<> My life as a foreign country <>

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Chapter 5

/ Shit, it must be late. I overslept. /

Holding out his arm he felt around, grabbing his cell phone to check how late exactly. 10:30.

It had a tough night, but an amazing one. Was getting a sexual epiphany from the man who’d killed your friends the first step to damnation? At least Toby thought it might be the sign of a serious personality disorder.

/ I should go see that psychiatrist again. Yeah, and tell him what? I found that guy; he’s real and I’m falling for him hard because he’s giving me the best time in my life? Like I’m gonna say this to anyone. /

The green light at the top of the screen began flashing. A message.

Toby read it twice. Breathe, Toby, breathe. He read it again, too stunned to fully understand the words on the small screen then lay back down and closed his eyes.

How would Keller stomach this particular new? Toby felt a vicious surge of wild expectation run through him.

/ Fuck. Looks like I’m not cured yet. /

Throwing away the sheets he got up, opened the blinds, saw Keller bustling about in the garden only wearing shorts, his shoulders bruised and scratched, heard him whistle like the smug happy bastard he was –not for long, motherfucker; then he went to the kitchen; poured himself a cup of the strong bitter coffee Keller prepared every morning, shivered, added some more sugar and put the cup down –too hot. After a quick shower he joined Keller outside and sat down under the tree, his cup beside him.

Keller had spread out a huge thick canvas underneath the trees, over the yellow dry grass, prepared the brushes and two brooms; filled big cans with colours and sat there, thinking, motionless, focused, blind and deaf to anything that was not this 7 by 6 feet white sheet and Toby thought he should probably consider himself lucky to be admitted in this intimacy. A sign of trust?

Fuck that; more likely Keller didn’t give a damn about his presence, maybe hadn’t even noticed. After a moment of silent concentration Keller drank half a bottle of water, droplets running down his neck, his tanned torso and sliding under the waistband of his shorts, wiped his hands against the worn fabric, rose and began working, Toby sitting against the rough trunk, watching.

/ I should tell him now. /

But it was such a peaceful moment, sitting there under the shadows, coffee within reach; Toby didn’t feel like shattering it. Not yet.

Plus anticipation is half the pleasure he thought, not quite believing it.

Watching Keller’s hands, so nimble, so strong, handling the brushes, he remembered how it had been last night to feel those fingers on him, around him and inside him, so deep he’d yelled and moaned with surprise, pain, fear and delight, begging while Chris’ other hand, wrapped around their cock dragged them both into ecstasy with powerful maddening thrusts. Fuck, just remembering that made him hot.

And even clutching the gun Keller’s hands had been lethally efficient.

In Beecher’s mind, memories wouldn’t fade… His own voice, “Please don’t kill me” and Keller’s dark gaze, the fingers loosening their grip on the gun, Keller turning his head to talk to Ryan, his distorted voice echoing in Beecher’s ears above the roar of his own blood, Leslie’s warm dead body weighing on him. “Just finishing the job” and Keller’s smile while he pressed the trigger.

No! Don’t go there again, Beecher, he thought and opened his eyes, panting like a drowning man trying to surface. Focusing on the scene in front of him, something real and captivating to cling to.

The painting was too big to be worked on as Keller usually did; he had to walk around it and throw the colours, then use the brushes and the brooms to smoothe them all over the white linen, his feet, his bare legs and chest spattered with droplets of paints making him look like a surrealistic leopard,

After painting a rough red background stripped with a vivid dark blue Keller stopped again, tilting his head to have a better view.

Smiling, happy with what he saw.

Then burying the colour under soft layer of very pale blue, and white, very pale, very thin so that the bright background was still shining through.

Painted shapes that called up clouds on a spring sky, foam on the crest of the waves and white birds flying above, maybe, everything alive crashing against the dark grey of lethal rocks...

/ Is that an allegory Mr Keller? /

“Ryan O’Reily’s dead,” Toby said, breaking the news, both eager and reluctant, his gaze on Keller’s face to catch the first signs of grief or stupor.

What had he expected? Keller barely nodded, crouched in front of his painting, focused.

“Yeah, I know. His ex-wife phoned at dawn. Sounded crushed, she never quite got over him.”

Keller had expected and dreaded that call more than anything else.

Keller was still wrapped around Toby’s body, lost in the warmth of it when he’d heard the phone. Stark naked and dizzy he’d run to the kitchen…

“I know you’re behind it, Chris,” Sharon’s voice was pervaded with hate and disgust; “I know you had him killed to protect yourself. No one really matters beside you, uh?”

Suddenly Keller’s mind was sharp again, clear again.

“Ryan was an old friend. Why would I kill an old friend?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen Sharon, when we divided up the loot you had your share. You didn’t ask anything then; so what now?”

He was thinking he’d hate to hurt Sharon; he’d been in love with her a long time ago; from time to time he thought he still was, wished she was there with him; he didn’t feel like discussing Ryan’s death with her.

“So? Is that all I get?” Toby asked, jolting Chris out of his thoughts.

Looking at him Keller frowned.

“She told me Ryan was killed in a brawl,” he said, “Sad. He used to be very nimble at staying alive.”

Beecher could barely believe it; Keller looked perfectly cool and collected; maybe he’d felt some grief but it was all gone now; after all it had been a long time, so long since the two friends had been face to face for the last time. What did friendship mean for such men? He realized he didn’t have a clue, tried to imagine them together but it was like mixing fire and ice. Or maybe two kinds of different ices.

“Not as nimble as you are,” Beecher said, “He spent 20 years in prison while you were free. He’s dead and you’re alive.”

Keller shrugged, looking like he didn’t give a fuck about it that but after a while he said, “Anyway… Fucking looks like you lost your witness, after all,” and Beecher frowned, looked at the sharp profile until Chris turned his head to look at him.

Something in Keller’s voice, something challenging and hard in the way he looked at him… Realization crashed in on Beecher, gagging him, sickening him.

“You had him killed,” he said when he was able to talk again, “You were afraid that he sold you out so you had him killed. Jesus. You fucking did it.”

Keller put down his brushes and began washing them with his usual care, his long fingers washing away every bit or colour from the thick bristles.

Glanced at Toby.

“You’re nuts, you know that?”
“My father told me he’d been killed in a brawl; I was surprised because I had the feeling Ryan O’Reily didn’t get into brawls. Maybe he had the others around him fighting but he didn’t get involved.”

Smart guy, Keller thought. Too smart for his own good.

“Come on,” he said, “You didn’t even know him. I did. He was in that bar, you know, he *was* involved.”

Beecher’s clear gaze didn’t leave Keller.

“Are you going to kill me too?”
“Come on, stop that.”
“Are you going to get rid of me to make sure I won’t ruin your perfect little life?”

Keller sighed. A perfect little life? All the loneliness and the hours at night when panic took over and he felt like baying at the moon, drowned his fears in alcohol and drugs?

/You still don’t understand, do you? OK, time to break the news, you self-absorbed prick. /

“O’Reily wanted you dead. He told me I should finish the job; it would’ve been easy if I’d wanted to; just an accident, you falling down the hill or something.”
“But you didn’t kill O’Reily because of me; you killed him because you thought in the end he’d rat you out. Must’ve been pretty tempting, he didn’t have much to lose.”
“And nothing to gain; I didn’t kill him; will you stop that?”

Beecher looked at the painting, felt sheer rage rear its head, let him fill his brain.

“You are a living lie; your art is a lie. Everything real hidden under neutral colours that say nothing about who you are; you don’t even dare show it, do you, you’re too scared? You’ve done such a good job about forgetting, hiding… Lying …” He was yelling now “How can you look at yourself in a mirror, Keller? What kind of monster do you see? How far will you go to make sure no one gets in your way? Will you kill me?”

Keller walked to the fountain near the wall, washed his hands, splashed his face with cold water, took his shirt off and ran a thick wet cloth over his shoulders, his chest, his belly, under his armpits.

He could’ve puked.

“Beecher I think it’s time for you to go, now. Pack your things and go.”
“No.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass out.”
“You love my ass too much to do that; I think I’ll stay. I’ll be your Nemesis; I’ll force you to face what you’ve done once for all.”

His skin like dark amber, his eyes tired, Keller stepped back to stand in front of him, half naked. Gave him an indulgent smile.

“Yeah? And then what? Think I’ll kill myself out of grief? Remorse? Lose my mind? You are so innocent,” he said softly, running a finger along Toby’s jaw, pulling him into a soft kiss, warm lips against trembling mouth, Chris’ tongue darting out to tease, feeling Beecher mellow under the touch.

“Innocent yet such an incredible stubborn blind fucking bitch!”

Toby didn’t see it come. Suddenly Keller was shoving him against the warm wall, Toby’s head hitting the stones with a dull sound, once, and again, hard fingers around his neck, wet thumbs stroking his throat, dark eyes holding his, soft and cold as death voice mumbling against his ears.

“So you wanna know, uh? Wanna know if I got him whacked? Well big news, Tinkerbell; I did. You know, I don’t trust friends very much; a French poet once said that a friend is half a traitor already; plus O’Reily cost me a lot of money and I heard something in his voice the last time we talked… I didn’t intend to take any risk. Does that make you hot?”

Toby felt the long fingers tighten around his neck, stars exploding behind his eyelids, raised his hands to loosen the grip and was pushed back hard against the stone wall.

Now that’s the true Keller, he thought, the one I faced in that bar long ago, it’s him.

“Maybe I was wrong about you after all; sparing you was a mistake.”

Toby closed his eyes, felt his body give in; he tried to breathe, concentrating on only that. Breathing, because he wanted to live.

“So listen, Beecher; you’re gonna grab your stuff, pack your bag and fucking leave before I change my mind and kill you too… Take a cab to the fucking airport and fly back to your wife and your nice little family, forget about me and…”

Gunshots echoed in Toby’s numb mind, once, twice and Keller’s body stiffened, the grip on Toby’s neck loosened. Toby opened his eyes to see Keller’s face contorted with surprise and pain.

A voice yelled nearby, something in French Toby didn’t understand and then another gunshot; this time Keller stumbled back and looked at him with a strange expression on his face.

“Go away,” he said in a breath and Beecher caught him under the arms as he was falling, going down with him, holding him, pressing his palms against the bleeding wound; blood smearing through his fingers.

/ No, no, no, it’s not what I want! I don’t want him dead! I need him alive! Dead, he’s useless to me! /

Raising his head Toby saw a young man standing a few feet in front of him, his shaky hand holding a gun, his eyes wide with terror, realizing what he’d done, probably, wondering if he should shoot again –Keller would have, he would’ve finished the job. Toby saw the guy stumble back and run away, dropping the gun.

Jesus. Stupid prick.

Blood was running down Chris’ chin, he’d closed his eyes and each ragged breath was drawing more blood on his lips.

Am I supposed to feel happy now? Tooth for tooth time? Bullshit!

Hurrying inside Toby retrieved Chris’ phone and called the emergency services, then ran back to Chris.

He was conscious and when Toby ran a hand over Chris’ face he opened his eyes, veiled by pain and agony and smiled weakly, opened his mouth.

“Don’t talk, don’t you fucking dare say anything, Keller; I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Get the fuck back to your family, Beecher.”
“When you’re safe we’ll see.”

Chris would’ve said something but he was too weak; he just closed his eyes and gave up, awfully pale. Internal bleeding, Toby thought.

He won’t make it. Shit.

Ten minutes later a helicopter took an agonizing Keller away and Toby stood there, looking up until it had disappeared.

In a mirror he saw bruises all over his neck; the back of his head hurt.

Later he saw two men walk up the hill. Cops. They asked him a lot of questions in very bad English that matched his own terrible French. Of course they would’ve preferred the whole thing of settling old scores between Americans and one of them couldn’t take his eyes off Beecher’s bruised neck. But Toby showed them the place where Keller had been shot and they found the weapon. The older cop sighed.

“Mr Keller had a love affair with a nurse after being shot down last year; we think that her lover found out. Probably a crime of passion, but would you be nice enough to stay here until we make sure? Time to check the prints on the gun? We might need your help.”

“Am I a suspect?”

The younger cop shrugged. “Not really,” he said, “but we’ll probably need you to identify the killer.”

The killer. Keller had been one and now he’d been shot down by another one, a very clumsy thoughtless one, more clumsy than he’d been himself, Toby realized with some surprise.

“Is he dead?”
“His condition is critical; the doctors say that if he survives until dawn, maybe…”

Toby remembered hearing the same sentence 20 years ago, lost in a haze of pain and terror and grief in a hospital bed where he was struggling to survive. Two of his friends had lost the fight that same night. Keller’s victims.

He’d never manage to break this vicious circle, how hard he tried.

“May I go see him?”
“As long as you don’t try to run away…”

They took his passport and left.

Toby sat outside until the middle of the night torn between conflicting feelings before finally making up his mind. He locked the house, walked down to the village. The bar was still open and the men gathered in the smoky room looked sad but they didn’t talk to him. Taking pity on him the bartender offered to give him a ride to the hospital.

If Keller was to die, he wanted to be by his side.

tbc...

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