Date: Mon, 27 Jun 2016 02:08:34 -0400
From: atheugoreistories@gmail.com
Subject: The Liaison Probability Chapter 1

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WARNING: This story will eventually (most probably) lead to underage sex of
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 © Atheugorei, 2016


CHAPTER ONE
"Strange Undercurrents"

In which we meet Cayton Abarron -- something strange is found -- we meet
Ollie Holbrook -- a frightening flashback

*     *     *

FALL 2001

The storm had caught Holly Abarron by surprise as she inched down I-90,
although it really shouldn't have. She had been hearing practically all
night about the oncoming storm; but that had been background noise from the
nearly muted television. Hank's apartment neighbors liked their peace and
quiet, and he humored them just for the fact that he wasn't even there
enough to annoy them by turning it on.

And, anyway, it's not like Holly would've paid rapt attention to the
television in Hank's presence, no matter how loud or soft it was. Hank was
gone so often -- and 'home' so little -- that any spare time they had with
each other they liberally took -- even if it were mere minutes.
Fortunately, though, Hank had the next day off, so Holly was spending her
time with her lover pleasuring him to the nth degree. When the screeching
weather alert notification managed to breech the lowered volume of the
television screen (nearly ruining the mood), Hank had insisted that they
quicken their aerobic activities so that he could send her off before the
worst of the storm encroached upon their region.

Despite Hank's well construed intentions, they took quite a while to
'finish up,' and consequently made Holly the target for this particular bad
thunderstorm. Craning her neck to look out the blurry windshield, all she
saw were ominous clouds and torrential rain. The flash of lightening
briefly lit up the roadway, and she noticed that she was currently the only
person on the interstate. She fiddled with her radio dial, mildly panicked,
and found nothing but static.

Sighing to herself, she sent up a quick and distracted prayer, and turned
off the radio. The rain was coming down even harder now (if that were even
possible), and she seemed to be going even slower than she had before. She
was quick to realize, quite suddenly, that there was no way that she was
going to reach her destination in the severe weather, so she meekly
resigned her pride, at least for a few seconds, and pulled the '92 Honda
Civic slowly to the shoulder of the road.

Greg C. Brine was already having a crappy day when he got the call around 8
AM to come drive down to a random section on I-90. Being the County
Sheriff, he normally heard about these auto deaths second-hand; after the
fact. But his deputy seemed adament that he come and see what had
transpired, so he begrudgingly pulled on his tan overcoat and made his way
over.

When he pulled up, he noticed that the section of the interstate was
cordoned off. Official yellow police tape surrounded an older-style car and
people were busy talking pictures and cataloguing evidence. Disgruntled, he
climbed out of his police cruiser and swaggered his way up to his deputy,
and man that was nearly bigger than him, in a beefy sort of way.

Brine took a cigarette out of his newly-bought packet of Marlboros, put it
to his lips, and spent a few irritating seconds in an effort to light
it. His deputy, a dark-faced, brooding sort of man (even more so than
Brine) grunted in obvious distain for the product, but waited for the
sherrif to speak nonetheless.

"So, why'd you call me down here?" Brine took a long drag on his personal
choice of death, and looked at Marty expectantly. Marty held to himself
nearly at all times, so he was always a bit stiff in his mannerisms; this
was no different. Marty stared at Brine until nearly half his damned
cigarette was gone before he decided to open his mouth to answer. It used
to drive Brine nuts, but he was used to the pauses now.

"A woman, in her mid-30's, was found last night, dead about 40 feet away
from her car. The passenger door was open, and she seems to have died of
natural causes."

Brine grunted in retort. "That's it? That's what you made me drive all the
way out here, for, Marty? So what? She's dead."

Marty scowled, and shook his head. Glancing, almost wearily back to the
car, he continued. "You haven't heard everything yet. We searched her
person, and we found some interesting things. For example, her Social
Security car seems to have been issued in 1937."

Brine's head snapped up at that one. "What?" He asked, nearly
incredulous. Then his face screwed into more a skeptical look. "Eh,
probably just a clerical error."

But Marty was already shaking his head in the negative. "We checked, and
it's legit. That's not even everything, though." Marty walked alongside
Brine as he slowly approached the abandoned car. "From the looks of her
person, she looks 30. But check this out." He led Brine over to a white,
plastic table that had bagged and numbered evidence on it. Carefully
putting on a latex glove, he opened the plastic bag with what seemed to be
a wallet in it. He opened the bag, extracted the wallet, and opened it
up. With a surgical hand, he removed a few bills from said wallet and held
them up for Brine to see.

"That's called money, Marty," Brine said, condescendingly, taking a final
drag on his cig, and then throwing it to the ground, crushing it with his
boot.

"Fuck you, Brine," Marty snarled, wagging the money for emphasis. He held
them out to Brine. "No. Look closer. What series date is it?"

Brine finally relented and snatched the bills out of Marty's hand. He
raised his aviator glasses to the top of his head, and squinted in order to
see the small numbers on the front of the bill. When he noticed them, he
sputtered a bit, and then looked at Marty with a shocked expression.

"Why...these are series 1930 bills!"

"Yes," Marty affirmed, looking at Brine. "The U.S. government always takes
older bills out of circulation. In fact, these might be worth more than
their face value since they're practically new." He snatched the bills back
from Brine's hands, and sealed them back in their bag, putting it away. He
then motioned for Brine to follow him as he made his way down the slight
embankment to the side of the road. There, Brine could easily make out a
woman that was face down in the dirt.

"We did some digging," Marty said, approaching the woman, and squatting
down next to her; Brine followed suit. Marty looked around for a stick,
found one, and continued to use that as his pointing tool. Pointing to her
most obvious article of clothing, her business suit, he said, "This
business suit manufacturer went out of business in the mid '50s." He
shuffled down and pointed to her shoes. "These shoe manufacturers haven't
gone out of business, but they've said that this style of shoe hasn't been
worn since at least the early '40s." He shuffled back down to her
head. Pointing to her hair, he stated, "And just look at the hairstyle;
it's certainly not modern. It looks like something straight out of an old
sitcom, but what do I know?"

Just then, both of their heads turned in the direction of commotion from
the other end of the cordoned area. People were running around and shouting
things, and Brine immediately noticed the black FBI vehicles pulling up to
the edge of the blocked-off area. Standing with purpose, he scowled, as did
his deputy, and they both strode over to the three vans, which were now
releasing a stream of admittedly very important-looking people. He noticed
a distracted, black haired man, and walked over to him. When the man turned
around, Brine read his clear, plastic ID card, which identified him as the
leader of this little invasion.

"What's the meaning of this?" Brine asked vehemently, flapping his hands in
the direction of the intruding government force. The man, distracted by a
pen and a pad of paper, stopped writing and looked up with a confused
expression, as if he didn't know that they were encroaching on a 'private'
investigation.

Then, the man smiled. "Oh, were here to take over the investigation. That
way you all can go home, and forget that all this ever happened. You won't
have to worry about a thing." He then promptly looked back down at his
legal pad and wrote furiously, as if he were taking notes.

Marty decided to speak up. "Look, bud, we looked over the woman. We know
something's screwy here, so spill it. You must know something if you're
just gonna waltz in here like this."

The man looked up and gave Marty a severe condescending expression. "And
what, pray tell, would you know? That she's dead?"

Marty's scowl deepened. "No...," he said slowly, allowing a slight knowing
smile to cross his face. "We do know that everything about his woman is
wrong. Her social security card was issued to her before she was born. The
bills in her wallet is from a series that has been discontinued for nearly
50 years. Everything from her hairstyle to her business suit point to the
fact that something very odd is going on."

By the time that Marty was done with his little diatribe, the condescending
attitude of the man had been replaced with a slightly pale face. The man
suddenly looked nervous. "Look," he said, looking first at Brine and then
at Marty. "I hate to do this, but by the power vested in the United States
government, you have no place here anymore. Your investigation has been
overwritten by the FBI; it's our jurisdiction now. So you only have the
options of going peacefully, or us throwing you out."

Marty looked stoically at the man, with a slight smile. "There's no way
that we're going to leave after finding something this momentous. You
certainly understand why we'd want to stay, so that's what I think we'll
do, right, Brine?" Brine nodded in agreement.

The man looked at both of them with a pitying expression, and sighed,
shaking his head. "Why do they always pick the hard way?" He muttered to
himself, softly.

* * *

PRESENT DAY "Would you like some more tea, grandpa?" Cayton Abarron asked
softly, as he entered the living room and stood in front of the television
in order to get his grandfather's attention. The old man, now nearly out of
his mind, sat and watched TV all day, for the most part. Cayton made sure
to make him eat, and lightly clean up after him, but since he had a
catheder and an oxygen tank, Cayton was pretty sure there wasn't much more
'living' Kyle Abarron had to do.

When Kyle grunted in the negative, and weakly waved his hand in an effort
to will Cayton out of the way, Cayton sighed and picked up the saucer and
cup by Kyle's recliner. He then turned and headed to the kitchen, where he
put the duo in the dishwasher. Sitting down at the spacious dining room
table gave him a bit of reprieve; he took them time to close his eyes
slightly...

"Wake up, moron," someone said, shaking Cayton violently on the
shoulder. Cayton started awake, slightly disoriented for a few seconds,
until his eyes came to rest on a waifish, long-haired ginger boy leaning
over him. Ollie Holbrook seemed to fit the epitome of being 'emo', yet had
none of the stereotypical qualities. He was a nice, respected, outgoing
boy, who just happened to be tall, thin, long haired, and wear black a
lot. Ollie was Cayton's best friend since four years ago when he moved into
the neighborhood, and he was usually the one to help Cayton when his
grandfather needed more than one person to clean up after him.

"Wha...?" Cayton intelligently said, lifting his head up. The train of
drool that had landed on the tabletop was severed as Cayton closed his
mouth and looked at the puddle of saliva with disdain. He caught Ollie's
attention and motioned to the tissue box on the counter. Once he had a
tissue, he started to talk as he wiped up his mess.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep for this long," Cayton opined, looking at the
clock and noticing that it was nearing 7 o'clock. He looked sharply up to
Ollie, who was already way ahead of him.

"Don't worry, your grandpa's been taken care of. I changed his oxygen, and
laid him down on the couch." Ollie absentmindedly took Cayton offered used
tissue and strode across the kitchen to throw it away.

Cayton let out a held breath. "Thanks so much, Oll. I don't know what I'd
do without you."

Ollie waved that notion away, grabbing a chair and sitting next to
Cayton. "Nah, you'd do fine. I usually get more in the way than anything,
anyway." Cayton smiled.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here at 7 o'clock at night?"
Ollie gave Cayton a mock hurt expression, which quickly disolved into a
good natured smile.

"Just came over to check up on you," he said. "Since school's been out for
a few weeks, we haven't seen much of you."

Cayton was kind of a loner at school, but he did hang out with people
besides Ollie, however begrudgingly. His little gang at school consisted of
two other boys and a girl, all of whom were considered outcasts as
well. They all had their own way of looking at the world, and Cayton was
drawn to that. Even with that going for them, though, Cayton still was
weary to spend time around anyone but Ollie. He'd had no friends before Oll
had forced his friendship upon him, and he wasn't very good at initiating
conversations. He usually didn't go out of his way to spend much time with
the rest of the group.

Cayton snorted, bitterly. "Yeah, you know why that is." Cayton's
grandfather, Kyle Abarron, was the formerly estranged father of Holly
Abarron, who was Cayton's late mother. After her untimely death, her
toddler son was sent to live with her dad, who, at the time, was as healthy
as a ox and liked to teach the kid 'how to be a real man.' That entailed
verbal and physical abuse that lasted into Cayton's teens; in fact, it only
stopped after Kyle had had a stroke and consequently couldn't make good use
of his body.

It was Ollie who was Cayton's refuge in the last years of the
beatings. Cayton remembers that Kyle would get so drunk, sometimes, he'd
pass out, and then Cayton would sneak over to Ollie's house just to break
down in tears. Ollie always seemed to understand, even if he really didn't,
and he was really the only person that could breech Cayton's self-made
facade.

Ollie's features softened at that remark. He replied softly, "Yeah, well,
you're a better man than I am for taking care of that rat bastard after all
those years..."

Cayton's mouth drew into a knowing, thin line. "Yeah, but who else does he
have, Oll? It's just me now, to look after him."

Ollie scowled a bit at that comment, and said, "I dunno why you don't just
hire someone to take care of him. If he'd done that to me, you know, I
would have let him rot."

Grimacing, Cayton allowed Ollie to voice his opinion, knowing full well
that Ollie was the only one that was allowed to talk to him in such a
manner. "I know, you've said that more than once."

Ollie shook his head, smirking. "You're something else, you know that?"

"I take pride in my work, thank you," Cayton said, his tongue firmly in
cheek. Cayton then arose from his seat to start cleaning up the
kitchen. Looking sideways at still seated Ollie while he worked, he said,
"You gonna stay the night?"

Ollie nodded the affirmative, his long red bangs softly swaying. "Yeah. Mom
and dad are at it again." His shoulder slumped defeatedly, as Cayton looked
on from wiping down the bar. "They should just get a divorce or something,"
he whispered.

Cayton knew that Ollie's family was devoutly Catholic, and the option of
divorce wasn't really an option at all. Sue and Travis, Ollie's parents,
nearly hated one another, but stayed together 'for the kids.' Well, it
turned out to add a tragic complication when Ollie's sister, Hannah,
committed suicide in their basement two years ago. Although Cayton hadn't
seen the note himself, he surely didn't doubt Ollie when he explained that
part of the reason why she had killed herself was because of the horrible
atmosphere in their household, among other, more pressing situations.

Again, as a testament to their enduring friendship, Cayton had been the one
to talk Ollie out of committing suicide himself, afterwards, and stayed up
with him all night to make sure he didn't. Ollie was literally on the brink
of permanent destruction, but luckily Cayton had been there to pull him
back from the edge. Although Ollie was more outgoing than his friend, there
were still some parts of him that he didn't let people see very often; he
hated to be vulnerable. But Cayton was really the only person that was
allowed to, and had, seen him that way.

"Oll? Remember the rule." Ollie nodded, a bit subdued, knowing
subconciously that the rule was not to worry about home situations when you
were at the others' house, unless it was urgent or pent up. That was
insurance which meant that you were at a 'safe haven,' where your home
troubles didn't have to be remembered.

Sighing heavily, and now generally in a more sombre mood, Ollie arose from
his chair. "I think I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, indicating that
he was heading upstairs. Cayton nodded as he opened the dishwasher and
started to pull the racks out.

Once Cayton had cleaned up the kitchen and made sure his grandfather was
alright on his nightly place on the couch, he turned off the most of the
lights save a night light and the television, and headed upstairs. Once he
made his way up the stairs, he turned left down the hallway to his room at
the very end.

Kyle Abarron was a wealthy man; that's why Cayton lived in such a nice
area. Kyle had been a Korean War veteran and and later started his own
medical practice, steming from his time in the Medical Corps. Kyle was sort
of a miser, and he ended up buying the very house that Cayton lived in
after his wife passed away in '01, around the time that his daughter was
found dead. Kyle could have easily bought a mansion, yet he knew that he
was getting on in years and settled for a 'downgrade.' When Cayton came to
live with him, he found the toddler a nuisance, and incorrectly blamed the
kid for his daughter's death. Although he practically detested the kid, he
found it improper, however ironic it later would seem, to retain the kid
from having a nice room and quality material posessions. The only sort of
'love' the man would infrequently offer was to buy Cayton pretty much
whatever he asked for. Unfortunately the other half of the equation was to
provide frequent, severe beatings.

Cayton entered his room by pushing open the slightly ajar door, and the
closing it behind him softly. He was quite proud of his room. In a rare
occurance of temporary solidarity, he and his grandfather redid his room
together before Kyle's stroke in 2010. Cayton was thirteen, and had asked
to make his room more mature and colorful, than the stark, white room Kyle
had hastily provided him. He had picked a quite mature color scheme, being
just thirteen, which was a diluted, dark red matched with tan and navy
highlights. His room was quite large, with 42" television on a wall mount,
complete with every gaming system he could get his hands on. His
professional-grade Mac desktop computer set upon his busy desk in the
corner; most of his walls were covered in some sort of poster or signed
piece of memorabilia. His walk-in closet was really only a small square,
but it was walk-in nonetheless.

Cayton noticed that Ollie was still in the shower, which was in his private
bathroom with the enterance on the right side of the room. Cayton gathered
his pijamas and lounged on the bed watching Netflix until he heard Ollie
come out of the bathroom.

He looked over at the slightly damp red-head, and grinned. "It's my turn?"
He queried cheekily, jumping up and gathering his stuff. When Ollie
responded with a vigorous nod, Cayton retorted, dramatically, "Finally!
I've been waiting for years!" Ollie giggled and rolled his eyes at his
friend's antics.

While Cayton was busy showering, Ollie headed over to the walk-in closet,
dropped his towel, and rummaged around inside for his multiple pair of PJs,
which were just glorified shorts and a shirt. Because they spent so much
time at each others' houses, it would stand to reason that they'd keep at
least a few articles of their own clothing there. Ollie frowned when he
couldn't find a shirt, and opted to just use one of Cayton's, which was
just slightly loose on him. Throwing his selection on, he exited the closet
and threw the moist towel in the hamper. He collapsed on the bed just as
Cayton opened the door.

"How was the shower?" Ollie asked as Cayton disappeared into the
closet. Ollie could hear him rustle around as he straighted things up, and
then looked at him expectantly when he emerged, already fully PJ'd up.

"Fine," Cayton laughed, and while getting a running start and launching on
the bed next to his friend, they collapsed in a fit of giggles. Eventually,
they calmed down and settled next to one another comfortably, as was their
MO. Cayton snatched the TV remote from the nightstand and opened Netflix.

"Anything you wanna watch?" Cayton asked, listlessly clicking between
images on the screen.

Ollie furrowed his brow. "Not sure. Nothing too scary, you know what
happened last time."

Cayton laughed aloud. "Yeah, I do remember what happened last time! You
nearly pissed the bed!"

Ollie made a face. "C'mon, dude, you know how I am with scary movies!" But
Cayton was laughing too hard to keep a very straight face.

"Dude. It wasn't even scary. I literally predicted what was gonna happen
for you, and you still flipped out!"

Smiling belligerantly, Ollie retorted, "Fine, be that way, Boy Perfect. But
don't complain when I make us watch another sci-fi flick."

Cayton groaned in mock protest, since he didn't particularly care for
sci-fi stuff. "It's all the same!" He would always bemoan.

"Uhg. Fine, we can watch something sci-fi," Cayton said. He continued in a
warning tone, "But be it noted that I am so totally having you make
breakfast tomorrow morning."

Ollie's celebration was put to an abrupt halt at that information. "Huh?
NO! No way, dude! I hate making breakfast!" Ollie pouted.

Knowing that Ollie wouldn't put up that much of a fight, considering the
reward of a good sci-fi flick he'd get out of it, Cayton smiled in obvious
victory. Of course, they both knew that Cayton would never force Ollie to
do something he didn't want to do, and vice versa, so it wasn't really that
big of a deal. Still, Ollie didn't have to particularly like it.

Cayton, with a sly smile on his face, clicked on the remote to start the
movie, which Ollie was quickly entranced with. They watched with even
Cayton slightly enraptured in the plot, and when it was over they decided
to go to bed. Cayton turned off the television, and the only light came
from the various lighted objects strewn about the room, casting it in a
surreal, familiar glow.

Around 3:30 in the morning, an irritating scratching noise could be heard
from the space above them, which ended up waking both of them. With the
room still dark, Cayton heard Ollie face towards him in bed, and mumble,
"What the hell is that noise?"

Still partially asleep, Cayton responded with a groggy and slow, "Not
sure. Maybe an animal?"

They both shrugged and turned around to go back to sleep. Not two minutes
later, they were awoken again by the same noise. Ollie uncharacteristically
growled in frustration. Turning around again, he said to a now irritated
Cayton, "I don't think this animal will stop scratching. I bet it's, like,
a squirrel or something."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Cayton said shortly. Ollie ignored his
tone.

"Well, it must be in the attic. Can we, like, shoo it away or something?"
On cue, it started scratching again with vigor. Then more scratching noises
came from other ends of the room.

"Oh, great." Cayton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He let his head
fall back against his pillow in resignation. Rolling his eyes in the dark
and exhaling sharply, he said, "Yeah, fine, we'll try to see if we can shoo
it off." He reached over and turned on the nightstand lamp, illuminating
the room in soft, yellow light. They then arose, both shirtless, and Cayton
guided Ollie to the oft unused stairs that led to the unfinished attic. He
opened the door, turned on the light in the staircase, and then without
waiting to see if Ollie was behind him, ascended the staircase.

The creaking of the old, wooden stairs were almost too loud for
comfort. They both made their way up cautiously, not knowing if some sort
of flying squirrel would make a sudden appearance.

When they reached the top, Cayton found the bare lightswitch, and flipped
it on, causing the bulb to flicker on weakly.

"Wow...," was all that Ollie could get out at the sight that lay before
him. All of Kyle's war materials and memorabilia were stocked away up here,
including his uniform and delapidated rifle. With the squirrel temorarily
forgotten about, Ollie strode his way over to Kyle's mound of ancient
equipment and oogled at it. "You never told me he had this stuff up here!"

Cayton looked as surprised as Ollie. "I mean, as far as I know, I didn't
think he did. He told me that everything was in storage. I haven't been up
here in ages, though."

Ollie squatted down and started to rummage through some of Kyle's
stuff. Cayton came up behind him, the squatted in a similar fashion beside
him.

"I've always been fascinated with army stuff like this," Ollie admitted,
picking up a helmet, and turning it over in his hands. He set it down
carefully, and looked at Cayton. "I'm not really built to be in the army,
but it still fascinates me."

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Cayton chuckled. He looked at the
pile of stuff himself, when he did a double take to look at something he
nearly overlooked. "What's that?"

Ollie turned to him with a puzzled expression. "What's what?"

"This." Cayton stood, moved a few things out of the way, and then bent down
to retrieve a white cardboard box laying, dicarded, in the back. Pulling it
out, he brushed the top off with his hand, which sent a plume of dust
cascading into the air. After the obligatory coughing fit they both had
from it, Cayton looked at Ollie.

"What do you think is in it?"

With a wry smile, Ollie looked at Cayton. Grabbing the box, he turned it
around so Cayton could see the side that was facing away from him.

Looking at the label, Cayton read it aloud, softly. "Operation
Nightshade. Huh. I don't think my grandpa's ever mentioned this before. It
certainly doesn't look familiar." He reached up and opened the top, casting
it to the side. Taking a manilla folder from the top, he opened it and then
dumped out the contents. Picking up the first piece of paper that he saw,
he scanned his eyes over it while Ollie looked on in anticipation.

"Well?"

Cayton furrowed his brow as he read to himself quietly, the only sound in
the now quiet attic being his voiced consonants. He continued to read,
mildly confused. When he got to he bottom, he looked up to the red-head. "I
dunno, a lot of it is mumbo-jumbo. A bunch of stuff is blacked out, too."

"Lemme see that," Ollie snapped, and snatched the paper from Cayton's
hands. Ollie quickly read the letterhead and skimmed the body text, but he
was already turning pale.

"What?" Cayton asked, oblivious, when he saw Ollie's reaction. Ollie didn't
respond, instead clutching the paper tighter and reading even faster down
the page.

Finally, Ollie looked up, obviously shaken by something. "This is from the
FBI, you idiot!" He exclaimed suddenly. "Didn't you read the letterhead? It
says it right there!"

"Whoa, whoa, the FBI? What does the FBI have to do with grandpa?"

Ollie swallowed. "I'm...not sure. But that's not even the biggest thing."
Ollie leaned in to let Cayton have a better look. "Look at what it mentions
here--" He pointed to a phrase about halfway down he page. "Temporal
displacement, Cayton. Temporal. Displacement."

Never the sci-fi nerd as his friend, Cayton struggled to
understand. "What...does that mean? Temp...temporal displacement?" Cayton
tried out the new word.

Ollie groaned in frustration, shaking the paper in Cayton's face. "It means
time travel, Cayton. It's just a fancy term for it."

Cayton's face retorted with a number of
emotions. Amusement. Disbelief. Increduality. Fear. Amusement.

"Ha-ha, very funny, Oll," he said, smiling his charming smile. But Ollie
wasn't responding in kind; in fact, he looked deathly serious. "Oll?"

"I don't think this is a game, Cayton," Ollie said gravely, digging around
in the box for more parapheralia. After Cayton watched him fish out, and
read, two more sheets of heavily redacted information, he gave up.

"Oll, it's getting on 5 o'clock. Let's go to bed; we'll figure out what all
this is in the morning." But Ollie waved him off, for which Cayton didn't
appreciate.

"Go on to bed, I'll be there in a minute," Ollie mumbled, obviously
distracted.

Feeling snubbed, Cayton rolled his eyes, and took one last look at his
friend. To deaf ears, he retorted with an "alright, but just a few more
minutes, kay?" and returned to his room.

When he awoke again at nearly 9 o'clock that morning, he blindly reached
over to feel Ollie's side of the bed, expecting a body.

Just cold sheets greeted his downturned palm.


*     *     *

Well, that ends the first chapter! I will always try to put notices and
announcements here at the bottom, just so you'll see it.


ANNOUNCEMENTS

Chapter Two should be out in a few weeks. If you would like me to hurry it
along, tell me so at atheugoreistories@gmail.com!


NOTICES

Please, remember to keep the victims in Orlando in your thoughts and
prayers. We all know the media likes to drop stories and go onto the next
shiny thing, but that doesn't mean we have to forget.

Last week (June 23) New York City made Stonewall Inn a city landmark; this
is historic, for, as we know, Stonewall was the first major riot of LGBT
citizens to galvanize gay rights globally. It is now being perserved to
future generations.