WARNING!!! This story contains non-consensual sex, violence, abuse, mutilation, snuff and cannibalism. Read it at your own risk. I'm not responsible for your dinner finding its way back :-) WARNING!!!|
This story is for Caleb
"You aren't crying, Danny, are you? You're too old for that."
My uncle turned me to the window seeking for traces of tears in my eyes. His large palms on my shoulders seemed so heavy that I even didn't try to get free. But I didn't cry - he shouldn't have worried.
"Good," he pressed me to his chest. The warmth coming from his body and his smell - of sharp eau de cologne and tobacco - cloaked me. For a moment I felt so weak that it seemed I couldn't stand upright. Protection of his embrace and his presence felt almost unbearably good. "I'm glad I don't have to be embarrassed for you, Danny."
"Let's go then."
We walked out and he locked the door. I watched how he turned the key in the lock and listened to a small chant beating in my temples: I see it for the last time... we'll never come back here again. The apartment was sold and soon new tenants would live here - those who would know nothing, would feel nothing. For them it would be just a place; and everything I knew and remembered about it - about its air suffused with death, about broken mirrors, about her screams and whispers - I had to forget it. Lock the door and throw away the key. Even if it wasn't so easy to do.
In the car I wished my uncle hugged me again. He didn't; he wasn't into cuddling. But gestures didn't mean much; what he'd done for me was more than any sloppy sentimentality.
He hadn't sent me to an orphanage. He'd come from America next day after my mother's death. I hadn't seen him before, which was not surprising: my father's brother had emigrated from Romania many years ago and at first it wasn't permitted to keep contacts with him and then... then my father died, so, we got out of touch.
But when I stayed alone, it was my uncle who'd come to help me. I looked askance at his harsh face with broken nose - he didn't look like my dad at all; my uncle was so much older - and bigger: broad, even stout but undoubtedly strong. I liked it. I liked him being strong. During the last year I was so tired of being the strong one, of being the one to rely upon...
And sitting next to him I thought that no words of gratitude could express what I felt - for he was taking me away. He was taking me away to another country where I hoped I could forget everything... my mother's emaciated body that I raised when changing sheets under her... her loose tangled hair brushing against my lips when I held her in my arms... the closeness between us that I never wanted but couldn't deny her.
* * *
My uncle was a well-off man. His house in Georgetown, Washington DC somehow suited his appearance - it wasn't new but solidly built and seemed to be able to last a hundred years. I liked this house; actually I liked everything in the USA. The less everything here reminded me Romania, the better it was.
I started attending school again; it turned out I did quite well even though I had missed almost half a year at home. I was a bit nervous if I would find any friends here, with my not-so-fluent English and everything, but it worked out fine. My uncle was pleased how I was doing.
"Telling the truth I worried you'd be a trouble, Danny," he said once when we talked, after having supper; during the meals we usually kept silent - he said you should concentrate on eating then. "I don't get along with children too well. However, you aren't a child, are you? You're fourteen. And in any case, you're a fine young man."
My uncle insisted on speaking English to me, from the very first day - he said it'd help me get used faster.
"Thank you, sir," I answered.
I had my own room that I furnished up to my taste - and my uncle even rarely came in there, giving me a lot of privacy. I didn't have many duties: twice a week a woman came, cleaned the house and cooked - and I only had to reheat supper - not microwave it but reheat it in the oven because my uncle didn't like all those things with microwaves. But for me it wasn't laboring at all; taking care of my mother, I'd learned to do a lot more.
My uncle used to be a doctor. When being young, he'd spent a few years as a member of some fantastic expeditions in barely explored regions of Africa. All the walls in his sitting-room were adorned with masks made of dark, smooth wood. I liked to look at them and at other exotic things he owned - some of them were completely crazy, like that necklace made of... well, of penises. And in a closed glass box he kept a withered black head, size of a fist - as he said, it was a present given to him by a tribe chief.
I liked it when he talked about his travels. Sometimes in the evenings his friend visited him - doctor Steller - and then they sat at the chimney for hours, drinking cognac, smoking and talking about things.
My uncle wasn't a practicing doctor any more. As he said himself, he made a better businessman than a doctor. Now he owned a pharmaceutical company and seemed to be happy to get me acquainted with this business.
"Well," he said, "I'll have to leave it to someone. I don't have a family, my only brother is dead... really, Danny, you are my family."
With all this interesting life - school, new friends, home - I almost didn't have time left to think about the past - to think about her. Or maybe I tried so hard to occupy all my time not to think. And that's why she sometimes came to me at night, when I couldn't put a barrier between her and me.
Most probably it was a dream - although it seemed to me that I kept my eyes open and still saw her frail figure against the window, in her nightgown - the only thing she wore in the end. Her hands were pressed to her chest and somehow even in the darkness I could see how her lips moved when she whispered:
"Danny, my dear child, come to me."
Then she lowered her hands - and the nightgown was suddenly gone - and I saw her uncovered body and two hideous scars in the place of her breasts.
They amputated both her breasts - but cancer had spread deeper by then, into her bones, lungs and stomach. It took her so long to die...
But she did die: I knew it - and as soon as I recalled it, the figure of my mother would dispel in front of my eyes... okay, obviously it hadn't been there in the first place.
And yet later I lay in cold sweat, thinking about her - until my thoughts inevitably took that direction. And recalling how she pressed my head to her mutilated chest and how my cock slid in the warm, tight wetness of her slit, I started caressing myself - and thinking of her gasping whisper: "Yes, Danny, please do it, only you can make your mommy feel good," I came, splashing semen on my hand.
But it happened only from time to time, at night - and by day I always could convince myself that it was nothing - that I had managed to forget everything.
* * *
The only door in the house that always stayed shut was the door to the basement. Quite a while had passed before I noticed it - and even longer before I paid attention. There was nothing special in it - well, just a door - and there were lots of other interesting places in the house that I could explore.
But eventually I asked my uncle what was there.
"An ice-room," he said.
Okay, it answered the question. We didn't need an ice-room, we had a fridge - and we didn't store much food at home anyway. Some time later I still decided that I wanted to know everything in the house and asked Marcia, the woman who cooked for us, for the basement key.
"Don't have it," she shrugged. "I dunno, never go there. Nobody ain't go there."
Nope, someone was going there all right, I thought looking at the solid door and shiny locks - although I'd never seen my uncle doing it.
When everything is fine, a man starts searching for adventures. For me this kind of adventure was the basement. How could it be otherwise? Everywhere else in the house I could walk unimpeded, I even could stop by at my uncle's study whenever I wanted. And there - a locked door! Just like in the tale about Blue Beard. My father had read my this tale when I was a kid - and had done it so well that I couldn't sleep without light for several nights... and my mother yelled at him for scaring me although he did it without premeditation - just wanted to impress me.
A couple of times I even tried to talk my uncle into going down to the basement, under some far-fetched pretexts. Deep at heart I was sure there was nothing more fascinating than some junk accumulated for years - but I had to see it with my own eyes. Yet both times my uncle refused - although he didn't seem to be worried.
"What, there is not enough space for you in the house, Danny?" he asked. Of course, I said there was enough. "Then stop pestering me. And don't you know curiosity killed a cat?"
Should I say my curiosity flared even more after that?
And when once at night I woke up hearing the stairs creak under the heavy steps of my uncle, I quietly slipped out of the bed and looked out. It was all so silly, I realized it - he probably simply walked down to have a snack at night. But then I looked and saw he was unlocking the basement door. And I had to know what was there! My uncle entered, closed the door after himself - it clicked, locking.
I lay in bed for a long time, waiting to hear him come back - but fell asleep before it happened.
* * *
Next day, coming home after school, I searched the drawers of his table. I felt so ashamed - at the daylight I felt like a bastard. My uncle was so kind to me - and I even didn't have enough conscience to leave his secret alone, whatever it was.
But I found the key - and I had two hours till my uncle's return.
It seemed to be one of the most exciting moments in my life - when I turned the key in the lock. And even if I knew it was a cheap excitement of doing something forbidden - I still had a sweet sucking feeling in the bottom of my stomach.
The door clicked slightly, opening. I felt a gush of cold air on my face. The darkness beneath seemed impenetrable.
Come on, Danny, I cheered myself. Yeah, start exploring an old ice-room and dusty trash. However, it didn't smell with dust there. I reached my hand, groping on the wall. The light switched on.
My first thought was that the basement didn't look like I imagined it would. And my second thought was that there was someone there. It was such an unmistakable feeling of presence - and exactly because the idea of it was so absurd, I felt even more scared.
Sure, there are ghosts... and it's cold because of them, I told myself. In a horror movie I watched recently they said leaps of temperature proved some paranormal activities.
Maybe, my uncle carried out voodoo ceremonies in this basement... but voodoo was from some different region, wasn't it?
And the interior down there didn't look like anything satanic. On the contrary, it was very modern - stainless steel... some medical equipment? I seemed to have seen something like that at the hospital where I visited my mother. I walked down slowly; I wasn't afraid of anything that had to do with medicine. And it explained things, didn't it? My uncle probably stored there his medical things he didn't need any more.
I saw him when I was already downstairs. I knew there was someone, felt it, even though tried to deny it. And as it happened, when I actually saw him, I was scared less than before. I walked around a metal table and felt someone looking at me. I turned and met a gaze of widened dark eyes.
For a moment it seemed to me I didn't see anything else - just these eyes looking at me; and then I saw the rest: his very pale, somehow wild face framed with long strands of black hair. It was a man; he lay on something like an iron bed - or was it not a bed but a grate? - I knew it was a man despite his long hair because I could see his genitals - he didn't have any clothes on him. And something else was terribly wrong about him but for some reason my mind refused to register what it was.
I saw how his lips moved - and he whispered in a desperate voice, turning away:
"Don't look. Please don't look."
* * *
But I couldn't stop looking. I understood suddenly what was wrong with his body - and realizing this, I covered my mouth with a hand not to cry out. Of course I knew such things happened - had seen it before, in a movie - but never in real life, never like that! His arms and legs... he didn't have them. His arms ended right below the shoulders and his legs at the thighs - and there was nothing else, just pink scars.
I couldn't stop looking; monstrosity of this sight was bewitching. And at the same time deep inside I felt a pang of sharp, agonizing pity mixed with disgust - so similar to what I felt to my mother when she bared her disfigured chest in front of me for the first time and I understood I would do for her anything she'd ask me for.
Yet I couldn't stop looking.
The man shook his head, tossing long strands of hair away from his face, looked at me again. He didn't ask me to turn away any more - on the contrary, his dark eyes on the pale delicate face devoured me. He probably was just a few years older than I was...
"What is you name?" he asked.
"Danny. And yours?" my voice sounded like a hoarse whisper.
"Vincent," he said.
"What... what are you doing here?"
It was a stupid question, so stupid, but I couldn't stop myself. There was something terribly wrong that he was there, in this icy basement... and what kind of accident could turn him into... into this... I suddenly noticed that he didn't just lie on the grate but a collar fastened him to it - and a belt around his narrow waist tied him to it, too.
He was so thin - I could see the contours of his ribs - and on his skin - no, I probably imagined it - there were see dark, almost black stains of bruises.
I reached my hand to him - it felt so wrong to me that he was tied like this, the belt was digging into his body - it probably hurt. I just wanted to take off this belt.
"No! Don't touch me!" he flinched, his eyes became mad and I shrunk back. My fingers seemed to be burnt with cold - his skin was icy. "Go away! Don't tell anyone that you saw me - that you were here. If he comes, he won't like you're here, he'll hurt you..."
"He's not at home," I said. "He's at work."
And only a moment later I understood what exactly I said. Till now I couldn't even think that my uncle could... could have something to do with it. But... what else could I think?
There must be some explanation, I thought. There have to be.
I felt Vincent's gaze.
"So, you're..." he whispered. "You're not his son, are you?"
"His nephew," I said. Apart from this answer, my mind felt void. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to think. "Why is it so cold here?"
"An ice-room," he showed with his chin at the half-opened door. Cold air spread from there. I mechanically walked to the door, closed it - this cold was unbearable. When I came back, Vincent looked at me with some tormented attention.
"You shouldn't have closed it," he said. "He won't like it."
"It's wrong..." I knew I said something ridiculous; I should've said - done - something completely different. But I felt numb, so helpless. "You... you'll get sick, you'll get pneumonia - it's so cold here!"
I looked around. There was no blanket, no nothing to cover him - but I couldn't leave him like that. There was something shameful in his being naked. I took off my school jacket and put it over him. The thought that it was enough to cover him - his legs and arms didn't stick out - was stunning.
Vincent's stare became wild, as if something shocked him - and for the first time I thought he probably wasn't quiet sane.
"I won't get sick," he whispered. "He gives me injections... not to get sick..."
What for? This thought made me mute, so sharp it was. What for was my uncle doing it? No, I couldn't believe it at all. I knew my uncle - I lived next to him for months - I knew his good-hearted manners, his laughter, warm touch of his big palm on my shoulder.
There was no place for this basement and this man - Vincent - in what I knew about my uncle.
"What..." I whispered, realizing that I was afraid of an answer. "What can I do for you? Should I call for someone?"
Vincent's bluish eyelids rose and his gaze that had been tired until now became bright and desperate.
"No! You won't do anything. You won't call for anyone. You'll just leave now, switch off the light and lock the door - and you'll forget that you've ever been here."
And there was something in his voice that made me do exactly what he told me to do. Walking backwards, I ascended the stairs, switched off the light and locked the door - as if, doing it, I tried to wipe away from my memory his sight there, downstairs, to make this picture unreal.
And a few minutes later I heard the engine of the car, and my uncle entered the house, loud and flamboyant as always.
Through all the evening I wanted to ask him, to tell him what I'd seen and demand explanations. But I couldn't. He told me about the progress in his company, asked me about school, sitting in the armchair at the chimney and smoking his cigar - and I couldn't make myself ask him.
And after I went up to my room, I kept listening to his steps - and it seemed I heard how the key turned in the lock and the basement door opened.
In the morning I found my school jacket on the sofa in the sitting-room.
* * *
I returned after school knowing that I'd do it again - take the keys again and go down there. A part of me believed that I'd do it to make sure it was just a dream, a vision - like the ghost of my mother I sometimes saw at night. Today the basement would be empty... would be different.
But everything was as before - metallic shine of the surgical table and other constructions - and the iron grate. But Vincent wasn't tied to it.
This time the belt was around his chest, holding him almost suspended - but not quite. Between his legs there was a thin rail supporting the weight of his
body. A sharp edge of the triangle rail was turned up, and I clenched my thighs instinctively, imagining this sensation.
Without thinking I took him in my arms, raised him, taking him from the rail, unclasping the belt. He was so light - it was almost unreal, but of course it was like that. I felt how a strand of his hair brushed on my lips - it had happened to me before... the weightless body in my arms, the long hair...
But my mother died, left me, coming only as a specter, to torment me. And Vincent was alive and warm, and I felt how his ribcage moved under my hands.
I put him on the grate, just didn't know where else to put him. His groin was swollen with the pressure.
"Why... why did he do it?" I almost cried. A surge of terrible anger flooded me - I never knew I could feel something like this towards my uncle. "Why did he hang you like this? What, was it because of me? Because I saw you?"
Vincent shook his head, his hair fell and I saw that the left side of his face was black and blue. It hadn't been like that yesterday... I recalled the broad, heavy hands of my uncle.
"Please, Danny," he whispered. "Don't do anything. Don't call for anyone."
"Why?" My anger and pity were so strong that I didn't even feel guilt towards my uncle at the moment. "You... you don't understand what you say..."
"I'm not mad," his voice really sounded normal, as if he very clearly understood what he wanted. "I don't want to... anyone to see me... like that."
I stopped still. It didn't come to my mind. Perhaps I was used to seeing things that others would find disgusting. And after the first moment of shock I didn't notice what was wrong with him... and his scars were so thin and well-healed, unlike the scars on the chest of my mother.
"Danny," he said softly, "if you could help me... I need to relieve myself."
For a moment I looked at him and then he pointed me what to do.
I raised him in my arms and held him above the sewer hole in the floor. It didn't shock me to do it - there had been times when I helped my mother with it. I was just angry... why couldn't my uncle do it convenient for him - why did he have to choose between keeping it or soiling himself?
For a second, before I put Vincent onto the grate again, I thought that I didn't want to let him go, that I wanted to hold him like that, against my chest. I reached my hand and touched his hair.
"Vincent," I whispered.
"Ah, I see you already got acquainted."
The voice sounded upstairs, behind me, and it made me flinch. I turned around. My uncle was on the steps.
"When you go to the basement, Danny," he said walking down and I, as if hypnotized, just stood and looked at him, "always close the door behind yourself. Then it'll lock and only someone who has the key or knows where to push can open it. And no sound will be heard outside - I made the basement soundproof on purpose."
He walked towards us - and half-consciously I stepped so that I was between him and Vincent. Until now I never realized how huge my uncle was - or maybe I did realize but I liked it, I felt safe with him.
I was safe now as well, wasn't I?
"So... what do you think about the body?" he asked.
"I..." I stammered. And I didn't know what I wanted to say at all. "Why..."
"Why what? Why is he here? I'll tell you. Because he's mine. And I can do whatever I want to him."
He pushed me aside - just moved away - and I couldn't do anything. He plaited his fingers through Vincent's hair, raised his head and locked his mouth on Vincent's lips.
This sight was so obscene... and somewhat harrowing. I saw how Vincent's stumps jerked up as if he tried to do something - and this gesture made my stomach twist up. I wanted my uncle to stop touching him, wanted it to be over!
In the end he let Vincent go, licked his lips.
"He's my toy," my uncle said. "And I don't think you can mind it, Danny."
There was this note in his voice - I had heard it only a couple of times before - a warning. But I had to say it.
"Illegal?" he peered at me. "Then why didn't you inform police about it yet? You had almost twenty-four hours for doing it, Danny."
Really, why? I didn't know what to answer.
"Because, even though it is, as you say, illegal - you still like it," my uncle said kindly. "You like him, don't you?"
I looked at Vincent, suddenly feeling shame that I could look like this at him and he couldn't even cover himself. And then the impact of my uncle's words reached me.
Yes, I liked him. I liked him from the first moment I saw him.
I shivered and looked up at my uncle - and I knew he could read the answer in my eyes.
"So, you do like him, Danny?"
"Yes," I said.
"You would like to touch him, feel him, do things to him?"
"Yes," I whispered. I knew if I answered differently, I would be done with. My uncle wouldn't risk letting me hold his secret. But at the same time the truth was that I didn't lie to him.
"You already touched him, didn't you?" my uncle said. "Why did you take him off?"
My lips moved but I couldn't find words.
"He must've asked you?" my uncle said gently. "He asked you to help him?"
It wasn't true... but it also was true. Vincent really asked me for help. I felt going red, so hard that tears nearly sprang from my eyes. Then I nodded.
"He should be punished for it," my uncle said. His big hands clasped on Vincent's ribcage, raised him so easily as if he really was a toy, turned him face down. "Right, Danny?"
I had to agree with him; he had to think that I agreed, that I was on his side. Or else...
"Yes, sir," I whispered.
"Then punish him," he said. The buckle of his belt made a soft sound, unclasping. He pulled the belt out of his pants and handed it to me. "Come on, hit him."
If I refuse, he won't spare me, I thought. If I refuse, I... I won't ever see Vincent again. For some reason this thought struck me badly even though I should've worried more what he could do to me and Vincent.
I took the belt, clenched the buckle in my hand. I tried not to look at Vincent's narrow back - or I wouldn't be able to do it. I raised my hand and lashed the belt across his back.
The swish of the belt and the sound of the blow seemed deafening - but even more shocked I was with the sensation of the leather meeting skin. I had never hit anyone before. Even I was never hit with a belt - my dad only slapped me sometimes when I behaved too naughty.
It seemed the air became too thick in my chest - I couldn't breathe. I looked at the pink line that crossed Vincent's back and couldn't take my eyes away from it.
"Stronger," my uncle said. "I know you can hit him stronger."
I raised the belt again and hit again, and again, and again. Pink swollen lines appeared one after another, crossing Vincent's buttocks, his spine, his sharp trembling shoulder-blades. I hit and hit, with all my strength, fearing to stop, fearing to pull the punches because I knew my uncle would notice it. I couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything to Vincent, to explain that I did it not because I liked it but because I was afraid to find out what my uncle would do if I didn't.
My hand went numb. I gasped for air but I knew I couldn't stop. It took so much effort - and I even didn't notice at the first moment when my uncle came up to me, unzipped my pants and started masturbating me.
"I knew you'd like it," he whispered over my ear when under his hand my cock grew erect and hot. I clenched with shame, with impossibility to get free from his hand. And at the same time... I liked what he did. Excitement flooded me, intoxicatingly sharp. I was choking. And through the loud sound of my panting I heard short muffled groans Vincent made at every blow.
"It's not enough," my uncle whispered. "Make him scream."
"I don't know how!" I almost mewled. I couldn't hit him stronger, I did my best.
My uncle let me go, stepped to Vincent, turned him face up in one motion. I saw Vincent's eyes, widened with pain, black on bloodless face.
"Hit him in the groin," my uncle said. "Aim well."
I obeyed. The belt lashed; it seemed I heard the sound of tearing skin. I saw blood coming from Vincent's bitten through lip. He made a convulsive choked shriek.
"More," my uncle said.
I lashed again. Vincent's body jerked; he cried out. Now there were two swollen welts crossing in his groin.
I stopped thinking, I only raised my hand and hit. I stopped seeing what I was doing - my vision was darkened. I couldn't look at Vincent's face or at his groin. But even through the noise in my ears I kept hearing his helpless cries.
"Enough," suddenly my uncle's hand caught my wrist. Instinctively I tried to break free but his fingers clasped hard like a steel cuff. He took the belt out of my hand. The buckle imprinted in my palm deeply and I didn't even notice it. "Now take him, Danny. You want it, don't you?"
How could I deny it - when my zipper was open and my cock stuck out shamelessly, so hard it hurt and leaking with transparent fluid?
Yet I couldn't move. Then my uncle led me up, pulled Vincent's thighs apart, set my cock against the soft ring of his anus - and pushed me a little. I pressed - and slid into Vincent's body, almost without meeting resistance.
I said I entered easily but in fact the entrance wasn't loose. Inside Vincent it was tight - delightfully tight, warm and wet. As if a soft palm was wrapped around my cock.
I looked at Vincent's face. He gazed at the ceiling, distantly. His lips were bitten.
I put my hands under his hips, raising him - and the stumps of his legs touched my belly. I felt distinct lines of his scars against my skin; on his legs the scars were rougher, almost like on my mother's chest... but inside her it had never been so hot and tight.
I didn't need my uncle to push me any more. I couldn't stop - slid in and but with deep, smooth movements. I felt my balls press against Vincent's buttocks at every thrust, felt his ballsac touch my pubis. The contact between our bodies was so complete - never before, in no other pose I had sensed it.
"Play with his nipples," my uncle said.
I obeyed, ran my fingers over Vincent's nipples, feeling the heat of pulsing blood under the thin skin. I hadn't never done it before... my mother... she didn't have nipples, you see. For a little while his nipples stayed soft, then went erect.
"Don't caress him," my uncle said. "Squeeze them. Don't let him enjoy it."
I squeezed - I knew my uncle watched me - squeezed until my fingernails went white and Vincent's nipples turned into flat pieces of flesh between my fingers. Vincent didn't make a sound.
"Bite him," my uncle said. I leaned, took one of Vincent's reddened nipples in my mouth. "I want to see him bleed."
A moment before I clenched my teeth, I touched Vincent's nipple with my tongue, licked it - and it was all I could do to let him know... perhaps he didn't even notice it. I bit. For the first time I understood how much effort it took to break the skin. Vincent's body jerked, he moaned. A thin trickle of blood ran over his ribs.
His groan and convulsive movement giving away his pain seemed to surge into me, through my cock buried in his body. I shuddered. It was unbearable... too beautiful. I slammed into him, swift, in short ragged motions - until a wave of sweeping orgasm took me. Then I froze, my cock deep inside him.
I gasped taking out my softening cock. Vincent's anus wasn't quite closed and my sperm leaked out of it in a thick white trickle.
"Come here," my uncle took my shoulder and walked me towards Vincent's face. "Let him lick you clean."
Vincent's huge dark eyes looked at me - but I couldn't bear his stare. I shouldn't have looked at him if I was supposed to go through all this. I brought my cock, smeared in semen and mucus, to his lips.
His tongue was moist and warm - and it touched so lightly... almost like a caress...
"Enough," suddenly my uncle shoved me away. "It's time for someone else to get his fun."
He unzipped his pants and I saw his penis, fully erect, sticking up and forward.
Even on porno snaps on the Net I had never seen anything like this! His cock was as long as my forearm and wider than my wrist. Dark veins swelled under red, glistening skin.
I thought Vincent wouldn't be able to take this thing in his mouth - it'd just break his jaw. But when my uncle pressed the tip of it to Vincent's lips, his mouth opened submissively, taking the cock inside.
It entered not just his mouth - but deeper, I saw Vincent's throat expand with this huge object pushing into him. He made choking, tormented sounds - and the cock slammed into his throat violently. There was spittle trickling over his chin, and in his eyes there was such suffering that I clenched my fists, trying desperately not to scream.
At some moment my uncle stopped using his mouth and raised Vincent from the grate. His cock was wet with spit. In one motion my uncle shoved Vincent down on this shaft.
Vincent's head jerked convulsively; a choked scream escaped his lips. I saw blood leaking on the inner side of his thigh.
"Do you know, Danny, why I never married?" My uncle's breath was heavy, panting but he kept raising Vincent and shoving him down on his cock. "No woman could bear my dick inside her. That's why I couldn't find a male lover as well. But this body accepts everything I give it."
His hands clasped around Vincent's tiny waist, thrusting him up and down.
"See how convenient, Danny? He's as light as a doll, nothing prevents you from turning him as you like."
Vincent's head sagged, his hair brushed against his chest but my uncle didn't stop. And all this time he looked at me - so, I couldn't even turn away. But maybe if he hadn't looked, I still wouldn't have turned. I was hypnotized.
Suddenly he yanked Vincent off and threw him down on the grate. Vincent cried out with an impact - and at the next moment the cock pierced him again. But now my uncle's hands were free - and he pulled and twisted Vincent's nipples, mauled his ballsac and cock.
Now Vincent moaned constantly. His moans sounded with such agony that I didn't know how I could stand it without covering my ears. It seemed to me it was going on for hours until my uncle finally went still in orgasm, just his hips trembled.
When he took his cock out, the fluid that leaked from Vincent's anus was richly colored with blood. And his hole itself looked terribly - was so open that it seemed you could put a hand in there.
He sobbed, choking - and yet when my uncle pressed the cock to his lips, he somehow managed to lick it.
"Time to clean him, too," my uncle said yanking him down on the floor. I gasped - Vincent couldn't even do anything to soften the fall.
Shivering, Vincent lay on his side on the floor and my uncle directed a jet of water from the hose at him. A few drops reached me and I shuddered - the water was icy.
He made it a real torture - shoved the hose into Vincent's rectum until Vincent screamed in pain and his belly bloated. When my uncle took the hose out, the water ran mixed with blood.
At last my uncle raised him, wet and with his teeth chattering, and threw him on the grate. Habitually he took out a syringe and stuck the needle into Vincent's shoulder, then put the collar on him and locked the belt. This time he put Vincent face down.
"I change his position to prevent sores," he commented.
We walked upstairs and my uncle switched off the light, leaving the basement in complete darkness. Darkness and cold... The heavy door slammed shut, the key turned in the lock.
But for me everything was not over yet. After the supper that passed, as always, in silence my uncle followed me to the sitting-room, sat down on the sofa and pointed a place for me to stand in front of him.
"So, Danny," he said. "How do you feel about it?"
"It... it was incredible, sir. I've never felt anything like this before."
"I presume," he chuckled. "But you liked it."
It wasn't even a question.
"Did I like it? I... it was the best time in my life, sir," I muttered. I couldn't afford sounding insincerely, couldn't afford a moment of hesitation.
"And what did you like most of all?"
I didn't expect this question. But I knew I had to answer. After everything that happened, after everything I had done - the thought that it was in vain and I wouldn't see Vincent again was unbearable.
"I liked... that he's so helpless," I said hoping that my uncle would take the quiver in my voice for excitement. "That I can do to him whatever I want. And I don't need to... stop myself."
"I'm glad you understand me so well, Danny." My uncle's palm touched my cheek. "I knew we'd get along. We're blood related, after all. Even though your father was always a soft one, I was afraid you went after him... You surely want to know how I managed to get a toy like that," he continued. "Well, I'll tell you. In fact I myself created this body - this perfect creature. I created it from an ordinary young man."
He walked to the safe and returned in a few seconds with a photo. I took it. It was of a dark-haired young man, maybe, twenty years old, with short hair and in sun-glasses. The pic was taken in some attraction park, in front of a merry-go-round full of children. The young man was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and his long arms rested on the rails of a wooden fence.
And only a few moments later, in the contours of his face, in the curve of the lips I recognized Vincent.
In the corner of the pic I noticed the date when the photo was taken - four years ago. So, at the present Vincent must've been about twenty-four. But now, with his long hair and waxen pale face, he looked younger than on the pic - unbearably vulnerable, like a child.
"You see there was nothing special about him," my uncle said. "I won't bore you telling how I got hold on him. It's enough to say that all who knew him consider him dead. I won't tell you how much effort it took me to make him accept his new position of my slave. As a matter of fact, he didn't stop causing trouble until I turned him into a body completely. Injections helped as well, of course, weakening his will...
"I started with his left arm," my uncle said. "Then I had to power shock him to cope with him. I knocked him out and when he came round, he was already tied to the grate. He looked at me defiantly - he didn't know what I was going to do - and I decided not to explain him.
"I could've simply amputated his arm - perhaps it would've been a sufficient shock for him to break. But I wanted to teach him a lesson, for all discomfort he caused me.
"I took his left arm and tied it above a brazier. Then I stirred up embers. His screams... I can't describe how desperately he screamed. He forgot his pride, his hatred to me - he was ready to do anything only to make me stop. The fire was small - but it made it only worse, his nerves were not burnt out... and it made it last longer. I used special drugs that dulled pain a little - exactly enough to prevent him from going insane - and at the same time they prevented him from losing consciousness. He screamed and thrashed. If I hadn't fastened him particularly firmly, he would've torn the belts. Well, he did break his arm - heightening his agony even more. His skin was bloated with
heat, cracked - and there was hypodermic liquid trickling out."
Blood rushed away from my face. I didn't know how I didn't vomit listening to it. My muscles ached from keeping my face expressionless - but fortunately my uncle was too carried away with his story to notice it.
"I started slicing off the muscles from his bones, layer after layer. By that time he couldn't even scream, you know, lost his voice. His eyes were half-crazy. I cut off his flesh and put the bits into his mouth - and covered his nose and mouth to make him swallow. Even stunned with pain, he still understood what I was forcing him to do. He almost threw up but I closed his mouth until he swallowed everything. Then I put out the fire.
"That first time I cut off the flesh from his fingers and his forearm, to the bone. I gave him a shot of antibiotics to prevent sepsis, and left himalone, tied and with his mutilated arm.
"When I came back, later that day, he almost managed to break free. You must give him a credit - he was stubborn. I don't know how many times he lost consciousness trying to get untied but he nearly succeeded. But I tied him up again, stirred up the embers and went on. I finished it next morning, when there were no nerves left in his arm. By then he stayed lucid only thanks to drugs. It was dangerous to continue - so, I amputated his arm. On the part that I cut off there was still some flesh and I fed it to him for a few next days.
"It was weeks before he got well again. And something was really broken in him. I don't know if it was because of pain - or because of realization that he swallowed his own flesh. But he stopped resisting me when I raped him - just turned away and didn't look at me. His shoulder caused him pain for a long while - but I knew when I brushed my fingers against it, he shuddered not only with pain.
"I didn't think he'd be able to go through the same with his right arm, so I simply cut it off, having him a bit drugged. If you could see how beautiful he was then, in his helpless state! Almost more beautiful than now. Then I still allowed him to wear clothes. He could've tried not to dress and to spare himself all the pain but he always struggled to put his clothes on, even if he knew I would tear them off next moment. His cut-off arms under the sleeves of a t-shirt seemed broken wings of a bird.
"And he still had that pride - still tried to take care of himself. You should've seen how he brushed his teeth, holding the tooth-brush between his knees. I loved to see shame on his beautiful face when he couldn't cope with his zipper. I wanted to make him eat like a dog, lapping from a bowl - but it would be just a good chance for him to starve to death, and I turned to forced feeding. Then I could exactly control how much he'd eat.
"His legs I took away from him in sleep. And his shock when he came round and saw the stump of his body rewarded me for all those screams that I could have heard from him had I done it while he was lucid. He begged me so much to kill him... I even promised him that. I promised I'd kill him when I get tired of him. He still hopes I will.
"And some day," my uncle added thoughtfully, "I'll keep my promise."
* * *
Next day I could barely sit through the classes. Oh I could've informed police of everything that happened - my uncle trusted me enough to let me go. But I couldn't. Was it because of the fear of my uncle - fear that got under my skin? Or was it because of Vincent's words when he begged me not to call for anyone?
I came after school and the keys were in their place. My uncle wasn't at home. I unlocked the basement door with shaking hands, ran downstairs and unfastened the belt.
Vincent's face was deathly pale, his lips almost blue - and his body was icy. Around the welts his skin was black with bruises. I raised him in my arms.
"You may not take him out of the basement," my uncle said yesterday. "Never do it."
But at least I could... I hastily wrapped Vincent in a warm blanket. It wasn't enough to warm him up; I hugged him, pulling the blanket around both of us, pressing him to my chest, trying to give him some warmth of my body.
"I'm sorry, please, I'm so sorry..."
His thin ribs rose under my hands convulsively and I felt how subconsciously he leaned towards me seeking for warmth. I pressed my lips to his hair.
"I couldn't do anything - if he found out that I..."
"It's okay, Danny," he whispered. "I understand."
I nearly cried with his words.
A little while later the numbness of cold passed and he started trembling. His body wasn't hard like a stone any more, started relaxing a bit.
"Here, here," I mumbled, letting him go a little, pouring tea from a thermos. I brought the cup to his lips and he drank it quietly.
"It's sweet," he said as if in surprise. "I can't have anything sweet. He says I'll gain weight."
I clenched my fists in fury. My uncle who weighed nearly over a centner should've worried about himself, not about Vincent with his bird-like bones.
"But he doesn't need to know," my voice was hoarse with tears.
I knew Vincent couldn't eat normally, after being fed through a tube; that's why I brought him only mashed vegetables and chocolate cream. I thought he'd like chocolate cream. He didn't say anything else, just let me feed him. When I finished, he whispered:
"You do it well."
Strange but I flushed with pleasure - as if it was my merit, as if it wasn't just a habit, experience I got thanks to my mother. Joy mixed with shame flooded me. Yes, I could do something to make Vincent feel better. I couldn't protect him but at least I could do something. And the feeling of the weight of his helpless body leaning against the crook of my elbow made something clench inside me, desperately and sweetly.
I knew it wasn't a good feeling - not a clean one. Perhaps it was just the other side of the feelings my uncle had, I suddenly thought. He liked to hurt Vincent - and I liked to hold him - but for both of us he was just an object. I didn't lie to my uncle yesterday saying that most of all I liked Vincent's helplessness.
"Do you need to pee?" I asked. His eyelashes fluttered. He nodded, lowering his eyes.
I helped him and then I held him again under the blanket, warming him. I didn't need to talk, I didn't need to do anything - it was enough to have him like that, to feel how his chest moved with breath next to mine. I could spend all my life this way.
"Danny," he said suddenly. I looked at him; the gaze of his huge dark eyes seemed strangely soft. "Danny, can you do something for me?"
I nodded hastily - everything he wanted.
"Please convince your uncle. Make him kill me. He promised."
I froze. No... No, I couldn't do it. Inside, I was screaming. Whatever else - but not that! Yet how could I refuse - I couldn't deny his request.
Biting my lip, I nodded.
"Thank you," he said. "Now tie me up again, your uncle will be home soon."
* * *
Next days a certain routine occurred. My uncle came home after work and we together went down to the basement. In his presence I raped Vincent - and watched how my uncle did it. Often he made me do other things as well, hurt Vincent - and I did it, couldn't refuse.
But when my uncle was away, I went to the basement alone - and then I could do what I really wanted: could hold Vincent in my arms, stroke his hair, talk to him. I thought that at least for a few hours a day I could spare him from cold, could relieve his suffering. I brought food to him - what he could eat - what I thought he could enjoy. I thought it could make him feel a bit better.
Once I tried to take his cock in my mouth, hoping to arouse him. But nothing happened.
"It's no use, Danny," he sighed. "It's because of injections. He doesn't want me to enjoy it, even by chance..."
I didn't know if my visiting Vincent brought him any relief. Sometimes, walking down the stairs, I noticed in his eyes such agony that my heart fell. But warmth and my presence couldn't be worse that cold and loneliness, could they?
I thought my uncle didn't suspect anything. I always tried to cover my tracks, cleaned everything - and when we came to see Vincent together, I didn't give myself away.
And then, one evening, my uncle said to me:
"Help me to carry this downstairs."
It was a portable TV/video set. I obeyed him without asking questions. He placed the set in the basement.
"Sorry for making you carry it, Danny, but you know I have a rule never to take the body upstairs. I know he asked you to talk to me so that I kill him."
I went red. I hadn't been able to make myself do it, after all. And at the next moment the thought how my uncle could know it struck me.
"Surely there are cameras all around," he grinned. "And I know everything about your lovely pastime in the afternoons. What do you think, Danny, why I never feared that you'd betray me? I have tapes and tapes of you torturing the poor cripple - enough to send you to prison or to a loony bin for years.
"So," he continued, "I made my mind to keep my promise to Vincent. I'll kill him. This weekend. We'll kill him - I and Danny, right, Danny?"
As if hypnotized, I nodded. It probably was no use to pretend any more. But I... I knew how much Vincent wanted to die - I shouldn't do anything that could anger my uncle, make him change his mind.
"And tonight I'm going to show you how I'll kill him," my uncle said.
He set the grate vertically so that Vincent could see the screen - and put two chairs, one for himself, one for me.
"As you can guess, Danny, Vincent isn't my first toy. Right before I found him, I got rid of another, old one."
He turned on the TV. On the screen there was the same basement, looking very similarly. The counter in the corner of the screen showed date and time. Four and half years ago. My uncle appeared in front of the camera, looking younger and even a bit thinner than now.
"Well," he declared looking right at us, "so, it's time for me to part with the body. I spent so many pleasant hours in its company but all things eventually come to the end. However, I can't let my toy leave just like that. Since I decided to let him go, I should do it in such way that will please me most of all. And it should be a special event for him as well."
The camera shifted a little - so that I could see a grate, much like the one Vincent was tied to. But this time on it there was a limb-less body of a man with almost waist-long blond wavy hair. I saw a few ugly scars on his body, as if bits of flesh were torn from there - and between the strands of his hair I saw that his nipples were gone.
"He doesn't look too thrilling," my uncle on the screen smirked. "But he's still a lot of fun."
He raised the head of the body by the hair, turned it to the camera - and I screamed feeling my heart stopping.
It was my father.
* * *
I came round with my uncle splashing water on my face. Seeing him so close made me thrash, and he pressed me to the wall, not letting me go.
"Oh come on," he said grudgingly. "Yes, it's Chris, my brother. I always dreamed of having him all for myself. And eventually I managed to have him."
My father had disappeared - died in an air-crash - seven years ago, coming home from America, after visiting his brother. But this tape... four years ago my father was still alive... and looked like this.
I shook my head. I wanted to pass out not to think about it, not to hear my uncle's voice. I wanted to die, wanted it all to be just a nightmarish dream, wanted to wake up. Sharp pain pierced my arm and I saw how my uncle put away an empty syringe.
"Now you won't black out again," he said with satisfaction. "Don't be such a wet rag, Danny, you're a man."
There must've been something paralyzing the will in the drug because I let him put me in the chair and kept staring at the screen dumbly.
"I had no doubts how my brother should die," my uncle continued in front of the camera. "There was only one choice - you can guess which one. But I also wanted it to last as long as possible - to get as much fun as I could.
"His hair..." he sighed. "I liked it so much - but it would burn all the same and it would be unpretty."
A little device chirped in his hand, shaving off long strands from the skull of my father.
Again I felt like screaming. Without this long hair my father's face became even more familiar. I hadn't forgotten him through all those years, so many times thought about him, touched his photos... I could see him every time I closed my eyes.
And now I could see him again... like that.
"Chris knows there is nothing more delicious for me than his flesh," my uncle continued. There was a short curved knife in his hand. "The pleasure I felt when his blood splashed into my mouth could be compared to nothing. But this time I want to do everything right."
I saw how he cut a stripe of skin on my father's chest, flayed it off. My father made an agonized moan when salt was poured on the bare red flesh. My uncle went on - flayed new stripes of skin, put salt. My father screamed, bleeding, his body covered in wounds - and I looked at it. I looked how my uncle cut him like a piece of meat.
The camera moved, showing a big brazier with glowing embers. And then for the first time I realized my uncle was not alone in the basement, there was something who recorded it. For a moment the camera caught the cameraman's hand, with a big exotic ring on a finger.
"Everything is almost ready," my uncle said. "But first of all..."
I didn't know what he was going to do when he took a small gas heater and lit it. But when he brought it up to my father's genitals and my father screamed, I screamed as well.
Only because of the drug I felt so weak that my scream broke soon - and my father kept thrashing, tied to the grate, struggling in vain to escape the flame. The skin on his ballsac and cock swelled with heat, charred.
"It shouldn't be roasted too much," my uncle said. "These parts I prefer rare."
The flame was extinguished. And then - impossible - my uncle suddenly went down on his knees in front of my father. A moment later he sank his teeth into the genitals of my father.
Under the charred skin there was scarlet flesh. I watched how my uncle tore bits of this flesh, in leaking blood - and heard how my father made incredible, choking sounds that had nothing human in them at all.
I don't know how long it went on. Several times I felt that my brain refused to function - but I couldn't lose consciousness - as well as my father couldn't. He screamed and my uncle gnawed between his legs. Finally everything was over - his private parts were gone; instead of them there was just a bleeding wound.
"You know, Chris, you have never been more beautiful," my uncle whispered. Blood was getting dry on his face. Suddenly he unzipped his pants and took out his erected cock. With his fingers he spread the entrance to my father's body - the open wound of urethra - simply tore it and thrust his cock inside.
My father's eyes rolled up; he convulsed in pain. My uncle must've been too excited - it took him only a few minutes to finish. He came and retrieved his cock, thickly coated in blood.
"So, let's go," he said. "But the grate won't do. I'll need to turn him, won't I?"
He chose an iron spit almost an inch wide.
"That's better." He set it against my father's anus and shoved it inside. I heard another wild cry. Blood poured from my father's mouth.
"No, no, Chris," my uncle said gently. "You won't die so soon. You and me - we still have time."
What happened next I barely can describe. He roasted still alive body of my father. After a while he cut his belly open and took the inner organs from there, first one, then another, still attached to the body, and put them on the coals.
Through all this my father stayed alive and conscious. He probably lost his mind - but he still felt pain even though his screams became soundless - his vocal chords were torn. Sometimes my uncle sliced off pieces of flesh and put into my father's mouth.
It went on for hours. I was rigid, frozen. I could see and hear but my feelings seemed to go numb. In the end my uncle cut off my father's tongue, then started burning his face, cut off his nose and ears. And only when in this terrible, covered with blood creature there was nothing human, he broke my father's ribcage and ripped out his heart.
"You see, Danny," my uncle said, "that's why I intend to do it on the weekend. When doing it right, it takes almost the whole day."
Only when the screen finally went dark, I came round. I wept so hard that I choked - and I didn't hear a word of what my uncle said to me; so, at last he took me in his arms and carried away from the basement.
And in my blind despair I clung to him as if he was the only stable thing in my life.
He gave me another injection and I fell asleep - and in the morning he gave me one more shot - so that I could get up and walk to school. I couldn't cry any more, because of the medicine... or maybe I simply had no more tears. I sat in the classroom, staring in front of myself dumbly.
* * *
A few hours later a thought struck me. He said we'd do it on the weekend - but what if he lied to me? Yesterday when I was crying I noticed almost nothing around. But today the memory of Vincent's white face, drawn with shock, came back to me, as well as his unblinking stare as he looked at the TV screen.
I didn't say anything at school, didn't ask for a leave - then they would've contacted my uncle. I simply skipped it, caught a taxi and went home. My uncle was there - I saw his car in the garage. Yet it was silent in the house.
I walked up to the basement door and pressed on the wall - my uncle had shown me where to press. The door opened; there was light in the basement. My uncle turned around, hearing my steps. In his hand there was a short curved knife.
"Danny? I wanted to prepare a surprise for you - start our feast today."
The words froze on his lips as he saw a rifle in my hands. I shot from both barrels. The noise was deafening. Two wounds, scarlet-black, blossomed on his chest. He swayed and fell face down, without making a sound.
I ran down the stairs, staggering. I was shaking. I couldn't even say anything, there were just some mindless sounds breaking from my lips. Vincent looked at me with huge black eyes. On his left thigh there was a stripe of flayed skin.
"Oh Danny," he said.
I probably cried. I couldn't even say a word, just unfastened the belts and grabbed Vincent in my arms.
I ran upstairs with him, carried him to the bathroom, turned on the water. I couldn't bear thinking about the traces of my uncle's hands on them, I needed to wash them off. And there was salt on his cut, I had to wash it off, too. He moaned.
"What? What, did I hurt you?"
"Water," he whispered. His head fell back as if he was fainting, his lips went white. But he added. "The water is warm."
I washed him hastily. Blood kept leaking from the cut. I disinfected it and bandaged it. I didn't let Vincent go, as much as I could help it - didn't want to let him go even for a moment, as if he could disappear, as if it could become just a dream.
He shivered; I also was shaking. I carried him to my bed, slid under the blanket with him and wrapped it around both of us - as I used to do. I felt his wet hair under my cheek and then he tilted his head down, pressing my head to his shoulder.
Then we both fell asleep.
* * *
When I woke up, it was twilight - a bit past seven, I think. I felt how Vincent's chest rose with breathing quietly. I looked up and saw him staring at me. In the near-darkness his eyes seemed even bigger - and unbearably sad.
"So, Danny," he said. "What shall we do now?"
I didn't want to let him go but I knew I had to. I sat up in the bed, rubbing my eyes. All my body ached dully. My brain seemed to ache as well but I still knew what I had to do.
"I'll call the police," I said. "And emergency. They'll help you."
He shook his head quickly; his gaze didn't let me go.
"No, Danny," his voice was gentle but urgent. "I don't need an emergency. If you feel something towards me, please don't call for anyone. They won't let me die, they'll make me live as I am. They'll see me as I am - my relatives, friends, they'll know..."
I looked at him not knowing what to do. A few hours ago it seemed to me that as soon as I saved him from my uncle everything would be all right. I killed the monster - so, I could become his prince. And for me he was always beautiful... but for others...
"You always were kind to me," he continued. "If you still want to do something for me - your uncle had medicines. Just one injection - and everything will be over, I'll be free. No one will know. This medicine - they won't be able to check the time when the injection was made. You'll say your uncle did it - and you killed him defending yourself. Because you surely know whom he wanted to make his next toy?"
Did I know? I shook my head - but then realized that I really knew. It wasn't difficult to guess - my uncle told me all too often how much I reminded him my father.
"Please, Danny," Vincent said quietly.
I bit my lips not to cry. Yes, I could do it, I would find the medicine - and I had seen so many times how my uncle made injections. Yet...
"Even this I can't do myself," Vincent said.
I'll do it, I thought. I'll kill you. But the thought that Vincent would be no more, that I wouldn't be able to have him in my arms any more, wouldn't meet his eyes, hear his voice... it was unbearable. It was worse than death.
I could kill him. But I couldn't live with it.
Tears sprang from my eyes. I shook my head, trying not to cry. I shouldn't have... I had to do what he asked me for. For it I needed all strength I had, couldn't spend it on tears. Yet I couldn't stop crying.
"Danny?" I heard Vincent's alarmed voice. "What happened, Danny?"
I didn't want to answer him - what could I say? And then words rushed out of me in a mindless sputter:
I fell on his chest, sobbing, blind with tears - and only after a while Vincent's voice reached me.
"Don't, Danny," he said. "Don't."
I raised my head.
"Will you stay with me?" I asked.
There was such suffering in his eyes that I almost took back my words, in their shameless egoism - I almost said I would do what he asked me for. Then he said quietly:
"Yes - if you want it."
I left him in the bed and went down, to the basement. The body of my uncle still lay face down, as before. Blood around his torso coagulated into thick jelly.
I took him by the legs and dragged towards the ice-room. He was so heavy, seemed to be made of stone - but I knew I had to move him - so I did. The most difficult was to push him over the threshold of the ice-room but I managed. I dropped him right at the doorway.
Suddenly it seemed to me that, like it happened in some Stephen King's book, the door of the ice-room was slamming shut - and I didn't have time to stop it. For a moment I saw it so clearly: I'm here, with the corpse of my uncle, locked - and Vincent is upstairs, alone and helpless.
Yet the door wasn't getting shut at all. I walked out and closed it.
I washed blood from the floor, using the hose my uncle used to wash Vincent - and suddenly incredibly joy swept me, at the thought that it would never happen again. Never was Vincent going to suffer here - no one was going to.
At first I intended to leave the rifle in the ice-room as well but then I took it upstairs, wiped it and put at its place. In the basement I switched off the light and locked the door.
Then I cooked supper, put plates and two glasses of red wine on a tray and carried to my room.
Vincent looked at the wine and said nothing. Did we have something to celebrate? I helped him to sit up, lean against pillows. Eventually it turned out it was too much a nuisance to change forks all the time - so, we ate first from one plate, then from the other. We drank from one glass - and when I touched the brim with my lips, I fancied I could sense the warmth of his lips.
Vincent blushed a little after drinking the wine and I also felt a bit giddy even though we drank very little. After the meal I brought a comb and tried to brush his hair. But it was dry and so tangled I couldn't do it.
"Do you want me cut it off?" I asked.
"Yes," he said - and suddenly gratitude flashed in his eyes.
I didn't have any experience with cutting hair - so, I just cropped it a bit below his ears. His face without those long strands became more similar to the face I had seen on the photo.
"Do you want to watch TV?" I asked. He nodded. We settled in the bed, he leaned against me. I took the remote and switched the channels as he told me. We decided for some old sitcom and watched it till half past one at night. Then we dropped to the bathroom and went back to bed, and I lay down next to him.
* * *
And at night I suddenly understood that my uncle wasn't really dead. He came round in the ice-room, got up - and somehow he managed to open the ice-room door. Now he walked up the stairs and already was opening the basement door. I heard how he knocked - I heard his steps - and I saw how he walked, his chest covered in blood. He held something in his hands - something he used to make his way through two locked doors. And at the next moment I understood what it was. He had two bloodied arms in his hands.
I woke up screaming, jerking, trying to escape - and only a few seconds later I heard Vincent's voice:
"Come on, Danny, wake up, it's just a dream."
Just a dream.
It was wet and hot between my legs.
"Oh God," I whispered. "I pissed myself... us..."
I was so ashamed. I got up, started changing sheets, unable to look at Vincent.
"Danny," he called for me.
Then I turned to him. He sat, covered with a blanket up to his chin - and he seemed almost normal like that, like an ordinary person - if not to look at the contours of his body under the blanket. His eyes were sad.
"You don't need to be ashamed," he said. "Not of me. I won't ever think bad about you."
In the morning I called to school and said I was sick. I said my uncle would send them a fax. They knew he was not very sociable, so, a fax should've been enough. I myself printed it, forged his signature and sent from his study.
Then I called to my uncle's office. The secretary, Estelle, knew me.
"He's a bit sick," I said in a sufficiently mournful voice. "Some virus or something. The doctor said he should stay at home at least till the end of week."
"Oh, all right," she didn't seem to be upset. "I'll cancel his appointments."
"If something happens, call him home," I said.
Of course, it was just a temporary measure - I particularly clearly realized it at that moment. For how long could I lie without anyone asking questions? Well, as for me, I could pick up my documents from school saying I was returning to Romania. But my uncle? Could I say he left without warning anyone? No one would believe.
So, it was just a question of time when exactly police was going to get here. And then I won't have any justification, I understood. Yesterday I could say that I had acted in the state of affect. But after my today's efforts to cover my tracks... I wasn't afraid of prison. I couldn't think of never seeing Vincent again.
When they come, I thought, I'll shoot myself. But at first I'll have to kill Vincent - I promised him that.
I promised... the thought that I repeated the same torture as my uncle had enjoyed so much - of promising to kill him and putting it away - it made me shudder. If only... if only I could believe that Vincent wasn't unhappy with me!
If only we could stay together... alone... leave and start new life somewhere. But how was it possible? I didn't even have a driver's license - and in any place Vincent would attract attention. If there had been a miraculous world where only two of us could live together, where no one would see us... maybe, there he would agree to live with me.
"Danny," he said once when I sat in bed with him. "If you want, we can have sex."
I wanted it! Of course, I wanted it - madly, painfully, it hurt there, in the bottom of my belly - so much I wanted him.
"Look," I said, "he doesn't give you any more injections, right? So, you'll be able soon..."
"Let's not talk about it," he said. "Just do what you like."
"I won't hurt you," I said. I meant everything would be different from what had been when my uncle was near.
"You never hurt me," he said.
I leaned to him and kissed him on the lips, and he responded to me. His mouth accepted my tongue and his tongue met mine. For the first time we kissed like that - and it wasn't me who kissed him but he kissed me - and suddenly I felt like I was younger and less experienced than him. It had always been that he depended on me - and I had enjoyed this feeling. But at this moment he was stronger, he led me - and it felt even better.
We parted; I stroked his face. There were tears in my eyes.
"Don't, Danny," he said. "Don't cry... not now."
"Okay," I nodded.
I took off his t-shirt - he raised his arms helping me.
"Don't you want to undress?" he asked. "You never undressed there..."
Yes, it was true. Down there, in the basement, under the stare of my uncle, I only unzipped my pants. I took off my clothes and embraced Vincent, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. He wasn't cold any more. The welts on his body - I had left some of them - were still rough, I could feel them. His nipples grew hard with the friction between our bodies. He spread his thighs letting me closer. His un-erected cock made me feel desperate, I wanted so much him to enjoy it, too - I would do anything for it.
Maybe, I still could... I touched his groin.
"Don't," he said. "It's futile. Just do what you like. Or let me do it with my mouth."
But I couldn't. I won't do it, I decided, until he can do it, too, until the effect of the medicines wears out. Too bad we probably didn't have enough time...
I took my cock in my hand stroking his face with the other hand - and my orgasm was stronger and sweeter than those I had felt when raping him, in the basement.
"Silly, silly little boy," Vincent said when I, worn out, lay with my cheek on his belly. "Look at me," he said. I obeyed. "Lean closer."
I leaned and his stump touched my face. I sensed thin lines of healed scars. He stroked my face. And I knew that if never in my life I felt another touch, this alone would be enough for me.
There had been no one in my life before Vincent - and there would be no one after. It was that simple.
"Danny! Danny!" suddenly I heard him calling for me. I probably blacked out for a few moments. Vincent's face was pale and serious. "There is someone in the house."
Indeed - now I heard steps as well - and a moment later there was a voice downstairs:
"Nicholas! Danny! What the fuck did Estelle tell me you're sick? What kind of doc told you to stay home?"
Doctor Steller. I felt my legs and arms grow shaky. So, it was the end. He was my uncle's best friend, I wouldn't be able to deceive him. He wouldn't leave without seeing my uncle - the more so as he must've seen the car in the garage.
Everything was over. I looked at Vincent with haunted eyes, fearing most of all to see relief in his gaze. He knew I wouldn't deceive him, I'd kill him first.
"Don't, Danny," he said. "Nothing is lost yet. Get dressed and go down."
I couldn't disobey him, put on my clothes with stiff fingers and walked to the door.
"I don't want you to die," I heard Vincent's voice as I left.
Doctor Steller stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands at his sides, and looked up. There was amazement on his pink round face.
"Ah, here you are, Danny," he sighed with relief. "I already started thinking something happened. What, were you asleep?"
"Yes," I said hoarsely.
"So, what's the shit with your uncle? What kind of virus? Let me see him - and he'll be well again in a moment," smiling, he walked upstairs.
I stood in his way.
"He's... he's not there."
"And where is he?" Steller asked still good-heartedly. "I won't ever believe Nicholas has gone somewhere without his car."
His hand touched the hand-rail and something clicked - metal against metal. I looked at his hand and saw a big exotic ring on his finger.
Everything became logical all of a sudden.
"He's not there," I repeated. "He's downstairs."
"Yes, downstairs," I pointed at the door of the basement.
"Ah," Steller's eyes lit up. "With his toy. I see he introduced you into his games."
"Do you want to see him?"
"Ah? Yeah, probably," he agreed. "I haven't seen his boy... what's his name... for a while."
I didn't answer, took the keys and unlocked the door.
"Wait," he said, "you said he's down there."
"Yes," I nodded calmly, opening the door and switching on the light. He peered down.
I could've pushed him. He would've rolled down the steep stairs, got knocked out - but wouldn't have died. And then I could've locked the door.
How long would he stay alive there? He didn't have a cell phone - like my uncle, he thought those things roasted your brain. Perhaps a couple of days later he would've dragged my uncle's body from the ice-room and...
I could've done it for the sake of my father.
But for Vincent's sake - for myself - I didn't do it.
"He's there," I said. "Dead in the ice-room."
"What?" Steller swept around as if I hit him.
"I killed him," I continued tranquilly, "for what he did to my father. For what you two did."
"I... I..." for a moment it seemed he was going to start justifying himself. "I don't know what you talk about, Danny."
"Surely you do," I smiled. "But you probably had no idea that he taped you as well, while you taped him. He taped everything you did. He has dozens of tapes."
I bluffed - but I was almost sure it was true.
"What do you want?" he whispered. "To kill me as well?"
"No," I said. "You'll help me. You'll help us."
* * *
Doctor Steller didn't have a choice. He did everything I told him to - signed a false death certificate for my uncle - he died of infarct according to it. At the crematorium, when all the evidence against me was getting burnt, Steller stood at my side.
My uncle hadn't left a testimony but I was his only relative - so, after a certain time the house and the stocks in his company became my property. Doctor Steller became my guardian. He also assisted me in taking my documents away from school and starting correspondence education; he diagnosed me with autism - that's why it was comparatively easy. Maybe one day I'll decide to go back to school - but not yet.
He knows I have the tapes - and he knows that my death won't set him free. If something happens to me, the tapes will go public.
He gives me prescriptions if Vincent needs some medicines - well, he needs a lot of them, his health is harmed badly after the basement and all those drugs. But Steller hasn't seen Vincent ever again - Vincent said he doesn't want to see anyone and I do what he wants.
I seldom go out - I even order my purchases to be delivered home. I simply don't want to leave Vincent alone. Not because I'm afraid - no, I simply don't want to. I don't need anything else but to be with him.
And when we lie in my bed, my head on his shoulder, and his hair tickles my cheek - sometimes it seems to me that I feel his arms wrap around me and his fingers touch my skin gently.