DANNY 1.0: Hope House - Part 2

DANNY 1.0 – Hope House

Part 2

Chancery Stone

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Chancery Stone 2012

CHAPTER ONE

Henderson woke at 5:45, when the alarm went off. Fuck, he muttered, his hand fumbling to destroy its insistent whining. Someone beside him tugged the quilt and grumbled. Henderson blinked and rubbed his face.

Danny.

He turned on his side. He could only see the top of his head. The rest of him was curled up into a ball, tight against the world. He reached out his hand and felt the warm skin of his back then dropped back down on the bed.

He'd shared his bed with another man. Somehow it made everything else seem childish, sex-in-the-shed. Actually getting into bed with one...

Well, at least he hadn't fucked him.

He lay there.

Let's face it, Jimmy, you want to fuck him. Only a minute ago you felt the curve of his arse and thought, I could put it up him now, while he's asleep.

Why don't you ask him?

His hand crawled over to Danny's backside. He remembered soaping the crack of it last night while watching Danny in the mirror, swollen, heavy, half-erect.

He sat up suddenly and shook Danny's shoulder, or as close as he could get to his shoulder through the hump of bedding. Danny shrugged him off violently.

Wake up.

Nothing.

Come on, wake up, it's almost six.

Danny grumbled and pulled the quilt over his head. Henderson sat up properly and tugged the slippy fabric. The satin slid out of Danny's hands, pulling down past his shoulders.

Henderson could see him at last, rumpled, frowning sourly. Fuck off, he mumbled, pushing his face into the pillow.

Henderson clicked on the bedside lamp. Danny's hair seemed to come alive with colour, rich against the black sheen. His skin looked almost deathly white.

Henderson shook him roughly, jolting him.

Danny threw himself on his back, his eyes opening instantly, no half-awake. What time is it?

Henderson blinked. Danny's eyes looked glassy in the yellow light. Almost six. Henderson kept drowning.

'S'alright. Danny stretched, yawned.

Henderson's eyes flicked to the edge of the quilt. It lay across Danny's stomach. Not far enough, he couldn't tell. He looked back. Danny was watching him, his face still, almost hard. Wondering?

What? But Henderson flushed.

If I've got a hard-on.

Have you? Henderson felt a pulse throb under his arm. He moved restlessly, attempting to relieve it.

Have you? Danny asked.

Henderson looked at the foot of the bed. Yes.

Danny was silent. Eventually Henderson looked back at him. Well?

Well what?

You little bastard, you know damn fine what. Henderson sat, grim-faced, staring at him.

Ask me again.

Henderson shook his head once, folding his mouth in a tight line.

Then you'll never know.

Henderson glared at him.

It would be easier if you just asked me. Why suffer?

Henderson made a grab for the quilt, but Danny got there first. Uh-uh. Ask me.

Have you? Henderson spat it out like an accusation.

Yes, Danny smiled. Henderson's heart began to beat uncomfortably. Ask me some more.

Do you... Henderson swallowed. Do you always…?

Danny smiled. That was all.

Every day? Now Henderson could hear the avidity in his own voice.

How can you doubt it?

There was a silence. Henderson looked at the quilt, cursing its fluffy, well-padded luxury. He could see nothing.

Come on, Henderson, you can do it. Danny's voice was crawling with insolence.

Henderson felt it score against his skin like an insult. He kept looking at the quilt. I want to see, he demanded.

Ask. There was a long silence.

Please let me see. His voice ran out of him.

Danny lifted his hands, lazily tucked them behind his head. Go ahead, officer.

Henderson pulled the quilt down.

And there it was.

Henderson drove Danny home slowly, making it last. I want to see you again tonight.

Okay. Danny's voice was flat, disinterested. He was staring out the window.

What time?

We finish earlier on a Sunday. This time of year, about seven.

If I come at half past?

Whatever.

Danny...

Mm? Danny tried to feel a sense of the car moving, but it simply glided, soft as silk, nice.

Will you think about it?

What?

Henderson tried not to lose his temper. Moving in with me.

Danny looked at him suddenly. How much money do you have?

Henderson took a quick look at him then back to the road. Are you offering to be bought?

Are you willing to buy me?

Henderson thought about it. Yes, how much?

I like it. Danny settled back in his seat again.

I don't understand. Henderson's face was flushed.

I like the fact that you're willing to buy me. It pleases me.

Henderson slowed the car right down and looked at him. You're weird.

Why? Because I like to know I'm worth as much as an Italian leather sofa?

Henderson stopped the car. You're worth more.

Danny looked at him. You know, you don't behave much like a policeman.

I don't feel much like one any more.

They drove in silence until they reached the farm. You're late, Henderson said, looking at his watch.

Fuck them, Danny answered.

Henderson pulled in on the opposite side of the road. I already tried that.

Danny looked at him again. Disappointed?

Wouldn't you be?

Danny smiled at him. It was lascivious and old.

Suddenly Henderson wanted him out. He leaned across him to open the door and just as suddenly he wanted to hold on to him. Think about it, he urged.

How much?

What?

How much would you be willing to pay?

As much as you wanted.

You're lying.

Henderson shook his head. No, I'm not. Anything you want. Will you?

Danny laughed and opened the door. No way.

Henderson caught his arm. Don't play games with me.

Danny pulled his arm free and got out.

He slammed the door shut and was gone before Henderson could even say goodbye.

The kitchen was deserted when Danny went in. He looked around the room in perplexity – it was like the Marie Celeste – then he remembered the cows. How could you forget the cows? he muttered to himself.

How indeed? John came in from the hall. I thought I saw Dick Tracy driving off. Nice time? Walk up and down the room a bit. Let's see if you can still move.

Danny took off his jacket and hung it up. Any tea?

It'll be cold. Tell you what, why don't you go take a shower, or better still a nice hot bath, and I'll bring you a cup. How about that?

I don't want a bath, I've had one. Danny had his back to him, but John could see the tension in it.

Put the kettle down, Danny.

Danny stood there a moment then put the kettle down.

We found the old man in the bath last night.

Danny stood still as a statue.

I'm talking about dead, not pissed, but maybe you already know that.

Where is he? Danny's voice was calm, only curious.

He's at Jerrett's Farm. You've got Rab to thank for that inspiration. We're going to bury him on Tuesday. You're invited to the funeral.

Who found him?

Your cousin.

Danny nodded.

Ian was there too. Why not ask me about Ian? We were all there. Quite a party. Shame you missed it. He looked at Danny. He could see something like desperation in him. Don't worry, it's the great unsolved mystery. He looked at Danny's hands. I'd have thought he'd have fought.

Danny didn't answer.

So did you do it, Danny? I'm curious.

Did he tell you to ask, John? I'm curious.

It took John a minute to realise what he meant, if it was what he meant. Are we talking about Ian? he said, hedging his bets, hoping Danny would give him some further clue.

But he didn't, all he said was, You tell me.

What is this, riddles?

Danny said nothing.

John brought the subject back to safe territory. Well, how are you going to play it? he asked. Shocked surprise? Blasé indifference? Tears? Tears would be nice.

You've already told me, John. Shocked silence should do it.

Very good. Little Hard-as-Nails triumphs again. John came over to the sink. You've got come on your jeans… just there. He pointed to Danny's thigh. Danny looked down and John's hand slapped the side of his head. It jarred his neck. Fool, he thought, you should have seen it coming.

John stroked his cheek. Why d'you never hit me back? His hand rubbed Danny's face gently, ran over the outline of his jaw.

You know why.

Afraid I'd kill you?

You know the answer to that too.

I wouldn't kill you, I love you. John touched his mouth gently. How many times?

Danny's eyes slid away, became slightly glazed. There was, of course, no answer. He didn't give one.

Delaying tactics, Danny. How often?

Three times.

John pulled his shirt open. The poppers went with a kind of rip, like Elastoplast, all in one go. He picked the vegetable knife off the draining board. Danny tried not to look at it.

The knifepoint cut into his chest. It felt icy-hot. He sweated with the immediacy of fright at the sharp pain of it. John... he said.

John did it again then said, Only one more.

Danny stood still. It was beginning to hurt.

The last was worst. John turned the knife with a little twisting motion. Danny grabbed at his hand.

Let go, John said, keeping the knife pressed down.

Danny let go. The knife slid out. The wounds began to sting and burn. He closed his eyes. John bent his head to Danny's chest.

Ian came into the room. Danny opened his eyes and saw him standing inside the doorway, watching.

Danny's face was white, filmed with sweat. John straightened up and turned round. There was blood smeared across his mouth. Ian saw the cuts welling fresh blood on Danny's chest. John was still holding the knife.

Ian's face was filled with something that might have been revulsion. You're fucking obscene, John.

What d'you want, Ian? John's voice was clipped. He could have been saying, We're in conference, do you mind?

Nothing, Ian muttered, his eyes fixed on Danny's chest, and he went back out the way he came.

John turned back to him, brisk, business-like. We better patch you up, Danny-boy, before you bleed to death.

He crossed to the dresser and pulled open the drawer. He came back with a roll of tape. Nasty mess. He wiped the wounds with wet kitchen towel then taped them. Danny could feel them still bleeding beneath the plasters. But there'll be no disfiguring scars. Still pretty – once they've healed. He went on with hardly a pause for breath, What did you do?

This time there was no hesitation. Sucked him off.

Then?

Hand job in the bath and another in the morning.

Three's your lucky number, isn't it?

Danny said nothing.

John grabbed his face. Isn't it?

Yes.

John nodded approvingly. How big is he?

Short but thick, Danny paused, …very thick.

You like that?

Another no-answer question. So truth or lie? Yes.

Oh boy, you're really something. So what else?

He's hairy.

You like that too?

I'm not sure.

Not sure yet. Plenty of time to find out. He was working up to it again. Isn't that right?

Danny nodded.

John's fist came into his stomach like a swung weight, completely without malice.

Now you know why I had no breakfast, Henderson. My brother will only punch it up again.

Danny laid his head on John's shoulder. They looked like drunken boxers leaning on each other for support.

John took Danny's hand away from his stomach and rubbed it across his groin. Good enough for you after Dick Tracy?

Danny nodded into his shoulder.

I can't hear you.

I said yes.

John stood back suddenly, pushing him upright. Get moving then.

Danny walked slowly ahead of him, still holding his stomach. Half-way up the stairs he saw that the blood from his chest was soaking through his shirt. He felt like crying. It was his very best shirt.

CHAPTER TWO

John stood with his head pressed against the window.

They'll see you.

Who cares?

Rab stretched his legs out and reached over for John's cigarettes. You mean you want them to see you.

That's right.

Think it threatens him?

Which one?

Henderson.

It ought to.

It won't.

John shut the curtains with a jerk and walked round the sofa. He pushed Rab's legs off and sat down with a thump. Rab pulled himself up against the arm of the settee, drawing his knees up against his chest. I can't figure you out.

Smoke your own fucking cigarettes. John took the pack back.

Why so jealous?

Who says I'm jealous?

What else would you call it?

I don't like that greasy little spastic.

That's what I mean. Here you are alone with me, the man of your dreams, and you're pissing yourself over Danny.

John looked at him slowly. Is that an offer?

No, just an observation. You're a liar incarnate, John. You've got it so bad even you don't know when you're telling the truth anymore.

I run this house. John looked at him. I keep what's in it.

You're as greedy as he is. You want both.

That's right.

You ever had an urge to see Danny and me together?

No.

Don't shit your pants, I just wondered.

Don't even think it.

Alright, forget I asked.

John threw his cigarette in the fire unsmoked. Rab looked at it but said nothing. He blew some smoke down his nose then said, You know what amuses me?

John grunted.

The way we kill people in this house and nobody asks questions.

What's to ask? It was a growl.

Rab laughed sourly. Who did it? Why?

Who cares? We're too busy being happy that the fucker's dead.

And you don't want to know?

Why should I? When did you last worry about why you threw something away? You don't care how it's done, you're only glad it's done at all.

Somebody must have killed him.

John looked at him then slowly took another cigarette out of the packet. Why should you care? You didn't love him.

Oh come on, John.

John laughed. You want to clear your own team in case the whole thing blows up, then you can shift the shit. He began systematically shredding the cigarette in his fingers. You want to make sure it was me.

No, I don't.

Yes, you do, because then it won't be Danny. John was smiling slightly, the beginnings of a smile. He stood up and flung the shredded cigarette into the fire open-handed. What d'you think – me or Danny?

Not Danny.

Why not?

It doesn't fit.

You don't want it to fit. You don't want him to be as loopy as his big brother. John stood over him and lifted his chin lightly with his hand. That right, gorgeous?

Rab pulled his head away. Leave off.

Why, too close for comfort?

Rab reached over the arm of the settee and stubbed out his cigarette. John watched him for a moment then sat down again. He nodded his head at the television. Why d'you watch it with the sound off?

I can't think with it on.

You're not supposed to be thinking. John took another cigarette out and lit it this time. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Rab, catching the gesture, saw an echo of Danny in it. Not the first. The similarities always disturbed him. Like getting erections at naked children or pregnant women, you knew it was faintly indecent, but knowing didn't make them go away. Even his profile was similar, the firelight casting a reddish glow on his hair.

Pass me a cigarette. Rab's voice was hoarse.

Smoke your own. John never opened his eyes.

They're upstairs.

Lazy bastard. John threw the packet over then said, Why don't you go over the road?

Rab looked away from him. Same reason you don't.

I doubt it, John said flatly.

John's answer irritated him. Why do you doubt it?

You're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. I'm making up invoices.

Invoices?

Monies due. Ways to make him pay. John turned his head, eyes half-open.

You're a cheap sadist.

No, I'm a real sadist. You're the cheap one.

Rab felt the smoke nip his eyes. He held the cigarette away from his face, trying to read John's expression. He was afraid to ask him what he meant.

John leaned his head back. His face looked suddenly heavy with weariness. Rab saw him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rab leaned his head forward and rested it on his knees. He closed his eyes.

John broke the silence. Still imagine you're in love with him?

Rab opened his eyes and looked down between his knees. He studied the raised velvet of the settee. Not a question he could answer. Not an answer there to give it. Not anything he could bear to hear. Don't you imagine you are? he returned. Answer a question with a question. Make the world move faster longer.

Me? I've never been in love with him.

Rab lifted his head, looking at him in surprise. John's eyes were open. He was gazing at the ceiling. He was holding a lit cigarette in front of his face, watching the smoke spiral upwards.

I'm not in love with Danny any more than I'm in love with you.

John threw the cigarette into the fire without looking. It spurted into flame and was gone. Actually, I hate him. He paused, folding his hands across his stomach. I hate him because he doesn't love me. Because I'm beginning to suspect he never has loved me, and he never will. There, now you know everything. A full insight into my great brain, my divine motivations.

He lifted his head slowly and looked directly at him. A smile spread out across his face, like a slow melting of ice, until it was almost a manic grin. Only I could be lying. And he laughed. What was it you called me? A liar incarnate. Here I am, The Liar Incarnate. He was still smiling. Nothing to say?

Rab licked his lip, shook his head.

Hardman speechless – make a note of the date.

Rab straightened up, took another deep breath and flexed his shoulders. Too tense.

There was a long silence. The room filled with green. The fire settled then John spoke. Jesus, listen to that rain. I swear it's the flood. I've never known it rain as much as it has this year.

It hurled at the windows like hail. They listened to it in silence then John spoke again. Just think, out at Jerrett's the old man's spread out naked on the bed, turning blue and starting to rot already, listening to that cold, dark rain beating at the windows, and are we thinking about him? No, we're not. He's dead because we wanted him dead, just like we wanted her dead. They're dead, we forget about them. No, I'll tell you who we're really worried about. He's safely tucked up in a warm bed giving head to a bent copper, but that's all we can think about. Not about death or guilt or even tomorrow's dinner, just what he's doing now, and the real big one, does he like it? How much is he liking it? When is he going to walk over that fine line to liking it too much? That's what we're really worried about.

Rab lit another cigarette from the one in his hand. He threw the stub into the fire and said, He sleeps on black satin sheets.

John looked at him then began nodding his head slowly. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Rab laughed dryly. Why should I suffer alone?

John looked at him again, then he laughed too. He would have black sheets.

Black satin sheets.

Of course, satin sheets.

His house is crawling with money.

Where does an ordinary copper get money?

Not the way you think, family income.

Inherited?

I don't know. I didn't ask. They're in business.

What business?

Kilts.

John laughed. Christ, I can just see him in a kilt. He was serious again. I wouldn't have thought there was that much money in kilts.

Rab shrugged.

Why isn't he something higher up? John asked.

Rab shrugged again. Fuck knows.

Everything about him stinks.

No, he's straight.

John looked at him. How the hell can he be straight?

He hasn't done it before. It's new territory, fantasy, wish fulfilment.

There was a silence again. John got up slowly as if his bones hurt. Rab saw him rub the back of his thigh. He's had sex, he thought. When Danny came home this morning he took him upstairs and did him, that's why he's aching. He felt a spasm of revulsion.

John put more coal on the fire then sat down again. I thought it was you he wanted.

He does. Rab's voice was tight.

John looked up curiously at his tone. What happened?

Why don't you ask Danny?

John studied his face, his eyes narrow, flat, hard, then he said, In order to make Danny tell the truth I have to beat it out of him, but I'll ask him if you like. He paused then said, You're a cheap sadist, like I said.

Rab flushed. He felt it hit home like an arrow in his heart. Tonight was the night for ugly truths. Nothing happened.

You sound like Danny. John's voice was sarcastic.

No, seriously… nothing happened. I left, came home, he finished lamely.

Why? Did you do a deal? Give him Danny in exchange for your freedom?

Another ugly truth. Rab shook his head.

Let me guess then. Danny's taken a shine to him and you've been pushed out the picture. He's decided he likes hairy men.

Rab looked at him. How do you know he's hairy?

He also has a short thick cock, right?

Rab looked at him for a long moment then said, What d'you do, get turn-ons out of him telling you?

John's smile was lopsided. Maybe he does.

Rab shut up. Maybe he did. Danny was capable of anything. John's voice cut into his thoughts. What time is it?

Rab looked at his watch. The clock had stopped. Quarter to nine.

What'll they be doing now?

Rab shot him a sour glance. How the hell should I know?

John sighed and laid his head back again. He pulled his shirt out and scratched his stomach. Rab saw it, flat and hard, covered in the same shit brown hair.

Why don't we fuck?

Rab looked at him sharply. He looked relaxed, his eyes closed, as if he'd suggested a game of draughts.

No.

You're just saying no without thinking about it. John was smiling faintly.

No.

Listen... John was still relaxed, eyes still closed. Rab watched the blunt, powerful fingers rubbing his belly. For one night you can do what Danny thinks you're doing anyway. You've nothing to lose. We imagine him with Henderson. What do you think he imagines you're doing?

Reaming you, it was on the tip of his tongue to say, but he snapped it down.

For old time's sake. It's been how long? I can't remember.

I've changed, Rab said dryly.

John turned his head. I've noticed. His lips were parted slightly, inviting, just like Danny.

Rab looked away. No.

He heard John sigh again. Rab watched him lay his head back once more, his hands resting on his lap again. His shirt was still awry. Rab looked at his stomach, the buckle of his belt.

And why not? John asked suddenly.

Rab turned his face away with a guilty start. Because you murder people.

John laughed. Good old Rab, always on the front line with a bit of melodrama. Okay, let's start again. We'll pretend you never said that, it'll only embarrass you later. Why not?

I don't like you, Rab said shortly.

That doesn't stop you elsewhere.

I told you, the answer's no. Rab could hear his voice rise in pitch. He took a breath, dragged his hand through his hair. He swung his legs to the floor and stretched them out in front of him. Now they sat like a matching pair.

The rain opened a fresh onslaught against the window. Rab could see the colours of flame and erratic movement on the ceiling. The news – more men shooting each other.

Maybe you just want me to want harder, is that it?

Rab wouldn't answer him.

Think I don't want you enough? Maybe you want me to bleed for it.

It wasn't a question. John could think what he liked.

Six years is a long time. John's voice was mildly ruminative, as if he had forgotten everything he had just said. It was something more than an adolescent crush to last six years. It had to be.

Was it?

John sucked air in through his teeth. So sharp he'll cut himself.

There was another silence, more rain.

I'll do you a deal then.

I'm not interested.

Listen first, then decide. He waited. Rab didn't contradict him. He went on, Tell me the truth to one single question and I'll tell you the truth to one of yours.

Rab was silent for so long John looked at him to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep, but he was awake, eyes open, face edgy. No, he said.

Why not?

It's too expensive. I lose too much.

You lose nothing. All you're giving me is a tiny piece of information.

You can do anything with information.

Only some information.

I know what you're going to ask me.

Then it's even easier for you.

No.

John watched him. He knew it was too big a temptation. He could see Rab's long fingers scratching at his hand, nervy, edgy, too good to miss. His hand stilled suddenly. Alright.

John felt his heart thumping. One step closer. Why won't you fuck me? And before Rab could reply, The truth.

Rab pressed his eyes shut with his fingertips. Because you look like Danny.

Because... John stared at him. He pulled himself upright. Because I look like who? Danny?

You heard. Rab's voice was sharp.

That's absurd. I don't look anything like Danny. He was silent a moment. When he spoke next his tone was unmistakable, gloating. You're afraid.

Rab rubbed his forehead.

You're afraid of yourself.

You said one fucking question and you got one fucking answer. Rab glared at the ceiling then he brought his head down. Now it's my turn. Did you kill the old man?

John was smiling faintly, as if he already knew the question in advance. No.

Rab felt the colour drain from his face. The truth, John.

It is the truth. I didn't kill the old man.

Did Danny?

One question, one fucking answer, Rab. His smile was open now.

I knew it. I knew it was a loser for me. Anything from you is always a fucking loser.

John shrugged. You pays your money...

Rab moved to get up. I'm going to bed.

No, don't. John caught at his hand.

I'm tired, John. Rab sat on the edge of the settee, waiting for him to let go. John still held his wrist. He wanted to pull his hand free but fought the urge, knowing the irritation it would cause. He didn't want to fight. He was too tired to fight.

So? You can always sleep on the sofa. Stay with me. Just a while.

Rab looked at him. His eyes were green too. Sometimes you forgot. Maybe because they were so deep-set they looked black. Or maybe because they were always hidden.

Alright, Rab sat back again, for a while.

John got up, smiling suddenly, and heaped more coal on the fire. He turned the television off, plunging the room into a dull brown darkness. He opened the draught in the fire. Slowly it brightened. Rab felt sleepy in the extra heat, but it was nice. He was loath to change it.

Put your head in my lap.

Rab frowned at him. I thought you weren't going to try anything?

I'm not. You're tired. Stretch out and put your head in my lap.

Rab swung round, half-amused by the ridiculous notion of having his head in John's lap.

John's thigh was broad and hard under his head. Rab fidgeted some more, put his feet on the arm of the sofa, eased the crotch of his jeans.

Comfy?

Just about. Rab closed his eyes, listened to the rain. Pass me a cigarette.

John lit one from his own and put it between his lips. Last one, make it last.

Rab nodded. They were silent again.

Know what the worst thing of all is? John said suddenly.

What? Rab's voice was sleepy.

"The empty bed. Isn't that a real