All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes
By Jack Lynch
Author's Note: Readers of my past work on Nifty will recognize some portions of this work drawn from other stories. They have been recast here to tell a different narrative. I welcome your feedback. Write to me: jacklynch945@proton.me.
As always, I greatly appreciate Nifty. I hope you'll join me in supporting them so that free expression can continue to be enjoyed by all.
Chapter 34
The Lighthouse.
Carey returned to his study table in the library after returning several books to the stacks. Notebooks and his laptop stacked neatly. Empty coffee cups and power bar wrappers dumped in a nearby garbage can.
His last semester as an undergrad. Most students had already left campus for MLK weekend. Carey lagged behind, partly to finish up some loose ends, but mostly to put the finishing touches on his application to the RAND Corporation's associate program. After a headhunter called him out of the blue, he had two telephone interviews with some people at RAND in California. Fill out the application, he was told. We'll probably bring you out for a visit in a couple of weeks.
He smelled him before he saw him. Oatmeal. His breath caught in his throat. Carey jerked to his feet as he turned to find Apollo staring at him. They were both frozen in place for a moment. Not a word was said. Then, spontaneously, they threw themselves at each other. Bodies crushed together, arms and hands held tightly around each other, both gasping.
They held each other for a long time before Carey pulled away, tears in his eyes.
"You fuck!" He screamed. "Where have you been?"
"A few places," Apollo replied, as he tried to catch his breath.
It took awhile to get Carey calmed down. First, sitting at the library table, later at a bar near campus, he recounted the months he'd been held captive as Amir's sex slave.
"Won't he come for you?" Carey finally asked.
Apollo smirked.
"He's got other distractions now. I'm day old bread."
They held each other tightly as they lay together in Carey's narrow bed. Apollo stared off in the distance.
"This is it."
"Mmmm. What do you mean?" Carey was beginning to dose. He was emotionally exhausted.
"Forever. This is the way it's gonna be."
Carey nuzzled into Apollo's neck, drinking in his luscious smell.
"I like the sound of that."
The next morning.
Carey stared up at the ceiling.
"Let's get outta here."
Apollo chuckled, "Where to?"
"Ever heard of Tybee Island?"
This time of year, the Island was mostly deserted. Cold and wind swept. They were able to get a room at The Sandcastle good and cheap. After driving straight through, they settled in for the long weekend.
Along the way, shared hopes and dreams. Carey felt really good about his prospects with RAND. Apollo wasn't crazy about returning to Los Angeles, but Santa Monica wasn't exactly LA. Maybe he could get into the math program at UCLA. They laughed until they cried about what his essay might be about. Former sex worker, turned math genius.
They had just finished getting out of Carey's car.
Apollo groaned as he turned around. "What's up, Omar?"
A moment earlier, he'd heard that high pitched squeal of a laugh. Besides the usual sneer on his face, this time Omar also held a gun in his hand. Carey stared, open mouth, a stunned look on his face.
"Strike three, you out."
"Whatever happened to strikes one and two?" Apollo asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
"The way I play game it's just strike three, you out," Omar replied, the smile vanishing from his face. He used the gun barrel to motion for them to move across the street to a sedan parked on the other side. With his key fob, he popped the trunk.
"Let's take a ride."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Apollo blurted, his voice hitting a panic level.
"Get in," Omar pointed to the trunk.
Reluctantly, Carey and Apollo climbed in.
"Why don't you just do it now, fuck face," Apollo glared at Omar.
He shrugged. "Rental. Don't want to get the trunk messed up."
With that, he slammed the lid down on them.
They bumped along inside the trunk. Pitch black. Carey felt around for the inside trunk latch. When his fingers touched the spot where it was supposed to be, he found that it had been cut off.
"What's gonna happen?"
The air was getting clammy. Carey was feeling nauseous from the vibration and the car jerking as it turned left and right. He could barely make out Apollo's features.
"I dunno, but don't be scared."
Carey smirked. "Thanks for the comforting advice."
Eventually, the car rolled to a stop.
When Omar opened the trunk, the sound of squawking seagulls met their ears. Climbing out, Carey and Apollo looked up at the Tybee Lighthouse, a singular spire rising up against a gray winter sky. The car was parked in a barren parking lot. Tybee Light was apparently closed.
"Let's take a walk."
He motioned them to cross the street, through the battery, and onto the windswept beach. Not a single person was in sight.
Omar, all serious now, pointed the gun toward the ocean. Two blindfolds came out of nowhere.
"Put these on."
Carey quickly complied. Apollo just glared at him.
"Why don't you just fuck off, fuck off?"
Omar just shrugged.
"Suit yourself." Then, "Hands behind your heads, on your knees!"
Not like bending down, more like collapsing. Carey's knees hit the wet sand, a foot or so from the water. Low tide. Apollo beside him.
"You like Boyz II Men rifaqa?" Omar squealed with a cackle.
Not getting a response from either, he continued, now singing.
"You know. `Although we've come to the end of the road, I can let you go.'" Off key. In an obnoxious falsetto.
"I think it's, `I still can't let go.'" Apollo corrected.
"I changed. You don't mind?" Omar smiled with his teeth. Not a real smile.
"C'mon Omar," Apollo smirked.
"I told you once before. Leave us? You die," his tone becoming more serious.
The seagulls' screeching seemed to have turned to murmurs, almost as if they were saying goodbye, the waves slapped the beach as they crashed into the shore, perhaps clapping a farewell. He'd read somewhere that, just before you die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. Instead, Carey saw only the future. Tenured Professor of Political Science, Apollo at his side, himself a Professor of Mathematics, his husband. A life of harmony and peace. So many good, good, friends. Toby, Bell, Randy, Scottie, Micah, even Harper. Part of a long forgotten poem came to mind, possibly lyrics to a song: "All My Dreams Pass Before My Eyes." Everything was bright all of a sudden, even though he was wearing a mask. He took a deep breath, convinced it would be his last.
It sounded like Omar was about to say something. But, then, without warning: Boom!
Carey jerked with the sudden crack of the gun. It wasn't for him, though. He was still there. He heard the body hit the sand. He knew it was Apollo. Tears filled his eyes and he started hyper-ventilating. The back of his head and his cheek were instantly wet.
Then suddenly, a voice.
"Deng!"
Wait a minute! That was Apollo's voice! One hand still behind his head, Carey pulled the blindfold up with the other and swiveled around. Nearby, Apollo stood, staring at a heavy set Chinese guy. He held a gun, his arm still outstretched, smoke curling out of the barrel.
Omar lay face down in the sand, the back of his head blown off.
"God! I hated that guy!" Deng exclaimed.
Carey scampered to his feet. He held his hands up for a moment. Then glancing at Apollo, just standing there, he slowly lowered them to his sides.
"This doesn't change anything. Amir will still come after me."
Deng smirked.
"I think not."
A few days ago, after muttering that word, "enough," Deng put the wheels in motion. Accessing his super secret folder of some of the most salacious sex acts Amir had directed and participated in, he bundled them all into a zipped file.
The President of State Security for the Kingdom, Abdulaziz bin Mohammed Al-Howairni covered his eyes after watching the first few minutes of one of the videos. Deng had surreptitiously sent the folder to him.
"Mutaqazziz!" Disgusting!
A brief meeting with the General Directorate of Investigation followed after authentication of the videos was confirmed. Lashing? Beating and lashing? Death? Lashing, beating and death? So many options!
Returning from the lavatory where he put his finger down his throat to induce vomiting, Abdulaziz wiped his mouth, rinsed it with water, and directed his assistant to send the dispatch.
Thousands of miles away, Amir had just finished licking the tip of a delightfully warm and sweet tasting dick. It was attached to the slightly sweaty, aromatic body of a skater boy he'd picked up on The Strand in Hermosa Beach.
Earlier, he had been so enraged about Apollo's disappearance, he had practically lost all control.
"Find him and finish him!" He commanded Omar through gritted teeth.
He was still furious. But, today, after popping a couple of pills and washing it down with a gulp of Courvoisier, he mellowed out enough to charm the kid into a room at the Beach House. He resembled Apollo in all the right ways, from his long greasy blond hair to his pale hairless body and magnificent cock. Just as he was running his hand up the inside of the boy's smooth thigh to the base of his almost hairless balls, he heard a text come in.
Normally, he ignored messages. He was intrigued, though. Perhaps Omar had already tracked Apollo down. A mixture of anticipation and dread. He wanted Apollo dead but he was also going to miss him. Amir reached for his phone.
"Report to President of State Security for the Kingdom, Riyadh. Emirates #2375 tonight."
He sat up straight, immediately unable to control his breathing.
Carey thought he was going to be sick as he helped Apollo and Deng pull Omar's body into the surf. He'd never seen someone's head opened up like that, his brain looking like a bunch of twisted noodles. Riptides and whirlpools formed around Omar as the low tide sucked him out to sea. They stood there for awhile, knee deep in the water, watching the body slowly disappear.
The two boys stood silently as Deng explained what he'd done and the likely outcome for Amir.
"I don't know what to say," Apollo said.
Carey was speechless. He just looked at Deng.
A humorless chuckle.
Before turning away, Deng said, "This is the end of the road." Pointing, he continued, "Ahead, is the rest of your life."
THE END.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.