HI!! HELLO!! Welcome to Chapter 11. Being scared can be a bitch, being feared is even worse, or so it seems for Church and Shawn. What the crap is going on with those two? Let's see. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
If you're younger than 18 or find these kinds of stories offensive, please close up now and have a great day! If you are of legal age and are interested, by all means keep going. I'll be glad to have you along for the journey. Please donate to Nifty. This is a great resource for great stories and a useful outlet to authors like me and readers like you.
11
FEAR and Some Advice I Didn't Get
I tried to talk to Shawn on the way to the car. I hoped when we were alone in the elevator, he'd have to say something. "Shawn, would you tell me what's wrong?"
He shook his head, his eyes deliberately downcast.
I tried again. "I can't stop doing whatever it is that's bothering you if you won't tell me what it is."
No reaction.
His fear was unabated. If anything, it deepened now that we were alone. I assumed he was afraid of my magic. There was nothing else it could be. I couldn't help having the power. It's not like I wanted it. Ars at least recognized it as an asset. I wasn't sure what I thought about it. I was still struggling to believe it. Shawn was treating me like I was a can of nitro-glycerin in a hardware store paint shaker. I tried a different tactic. "It's still me. I'm still the same person. You wanted to be near me this morning. Now it feels like you wish we were on opposite sides of the Earth...er...Solum."
No reaction.
My anger spiked in spite of my best efforts to control it. Being judged for something I couldn't help was too familiar. I'd spent my life hating myself for being gay and all the prejudice that went with it. I didn't express the anger, but Shawn obviously felt the rage I was bottling up. He shrank small and tight into a corner of the elevator. When the doors opened, he fled into the parking garage like he was running from a rabid animal. He hurried toward the car, then changed course and hurried away from it.
I assumed he realized the car would be my destination and that made him run away from where I was headed. I didn't pursue him. Being the size that I was for as long as I was had taught me some lessons. One of those lessons was `don't chase when you have the option to wait.' I figured Shawn would eventually have to come to the car if he wanted to get to the hotel. Therefore, if I positioned myself near the car, eventually, he'd have to come to me. I went to lean against the car to wait him out. As I settled in to wait, the flaw in my plan made itself known.
I hadn't realized how long we'd been at The HALL. Not smoking every hour made it hard for me to mark time. The position of the sun and physical manifestations of the lack of alcohol in my system told me it was approaching seven o'clock. The cravings that I hadn't noticed before came on with a roar. I held my hands out in front of me. They were usually a pretty good indicator of how bad things were. My hands told me things were bad. They were starting to shake, not so much that I couldn't use them, but I didn't have much time before they got to that point. Normally, I would have lit a cigarette and paced to try to calm the need. Now that I didn't smoke, I didn't know what to do. I recognized that I needed Shawn. I needed him to drive me back to the hotel. I thought about wedging myself in the driver's seat and `going for it' but that seemed unwise. I might not be able to find my way. No, with the little bit of time I had left between remaining functional and full-on DTs, I needed a sure thing. Shawn at the wheel was a sure thing.
I took several deep breaths to beat my anger down and looked to Shawn for help. He was loitering thirty or so feet away, looking everywhere but at me. I addressed him in a deliberately calm, low tone. I hoped it sounded soothing. "Shawn, I need you to drive me to the hotel. I need to get there quickly. I'm overdue for a drink and I need one." I held my shaking hands up for him to see. "This gets worse...much worse. Please. I know you're afraid, thought I really don't know why...not the point, I'm asking for your help. I need you more now than I did when I was covered in blood."
His eyes flicked at me, away from me, back to me, to the car, then back to me. It took several minutes but I felt the change I was hoping for. Pity forced itself into Shawn's fear. He edged toward the car like I was a hungry lion and he was a lion tamer who misplaced his chair and whip. I waited for him to get in and started to get in next to him. The jacket Ars had lent me squeezed my middle. I unbuttoned the bottom to let my bloated gut peek from the seam, and climbed in. I shut my eyes, gripped my knees to give my hands something to do besides shake, and begged him to hurry.
The drive took forever, or at least it felt like it did. I was sweating by the time we arrived. I felt Shawn's relief as we parked in the hotel lot. He fled before I could struggle out of the car. Watching him charge away from me upset me, but I had other things to worry about. I tried not to think too much about Shawn and his fear. I rebuttoned the jacket and tried to run without appearing to run. I stopped at the desk, got directions to the hotel restaurant and bar, and rushed to follow them.
The establishment was on the back side of the building. It was doing very little business. I walked right to the bar and stuck my hand in the air to get someone's attention. My immense size would probably have been enough to get me noticed without the raised hand, but I was taking no chances. A moon-faced bartender dressed in a yellow cutaway suit that seemed to be the uniform of all the employees, placed a white linen cocktail napkin on the bar and adjusted it to be exactly parallel with the edges. He turned a warm expression toward me without a word. He was a short man, five foot one or two, heavy set with soft, deeply lined features, very long white hair gathered into a pony tail, hazel eyes, and the appearance of great age and experience. He looked to be in his late sixties. I wondered how old that truly made him.
"Do you serve whiskey?" I asked.
"Yes, sir." He replied in a low, husky, deferential tone. "Any kind you could want, in any way you could want it. How would you like yours?"
"Bourbon, straight, neat, double...please."
He went away. I was glad he didn't waste time with normal food-service chatter. `Would you like a menu, sir? An appetizer?' No one lurches up to a bar and orders a straight double unless they're on a mission. I waited, nervously fooling with my watchband in a vain attempt at keeping my hands from shaking too obviously. The drink appeared in front of me faster than I expected. The bartender set it down, placed both his hands, palms down, on his side of the bar, and leaned close to me like he was doing a standing push-up. "Would a straw help with the first one?" His low voice asked with obvious sympathy. "You seem to be struggling."
I lowered my eyes from his face in embarrassment. "I can get it down, just don't be too long with the next one, please."
"Yes, sir." He moved silently away. I forced both my hands around the glass, brought it carefully to my lips, and swallowed the double in a lump. I closed my eyes and waited for the relief I needed. It came quickly once the amber burned its path to my stomach. The familiar warmth spread from my middle to all my extremities, calming the tremors as it went. The bartender returned with another double and a glass of ice water as I examined my now-steady hands. He spoke like nothing had happened, like I had no reason to be embarrassed. "Yes sir, will you be eating this evening?" I lowered myself onto a stool. The too-tight lab coat squeezed my middle again. I unbuttoned the bottom of it so I could breathe and hoped the bar would hide the exposed flesh from view. "Sure, what do you have?"
"Most anything." The man straightened his white tie in his reflection on the bar. "You look like a meat eater, if I may say so. A steak perhaps? Our porterhouse with bacon and onions, a baked potato, and green beans is popular among our more carnivorous customers. We also have an excellent chili if you would like that to start. A hearty, sustaining meal. How does that sound?"
I didn't know if he was very perceptive or if he would have offered the same to any overweight drunk he met. It didn't matter, I wanted what he offered. "Sounds perfect, sir, like you read my mind. I'll have it, the steak cooked medium, extra butter and no sour cream on the potato please."
He touched the knot of his tie absently. "Yes, sir. Excellent choice. And sir, there is no need for formality when you address me. My name is Benignitas, everyone calls me Beni. It's my pleasure to serve you."
"Church Philips." I offered my hand over the bar.
He shook it firmly. The man was strong despite his years. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll put this right in for you." He walked away.
I realized too late I hadn't used my alias. My Earth name didn't seem to bother Beni at all. `Works at a hotel, must hear all kinds of names.' I reasoned. I nursed my second drink and took the opportunity to survey my surroundings in the barback mirror.
The entire exterior wall behind me was a clear glass view of the same park I'd seen from the suite balcony. The wall was clear on the inside. I assumed it was black on the outside like the exterior walls at The HALL. The space was very long but shallow, like a bar in a fish tank. Against the outside wall was a row of high tables, with round, glossy-red, solid-surface tops, and four high-backed stools each. The bar I sat at was along the inside wall, was made of black glass, and supported a long row of glossy-white bar stools. The uncluttered and mirrored barback, reflected the room and outdoor view. It was dim in the bar. The light-panel ceiling I'd come to expect was customized to look like bright stars on a black background. `Pretty, but not very functional.' I thought.
As I looked around, my gaze reached into the far corner of the room, against the transparent outside wall, and stopped to notice four young people at one of the round red tables. Two men stood together, opposite a man and a woman. Each person had a tall glass of something pink. The first thing I noticed was the guys were laughing and talking but they didn't seem to have that show-offy male bravado that I was used to. `Strange.' I thought but the oddity wasn't enough to hold my attention. It wandered around the room again but didn't find anything more interesting than the youthful group. The second time I looked at them, I grasped a dynamic I didn't notice the first time. Of the two men standing together, one of the guys was hanging on the other like a jealous head cheerleader would hang on the captain of the football team.
The guy closest to the window stood tall and still while the other leaned into him, touched him to emphasize points or to express humor, and paid strict attention whenever he spoke. The difference between the guy near the window and the average football captain, was this guy obviously enjoyed the attention. He didn't bother to fake annoyance at it. As I watched, the captain slid his arm around the cheerleader, his hand found its way into the far pocket of the other's pants. They were young, seemingly in love, and had no `manly' concern about showing it to any or all. I was happy for them. I also burned with jealousy.
The two young guys made me think of Shawn. Thinking of him blackened my mood. I turned away from the young people to brood. I felt him, Shawn, up in his room. He was unsettled, thinking I assumed. Fear, apprehension, worry, and small bursts of anger rotated through his psyche while I dealt with simmering anger and frustration. `Bring me to a foreign land, parallel world...whatever, give me a glimpse of acceptance, then smash it all up...fuck this place.' I sulked.
Beni brought my chili with some crusty bread and a cup of softened butter. The chili was ripe-red and chunky with meat and rough-cut vegetables, a garnish of diced raw red onions and jalapeno slices on top. I ate greedily. It was delicious, and like all good things, over far too quickly. Just as I laid my spoon aside, Beni whisked the cup and saucer away, refreshed the ice water I hadn't touched, and was gone without a word. The man was a true professional. A little time later, not too long, just enough to anticipate, my meal came.
He served it with pride and waited. A thick, doormat-sized steak covered with chopped crisp bacon and long, caramelized hoops of fried onions held down one end of a pure-white oval plate, while an oversized oven-baked potato, the top split open and swimming in golden butter beside long, fresh green beans occupied the other. Three oblong dinner rolls steamed in a white bowl; another cup of softened butter kept them company. I carved a large bite from the steak, heaped it with bacon and onions, and shoveled it into my face. I chewed slowly, savoring the delicious flavor and perfect texture.
"A masterpiece, Beni." I grinned at the yellow-clad man. I downed the last sip of my second double and offered him the empty glass. "How about a whiskey and ginger-ale? A single this time with some ice. Don't drown the whiskey."
"I would never drown the whiskey, sir. Yes, a whiskey and ginger-ale, coming up." He moved off with a self-satisfied air.
I ate slowly, savoring every morsel, and drinking the smooth highballs Beni delivered at infrequent, but regular intervals. A big meal and two more drinks later, he cleared the plates and returned.
"Was the meal up to your standards, sir?" He asked, though he appeared to know full-well that it was. "If that was my last meal, I would face death smiling. Thank you, Beni."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. May I interest you in dessert?"
"What could you possibly follow that meal with?" I asked.
"Perhaps a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. We have a wonderful vanilla bean hand-dipped treat. I find a single scoop cleanses the pallet and completes the experience."
"Yes, that sounds perfect."
"Coffee, sir?"
"Dark roast?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. Very dark."
"Ice cream and coffee as you suggest, Beni. Let's have the coffee black with one shot of brandy in it."
"Certainly, sir." He beamed and moved away like my dessert was his purpose in life.
He was back a moment later with a letter-sized white envelope and a neatly folded purple shirt. "This was sent down by your associate, sir. He was concerned for your comfort."
I accepted the shirt and the envelope. The envelope contained a room key...mine. I pocketed the key and took the shirt to the restroom to change. I appreciated Shawn's thoughtful gesture, but I was no less angry.
My ice cream and coffee were waiting for me when I regained my seat. I ate and drank with relish. It was the perfect end to the meal. Beni returned with impeccable timing to remove the plates and run a damp cloth over my place at the bar.
He disappeared again but was back in a moment with a straight double I hadn't ordered, but wanted. He set it down and waited. I sipped my drink and gave him the attention he seemed to want. "Do you wish to discuss it, sir?" He asked.
Motion in the barback mirror caught my eye. The four young people from the corner table were passing behind me on their way to the lobby. The stoic captain still had his hand in the pants pocket of the animated head cheerleader. Their walk synchronized so they could stay pressed to each other. Envy reared up like a startled horse. I gritted my teeth. "What?" I asked when I could open my mouth again.
"Your trouble, do you wish to discuss it?"
"How do you know I have trouble?" I asked not bothering to deny it.
He touched his tie, like he was making certain it hadn't run away, but he didn't adjust it. "I've been around a long time, held my current position for well over a century. I know a troubled man when I see one. Do you wish to discuss it, or shall I hold my tongue so you can finish drowning it? I can't help you. The rules of this establishment forbid my providing advice, but I am a good listener and confidence keeper. That is the most important part of my job. A machine could mix the drinks and take the meal orders, bartenders are still people because customers with troubles come to bars."
I knocked off half my drink at a gulp and scrutinized the tie toucher. The `well over a century' comment caught my attention. I had to deliberately ignore it. "Do you have the time?"
His hand floated into the air to gesture vaguely about the bar. "We are not busy. My assistant can handle the little traffic there is. I have time."
The man's weathered face was disarming, each line a physical representation of experience, a face people tell secrets to. `Fuck it, it'll be a change of pace to talk to someone.' I leaned toward him and opened the discussion with a question. "Have you ever arrived at a point in your life where it doesn't matter? Life and death are as even as six in one hand or a half dozen in the other?" He replied grimly. "Once, just one time long ago, over a woman. That brand of indifference was the loneliest experience of my life."
I pulled down the rest of my drink and set the rocks glass aside, trading it with the still untouched ice water. The hash marks in my head told me I was ten drinks deep in a little over two hours; not recklessly drunk, or slurring drunk, but honestly and philosophically drunk. "You'd understand then...I would like to talk about it."
He shifted his weight slightly, seemed to adjust himself to a position where he could stand until whatever needed saying was said. I forced my brain to order my thoughts despite the alcohol fog and brought the current problem to the surface. "Have you ever had someone accept you completely, then pull away? That's what happened to me today. I met a man two days ago...I can't believe that's all it was...and I thought we built a mutual respect."
I lowered my voice and leaned as close to Beni as I could get. "I had sex today for the first time in well-over ten years. This man, this attractive, young man, wanted me just as I am." I tapped the bar to emphasize the point. "He...wanted...me."
I leaned back and continued in my normal tone. "That was this morning. Now, because of something he saw me do this afternoon, he's afraid of me. I don't expect to be loved, but I can't stand being feared. I just want to spend time with him, but I don't think he'll ever come near me again."
Beni looked at himself in the bar top, and touched his tie. "Why, if it is not prying, is the young man afraid of you? The nature of his fear may be important to finding the solution to it."
I turned my ice water on the bar. It made a little circle of condensation on the glossy black surface. I hesitated, but not for long. "I don't know if I can tell you...fuck it. My magic was tested for the first time today. Apparently, I'm very powerful. Powerful enough to be afraid of."
He held his right hand toward me, palm up. "May I?"
"What?"
"I am a fourth-class empath with a C rating. I get impressions. I'd like to get an impression of you."
I took his hand. He gripped mine tightly and shut his eyes. His arm jerked and his eyes flew open. He released my hand and took a long step back. He smacked his palms together like he was dusting them off and wide, surprised eyes looked at me over them. `SHIT!' I thought and worried about his reaction.
His expression grew thoughtful as he looked at the hand that had held mine. He put the hand in his pocket and stepped forward until he met the bar with his chest. He spoke right in my face. "You are a bonfire of power. I understand why your young man is afraid. If I were a young man, I would be afraid. But, like fire, that can be threatening and dangerous, it can also be warm and comforting. You are a powerful man, but not a dangerous one. I think with time and space, he'll understand that. He'll remember how nice it was to warm himself on you and his fear of being burned will fade."
Beni stepped back and cleared his throat. "And that is what I might say if I was permitted by this establishment to provide advice. But I'm not, so you will have to come to your own conclusions."
I grinned, and he grinned back. "It's a shame you can't offer advice." I said through my grin. "You would probably be great at it."
He moved close again and glanced around before he spoke like he was afraid someone was listening. "Remember, sir, the young do not see things like people of our experience. I know a weapon is not a weapon unless it is used in anger. He may not know that yet. He'll come to know it though. Take heart, he was perceptive enough to see and desire the `you' that you hide from the world. Wasn't he?"
I turned my glass on the bar a little more and thought about what he said. "Thank you, Beni." I said as an answer to his question.
"For what, sir?"
"For the advice you didn't give me that I'll follow to the letter." I tapped a drumroll on the bar and felt better than I had in hours. "Now, how about one more double? That should be enough to debilitate me beyond the risk of making an ass of myself when I pass his room in a few minutes. One more double, one for yourself if you are permitted by the rules of this establishment to indulge, and the invoice for me to sign and charge to the room."
He filled the order, poured a glass of ice water for himself, and brought a black glass tablet with a stylus and the image of a bill on it. I signed it, wrote in what I hoped was a generous tip, and clinked glasses with Beni. "Rules of the establishment?" I asked pointing the stylus at his ice water.
"I don't drink, not anymore." He said distantly and held his glass up to catch the low light.
I sensed an old sadness in his words. I wondered about it. "Would you tell me sometime?" I asked and immediately regretted the question, especially after I'd denied Shawn my story.
Beni didn't take offence. He shook his round head. "Probably not, it was so very long ago. So much time...yet it's still as raw inside me as if it was yesterday. Time heals all wounds is a vicious lie." Bitterness filled his voice on the last sentence, a deep frown narrowed his wide face. He shook his head back and forth in a short, violent motion. His expression softened, he raised his eyes to mine, and concern clouded his features. "Excuse me, sir, my manners. My deepest and sincerest apologies."
I waved away his worry. "Please, no apology. You should never be sorry for being right. My wound is ten years old and I feel it like a hot knife in my guts."
"Yes, that's what it feels like. I'm sorry for you. Good luck, sir."
"You to, Beni. Thank you for everything." I shook his hand over the bar again and he moved away. I knocked my drink back in a gulp and aimed myself toward the elevators.