than a squeak of sound.

"Not directly, no... but I was meant to hear what he was inferring." The Vampire sat forward, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on one knee, arms loosely folded, long hands hanging down unthreateningly on either side of his slim thighs.

The youth cleared his throat again, then edged closer so that he was standing before the Vampire. His expression was wary but fascinated.

"You're the singer, aren't you? I've seen you in the magazines..."

"Sure," said Rayne cautiously. "I'm public property... that doesn't give people the right to make up complete bullshit about me. 'Does' it?"

"Uh-huh... no sir," the boy said quickly, shaking his head.

Rayne moved towards the far end of the bunk and patted the covers beside him with one hand.

"Don't be scared. Come and tell me what he's saying about me. I do have a right to know."

His interrogator half-turned and sank down nervously on the edge of the mattress, still casting fearful looks at him.

"He... uh... he alleges that when he boarded the train there was an... uh... there was an indecent act taking place in this car. He alleges that... uh... you indecently exposed yourself to him whilst in the course of... uh... coupling... with another man." He blushed scarlet and looked down. Within the snug-fitting crotch of his uniform pants, his cock stirred, betraying him.

"Fascinating!" Rayne said mildly, keeping one eye on his groin. "What a stunning imagination! I can only conclude that he must've had a chronically repressed childhood."

The official glanced up at him with sceptical eyes and the singer met his gaze squarely at once.

"You're saying that it's not true?"

"I'm saying that I'd 'love' it to have been true, but it most certainly was not," Rayne told him evenly. "Do you 'see' this other man? Do you see any 'evidence' of this other man?" He cast a hand around the compartment and smiled vividly.

The young attendant shook his head nervously, leaning back although he still watched Rayne with an almost rapt expression. That hard-on had to be getting uncomfortable, the singer decided.

"Right," he declared, still smiling impassively. "Now what I suggest is that you go back to Mr. Fucking Righteous out there and tell him that he's got a wasp in his arse about this whole business, and if he repeats allegations like that to anyone else, I will sue him for defamation of fucking character. D'you think you can remember all that?"

Helplessly, the young man nodded his head and made to stand up. Rayne closed a hand firmly over his wrist before he could move.

"First, though..." he whispered, his voice barely audible so that the boy had to sit forward to hear him. "I want to share something with you."

He flashed a fanged smile that made the kid start and pull away before his hand clamped down tight over the mortal's soft, moist lips and he pushed the youth down onto his bed. It was an uneven struggle, the young man was no match for his deceptive strength and Rayne quickly forced his blond head back and bit deeply into his throat, letting the blood fill his mouth over and over whilst the kid struggled and made muffled noises of protest underneath him.

The Vampire took his fill quickly and economically, spilling very little of his companion's precious blood. He took less than he wanted, but more than he would have dared to take from Marc after the last twenty four exhausting hours. The blond was a stranger, which made it easier still. The Vampire felt less guilt at bleeding him. His hot blood tasted rich and metallic on Rayne's tongue and he licked at the youngster's slender neck for a long while after he had finished feeding properly, letting his saliva heal the deep, savage bite marks so that the young man did not bleed to death.

When he finally released the lad, his victim was dazed from the rapid exsanguination but he did not wriggle away as Rayne had expected him to. Instead the mortal's arms came up around Rayne's neck and he pressed his mouth hungrily to the singer's bloody lips.