Marlowe & Friends
Part 3
It was a few months later. Marlowe got a call from Jayden. "So, I see your phone is finally working," Jayden scoffed.
"Yeah, my teacher put it on her plan."
"Your tutor."
Marlowe hesitated. "She's my teacher."
Jayden giggled. "Moving along."
"I miss you, Jayden."
Jayden hesitated. "And I miss you, too, Jayden," Jayden replied distractedly. "Hey, Carl," he said to a close-by buddy. The sound of a lighthearted slap sounded in Marlowe's ear.
A moment of silence fell. "I love you," Marlowe whispered. Jayden didn't respond. "Do you love me?"
"I met a girl."
Marlowe jolted. "What?"
"And we're serious. I'll probably marry this girl," Jayden replied coldly.
Marlowe paused, hung up, and blocked his number.
It was two years later. Marlowe had just turned eighteen.
With his head down, he crept into the dining room. His mom and Reverend Hudson sat quietly before their well-done ribeyes, baked potatoes, cheesy broccoli, toasted rolls, and Southern Sweet Teas. Hudson was scraggly, reeked of Cuban cigars and Jack Daniels, and wore dirty sweats. The mom looked like she did two years ago. The dining room looked untidy and cluttered.
Marlowe sat down as Hudson yanked his plate away. Hudson glared at Marlowe until he looked up. "Should I feed this to the dog? I know how much you love your ribeye," Hudson slurred.
"No, sir," Marlowe muttered.
"Speak up, boy."
"Did you look for a job today?" Marlowe's mom asked as Hudson looked at her.
"I have a job," Marlowe murmured.
"Where?"
"The cafe. I told you yesterday."
Hudson laughed and shoved his plate toward him. "You don't need it. Quit," Hudson said and pointed at the mother.
"You're going to be a caretaker for your Uncle Tarrant," Marlowe's mom said.
"The one that's sick? In Hawaii?" Marlowe asked.
"He now lives in SoCal."
"I haven't finished school yet."
"You'll use Uncle Tarrant's old desktop for online classes. Julie will remain your teacher."
"Now, shut up and eat," Hudson growled. "For fuck's sake."
Fifteen minutes later, they finished. Marlowe's mom rose and collected the plates. "Give us a minute--adulteress," Hudson snarled.
Marlowe's mom left as Marlowe and Hudson stared at each other. "You probably know Uncle Tarrant as a missionary and widower. However, he was also an explorer of great treasures--and loves sucking young men, such as yourself." Hudson pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, revealing a photo of a massive emerald surrounded by diamonds. "The Green Lady. You'll retrieve this and mail it to me."
"How?"
Hudson stuck out his finger. "Don't fucking interrupt me again, son of an adulteress," Hudson spat. "He should have a gaggle of keys. In that gaggle, you'll find one for the basement. The Lady sits in a cabinet with random junk. The cabinet will require a separate key. Don't get caught."
"And what do I get out of this?" Marlowe asked, point blank.
Hudson glared. "You fail, and I'll ruin you, you fucking little coward," Hudson sneered, yanking down the front of his shirt to reveal a Thieve's star tattoo. "Pontimat?" he pronounced with a Russian accent.
Marlowe glanced down and gulped. "Yes, sir," Marlowe muttered.
"Get the fuck out."
Marlowe left.
A week later, Marlowe's plane landed. The Californian sun shone brightly. He wore a silver chain, leather sandals, khaki dress shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt over a Super Mario t-shirt. His hair was thick and platinum. He pushed a rolling Tumi suitcase and carried a Gibson guitar case.
Marlowe was met at the airport by a stocky but fit, sparkling blue-eyed and spiky-haired blond. The late-twenties man had a round, freckled face, which radiated even when he wasn't smiling.
When the two men saw each other, they froze, grinning. After a few seconds, Marlowe snapped his fingers and pointed. "Ryan?" Marlowe asked.
"Real name is Riot, but everyone calls me Ryan," Ryan replied without breaking his grin. He had an effeminate voice. "But you can call me either."
Marlowe pointed at himself. "Marlowe," Marlowe muttered. "Of course."
As the men started walking, Ryan took Marlowe's case and luggage, looked at him, and grinned.
Marlowe blushed, looked down, and smiled. "You didn't have to," Marlowe muttered.
Ryan stared at him. "Nothing like your picture. That's a good thing."
Marlowe perked up. "My Wednesday Addams' pic?"
Ryan chuckled. "Edward Scissorhands." Marlowe looked confused. "Too young. Here, let's get something to eat. What do you like?"
They went to Jersey Mike's, got their food, and sat down. "You're a nurse?" Marlowe asked.
"By trade."
"And you're taking care of my uncle?"
"Part-time."
"Guess I'm the other part?" Marlowe groaned, glaring at his sandwich.
"I'll teach you everything. I'll leave you written instructions--or audio."
"How does he even afford a nurse?"
"He's rich," Ryan said so dramatically that Marlowe glanced at him and around the restaurant. "He's one of the top Christian magazine publishers in the world."
"And missionary--and explorer?"
Ryan chuckled, paused, and tilted his head. "Explorer?"
Marlowe looked down. "Nothing," Marlowe muttered. "So, what's wrong with him?"
Ryan became serious. "We're not sure. He caught something overseas. His wife died there--under unusual circumstances. We can't seem to bring the body home. Sorry for being blunt and cold. Call it nursing humor," Ryan said and chuckled.
"Maybe he has PTSD."
"If you ask me, I think she returned," Ryan muttered, staring at the wall.
"Her body?"
"Her spirit."
Marlowe laughed and froze. "Serious?"
"You might see things." Marlowe stopped smiling. "Not to scare you."
"Maybe he's cursed," Marlowe said.
They chuckled. "Maybe," Ryan grumbled.
They became quiet for a few seconds. Marlowe glanced up to catch Ryan staring at him. Ryan smirked, blushed, and looked down.
Suddenly, Ryan's phone vibrated. Ryan glanced at it, rolled his eyes, and answered it. "Hey, baby. What's up?" Ryan asked sweetly. "Picking up my client's nephew." Abruptly, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "He's a baby, Jet. Stop trying to corrupt the twinks," he grumbled and glanced at Marlowe, who was pretending to surf the net. "What's up?" Ryan paused. "Okay, I'll grab some. Bye. I have to go." Ryan hung up and stuck the phone in his pocket. "Husband," he said, snickering.
Marlowe glanced up and bobbed his head. "Cool, cool."
Marlowe entered Ryan's Corvette Z06. "Beautiful car," Marlowe muttered.
"Wait till you see your uncle's house."
They drove to Tarrant's white villa by the sea. "Makes me think of those blue and white buildings in Greece," Marlowe said in awe.
"Blue Church Domes of Oia," Ryan responded. Marlowe turned his head. "Not bad for a low-paid nurse."
Marlowe chuckled. "You're not low-paid."
"Neither are your uncles and grandpa."
They got out and entered the home. Suddenly, Marlowe got a chill, even though it was scorching hot outside. "AC," Ryan whispered.
Ryan led Marlowe to Tarrant's bedroom, which overlooked the ocean. Marlowe gazed out the enormous bedroom window. A door was open, which created a draft. The sound of waves and seagulls and the smell of seawater permeated the air.
Ryan closed the door, and Marlowe turned to Tarrant. Tarrant was pale and slim and looked like George McFly. His back and flanks contained strange, raised sores. He wore only silky pajama pants and Tom Ford eyeglasses and hunched over a laptop on the side of his Queen-sized bed.
Tarrant looked at Marlowe. "Hello, Marly," Tarrant greeted, gasping.
Ryan checked Tarrant's pulse and blood pressure. "Lay back," Ryan muttered and assisted him. "Now, you won't be alone on most nights." Ryan stood upright and pointed to a futon by the bed. "Just stay in here at night--on the futon. I'll bring you sheets and blankets."
"Okay," Marlowe muttered.
"Does he know?" Tarrant murmured.
"About the spirits? Yes, he does," Ryan replied, looked at Marlowe, and smiled. "I'll take you on a tour of the house."
Marlowe followed Ryan toward the hallway. He looked back and saw Tarrant staring, trembling, and reaching for the ceiling. Marlowe pretended like he didn't see and entered the hallway.
Marlowe slept in Tarrant's room for four nights. Tarrant slept in his pajama pants. The first two nights, Marlowe slept in his boxer briefs and pajama pants. By the third night, he slept in only his briefs, which came in various colors and patterns.
On the fifth night, Tarrant became weak, clammy, and sweaty. He was hot to the touch and struggled to keep his eyes open.
In a panic, Marlowe called Ryan. Ryan calmly told him to take and report his temperature, give him two Tylenol and water, undress him, and cool him with wet towels.
Marlowe complied, preparing the wet towels in a wok from the kitchen. He and Ryan let each other go. Tarrant appeared to be asleep.
Marlowe hesitated and removed his pants. He was naked underneath.
Marlowe stared at his eight-inch penis, which contained heavy scarring, crimson and purple coloring, and pus from its scars.
Marlowe slowly washed him with the towels. The water in the wok turned pinker with each towel rinse. The last thing he cleaned was his penis. He wrapped it in the towel, held it up with both hands and stared at its tip. Suddenly, blood oozed out of it.
He jolted and froze for a few seconds. He cleaned it, dried him off, and placed his sheet over him. Tarrant still had his eyes closed but was starting to stir and twitch. However, he was no longer sweaty and clammy.
Marlowe took his temperature, which was 98.6.
He shut off the light, got down to his briefs, and fell asleep.
An hour later, Marlowe woke to Tarrant's yelping and stirring.
Marlowe quickly turned on the light as Tarrant rolled into a ball and wrapped the sheet tightly around him. He shivered, grimaced, and rocked. "Cold, cold," Tarrant gasped.
Marlowe hesitated and took his temperature. Tarrant had returned to a 103 fever. Marlowe gave him two more Tylenol and water.
He brought his futon's blankets to the bed and covered him with them.
Suddenly, Tarrant grabbed his hand and pulled him toward him.
Marlowe pulled away, shut off the lights, and crawled into the bedding with him.
Tarrant clung to his flank and shivered. Marlowe slowly placed his arm around him. He could feel Tarrant's slimy penis and pounding heart.
Marlowe stared at the spinning ceiling fan for half an hour. It started to make a low squealing noise. Gradually, the squeal escalated into what sounded like an effeminate cry. A monstrous moving face emerged from the spinning blades. Marlowe closed his eyes, and the sound stopped.
He opened his eyes to see that the fan was frozen. He looked at Tarrant, who was peacefully sleeping.
Marlowe noticed Tarrant was erect and ran his fingers across it. It felt rough and sticky.
In the morning, Marlowe was sleeping and spooning Tarrant from behind.
The dimmer lights came on. Marlowe stirred, rubbed his eyes, and cringed as he noticed a pungent stench of shit. "He soiled the bed," Ryan said.
Marlowe pulled away and noticed dry, orangish-brown diarrhea covering his front and Tarrant's back. "Oh, no," Marlowe muttered and darted to the main bathroom.
Ryan entered the bathroom with a stack of towels. He was bright red and wearing latex gloves and hospital scrubs. "Get cleaned up. I'll take care of him," Ryan said, glancing at Marlowe's dirtied front.
Marlowe turned on the shower, waited for the water to warm up, and entered. He kept his briefs on until he saw that Ryan was gone.
He removed his briefs, cleaned them with Creed Shower Gel, and placed them on the back of a portable shower chair.
He showered for fifteen minutes.
He exited the shower covering his penis. He took a few steps forward and scanned the room for a towel.
Ryan entered with an outspread towel and froze. His face appeared flushed. "One towel left," Ryan said, his voice cracking.
He glanced at Marlowe's hands as Marlowe kept his eyes glued to the floor.
Ryan cautiously moved toward Marlowe and started to dry him off. "I've worked in a hospital since I was sixteen. Seen plenty of nudity," Ryan murmured and gulped.
He dried Marlowe's butt as it tensed up.
Ryan slowly knelt and froze with the towel sliding down Marlowe's legs. Ryan stared at Marlowe's hands as he let the towel fall to the floor.
Marlowe hesitated and pulled his hands away, revealing his bald, hardening cock. His groin contained nicks and shaving bumps.
Ryan became fixated on his dick. "You're beautiful," Ryan whispered as if talking to it.
Marlowe became completely hard. Ryan grabbed it by the base, stuck it in his mouth, and started bobbing on it. His mouth felt juicy, and gobs of spit hung down.
After a few seconds, Ryan looked up with Marlowe's dick still in his mouth. Marlowe stared into his eyes and touched his cheek. He caressed his ear and hair.
Marlowe's cock bulged inside Ryan's mouth.
Soon, Marlowe teared up. Ryan pulled his mouth away. "What's wrong, baby?" Ryan asked.
"I was lonely where I came from," Marlowe replied, sobbing harder.
"You have us now," Ryan said as he caressed his ass cheek and kissed the side of his penis.
Marlowe wiped his tears, and Ryan returned to sucking him.
Minutes later, his fingers slid up his leg and ass and teased his crack. Marlowe stared at him with watery eyes.
Marlowe grabbed his ass cheek and pulled on it. Ryan got the hint and started rubbing his smooth asshole. "I'm going to cum," Marlowe whispered.
Ryan rubbed his hole harder. "In my mouth, baby," Ryan said.
Marlowe trembled. "Yes, Riot."
Ryan slipped his finger inside Marlowe's tight hole and made a sharp hook, stimulating Marlowe's prostate. Marlowe threw his back, groaned, and exploded inside Ryan. His orgasm was so powerful that it made his toes curl and Ryan flinch.
Ryan kept Marlowe's cock in his mouth until it stopped dripping and pulsating. Marlowe stared up at the ceiling.
Ryan pulled out his finger and slowly rose. Marlowe closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and lowered his head. Ryan embraced him tightly and swallowed his massive load. Marlowe could feel a wet spot in the front of Ryan's pants.
Ryan pulled away and kissed his neck, cheek, and ear.
He pulled back further and stared deeply into Marlowe's eyes. He cradled Marlowe's face in his hands as Marlowe held his upper back.
They French kissed for a few minutes. Ryan's phone started buzzing, and he pulled away. "Work," Ryan muttered.
Ryan exited the bathroom and took the call. "I'm on my way. My client had an emergency." He paused. "Tell her I'll cover the next shift she needs off. Such a drama queen."
Marlowe entered the bedroom. Tarrant was still asleep. Only one clean sheet and four uncovered pillows were on the bed. The room smelled like shit mixed with Clorox, seawater, and lavender Air Wick.
Ryan hung up, relocated to the balcony, and called his husband.
Marlowe quickly went over and dressed in skinny jeans and Jayden's golf shirt from the day they first hooked up. He paused, grabbed the hem of the shirt, and stared at it. "Just called to tell you I love you, baby," Ryan said as he paced the balcony. Abruptly, Ryan stomped his foot. "No, I'm not calling for money. Jesus," Ryan grumbled.
Soon, Ryan hung up and re-entered the room. "Place new bedding on the bed. I'll check up on him this evening. Can I bring you something to eat?" Ryan asked like nothing had happened.
"Combo 1 from In-N-Out with a Dr. Pepper, if you can."
Ryan struggled to maintain eye contact. "Sounds good, buddy. Good luck with your studies this morning. Call me if you need anything," Ryan said, blushing.
"Will do."
They embraced for a few seconds. Ryan got close to his ear. "You tasted amazing," Ryan whispered, giving him a peck.
Ryan left.
A week later, Marlowe found Tarrant's secondary keys.
He waited for Tarrant's afternoon nap to sneak to the basement door.
After trying several keys, he finally found the right one. He opened the door, which caused a chime to chirp. Marlowe froze and looked around. He didn't see anything.
He stared into the blackness and flipped on a light switch. A dim light emerged as a whiff of staleness struck him.
He crept down the stairs. At one moment, he thought he saw a dark image. "Hello," he called out.
Nothing.
He reached the bottom of the stairs. The dusty basement contained various tools, four counters, three workbenches, four metal cabinets, and six pieces of exercise equipment. A low hum permeated the stifling air. "Onyx cabinet," Marlowe muttered, spotting it.
He moved toward it and tried several keys. The fourth key worked, and he opened the heavy door. "Large, velvet box," he murmured as he sifted through its contents.
It was full of antiques: toys, globes, trinkets, jewelry, and figurines. Marlowe finally found a massive violet jewelry case hidden behind a heavy, stone monkey statue.
He noticed a tiny lock on it, so he used the most miniature keys. The third one worked.
He lifted the lid to reveal nothing. "The Green Lady," Tarrant said from the stairs.
Marlowe jolted and spun around, sending the case flying.
Tarrant was holding a cane and sitting on the stairs. He wore a Hanro robe over his plain white boxers. "You triggered the alarm," Tarrant explained.
Marlowe's eyes and mouth were agape. "I'm sorry."
"You were only doing what you came to do." He watched as Marlowe returned the case to the cabinet. "I sold her three years ago. It paid off three mortgages and four vehicles." Marlowe shut the safe. "Keep it open." Marlowe complied. "My brother has been wanting her for a long time. It wasn't even my most valuable piece. That is--the metal stand near your right hand." Marlowe pointed at a globe. "Next piece over." Marlowe touched an adorned stand holding a thick, metallic plate. The frame's artwork appeared ancient and Arabic. "Careful."
Marlowe pulled his hand away. "What is it?" Marlowe asked.
"Carefully remove it and place it on the counter. Any counter."
Marlowe took it out. It weighed a few pounds. He placed it on a clear spot on the nearest counter. "Here?"
"Fine." Tarrant took a puff of his Albuterol inhaler. "That relic holds my wife." They stared at each other. "Her soul. Do you believe that?"
Marlowe hesitated. "Yes, sir."
"No, you don't. It sounds preposterous, like the ramblings of a madman." Marlowe looked flustered. "Sunduq alqadar--box of fate. That's what the Romanian collector called it. And with a few clicks, it can change your destiny. Are you ready?"
Marlowe snickered. "I don't know."
Tarrant chuckled and shrugged it off. "The choice is yours. I can't make it for you. However, proceed with extreme caution."
"I'm somewhat confused, sir."
"It's a box of fate. It chooses your destiny if you play its sordid game. A person gets only one try at it. There are six--five--configurations that it uses to predict your fate. Those configurations are place, thing, person, beast, and machine. Here comes your warning. Heed it carefully. It chooses the object of your greatest desires, and that object becomes your blessing and curse. For every one day of prosperity, it gives you one day of hardship, more or less. For instance, if it chooses a person, you'll end up with your soul mate. However, that person will also hurt you. Does that make sense?"
"It lands on one of the five? Like a game?"
"Precisely."
"What did you choose?"
"It chose a place."
"This place?"
"This was my second favorite place. I always loved the beach."
Marlowe pondered. "Person, place, or thing--the one you love the most becomes your blessing or curse."
"And--your curse."
"And beast and machine?"
"They're different. You don't want it to land on those. You don't want any of them, but you definitely don't want those. You become the beast or machine, for better AND worse."
"You said I don't want any of them?"
"These configurations have unique advantages and disadvantages. Here is the other thing, though. It reads the darkness and lightness in your heart. The darker your heart, the worse your hardships. The lighter your heart, the greater your prospects." Tarrant hesitated. "My heart is dark. However, you're young, and I know my brother kept you sheltered. You may experience mild advantages and disadvantages. Of course, I don't pretend to know the heart of any person."
Marlowe nodded. "A game."
"A game of fate. The consequences are real, though. Oh, and also, it may choose you as its next guardian. We will only know at the end."
"Guardian?"
"It's yours to pass along to someone else."
"I understand."
"Do you want to do this?"
Marlowe paused and snickered. "I don't know."
"You think it's bullshit."
Marlowe hesitated. "Kinda."
"Then return it to the cabinet."
Marlowe paused, touched its frame, and stared at it. "Did Ryan do it?"
"Not yet, but he will." Marlowe looked up. "Don't ask."
Marlowe bit his bottom lip. "Okay, I'll do it."
"I know."
"Like Ryan."
"Like Ryan. You can stop at any time, though. The choice is entirely yours."
"How do I do this?"
"Turn the frame so the number 1 is on your left. I carved the numbers in myself."
Marlowe noticed the crudely carved numbers. He twisted the frame into position as Tarrant rose to observe. "Okay."
"Notice the tiny inscriptions on the upper sides of the frame. Those are foreign numbers. I'll tell you which ones to choose. You'll choose them for each side."
Tarrant moved toward Marlowe and appeared weak and shaky. He had Marlowe choose eight numbers, two from each side: 03141794. Suddenly, the plate flipped over, made a click, and separated from the frame. Two tiny metal pieces barely held the plate in place.
"What do those numbers mean?"
"Patent for the cotton gin--I believe. I have this all written down if you become its guardian."
Marlowe inhaled deeply. "Nervous."
"Take off the plate, and set the frame aside." Marlowe complied. Abruptly, the frame fell off the table. "Leave it. It's worthless." Tarrant backed up to the stairs as Marlowe stared at him. "Place it on the table."
Marlowe sat it down, and it opened to reveal a smooth, marble-looking surface. A brief light emitted from it. Marlowe stepped back. "What was that?"
"It's acknowledging you. It has been waiting for you, Marly."
"This is crazy," Marlowe said, snickering.
"When you're ready, place your palm firmly on it." Marlowe's hand crept toward it. "Keep the visions to yourself."
Marlowe stopped and looked up. "Visions?"
"Yes, visions."
Marlowe sat his palm down. A click sounded, and the plate extended upward, separated into two, and glowed. "I feel weird," Marlowe muttered, referring to the pulsations going through him.
"Twist it clockwise six places. You'll hear distinct clicks." Marlowe did so. The bottom plate moved in the opposite direction. "Eight clicks counterclockwise." Marlowe complied. "Four clockwise and two counterclockwise." Marlowe breathed heavily and froze before the last click. "You want to do this?"
"The room is spinning."
"Your last chance."
Marlowe made his last click.
Five minutes later, Marlowe woke up standing. However, it felt like an eternity for him.
He looked at the configuration. The plate had turned into a moving, multi-shaped object. Tiny lights and colors emitted from it.
"It chose thing, which is fairly common," Tarrant said.
"Ryan, Jayden--" Marlowe gasped in horror.
"Keep the visions to yourself. It will punish you for warning them." The contraption morphed back into a plate. "Notice the lights and movements? That means you're its new guardian. Congratulations."
Marlowe gazed at the contraption. "Thing."
"What's the thing you love the most? And obviously, it can't be a person or place."
"Guitar, music, singing."
"Congratulations. That's your blessing and curse."
"I wish my singing was better."
"It is now. Return the disk to the frame, and bring it up."