The phone rang at dawn on December 31st, Beecher nearly falling out of bed, glancing at the clock. 6:30, who the fuck would dare call so early? But he couldn’t help the little pang of anxiety; from his experience, early calls didn’t bode well.
“Hey.”
He froze.
“Hey.”
Keller’s voice, too cool, too casual but still… Beecher sat up, his heart skipping a beat and wasn’t it plain stupid? The guy hates your guts, for God’s sake - and it was only fucking, remember?
“I’ve been wondering if you had anything planned tonight.”
“No. Well I mean I’m supposed to spend some time at my parents’ place but the prospect isn’t that exciting…”
“Yeah. Well then I thought I could fuck you into the New Year.”
Beecher had to process the information, wonder if he was supposed to feel hurt or happy or pissed off or insulted.
“Excuse me?”
“Let me outline it for you; I’m coming over to your place, I’ll bring champagne or anything else you want…”
“Champagne’s fine, thank you.”
“… Then I’ll fuck you long and slow the way you like it.”
You shameless smug motherfucker.
“When did I become your bitch? Can you tell me that, Mr Assistant District Attorney Christopher Keller because somehow I missed the latest memo.”
He sounded angry; he heard Keller’s silence and then a sharp intake of breath.
“OK, how about fucking me instead? Listen, I want to see you; no matter when or where; we’re too old for courtship and I bet you wouldn’t believe in some profession of my undying love; I don’t know any other way to ask you. Come on, Beecher, we both want this.”
“Say it some other way; I’m a helpless romantic.”
Another sigh.
“OK, listen; I’ve been jerking off every day thinking of how sexy and good you are in bed; I’ve been wanting to call you before but I figured you were spending the holidays with your kids so I waited until today but… I’ll probably do something stupid soon, see? So listen, if you’re free, I want to be the lucky one who gets to celebrate New Year’s Eve with you.”
Toby didn’t find anything to say; he heard Keller’s short laugh.
“So? Is there anyone else? Apart from ghosts? Ghosts aren’t very good at keeping company.”
He was right and Beecher gave in. He missed sex; not just fucking, all those small details *around* sex. The desire, the warmth of another body, the tight embrace of strong arms, the foreplay, this tightening in his chest that made pleasure almost unbearable and the short moments afterwards when he could forget the grim reality his life had become and just fly away. And the fact of having someone who wanted him so bad was exhilarating; he’d forgotten how it felt. In two years he hadn’t allowed himself to touch another man, only women and women never showed the same obsessive desire of having him, didn’t chase after him. Women were for dating, marrying, raising kids, comforting their men. Men were for the inside, the wet hot sweaty pleasure of fucking, being fucked, exhausted with sex, unable to move like he’d been some mornings in Oz when just standing up was an achievement and walking to the door a victory. He wanted this feeling back, this sensation of weariness and the pain he felt in muscles he never knew he had and the smug smile on another man’s lips, the prospect that they’d be doing it again and again, wasting the day anticipating what the night would bring , every word uttered loaded with sexual innuendo.
Yeah, he’d wait for Christopher Keller with the same wanton anticipation.
*********************************
It had become a ritual: Keller never spent New Year’s Eve alone; never since that night when the hospital had called to tell him his mother was dead and would he come in to sign the papers? He’d had to sit down, shaking endlessly, trying to process the news –Michka was dead, his mother was dead; he was finally safe. He was alone. He was lost. Never more would he see those pale blue eyes on him, their emptiness; her haggard expression, her pained look when she was lucid, the hatred burning deep inside them when her demons talked to her, told her that this man, her son, was the devil and that she had to rid the world of him. Never more would he enter her hospital room, his heart beating wildly because he didn’t know *who* would be sitting there –a groggy sedated woman, a mother, a monster; no one could tell. Would she yell curses and verses of the Bible at him, ask for an exorcist? Would she cry over the mess she’d made of his life and beg for his forgiveness never could give her? Or would she just be sitting by the window, heavily drugged, nodding gently, a trickle of saliva running down her chin?
It was just fifty-five minutes before 1993 when he entered the hospital room where she was lying, covered with an ugly green sheet; her face pale and quiet, her hair combed and tied with a ribbon, looking like she was asleep, looking like the mother she should’ve been. Keller touched her cheek, half-expecting a smile. He could still remember her smile from so long ago, before madness seized her. She would smile at him and wrap him in her arms, sing nursery rhymes or popular tunes; she smelled of warm flesh, clean clothes and maybe cigarettes and a perfume he’d been looking for everywhere since then. Mothers smelled this way.
He sat by the bed and took her frail hand in his, pressed his lips against her cold skin. A last goodbye.
He left around midnight and wound up in a bar, drank himself senseless, passed out, spent the whole night lying outside in the cold night, yelling, crying, terrified.
Since then he dreaded New Year’s Eves; he would’ve done anything to avoid being alone with Michka’s ghost, memories drowning him in the same sensation of horror than the night he’d woken up in his little bed to find a monster leaning over his bed, brandishing a knife; the memory of the sizzling sensation in his fingertips and toes, the memory of running down the stairs, screaming, running through the door, down the street, people coming out and then…
He called his mom for help; the realization that she was the monster turned Keller’s happy world into a dark and helpless place ruled by fear and grief.
Even now he could still feel all of it. The pain, the loss, the void, his world crumbling. He was only six but the child in him died that day. Never again would he snuggle up in her arms, her warmth, her scent; never again would he listen to her voice whispering that he was her beloved little boy, her Christopher and that nothing would ever come between them. Never again... He called out for her when the woman from the social services took him away; later he begged them to let him see her... Part of him didn’t want to know about the monster; she was still his mother, he still loved her, not matter what.
He had to breathe deep to shake the feeling away and even then…
Keller needed someone, anyone to take his mind off his annual nightmare; so who? Beecher? He’d be the perfect one to fill the void; bring Keller the escape he so desperately needed.
***********************
Later, Beecher wondered when things had begun going to hell that night. Maybe the whole thing was doomed from the beginning; maybe he’d underestimated how fucked up he was; surely he’d underestimated how fucked up *Keller* was.
Their first kiss had been hungry and raw but still good; they hadn’t even opened the champagne, sex was so urgent he’d let Keller fuck him hard against the wall, drag him to the bed, devour him with kisses and bites, fuck him again, harder and then…
“Just fucking stop it… You’re tearing my ass up!”
Keller’s laugh was a menacing growl “Fuck that shit; I know you’re used to it; tell me your psychopathic boyfriend didn’t rough you up a bit?”
“He didn’t and now just fucking stop this!”
“Fucking liar; you love it.”
Maybe Keller was too far gone; maybe Keller was just crazier than he looked, maybe Keller was just plain wrong about him, he grabbed Beecher again and...
Beecher hit him with his clenched fist. Hard; out of panic, fear and anger and pain… Keller’s blue eyes changed to an unusual, darker, colder shade of blue, the expression on his face emotionless and the grip on Beecher’s hips tightened unbearably.
Oh God, Beecher thought, going absolutely still, he’s really going to hurt me.
It took Keller a few seconds to emerge from his rage; he wiped the blood off his lips and stood up, stepped back.
“Motherfucker,” he said, “you fucking hit me.”
“Yeah? Did I? Well you fucking hurt me.”
The silence between them lasted too long, both of them naked, sizing each other up, breathing hard in the warm room; two boxers before the last round.
“Is that why you came over?” Beecher asked, “Just because you thought that after what I’d been through I’d agree to anything; that I’d be an easy score, that you wouldn’t have to put out any effort? It was all about a cheap fuck, just about getting laid, right?”
Too many questions and Keller, cornered, froze.
“I’m not really human to you, am I? Just some body to fuck senseless because I’m a soulless piece of shit?”
Keller grabbed his clothes and walked out of the room without a word.
”I’m getting the hell out of here!” he said.
“Yeah? Go fuck yourself then and take the champagne with you, it wasn’t even a good vintage!”
Keller walked to the door; he was closing it when Beecher threw the bottle, Keller heard the loud explosion, broken glass… He stood behind the door for a moment, listening to the silence, wondering how the fuck he’d got himself into this.
Shit, he’d fucked up big time.
*****************************
Ryan O’Reily stopped at the doorway to the visiting room, spotted Keller and walked up to him. He sat on the chair in front on him with the table between them, looking cool, his own imitation of a smile on his lips.
He didn’t even look surprised to see him, Keller thought. Maybe when you were trapped in here nothing could surprise you.
“Hey; It’s been a long time no see. You haven’t changed that much; you look good.”
Keller nodded once, acknowledging his old friend.
“Time’s been good to you, too.”
“I’m copping. So, you’re on the right side of the law now?”
“Hey, I always was.”
“Yeah…Sure. Just that time in the supermarket, remember?”
Keller barely smiled.
“Nah! All of that was you; I just watched.”
“Uh, uh. What about the credit cards?”
“What credit cards?” Keller said, smiling.
They stared at each other in silence. They’d been so close; a whole childhood and more spent side by side in neighboring houses…
“So, what’s up?”
“I need some information from you.”
“Stuff like that don’t come for free here.”
“Yeah, we’ll talk about it later. Do you know a guy named Beecher? He spent some time inside.”
“Beecher?” The Mick’s expression changed, softened a bit, “Everyone knew Beecher, hard to miss, especially after good ol’ Vern took care of him… Poor guy; I didn’t think he’d make it after that… But he fucking toughened up. He’s gone now. Still visits from time to time; he can be a little crazy at times”
“I gathered that much.”
“I hope he’ll take up Cyril’s case.”
“He ain’t God; you shouldn’t expect too much.”
“Yeah, but Cyril’s brain doesn’t work right; the guy he killed provoked him like crazy. It’s unfair that he has to die for something like that.”
I shouldn’t have come, Keller thought, this place’s fucking with my head.
“Why d’ya ask ‘bout Beecher? Something’s going on?” Ryan O’Reily asked.
“No, not really; I was just wondering, about him and Lennox.”
Ryan sat back, his eyes wary.
“The fucker’s dead.”
“Yeah, I know; it’s not about that; it’s just, you know, Beecher and him...”
“Beecher and him?”
“Yeah.”
O’Reily seemed to give it a thought.
“I’m not into that kind of… Whatcha call it? Alternative life style? All I can say is… Man, they actually loved each other, how sick is that?”
“Loved?”
“Yeah well, Beecher threw a lot of shit at Lennox but the guy kept coming back for more sex, more every fucking thing Beecher had to give; on the other hand Lennox could be pretty scary but Beecher never looked scared. Had the fucker eating in the palm of his hand. Why you asking? Are you interested in Beecher?”
“Nah, not *me*, come on; just… Curious. There’s a rumour going on Beecher’s the one who gave Lennox his ticket to hell.”
“Yeah? Brought the shank in and all? Come on, Keller, get real, you couldn’t bring a metallic hair pin through the metal detectors.”
Keller leaned forward.
“The hack at the gate was drunk today; he didn’t even take me through the detector.”
“But you’re an Assistant District Attorney, K-boy; you wouldn’t bring shanks inside.”
“And Beecher’s a lawyer. He wouldn’t either.”
O’Reily straightened up, his smile fading.
“Listen, shanks in here… You can make one up with anything. A toothbrush, a bedspring…”
“But it wasn’t some homemade shank. It was a sweet letter opener and I’d bet my new car it belonged to Beecher.”
“Drop it. It ain’t worth it; Beecher’s a regular guy; he’s OK now that he’s out; don’t try to mess with him.”
“Did you fuck him too?” Keller asked in a deceptively soft voice, a sneering smile twitching his lips.
O’Reily half rose, pale with anger.
“I ain’t no fucking fag, Keller; don’t you fucking…”
“OK. Who else but Lennox?”
“Fuck you; why don’t you go ask Beecher?”
A last sullied look and Ryan O’Reily was gone.
Keller left Oz more confused than ever. If O’Reily himself was on Beecher’s side something was seriously going awry. Fuck, Beecher had been someone’s prison bitch twice; so what the fuck was Keller supposed to do but fuck Beecher hard until him begged for more?
Except not. Except it didn’t work and maybe, just maybe, Keller thought, he’d got it all wrong from the beginning. And he didn’t like the idea, remembered a little too much how Beecher had looked, sprawled across the bed, this picture popping up at the most unexpected moments, but helping him a lot through lonely nights. Shit, he had to find some hot-blooded girl and forget about Beecher; all this had been a pathetic mistake, even a good lay wasn’t worth all this.
Still he kept the photo he’d taken on a shelf before leaving Beecher’s apartment, to remind him of *who* Beecher really was, and sometimes he took a look at it –the man sitting behind his desk, barely smiling, clear eyes full of shadows, a little girl on his lap and a boy leaning over his shoulder; then Keller let his gaze slide to the polished surface of the desk; something that had drawn his attention to it in the first place.
****************************
Beecher searched the whole house looking for the photograph, one of those he kept as a treasure because years in Oz had robbed him of the simple pleasure of looking at a peaceful domestic scene. When he wanted to pick it up for the family album he couldn’t find the pic anywhere –but maybe he still had the file on his computer? He found it, printed it out and…
Stared at it; felt something cold coil inside his chest; a chill ran through his veins, reached his fingertips and his toes, squeezed his throat.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The picture was nice but not exactly centered, something that he hadn’t noticed until now.
And on the desk was the letter opener he’d later given Lennox –the one Lennox had used to end his life, the one they’d found in his hand and probably kept hidden until the timing was right.
He was fucked all right.
Beecher thought about it a lot during the following sleepless night, remembering every detail of Keller’s disastrous visit. It was easy to guess where the picture was and what the motherfucker intended to do with it.
It took him the whole day to make up his mind.
It was the end of the afternoon; Keller would still be at work. Adrenalin-driven, Toby raced through the streets, parked the car haphazardly and ran up the stairs to the fucking office where, what a surprise, Keller was standing, leaning against a bookcase shelf, looking just effortless and cool, going through a file. An ordinary day at the office.
Ice-blue eyes met his, Keller raised an eyebrow.
“Fucking bastard; I’m gonna kill you,” Beecher snarled and Keller smiled with mild irony.
“Right now? I don’t think you want to do that, Beecher.” Keller said.
In Beecher’s eyes, rage was burning like an all-consuming fire.
“You fucking stole the picture.”
Keller’s face was set in stone, his expression completely blank.
“Me? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There was a picture on a shelf in the hall of my apartment; you stole it.”
“Yeah? Well, why the fuck would I do that?”
“It was a picture of me and my kids.”
“You and your kids? You know, I would eventually steal a picture of you, pin it above my bed and jerk off looking at it but your kids… I’m really not into paedophilia.”
Beecher leaned against the door, anger battling fear battling weariness.
“Fucking stop it, stop playing games with me, Keller; you know what I’m talking about.”
Keller shook his head, came closer, his eyes narrowed.
“Something’s bugging you; tell me, what’s so important about this picture?”
Keller’s hot breath, Keller’s warmth; Beecher stepped back.
“Don’t think you can fuck with my head, you fucker; I know better.”
“The only thing I want to fuck is your body and you don’t want that.”
“Not if it’s just about me being a piece of ass you use for your own convenience.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. I don’t have your picture and if you don’t have anything else to add, I’d say this conversation’s fucking over.”
He stepped back and the temperature of the room seemed to drop all of a sudden…
“Ok, what do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. Beat it, Beecher; you’re fucking nuts.”
“Anyway a picture doesn’t prove anything and there’s no negative anymore; it could be a manip.”
“Yeah, sure; so then why get yourself all wound up about it?”
A young assistant walked by and turned to look at them; Keller smiled at her; she blushed, waved to him and disappeared.
“Give me another chance,” Keller said out of the blue, his eyes dark with desire.
“You must be joking.”
“You were in prison, you know how important second chances are; you had yours when they released you.”
Beecher looked away.
“The rumour says you’re dating McClain; the bitch doesn’t know anything about what you need,” Keller still said.
“And you do? You?”
“I think I might, yeah; if only you’d let me try.”
“Meaning fucking senseless into next month? We tried that already.”
Suddenly as Chris was standing there, so close, Toby remembered how easily Lennox used to read him, seduce him over and over again; how charming and smooth and smart he was; how he knew when he had to back off, knew when he’d gone too far and apologized, giving Beecher one of those rare smile to soothe him down and ultimately get what he wanted, how swift and sensual he was in bed. Christ, he missed this. Maybe Keller read him too but apologizing and backing off weren’t his style; he was determined to win this round now and Beecher, well… Beecher’s fighting spirit wasn’t so high; what he knew of Keller’s past made him cautious and uncomfortable. Did Keller make a secret of it? How he would react if Beecher broke the news? Probably he’d hold back the information to use later, single minded as he was, refusing to be distracted from his only goal.
Memories of standing at the pod door his hands flat on the glass and Lennox weighing against him and saying, “You’re my touchstone, Tobias,” and now Keller coming close again, reaching out for him gently and pulling him close while he was trying to cling to something, anything, find some strength and push him away.
This time the kiss wasn’t urgent or hard –Keller was a quick learner and the arms around Beecher weren’t trying to squeeze or crush, just hold gently. Keller broke the kiss before they were both dying from lack of air and rubbed his cheek against Beecher’s cheek. After that it was all in slow motion, Beecher’s mind frozen as Keller locked the door, came back to him, knelt in front of him, yanked down the suit pants and sucked him in like a real pro, keeping him on the edge of ecstasy long enough to tear whimpers of need from Beecher’s throat, Beecher’s hands bruising Keller’s shoulders, Beecher’s head thrown back, revealing a strong sinewy neck…
“God.”
I’ve never been blown by a man in a Prada suit, Beecher thought as he came; and seeing Keller kneeling in his impeccable suit, crisp shirt and discreet tie might be the most amazing, sexy, disturbing thing he’d seen in a long time; and the fantasy of this woollen cloth against his naked skin was almost enough to make him hard again.
“You like it,” Keller said, rising and kissing him again, “I know you do” and Beecher tasted himself and Keller at the same time, deft hands trying to strip him out of his clothes.
“Not here; if someone comes in…”
“Everyone’s gone.”
“Did you fucking hear me? I said no.”
No more sex in public places, never again, risking being caught, no more hurried frenzied fucking with anyone, standing against the wall, or some shit like this. The glass walls of Em City were forever engraved in his mind; the lack of privacy, the way Lennox used to hang the sheets to the frame of the upper bunk to hide them at night, until some fucking sadistic hack came and ripped them off, or ordered them to do so, sometimes dragging his or Lennox’s sorry ass to the hole.
Keller had to close his eyes for a second, take a deep breath to fight the urging desire and step back.
“OK. My place then? And while we’re at it, we have to buy something to eat; I’m starving.”
“I’ll have to leave early in the morning,” Beecher said, “it’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow, I promised I’d be there with my kids.”
Keller’s gaze roamed over Beecher like he was some strange alien creature.
/I had no father and madness robbed me my mother; make me understand how it feels to have both. /
… Until Beecher felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and Keller seemed to emerge from his daze.
“OK. Let’s go then.”
Sex this time was unhurried and cautious and slow –Keller had long nimble fingers and a insatiable mouth; he let his lips wander over Beecher’s round ass, tracing the evil form of the swastika burnt there and Beecher stiffened, wary, but Keller’s tongue slid further down between the cheeks, tracing the tight hole there, his hand kneading the narrow hips, soothing. This time Keller found just the right way to drag Beecher up to ecstasy without being rough or angry and they stayed there for some excruciating seconds, each one daring the other one to let go first, until they couldn’t hold back anymore and fell together, too fast, too deep, pleasure robbing them of their breath, their sight, leaving them stranded on the rumpled sheets.
A moment later they were ready for next round.
Much later, Beecher dislodged Keller’s arm from his chest, Keller’s leg from over his hips, eliciting a groan from the sleeping man, and went looking for the toilets, opening the wrong doors, catching a glance of rooms faded in darkness, too many rooms for a single man. An office, a second bedroom, a third one; who the fuck was this for? He didn’t want to know; it was Keller’s business after all; 5 years in Oz and Lennox’s touchy nature had taught him better than to go looking for the wrong things in the wrong places. He finally found what he was looking for and when he came back to the bed Keller opened sleepy eyes, looked up at him, held out a hand and pulled him down with him.
“Too early,” he mumbled and they both fell asleep again; before he sank in the comforting numbness of sleep, Beecher wanted to ask him again about the photo, but it was already too late, his voice was gone, and so was his mind, wandering past the borders of dreams where Duane Lennox was waiting for him.
Tbc…