Journey to Mirage Ch. 13

And then once, when it appeared Rick was completely under his spell, Grimes produced the photos of him fucking an unconscious Rick in the shower, often letting the slick tiled wall of the shower support Rick's back while Grimes stood and held Rick's legs around his hips, and pumped up into his channel—or Grimes holding Rick's hips up to his cock, while Rick's shoulders were on the wet tiles of the shower floor and his head resting on a rolled-up, soaked towel, Rick's legs akimbo, and Grimes fucking down into his channel.

"These are of the first time, that first night," Grimes said in a low voice dripping of arousal. "I will always cherish these."

And Grimes wanted to repeat all of that for video cameras on tripods too—adding the effect of a Rick who was actually aware of what was happening to him.

The nights were more private, Grimes making complete love to Rick's body in the darkness, with no cameras rolling. At these times Rick frequently heard him murmur the name "Jeff." Always when he was completely lost in passion—and often in a mournful tone.

Grimes was often away during the day, the sound of the Mercedes backing out of the garage and then returning hours later, alerting Rick to the fact. The first few times this happened, Rick tried the door and went out on the balcony unsuccessfully considering lines of escape. But he became dizzy and his heart raced each time he saw the drop off the balcony to the rocks in the ravine bed. His imprisonment seemed to be tight, and other than his host's obsessive behavior, Rick's motivation to escape was minimal. He wasn't all that outraged at what Grimes was doing with him when they were fucking, and, without clothes, he doubted he'd get very far in this desert environment even if he did manage to escape.

Only once did Rick see an opportunity to do something toward a plan to escape when he was in the mood to take any action. Once when Grimes was fucking him on the kitchen counter in the evening, Grimes turned from him and upset a bottle of red wine down his midsection and thighs. Without thinking he went off to shower it off, leaving Rick alone for a short time in the house.

Rick knew it was dangerous, but Grimes's room was the only one where he thought he could get a set of clothes to hide against the day he could escape. So, when Grimes went down the first-floor bedroom hallway, Rick followed and waited to hear the click of the bathroom door and the shower being turned on, and then he entered the bedroom and picked out the closet door and got there as fast as he could. He would have gotten there faster, but as he entered the room, his eyes were assailed by photographs set up all over the room. He thought back to the photos that had disappeared from the living room the night he'd arrived.

He looked at some in passing and they almost stopped him in his tracks. They were all of Grimes and a clothed version of the young man in the fuck photos Grimes had shown Rick that first night they'd had sex on the bear-skin rug and Rick had known they were having sex.

Time was of the essence, though, so Rick slipped into the gigantic walk-in closet and grabbed for a pullover sweater and a pair of trousers and old sneakers from near the back of the racks. They weren't his size, but he figured they'd have to do. He'd taken them to his room and hidden the clothes between the mattress and box springs and the sneakers behind a standing bureau and had gotten back into the kitchen and perched back up on the counter before Grimes returned to resume where he'd left off in the fuck.

Then one day Grimes came into the room in mid afternoon—not when it was a mealtime—and handed Rick a set of clothes. Trousers, but no briefs; a white, short-sleeved dress shirt; and a pair of socks and Rick's own loafers that Grimes had confiscated.

"My lawyer is coming for you to sign some papers," he said, not identifying further what these papers might be. "We'll have snacks and drinks in the dining room. You should be aware that I'm the only client of this lawyer, and we have a very close and full-knowledged relationship."

Rick was no dummy. He knew that meant he needn't try to enlist the lawyer to help him.

But the lawyer, Kevin Morton, ultimately did that on his own.

The three of them were sitting at the time, just starting their drinks, not much past introductions, when the telephone rang and Grimes was forced to answer it. The housekeeper was nowhere to be seen, and Rick assumed she'd been given the day off because of the change of routine. Grimes tried to end the conversation quickly, but whatever the problem was seemed to be a big one, and he got up from the table and took his cell phone into the den.

As soon as he left, the lawyer turned to Rick and said in a low voice, the concern in his tone not matching the smile he was wearing in case Grimes suddenly reappeared, "He's holding you here, isn't he? And he's molesting you."

Shocked, Rick couldn't answer. He just looked down at his hands in his lap. He even considered that this must be some sort of test.

"When I heard what Bill wanted these papers drawn up for, the first thing I thought was that he'd had a gold digger move in on him. He's been erratic for months, and I've been worried about his stability—and, frankly, his susceptibility to a young man like you. He's been through a lot in the last several months, and it's taken a toll on him—mentally and emotionally. But now that I see you, I understand. He's holding you as a sex slave, isn't he?"

"Yes," Rick finally answered in a whisper.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Rick hesitated for a moment but then he steeled himself and murmured, "Yes, yes, of course. But I don't know—"

"I know this place can be locked down like Fort Knox, but have you tried—?"

"These are the first clothes I've had on in weeks," Rick answered in a dismal tone. "He keeps me naked and locked in a bedroom."

"Ah, I see. Yes, I see. That will be hard. I'll have to come back. Sign the papers I have today, but I'll say there are more that have to be signed. These papers will be just fine for you. The ones I bring next I'll never file. But I'll have a key for you then—and some money and a way for you to get something to wear. If you go to the back of your closet, you'll see there's a trap door with a lock."

"A trap door? You know this?"

"I supervised every step of the building of this house. Bill couldn't be bothered with the details. He'd asked for the concealed door—and others too—but I'll wager he forgot he did or could remember why he wanted them put in. I have a key that will open that door and you'll then be in the closet of another bedroom. After you've gotten the key, it will be a day or two before you can use it. When I'm able, I'll set up a meeting downtown for Bill to attend. It will be on a day that the housekeeper has off. Take what you need from his room and leave. Don't steal anything but clothes you'll need to wear and I'll see to it that you have no trouble with the law. I'll give you another key to the side door. Don't try to leave until I've come back again, though."

"How do I know you can do all of this?" Rick asked.

"I have him in the other room on the phone with someone I set up now. We couldn't be having this conversation if I hadn't thought something was going on that needed fixed. Now that I see you, it all fits."

"You've said that before, about it all 'fitting'," Rick said. "I don't understand."

"Have you seen the photos of Bill's son?" Morton asked.

"Yes." Rick remembered the photos he'd seen in Grimes's bedroom—the ones that probably had been moved there from the living room right after Rick arrived.

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"You mean?"

"Yes, you are a near ringer for his son."

"What's his son's name?"

"Jeff. At least that's what his son's name was. The young man is dead."

"Jeff? Grimes was fucking his own son?"

Morton looked shocked, but his expression quickly turned to just plain weariness. "I won't ask how you supposed that. But, yes, it's true. It happens," Morton answered in a tired voice. "We did what we could in the office, but he's too powerful, too important. He was obsessed by his son. Jeff wasn't his natural son, though. Bill adopted him. But it's why I will help you. For his sake as well as yours."

"How did his son die?"

"Suicide. Five months ago. Jumped off the balcony off his bedroom upstairs."

Rick shivered, struck by the will power—and the sense of despair—that the young man must have had to propel himself from that balcony.

"What are the papers for?"

"The ones I'll bring next are adoption papers. Grimes wants to adopt you. Shhh, now, here he comes back. Just sign the papers and don't ask about them. Let me get out of here as soon as possible."

True to his word, Morton came back within a week with papers for both Grimes and Rick to sign—and while the three of them were sitting in the dining room, a car smashed into the stone wall at the top of Grimes's driveway, and Grimes rushed out to see what was happening. While he was gone, making quite clear that he had set the "accident" up to occupy Grimes's attention and time, Morton went over escape directions again and gave Rick two keys, one for the trap door and one for a side door out of the house. He gave Rick something else too.

"Here's a prepaid cell phone and some money. Take them to your room right now and hide them and hurry back before Bill returns. Keep the phone with you always—my card is also taped to the back. My number is programmed in the number-one slot. Call me when you get out of here whenever you need help before you get settled again. And good luck."

The next afternoon, Grimes went into his lawyer's office at Morton's insistence to discuss the adoption procedures further, and Rick went through the trap door to the bedroom beyond, where he found his duffel bag with his own clothes, so he didn't need Grimes's clothes in larger sizes. He was dressed and out of the house and down the road and into old Santa Fe well before Bill Grimes returned home.