Proluge - Book 1 - Chapter Four
Chapter Four
May 1992
John awoke shivering and soaked to the core. This had become a regular thing being ripped from a sound and deep sleep by gnawing thunderous pain. He doubled over grabbing his gut. His very centre had become a sucking void. It was as if teeth were clawing at him trying to turn him inside out.
John heard a ghostly moan and forced himself upright. Of course it would make sense now for the house ghost to come calling. If they were attracted to strong emotions, which John had been told once, then it would make sense. ( He was overpowered with suffering at the moment.)
Another moan worse and louder then the last rattled him to his core and brought him back to the here and now. It had become a running joke between himself and Carson that the place was haunted. A few times Carson had walked into the bathroom while John was brushing his teeth stating how the ghost had struck again last night. The young soon to be doctor had become truly rattled with John finding him sitting up a few mornings saying he'd been awakened by the ethereal calls. At the time John thought of joking that they should invite a priest to come over. Maybe just having Sunday brunch with someone of the clergy would be enough. But since Carson had a bad background with church he never went so far as to say it.
John was glad for that now.
He shoved himself forward and grabbed his pants. Quickly he slipped them on and then flailed snagging his shirt from the other night.
He didn't realize till he was sitting on the edge of his bed half dressed that the noises he was hearing wasn't some ghost;
it was his own voice.
John shuddered another moan about to escape him, rattled to his core he stopped it half way through. Grabbing his shoes he silently slipped out of his bedroom.
He passed Carson's room his bare feet giving sharp aches the wood floor thankfully silent, or maybe it was the rushing in his ears blocking out the creaks of the floor boards. His adrenaline spiked when he slipped past almost as if his own blood were calling out for help and to be found. Thankfully Carson was dead gone.
John padded down to the first floor and grabbed his keys, he opened the back door wondering why it didn't creak like it usually did but he wasn't about to question it now.
He shut the door tight and locked it behind him.
Now to find some food.
It was half past 5 a.m. when John managed to get back home. John would later find out that it had been a Saturday and Valentines Day to boot. The latter would plague him with guilt for lifetimes to come. Starvation does funny things to the human mind. It makes one see or hear things, it can even make something seem as though it is one way when it is really the opposite. It will also give the mind a plethora of excuses and good solid reasons to get what it needs. All living beings are crippled and ruled by this and John was no exception. That morning all that had mattered was getting enough to take the edge off and be somewhat satisfied for a while. Like an addict John readily answered the call.
Unlocking the front door John didn't worry about the slight noise he was making and shut it. Since he figured it was a weekday he knew Carson would either be getting ready for classes or deep asleep in bed when he came back. He passed through the front foyer and was about to go upstairs when for whatever reason he decided to go into the kitchen. A good nosh like that usually deserved another one and he had gotten that news paper again, the one that had caused Carson and him to fight. John had decided, once again that maybe checking out this whole“Gay Scene” might be a good idea. And maybe, just maybe he could calmly sit down and talk to Carson about it. The news paper came out every fourth-night so it did no good for telling him what date it was. Despite all this John hid the damn thing as best he could, shoving it into his back pocket.
He walked into the dining room and was met by a sight.
Carson was sitting there, partially dressed in a pair of corduroys and his nightshirt. He was leaned forward elbows on knees, his hands clutching dishevelled hair.
He didn't move just stared at his bare feet.
A cold mug of half drunk tea was on the table next to him.
John froze,“Carson?”
…
“So where were you John.” The voice was strangled, cold and empty, it echoed off the tile floor.
John took a step back.
At this the man lifted himself then leaned back. He crossed his arms and slowly raked John from top to bottom with his gaze.
He was more pale then John had ever seen him, his face drawn, his eyes dark and sunken. Despite all this there was red rimming his eye lids and his nose looked red and puffy.
John went to say what's wrong, what happened, something; but nothing came out. Guilt with where he'd just been and what he'd just been doing warred in him.
“So where were you John.” this time it was warmer, deeper; softer.
John had to remind himself that Carson had no idea where he'd been so there was no reason to be scared.
“I … I ahh ...” John worked his mouth but nothing more would come out. His mind grasped at straws glomping onto the newspaper in his back pocket. To admit he was buying such a paper would get him kicked out instantly. Carson wasn't a sicko, over protective and more than friendly but not like that. He hadn't said a word so there was nothing but circumstantial evidence, as his boss used to say.
Yet …
His boss would also follow this up with, “Where there's smoke there's a fire and were gonna flush it out.” Which back when John was working as a reporters assistant meant they were about to twist things into a story. So John could still be wrong.
“You know when I first met you there was something different about you.”
John swallowed.
Carson let it sit for a bit the silence uncomfortable. It soon moved into awkward, his vivid gaze settling somewhere to John's left. “My Gran-mum always said I was good at tellin' people, but I couldn't put my finger on it.”
John took a step back. It was as if he was suddenly the hunted; a victim about to be devoured.
Carson wagged his head, deep sadness about him, then pushed himself up. He shuffled around searching for what John couldn't tell. To John's shock he got out the dusty percolator. It was something John had bought the second he realized he was in Britain for good. He'd had to buy it from a catalogue and pay premium prices just to get it through customs, but it had been worth it. Carson had scoffed and chuckled it off, then gone about converting John into being a total tea drinker. Out of no where Carson found an equally dusty bag of pre-ground coffee and started up the whole mess. John rocked side to side antsy and not sure what to do with himself. He didn't want to know how bad the coffee would taste since he was sure it was more then stale by now.
“Sit down I need to know some things about ye'.” Carson said with out turning around.
Next Carson got out the snifter of strong stuff that they kept under the sink then got two glasses and filled them to half full.
He placed one on the table.
When John just stared Carson nodded at him, “well, go on.”
He frowned when John still didn't move.
Walking over he nudged John a bit roughly then slipped his hand into John's back pocket. John jumped and spun around.
“I'll take this for ye'.” Carson gave a slight smirk and slapped the paper down on the table. He grasped John's arm and brought him over to one of the kitchen chairs, John gingerly perch on the edge of it.
A minute later Carson sat down right across from him and took a large sip.
Savouring it he sat back for a minute then inhaled long and low … after a while he let it out.
He looked down at his glass swirling the liquid, “so how old are ye' John?”
John's mouth went dry, he clutched the keys in his fist, between his knees.
Carson took another sip, “and is that ye' real name?” Carson glared up at him.
“Ahh,” John wondered if he should let on or joke around. By now he was very close to Carson and really the guy deserved to know, “actually it was Jacob, … at one point,” John smirked trying to lighten the mood.
Carson glared at him, unmoved.
“Ah-Carson-”
“Alright!” Carson hit his glass on the table, “lets make this easy for ye.” His accent was coming out so thick now it was getting hard to understand him. “do ye' know of the' Sexual Offences Act o' 1967, Mm?”
John shook his head.
Carson chuckled, “then ye' haven't heard of the Criminal Justice Act passed in 1980.”
John could feel his own face tighten into a frown, his senses so alert. He started to gasp, the air suddenly very thin and cold.
“Then de' ye' know abou' the deaths here in the surrounding area?” Carson clutched his glass tight about ready to throw it at him.
John scooted back, jumping at the terrible screeching whine. His chair started to tip back the stuttering feet bouncing to much to stay flat and level.
Carson shot out and grabbed him, sat him right and looked into John's eyes.
The world stopped.
If John didn't know better he swore the man before him had literally jumped right down into his soul and was knowing the whole of him at that moment.
“De' ye' know about the Slavery Abolition Act ah' 1833.”
John's breath hitched, “Ye' sound more like eh' lawyer then a doctor Car.” John chuckled, then he mentally slapped himself, hard. It was always in the worst of circumstances that his mind would bring up the most inappropriate jokes. So far he'd learned that they'd either get him free and save him from an imminent beating or they'd cause him to be literally “killed” or what would have passed as dead by anyone else.
After a minute Carson looked down and let go. He dragged his hand back across the table and sat back.
He licked his lips, “okay, how about this, hypothetically ... ” he looked away, “I can't ask ye' any of this, and I'm not. But hypothetically, if I were te' ask ye' what would ye' say.”
John frowned the accent catching him up a bit. If he didn't know better he could swear Carson had used a few foreign words in there, Gaelic maybe?
It was clear what he was getting at none the less, what he was trying to; well, not ask.
Carson got up the percolator done. Thankfully the guy decided the best thing to do at the moment was to put some distance between them. John wondered if it would be okay to make a mad dash for it, he didn't know if the death penalty was enforced here.
Carson poured two cups his back to John. “When you walked into that pub that night I was floored, I'd never seen anyone-you're hair makes ye' look angelic. I fell for ye' the second I saw ye'. I tamped it down right, ye' hear, and I didn't let it surface again. But I need te' know.” Carson scratched at his hairline a nervous tick that only popped up when he was at his most stressed. “My Mum always said I was a romantic,” Carson mumbled his voice wavering. He rubbed his face, “and not good for anything but heart break.” His nostrils flared and John saw a tear run down his cheek. “She said I'd go runnin' off with out me head some day.” Carson leaned on the counter in front of the sink, and looked out the window.
He stood like that for a long while taking in the not so great scenery.
“Now I gotta ask ye' this an I don' want ye' flyin' off the handle like ye' did last time. I'm not coming on te' ye',” Carson clutched the edge of the counter, wringing his hands on it, “an' I don't want ye' in any fashion tha' you don't want me. …” Carson bowed his head, a sigh of “that didn't come out right,” escaping him. After a minute he lifted his head, “don't worry John I'm not wanting ye' if that makes you feel any better. But-and know that if ye' leave ...” he paused for a minute shifting, “I'm willing to call the cops on what I know.” Carson went stark still.
“Are ye' gay John.”
John watched as the man seemed to puff up, ready for a blow. He thought about his options, or really tried too, his mind went so helpfully blank right then. John really wished at that moment it was possible to punch his own brain.
“I donno,” he squirmed.
Carson seemed to deflate half way at this, his head droppingto his chest.
“Then can I ask ye' another question.”
John started to twitch his leg bouncing.
“Why are ye' buying such things.”
John swallowed, “well, ahh,” he squirmed again, “I...” he gulped, “I was trying to … to …” suddenly his world blurred.
The next thing John knew he was weeping,
openly.
Years later while he was still bitter John would be more then certain the guy was messing with him. That Carson had it all planned out and had been pushing John to the edge. Setting him up so when he finally tipped over the precipice he could catch him. This wasn't the case at all but John wouldn't find this out until a good decade or so later. The truth was Carson was so head over heels in love with him so lost in his devotion that he was blind. All of Carson's ministrations, the inadvertent teasing, the over protective friendliness, it was all Carson doing his damnedest to hold back. John would also come to find that love makes one do strange things, things a rational person would never do. In the end Carson probably hadn't meant to act,do, or even say half of what he had. Or he wouldn't have if he hadn't been in love. Hell maybe love is a good thing. It had kept Carson alive and stopped him from killing himself; initially at least. Having someone fall in love with you and force an issue, well, it could be a good thing. Looking back John would realize that it was inevitable really. Some one, thing or circumstance would eventually find him and force him to face the truth he'd been burying and beating away for so damn long. And in the wider picture the bible always said; all things will be brought into the light. Though it was more dragged into the light, kicking, screaming, and denying it the whole damn way. John was glad he was taught that only the strongest people admit, face and then accept the truth; no matter how terrible it is. And really he couldn't have been forced to face which had been beaten out of him as a child with any better person then Carson. That man did for him what no one else had, he loved and cared for him unconditionally.
But none of this open, deep and transcending into true maturity understanding would be realized yet, not this day.
At the moment John didn't realize anything, all he could think of was that he wasn't hysterical and he wasn't emotional either. Only a few times had he ever gone over the edge and there had been some pretty extreme circumstances to cause it. The time he bought his car he was stressed to the point where he was losing his hair. After that the short yet bad ten year marriage eventually caused him to escape to Europe for a second trip. After one terrible night not one week after the divorce John had been at a bar snockerd off his ass. Someone had told him that being married to a woman tends to do that to yeah, make ya' run till you can't get away any more. She was beautiful, perfect, sexy as all hell and African American. Maybe it was the prejudice which is still rampant today that broke them up; it definitely didn't keep them together. Really it had been the fact that he was gay, and just hadn't been able to see it at the time.
Along with this John had never been one to cry, he'd done this only a handful of times in his life, once when he was very young right after he'd been kicked out of his family's home. But now out of the blue he was shaking like he was having some god damned seizure!
After a while he heard he shift of fabric as Carson turned around.
“Oh god John!” he heard Carson sigh, then felt arms embrace him.
He jumped up shoving the guy away, balled his fist.
When he was finally able to get himself under control he went to speak, to answer; but what popped out was, “If I-you won't kick me out if I tell you will you.”
They both blinked, what the hell was that.
He felt Carson pause his eyes still a watery blur and heard fabric shift again as the man stepped back.
“No … I won't.”
“I … I …” John worked his mouth his voice going numb again. He cleared his throat harshly and forced his voice anyway. “I don't know what-why. I think, are you gay Carson.”
The man before him stilled, going entirely silent, then, “Aye. I am John.”
…
John nodded.
…
“I'm not a sicko nor a deviant. My momma raised me right.” John nodded once curt, “I've had some problems and was not right when I was young. But my Dad an' Ma' fixed it.” John took comfort in the thick southern twang escaping him. He put his face in his hand, “I've been having some trouble with you lately, and I don't understand-”
“It's alrigth John,” He heard foot steps then felt Carson's hand rub his arm, “it's alright.”
“I went down there-” John backed up bumping against the counters edge. “I ahh...” He looked to the side snorting back his tears, “I went and got the paper cause I was needing to end it.”he breathed out and crossed his arms, “show I'm not a queer.”
Carson stilled, his aqua eyes vivid.
That was one thing that had always bothered John, Carson's eyes were a color he'd never seen before and they had an intense look about them. They were piercing and unnerved not only him but others too.
Right now they were boring into John with such great concern and deep caring that John felt suffocated.
“John.” Carson shifted on his feet and took two steps back wrapping his arms around himself. He craned his neck trying to catch John's eye.
The man's sudden need to look him in the face really bothered John.
“Do you know what I meant when I asked ye' about the Sexual Offences Act eh' 1967.”
John shook his head.
“I,” Carson knelt before him, placing his knees on the floor before him. He craned his head looking up into his eyes, “it was a law that legalized gay acts between men,”
John gasped in disgust; he looked down into Carson.
The guy held back a smirk, “An' the Criminal Justice Act o' 1980 was Scotland's law that entirely decriminalized homosexuals and homosexual acts.” Carson grasped John's ankle. “It's natural to be this way John.” he shook the hand on John's leg ever so slightly, “and it's legal to be gay here.”
For all his strength and all his fighting to hold back; that broke the flood gates. Maybe it was all the shit he'd been through in his life so far but John crumbled into Carson's arms, he was just glad he had someone to catch him.
~~~~~~~
It took till that evening for Carson to calm him down. Carson brought him into the living room and settle him on the couch.
John sat numb.
Just numb.
Carson went back into the kitchen and from the sound of it started the kettle on to boil. After a few minutes he came back and gently slid himself in right next to John. Soft as a feather Carson gingerly threaded his arm behind John. John didn't even notice till he found himself pressed fully body from head to shoulder up against the man. It wasn't till he felt Carson's hand pat the back of his head, his fingers thread through his hair that he realized what was going on.
He was being hugged.
John blinked and let himself relax for the first time in several life times. He smiled and waited a few beats then braved snuggling close.
A sigh escaped...
He reached out then paused, his hand half way to laying on Carson's knee. Carson shifted looking down at the hand. He grasped it and placed it securely on his knee.
…
He laid his own hand, warm and heavy over John's.
After a few minutes he threaded their fingers together.
They sat like that for a good while the silence comfortable for once and not strained, awkward or uptight.
It was amazing and John wondered why he hadn't given into this before. Why had he fought it for so damn long!? Infact why hadn't he noticed Carson was gay, all the signs were there, they were screaming at him the whole time.
Maybe it was because you weren't looking for it, a little voice in the back of his mind echoed.
John shoved it away.
“John.”
“Mm.”
Carson shifted, his body tensing ever so slightly. The soothing rub of Carson's hand stilled his hand becoming heavy. His fingers curled around John's head holding him in place ever so gently.
Carson squirmed, “can I ask ye' something?”
John twitched.
…
“Now, I don't want you to get upset when I say this, and it's to premise something else...”
…
The beat in Carson's chest quickened, John was surprised that he was able to feel the man's pulse at all.
“I love you-but …”
The pause stretched on for a beat; or three.
“Did you kill those people.”
John sat for a minute.
…
“I did. I sucked 'em dry!” He smirked giving a half hearted whine, “I sucked 'em up like spaghetti noodles!” John smirked and covered his face and mocked whining, or tried too. He was chuckling to hard though.
“John.” Carson sighed and bopped his head but John heard the smile in his voice.
Just then the kettle went off and Carson un-threaded himself and got up from the couch. He made up a cup just the way John liked it and came back over.
“Here.” John stood, “How about-” he nodded at the kitchen.
“Alright.” Carson walked back into the small dining area and put his mug on the table. He brought over his own and pulled the opposite chair out.
“You said you dinna know about the 1833 Slavery Abolition Act.” Carson went back into the kitchen and got the sugar. “Did ye' know it had a clause in it.”
John frowned and shook his head, “no-ah, no-no.” he watched as Carson came back into the room. “Why.”
“Well, actually I donno if it's a-it's more of ah, stipend, or extra bit if you will. But it basically says that in order to ensure the safety of all human beings England an it's colonies will freely give and supply nourishment to all those who are dependant on the human form,” He took a sip from his own mug.
John blinked, “what?”
“Well,” Carson winced and put his tea down, “it means that if ye' are a Libertine then you get free nourishment.” He grabbed the sugar and heaped in way too much, like always.
John sat back, “huh?” he glared at Carson, lost.
“But since ye' aren't a citizen yet I wouldn't put it past them to refuse ye'.” Carson mumbled to himself. He took a long thoughtful sip. He put his mug down and picked up his spoon.
“I’ve got a question,” Carson stirred his mug watching it closely, the spoon making a clink,
clink,
clink.
“Would you be willing to feed off me?”
John felt the blood drain from his face, he shoved away from the table, hands grasping the edge of it tightly.
He stared at Carson.
Carson didn’t move, he just looked up watching him.
He waited long, not giving an inch.
“No ahh, I'm not-you-no, you-can't I ahh....”
“Then I have another question,” Carson reached out and grabbed John's hands. He held them gently but with strength, the hands of a doctor. “Will ye' be willing te' go down to the Hospital with me and sign up for feedings.”
John went to shove away, when he couldn't; he yanked.
Carson didn't budge.
“I-I can't! I'm not!”
“John-”
“I'm not! I can't! I'm not!”
“John-”
“No! You don't get it I-”
“There's blood on your mouth.”
Gasp!
John ripped his hands away and felt his face. He jumped up and ran upstairs into the bathroom.
Carson was right, in the cracks right around his mouth was dried blood, or the stain from it. There was something on or around his nose, pulling his nair to the side he saw blood encrusted and flaking. It was in his nose, around his nose, bits were stuck in his hairline!
John stepped back-
“I've been watching, wondering.” Carson crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame. “You're so darn skinny, pale, no matter how much ye' eat I can't get ye' te' eat enough-gain weight. It made no sense. You can't take the sun too well-”
John knew the reason for this one it was because he hadn't fed. If he'd had blood then the sun wouldn't bother him one bit. But being deprived like he had been for so many damn decades he was worse then a read head, his very eyes hurting from the too bright light. Hell it had gotten to the point where he was getting slight burns from certain types of lamplight. And until recently he had to always wear sunglasses, even when working in the shed. He was just thankful that with the terrible pain and sensitivity he was able to see fairly well in the dark.
John wondered if this was a hunting mechanism, for when man was still in it's cave-man stage.
“Ye' smell like blood.” Carson's words ripped him back to the here and now.
Johns' world stopped.
“Ye've been smelling like blood since I met ye'.”
John frowned, he hadn't started feeding till just recently that didn't make any sense-
“You're sickly looking and frail yet have strength that you shouldn't.” Carson shifted, blocking the door way. “I was lost till we learned about your type in class. … Along with human physiology.”
He let that set in for a good long while, then.
“I learned that for a normal human body, the way you look is literally a corpse. … I was essentially pining after a corpse.” Carson chuckled to himself and wiped his face. “Which really says a lot about me!” He wrung his hair.
“John! What am I te' do with ye'!”
John looked at Carson, watching as the guy went to sit down sliding down the wall next to the bathroom.
John stepped out, “Carson.”
He came around and sat down next to him.
Not sure what to do he reciprocated Carson's earlier kindness and threaded his arm behind the man's shoulders. He tugged and Carson flopped over onto him.
He was one hell of a weight but John managed to stay upright none the less.
“John I'm gonna hafta tell!” Carson put his face in his hands. “I'm gonna hafta go down te' the Constables Office-”
“no. No. NO! I'm not-” John tried to turn him, make Carson face him.
“-And tell 'em I've been harbouring a-”
“Carson!” John grabbed both his shoulders and shook him, “NO!”
Carson looked up at him; finally!
“I'm no-not. I'm not! I don't even recall …”
Carson's expression changed, anger suddenly rising up.
“I don't even recall-it could be anyone-”
The next thing John knew Carson was sucked onto him like some leech! Carson's lips entirely eclipsed his own, covering his mouth. John fought shoving away, but Carson grabbed his arms and wrapped his whole form around him, twisting John's arms so they were behind his back!
Carson then leaned forward, using his considerable weight to his advantage. John felt his own brows go up as he tried to yell yanking with all his might!
Carson just laid him back as easy as slicing bread and wriggled his tongue against John's lips. It tickled and when John gasped Carson forced his way in. It was the most erotic and terrifying thing John had ever experienced in his life! He was shocked that unlike in his day dreams he didn't melt and become a puddle of goo right there. But there was a reason for that the front of John's mind called bringing him back to the dangers of now.
Carson's tongue ran it's way along his gum line, searching out all the little pockets, it licked it's way across his taste buds, plucking out the small hints and bits.
After an eternity Carson finally leaned back. “I love ye' John!” the man gulped. In a strangled cry he gasped and bowed his forehead to lean on John's shoulder. The only thing that came to John's mind was, I'm sorry that you do.
I'm sorry that you do.
…