Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Solstice ❯ Uoroboros ( Chapter 1 )

Hunter's Moon: Tala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Solstice

 

By Shinigamiinochi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“My brother was eaten by wolves on the Connecticut Turnpike.”

-Stephen King, 1408

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

Uoroboros¹

 

 

 

It was impossible to sneak in at night. The gravel that covered the entire area of the house crunched under his worn, black boots. There was no grass and no trees; not even a patch of weeds on the barren turf. Cale liked to walk the neighborhood at this time and survey other houses and yards. The difference between the gray of his own home against the green of others was startling. It was welcome to him, yet somehow sad. He had lived here all seventeen years of his life and his landscape had never changed. His dad never bothered to try to re-soil the lawn or try to replant his mother's flowers that had died since her own death twelve years ago. Cale had tried to resurrect the blue bells that had grown from a patch of soil in their backyard, but had discovered to his dismay that he had no green thumb. So, every day after school he would wander the town. He saw houses with all manners of gardens with sunflowers and roses and even long cat tails in one large white house on Elm Street. He knew what would happen if his father caught him walking around the kitchen at this hour, but no longer cared. Watching real families made him feel like a voyeur; mothers and fathers playing with their small children in their front yards and teenagers like him playing with their various pets. Cale had brought home a Calico kitten once when he was eight. His father had drowned the pitiful creature in the kitchen sink. He had stopped bringing home potential pets after that. He saw a plethora of families through the winter frosted windows of their houses. Some were so much different from his own family life, even families with only one parent. Still, he liked to remind himself that things weren't that bleak in the world, even if that world was not for him. Also, seeing mothers with their bright smiles reminded him of his own mother, something he craved. Only a week after his mother had died in the emergency room of a cracked skull, his father had rid their home of any remembrance of her; her clothes, pictures, and even the paintings she had done in the basement had disappeared. It was almost haunting how the loss of these objects had seemed to suck all of the hope and happiness from their home. Cale was only five when she had died and therefore didn't remember much about her, but what he did remember served to make him wish for her presence more and more nowadays. Lots of things had changed in his life; the state of his home had been the least.
The door creaked loudly as he opened it quickly, knowing that the slower he opened it, the more noise it would make. His father kept claiming that he would oil the hinges as the sound of the creaking drove him insane, but it was just one of many things that Cale knew were never going to be fixed. Two years ago, his father had been one of the few cops that this tiny town had, but had been fired after not showing up for work for three days. Now he was working part time at any place that would take him. Cale counted them lucky that between his own jobs and his father's they were able to keep the house. Cale kicked off his boots next to his father's loafers. Looked like the old man was home tonight. This was actually rarer and rarer nowadays, for which Cale was grateful. As the years had gone on, there was less milk and water in their refrigerator and more alcohol. Cale knew that his mother's death had struck his father hard, but he still hated the thick smell of beer the permeated the house. Predictably, he could see his father's thick, bushy, dark brown hair over the top of the reclining chair in the living room as Cale tried to sneak past him to the kitchen to get a late night snack. The TV was on and blaring with some sport game rerun. Cale didn't need to see his dad's face or hands to know that he was already drunk and was holding an open beer. The thirty four year old man was a creature of habit.

Cale opened the refrigerator door to find that their was only beer, milk, and an out of date container of take out fried seafood which explained the nasty fishy smell that wafted out of the tiny refrigerator. He tossed the fried shrimp and fried trout combo into the trash with a grimace.

“Where have you been?” His father asked from the doorway of the kitchen, his voice deep and harsh from years of smoking. Cale looked at him, struggling to keep away the glare that kept wanting to slip into his expression. Russell hadn't bothered to shave today and the deep blush on his face told Cale that he hadn't gone to work. He had probably just stayed at home and drunk himself to a stupor. Despite his irritation at his father's lack of common sense, Cale kept silence. He knew that speaking his mind while his father was this out of it would be pointless and stupid. He had to bite his lip to keep from rolling his eyes. They had this discussion every single night that Russell caught him walking in at ten at night.

“I was out walking,” Cale said, his voice lighter than his father's, his tone filled with annoyance and ritual.

“The same as last night, Dad,” the title was said in sarcasm. Russell narrowed his eyes at his child. His patience was short tonight and he certainly didn't deserve to be talked to like that by his own son.

Smack

He gave Cale no warning as he punched him in the shoulder. To his irritation, the teenager didn't fall down; he merely staggered a little before righting himself. He was too used to his father using him as a punching bag to be surprised by the blow. Still, his shoulder throbbed painfully. He rubbed at it and met his father's brown eyes.

“We're out of food.”

Russell snorted.

“Then go out and buy some,” he snapped, walking past Cale to grab another beer. Cale finally took a chance and glared at his father's back then fixing his gaze again as his father turned around.

“And fix the goddamn door!” Russell yelled as Cale escaped to his room.

“Fucking door gives me a headache,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head. The boy was so defiant. He had known that Cale was different the moment he had been born. Iris had been blonde and blue eyed while Russell was a complete brunette. Yet, Cale didn't look a thing like either of them. His hair was messy, giving him a feral look that couldn't be tamed with a mere brush and lately it fell around his shoulders. He meant to get the boy a haircut, but kept forgetting. Still, his hairstyle didn't make him look girly, just wild. His hair color was just weird; a mix of grey, silver, and white that reminded Russell of wolves or other wild dogs. His eyes were the gold color of a dog's. Russell wondered if that was why Iris had given him a name that meant dog, or if she had simply liked the name. He wasn't nearly as tall as Russell, but he was tall for his age and his legs were long. Before Russell had been fired, he remembered that Cale had been on the track team and had won enough races to give him a sort of local fame. Even now that he was not a part of any sports team, he liked to run and wander. Despite the fact that his son didn't look like anyone in their family, he somehow reminded him of his beloved Iris. He hated him for that, even as he had to admit to himself that it was a comfort to have the teenager around to remind him of a time when things were much, much brighter.

Cale took off his shirt in the only bathroom they had in the house. His shoulder was already turning a dark blackish blue that matched other bruises he had on his chest and stomach, but he was used to seeing it on his pale skin. He sighed. His thin stomach rumbled and ached, but he was used to that also. He would just have to get something to eat tomorrow. He walked to his room, tossing his shirt into the hamper that sat in the hallway between his father's room and the bathroom. He rummaged through his wallet. Twenty dollars left until payday. He would go to the grocery store after school and get enough food to last for two more days before he got paid with enough left to buy himself lunch at school. He laid done on his bed and tossed and turned, trying to get into a position that wouldn't put pressure on any of his bruises. The house at night was creepy, completely silent even of the TV. Russell must have gone to bed as well. Sure enough, loud snores broke the silence an hour later. Cale laid awake listening to it and the barking of his next door neighbor's collie, Scampy. He let hate fill his heart as he watched his ceiling, brown and yellow from leaks from previous rains. The water marks formed strange, haunting designs in long arches. As cars passed by his house, their headlights would hit trees from across the street and send horrible silhouettes like clawed demons across the water marks. He debated going back out, but didn't dare wake his father. So, he spent the night watching and listening and wondering if sleep would ever come. It wouldn't be the first night that he would be stuck in the mystical land between wakefulness and exhaustion. Fortunately, his lack of sleep enabled him to get up early enough to escape the house before his father. Usually, he would make them breakfast, but he was still pissed after last night's lack of sleep and his father's despondence to their food situation after skipping work to even pick them up some bagels. Instead, he decided to go straight to school and take the long, scenic route to kill some time.

But as he left the house, the sky was gray and turbulent and he knew that by the time school started it would be raining. Truthfully, storms didn't bother him at all. He enjoyed the feeling of the cool, light water on his skin and hair. As he left, just like any other morning and just like he never said goodbye to his father, Cale did not brush his hair. He knew that the rebellious mass would do whatever it wanted and that combing it would be a waste of time. He did not know how women could handle the extra care they took in their clothes, makeup, and hair. All he really did in the morning to his person was taking a shower, brush his teeth, and put on jeans and a t shirt. So, while men and women alike walked down his street with raincoats and umbrellas with looks of trepidation towards the stormy sky, he walked just like he always did without even a jacket. He did not hurry to beat the on coming storm but strolled leisurely through the thick woods that surrounded the New England town. It was December, but it had not snowed yet and the leaves were still vibrant yellow and red. It was windy today and the leaves fell around him peacefully. He looked up as he walked. Usually there were a great deal of sparrows, robins, and catbirds on the trees, but today there were only crows on every branch. He had to admit that it was unsettling, even if he did enjoy watching the black birds as much as any other bird. There was something strangely majestic about birds. Cale always had a great respect for all animals, even sharks though they scared him. He stepped on a fallen branch and dry `snap' filled the dying woods. He stopped. Everything was oddly quiet today. Usually he could hear chirping birds or insects. It was still even for a winter morning. He stared ahead of him again and nearly jumped. Five feet away from him stood, in the complete stillness and in an open clearing, a large, grey white wolf. He froze. His heart pounded in his chest. The animal stared back at him, their same colored eyes burning into each other. Heat spread through Cale's body, warming him in the chilly air. The canine was large; it came up to his waist, yet Cale didn't feel afraid. He felt… disturbed, yet oddly honored. Byurmouth was only twenty miles from Boston and there had never been any wolves in Massachusetts, yet here there was one staring him in the eye. The wolf did not approach him or seem hostile in any way. It just seemed to study him like he was an equally strange creature to it. Finally, the wolf turned and trotted away, giving him one more glance as it ran deeper into the forest. Cale gasped, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. He sat on the ground and waited to see what else would happen. There was still a strange aura in the air. It made him feel anxious and on point. After ten minutes had passed, he finally got up and continued on his way, trying to shake off the strange feelings tightening around his heart. As odd as his morning had been, he would not tell anyone about it. Mostly because he felt that it was his own experience and no one else had the right to know about the wolf and the crows, but also because he didn't really have anyone to tell.

In a town of only about a thousand people, the school was small and almost dilapidated. According to his mother, this school had been around before even his grandparents; now long dead, had been born and he could tell. In the sunlight, the orange red bricks, though cracked and crumbling, looked cheerful, but in the darkened winter weather it looked desolate and lonely. Brownish vines crawled up one side of the building as the high pitched creaking sound of the rusted wing set filled the air. Thirty years ago the high school had been an elementary school and the swing set had never been dismantled though no one used it anymore. The doors were locked, but Cale knew that there was always at least one window that had been left open and sure enough he found one and slipped in through it. He landed gracefully in the gym, his boots making soft squeaking noises on the recently clean floor. In the past he had loved to coming to the gymnasium but now he only felt sad and angry. It was very rare to feel anything less lately. It was six in the morning so he did not meet anyone in the hall, not even a single teacher. He felt better in this kind of isolation, yet he was not antisocial, at least he didn't like to think of himself in that way. He didn't have any friends, but he didn't feel lonely. He simply didn't have the need for human companionship. Cale felt like he was stuck in deadly loop; he was sad that he was losing his need for humanity, both his own and others, but just the sight of other people would send him into an inexplicable rage. Most days, he was terrified that he was turning into his father; mad at the world just for daring to exist. It had been this way ever since his mother had died and he couldn't figure out why. He just felt like tearing things apart. He curled his fists tightly, feeling better at the feeling of his nails cutting into his palms. He came to the school library and perused the various shelves. A spark of inspiration hit him and he moved past the fiction sections to the many, many books about wildlife.

The simple title: Wolves stared back at him. Cale gently took the book by its thick spine. It was a large book, but it looked like it was designed for middle school reports with large print and various photos and pictures. A beautiful painting of a black wolf surrounded by other, different colored wolves of his pack was on the cover. Cale took the book back with him to his homeroom. He flipped through the book, spurred on by the detailed photos and paintings. When he got to a chapter titled Mythology, his heart pounded in his chest for some unknown reason. Terrible pictures of twisted wolves filled the pictures, seducing and murdering lambs and children, even very old paintings of wargs, lycanthropes, and le loup garous.

 

Cale stared at one of the pictures; a color painting of a werewolf surrounded by dismembered bodies and shuddered. It was so dark, yet the concept was so beautiful. A perfect mix between civilization and nature. He wished he could just let go like the werewolf in the picture. To tear apart all that he hated without any regret. He stroked the glossy pages, wondering what imagination could think of such a thing. It made him want to believe in things he knew weren't real. He laid his head on the desk, continuing to look at the bloody picture and finally fell asleep in the warm classroom.

Cale awoke to a pair of golden eyes, the same color as his own, staring up at him. He sat up sharply, momentarily forgetting where he was, believing that he was still in the woods with the wolf. This time however, the eyes were looking at him from the pages of a book.

 

He truly did feel that he was back in the woods again. Had he flipped through the book in his sleep? He stared at the pictures intently.

`The gray wolf (canis lupus) or Timber Wolf is nearly extinct in North America, surviving solely in wildlife reserves sanctioned by North American Wildlife Preservation Acts…' he read. Cale frowned. It was so sad. Even if the wolf from the woods had just been an illusion, it had been such a beautiful animal and it was disgusting that they were endangered. He hoped that it had been real. It made him feel even more gifted that he had seen such a rare animal in the wild and had not scared it off. He closed the book firmly as he heard voices coming down the hall. He gritted his teeth as he recognized at least one high voice. According to the school clock it was still only seven; they had an hour before school started, so what was she doing here? He knew from experience that Samantha Matthews wouldn't be caught dead in school early by even five minutes. She was obviously up to something, not that he was surprised. If it was true that every school and institution had a bully then Cale supposed that Samantha was it for Byurmouth. A wise man had once said that everyone had their own personal demon that needed to be conquered. Even now, long after his father had taken a turn for the worst, Cale considered her his. The door opened and he knew right away that he had been right.

However, whatever deed she had done, he could not figure out as there was nothing in her visage that gave her deviance away. There never was, really. Sam was that kind of girl. She looked sweet and nearly angelic with long, curly, dark brown hair and large, bright blue eyes. Cale supposed that, if one liked girls, she would be the annoying epitome of the `perfect girl' that so many had written about and so many more boys his age had fantasized about. Cale was not one of those boys. Beyond having seen her true nature and her not being his type, he just felt nothing for her or anyone else in this town for that matter. But, that thought was quickly proven to be a desperate lie as Samantha was followed into the classroom by three others, all of whom Cale knew very well; Sam's brother, Daniel (Dan to his friends and football teammates), Sam's best friend, Carole Stevens, and Brian Thompson, her boyfriend. Cale felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest as this last person entered behind Samantha, very much unlike that morning when he had seen the wolf. In everyone's life there is a mistake, usually one that relates to another person and love, but not always. Brian Thompson was Cale Selt's second greatest mistake.

Things hadn't always been so miserable in Cale's life. At one time he had had a mother and a father; in both name and feeling, and at one time he had had a best friend. At one time he could walk around the school without being on guard the entire time. But that was a long time ago, not quite as long as his mother's death, but long enough for the sadness and regret to turn to bitterness and anger. Long enough that Cale now hated his previous best friend more than he hated his girlfriend and succeeded in making his life just as horrible as Brian had made his. Looking at them now, no one could guess that they had ever had anything in common, let alone had been best friends, but it was the truth.

 

Back in middle school Cale and Brian had been nearly connected at the hip. Back then, Cale had been much shorter than Brian and the two looked nothing alike. Brian had very dark brown hair, almost black, and sea-green eyes, a nice mixture of blues and greens like sea glass. Samantha Matthews, while still a terror, was a distant threat. She would constantly tease Cale about his eyes and hair and the fact that he only had one parent; a fact that she absolutely loved to terrorize him about, but her mean behavior didn't bother him as much as it did now. This was partially do to the fact that he had a friend by his side and partially because his father had not quite shown his darker colors just yet. In those days his father simply yelled a lot, smacked him around a little and had not resorted to the severe physical violence he partook in now. Mostly, however, Samantha was less of a bother because it was only her that attacked him, not the entire school. Recently, Cale had become used to it. That is to say, he didn't retreat to the bathroom or woods behind the school to cry in private. He was older and had learned, like most boys, that men crying were not appropriate or dignified. However, that did not mean that the bullying did not bother him at all, he had simply learned that pretending to be made of steel made some of the smaller stuff go away for awhile. The names and violence still enraged him the same way his father did and he would like nothing more than to show everyone just what he was capable of, but that was a distant fantasy, like a lonely boy dreaming he had friends or a geek dreaming he was the captain of the football team.

Cale could not claim that it was Brian's fault they had parted ways as he would always believe it was his own, but this did not help to dim his rage. When he was younger, he was foolish and had believed that no matter what you did, people would have to like you for it because it was simply a part of yourself. But he, like a majority of children, learned the truth and how to hide his so-called `faults' from the rest of civilization.

He didn't know when he had started to notice other boys but it must have been fairly early on since it had felt like he had been in love with Brian forever. He had also learned early on that not everyone was so accepting of what many adults around town had called an `unfortunately common abnormality' but had wished the best in his friends and classmates. He wasn't so foolish anymore. However, his life was not a movie and admitting to his best friend that he liked him `like that' was not quite as dramatic. He simply told him all the facts about his feelings as he could and Brian had walked away, clearly uncomfortable.

After that incident, Cale had bottled up his feelings. Every single one of his emotions was contained within himself until he thought that he would burst at times, but that didn't matter anymore. In a small town with an even smaller school, word of his sexuality had spread like wildfire. It began with taunts and cruel names like fag or pillow-biter and continued to escalate to public beatings or even cruel pranks. One such horrible event was thanks to Samantha's brother who had dumped mayonnaise on his pants and said that he had made it just for him. Most of his middle school years had been spent in agony, avoiding everyone in fear that that person would turn out to be another enemy. Since then, he had made no attempts to make other friends and that suited him just fine. He told himself that in the long run it would benefit him. After all, your heart couldn't be broken if you didn't let anyone in. He didn't even tell his father what had happened, understanding that his dad could easily turn into one of those cruel people, but mostly not wanting to admit out loud the kind of abuse he was suffering. He believed that doing so would make it even more real.

As Brian's liquid, sea-green eyes met his, Cale decided that his thoughts were true; there was no one in this school; in this town, that he cared about. Not anymore anyway. Rage built stronger and stronger in him like a furious tide. Every time he thought it had released him, it would return stronger than before. It was becoming a feeling that Cale couldn't even remember why he felt that way half the time. It didn't really matter anyway; there was so much to be angry about. He had no money, no parents; not in the real sense of the word, no friends, no future… he didn't have anything in his life that he could be proud or happy about so anger was naturally the only thing he could feel. It got so bad that he wished he could just go numb sometimes. He wanted to tear every little thing apart and let the violence calm him just for a little while. He felt like screaming, but locked that feeling inside of him like all the others until it ate at him like a flesh eating bacteria.

Despite Cale's dark thoughts, he finally received a jolt of self-satisfaction as Samantha saw him and paled. She had obviously not anticipated anyone being here this early. She would always show up to class at the last minute, so she did not know about Cale's ritual of showing up for class early. Her blue eyes narrowed at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She snapped at him, clearly displeased at having been caught outside her own schedule. Cale nearly snorted. It seemed like everyone; oddly even her brother and best friend, thought the best of her even though when she was mad or shocked she would swear like a sailor. He didn't rise up to her challenge, knowing that if he responded, it wouldn't matter what he said, just the fact that he had spoken would send her into a rage. The girl was like a bottle rocket at times. Or a landmine. Of course, if he didn't say anything she would think he was ignoring her. So, he simply met her gaze and held it. Like a person in a police interrogation, she could not hold it for more than a few seconds.

“Only a freak would be here this early!” She continued to try to get a rise out of him, wanting to have a reason to take out her frustrations on another person that she despised. Cale refused to point out the fact that she was also here. He shrugged noncommittally. Sensing that the situation had already diffused and she would not get any sort of reaction out of him, she backed down and the tension, seeming like a visible thing, slowly disintegrated.

“Bender,” she hissed as she passed him to sit in her usual seat in the very back of the classroom. He clenched his fists tightly. It wasn't the first time he had heard that word or any other nasty derivative to `homosexual' but that didn't mean that it didn't hurt any less. The picture on the cover of the book stared up at him and served to pacify his anger. Brian passed him without so much as a glance. Cale refused to react to him. The four of them all sat in the back row and continued to hiss and whisper some great secret plan. Cale didn't care what they were doing as long as they left him alone for once. He opened the book again and continued to read up on Gray Wolves, wanting to know all he could about his mysterious visitor; real or imaginary.

Oddly enough, Samantha, Carole, Brian, and Daniel didn't bother him for the rest of the period which was unusual but only made Cale paranoid. They seemed to be deeply involved with something. Whatever it was, it must have been especially devious even for that group because whenever anyone else got near them, they would grow quiet.

Through the rest of the day, Cale went through his classes as though it were any other day, though the entire time he kept an eye out for the four of them, just in case their plans included him in any way, shape, or form. He was moderately good in English and Art, excelled especially in Music and Gym, but when it came to History, Science, and Math, he hadn't improved at all since he was a kid. He was creative enough to excel in what many considered `right-brain' subjects and with his long legs and stamina, he could out run just about anyone, but when it came to formulas and memorization his mind just couldn't cope. He wasn't stupid; at least he didn't like to think that he was, his brain just processed things differently than others. He could figure out the score to any song just by listening to it, but he couldn't figure out the solution to 1x+3x=5. His mother had once told him that God wouldn't close a door before opening a window so Cale supposed that his creative talents could make up for his lack of other skills, he just didn't know how. In the past he had loved gym the most. Running had always made him feel free. Now, for some reason, running in front of other people made him feel sick to his stomach. Yet, he still felt a strange animalistic need to run, run away from everything until he lost every little worry and became himself once more. So, whenever he was in gym he felt that need, but could not exorcise it. It was one of the most frustrating feelings he had ever had. It was just like the anger he always felt, surging inside of him but with no way to release it, except this was much, much worse because it was not a negative desire at all; it was quite pure.

Showering after gym was the worst. Cale hated having to strip down naked in front of other people; especially those that hated him, it made him feel too vulnerable. Beyond that, he was looked upon as some sort of pervert simply because of his sexual orientation. The other boys automatically thought that he was soliciting them whether or not he was looking at them or even near them, yet none of them made a move to stay away from them as though they waited for a chance to accuse him of rape or molestation. Cale snorted. He took off his gym top in preparation for another embarrassing shower. He would never give them any reason to accuse him of anything simply because he minded his own business and had no real interest in any of them. Just because he was homosexual didn't mean that he would be attracted to every male he came across. It was actually the opposite; he found that it was very hard for him to be attracted to anyone. He thanked his dad for that. But today Cale managed to distance himself away from the other boys enough that nothing really happened. He wrapped a towel around his waist when he was done and hastily changed back into his clothes, stashing his gym uniform back in his locker. A sudden flash of bright red and green on pale skin tones drew his eyes. An older boy stood at his locker. Like many of the boys, he didn't seem to care that he was naked as he put away his uniform. Gary Steen was on the football team and Cale knew nothing about him. Despite himself, Cale found himself staring at Gary's penis which was tattooed with a single rose. Cale raised a grey-white eyebrow at the thought of a guy doing anything to that particular organ, but to each's own he supposed.

“What the fuck are you looking at, faggot?” Gary snarled as he noticed Cale staring at him. Cale's gaze turned cold.

“What did you call me?” Cale's voice was quiet and still, but it sent a chill through Gary. There was something about the boy; he looked like a predator or an alpha wolf ready to attack a lesser wolf that had wandered into his territory. That feeling of fear and uncertainty angered the older boy. Cale was tall, but slim and Gary was sure he could over power him in a fight.

“I called you a faggot, you stupid fairy, or are you deaf?” He jabbed Cale in the chest foolishly, even after seeing the anger in his golden eyes. Cale hit him in the right side of his face, sending Gary to the ground. Gary stared up at his furious face in shock. When had the little bitch gotten so damn strong? Cale grabbed him by the back of his neck, his nails digging into his skin, and hit him with a great deal of force in his shoulder. Gary screeched in pain as his shoulder gave a loud crack and dislocated. Cale grinned at the bloodcurdling sound. He hit him over and over again, loving the wet sounds of blood and meat under his hands. Rage surged inside of him, but lessened with each blow. He felt that horrible, cannibalistic rage inside of him flowing away the more pain he inflicted on the homophobic boy. He regained himself, his blood covered fists fell to his sides and he leaned forward.

“Don't ever use that word in front of me again,” he hissed in Gary's ear, smiling as the beaten boy cried at his closeness. He stood up. The other boys watched this whole fight with shocked gazes and as Cale left the locker room, they quickly got out of his way.

 

Cale stared at the principal balefully as the man signed some documents. What was it with people doing work when they wanted to talk to you? Was he trying to intimidate him? Cale rolled his golden eyes. Well, two could play at that game. He drummed his fingers on the mahogany desk. The principal glared up at him with a look that clearly said stop that. Cale drummed louder, this time using his nails to make a sharper sound. Principal Winter put down the papers he had been looking at and leaned forward, staring at Cale in the eye, brown meeting gold. Cale felt his hair rise at the close proximity and unspoken challenge. Cale made no move and, to Winter, did not seem intimidated at all by his situation. Winter felt irritated; he would not be looked at like that by a seventeen year old punk. He was in control here, not this boy.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't expel you?” Winter asked, his voice filled with authority and poorly masked threat. The irritation increased as all Cale did was shrug.

“Well, since you seem so busy with your paperwork, I'm sure you'd hate to have more of it by expelling me. Of course, you'd never notice with how you take care of your students,” Cale smirked, feeling proud at how red Winter's cheeks became at his words.

“I mean, prejudice and bullying happens all over this school, yet here you are expelling only one student and not even questioning why.”

Winter slammed his fist on his desk, unable to believe that the boy had the gal to say such things to him. To make things worse, Cale didn't even jump at the violent move.

“You beat up another student! You sent him to the hospital! A fa-,” Winter paused, paling, but continued, “A boy like you should think before you act!” Cale narrowed his eyes, fury filling their depths.

“I see. So that's why you don't care about what happened. Because you know what I am. What were you going to call me, Principal?” Cale spat out the title like it was a dirty word, “Faggot? Is that what you were going to say? You're just a sick, scared little man! A bully, just like your students!” Winter glared at him. Cale gripped one of the ornate fountain pens from the Principal's desk tightly in his hand. The Principal followed the move angrily. The image of that hateful… boy… holding his pen like that infuriated him for some reason.

“How dare you?” He hissed, “You little monster-,” Winter made to grab him and Cale, with a feral snarl, slashed the fountain pen across the older man's face, ripping open his cheek. Winter's screams filled the air and Cale could hear the panicked calling of his secretary outside of the office. He shoved the bleeding man onto the ground. He looked grotesque; his lips looked like he was grinning horribly with the new slit.

“Now who's the monster?” He hissed. As he left the principal's office, no one made a move to stop him, even as they saw he was carrying a bloody pen in his hand.

 

Cale rarely planned everything, so after leaving the school, he wandered around. He dimly wondered how long it would take for the police to find him. He felt lighter and freer than he had in years. Gary's blood stained his knuckles and he had stashed the Principal's pen in his book bag, but he felt no remorse at all for the violence he had done. It had made him feel so much better and he didn't care what happened to him afterwards. For now, the anger and need for destruction was gone. He knew that his father wouldn't be looking for him too hard. As for the police, he had maimed his principal and nearly killed another boy so he didn't think he would just get a slap on a wrist. He shuddered as he thought of living in jail, surrounded by metal bars. He would have to get out of here and go far, far away, but there were things at home that he had to get. Still, he didn't know if he could risk going home or if he wanted to. He ended up at the town park. It was then that he realized just how tired he was. He spotted a tall tree. He could sleep up there and not be spotted by anyone because of its dense leaves. Cale was no gymnast, but with his height and long legs, as he performed a running jump, he managed to grab a high branch and hoist himself up. He slung his bag over a branch above him and leaned against the trunk. He was shocked at how exhausted he was as he quickly fell asleep in the windy, chilly treetop, lulled to sleep as a wind chime rang far away.

 

 

Cale, five years old, looked up at the delicate wind chime that hung on their porch. The silver cylinders rubbed against each other as the gentle wind rocked them to and fro, making a lovely sound. He laughed gleefully as the prism in the center of the chime was struck by sunlight and rainbows were thrown on the wood of the porch. Iris watched with a soft smile as her child tried to catch the brilliant light with his tiny hands and she playfully tried to help him. Russell watched all of this from the doorway of the house.

“Come here, baby,” he said, his arms outstretched.

“Daddy!” Cale cried happily and threw himself into his arms. Russell hoisted him up and let the five year old wrap his arms around his neck. Cale patted his dad's smooth, clean-shaven face with a giggle.

“I have to go to the store for milk,” Iris told Russell.

“Do you want to come with me, honey?” She asked Cale.

“Can I get a pretzel?” Cale asked from around his father's neck. Iris smiled at him.

“Sure, baby, if you're good.” Cale cheered and Russell put him on the ground.

“We'll be back in an hour,” she told her husband, taking Cale by the hand. Russell, nodded, going back into the house to defrost the steaks they were going to have for dinner.

 

It was summer and Cale enjoyed looking at the various flowers that were blooming. Birds tittered in the trees as he and his mother left the grocery store; not only with two gallons of skim milk, but also cookies for Cale and potato chips for Russell who loved munching on them when he watched sports. The town was beautiful in this time of year, despite having paved roads and tall buildings like other suburban towns, there was till plenty of natural beauty.

“Mommy, pretzels!” Cale yelled, pointing to one of the street food vendors. Iris smiled.

“Cinnamon, right?” Cale nodded enthusiastically, jumping impatiently from foot to foot. A movement in an alley near him caught his eye. Whatever it was, it was making noises.

`I know that noise!' Cale thought in excitement.

 

Iris turned around as the pretzel vendor juggled with her change. Where was Cale? She panicked, ignoring as the vendor tried to give her her son's pretzel and desperately looked around for her child. There! In the alley she heard mewing and familiar giggling. She breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Cale looked up from his fun as his mother walked towards him. There was a frantic expression on her face, but Cale wasn't worried since his mother had never raised her voice to him.

“Mommy, look!” Cale chirped giddily, holding up a mewling, tiger stripped kitten that was squirming happily in the child's gentle grip. Iris' stern look melted as she watched her son play with the cat and the lecture that had been on her lips vanished. When Cale was a bit older, she and Russ had decided to buy him a pet, but five was a bit too young for the responsibility of another living creature. She stroked her child's silvery hair.

“Well, she's just adorable!” Iris cooed. Suddenly, the little cat hissed and struggled out of Cale's hands. Iris stood up as the cat ran off, but not soon enough. One minute she was trying to figure out what had scared off the animal, the next she was being slammed against the brick wall behind her. Pain surrounded her head with a loud crack, blood dripped down her neck, and Cale's screams stabbed through her aching skull. She slid down the wall, her body going limp as her body stopped responding to her demands. Something hard and cold pressed against her neck.

“Give me your fucking money, now,” a cold, rough voice demanded. Without a second thought she let her purse fall from her slack fingers. The heavy sounds of someone running away came to her, but she didn't care as much as she should have. Her fading vision started to clear, but it was still very blurry though she could see her son's terrified, golden eyes as he shook her.

“Mommy, get up!” Cale sobbed as blood trickled down her face and soaked the collar of her white top.

“Mommy's a little sleepy right now, sweety,” she murmured, feeling unconsciousness sneaking up on her. She heard the sounds of other people talking vaguely, but the only thing she could think about was the horrified expression on her baby's face as she finally fell asleep.

 

 

The next six hours was like in those TV shows in which the main character was standing perfectly still while the world sped to an abnormal speed around him. Because of Cale's screams, people had discovered the two of them and an ambulance had been called. As they came to take his mother away, Cale gripped at her skirt, but it was no use; his small hands couldn't hold on as the paramedics pried him loose. The police came and asked him some questions, though now, sitting in the waiting room with his father pacing like a tiger feet from him, he could not remember what they had asked. He only remembered that, somehow, he had managed to tell them the truth about the kitten and the scary bearded man that had thrown his momma against the wall and stole her purse and how all of this was his entire fault. They had asked more and more questions, but after telling them what had happened once, he could not say anything anymore. Forty minutes after Cale had been brought to the hospital by the cops, his father showed up. Immediately, ignoring his son, Russell had asked what had happened to his wife. Afterwards, Russ had paced and paced, waiting for his love to get out of surgery. The doctor had said that there was something wrong with her skull; cracked he thought she had said, but it was all such a daze, he hadn't understood much. Cale sat on one of the chairs and no words were spoken between the two. The cops had explained to Russell that it wasn't his child's fault; they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Russ knew better. It was that fool's fault that his wife was lying on some operating table bleeding and screaming and maybe even dying. How many goddamn times had he told him not to walk away from them?! If Iris died, it would be his fault. He loved his boy, but it was because of him and only him that he might never see his girl ever again. His own fucking stupidity… That was the only thought that Russ could think of as he waited for more news from the doctor. The hours ticked on and on and Russell's anger grew and grew. Cale's fault… him and his goddamn obsession with fucking animals. Boy reminded him so much Iris; he had the same expressions on his cute little face, but he was a fool. He was disobedient and stupid. How could he have not seen that? Cale had broken up their perfect little family, how could he had ever loved him? Had he really been so blind with happiness that he couldn't even see what a naughty boy he was?

Six hours had come and gone and finally the dark haired woman that was Iris' doctor came out and lead Cale's father away, looking back at the five year old with a sad smile that caused a spike of hate to strike his heart. He hated that feeling, it wasn't right. The doctor hadn't done anything wrong, she was trying to save his mother's life. But still, that annoying expression, like he was some broken creature that was worse off than her. A young nurse approached him with hot chocolate. They knew something that he didn't and that just made the gnawing anger grow. He ignored her, barely hearing anything she said to him. He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and continued to stare at the wall. Finally, the nurse went away. Twenty more minutes passed, yet the anger did not dull. He hated this place with its white walls and secrets and the way it had stolen his father away from him. That thing that had shown up at the hospital was not his daddy. His daddy would never look at him like that. The anger blossomed into fury. His daddy was dead and that made him terribly numb inside. Then, the doctor and Russell came into the waiting room. His father's eyes were indeed dead, yet full of hate and fury. In his hand he held a white dress, destroyed with splatters of deep red blood.

“This is all your fault,” his father's voice was small, but powerful to his ears, “she's dead and it's all your fault.”

 

 

 

The house was haunting as they returned from the hospital. It was amazing how lonely it all seemed without Iris' presence. Since Russell had learned of her death, he and his son had not spoken a single word and that was just fine with him. As soon as they entered the house, Cale took refuge in his room, somehow understanding like animals did that a storm was coming. Russell didn't go after him. Right now, he just couldn't stand the sight of the golden eyed boy. He sat on his chair in the living room, staring at the blank TV, not turning it on. His eyes caught one of the many pictures on the top of the TV. Smiling faces met his own blank expression. He gritted his teeth in rage. He picked up the picture and flung it against the wall. Destroying the family behind the glass just like his own had been destroyed felt good, but it just wasn't enough. So, he picked up everything he could find that was a painful reminder to him of what his son had done and destroyed it brutally.

 

Sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood met Cale, holed up in his room. Panic filled him. He was destroying her things. How could he?! Cale opened his door just a crack, expecting to see his father's terrible, brown eyes filled with fury staring back at him just like at the hospital, only now there was no one to see it if his father let his anger control him. However, the sounds of destruction continued in the living room. As quietly as he could, he crept to his parents' bedroom. He had to fight hard against his tears as the familiar scent of his mother surrounded him. He would never smell her sweet perfume again, but the least he could do was save something from his mother to remember her by. He passed by her closet and drawers and grabbed her jewelry box. He then ran back to his room, closing and locking the door behind him and cowering in there with his stolen treasure. As his father moved his path of destruction to the basement, Cale worked at one of the boards of his floor. After a little bit of effort, he managed to pry it out of the floor and dropped the precious box into the space underneath his floor, fitting the board back into its place.

 

 

“I know you took it, now where the fuck is it?!” Russell demanded, shaking Cale by his arm. Cale winced, but after a week of punches and kicks and now covered in bruises, he found that it was easier not to cry out as he once did. Still, no matter how much it hurt, he would never let his father destroy the last thing of his mother's.

“I don't know,” Cale repeated, “maybe you threw it out and forgot about it,” he suggested. Russell gritted his teeth. Was the little shit making fun of him?! He slammed him against the wall, feeling satisfied when he heard Cale's shoulder snap and he finally gave out a little shocked gasp of pain. He slapped him on each cheek, still demanding the location of the jewelry box, but Cale continued to deny that he knew where it was. Russell had torn apart the entire house looking for it, but there was no where else it could be hiding. He snorted and let the boy fall to the floor in a limp heap. He strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him, locking it as he had destroyed the inner lock days ago and made an outer lock to make sure the boy couldn't escape. He was sick of the boy's games. If he wanted to pretend that he wasn't a dirty little thief, that was fine. Sooner or later he would find him out and gouge out those evil, golden orbs of his that looked so much like Iris' blue eyes, though he could never figure out why.

 

But, two years passed by filled with fights and abuse and Russell never found the missing box. The house became like a tomb as the two males lived with each other, their hate feeding off of each other like a snake that had swallowed it's own tale, growing and devouring until they were both broken people.

Cale was only seven when he noticed yet another change in his father. A glance over the supper table, a touch. All normal things, but still different than what he was used to. Then, his father was spending more and more time out of the house, even after work, coming home smelling disgusting. After Russell had started to buy beer and bringing it home, Cale realized that that nasty smell was the smell of alcohol. His father acted more violent and it was harder to get out of his way when he was drunk. When Cale started to go to school he also started his walking ritual. He would walk as far as he could for as long as he could. He imagined that one day he would walk so far that he wouldn't be able to find his way back home and what a wonderful thing that would be. By the time he would come home, sometimes his dad would be passed out on the couch and he would go to his room and shove his dresser against the door so his father couldn't get to him. Sometimes, however, his father would be very drunk, but not drunk enough to forget to knock him around a little before he could go to bed. Weekends were the worst when he didn't have school and Russell didn't have work, so they had to spend the entire day together. Some Saturdays, Brian would come around and Cale would have an excuse to escape. Still, he never told anyone about his father's hatred of him and had learned to hide his bruises well. He hated his father for the way he treated him but he also knew that his father was right; he deserved every blow, the abuse was simply his punishment for his mother's death and he took it, never once fighting back.

Russell watched Cale clean the dishes, his hips swaying back and forth as he listened to some old rock song on the radio on top of the refrigerator. The boy was growing fast for a seven year old, he didn't even need a stool to reach the sink anymore. Russell could see that by the time Cale stopped growing he would probably be taller than him. This annoyed Russell for some reason. He liked having the child smaller than him. It made him seem more vulnerable and easily controlled. His hair was also getting very long. It was now at the same length that Iris' had been. He curled his fists against his palm until his nails bit into him. They had had to shave her head for the surgery, for all the good it had done. Her beautiful golden locks… gone. As Cale's silver-white, wild hair caught the kitchen light, it sparkled gold. If Russell looked at it a certain way, he could fool himself that his love was back from the dead.

 

Cale slipped on his favorite pajama pants; dark blue fleece with little yellow crescent moons on them, and laid down in his bed. It was mid June and even at night it was far too hot. Cale hated the heat, the way it covered and pressed down on you like a living thing. Without a shirt on, dark bruises covered his pale skin, but he didn't look at his body. It was getting harder and harder lately to look at himself in the mirror. He looked up at the ceiling and the sinister shadows that arched there like monstrous claws. Even if he drew the shades, he knew that the shadows would remain like demons that couldn't be exorcised. He stared up at the ceiling for hours, unable to go to sleep. But finally, tiredness got the best of him and he rolled over onto his stomach, his long arms falling to his sides; the same way he always slept. Before he nodded off, he kicked the covers off his bed. On a night like this, they only served to frustrate him.

 

3:02, the wind howled fiercely, slamming the bedroom door closed and woke Cale up. At first he couldn't figure out what had made the noise because he always closed the door before going to bed. Then, a heavy weight bore down on his back and he felt someone straddling his waist. He bucked against the person, but they were much bigger than him and in his position, still laying down on his stomach wit his arms at his sides now trapped by the person's legs, he couldn't get enough force to knock them off. A rancid smell filled Cale's senses. A nasty, thick, familiar smell.

“Iris,” a thick voice said as a scratchy cheek rubbed itself against Cale's slender neck. Cale tried to turn his head, to see the person despite knowing who it was and to flinch away from the sickening, intimate touch. This sort of intimacy was wrong. He didn't know how he knew that, just that the touch made him feel sick and his stomach felt heavy.

“D-Daddy, get off!” Cale demanded, squirming against his father. Instead of getting off, Russell wrapped his muscular arms around his slender waist, holding him still.

“It's ok now, I promise,” Russ murmured. He brushed the boy's silvery, sleep mussed hair away and stuck his nose against the nape of his neck, smelling him. He smelt so good and it had been so long since he had felt the touch of another human. Cale was soft, not having hit puberty yet, his skin was hairless. He felt so much like his wife, all he wanted to do was to feel her again. Russell lapped at his neck. Cale tasted like a mix of blood and apples, strong and sweet. Cale gasped as he felt something firm press against his leg. Had his father brought his gun with him? Was he going to kill him? Cale tried to yell, but Russell covered his mouth with one hand and with the other started to pull down his pajama bottoms until they were tangled in his feet.

“Ssh, it's alright,” he cooed. Cale slammed his hands against his pillow and pushed upwards, hoping to catch his father off guard and get enough of a gap between their bodies to slip away. What the hell was he doing? Why was he undressing him?

Russell grabbed his wrists in a one-handed, tight grip, shoving the boy back into the bed.

“Don't struggle,” he hissed, shoving his knee in between Cale's legs to spread them. Cale tried to scream again. Frustrated, Russell whipped off his belt and wrapped it around the child's hands. He ripped a long strip from the sheets that had been thrown on the floor and tied it around his head. Cale still writhed and struggled against him, but Russell allowed himself to drift into his fantasies.

 

Suddenly, he was dying. Something incredibly hard shoved into Cale in his bottom. He screamed like a lamb being slaughtered as blood streamed down his legs and his saliva moistened the cloth in his mouth. He sobbed and cried as whatever it was in him rocked back and forth inside. The rest of his body was growing numb and his vision was turning grey at the unbelievable pain, but somehow he could feel every little movement. More and more blood slid down him. Oh, god, he was being murdered! But why couldn't his father just finish it? Shit, it hurt so badly! He had had broken bones and cuts, but nothing that hurt like this. He felt his father's thighs against him, smacking against him repeatedly. It was like it was never going to end. He just wanted it all to fade away. Why wasn't he numb yet? Something liquid-like, but thicker than his blood shot into his throbbing body and ran down his legs. He couldn't figure out what it was, but as his father got off of him and that nasty, hurtful thing inside of him left with his father, he found that he didn't really care. He didn't even notice as Russell took off the belt and gag. He shuddered hard as he heard the door finally shut behind his father. He felt wet and broken. Everything heart, even his chest and there was a faint, growing buzzing in his head that was making it hard to think. Cale felt more tired than he had in his entire life, but he couldn't succumb to it and when he finally did, his dreams were filled with snarling nightmares, pain that was far too real, and gripping, tearing hands.

 

 

Cale gasped as he awoke from his terrible dreams. He shuddered a little as he realized that they weren't really dreams. For a very long time he had wondered if his father's continuing abuse since that night had warped his own sexuality and that was why he liked other guys. However, he quickly realized that it didn't matter; he couldn't change what he was anymore than he could change his father. A bright light shone in his eyes as he relaxed against the trunk of the tree. Sometime during his sleep, the sun had poked out through the clouds, but Cale could tell that it was going to be short lived. Considering what he had been dreaming about, he considered himself lucky that he had not fallen from his tentative perch. He sat up which caused the branch to wobble, but Cale was graceful enough that this didn't disturb his position.

“Ow!” Someone cried out from under the tree. Cale was immediately on alert. Had someone found him? He carefully peaked out of the foliage. Someone with long red hair was rubbing their head. When Cale had shaken the branch, he had also knocked loose some acorns which had hit the person in the head. At first Cale had believed that the person was some girl that was waiting for her boyfriend. There wasn't much of another reason for someone to be wandering in the park during winter. It wasn't exactly that cold out yet, but it wasn't walking weather, either. However, Cale knew not to jump to assumptions. Just because the person's voice wasn't very deep and had long hair didn't mean it was a woman or that the person was waiting for anyone. He studied what he could see of the slender form below him. After being knocked on the head, the person had settled back onto the ground, sitting against the tree. He or she had a large sketchpad on their lap, but Cale couldn't see what they were drawing. Obviously the person wasn't a cop. He didn't know why he did it, but he jumped down from the tree, landing neatly in front of the drawing person. For some reason, despite not having seen the individual's face, he felt no threat from them. Coupled with a sudden burning curiosity to see what the person looked like, Cale found himself willing to risk his hiding place. The redhead gasped and jumped to their feet, taking a defensive position. They wore a denim jacket and a white t-shirt in which Cale could see there was no cleavage what so ever. The person's hips in tight blue jeans were slender, but not curvy like a female's. He had a soft, young face that was quite beautiful, yet not exactly emasculate. Cale could tell that the person was definitely a boy, despite his soft, lovely features. But the things that struck at Cale's heart where his eyes and hair. His red hair was the color of fox fire; a deep red that was golden in the fading sunlight; it reached to his waist and even in its low ponytail billowed like a wispy, ethereal cloud. However, not all of the silky hair was red; there was a large stripe of black that ran through the middle of his locks. The other thing that struck him was his eyes; they were incredibly expressive; a warm amber. Cale had never seen that color hair or eyes on anyone before.

`Just like me,' Cale thought. As he looked at the shorter boy, who only came up to Cale's chest, Cale was shocked to find that there was nothing in his demeanor or appearance that angered him. For the first time since he was a child, he felt calm. He felt happy. The redhead smiled at him kindly and something deep inside Cale shuddered like taking a hot shower after standing in the cold all day. The redhead reached out his thin, slender hand for Cale to shake. His face and neck were very pale but his hands and what Cale could see of his arm were incredibly tan, almost black. At first Cale had thought it was because of a tattoo, but it looked more like a burn. When the boy saw him looking at his arms, he paled and flinched. Cale found that smiling back at him was quite easy. They were the same. The redhead was worried about being hurt, too. Cale recognized the fear in his amber eyes as his own. Cale shot his slightly larger hand forward and shook the redhead's retreating hand.

“Sorry about scaring you,” Cale apologized. He honestly didn't remember when the last time he had apologized and meant it was. Hell, he didn't remember the last time he could talk to another person without wondering what they wanted from him. The redhead's smile returned full force.

“That's ok,” he chirped, his voice light, yet not high-pitched or very deep and toned with a Brazilian accent, “I'm Inigo Santiago. I like your hair.” Cale could only blink at him. He had never met someone who was so open in his speech. He ran a hand through his silver-white, unruly hair.

“Uh, thanks, yours is really pretty. It's like fire.” Inigo blushed and Cale felt his heart pound faster at the sight. The boy was very… cute; he supposed was the right word for it.

“My name's Cale Selt.” Inigo gasped.

“Your name means Moon Dog! That's so neat!”

“It does?” Cale asked. He honestly had never known that his name had meant anything.

“Yep. `Inigo' means fire,” Inigo tugged at his ponytail, “Why were you hiding?” Inigo's head twitched to the side, looking at the taller boy inquisitively. Cale knew he should have felt his usual paranoia at the question, but didn't. He just understood somehow that the Brazilian boy didn't mean anything by it.

“Why do you think I was hiding?” Inigo laughed. It was such a beautiful sound, Cale thought. Then, it hit him. He liked this strange boy who was so much like him except, much unlike him, had no shields and barriers to hide himself from the world. He liked him like how he had liked Brian. He tried to feel scared. It would be like before; he would fall hard only to be broken all over again. Yet, as he looked into Inigo's large, amber eyes, he knew that he was different. Besides, he just couldn't force himself to not fall for the boy.

“Well,” Inigo responded, looking up at the tree that Cale had dropped out of, “That's an awfully long way to go if you're not hiding.” Cale shrugged.

“I just needed to get away from the world for awhile.” Inigo's smile melted into one that was more genuine and soft instead of energetic. Cale sucked in a breath heavily as the redhead touched his cheek with his fingertips.

“I know what you mean,” Inigo murmured, “Sometimes things can get to be so painful. It's nice to remind yourself that you're not the only one who's hurting.” He caressed Cale's cheek. Cale knew that he could see right through him. That, despite all of the masks Cale wore, this boy knew just how broken he was because he was broken, too. Suddenly, Inigo grabbed his wrist and started to drag him off. For a smaller boy, he was strong, but Cale still didn't feel threatened by him. Inigo was like a beaten puppy, solemn and wary, but still filled with bubbly hope.

“What the hell?!” Cale yelled as Inigo dragged him out of the park. Inigo smiled back at him.

“If we're both hiding, we should hide together so neither of us gets lonely!”

They ran all over town together without being spotted. A couple of times they saw cops looking for Cale, one of them even approached Inigo with a school photo of Cale, but Inigo was slick enough to throw them off while Cale hid in a nearby store.

“Do you even know where we're going?” Cale finally asked as two hours had passed and night was slowly falling. The shadows were long as the sun disappeared but there was still a bit of light left before the street lamps would light. Inigo shrugged good naturedly.

“Not really,” his smile made Cale's frustration vanish, “I've never been in this town. I'm just sort of drifting through.” Cale shook his head in disbelief.

“And yet, we managed to find each other,” he muttered to himself. He was never one to believe in fate, but… Suddenly, Inigo gripped him by his shirt and pulled him into an alley. Memories stabbed through Cale as he looked at the brick walls of the alley. Cale opened his mouth to protest when Inigo pressed his lips against his. Cale had been raped and had been in love, but he had never been kissed before. It was soft and nice. Everything froze around them; the entire world put on a standstill. The only thing that existed was their lips and their heartbeats. The feeling of their soft lips moving against each other made every muscle in Cale's body relaxed like he had stepped into a warm bath. When it was all over and Inigo stepped back from him, Cale couldn't move or speak. He had no idea that something could feel so good. Inigo laughed in relief as the cop he had spotted moved passed the alley way and hadn't spotted them. He leaned against Cale, breathing in his unique, earthy scent. They called this `animal magnetism', didn't they? He had only met the American a few hours ago, but had already forged some sort of strange connection with him. Cale laid his head against Inigo's soft head.

“Where can we go? The whole police squad is looking for me and if they catch you with me, you'll be in trouble to,” Cale said. Inigo smiled at the concern Cale was showing him.

“Does this town have a library?” Inigo asked. Cale nodded.

“It's about five to ten minutes from here to the south. Why?”

“Because libraries have lofts and basements that we can hide in. That is assuming we can figure out how to unlock the doors.”

Cale smirked.

“I think I can handle that. I've unlocked the doors at my school hundreds of times.” Inigo grasped his hand.

“Show me,” he whispered in Cale's ear, his light tone bordering on seductive.

 

 

As night fell it was much easier for them to hide from the police and anyone else who might be looking for Cale. Inigo had yet to ask why Cale was being hunted and he was curious what the kind boy could have done, but he sensed that Cale didn't want to talk about it, so he didn't ask. Cale's façade was harsh and shielded, but his eyes were soft and gentle when he looked at Inigo. Inigo understood what it was like to try to have to be strong despite what he was really feeling. He was amazed at how alike they were; it was an incredible comfort.

 

The Byurmouth Public Library, much like the school, was archaic. The Library had no elevators, computers, or even any sort of security system which made it a prime location to hide in. Inigo watched with interest as Cale withdrew a long, oddly shaped wire from his bag and slid both ends into the key slot on the back door.

“Do you really think you can break in?” Inigo asked. Cale snorted.

“Public buildings are easy,” he murmured. Inigo was silent as Cale moved the wire around, thinking that the tall boy might need to concentrate. A few minutes later, there was a loud click and Cale opened the door. Cale raised a grey eyebrow at the redhead in an `I told you so' expression. Inigo was expecting some sort of alarm to go off as they went inside, but nothing exciting happened.

“Byurmouth doesn't have the population to update its public buildings,” Cale explained, “Usually it's a pain in the ass, but for now it serves its purpose.” The main building was only one story and there wasn't much to see. The carpet was a deep, relaxing blue. The smell of old books hit Cale and he stroked the spine of a novel. He loved that smell. He had learned more from reading in his spare time than going to school. In middle school he had been labeled a book worm and he hadn't minded that jibe one bit. There was just something about that smell and the feeling of paper at your fingertips. Cale couldn't imagine a time when the internet would replace real books. The fact that Inigo had suggested hiding in this place made Cale smile. He felt safe here.

Cale looked around. He knew that there was a second story to this place. He walked to a green door that was labeled `Private'.

“I think this leads to the loft,” he told his companion. With a few more tricks with the wire, Cale had the door opened. Sure enough, there were stairs.

The loft was not spacious, but it was comfortable. The room had windows with shades, two sofas, a bookshelf filled with `adult' books that could only be specially asked for and not displayed with the rest of the books, two arm chairs, and even a mini refrigerator for the library staff on their breaks. Inigo made sure that the shades were closed and the door was locked securely behind him before he let Cale settle down on the sofa.

“This is nice,” Cale said, not looking at the room like Inigo was, but at his new found friend, “But I can't keep running forever. There are some things I need to get from home and the more distance I put between myself and this town, the better.” Inigo sat down next to him on the couch.

“I'm sure you'll think of something. In the meantime, we can spend the night here and leave early tomorrow. I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go home, but I understand the need to do it,” Inigo said, silently amazed at Cale's bravery. He thought of his own home and his family and realized he could never have that kind of courage.

“Will you stay with me?” Cale asked, his voice small and his heart heavy in his chest. In the hours that they had been together, Cale had been bold and daring; Inigo had yet to see him vulnerable like this. It warmed him strangely; he had the feeling that he was the only one to have this privilege. He placed his hand on Cale's. He was shocked to find that it was trembling just a little bit.

“Of course I will,” Inigo said, stroking Cale's knuckles with his thumb, “I promise I'll stay with you, even when you go home tomorrow. I'm sure we'll find somewhere we can hide.”

Cale smiled at him, his eyes bright with hope. Even when he was friends with Brian he had never felt this way. Just like with this library, Cale felt safe with Inigo. At the joyful, almost childlike and beautiful expression on Cale's face, Inigo leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. Cale blinked at him, adorably confused.

“Before… did you kiss me because you wanted me to shut up?”

Inigo blushed.

“Actually, I was going to just put my hand over your mouth, but I liked that way better.”

Cale felt a strange heat in his gut. He suddenly felt the urge to see if all kissing would be as nice as his first one. He placed a gentle hand on Inigo's thin shoulder and kissed him. At first he was nervous since he had never taken any romantic initiative before, but surprisingly, Inigo let him take control, opening his mouth in submission. Cale slipped his tongue in, remembering all of the couples in his school he had caught making out in the halls. Inigo tasted incredible; sweet and unique. Cale had no idea that a tongue could be both soft and strong, but it was as theirs moved in sync with each other. Cale was shocked again when he felt Inigo slip a hand under his shirt and rubbed against his stomach. His mind flashed to his father during one of his more explorative moods.

`No!' He thought immediately, `it's not like that. I like him. A lot. This is ok, I like this. It's not the same at all.' He melted against Inigo's gentle hand. They broke the kiss but Inigo kept his hand against Cale's skin, cradling a scar that traveled from his right hip bone to his lower left rib. Cale flinched lightly, wondering what Inigo would say when he felt the bunched scar tissue, but Inigo didn't comment on it, just continuing the relaxing caress.

“What is this?” Cale asked.

“What do you want it to be?” Inigo questioned, looking into Cale's golden eyes.

“I… I don't know…” Cale murmured, “I like you and I want this to last, but I've never really been in a relationship before.”

Inigo smiled at his meek behavior.

“That's alright, I like you, too.”

Cale felt heat flood his face. After years of dealing with Brian's cruel rejection he didn't know how to handle someone who actually liked him back. It seemed like a dirty trick and he kept waiting for Inigo to do something mean, but it never happened. Truthfully, though his mind was sending him constant warnings, Cale's heart told him the other boy didn't have it in him to hurt someone like that just for fun. Besides, both times that they had kissed, Inigo had responded just as much as Cale had. Cale drew his now-boyfriend's ponytail over his shoulder and played with it. He loved the long fiery hair and wrapped a few silk strands around his fingers. He felt a burning desire, tearing and heavy in his stomach.

“I want to touch you,” he admitted in embarrassment.

“You mean, you want to have sex with me?” Inigo asked, raising a rust-colored eyebrow as he teased him, hoping to relax Cale a little as he seemed incredibly tense. It didn't have the desired result. Instead, Cale turned deathly pale.

“Cale?” Inigo asked, alarmed, squeezing Cale's arm.

“I don't want to hurt you,” Cale said, his mind instantly equating the word `sex' with `pain' whether he realized it or not. Inigo looked at him in surprise.

“Why do you think that you would hurt me?”

“Because sex always hurts.” The color drained from Inigo's face at that statement. He didn't know what had happened in Cale's life to make him think that, but whatever it was, it was evil.

“Not if you do it right,” Inigo reassured him. Cale shook his head and pressed his head against Inigo's shoulder. The redhead was alarmed to find that he was trembling.

“It always hurts with my father,” Cale muttered, somehow feeling that it was ok to admit that to the boy he loved. He felt ashamed of the fact that he had had sex with his father, but telling someone who actually cared about him made some invisible weight lift from his chest. Inigo wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him close to him. Their bodies molded together and Cale's shaking lessened a little. Inigo rubbed his cheek against Cale's silver hair.

“It's alright, I promise it won't hurt,” Inigo wondered what he would do when he went with Cale to his house. He didn't think that he would be able to remain calm if his father was there. Actually, in some deep, dark part of him, he hoped that the bastard was. No one, especially a child, should have to be subjected to abuse. If Inigo had to hurt him to set Cale free, he would be willing to do it. That should have shocked him; his readiness to murder for a boy he had just met, just as his desire to have sex with that same boy, but it didn't. He imagined a younger Cale screaming and crying under a much larger man; unaware of just how accurate that vision was, and felt a sudden tidal wave of protectiveness enter him. He rubbed Cale's back as the taller boy finally got a handle of his emotions.

“I'm sorry,” Cale murmured, rubbing at his eyes, “I just needed to tell someone. It's been such a long time.”

Inigo smiled and rubbed his head against Cale's neck.

“It's ok. I promise you, it won't hurt. And you won't hurt me, either. You're not like your father, Cale, you're not a monster.”

“But how do you know?” Cale asked earnestly. He had lived most of his life in fear of that very thing; becoming his father. He was filled with such nonsensical rage; he didn't know how to control his anger anymore. The last twenty-four hours was a testament of that. He had also been accused of being a monster ever since he had come out to Brian. Now he was with someone who was like him, but that name stuck with him. What if he really was a monster? Inigo ran his slender fingers through Cale's hair.

“I'll prove it to you. I want you to make love to me.”

Cale balked at him.

“Did your father penetrate you?” Inigo asked gently, not wanting him to think badly of him for the question.

“Y-yes,” Cale stammered, slightly suspicious of the question, a deep blush on his face.

“Then you'll be on top. I don't really mind either way, but I think it would be better for you. I don't want to be on top because I think that might scare you.”

“I'm scared anyway,” Cale admitted quietly in a subdued voice, “What if I am like my father and I hurt you? I don't want to, but I've never done this before without it hurting.” Inigo's smile was gentle and did not hold an ounce of pity, only acceptance of Cale's problem which helped to boost the American's confidence.

“I trust you and you'll have to trust me that I'll tell you if you do anything wrong. Do you?” Cale was silent, thinking.

“Yes, I do trust you. But I'm still nervous.”

Inigo kissed him, taking away whatever other protests Cale had been thinking about.

“That's ok, I am, too. Mostly because I like you and I want this to work. Even if you are a fugitive.”

Cale laughed; it was a husky sound and, though it was also pleasant to hear, Inigo could tell that he didn't do it often. He could also tell that it was not just the sex and the unknown that Cale was nervous about. With the way he held himself and how he had flinched when Inigo had touched his stomach, the Brazilian could tell that he did not want Inigo to see him naked. If his father had raped him, what other things had he done to him? He had definitely felt scar tissue on his skin. However, the fact that his father had put it there bothered Inigo more than the scar tissue itself. Cale had to get over this self-shame he had. Still, Inigo understood that he might feel less vulnerable if Inigo shed his clothes first. Inigo also felt nervous about Cale seeing him naked for the same reasons, but realized that he was being hypocritical and didn't think that Cale was superficial enough to not want to be with him because of his wounds. Cale could tell that, despite the similarities between the two of them that made him feel warm, they were also different, but these differences only seemed to heighten Cale's sense of emotional need instead of driving him further away from Inigo. While Inigo had planned to comfort Cale by undressing first, Cale also took the initiative. Cale slipped off his boots and socks while Inigo took off his jacket and t-shirt. Inigo marveled at how he had never known anyone to take off their clothes from the bottom-up and he found it very adorable.

Inigo's skin was smooth, pale, and for the most part, unblemished. The only exceptions were his arms from just above his elbows to his fingertips, from his knees to his toes, and two large patches of skin across his shoulders trailing down four inches of his spine and the second was on his lower back, just above his buttocks. Each of these discolored bits of skin were pitch black burns with nasty looking knife-scars arched across them that looked horribly raw against the blackened flesh, even on his palms and, Cale winced when he saw it, the soles of his feet. Cale's body was just as bad. His pale skin was covered in fading and fresh bruises, knife scars much like Inigo's, a few burns here and there, and scars that had occurred during bad breaks of his ribs, arms, legs, hands, and feet. There was an odd scar and strangely shaped burn on his stomach from when his father had hit him with an iron while Cale had been ironing Russell's uniform. Inigo paled a little when he saw a bad burn on the underside of Cale's penis. He couldn't imagine the sort of pain that wound had caused and had to fight to keep the anger out of his face. He didn't want Cale to think that he was mad at him for any reason.

Cale blushed harder as they sat completely naked next to each other. He had never imagined that something like this would happen. He had fantasized about having sex with another guy before, but here he had a beautiful one right in front of him and he had no idea of what to do. It was hard for him to feel aroused about anything as anytime he was in a sexual situation, he would remember what it felt like having his dad's cock piston in and out of him, making him bleed and want to scream in agony and whatever arousal he would be feeling would wilt away. He had seen this happen to child rape victims on TV, but didn't realize that it could actually happen this way. Still, he was surprised to find that, looking at Inigo's naked body, his cock was still hardening. He tried to call up his father's image, but nothing happened. Because of his nervousness, he wasn't fully hard, but he wasn't anywhere near flaccid, either. It felt… good, yet painful. He had had erections before, but this time it felt right. He had tried masturbating before, but had never liked it, but now he felt incredibly self-confident. It felt like there was someone else inside of him trying to break out. A hungry, but protective animal. He wasn't afraid of feeling like that at all. In fact, it made him feel much better about his situation. What he was really afraid of was letting his boyfriend down. That word sounded so sweet inside his head. He needed to prove to himself, more than anyone else, that he was capable of having a healthy, normal relationship. But, even with all of his excitement and need spinning inside of his gut, there was a small, bitter, but powerful voice inside of his head.

`You don't deserve this. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve happiness. You lost your father. You lost your mother. You lost Brian and you will lose Inigo, too,' it chanted hatefully inside of him. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it continued to roll around in his brain like a rabid mutt; stupid and dying, but still incredibly dangerous. Still, with Inigo so close to him, that voice was easy to ignore for once. But that didn't make it go away. He didn't think it ever would.

Cale realized that he knew absolutely nothing about Inigo, yet this didn't seem too pressing at the time. He didn't know the Brazilian's past, but he felt that he knew him intimately. He wondered if it was because they had so much in common and were sexually attracted to each other or if it was something deeper. Confusion, anticipation, anxiety, and need warred inside of him, but when Inigo opened his long, slender legs to him, animal instinct took over. He understood things that he had not known before and Inigo's cock did not scare him at all. His pubic hair was mixed with black and red. Cale rubbed his nose in it, inhaling Inigo's musky scent deeply. That smell was enough to spur him forward. He smelled nothing like Russell; where his father smelt of smoke, beer, and gunpowder, Inigo smelled like grass, wood, and something animalistic, but wonderful. Inigo giggled, feeling ticklish in the place that no one had touched before. He thread his hands through Cale's hair; which was nicely silky, despite its spiky mess. Cale explored Inigo's lithe body with small licks and kisses. Inigo kept still, though when his lover touched a sensitive spot, he couldn't help but moan. He wanted to show Cale that there was nothing to be scared of here. Cale made it to Inigo's neck and nipped him, creating a red mark, but was careful not to hurt him. He didn't know why he did it, but it felt right; a sound like a mix between a purr and a low growl built up in his chest. Inigo panted a little, feeling hot all over. The feeling of Cale's teeth on his tender skin was not alarming. He remembered reading that animals would show their necks to others as a sign of submission and he did so for Cale, bowing his head back a little so he could have better access to him. The silver-haired boy was like a child in his exploration. He had never had the opportunity to do something like this before and was eager to see what reactions he could get from Inigo. He knew all the sounds a person could make when they were in pain, but what about pleasure? He moved his hands against Inigo's spread thighs. The redhead's cock was well proportioned for his body, though slightly smaller than Cale's. He was concerned when he felt Inigo's left thigh tremble a little, but when he looked at his face, he saw only a pleasurable expression. He figured that pain and pleasure were linked somehow and that though that expression could be read as pain, Cale knew enough to know that it was good kind of pain. A pain that came with a need, not because he was being hurt. Cale also knew that he would never hurt him; not even to stop in the middle of what they were doing. He imagined that the Brazilian wouldn't appreciate his stopping, especially now that Cale's fear had disappeared.

Cale licked his soft nipples, amused when Inigo jerked a little bit and a small moan escaped him. He knew that a guy's nipples weren't as sensitive like a girl's but was glad that he could still get a reaction out of his lover by the small sensation. Cale's cock was heavy between his legs. He didn't understand how guys could handle being aroused. His lust was a solid, pulsating thing in his gut and crotch. He could even feel it in his balls, which were oddly tight. He slowly moved his hands to Inigo's bent knees, spreading hi legs more so he could get better access to the redhead's genitals. His cock was uncircumcised, unlike Cale's. He wondered if that was his parents' personal decision or if it was because of where he came from. He simply chalked it up to one more thing he didn't know about the Brazilian. A realization hit him.

“Should we use condoms?” He asked, panicking. He didn't want to stop but he had never been tested for anything. Inigo gripped his shoulders desperately, his nails digging inot Cale's skin a little, but the taller body didn't mind.

“It's fine. Please keep going!” Inigo begged, his own cock hard and throbbing. He didn't want Cale to know that he was new to this as well. He could feel the silver-haired boy's warm breath on him like a pleasant thing in the winter weather.

“My father never used condoms,” Cale explained, “What if I make you sick?” Cale said, fear making his voice deep.

“You won't. I trust you,” Inigo responded. Against his better judgment, he took Inigo's belief to heart. He didn't know why, but the redhead's trust seemed contagious. He knew that neither he nor his father had displayed any sort of symptoms for STDs, but he had taken Sex and Health in Middle School and knew that didn't mean that they weren't sick. It was just another anxiety in his life, that one day he would discover that his father had given him something nasty. Still, there was something in Inigo's eyes and voice that made Cale believe that it would be ok, he wouldn't give him anything.

So, with his bare finger tips he drew down Inigo's flesh-colored foreskin. Inigo bit his lip, not wanting Cale to know how much that simple touch had affected him. He hoped that he could contain his orgasm for when Cale was inside him. Just the thought that soon the other boy's penis would be inside of his body filled him with feral pleasure and almost sent him over the edge, but he still had some self-control left.

Inigo's length was just as hard as his, Cale saw. He exposed his head, which was tinged red in arousal and there were creamy white drops of cum drooling from his slit. Cale pulled down the pale foreskin more, wanting to see as much of Inigo's bare cock as possible. He cupped his sac in his large hands. Inigo's testicles felt wonderfully heavy. He felt a sudden desire to know what Inigo's cum tasted like and heeded it, leaning down and running his tongue against the slit, licking up the trail of white precum that was starting to drip down Inigo's cock. The organ was blissfully alive on his tongue; Cale could taste Inigo's pulse, pounding quickly and hard in his veins. The shorter boy tasted salty and tart, yet a little bit sweet.

Inigo gasped as he felt Cale's hot tongue on him, wetting his already moistened arousal. His slender tongue felt so wonderful on his sensitive flesh. Cale smirked at his reaction. It gave him a sense of power knowing that he could make the other boy cry out like that. He wrapped his fingers around the hard, twitching length, loving the feeling of the male genitalia. Any doubts of his sexuality fled from his mind. Inigo may have long hair and a soft body, but he was definitely male. He wondered if he could make him cum without even touching his genitals. He resolved that he would try. His hands moved from Inigo's knees to his nicely curved and tight ass cheeks. Inigo immediately understood what Cale wanted and he scooted down the sofa to give him better access to his ass. He bent his legs up and pressed them to his stomach, wrapping his arms around his under thighs t keep them there. Cale gave him an appreciated look as he now had a better view of what he was doing. An idea came to Inigo as Cale started to knead his buttocks gently. The ministrations were very relaxing and Inigo felt his muscles relax. He figured that Cale would know how painful things could be if you were tense, but if his suspicions were right, Inigo also figured that there was something that Cale didn't know about.

“What about lube?” Inigo asked. Just as he thought, Cale looked confused.

“Isn't that for girls?”

Inigo kissed Cale's throat at his adorable expression. Cale had seen commercials for `warming gel' and `good vibe lubrication' on late night TV, but he had never given it much thought like with other commercials on television.

“Actually,” Inigo said, “It's more important for guys than girls. Girls have a sort of natural lubrication. We don't.” Cale had already known that, but he had, once again, not put much thought into it. He put that fault on his father's shoulders. Russell had only thrust into him. It was no wonder he had so much scar tissue down there if he was supposed to use lube. Cale paled a little. He didn't have anything that could be considered lube and he refused to take a chance with the boy that he loved. Inigo saw Cale's expression but smiled. He jerked his head towards his duffle bag.

“I have some cream I use for my burns. It's not medicated so we can use that.”

Spurred on further by a fail safe to make things safer for his lover, Cale felt the last clawings of fear slowly slip from his chest and momentarily left Inigo to rummage through his bag. Inigo felt his absence and shivered as the warmth surrounding him dwindled a little. Cale dug past art materials and a first aid kit. It came to him then that Inigo really was traveling on his own. The bag contained things that would only be there if he was traveling a long way. There was even a small, inflatable tent. Questions filled Cale's head, but he beat them down. There would be plenty of time for him to ask. Besides, Inigo hadn't asked any questions about him and Cale felt that he needed to return the favor. Finally, he found a white tube and gratefully returned to his lover. Despite his sexual naiveté, instinct took control again and Cale understood what he had to do to get Inigo ready for him to penetrate him. Despite that, when Cale spread him and saw Inigo's tiny, puckered, nicely pink hole, he doubted that his erect cock would be able to fit in there. He swallowed nervously but felt better when he saw Inigo's blushing, anxious face.

Cale covered his first finger with the cream and spread more on Inigo's hole. Cale pressed the tip of his finger against the delicate orifice. To his amazement, the flesh gave for him and his slender finger slipped in easily. Inigo bit off a groan as he felt the finger enter him. His initial reaction was to force the intruder out of him, but forced his muscles to relax and found that the strange sensation was actually nice. His hips squirmed a little as he wanted to feel Cale's finger moving deep inside of him. If he felt this wanton for a single, thin digit, he couldn't imagine how it would feel once Cale's thick cock was in him.

Cale felt Inigo's muscles clench at his finger, then relax. He took that as a signal to lube up his second finger and slowly insert it next to his first. Inigo hissed in pleasure as he felt more rubbing against his inner walls. Cale moved his fingers as much as he could, knowing that the movement was both exciting Inigo and helping his anal muscles loosen up. Cale felt his courage grow as he felt that his lover was definitely loosening and was squirming with need and added a third, slick finger, digging them deeper into Inigo's channel. His inner muscles were tight against his fingers and his channel was hot. It felt good and soft. Suddenly, the tip of his long, middle finger brushed against something that was firm and spongy. Inigo's body bucked and a strangled cry was forced from him. Cale paused.

“Are you ok?” Cale asked, concerned, “Did I hurt you?”

“Oh, God, no!” Inigo panted, “Do that again!”

Cale had never been very good at science but he had paid enough attention in anatomy lectures to know that he had found Inigo's prostate. As Inigo's cock grew more erect, the foreskin was pushed down on its own by his engorged head. Cale stroked the bump with all of his fingers this time. Inigo bucked again, crying out and rubbing his thighs together as his body was wracked with pleasure heating up his nerves. Cale mused that if this sort of sex was wrong, men wouldn't have a gland there that felt good when it was touched. He withdrew his fingers, marveling at how they were slightly slick now with not just lube. He supposed that guys had a natural lubrication, too.

“You ready?” Cale asked, his golden eyes met Inigo's amber one's, both pairs dark with lust. Inigo nodded his head frantically. He grabbed at Cale's shoulders again. Cale bit his lip in concentration, wondering how he should do this. He let his body lead him, lubing up his cock. His fingers felt strange on his own dick. He pressed his swollen head against Inigo's hole, worried for a moment that he wouldn't fit, but the more he pressed, the more the muscles stretched to accommodate him. As he watched himself slip into his lover's body, he prepared himself to see blood leak out of him, but he was shocked to find that, even when he had pushed in as far as he could go, there was none. He wished he had known about lube before. He could have saved himself a lot of pain. Sure, his dad would never have used it, but Cale could have put some in him before going to bed each night, just to be safe.

Inigo gasped and panted as Cale's cock stretched his insides. His length felt so hard inside of him. He felt stuffed, like he was being torn in two, but in a good way. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. He barely felt Cale's hands on his hips as he was swimming in pure feeling.

Cale's pants merged with Inigo's in the quiet room. He had no idea it could feel so good! It was no wonder people went around horny all the time. His cock felt like it was being clenched by something hot, silky, and wonderfully moist. He had thought that it would hurt, being surrounded by something so tight, but it felt wonderful. He placed his hands on Inigo's trembling hips to steady himself. He moved his hips a little, massaging Inigo's insides a little. Inigo cried out as the head of Cale's penis rubbed against that strange spot inside of him. Cale felt Inigo tighten around him as his inner muscles spasmed in response to his movements and he gritted his teeth. He let himself lose a little bit of his control, thrusting in and out of the other boy, yet still making sure that none of Inigo's heated cries had an ounce of pain in them. Suddenly, as Cale discovered how to hit Inigo's prostate with each strong thrust, Inigo was thrusting his own body down onto Cale's length, trying to get as much of him inside of him as he could.

Inigo started to screech in some foreign language; Cale could only assume that it was Portuguese, and spread his legs wider in wanton need as Cale's movements became too much for his sexually sensitive body. Cale suddenly felt something hot and thick spurt onto his stomach. He paused regrettably, thinking that he had hurt Inigo and that it was blood, but instead he discovered that the liquid was white and realized that the redhead had cum. He felt a strange pride inside of him knowing that he had made him orgasm. Feeling Inigo's insides reflexively clamp down on him, Cale let everything go. His hate, sadness, anxiety; he let every bad feeling he ever had flow out of him in the act of loving another person. The first orgasm he had ever had ripped through him like a tidal wave. It felt so incredible, it actually hurt. Cale hadn't realized just how long he had been holding all of that in, sexually and emotionally, and was surprised to find that there were tears on his cheeks. Inigo saw them and gently slid off of his lover. He got on his knees and leaned forward, licking away the tears.

“That was incredible,” the redhead murmured, nuzzling Cale's pale neck, feeling exhausted. Cale smiled, feeling that it was much easier now. He drew the smaller boy to him and laid them down on the sofa. Inigo snuggled against his bare chest, feeling safe, even in this strange place, with this strange boy. Cale fell right to sleep. Inigo had though, with everything that had happened, he would have had a hard time falling asleep. Since leaving South America, he couldn't sleep. But, in Cale's arms with his heart beat in his ear and his warm semen running out of him sluggishly, he fell into a deep sleep.

 

Cale awoke to the sound of raindrops hammering on the window and cold draft on his bare skin. The green digital display on the microwave read 3:02. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept that long. The storm had come while they were sleeping, but why was it so cold? It was then that Cale realized that he was all alone on the sofa. He sat up straight, his heart pounding in his chest. No, it wasn't just the sofa, he was alone in the room. He hastily grabbed his jeans and jacket, pulling them on to ward against the chill. The window was open and the rain was soaking the carpet. On the window sill, a crow sat, its beady, black eyes staring into his golden ones.

The Grackles know you, Cale thought insanely. Rage filled him. He wanted to kill the bird, tear out all of its feathers and taste its blood on his tongue. The crow sensed the danger and flew off into the storm. Blood rushed to Cale's head and his heart continued to pound painfully in him. Inigo's things were gone, but the door was still locked from the inside. Cale didn't ponder why this was, there was only one thing that repeated over and over in his mind. He left me. He left me but he promised. I'm all alone again. The voice had been right; he hadn't deserved Inigo's love and now he had abandoned him, too. Anger beat against him like a hideous cancer, eating at any sense he had left. His heart hurt so much, it felt like it was ripping apart. Still, he was not angry at Inigo. Besides the fact that he still loved him with every inch of his soul, he knew that it wasn't Inigo's fault. He had finally seen that Cale was a monster. It was for the best, Cale told himself, he didn't deserve Inigo and in the end he would have just destroyed him, too. So why did he feel so horrible? In the back of his mind, Cale realized that this changed nothing; he still had to go home and he still had to leave town. Only now, he had to do it alone. Rage, despair, and gut-wrenching depression became a single, solid emotion in his heart. This was why he had resolved so long ago to never have emotional attachments. In the end, everything left you and betrayed you. He battled with his need to destroy everything to overcome how hurt he was and his need for self-preservation. Just like with Brian, he just had to bottle up his emotions deep inside of him and do what needed to be done. Cale was shocked when he started to cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! He tried to dig deep inside of himself for the strange strength to shove all of his feelings aside, but he couldn't find it. Terror filled him and his rage grew at the feeling of fear. Why couldn't he stop crying? Why couldn't he ignore his feelings like before? Because he was different now, he realized, Inigo had made him different. With the image of Inigo's beautiful amber eyes and his soft smile in his mind, Cale found that he couldn't stop the tears, or the rage.

 

The storm raged around Cale like a dragon as he walked towards his house. His hair was flat against his head because of the heavy rain. The wind howled and shook the trees, sending what little leaves were left swirling around in the air like swarming moths. Lightning arched across the sky, reminding Cale of the shadows on his bedroom ceiling and thunder crackled loudly, making Cale wince as it rang painfully in his ears. He passed by shops and restaurants where people were taking cover against the storm. They looked warm and comfortable though their eyes held fear as the storm continued outside as they watched. Wasn't that what his whole life had been like? Separated from the world of happiness and warmth while others watched as he was pelted with cold and danger? How many times had he gone to school with broken bones and bruises with teachers and students looking on, but not really seeing? Sure enough, the people in the windows watched him as he trudged on in the middle of the strong wind and icy rain, but none left their shelter to offer him help. It made him want to shatter the windows and let some of the rain and wind into those buildings, to show those people what it was like outside in the real world, that the world wasn't all summer days with flowers and the sun shining brightly on all. Sometimes there were storms and sometimes things got destroyed.

Things were bad on his street. Flowers and mailboxes and lawn ornaments had been swept out of the ground and lay strewn about. His house seemed to be the only one that had nothing done to it, though they didn't have anything outside to be disturbed. He spotted the flower bed that used to have sunflowers growing out of it courtesy of his mother. The soil was everywhere now and the rain had turned it into a mini pool of sludge. He stood there in the rain and stared at it. It struck him then that this would be the very last time he would see this place, this town. Despite all that had happened, that fact made him feel sad. This was the place he had lived all of his life. He had never stepped out of this little town before. As he looked at the windows of the house, he could almost see his mother there, holding him as a baby in her soft arms, rocking him to sleep. He knew that that was a false memory brought on by his need for something intimate, but it brought tears to his eyes nonetheless.

The sound of the door creaking open filled the house and to Cale sounded louder than the thunder booming off into the distance. His hair prickled against his cold skin and seemed to stand on end as the thick smell of beer filled his nose. The disgusting scent surrounded him and blocked any other smell, it seemed to over power him. That smell had never been that powerful before and it made Cale gag. With his boot he slammed the door closed behind him. There was no point in hiding the fact that he had come home. Now, all he had to do was somehow avoid his father and get his things. He managed to get into the kitchen before he realized just how impossible his goals were.

Russell was waiting for him, sitting at the kitchen table, a cigarette smoking in one hand and the phone, poised like a weapon, clutched tightly in his other. There were three beer cans near him, all of them open and one of them still had condensation on it. Russell's dark brown eyes met Cale's, his face contorted in fury.

“What did you do?! What the fuck did you do?!” He bellowed, demanding. Cale stood his ground.

“That boy you put in the hospital is brain dead! You nearly cracked his skull wide open,” Russell's voice cracked in emotion and Cale knew he was remembering the night that his mother had died, “Your principal?! What the fuck is wrong with you?! He bled to death! You sick, little monster!”

Cale felt an ugly pleasure knowing that he had killed the hypocritical fuck. Technically he had killed two people yesterday. This didn't bother him at all. They deserved it, he told himself. His father deserved to die, too. Cale had deserved to be punished, but there was something evil in his father to make him want to have sex with his son. Who knew? Maybe once Cale left, Russell would keep hurting people. Cale didn't know what to do. He hated his father, but there was still a little kid in the back of his mind that was cowering in terror from his father. He wanted to destroy him, to show him what pain really felt like, but he was so scared. Where had his strength gone? After all of the pain and the late nights being pinned down and raped by this monster, it was so hard to stand up to him. Fantasizing was one thing, actually gathering up the courage to do it was something completely different.

Russell slammed the phone down on the table. He had always known that his son was evil. First he had killed Iris, now some poor, innocent boy and his principal. Russell felt guilt for all of them. Once Iris had died, he should have taken care of his little problem. But because he was so weak and needed the boy to continue on surviving, he had been partially responsible for the principal's death and the boy's assault. Still, it wasn't too late to take care of things and make sure that no one else got hurt. He swept the beer cans aside. Beer spilled all over the floor, turning the wood a darker brown and adding to the rank smell of the place. Cale usually took care of the mess, but since he hadn't come home last night, the mess had piled up. His gun lay in his bedroom, but that didn't matter, there was more than one way to kill another human.

Russell took a step forward. Their eyes dug into one another. It was like bear approaching a wolf, Cale thought. His father was a bit taller than him, but he had muscles while Cale was mostly bone. Cale could outrun his father, but Russell was much stronger than him. Fear shone in Cale's eyes. He needed to get past his father. He briefly marveled at how he was willing to risk his well being for a few tokens. But, the thought was fleeting. They weren't just things, they were memories. But how was he going to get passed the brute and to his room? He would have to knock him out somehow. There was no way he was going to have the time to get his stuff just by being quick.

Not even realizing it, Cale had made a very important mistake. He had forgotten that his father had once been a cop. So, not only did he have muscle behind him, but also experience. All the speed in the world couldn't have helped him when his father darted forward and grabbed him by his shirt, twisting them around and slamming Cale to the kitchen table. The legs of the table creaked and groaned by the brute force Russell had used. Cale gasped as pain flared up his back. His father stood over him. Cale struggled against him and managed to punch Russell in the cheek. Russell stared at his son in shock. He definitely wasn't a little kid anymore, but he was still a teenager, not even old enough to vote or buy porn. Still, he had surprised him with the punch, but he didn't loosen his grip on his shirt. The bright light of the kitchen hit Cale's silvery hair and turned it gold. Russell was struck again by how much the boy looked like Iris. After seventeen years, it finally came to him. It was in his face and his scent. He had the same expressions as her and his smell was exactly the same, not the perfume, but her natural scent. Cale continued to squirm, but Russell had trapped his arms with his hands and with the larger man on top of him, he couldn't move his legs to kick him. Russell felt Cale's skin rub against his as he struggled. Just one more time wouldn't hurt, would it? It would make him feel better. Just one more time for the road…

Cale heard the soft `shick' of Russell's belt moving through the loops of his slacks. He tried once more to get his legs up for a kick, knowing what was coming, but he was trapped. Russell continued to lean on Cale's legs and grabbed his wrists. He pulled Cale's writhing body off the table a little so he could push his arms behind him and wrapped the belt tightly around his arms, securing the buckle. He pressed a strong hand against Cale's shuddering, flat stomach to keep him still as the teenager swore at him.

“You need to be punished,” he snarled, “you evil little bastard.” Russell grabbed two dishrags from the sink, a few feet away so he didn't have to leave his captive. He tied the dishrags to Cale's ankles, tying them to the legs of the table. He didn't want the boy to kick him in the middle of this. He took a large knife from the silver ware drawer and the broom from the corner of the kitchen next to the refrigerator. The boy had killed and he needed to be punished for it and it was his job as his father to do it. Cale snarled at him as Russell approached with the knife. He watched with fear in his eyes as the knife descended on his jeans and the blade ripped through the fabric from the groin to the top hem. As the knife made its ascent, the metal button of his pants popped off and fell to the floor somewhere. Russell roughly shoved the ruined jeans down Cale's legs, using the knife to destroy them more until he could just rip them off. Cale shivered as cold air hit his bare legs. A smoldering light drew Cale's eye. Russell waved the lit end of his cigarette in front of Cale's face. Cale hadn't realized that he had found it when it had fallen to the floor when Russell had attacked him. The hot tip of it came closer to him and Cale felt his eyes water at the heat. Without a word, Russell grabbed one of Cale's restrained feet and pressed the cigarette to the sole. Cale cried out as he felt his skin sear and burn. The horrible sensation moved to the other foot then to his thigh. He yelled over and over as his father was relentless with his torture, pressing the hot stick to his stomach and neck. This wasn't the first time he had been burned, but that didn't mean that didn't hurt any less. He would never get used to that feeling. His thoughts went to Inigo and rage coiled in his gut thinking about what he would do to the person that had burned his arms and legs and back. Then, the heat was blessedly gone and Russell flicked the cigarette into the sink. He grabbed the broom, feeling the worn wood under his hand.

Suddenly, Cale felt something ripping through his body. He let out a scream that was more animal than human. It hurt. Thick blood poured out of his bottom as Russell forced the handle of the broom deeper into Cale. The blood made sick sounds as it splattered on the wood floor. Russell dug the broom deeper and deeper, wondering how far he could shove it in and how much pain he could inflict on the crying boy before he died. He handled the broom with one hand and lit another cigarette with the other, sticking it in his mouth and inhaling deeply. He felt his cock harden in his slacks at the sight of his son impaled on the large broomstick, panting in pain, his ass drenched with blood which shone brightly in the light of the kitchen. He ripped the broom from Cale and tossed it off somewhere. He stroked Cale's trembling hip and thrust forward. He hissed through the cigarette, the embers from its tip shaking off and falling on Cale's stomach. The blood had made him incredibly wet inside, just like a woman. Cale choked as he felt his father push into him. Everything went gray and all he could hear was his father's grunts and the sound of flesh slapping flesh as Russell thrust in and out brutally. Cale found that his throat was too sore to scream anymore. He couldn't see, couldn't think. His entire world was focused on the horrendous pain. Bile rose in his throat, but he bit it back. The thrusting went on forever, much longer than usual. It hit Cale then that the reason for it was that Russell knew that this would be their last time. Well, he was right about that.

`Never again,' Cale thought. He had been limp in his bonds, unable to move, but now with the rage returning full force, his body was tight and ready. For what, he didn't know, but this couldn't go on. Hours ago, he had been with the most beautiful person he had ever met, knowing what real love, real sex, was supposed to feel like. Now, he was being raped on his kitchen table, possibly bleeding to death. Those two worlds were so separated from each other, they seemed to not belong to the same person.

“Iris, Iris!” Russell cried out as he climaxed, his semen shooting into Cale and mixed with the blood to create a hideous pinkish fluid. The smells of sex, burning flesh, tobacco, blood, and beer combined in the air disgustingly.

“I'M NOT MOM!” Cale screamed, feeling something inside both his chest and his throat give way at the guttural cry. He lurched forward as far as he could and bit down on Russell's throat. Russell choked in shock, pain filtering through his post-climax senses. He tasted blood, thick and rich, in his mouth. His brain froze and he panicked, unable to understand what had happened to him. Cale sunk his teeth further into his father's throat. Like a bulldog, he refused to let go. Hot blood streamed down his throat and Cale drank it up. Finally, with a burst of strength, Cale brought his teeth together with a sharp and final snap. Russell fell to ground, jerking and spasming, unable to scream as blood gushed out of his neck. Instead of spitting out the large chunk of flesh Cale had bitten out of his father, he swallowed it down. It tasted good, like raw, hot, moist beef. Russell gave three more seizure like spasms then stopped moving all together.

Cale panted, his heart pounding in his chest, but in a pleasant way, with the excitement of accomplishment. The pain roared in him, but it was starting to become muted with shock. Cale took his shot and flexed his long fingers against the belt buckle. It took seven tries, but he finally managed to get it unbuckled and wriggled out of it. Sitting up was a completely different agony and he almost blacked out. His vision grayed completely and vomit rose in his throat. He was somehow able to untie the dishrags from his ankles before lurching to the ground to throw up. His stomach cramped up and he had to fight to keep his body from shaking out of control. He sat on the floor for a good ten minutes before he was able to get his trembling legs back under him and he was on his feet again. If anyone had asked him later how he had managed to get to his room, he couldn't say. One minute he was standing up, clutching his stomach as more and more pain crested inside of him and the next he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, a huge pool of blood under him. It made him feel nasty, sitting in that pool. He felt wet and messy. He decided that he wouldn't be looking at himself in the mirror anytime soon. His burns were tingling unpleasantly, but his biggest concern was the searing pain in his insides. Fear gripped him. What if he was really messed up inside? What if he was bleeding to death or his bowels were destroyed? He could fix a little bit of tearing on his own, but going to the hospital was just not acceptable at this point.

From his spot on the floor, Cale was able to grab the sheets off of his bed and wrapped them around himself. He wondered why the police weren't here. Isn't that what they were supposed to do? Stake out the house in case he showed up? But even with all of the screaming he had done, no one had shown up and the phone hadn't rung once. He shivered. He was so cold; the blankets weren't helping him at all. He had to get out of here somehow. Even if he died, at least it wouldn't be in this place. He spread his legs as much as he could before his broken mind started to scream in panic at the position and his body felt the stabbings of pain in his anus as his muscles stretched. He felt his stomach clench in nausea as the sounds of the rain hitting the windows sounded too much like flesh on flesh for him. Still, he worked as quickly as he could, wiping up the blood with the blankets. He gave a choked, rough cry as the cloth rubbed against his torn skin. Half of the blanket soon became covered in blood, but to Cale's relief, it seemed that the bleeding was slowing down a little, though his lower abdomen still felt wrong somehow. Cale remembered a few years back when Russell had been shot in the line of duty and had to have surgery. They had given him some pretty strong pain medication. It was a long shot, but the pills could still be in his father's room somewhere. Cale scooted over to the loose floor panel near his bed. It took him awhile to pry it open. He wasn't in the habit of opening it in case his dad realized what he was doing and the compartment was filled with dust. He coughed a little as the dust flew up at him as he started to grab things from the slot. His throat hurt, but it was nothing compared to the other pains. Over the years, the compartment had been filled and more things had joined the jewelry box. A trophy from middle school when he had won the regional championship in track. A plush bat with creamy blue eyes and an adorable face like a foxes that he had won in a school carnival. First edition copies of The Cycle of the Werewolf and It. Then there was the jewelry box itself. The old mahogany box was filled with silver bracelets, gold chains, and shimmering jeweled necklaces. Cale inhaled sharply as two pieces drew his attention. He couldn't believe that he had taken those things. An elegant, thin silver bracelet that made a haunting chiming sound when you ran your finger over its edges; it was engraved with Celtic symbols or runes, Cale couldn't tell, he only assumed so because he knew that this bracelet had been passed down in his mother's family for over ten generations and her family had hailed from somewhere Celtic as most of her old family's things had that sort of design. His mother had not talked about her family much, but she had treasured her heirlooms greatly. The bracelet was also engraved with simple, caveman-like drawings of a wolf, snake, and bird. The other item that had caught his interest was another heirloom; a brilliant, transparent blue stone that looked like thin, spun glass with a copper fox, curled up inside of it and one white-gold, one blue-gold wing wrapped around the stone beautifully, each feather beautifully carved, attached to a thin, real gold chain. Cale did not know where the necklace had come from, only that his mother had never worn it, yet hid it with great care. He unlatched the gold chain and fixed it around his neck and slid the silver bracelet on his wrist. He had never worn jewelry before, but these items were not overly feminine and wearing something of his mother warmed him inside. He walked stiffly to his closet, trying not to move his muscles too much, though each movement stung anyway. It had been awhile, but he managed to find the black duffle bag he had used to stash his track uniform and stashed his hidden treasures in it. He didn't bother to look through his clothes, he just dumped all of it in his bag, not knowing where he was going or what he would need. He did the same in the bathroom, grabbing all of the medicine bottles and supplies he could. To his surprise, he found his father's painkillers and swallowed two with water from the sink. The water was warm and tasted like metal, but with his raw throat, it was heavenly and he shuddered pleasantly as he felt the liquid slide down his mouth. There was nothing in the basement and he had no desire to go into his father's bedroom. He thought that it would be a good idea to grab one of Russell's heavy coats, but he didn't want anything that smelled like him. Similarly, there was nothing of value in the living room, just the television, a sofa, and more empty beer cans. The kitchen smelled worse than ever. Cale wondered how long it took for a body to decompose. He had no qualms about kneeling down to look at his father's corpse. The smell made him wince, but still he stared at his slack face. There was something about seeing Russell's dead body; it made him realize that his father truly had been a human. He had had monstrous tendencies, but in the end he was mortal just like anything else. Cale could almost pity him. His father had broken so easily and Cale had lived on. Now, Russell was nothing more than a sack of meat smelling of piss and shit after his muscles had slackened in death. It was almost anti-climatic.

`He hated me for causing Mom's death,' Cale thought, `And because of that, because he confirmed the hate I had for myself, I started to hate him, too. I broke my father's soul. And he broke mine. Something shattered in our minds, but who's fault was it? Mine for getting Mom killed, or his for forcing all of his negative feelings, not just for Mom, but for everything in his life on me? I don't even know anymore. Our roles reserved so many times. Just hurting each other over and over until we became broken people. Could we see it and not just care? Was there anyway I could have saved my family or were we doomed from the beginning? Did Mom's death really matter or was it just the turning point? I can't remember my childhood anymore, just the pain and the degradation. Was there a point in my life that I was happy? We hurt and we hurt. Like a foolish snake eating its own tale, we devoured each other until there was nothing left.'

Cale stared into his father's clouded brown eyes, but felt only rage and sadness. He thought that those feelings would have melted away into numbness by now, but it never happened. Finally, the moment was broken and he stepped over the body. He moved through the entire kitchen, hitting the refrigerator first. He couldn't take anything perishable, so he skipped the frozen dinners, milk, and eggs and took all of the water bottles he could find. He then went for the dried food and silverware. He took anything sharp that he could find. He examined a large butcher knife. It shined in the light and reflected himself in its blade. His face was ashen and his eyes seemed hollow and lost. He would need to live in the woods for awhile until things died down. He had never killed an animal before, but he was sure he could do it. He didn't worry over the fact that he was more hesitant about killing a rabbit for food than slicing his principal's cheek open or killing his father. A sudden perverse impulse came over him as he looked at his long nails. He didn't bite them and usually didn't clip them unless he had to, so they were pretty long. He sat at the kitchen table and ran the knife over his nails, carving into them. He worked at them for awhile, his movements not very precise so he ended up slicing into his fingers. This didn't faze him; the pain pills had started to work and his body was starting to go numb. Soon, he had finished with each nail, making them sharp and claw-like. He had no idea why he had done that, but it made him feel good, both making them sharp and mutilating himself. He grabbed his duffle bag and his book bag. He kneeled by his father one last time, this time to root through his pockets. He found his wallet and two hundred dollars. Two-hundred and twenty dollars wasn't much, but it would get him a decent meal every now and then.

Cale left his house, closing the door firmly behind him, refusing to look back. As stupid as it sounded to him, he was afraid that if he did, he would turn back for some reason. He had no reason to stay, but he didn't trust his emotions at this point. He had done some pretty weird stuff in the last two days. The storm had settled a little. It was still raining, but not as hard, the wind was still and there was no more thunder or lightning. Cale stood in the rain for a few minutes, letting the cool water hit his flushed face. He felt so hot all of a sudden. His bones ached and his head was on fire. He was afraid about infection, but there was nothing he could do about it short of stealing antibiotics. His skin itched, but the rain and being out of the house made him feel a little better. A harsh sound flooded his ears. He felt and heard every little thing as though it were broadcast on a boom box. It only made him angrier. It made him want to destroy everything just so he could be ok again, even the very air he breathed seem to have some invisible fault in his erratic thoughts. He glared at the source of the sounds. Over a dozen crows were perched on his neighbor's tree. They cawed loudly, their black eyes staring at him accusingly. He hadn't heard them in the house, the creaking of the door must have roused them. With an angry growl Cale picked up a stone from his driveway and launched it at them. The birds screamed in shock and took off into the rain, their black feathers falling to the ground and making them disappear in the dark night quickly. More noises came, this time a barking. Scampy the collie was snarling and barking at him from behind the chain fence of his neighbor's yard. Cale felt his hair rise at the sight of the dog. He felt challenged at the beast's mere presence. That the small dog had the gall to snarl at him made him want to show it who was boss around here. He tilted his head back. A long, haunting howl escaped him, breaking through the night. The sound was sad and desperate and completely animal. Scampy whimpered and ran back into the backyard. That howl had been another perverse impulse, but even more than sharpening his nails, it made him feel really good; more than that, it felt right. It felt natural.

Cale took to the woods, running as fast as his long legs allowed him. His brain burned in his skull, his joints flared with pain, but it all faded away with the trees and the wilderness, all swirling and blurring together in brownish matter around him. Happiness swelled in his heart at the feeling of the ground under his feet. In mid run, when his feet left the earth, it felt like he was flying for a few seconds. The cold didn't touch him. He had missed this. The running, the escaping. Now he had a goal somewhere in his head. He didn't know what it was exactly yet, but it would come to him. He ran for hours, wondering why he hadn't tired yet. The clouds began to clear, the rain stopped, and moonlight lit Cale's path. He finally slowed. Something wasn't right. He could feel it inside. There was a smell, a very familiar smell. Blood and perfume. He knew that perfume. He sniffed at the air, searching for it. Then, he heard someone scream. He ran towards the source of the sound. There was crying, then laughing and the sound of flesh on flesh. That horrible sound…

There, up ahead was a girl leaning on a tree. The red of her skirt in the darkness was a beacon. As Cale got closer he saw that it was a middle school girl of Japanese descent and her skirt wasn't red. She was crying. Then, the other people came into Cale's view. Cale's blood grew cold as he saw Samantha, Brian, Daniel, and Carole. Samantha held a wooden bat in her hand, the tip of it covered in blood. Cale saw that the middle schooler's legs were broken and her grey skirt and legs were covered in blood. The others stood and watched underneath their umbrellas like mourners at a funeral. Cale stepped forward and the girl looked at him, tears in her soft brown eyes.

“Onegai!” She cried as she saw him. Cale didn't have to speak Japanese to know that she was begging him to help her. Samantha spun around and glared at him. Cale glared right back. These… people… had stood in the rain and beat this little girl. It didn't even matter to him why Samantha had done it. Was this the sick thing that they had been planning in school? Cale gritted his teeth. None of it mattered. The bitch was evil and she and her pack had to be put down. He could taste the murder on his tongue like a tangible thing. It didn't even matter anymore how many people he killed. They all deserved to die. But not that little girl. She deserved revenge.

“The murdering faggot,” Samantha hissed. The other's turned to him, shocked at his presence. Cale didn't blame them as he caught his own reflection in a puddle. His skin was ghastly pale, but his cheeks were bright red with fever. He still had his father's blood on his face and neck and the burns were visible on his neck. He ignored their stares.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” Cale asked in an authoritative voice. The other three flinched as though they were being scolded by an adult for a childish crime in even had the audacity to look guilty, but Cale didn't care. Just because you were sorry or didn't want to get caught doesn't mean you deserved to be forgiven. Samantha smirked and approached him.

“You're one to talk after what you did,” she tightened her grip on the bat, “Do you want to hear what this little chink bitch called me?”

“I don't care what that child called you, you're a sick cunt,” he snarled. Samantha narrowed her eyes at him.

“How dare you. You're the one who's sick, you gay freak!” She screeched. Cale lurched forward and swiped his sharp nails over her face, making deep grooves in her skin and completely splitting open her top and bottom lip. His nails raked over her teeth and slashed open her gums. Samantha screamed in pain, falling to the ground and gripping at her ruined face.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” She screamed over and over.

“You freak, you freak!” Daniel bellowed, his blue eyes on fire with fury and leapt at Cale. Cale rose to the challenge. He was the alpha dog here, not this scrawny little shit who took joy in hurting those weaker than himself. Cale had hurt people, yes, but they had not been weak little things, nor had they been innocent. Cale didn't use that to excuse what he had done, he was not that self-righteous, but just the sight of the girl cowering against the tree, unable to escape, disgusted him. The girl reminded him of himself. He had been that person once. But, no more, never again. Not from his father, not from his teachers, and not from this group of stuck-up children. He grabbed the bat and struck Daniel in the face as hard as he could. The shorter brunette's head whipped to the side, his neck made a wet snapping sound. He fell to the ground, dead, his neck broken. Carole screamed. He hadn't seen her move, but she was sitting on the ground, cradling Samantha's head in her lap, her long blonde hair streaked red with Samantha's blood.

“Please!” She begged, “I didn't do anything to you!”

“That's right,” Cale said icily. He remembered, all right. He remembered how she had stood there and watched as Samantha had stapled his ears, forced him to masturbate in a photo booth and spread the pictures around school, and sprayed bug spray in his face screaming `pest', and all sort of horrible things and all she did was watch, looking at Samantha with a sickening sort of admiration.

“You didn't do anything.”

Carole sobbed brokenly.

“You let her do those things to me and stayed by her side because as long as it was me, it was never you,” Cale's eyes turned silver in the moonlight, “You loved her, so you were willing to let her hurt others so she wouldn't realize that you are just like me. You're pathetic, the worst sort of person,” Cale snarled, “You're not even worth my time.” Carole sobbed more, Samantha growing limp and cold in her arms. Cale didn't know if she in shock or dead and didn't care. He had done the damage; to a girl like Samantha, it was probably a fate worse than death.

Brian surveyed the carnage and ran. Cale didn't even give him a second glance. He didn't love him anymore. All that there had been to love was gone. But that didn't mean he was done with him yet.

“Give me your cell phone,” Cale demanded Carole. With shaking fingers, Carole dove into the left pocket of her designer jeans, now ruined with blood, and brought out her phone, hot pink with a purple poof feather attached to the strap, giving it to Cale. Cale looked at the phone in disgust, but flipped it open anyway. He quickly punched in 911 and tossed the phone to Carole.

“T-thank you!” She shuddered. Cale narrowed his eyes at her. He took one last look at Samantha's body. She didn't move. Her chest didn't rise or fall and there was no cloudy breath coming from her still lips like his and Carole's. One of his nails had ripped open her right eye and creamy liquid was pooling out of it and onto her pale cheek. He had devoured his own personal demon. He thought that with a smirk on his face. How many people could say that about themselves?

“It's not for you, you stupid bitch, it's for her,” Cale walked over to the young Japanese girl. She looked about ready to pass out from pain and shock. She looked up at him in terror. However, his face was soft now and he took off his jacket, draping it over her legs.

“I don't know if you understand English, but help is on the way. You'll be fine, just stay strong. You're doing great so far.”

Amane could understand him, but was still in deep shock and couldn't remember how to respond in anything but her native tongue. This strange, wolfish boy had saved her for some reason. She had been terrified that he was simply killing everything in sight, but he hadn't harmed her at all. His coat was pleasantly warm against her bare legs.

“Arigato!” She sobbed, “Arigato.” Then, the boy was off running, presumably after the one that had fled. Somehow, Amane knew that she would never see her savior again.

Brian ran as fast as he could, a stitch developing in his side and his heart pounding harshly in his chest, trying to outrun his ex-best friend. The sweet little boy that he had known in middle school was dead and had been replaced with this… monster. But Brian had no reason to complain, he had done this, hadn't he? But he had been so scared in middle school. Boys were not supposed to like boys. It was evil and disgusting and very, very wrong. If he had remained friends with Cale, he would have been going up against god. Sure, Samantha could be cruel, but Cale had deserved it! If only he had ignored his nasty sexuality, they could have remained friends, but instead Cale had gone farther and farther away from Brian. Again and again Brian had done things to him, tried to make him swear that he was not a faggot, but Cale never relented, only telling him over and over again those gross words.

“I love you.”

And now Brian was the one running for his life. Suddenly, he heard someone chasing after him. How the hell was Cale so damn fast?! He remembered seeing him compete in the regional championships and had forgotten how Cale could run. How had he ever thought he could out run him? Brian had never been quick while Cale was fastest in the entire state. Sure enough, he felt someone knock into him from behind and he went flying to the ground. He screamed as he landed on his arm and felt something give way. Hot, sharp pain danced up his arm and he howled. Nothing had ever hurt this much!

Cale loomed over Brian.

“Shut up,” he snapped at the cowering boy as he continued to howl and scream in pain. He straddled Brian's hips. Brian continued to scream, this time in fear.

“Please don't rape me!” Brian begged, cradling his arm to his chest. Cale snorted.

“That's ironic,” he said, his eyes narrow and cold, “You're the one who has hurt me and you assume the worst from me?! Don't flatter yourself. Rape? You don't know the meaning of the word. I can't believe I ever considered you my friend.”

Brian winced, his resolve shattering. He had done the right thing, hadn't he?

“Y-you… you were wrong. I didn't have choice,” Brian tried to explain, his voice weak and his words sounding stupid even to him.

“You always have a choice!” Cale snarled. Brian whimpered as Cale's familiar face contorted in anger.

“There isn't a matter in the fucking world that doesn't have two sides!” Cale ripped open Brian's shirt. He felt no arousal at seeing his bare chest. The only thing he felt was loneliness. He missed Inigo so much it overpowered any other emotion he had ever felt. Brian started to cry out again. His cries only made Cale angrier. With everything that these four had done to him, he had never cried this much, even in Middle School.

“Oh, shut up,” he spat out, “I'm not molesting you, you stupid fuck! Of course,” he sneered, “You might with that that was I all I had done.”

Cale dug his nails into Brian's chest, moving his hands down until he reached his stomach. Brian screeched as he felt himself being split open. Cale's nails retuned again and again, slashing into his muscles and tissues. Blood ran out of him in thick torrents with chunks of flesh in the blood, sticking to his skin and coating him. His body became hot with it in the cold, biting air. His screams began to die as shock and pain took over. The moon and trees above them seemed to become farther and farther away. Crows littered the trees. Their eyes seemed to mock him. The sight of those birds sent hysterical laughter bubbling up from his mutilated chest. Brian and Cale's blood stained Cale's jeans. He stood up, looking at the exposed insides of Brian's chest, but did not feel sickened.

“Bye, Brian,” he said, leaving Brian to bleed to death.

 

Cale stumbled through the thick jumble of trees. How long had he been wandering these woods? The black trees seemed to choke him and it almost sounded as if there were ghosts among the trees, whispering at him, though he knew it was just the sound of the wind against the ancient trees, but it still scared him. The pain that his father had inflicted on him had mysteriously vanished, but had been replaced with a new, sinister pain. His bones and muscles felt as though someone were driving railroad spikes into him. His coherency was failing; the trees were fading in and out of his vision, turning into mere muted colors. The whispering of the woods roared in his ears. His blood boiled in his veins and his brain burned with rage and sickness. He imagined that this was what rabies felt like. He was quickly losing all sense of himself. He fell to the ground with a pained gasp as white hot pain shot up his spine and into his brain.

A screaming howl filled the woods. The display on Cale's watch, broken and discarded along with his clothes, read 3:02.

 

 

 

 

THE WOLF opened its eyes for the first time. The golden orbs took in all of its surroundings. The woods smelled alive and wonderful. It could smell squirrels, birds, and even the faint scent of deer. The smell of blood suddenly filled its snout. Something in the woods was hurt. Perfect prey for a kit learning how to hunt. The wolf's ears twitched as it heard a sound of distress from far away. The wolf could see perfectly in the darkness and followed the scent and sounds to what it hoped would be a bountiful meal. Like a new born babe, it was hungry. It wanted to sink its teeth into something warm and wet.

Walking upright was difficult. The wolf knew that THE BOY had done it many times before, but it could not recall this knowledge, so it ambled on, on all fours. Its massive paws moved on the cold ground with ease. Instinct took over and the hunt became easy. The scent of blood was like a visible, red line leading it to its food.

The wolf found a carcass in the woods. It had been dead awhile, but was still warm and perfect. It shoved its muzzle into the open cavity that had obviously killed the creature and gorged. The flesh, so hot and moist on its tongue, was delicious and it filled its stomach. The boy recognized this thing as HUMAN, but the wolf knew very little of it. It was meat and the wolf was hungry. That was all that mattered. Its strong jaws and teeth made quick work of the creature's ribcage, shattering the bones, but being careful not to swallow them. It stripped the tender pieces of flesh off the bones and swallowed the blood and tissue greedily. The heart of the creature was still hot and filled with sweet blood. The tissues of the heart tasted different; softer and richer in flavor. The wolf held the organ in its paws and tore it open with its red stained teeth, lapping at the blood inside before chewing and swallowing the sweet flesh. It felt much better with the food in its stomach, but it was still hungry and it could still smell blood as well as fear. So, the wolf moved back onto the trail of scent.

There were four of them. Four bodies filled with meat, blood, veins, and bones it could sink its teeth into. Two of the things were already dead, had been for awhile and their bodies were cooling, but the other two were alive and the wolf could almost hear their heart beats, strong and scared, pounding frantically in their chests. One of them was asleep but the other was awake. It would have to kill that one first. The creature had its arms around one of the carcasses, but wasn't eating it. That perplexed the wolf. The boy knew of many creatures that hoarded food, but humans weren't one of them, at least not like this. The boy had this labeled as MOURNING but the wolf did not understand what that was. But, that didn't matter. The wolf was the strongest here and in a fight for the feast, it would win.

The wolf growled low and loudly at its competitor and potential meal. The thing stopped the odd rocking motion it was making and made an incredibly loud, high pitched noise. The wolf flattened its ears and snarled. That sound had hurt. It didn't like that feeling at all. It had to make it stop making that horrible noise. The wolf wrapped its front paws around the creatures head and squeezed. The screechy thing's nose and teeth snapped in its paws. It stopped making noise, but was not yet dead as the wolf could hear its heart beat. The wolf was young, but not stupid, it could think critically. It knew how to EAT but not how to KILL. It remembered that the good stuff was under the pale skin that the creature wore, but how to get at it?

The wolf sliced through the thing's arm tearing off the strange whitish skin. It looked at the thin material. On one side it was pale, but on the other was blood. It put it in its mouth and chewed. With a disgusted growl, it spat it out. Skin did not taste at all like the inner meats of a body. It was nasty. But now the arm only had meat. The wolf now understood. By itself, the skin was no good, but together with the inner flesh, it was fine. Instinct took over once more and the wolf knew that best place for killing was in the neck. It clamped its jaws around the slender throat of its prey and pulled, tendons snapped and it swallowed it all whole. The wolf heard the creatures heart beat quicken, then slow, and then finally stop all together. The body itself jerked in a death throe, then laid still. The wolf feasted once more. It discovered that, though it could not eat the bones, chewing on them was also pleasurable and it did so with great relish. It also finished off the other carcasses, eating the female one with the dark coloring with ferocity. The boy had labeled this one ENEMY, so it made the wolf happy to dispose of it. By the time it came to the sleeping girl creature, the wolf was nicely full and strong. It felt so good to have a full stomach compared to the gnawing hunger it had experienced when it had awoken. Still, the girl creature was in its territory and needed to be disposed of. The wolf prepared to tear out this one's throat as well.

NO!

A strong voice screeched inside of the wolf. The beast paused. The idea of hurting the kit suddenly filled the wolf with revulsion. It had no urge to take the female kit with it; she was not like it was, but she was still a kit and not a threat. The wolf heeded the voice and stalked off into the night, leaving the girl alone and alive amongst the carnage. As it disappeared, the wolf smelled something that smelled like… well, itself. Two black things, made of strange material were sitting in the leaves. It didn't know what to make of it. The boy thought MINE, so the wolf grabbed them with its teeth and ran off in the direction it had come from.

Cale woke up in the woods the next morning, but had the distinct impression that he was much farther from where he had blacked out. He didn't know why, he just had that feeling even though the woods all looked the same to him. For some reason, the woods did not scare him now and he knew where he had to go, like some sort of inner compass. His stomach was also full and there seemed to be more blood on him. He was naked and incredibly thirsty. He had never sleep walked in his life, even as a little kid, but he had heard that people who had experienced trauma sometimes sleep walked, so didn't think anything of it. Still, he worried about what he had done. Had he killed an animal and that was why he tasted blood on his tongue and his stomach was full? If he did, he was glad that he didn't remember it. He couldn't find his clothes anywhere, so he dug out another pair of jeans and a sweater from his duffle bag, as well as some ibuprofen and a bottle of water because his bones and muscles ached so badly, as if he had been doing strenuous exercises for hours and had pulled all of his muscles. As he did so, he noticed a large piece of paper sticking out of his open back pack. None of the papers he had put in there were that big, in fact, it looked like a piece of sketching paper. Excitement filled him, but he reached for the paper and unfolded it gently, not wishing to damage it. In a familiar drawing style was a painstakingly drawn picture of two wolves curled up together, their tales wrapped around each other lovingly; a red wolf with amber eyes and a gray wolf with yellow eyes. Cale felt his own golden eyes tearing up. On the back, written in a beautiful, swirling scrawl was

I'm so sorry. Please know that I love you and no matter where you go, I will find you again.

Cale felt his tears finally slide down his cheeks.

He was still loved? Cale was worried. If Inigo didn't lie; and Cale somehow knew that he didn't make a habit of it, then there had to be a good reason for him leaving. What if he was in trouble? And how would he find him when Cale didn't even know where he was?

With a shaking hand, Cale folded the precious piece of paper carefully and stowed it in his bag again. Resolve filled him. He didn't care if Inigo had lied and hated him, he would find the boy he loved, somehow.

Cale's body hurt so bad, but not as bad as yesterday. He still felt torn and strange down there, but not the sort of searing, life threatening pain he had felt before. He wasn't bleeding anywhere and when he saw himself in a puddle left over from the rain, he was shocked to find that he looked much healthier, his fever was obviously gone, and his burns had already scarred over. What the hell was going on? He knew from experience that he should be in a lot more pain, still bleeding, and that his burns would take days to heal, not hours. He shook his head, his spiky hair caressing his cheeks wildly. What did it matter? So he had caught a spot of luck for once. He wasn't going to take it for granted. He knew he should see a doctor, but he didn't trust them. He remembered the secret looks of his mother's doctor. He remembered the looks of pity and he couldn't bring himself to go through that again. He wasn't dying at the moment and that was all that mattered.

Cale decided he would head east, towards the coast. There was a beautiful little town called Innsmouth that had thick forests like these that he could hide in. Best of all, the coast was cool, even in the summer and Cale hated the heat.

 

 

End Chapter One