Bennett The Brave

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Mark sprang up from the bed like a coiled cat, and practically landed in his pants, pulling them on with one, practiced swoop, while stuffing his huge dick into them and quickly zipping up.

"Who the fuck is that?" he barked, fumbling with his belt.

"My Dad!" I screeched, "Oh my God, Neal, what time is it?" Neal looked stunned for a second, and then picked up his wrist and looked at his watch.

"Holy shit!" he croaked, "It's after five o'clock already, they must have come looking for us!" Neal and I both scrambled down the stairs and out the same door we entered earlier. Running to the car, we came to a skidding stop in front of my father, who looked down at the both of us. His fists were on his hips, and he did not look pleased.

"Lost a track of time, did you?" he growled. I hung my head, trying to appear appropriately contrite, all the while breathing a secret sigh of relief; glad to be free from the strange situation in the lighthouse.

A window opened above us, and Mark stuck his head out. He somehow managed to get his shirt on and squared away, he looked very much the unruffled, professional young man.

"Everything okay?" he called.

"I hope these two were not bothering you too much," Ned called up to him, shading his eyes.

"No sir, no trouble at all," waved Mark, "had fun showing them my machinery. Hope I didn't keep them too long!"

"Not at all," Ned shouted back, "we just weren't sure where they were, so we came looking."

"Alrighty!" Mark said amiably, "It was good meeting you two, you're welcome to come back anytime you want; we'll pick up right where we left off!" I got a little shiver when he said that, and once more, I wasn't sure what that meant, exactly.

Neal and I silently endured the "talking-to" we got from our fathers on the way back to the cabin. I couldn't help but sneak a glance over at Neal, wearing a silly smirk; when I saw his face, however, my expression fell away. He looked glassy-eyed, and stared at his feet, once or twice stealing a look at me and quickly averting his eyes. I wondered what he was thinking, but the trip back to the cabin by car was only a few minutes. By the time we pulled into the driveway, Neal's normal expression had returned, and he was asking about dinner. Typical.

"Fish," Ned intoned, "we are having fried fish and hush puppies."

As far as I knew, "hush-puppies" were slippers, but I was hungry enough that most anything sounded good. My father told us, even though he and Ned hadn't caught anything that afternoon, they brought some fresh fish along that Ned and Neal had caught the week before. It all sounded good to me, and when I found out exactly what hush-puppies were, I devoured them with gusto. Neal ate too, just not as much as I, or with as much enthusiasm.

Later, as the sky dimmed to twilight, we played cards, some weird form of poker that I had difficulty keeping up with. Ned built a fire in the fireplace, as the evening grew quite cold. We bundled up in our sleeping bags on the living room floor. Dad pulled out his banjo, and Ned produced a stunning looking 12-string guitar. Neal and I kept up the rhythm by banging on the hearth with sticks and the fireplace tools. The frivolity soon gave way to quiet strumming and singing. I looked over at Neal, and he'd placed his head in his arms, his eyes were closed, and he looked like a coal-haired, sleeping angel.

"Okay, c'mon Bennett," my dad said, unslinging the banjo and setting it against a wall, "time to get you two off to bed." I rose, up out of my sleeping bag, yawning, and bunched it up in my arms. Dad put his big hand on my back and guided me as I shuffled off toward our bedroom. The room both Neal and I were to use, was obviously there for kids. There were two sets of bunk beds, and we claimed the one away from the window, near the interior wall. The room was cold, so I quickly threw my sleeping bag onto the upper bunk, and dived into it. Dad leaned up and kissed me on the forehead as I snuggled into the warm flannel interior of the bag. I felt myself smile and was vaguely aware of Neal's father, as he carried his sleeping son, and laid him on the bunk beneath; I fell quickly asleep too.