A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 16

"I'll go and get them," Phil volunteered bravely.

"No!" Rayne caught him as he struggled to his feet. He saw Phil look down at him, visibly perplexed. "Don't... don't tell them what happened."

"We 'have' to!" Phil protested, his eyes widening. "We need to call the cops, Rayne! They can't get away with this!"

"You tell them if you have to, but leave me out of it," Rayne coughed as his voice cracked and broke on the last word. There was a huge lump in his chest, so vast that he could barely breathe for it. "I'll... I'll deal with this myself."

"You can't..." Phil was crying again now. "They'll hurt you, Rayne. What can you do?"

"I don't know," he admitted, closing his eyes for a moment to still the dizzying sensation that almost felled him. "But I don't want them to know. Please... promise me that you won't tell them."

"I can't just leave you here," Phil said determinedly. "You're hurt. You're bleeding!"

Rayne startled at that and ran a hand back between his cheeks. It came away sticky and tinged with redness. He bit down on his lower lip to stop it quivering.

"It's mostly cum... probably just a couple of blood vessels burst," he forced out practically, ignoring the thumping of his heart at the sight of the tendrils of blood on his fingertips. "Phil, help me up."

It took the blond boy three attempts to get Rayne onto his feet. Phil clung to him as he swayed like a sapling in a strong gale, then pulled one of Rayne's arms over his shoulders and stumbled back through the shifting sands with his friend virtually hanging off him, struggling to make his shaking legs obey the simplest instructions. After about half an hour of scrambling and stumbling they crested the dunes and tumbled down onto the almost deserted beach. Rayne gritted his teeth against the searing pain inside him as he pushed himself back to his feet and kept on staggering until he reached the shoreline where the sand was damp and firm. He fell to his knees in the shallow surf and could not get up again, even though Phil pleaded and cajoled for several minutes.

At last Rayne lay down on the wet sand, staring up at the darkening indigo of the sky. A few bold, early stars were already beginning to twinkle overhead. Rayne watched them swim in the swell of his tears.

"Go home, Phil," he virtually whispered. "Go home and... do what you need to do."

"What about you?" the blond demanded.

"Leave me here. I just want to lie here for a while. Then I'll be all right." Rayne closed his eyes. He felt a line of saline run down either side of his face into his hair and squeezed the lids together more tightly.

"I can't leave you on your own. What if they come back?" Phil was audibly anxious now.

"They won't. They've had their fun for today," Rayne exhaled, shaking his head. "Please go, Phil. I just... I need to be on my own for a little while now."

"How will you get back?" his friend persisted, still unmoving.

"I'll be okay once... once I stop shaking. Honestly, Phil. I'll be all right. It's not like... not like it's the first time." He swallowed another surge of rising bile and put his hands over his eyes because they would not stop leaking and he did not want Phil to see him cry. "Please... just go."

"You will come back to my flat tonight, won't you?" Phil queried tremulously. "I don't want to be on my own."

"I'll come," Rayne said atonally. "You've still got all my stuff, remember."

For a moment the other boy was quiet and then he felt a huff of hot breath and the quick touch of Phil's soft, sand-grained lips on his forehead. In a quiet, determined voice the blond said; "If you're not at the flat in half an hour I'm coming back to look for you. I'll pick you up and fucking carry you if I have to!"

Rayne tried to laugh at the unlikeliness of that but he could feel the tears rising like a tidal wave in his throat.

"Fuck off!" he said, more insistently, even though his voice and heart were breaking. "Just go, will you? For Christ's sake!"

To his relief Phil pushed away from him then, turning and stumbling off along the shoreline. Rayne could hear him crying and wrapped his arms around his head trying to shut the sound out until there was nothing but the incessant rush and trickle of the sea and the tinkle of broken shells as they washed up on the sand. He lay with his head turned to the right for a long time, watching until Phil Honeywell vanished from sight up near one of the deserted beach bars. Then, and only then, did he sit up awkwardly and wrap his arms around his cold, wet body, letting the tears flow more freely and the sobs shake his bones until he thought he would die of embarrassment and rage.

The pain inside him was unbearable, not so much the physical hurt but the huge boulder of emotional despair in his chest that lodged there and would not be moved. Once he had begun to cry he could not stop until the wails rising from his throat were long, ululating sounds like the howling of a beaten dog. He wept until it hurt to cry any more, then sank into a foetal huddle on the sand, gasping and retching again.

When he closed his eyes he saw Uncle Brian standing over him again, clear as daylight, his brown leather belt folded over in his hand, telling his nephew to stop snivelling "...or I'll really give you something to snivel about!"

Rayne swallowed and retched again until he nearly choked. Would he never be free of the memory of what that man had done to him? The worst of it was that if Brian could see him now he would be smugly commenting that he had been right all along. It 'was' all his nephew was good for!

He managed to get to his feet, still shaking uncontrollably in every nerve of his body. The feel of their bodies interacting with his own was still palpable. When he closed his eyes he was on his back again, fighting with every ounce of strength to stop them. His throat hurt now and he just wanted to lie down in the water and never get up again.

Weakly he staggered into the sea up to his knees. The cold water shocked a little sense into him and he stood for a moment, swaying dangerously as the waves licked at his lower legs, pulling at him like the hands of mischievous naiads or mermaids. When he lifted his head and stared helplessly out to sea, the moon was beginning to rise and he caught his breath at the beautiful sight of it, spilling onto the water like a broken egg-yolk and shimmering there in tresses of silver and gold. Huge, and not quite full, it hung just above the horizon, seeming so close that all he had to do was step out into the water and touch it.

He took a step, and then another, walking slowly deeper as the currents towed him in. It should have felt unbearably cold but surprisingly enough the water was like the very breath of a goddess as he moved through it, stroking the tips of his fingers through the tiny waves. It surged gently around his body but with an undercurrent of strength that took his breath away. Rayne stroked the water and kept moving deeper, letting it rise around his trembling thighs and wash away the blood and the filth. He was mesmerised by the way it felt, drawn into a web of memories so tangled and comforting that it was all he could do not to cry again. He was child once more, baptised by the waves. They had taken away all the darkness and pain in his life and returned his youth and innocence to him. He remembered walking into the sea at Dymchurch for the first time as a small boy, holding his father's hand; overawed but somehow not afraid of this vast, surging thing that came to wrap itself around him and pull him to and fro as if he was nothing more than a shell or a piece of seaweed.

Playing in the sea was as natural as breathing to him.

He walked deeper. For a little while the bed of the sea rose beneath his feet and although he kept moving away from the shore he was suddenly no more than knee deep again, bathed in moonlight. The moon cast a carpet of silver at his feet and he followed it, bewitched by its beauty. Briefly he sat down on the sandbank, exhausted by his struggle with the restless current. Even sitting he was no more than shoulder deep in the lapping water. He splashed his fingers experimentally in the blanket of undulating silver that licked up against his bare skin. It was not cold, although he felt more alert now, more alive than he had felt for days. Exhausted, he leaned back into the strong embrace of the water and let it pick him up and carry him. Long cool fingers crept through his hair and massaged his sweaty scalp. Rayne closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the clean, salty air. It felt like home.

He tilted his head back so that his ears were submerged and all he could hear was the steady pulse of the sea. A cooling veil washed over his face and he exhaled a long breath as it trickled down his cheeks. Rayne twisted about, and pushed his hands through the thickness of the water, using it to pull his body deeper. He was a merman, a dolphin, some wild sea creature, frolicking in the waves! Holding his breath he kept on pulling deeper. He could see the silver of the moonlight on the seabed like some mystical pathway, and followed it until his lungs felt like they could burst. Breaking the surface again, he threw back his head and shook the water from his hair.

"Hold me," he said and the sea did just that. It twined about him, tugging him into its bosom like the mother of all lost children. Rayne could feel it lapping at his erect nipples now. He kept walking, his pulse suddenly very fast and urgent, following the ribbon of silver deeper and further than he had ever gone. The waves tickled his chin and he put his head back again, letting the sea caress him. "I'm yours if you want me," he whispered huskily, rock hard in spite of the cold water.

The current of the ocean pulled at him insistently, hungry to clasp him to her breast. She was mother, lover... killer?

Tears spilled from his eyes again as he took another step, and then another. They fell down and mingled with the rolling surf, coming home. The swell pulled him off his feet this time and he could not fight it. Rayne began to sob again and the ocean took him and poured into him like lifeblood. As he began to sink into the darkness, he thought he felt gentle hands, cradling his head stroking his face. He opened his eyes and gazed into a sorrowful, lonely face so like his own that it hurt.

"Mum?" he whispered breathlessly. "Oh god, Mum! I'm so sorry!"

COMING HOME:

In the end, Aldo did not go out to sea with the others. Charged with finding Rayne, he quickly acknowledged that, out here at the height of the tourist season, this was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He checked out all the bars and shops, then walked up and down the beach a couple of times asking people if they had seen a slim boy with black hair, but this was Agde in the summertime and slim boys with black hair were plentiful. He began to think that perhaps he should have brought a picture. By ten o' clock it was getting dark and he was tired and hungry. He walked back to Ambonne but the boat had still not come into harbour. Aldo knew that all his money was on board and that he would not eat tonight unless someone took pity on him. He was just beginning to feel sorry for himself when he saw a familiar figure among the crowds.

The blond boy had come to Leland's yacht looking for Rayne on that afternoon when he first went missing. Aldo quickened his stride and caught up with the lad easily. Maybe he had seen Rayne, or might know who could be sheltering him. It was only as he drew level with the young Englishman that Aldo realised he was hurt. The lad was limping and his skin was still dusted with mica and sand, his fair hair dusty and dishevelled. Tears cut visible tracks down his face and he was almost blinded by them for he nearly ran into someone before Aldo could catch him and pull him to a standstill.

"Are you okay?" he asked at once, although it was obvious that the younger man was not.

The blond looked up at him and a fresh flood of tears poured down his cheeks. Aldo pulled him close instinctively.

"Is there somewhere I can take you?" he wanted to know.

His companion nodded weakly and guided him through the crowds to an access passage that ran beneath the flats at Port Nature. Moments later they were on a quiet corridor outside the door to his apartment.

Phil's heart jumped at the sight of Aldo di Bocatto. Of course he knew without question what this vision standing before him was. He also remembered Aldo from the boat that afternoon when he had come looking for Rayne. The memory of his friend just made him cry harder.

Somehow, miraculously, Aldo did not think he must be insane and abandon him. He was still here, with his arm around Phil's shoulders as the blond man sank wearily onto the edge of the bed. Phil swallowed twice before he was even able to try and speak.

"I need to call the police," he whispered, when he could.

"Do you have a phone?" Aldo asked him, scanning the compact bedsit without much hope in his eyes.

Phil shook his head at once. He swallowed again.

"I shouldn't have left him," he said, almost inaudibly. "I need to go back."

Aldo gripped his shoulders in a way that made Phil wince. The look of fright in his big blue eyes was such that the Italian let him go immediately.

"What happened to you?" he asked, visibly concerned. "Why do you need the police?"

Phil began to sob again and Aldo wrapped warm, muscular arms around him automatically.

"Someone hurt you?" he asked helplessly.

Phil nodded once.

In that instant, Aldo's heat-seared, energy-starved brain began to work overtime.

"Was Rayne with you?" he demanded.

Phil took a quick breath. He did some very rapid thinking. He had promised Rayne Wilde that he would not tell Ant or Paddy what had happened but this man was neither Anthony Wright nor PJ McNamara. And he was big enough and strong enough to help.

"I left him on the beach," he said evasively.

"On the beach? But it's dark now," Aldo said with a shake of his head.

Phil focussed on his face, pulling himself together determinedly. Aldo was even more handsome in the flesh than he was in the movies, but he could not let himself be distracted.

"He... he couldn't walk any more. He told me to come back on my own."

Aldo's eyes widened in sudden horrified comprehension.

"What happened to the two of you?"

Phil began to sob again, and then he poured out the whole story, telling Aldo how he had persuaded Rayne to come to the dunes with him and how Rayne had not wanted to do it. He confessed how he had let men fuck him and how reluctantly the other boy was drawn into their games, then, in a shaking voice, he told the handsome Italian about Christophe.

Aldo was on his feet before he was done.

"Where did you leave him?" he shouted.

"I'll take you," Phil hiccuped, overcome with emotion.

"You can hardly walk. Find a telephone and call the police, I'll find him if you tell me where."

In a quavering voice, Phil gave him the directions.

SOME SOLACE:

Ant did not go out to sea either. In spite of his promise to Daniel that he would try and enjoy the rest of his stay, he was in no mood to party, although he insisted that Thierry went along, even though the boy protested he would rather stay with Ant.

"Really... I'm just going to have a drink and a couple of sleeping pills and get some rest," Ant assured him. "It will be very boring if you stay here."

The boat was refreshingly peaceful once everyone had gone. He pottered around and drank half a bottle of red wine whilst packing his belongings. Ant had already decided that he would go home tomorrow. If Rayne did not want to be with him then there was no point in his hanging around here. Thierry would probably be upset for a few days but he was sure that Daniel and Terry would look after the kid. Isolde already thought the world of him, but Isolde loved all pretty boys. No, it was for the best if he went back to London. He had been planning to move out of the city but there were things he needed to sort out before he upped moorings and sailed on. It was time to stop procrastinating and get on with his life.

He was not surprised when the other boat had not come back by nightfall. Sometimes these parties went on well into the morning. They never went far out to sea and generally dropped anchor somewhere well out of the shipping lanes. The lights would stay on until the sun began to rise. He doubted that anyone would sleep before then either. Sensibly, he should have gone with them, but Ant could not force himself to feel jovial. He was tired and still wishing that he had not come here. The others did their best to raise his spirits but even they could see when they were on a hiding to nothing.

Ant went out to the rear deck once he had packed his bags and poured a last glass of wine. The disco on the harbour front was still in full swing and he could hear laughter and raucous singing over the thumping beat of the music but it did not disturb him tonight. He would finish the wine and take a couple of tablets then sleep like a baby until mid morning. At least, that was the plan.

He ought to have known by now never to make plans.

Aldo pushed his way back through the swell of the crowds with his heart in his mouth. He broke into a run once he was clear of the bars in the middle of Heliopolis and ducked through the access archway onto the near-deserted back road between the apartments and the huge campsite beyond them. From there he had a clear run up to the beach. Phil had said that he left Rayne a long way down near to the bottom end of the strand. From his description of their ordeal in the dunes, Aldo could guess how far that was and he struggled down to the shoreline on the shifting sand then began to run again once he reached the hard-packed surface at the edge of the water. Shells crunched under his deck shoes as he raced along the beach like his life depended on it.

The moon was rising, as he reached the beach, which helped his cause as it bathed the sands in silver light and made it easier to see where he was going. Even so, he reached the far end of the naturist beach without finding any trace of the missing boy. Aldo slowed his stride as the sign post warning that bathers were reaching the end of the Naturist Zone came into view. He looked up towards the dunes in bewilderment, then turned and began to walk back briskly, his gaze scouring the shadowy beach.

It was only as he looked out to sea, mentally asking the moon for her aid, that he thought he saw something. At first he imagined it was a porpoise, but it bobbed out of view only very briefly, and was too close to the shore. Aldo kicked off his shoes and strode out into the water for several yards to get a closer look.

He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed; "RAYNE!"

As the sound of his cry subsided and was swallowed by the shushing of the waves, he walked out a little further until he was up to his hips in the Mediterranean. The lick of the cold water on his dangling cock and balls was almost enough to make him turn back but then he saw it again, turning like a silver catherine wheel in the water. A pale arm that broke the surface then was dragged down again. Aldo stumbled deeper, coming out to meet the small, ragged, ashen bundle of limbs as the tide washed it back in to shore.

"Jesus Christ!" Aldo gasped, snatching at it before the sea could pull it away again. "Please, God! No!"

He managed to drag the small, body back towards the shore, although the sea was reluctant to give up her prize. At last he rolled the still, lifeless form onto the sand beyond the wave line and cupped that ashen, moonlit face in his hands desperately once more.

"Rayne!" he keened, shaking his head. "What the hell have you done?"