Failing Upward Ch. 07

I blinked. I was flushed and breathing hard. Damn. Les was looking at me oddly.

"I'm afraid I can't help you out with that, being your brother."

I looked at my feet. Standing in poison ivy, not good. Addled with sweat and sex from the rose's influence, I swabbed my brow with the bottom of my t-shirt. My eyes were still stinging; my heart still seizing.

"God. Do I have to go in there? I can't breath."

"You must do this. Come on."

I stepped through first.

Sudden bursts of light like shards of broken glass, slashed in through me then out again. Numbed, my eyes no longer stung, and my heart steadied. Breathing in through my nose out then through my mouth, I tasted the sweet thick essence, insinuating itself through my pores and into my blood. The tendrils reached out to me. I let them. The barbs hooked into my forearm. A voice murmured, lie down. I obeyed, resting, my face upturned to the crisp cloudless sky, then closing my eyes. Heart pounded through my chest, rushing to my groin and finger tips.

I felt like I was floating.

Swimming.

Buoyant in a lake of ice water. I shivered. Cold pricked on my face, sharp needles of ice, piercing my chest, arms and through my clothes. I heard summer dried grass snapping in the wind, and the same breeze kissing my face. The tooth of a briar nicked my eyelid, and I slept.

----------------------------

I opened my eyes, recalling a hazy lustful dream of Sid touching me, willing me to come. My vision cleared and I remembered where I last was, and saw that I was still there in the garden. Wispy clouds and long shadows from the elms, falling cool against my legs. A crunch of leaves and I turned my head. Les sat behind me, chewing on a blade of grass, legs crossed up and into his chest.

Embarrassed, I jerked my hand from where it gripped my cock, jeans wet from the memory of my dream. I sat up still disoriented and heard Les reciting Walt Whitman in a sing-songy voice:

I celebrate myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, formed from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same...

My brother, who I knew nothing about, held the blade of grass straight out toward me, and I took it from him.

His lips trembled, and he sighed.

"Why? I suppose you want to know why," and Les said it as a statement, not a question. Yes, I did want to know why. I wanted to know what he knew and not some transcendentalist mumbo-jumbo.

Then with out a word from me, he began to speak:

"They gave you up to save you. They knew what you were. They hid you in plain sight-- where no one would suspect. The town where they lived. I didn't know about you until after they died, six years ago... The worst day of my life happened six years ago."

I pulled my knees up, hugging them while Les plucked up a new blade of grass and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger.

"It wasn't long after a record breaking heat wave. You might remember that summer. Humidity and sweltering heat-- six days hot as Hell with sky high heat index. At night from my room, I could hear power line's vibrating. I'm sure you were listening to it in your neighborhood, too. The hum resonated everywhere-- every fan and air conditioner running on max. Dad rejected air conditioning years ago. Called it unhealthy. He said going from 68 to 98 degree all day wasn't good for you. Mom sort of believed him since he was a doctor. But really Mom and I knew he was just too cheap to get central air."

"By the third night of the heat wave, I decided no more waking up in a puddle of sweat. I packed a few clothes and went to a friend's air conditioned parent-free apartment. Mom bitched at Dad about it. Told him that they were driving me out of the house. The next day she nagged him into getting central air put in."

"Thursday, August 12-- Mom called and said Rex's Heating and Cooling just finished putting in the air. I didn't go home that night. Stayed at my friend Bill's. It was late. I remember the pounding on his door at three in the morning. Bill yelled go away, thinking it was one of his drunken friends wanting a place to crash. I don't blame him for not answering. Then the phone started ringing. I put the pillow over my head to drown out the noise. It wasn't until the second round of door pounding when it struck me that maybe something was wrong and maybe I should answer the door. I got up. Bill yelled not to answer. My insides said different-- they said, open the door."

"I looked through the window. Aunt Glenda stood there on the steps with her hair uncombed and half dressed. I knew something was wrong the moment I saw her-- since her hair is always perfect. I opened the door, and she grabbed me, crying. Bill came out to see what the commotion was. I tried to get out of my aunt just what had happened. Then I noticed Uncle Dan on the steps behind her. He was the one that told me. Logically, I know it wasn't his fault. He was just the messenger. Mostly I blamed myself, after all they put in central air because of me."

"The cause of death according to the coroner was carbon monoxide poisoning from a natural gas leak. He said they were already dead when the leak ignited. But that wasn't what killed them. Neighbors felt the concussion from the explosion blocks away. There was no way to physically identify the bodies. They asked for dental records, and they thought the physician records might help. I drove over and got their records from Dad's office. I remember, I sat them on the car seat next to me. I wanted this to be over. But in the back of my head I knew. I had to look. I opened up the folders, and there you were."

"I never knew who I really was or what my parent were until I started asking questions about you. I had to find you. All my questions brought Shackleton to town. Blame me for bringing that piece of Shit here. Well, after he showed up, they had to tell me. They brought me to the garden here. I became like them. But I still wanted to know who you were, and where you were, even after they told me how dangerous it'd be for you."

"I figured it out by accident-- who you were. I saw you play. One night a few years back, I went to a college party you were playing at. I knew, but didn't know. I felt a connection watching you play because you played like me. I started going places where you played. Finally, Uncle Daniel had to tell me just to keep you safe. I stayed away. Still, Shackleton figured it out. And when your family died..."

His eyes were down, and I waited for him to continue, instead he rolled up like a cocoon in front of me. He just pulled up farther into himself. Then he sniffed and I knew he was crying. I wiped the tear off my cheek too.

Blame. I needed some one to blame. Myself for one. I knew how Les felt-- because I felt the same. I still couldn't forgive myself-- that I wasn't home. That I wasn't dead. Some days I wished I was dead with them.

For the first time I believed maybe it just wasn't my imagination. Maybe my family's death was no accident. But it didn't make sense that Shackleton was behind it if what Les was telling me was true. Why kill them? I still wondered about Trent-- his role in all this.

We both sat in grass, the magic of the garden between us. Both sets of parents, gone. The only way I'd ever know my birth parents was from this man sitting tied up in knots in the grass, swishing a blade of grass in his teeth. I thought I should ask him who I resembled most-- mom or dad, or if one of them liked peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches like me.

Les slid his legs out straight. I noticed then his reason for sitting with his legs crossed against his chest. Guess that runs in the family, too. Nocturnal emissions. He blushed and stood up.

"Ok, I've got a question for you. Is Smith interested or is he just fucking with me?"

I brushed off the seat of my jeans and checked my arms-- no scratches.

"He's pretty particular. I mean-- he doesn't sleep around."

I probably shouldn't encourage this relationship, but seeing the disappointment in his face, I added, "He's definitely interested."

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The Community

Real life masquerading as a dream, that's what it was.

I stepped behind Les, awestruck by this great circular foyer so different from the front entrance of the house. This was no simple Michigan farm house. I wondered who built it and when. Four long windows on the concave wall cast long dense light beams, intersecting at the bottom step of this grand staircase. Its dark banisters beginning at the bottom floor and arcing up toward where Les pointed.

"I'll take you up to your room. I imagine Sid's there."

As I walked up to the stairs, I couldn't make out the finials, not until I was close enough to actually touch them-- the oak dark from layers upon layers of varnish felt cool under my fingers. The carvings were difficult to make out. Instead of using my eyes, I spread my fingertips, running them along the grooves and ridges, feeling the shapes and textures.

My fingers recognized what these carvings were-- Leaves.

Rose leaves, carved on the banisters. I let my hand slide up feeling the chilled wood and finely hewn ridges, the petals and vines winding up the railing. The spindles were carved vines, winding around and down. I noticed each spindle was unique.

The massive staircase wound gracefully into a lazy semicircle. I cautiously stepped ahead, eyes gaping up. A runner covered the center of the stairs, creating a surreal jumble of color, a kaleidoscope of swirling nonsensical patterns. Down at my feet, I saw the worn oriental carpet-- scarlet, indigo, drab white with flowing lines of gold and black. The rug seemed as alive and breathing as the roses in the garden and as haunting as the wood of the staircase.

At the top, the oak railing splayed open, facing opposite of where we began at the bottom of the staircase.

I was anxious to be near Sid, to see his soft smile and hear his soothing voice. I needed familiar. These foreign sights and sounds were painful; I ached for his touch. Two steps from the top, I wondered where, which door, he was behind.

A heavy oak door with brass knob and keyhole guarded the top like a sentry. The other, four lesser doors, curved around the open stairwell full circle like dutiful soldiers. All shut tight. On the opposite side, a sixth door stood open, a mirror image of the sentry at the top of the stairs. We turned right and around, following the same worn oriental runner covering the hardwood floors, pulling us. We stopped at the door parallel to one at the top of the stairs, the one open.

There was Sid.

The room was the room of my dream-- that frayed rug on the floor the same. That large six-sided window frame with the inset seat where Babe lay curled up on faded teal cushions. All the same.

In my dream, the oriel-window beamed warmly on his face as he smiled then kissed me.

As I stepped in now, he raised his head. Light bent softly onto his strong solid hands. He was putting away my shirts into the drawer of an old maple dresser. He smoothed out my top shirt and giving it one last pat, stood up and smiled. He walked over and sat down on a large four-poster bed, waiting for me to speak. I was happy, so happy to be near him.

In my dream, he pulled me down on that same bed. Those same hands that the light gently caressed also caressed me as he inched them into the tight space inside my jeans.

That soft bed. His firm grasp.

In my dream, he had me hard in his hand. Here, maybe I wasn't physically in his hand, but I might as well have been. I felt the heat spread to my groin.

My cock thickened; my face grew hot. As light from the bow-windows crept across his face, I didn't know if my garden images of Sid were mirages or memories or wishes. Did it matter? All I needed to do was touch my flesh and blood Sid, and it would all be real.

Silently knowing, Les quietly left, shutting the door behind him.

Walking up to bow-window, I could see the garden.

I brushed my hand across my crotch; my come dried, jeans sticking to me. I needed to tell him about the roses. Partly to share with him the passion of that moment, and partly to make that dream come real.

Sid pointedly hadn't commented on the stain in the front of my jeans. Instead, I answered the question in his eyes, "I dreamt of you-- in this room. It was so real."

My body hummed. I watched his mouth gently curve into just a hint of one of his devilish, I know-what-you're-thinking smiles. Latching on to that moment, I sucked a breath deep into my lungs and thought about licking that smile off his lips.

Then the roses' fragrance corralled me. Even with the windows closed up, their influence made me buckle. My eyes misted, and I swooned.

The smile left Sid's face.

"I could see you," he said. "I was beginning to worry; you lay there so long on the ground. I was thinking it was a mistake to let you go out there. After the last time when I carried you back, it made me sick in the pit of my stomach to let you go there again. I know these people tell you it's so damn important to go out there and get inoculated. Important?" he paused, and his lip quivered a bit. "I can't help wonder. Important for who? Important for them-- that's what I think. Hey, I know you're doing it for me. Well, don't. I don't like it. What I saw down there was creepy. The way those roses grabbed at you-- like some obscene caress. Looking at you right now, I can see their effect."

"I know it's more than just healing. I've said before how I see and feel things. This intensifies it. Sure I'm worried about you. I'm selfish. I love you. I'm not going to lose you. I'm not doing it just for you. It's for me. I have to."

As my fingers parted the thin yellowed lace curtains to peek out, a familiar specter leapt into my brain.

It was Sid.

"I admit it's twisting me, changing me," I said. "My senses. Just a second ago, when I touched this curtain, I saw or felt the last person who touched it-- you, so you don't have to tell me what you were thinking..."

I knew what was in his head-- I saw what he was thinking, feeling. I felt his doubts about us; his fear of this place and those in it. I felt it without even touching his skin.

"Les says he's your brother. And that Dr. Lancaster says he's your uncle. But what if this is all a lie? They're all after something. You're the one with the extra-sensory stuff going on. You were as shocked as I was when Les said he's your brother. If they're all telling the truth, why didn't you already know?"

I sat down next to Babe in the window, sprawling my legs straight out like the cat's and resting my back against the frame.

How could I explain something I didn't even understand?

"I can't control it--" I said.

I was so tired. Mentally gone.

"It's not like I can look into some crystal ball and know it all. For years I just thought I was good at hunches. You know, I had good intuition or some such shit. But now looking back, I'd always known something wasn't right with my family. I guess I brushed it off-- like ignoring all those years I was adopted. You told me--" I scratched my nose and yawned.

"And you're right-- I'm damn good at denying the truth. Shit, maybe I don't know truth when I see it. Still, I'm trying to face what I denied for so long. Give me some credit. I think for the most part Lancaster's telling the truth. I believe that he is my uncle. But you're right, not to trust him. He's hiding something still. I'm sure he is--"

Sid interrupted, "It's not just that Wes; that I don't trust that you know the truth-- it's because you're so trusting."

"But I don't think Les is hiding anything. He's genuine. He's worried about me and you. He blames himself. He didn't know about me until a few years ago. He told me as soon as he learned it was his questions that brought Shackleton here. He tried to back away when he found out the bastard was here, but Les still kept asking about me. This is as hard for him to believe as it it for us. Hard to believe he and I grew up in the same town and never knew we lived only a few miles away from each other."

I closed my eyes. So tired.

"You know, I wonder how much my parents knew," I continued. "I wonder if they died because they knew too much. And Les' parents... You knew didn't you? You knew his parents were dead. All that internet searching-- you knew. You didn't have to protect me. You should have told me as soon as you found out."

I sighed. Sid got off the bed and walked up to me. I slowly opened my eyes. He leaned into me, kissing me softly on the lips, straddling my legs.

"With it being so much like your own parents death and all, I didn't want to bring it up. Not unless I could figure out some connection. It's just that it doesn't make any sense," he said.

"Nothing makes sense. Nothing except you."

Sid shifted his hips.

I wanted Sid. Inside me.

"Please--" I whispered, "fuck me."

I knew this lust was part of the hunger left over from the garden, but I didn't care. Even now I was using sex to avoid real questions, Sid had me right from the start, even before this mess with the roses. I was always avoiding the hard questions.

I thought that telling him I loved him would dispel any anxieties he had, but that touch of the curtain forced me to feel Sid's doubts. I felt all his misgivings as he watched me in the garden. I knew he was afraid that I might come to think of him as the flavor of the month. Now, instead of answering his doubts, I was feeding them. He wasn't just worried about Les and others lying to me, he was worried I was lying to myself. After all I was so good at it.

Veiled by the curtain, the rose garden resembled an Impressionist's painting. Stark blue blocks of sky above. Below the roses, sanguine dabs of paint, prominent. Strong green brush strokes became patches of grass with dandelions, flecks of gold. I wished Sid saw the garden as I did now, no longer malevolent, instead-- a refuge.

His hands deftly moved, unzipping my jeans. He touched the spot there where he made me come in my dreams. I knew he couldn't resist; I couldn't resist. I rocked into his hand, shuddering and bucking in hedonistic pleasure. Time, I thought, in time he'd see how much I really do love him. Then my heart twisted, wondering if we'd be granted the time.

He sucked my tongue out of my mouth into his, and I groaned. His hands pulled my jeans and boxers down to my knees, thumbs caressing the inside of my ticklish thighs. I dug the toe of my right tennis shoe into the heal my left, forcing it off-- flop onto the floor. Sid's lips left my mouth briefly while he concentrated on undressing me. He flung off my other shoe and stood up, removing my pants and throwing them in heap on the hardwood floor.

"Don't move," he ordered. I watched as he opened the same drawer in the maple dresser he'd just put my clothes into, pulling out the lube and condoms. As he stretched out next to me and took off his shirt, I still could have stopped him. Talked to him. Reassured him somehow. But instead, I let him continue. He stripped off his own jeans, heat next to me, watching my cock rising.

He grabbed my knees, sliding me down and pulling them apart. He scooted Babe to the floor. My hips were flat against the cushions, my head and shoulder up and against the window casing. He spread my knees apart farther, bending them into me. He sat between my legs, his cock pointing in just the right direction. Fuck. I leaned forward and his cock brushed my ass, blood rushed to my head and cock. I took the condoms and lube from his hands.