The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by location, are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by explicit descriptions of gay sex. The story is pure fiction and is not based on any actual events.
Author's note: This story is a sequel to my earlier story "The Corps" and features the same characters, including the same celebrities. Though I have tried to write "Task Force" as a stand-alone story, but you might find it easier going if you have read "The Corps" first. It is assumed that you have at least read the prologue and chapter 1 of "Task Force"
Gymnopedies January 2003 gym@softhome.net
The Corps - Task Force Chapter 2: Bad Dreams ----------------------------------------------
"Come on Dayle, I've some things to sort out in my office and then I'm due in London later." Mark had raised his voice to a shout so that he would be heard above the sound of the running water coming from the shower in the adjoining bathroom.
"It's your own fault, you were the one who was so reluctant to get out of bed." The returning shout came through the open bathroom door.
Mark grinned to himself as he finished pulling on his clothes and tried to tidy his hair in the mirror. Yes, he had indeed been reluctant to get out of bed, but then who wouldn't be if they were sharing that bed with a slim, dark haired, incredibly handsome sixteen year old. The past several months had been some of the happiest in Mark's life. He had the boy he loved, he had a job he loved, what more could he possibly ask for.
Not all of Mark's nineteen years had been so happy. He'd been living rough on the streets until he'd been taken in by the Corps as a shy twelve year old. Soon his tremendous healing abilities had become apparent and he'd been admitted to full Corps membership, rising steadily through the ranks to council member and then base leader, being at the time the youngest Corps member ever to hold either of those positions. Then tragedy had struck when all the evidence pointed to the fact that his teenage lover, Dayle, an extremely talented telepath, had been killed while on an assignment to the FBI. For a while it looked like Mark had been going to fall apart, but with support from his loyal friends he had eventually started to come to terms with the loss. Suddenly, three months ago, almost exactly one year after his supposed death, Dayle had reappeared. (See "The Corps" for the full story) After a very brief period of reconciliation, Mark and Dayle had picked up their relationship where they left off and were now even more in love than ever. As a result of the dramatic events surrounding Dayle's reappearance, Mark had been offered the leadership of the Corps Council, the highest post within the mysterious organisation, but had turned this down. Instead he accepted the position as leader of the brand new Corps Task Force, an autonomous group within the Corps consisting of the strongest, most powerful Corps members. The Task Force had been set up primarily as a troubleshooting team, intended to deal with any problems similar in nature to the difficulties they had experienced a few months earlier with the rogue Sentinel Circe. Though Mark fervently hoped that they would never again be called on to face a threat of that magnitude; he still broke out in a cold sweat when he thought back to that particular encounter.
Luckily for the young healer, his day to day problems were far more mundane than battling Sentinels. His most annoying problem at the moment was a lock of hair which stubbornly refused to lay flat on his head, sticking out at an odd angle. For the umpteenth time he ran his comb over it and, in spite of his overall good mood, muttered irritated curses as it once more spring upright. His cursing was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
"Come in," Mark called out, turning away from the mirror in defeat.
"Hey, Mark." It was Zac Hanson, another Task force member. Zac was eleven and the Corps strongest Telekinetic, as well as having some ability as a teleporter. He was closely accompanied by his twelve year old boyfriend, Nathan. Nathan was a telepath who had received his powers indirectly, as a result of being brought back from near death by Zac's older brother, Taylor.
"Oh, morning Zac. You want something?" The small frustrations of the morning made Mark's voice cooler than he intended.
"Sounds like someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning," Zac replied, with his usual irrepressible grin. "Shouldn't you be in your office by now?"
"Yes, Zac, I should. Is this a social visit, because if so, now is not a good time. I've a lot to do today."
"Oh, I won't keep you long," Zac replied. "Me and Nat were just wondering about something."
"You mean YOU were wondering." Nathan broke in. "I think it's a stupid idea. And don't call me Nat, I hate it."
"What were you wondering?" Mark asked, deciding the easiest course of action was to humour the youngster.
"Well," said Zac, his brow furrowing as he attempted to look serious and only succeeded in looking comical, "I can use my powers to move things far bigger and heavier than I am. So shouldn't it be possible for me to move myself in the same way? I should be able to lift myself up."
"He means he thinks he should be able to fly like Superman," Nathan interrupted again, shaking his head as though he wanted nothing to do with the suggestion.
"Nice idea, but I'm afraid it won't work, Zac." Dayle had appeared at the bathroom door, totally naked, nonchalantly drying his back with a towel.
"Why not?" Zac spoke the words, but it was obvious that his mind was now elsewhere as he gazed openly at Dayle's exposed body. "Ouch!"
Nathan's elbow had caught his boyfriend squarely in the ribs. "You're drooling. Get your tongue back in and close your mouth before something flies in there."
Zac glared at Nathan as he rubbed his side. "You didn't have to do that. I was only looking."
"Don't worry Zac, I don't mind," Dayle smiled as he wrapped the towel around his waist. "Your idea won't work because you don't have that much control over your power, no one does. Sure, you could easily make yourself fly up into the air, but you'd be unable to control your flight. I've known two boys who have given it a go, one ended up with a broken leg, the other landed on his face; not very pretty. Neither of them were anywhere near as strong as you are, so you have the potential to do far more damage to yourself than they did. I really don't recommend you try it."
"Oh, ok." Zac looked disappointed.
"There, that's just about what I told you," said Nathan, looking smug. "So can we go and get some breakfast now, before the dining hall closes?"
"Yeah, you go along, Nat. I'll catch you up in a minute," said Zac.
"Ugh! You call me Nat once more and you're gonna be looking for a new boyfriend. I'm going. Don't blame me if there's no breakfast left by the time you get there." Nathan gave a quick wave to Mark and Dayle and left in search of something to put into his empty stomach.
"Is there something else we can help you with, Zac?" Mark asked.
With the departure of Nathan, Zac's expression had turned uncharacteristically serious. "Yeah, there is. I'm worried about Nathan," he said, glancing at the door to make sure the boy had really gone.
"Why? What's the matter? He looks ok." Mark was immediately concerned. If Zac was being serious then it meant the eleven year old really was worried about something.
"Yeah, I know he looks ok, but something's not right. He's having these awful dreams. Every night he's thrashing around in his sleep and moaning things. He keeps saying things like 'it's dark' and 'she's coming', stuff like that."
"How long as this been going on?" asked Dayle, coming closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"A couple of weeks or so, but it seems to be getting worse. If I ask him about it he clams up and won't talk. I thought maybe you could heal him or something."
"I can only heal physical things, Zac, I can't stop him having dreams," said Mark, gently. "Nathan went through a bad time during that business with Circe, perhaps it's something to do with that. I can have a talk to him if you want. Maybe Dayle or Adam would be able to help him telepathically."
"Maybe." Zac appeared unconvinced. "He wouldn't be very happy if he found out I've come to you behind his back."
"Why don't you just keep an eye on him for now, Zac," Mark advised, thoughtfully. "If things don't get any better then make sure you tell me and we'll see what we can do."
"Yeah, ok. I suppose I'd better go before he comes back looking for me. Thanks anyway. I'll see you guys later."
"Erm, Zac," Dayle called out to the boy just as he was going through the door. "When you decide to have a go at 'flying', make sure there are plenty of soft things around you, and also that there's someone on hand who can go for help when you break your neck."
Zac paused and looked back and just for a moment his worried expression disappeared and his usual mischievous grin was in place. "I will. By the way, Dayle, you've a hell of a cute bod!"
After Zac had gone, Mark looked at Dayle. "You think maybe Nathan's still suffering the after-effects of everything he's been through?"
Dayle shook his head. "No. I didn't want to frighten Zac, but Nathan isn't the only one to be having dreams like that. I've been having them as well."
"What? Why didn't you say something to me before?"
"I didn't think it was important. They just seemed to be dreams, that's all. Though it sounds like Nathan is getting them worse than me. They're really strange. I'm all alone in this dark place, and I have this feeling that something bad is about to happen, there's a sort of presence there and it's getting closer and closer. It's really scary. Each night it seems to get a bit worse than the night before."
"Now you're getting me worried," Mark admitted. "Do you have any idea what it's all about? Could it be connected with Circe in way?"
"I really don't know. I think I need to have a word with Adam about it."
"Adam? You think it's somehow connected with telepathy?"
Dayle nodded. "It could be. If Adam is having them as well then it would confirm it. It would also explain why Nathan is getting them worse than I am; he's a far stronger telepath than I am, stronger even than I was when I had my Sentinel's powers."
"Ok, have a word with Adam when he gets back from his current assignment," Mark agreed. "But don't say anything to anyone else, and tell Adam to keep it quiet as well. I don't want the others getting worried until we have an idea what's happening. I'd better leave you to get dressed while I go check my office and make sure there are no surprises waiting for me there. You follow me when you're ready."
There was a small pile of papers waiting on Mark's desk, but as the nineteen year old quickly glanced through them he found little of any real interest. Corps bases around the world had been asked to look out for anything at all unusual happening in their area and forward regular reports to the Task Force, also any requests for assistance from outside agencies automatically appeared on Mark's desk, to be either given further attention by the Task Force or distributed out to be dealt with by ordinary Corps members, as Mark felt appropriate.
This mornings batch didn't contain anything special and Mark began sorting them, ready to send them on for local bases to deal with. He was still involved with this when Dayle arrived.
"Anything good?" Dayle asked.
"No, pretty boring really. The only thing even slightly interesting is a note from the St. Petersburg base. Apparently the city suddenly has a very high fatality rate amongst it's criminal organisations. Several of the big bosses have died under mysterious circumstances."
"And they're complaining? I should have thought that would be cause for celebration."
Mark nodded. "Yeah, me too. But the Leningrad police contacted the cities Corps base when they began to suspect that the person performing these executions might have some unusual abilities. However, the local base leader thinks the police are just using this as an excuse to cover up their own bungling. The base leader is probably right, it sounds to me like an internal problem amongst the city's crime lords, not something we should get involved with. I've written St. Petersburg a note asking them to keep us informed if anything further happens."
"Sounds good. What time is your London trip?"
Mark glanced at his watch. "Any time now. I'm just waiting for Paul to appear so that he can teleport me over there." Fourteen year old Paul's primary ability was teleportation, he could transport himself and up to three others, almost anywhere in the world, instantly.
There was a light tap on the office door. "Oh, speak of the devil..."
However, the person who came in wasn't Paul. "Oh, morning Ralph. Got something for me?" Mark gave the newcomer a friendly smile.
Ralph was a "rescued boy". The Corps had a policy of taking in homeless boys from the streets. They would live within the base where they would receive regular meals, a good basic education, and effectively a family of sorts. Ralph was sixteen and had been at the base for over two years now; for the past six months he'd been the base's messenger, having the job of carrying messages, documents and post between different offices within the base, a job he appeared to enjoy. To look at he was distinctly average, he was of average height, average looks, with brown hair and brown eyes, he was perhaps a little thin, with a shy, quiet personality; overall he was the sort of boy who could blend into the background and people would forget he was there. Mark had always liked him.
"Yeah, just a couple of papers, I don't think it's anything important." Ralph held out the documents.
"Maybe I should just ask you to 'lose' anything that isn't important," Mark joked. "What the...?" As he held out his hand to receive the papers his fingers had brushed against Ralph's. Mark had once tried to describe his healing powers by saying that when he touched someone who was either ill or physically hurt in some way it was like they had some sort of hole in the energies that made up their body. To heal them he used his own energies to fill that hole. Everyone he came into contact with had very minor things wrong with them like aches or scratches, a bit like pockmarks on their energy field, and Mark had very quickly developed the knack of ignoring these things. But in Ralph's case these pockmarks were more like potholes in a badly repaired road.
"Wha... what's the matter?" Ralph stepped back, frightened by Mark's reaction.
Mark looked at the younger boy, thoughtfully. "Ralph, take off your shirt," he said, eventually, his voice gentle.
"Why? I don't want to." Ralph was backing up towards the door and accidentally bumped into Dayle who was standing behind him.
"Take off your shirt please, Ralph." This time Mark's tone was firmer.
"No." Ralph turned towards the door, but Dayle caught his arm, holding it gently but firmly.
"Mark, what's the matter. You're scaring him," said the telepath, himself puzzled at the way his friend appeared to be behaving.
Mark ignored Dayle. "If you don't take off your shirt, Ralph, we're going to take it off for you. What's it going to be? It's up to you."
Ralph was almost in tears, but he saw he had no way out. He silently hung his head and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, allowing him to pull the garment over his head.
"Jeez!" The involuntary exclamation burst forth from Dayle's lips. Mark's own lips were pressed together in a tight line, holding back his anger. The whole of Ralph's upper torso was a mass of coloured bruises, some old and fading into a slight discoloration, some a livid bluish-purple, obviously much more recent.
"You're going to tell me how you got these," said Mark in a voice which made it plain that he wasn't about to be argued with. "I want the truth, and not some stupid story that you've had some sort of accident. If you won't tell me then I'll have Dayle get it straight from your head."
"I can't, they'll hurt me even more if I tell you," said Ralph in a quiet, trembling voice.
"Oh no they won't," Mark replied, his voice softening again as his sympathy for the boy overrode his anger at what he had seen. "What ever has been happening is going to stop, right now."
There was long pause as Ralph tried to find the courage to speak. "It was the three boys I share a room with," he said, as tears ran down his face.
"Why?" Mark was almost speechless. This single word was all he could manage.
"At first they didn't give a reason, they just did it. Then they decided that because I spent a lot of time around Corps members, I must be gay and they started calling me faggot and cocksucker." Now that Ralph had started talking, the words seemed to be coming easier. "It started off with them just pushing me around, but soon they started punching me every time one of them was near me. Then one night things suddenly got a lot worse, they said they were going to work me over properly. They pushed me down on my bed and put a pillow over my face so that no one would be able to hear me scream and they really laid into me, punching me all over my body, over and over. With the pillow on my face I couldn't breathe, I thought I was going to die. Then they took the pillow away and warned me that if I ever told anybody about it they really would kill me and they walked off, laughing. They've done that to me twice now. I'm scared, I really don't know what I'm going to do." He started shaking and the tears began to flow more freely.
Dayle took the boy in his arms and held him gently, there were tears in his own eyes.
Mark watched the two boys holding each other, knowing that after what they had just heard, Dayle would be remembering the long months of agonising torture he had suffered at the hands of the FBI agent, McCray. A cold ball of fury burned in the pit of Mark's stomach that any boy within the Corps base could have something like this inflicted upon him. Some of this anger was also directed at himself; he saw Ralph everyday, he should have noticed before now that there was something wrong. Quickly he reached a decision about what he was going to do. Leaving the office he hurried to a nearby store cupboard and picked up a blanket. Returning, he draped it around Ralph's shoulders. The boy had stopped crying, though looked like he could start again at any moment. Mark led him over to a chair, speaking to him softly and telling him that everything would be all right. He briefly turned to Dayle. "Get Jake on the phone and tell him I want him in my office, right now." Jake had taken over the position of base leader from Mark when Mark had been appointed head of the Task Force.
With a nod, Dayle picked up the phone and tapped out the number. He spoke briefly into the handset before covering the mouthpiece with his hand. "Jake says he's in the middle of something. He'll come down later if he gets the chance."
It took Mark little more than a second to cross to the desk and snatch the phone out of Dayle's hand. "Jake? This is Mark. If you're not down in my office within five minutes, this base is going to have a new leader." He slammed the handset back into it's cradle.
"Take it easy, Mark," Dayle advised. "What's happened to Ralph isn't Jake's fault."
"Isn't it? Tell me, who is ultimately responsible for the care of these boys once we've taken them in?"
"Well, the base leader is, I suppose," said Dayle.
"Exactly. Jake should have had some idea what was going on. And it's certainly his job to do something about it. This isn't the first time he's messed up. The man doesn't have a clue. I should have talked Adam into accepting the job when the council first offered it to him."
"Adam's only sixteen. You said yourself he's not ready for that sort of responsibility. Besides, we need him in the Task Force. We don't have the manpower we need as it is."
Mark sighed. "I know, you're right. But I still say Adam would have made a much better base leader than the fool who has the job the moment. Adam cares about people, all Jake cares about is his position."
Just a few minutes later the door opened, there had been no knock. In walked a man who looked to be in his mid twenties, he was of medium height with a stocky build, dark hair, and what would normally have been a cheerful face, though at the moment his expression was far from cheerful.
"Hello, Jake," Mark said, icily. "I see you managed to find the time after all."
"This had better be good, Mark," Jake replied. "I don't appreciate the way you spoke to me on the telephone. I'm the base leader here and you have no authority over me."
I think you'll find that is not strictly true," said Mark. "If you'd bothered to read the amendment to the Corps constitution you would know that as Task Force leader I've the power to overrule the decisions of any base leader and even to relieve them of their positions should the need arise. I'm answerable solely to the Corps Council, though in an extreme state of emergency I have the power to disband the Council itself."
Jake suddenly seemed quite a lot paler than he had when he came through the door and his manner took an abrupt about turn. "Well, I'm here now. What can I do for you?" he asked, trying to sound helpful and merely succeeding in sounding obsequious.
Mark ground his teeth together and tried to remain calm. "Have you noticed any problems amongst the boys recently?"
"What sort of problems do you mean?"
"Any bullying or victimisation, that sort of thing?"
Jake's eyes flicked nervously across to Ralph, wrapped in his blanket. "Oh, I don't think there's been anything like that," he said, mildly. "Though now that you come to mention it, someone did tell me that there might be a little horseplay going on in one of the dormitories. I seem to remember it was young Ralph's room. What's the matter, did it get a little too rough for him?" He turned to face Ralph. "You're going to have to learn to deal with these things yourself, you know. People like Mark and myself are too busy to be sorting out your problems."
"You might be too busy," said Mark, "but I certainly aren't. And I never will be too busy for the things that really matter." He reached across and lifted the blanket from Ralph's shoulders, revealing the boy's badly beaten chest and back. "To answer your question, yes, things did get a little too rough for him. Does this look like the results of horseplay?"
As Ralph's bruised body came into view, Jake turned even paler than before. "I don't understand," he spluttered. "The boys in his room are all younger than he is, they're only thirteen or fourteen. How could something like this happen?"
"That's exactly what I want to know," said Mark. "And that is what you are going to find out. I want a full report on my desk by this time tomorrow explaining how one of the boys in your care came to be beaten half to death and what action you intend to take against the boys responsible."
"Yes. Ok. If that's what you want," Jake said, this time not even thinking to question Mark's authority. "I suppose I'd better allocate the boy to another room, though I'm not sure where we're going to put him, we're just about full to bursting."
"Then let me take that problem out of your hands," suggested Mark. "Ralph will be given his own room here on the Task Force level. Make sure you have all his things brought down for him. Oh, and one final thing; you are going to have to find a new base messenger."
"No," Ralph spoke out. "I want to keep doing that."
Mark gave Ralph a quick smile. "I thought that maybe you would prefer to work in here as my personal assistant."
"You're kidding?"
"No, I'm not kidding. The job's yours if you want it."
Ralph didn't need to reply, his answer was written right across his face.
Mark turned his attention back to Jake. "As I was saying, you need to appoint a new messenger. Now I suggest you get back to work, you've a lot to do." He turned his back on the man, dismissing him.
Without a word, Jake left, obviously furious at being dismissed in this fashion, but not daring to show it.
"You haven't exactly made a friend there," Dayle observed.
"That sort of friend I can well do without," Mark smiled, ruefully. "Besides, you needn't look so smug, that fool can't be trusted to do anything on his own; until we can get him replaced by someone decent, I want you to keep an eye on him."
"You have got to be joking!"
"I wish I was, but this used to be my base and I'm not going to sit back and watch it fall apart. I want you to check that this thing with Ralph was just an isolated incident. Talk to all the other boys one at a time and make sure everything is ok. Let me know straight away if you find any problems at all."
"You think there's more to this than we know about?"
Mark shook his head. "I hope not, but nothing quite like this has ever happened in this base before and my instincts tell me that it needs looking into properly." He put his hand onto Ralph's shoulder. "Let's get you taken care of. This is going to feel a little strange." Sliding his hand down until it lay flat against the boy's chest, Mark closed his eyes and concentrated, bringing his healing abilities into play.
Ralph gave a gasp, almost as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. A moment later all the bruises were gone, the skin of his upper body was pale and unblemished.
"Feel better," Mark asked, standing back.
"Yeah. That's amazing. It doesn't hurt anymore." Ralph stood up, grinning shyly, then he quickly reached for his shirt and pulled it on.
"I'd better get you a room sorted out," said Mark. "Then find something for you to do, now that you're my assistant."
Ralph looked a little uncomfortable. "There something I think you should know first," he said.
"Please, not more problems," Mark said, worriedly. "It's only just past breakfast time and I've already had my full quota for the day."
"I just thought you should know that it's not true, what they said about me. I'm not gay or anything?"
"Why should I need to know that?" Mark asked, genuinely amused that Ralph would think it important.
"Well, I know all of the Corps members are attracted to other boys, and I thought maybe you wouldn't want me working so closely with you unless I felt the same way."
Mark gave a painful groan. "You actually thought that?" He looked at Dayle who was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile behind his hand. "Why do people think who someone sleeps with is so important? Dayle, take him and away and find a room for him. If you like you can lock him in there until he shows signs of having some sense. I think I might go back to bed. If this morning is anything to go by, the rest of the day is not something I'm looking forwards to."
End of chapter 2
Next: Chapter 3 - Florian
Feedback is encouraged and always much appreciated. Please email me at gym@softhome.net or visit my website "Stories by Gymnopedies" at http://gymnopedies.tripod.com