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He drove me across the ocean and I washed up in your arms |
Chapter Four New York, New York * "Father, O Father, what do we here, In this land of unbelief and fear? The Land of Dreams is better far Above the light of the Morning Star." - William Blake * Dear David, Just a very short email at 7:30 in the morning so I can send this to you before the system goes down. I suspect that we won’t have any internet at home for a while -- there are such thick, black clouds hanging so low that you might think we were lying beneath the underbelly of a shaggy black dog. You can hear it growling, readying itself to release hell upon us. Storms aren’t good for us here. They knock out everything all the time because it’s all so cheap and shitty. Anyway, this is the song I recorded for you after you asked to hear me play something. Sorry about the singing sounding so far away, I only had one microphone and I used it for the guitar instead. Hope you like it. Matt xx * “Missing!” The man stuttered into the flimsy phone that he was trying hard not to clench too tightly, “I... I just got word. Yeah, I mean it. Matt’s gone.” There was muttering on the other end of the line, urgent and fast. “A boy... some friend of his turned up in my office. Apparently the sister told him that Matt had vanished.” Again more muffled speech, but it was quieter now. “Yeah, I know...” The man ran his hand through his greying hair, gazing out of the window and imagining the wretched figure of the nineteen year-old Wycombe lad, slipping into a sea of people and disappearing in the anonymous waves. If that boy hadn’t come to find him, would he have found out about Matt’s disappearance at all? What had happened to the blue-eyed boy? He forced his attention back to the phone, “You don’t think that all this was for nothing? Could that monster he lives with-” He was cut off abruptly and he listened, face tight, jaw locked, eyes still looking out into the streets below. “I’m just the lawyer, Derrick.” Tugging on his collar as he spoke, he sat on the corner of his desk, long legs stretching out before him comfortably, “I know that I don’t have the rights you do, but I’ve known that boy and I’ve worked on this case for years. I don’t want it to be all for naught and more than that – I don’t want anything else to happen to that child!” Sighing, he spoke on the phone for a moment longer before setting the phone down, racing thoughts spinning uncontrollably through his head. He cringed at their content and glanced across the room to his cabinet. Above it hung a picture from the late eighties: three men, all grinning, all in their gowns and celebrating their latest victory – Mark had taken silk. If only they’d known what that day would lead to... * Jay Winters was not what anyone could call a happy young man. His mother accused him of trying to prove something in being so miserable at times, and Jay could hardly help but agree as he shoved his hands roughly into his pockets and shuffled down the street. Dressed in bootlegger jeans, ripped and frayed at the knees, a blue Sesame Street t-shirt with a scowling Oscar glaring from the front, and a leather bomber, Jay blended into the London streets without notice. Despite the cloudy weather that lingered after the late-summer storm, his sunglasses were in place and the black strands of his damp hair swept across his forehead to further conceal his face. He walked with no particular determination, lingering along the glittering, rain-stained roads as he shambled towards Marylebone Station. He was headed home. He sighed. Home wasn’t home anymore though. He’d fucked up big time this time. No matter how often he told himself otherwise, he wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been happy in over a month and now... now he was downright pathetic. He didn’t think about anything other than the broken, battered body of a boy he’d buggered in, what he believed to be a sad, unfortunate, metaphorical sense. Where was he? That was the new question that wrenched at his resolve. Before, it had simply been a deep concern for the beautiful creature he’d loved and left and lost. Now, he went to work but his mind wasn’t occupied by the tedious cataloguing of stock – not that it ever had been – but it wandered to thoughts of milk-white skin and warm flesh. When he came home, he couldn’t block out the memories of the hypnotic blond silhouette sitting in the window of his room, playing soft lulling songs on his guitar. When he slept, he dreamt of tantalising caresses, sardonic smiles and flashing blue eyes. He dreamt of sex. He dreamt of Matt. So when he woke, he woke hard and incomplete, his nerves jangling and leaving him panicked and uneasy, he was also overwhelmed with guilt. Leaving behind one of the last vestiges of hope that he had had to resolve the matter, he was desolate, disconsolate. He turned right off the Marylebone road down to the station, dragging his feet towards the glimmering arches that rose from navy pillars in grand, Victorian style. He had hoped that this visit would have relieved him of his insanity. He had hoped wrong. If anything, this futile endeavour into the heartbeat of the nation had only exacerbated matters. God – he raised his face to the grey-cloaked heavens – he was such a fool! Not only was he trapped in a web of guilt and dead-ends and answerless questions but he knew that only something worse than hell could have finally made his old friend disappear on his family. The boy he knew, the ethereal youth he’d so desperately desired, wouldn’t have run away unless things were so bad that he had no other choice. Matt was a fighter. He was the strongest person he knew. His thoughts flashed back to a moment he desperately wanted to forget: those unforgettable eyes staring up at him from the floor in shock, a hand on his jaw, pain and hurt and confusion and horror and betrayal burning in the brilliant blue. Closing his eyes tight, Jay shook his head, biting down on his tongue for a taste of pain. That was over four weeks ago, but the memory was so clear that it might have been played on a high-definition blu-ray. Analepsis sucked. “Fuck.” He couldn’t find his ticket in his wallet. “Fuck,” he repeated as he looked over the barrier and saw his train pulling away, knowing the next one wouldn’t be for a half-hour yet. “Fuck.” He nearly yelled as he pulled out his phone and saw a single text from an American number telling him to ‘Keep out of it’. And then quieter, to himself, as he slumped into one of the navy-painted metal benches, he muttered, “Fuck it all.” * Two Years Prior David sat at his computer reading and rereading the words before him: ‘Sorry g2g.’ Again and again this happened. They’d be talking and then suddenly: nothing. Sometimes it would then be days, sometimes only half an hour. He didn’t know if it was because he was offending his friend or not... It was a feeling – like a shiver that caught under the skin. Matt has changed his status to active David: Where did you get to? Matt: I just had to get something for my stepdad. David frowned – it was the same excuse every time, too. He didn’t write anything for a moment, wondering what to say. Maybe Matt was offended by something. David: I didn’t say anything did I? Matt: No! Why would you think that? You know my stepdad isn’t the best at doing stuff around the house. : Sorry if I confused you. David: ha ha don’t apologise for me being paranoid. So where were we? Matt: Um... David: Jay! You were telling me about your boyfriend! Matt: Oh yeah. *blushes* Um... well he’s a little older than me and he’s in the band I started here at home. David: Niiiiice. What’s he like? Matt: He’s really sweet, a great musician. He lives with just his mum, too and he goes to my old school in Wycombe. He was at a gig selling pot and stuff and he saw me trying to sidle away from some chavvy girl and he saved me from her. David chuckled at that. Of course, his little punk friend would be dating a musician who was just as fucked up as himself. Selling pot... He knew his pen pal did a good deal of drugs for a fifteen year-old, but he understood that the boy was too clever for his own good and too pure for the cards he was dealt. As long as this Jay treated him right, he wouldn’t mind letting his boy bury himself in the arms of a stranger. David: And what’s he look like? Matt: He’s hot. I mean... hot! He’s got these eyes, like crystals – they’re so pale – and he’s got this dark hair that’s always so messy. He has a tattoo too. I think I’m going to get one. David: A tattoo? Of what? Matt: I want a scorpion on the base of my spine, like a little one. Just so the tail is visible to anyone looking. David: Sounds sexy. But is that legal at your age? Matt: Nope but Jay knows some guys who know some guys. His is so sexy he’s got a lizard curled all the way around his hip in dark blue. David: You need to be careful that it’s not a crappy needle. Sorry to sound like your dad. Matt: I wouldn’t know so it’s ok. :P David winced. David: Sorry cutie. Matt: It’s ok. You’re right – I don’t want to catch anything. But I think I really want a tattoo. Or wings on my shoulder blades. I could pretend they’re real. David: lol! Matt: Then again, Jay says he likes clean skin so maybe not. David: Matt!? He hasn’t already gotten you in the sack has he?! Matt: NO! Not yet anyway. I so wouldn’t mind though! David: I bet you wouldn’t!! Go for it if you’re ready for it. He tried not to feel over-protective as he imagined the puppy-love grin that he knew the Englishman would have. He’d never seen him, never been sent a photo, but he was sure that Matt had a contagious smile. It was in his expression, in his words. Matt: I will! Ha ha!! David: And I hope you’ll share all the gory details? Matt: As if! You don’t tell me about your dates! David: That’s because I don’t stay with them very long. Matt: And you expect me and Jay to last? David: Actually I was just fishing for an excuse but I see I’ve been outsmarted. Matt: As always. Look I need to go to bed cos I’ve got to go early tomorrow but I’ll talk to you soon. Write to me. Night night xxxxxxx David: Night cutie. Sleep well xxx * They stepped into the cool, air-conditioned shop with a sigh of relief. New York’s August had turned hot again as the tail-wind of a tropical storm drifted, as predicted, into the swirling abyss of the Atlantic. Complete with three bags of shopping from various small shops that David had almost vetoed going into until he remembered who he was with, they stepped into Century-21 with no small relief. Matt was still looking pensive. Ground Zero, David supposed, did that to everyone. There was something about the vacant space, the still hollow centre to the bustling city, which echoed into the soul. Even as tourists came and took their snap shots and construction workers worked on the fifty-third floor of a reconstruction, David found himself stilling at Matt’s side as he gazed into the sky where the towers once loomed. “It’s weird actually standing here.” The Englishman added softly, “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” In the glaring sun, people were flocking around the area like flies on a heated horses flank, buzzing with murmured accolades and humming with pity. “I bet the towers were incredible.” David had looked at the boy, then up at the sky and back down to Matt, whose face was caught between a frown and a small smile. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of the people around them only saw the destruction. He wondered how many people were like Matt and thought of what had stood there rather than what didn’t stand now. “And I bet whatever they build next will be even more so,” Matt had finished. Since then, David been caught in a muse. Whatever he had been expecting when he’d pulled up in his little red car hadn’t been Matt, and he was only just beginning to realise it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting, but Matt was unlike anything he had ever encountered before: hard to figure out and hard to get to know, now that he stood before him. He was mysterious. The blond had built up boundaries surrounding him that needed an invitation to cross. Yet he knew him. David knew this boy with the common English curl in his voice better than anyone else perhaps had ever known him before. He had traded histories with Matt and knew how likeable and so utterly, unassumingly naive he was. And he had learned that that naivety was charming in its own way. So why then did he find it so hard to reconcile the lithe youth, whose head of tousled hair he carefully followed as it weaved through the clothing aisles, with the words and thoughts and hopes and delicate dreams of Matt: per solum lacuna? He supposed it was a shock to know that the sculpted face, shaped with its fragile curves and high, dramatic cheekbones belonged to the anonymous, white-screen and Times New Roman script. And the voice, with its shifting tones, was the one that would have spoken to him time and again. “Hey?” Matt’s voice came floating down through the rows. David snapped out of his reverie and Matt was there, grinning at him delightedly, “Shall we head out?” David shook his head to clear the fog, “Huh?” “Shall we go? I just... I figure although this place is kinda interesting, you’ve really got me enough stuff already so...” Matt tilted his head to the side, his hair flipping cutely around his eyes, “You okay?” “We’re not going anywhere until you have at least one shirt. I have no idea what Millie has planned tonight, but I know that she’ll probably be dragging us to an exhibition at some point in the next few days,” David said, knowing that Matt wasn’t trying to be evasive. Matt sighed and surrendered. David laughed. “No need to look so down, kiddo, it’s on me, remember?” * They were back at Millie’s house, bags dumped in their bedroom, coats abandoned in the kitchen, “So what happened to your boyfriend?” Matt winced and sighed, “It’s a long story... but suffice to say that we broke up, I suppose.” More like annulled the existence of the entire relationship. There was a strange, awkward pause that throbbed around him as he felt the lie in the air. David looked sad for a moment, “I’m sorry. You seemed happy with him.” Matt smiled, “I was. He was my best friend back home.” “I know. You told me all about him.” Chuckling a little, Matt nodded, “I suppose I did.” He straightened up with a grin, erasing the flicker of pain that had nagged at his heart and looked up at David. “And what about you? Last I remember you were banging some sophomore, right?” Matt’s grin was infectious. That little hint of mischief and childishness that David always adored caught like paper in a flame. It was the way he’d imagined Matt would smile, cheeky and adorable. “Yeah, I was. That ended before summer. He wanted us to be exclusive and I didn’t see him the way he saw me.” David waggled his eyebrows, “But I hooked up at a few parties before I came here.” Missing the slight falter in the blonde’s smile, David continued, “There are some hotties back home these days.” Shaking his head, Matt replied, “Something’s never change with you huh?” “You know me. Always up for some fun.” He nudged the younger man playfully, elbow slipping ungracefully off the edge of the sofa he’d been leaning on. Matt’s eyes widened and David wondered if he’d accidently pushed against some unseen bruise until the blond bent over laughing. Matt suddenly found an arm around his shoulders, tugging him teasingly up against David’s chest. “What you laughing at?” David was grinning but his voice was low, almost husky, and Matt continued to snicker even as he shook his head in denial. “N..n...nothing,” He stammered, nibbling his lower lip as David’s eyes bored into his. “Something funny about me mock-flirting with you.” David was looking affronted now, but the sparkle never left his eyes. Sucking in a breath, Matt shook his head, trying to keep his face straight but the muscles twitching unwarranted. One of David’s hands dropped to Matt’s waist, onto his hip, the other stayed on his shoulder, half curled around his neck, “You really find this funny?” Although his heart hitched, Matt couldn’t take it seriously. He shook in David’s grip, trying to hold back the laughter again but failing miserably. “Sorry!” He exclaimed between giggles, “But I can’t... you’re just...” His snort of laughter was cut off as David pulled him into a headlock. “My awesome powers of seduction don’t work on you but that doesn’t mean I can’t use my secret weapon!” He pounced. Fingers running along the sharp contours of Matt’s slender figure, tickling along the sides of his ribs and for a second the laughter became a shriek of shock and rapturous, wonderful giggles. Feeling a surge of something inexplicable, David found himself on top of Matt, hands roaming wildly, innocently. Until suddenly the boy winced away, half a smile still on his face, half a gasp ruining the ruffled image of pleasure beneath him. David knew he’d struck a sore spot, some horrible wine-stain bruise, and he pulled back instantly. Guilt and worry flooding him, he stared at the place he’d just been touching in horror, the inner corner of the ribs that now heaved with rapidly fading mirth... As he stared he struggled to hold himself back, had to consciously stop himself from demanding to know exactly the extent of the damage. He trailed his guilty, curious eyes along the boy’s body and Matt’s gaze met his with a steady daring that was unexpected. He’d anticipated pain or fear. The boy smiled and seemed to offer a small apology with that gentle curl of his lips. “I guess you win,” the blond said, waving the moment away when he realised that David wasn’t going to do anything. “Which means you’re welcome to get off me.” Matt was... teasing him? Feeling relief wash through him, spreading from his chest to his hands, he relaxed and rolled onto his side. They lay on the floor in companionable silence for a moment, catching their breath before Matt spoke up, “Food?” * Cutie, You can seriously play guitar! This song is beautiful. It reminds me a lot of the Beatles ‘Blackbird’ – I think I remember you saying that that was one of your favourite songs and there’s something about this piece of yours. Incredible. I can’t express how strange it was to hear your voice and how brilliant. Just listening to that, I think I felt it. It’s haunting, melodic, intense, exquisitely heartbroken. I’m no expert when it comes to music but it also reminds me of my friend, Milly’s work. She usually has these amazing vibrant, loud, colourful paintings but then there’s always a flipside to them which is the darker side. I think you got something Matt... Really beautiful. I hope you’ll send me some more sometime. Hope the storm doesn’t keep you from reading this. Talk soon. David * “To call or not to call...” She mused aloud, lying on her back in the glowing sun, hazel eyes glinting with gold in the light and mouth parted in a soft coral pout. Alexandra Lloyd, best friend to one Matthew Ashwith of High Wycombe, liked to think of herself as a languid soul, but when it came down to it, her mind was brimming with the burnt sugar of consciousness, bubbling and stewing constantly. Should she tell the blue-eyed boy about the phone call she’d received? Had she done the right thing by denying Matt had contacted her? She wasn’t sure. What should she do? “Little boy, little boy, lost and blue, listen, let me tell you what to do. You can run along, run along, alone or home...” She mused to Patrick Wolf with a quirk of those pretty, pale lips. Twirling the fine, mousy strands of her hair between her fingers, she stayed sprawled by the pool as her brother dumped his towel on the next sunbed and then bombed into the cubist ripples of the water. Should she tell him? Matt was unpredictable in his reactions, or he had become so in the last few years. Never shy, he’d become less prone to voicing those wonderful, defiant opinions that she had matched him for. That occasional withdrawal he’d lapse into became more frequent. She didn’t see him so much... but she could tell from the expression of his emails, the quality of his music, the distance he put between himself and her. That clever – hugely clever – side of himself that came out in his sharp, Python-esq humour had faded from his letters and his calls. There was a bleakness that she could hear in him, a hole growing inside of him, and she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. Should she have told him? Jay had abandoned Matt. That much was certain. Why else would Matt have fled to try to find her when the dark-haired bassist could have let him stay until the danger was over? Jay must have hurt him. Jay must have betrayed him. Her mind fizzed with the furious musings of a friend who knew that she had to interpret everything a precise way if she was going to protect all parties involved. Did Jay deserve to know about Matt? Shouldn’t she let him stew in that melancholic pit he so loved to wallow in? Would Matt want to know that Jay had called? Would that make things worse or better? From what she could tell, Jay had spoken to Matt’s sister and thus discovered that their friend had disappeared and in trying to find out where he had gone, Jay had visited Matt’s uncle in London. Lazily opening one eye beneath her red-rimmed aviator sunglasses, she peered at the dark-tanned body of her brother as he glided through the chlorinated water. She should probably see what Jack thought of the whole thing. He was her go-to-guy. But could she trust him with this new information about her precariously positioned best-friend? Yes, he knew details that no one else knew except her, and Jay but he didn’t know everything and had never been privy to that information before because... because... she tried to remember why. She knew there had been a reason. What did all of this mean? Letting her eyes drift shut again, she tugged the aviators away from her face, basking in the sun that drew red patterns on her eyelids. Even if she was going to be spending so much time thinking about the conundrums ahead, she wasn’t going to let her tan line turn her into a negative-panda. |
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