New Fic: Unleashed
Fic: Unleashed
Summary: He had such delicate hands, long, tapered fingers, the hands of an artist. When the collar is removed, he is unleashed. Inspired by a film of the same name.
Rating: Adults Only
Disclaimer: Not mine, sighs.
Notes: To those reading Mechanical Michelangelo, i've not forgotten it, i'm still writing it and will get a chap out asap! I just had a sudden urge to write this after seeing the film Unleashed. I've actually finished writing it, so it won't take up the time i usually spend writing MM anymore:-) I hope you enjoy!
Unleashed
He laughed. And that was his second mistake. His first was to deny Uncle Jim what he owed him. “You think I’m scared of that?”
He looked over at the boy, frail looking, with a mop of blond hair
falling over one shoulder, curling in soft waves almost to his waist.
His shoulders were hunched and his head in a constant tilt towards the
floor.
“You don’t have to be scared.” Uncle Jim said, moving over to the boy,
caressing his neck slightly and unclipping the silver collar that
adorned his neck.
The boy blinked, clouded, faraway eyes suddenly becoming brighter. Two
pools of bright blue sky looked at the stranger in the room, storing
the face to memory, the height, weight and the way he moved on one
spot.
No emotions rushed him, no sense of pity, no anger or hatred. His mind
was empty of all but one thing. The freedom, the rush of air to his
neck, the sting as fresh sores were given room to breath.
When the collar came off he knew what to do.
The man didn’t see him move. Blond hair flew into the air almost as if
in slow motion and a small delicate hand curled in precision, hitting
him hard in the kidneys before his knuckles curled backwards and he hit
the man’s nose with the heel of his hand, sending bone through flesh
and blood, burying it deep into brain.
The man didn’t have time to look shocked before he fell to his knees.
Most people underestimate the young, delicate boy, often mistake him
for a girl, and that was how Uncle Jim liked it.
The element of surprise always put him in a good mood.
The boy, he didn’t care one way or another.
The collar was clipped back in place around his neck and his eyes
clouded over, his head tilted downwards and his shoulders hunched in.
The basement was illuminated by a stark bulb that swung from the middle
of the ceiling. He lay on the bed silently and waited for the hatch to
shut and the lock to move across before he brought his knees up and
looked sideways, down into the dirt riddled floor.
He moved his hand, letting his fingers drag absently in it, he felt the
dirt fill the gaps under his fingernails, but ignored the uncomfortable
sensation as he concentrated on the patterns his fingers made. He
swirled his finger in the dirt, making patterns with no forms. He had
no thoughts in his head other than to move his hand, no picture already
mapped out waiting for him to bring it to life, just an urge to see
what happened with each movement.
He finally fell asleep, hand resting on the cold floor, surrounded by
finger trails that made no sense, but left him with a strange, content
feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The doodles were forgotten as Uncle Jim, stomped in front of him, large
feet stamping in the dirt until there was no trace left of what had
occupied the boy’s free time.
“Get up, J. We have a job to do. Dress Smart.”
J waited until he was gone before moving from his small bed and finding
his comb, slowly pulling it through the knots in his hair, wincing at
the laborious job of keeping it tidy.
He opened the wardrobe of ‘Dress Smart’ clothes and took out white
cotton pants and a matching, flowing shirt. Dressed now, he stood
waiting until he was called up and out.
Uncle Jim was waiting for him, took him by the arm and steered him
outside. He smiled proudly at the boy, a look a father might give his
son for getting good grades at school, and to him it was that kind of
feeling. He’d brought the boy up, made him what he was.
And he was magnificent.
“We’ve got more work to do, J. It really gets to me, how some people
think they can get away with smuggling drugs in my town. But what gets
to me more is, how those lily assed faggots on Liberty Avenue refuse to
even ‘negotiate’ my terms. It’s quite simple really. If they want their
queer clubs and bars to stay open then they have to give me a little
something in return, right?”
J didn’t answer.
Uncle Jim laughed and patted him on the shoulder before brushing J’s
hair over to one shoulder. “That’s what I love about you, J. You’re so
compliant and you never answer back.”
Uncle Jim got into the back of his car, waited for the boy to follow
and nodded at his driver. The drive to Liberty Avenue was a quick one,
much too quick for his liking. He didn’t much care for how close his
home was to this place.
The car stopped outside of a club called Boy-Toy; he wrinkled his nose at the name and curled his lip up at the sight of it.
It looked derelict in the harsh light of day, but he knew by night it
was thumping with faggots looking for a quick lay. He walked around to
the back door, J following almost silently behind him.
He banged on the door impatiently, ready to reach for his gun and blow the door open if no one answered.
A member of staff gasped in surprise as she saw him and stuttered unbecomingly.
“Take me to your boss.” He gave her a charming smile that didn’t reach
his eyes and she mumbled a response before ushering him and his silent
follower to a small, upstairs office. She knocked on the door, two
quick taps with her knuckles.
“He won’t be a minute.” She went back downstairs; he watched her reach for a mop and bucket.
He didn’t wait to be let in, rather, opened the door himself, found
Steven Fai behind the desk, a pile of papers in front of him.
“Now, now, Steve, don’t get up. You can write me a cheque better from there, I’m sure.”
Steven did get up; he shot Jim Stockwell, Mayor of Pittsburgh, a dirty
look and leaned over his desk. “You’re messing with the wrong fags,
Jim, if you think you can get a penny out of us, out of me. I’m not
helping you destroy this town.”
“I take it you don’t have my money then?” He said pleasantly.
“I’m not paying you a cent.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear you say that. I enjoy this part.” He walked over to J, and released his collar.
J lifted his head, eyes focusing and turning to Steven Fai.
“What, the fuck, is this about?”
“Just a warning to you and your little butt-fuck friends.” J circled
Steven Fai and his desk, eyes unblinking. “If you don’t pay in money,
you pay in blood.”
“He’s a little fresh to be one of your goons isn’t he, Jim?”
Stockwell chuckled, and gave J and affectionate look. “The fresher they are, the easier they are to train.”
J lunged, taking Steven by surprise and pushed the other man over the
desk, sending him crashing to the floor. J leaped after him, landing on
his chest, knocking the wind right out of him.
Small fingers turned into a fist and punched. Steven groaned as the
fist smashed his cheekbone and tried to wriggle free, moving side to
side to try and throw the young, deadly blond off.
J rode him like a horse, tightening his thighs and letting his body
flow with the movement. He grabbed the man’s ears, pulling his head
painfully up and banging it back down on the floor, repeatedly.
Steven’s eyes started to blur and blood bubbled in his mouth as he
looked over at Jim. “You’ll never get away with this, there are
witnesses here.”
“There are, aren’t they? That sweet little lesbian cleaning the bar. He
doesn’t discriminate between sexes you know.” Stockwell nodded towards
J.
“People will have seen you coming in here…”
“Me? In here on a Sunday afternoon? Everybody knows it’s family day.”
“What about your boy? Think people won’t link you together?” J put a
hand over his mouth and pushed downwards, until he heard skull connect
with fake laminated floorboards.
“Wait a moment, J. Let him have his say, it’ll be his last after all.”
“The only sweet-seventeen year old blond I know is my poor nephew,
institutionalised at the age of seven for killing his sister, such a
sad thing really. But I do my bit for my only sister and her husband, I
look after the boy, even visit him. He never leaves the home,” he shot
J a look, “do you?” J didn’t answer. “Get on with it, J, there’s
another one downstairs.”
J pulled Steven Fai’s head up and twisted it sharply, until he felt,
rather than heard, the tell tale snap, before letting go, leaving the
head to bounce on the floorboards. He walked past Stockwell,
downstairs, bright blue eyes focusing on the woman, how she moved, her
weight, taking in the slight pattern she had as she mopped the floor.
One shuffle right, two shuffles left.
The people of Liberty avenue were in a state of unrest, sadness washed
over the community as they heard about two of their own, being murdered
so brutally.
There were Chinese whispers and hushed gossip about the new mayor and
his less than stellar motives, no one talked of the blond assassin, he
was only seen by those who went to a place no one could talk about him.
Debbie threw the newspaper onto the table in disgust. “Asshole,” she said, glaring at it.
She then proceeded to whack her surrogate son over the head. “I can’t believe you helped that son of a bitch get elected.”
Brian shrugged and picked up the paper, flicking past the small article about the gay/dyke killing and onto the sports page.
“A job’s a job-“
“-a job, I know that,” Debbie popped her gum, and chewed angrily, “But
did you have to take that one? Things have gone from bad to worse here,
since he took over.”
Brian shrugged and studied the paper, not letting Debbie know how much
this had got to him. He didn’t regret much in life, but that, he did,
not even the extra money and accounts it had brought in could ease his
conscience, or his annoyance as every decent club seemed to close down,
one by one.
He’d heard about the blackmail from the clubbing grapevine, but didn’t
know how he could change what was going on, he was an ad-exec, not a
miracle worker, and he’d already worked what little magic he had-and
look how that turned out.
He shifted in his chair, cock as hard as a rock, begging for a quick
release, the kind of no name, no face, no talk, release the back room
of Babylon used to offer, before Stockwell had closed it down.
Brian downed his coffee and threw some change onto the table, getting
into his jeep and heading to Vanguard, and one of the many accounts Jim
Stockwell had put his way.
Jim Stockwell’s wrath wasn’t just directed at the gays and lesbians of
Liberty Avenue; his temper was shown to all manner of down and outs, of
seemingly law abiding citizens, of his old buddies on the police force.
He’d started out corrupt and becoming Mayor just pathed the way for bigger deals, for more power and corruption.
If there was a crooked cop on the police force Jim would find out about
it, make them pay in money or blood, if there was a hooker on the
street, he would demand a cut, and what he liked the most, was, no one
could touch him.
People knew about him of course, but not the law abiding folk of
Pittsburgh, they went about their daily business happier for the
cleaned up streets, for the stop on crime.
The only people who knew his methods, and even then they didn’t know
about the boy, were people no one would believe if they did try telling
someone. Stockwell had contacts everywhere. It was a good life.
“Clean up,” he demanded of J and watched as he shuffled to the bathroom
to wash away the grime of the job. He was back in less than ten
minutes, hair soaking wet and leaving a trail on the floor.
Jim tried to quell his anger, after all, you don’t beat a dog if it sheds on the carpet, this was much the same thing.
J flinched as the hatch shut over his head and stood in the middle of
his place, his room. It had a small camp bed off to one side and an old
fashioned wardrobe housing his Dress Smart clothes.
The basement was filled with junk, but only very occasionally did J
ever sift through it. Only when he had that strange feeling in his
stomach that made his eyes water.
He pulled a box open and found broken toys, a doll with one arm, a car
with no wheels, and it puzzled him, he didn’t understand what people
wanted with such things, whether they were broken or not.
He pulled out a few books, pages yellowed with age, and flicked
through, his eyes drawn to the colourful pictures of children; one
child even had a doll similar to the one at his feet.
He tried to think back to when he was small, but thick clouds seemed to
be blocking his mind, stopping him remember that far back. He wasn’t
sure he even had a ‘that far back’ all he remembered was this room, and
before that, training, such hard training he used to cry at the pain,
until one day the pain didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered.
Brian Kinney, former King of Liberty Avenue, wasn’t as popular as he
once was. Everyone knew he worked for Stockwell, and it took away the
eagerness to be fucked by such a beautiful man.
People were unsure of how beautiful he was on the inside, even his closest friends were disappointed in him.
And truth be told, he was disappointed in himself. It had started out
as a joke, a way to prove he could do it, and a way to rub Stockwell’s
face into it. A fag had won him the election.
He phoned around the clubs, talked to managers and owners, arranging a
time to meet with them all, he apologised, kissed ass and promised a
glimmer of hope he wasn’t even sure he could provide. He only knew that
everyone needed to start talking, and share information, and he hoped
he could help with that.
Everybody met at Debbie’s house, it seemed the safest option. Everybody
knew a procession of fags marched through her threshold each and every
day, no one would question it.
Of course that meant Debbie had to be involved, but she was definitely the lesser evil.
He kept Mikey out of it, not sure if his best friend would be able to
keep his mouth shut, and not wanting to endanger him or his new family
in any way.
Maybe that was his first error, the newest addition to the Novotny/Bruckner household probably knew more than most.
Brian arrived at Debbie’s house early, in time to get roped into
fetching and carrying an array of different food platters. “You didn’t
have to cook Deb.”
“You invite a whole troop of businessmen to my house and you expect me
not to feed them?” She raised an eyebrow and glared at him, ushering
him into the dining room to add to the already over flowing table.
Vic let the first arrival inside, and couldn’t help noticing the
hostility, Brian couldn’t help but feel the ice cold daggers thrown
from the manager of the Meat Hook’s eyes. “Glad you could make it
Martin.” Brian said smoothly, offering the large man a seat.
“You better not be trying to soften us up or get information out of us
to give to your new boss.” He curled his lip in disgust and sat
opposite Brian, his leather pants squeaking as he sat on Deb’s old
sofa. “Only reason I’m here is because Deb would never be so underhand.”
“Come on Martin, you know how much I like to get my dick sucked, would
I get you all over here to help the son of a bitch who’s closed every
back room, damn near every decent club-no offence. I don’t think so.
We’ll wait for the others to get here and then I’ll talk.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to arrive and fill the plates Deb
demanded they take. Brian refrained from eating and waited impatiently
for Debbie to stop forcing her fat-filled pasta on to everyone.
“I’ve been hearing rumours,” Brian started, making sure he had
everyone’s attention, “Rumours that Stockwell has been blackmailing the
club owners of Liberty Avenue.”
Every person there started to look uncomfortable, shifted awkwardly in
their seats and stopped eating. “Maybe, if we all shared information,
we’d be able to put a stop to it.”
“We ain’t telling you nothing, Kinney, you started this whole mess in the first place. You sold us out.”
“I took on a very lucrative job, it wasn’t about Liberty Avenue, it
wasn’t about queers or dykes, it was about how much money I could get
and how much business would be put my way.” He rolled his tongue into
his cheek. “And, so I could rub it in Stockwell’s face that he hired
one successful fag.”
“So why are you so interested in us now?”
“Because he’s gone to far, he’s taken not only my right to fuck in any
dingy back room that I want, but your right too, and if I’m not
mistaken, he’s up to much more.”
The hustlers had been warned. Clean up there act, or disappear from
Pittsburgh, or something bad would happen. He didn’t tell them what, or
when, and the hustlers didn’t listen, where could they do? What could
they do, if not this?
They stuck closer together, kept more of an eye out, but they didn’t
move. They were mocking him, Jim Stockwell, ex-police, and now mayor of
Pittsburgh.
Anger filled his belly, and fire danced in his eyes. He had a previous
engagement, otherwise he would see to this himself. He opened the door
to the basement. “J, you have a job to do.” The boy climbed the wooden
stairs quietly and stood before him. “You’re going with Chris tonight.
I have to be somewhere important. You know the drill. Collar off-kill.
Good boy.”
Stockwell left J with Chris, a capable young man with as much hatred as
he for the corruption of homosexuals and those who would taint law
abiding citizens.
Chris smirked when he saw the dog. He pulled hard on a lock of blond
hair, he didn’t get a reaction. The dull blue eyes stayed as dull as
ever. They only brightened when the collar was off, when he was allowed
to kill someone.
The dog lived for the killing, loved it.
Chris dragged him out of the house and into a car provided by Jim, with tinted windows. Chris loved that car.
“We’re off to do some work now puppy, but I think we should have a little fun first don’t you?”
He stopped the car in a secluded place and ordered J to get out. Chris
stood in front of him, smirking, not hiding the pleasure he was gaining
from seeing a boy, his own age, reduced to this.
“I could do whatever I want to you and you wouldn’t stop me would you?” He asked, stepping closer.
J didn’t answer, barely heard him. He listened at a distance unless the collar was off.
Chris prodded him sharply in the chest. No response.
“You’re a deadly, killing machine, but you can’t touch me can you?
You’re one of Pavlov’s dogs. Trained to kill as soon as that collar
comes off, until then, you’re as useless as a baby.”
He wrapped his hand around J’s long hair and yanked, pulling the boy
forward, until he stumbled against him. “I could punch you, like this,”
Chris punched him, fist connecting with nose, causing blood to gush. J
didn’t respond, didn’t wipe the blood away. “And you wouldn’t do a
thing. I could even do this.” He pulled on J’s hair tighter, until J
had to move closer to him.
Chris kissed him cruelly, teeth biting at his lips, clashing at his
teeth, trying to get a response. He got nothing but more blood. He
pulled away in disgust and spat the blood onto the floor.
“Clean yourself up, you taste disgusting.”
J heard the muffled voice and wiped his nose and mouth with the side of his sleeve.
“Come one, we have work to do.”
Chris drove them to Liberty Avenue, parked up a few blocks away and
made them walk to the warehouse district. It didn’t take long to get
one on his own. He followed a trick to a secluded spot behind a run
down café and Chris watched as he bared his ass, as the man pounded
into him with no preparation whatsoever.
He gave a disgusted snort, trying to ignore his own erection.
Once the trick left, Chris unclipped J’s collar. “Fetch boy.” He said, watching the transformation from puppy to killer.
J saw the boy, so much like himself in looks, blond hair, pale skin and
worn clothes. He watched as the boy winced with every step, saw him
stop to rub his ass and J saw his chance.
He pushed the boy back into the wall, head bouncing off the brick.
“Fuck man! Stop it!” He tried to pull away, but J seemed to have grown
ten feet tall, his hands wouldn’t let go, he seemed to predict his
every move. “I’ll let you fuck me for free.” He pleaded.
J wasn’t even sure what that was. He’d heard the others talk about it,
saw Jim bring back different women, but he had no experience in such
things.
His small, delicate fingers found the hustler’s throat, pressing on his
windpipe until his skin turned from pale cream to red, until his lips
turned blue.
The fight seeped out of him and J hoisted him into the garbage, jumping
slightly as he felt Chris caress his neck and put the collar in place.
Brian was in good spirits as he made his way to the diner. They had
made a lot of headway last night, all coming to the same conclusion.
Jim Stockwell was as bent as they were, only not in a good way.
Of course, all they had at the moment was hearsay, they needed concrete
evidence, but now everyone was on the same page Brian was sure they
would get that.
He opened the door to the diner, heard the small tinkle of the bell
when he heard the scream. He knew the voice instantly and his heart
skipped a beat. He ran back outside, round the building and saw Debbie,
hands to her face, whole body shaking.
“What’s wrong, Deb?” He held onto her shoulders, trying to give her support.
“In-in the garbage.”
He left her to take a look and saw the reason for Debbie’s scream. A
young man, blond, blue eyed, skin to match. He flipped open his cell
phone and rang 911. “Police please.” He said calmly, though he wanted
to scream as Debbie had done.
The police arrived swiftly, an ambulance came to take the body away,
they uttered the right words, but Brian didn’t believe them. No one
really cared about a ‘Jane’ Doe.
No one but Debbie it seemed, who knew what he ate for breakfast, but
didn’t know his name. For some reason that bothered her, made her feel
guilty. She should have taken the time to talk to him, find out who he
was, so at least, he would be able to have a marked grave.
Debbie looked up at Brian. “They’re not going to find who did this are they?”
Brian shrugged, he didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want it
confirmed either. He couldn’t tell Debbie, who had the biggest heart he
knew, that there were more important things than a dead hustler, like
parking fines, speeding, unpaid bills and blackmailing business owners
on Liberty Avenue. No, he couldn’t tell her that.
“Let me take you home.”
Debbie shook her head adamantly, “No, I have to work.”
“No one is going to make you work after this, Deb.”
“It’s not a case of having to, I need to. Keep my mind busy, make sure
the rest of my boys are OK.” Her eyes widened and she clutched onto
Brian’s expensive suit. “Can you call Michael? I need to make sure he’s
OK. Ben and Hunter too.”
“Sure, lets go inside, get you a cup of coffee and I’ll call him for you.”
She allowed Brian to lead her inside.
J let the car ride lull him, their conversation went over his head, he
never joined in, it wasn’t required of him. The collar chafed his neck,
but he barely felt the pain, it had gone on so long and he had been
desensitised to it many years ago.
The scenery whizzed past him in a blur of brilliant colour. Blue sky
merged with green trees, the colours stayed with him whenever he closed
his eyes, leaving a warm feeling in his heart.
He liked to go out during the day.
The car gave a huge jolt and J brought his head up in time to see
another car ram into them from the side, denting in the car and
cracking Stockwell’s head off the window.
The driver veered off the road, down an embankment, rolling over, J
cringed as glass shattered and his forehead banged off the seat in
front. Blankness swirled in front of his eyes for a few moments. He
looked at the others, Stockwell’s head lolled to the side, eyes opened
wide, and a large wound pouring with blood above his eyebrow.
The roof was too caved in for him to see the driver. He carefully
wriggled his small frame out of the window, glass cutting into his side
and hands. He paid it no attention.
He looked up the grassy hill, and saw nothing of the car that sent them
careening. Waiting a few moments, he was sure Uncle Jim would get up,
give him some direction. But after fifteen minutes he realised neither
men were getting out of that car.
He climbed up the hill, back to the road and wandered back on himself,
hoping to recognise something familiar. But the trees all looked the
same, the houses looked the same.
He’d never had to pay attention to things like that before, wasn’t quite sure what he should do in these circumstances.
“No! Let go, please!” he heard someone scream, slowly he turned his
head in the direction of the noise, saw a woman hanging on to a pram
for dear life, while someone tried to prise the bags from it. “Take the
bags, I’ll get them for you, just don’t hurt my son.”
J frowned and shook his head, heard a baby crying and wondered why it
sounded so familiar. He walked over, slowly, stepping with precision.
The pram almost toppled over as the woman’s attacker grabbed for her
bags.
With one careless kick to the knee he sent the attacker to the floor and righted the pushchair.
“Thank you, Oh, thank you. We should call the police.” She fumbled in
her handbag for her cell phone, but the man got to his feet and limped
off. J didn’t chase him. His collar was still firmly in place.
“He’s getting away, shit, I don’t know what to do.” The woman started
to cry, but pulled herself together as the baby wailed. She unclipped
the small bundle and held him tight.
J frowned; he was so sure the baby would be blond, would have a small
cotton dress with pink flowers embroidered onto it. The image
disappeared back into his subconscious as soon as it came.
“Thank you so much. How can I repay you? Oh my! You’re hurt. Bleeding.
I didn’t see it happen, but the shock, and making sure Gus was OK. And
I’m babbling again.” She chuckled nervously. “My house is only on the
next block, let me clean you up a bit.”
She tried to push the pram and hold the baby at the same time. She
looked over at her rescuer. Blond hair tangled around his shoulder and
blood seeping into his shirt. “Would you mind pushing this? I know
you’re hurt…but we would get you cleaned up faster, and I don’t want to
let him go just yet.”
J took the pram from her and followed her lead, leaving the pram in the
garden he let her lead him into the kitchen. “Let me get Gus settled
and I’ll sort you out.”
It was a while before she came back down. “I should call the
police-fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing.” She clutched onto the table
and took a deep breath. “One thing at a time. I’ll see to you first.
Then I’ll call the police.”
She reached under the sink for a first aid kit. “Can you take off your
shirt?” He looked at her, eyes questioning. “I just want to see where
you’re hurt.” He pulled the shirt over his head without any more
questioning.
Lindsey saw the jagged cut over his ribcage and frowned, wondering just
how her attacker had managed to do that to him. “Sit down there, this
may sting a little.” She poured some alcohol onto some cotton wool and
dabbed it. He didn’t even flinch.
“Maybe we should call your parents, huh? They must be worried.” Lindsey
guessed this boy could not be much more than sixteen, and from the
looks of the scars on his body she wasn’t so sure he had parents to go
to, or if he did, they were as bad as the parents Brian had.
He didn’t answer her, and she looked up, into his beautiful blue eyes, so far away.
“Do you want to call your parents?” She pressed and sighed when he
didn’t answer. “You don’t talk much do you? I’ll get you a clean shirt
to wear. I’m sure one of my painting shirts will fit you.”
She disappeared upstairs again and J looked around, noticed the
sketchbook on the table. He reached for it, and opened it, seeing
drawings of baby Gus, of other people, of animals and tress and the
sky. Some of the sketches had colour, delicate watery impressions.
J smiled as he saw them. He liked colours best of all. “I see you found my sketchbook, huh?”
J jumped back and dropped the sketchbook as if it had burned him.
“No, no, don’t be afraid, you can look at it if you want. Do you like
to draw?” He carried on looking at her as if he’d done something wrong,
and just that look made Lindsey feel guilty, like she’d spanked a small
child. “Would you like one?” She opened the sketchbook back up and
flicked through it, noting his face as he looked at each picture.
His eyes lit up at one she’d done in the park, and later added water
colour to it. “You can have this.” She ripped it out of the pad and
rolled it up, handing it to him. “Here. Look, do you have a name? I
really should call the police now.”
“No police.” It was said so quietly Lindsey almost missed it.
“What did you say?”
He licked his lips and shifted on his feet, looking so small and
afraid, Lindsey wasn’t sure how he’d managed to save her. “No police,
please.”
“You can talk then. But I have to call the police, I can’t ignore what
happened, not with my son involved. But-I’ll wait awhile, if you want
to go.” She didn’t know why she’d said it, wasn’t sure what the boy had
done, or hadn’t done that he didn’t want the police involved.
He nodded at her, understanding completely. “Thank you.” He clutched
the sketch tightly to his chest and disappeared as quickly as he came.
Summary: He had such delicate hands, long, tapered fingers, the hands of an artist. When the collar is removed, he is unleashed. Inspired by a film of the same name.
Rating: Adults Only
Disclaimer: Not mine, sighs.
Notes: To those reading Mechanical Michelangelo, i've not forgotten it, i'm still writing it and will get a chap out asap! I just had a sudden urge to write this after seeing the film Unleashed. I've actually finished writing it, so it won't take up the time i usually spend writing MM anymore:-) I hope you enjoy!
Unleashed
He laughed. And that was his second mistake. His first was to deny Uncle Jim what he owed him. “You think I’m scared of that?”
He looked over at the boy, frail looking, with a mop of blond hair
falling over one shoulder, curling in soft waves almost to his waist.
His shoulders were hunched and his head in a constant tilt towards the
floor.
“You don’t have to be scared.” Uncle Jim said, moving over to the boy,
caressing his neck slightly and unclipping the silver collar that
adorned his neck.
The boy blinked, clouded, faraway eyes suddenly becoming brighter. Two
pools of bright blue sky looked at the stranger in the room, storing
the face to memory, the height, weight and the way he moved on one
spot.
No emotions rushed him, no sense of pity, no anger or hatred. His mind
was empty of all but one thing. The freedom, the rush of air to his
neck, the sting as fresh sores were given room to breath.
When the collar came off he knew what to do.
The man didn’t see him move. Blond hair flew into the air almost as if
in slow motion and a small delicate hand curled in precision, hitting
him hard in the kidneys before his knuckles curled backwards and he hit
the man’s nose with the heel of his hand, sending bone through flesh
and blood, burying it deep into brain.
The man didn’t have time to look shocked before he fell to his knees.
Most people underestimate the young, delicate boy, often mistake him
for a girl, and that was how Uncle Jim liked it.
The element of surprise always put him in a good mood.
The boy, he didn’t care one way or another.
The collar was clipped back in place around his neck and his eyes
clouded over, his head tilted downwards and his shoulders hunched in.
The basement was illuminated by a stark bulb that swung from the middle
of the ceiling. He lay on the bed silently and waited for the hatch to
shut and the lock to move across before he brought his knees up and
looked sideways, down into the dirt riddled floor.
He moved his hand, letting his fingers drag absently in it, he felt the
dirt fill the gaps under his fingernails, but ignored the uncomfortable
sensation as he concentrated on the patterns his fingers made. He
swirled his finger in the dirt, making patterns with no forms. He had
no thoughts in his head other than to move his hand, no picture already
mapped out waiting for him to bring it to life, just an urge to see
what happened with each movement.
He finally fell asleep, hand resting on the cold floor, surrounded by
finger trails that made no sense, but left him with a strange, content
feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The doodles were forgotten as Uncle Jim, stomped in front of him, large
feet stamping in the dirt until there was no trace left of what had
occupied the boy’s free time.
“Get up, J. We have a job to do. Dress Smart.”
J waited until he was gone before moving from his small bed and finding
his comb, slowly pulling it through the knots in his hair, wincing at
the laborious job of keeping it tidy.
He opened the wardrobe of ‘Dress Smart’ clothes and took out white
cotton pants and a matching, flowing shirt. Dressed now, he stood
waiting until he was called up and out.
Uncle Jim was waiting for him, took him by the arm and steered him
outside. He smiled proudly at the boy, a look a father might give his
son for getting good grades at school, and to him it was that kind of
feeling. He’d brought the boy up, made him what he was.
And he was magnificent.
“We’ve got more work to do, J. It really gets to me, how some people
think they can get away with smuggling drugs in my town. But what gets
to me more is, how those lily assed faggots on Liberty Avenue refuse to
even ‘negotiate’ my terms. It’s quite simple really. If they want their
queer clubs and bars to stay open then they have to give me a little
something in return, right?”
J didn’t answer.
Uncle Jim laughed and patted him on the shoulder before brushing J’s
hair over to one shoulder. “That’s what I love about you, J. You’re so
compliant and you never answer back.”
Uncle Jim got into the back of his car, waited for the boy to follow
and nodded at his driver. The drive to Liberty Avenue was a quick one,
much too quick for his liking. He didn’t much care for how close his
home was to this place.
The car stopped outside of a club called Boy-Toy; he wrinkled his nose at the name and curled his lip up at the sight of it.
It looked derelict in the harsh light of day, but he knew by night it
was thumping with faggots looking for a quick lay. He walked around to
the back door, J following almost silently behind him.
He banged on the door impatiently, ready to reach for his gun and blow the door open if no one answered.
A member of staff gasped in surprise as she saw him and stuttered unbecomingly.
“Take me to your boss.” He gave her a charming smile that didn’t reach
his eyes and she mumbled a response before ushering him and his silent
follower to a small, upstairs office. She knocked on the door, two
quick taps with her knuckles.
“He won’t be a minute.” She went back downstairs; he watched her reach for a mop and bucket.
He didn’t wait to be let in, rather, opened the door himself, found
Steven Fai behind the desk, a pile of papers in front of him.
“Now, now, Steve, don’t get up. You can write me a cheque better from there, I’m sure.”
Steven did get up; he shot Jim Stockwell, Mayor of Pittsburgh, a dirty
look and leaned over his desk. “You’re messing with the wrong fags,
Jim, if you think you can get a penny out of us, out of me. I’m not
helping you destroy this town.”
“I take it you don’t have my money then?” He said pleasantly.
“I’m not paying you a cent.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry to hear you say that. I enjoy this part.” He walked over to J, and released his collar.
J lifted his head, eyes focusing and turning to Steven Fai.
“What, the fuck, is this about?”
“Just a warning to you and your little butt-fuck friends.” J circled
Steven Fai and his desk, eyes unblinking. “If you don’t pay in money,
you pay in blood.”
“He’s a little fresh to be one of your goons isn’t he, Jim?”
Stockwell chuckled, and gave J and affectionate look. “The fresher they are, the easier they are to train.”
J lunged, taking Steven by surprise and pushed the other man over the
desk, sending him crashing to the floor. J leaped after him, landing on
his chest, knocking the wind right out of him.
Small fingers turned into a fist and punched. Steven groaned as the
fist smashed his cheekbone and tried to wriggle free, moving side to
side to try and throw the young, deadly blond off.
J rode him like a horse, tightening his thighs and letting his body
flow with the movement. He grabbed the man’s ears, pulling his head
painfully up and banging it back down on the floor, repeatedly.
Steven’s eyes started to blur and blood bubbled in his mouth as he
looked over at Jim. “You’ll never get away with this, there are
witnesses here.”
“There are, aren’t they? That sweet little lesbian cleaning the bar. He
doesn’t discriminate between sexes you know.” Stockwell nodded towards
J.
“People will have seen you coming in here…”
“Me? In here on a Sunday afternoon? Everybody knows it’s family day.”
“What about your boy? Think people won’t link you together?” J put a
hand over his mouth and pushed downwards, until he heard skull connect
with fake laminated floorboards.
“Wait a moment, J. Let him have his say, it’ll be his last after all.”
“The only sweet-seventeen year old blond I know is my poor nephew,
institutionalised at the age of seven for killing his sister, such a
sad thing really. But I do my bit for my only sister and her husband, I
look after the boy, even visit him. He never leaves the home,” he shot
J a look, “do you?” J didn’t answer. “Get on with it, J, there’s
another one downstairs.”
J pulled Steven Fai’s head up and twisted it sharply, until he felt,
rather than heard, the tell tale snap, before letting go, leaving the
head to bounce on the floorboards. He walked past Stockwell,
downstairs, bright blue eyes focusing on the woman, how she moved, her
weight, taking in the slight pattern she had as she mopped the floor.
One shuffle right, two shuffles left.
The people of Liberty avenue were in a state of unrest, sadness washed
over the community as they heard about two of their own, being murdered
so brutally.
There were Chinese whispers and hushed gossip about the new mayor and
his less than stellar motives, no one talked of the blond assassin, he
was only seen by those who went to a place no one could talk about him.
Debbie threw the newspaper onto the table in disgust. “Asshole,” she said, glaring at it.
She then proceeded to whack her surrogate son over the head. “I can’t believe you helped that son of a bitch get elected.”
Brian shrugged and picked up the paper, flicking past the small article about the gay/dyke killing and onto the sports page.
“A job’s a job-“
“-a job, I know that,” Debbie popped her gum, and chewed angrily, “But
did you have to take that one? Things have gone from bad to worse here,
since he took over.”
Brian shrugged and studied the paper, not letting Debbie know how much
this had got to him. He didn’t regret much in life, but that, he did,
not even the extra money and accounts it had brought in could ease his
conscience, or his annoyance as every decent club seemed to close down,
one by one.
He’d heard about the blackmail from the clubbing grapevine, but didn’t
know how he could change what was going on, he was an ad-exec, not a
miracle worker, and he’d already worked what little magic he had-and
look how that turned out.
He shifted in his chair, cock as hard as a rock, begging for a quick
release, the kind of no name, no face, no talk, release the back room
of Babylon used to offer, before Stockwell had closed it down.
Brian downed his coffee and threw some change onto the table, getting
into his jeep and heading to Vanguard, and one of the many accounts Jim
Stockwell had put his way.
Jim Stockwell’s wrath wasn’t just directed at the gays and lesbians of
Liberty Avenue; his temper was shown to all manner of down and outs, of
seemingly law abiding citizens, of his old buddies on the police force.
He’d started out corrupt and becoming Mayor just pathed the way for bigger deals, for more power and corruption.
If there was a crooked cop on the police force Jim would find out about
it, make them pay in money or blood, if there was a hooker on the
street, he would demand a cut, and what he liked the most, was, no one
could touch him.
People knew about him of course, but not the law abiding folk of
Pittsburgh, they went about their daily business happier for the
cleaned up streets, for the stop on crime.
The only people who knew his methods, and even then they didn’t know
about the boy, were people no one would believe if they did try telling
someone. Stockwell had contacts everywhere. It was a good life.
“Clean up,” he demanded of J and watched as he shuffled to the bathroom
to wash away the grime of the job. He was back in less than ten
minutes, hair soaking wet and leaving a trail on the floor.
Jim tried to quell his anger, after all, you don’t beat a dog if it sheds on the carpet, this was much the same thing.
J flinched as the hatch shut over his head and stood in the middle of
his place, his room. It had a small camp bed off to one side and an old
fashioned wardrobe housing his Dress Smart clothes.
The basement was filled with junk, but only very occasionally did J
ever sift through it. Only when he had that strange feeling in his
stomach that made his eyes water.
He pulled a box open and found broken toys, a doll with one arm, a car
with no wheels, and it puzzled him, he didn’t understand what people
wanted with such things, whether they were broken or not.
He pulled out a few books, pages yellowed with age, and flicked
through, his eyes drawn to the colourful pictures of children; one
child even had a doll similar to the one at his feet.
He tried to think back to when he was small, but thick clouds seemed to
be blocking his mind, stopping him remember that far back. He wasn’t
sure he even had a ‘that far back’ all he remembered was this room, and
before that, training, such hard training he used to cry at the pain,
until one day the pain didn’t matter anymore, nothing mattered.
Brian Kinney, former King of Liberty Avenue, wasn’t as popular as he
once was. Everyone knew he worked for Stockwell, and it took away the
eagerness to be fucked by such a beautiful man.
People were unsure of how beautiful he was on the inside, even his closest friends were disappointed in him.
And truth be told, he was disappointed in himself. It had started out
as a joke, a way to prove he could do it, and a way to rub Stockwell’s
face into it. A fag had won him the election.
He phoned around the clubs, talked to managers and owners, arranging a
time to meet with them all, he apologised, kissed ass and promised a
glimmer of hope he wasn’t even sure he could provide. He only knew that
everyone needed to start talking, and share information, and he hoped
he could help with that.
Everybody met at Debbie’s house, it seemed the safest option. Everybody
knew a procession of fags marched through her threshold each and every
day, no one would question it.
Of course that meant Debbie had to be involved, but she was definitely the lesser evil.
He kept Mikey out of it, not sure if his best friend would be able to
keep his mouth shut, and not wanting to endanger him or his new family
in any way.
Maybe that was his first error, the newest addition to the Novotny/Bruckner household probably knew more than most.
Brian arrived at Debbie’s house early, in time to get roped into
fetching and carrying an array of different food platters. “You didn’t
have to cook Deb.”
“You invite a whole troop of businessmen to my house and you expect me
not to feed them?” She raised an eyebrow and glared at him, ushering
him into the dining room to add to the already over flowing table.
Vic let the first arrival inside, and couldn’t help noticing the
hostility, Brian couldn’t help but feel the ice cold daggers thrown
from the manager of the Meat Hook’s eyes. “Glad you could make it
Martin.” Brian said smoothly, offering the large man a seat.
“You better not be trying to soften us up or get information out of us
to give to your new boss.” He curled his lip in disgust and sat
opposite Brian, his leather pants squeaking as he sat on Deb’s old
sofa. “Only reason I’m here is because Deb would never be so underhand.”
“Come on Martin, you know how much I like to get my dick sucked, would
I get you all over here to help the son of a bitch who’s closed every
back room, damn near every decent club-no offence. I don’t think so.
We’ll wait for the others to get here and then I’ll talk.”
It didn’t take long for everyone to arrive and fill the plates Deb
demanded they take. Brian refrained from eating and waited impatiently
for Debbie to stop forcing her fat-filled pasta on to everyone.
“I’ve been hearing rumours,” Brian started, making sure he had
everyone’s attention, “Rumours that Stockwell has been blackmailing the
club owners of Liberty Avenue.”
Every person there started to look uncomfortable, shifted awkwardly in
their seats and stopped eating. “Maybe, if we all shared information,
we’d be able to put a stop to it.”
“We ain’t telling you nothing, Kinney, you started this whole mess in the first place. You sold us out.”
“I took on a very lucrative job, it wasn’t about Liberty Avenue, it
wasn’t about queers or dykes, it was about how much money I could get
and how much business would be put my way.” He rolled his tongue into
his cheek. “And, so I could rub it in Stockwell’s face that he hired
one successful fag.”
“So why are you so interested in us now?”
“Because he’s gone to far, he’s taken not only my right to fuck in any
dingy back room that I want, but your right too, and if I’m not
mistaken, he’s up to much more.”
The hustlers had been warned. Clean up there act, or disappear from
Pittsburgh, or something bad would happen. He didn’t tell them what, or
when, and the hustlers didn’t listen, where could they do? What could
they do, if not this?
They stuck closer together, kept more of an eye out, but they didn’t
move. They were mocking him, Jim Stockwell, ex-police, and now mayor of
Pittsburgh.
Anger filled his belly, and fire danced in his eyes. He had a previous
engagement, otherwise he would see to this himself. He opened the door
to the basement. “J, you have a job to do.” The boy climbed the wooden
stairs quietly and stood before him. “You’re going with Chris tonight.
I have to be somewhere important. You know the drill. Collar off-kill.
Good boy.”
Stockwell left J with Chris, a capable young man with as much hatred as
he for the corruption of homosexuals and those who would taint law
abiding citizens.
Chris smirked when he saw the dog. He pulled hard on a lock of blond
hair, he didn’t get a reaction. The dull blue eyes stayed as dull as
ever. They only brightened when the collar was off, when he was allowed
to kill someone.
The dog lived for the killing, loved it.
Chris dragged him out of the house and into a car provided by Jim, with tinted windows. Chris loved that car.
“We’re off to do some work now puppy, but I think we should have a little fun first don’t you?”
He stopped the car in a secluded place and ordered J to get out. Chris
stood in front of him, smirking, not hiding the pleasure he was gaining
from seeing a boy, his own age, reduced to this.
“I could do whatever I want to you and you wouldn’t stop me would you?” He asked, stepping closer.
J didn’t answer, barely heard him. He listened at a distance unless the collar was off.
Chris prodded him sharply in the chest. No response.
“You’re a deadly, killing machine, but you can’t touch me can you?
You’re one of Pavlov’s dogs. Trained to kill as soon as that collar
comes off, until then, you’re as useless as a baby.”
He wrapped his hand around J’s long hair and yanked, pulling the boy
forward, until he stumbled against him. “I could punch you, like this,”
Chris punched him, fist connecting with nose, causing blood to gush. J
didn’t respond, didn’t wipe the blood away. “And you wouldn’t do a
thing. I could even do this.” He pulled on J’s hair tighter, until J
had to move closer to him.
Chris kissed him cruelly, teeth biting at his lips, clashing at his
teeth, trying to get a response. He got nothing but more blood. He
pulled away in disgust and spat the blood onto the floor.
“Clean yourself up, you taste disgusting.”
J heard the muffled voice and wiped his nose and mouth with the side of his sleeve.
“Come one, we have work to do.”
Chris drove them to Liberty Avenue, parked up a few blocks away and
made them walk to the warehouse district. It didn’t take long to get
one on his own. He followed a trick to a secluded spot behind a run
down café and Chris watched as he bared his ass, as the man pounded
into him with no preparation whatsoever.
He gave a disgusted snort, trying to ignore his own erection.
Once the trick left, Chris unclipped J’s collar. “Fetch boy.” He said, watching the transformation from puppy to killer.
J saw the boy, so much like himself in looks, blond hair, pale skin and
worn clothes. He watched as the boy winced with every step, saw him
stop to rub his ass and J saw his chance.
He pushed the boy back into the wall, head bouncing off the brick.
“Fuck man! Stop it!” He tried to pull away, but J seemed to have grown
ten feet tall, his hands wouldn’t let go, he seemed to predict his
every move. “I’ll let you fuck me for free.” He pleaded.
J wasn’t even sure what that was. He’d heard the others talk about it,
saw Jim bring back different women, but he had no experience in such
things.
His small, delicate fingers found the hustler’s throat, pressing on his
windpipe until his skin turned from pale cream to red, until his lips
turned blue.
The fight seeped out of him and J hoisted him into the garbage, jumping
slightly as he felt Chris caress his neck and put the collar in place.
Brian was in good spirits as he made his way to the diner. They had
made a lot of headway last night, all coming to the same conclusion.
Jim Stockwell was as bent as they were, only not in a good way.
Of course, all they had at the moment was hearsay, they needed concrete
evidence, but now everyone was on the same page Brian was sure they
would get that.
He opened the door to the diner, heard the small tinkle of the bell
when he heard the scream. He knew the voice instantly and his heart
skipped a beat. He ran back outside, round the building and saw Debbie,
hands to her face, whole body shaking.
“What’s wrong, Deb?” He held onto her shoulders, trying to give her support.
“In-in the garbage.”
He left her to take a look and saw the reason for Debbie’s scream. A
young man, blond, blue eyed, skin to match. He flipped open his cell
phone and rang 911. “Police please.” He said calmly, though he wanted
to scream as Debbie had done.
The police arrived swiftly, an ambulance came to take the body away,
they uttered the right words, but Brian didn’t believe them. No one
really cared about a ‘Jane’ Doe.
No one but Debbie it seemed, who knew what he ate for breakfast, but
didn’t know his name. For some reason that bothered her, made her feel
guilty. She should have taken the time to talk to him, find out who he
was, so at least, he would be able to have a marked grave.
Debbie looked up at Brian. “They’re not going to find who did this are they?”
Brian shrugged, he didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want it
confirmed either. He couldn’t tell Debbie, who had the biggest heart he
knew, that there were more important things than a dead hustler, like
parking fines, speeding, unpaid bills and blackmailing business owners
on Liberty Avenue. No, he couldn’t tell her that.
“Let me take you home.”
Debbie shook her head adamantly, “No, I have to work.”
“No one is going to make you work after this, Deb.”
“It’s not a case of having to, I need to. Keep my mind busy, make sure
the rest of my boys are OK.” Her eyes widened and she clutched onto
Brian’s expensive suit. “Can you call Michael? I need to make sure he’s
OK. Ben and Hunter too.”
“Sure, lets go inside, get you a cup of coffee and I’ll call him for you.”
She allowed Brian to lead her inside.
J let the car ride lull him, their conversation went over his head, he
never joined in, it wasn’t required of him. The collar chafed his neck,
but he barely felt the pain, it had gone on so long and he had been
desensitised to it many years ago.
The scenery whizzed past him in a blur of brilliant colour. Blue sky
merged with green trees, the colours stayed with him whenever he closed
his eyes, leaving a warm feeling in his heart.
He liked to go out during the day.
The car gave a huge jolt and J brought his head up in time to see
another car ram into them from the side, denting in the car and
cracking Stockwell’s head off the window.
The driver veered off the road, down an embankment, rolling over, J
cringed as glass shattered and his forehead banged off the seat in
front. Blankness swirled in front of his eyes for a few moments. He
looked at the others, Stockwell’s head lolled to the side, eyes opened
wide, and a large wound pouring with blood above his eyebrow.
The roof was too caved in for him to see the driver. He carefully
wriggled his small frame out of the window, glass cutting into his side
and hands. He paid it no attention.
He looked up the grassy hill, and saw nothing of the car that sent them
careening. Waiting a few moments, he was sure Uncle Jim would get up,
give him some direction. But after fifteen minutes he realised neither
men were getting out of that car.
He climbed up the hill, back to the road and wandered back on himself,
hoping to recognise something familiar. But the trees all looked the
same, the houses looked the same.
He’d never had to pay attention to things like that before, wasn’t quite sure what he should do in these circumstances.
“No! Let go, please!” he heard someone scream, slowly he turned his
head in the direction of the noise, saw a woman hanging on to a pram
for dear life, while someone tried to prise the bags from it. “Take the
bags, I’ll get them for you, just don’t hurt my son.”
J frowned and shook his head, heard a baby crying and wondered why it
sounded so familiar. He walked over, slowly, stepping with precision.
The pram almost toppled over as the woman’s attacker grabbed for her
bags.
With one careless kick to the knee he sent the attacker to the floor and righted the pushchair.
“Thank you, Oh, thank you. We should call the police.” She fumbled in
her handbag for her cell phone, but the man got to his feet and limped
off. J didn’t chase him. His collar was still firmly in place.
“He’s getting away, shit, I don’t know what to do.” The woman started
to cry, but pulled herself together as the baby wailed. She unclipped
the small bundle and held him tight.
J frowned; he was so sure the baby would be blond, would have a small
cotton dress with pink flowers embroidered onto it. The image
disappeared back into his subconscious as soon as it came.
“Thank you so much. How can I repay you? Oh my! You’re hurt. Bleeding.
I didn’t see it happen, but the shock, and making sure Gus was OK. And
I’m babbling again.” She chuckled nervously. “My house is only on the
next block, let me clean you up a bit.”
She tried to push the pram and hold the baby at the same time. She
looked over at her rescuer. Blond hair tangled around his shoulder and
blood seeping into his shirt. “Would you mind pushing this? I know
you’re hurt…but we would get you cleaned up faster, and I don’t want to
let him go just yet.”
J took the pram from her and followed her lead, leaving the pram in the
garden he let her lead him into the kitchen. “Let me get Gus settled
and I’ll sort you out.”
It was a while before she came back down. “I should call the
police-fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing.” She clutched onto the table
and took a deep breath. “One thing at a time. I’ll see to you first.
Then I’ll call the police.”
She reached under the sink for a first aid kit. “Can you take off your
shirt?” He looked at her, eyes questioning. “I just want to see where
you’re hurt.” He pulled the shirt over his head without any more
questioning.
Lindsey saw the jagged cut over his ribcage and frowned, wondering just
how her attacker had managed to do that to him. “Sit down there, this
may sting a little.” She poured some alcohol onto some cotton wool and
dabbed it. He didn’t even flinch.
“Maybe we should call your parents, huh? They must be worried.” Lindsey
guessed this boy could not be much more than sixteen, and from the
looks of the scars on his body she wasn’t so sure he had parents to go
to, or if he did, they were as bad as the parents Brian had.
He didn’t answer her, and she looked up, into his beautiful blue eyes, so far away.
“Do you want to call your parents?” She pressed and sighed when he
didn’t answer. “You don’t talk much do you? I’ll get you a clean shirt
to wear. I’m sure one of my painting shirts will fit you.”
She disappeared upstairs again and J looked around, noticed the
sketchbook on the table. He reached for it, and opened it, seeing
drawings of baby Gus, of other people, of animals and tress and the
sky. Some of the sketches had colour, delicate watery impressions.
J smiled as he saw them. He liked colours best of all. “I see you found my sketchbook, huh?”
J jumped back and dropped the sketchbook as if it had burned him.
“No, no, don’t be afraid, you can look at it if you want. Do you like
to draw?” He carried on looking at her as if he’d done something wrong,
and just that look made Lindsey feel guilty, like she’d spanked a small
child. “Would you like one?” She opened the sketchbook back up and
flicked through it, noting his face as he looked at each picture.
His eyes lit up at one she’d done in the park, and later added water
colour to it. “You can have this.” She ripped it out of the pad and
rolled it up, handing it to him. “Here. Look, do you have a name? I
really should call the police now.”
“No police.” It was said so quietly Lindsey almost missed it.
“What did you say?”
He licked his lips and shifted on his feet, looking so small and
afraid, Lindsey wasn’t sure how he’d managed to save her. “No police,
please.”
“You can talk then. But I have to call the police, I can’t ignore what
happened, not with my son involved. But-I’ll wait awhile, if you want
to go.” She didn’t know why she’d said it, wasn’t sure what the boy had
done, or hadn’t done that he didn’t want the police involved.
He nodded at her, understanding completely. “Thank you.” He clutched
the sketch tightly to his chest and disappeared as quickly as he came.