Failing Upward Ch. 06

Sid wore his frayed old kaki shorts and a white Nirvana t-shirt. Unshaven and hair shaggy, his eyes assessed Trent, then me. "You're fucking crazy getting into a car with him."

"A van," I corrected. Like it fucking matters, but I just wanted to argue. His cheeks were flushed-- our eyes locked. Twitch. That's my nose instead of his. Trent was right about my hormones in overdrive. Panting over Sid right now was so fucking out of place.

"Do you have the card?" asked Lancaster, bringing me back from a particularly good fantasy where Sid's flicking his tongue in that way he has.

"Um, yes. But what is the importance of the message?" I asked. Sid moved closer to me, standing protectively beside me, leaning his shoulder into mine.

Not helping.

"The message is sentimental, not a secret code," Lancaster answered. I reached into my back pocket and handed him the card.

"Just a moment. Can I see it again?" He handed it back, and I placed my thumb on top of the bloody imprint. It wasn't mine.

"Here," I said, returning it. Now that was interesting. Maybe what was important wasn't inside of the card. Something about it had to be important for them to want it back this bad. I saw the way Glenda's eyes flashed at it. No, not sentimental.

"I think we should take this little discussion to the garden, don't you Dr. Lancaster?" Trent suggested. Lancaster tipped his head and began walking toward the direction of the rose garden.

I observed Sid carefully as we poked our way down the overgrown path. He spent half his time making sure I was fine and the other half watching Glenda. Today she resembled a sultry wood nymph. If I didn't know Sid had no proclivity toward woman, I'd have been jealous. As we neared the inner garden, the roses' sweet fragrance swept over us, the scent nauseatingly overpowering. My head clouded. As we walked through the threshold, I stumbled, dizzy. Sid stepped next to me, but Lancaster held him back.

The climbing roses bloomed in every corner of the garden. The blood red blossoms jetted with bright orange stamens and pistols, trailing along the ground and up lattice trellises. The fragrance was heady but no longer sickening. A pressure mounted in the back of my brain-- not unpleasant. The heavy scent tingled inside my nose.

Sid was enraptured by the place. Each one of us fell under its spell, silenced by its uncanny beauty. As I brushed past a tendril of one of the thorny vines, I spied a tiny movement. In this dreamlike place, I could almost believe these roses were human, thinking, feeling.

There.

Again.

From the corner of my eye the branch reached for me. I looked at Sid; he didn't notice. I stood still and slowly waved my left hand past a thorny offshoot. Yes, it moved toward my hand slightly. I passed my hand by it again, and the same happened. Sid looked at me oddly. He didn't see it. Neither did Trent who cast a questioning look at me, but Glenda and Lancaster both watched intently. They saw.

I pushed the experiment further, passing my hand near the bramble a third time. The briar caught my knuckle, leaving a bloody beaded scratch. The branch reacted. Even Sid and Trent noticed. The tendril curled as if in a swoon. I found myself feeling much the same. A biting heat swept through me as Sid grasped my elbow. The smell of him aroused me as much as the sensual touch of his hand. My cheeks heated, and my cock hardened. The image of me throwing Sid down in the dirt and fucking him right in front of them all came to me vividly. Then, I recovered. I bitterly remembered the roses' intoxicating bite.

I felt naked; I felt scared, and finally angry that this thing has played with my emotional life. I was no longer sure if what I felt for Sid was real or some genetic aphrodisiac induced by this anthropomorphic rose.

My thoughts drifted. I vaguely heard voices that I couldn't understand. My world spun.

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I opened my eyes, and Sid was near me, hand in my hair, saying my name. I saw an old Steinway piano with cracked varnish. Yellowed sheet music scattered on its bench. An old wing back chair sat near where I lay. Battered throw rugs like a crazy patchwork covered the worn hardwood floors. The pillow behind my head was lumpy and the blanket on me musty. I was inside the Lancaster's home sprawled on their couch, recalling a garden, roses and my lust.

"He's awake," Sid said. I sat up, cautiously stretching my legs to the floor. Sid moved protectively next to me, and I scooted away a bit.

"What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my wrist.

"About four," answered Glenda, sitting down near me in the wing back chair. "Not unusual for your first time in the garden since your exposure to Mica."

"Mica?" I wondered.

"Yes, the name of the rose is minuo micamundus. We prefer the shortened version Mica," she said. Lancaster and Trent came into the room.

"You are like me?" I asked, looking to Glenda then to Lancaster.

"Yes," Lancaster answered, "we are."

I needed to find away out of here. The roses' effect filtered even into this house-- a part of the furniture, the people within. The need to know what I am, seemed unimportant now. All I could think of was false love and hope. I hated the place, and the two that made me this thing. I know now it's not the rose that's human; it's me that's inhuman.

"I need to get back to work. I should have been back a long time ago. My boss is probably wondering," I said.

"Yes, he was," said Glenda. "He called not long ago. I explained to him that you weren't feeling well. He's a very nice gentleman."

"Yes he is," I said.

Why be polite? I just stood up. I was wobbly, but Sid was there.

"I'm leaving. Now," I stated flatly and walked to the front door.

"You sure you should drive?" Sid asked.

"I'll be fine," I said. "Follow me to work, and we'll drop off the van then go home."

Home. Hell, where the fuck was that anymore?

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I sat in the living room with Sid mindlessly watching MTV while eating chilidogs with extra onions and munching Doritos. I popped the cap off a Miller Lite and took a gulp to chase the nasty nacho aftertaste from my mouth. What else could I do to be less appealing?

Maybe fart.

Pick my nose.

Damn. The more I thought about what that Samuel Trent said, the more it made sense. I did begin to find Sid uncommonly hot right after my accident. In the rose garden, he was forbidden fruit. Shit. Even now as he swallowed his beer, his neck looked like it could use a few choice nibbles. He wasn't safe-- from me or any unknown assailants.

I took another bite of the chilidog. I don't usually like onions on them, and these stink like hell, making my eyes water and my nose run-- hopefully a real turn off for Sid.

I wondered, if two people who eat the same gross food, does the gross food cancel each other out? Sort of like when you multiply two negatives, they equal a positive?

one Bermuda onion X another Bermuda onion = hot sex.

I should have picked a less phallic food for dinner. Shit, seeing him eat that hotdog. An now he's intentionally sliding it in and out...

Fuck.

"Have some more Doritos, Sid." I spun around, crunching the chip bag. Stupid fucking hard on. I took a swig of beer, swallowed some air and tried to belch loud, but it came out pathetic. I could tell from the half smile Sid gave me, he thought I was cute. He snaked his hand onto my crotch and pressed firmly. I moaned. Shit, so much for trying to resist. Looked like I'd blown off another band practice tonight. Not even pungent, eye burning onions could save Sid from me now. My mouth clamped on to his, and I threw all my weight against him, pinning him into the couch.

Mmm, two negatives--

I've wondered what it would be like-- to feel him like he'd felt me. I whispered to him, "I wanna fuck you," and he groaned low, deep down in the back of his throat. I licked his ear, bit his neck then sat up, grabbing his arms and pulling him to the bedroom. We undressed each other. Off flew my t-shirt. I unzipped his kakis and reach in, jerking his cock. He played with my ass, kneading it with his fingers. He slid his hands down my pants. I pushed him back onto the bed and kicked off my jeans, twisted at my feet. Sid was kicking off his shorts and then slipping his t-shirt over his head. He got on his hands and knees on the bed as I reached for the lube on the night table.

He said, "Fuck me now" in an urgent dry rasp, and my stomach dropped out. His thighs trembled. His perfect shoulders aligned. Sid looked obscenely delicious. I positioned myself behind him. There was something so base and animalistic seeing him like that-- I felt like I'll come right then.

White and blue sparks shot through my brain as I my hands clawed his waist. I stopped and wondered, was this what Sid wanted, or what he thinks I wanted?

What do I want?

I knew I wanted Sid. I dropped the lube to the mattress, and Sid gave me an puzzled frown. Both my hands slid up past his waist, across his shoulder blades. I bent over his back, hugging my arms around his shoulders and pulled him upright against me. He sat on his heels, and I molded myself to him. My chest safe against the line of his back, my hips and cock snug against his ass.

"Fuck me?" Sid asked. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

My mouth kissed his earlobe, and I answered, "No, I'm not going to fuck you, Sidney. I'm going to make love to you." He turned around, facing me, kissing my mouth. He had corn chips in his teeth, and I didn't care. Nacho cheese, onions and beer were secondary. I rolled on top of him, my erection on his. Skin to skin. And I sighed.

Maybe I really do love him.

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Sandpaper Box

Last night I dreamt about the roses. They spoke-- warning me. I tried to recall what they said as I transplanted the mum seedlings. Sweat streamed in salty rivers down my bare chest and back. The greenhouse roof vents were flung wide open, and the large inset wall fans roared, blasting over the flats of recent cutting and seedlings I'd toiled over. A hundred plus trays of them, all lined up on the clay topped benches. Still it must be 100 plus degrees in this hothouse-- and the closed-in space where I labored, made it all the hotter for me cramped in the very last isle of the very last greenhouse. Heat and humid dead air. I only had a few feet between the potting bench and the glass, and I carefully stretched back stopping my hand within an inch of the glass greenhouse wall.

Not even ten o'clock, and it was stifling. I wiped a bead of sweat off the end of my nose with the back of my hand. I filled another flat with the white beads of Pearlite, compost and peat mix piled high on the old cement and oak potting bench. I leveled the mix off with a swipe from the back of my arm. The potting mix stuck to my sweat and hairs. I brushed off the dirt and sweat on the leg of my jeans.

I thought about Sid.

I clicked off reasons why I shouldn't tell him how I feel, but finally I admitted to myself that it was one part concern for his safety and one part self preservation. After last night, I knew what I feel for Sid is real, lust and all. I knew I loved the honest, selfless person he was. That realization was as scary as the shit I'd been through the last weeks.

As Sid smoothed my hair and huddled tight against my chest last night, I almost told him how I felt. My mouth couldn't untangle the reasons knotted inside my jumbled head. Reflecting back, I realized that I was afraid for him and afraid of him. I looked into his solemn hazel eyes-- afraid he'd say he loved me, or even more afraid he wouldn't.

I finished another flat of mums and turned to get the next when I had one of those instinctive 'someone is watching me' creeped-out sensations. Last night's warning dream flooded back, and there he stood at the end of the isle... the man who shot at Sid in the parking lot.

In one flash, I knew. I was being crushed from the inside out. Lights, emotion, texture and utter helplessness. Not one morsel of control. I clutched the bench, hyperventilating. Every detail from the hypnosis--I suddenly recalled. I even heard Dr. Deal counting backward-- three, two, one.

And I remembered this time.

The comprehension was agony. Each detail a prism cutting through me. No longer words in Sidney's notebook but an occurrence. A living experience. I knew that man in front of me from the fog clearing in my brain. He was the sharp edge. He stepped closer, blocking the narrow isle as I remembered him blocking another doorway.

The minister-- Camden's assailant.

The stalker-- The shooter in the parking lot.

All the same.

I cursed his name. "Shackleton!"

He picked up a handful of potting soil then let it sift through his thick fingers, eyes burning through me.

"What is it like to be buried alive?" he asked, voice like breaking glass.

The overload of stimuli fired my fight or flight instinct. I'm cornered. No way out. I rejected the desire to run through the glass side wall. I don't like to fight, but I can take care of myself if have to-- I've been forced to brawl with drunks in bars. I quickly measured him up-- he was larger than me by at least a head, and built hard like most of the bouncers I've seen who kick men's asses twice my size one-handed.

My scrawny self won't stand a chance unless I distracted him and got in the first shot and scrambled over him fast. Even then I'd need luck on my side.

"Get away from me," I choked out, stepping back again.

"Get away from me," he mocked. Taking another handful of the dirt and rubbing it in his hand, he laughed. "Being planted cold in the ground turned Lancaster old. Yes, our Dr. Lancaster was young before I shoveled the sandy soil on top of him. What aged him? I wonder. Was it the dirt or the oppressive cold darkness six feet under? I must ask him some time. Sad really. It was months before his sister Emma found the spot in the woods where I buried him. I wonder what it was like for Camden? Imagine-- but you don't have to imagine, do you?"

"Reliving experiences. The notes were very concise and fairly accurate," he said.

He knew I'd been hypnotized.

"You've been in our house." The thought terrified me-- this man inside, rummaging through Sid's desk by the computer.

He inched closer to me. I had to get around him some how.

"You could feel what Camden went through. What did it feel like Wes? Lungs burning, weight of the earth crushing. Camden couldn't feel the pain, but you could. Yes. Tell me, the mental torture, was that worse? What was it like Wesley?"

I am Wesley, I struggled, assuring myself. I bit my lip, tasting blood. My blood, I thought. Who the fuck am I? Camden? Lancaster? All mixed together, but the same. I couldn't breath, couldn't speak. And who was this man? He can't be real. I counted mentally backward, hoping I was under hypnosis again and would wake up from it all.

"Get the fuck away from me," I said, finding my voice. "What are you? You're not fucking human. You can't be alive."

"I'm alive. And just like Lancaster, I don't feel pain. Not physical pain. It's sad not to feel. Life is flat. That's why I like watching pain so much. Can I watch it now?" He was quick, grabbing my wrist before I had a chance to get away. He twisted it. The pain was nothing. That I could stand. What I couldn't stand was his evil seeping into my pores; I thought I would vomit from its stench.

"Let go of me," I yelled, struggling. Fuck, I thought, shut up-- they'll hear; they'll come. Shit, Alan and Mr. K were in the front. If they helped me, what would this sick fuck do to them? Sure, he could hurt me, but I'd heal. Maybe a scar, but my friends would suffer death.

Adrenaline pumping through me, I swung my fist, aiming for his mouth. My knuckles burned when they hit his teeth. His head snapped back. I spun and twisted in an effort to get around him and free.

His hand wrenched my wrist around, popping joints. He spat out his blood on my chest while I struggled, twisting around.

"I could bury you," he hissed, "but I know what happens. An experiment loses its appeal after a time. It becomes boring. I need something new. What should I do to you?"

How do you get away from someone who feels no pain? I slugged him again-- this time I aimed for his nose. I felt a sickening crack as my fist landed. My hand throbbed. He laughed, ratcheting me closer. My head reeled from recalling another time when Shackleton pushed himself into Camden. I tried the same trick Camden used many years ago. I swept my leg around the back of his ankle and threw him off balance in an effort to trip him. He buckled and recovered. Then I jerked my knee into his groin as hard as I could. Fuck, the sick bastard's dick was hard. My stomach turned. He smiled, twisting my arm harder, pinning me back onto the cold cement of the potting bench.

"Your scars are almost gone," he rasped into my ear, tracing a finger down my bare chest. "Your eyes and body lived through Camden, can you live through another and feel their pain? What about your friend? He makes you squeal. Maybe I could make him squeal."

"You leave him the fuck alone, or I'll cut off your head," I spat.

"You could try. I could cut off yours, but it's such a pretty head," I recoiled as he touched my cheek. He smiled and licked my ear. "Or better, I could take you now, but I'd rather you came to me, to us, on your own. In the end, you'll have no choice." He shoved his cock against me. I swallowed back bile as he ground his erection into my hip bone. Then he let me go of my arm.

He turned and walked away from me. After I caught my breath, I stepped around the corner of the potting bench, watching over the isles of bedding plants as he left out the side door of the greenhouse, limping. I was shivering cold, then burning hot. I ran out the door after him, but he was gone.

Then I bent over and threw up. Odd though that he limped.

I wondered why some one like me had a gimp.

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I wiped my mouth. My hands shook as I pulled my t-shirt over my head and pushed my arms through. I put my head between my knees and stayed that way for a good fifteen minutes before I felt composed enough to go up to the front room and see Alan and Mr. K. I could stay in the greenhouse, but it was too fucking hot and too much of a reminder of that sick bastard.

Then there was Sid.

I didn't tell Alan, but I wouldn't have any choice but to call Sid. Not telling him would put him at more risk. That psychopath was already in the house. Sid already put himself at risk going after him. If he knows what Shackleton is, Sid'll be more cautious. My biggest concern was that Shackleton would go after Sid to get to me. I was glad Sid was up at the university around people today.

I thought of just taking off. Packing it all up and leaving. But if I left, I wouldn't be taking Sid out of harm. Maybe I didn't have a choice. But until I knew what that sick fuck was up to, I wasn't going any where with Shackleton. I knew what he did to Camden. However, in the end if I had to go with him to keep Sid or anyone else I cared for safe, I'd do it. But I wasn't walking into Hell with Shackleton unless there was no other way.

Alan stared at me when I walked up the back steps.

"You look like shit," Alan said.

"Heat exhaustion-- I just threw up out the side door of house four."

Alan's eye twitched as he scrutinized me. "Superman pukes," he said. "That's a new one."

"I think I'll go sit down in the office for a while," and I walked back, closed the door and flopped down into Mr. K's old oak captain's chair. It wasn't two minutes later when Mr. K poked his head inside the door then walked up to his desk and sat down on top of it, facing me.