This is a work of gay-themed romantic fantasy; some Chapters contain graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, not all of which are consensual or between adults: this Chapter contains violence against an adolescent. If reading material of this nature upsets or offends you, please click away now. Likewise, if reading something like this would put either of us in legal jeopardy, please follow the above instructions. Nifty reaches a worldwide audience so, please, help a brother out! If none of these warnings apply or deter you, I hope you enjoy my story!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Sweetwater Texas
"What a difference a few days and a couple thousand miles makes!" Brad observed as he stepped out of The Arbor and into an alley in Abilene, Texas, where Dave van Daam had translocated himself, Brad, and Dennis Hardy. The young man suspected Dave knew the place well: the alley backed up on the best gay bar in town. Just after 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday in mid-July, the temperature was already well over eighty degrees (with an expected high of 99). Their final destination, Sweetwater, was about thirty miles away, but all three felt it would be better to land in a larger city where they could rent a car and grab a hotel room without gossip reaching Dave's family. "Nice bit of translocation! You're really catching on..."
"Thank ya kindly, ol' son," the Texan replied. "You've got this whole thing planned down t' th' minute!"
"That's our Bradley!" Dennis agreed. "Can we step out o' this heat? This Irishman is about tae melt!"
"And we don't need to be seen loitering in an alley!" the young man agreed. "Especially near a gay bar! The police might look askance at us!"
They made their way into the Enterprise office, where Dave confidently put down his new OlympusCo-issued American Express Black Card ™ and picked up the keys to a red Cadillac Escalade. Once they were safely inside, Brad said: "Were you able to get the evidence you collected against your brother?"
"It's in m' bag!" the Texan told him. "Safe n' sound! I translocated it t' me last night. Seemed the safest thing t' do..."
"Great--now we have enough time for early check in at the Holiday Inn Express before we head off to Sweetwater!"
"Not sure why they call this place Pleasantview Manor..." Dennis observed as the three men approached the glass front door to the "Skilled Nursing Facility" where Dave's father Derek had been warehoused while the family waited for him to die. "This `view' is none too pleasant!"
Brad wrinkled his nose. "You think it's bad out here in the rock garden'? Wait til we get inside! You can already smell the piss and disinfectant! I'm going to love taking this place down..."
"So, what's yer plan, laddie-buck?" Dennis asked.
"You and I distract the receptionist while Dave slips past without signing in," the young man replied. "A lot of Reverend Donnie's congregants work here, and they'll call him if they spot Dave coming in. We're here to serenade' the old folks; I'll play the piano while you lead the songs and pump out the party' vibe! I want as much attention on the day room as we can muster while Dave visits his dad. Reverend `Donnie' is on his way with his mom, so they ought to arrive just about the time Dave starts praying!"
"Ye are an evil git, Bradley!" Dennis said proudly as the two men entered the drab lobby.
A young woman looked up. "Can I help y'all?"
"Brenda, love your mermaid hair!" the young blond man exclaimed, oozing cheerfulness from every pore.. "Did that new stylist at Sheer Delight cut and color it? You look amazing!"
"Um..." the girl looked equally flattered and confused, but all her attention was focused on Brad. "Excuse me--do I know you?"
"Wow, I'm forgotten already..." The young man dialed back his cheerful vibe a bit; "it's Brad!" The young man continued his friendly display while Dave quietly walked past her unnoticed. "We went to high school together! Remember when you used to cheat off me in Mr. Bagby's math class? You'd never have passed that class without my help! And you forgot me so quickly? I'm crushed!"
"Oh jeez--I'm sorry--um--Brad..." the girl said. The young man had sprinkled enough truthful tidbits in his spiel that Brenda half-convinced herself she actually knew him. "So--uh--how have you been? You sure have gotten cuter since high school!"
"Got the braces off--my skin cleared up... You know how it is!"
"Uh--yeah," the girl said. "Wow! So--um--what can I do for you?"
"Dennis here is the new worship leader at Crossroad!" Brad lied easily. The big man gave the receptionist a friendly leer that got her panties wet. "He thought it might be a good idea to bring a little joy to the old folks by having a sing-along! We cleared it with Shelby..."
The girl looked down. "I didn't hear anything about it..." she said tentatively.
"Did that bitch forget to put us on the calendar?" Brad huffed. "Really! Some `activities director' SHE is! Oh, well--guess we should go, Pastor Dennis..."
"Now, Bradley..." the muscular redhead soothed in a flat mid-American accent as a short woman with gray hair and a thin, sandy-haired man who bore a family resemblance to Dave breezed past without signing in. "Sister Shelby is a busy woman! I'm sorry we can't entertain the old folks--it's a real shame we can't spend some time with `em, though..."
"Go ahead" the receptionist finally decided. "Most people have forgotten about these poor old folks! I'm sure they'd enjoy a little music..."
While the other two men distracted the receptionist, Dave sneaked down the hall and into his father's room. The big man, clad in nothing but an adult diaper, sat morosely staring out of a window at the dirty parking lot. His whole right side sagged, and a thin thread of drool dripped out of his slack mouth. "God-DAYAM!" he managed.
"Hey, Daddy..." Dave turned the wheelchair so his father could see him and brought the "letter board" his nephew Donald Junior had made up and fitted onto the chair. "Do you know who I am?" Dave's picture was missing from the line of family photos, but Derek forced his one "good" hand to touch D-A-V. "That's right, Daddy, it's Dave!" he said. Then: "Look, I can help you--if you let me..."
"God-DAYAM!" the man said again.
"OK--do y' see th' YES' an' NO' on y'r letter board?" he asked.
"God-DAYAM!"
"OK, if ya want me t' help ya--touch `YES'!" Dave said.
The man slammed his fist so hard down on "YES" it nearly broke the board.
"Since I have y'r consent, Daddy..."
Dave might have said more, but the door opened, and Reverend Donnie and his mom came through. Brad quietly disengaged himself from the boisterous gathering in the day room where Dennis was charming both residents and staff alike with jokes, songs, and general silliness that kept everyone focused on him. The blond gymnast followed along, bringing out his cell phone to record what happened next. "You've got your nerve comin' back here, brother!" the tall man growled.
"He's my daddy too..." Dave said mildly. "Don't worry, Donnie--I won't be here long; I just wanted t' make sure ever'thin' was OK with th' folks."
"You're not wanted here!" the Reverend snapped. "You can leave now!"
"In a bit..." Dave laid a hand on his father's shoulder and began speaking. Dave hoped the "real" Jesus wouldn't take it amiss that he was using him as cover for his miracle but reasoned that if the Carpenter was paying attention, he'd just be happy to take credit. "Oh, Lord," Dave said, assuming an attitude of prayer, "I know I am but a poor sinner, undeservin' o' y'r boundless Grace an' Love, but I beg ya--please, show mercy t' m' poor ol' daddy! Lord--I b'lieve ya have th' power t' raise up this man from his affliction! Please, Lord--shine y'r light o' love an' healin' on m' daddy... In Jesus' Precious Name--AMEN!" Asclepios's healing energy flowed through him, repairing the damage done by his father's stroke and the neglect that followed.
First Derek sat up straight in his chair, then his sagging muscles firmed up, and the older man gave the reverend an angry glare from his bright blue eyes. Muscles, which had atrophied or grown flabby with disuse, firmed up, and years seemed to fall off the man. Brad watched in amazement as the withered man transformed into a bald stud with a growth of red chest and leg hair. "Son of a fuckin' BITCH!" the man exclaimed as he stood up.
"What sort of sorcery is this?" the reverend screamed.
"I'd say it was a miracle!" Derek van Daam commented. "You're th' church-goer, Dolores; what d' you think?"
"Oh my God, Derek!" The woman, his wife of over forty years, was openly weeping. "It IS a miracle! Praise Jesus!"
"And I got it all on video!" Brad said, holding up his cell phone proudly. "Here it is, incontrovertible evidence of the power of God!"
Reverend Donnie turned his full attention on Brad, "Who are you--my brother's catamite?"
"Hardly," the young man responded coolly. "I'm Bradley Fox, an investigator for Dave's employer, OlympusCo. And, if I may borrow a phrase from a very old television show, Reverend--you got some `splainin' to do..."
"What do you mean?"
"It means," the young man said, "your brother owns your ass! You're going to do what Dave says, when he says it--and you aren't going to question him! Failure to comply immediately with anything he requires of you will result in me releasing what I have on you! I'll start with how you defrauded your family; it's not technically illegal since your mother gave you control over her finances, but I think it'll shock your family enough to release your choke hold on them..."
"Donald James! How could you?" Dolores van Daam was weeping again, but now for a different reason. "Why would you do such a thing? HOW could you do such a thing?"
"You can't believe a word of what he's sayin', Mama!" the reverend protested. "There was a little problem with the bank--I'll fix it! I swear!"
"All they hafta do, Donnie, is call th' bank and check their balances," Dave said coldly. "Daddy's retirement account was emptied, all their savin's, an' even their checkin' accounts! Donnie's fingerprints `r' all over that!"
"You VIPER!" Derek van Daam ripped off his shit-stinking, piss-filled diaper and threw it in the reverend's face. "How c'd ya do this t' y'r mamma, boy? Me, I s'pose I c'n understand that--but Dolores? She thought th' sun rose `n' set in ya, boy!"
"It was Dave..." the reverend protested weakly.
"David didn't have access to our accounts, Donald James!" Dolores snapped through her tears. "I gave you my checkbook and the passbooks to our other accounts! Don't try to blame your brother for this! He wasn't even in the STATE for the past couple of years! He couldn't have done it!"
"It goes on..." Brad said mildly, turning his attention back to Donnie. "I have enough evidence that you colluded with this `Medicare Manor' to defraud the State of Texas and the federal government by charging them for medications never given to your father; I can shut this place down for good and send you to jail for the rest of your life!!"
"You have no proof of that!"
"Would you really like to take that risk?" Brad asked with deadly calm.
"Son, r'mind me never t' play poker against ya!" Derek said with a certain admiration as he stood naked, hairy, and proud. "Y'r cold as ice!"
"Then," Brad added "there's the issue of you colluding with the bank to steal your brother's house from him... We won't be suing you or the bank manager for that--but we will be filing a lawsuit against the Bank of Texas! Once our lawyers show them the paper trail your incompetent thugs left, they'll settle quickly--and probably go after the two of you!"
"An', o' course there's th' little matter o' ya sleepin' with women who ain't y'r wife at th' No-Tell Motel over t' th' next town!" Dave added. "I got pictures an' credit card receipts for that..."
"Donnie, ya big dumbass!" Derek exploded. "Ya paid f'r y'r pleasure with CREDIT CARDS? How stupid c'n ya be, boy?"
"I have a really good rewards program!" the minister blurted.
"Mr. van Daam, why don't you go get yourself cleaned up?" Brad suggested. "I doubt you've been bathed in a while, and we'll be checking you out sooner rather than later..."
"You're going nowhere, old man!" the reverend blustered.
Dave pantomimed an explosion, adding sound effects. "That's y'r life, Donnie..." he said. "You've lost, brother; now th' only question left is, do y' lose little, lose big, `r lose ever'thin'?"
"You wouldn't destroy me!" the other man exclaimed. "What about Mary Helen and the kids? They're innocent! You wouldn't put them out on the street..."
"I've got more n enough money t' rescue Mamma n' Daddy," the Texan replied. "I s'pose I c'n squeeze out enough cash t' save Mary Helen an' th' kids as well--if ya make it necessary..."
"You've already lost your son," Brad said cryptically.
"And, you!" Donnie raged at Brad. "You're the Devil!"
"No," the blond gymnast replied calmly. "I have a Gift from God that I use to bring people like you to justice! I'm confident in my final judgement. You, on the other hand... Do you even believe what you preach from the pulpit and on your TV show? Matthew 7:16 says, and I quote, `Ye shall know them by their fruits'! I've laid out yours for your parents to see; I'd be happy to spread that joy around."
"The Devil can quote scripture!" the reverend hissed.
"You'd know, Donnie," Brad shot back serenely.
"What's all this fuss?" The group turned to see a short, dark, older man of uncertain ethnicity standing in the doorway. "Who are you people, and why are you disturbing my patients?"
"Howdy!" Dave said, extending a big paw. "I'm Derek van Daam's son: we'll be checkin' him out o' y'r tender care--Dr. Kanjanaponi, is it?"
The Doctor looked from Dave to the still-weeping Dolores and finally to the reverend. "I--don't think that's possible..."
"Then ya better make it happen, ol' son!" Derek van Daam said, coming in from the shower room. "One way or t' other--I'm leavin' here--to-DAY!"
Brad had to catch his breath at the naked magnificence that was Derek van Daam. He was tall, broad, muscular and covered in red fur; there was a slight fat-pad on his hips, belly and buttocks, but otherwise he looked like a bull in his early forties. Even his cock, a massive, thick uncut club hanging in front of two large, hairy testicles, bespoke power. "That young man over there," he pointed at Brad," has enough evidence t' shut ya down! Now, I'd rather not hafta r'lease th' hounds o' hell on ya--but I'll do what needs doin'..."
The good doctor was sweating now. "Who is that man?" he demanded. "I've never seen him before?"
"That's my husband!" Dolores said. "It's a miracle! My son David asked the Lord to heal him, and, praise Jesus, he did!"
"I have it on my phone!" Brad said. He showed the doctor the video. "Looks like a miracle to me!"
As the doctor watched the video, his dark eyes grew large and round. His dark skin took on a greyish cast. "How--did--you--DO--that?"
"I thought my momma already established that," Dave cracked. "Now, Doctor--I think ya sh'd examine m' dad; th' sooner we c'n git im outta here, th' sooner we'll be outta y'r hair f'r good n' all!"
Over the reverend's protestations, Dr. Kanjanaponi gave Derek the most cursory of examinations and pronounced him healthy then put a rush on the senior van Daam's discharge papers. Meanwhile Dave produced a duffle bag from under his father's bed and passed it over. "I thought ya might need some clothes," the Texan observed.
"You planned this all along!" Donnie thundered.
"Did I now?" Dave said with a wry smile. "Donnie--we ALL know th' Lord works in mysterious ways! I'll admit I hoped my prayers w'd be answered, but there was never a guarantee o' that!"
"I WILL figure out how you did this!" the reverend hissed.
"He's the reincarnation of a Greek God!" Brad said brightly. "I know you don't believe me, but it's the Gospel truth..."
Lunch at the Sweetwater Golden Corral was a tense affair, with the reverend and Dolores picking at their meals, while Dave and Derek ate like trenchermen. Everyone would have preferred to leave Donnie at home, but Dave felt it would be best to keep his brother close at hand, lest he decide to disappear and prolong the agony. Brad tried to engage Mrs. Van Daam in conversation, but Donnie shut down every attempt to engage the woman. In the end the young man simply ate his buffet meal in silence and listened to the awkward conversation between parents and siblings. Oddly, they didn't touch on Brad's comments about Dave being a Greek God; the young man suspected they really didn't want to know. When the meal was finished, they dropped Mrs. Van Daam at home then the men went to the local Bank of Texas to take care of the parents' accounts.
Brad caught the bank manager just heading out the door as Dave parked the car. "Mr. Hollingsworth--I need to talk to you about the irregularities regarding the repossession of Dave van Daam's property!"
"I don't have time!" the man called back.
"I'm sorry to know you feel that way," the young man said, sounding utterly sincere. "I guess we can settle this in court; that's too bad--I was really hoping we could deal with this matter privately."
Hollingsworth stopped. "Come into my office," he snapped. "Everything was completely above board!"
"Oh, really?" Brad opened the briefcase he had carried in and started bringing out paperwork. "Here's the record of Mr. van Daam's payments, and this one is the repossession document--filed thirty days after the first missed payment! That's hardly bank policy, is it?" The banker started to look uncomfortable. "Next we have the deed for the purchase of the property; it was filed less than a week after the repossession! Now, I wasn't able to find ANY record of Mr. van Daam's home going up for auction--why is that? On the purchase deed you'll notice the name matches that of your secretary...." Now Hollingsworth was looking frightened. "Shall I continue? I have enough documentation to connect the resale to you."
"Reverend van Daam MADE me do it!" the man exclaimed. "Please--if this gets out, I'll be ruined!"
"With all due respect, Mr. Hollingsworth, that's not my problem!" Brad replied coldly. "But, please, tell me how the good reverend forced you to cheat one of your customers! Did he force you to cheat the others as well? I've uncovered a host of `irregular' business dealings in which you were involved. Frankly, I'm not sure how the Bank of Texas missed them; it certainly doesn't speak well of their oversight..."
"What do you want from me?" Hollingsworth was practically crying now.
"Mr. van Daam would like his credit history cleared and the value of his home plus a--small fee to cover expenses and inconvenience. I'd say five hundred thousand should settle everything nicely!"
"Five--hundred--THOUSAND?" the man gulped. "That's blackmail!" Hollingsworth grabbed the paperwork and hastily ran it through a shredder behind his desk. "There! Prove your case now!"
Brad rose. "I'm sorry we can't do business..." He headed for the office door. "I guess we'll see you in court--assuming the bank decides not to settle! Oh, and by the way, those were copies of copies! I have the originals tucked safely away..."
Hollingsworth followed the young man out of his office to find the three van Daam's just concluding their business with a bemused teller. "Dave, this kid is trying to blackmail me!" he wailed. "He says you're going to sue me for everything I own!"
"He's so dramatic!" Brad sighed.
"Now, Phil--I'm sure we c'n work somethin' out..." the big Texan soothed. "Shall we go back to y'r office?" Brad smiled. Phase Two was about to begin. Dave left his father and brother outside while he and Brad went inside and closed the door. "Maybe we c'n make a deal..."
"I'm sure we can!" Hollingsworth agreed eagerly.
"So--how `bout ya sell me y'r lake house in Tyler?" Dave said, following the script Brad had outlined perfectly.
"I'm sure we can come to a `fair' price!" the man said with a broad smile. "I think--"
Dave raised his hand, stopping Hollingsworth in mid-sentence. He reached into his wallet and brought out a crisp new one dollar bill. "I think this is a fair price..."
"That house is worth over a million bucks!" Hollingsworth exclaimed. "I'm not selling it to you for a damn dollar!"
"How much is your reputation worth, Mr. Hollingsworth?" Brad asked. "How much is it worth to keep your sorry ass out of prison for possibly the rest of your life? Not to mention what this will do to your poor wife and kids! One piece of property you hardly use seems like a small price to pay to me--but what do I know?"
"I sell you the lake house, and you call off your barracuda?" Hollingsworth finally said.
"I have the contract right here..." Brad said, tapping his briefcase. "One thing though: I find out you've been cheating ANYONE again--I don't care if you overcharge a customer twenty-five cents-- I'll release everything I have on you! Are we clear?"
Hollingsworth cringed but signed the document.
Dave dropped his father off at home then took Brad and Dennis to see the sights of Sweetwater--not that there was a lot to see but massive wind farms, oil fields, and churches on nearly every corner. The old downtown had a few "touristy" shops--galleries, antique stores, and a place that specialized in "Native American" arts and crafts. In the end there wasn't much to hold their interest, so Dave took them out of town. "I want t' show ya th' most interestin' construction job I ever did--th' Shootin' Star' Ranch!"
"OK," said Dennis, "what makes it interestin'?"
"Do ya follow baseball?" the Texan asked.
"I know enough not tae embarrass meself if I'm conversin'," the God of Wine admitted.
"You built the place for Christian Starr--that hotshot pitcher for the Houston Astros!" Brad said. "I didn't even have to use Prometheus's Gift to figure that one out! He's HAWT! Is he from here?"
"Born an' raised!" the Texan said proudly. "He hooked up with a big city gal, Evelynn Royce--I called her `Evil Roy'; pissed that woman off somethin' fierce, but she was a nasty piece o' work! I always get th' feelin' Christian was flirtin' with me though; that man did love t' show up nekkid in th' oddest places..."
"Do go on!" Dennis encouraged.
"Well, they had me build this GIANT house--an' I do mean giant!" the sandy-haired Texan said. "It was spectacular! With all th' amenities ya c'd wish f'r in yore domicile!"
"And I'm bettin' yer build did not go well?" Dennis offered.
"They paid th' architect, an' I built accordin t' th' plan," the big Texan told them. "I re-modeled th' place TWICE b'fore they moved in--an' then they got divorced, but neither o' them were willin' t' move out, so I divided th' place in half! Lord howdy! Those two were right crazy, I'll tell ya what!"
"I guess they finally came to some sort of agreement," Brad said. "There's a realtor sign with SOLD plastered over it! And I think that might be Christian Starr heading toward us..."
"Yep, that's him alright!" Dave said, "an' he's nekkid as a Jaybird!" Indeed he was: Christian Starr, clad in nothing but boots, hat, and a red bandana tied around his neck , riding bareback on a brown gelding. Brad wished he could get a better view of the baseball pitching ace who he guessed to be around two hundred pounds. He was nicely tanned--at least all the visible parts were--with hazel eyes and short-cut brown, curly hair. He had a nice strong jaw and regular features that photographed well. Even though the man was recently retired from professional baseball, he still kept in shape and didn't seem to mind showing it off.
Dave stopped the SUV and waited for the horse and rider to approach. He rolled down the window as the man came near. "Can I help y'all?" the man drawled in an accent similar to Dave's.
The big man stuck his head out the window. "Howdy, ol' son!" he said. "I hope we aren't botherin' ya! I was in town seein' t' m' dad, an' I thought I'd show a couple o' buddies my crownin' achievement as a contractor!"
"You came at the right time!" the man on the horse replied. "Come Monday I'll be packin' up an' movin' t' California! This place is gonna become a dude ranch!"
"So, ya finally convinced `Evil Roy' t' let go o' this place?" Dave asked.
"She never liked it here," Christian said. "Evelynn was f'rever tryin' t' get me moved closer to her home turf in New Orleans! Once we finalized th' divorce, she moved East an' I'm headed out West! Why don't y'all come up t' the house for one last glass o' sweet tea? It's sure good t' see ya again, buddy! I thought ya fell of th' face o' the Earth!"
"One of you guys needs to `dose' that tea!" Brad said. "'Evil Roy' is on her way here--and she's bringing a Spell of Domination with her that will make Christian her puppet for the rest of his life!"
Once the group had made their way to the massive mansion and were seated on the broad front porch, Christian went into the house to fetch the tea. "You'd better put some pants on!" Brad advised.
The baseball player stopped. "Does nudity offend ya, boy?"
"No, but your ex-wife is on the way, and I doubt you'd want to see her flaunting your tallywacker in front of a bunch of dudes!"
"Bradley knows things," Dave told his friend. "You'd do well t' listen to him." The brown-haired cowboy went inside to get dressed and make the tea. "Now, th' only question is--how d' we git `im t' drink it once I dose it with m' blood?"
"His favorite cookies are oatmeal raisin..." Brad said. "If you conjure a plate, then he might be more likely to do as you suggested. If that doesn't work, have Dennis hold him, and you force the stuff down his throat! Honestly, though, I think Christian trusts you enough to do what just ask--just because..."
Dave took his pocket knife, cut his thumb, and added three drops of blood to the pitcher of tea when Christian brought it out. "What didja go do that for?" the baseball star protested.
Brad took the pitcher, poured himself a glass, and took a long drink. "Your wife is coming," he told the man. "She bargained with a Voodoo Houngan for a spell of domination; if you don't drink that, she'll turn you into her puppet! See that plume of dust?" He pointed. "That's her!"
"Have y'all gone crazy?" Christian was confused and upset.
"Drink the damn TEA!" Dave snapped. He and Dennis both poured glasses and chugged them down. "Like I toldja earlier--Bradley knows things; I know it's a stretch, buddy--but if ya ever trusted me, trust me now an' drink the damn tea!"
Christian hurriedly "chugged" the tea as his ex-wife pulled up in front of the house. "Hello, sweetheart!" she drawled as she stepped out of the car. "Dave! What an--unexpected surprise..."
"Howdy, Evil Roy..." Dave said.
"Honeybunch, we need to talk..." the woman said, even as she drew a crudely-made ragdoll image of Christian out of her bag and began wrapping it in red thread, starting at his throat. "Now--tell your boyfriends they need to leave!" she ordered.
"Why sh'd I do that?" Christian asked. He was confused by his wife's actions. "Dave an' his buddies just came by t' wish me well in m' new life!"
Evelynn Royce finished tying the ragdoll and thrust it at Christian. "You're mine to command!" she announced. "Now an' forever!"
"I don't think so..." the big baseball star replied angrily. "I paid enough t' get shut of you in the divorce!"
The woman looked in confusion from her ex to the doll. "Oh, honey!" Brad exclaimed, oozing fake sympathy, "did you get taken in by some fake `Voodoo Queen' in New Orleans? Baby girl--they've been conning folks with that trick since the city was built! I hope you didn't pay too much..."
"Evelynn, we're done," Christian said with grim finality. "I'm sorry, but I can't be married to you anymore! I'm GAY!"
"I'll out you!" the woman hissed. "You'll be ruined!"
""So will you," Christian told her. "Sweetheart--your future income depends on my ability t' capitalize on m' former career; ya mess with that, an' your income stream dries up! Me, on the other hand, I've made new investments, an' I could monetize my sexuality! Yeah, I'd lose, Evelynn, but you'd lose even bigger! So think hard about that before y' pull the trigger an' trash m' life!" Evelynn Royce screamed incoherently, threw the doll at Christian, then finally left, vowing revenge.
"I love Texas!" Brad said.
"So do ye think that was than same Houngan who was after Jean-Jacques?" Dennis asked when they finally drove away from the Shooting Star Ranch.
"Sadly, yes..." Brad replied from the back seat. "Zeus is going to just LOVE that I've attracted some more `negative' attention from another pantheon!"
"Frankly," Dave drawled from the driver's seat, "Zeus needs t' worry `bout already-existin' real threats--like th' Egyptians..."
"Indubitably!" Dennis agreed, "but what are tha odds o' that happenin'?"
"I calculate two chances," the young man replied, "'slim' and fat'!" Then he noticed all the cars parked near the van Daam house. "Looks like your folks invited the whole family to welcome the Prodigal Son' back to the fold! Everyone's here but your sister Deana and your baby brother Derek John..."
"An' ye all ha' names startin' with `D'?" Dennis said.
"Yep," the big Texan said. "Daddy is Derek, Mama is Dolores, then there's Donald James who ya met, Dorian, Darla, me, Dayna an' Deana, th' twins; Deana is a Pilot with th' Air Force. Then th' tail-end Charlie's r' Dwight n' Derek-John! Derek-John is a club promoter in Houston."
"Thank God that wasn't a tradition that carried on with the next generation except for Donnie' Junior--and he prefers DJ' these days..." Brad said.
"Let's head on in an' git th' awkwardness started, shall we?" the big man said. "I'm sure Donnie has been fulminatin' all afternoon!"
Dolores van Daam had redone the house in shades of peach and hunter green; her furniture choices were fussy and overstuffed. The house would have been right in style--in the early 1990s, and it was clear the man-of-the-house was none too happy with the changes his wife had made. "C'n ya b'lieve it, Son?" he said. "She threw out m' easy chair!"
"I'm sorry f'r that," Dave replied, giving his father a friendly punch in the arm. "It was pretty damn ratty though. Where's Mama?"
"She n' th' girls r' cookin' up a mess o' chicken an' makin' enough sides t' open a damn restaurant! She even made y'r fav'rit' chocolate-cocoanut pie, an' now she's makin' biscuits!"
"Sounds mighty good!" Dave says. "Come on boys--lemmie introduce ya t' th' rest o' th' fam'ly..." With the exception of Donnie, the van Daam siblings all seemed happy to have their brother home again and greeted his friends' warmly; the nephews and nieces seemed particularly happy to have Unca' Dave home.
The in-laws, particularly Mary Helen, the reverend's wife seemed less excited to have the Prodigal Son return home "So, which of these two boys are you sleepin' with, Dave?" she asked with an acidly-sweet tone. "I'd have thought the young man would be a bit--young--for you! Unless what my husband said is true..."
"Mama!" DJ hissed from his spot on the sofa. "Be nice!"
"Be QUIET, young man!" the woman snapped.
"Or what?" the kid replied. "You'll let Dad beat me again?"
"Not another WORD, young man!" But Mary Helen was getting twitchy.
"What do you mean, `beat' you, son?" Dave asked. Then: "DJ--show me y'r back please! I think we all need t' see this..." The lanky teenager stood up and started to unbutton his shirt.
"Don't you DO it, boy!" the reverend threatened.
"Shut up, Donnie!" Dave used a bit of Godly power, and the man found he was unable to speak. The reverend seethed in silent, impotent rage as the young man doffed his shirt then removed a blood-stained tee shirt to reveal a back criss-crossed with welts, some of them still fresh. "When did y'r dad beat y' last time, son?" Dave asked.
"This afternoon..." DJ admitted.
Brad was quick to take pictures while the room exploded. "My God, Donnie!" Derek shook his son hard. "How c'd ya beat y'r own son bloody?" The reverend tried to speak but was his vocal cords were still paralyzed. "That settles it!" the eldest van Daam said. "We're takin' the young `un in here! DJ clearly can't stay with y'all!"
"He will not!" Mary Helen shouted. "I will not have my son raised by a Godless Heathen!"
"Uh--THAT might have something to say about where DJ ends up..." Brad said, pointing to a blue-violet mist blowing in through an open window. "If I'm right, DJ is about to be inhabited by the spirit of Ganymede..."
END CHAPTER THRITEEN
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Shout out to "Michael B"; he created Christian and so I am paying off his `contest win' here. Hope you enjoy the Character you created. Another Shout out to my crack editorial staff--especially "Marko the Magnificent" who is recovering from surgery. Feel better soon big guy! A big thanks also to "Midwestern" Mark back from his wisdom teeth extraction.
Questions, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome; drop me a note to HonableRonable@gmail.com or RonVenable@hotmail.com and I will reply! Thanks to all of you who have written with all your kind words.
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