Rentboy (3 page)

“You two!” The twins jumped when their father’s voice split the air. “Clean the bathroom today. I don’t want to see a speck of dust. I’ll be inspecting everything.”

The house boasted three bathrooms, so which one did Baillie mean? Their bodies rigid with tension, the twins waited for further instructions.

“The main bathroom upstairs.”

Nervously, they looked at Fox.

“Go on. Hurry up,” he told them.

Holding hands, the twins hurried from the kitchen.

“Useless little fucks.” Baillie’s face twisted with hatred. “The only thing they’ve ever been able to learn is how to clean the fucking house. At least I could train them to do that.” And train them he had, from the age of nine, by standing over them, watching their every move as he gave them detailed instructions on cleaning floors and shower stalls, vacuuming the living room, and washing dishes. Now he set them to work each morning cleaning the house one room a day. The house was spotless, and their mother never had to lift a finger.

“Go on, boy. What happened?”

Every day Fox had fantasies about killing his father, but most days he never even had the nerve to answer him back. “I went back to his flat with him, and I waited for him to fall asleep.”

“Where’s the pictures?”

“Everything needed passwords. I couldn’t open the files to take pictures of the information.”

Baillie flung the tea mug at Fox’s head. A sharp pain ripped through his head where the mug caught him, and hot tea scalded his face and neck. Fox sank to the floor, using his T-shirt to wipe the tea from his face, but he never took his gaze off his father, who was rolling up the morning newspaper. Baillie flew at Fox, clobbering him repeatedly with the paper as if he were an errant dog. “Stupid little fuck! You should have taken the fucking computer.”

Cowering on the floor, his hands over his head, Fox whimpered. “I never thought of it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Anyway, you told me to make sure he never knew what I was after. ”

William Baillie stood up straight, the newspaper still held aloft threateningly. “You go back again tonight, find that shirt lifter again, and get back into his flat. And this time get the fucking information even if you have to steal the computer and every frigging disk and memory stick he owns. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Curled up like a hedgehog, his clenched hands up against his face, Fox asked, “What’s it all for? What’s he got that you want?”

“None of your business. You just do what I tell you, or you’ll suffer the consequences.” Baillie paused for effect but could not stop a grin spreading over his face. “And them twins will suffer as well.” He thwacked the air with the newspaper, an obvious threat to beat the twins. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Several more hard whacks landed on Fox’s shoulders before Baillie sent the newspaper flying across the room.

“I’m going out for a while, and when I come back, you keep those fucking twins out of my way,” his father said as he exited the kitchen.

Fox waited, not taking a breath until he heard the front door slam and knew William Baillie was out of the house.

For the next few minutes he sat on the floor, leaning against the cupboards.
One of these days I’ll kill that bastard and bury his body in a place no one will ever find it.

But no, that wasn’t a good idea. With one hand he reached up into the cutlery drawer and felt around until his fingers came into contact with a small, sharp paring knife.

If the body is never found, we can’t collect the life insurance or get his military pension. The body will have to be dumped. It needs to look like a murder by some stranger, or an accident.

Securing the knife handle in his palm, Fox looked at it. Slowly and deliberately he rolled up the long sleeve of his black shirt and looked at the inside of his forearm. The scars from the last time weren’t healed, and it was hard to find a spot between the cuts. Silence descended, but it was different from the silence of the house. It was like another place and time. A different-dimension kind of silence. His heart began to beat faster, and his breath came short and hard. It was someone else’s arm, not his; it had to be because there was no pain as he sliced through his flesh with the tip of the knife. The first cut was not deep, no more than a scratch. Blood beaded along the red line. In a trance, Fox watched it before making another, deeper cut, and then another deeper still until blood flowed freely over his arm, dripping onto his black jeans.

The relief shot adrenaline through his body, followed by the euphoria that cutting always brought. With his eyes closed he leaned his head back against the cupboard and let the knife fall from his hand. Cutting was like a drug, and best of all, it was free.

He had no idea how long he had sat there when a very quiet voice said, “Fox.” He opened his eyes to look up at the twins. Their beautiful faces, usually devoid of expression, looked pained. “Fox,” they said again in unison.

Christ in heaven, I should have waited. I should have locked myself in my room.
But when the urge came over him, he could not stop it. “I’m all right.” Pain shot through his arm, forcing him to come back to the present. “Give me a tea towel.”

Alder took a tea towel from the drawer and knelt to wrap it around Fox’s arm while Arden picked up the knife. Even with the tea towel bandage, the blood quickly soaked through. The twins sat beside him on the floor in the silent house. Fox’s brutal bastard of a father was out, thank God, his alcoholic mother was passed out upstairs, and his twin siblings, who had never in their lives said any other word than
Fox
sat beside him, staring at him, uncomprehending.

“The knife slipped when I was about to peel an apple. Silly old me. I’m such a butterfingers.” He grinned at them.

Alder stroked Fox’s face and moaned.

“I spilled hot tea on myself,” he explained. But they weren’t stupid. They knew what had happened.

Arden stood and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. Sitting down again, she handed it to Fox, who took it and tossed it in the air, catching it again with one hand. The twins made a strange sound that Fox had come to recognize as laughter. He was all they had in the world, and he had to keep them safe. “We’ll be all right.” He stood, put the apple away, and washed the knife. “You can’t have finished the bathroom yet. Have you?”

They shook their heads.

“Why did you come down?”

Arden made a hitting gesture, and Alder copied.

“You heard him? Come on, let’s go upstairs. He’s gone out for a while. I have to sleep, and you can finish the bathroom, then play in your room on your computer. Later I’ll take you to the park; then I’ve got to do some work in studio this afternoon, so you’ll have to be really good when I go out.” He hugged them close. “But you’re always really good, aren’t you?”

* * * *

The smell of oil paint and brush cleaner filled Fox’s nostrils as he walked into the studio at Wimbledon College of Art. It calmed him almost as much as cutting calmed him. Tossing his faux leather backpack onto the floor by his easel, he felt again the throb in his arm.

“Hi, Fox.” A tall, full-figured girl with a round, happy face wound her way between the easels, smiling at him. She’d had the hots for him since classes began last September, and he liked her a lot. He really should tell her he was gay, but what did it matter anyway? It wasn’t like he had a boyfriend or anything.

“Hi, Nik. Are you working on the skull project?” he asked. One of their assignments was to do a series of prints, paintings, and etchings that involved an animal skull.

She nodded. “Want to see?”

Fox followed her to her easel, noting with appreciation, but not sexual interest, the curve of her hips, her small waist, and full bosom. “You’ve got to let me do a life drawing of you.” She always wore skintight jeans, ripped at the knee, and old T-shirts even though he knew from their many chats that her family was wealthy.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to strip off for the class. We’re all supposed to take a turn.”

Fox knew that, but he’d been avoiding it, not because he was shy. He wasn’t. He just didn’t want the whole class to see his scars.

Painted in oils, the large animal skull with lumps of raw meat around it jumped off the canvas. The meat reminded him of his arm after he’d cut. “Shit! That’s really good, Nik.”

A warm smile lit her face, bringing with it a feeling of something oddly familiar. Her smile reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on whom. “Thanks. What happened there?”

“Where?” Fox followed her gaze to his arm where a rim of white gauze bandage could just be seen below his cuff with a fresh bloodstain on it.

“I know you’ve been a bit depressed lately, but I didn’t think things were that bad. Did you try to do something stupid?”

Fox grinned. “Don’t be a divvy. The knife slipped when I was cutting apples for the twins.”

“Idiot!” Nik laughed. “Can’t they cut their own apples? How old are they?”

Nearly fourteen, and if they were normal, they’d be taking care of themselves
. “They’re only five. I’d better get some work done.”

“Nik, I did it.”

Even at nine o’clock at night, Soho was still busy. The sex shops were open as well as the theaters and restaurants. Only the more boring shops closed after seven. Edward strode toward Tisbury Court, hoping Fox would be there in his box. Two nights in a row. Was he disgusting? No! All he wanted was to give the bloke his money. What kind of prostitute forgot to collect his money after a transaction?

Transaction. That’s all it was, so don’t start acting like an idiot and getting stupid ideas.

“Did what?” Nik nearly forgot her cockney accent and, after her initial curiosity, slipped back into it. “Did what?” she repeated, letting the t slide off the end.

“You know. Had sex,” he whispered, glancing around. Though the street was busy, no one appeared the slightest bit interested in him, lanky, always physically awkward, dressed in corduroy trousers. No wonder he’d never had a boyfriend. Who’d date a nerd like him?

“Alle-fucking-luia!” Nik screamed into the phone.

Edward snatched it away from his ear. “Thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am. So was it a one-nighter or an actual date?”

“A one-nighter,” he whispered.

“Oh well. At least you did it. Was she pretty? ’Cause it would be awful if she was a dog and you only did it to not be a virgin on your thirtieth.”

If he could tell anyone, he could tell Nik. Pausing in the gathering darkness at the corner of Whitcomb Street and Orange Street, Edward looked right and left as if a crowd of onlookers were straining to hear his every word. “Nik, it was a man,” he whispered.

“You’re gay?”

Oh God no.
She was going to turn on him. As usual he’d misjudged the situation. He never got it right when it came to people.

“Excellent!”

Relief flooding him, he asked, “Is it?”

His sister’s sudden laugh sent another sharp pain ripping through his eardrum. “Wait till the olds find out.”

“No!” His voice shot up a couple of octaves. “You can’t tell them. You know what Mum’s like.”

“Why not?” She sounded really disappointed.

“You know why not. She’d be terrified the neighbors would find out.”

With a definite tone of disappointment, Nik said, “All right. Won’t say a word. So who is he? Are you seeing him again?”

“No, I told you. It was just a one-nighter. I’d better go.”

“Keep me informed,” Nik said as he hung up and continued on to Tisbury Court, trying to remember exactly which alley he had walked down last night.

The smell was still disgusting as Edward picked his way through the refuse of the dark alley. Two men, one facing the wall, the other humping at his rear, ignored Edward completely and finished their business. Thank goodness Fox had agreed to go home with him. Humping in a dark, smelly alley was not a memory he wanted to look back on. At least not for his first time.

A box against the wall to the left made his heart lift. “Fox?”

“What d’ y’ want?” The flap opened slowly, revealing a filthy old man with matted hair.

Edward hurried on. Maybe Fox wasn’t there tonight. Maybe he had found another, better alley to live in. He could be with another customer. That was all Edward was, a customer. What an idiot, acting as if it were a relationship.

At the next entry to the street, he turned to go back onto Tisbury Court when a familiar voice made him turn around.

“Eddie?”

His heart soared. Fox stood in the shadows, leaning against the grimy wall.

“You forgot your money last night.” Edward thrust a hand into his back pocket and pulled out thirty pounds. “Here.”

Fox took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. “Thanks, mate.”

Edward struggled for something to say but his brain failed him as it always seemed to in social situations, and he turned to the entry, watching for half a minute the people walking past on the street. He’d better go before he looked like the desperate fool he was.

“Come here, Eddie.” The tone was soft.

He faced Fox again, and the young man grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled him deeper into the darkness, and shoved him up against the wall. Fox smelled remarkably clean considering the way he lived. Standing so close that their flat bellies touched, Fox took Edward’s waist in his fingers, unbuckled the belt and lowered the zipper.

From zero to a thousand. One second he was anxious to see Fox, hoping the young man would talk to him for a bit, perhaps come home with him again. The next his heart was pounding, and his willy was rigid and so aroused he feared he might scream as he had done the night before.

“Take a breath,” Fox said.

Obeying, Edward got control of himself sufficiently that when the warm hand closed around his penis, he neither screamed nor ejaculated at once. Literally weak at the knees, he placed his hands on Fox’s shoulders for support and pressed his back harder against the wall. The foul odor of the alley was replaced with the clean, sweet scent of the boy before him. The pleasure in his penis pulsed backward through his hips and buttocks and then down through his knees. Edward focused all of his attention on the smooth, warm hand on his willy, gliding up and down, bringing his pleasure higher and higher. Unable to stop himself, he began to moan out loud.