From: nobody@replay.com (Name withheld by request)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Look for me by moonlite (m/b, cons)
Date: 26 May 1995 06:02:26 +0200
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 Look For Me By Moonlight
 by Russell T. Kinkade

THE GREYHOUND BUS slowed, then pulled to a stop, right
wheels on gravel. Headlights seeped into darkness. "You sure
you want out here?" the driver asked. The door wheezed open.
  Todd Burrows stood on the bottom step. Sweet air ran its
fingers through his cropped hair. He looked over the cornfield
stretching out before him in the moonlight. The moon was a
bone oval protruding from a cloud-fractured sky. "Yeah," he
said without turning around, "this is good."
  "Town's a few miles down the road."
  Todd stepped off the bus.
  The driver shrugged. He closed the door.
  As red tail lights sped away, Todd walked into the moonlit
cornfield. Corn was waist high, extending before him to the
extent of his vision. It crackled as Todd brushed against the
stalks. Dust covered Todd's boots, rising up and clinging to his
creased and baggy pants. Sweat stained his khaki shirt. In one
hand Todd carried a Hughes grocery bag holding toiletries and
food. From his other hand dangled a folded jacket. He walked
tall.
  Leaving the field, Todd entered a lane leading to the back of
a sleepy town. An alley led him to a quiet tree-lined street,
deserted in the predawn hours. Todd paused to look over each
end of the street, baptized with the moon's ethereal light. Silent
houses lined the street. Behind doors, some left unlocked,
families slept peacefully. "I'm ba-ack," Todd sang softly. He
chuckled.
  As he walked up the sidewalk, a tricycle blocked his way. He
bent to touch it. A light came on in an upstairs window, and
Todd stepped into the shadow of a tree.
  On the next corner stood a house forlorn. A weather stripped
fence surrounded the house, its gate hanging limply on one
hinge. Lawn grass grew like wisps of hair on a bald man's head.
Windows on the house's first floor were boarded; those on the
second floor showed shards like broken teeth. The only window
intact was the diamond shaped one looking into the attic.
  As Todd looked at the attic window he saw a boy's face.
"Brandon!" he whispered. He blinked and the face was gone. It
was a trick of moonlight. A tear nevertheless slid down Todd's
face, over the stubble on his cheek.
  Todd wiped the tear away and walked up the porch steps. He
knelt. His fingers fumbled over floorboards until he found a
notch. He pulled up a board, then set it aside. Readhing into the
singularity, a web clung to his fingers. He felt a flicker of legs
over the back of his hand. Touching metal, Todd extracted a
key.
  Inside the house it was dark and sepulcher silent. Todd had
sent checks from prison to the water and power companies, so
he tried a switch. No light. No bulbs, he thought. He walked
toward the stairway. Something bounced between the toe of his
shoe and the first step. Todd bent over and picked up a baseball,
its cover soiled. He fondled the ball, recalling Brandon's leaving
it their last day together. His fingers tightened, then he sighed
and relaxed his grip.
  Todd carried the ball upstairs.
  In the upstairs hallway, Todd paused a moment under the
ceiling ladder which led to a trapdoor for the attic. A knock like
a small fist striking a floorboard sounded over his head. He
shivered. When the sound was not repeated, he walked to the
bedroom.
  Two broken windows allowed enough moonlight so that
Todd found his old Sealy mattress against the wall near the
door. A wooden chair was the only other piece of furniture.
Todd set his jacket and bag on the chair. He kicked off his
shoes. Then he lay on the mattress, wrinkling his nose at the
stale, musty odor of the thing. With the baseball still cradled in
one hand, he fell asleep.
  Morning light woke him. He stretched. The ball rolled away
from him. He looked at it oddly. His eyes searched the room.
Awareness came. He was home.
  A knock sounded above his head, and he jerked his eves
toward the ceiling. "A bat, or a bird," he said aloud. "I have a lot
of work to do." The sound of his voice was eerie in the empty
house.
  He heard a car start outside. A boy's voice, caught between
childhood and adolescence, called, "Bye, Dad."
  Todd got up and walked to a window. Looking out he saw a
boy of about 12 standing across the street and waving. A
startled look took Todd's face. The boy had gold curls, like
Brandon's. As the boy lowered his arm, he raised his eyes. The
boy's lips curled in a smile before he turned and walked back to
his house.
  "Now they'll know," Todd said. He often talked to himself.
It was a habit he used both as a writer and as a prisoner long
used to solitary.
  Todd grabbed the grocery bag and walked out to the hallway.
Another knock disturbed him. "Nuts," he said. He set the bag
down and reached for the attic ladder. He hesitated, fingers
inches away from the ladder's cord. "I'm not ready for this."
His hands trembled. "I've got to." He pulled the cord and
lowered the ladder.
  He climbed slowly.
  Pushing aside the ceiling board covering the attic entrance,
he ducked and blinked to avoid falling dust. As he looked back
up, a warm breeze kissed his cheek. He tingled.
  The attic was long and wide. The furniture he placed there
when he bought the place his first year teaching was still there.
It was a secret hideaway for him and his lovers. He and Brandon
were the last to share it.
  A strong center beam ran the length of the lean-to roof. A
rope noose hung from the beam's center, no doubt left there as
a gruesome reminder. A chill ran up Todd's back. "I'm sorry,
Brandon," he whispered.
  To the side of the rope, a hole in the roof let sunshine spray
onto a broken branch and other debris on the floor. Whatever
had made the knocking noises was not in sight, probably flown
out the roofs opening. He'd have to patch the hole. The
knocking had to go.
  In the bathroom the water had been turned on, so Todd took
a hot shower. He shaved using a plastic razor. Then he dressed
in the clothes he'd slept in, the only clothes he had, and
returned to the bedroom.
  He counted his money. After bus fare, supper the night
before, and shopping, he had $107.84 left of his gate money.
Not a lot, but he'd banked several thousand from sales of short
stories and one fairly successful novel. The house was his. He'd
be OK.
  In the kitchen he found and washed a pot and cup. He
heated water and made coffee from a jar of Folgers instant. He
made it hot and black and it made him feel good.
  The sun was climbing to its zenith when he left the house.
Three women, standing at a Cyclone fence up the street,
stopped talking and looked his way. One woman called a little
girl riding the tricycle Todd had touched just hours before. The
girl yelled "No," causing Todd to grin and the woman to run
after her. She was pulled back to the others, screaming. The
woman spanked the girl, who clung to the fence and cried.
  Todd took a deep breath. The kind of violence he'd wit-
nessed was acceptable; his kind of love was not. He let the
breath out slowly. Then he walked up the street, his head held
high. As he passed the girl and women, two of whom he
recognized, he said, "Good morning." He gave the girl a smile.
  One woman stared at him. Another, the one who had hit the
girl, looked away. The third simply said, "Burrows." He hated
that. His last name was all he was called behind bars. He was
out now.
  The boy Todd had seen from his bedroom window earlier
rode a skateboard in the street. He wore tennis shoes and cutoff
jeans. Drops of sweat trickled over his bare chest. He stopped
and waved. Todd returned the gesture, nervously.
  "Robert," one of the women called, "you come here." The
boy looked at the woman. "Now, young man." He threw a
crooked grin at Todd and skateboarded away.
  Todd walked to the center of town, to the lone bank, a red
brick edifice with a large window. In gold letters was written
Flat Plains City Bank/Serving Our Customers Since 1898. Todd
knew that many in the town still held Victorian attitudes.
  Inside he found a face he knew and walked over to the man's
desk. "Hi, Ralph. I see you've moved up in the world. Assistant
Manager."
  Ralph's frog eyes rolled over Todd. His tongue darted be-
tween his thin lips, then pulled back. "Todd Burrows," he said
with a croak. He cleared his throat. "I never thought you'd
come back. Not after. . . "
  "Yeah. Well, I'm back. And you-or your bank-have my
money. I need a withdrawal. Two thousand ought to do it for
now. And I'll be looking to finance a car soon." Todd sat in the
floral-patterned cushioned chair in front of the desk. "Is Skip
still selling Chevys?"
  The banker's tongue repeated its darting motion. "Yes. Yes,
Willard Hodgkins is still at the Chevrolet dealership. Where
else would he be?" he asked pointedly. "He's a respectable
citizen." He looked away from Todd's stare. Pulling a handker-
chief from his pants' back pocket, he wiped his brow and said,
"Hot, isn't it?"
  After leaving the bank Todd ate lunch at the Alley Cat, a
popular grill. Heads turned, and whispers were matched to
furtive glances. Then he shopped, clothes and household
things. He took his time, wanting to see the town and let its
people see him. He was back. He wasn't going to hide.
  As he left Johnson's Hardware, he was stopped. "Hi, Todd."
  Todd gaped. "Clay? Clay Gooderson?" He looked over the
uniform. "My God, you're a cop?"
  "Yeah. Though there's just me and Chief Emery as regulars,
with a couple part-time officers."
  "You were a hell-raiser."
  "That was a long time ago. I was a kid."
  "Yeah. Right. You were also once. . . "
  "Forget that. Mention that and I'll...." Clay let the threat
go. "You're not wanted here, you know." He looked over
Todd's packages.
  "I've gathered that."
  "People haven't forgotten Brandon."
  Todd looked steadily into Clay's eyes. "I am not responsible
for Brandon's. . . death. This damned town with all its good
moral people killed him just like they put me through hell. You
of all people should know I loved that boy. I loved all my. . . "
  "Yeah. Well, just be careful. And don't cause any trouble. If I
have to, I'll arrest you.
  Todd shook his head. "You'd do that? After all we've. . . "
  "I said don't mention that. That was years ago. I was a kid."
  "Yeah. Do you know how many other good men in this town
shared my attic with me?"
  Clay glared at Todd. "You just keep pushing don't you? Your
book scared the hell out of more than a few people around here.
And now you're back."
  "I'm sure the book raised sweat on a lot of balls. I changed the
names to protect the guilty. You all couldn't wait to drop your
pants as kids in my attic bed. Now you are all grown up,
respectable, all hypocrites and bigots." Todd felt his heart
beating against his chest. His jaw tightened, but he forced the
words out, carefully. "How the hell. . . how the hell is the world
to learn that our love is good, that... oh, hell...." Todd
walked away.
  Before heading home Todd called his parole officer in
Bridgemont. He was told to report in person the next day.
Then he went to visit memories.
  For eight years Todd taught ninth grade history and coached
junior varsity baseball for Bridger Junior High. Clay had been
in his class, as had a host of other boys he loved deeply. Brandon
would have been too if the damned moralists had left him
alone.
  He watched a group of boys playing a pickup basketball game
in the summer heat. They were all strangers to him, having been
in elementary school when he was sent to prison. They would
stay strangers. Todd wanted no more of prison.
  He was about to leave when Robert rode up to him again.
"Hi," the boy said. His hair was sun gold, like Brandon's, but
his eyes were hazel. Brandon's had been seaweed green.
  "Uh, hi," Todd returned. He took a quick look around.
  "My name's Robby. Are you Todd Burrows?"
  The question took Todd by surprise. "You've heard of me?"
  "Sure. I'm supposed to stay away from you."
"Your mom tell you that today?"
  "No. I've known about you since I was a kid." That brought
a smile to Todd's lips. The boy flipped his board up and tucked
it beneath an arm. "I like your attic," he said.
  For the second time Todd was taken by surprise. "My attic?"
  "Yeah. I use it as a hideout. You know, to get away."
  "How do you..?"
  "I climb up the oak in your back yard, shinny over a branch,
then let myself onto the roof. I go through the hole and use the
rope to climb down and up."
  "The rope? You know..?"
  "Yeah."
  "Morbid boy, aren't you?"
  "Morbid?"
  "You like Stephen King?"
  "Sure."
  "Me too. Nothing wrong with a little morbidity. But I
shouldn't be talking to you."
  "Why?"
  "Why ask why?" Todd said inanely, repeating the catch
phrase of a once popular beer commercial.
  "Cute," Robby said. "You want to play?"
  "Excuse me?" Todd's heart beat a bit faster.
  "Basketball." Robby nodded toward the boys on the court.
  "Uh, no." Todd raised the packages he carried. "I have to get
these home."
  "Well, nice meeting you," Robby said. He dropped his skate-
board and with a kick was off.
  Todd watched. He sighed.
  That night as Todd slept, a movement woke him. Brandon
sat on the edge of the bed. "But. . . " Todd started. The boy
held a finger to his lips. He lay next to Todd. Resurrected
memories brought tears to Todd's eyes. "Sleep," the boy said.
"I'll be here with you." Todd drifted peacefully back to sleep.
  He awoke alone. The sky outside was creeping toward blue.
  "Just a dream," Todd told himself. He started to get up when
he noticed a single gold curl on his pillow. "What?" he asked.
  Later that afternoon, coming home from Bridgemont, Todd
was met by Clay. "Mr. Burrows," the officer said.
  Todd grinned, but it slid from his face when met by hard
lines on the young officer's face.
  "You been home today?"
  "No. I hitched over to Bridgemont to see my PO. His name's
Parker. You can check."
  "I will."
  "Then I checked out some cars at the Chevy dealership."
  "I'll check that too."
  "So what's the problem?"
  "I got a tip from an anonymous. . . "
  "Of course."
  ". . . caller that a boy's been seen at your window. There's
been laughter."
  "God forbid."
  Clay cleared his throat. "I'd like to look around inside," he
said.
  Todd shook his head. "Sure." He led the way.
  Satisfied, after a walk through the house, that no boys were
hiding anywhere, Clay left.
  Standing on the porch Todd watched the officer drive away.
"Oh, Clay," he said, "you used to be such a good boy." Across
the street a curtain fell back in place over a window. Todd
looked into the darkening sky, then went back inside.
  A boy's laugh echoed in the upstairs hallway. "Who's there?"
Todd called. "Robby, if that's you, you'd better go home. He
walked slowly upstairs.
  Todd climbed the attic ladder.
  In the attic, moonlight fell softly through the diamond win-
dow. A boy sat on the bed. "Brandon?" Todd asked.
  The boy beckoned.
  Robby smiled as Todd sat next to him.
  "This is dangerous," Todd said. He reached out his hand and
stroked away a drop of sweat from the boy's cheek. Robby
leaned close and Todd smelled the sweet scent arising from his
nape. How do they know? he thought.
  As if reading Todd's thoughts, Robby sat back and said,
"Like I've said before, I've known since I was a kid. You were
always the bogeyman my parents tried to scare me with, but I
always drea-ned of being with you. You weren't scary to me. I
beat off thinking about you."
  Todd grinned. "Then that was you in my bed this morning. I
didn't dream of Brandon. You know about Brandon?"
  "Yes. I know. But it wasn't me in your bed. It was Brandon."
  "And I suppose it wasn't you at the attic window the night I
first came back home."
  "It was Brandon. He told me he wanted to be with you again.
He's cool."
  "But he's. . . dead."
  "Yeah, I know." Distantly, Robby heard his name called. "I
gotta go.
  "But. . . "
  "I gotta go. My mom will kill me if she catches me here. And
my dad will kill you."
  Todd watched Robby climb the rope and scoot onto the
roof. He was shivering, bewildered, and anxious.
  They met nights in the cornfield, the house being too danger-
ous. They talked, sometimes made love. Robby was a novice,
but ready and willing to learn. Teaching was Todd's pleasure.
  But Todd let Robby's comments about Brandon slip by.
Robby was the boy in his bed that morning; Todd knew that. If
the boy wanted to entertain a fantasy about Brandon, all right,
but rmemories of Brandon and their love were too much for
Todd to deal with.
  As the corn grew so did the relationship between Robby and
Todd, each committed to the other. But the end of summer
brought change: school. And with school a curtailing of Rob-
by's nighttime freedom. Their trysts became weekend tumbles
between the stalks, with Robby's youthful exuberance for or-
gasm nearly wearing Todd down.
  One Friday night, a quarter moon and only a sprinkling of
stars showing between cirrus clouds, Robby lay on his back
with his legs raised, knees over Todd's shoulders, thighs
wrapped firmly around Todd's head. He squirmed under the
teasing of Todd's lips and tongue until he grabbed Todd's head
and raised his hips, saying, "Yeah. Suck it. Suck it." Todd,
exhilarated by the boy's enthusiasm, applied the pressure of
quick strokes until Robby's cum splashed his throat. The boy
grunted. Todd sucked and licked the last drops. "Oh, yeah,"
Robby said.
  They were buckling belts when a crushing of corn startled
them. They lay still. There was laughter. Only two rows away
three small dark figures raced past them. One, the last, turned
his head, stopped, stared directly at them. Then he ran after his
playmates.
  Todd and Robby hurried away.
  In the attic, cleaned and the hole in the roof repaired with a
hinged cover so that Robby had access when he wanted, Todd
sat alone, with only a candle to cast off the gloom. He was
trembling. The night's close call was frightening. He looked at
the rope still dangling from the beam. Prison was not an option,
but perhaps death was. He got up and tested the rope's
strength; still strong. Pulling a chair below the rope, he stood on
it and took hold of the noose.
  "No." The boy's voice was faint.
  "Robby?" Todd asked. "How'd you get back in here? Where
are you?"
  A movement in a darkened corner attracted Todd's gaze. It
was as if ehe darkness were splitting, with first a sliver of light,
then a long narrow vertical shaft between two walls of anthra-
cite. The walls slid apart and brilliant light blinded Todd
momentarily.
  When he opened his eyes again, little red dots flashed before
him. Gradually his eyes adjusted. "What the hell was that?" he
asked.
  "Not hell, Todd." A boy sat on the bed. The hair was spun
gold with curls like Robby's but.... Todd stepped off the
chair, walked to the bed. He stood over a grinning boy with
seaweed green eyes, Brandon's eyes.
  "How's Robby?" Brandon asked.
  "Uh. He's fine." Todd's legs felt weak. He wobbled.
  "Sit down," Brandon said, "or you'll fall on me."
  Todd sat. He hesitantly reached out a hand.
  "You can try to touch me," Brandon said, "but you won't be
able to. You can see me and hear me, but you can't feel me."
There was a touch of sadness in the boy's voice. "I can't stay
long," Brandon said. "And you can't join me. . . not yet."
  Todd's hand fell. "How. . . " he asked, taking a deep breath,
looking into Brandon's eyes, "how is it possible?"
  "Death doesn't exist. At least not as I always thought of it
before.... I am sorry. I should have waited, huh?"
  "I miss you."
  "Yes, I know. I miss you too, but now you've got Robby."
  "You know?"
  "I fixed you up. I didn't want you to be lonely. I know the
feeling of loneliness. He loves you, I can tell, just like I do."
  "Tonight was. . . "
  "Don't worry. Those boys in the cornfield did not see you. I
was there."
  "You were? You watched Robby and me. . . "
  "Yes." Brandon grinned mischievously.
  "You little dev. . . angel."
  "Close enough."
  "You've changed. You still look 13, but you're more...
mature.'
  "I've grown, in ways I never could have in this sphere."
  "What's it like?"
  "Another time." Brandon looked toward the ceiling. "We've
got company.
  The trapdoor in the roof opened and Robby lowered himself
onto the rope. He slid easily to the floor, his feet touching the
floorboards before he noticed the two on the bed. "Didn't
believe me," he said to Todd, "did you?" He smirked.
"No." Todd confessed.
  Brandon stood, motioned for Robby to join them. When the
boy came over, Brandon moved back toward the corner he had
come from.
  "Wait," Todd said. "Wait. There are so many questions."
  Brandon waved. "You already know the answers. Learn to
trust yourself again," he said, then stepped further back into the
darkness. He was gone.
  Robby sat next to Todd. "Neat, huh?"
  Todd grinned. "Yeah, neat. He shook his head, then gave full
attention to the boy with him. "What are you doing here, and
so late? If your parents find out. . . "
  "They're asleep. I heard them humping an hour ago. After
that they both sleep like logs." Robby laughed along with
Todd. "I had to see you. I had a feeling. . . from Brandon I bet."
  "Guess we got us a guardian angel."
  Robby looked toward where Brandon had disappeared.
"Yeah. I like that."
  "Me too." Todd gently turned Robby's face back to his, lifted
the boy's chin, and stroked his lips across the boy's like an
artist's brush over a canvas.
  "I love you," Robby whispered, "you love me. Our love is the
answer to all my questions."

-The End