William Poulet lost a bet and has to accept the very first teaching job he's offered. Now he's teaching at a Military Academy he'd never applied to, in a State where gay porn is a popular download yet it's still anti-LGBT+. One night a friend of a f...
They were seated back at the table. Jerry was asleep upstairs. It seems the stress of the last three days had finally caught up with him. Finding Eli Hamilton's headless body, and now the lone finger, had been the last straw.
Derek was not amused, giving Will a cold stare that made him want to be anywhere other than seated across from him, a mere four feet away. Between them lay the finger. In front of Derek was a laptop.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, just as I would anyone I'd be interviewing. Answer me honestly..."
Will was about to protest his complete innocence when Derek waved him into silence. "I know you'll answer me honestly. I also don't want you holding back information – things you might think are trivial may not be trivial at all. Things that you've noticed as unusual, or felt off somehow, could prove to be valuable. Okay?"
Will nodded. "Let me start by asking how you came to be in possession of this finger?" Will told him about the secret staircases, the roof, and the compost bin. Then he showed him the Boxton envelope addressed to Matthew Stone.
Derek's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "Holy fucking shit," he murmured. "Is there anything else you'd like to share?" Will, wanting to convince Derek that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, started at the beginning. From how he ended up at Boxton, to the torn MISSING posters, the odd behaviors of the Headmaster, the Seeds of Priapus cult, the as-yet unidentified cyberbully, and the events of his first day as a teacher.
At some point, Derek had risen from the table, and began placing the dinner plates and dishes into the dishwasher, then putting leftovers into the fridge. He placed a wooden platter of cheeses and cut fruit on the table, opened a bottle of sparkling white wine, and poured 2 glasses.
When Will finished, some 40 minutes later, he watched as Derek slowly traced his right index finger around the rim of his wine glass. Between the two of them, they'd polished off most of the fruit & cheese plate. His host sighed deeply.
"I see why you didn't go to the school with your discovery of the finger, or to what passes for a police department in Boxton. But before I continue, I'd like to have your opinion: Is my son safe at Boxton Military Academy? Is he likely to be sexually assaulted or harassed by his fellow students?"
Will thought about that. "Is he safe? I can't really say yes or no until I know more about Eli Hamilton's murder. As for assault or harassment – the Juniors are a bunch of self-centered ruffians, which is to say, typical teenage boys. As long as Jerry blends in, he'll be okay. Harassment? He's okay with your being gay, so their games and antics shouldn't bother him."
"My son is bi, if he hasn't already told you," Derek said proudly.
"So, for now I think he's safe." Will laid his hand on Derek's wrist, and earned a megawatt smile.
"Good. Now it's my turn to spill." He rose from his chair and walked into the living room. Will noted the many family pictures along the wall, and in the bookcases. There was also a series of large black & white photographs of what were obviously male couples, posing either suggestively or discreetly, that dated back to the 19th Century.
Oops! Această imagine nu respectă Ghidul de Conținut. Pentru a continua publicarea, te rugăm să înlături imaginea sau să încarci o altă imagine.
"I'm probably violating a few rules of journalism by telling you this. My current story is a piece of investigative reporting on the disappearance of Matthew Stone. I'd like to take that finger and have its fingerprint taken, then find out if it belongs to Matt. He's...a former school buddy of mine."
"It also turns out," Will added, "that he's a neighbor of mine in New York City."
Derek walked back to the dining table and pulled up a chair next to Will. "Look, Will. Matt was working for the New York Times, investigating a network of 'Good Old Boys' that basically runs everything here in the South, from politics to economics to education. And it has spread throughout the U.S., year after year. Because it's all men, the network involves secret meetings, rituals, bribes, blackmail, liquor, drugs and yes, sex. Mostly gay sex. And where the Good Old Boys are, there is always a body count of unsolved murders: ones that never get reported, ones whose reports are buried and forgotten, and ones whose reports are kept in safe deposit boxes around the world, to be used as threats against those involved."
Derek folded his hands together and placed them on the table. "Matt might be dead, or worse, he's being humiliated or tortured. And you've got some serious mysteries of your own to figure out. If you'd rather not help, or decide to leave Boxton tomorrow, I'd totally understand. But I believe in Fate, and I could really use your help as an inside man."
"You want me to be a spy?" said an incredulous Will.
The Associated Press reporter turned his head and looked deep into Will's eyes. "I'd be lying if I didn't also say that I want to spend more time being around you. A lot more time. I also don't want you to put yourself in danger. If they find out you're working with me, a reporter...if they cut off Matt's finger, I can't imagine what could happen to you. It's possible they killed the Hamilton boy. You've been investigating that, haven't you? This would just be an extension of that. The two incidences may even be connected."
Will answered, "I'm in." And then he couldn't help but give a sly wink, "I'm also into you." In seconds, Derek was sitting by his side, searching Will's eyes. There was so much packed into that gaze – gratitude, fear, hope, and desire. "I can take care of myself, you know," Will reassured him.
One of Derek's eyebrows arched upwards. "I'd rather it was me taking caring of you," he said, his voice somehow both sincere and sultry. It was one of those damned Hallmark movie moments, and Will was ready – so ready – for what he knew came after a line like that.
They were halfway to locking lips when Jerry's yawn from the kitchen stopped them mid-pucker. Dressed only in a pair of briefs, Jerry poured himself a glass of milk.
"Don't stop on my account, guys." And the young man grinned broadly before mounting the stairs and leaving his dad and his World Lit teacher to their own private lesson. Or so both he and Will thought. But much to Will's surprise, Derek shouted after his son, "Bring down the guest blankets and a pillow, will ya, son?
"The couch isn't my bed, it's true. But we haven't known each other very long," Derek explained, blushing slightly. "Much as I'd love to, I'm a bit old-fashioned when it comes to having sex. You're the first man I'd consider to be a possible long-term partner, and I don't want to rush things. Sex to me isn't about the physical as much as it's about the emotional. I'd rather make love, and that will happen when it happens."
Jerry handed the blankets and pillow to Will, said "Good night, Teach!" and went upstairs. Derek kissed Will on the lips softly, and with an obvious hard-on said, "Night, Chicken" with a huge shit-eating grin. Will, disappointed but tired, fell right to sleep.
Down the street, a car did a U-turn and drove out of sight.
