Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/lake-desolation/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
I pull him tight to me. "I didn't hit you, Logan, I slapped your face. There's a difference. And you have no idea, Logan, just how hard I can hit. But I will never, ever hit YOU. I expect both of us will be slapped a few times, we've already been! But I will destroy anyone who comes for you, Logan. They can come with a warrant or a gun or a syringe, it doesn't matter, you will never, ever be taken from me. I... I need. I need your love too much, Logan, and need so, so much to love you back." Neither of us try to stop the tears then.
Lake Desolation 12: Sword of Damocles
By Bear Pup
Sunday (7)
I chivvy and half-carry Logan to bed. I strip us both and curl us under the covers. Logan's confession left him exhausted and he is asleep in seconds. Me? Not so much. What I'd said in the heat of that moment had, actually, been true. I will never allow anyone to take this man from me. But what does that mean, and how can I possibly fight if it's the police who come for him?
Tonight, when I'm in such turmoil, is naturally the night that the withdrawal nightmares return with a vengeance. I have just dozed when Logan makes a strangled sound. I wake and find his body stiff and clenched, trying to scream in that special horror that nightmares can bring that prevents you from forming the words, just releasing guttural cries of terror.
I soothe and pet and calm him until the nightmare abates, but the next, perhaps two hours later, is so much worse. It's obvious that his brain has dragged in enough of the real world to amplify the horror. I am not a comforter and protector; I am the very monster of his dream so any touch or caress or hug or soothing word has the opposite effect. I finally have to leave the bed entirely to prevent his flailing arms and legs from hurting himself or me.
I kneel next to the bed, calling softly, "Logan? Logan, I need you back here. Logan. Come back, son." He finally pulls in a shuddering breath and starts awake. He sees me and begins to cry.
I pet his face softly, then climb in and cradle him face-first into my chest. He finally sleeps, but I cannot. I get up without waking the boy and move to the laptop, booting it silently again. I open my mail and see a note sent only a few hours earlier from Pigtails. I smile. As usual, it is a rambling, good-natured mix of teen angst and triumph. My breath, my heart and my world stop at the postscript. 'BTW, Dad is coming tomorrow with groceries after church. Maybe 11?. He said he wants a chance to talk to your nephew again. I guess he really liked him. I know Josh did.'
I know with fell certainty that it means Joshua Miller knows something and doesn't want his daughter to find out. It can be nothing other than Logan's identity. Every nerve feels like it is on fire. I literally shake myself to bring a sense of calm thought back. I stare at that postscript for nearly thirty minutes, mind completely elsewhere. When I finally blink, strange orange after-images of the text float around the room. It takes several more minutes until I can navigate the laptop.
I set myself in frantic motion. First, an online form and an instant confirmation, then a reply to Pigtails.
'Honey! What perfect timing! I meant to write last night to ask your father if it was possible to give Larry and me a lift to town. His parents are going to be in The City and we're going down there for dinner and possibly a show. I also thought Larry could use a chance to get out and see NYC, and be around people other than crotchety old coots for a few days. Ask if he can drop us off at Tinney's around noon, please? We've already got the car booked. And, no, you cannot go with us. This is about Larry and his parents and how much better he's doing after a couple weeks of fresh northern air. Maybe next time, Pigtails. Love & Kisses, -Papa McKay.'
My first thought was plane or train to, well, anywhere until I realised that, even if Logan had a shred of ID (which he didn't), it would set off alarms you could hear in Vermont! A car, though, is another matter. I was known to hate the delays at ALB (Albany's airport), and Maria and I had found years ago that a limo was less costly and just as fast as plane tickets. And, of course, infinitely more enjoyable.
Next is lodging. Chrome knows my Marriott info and I have a double-queen booked on the concierge level of the Downtown, overlooking the World Trade Center Memorial, in minutes. This chose to Christmas, it might have been impossible at most of the other NYC hostelries, but it's location and my Marriott status work in our favour. Maria and I have stayed there many times when I had business in town. It isn't convenient to anything, really, but the view is wonderful, and the cabs and black-cars ('limo' is apparently too plebeian for NYC) are plentiful.
Next is a seemingly-innocuous note to a fellow author, William Walter Grey. 'Hey Wally! I'm going to be in your quaint little town for a couple days. Any chance we can meet and catch up? And I've got a plot to run by you. I'll treat you to the best Pint that the Tell-Tale Harp has to offer! I might even throw in one of their Reubens! Thanks a Million, -Stet'
Wally is a semi-retired (defined in my world as 'rich enough to write only if he feels like it') author whose books are set in his own origins, the areas of New York and New Jersey still virtually owned and run by 'Boyos'. Calling them the Irish Mafia would be incorrect on a dozen levels, but their ruthless business practices make the comparison valid. One of his RCs (recurring characters) is Reuben, a back-room tough whose expertise is 'paper'. He operates out of an equally-fictional Irish pub called the Tell-Tale Harp.
We'd done a rather complex favour for Wally at London (they keep wanting people to call it the LBF for London Book Fair, but everyone ignores them). He was 'entertaining' two young and very curvaceous fans -- 20-year-old twins, no less, the reason he caved to a seduction he'd normally have resisted -- when his wife arrived. Let's just say that quick juggling between me and Maria got him out of his sex-reeking room and into ours, avoiding an exceptionally-costly divorce. Wally had been grateful to say the least.
Logan has a less-intense nightmare around six, and I get him up as it lessens. We get cleaned up together in the shower. He starts to play and notices my tension and complete lack of sexual interest. He starts to shake like a leaf as I explain what is happening. He's crying and I'm holding him up as I finish, but he's calmed by the time we're dry.
"So, this is... g-g-g-goodbye?" I am so tense I explode.
"NO! Goddammit, how many times do I have to say it? Fuck, Logan!" He eyes are wide and I take a deep, steadying breath. "I'm sorry. I am as tense as you are, probably more. This will work out, Logan, I promise. First, let's get dressed." He's like a manikin, but does anything I tell him.
I guide him into boots, jeans and a henley over a dress shirt. I find an old wallet and stuff it full of receipts so it's thick and stick in his front pocket. I shove a literal wad of cash into the other packet, knowing that neatly-folded bills are usually an oddity in the young.
I finally take a deep breath and step back. I start to dress myself and notice that Logan is shakily making the doesn't-suck oatmeal for me. "Logan, I think you are finally past the Cream of Wheat stage. Join me for oatmeal?" He smiles fragilely and starts adding more to the pot. I grab a backpack-style carry-on and put three changes of clothes in for Logan, and find my laptop case into which I add two changes for myself. We sit and enjoy the oatmeal, the warmth and flavour seeming to melt the icy worry.
"I-I'm sorry, Logan. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up, and then I didn't even tell you there's a plan to make this work. You've got to be a wreck."
"No. N-n-not really. You said it would work out, Jake, so I know it will." That blank-cheque confidence nearly undoes me completely but I fight back the rush to worry, horror and fear. I give him a brief summary of what is about to happen.
"So, who are you?"
"Larry (really Lawrence) Logan Mallory. I was a freshman at Miami until Dad saw a Facebook pic someone else posted of me with a joint. They decided I've suddenly become a pothead and pill-popper and probably a drunk so they shipped me to this frozen hell where my, uh, my Nana Ruth's? Uh, cousin's husband?" I nod "has been really nice to me." He smiled shyly and lovingly at me then, and I melted a bit.
"Okay. Good. Logan, have you ever travelled anywhere in the South?" He nods slowly. "Yeah. We went to see my Mom's family in Savannah when I was like 12 or 13. Does that help?"
"How much to remember about the city?"
"Oh, lots! The squares and parks are beautiful and the marshes, they call it low country, goes on forever. Black-water bayous and plantations and--"
"Perfect! You grew up in Savannah. Talk about how beautiful it is. Be vague. If they push, play the sullen teen with plenty of 'dunnos' and 'problys'. Okay, Good. Perfect. School, uh, can't be public school. Was your Mom religious?"
Logan smiles, "Yes, Catholic, of course. Like all Latinas, right?"
I frown then laugh. "Fine. Pick a saint you know something about and you went to St That Person School. Mass every day, nuns with rulers, all that." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Just keep it consistent and keep it vague. Anything else, wing it."
"Okay, professor. I went to St Thomas the Apostle. Really nice school, none of that 1960's 'nuns smacking your knuckles with rulers' nonsense. The chapel was beautiful. Glass window of him evangelizing in India. School sucked at sports. I played soccer a year and just didn't like sports so I gave up. Didn't get a scholarship to Georgia so went to Miami where I qualified for one. Hoping to major in English if I ever can convince the rents that I just got stoned that one time. Dad was pissed cuz he's a huge UGA fan. Got a picture of that dog in his office. But at least I didn't go to Bama. He'd'a disowned me!"
I blink in shock and Logan chuckles. "What, you never saw 'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil'? You should. Okay, what else?"
"Parent's names?"
"John and Louisa Mallory."
"When did you get here?"
"Uh, let's see. It's hard to keep track of time when there's not TV, you know. Today is Sunday... Gosh, three and a half weeks!"
"Right. And John and Louisa are coming to NYC on business and to do the Christmas Shopping Thing."
"Yep. They are very sad I won't be with them for Christmas, but they're going to be visiting Liz in London. It's my niece's first Christmas! Julia was born in April. I was supposed to stay on campus over the holiday and now they can't get me a ticket, so it's Christmas at the North Pole for me."
I pull him to me and kiss him deeply. "I love you, Logan, Larry, whoever you are!" We kiss like that for perhaps half an hour, ending up on the couch. Finally, I get jarred out of the mood by several DINGs in rapid succession. One is Pigtails' response wishing us a great trip, telling me her Dad will be here around 11, and remining me that this is the THRID time I've taken a limo to NYC and promised -- PROMISED -- her she could go 'next time'. After that was a series of punctuation marks that I assumed meant 'sulky face emoji'.
Next is from Saratoga Limo confirming who the driver will be. As it happens, it's Christopher, a really charming young man that Maria had liked so much and semi-adopted. The next is from Christopher himself, explaining that he is really grateful because he'd wanted to go into The City this year and didn't have the cash. Lastly is from Wally and I sighed deeply. 'After fish-n-chips in London, I'm buying YOU that Reuben. And I know the best in town! -WWG'
Logan has already cleared the kitchen and started general 'company coming' cleaning. I pull down my winterizing checklist, turning down this and adjusting that so the place will be cold but safe while we're gone. We're both finishing when Logan's head pops up. A moment later, I hear that deep rumble of the Diesel.
I bundle the laptop into the case and put both bags on the porch. Logan will wear my Light Coat and I'll wear Second. Kids can handle cold better than old folks like me. He gets my deerskin gloves and I use the thicker ones. We look at each other and I can see both fear and trust in his liquid eyes. I grab him and give him a kiss, then we both go onto the porch where I lock the elaborate bolts that keep the place nearly-impregnable when I'm away.
I hear Logan gasp and I turn. The passenger seat contains a man clearly in a Saratoga County Sherriff uniform. I squint, then smile and lean over. "Logan, this couldn't be much better. Trust me, son, okay?" He swallows several times and then puts on a bored-teenager face and slouches against the door.
Joshua Miller unfolds his big frame from the truck as does a very good friend, again thanks to Maria's meddlesome and lost-stray ways. Hal Wallborn, now Trooper Wallborn, was in Tinny's Tavern with friends one Friday evening while he was in high school, years and years ago. The rowdy teens were enjoying the pizza. When the bill came, we could see the boys go into a conspiratorial huddle. It looked like the group was ganging up on one of their number to do something stupid. The gangly kid finally relented and went up to pay the tab at the register.
Tinny's at the time was run by a truly cantankerous old fart -- it's me saying this so you can only imagine! -- while the old man rang up the bill, the obviously-nervous kid slipped a pack of gum in his pocket. Ah ha! A dangerous game indeed with Malcolm at the helm! Sadly, the kid flubbed it and the old man snagged him by the shirt collar and started yelling about calling the cops and having him arrested. The kid was white as a sheet and scared out of his mind.
Maria calmly wiped her mouth on her napkin and marched up. "Malcolm! Hush! What's this fuss?"
"This little brat just stole a pack of gum. I'm sick of these thieving kids! This one going to Juvie!" He crowed.
"Have you finally lost your mind, Malcolm? You saw him put in his pocket. He made sure you saw it. The fact you were too preoccupied to ring it up is simply nonsense. Now quit this foolishness." She pried the stunned and speechless man's hands from the kid's collar and smoothed the boy's shirt, then turned. "And if anyone should complain, it's him! You never did give the boy his change. I'm about halfway to thinking this nice young man wasn't the one doing the thieving!" Malcolm, completely undone, fumbled and gave the boy his change (without charging for the gum).
Maria marched him out into the parking lot where his 'friends' were waiting. I left the money and tip on the counter for Malcolm and scurried out to watch the fun. Hand locked on the kid's shoulder, she gave the whole crew a tongue-lashing that left them looking like puppies with tails tucked, trying not to wee on the sidewalk. She dispersed them with a "GET!" and they got, evaporating like steam.
She then spun to the cowering boy who, moments before had thought he'd escaped only to find that nothing could be further from the truth. I had a feeling that given the choice, he'd have picked Juvie. "What is your name?!?" His mouth worked for a minute soundlessly, and Maria was having none of it. "Well? SPEAK UP!"
"Ha-Ha-Ha-Hal?"
"Let me tell you, Ha-Ha-Ha-Hal, you ever do such a thing in your entire life, and I will know. You know who I am. You think that old curmudgeon is trouble? You. Have. No. Idea. Now you go back in there and tell Malcolm that he still didn't charge for the gum and pay the man. I'll wait here." The kid fled and was back in moments, blushing brightly in the evening light. "Now. You go on home. And if you let them boys coerce another kid into something stupid like that, let me tell you. I'll hold you personally responsible. Do. You. Hear. Me. Ha-Ha-Ha-Hal?"
Hal left at a speed normally reserved for NASA tests. We made it to the street before the giggles hit, eventually erupting in side-splitting laughter from both of us. It was a delightful late-spring evening to walk home, perhaps 10 to 15 minutes away. Hal, now standing before me in his shiny uniform, had come to deeply adore Maria, and was one of the many crushed by her death. He told me once that Maria and the night at Tinny's was the reason he became a cop.
"Hal! Sorry, Trooper Wallborn! Why it's been too long. Larry! This is Hal Wallborn, a really good man. Hal, this is Larry Mallory, my 'nephew' for lack of a better word. He's up here from college in Miami for some straightening out. While that was Maria's specialty," I cock an eyebrow and Hal blushes, and not from the cold, "he's a really good kid at heart. Larry, say hello to Trooper Wallborn."
"G-Good morning, sir."
"Oh, hell, Joshua. I'm such a dunce. I forgot you were bringing supplies! I've already sealed up. Do you mind terribly holding onto the stuff until we're back around the end of the week?" I turn to Hal who is intently studying Logan's face, something that just will not do. "Hal, Larry's parents are in NYC for a Christmas Shopping trip and we're meeting them in The City." Hal's eyes never leave Logan.
"Really? You going home with them, Mr Mallory?"
"N-No, sir. They'll be in London for the holiday with my sister, my older sister, and her, uh, their baby. My niece's first Christmas." He gives a rather tentative smile, which works quite well.
Joshua's eyes are still narrowed as Hal continues. "Mr Mallory, where are you from?"
"W-Well, like Papa McKay said, I'm going, well, was going to the University of Miami, but we're from Savannah."
"Odd. You talk like a native upstate."
"Well, mom's from up here and S-Savannah isn't that, you know, harsh an accent."
"Hmm. Mr Mallory, do you perchance have some form of ID?" Logan reaches as if for the wallet and I grab his hand, my voice as cold as the wind.
"Hal, I mean 'Trooper' Wallborn," I add the verbal air-quotes and am satisfied that he blushes. "I think you should explain that question, and you had better do so right now."
Hal swallows and looks back and forth from Joshua and me. "Well, sir, we, I mean the department, we had a report that, well, that there was someone wanted in a crime that might be up in this area."
I stare at Joshua, letting the venom drip from each word, "A report, eh? Really?" He flushes near purple, half with defiance and the other with shame. "And what crime?"
"Robbery and attempted murder at a convenience store."
"Larry!" Logan jumps a foot and looks at me, "Have you been robbing and killing people again?"
I leave him with his mouth working and turn back to Hal, "And when did this crime take place?"
"Um, two weeks ago today."
"Larry. When did you get here?"
"I g-g-got here, um, Thursday three weeks ago, sir. You know that. You walked me up from Tilly's!"
"Of course I remember!" I add a bit of crotchety old man spike to that. "I'm not THAT old. Hal, are you seriously suggesting that this young man snuck out of my cabin and went to... where did it happen? There's not a convenience store for miles!"
"Uh, Saratoga Springs?"
"Hal, honestly? Honestly? I don't have a CAR, Hal. It's the reason I'm the only person around the Lake to whom you haven't awarded a traffic ticket!" A low blow, but I don't care. Hal's only real job is revenue collection in the form of traffic stops. I think the last serious crime that wasn't a domestic dispute was kids breaking into cars. "This kid, the one shaking so hard he's freezing to death in this little breeze, WALKED to Saratoga, robbed and murdered someone, and then walked BACK?"
"B-b-but Mr McKay. We had a report! We had to ask!"
I turn again to Joshua and simply glare, "And tell me, Hal, does the person who made this 'report' still think this foolishness is warranted?" Joshua knows he's beat and shakes his head. "Hal, is there any chance your patrol car is down at the Forest Road? We need a ride to Tilly's"
Joshua finally speaks, mortified now, "Aw, Stettler, don't do this. We worry about you. Sarah would be crushed if anything happened to 'Papa McKay' and you know how protective Patty is!" As if the mention of his wife brings the thought to mind, a whine enters his voice, "Do you KNOW what she'll do if I let you walk to the road? In the SNOW? Come on, Stettler, I'm sorry. Just get in the truck."
"No. Not until you apologise to my nephew."
"Larry, I'm real sorry. I didn't mean any harm. Really. We just love your uncle or whatever so much and after Maria... passed..."
"You don't have to apologise, sir." Logan's voice is low and simple and heartfelt. "In the last few weeks, I've come to understand why everyone loves him so much. He's been better to me that I deserved."
The two shake hands. Thank GOD for the stiff, biting wind. Eyes always tear up because of that... not that what Logan said is making me cry or anything. My heart is so big right now that I'm afraid everyone will notice my chest swell up. I can't look at Logan. If I do, I'll simply lose it. 'Yes,' I tell Maria silently, 'yes, I swear to God that I'll let him love me.' I feel the warmth of her smile.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 26 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 18 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 19 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 13 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 12 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Shark Reef: 5 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/ Culberhouse Rules: 2 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love (5 installments) .../incest/in-gods-love/