Failing Upward Ch. 06

"There's plenty you're not telling me," he started. I opened my mouth to begin to speak, but he placed his finger to my lips, hushing me. "Plenty of it I've heard around. In this business, you hear people talk. I don't understand any of what's going on with you, but what ever trouble you're in, know that you can talk to me. If you don't want to now, that's fine too. Know I'm here and that I care, son." He leaned over to me and hugged me tight.

I started to cry. What a fuckin' baby. Mr. K didn't mind me getting his shirt all wet, he just hugged me tighter. Alan walked in with a wet towel, and I'm bawling. Shit, Alan'll never let me live this one down, but instead of making fun of me, he placed the towel on my forehead and kissed my cheek.

"If you don't mind, I think I'll rest here a few minutes," I said. They both left quietly and shut the door, leaving me to think about what happened.

What ever this group that Shackleton was in bed with wanted, it wasn't just to experiment with me. I was sure they wanted to know what made me different and why. This was all a puzzle. One giant jigsaw, and no one was sharing the pieces. I wondered why Camden/Lancaster aged. Being buried alive, that was piece of the puzzle, too. A grain of sand. Camden was buried in the earth-- near Lake Michigan. Sandy soil. And the soil in the rose garden, it was sandy. It was hard to solve a puzzle with six feet of earth haunting you. Being buried alive was almost as bad as feeling that sick bastard pressed up against me.

Pressure built up in the back of my brain and in another time, I am Camden, and I'm laughing.

Camden and Lancaster are the same person. I was pretty sure now that Emma and Glenda are the same person, too. It would make sense. I wondered about Les-- he had to be like us. He must be. He's related to Lancaster. I had a few questions for him tonight.

I wasn't missing band practice again.

What fucking got to me was how I could be part of this mess. All the past questions came back to me. The questions that I'd pushed from my mind over the years. Details I'd known the answer to but didn't want to face. Questions I'd asked my parents, but they always evaded.

My mind struggled to understand how two people who loved me so much could lie to me my whole life. They had many opportunities to tell me the truth. Or maybe it was just I didn't want to know. Deep inside I always knew I was adopted.

I could deny it no longer. I must face it if I'm going to help myself-- and help anyone who is unfortunate enough to be close to me. If I don't-- Shit.

I was in third grade when I asked Mom the first time. It was my birthday. I brought chocolate cupcakes and vanilla ice cream for my class after lunch. The party was fun. Then came last recess. Carol Arnette, a big hairy man-girl whose mother was the principal's secretary, enjoyed picking on other kids. Today I was her new target. She pushed me, saying that the man and woman that I lived with weren't my parents. She said she knew because her mom told her-- she'd read it in my student records.

"No," she said, "you don't live with your real parents because they didn't want you." I called her a liar. It's so fucking degrading even in the third grade to have your ass kicked by a girl. She clobbered me in the face, giving me a bloody nose. I couldn't hit her back-- maybe she didn't look like a girl, but she still was one-- so instead I pushed her down in the mud, messing her brand new red and white polka-dot dress.

We both ended up in the principal's office. When Mom came to pick me up, I told her what Carol Arnette said. Mom got quiet and said, "Sometimes people say things because they don't feel good about themselves. They say mean things because they hurt so much inside." She went inside Principal Moore's office and quietly shut the door.

That was Mrs. Arnette's last day as secretary for the school.

Three years later I asked again. This time my science teacher, Mr. Williams, told the class about Gregor Mendel and his peas. Then he gave an example of how two blonde haired parents can't have a black haired child. I asked Mom, and her answer to that one was, "Is he a genetics specialist?" The next day, Mr. Williams told us he was mistaken-- two blonde parents could have a black haired child. My cheeks burned as he looked directly at me.

I didn't ask again until high school. When I went to get my driver's license, there was a problem getting my birth certificate. I began to suspect something was wrong. I asked Dad this time. All he said to me was, "You're my son and always will be." Looking back, I see the answer as more of an admission than denial. Still they did produce my birth certificate-- and I put it into a separate compartment in my mind. I didn't think of it again until three days after they died-- at the funeral. I always knew. But it didn't matter. They were my family no matter what.

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I didn't want to go back to the house-- not until I talked to Sid. He knew to look at me, something was up the moment I got in the car to pick me up.

"Let's go for a ride," I said. I told him I remembered every thing from Dr. Deal's hypnosis session. I told him about what happened in the greenhouse, who Shackleton was. I told Sid he'd been in Sid's home. I told him the threats.

I told him I was adopted.

"I want you to be careful," I said. "No more chasing after the bad guys."

"I won't if you don't pull another stunt like going to the hospital or Lancaster's without me."

I wasn't sure I could promise that one.

"I'll try not to," I answered.

"Then I'll try not to," he said. "Let's go home and get something to eat before you go to band practice tonight." I nodded and let out a long strained breath. I hadn't realized until then just how long I'd been holding it.

I insisted that we check every window, every latch, when we got home. I didn't want to find Shackleton hiding in the house or any other surprises. My guess was that he just picked the lock on either the front or back door. If we kept the deadbolts on from the inside when home, he wouldn't be able to get in without breaking glass. Sid checked the basement windows, and I checked the attic. I called John to ask him to pick me up tonight. I didn't want Sid leaving the house open to another invasion. Just because you're paranoid, don't mean they're not after you...

We threw together some sandwiches and ate. I was fine until we picked up the plates, and Sid slipped behind me when I was putting away the dishes. John started pounding at the front door at the same time. I jumped. I knew it wasn't Sid's touch, or John's knock, but the memory of Shackleton's hands on me that had my brain all fucked up.

"It's me," Sid reassured me.

I turned around, kissed his mouth and said, "I know. I'm just edgy." I picked up my guitar by the couch and kissed Sid goodbye again, pressing my body into his, hoping to collect some of his good Karma.

"Be sure to bolt the door the moment I leave. I'll call as soon as I get to practice and before I leave again."

"Don't forget."

"I won't."

I remembered Shackleton's limp as I got into the car.

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We were all set up, and Les hadn't arrived. I was tuning my guitar to John's as Les pulled in, his car lights blinding every one of us.

"Fucking ass wipe," Smith swore, tripping over his amp cord. "Turn off the fucking headlights, dumb ass! Hell's fucking kitchen, don't you have any sense?" He yelled as Les got out of his car.

"Sorry," Les said. "It won't happen again."

"Better fucking not happen again. I could have been a human shish-kabob on one of these rakes."

"You know, Smith," Jimbo said, "if you took all this shit and put it away, it'd be a lot safer to play in this garage."

"Then where the fuck would I store all this crap?" Smith asked, scratching his crotch with his guitar pick. "I use this stuff all the time. All of you god-damned pansy-asses can just play around a few sharp objects. Dangerous? You don't know dangerous. How the hell are we gonna play in a biker bar if we can't even jam with pruning sheers?"

"So you're sayin' your garage is the band's warm up for a gig with the Hell's Angels?" Les asked, laughing.

"Oh shut the fuck up you stupid cock sucker and get me a beer," Smith ordered. "God damned newby needs to know his place."

I suddenly was getting a new appreciation for Smith's smart ass-isms.

"Get me a beer too," I added.

Les opened the rusty old dented fridge in the corner of the garage and reached in for the beer, asking, "Am I allowed one too?"

"Only if you suck my dick later," Smith said. Les gave him an odd look and pulled out three bottles, hanging on to their necks, clinking them together.

Les handed Smith his beer, then handed me mine. I watched Les as he twisted off the top, waiting for him to take a swig.

"He's serious, you know," I said. "And his dick is really big."

Les sprayed a mouthful of Miller Lite into Smith's face.

"After that, you damn well better be good at giving head," Smith said, wiping the beer off with the back of his hand.

Les kinda laughed and choked at the same time as Smith stuck his face into Les' space and gave one of his up-yours smirks, and said quietly, "I'm not joking."

I couldn't help myself-- what a great opening. I began singing:

I started a joke, which started the whole world crying.

Oh if I'd only seen, that the joke was on me.

Jimbo and John picked up on it and began playing along, singing in harmony--

"Oh no--"

Smith, joining in:

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing.

Oh, if I'd only seen, that the joke was on me...

That's when it happened. Les sang-- his voice lazy and melodic with a slight quaver-- hauntingly beautiful. We all continued to play as he continued singing alone. As his last note faded, we fell silent, dumbfounded.

He was good. Better than good. He was, Hell, better than me. Better than any of us.

Smith cleared his throat.

"Not bad," John said. "I like it. Needs more bass though."

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I called Sid as soon as practice got out. I decided to catch a ride home with Les-- I'd get a chance to corner him with a few questions. Not only that, but save him from Smith, who kept pointing at his dick and asking Les to stay for a while and help him out with his hard on.

Not that I didn't enjoy watching Les getting embarrassed, but the joke was getting old. Plus I think Smith was half serious, especially after he heard Les sing. And the way Les blushed, I wondered if he was half interested in helping Smith out. We fucked each other over enough in this band with out literally fucking each other over.

But I had more important details on my mind. As we got into the car, I asked him.

"Yes, I'm like you," he answered. "A lot more like you than you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you remember anything at all about the night of your accident?"

"No, why? What should I remember?" I asked, fastening my seatbelt. "Your family needs to stop playing with me and tell me what the hell is going on. I'm tired of guessing, and after today, it's getting too dangerous to be playing God Damned mind games."

"Why, what happened today?" He said, checking his rear view mirror.

"That sick son of a bitch Shackleton cornered me in the greenhouse, threatening to hurt Sid."

"That's interesting, because he watched the whole practice from across the street, and now he's following my car."

"Shit," I said, turning around in my seat to see.

"Listen, I'd love to tell you everything I know, but my Uncle doesn't want me to. He wants you to remember it. But shit. This is getting too dangerous. At least I'm living with some protection, but you're really open to this man. He is seriously dangerous." I noticed his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel tight. He eyes darted watching me, the road and the rearview mirror as he pulled into our driveway.

"Maybe you better come in," I said.

"No, he's not going to follow me home. He's going to sit outside and watch your place."

"You know who, and what he is then?" I asked, straining to see where he'd parked.

"I know exactly what he is. Confession time. My Uncle and I followed Shackleton into Sid's house the other day. We sorta read the notes, and what was in the folder. Well, pretty much nosed around all through his place afterwards. Sorry."

"Fuck! Who are you to do that? This is crazy." I started to shout.

"You should know that Shackleton's been in Sid's place before and yours. The night of the fire, too."

"What gives you the right to keep this from me? Tell me everything now." I swallowed and stared at him. I was living in a sandpaper box. I felt raw and exposed.

He didn't look at me, he stared at the sparkling constellations out his windshield, deciding.

"I can't," he said, finally.

I got out of the car and slammed the door. That sandpaper box just closed in a bit more around me as I noticed Shackleton parked half way down the block under a street lamp. I rushed to the door, driven by fear and anger. My body and soul raw and chapped from the day's constant sanding. I wanted to jump into Sid's arms the moment he opened the door and saw his sunburned nose and fine white laugh lines crinkling up, glad to see me. He'd been standing waiting for me to come through, must have heard my voice. I didn't even need to knock.

Sid bolted it behind me as I made my way the couch and carelessly fell back, dropping my guitar case to the floor, taking Sid in. I told him about my conversation with Les, watching him chew at the inside of his cheek as he listened.

"He's out there. He followed us home," I said finally. "Maybe we should call the police."

Sid frowned and nodded. Reaching for the cordless phone, he punched the buttons as he walked toward the front picture window.

"Tell them the guy that took a shot at you and Trent is parked across the street," I directed Sid what to say. As he talked to dispatch, he squinted hard through the glass panes, his laugh lines deepening.

"No, I can't see him from here." He hung up, snapping the blinds shut. "They're sending a car to drive by and look."

Then I remembered. "He limped away."

"What?" He crossed the room and sat down. I welcomed the cushion's gentle shifting of his weight into mine.

"When Shackleton walked away from me, he was limping. If he heals like me, why would Shackleton limp?"

"Don't know. Could be an injury from before he was transformed. Maybe those don't heal."

"Something's not right. Maybe he isn't the same," I said. Sid's thigh brushed mine. I smiled, and his nose twitched.

"Of course they're not the same. You're different; you're special. Especially to me." I snuggled in closer to him, laying my head on his shoulder.

I yawned. "Tired..." I whispered, covering my mouth.

"Too tired?" His lips grazed my temple, humming sweetly against my skin.

"Mmm, no," I answered, nudging him down flat on the couch. My chaffed body, stung from the day, was healed by Sid's soft touch. He soothed the psychic hurt inside as his hands glided against my neck.

I found my fingers unzipping his jeans. My breath quickened watching his pupils widen in anticipation. He raised his hips and helped me shimmy his jeans down past his knees. I slipped my thumb under the elastic of his briefs, coyly brushing the head of his dick. He shivered as I boldly reached in, pulling his cock out, bending my head down. His hands followed my head-- my lips faltering just a breath from him. My thumbs nervously pressed hard into his hip bones, leaving imprints.

I thought, how difficult could this be to do? I wanted Sid in every way he had me. I wanted to make him feel as good has he made me feel.

"I'm more hungry than tired," I whispered, knowing the effect my words would have on him.

He moaned, "God, Wes. Please." And I bit my lip then bent in, kissing and licking the length of him, looking up at him, memorizing his color and lines. Damp locks clinging to his forehead. Watching Sid's face flush and eye lids flutter incensed me, and I teased him more. Blowing him made me feel both powerful and powerless. My tongue tasted salt and musk, darting on the head of his cock. Grasping him, I slid him carefully into my mouth. His thick cock twitching, I flicked his corona with the tip of my tongue then slid my mouth up and down a little, infusing the texture of his penis into the contours of my mouth. Every ridge and bump, I loved. God, I wasn't prepared for how wonderful Sid would feel-- his pulse beating hot inside my mouth. Heat and light sparked through me as my I felt the stretch in my jaws, slipping him down deeper into my throat. His fingers found my hair and twisted and pulled. He felt so good-- quivering and straining, moaning my name. My cock was rock hard, rubbing into Sid's leg-- rubbing and moaning.

He was watching me.

I slowly slid him out of my mouth, meeting his eyes. Tightening my jaw, I began a smooth, firm embrace. My lips and throat hugging his beautiful cock, floating up and down from the head to base. I clasped the base of his cock with my hand and swallowed. His thigh muscles tensed; he was so close. I slowed, and he gasped, "Don't stop."

I took him as deep into the back of my throat as I could, and he clutched my back and hair. He ground his hips, and I met his thrusts as he fucked my mouth, then he was lost; I was lost-- coming with such intensity that I thought I'd climax with him without his laying one hand on my cock. I swallowed him all, and the whole experience surprised me-- how much I wanted him, his seed, the most intimate part of Sid. He pulled my hair, willing me to his mouth. He kissed me greedily, tongue hard and urgent. I whimpered into his mouth, like a child who wants more candy.

His hand cupped my cock, my stomach did hand springs as he pressed the length of me-- God, I wanted out of these jeans.

"Sid..." I murmured against his mouth, willing myself to say the words. "I..."

Four sharp raps on the front door cut me off and brought me out of my bliss.

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Chapter 10: Knock, Knock

"Who is it?" Sid called, struggling to pull up his jeans.

"The police," came the muffled answer.

Of course they're gonna say 'the police.' Yeah, like they're gonna say, 'Yes, it's us-- a roving band of axe murders. Please open your door so we may hack you into pieces...'

While Sid quickly finished fastening his jeans, I jumped up for the door. A peep-hole would be handy, or a window with the right perspective convenient, but since there was neither, I clinked the chain on and braced my body against Sid's door. Legs locked, I opened and cautiously peeked out.

Hmm, it was the police.

Sid, who stood protectively behind, helped me to relax by rubbing my shoulders as I let the officers in.

"You called in the report?" The skinny dark haired officer asked.

The other office stood next to him. A goofy looking character, butch hair cut and big ears. A real life Barney Fife-- sticking his thumbs in the band of his holster as he listened. Sid just politely nodded.

"No vehicles parked on the street within the next few blocks," said Barney. "No black SUVs on the streets. No suspicious looking characters in the neighborhood..."

I wasn't surprised. All I heard after those words was Andy Griffith whistling his theme song. I needed to stop watching Nick at Night.

I always wondered how a police officer, like Barney here, identified a 'suspicious looking character.' What made one person look suspicious and another not? Lurking in the bushes? Wearing dark sun glasses at night? Slinging an semi-automatic rifle? Yes, these might be indicators. Even more intriguing, could things look suspicious?