This is the sequel to my first story, `The House on Lora Avenue.' I had a few people asking me to continue this story, and so I have decided to go ahead and do it. I don't intend to get as creative with the intros in this story as I did in the original, so I hope no one is too terribly disappointed.
Historical stuff (other stories I've written): - The House on Lora Avenue' (last post on May 26, 2006, High School section) - Chris and Aaron' (last post on June 01, 2006, High School section) - `Brandon and Alex' (still a work in progress being posted in the Young Friends section)
This story involves sexual situations between teen boys, sometimes with adults involved, so if you aren't supposed to be looking at things like this wherever you live or this makes you squeamish, please either exit this story/site now and/or move to a place where things like this are acceptable. If you're here to begin with, it's more likely that you should choose the latter.
The chapters in this story will not be posted nearly as quickly as the previous ones, for a variety of reasons. Therefore, I ask for your patience as this story progresses.
Like the other stories I've written, this is set in a magical land where there are no STDs, so you won't be reading about condoms being used except in the disclaimers at the beginning. This is not meant to imply that I am advocating the practice of unsafe sex, quite the opposite actually - please take adequate precautions to protect yourself, there's a lot of shit out there that can kill you or make you wish you were dead.
I'd like to thank my friends Mike and Dave for being my proof readers, editors and spiritual advisors in the writing of this story. Okay, I'm kidding about the spiritual advisor part, but their comments and suggestions really helped make this story happen. I owe them both a big debt of gratitude, and if you enjoy it, you probably do as well.
Comments and feedback are certainly welcomed and encouraged at t_macd@comcast.net.
Trip to Florida
Preface
We left off with the boys heading south to Florida on I-95 in Adam's car after dropping off the remaining hustlers from Adam's pool party. Ben had shot Adam in a fit of rage after they found one of the younger hustler boys dead outside Adam's house after the pool party where he had fed them all drinks spiked with a date rape drug. Ben was driving the car, sharing small talk with Tim while Jamie and Andrew slept in the back seat. Ben had told the hustler boys that they were headed north, to Virginia when he dropped them off, and then told the other boys his real plans as they headed toward the highway. They had all of Adam's camera equipment, which still had the photographic record of the pool party inside and a bag containing all of Adam's jewelry and tens of thousands of dollars in the trunk of the Lincoln Town Car.
Chapter One
They had been on the road for a little over two hours when Tim fell asleep in the front seat next to Ben. Andrew had awakened in the back seat though, and Ben needed some small talk to help keep him awake while he drove. "So Andrew, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? We're obviously going to be together for a while."
Andrew quickly admitted to himself that this was true, and the other thing that ran through his mind very quickly was that Ben had been something of a savior and protector for all the boys ever since they had met, and in so many ways. Andrew had had a lot on his mind even before he had met up with Jamie and Tim, and he had wanted to talk to someone about it. Maybe Ben was the right person to share this with. "Well, I didn't always live like this," he started. It was best to work into this slowly perhaps. "Believe it or not, my `rents actually have a lot of money."
Andrew paused, waiting for Ben to say something. When he didn't after a moment, Andrew continued, "They never even drive themselves anywhere, they always have someone do it for them, and in cars bigger than this one." He looked up and saw Ben looking back at him in the rear-view mirror, a slightly incredulous look on his face.
"No shit dude, really. I'm not kidding. My dad is like, famous or something," Andrew continued, still waiting for some response from Ben.
"Really, so who is he?" Ben finally asked, barely masking the incredulity he felt. He had heard too many fantasies of wonderful lives and immense wealth from lots of lost boys like Andrew.
Andrew realized that none of the other boys even knew what his last name was before now. "Bartholomew Williams," Andrew told him.
"No shit, the TV preacher?" Ben asked with a note of surprise in his voice. "I've seen him on TV before. You don't look very much like him dude."
"I look more like my mom," was all Andrew said, hanging his head down onto his chest with a sad look on his face.
Ben looked at the boy in the back seat again in the mirror. It seemed that he was upset with his reaction. "I didn't say that I didn't believe you dude. I just said that you don't look a lot like him. I mean, your hair doesn't look like it's made of plastic, and you don't have any make-up caked on like he does every time I've seen him."
This at least got a laugh out of Andrew. "Yeah," Andrew said. "I think he uses about six cans of hair spray a day to keep his hair looking like that. It doesn't even move when he's having sex." Andrew let that last little bit slip without thinking about it. He had seen his father having sex before, a couple times; it was never with his mother though.
Ben caught that slip though... "You mean you actually saw the perfect TV preacher having sex?" he asked. "AND his hair stayed perfectly in place too? That is sooo funny dude." He actually chuckled as he thought about it. Bartholomew Williams was often on television talking about the decadent lifestyle in America, the breakdown in family values and the need for American families to make a return to the church.
Then somewhere from in the back of his mind he remembered hearing a few months earlier that the preacher's only son had been the victim of an apparent kidnapping. He had even seen a picture of Andrew on TV, but he looked a lot different in that picture. His hair was shorter then, and he had been wearing a suit and tie. He looked a couple years younger in that picture too. "You know what," he said to Andrew. "I did see a picture of you on TV. They said you were kidnapped, but the picture didn't look a lot like how you look now. Thinking about it though, I can tell now that it was you."
Andrew considered this for a minute before responding. "Well, I'm glad that I don't look a lot like the picture they were showing any more. I don't want them to find me."
Sensing that he needed to redirect the conversation just a little, Ben said "so, you saw your Mom and Dad having sex? That must have been pretty gross."
"It wasn't my Mom he was having sex with," Andrew told him. This was someplace that he really didn't want to go, but he knew he had to get it off his chest. "It was a guy about 16 that he was screwing. A different one both times I saw him." Andrew breathed out a deep sigh; it felt unexpectedly good to finally tell someone about what he had seen. He had tried to tell his mother before he ran away from home, but she seemed more interested in swilling down vodka martinis than in listening to what he had to say. But of course, it had been that way as long as he could remember.
"Dude, you're kidding. No, I don't guess you are, are you?" Ben said to him. "So that's why you left, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it is. It seemed so hypocritical, so dishonest, even for him, to talk about family values, how bad homosexuality is and all of his other church shit. Then there he is doing exactly the opposite of everything he says he believes." Andrew was very close to breaking down in tears as he told Ben all this, and Ben, seeing this as he looked in the mirror, pulled the car off onto the next exit ramp and from there into a crowded Cracker Barrel restaurant parking lot.
Ben was right, Andrew needed to be held and comforted, although it was Jamie that did this by hugging him deeply as he and Tim both woke up when then car came to a stop. They all went into the restaurant and were soon seated at a table. Andrew had regained his composure before they went inside, which made Ben feel a little better. He was a little concerned about any of them doing something to draw attention to them.
They all had a good, hearty meal which they needed badly. Ben paid the bill, and they went back out to the Lincoln. Ben glanced around suspiciously as they got back into the car. He was worried that sooner or later the car was going to be reported missing, and he didn't want them to still be in it when it was. After they were all inside, he told the others "You all realize that we have to get rid of this car soon, right?"
"If we get rid of the car, how are we getting to Florida?" Andrew asked.
"We'll get another one," Ben told him. He'd already thought this through. "We have plenty of cash. We just find someone that's selling a decent car and buy it. That way we have a car that no one is going to be looking for and there's no way to trace it to us because it will be for cash."
The other boys all agreed that what Ben was saying made sense, and they decided that they would stop in the next town and look for a car for sale that they could buy, then they all piled back into the Lincoln and got back on the highway. None of them had any real experience buying cars though, so they didn't think about the fact that there would still be a paper trail, even if they paid cash. A few miles farther south, they saw exit signs for a small town and Ben pulled back off the highway. There were a couple small car lots there, and a few small motels on the outskirts of the town. Ben pulled into one of the motel parking lots, stopping the car where it couldn't be seen from the front window and went into the office to check them in. He told the desk clerk that they were students on summer break and got a room with two double beds.
After the boys had brought all their things in from the car, Ben drove it into town and down the main street. He parked it near a car lot that looked like it had a better quality selection than the others. About twenty minutes after he had walked onto the lot, he drove away in a dark blue 1974 Pontiac Grand Ville convertible with a white top. The car was in good shape, and the engine had roared when Ben took it out on the road for a test drive. It also had plenty of room in both the front and back seats, in case the boys got stuck without a place to sleep. The seats were also cloth, which the salesman pointed out was unusual for a convertible, but it made it nicer because you wouldn't stick to them in the heat when driving with the top down, Ben would just have to be careful to make sure the top was up if it rained. The car also had air conditioning so he could be comfortable in the southern heat when he was driving it with the top up. The salesman had also told him that the car had been owned since it was new by a friend of the lot's owner, which Ben was naturally skeptical about. He found out as he signed the paperwork to transfer the title to the car that what the man was telling him was the truth. It even looked as if the car had been kept in a garage - it could almost have just rolled off of the showroom floor.
When Ben got back to the motel, Tim was the only one still awake. He got Tim to help him load all the boys' things into the `new' car before they woke up the other two boys. Ben explained that they needed to put a few more miles between themselves and where they had left Adam's car before they finally stopped for the evening. When they got back on the road, Ben took the less traveled US 17 south toward Florida instead of the more heavily traveled I-95.
The old car purred down the road and two hours later, in another small town, Ben pulled off and found them another motel room. They only took what they would need for the night into the room with them this time though. When they got into the room the boys all stripped down to their underwear and paired off in the two double beds. All the boys were tired, especially Ben since he had driven all day and had not been able to nap as the other boys had. He thought it was better if he drove though, since he was the only one of them who had a driver's license.
It was one of the Ashton Hills security guards who found the grisly scene in Adam's house. When the boys had left, they hadn't pulled the front door all the way closed, and the wind had blown it farther open later in the day. The security guard was making his normal rounds of the subdivision in one of their patrol cars when he spotted the open door. He wasn't used to seeing the large houses with their doors left open like that, particularly in the summer heat, and the garage door was open too, so he could see that it was empty. Whoever lived there must have gone away and forgotten to close their door. He figured that he would just go up to the house, close the door and that would be that.
He wished he had been that lucky. When he got to the door, he figured that he had better at least have a cursory look around to make sure the house wasn't being burglarized. If it was and he didn't check, he knew he would lose his job without the first question. When he walked into the living room, he saw the young boy lying by the pool, the concrete stained dark with blood underneath him. He knew then that something was horribly wrong in the house. He radioed the security office to get the police and an ambulance there immediately, drew his gun and started checking the rest of the house. He found Adam on the floor where the boys had left him, and the little gun next to him. It was then that he felt the churning in his stomach and knew that he only had seconds to get to a toilet before he vomited.
Moments later, he heard the sirens approaching. He used the sink in the bathroom to rinse his mouth, not touching anything more than he had to. He knew this was a crime scene and he didn't want to contaminate it any more than he already had.
An hour later, the police were still examining the crime scene, but they had determined that a group of boys had been seen driving away from the house that morning in Adam's car. They had a description of the car and had issued an all-points-bulletin for it. Whoever had taken off in it had about a six hour head start on them, but with the alert being out on the car, stating that its occupants had been involved in a crime that resulted in multiple murders, they figured that there would be a hit on the car sooner or later.
It turned out they were pretty close to being right. The place where Ben had parked the car was a limited time parking area, where the local police were normally pretty quick to tow violators who over-stayed their time, and this one had been there overnight. The police in the little south Georgia town where the boys had abandoned Adam's car didn't know about the APB yet, but as they were preparing to have it towed, they ran the tags for wants and warrants because of the out of state tags on the car. The report that came back on the car surprised the two police officers. This one had a warrant out on it from both the North Carolina State Police and the FBI.
The tow truck driver was getting ready to hook up to the car, but they quickly shooed him away, much to his surprise. His first thought was that they had learned that the car belonged to a visiting dignitary or politician of some sort and they were afraid of getting in trouble for having it towed. Then they got out their yellow police tape and started marking off the area as a crime scene. He sat on the back of his truck and watched as they police ran the crime scene tape around the car and the two cars on either side of it, chuckling to himself as the owners of the adjacent cars came back and tried to reclaim their vehicles, but were unable to.
Twenty minutes later the entire Titusburg police force; (all six officers) were on the scene around the Lincoln. The fact that they were all already at the crime scene surprised everyone when they heard a police siren approaching.
The black Crown Victoria slid to a stop behind the last police car and two men in dark, conservative suits got out. The passenger came up to the assembled Titusburg police department and showed his credentials. "I'm Special Agent Richards of the FBI," he told them. "Who is the senior man present?"
Chief Clifford Willis stepped up, adjusting his gun belt as he did so and introduced himself to the FBI agent. "I'm Chief Willis," he said. "I'm in charge here."
"No, you were in charge here," the FBI agent told him. "This is now an FBI investigation. Our crime scene technicians will be here shortly. You haven't touched the car have you?"
"No, we haven't. But you can't just come into my town and..." Chief Willis started.
"No Chief, I can and will do anything I damn well please. You and your deputies have stumbled into a major interstate kidnapping and murder investigation. You can assist us by letting us use your office as a command post, and recommending a good hotel for our people to stay in. Other than that though, I expect you to stay out of our way." Agent Richards certainly knew how to inspire a spirit of mutual cooperation and respect with the local authorities.
An hour later, Chief Willis received an excited call from his spinster cousin Mildred who owned and managed the only hotel that was actually located in the small town. She wanted to know what was going on, but before he could even get a word out of his mouth, she carried on about how the FBI had taken most of her rooms, and that the TV preacher Bartholomew Williams had booked the entire top floor for himself and his staff and would be arriving that evening.
The only other places to stay in the area were a few small motels about five miles outside the city limits. On a hunch, the Chief drove out to where they were located to ask a few questions. He didn't find exactly what he was looking for, but he did find what he thought might be one promising lead - a young boy who only looked to be about 17 or 18 had booked a double room the night before. He got the room number from the manager, but the room was empty when he got there. A lady from the housekeeping staff told him that she had seen four boys leaving the room the previous afternoon, and loading their bags and a lot of camera equipment into a dark car with a white top. She couldn't give him any more useful information though.
Chief Willis placed a call to the Camden County Sheriff, asking him to be on the lookout for a car fitting the description of what the housekeeper at the hotel had described to him. He told the Sheriff about the FBI's intrusion into his town, and asked that he keep any communication between the two of them to their telephones rather than putting it on the radio. The Sheriff agreed without hesitation. Chief Willis was an old friend, and the Sheriff was no fan of the FBI.
Comments and feedback are welcome at t_macd@comcast.net (I will /try/ to all answer e-mails sent to me, but please realize that my job requires me to travel a great deal, so it might take a while and I don't promise to answer everyone), flamers will be ignored by me, but will meet with an untimely and horrible demise as the result of the curse of the old gypsy woman who lives across the lake from me, and has inexplicably taken a liking to me. Anger her at your own risk.