CROSSROADS











 

Published by Phaze Books

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This book contains
explicit language

intended for the
enjoyment

of adult readers.
Please keep

out of the hands of
children.

 

www.Phaze.com




 

 

 

Crossroads

A homoerotic thriller
by

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KETA DIABLO




Crossroads copyright 2008-9 by Keta Diablo

 

All
rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.

 

This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the authorłs imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

A Phaze Production

Phaze Books

6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

 

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Cover art © 2009 Skyla Dawn Cameron

Edited by Denise Jeffries

eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-139-0

 

First Edition
March, 2009

Printed in the United States of America

 

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Warning:
the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
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monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in
prison and a fine of $250,000.

 








 

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

Baltimore,
Maryland, present day

 

Frank McGuire slipped from the seat of his Denali and
dashed up the steps to his office. An unobtrusive brownstone in the heart of
the city, Frankłs home-away-from-home of late had seen better days. Suffering
from years of neglect, the gray brick façade had faded, and the once pristine
white shutters were cracked and blistered. The brick steps sagged precariously
to the left, and the newel posts and railings were in desperate need of a fresh
coat of paint. Only the sign above the front door passed inspection―McGuire,
P.I.

He remembered the day he hung the shingle, two days
after Quinn Brennanłs funeral. After four years of service, Frank turned in his
badge and walked away from Baltimorełs police force. The first year he had been
assigned to street patrol in the seedy bowels of the city. His break arrived
the day Detective Quinn Brennan took a particular interest in him, and
the glowing reports circulating through the department about the drug busts
hełd spearheaded. Before he knew it, Quinn took him under his wing, made him
his partner and the rest, as they say, was history.

The day Quinn died was much like today, temperate and
sunny. The call came in as a burglary at a prestigious bank in downtown
Baltimore. Quinn didnłt have to respond to the call, but something compelled
him. Fate, Frank imagined.

“Come on, McGuire," heÅ‚d said. “LetÅ‚s see what youÅ‚ve
been missing out there."

A half-hour later, shot by a hyped-up speed freak
looking for money to buy more drugs, Quinn died in his arms. He left a widow,
Emily, and two kidsRand, seventeen, and fifteen-year old Marlow. The next day,
Frank turned in his uniform and his Glock. Without Quinn, he couldnłt imagine
chasing down criminals, not for the Baltimore Police Department anyway. Hełd
had his gut full of mollycoddling offenders and dope heads. The time had come
to rid the city of the scum his own way, down and dirty.

“Morning, Grace," he said, passing his assistantÅ‚s
desk.

“Hey, Frank." She nodded toward a man in the waiting
room and slipped Frank a note. Mr. Jeffords, lead detective on The Black
Rail case.

Frank walked over to the man and offered his hand.
“Frank McGuire. You here to see me?"

“Jeff Jeffords," he replied, offering a feeble
handshake and a genuine smile.

Frank ushered him toward his office and pointed him to
a chair. Grace entered moments later with a carafe of coffee, two cups, and
mini-packets of cream and sugar and left, closing the door behind her.

His expression somber, Jeffords added two packets of
cream to his coffee and met FrankÅ‚s gaze. “I saw the woman slip you a note so
you know who I am."

Frank nodded.

“And you must have guessed why IÅ‚m here?"

“I have a sneaking suspicion."

“Twenty men were assigned to The Black Rail case after
the last body was found, and we know itÅ‚s just a matter of time before―"

“Twenty? Must be a tight crew." Frank covered his grin
behind the cup of coffee as an image of blue uniforms tripping over their own
feet surfaced.

“Some say if you were still on the force, the maniac
would have been behind bars months ago."

“Well IÅ‚m not, so whatÅ‚s Plan B?"

“IÅ‚ll get right to the point."

“I appreciate it when cops cut through the red tape."

Jeffords leaned forward in his chair. “Will you help
us?"

“You have twenty men chasing down The Black Rail and
youłre asking for my help?"

“The heat is on. The media is killing us over this
one. Citizens are up in arms and local elections are looming on the horizon."

Frank waited for the rest of Jeffordsł spiel.

“YouÅ‚ve managed hundreds of sequential killer cases
around the country, know what kind of background they come from, what their
habits are, and why they do it."

“As have the lead detectives in the Department." Frank
downed the rest of his coffee and filled his cup again with the realization if
Jeffords wasnłt sitting across from him, hełd pull the flask of whisky from the
drawer and top it off.

“True, but theyÅ‚re overlooking something, some piece
of evidence he or she leaves at the scene―"

“He," Frank interjected. “ItÅ‚s a he, and itÅ‚s
probable theyłre missing something at the crime scene." An exasperated sigh
left his lips. “These types of killers are among the most reckless of
murderers. Their need to kill far outweighs the necessity to be cunning or
discreet. What allows many killers to continue with their rampage is
investigative incompetence."

“Now how do you know itÅ‚s a he? Just because the
victims are young women doesnłt guarantee a man killed them."

“Call it intuition."

“Which brings me to the next topic of conversation."

Jeffords picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his
sleeve and fixed his blue eyes on Frankłs. He knew the minute the man showed
up, the conversation would eventually turn to the real reason for his visit.
Jeffords was merely the gopher sent to cajole Frank into using his perceptions
to assist them.

“YouÅ‚re a mind reader, arenÅ‚t you, or I guess a better
term would be―"

Frank cut him off. “No, IÅ‚m not a mind-reader, and I
think the term youłre looking for is clairvoyant."

“Yes," Jeffords said. “ThatÅ‚s the word."

“Clairvoyants donÅ‚t gain knowledge through the mind,
but rather through objects, and I never claimed to possess such abilities."

“What can you do then? I mean, if we brought you an
object, a piece of clothing, could you help us?"

“I dabble in perfections, a skill learned
through meditation and personal discipline, and itłs a far cry from what youłre
talking about."

Frank intentionally left out his ability to commune
with the dead, or rather, the dead communicated with him. Jeffords didnłt seem
open-minded enough to accept that phenomena. Before him sat a man who believed
only what he read in scientific textbooks. Frank didnłt have the inclination to
tell the man in the stiffly starched white shirt, impeccable blue suit, and
spit-shined wingtips that the appropriate term for his psychic abilities was
precognitive. As in, one who saw the future through dreams or sensed events
before they happened. Frank didnłt know why the information began funneling
into his brain shortly after his eighth birthday.

“If I brought you a piece of the white cord he used to
garrote his last victim, and if you meditated would something trigger your
mind?"

“Maybe." Frank had meditated about The Black Rail for
hours and nothing out of the ordinary filtered through. The man didnłt fit the
profile of most sequential killerswhite males in their mid-twenties,
intelligent and underachievers who grew up in dysfunctional homes. During his
meditations, Frank had a sick sense The Black Rail was an aberrant flux of the
standard précis.

Jeffords looked so disheartened Frank thought the man
might cry.

“Okay, tell you what. IÅ‚m not making any promises, but
drop off the cord and IÅ‚ll give it a try."

A smile stretched the manÅ‚s lips. “IÅ‚ll drop it off
tomorrow, say around ten in the morning?"

“Fine," Frank said, anxious for Jeffords to leave his
office.

The man rose, walked to the door, and opened it.
“Should I drop off their pictures, too?"

“What pictures?"

“The pictures of his victims and how we found them.
Therełs six now, zapped with a stun gun several times, handcuffed, and
strangled. The pictures are quite graphic―"

“Seven," Frank said.

Jeffords brows met in the middle. “Huh?"

“Seven now, he killed again last night."

“What!" JeffordsÅ‚ shoulders slumped. “Oh, man, I donÅ‚t
want to be there when the Lieutenant gets the news. Where should we look for
this one, McGuire, along the Patuxent River again?"

Frank nodded. “Near the Little Patuxent this time, in
the marsh grass."

“The marsh grass, of course," he said, snapping his
fingers. “The code name for the maniac, after the bird that inhabits the dense
marsh."

“A ground-dwelling marsh bird, rarely seen, similar to
the killer."

“If you already know sheÅ‚s dead and you know where
wełll find her, why canłt you find him?"

“I canÅ‚t explain it, Jeffords, but it doesnÅ‚t work
that way."

“Try."

“Subliminal messages come to me in dreams or through
meditation." Frank blew air through his lips. “Sometimes, but not always, the
location of where the body is stashed is revealed through landmarks, hills, or
numbers." He left out the part about the most recent victim. A young
woman―a very dead young woman―had appeared in his dreams last
night. Her name began with a G.

“Numbers?"

“Or letters." Frustrated, Frank put his hands behind
his head and leaned back in his chair. He knew Jeffords needed something to
take back to his superiors. “This is the way it works. Remember two years ago
when that four-year old boy was kidnapped from the southeast side?"

Jeffords nodded.

“His parents hired me to find him. I had a dream heÅ‚d
be found by a billboard with the letter M in big red letters."

“They found him in a barrel near WestonÅ‚s Auto Parts."

“Right and therein lays the problem. The M was upside
down in my dream."

“So itÅ‚s not crystal clear?"

“Never, and thatÅ‚s why IÅ‚m not sure I can help you."

“All I ask is that you give it a try."

The moment Jeffords left his office, Frank filled his
coffee cup and added an ample amount of whisky. Some called the ability to
interpret dreams or communicate with the dead a gift. Most days, Frank called
it a curse.




 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

 

The following morning, Frank fielded phone calls from
people across the country pleading for help about their missing kids. He would
have preferred to help them all, but one man could only do so much. Jeffords
had stopped by to drop off the white cord used to garrote The Black Railłs
victims, overextending his welcome with a list of questions about his
precognitive capabilities. An hour later, he ushered the man from his office.

Grace buzzed his line for the tenth time. Frank pushed
the speaker button, his voice strained. “Let me guess, a weeping mother from
Tibet wondering if I can catch the next flight?"

“No," Grace replied, “Quinn BrennanÅ‚s wife, Emily, is
on the line."

Her face loomed before him. Lovely Emily, a kind,
generous woman. Guilt surfaced. How long had it been since hełd spoken to her,
saw her? Hełd stayed in touch after the funeral for several months, tried to
bring comfort to her and the kids, but every time he saw them, painful memories
of Quinn surfaced. He couldnłt get the image of the manłs bloodless face out of
his mind. Hełd walked out of her kitchen that day, knowing it would be a long
time before he returned.

“Put her through, Grace." He picked up the receiver.
“Hello, Emily."

“Frank, how are you?"

He chuckled. “Today or in general?"

“In general," she said, and he imagined her engaging
smile.

Maybe she didnłt hate him after abandoning her without
a word. “A half-breath away from dead."

“Ah and how about today?"

“Hassled but never too hassled for you." He pulled the
whisky from the top drawer and filled the empty cup, scratching the idea of
adding coffee. “And you, Emily, are you hanging in there?"

“Most days. ItÅ‚s inbred, you know. CopÅ‚s wives are
conditioned and more stalwart than church pillars." A long pause lapsed before
she asked, “You ever find that special someone, Frank?"

“Not yet," he said with regret. “Since I left the
force to become a private investigator, IÅ‚m busier than a one-legged man at a
shit-kicking contest."

“ThereÅ‚s the Frank I remember, the sacrificial lamb
chasing down drug lords, searching in dark alleys for thugs and murderers."

“Dark, dark alleys and nefarious thugs and
kidnappers."

“How about the dreams, still communing with the dead?"

He didnłt want to tell her hełd dreamed of the bank
robbery for the last seven nights and knew she would call eventually. Quinn had
risen from the grave, his brow furrowed, his arms outstretched, and his eyes
misty. Whatever the man had tried to tell him blew away on a cold wind between
this world and the next. Quinnłs lips moved, but no words spilled forth. Frank
knew it was just a matter of time before hełd hear from Emily or one of Quinnłs
kids.

“Frank?"

“Yes, IÅ‚m here, Emily, sorry. You asked me if I still
have the dreams. The answer is yes."

“IÅ‚m sorry," she said.

He detected a desperate inflection in her voice. “What
is it, Emily, whatłs wrong?"

“I didnÅ‚t know who to turn to. I know you donÅ‚t want
to see me because it brings back bad memories, but"

“Tell me."

“ItÅ‚s Rand."

“What about Rand? He must be about what, twenty-one?"

Her voice trembled. “Twenty-two and Marlow twenty."

Twenty-two and twenty, Rand eight years younger than him and Marlow
ten. Shit, five years had passed in the
blink of an eye. “Okay, so tell
me about Rand."

“HeÅ‚s gone."

“Gone, you mean missing?"

“He left the house three months ago, dropped out of
college, and wonłt answer my phone calls, Marlowłs either, and you know how
close they are."

“You havenÅ‚t heard from him in three months?"

“Not a whisper. IÅ‚ve alerted the police and all the
hospitals, the clinics, left my number in case"

“What did the police say?"

“They said heÅ‚s an adult." A hysterical laugh
transcended the line. “ThereÅ‚s nothing they can do about it, not untilOh, God,
I donłt allow myself to think about that."

“Why did he leave? Did you have a fight?"

“No more than usual. HeÅ‚s always struggled with his
gender identity, more so since Quinn died. I have a feeling hełs into something
bad."

Quinn had loved his son,
accepted his gay lifestyle unconditionally, Frankłs, too. The man didnłt judge
others by their sexual slant, but by their ideals and core values. Frank knew
Rand was gay the moment he met the boy, thus another reason hełd fled.

Rand had at some time discarded the familiar look of
brotherly adoration and watched him with eyes smoldering with secret fantasies
and sinful delights. The tremors of anticipated pleasure thickening Frankłs
blood around Quinnłs son shocked him and left him aching with raw hunger. Rand
favored his mother with his midnight hair, carved in stone cheekbones and eyes
the color of moss-covered everglades. His shoulders were generous, every muscle
and ridge well sculpted, his waist narrow and his ass provocatively firm. He
stood in marked contrast to Frankłs six-foot one frame with tightly knit
muscles, unruly long brown hair and hard, piercing blue eyes.

Neither Quinn nor Emily would have objected to the
match, and had, on more than one occasion, asked Frank to take their
floundering son under his wing. It wasnłt his wing he wanted to offer the boy,
but another part of his traitorous body.

“Frank?"

“Yes, IÅ‚m here, Emily.
You said you thought Rand was into something bad. Do you mean drugs?"

“His daily consumption of pot became the culprit of
many arguments, but I suspect itłs more than that now."

“The hard stuff, street drugs?" Frank tapped a pencil
on the desk through another prolonged silence. “So you think heÅ‚s into coke or
smack or?"

“I donÅ‚t know what to think. Marlow said Rand works at
a billiard hall in the slums, and you know the streets better than anyone on
the force." She rambled, her words punctuated by intermittent sniffles. “I have
no idea where he lives or who his friends are now." Her voice broke. “Please,
Frank, will you find him and bring him home? If you wonłt do it for me, do it
for Quinn. He loved you so."

“He loved you, too, Emily, more than youÅ‚ll ever
know." A fleeting image of QuinnÅ‚s face rose before him again. “About Rand,
maybe he doesnłt want to be found, maybe he just needs time to sort everything
out."

“No," she said without hesitation. “HeÅ‚s in
some kind of trouble. I feel it in my bones and he canłt see his way out."

“All right," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“I need something more than he works at some billiard hall in the slums."

“Anything. Tell me how I can help you bring my son
home."

“I have no idea what he looks like now. IÅ‚ll need a
current picture and..."

“And what, tell me what you need?"

“A piece of his clothing, a hat, a T-shirt."

“Oh, God, you think he might be dead, donÅ‚t you?
Youłre going to channel him or meditate or whatever you do when youłre hired to
find missing children, arenłt you?" A sob broke from her throat.

“Emily, I donÅ‚t think
hełs dead. Itłs just the way I work. While I meditate, holding a piece of his
clothing helps. Sometimes it opens things up and a picture comes through, or a
sign."

“Okay, IÅ‚m sorry. ItÅ‚s just that I canÅ‚t lose him,
too." Her voice became a whisper. “I wonÅ‚t live through it."

When I find that little son-of-a-bitch, hełs going to
pay for putting her through this. “About
that picture, how about I stop over tonight, save you the trouble of driving
through all the downtown traffic?"

“I look forward to it," she said. “Eight oÅ‚clock?"

“Eight, yes, IÅ‚ll see you then. In the meantime, find
the most recent picture you have of Rand, and then sit down and have a drink.
Wełll talk more tonight."

“Thanks, Frank."

After she hung up, a chill crept through his bones. He
looked at the piece of white cord on his desk, the one Jeffords dropped off
that morning. Tied with a full Carrick bend, or what the police often called a
sailorłs knot, whoever tied it knew what they were doing. The Carrick was the
nearest thing to a perfect bend. It didnłt slip easily, not even if the rope or
cording became wet.

Frank picked up the large envelope Jeffords left
underneath the cording. He opened it, pulled out a stack of pictures, and
closed his eyes. He knew what heÅ‚d find when he looked at them―seven
victims tied with the same cord and the same knot stretched tight across their
throats. Jeffords said every one of the victims was Caucasian, young, with dark
hair. Their names appeared at the top of the glossy stills, numbered in order
of first kill to last. Frank steeled himself, glanced at the first one, and
slowly flipped through the rest, his stomach churning and anger bubbling up his
chest. So young, their entire lives before them until they happened to meet up
with The Black Rail.

Handcuffed, small red welts and bruises appeared along
their torsos. The maniacal madman had used a stun gun first, secured the
handcuffs before torturing them slowly and then had choked them to death. With
a helpless sigh, Frank placed the pictures back in the envelope and made a vow.
After he found Rand, he would find The Black Rail and kill the son of a bitch.

 

* * * *

 

Frank parked the Denali in the parking lot of Station
North Townhomes and bounded through the gate of the front entry. A distinct and
contemporary new community of thirty-two garage townhouses, home was
located in Baltimorełs Arts and Entertainment
District. Frank bought the place through a Realtor―a buxom young woman
whose enthusiasm made up for her lack of finesse.

He hadnłt regretted his choice. The townhome suited
his needs. Close to downtown, and transportation out of the city, it proved to
be the ideal place to kick back and escape the pressures of his job.

He tossed his briefcase on the kitchen table, and
removed the pictures of the dead girls from the envelope again. He had two
hours before Emily expected him. One hełd spend meditating while holding the
photos in his hand, the last, working on his appearance.

He dimmed the lights, lit a candle, and slumped into
the lazy-boy next to the tapestry loveseat. He had taken several courses on
mediation, long after the dreams and visions began in his childhood. The
classes taught him how to connect with his inner spirit, tap into a wellspring
of spiritual energy. After months of concerted meditation, his sixth chakra
openedthe inner eyeaffording him clear insight and superior vision. He didnłt
have to wait now for the visions to find him during sleep, but rather, he had
learned to find them through meditation.

He closed his eyes and studied the screen filling the
space behind his eyelids. Particles or patterns of light appeared. He focused
on that light and didnłt endeavor to create images or interpret them, but
simply looked at the light with relaxed attention. His consciousness shifted, a
normal reaction before he slipped into a dreamlike state. Soon he would connect
with his inner spirit, the catalyst for a gradual shift to an even higher level
of consciousness.

Scenes flashed through his head, similar to water
rushing over Niagara Falls. Images of each and every victim appeared, as
children, alive and well, and then in death. The locations where their bodies
were dumped flooded his subconscious, along the Patuxent River and always in
the tall marsh grass along its banks.

A room, thick with a gray haze and packed with people,
appeared. They dressed strangely, dark attire. In fact, everything about the
humans in the room was dark. Their hair,
the cast of their skin, even their auras strolled about stiffer than mechanical
zombies. One-by-one they surfaced, their expressions masked in dark shadows of
gray, black and periwinkle blue.

The stun gun appeared and next the handcuffs, cold and
metallic gray shining brighter than a beacon around their pale, slender wrists.
Eyes―and only eyes amid silent tears―appeared on the screen, filled
with terror and a desolate pleading. On the periphery of the room, a human
stalked the victim with the stealth of a jungle creature. Frank focused,
calling on his inner spirit for clarity, but the form faded faster than a mist
rolling out to sea.

Yanked from his meditative state with a jolt, he tried
desperately to return without success. He had been so close, and yet his inner
eye had failed to reveal the one piece he desperately needed―the manÅ‚s
face. He grabbed the legal pad from the coffee table and scratched down some
notes, his mind still fresh with the haunting collage. Then he dialed Jeffordsł
cell phone.

“Jeffords here."

“Frank McGuire. Say, the pictures you left of the
girls are faceless."

“Yeah, I know, I thought you wanted to see the guyÅ‚s
handiwork. What did you expect, prom pictures?"

“Why, do you have them?"

“No," Jeffords said, “but I have some recent
snapshots."

“How recent?"

“Recent. I asked their parents for anything they had
during the last year." JeffordsÅ‚ tone changed. “Hey, you come up with something
from those photos I left? See anything that might help you identify who―"

“No, not yet, but I need to see the girls as they were
in life, you know, everyday snapshots so I can see their faces."

“Sure, no problem. IÅ‚ll drop them off tomorrow."

“Thanks, just leave them with my assistant, Grace."

“YouÅ‚ll call me if you stumble onto anything, wonÅ‚t
you?" Jeffords asked.

“Oh, yeah," Frank said sarcastically. “YouÅ‚re number
one on my speed dial."

Jeffords paused as though wondering if Frank was
pulling his leg. “You havenÅ‚t had any visions about victim number eight, have
you?"

“No, Jeffords, not yet. Just drop off the photos, will
you?"

Frank punched end on his cell phone before
Jeffords could respond and rose from the chair to hit the shower. He had one
hour to get cleaned up and drive over to Emilyłs, not counting the time he
needed for a drink before he left. Maybe two if time permitted. The thought of
seeing her again sent mixed emotions coursing through him, remorse for deserting
her so quickly after Quinn died and guilt over his tangled feelings for her
son.

 

* * * *

 

Moonbeams blanketed the land as he parked the car and
then strolled up the walkway of Brennanłs two-story Tudor. Emily answered his
knock with a smile. Time hadnłt vanquished her beauty. If anything, it had
enhanced it.

“Frank." She took his hand and pulled him into the
foyer. “LetÅ‚s go into the kitchen, IÅ‚ll fix us a drink."

“You look wonderful," he said, settling onto a stool
at the counter.

She handed him a drink. “Straight from the white oak
barrels, Jack Daniels with a splash of sour, right?"

He nodded and watched her cherry lips stretch over the
small, sparkling white teeth. Hełd always admired her resiliency. After Quinn
died, although devastated, she maintained a façade of dignity, a steel resolve
on the outside. The masquerade was for Rand and Marlowłs sake, but Frank knew
on the inside she was a train wreck. Quinn had been her rock. Ten years older
than Emily, there were times the man treated her more like a coddled, precious
daughter than a wife. Shełd told him one night shortly after the funeral Quinn
was the epitome of a father figure to her rather than a lover. He didnłt pursue
her comment because he knew exactly what she had meant. Quinn had assumed the
role of a father with him, too. Frank had never met a more caring man.

She leaned over the counter opposite him, her chin
resting in her hand, her long ebony hair tumbling forward. “You look good too,
Frank."

“Look," he said, “IÅ‚ve never been good at bat-fowling."

One neatly arched eyebrow rose. “Bat-fowling?"

“Beating around the bush."

“Oh," she said straightening and crossing her arms.
“No, you werenÅ‚t." She picked up her drink and took a sip.

He hesitated while his gaze wandered for a moment and
then returned to her pretty face. “IÅ‚m sorry I took off the way I did after
Quinn died and didnłt stay in touch. It was cowardly, and..." His throat
achingly dry, his lips parched, he continued, “It isnÅ‚t that I havenÅ‚t thought
about you, Rand, and Marlow."

“No need to beat yourself up. I know how hard it was
on you to have Quinn die in your arms and, I know you loved him."

“Forgiven?"

“Nothing to forgive," she said, and meant it. “You did
what you had to do, and I wouldnłt have called you to help me find Rand if I
held a grudge, now, would I?"

“No." He shook his head. “I guess not."

She grabbed a picture from the counter and handed it
to him. “This is Rand, six months ago on his twenty-second birthday." A gamut
of emotion flickered through her eyes―anguish, terror, worry. “Downtown,
thatłs where youłll find him, unless something terrible...oh, God, I canłt
think about that."

He reached across the counter and took her hand. “IÅ‚ll
find him if I have to search every street corner, haunt every bar and billiard
hall."

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her
hand and looked into his eyes. “Okay...okay." She reached for a piece of
clothing lying haphazardly on the counter and slid it across to him. “This is
his favorite T-shirt." Another tear slid from her eye. “He used to love
Metallica, still does," she said with a humorless chuckle. “The shirt must have
been in the wash when he left."

The front door opened and footsteps echoed in the
hallway. Frank turned toward the archway between the great room and the
kitchen.

“Mom, is everything all right?"

“Fine, Marlow, fine.
Do you remember Frank McGuire, a friend of your fatherłs?"

“Hey, Mr. McGuire," she said with a smile. “Yes, I
remember you, and IÅ‚m not apt to forget after five years. Mom keeps a picture
of you and my father on her dresser."

“The handsome men in uniform," Emily added with a
smile.

Marlow was an equal mix of Quinn and Emily beneath the
gothic attire. She possessed her motherłs fine features, but Quinnłs blue eyes.
Her hair was dark and silky, her eyelids covered in a thick coat of cobalt blue
shadow. Her lips had been painted black to match her fingernails, and numerous
piercings appeared on her pale skinone through her nose, one on her bottom
lip, and another crossing her left eyebrow.


“Well, gotta run. Homework, you know." She turned to
him again. “Nice to see you again, Mr. McGuire."

“Frank, please call me Frank."

After the girl left the room, Frank slid from the
stool, picked up the picture and the T-shirt and turned to Emily. “You didnÅ‚t
tell her why IÅ‚m here, did you?"

“No, she would only worry more, if thatÅ‚s possible."

“Give me a day or two and IÅ‚ll be in touch."

She nodded. “Promise me if you hear anything or
discover his whereabouts, youłll call me?"

“Promise," he said.

She walked him to the door and said goodnight, leaving
him on the front stoop to stare at the moon for a minute. His heart went out to
her. She didnłt deserve to be going through this, and once he found the
self-centered little bastard, hełd teach him a lesson hełd never forget.

 




 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

 

Frank passed through the
doors of four billiard halls and left the last one with the disappointing
thought the night would be a bust. In all the nameless faces hełd encountered
in the last three hours, not one resembled Rand, not from memory or from the
picture in his shirt pocket. He pulled the large metal door open and entered
the fifth.

Paddyłs Place was a
sanctuary for an eclectic mix of wayward vagabonds, slumlords, and tattooed
motor heads. A handful of Goth disciples and prostitutes who hoped to turn a
quick twenty, were interspersed among the crowd. Dark and smoky, a long,
mahogany bar anchored the room with scattered tables and chairs reaching all
the way back to the dark corners of the rundown structure. Neon beer signs
flashed against the yellow wall over the bar, fluorescent pink, white and a
brilliant cerulean blue.

Frank took a stool at the bar and checked out the
exits. Two existed, the front door he entered through and another in back at
the end of a darkened hallway. Several doors were ajar in the corridor, a
restroom, he imagined, and another that possibly led to a cellar or a basement.
The overall atmosphere loomed eerily creepy, even after Frankłs first shot of
whisky.

A woman approached wearing fishnet stockings and a
tight, black leather miniskirt. A long, gold chain hung from her neck, lost
somewhere in the valley of her ample cleavage pushing through the low, v-neck
black leather vest. Her eye shadow was blue and her eyes ebony, matching her
mass of wild hair.

“Buy a lady a drink?" she asked.

Frank nodded her into the stool next to him. He had no
intention of advancing beyond the drink, but maybe she had some information
about Rand.

“You look a little out of place here." She pulled a
cigarette from her small bag and lit it. “First time?"

Frank gave her a nod. “Yep, IÅ‚m staying down the
street at a hotel and needed a drink."

The bartender placed two drinks on the bar, one for
him and one for the hooker. The man seemed to take particular interest in his
presence. His features were refined, his hair long and his mannerisms
effeminate. A chill snaked down Frankłs spine before an image surfaced of a man
dressed in billowing silk in a dimly lit room. In the vision, makeup masked his
face and the long, stringy hair had been neatly coifed. A transvestite maybe,
Frank thought. His inner eye nudged his brain in an attempt to transmit another
vision, but like the one several days ago, it faded faster than vapors from a
Turkish sauna.

It wasnłt often he could connect with his inner spirit
while in a conscious state. Surrounded by interference―casual
conversation, body movement, and the muted strains from the juke box―it
didnłt surprise him. Something about the bartender left him discomfited. He
didnłt feel physically threatened, but warning bells went off in his head
nonetheless. A dark aura emanated from the woman-like creature when he picked
up the ten-dollar bill and placed the change on the bar.

The prostitute pulled him from his reverie. “How about
we take these drinks back to that room you mentioned and I tuck you in for the
night?"

Fuck me for the night, you mean. “Thanks," Frank said, “but IÅ‚ve got an early plane to
catch. Maybe another time."

About to show her the picture of Rand, a young,
dark-haired man bounced down the hallway with a tray of glasses. He walked
behind the bar and stacked them on three rows of shelves. The black-leather
lady had already moved on to a muscular guy in a tank top and denim jeans
seated to her right. Frank lowered his head and waited for the busboy to finish
stacking the glasses, hoping to get a peek at his face before he left the room
again. DéjÄ… vu tore through him. He resembled the kid in the picture
Emily gave him, but he had to see his eyes and hełd know for sure. If it was
Rand, he hoped he didnłt recognize him, not until he found out what the damn
fool was up to.

His break came when the boy turned and spoke to the
bartender about bringing up another tray in ten minutes. Familiarity rang in
his voice. It was Quinnłs boy, all right, and why in hell was he working in
this dump?

Another character caught Frankłs attention, a
barrel-chested, tall drink of a man with long, greasy hair and a thick,
handlebar mustache. The manłs dark eyes pinned him from across the room. He
stood in the shadows in back, curiously intent on what was happening around the
bar. Frank dragged his gaze from Rand and ordered another drink. Before Rand
scurried out from behind the bar, he nodded at the man across the room and
ducked into the corridor again. The kid knew the man; there could be no doubt
about that.

Frankłs tense muscles relaxed. At least Rand was
alive, although he agreed with Emily.
Something noxious was in the air. He felt it all the way down to his
toes. He slapped a five on the bar for his drink, slid from the stool, and
walked out the front door.

The alley behind the bar loomed dreary and dismal,
marked by a foggy mist that had settled in. He leaned against the brick wall in
back of Paddyłs Place and waited. After closing, Rand would walk through that
back door and meander home. Wherever
home was. Frank would wait all night if need be, but one way or the other he
would find out where he lived. His hand drifted to his pantsł pocket. Everything
was still there, the black hood, the gun, and the trusty little martial arts
weapon. The effect of what he planned to do would be lost if Rand recognized
him.

 

* * * *

 

Frank kept his distance once Rand walked through the
back door of the bar and headed north. The walk to his apartment complex was
short and brisk. Rand slid open the patio door on the ground level and entered
while Frank waited behind a nearby massive oak. Foolishly, hełd left the patio
door unlocked when he went to work, and again when he returned. Frank waited
until the lights dimmed inside and walked toward the patio door.

From the corner of the candlelit bedroom, an outline
of a body beneath the bedsheets flooded Frankłs vision. At a foot-dragging
pace, he inched his way forward, praying Rand was alone in that bed. He meant
to put the fear of God in him, and his plan would only work if he didnłt have
company for the night.

Images of the young man behind the bar flooded his
brain. He strongly resembled the seventeen-year-old who stood in front of his
fatherłs casket at the cemetery five years ago. It was Rand all right in that
bed. A box had been tucked under his arm on the walk home, and now Frank
intended to find out what was in it.

The kid must have sensed a presence. He sat up in bed,
rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glanced around the room. His body tensed
and his eyes widened―forest green at the moment and glistening like jack
pines after a summer storm.

His voice barely a whisper and strained, Rand asked,
“WhoÅ‚s there?"

Frank put the gun to his cheek. “Get up."

With trembling arms, he pushed the covers off, dragged
his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The whites of his eyes gleamed
stark against the dark shadows in the room. “What do you want?"

Frank had taken the bullets out earlier, but the kid
didnłt have to know that. He placed the gun to his forehead and grabbed a shaft
of his thick, dark hair. “IÅ‚ll ask the questions." He flicked the switch on a
dim lamp beside the bed. “Do you understand?"

Rand swallowed hard, nodded and stared at the black
hood covering his face. A fleeting moment of recognition passed over his face,
but it wasnłt possible he could make out Frankłs features behind the disguise.

His lean, well-muscled body sent a shiver down Frankłs
spine, every inch taut and smooth, covered only by a pair of blue boxer shorts.
His dark hair rested above his shoulders, glossy like his motherłs, and
streaked with mahogany. Reflected light caught the angular planes of his face,
the carved cheekbones and generous mouth. This was going to be harder than
Frank thought. Determined to scare the
shit out of him if need be, he had to find out what he was up to and he had to
get his hands on that box.

RandÅ‚s voice faltered. “I donÅ‚t have any money, no
jewels, not even a pack of smokes, if thatÅ‚s―"

His head reeled to the side when Frank delivered an
open-handed slap to his cheek. “Keep your mouth shut! Unless I tell you to
speak, you say nothing, got it?"

Another nod.

For emphasis, Frank slapped him again on the other
side of his face. “Where are the drugs?"

“Drugs?" Anger and fear slithered through his voice.
“YouÅ‚ve come to the wrong place if youÅ‚re looking for smack or coke."

Frank holstered the gun, grabbed him by the hair again
and shoved him toward the wall, face first. A fine bead of sweat had broken out
on his forehead and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. “You call me
sir when you address me."

“Yes, sir."

“WhatÅ‚s in the box you carried home tonight if not
drugs?"

“You followed me?" Rand cranked his neck around to
look at him.

Frank pushed his face into the wall and kicked his
feet out until his legs were spread wide. “Put your hands on the wall, palms
flat. You even twitch, IÅ‚ll drop you quicker than butter melting in a pan, got
that?"

“I ainÅ‚t got no drugs, manI mean, sir."

“Such a smart, pretty boy, and a quick learner."
Acutely aware of the smooth, tanned skin of his shoulders and back, mere inches
from him, and the sinewy muscles of his forearm stretched out to the wall,
Frank sucked in a quiet breath. To heighten the tension, Frank put his hand on
his back and snapped the elastic band of his briefs. “You know what they do to
little boys in prison?"

Rand shivered, whether from the threat of prison or
the stranger behind him, Frank didnÅ‚t know. “Sir, if someone told you I had
drugs, they lied. I swear I donłt."

Frank rolled the boxers from his hips and left them
hugging his knees. “Kick Å‚em off."

When he didnłt move, Frank yanked his head back and
said, “IÅ‚m not going to tell you again."

Rand pushed them down with one foot, kicked them aside
and spread his legs again. “Please, sir, I donÅ‚t know what you want, but ..."

His voice broke on a sob, and Frank knew he was truly
terrified. He couldnłt stop now. He had to finish the job, get him to turn over
that box. Frank put one hand on his back and pushed hard, making it difficult
for him to remain in that position for long. He ran his hands down the sides of
his torso, his hips and across his firm, hard ass, slipping his hand around to
the front of his body.

“WhatÅ‚s this?" he asked, stroking his hard erection
with a chuckle. “This turn you on, kid, you get off on rough?"

“No, please, IÅ‚ll do whatever you ask."

Frank grabbed him by the
hair, dragged him toward the bed, and took the handcuffs out of his pocket,
securing one of Randłs arms to the bedpost.

“Whatever I ask? Good. Lay
across that bed, feet on the floor, spread wide."

Frank removed his belt, pulled the Nunchukkas from his
pantsł pocket and placed them on the bed in Randłs line of vision.

“What-whatÅ‚s that?" RandÅ‚s voice quivered as he stared
at the Nunchukkas.

“A martial arts weapon, meant to inflict great bodily
harm. Used in the proper manner, it can snap your forearm in two with one blow."
A sinister chuckle left FrankÅ‚s lips. “Course, right now with that naked ass in
full view, IÅ‚ve got other plans for it."

“Oh, God, please, no. IÅ‚ll do anything you want, sir."


Frank delivered a hard whack to his butt with the
belt. His cheek twitched beneath the blow and a hiss of pain fell from his
lips. “Anything, anything I ask?" The leather cracked through the air again as
Frank delivered another hard whack to his ass and followed it up with another
and another.

Rand let out a long, drawn out yelp. “Yes, anything.
Please."

Frank opened the drawer to the nightstand and found
what he searched for, a tube of lubricant. “What do you use this for, chapped
lips?" he asked, shoving it under Randłs nose.

A prolonged groan fell from Randłs lips.

Frank picked up the Nunchukkas and spread an ample
amount of K-Y jelly over one stick. “You still havenÅ‚t told me where that box
is or whatłs in it." He rattled the mini-weapon next to his ear for effect and
slipped his hand under his hips again. Harder and hotter than before, his shaft
jerked between Frankłs fingers.

“I donÅ‚t know whatÅ‚s in it," Rand hissed. “The box is
locked."

“How do you know there arenÅ‚t drugs in it then?"
Another hard smack with the belt and Rand writhed and whimpered. “Paddy isnÅ‚t
into drugs, sir."

“Paddy? HeÅ‚s the one who gave you the box?"

A vigorous nod from Rand.

“Got a last name?"

He shook his head.

“Time for the other handcuffs," Frank said, snapping
it around his wrist to secure it to the foot rail. “How about I show you what
they do to tight little asses in jail. Course this skinny little weapon doesnłt
compare to having a big, throbbing cock inside you."

“Oh, God," he moaned. “Murphy, Paddy Murphy."

“Too late, pretty boy. IÅ‚m not into games. If I ask
you a question, I want the answer right away."

Frank pulled a long, cotton strip of cloth from his
pocket and covered Randłs mouth with it, tying it tightly at the back of his
head. “Now, you canÅ‚t answer my questions. And I wonÅ‚t be asking any for a while."

A muffled moan escaped his lips behind the gag.

Frank cupped his hand around Randłs erection and
stroked it while inserting a finger into his ass. Met with resistance, it
wasnłt long before the sphincter muscle relaxed and allowed him entry. Frank
felt Randłs cock jerk in his hand while he probed deeper, and several drops of
pre-cum leaked from the tip.

“Oh, yeah, I think youÅ‚re ready now."

Frank removed his finger, picked up one stick of the Nunchukkas
and inserted it slowly into his ass. Randłs butt cheeks tightened and his hole
puckered again from the invasion. Frank increased the pressure on the boyłs
cock, stroking his thumb across the mushroom-shaped tip until his sphincter
muscle relaxed and accepted the wooden stick.

His hips sank into the mattress to avoid further
intrusion of the mini-weapon, but Frank followed it down and pushed it further
into his rectum. Randłs body went still and he drew a deep, shuddering breath.
Frank waited for several long seconds while he adjusted to the foreign object
inside him and then slid it in another inch. And then another. Randłs ass
quivered and his cock jumped spasmodically around his fingers.

“A mixture of pleasure and pain, isnÅ‚t it? DonÅ‚t fight
it. Lay perfectly still. We still have another five inches to go."

Randłs lifted his head off the mattress and rolled it
side to side.

“I said be still."

Rand sagged into the mattress. A fine bead of
perspiration covered his back and ass.

Frank increased the pressure and slid the Nunchukkas
in deeper and deeper, still stroking his cock with his other hand. The swollen
tip of the boyłs cock oozed slick, warm liquid. Frank spread it around the
engorged member with his thumb and pinched and kneaded it. The tense muscles of
Randłs ass relaxed along with his clenched fists holding the bed sheets.

“ThatÅ‚s it, take it into your ass and feel every
sensation."

Frank rotated the weapon left-to-right inside of him
and pulled it out a little before sliding it slowly into the hot depths again.
He repeated the process until the Randłs hips moved with the motion of the
stick, up and down and left to right. Muffled cries fell from Randłs lips,
cries of intense pleasure as he thrust his hips up and pushed back against the
invader.

“Ah, forbidden pleasure, huh? You want more?" Frank
leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Tighten your ass and hold that inside
you. You try to push it out, you donłt even want to know what comes next."

Sweat streamed from Randłs forehead. He nodded and
clenched his taut cheeks around the stick.

Frank delivered a series of hand slaps to his red
butt, forcing the Nunchukkas sticking out of his ass into an erotic dance. For
added measure, Frank slid the weapon in and out slowly, increasing the tempo as
Rand undulated beneath it. A series of staccato whimpers came from his lips and
Frank knew he was on the brink of orgasm.

“Oh, no, not yet." Frank said with an awareness of his
own stiff, throbbing cock. “You hold that explosion back or weÅ‚ll start all
over again."

Hełd never seen anything so perversely erotic as Randłs
ass in the air pushing against the weapon while his hips gyrated frenetically.
He had no intention of taking him when he started this little game. He only
wanted to scare him and punish him a little. But now, carried beyond himself,
he had no choice. Hell, hełd wanted to
fuck this kid for years and now that he had him at his mercy, he would.

He let go of the Nunchukkas and studied it for a long
time. The vision of it sticking out of Randłs ass caused his own cock to leak
with anticipation. He opened the nightstand drawer and found a package of
condoms. With Rand watching him, he unzipped his pants and slipped one over his
swollen cock.

Oh, yeah," Frank said. “This is going up that ass,
too, but not yet. I want you to think about how itłs going to stretch you wide
and send bolts of pain and pleasure through that hot little body."

Frank couldnłt remember when hełd wanted anyone as
badly as he wanted this kid. He had to get a hold of himself or hełd be
spurting faster than a pubescent school boy in a matter of seconds. He wanted
to feel that tight hole sheathing his cock, convulsing around him as Rand
screamed out his pleasure. And he would scream, cry, and beg before he finished
with him.

He picked up the lubricant and massaged it over his
own cock with Randłs eyes wide open and watching him. Moving to stand behind
him, Frank pulled the mini-weapon out of his ass slowly, inch by inch, twisting
and grinding it on the way out. Rand writhed and groaned, his hoarse whimpers
and ragged breaths in perfect sync with his gyrating hips.

Frank laid the weapon on the bed next to him, yanked
the lamp from the nightstand and laid it on the bed with the light toward his
trembling ass. Rand followed his every move, stretching his neck over his
shoulder.

“I donÅ‚t want to miss anything."

He spread his cheeks wide, and inserted a thumb. Thick
with K-Y jelly, he worked his anal entrance, massaging it, finding the special
network of nerve endings that sent Randłs body into a series of spasmodic
jerks. He rotated his thumb left-to-right and applied pressure on the inside
walls. Rand cried out, his words unintelligible behind the gag, but Frank knew
a mixture of shame and pleasure had rendered him mindless.

Frank removed his thumb and shoved two fingers into
his ass, burying them deep. With one hand, he held his cheeks apart and
mesmerized, watched his fingers slide in and out of the tight enclosure. It
fought the intrusion at first and then relaxed against his knowledgeable
fingers as Frank brought him to an undulating frenzy.

“DonÅ‚t you even think about coming. Concentrate hard.
Hold it back until I tell you when. You spurt now and youłll be on your stomach
until morning, until you learn to obey me."

Rand sucked in a breath and nodded obediently.

“Good boy." He reached up and yanked his head back
with a lock of his hair. “Look at those Nunchukkas on the bed next to your
head. Remember how it felt with one stick inside you? Two sticks are going in
now, all the way."

A shudder ran down the length of Randłs spine.

He pulled his fingers out and picked up the Nunchukkas.
Rand followed the weapon with his eyes and shook his head.

“Yep, youÅ‚re ready now to take both sticks up that
tight, little ass."

Rand bucked beneath him.

“TheyÅ‚re going in whether you want them or not, so you
best hold still."

Rand stilled his body but every muscle in his back and
butt tightened with keen expectancy. Frank locked the sticks together and
pushed them up his hole slowly, watching them until they were buried three
inches deep. His voice hoarse, the sounds from Randłs throat spewed forth,
hard, short animal grunts followed by a string of broken sobs.

“ThatÅ‚s right," Frank said, rubbing his hand over the
red welts on his bottom. “Take a deep breath and take it in, another five
inches to go, pretty boy."

He took his time inserting the remaining length,
enjoying every shudder, ever tremor, every moan falling from the boyłs lips.
Mesmerized by the two-inch thick weapon and at least eight inches of length
buried deep inside the boyłs rectum, Frankłs own hard shaft twitched and
jerked. He took a hold of the end of the Nunchukkas and twisted it slowly,
sliding it in and out rhythmically, methodically. Rand tried hard to hold his
bottom still, but it moved of its own will back and forth, up and down in
perfect calibration with Frankłs tormenting strokes.

“Come on, pretty boy, fuck that stick. Oh, yeah, work
that ass."

He wanted to fuck him with the weapon all night long,
but his cock throbbed with need. He withdrew the Nunchukkas slowly, dragging it
along one side of his internal wall and then the other. Mindlessly, Rand rose
up, his red bottom fully exposed to Frank.


Frank parted his butt cheeks and watched the last inch
slip from the boyłs hole. He looked at the puckered, swollen entrance and
trembled. God, Rand was so ready for him, so incredibly hot and trembling with
need, Frank could wait no more. He nudged the chafed entrance with his engorged
member and met resistance as the sphincter contracted. Grabbing his hips firmly
in both hands, he forced the thick head of his cock inside him, releasing an
animalistic groan of intense pleasure as Randłs tight walls smothered the tip
of his cock. God, he was on fire and oh, so small.

Frank untied the gag at the back of his head with one
hand and pushed his cock in another inch with the other.

“Oh, God, oh, God," Rand said with ragged breath.

“Spread your legs wide."

The boy obeyed immediately and pushed his ass into the
intruder.

“Wider, all the way apart," Frank said, squeezing the
boyłs balls.

Randłs body tensed and the muscles of his back and
butt quivered with tremors. His balls tightened. Frank stopped and allowed him
time to adjust to the huge cock inside him. A protest fell from the kidłs lips
as he pushed against the invader, demanding more.

“You want it buried deep inside you, donÅ‚t you, kid?"

“Oh, God, it hurts."

“Want me to stop?"

He shook his head.

“Say it."

“No, please, sir, donÅ‚t stop."

“Say it, say, fuck me, sir, please."

He groaned.

“I swear IÅ‚ll stop if you donÅ‚t beg me to fuck you."

“Please, sir, donÅ‚t stop, fuck me hard. I want it all
inside me, sir."

Frank dug his fingers into the flesh of his ass and
slammed into him, deep and hard. Rand rose from the bed and grabbed the bed
sheets, muffled sobs spewing from his lips, the muscles of his arms rippling
against the handcuffs. His body shimmered with sweat beneath the dim light in
the room as he twisted, writhed and strained beneath Frankłs firm grip. His
perfect body rocked forward and backward in attempt to draw Frank deeper into
his tight cavity. His hips bore down on Frankłs cock until his balls slapped
against the boyłs red ass. Frank had never felt anything so exquisite. Randłs
insides throbbed and convulsed around him in violent tremors and his voice
broke on a scream that mirrored his pleasure.


With a groan and his jaw clenched, Frank drove into
him time and again until the boy lay limper than a piece of clay beneath the
firm grip on his ass.

“Oh, Christ, I canÅ‚t hold it back any longer. Please,
sir, please let me come."

Frank reached up and grabbed his cock. “No, not until
I tell you."

“Please," he sobbed. “Oh, please, sir, I canÅ‚t hold it
back anymore. It hurts and I want to come so bad. I did everything you asked. I
canłt hold it."

“You will hold it!" The boyÅ‚s hard shaft trembled and
vibrated in his hand. Frank pinched his slit shut. “You donÅ‚t listen to anyone
and by God you are going to listen to me. I control your body; I control your
release."

“Yes, sir. Oh, God, IÅ‚ll do anything if you let me
come. Please donłt pinch me off. It hurts so bad."

“Did you enjoy that? Tell me the truth, because IÅ‚ll
now if youłre lying."

“I liked it, yes."

“What part?"

He groaned. “All of it, sir."

Frank pinched harder on the tip of his cock. “Not good
enough. Tell me exactly what was good for you."

“II liked it when you shoved those things up my ass,
mostly, when you shoved you inside me."

“Shoved you?"

“I mean, oh, please, my cockÅ‚s going to explode."

“IÅ‚m going to let you come soon. Tell me."

“I wanted your big cock inside me, slamming hard into
me. Youłre so big and hard."

“You sure?"

“Christ, IÅ‚m sure, yes, sir."

“You saying that because you want to spill your seed
like a little boy who canłt control himself?"

“I controlled myself. I waited and waited and I canÅ‚t
hold off anymore."

“And?"

“I never felt anything so good. All of it. Oh, God, it
was indescribable."

“Think youÅ‚ll want me to do it to you again? Shove all
those things up your tight ass?"

“Yes, I want you to do it all again...everything."

“Okay, pretty boy," he said, releasing his fingers.
“Let me feel you spurt. Come into my hand."

“Oh, God, thank you, sir. ItÅ‚s coming," he screamed.
“IÅ‚m coming! Now! Oh, wow, oh wow!"

Randłs body stiffened and a prolonged, overdue cry of
release spewed from his throat. Frank plunged deep into his ass and gripped his
cock, stroking it as it jerked and spit out an endless stream of hot liquid.

“Let it come, thatÅ‚s it, all of it. Keep coming,"
Frank whispered against his ear. “Pump it out," he said. “Fill my hand." He
milked the last ounce from his rigid shaft.

Randłs climax and his exploded around them at the same
time. Limp as a fish, Rand sank into the mattress and Frank saw a tear fall
from his eye. Shame, hatred and bliss mingled as one.

Long moments later, Rand rasped, “Christ!"

“Good, huh?" Frank said arrogantly. “Better than you
ever imagined in your wildest dreams?"

He nodded shamefully. “Now what, you going to kill
me?"

“Kill you? After that exquisite little ass just fucked
the hell out of me?"

“What do you want then?"

“I want to know more about this Paddy Murphy, and if
you play games with me, IÅ‚ll whip your ass until it bleeds."

“HeÅ‚s not into drugs. HeÅ‚s into other things."

“Oh, yeah. What kind of other things?"

“Men."

Taken aback by the revelation, Frank asked, “Oh yeah,
has he been into you?" For some odd reason the thought made Frank sick to his
stomach.

Rand shook his head vigorously. “No, I mean, no, sir,
hełs not interested in me in that way. I just work for the man, do his bidding."

“Give me a visual on this Murphy character."

“Thick through the torso, long hair, bushy mustache."

The man at the back of the bar. “Now that you know what they do to little punks in
jail, think you can hold up under it?"

“I havenÅ‚t done anything to land me in jail."

“Oh, no? Running drugs will do it."

“IÅ‚m not running drugs for Paddy, sir, I swear."

“You got family somewhere, kid?"

Rand nodded.

“What do you do for this Murphy, and why are you
living in this dump, working for that scumbag?" He grabbed his hair again and
pulled hard. “You lie to me, IÅ‚ll beat you so hard you wonÅ‚t be able to sit for
a week."

“Okay, all right, IÅ‚ll tell you the truth."

Frank trailed the belt over his ass. “IÅ‚m waiting."

“He keeps me in pot."

“Huh?"

“Pot. Weed. I work for him, run a few errands and
clean up the pool hall for cash and weed."

“You expect me to believe you do nothing more than
smoke pot?"

“I swear itÅ‚s true. Are you going to kill me now?"

“Not if you tell me where that box is."

“In the closet, top shelf."

Frank walked to the closet and opened the door. He
reached up onto the top shelf and pulled down the box. Hełd look at the
contents later. He had to get out of here before Rand recognized something
about him, his voice, his demeanor, his vulnerability.

“IÅ‚m going to take the handcuffs off. You stay on the
bed for five minutes. You even flinch before I leave this room, and IÅ‚ll cut
your throat, you got that?"

Rand nodded.

“Go home, kid. Leave this flea-bitten apartment, and ..."

The boy lifted his head from the bed.

“Dump the job. YouÅ‚re surrounded by the cockroaches of
the city at that billiards hall."

A long breath left Randłs lips.

Frank had spent too much time there already, could
have exposed his cover. With a last gentle slap to his butt, he said, “IÅ‚ll see
you in your nightmares."

Then he slipped out of the room as silently as he had
come.




 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

 

 

He walked the three blocks from Randłs small apartment
to Paddyłs Place. As he looked through the darkened front window of the joint,
everything seemed to be quiet. He couldnłt wait to get his hands on that box
and open it. Did Rand even know what was in it? Something in the boyłs eyes
told him he spoke the truth, he wouldnłt find the street drugs hełd suspected
at first. But why had Paddy Murphy given the box to Rand? What did the man try
to hide, and from whom?

With the box tucked under his arm, Frank opened the
door to his Denali and started the engine. His breath still ragged and shivers
spreading outward to every limb, erotic images of his encounter with Rand
surfaced. So unfucking believable and wholly, entirely satisfying, he wouldnłt
forget if he lived to be one hundred.

Once he passed through the rundown streets of the
city, he pulled the Denali off on a side street. He turned the interior light
on and tried to lift the cover. Rand had been right, it was locked. He dug
through the glove box, found a screwdriver, and pried it open. His heart
stopped beating for an infinitesimal moment. The contents before him were the
last thing he expected to find. He ran his hands through his hair. Damn, what a
fucking mess. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. He almost wished
hełd found a stash of heroin or cocaine. With a curse on his lips, he made a
U-turn and headed toward Emilyłs house.

It took her a long time to answer the door, but then
it was after midnight. Frankłs gaze swept over the tangled mass of hair framing
her face, disheveled from sleep. The thin cotton robe clinging to her slender
body would have turned on any red-blooded man, every man, except him. Her lips
were full and soft, her green eyes drowsy. He couldnłt help but think what a
beautiful woman she was, even if her loveliness did nothing to his libido.

Instinctively, she took a step back, her expression
one of dread. “Oh, no, you wouldnÅ‚t be here unless...RandÅ‚s not―?"

“No, heÅ‚s alive and well." Very alive and well.
“I just came from his place."

He could almost taste her relief as she studied him
and waited for an explanation.

“Can I come in? We should talk."

She opened the door and waited for him to enter before
nodding toward the den left of the foyer. Spacious, yet cozy, a brown leather
loveseat and matching La-Z-Boy graced the room. An end table, a floor lamp, and
one of the new surround-sound plasma television sets built into one wall added
to the sporty atmosphere. She pointed toward the loveseat, flipped on the lamp
light, and took a seat next to him.

He placed the box on the end table and turned to her.
“You were right, Rand works for a man named Paddy Murphy at a billiard hall."
He smiled. “Appropriately called PaddyÅ‚s Place."

“HeÅ‚s all right, you spoke with him?"

Remembering the encounter, Frankłs heart skipped a
beat. “We had a little chat, yes."

She placed her fingers to her forehead and closed her
eyes. “Thank God." Her eyes flew open. “Did he recognize you?"

“I donÅ‚t think so, I wore a black hood."

“A black hood? Well, yes, I suppose you wouldnÅ‚t want
him to know it was you right off. Oh, God, he must have been terribly
frightened."

Frank drew a deep breath and did everything he could
to keep his battered senses at bay. What in hell had he been thinking? What
would Emily think and say if she ever found out? He meant to frighten Rand into
relinquishing the box, but that sleek, naked body made him forget why he was
there in the first place.

“You could say he was a mite shaky, Emily, but it was
the only way to find out what he was up to."

“Rand was devastated when his father died. Shortly
after that, you left his life, too. He idolized you, Frank. I think that was
the beginning of the end for him. He lost interest in sports, school,
everything after that."

Guilt cloaked him like a heavy mantle. It was the last
thing he wanted to hear. “We need to talk about this box." He nodded toward it.

“Must we? Now that I know Rand is safe, one good
nightłs sleep before we decide what to do next sounds heavenly."

“I wish I could give you that, Emily, but I must show
you something."

“What?" She searched his eyes.

He picked the box up and handed it to her. “Open it
and IÅ‚ll tell you what this is all about."

 

* * * *

 

Rand waited longer than five minutes before he lifted
his tense, aching body from the bed. His backside ached and his head pounded.
The entire encounter was so surreal, if it wasnłt for the raised welts on his
ass and the ripples of gooseflesh still running down his arms, he would have
thought he dreamed it. The man had been real all right, down to the Glock
handgun he shoved in his face and the cock he shoved in his ass. His dad had
the same make and model gun. How many times had he snuck into his momłs room,
opened her dresser drawer, and pulled out the cold, shiny handgun? Countless
times.

He wondered about the hood as he sat on the edge of
his bed. The jerk didnłt want to be recognized. That had to be it. Yet,
something about the way the man carried himself, and the inflection in his
voice, sent a niggling ring of familiarity up his spine. Hełd heard that voice
before. Dreamed about it. Rand closed his eyes and concentrated. Just before he
left, the man said, “Go home kid." How did he know he had a home? He told the
man he had family, but said nothing about a home.

Sadness and guilt worked its way through his brain.
Did the man also know he had a mother and a sister who loved him, probably
cried every day that he didnłt make contact or answer their phone calls? Damn,
his life lay in shambles. He shouldnłt have dropped out of school and taken to the
streets. At the time, it seemed a good way to assert his independence and
strike out on his own with no one to hound him about smoking weed.

What an example he had set for Marlow. His heart felt
heavier than a thousand-pound stone right now. Marlow must be worried sick
about him. Theyłd always been close, ever since their father died. Rand felt
responsible for Marlow, vowed hełd watch over her, try to become the father she
lost. Hełd failed her, too.

His thoughts too dreary and debilitating, he shifted
them back to the stranger again. The man in his bedroom had a connection to his
father. A memory surfaced. Gathered around the grave at the cemetery, Rand had
lifted his head and looked into the intense blue eyes of Frank McGuire, his
dadłs partner. Good God, the man was gay, too. That strong, muscular, man, the
epitome of courage and ruthlessness? Rand had worshipped the ground he walked
on, until he left them. Then he hated the man and everything he stood for.
Frank had left the police department right after his dad died, and hadnłt his
mother said hełd died in this manłs arms? Frank was the man in the picture on
his motherłs dresser. His fatherłs arm was draped over Frankłs shoulder and
both were smiling. Hełd seen that picture a thousand times, one of his motherłs
prized possessions.

Oh, God, if it truly had been Frank McGuire, how would
he ever forget the way it felt when the man possessed him? He had dreamed about
it a thousand times in his youth, believing it nothing more than a silly,
childhood fantasy. Even now, his body trembled with the thought of the things
Frank McGuire did to him.

The man was a master at bringing pleasure, and pain.
The two mingled in a haze of delirious, shameful images. Had he actually writhed
beneath him, begged him to fuck him? At the time, he felt as if he had left his
body to reside on some distant plane, willing to do anything for the
man―as long as he kept up the exquisite, tortuous sensations.

Rand checked his watch. Two in the morning. He picked
up his cell phone and stared at the bright screen. He had to call Paddy and ask
him what the hell was in that box. Christ! There would be hell to pay about
that. McGuire took the box and Rand was certain Paddy would flip out over that
little bit of news. It didnłt contain dope, Paddy wasnłt into mind-altering
substances or the trouble they would bring. But he sure was secretive about
that box and sweat-soaked nervous when he shoved it into his hand. “Take this
home with you, and hide it," heÅ‚d said. “IÅ‚ll let you know when I need it."
Rand had asked Paddy what was inside, but the manłs lips had thinned,
menacingly. “None of your business, and if I see you tried to jimmy that lock,
IÅ‚ll smash your face in, got it?"

He couldnłt call Paddy now. It would have to wait
until morning. The rest of the night passed by in a blur as Rand tossed and
turned, watching the hours on the alarm clock tick slowly by, reliving every
minute of the manłs hands on him, his cock inside him.

By seven, he couldnłt stand it. He picked up his cell
phone and called Paddy.

“Murphy here."

“Paddy, itÅ‚s Rand."

“Why the hell are you calling me at seven in the
morning?"

“I had a little problem last night."

Long moments of silence passed. Rand couldnłt tell if
Paddy was half-asleep or trying to digest the information. “What kind of
problem?"

“You know that box you gave me? Well, someone broke
into my room last night and took it."

A string of expletives left PaddyÅ‚s lips, then, “I
know this ainłt April Fools, so you best start explaining and real fast."

“A man, a man in a black hood, and suddenly, he broke
in with a gun, said he followed me from the bar and wanted to know what was in
that box."

“And you gave it to him? Jesus!"

“I had no choice. He had a gun to my head, threatened
me."

An interminable amount of time passed before Paddy
spoke again, and this time raw panic edged his voice. “Think it was a cop? Why
would anyone be following you?" Before Rand had a chance to answer, Paddy threw
out the words. “Look, Rand, IÅ‚m only going to say this once. You find out who
that man is. I donłt care what you have to do, and next, you get that fucking
box back."

“How am I going to find out who he is? IÅ‚m telling
you, he wore a hood."

“Think about it, kid. Why did he wear a hood?
Because," Paddy drew out the words, “the asshole didnÅ‚t want you to recognize
him."

“I think youÅ‚re right, but..."

“DidnÅ‚t you say your Pa was a cop before he died?"

“Yeah, but I donÅ‚t think..."

“DonÅ‚t be a stupid jackass, Rand. The guy is a cop
and, damn." Paddy paused as if thinking about the repercussions. “Someone sent
him to trail you. The question is, why?"

“I think I know the answer to that."

“I donÅ‚t give a ratÅ‚s ass why he trailed you. I want
that box back before the man shoots off his mouth about whatłs in it."

“What is in it, Paddy?"

“None of your goddamned business, thatÅ‚s whatÅ‚s in it.
I donłt want to see your face today, not unless you got that box tucked under
your arm. And I want the name of Robin Hood and an address. Find out who he is
and where he lives. Iłll take care of him. Make sure he doesnłt stick his nose
in where it donłt belong again. Today, Rand! You got that, before he can tell
anyone whatłs in there."

“IÅ‚ll do my best, but IÅ‚ll need a gun."

“YouÅ‚ll do better than your best. You donÅ‚t bring that
box to me along with an address, your ass isnłt worth shit on the street.
Understand, you fucking little idiot?"

“Did you hear me?" Rand asked with a hard swallow. “I
said I need a gun."

“I heard you. Stop by this morning and IÅ‚ll leave one
with Splinter. It will be behind the bar."

“WonÅ‚t Splinter wonder why IÅ‚m picking up a gun?"

An eerie laugh echoed across the line. “Hardly, but I
canłt help but wonder why youłd need a gun if you donłt know who youłre dealing
with."

Rand took a moment to think before he spoke, “He
shoved a loaded Glock in my face. Do you think IÅ‚m going to sweet-talk him into
giving the box back?"

“You donÅ‚t get it back before he goes to the police,
youłll not only have a loaded gun in your face, youłll hear it fire at close
range."

When the line went dead, Rand dialed information.
“Yes, do you have a listing for a Frank McGuire?"

“ThereÅ‚s an address for a Frank McGuire, private
investigator," the woman said.

“ThatÅ‚s it," Rand replied and jotted down the address.

He grabbed his jacket and scurried from his room,
closing the door behind him. Hełd stop by Paddyłs, pick up the gun, and
reciprocate with a little visit to Frank McGuire. One way or the other, he had
to get that box back or he wouldnłt live to see another sunset.




 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

 

Emily held the box in her hand, every muscle in her
body tense. “Does this have anything to do with Rand?"

“Christ, I hope not."

The door to the den creaked open. “Mr. McGuire, youÅ‚re
back." Marlow turned to her mom. “WhatÅ‚s going on? ItÅ‚s something about Rand,
isnłt it?"

A dark aura cloaked Frank as
the images tried to enter his mind. Voices called out to him from beyond the
grave―victims of The Black Rail. An involuntary shiver coursed through
him. Something about Marlow raised red flags. He concentrated on the features
of her face through the thick makeup and blue, defining curves that winged out
around her eyes. Cat eyes, thatłs what they reminded him of.

Akin to a thousand other
gothic teens, her hair had been streaked in ribbons of neon pink, white, and
yellow. Her clothing was dark, and again the black nails and lipstick stood
out.

Briefly, Frank wondered what Quinn would think if he
was alive. Knowing Quinn and how accepting the man had been about everything
and everyone, the girlłs gothic attire and makeup wouldnłt have fazed him. Poor
Emily, raising two children alone, and both rebelling in their own individual
way.

“Hi, Marlow." Emily turned to her daughter with an
exasperated sigh. “YouÅ‚re late, and you didnÅ‚t call."

“Sorry, the movie lasted longer than I expected."

“WeÅ‚ll talk about it tomorrow. Go to bed, Marlow, itÅ‚s
late."

“I asked you if there is something going on with Rand.
You canłt keep pushing me aside, treating me as though Iłm still in middle
school. If it involves Rand, I have a right to know."

“If I treat you as if youÅ‚re in middle school, itÅ‚s
because those who forget to call their parents so they donłt worry arenłt
considered adults."

“Mom, IÅ‚m sorry." Marlow looked at Frank. “Are you
here because my mom wants you to find Rand?"

Frank thought about lying, but his gut instinct told
him Marlow was too smart for that. He looked at Emily and she nodded. “Yes,
your mom asked me to find Rand and bring him home."

“Have you found him?"

“Marlow." EmilyÅ‚s voice sounded strained. “When I know
something for sure, IÅ‚ll let you know." She rose from the loveseat. “I told you
to go to bed, and IÅ‚m not telling you again."

Marlowłs body stiffened for a brief moment as she
faced off with her mother. She glanced at Frank and thought better of saying
whatever was about to come from her mouth. With a huff, she turned and stomped
briskly from the room.

Emily slumped onto the loveseat with an audible sigh.
“There are days I think IÅ‚m a complete failure. I canÅ‚t help but wonder if
Quinn had lived..."

“DonÅ‚t do that, the what-ifs, what-might-have-beens."

“YouÅ‚re right," she said, running a hand across her
brow. “The box, whatÅ‚s in it?"

“Open it."

Emily lifted the lid, and drew her brows together. “WhatÅ‚s
this? What does it mean? Rand had these?"

Frank nodded, wondering how to broach the subject
without causing Emily to launch into hysterics. He decided to deliver it
straight up. “YouÅ‚ve heard of The Black Rail?"

“Yes, who in Baltimore hasnÅ‚t?"

“Then you know he garrotes his victims with a white
cord."

Emily looked at the contents of the box again. “As in
this white cord?"

Frank nodded again.

“The handcuffs, the gun." She paused. “What kind of a
gun is this anyway?"

“A stun gun."

She gasped and settled her moist gaze on him. “The
Black Rail uses a stun gun and handcuffs. Oh, God. Oh, no. Youłre not
suggesting that Rand―"

Frank waved his hand in the air. “No, Emily, IÅ‚m
certain Rand isnłt The Black Rail."

“But who then? Why did Rand have this box in his
possession? Oh, God, I canÅ‚t take this." A tear slid down her cheek. “You think
Rand knows who The Black Rail is or is somehow involved with him?"

“Somehow, yes, but I think Rand didnÅ‚t know about the
contents of that box when the man gave it to him."

“What man? Who gave Rand the box?"

“Paddy Murphy."

Emily rose and paced a small area in front of the
hearth. “The man who owns PaddyÅ‚s Place?"

“One in the same."

“Paddy Murphy is The Black Rail?"

Frank went to her and put his arms on her shoulders,
forcing her to stop pacing long enough to look at him. “I donÅ‚t know. I just
know Rand is in danger, and we have to get him away from that place and that
man."

“Kidnap him, take him against his will. Knock him out
if you have to, just bring him home." She pushed his arms from her shoulders
and resumed her pacing. “Once heÅ‚s here, weÅ‚ll go to the police, take the box,
and tell them this Paddy character gave it to Rand."

“ItÅ‚s not that simple."

“Why not?"

“By now, Paddy Murphy probably knows someone paid Rand
a visit and took the box." Frank softened his words. “The man also knows
someone has looked at the contents and has made the connection to The Black
Rail."

“What are we going to do?" Emily stopped in her tracks
and searched FrankÅ‚s eyes. “YouÅ‚re going to use Rand to find this monster, The
Black Rail?"

“ItÅ‚s our only chance to catch this guy before he
kills again."

“No! I wonÅ‚t let you do it!"

“Emily, listen to me, please. Last night, one of the
dead girls made contact with me."

“DonÅ‚t speak to me about communicating with the dead!
Randłs alive and thatłs all I care about."

“IÅ‚m close, Emily. Giselle―"

“Giselle?"

“His last victim. Giselle said heÅ‚s ready to strike
again." Frank softened his voice. “And she said something else."

“What, what else did this dead girl tell you?"

“She said donÅ‚t be fooled by appearances, and she
spoke of darkness."

Emily looked as if she wanted to slap him. “Darkness!
My sonłs life is in danger and you speak to me of darkness and appearances?"
She gathered herself and looked at him through a veil of anguish. “What did she
say, exactly?"

“She said, Ä™I cry, yet have no tears, I scream, yet no
one hears. Darkness is all around me, and only you can set me free.Å‚"

“Oh, my God!" She brushed the tears from her cheek
with her fingers. “What does it mean?"

Frank stretched his arms out, palms up. “I donÅ‚t know,
but in the morning, a man from the Department is going to drop off some
pictures of the victims. When I get them, IÅ‚ll try to channel Giselle again."

Emily broke into tears and Frank drew her into his
arms. “I promise I wonÅ‚t let anything happen to Rand. Give me a day, Emily, one
day, and Rand will be home, safe and sound, and hopefully, IÅ‚ll find that
son-of-a-bitch, The Black Rail."

Emily fell against his chest, her body limp. “One day,
Frank, and if Randłs not home, Iłll go to Paddyłs Place myself and raise holy
hell until he comes home with me."

Frank pulled her down onto the loveseat and cradled
her in his arms. “Okay, one day. Now dry your tears. I have to go, but I
promise Iłll stay in touch with you, and I wonłt let anything happen to Rand."

 

* * * *

 

The following morning, Frank parked the Denali near
his office and bounced up the steps of the brownstone. Greeted by a note on the
door, he frowned. Went home sick, will call you later, Grace.

“Great," Frank muttered under his breath. “The world
is closing in and Grace has the sniffles."

He shuffled past her office, entered his, and settled
into the swivel chair behind the desk. His thoughts drifted to last night and
the memories of Randłs naked flesh under his hands. He relived every second,
every minute of his lustful cries and whimpers. The thought of it made him hard
again. He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe Grace apparently filled before
she left and added a packet of cream. Before he took his first sip, someone
knocked on the office door.

Without bothering to look up, he growled, “Come in."

Jeffords sauntered in with a large envelope tucked
under his arm pit. “You holding down the Alamo by yourself today, McGuire?"

“It would seem my assistant went home ill." Frank
didnÅ‚t bother to hide his annoyance. “What do you have for me, not more bad
news, I hope."

“No, nothing new, but I brought the pictures as
promised."

Frank held his hand out. “LetÅ‚s take a look."

He opened the envelope and laid the snapshots out on
his desk one-by-one. They sickened and saddened him at the same time. “Good
God," he said, blowing the air out slowly through clenched teeth. “Jeffords,
tell me something, whatłs the one glaring distinction they have in common?"

“Duh, I wonder, McGuire." Jeffords plopped into the
chair on the other side of FrankÅ‚s desk. “My mother could answer that and she
has dementia. Theyłre Gothic, of course, they love to paint themselves up like
ghouls on Halloween."

“So what has the Department done to hunt them down,
find out where they hang out?" Frank drew his eyes away from the pictures for a
moment and pressed on. “Did they know one another?"

“How the hell should I know? People say you can talk
to the dead, why donłt you ask them?"

“Very funny, Jeffords. If my head wasnÅ‚t pounding and
my stomach growling from lack of food, I might laugh." Frank rose and poured
himself another cup of coffee, not bothering to offer one to Jeffords. “This maniac
targets Goth girls, and Baltimorełs finest hasnłt brought the street urchins in
for questioning?"

Jeffords shifted in the chair while a flush of heat
crept up his neck. “WeÅ‚ve brought some in. They donÅ‚t know nothing, havenÅ‚t
seen anything." Defensively, he continued. “TheyÅ‚re weirdos, march to their own
drums." Jeffords leaned over the desk, looked at the photos, and frowned. “Look
at those winged outlines around their eyes, the neon pink eye shadow and black
lipstick. They look worse than corpses before they actually were."

“TheyÅ‚re children, Jeffords, innocent young women
selected because The Black Rail has a penchant for females dressed in fishnet
stockings, dark clothing, and flamboyant makeup."

“You think he wears the same type of clothing and paints
his face?" Jeffords brows rose and a flicker of excitement crossed his
features. “Hey, maybe heÅ‚s a high priest in a satanic cult!"

Frank slid into his chair again. “I donÅ‚t think so,
but can you leave the pictures with me for a day or two?"

“Keep Ä™em, I had copies made just for you." Jeffords
unfurled his frame from the chair. “I better get going. Anything comes up,
youÅ‚ll―"

“Call you? Oh, yeah, you bet."

The second the detective closed the door, Frank picked up the last picture on his desk.
Beneath all the garish makeup, Gisellełs beauty shone through. Her features
were fine and delicate, her long hair streaked with neon shades of yellow,
pink, blue and green. He had trouble staring into the deep periwinkle eyes, but
knew he must. He had to try to channel her, pray shełd be able to offer him one
tiny snippet of information that would lead him to The Black Rail.

Frank rose, pulled the blinds down, dimmed the lights
and settled into a leather chair in the corner of his office. With Gisellełs
picture in his hand, he allowed his mind to slip into a deep state of
meditation.

The dark screen appeared behind his eyelids and tiny
pinpricks of color danced before him in a pattern of a thousand twinkling
stars. He found the brightest and fixed his thoughts on it, opening the channel
to his inner spirit. He beckoned Giselle, called her forth with every ounce of
spiritual power he possessed.

Moments later, she appeared. Her face gaunt and
tormented, her lips moved silently. He knew she struggled to draw out the words.
Long agonizing minutes later, an audible sound spewed forth. Frank called on
his inner eye to allow him to see what she so desperately tried to tell him.
She held two fingers up and stared through the darkness until Frank knew she
looked directly at him.

“You make the sign of peace?"

She shook her head.

“No, itÅ‚s not the sign of peace. Help me, Giselle,
help me understand."

Even in his meditative state, Frank sensed danger. He
heard the faint fall of footsteps outside his door. Damn, had Jeffords forgotten
something and returned? Jolted from his vision trance, he returned to the
present and squinted against the gray shadows shifting in every corner of the
room. While in his meditative state, someone had entered the office.

“Jeffords, is that you?"

The outline of a body appeared under the doorway and a
voice, calm and icy. “IÅ‚ll ask the questions this time. DonÅ‚t move a muscle,
donłt even flinch. I might mistakenly blow your head off."

“Rand." His name left FrankÅ‚s lips on a whisper.

“Hello, Frank McGuire. It took me a while to figure it
out. Then it all came back, the eyes, the voice." Rand walked forward and put
the gun to FrankÅ‚s head. “In case youÅ‚re wondering, itÅ‚s loaded, and I must
confess Iłve never shot a gun before. If I were you, I wouldnłt so much as
blink."

Tension snapped the very air Frank breathed. Randłs
hand shook uncontrollably as he aimed the gun at his head. “Put it down and
wełll talk."

“Go to Hell. I donÅ‚t want to hear what you have to
say. I want only one thing, the box."

“Rand, youÅ‚re in over your head. You have no idea
whatłs in that box, do you?"

“No, and I donÅ‚t give a shit. All I know is, if I
donłt return it, Iłm a dead man. Now where is it?"

At FrankÅ‚s hesitation, Rand said, “Okay, if thatÅ‚s how
you want to play it, fine." He took a length of rope from his pocket, tied
Frankłs hands behind his back and looped it through the back of the chair
several times before knotting it tightly. Next, he pulled a blindfold out and
placed it over Frankłs eyes, securing it tightly at the back of his head.
“Remember, I ask the questions now. You even breathe wrong, and thereÅ‚s no
telling what might happen to my itchy trigger finger."

Frankłs heart beat out of control. He wanted Rand
again, despite the seriousness of the situation. Hełd thought about nothing
else but fucking him since the night he broke into his apartment, nothing but
his smooth, taut skin and his tight little ass grinding and bearing down on his
cock. He heard his whimpers and moans in his sleep and throughout the day until
he thought hełd go mad.

There was something to be said about being tied up,
blindfolded, and at the mercy of another man. Shivers ran down his spine,
despite the element of danger. Rand had moved to stand before him and Frank had
to guess what he might do next. “So now what?" he asked.

Randłs hand flew out and connected smartly with his
cheek. “You werenÅ‚t listening very well. DonÅ‚t speak unless I give you
permission."

Frank nodded. He had to hand it to the kid, he had
guts. Rand played a dangerous game, and Frank was willing to go along with it
to a point, but he would only tolerate so much before he exploded.

“Permission to speak." Frank expected another whack,
but was determined to goad him into some kind of action.

“Granted."

“I can see youÅ‚re pissed off. Which did you object to
more, the spanking or the fucking?"

Rand grabbed a lock of his hair. “Fuck you, McGuire."

“You already did that."

Silence loomed and a rush of anticipation coursed
through Frank. And a smidgeon of fear. Hard to tell what a man would do with
his back to the wall. This had been one of his fantasies, being bound and
blindfolded while a man had his way with him. He had always been the dominant
one, but had secretly wondered what would happen if he played out his fantasy.
He was about to find out.

“Oh, wait," Rand said, and Frank heard him set the gun
on the floor. “IÅ‚m forgetting something. Your turn to whimper and beg."

Frank felt another cloth against his face seconds
before it was stuffed into his mouth and tied behind his head.

“DonÅ‚t you look sillier than a turkey trussed up for
the spit? The big, tough Frank McGuire bound, gagged at my mercy. By the
time Iłm done with you, youłll be more than willing to tell me where that box
is."

He felt Randłs hands at the zipper of his trousers,
and damn if he wasnłt already hard.

He pulled his swollen cock from his pants. “WhatÅ‚s
this?" Rand asked and stroked his erection. His fingers lingered at the top and
he scraped his nails over the sensitive tip. “Dreaming about burying that big
boy inside me again, Frank? Keep thinking about how great it felt because
youłll never have me again."

The tortuous stroking of his engorged member
continued. Spasms started deep in Frankłs belly and spread outward as he
thought about burying it in Randłs ass again. God, the feeling was incredible.
He felt his cock leak and jerk beneath Randłs rough handling. The boy rubbed
the hot semen over his tip and down the sides. He heard Rand kneel before him
and then he felt his tongue lick the pulsating shaft. Frank tried to bury the
moan in his throat and keep his hips perfectly immobile. A nearly impossible
feat. Rand stretched his mouth over his cock and sucked, nearly bringing Frank
out of the chair. Slowly he nibbled, sucked and pulled, wringing a series of
moans from Frankłs lips behind the gag.

“Oh, does that trip your trigger, Frank? YouÅ‚re not so
tough now, are you, McGuire? Before long, youłll be spurting in my hand faster
than a little boy jacking off in his bed. Want me to suck you some more or
maybe I should shove my mini-flashlight up your ass and see how you like
it?"

Son of a bitch, hełd kill the little bastard at the
first opportunity. Frankłs hips rocked upward of their own volition, his cock
responding to the expert ministrations. He realized Rand hadnłt done as
thorough a job as he should have when he tied his hands to the chair. Little by
little the rope loosened with Frankłs outward and upward thrusts.

Rand took his mouth from his cock, his voice
triumphant. “Oh, not already, Frank. I feel the blood rushing to the top and
something else. If you come now, wełll have to start all over. Let me see if I
can make you explode all over yourself." He swallowed the full length again. In
earnest, Rand seized his throbbing shaft in both hands and worked it with his
fingers and his mouth as if mesmerized by the engorged member. Frank
concentrated on the ropes behind his back, trying desperately to dispel the
exquisite pleasure between his legs. If Rand didnłt stop sucking on him, he
would burst faster than the top of a champagne bottle. Finally, his hands broke
free.

Now the little bastard would pay. With one hand, he
grabbed a shank of Randłs hair and, seized by a powerful momentum, yanked him
upward. He removed his gag and the blindfold with the other hand and stared
into shocked green eyes. Pinned in his lap and struggling for his freedom,
Randłs eyes grew wider than clam shells.


“Your pants," Frank said, “Take them off, now!"

“I didnÅ‚t mean it," Rand said, his voice quavering. “I
only wanted to scare you into giving me the box."

“Oh, IÅ‚m going to give you something alright, but not
the box. Roll them down your hips now. The boxers, too." Frank yanked on his
hair, bringing tears to his eyes. “Do it, or IÅ‚ll give you the belt again."

Moving faster than Frank imagined he could, Rand
unzipped his pants, shoved them down, and kicked them off. Next he rolled the
boxers from his hips and they joined the trousers on the floor. Effortlessly,
Frank lifted his naked bottom and positioned it over his cock. “What were you
saying about me never having you again?"

Rand swallowed and his entire body trembled. “IÅ‚m
sorry, II, oh God, please donłt do it again ..."

“Save it, pretty boy. It doesnÅ‚t matter what you say
or do now. Itłs too late for that. Remember the last time when you said you
liked all those things up your ass?"

Rand nodded feebly.

“You said mostly you wanted my big, hot, hard cock
stretching you wide?"

“Oh, no, donÅ‚t do that to me again."

“Yes, IÅ‚m going to do that to you again. IÅ‚ve dreamed
about it every night, thought about you every second of every day."

Frank felt Randłs hard erection against his belly,
knew he was as aroused as him. “Little boys who play with fire should expect to
get burnt. Didnłt your mother ever tell you that?"

Rand squirmed against him.

“Be still unless you want more pain than pleasure."
Frank pulled his butt cheeks apart and positioned his cock at his anal
entrance. “Feel that? In a few seconds, IÅ‚m going to shove this deep inside
you."

Rand drew a deep breath when Frank inserted the head
and stopped. Frank moved his hands to Randłs thighs, palms down and pushed him
down onto his shaft, forcing him to take a measured portion, inch by
excruciating inch. Moans and whimpers left Randłs throat. He buried his head
against Frankłs chest and his breaths came in short, rapid bursts.

“No more, please, it hurts," Rand said, wiggling his
ass against the invader. “DonÅ‚t shove it in any further."

“DonÅ‚t move," Frank said firmly. “Stay perfectly
still. I want you to feel every inch of this going up your ass."

“Oh, God," Rand said when Frank pushed down on his
thighs forcing him to take another inch.

“WeÅ‚re going to do this real slow," Frank said. “One
inch at a time so you never forget."

Frank had to concentrate on the task before him. At
this angle Rand was so hot and tight and sheathed his cock tighter than a vise.
Pulsating and throbbing around him, he thought he might come.

“I have another four inches for you." Frank said. “You
ready?"

Rand banged his head on Frankłs chest and groaned.
Frank eased him down slowly, his silken depths swallowing another two inches.

“The thickest part is yet to come, pretty boy, the
base. Take a deep breath," Frank said, pushing down on his legs. “ThatÅ‚s it,
open for me, relax that tight hole."

Blissful cries spewed from Randłs lips as Frank buried
the remainder of his cock in his ass. Randłs body twitched and shuddered around
him, and he dug his fingers into Frankłs shoulders. He panted hard, every
muscle in his body trembling.

If Frank thought for one minute Rand hadnłt enjoyed it
the first time, he would never force himself on him a second. It was obvious
Rand was heaven-struck by the erotic moans spewing from his lips.

Frank moved one hand from his thigh and stroked Randłs
cock, squeezing it up and down the entire length. He ran his finger over the
slit at the tip, and spread the semen over the swollen head. Sliding his hand
down to his balls, he applied pressure, reveling in the involuntary tightening
of his sacs.

“Oh, my God," Rand rasped, his cock jerking and
pumping in his hand.

“You remember the rule? You donÅ‚t come until I say you
come?"

He nodded.

Frank cupped his bottom and set the tempo, raising
Randłs ass up and lowering it slowly over his hard member, repeating the
movement until Randłs internal muscles convulsed and clenched so tightly around
Frankłs cock, it sent waves of dizzying pleasure through him. Sweat streamed
from Randłs forehead and ran down his chest. His abdomen and thighs were
covered in a fine bead of perspiration, his ligaments rippled and taut. He
breathed deep and blew it out his mouth. A tear slid from his eye and an oath
fell from his lips. He tossed his head back and his eyes rolled in the sockets.
Frank removed his hands from his thighs and willed himself to remain perfectly
still.

“DonÅ‚t stop," Rand said. “For GodÅ‚s sake, donÅ‚t stop."

“You do it," Frank said. “You said IÅ‚d never have you
again." He grabbed a lock of his long hair, forced his head forward and looked
into his dazed eyes. “IÅ‚m having you now, arenÅ‚t I, and youÅ‚re willing to beg
me for it, arenłt you?"

Rand closed his eyes.

He yanked hard on his hair. “ArenÅ‚t you? Open your
eyes. I want to watch them as you fuck me."

“Yes," he said on a long sigh, opening his eyes to
look into FrankÅ‚s. “Yes," he whimpered.

“So now you fuck me if you want it, and donÅ‚t you
spill your seed until I tell you itłs time."

A long, drawn out moan left his lips and he strained
against FrankÅ‚s thighs, encouraging him to move. “I canÅ‚t. It hurts too bad."

“Do it," Frank said sternly. “Show me how much you
want it."

Frank watched his green eyes as he twisted and ground
his hips down on his cock. Glazed over with desire and desperation, they
darkened and then lightened, only to darken again. Hełd never experienced
anything so sensual, so mind-numbing erotic.

With his hands on Frankłs shoulders, Rand rocked
against him slowly at first. Then he gyrated, undulated and strained like a
wild thing. The sensations for Frank were mind-blowing, the ache in his shaft
unbearable. He wanted to explode. Needed to explode. Rand bore down on his cock
and pushed his bottom up using his knees, only to bear down again hard. Frank
rode the exquisite tide of pleasure, reveling in spasm after spasm wracking his
body. Randłs strangled cry broke in the silent room and his cock jerked against
Frankłs abdomen.

“Please, Frank, IÅ‚m going to explode again."

“It hurts, doesnÅ‚t it, my cock inside you?"

“Oh, God, yes."

Frank took hold of his hot erection.

“DonÅ‚t pinch me off again, oh, please donÅ‚t."

“Tighten your muscles around my cock, hold it for ten
seconds and release them."

“I canÅ‚t, IÅ‚m too far gone."

“You want to come, you do it."

Frank felt his internal muscles grab his cock. “Hold
it until I tell you to release them. Itłs all part of control. You need to
learn it if you want me to fuck you."

“Oh, God, when can I let go?"

“Okay, relax them." Rand did as he commanded. “Now
tighten them again, hard and hold it. Itłs not just your pleasure, you selfish
little bastard. You want a man inside you, learn how to please him."

“When can I come?"

“Not until youÅ‚ve mastered this. Now do it over and
over until I say when."

“Is this right?" he said, clenching and releasing with
a groan.

“Perfectly right," Frank said, tossing his head back.
“Milk it, squeeze it."

Rand closed his eyes and concentrated on the task, his
tight anal cavity gripping him tightly for a prolonged time before he willed
his muscles to relax and repeat the procedure.

“Christ," Frank said. “YouÅ‚re so hot, so tight."

“Am I doing it right, pleasing you?"

“You canÅ‚t imagine."

“Let me come, please. I promise next time IÅ‚ll do it
the way you want me to."

Frank looked into his eyes. “What makes you think I
want to fuck you again?"

“DonÅ‚t you?"

“It depends on how much you please me this time."

“ItÅ‚s bubbling up, Frank. It wants to spurt and it
hurts."

“Move your ass up and down. Make me come first, pretty
boy and after I do, you can come. Not before, you hear me?"

Rand worked his cock hard, up and down, sliding around
in a gyrating motion. “Oh, God, Frank, donÅ‚t punish me. Please let me come
now."

Frank exploded in endless waves of pleasure, the semen
streaming into the boyłs ass without end. He groaned as the last ounce of
liquid spurted from his cock. “You did good, Rand."

“Now, Frank, now?"

“Now, Rand, empty everything you got into my hand."

A stream of hot, thick liquid filled Frankłs hand as
Rand released a drawn out scream of bliss. Frank pulled and twisted it,
squeezing every ounce of liquid from the jerking shaft.

“God, it feels so good. IÅ‚m still coming, still
coming," Rand said, collapsing against him.

Long minutes later, Frank lifted his limp, damp body
from his and carried him to the couch in the office. He stood over him and
looked down.

“I hate you," Rand said.

“No, you donÅ‚t," Frank said. “You hate the control I
have over your body. You love what I do to you, and youłre too ashamed to admit
it. Accept it, kid, youłre gay."

“IÅ‚m not gay."

“Yeah," Frank said with a laugh. “Neither am I."

“IÅ‚ve been with women lots of times."

“Is that a fact? Did you moan and whimper when you had
sex with them? Claw and scratch at them like a cat in heat?"

Rand looked away from him.

“Huh, did you? No, I didnÅ‚t think so. YouÅ‚ll be a lot
happier when you come to terms with it."

“I need that box," he whispered. “If I donÅ‚t return it
to Paddy, IÅ‚m as good as dead."

“ItÅ‚s over there on the desk. Take it."

Rand rose from the couch, walked to his boxers and
pants and slipped them over his hips. He plucked the gun from the floor and
strolled to the desk, searching for the box amid the stack of papers. Frank
watched him curiously.

Rand squinted and focused on the glossies of The Black
RailÅ‚s victims. “Shit, you get off looking at pictures of dead girls?"

Frank walked over to him, picked up a picture and
handed it to him. “Her name was Giselle."

“Was?"

“Yep, beautiful, huh? SheÅ‚s dead now along with the
others on the desk."

“Dead? How?"

“The Black Rail killed them."

“Oh, yeah, well you must have me confused with someone
who gives a shit." Rand set Gisellełs picture down on the desk and continued,
“I donÅ‚t see the box."

“They were about MarlowÅ‚s age."

“I donÅ‚t care about them! IÅ‚m not going to ask again.
If you donłt hand that box over, Iłm going to pull the trigger."

“How will you find the box then?"

“ItÅ‚s here, I know it is. IÅ‚ll tear this office inside
out and everyone will think you were killed by an overzealous burglar looking
for money." Rand spread his legs and held the gun before him with two hands.
“One...two..."

From the desk, Frankłs cell phone rang, causing them
both to jump.

“If I donÅ‚t answer it, whoever it is will know
somethingłs wrong and theyłll be here soon."

“What do you think I am, stupid? ItÅ‚s just one of your
dumb-ass clients checking in." Rand glanced to the phone and flexed his shaky
hands.

“No," Frank said. “ItÅ‚s not a client. They donÅ‚t call
my cell phone."

Rand grabbed the phone, flipped it open, and cursed.

“ItÅ‚s your mother, isnÅ‚t it?"

“Shut up!" Rand shouted. “Tell me where that box is
and IÅ‚ll be gone."

“Then what?"

“Then if I were you, IÅ‚d disappear soon. Someone else
is coming here for answers."

“Would that someone be Paddy Murphy?"

“Maybe," Rand said with a shrug. “DonÅ‚t say I didnÅ‚t
warn you."

“Now what do you think is in that box? What would
Murphy kill for?"

“How would I know?"

“IÅ‚ll tell you. Handcuffs, a stun gun, and white
cording."

Randłs gaze darted about the room and settled on Frank
again.

“You know who uses those?"

Rand shook his head, but his eyes belied the truth.

“The Black Rail."

A long rush of air escaped RandÅ‚s lips. “It doesnÅ‚t
change anything."

“It changes everything. Murphy is The Black Rail and
he must have thought the heat was closing in so he gave the box to you for
safekeeping. You know whatłs in there now, and that makes you an accomplice."

The cell phone rang again, louder than a blare of
bugles in the silent room.

“It appears weÅ‚re at a crossroads, arenÅ‚t we, Rand?
Everything meets in the middle, comes together all at once." Rand stared at the
blinking phone and Frank knew he battled indecision. “Answer it, Rand. ItÅ‚s
your mother."

He shook his head.

“Let me answer it, please. Something must be wrong."

The boy looked toward the ceiling and the floor before
settling on the ringing phone again. He put it on speaker and tossed it to
Frank.

“Frank! Frank! Oh, my God, are you there?"

“IÅ‚m here, Emily," he said with one eye on Rand.
“WhatÅ‚s wrong?"

“MarlowÅ‚s gone. When I arrived home from the grocery
store, I found her note."

“What did it say?"

A long sob left her lips. “She said, “Ä™I know where
Rand works and Iłm going after him. Donłt try to stop me or follow me. I know
heÅ‚ll listen to me.Å‚" She hiccoughed through a series of sobs. “Frank, what are
we going to do? What if―"

“IÅ‚ll find her before she finds PaddyÅ‚s Place."

Randłs head snapped up. He looked into Frankłs eyes
and paced the room with the gun in his trembling hands.

“Emily, listen to me, stay by the phone and IÅ‚ll call
you the moment I find her, okay?"

“IÅ‚m scared, Frank, IÅ‚m so scared."

“I know, but the sooner I get moving, the better
chance I have of finding her before she gets there."

Frank closed the phone and looked at Rand. “HeÅ‚s got
Marlow. Now that change things, doesnłt it?"

“Sh-sheÅ‚s at PaddyÅ‚s Place?"

“If not yet, she will be soon. You heard your mother.
She said Marlow went to find you." Frank put his hand out. “Give me the gun,
Rand. Therełs not much time now. If you want to see your sister again, Iłve got
to go."

“IÅ‚m going with you."

“No, itÅ‚s not a good―"

“IÅ‚m going and nothing you say will stop me. Besides,
I know that building inside and out. If hełs got her there somewhere, I can
find her."

Frank closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “There will
be hell to pay from your mother."

“IÅ‚ll tell her I held a gun on you, forced you to
bring me with."

Frank picked up the keys to his Denali and said, “The
gun."

Rand shook his head. “IÅ‚ll put it in my jacket pocket.
I donłt trust you and Iłm not turning it over."

“You are a stubborn jackass, but so was your father."
RandÅ‚s chin went up and Frank couldnÅ‚t help but admire the kidÅ‚s grit. “Have it
your way, I donłt have time to argue with you."

Frank rushed through the door of his office with Rand
in close pursuit. An image of Marlow flooded his mind, sending his heart into a
lurch. Hell, The Black Rail didnłt have to go looking for his next Goth victim.
Marlow was about to walk into a deadly, sinister trap.




 

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

 

Marlow took the Metro downtown and got off in the
seedier part of Baltimore. Although shełd never been here before, she knew she
had been deposited in slum city. In the short expanse of two blocks, numerous
drug dealers approached her, hoping for a quick sell. Shełd been offered a variant
of illicit street drugs: crystal meth, smack, cocaine, marijuana, ecstasy,
heroin, diluted steroids, and even inhalants. It wasnłt even dark yet, but the
hookers streamed out in droves, strutting their stuff on the litter-infested
street corners. She spied a trio of teens mulling about a newsstand. The Goths
smiled as she approached.

“Hey, howÅ‚s it going?" she asked, trying hard to hide
her apprehension.

“Cool, whatÅ‚s up?" The lone girl in the trio asked.
“You lost?"

“Lost? I donÅ‚t think so, but I am looking for a
billiard hall."

The tall, lean kid with a well-used guitar strung over
his shoulder said, “YouÅ‚ve come to the right neighborhood then. Got a name?"

“PaddyÅ‚s, or PaddyÅ‚s Place."

The girl pointed north and Marlow followed her finger.
“Two blocks on your left, so youÅ‚ll have to cross the street."

“Yeah, ya canÅ‚t miss it," added the guitar man. “The
bricks are painted black in front and therełs a big yellow neon sign. Says
Paddyłs Place, of course."

“Thanks," Marlow said and walked past them.

“Hey," one called out, “it will be dark soon, so you
best finish your business and get out of here."

Marlow stopped and turned to face them. “Why, will I
turn into a pumpkin at dusk?"

“ItÅ‚s not safe, girl, not unless you know your way
around."

“Right, thanks," Marlow said and scurried down the
street.

She found Paddyłs Place two
blocks later. The neon sign flashed in sync with the streetlight. Marlow pushed
the walk signal and waited for it to turn green. She hustled across the street
and stood at a large entrance door. Pulling it open, she stepped inside. Dark
and hazy, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust.

Several customers sat on high stools at the bar
nursing drinks, but other than that, a bartender seemed to be the only one
around. He raised his head and looked at her, eliciting a ripple of warning
down her spine. For the first time since leaving home, she questioned the
soundness of her plan. She hadnłt heard everything her mother and Frank said
through the six-panel door of the den, but shełd heard the name of the place where
Rand worked, and thatłs all she needed. Here she stood, shivering all the way
down to her toes, but she wasnłt leaving without Rand. She squared her
shoulders and walked toward the bar.

“Your friends donÅ‚t show up till ten at night." The
bartender kept one eye on her and one on the mahogany bar he polished
vigorously.

“Oh, IÅ‚m not meeting friends here. IÅ‚m looking for my
brother."

He paused in his task and looked into her eyes.
“Brother, huh? What makes you think your brother is here?"

“He works here."

Her announcement seemed to give him greater pause.
“Your brother got a name?"

“Rand, Rand Brennan."

Quicker than a chameleon, his somber expression
changed to a smile. “Rand, yes, he works here."

“Great," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“IÅ‚m in the right place."

The woman sitting at the bar in the tight red dress
eyed her suspiciously and the man next to her looked over his glasses to get a
better view. Neither spoke, but their perusal made her dreadfully
uncomfortable.

“So where is he?" Marlow pressed, praying heÅ‚d come
bouncing into the room at any second.

“Stacking liquor in the cellar." His gaze burned right
through her. “Come on, IÅ‚ll take you to him."

Warning bells went off in her head. “Why donÅ‚t you go
get him, tell him IÅ‚m here."

“Why should I? Do you want to see your brother or
not?"

Her desire to find Rand far outweighed the uneasiness
that settled heavily in her stomach. “Okay, lead the way."

She followed him down a long, dark hallway. At the
end, he opened a door. A moldering smell assailed her senses, a damp, musty
scent that left her cold. The stairs were steep, the walls close together.
Meager light from below flooded the steps.

“IsnÅ‚t there a light switch?" she asked.

His arm extended with a flourish. “IÅ‚m right behind
you, and the light is at the end of these stairs."

With her heart in her throat, she hesitated. His lusty
sneer and piercing dark eyes reminded her of a hawk about to swoop down on its
prey. A muffled noise drifted up the stairwell as though someone moved about in
the dark confines of the dungeon below. God, let it be Rand.

“Rand! Is that you?" she called out.

“He canÅ‚t hear ya, miss, but heÅ‚s down there. Go on,"
the man said with a push to her shoulder. “I ainÅ‚t got all day."

She took the first step and the next, finding herself
at the bottom of the stairs in a matter of seconds. The bartender followed so
closely, even if she changed her mind now, she had no chance of sneaking past
him. A sliver of light from a block window at the edge of the ceiling danced across
the floor.

The man walked around her and led her down yet another
long hallway. He pointed to a door at the end of the tunnel. “HeÅ‚s in there.
Thatłs where we store our liquor."

She narrowed her eyes and focused on the murky shadows
as they advanced.

He grasped the door handle, his pale, thin fingers
stark white against the dark knob. The door creaked and he stepped inside,
waving her onward. She walked into the room and gasped. Rand wasnłt in the room,
and neither was anything resembling liquor crates. The walls and ceiling were
padded with something resembling gymnastic mats. A metal, folding chair sat in
one corner of the room and in another corner sat a cot. Even in the dim light
Marlow saw the grime on the bare mattress and the splattered dark reddish-brown
stains. Someone stirred in the far corner of the room and moments later,
stepped into the meager light.

“Rand?" she said, her own voice sounding foreign.

“No," said the voice. “ItÅ‚s not Rand. Welcome to the
dungeon, honey."

Marlow turned on her heels and fled, but too late. The
wiry bartender clutched her wrist and spun her around. Something solid met her
skull. Her body pitched forward and the concrete rose up to meet her. White
lights danced behind her eyelids. She struggled to remain conscious as someone
dragged her by her hair and plopped her into the metal chair. He yanked her
arms behind her back and handcuffed them to the chair, and did the same with
her feet. Something warm and sticky ran down her forehead and trickled into her
eyes. Blood. Good God. Mine?

Dark forms dipped and twisted before her, their faces
muted by shadows and her befuddled brain.

Before all went black.




 

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

 

Marlow awoke in a cold, dark room. The only light
originated from a narrow shaft from the block glass window near the ceiling.
Her head pounded and her ankles and wrists ached. She squirmed in the chair,
trying to free them.

An icy voice drifted toward her from a corner of the
room. “No sense struggling. YouÅ‚re trussed up tighter than a goose on Thanksgiving
Day."

The man inched his way forward, reminding her of a
panther on the prowl. Tall, and powerfully built, his features were coarse, the
eyes penetrating, the bulbous nose anchored by a large handlebar mustache. In
his left hand he carried some type of gun, in his right, a notched knife.

“Who are you?" Marlow asked. “And what do you want
with me?"

“You donÅ‚t know? You havenÅ‚t figured it out? Oh,
honey, let me introduce my partner."

A chair scraped against the concrete floor, setting
her already frayed nerves on edge. A fluorescent pink robe with yards and yards
of silk billowed around the woman as she sauntered forth from the shadows. Her
face garishly painted, thick, blue eye shadow canopied a set of beady, blue
eyes set deep into her skull. Her lips were outlined in bright cherry, her
brows in thick, dark liner. Fake eyelashes blinked in perfect sync with her
every step, but it was the long, white cord in her hand that sent shivers of
dread through Marlow. It snaked through the air like a cobrałs tail.

The burly man cleared his
throat and laughed, a raw, primitive cackle that bounced off the padded walls
and caused her heart to miss a beat.

“The Black Rail," he said, bowing dramatically at the
waist.

The woman curtsied and hovered over her. She stood so
close Marlow nearly vomited from the sweet, sickening perfume emanating from
the woman. “You and I are going to be good friends before this is over," she
said.

Marlow sucked in a deep breath. It wasnłt a womanłs
voice, but a manÅ‚s. She screamed. “Oh, God, no! Please no!"

The thick-set man put the
gun to her arm and pulled the trigger. An electric current ran through her, so
powerful, every beleaguered ligament and muscle in her body yowled out in
protest. She couldnłt move, couldnłt speak. She tried to form a scream, but the
sound stuck in her throat.

She sent a silent prayer skyward. Please, let it be
quick.

The transvestite slipped the cord over her head and
tightened it around her throat, slowly, slowly, cutting off her airway. Blood
rushed to her brain and she gasped for breath. He tightened it and then
released it, affording her a little air. Dread and fear set in. Now she
understood. It would be a tedious, painful process, this choking game. Time and
again hełd tighten the cord only to release it before she lost consciousness.
When they tired of this wicked game, theyłd kill her. Tears ran down her
cheeks. Oh, please, God, let Rand find me.


 

* * * *

 

Rand sat in the passenger seat of the Denali as Frank
sped through town. It all seemed so surreal. He couldnłt believe Paddy and The
Black Rail were one in the same. The man had killed the women right under his
nose. The how and why of it tumbled through his brain. He knew Paddy was gay,
but the few gay men he knew from college werenłt violent. Mild-mannered and
low-profile, they seemed to cherish friendships with women.

He glanced at Frank out of the corner of his eye. “You
scared the hell out of me the night you broke into my apartment."

“You call that flea-infested place an apartment? You
donłt have any idea what youłve put your mother through these past few months,
do you?"

Rand looked out the side window.

“I hoped youÅ‚d realize you were throwing your life
away, and for what, the freedom to smoke pot? Besides, I had to see the
contents of that box."

“I guess IÅ‚m thankful you broke in and stole the box.
I just hope wełre not too late." At Frankłs silence, he turned to look at him.
“Do you have a plan once we get there?"

“To find your sister," he replied. Frank took the next
corner on two wheels. “You said you knew the building, where would he keep her
if he planned ..."

A shiver ran down Randłs spine. He didnłt want to
think about it, someone harming Marlow, someone as evil as The Black Rail
touching her. HeÅ‚d seen the pictures in the paper, read the accounts. “ThereÅ‚s
a basement and several rooms."

“Have you been down there?"

“Crates of liquor and beer are stored in the main part
of the cellar, but IÅ‚ve seen a door to a room at the end of the long hallway."
Rand slapped his hand to his forehead. “Damn, so many times I wondered what was
behind it." He sighed. “Splinter told me Paddy had locked it, and I better not
even try to go in there or hełd break my neck."

“Splinter, whoÅ‚s that?"

“The bartender. HeÅ‚s a weirdo. I think he fancies
dressing up in womenłs underwear."

“A transvestite?"

Rand nodded.

The image of the bartender surfaced in Frankłs mind.
So hełd been right. The effeminate man with the dark aura did have something to
hide. He couldnłt put his finger on it at the time. Hełd been too caught up in
finding Rand, but it was there all right, emanating from him like a black curse
from Satan.

Frank parked down the block from Paddyłs and they
jumped from the Denali, Rand following close on his heels. “While I waited for
you in the alley that night, you exited through a back door."

“ItÅ‚s always unlocked," Rand said. “Think we should
enter through there?"

“Yeah," Frank replied. “You point out the door to the
basement and then check out the bar, see whołs in there."

Rand pulled the metal door open and they entered. He
pointed to a door to their right, and when Frank headed toward it Rand turned
left and slipped into the billiard hall and bar area. The room was empty; even
Splinter was nowhere in sight. Rand ducked under the doorway and crept down the
long hallway leading to the basement acutely aware his sneakers creaked with
every step. He stopped once or twice and listened, but not a sound reached him.
His heart thrummed in his chest. Hełd never been so scared, or worried. At the
bottom of the stairs, he entered another hallway, so dark at times he felt his
way along the wall. Familiar voices drifted toward him. Frankłs and Paddyłs.

“You been sticking your nose in where it donÅ‚t
belong." The confidence in Paddyłs voice set Randłs heart into a triple beat.

“A bad habit of mine," Frank said. “No matter, sooner
or later someone would catch up with The Black Rail."

“Me? The Black Rail? You got the wrong man."

“Right, and my name is Rumpelstiltskin."

“Suit yourself, but donÅ‚t say I didnÅ‚t warn you."

With his back pressed against the wall, Rand froze
outside the room. Shit, what should I do? He wasnłt sure if he should
jump in, or wait to see what happened. Noiselessly, he pulled the Glock
from his pants pocket. He had to see if Marlow was in the room. He hadnłt heard
her voice and shuddered to think they were too late.

“Cut the bullshit, Murphy," Frank said. “I picked the
lock and I know whatłs in the box."

“Oh, that. ThatÅ‚s nothing more than circumstantial
evidence, doesnłt prove a thing."

“How about that girl you have tied to the chair over
there? She circumstantial, too?"

Rand closed his eyes and sent a prayer skyward. Let
her be alive, please let her be alive.

“She just took a little bump to the head. I assure
you, shełs alive, but you wonłt be in about ten seconds." Paddyłs shrill laugh
bounced off the walls of the room and reverberated into a stream of
echoes.

Rand peered through a one-inch slit between the door
and frame. His peripheral vision cut off, the only thing he saw was Frank and
the gun in his hand aimed at Paddy.

“Untie her, and then up against that wall," Frank
said.

Everything happened so fast, Rand didnłt have time to
react. A baseball bat sliced through the air and for a moment he thought
Frankłs head would explode before his eyes. A sixth sense must have warned the
hardened P.I. He ducked, but took the full brunt to his right shoulder. Rand
heard a bone snap and watched Frank fall to his knees, firing off a shot before
he crumpled into a heap. A womanłs muffled moan echoed in the room, followed by
a series of ghastly wheezes and agonizing groans from a man. Every muscle in
Randłs body tensed as the seconds ticked by. A woman hovered over Frank, her
pink dressing gown billowing about her in a maze of silk and satin. She raised
the club over her head about to bring it crashing down on Frankłs skull.

Rand kicked the door open and barged into the room.
“Freeze!"

The womanłs head jerked up. Illuminated by a thin
shaft of light coming through the block window, a chill coursed through Rand.
Gurgling sounds spewed forth from Paddy lying on the floor to Randłs left, but
he couldnłt take his eyes off the painted ghoul before him. The features were
familiar, even in the dim light of the room. It wasnłt a woman.

“Jesus, Splinter."

The bartender rushed Rand, swinging the bat before him
as if he held a lethal weapon in his hands. Raw evil masked his contorted
features. Rand pulled the trigger and delivered three rapid shots at close
range. Splinter staggered back, his expression one of shock and disbelief.
Blood poured from the wounds to his chest, turning the pink satin a deep shade
of red. The man toppled to the cement floor, dead. Rand dropped to his knees
and looked at Frankłs shoulder.

“Your collarbone is broken," he said.

“DonÅ‚t worry about me." Frank drew a deep breath,
whether from pain or relief Rand didnÅ‚t know. “See to you sister. Get that gag
out of her mouth and untie her."

Moments later, Rand tore the filthy cotton rag from
Marlowłs month, untied her hands and feet, and drew her into his arms.

“Oh, God. Rand. The bartender told me you were down
here and I followed him. I didnÅ‚t know, I thought―"

“Shush, now, Marlow. ItÅ‚s going to be all right."

Rand pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed
911. With labored breath, he gave the dispatcher the address and told her to
send the police and an ambulance. He helped Marlow to the dirty cot and knelt
beside Frank again.

“Damn, this is a fine mess. I canÅ‚t get up, never been
in so much pain. I think the bonełs popping through the skin." Frank gave him a
forced smile. “You did good, Rand, real good."

Five minutes later, the sound of feet pounding the
floorboards above them reached their ears. A blessed sound. Footsteps rushed
down the stairs and sped through the hallway outside the room. With guns drawn,
five of Baltimorełs finest rushed in.

“Jesus!" The sergeant said, looking at the dead
bodies. “What the hell happened here, the St. ValentineÅ‚s Day massacre?"

“Just about," Frank said through clenched teeth.

Rand stood by helplessly as the policemen lifted
Marlow from the cot and carried her from the room. A stretcher arrived for
Frank. They rolled him onto it and hustled from the room. Homicide arrived to
gather evidence and tape off the crime scene.

Randłs eyes lingered on Paddy for a moment, and next
Splinter before he ducked under the archway of the dungeon and walked up the
stairs. So much had happened in the last few days, Rand had a hard time
grasping it. Hełd have to deal with his motherłs wrath and endless questions
from the police later. For now, he had to be thankful Marlow was unharmed and Frank
alive.

“Here are the keys to the Denali," Frank said from the
back of the ambulance. “Best pick up your mother and bring her to Baltimore
Memorial. Can you do that, Rand?"

“You can count on it," he said.

Amid the flashing squad car lights and the roar of the
siren, Rand blew a long sigh of relief and headed for the Denali. The thought
of facing his mother frightened him more than facing Splinter twenty minutes
ago. Well, nothing could be done for it now. He had promised Frank, and
whatever lay ahead, he had to face it. Rand picked up his pace, opened the
driverłs door of Frankłs car and settled in behind the wheel. He plucked the
cell phone from his pocket and dialed his mother.




 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

 

“I knew I could count on
you, McGuire," Jeffords said dropping into the chair across from Frankłs desk.
“Tell me the truth, were you surprised when you discovered two men were
involved?"

Last night, Giselle appeared in his dreams, her smile
peaceful, and her face serene. “You have set us free," she whispered. Frank
awoke in a cold sweat but serenity claimed him soon after. The victims were at
peace and The Black Rail would never kill again.

The girl had tried to tell him when she held up two
fingers. It wasnłt the symbol of peace, but rather a sign that The Black Rail
was really two malevolent beings―Splinter, who enticed the Goth girls
into the cellar through various means, and Paddy, who got off watching the
bartender torture and ultimately strangle them.

Frank shook his head. “Surprised, yes, but I should
have known. IÅ‚m slipping in my old age."

“What do you mean? How could you have known?"

Tired of explaining to Jeffords how messages were
funneled during mediation or dreams, he shrugged. Not many understood it and
they didnłt want to. Frank smiled as the lines lit up on his desk phone. On the
other end, nameless, faceless parents were calling requesting his services with
an admission they didnłt understand his methodology, but could he find their
children?

Jeffords asked again, “Why should you have known about
two men?"

“LetÅ‚s just say the clues were in front of me and I
missed them."

“Hmm," Jeffords said. “Maybe you are getting
too old for this." He rose from the chair. “IÅ‚ll drag my sorry ass out of here.
I see by the flashing lines, things arenłt about to settle down for you in the
immediate future."

Frank nodded and Jeffords turned to leave the room. He
had no intention of answering the phone, and Grace was at lunch. He left a note
on her desk and followed Jeffords out the door. Grace could hold things down
for a week while he took a much-needed vacation. Hełd thought about nothing
else while recuperating from the separated collarbone injury. Hełd booked a
ticket to Vegas, and today he would board that plane.

Marlow had fully recovered from her minor injuries and
swore off eavesdropping in the future. Rand visited Frank every day during his
recovery. Back at home and enrolled in college again, he seemed content if not
happy.

“Where do we go from here?" Rand asked while sitting
in a chair next to his hospital bed.

“Where do you want to go?"

“ThatÅ‚s a stupid question," he replied, his expression
serious. “You said if I enrolled in college again and straightened up, I could
live with you."

“What does your mother say about that?"

“She thinks youÅ‚re my only salvation."

Frank studied him.

“Well?" Rand asked.

“Well, what?"

“Are you going to keep your word or not? I know my dad
would approve."

“I think youÅ‚re right."

“Is that a yes?"

“ThatÅ‚s a yes," Frank said. “A definite, yes."

“IÅ‚ll see you when you get back from Vegas," Rand had
said with a cocky smile before leaving the room.




 

 

 

About the Author

 

 

 

Ketałs
passions include watching movies, reading, dabbling in genealogy and metal
detecting. She lives in the Midwest on six acres of woodland, a great place to
look for underground artifacts. One day, Keta hopes to live in a year-round
temperate climate spending every day writing in the great outdoors. Keta writes
erotica fantasy and historical.