Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2007 07:57:37 -0700
From: Ryan Miller <bluedragon314@gmail.com>
Subject: Bonding Energy: Opportunity Cost ch 11

Here is the next chapter. I hope to submit these on a weekly basis
now. And, in response to cumulative feedback, I want to make it clear
that this story is not intended to make you hot and horny. If you
would rather be, press the back button.

Disclaimer:
This is a homoerotic story I have written, so if you aren't allowed
legally, morally or ethically to read it, then don't. And don't post this
anywhere else without my expressed permission. Feedback is very much
encouraged, so hit me up at bluedragon314@gmail.com   or hit me up on
myspace.

Ch. 11

It was three days later that I got my package. I was having breakfast
in the Benson family's kitchen one afternoon (I had slept pretty late
for a few days).

The Bensons were incredibly genial. When they asked how I ended up in
the river, I told them I had been separated from my family and got
lost and fell in. They offered to drive me back home, but I told them
I lived in Colorado and that my brother was coming to get me, though I
didn't know when he would get there.

Honestly, I still wasn't sure if James was alive. I had called home
several times since I woke up in the spare bedroom and always got the
answering machine. Every time I heard his voice on the recording, my
heart leapt as I hoped it as the real thing. And every time I got the
answering machine, an icy-cold sensation I hadn't felt in a long time
jumped up and grabbed my heart.

So there I was, eating the meal one eats after waking up (not
necessarily in the morning) in a sunlit kitchen in the Benson house
when Connor walked in holding a small white box the size of an
advanced anatomy and physiology textbook and weighing about the same.

"This must be for you," Connor said, sitting down and putting the box
on the table. He was wearing a blue denim jacket and gloves and
smelled like he had horse stables.

"Seriously?" I asked, taking the box and inspecting it. It had been
shipped express and was addressed to "K.W." The return address was the
college Brian and Aaron were going to.

"At least someone knows where to find you," he said.

"I guess," I said. "Do you mind if I go open this somewhere else?" Not
that I would have asked normally, but the uber-polite nature of Connor
and his mom and older brother was rubbing off on me.

"I don't care," he replied. "It's your package."

I shoveled one last bite of eggs into my mouth, tucked the parcel
under my arm and ran upstairs to what had been my room for the last
three days.

I'd found out that the room I was in had previously belonged to
Connor's oldest brother. Connor was the youngest of four kids: three
brothers and one sister. The oldest brother and sister had been
married (not to each other. It's Iowa, not Ohio) leaving Connor, his
older brother, Jon, and their mom and dad at the ranch. Their dad was
a rocket scientist who launched commercial satellites from oilrigs and
traveled a whole lot. But he was paid very well, alloying his wife and
sons to take care of the horses and themselves with little financial
concern. Connor and Jon were having the time of their lives with
horses and quads and a few dozen acres for exploring while their mom
spent her time working at a pharmacy in town.

And they accepted me into their family as if I was a cousin who had
come to visit for a few weeks. I asked them if they treated everyone
who washed up in their stretch of river that way, and they said they
did. It turns out their ranch is downriver from a bridge that is
popular for inexperienced swimmers and suicide attempts, so I had been
the third "piece of flotsam" to visit their ranch that year, as Mrs.
Benson put it. So they didn't mind at all if I stayed a couple of days
before going on my way. They were just happy I wasn't suicidal.

I hopped up onto my bed next to a glowing fire in the marble fireplace
in the wall. Jon had brought up a decent pile of firewood and I would
throw a few chunks on every so often. But the warmest object in the
room was my package, which surely contained news that James lived. I
was beaming as I tore off the plastic strip on the edge of the box and
poured its contents on the comforter in front of me.

Out fell a small blue book I immediately recognized as Brian's old
journal, a folded piece of notebook paper and a round tupperware
container of what I soon found out was fudge. I made a mental note to
make fun of Aaron for packing the fudge for me, but all my attention
and hope rested on the note that had fallen out of the box.

I picked up the paper and my mind begged to know what it said, but my
heart sank as it panicked and though of all the horrible things the
letter might tell me. I compromised with myself and flipped up the top
to inspect the first line and see what it had to say. What I read
compelled me to keep going.

Dear Kyle,

James is alive, but he's in the hospital with a collapsed lung and has
lost a lot of blood. He woke up yesterday and told us and the police
about what happened. They said the shooting had nothing to do with
child services and was too organized to be random. I could have told
them that. The police called your aunt and uncle and they said they
didn't know anything about it.

The police are out looking for you now, but I won't tell them where
you are. Every time in the movies cops get involved with mob
kidnappings, they always managed to fuck things up, and I refuse to
let you die a virgin. Not that I can remedy that, but I figure it's
common courtesy.

Obviously we got your message and managed to track down the Benson
Family Ranch, or at least I hope we did. James sends his regards and
says to keep your guard up, and Brian put his diary in the box. He
says it's kind of like being there, but not. And I baked some fudge
for you.

Communication will be kept to a minimum since we don't want anyone to
know too much. We are trying to figure out a plan to get you to a safe
place, but don't want to take you back to the city the bad guys wanted
to get you out of in the first place. In the mean time, enjoy the
fudge and Brian's diary. It's a good read.

Most sincerely,

Aaron McKenzie.

P.S. And yeah, I'm a fudge-packer. So are you, dingus.

The rest of the note didn't matter. I just read the part that said
James was alive over and over again. My emotional demons lifted like a
thick fog and I felt such warm relief. I lunged out and grabbed a huge
clump of comforter and held it tightly as if I was clinging to the
broad chest of my living brother. It was a lot squishier than James,
but I didn't care. Nuzzling it gently, I started laughing away the
stress and worry I had built up and thanked God, and for the first
time meant it. A collapsed lung and massive loss of blood is nothing
to sneeze at, but anything is better than dead.

And Aaron's "radio silence" policy was stupid. The first thing I
wanted to do was call his cell phone and see if he could hand it off
to James or something, assuming I could catch him at the right time. I
reached over and picked up the phone on the nightstand as Connor
walked in and knocked on the open door.

"Another call to Colorado?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Is that ok?"

"Not really," he said. "My mom doesn't want to say anything, but the
long distance charges are a lot out here."

"Oh, sorry," I said, putting the receiver back.

"It's ok, you can use my cell phone," he said, taking it out of his
pocket and flipping it open. "I get free long distance out here, if I
can get a signal."

"Thanks," I said, taking the phone.

He turned and waked out of the room, closing the door behind him, as I
sat down and dialed Aaron's phone number.

"Hello?" asked Aaron, very quizzically. He was a little paranoid about
foreign numbers.

"Hey, it's Kyle," I said.

"Ky-Kyle!" he said in a forced whisper. "I told you not to call me."

"I doubt anyone can tap a cell phone," I said.

"But what about your phone?" he asked.

"I'm on a cell phone, too."

Aaron was silent for a moment, but I could hear his mind debating the
security of cell-to-cell conversations.

"Fine. But I can't talk long. I have pre-calc in 20 minutes."

"How is James?"

"Cocky."

"Cocky?"

"Yeah. Little bastard thinks he's all that just because he survived
getting shot. And he's scoring major sympathy points with his new
girlfriend."

"Wait, when did he get a girlfriend?"

"About a week ago. Did he tell you about it?"

"No."

"Didn't tell me, either. But they were supposed to go on a date the
night of the attack and she was the one who found him half-dead in
your front yard."

"So, other than cocky and be-smitten, how is he?"

"Normal. Once they got his lung under control, he was able to start
hassling the nurses and insisting he was fine. They have him on a
morphine drip now. Half, for his comfort and half so he doesn't get up
and walk out of the ICU. You should see James when he's stoned."

"Whatever. Is he there?"

"In my dorm?"

"Sorry, I thought you might be at the hospital."

"Not today. And where the hell are you?"

"Still at the Benson Family Ranch."

"Yeah, but where is that?"

"You sent a package here and you don't know where it is?"

"Stop being a smartass. Is it in the city, the boonies, an alternate dimension?"

"It kind of in the sticks, about 5 or 6 miles from the nearest town."

"Secluded, good. And the people there?"

"Nicest people you'll ever meet. They have no problems with me staying
here and are very hospitable."

"So, you think you can stay there until we can figure out who is behind this?"

"I already have a really good idea of who did it."

"Who?"

"A pimp named Edmund Stone. I started befriending one of his boys and
he took it personally."

"Wait, when did you start getting involved with pimps?"

"You know that one jerk in my poli sci class?"

"Yeah, the one we met at the club."

"He's the boy, and his boss, who uses the club as a front for his
brothel, is the pimp."

"No kidding. That boy was gorgeous. Way to go, Kyle."

"That's not the point. I think this guy, Stone, wanted me out of the
picture so he could have William all to himself again, so he had me
shipped off to Iowa."

"How did you get there?"

"I was drugged and flown over here. And my aunt and uncle picked me up
from the airport, but I escaped and ended up at the Benson's."

"Those lying fucks. I guess we know they can't be trusted. Thanks
Kyle. That's some very important intelligence."

"Wait, you aren't planning some half-baked rescue mission, are you?"

"Of course not. I've got finals coming up. But I'll think of
something. In the mean time, just lay low with the Bensons and try to
avoid your aunt and uncle. And if they have a cute ranch hand, try to
get him into your pants."

"Thanks, Aaron. I'll keep that in mind."

"I've got to go now. Can I call you back on this phone?"

"I wouldn't bet on it. I'll just call you back."

"Ok. I'll let James know you're alright. Later."

"Bye."

I closed the phone, tossed it on the bed and picked up what were now
my only possessions (I'd made a funeral pyre for my gameboy the day
before). Setting them on the shelf, I tried arranging them neatly,
discreetly. For some strange reason, I was afraid of my stuff taking
up too much space in the house of those really nice people. Popping
the lid of the tub open, I took out a big piece of fudge and took a
bite. Nearly gagging, I found out that Aaron can't make fudge.

*****

After finding out James was ok, I was able to relax and actually enjoy
my stay in Iowa. That afternoon, Connor and I fixed his truck (well,
he fixed it and I just watched him and handed him ratchets and stuff).
And that night at dinner was a gas. We were all sitting at the dining
room table, Mrs. Benson and Jon on one side and Connor and me on the
other. Jon was covered in dirt from stacking hay bales and Connor was
greasy from fixing his truck, though both had very clean hands.

"The most unusual young man came to the pharmacy today," said Mrs.
Benson as she passed a large plate of lasagna to Jon. She was still in
her dress shirt and lab coat, decompressing from a long day of filling
prescriptions.

"He was wearing a loud, green shamrock sweater and brown and neon-pink
socks," she continued.

"Checkered or polka dot?" asked Jon, taking a slice of lasagna.

"No, one was brown and one was neon-pink," she replied.

Connor and I tried not to blow pasta out our noses as we snickered.

"And that wasn't the least of it," she said. "He walked towards the
counter and announced, loud enough for the whole store to hear him,
that he needed a box of large condoms. I'd had characters like that in
the store before, but then he leaned real close and asked if I would
be willing to open a box of small condoms and put them in the box of
large ones. I told him he could just buy both boxes and do it himself,
but he insisted he had some "serious face to save," or so he said. I
just appeased him and charged him for both boxes, and he walked out
the store proud as a rooster to a car parked outside with a hairy old
man in an underwear shirt."

"Sounds pretty queer, if you ask me," said Connor.

"Don't say queer at the dinner table, dear," said Mrs. Benson.

"The proper term is homosexual," said Jon.

"Jon!" exclaimed Mrs. Benson. "Sorry you have to put up with behavior
like this, Kyle. I tried hard to raise gentlemen, but a mother can
only do so much."

"I don't mind," I said, though I had become incredibly uncomfortable,
like when you walk into a party or something and everyone stops and
looks right at you. The Bensons didn't look like homophobes, but I
never put that kind of thing past people.

"I heard you got a package today," said Mrs. Benson. "Was it from your brother?"

"No, but a good friend," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "He
said my bother is in the hospital and won't be able to pick me up, so
they are trying to figure out a plan to get me back to Colorado."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "I hope he'll be ok. But,
while you're here, you may as well earn your keep. Connor is going
into town tomorrow to pick up some feed for the horses, so why don't
you go with him."

Jon got up and grabbed his empty plate and mine and went to the kitchen.

"That would be great," said Connor, getting up as well. "I could use
the help, and later on we can go to Tyndale's"

"Sure, but only after your chores," she said.

"What's Tyndale's?" I asked, following Connor into the kitchen.

"It's a nickel arcade," he said. "Some idiot for Des Moines came and
beat my record in DDR and I have a reputation to maintain."

"Wait, you play Dance, Dance Revolution?" I asked.

"Why not? It's Iowa, not the 1800s," he said, scraping food off his plate.

"I just--you didn't seem like the type of guy who would play DDR," I said.

"Why not?" he replied. "I have to keep my ass tight somehow."

The last part he said under his breath, making sure his mom didn't
hear it. He smiled at my startled reaction and walked back to the
dining room. It had been a few days since I was in the mood for
checking out a guy, and when I got a good look at the incredible
handsome Connor for the first time, I reminded myself why I was gay.

And my mind ran back to the beautiful, damaged boy I'd left back home
and wondered if he was thinking of me, too. He must have been safe,
since I was gone and Stone had no more reasons to pick on him. But he
was still a brothel boy, and I had to help him get away from all that.
The sooner I got back to Colorado, the better. But the Benson's was a
great place to be in the mean time.

*****
If you want to read more of the story sooner, I posted the rest at
www.awesomedude.com. There is also a forum at AD for feedback, so
e-mail me at bluedragon314@gmail.com or join the forum and tell me
what you think.