Date: Thu, 25 Mar 2010 08:28:45 -0600
From: Katya_Dee <concertoind@gmail.com>
Subject: Specter's Gamble - chapter 10

This is a work of fiction; all the resemblances are completely accidental. I
am the one who owns all the ideas and characters in the story. Contains
violence and descriptive sexual scenes between two males. If you are not
supposed to read it, don't do so. Feel free to e-mail me with praises or
insults (former preferred).


- X -



            He never went back to the docks after that happened, and he
would have the same occurring nightmare almost every night. The monocle, it
would always be the monocle. He wouldn't see the man's face, just the
monocle gleaming in the moonlight. And then everything would repeat itself
with nauseating precision. And then Desmond would wake up, choking on his
own scream. He would lie on his bench, shaking, with tears crawling down his
face.

   After a month or so, it started to get cold, and Desmond tried to figure
out where to spend his nights until the weather warms up again. One of those
nights, he was pleasantly surprised when an old lady he ran some errands
for, tipped him very nicely. He didn't remember the last time he had that
much money. Of course, it would seem like nothing to most people, but
Desmond felt rich right then.

   It started to rain a bit ago, so Desmond decided to treat himself to a
mug of hot chocolate and a plate of warm food before he had to find a place
to stay for the night. "At least, I'd be full," he reasoned. He went into a
small tavern called*Pig Under Umbrella*. Desmond couldn't figure out why in
the world someone would name their tavern like that, it was plain silly, if
you'd ask him. The food there was good, however, and a lot cheaper than
anywhere else in the city.

   He walked in, shaking the rainwater out of his long by now hair and sat
down at one of the tables. One of the waitresses walked up to him.

   "Hey, Desmond," she smiled at him. "How are you, kiddo?"

   He looked up. Her name was LeAnn, he remembered immediately. She looked
like she was in her mid-forties, and she had that motherly aura about her.
Not that Desmond would know much about motherly auras, but that's what it
felt like to him anyway. Desmond helped her with the trays and cleaning up
here at the *Pig *several times before, and she would always send him away
with a bagful of food.

   "Hey, LeAnn," he smiled back, brushing hair off his face. "I am okay," he
nodded even though `okay' was as far as the moon from the way he really was.
He didn't feel like sharing his problems with anyone; it was his business
only.

   "Glad to hear that," she nodded. "What would you like?"

   "Umm..." he pulled his money out of his pocket. "What can I get with
this?"

   LeAnn looked thoughtfully at the bills in his hand.

   "I'd say, a pot-roast and some hot chocolate," she said finally. "And
you'll still have some left," she winked at him.

   "Sounds great!" Desmond said enthusiastically. He really felt okay right
now, he realized. He knew that tomorrow (or maybe even tonight) he'll feel
as shitty as before, but right now was okay, and he was glad for that.

   "Be back in a jiff!" LeAnn said and walked away.

   She really did come back quite soon, Desmond was impressed. The pot-roast
was delicious, and so was his hot chocolate. LeAnn came back to get the
empty dishes and she smiled slyly and slipped a bar of chocolate into
Desmond's hand.

   "You look like you like those," she said quietly.

   "Thanks, LeAnn!" he smiled back at her and put the chocolate into his
pocket.

   She tussled his hair lightly and went away, empty dishes piling up on her
tray. Desmond was about to finish whatever was left of his chocolate when he
heard someone say:

   "Bring that cook out! I wanna see the man who made these! They are
amazing!"

   Desmond agreed with that silently; he had no idea what the person was
complimenting, but the food was delicious, and he wouldn't mind seeing that
great cook himself. So he turned his head towards the swinging doors of the
kitchen, and when he saw the cook, he froze. The monocle gleaming in the
moonlight. The smell of burnt oil and old fish. That impossible pain ripping
him apart. Desmond threw some bills on the table (later, he was amazed that
even then he remembered to tip LeAnn), jumped up, and ran outside as if
someone was chasing him.

   He didn't make it too far from the *Pig* when his stomach convulsed, and
Desmond folded in half, vomiting so violently that for a second he thought
his stomach was going to literally turn inside out. He fell on his knees,
smashing his palms into dirty pavement, staring blindly at the pot-roast
that he enjoyed less than half an hour ago, and the thought shot through his
mind. "Oh God... *He *is the one who made it! *His *hands touched my
food..." That made him throw up again, as violently as before. He was
hacking and coughing until nothing but bile came out.

   Finally, he was able to get up and walk away. The rain was coming down
hard now, and Desmond threw his head back and opened his mouth, desperate
for some water to wash the taste of bile off his tongue. It helped somewhat;
the taste wasn't gone completely but at least now, it wasn't as strong. He
just kept on walking blindly through the rain without any particular point
of destination in his mind.

   Finally, he realized that he'd better find some relatively dry place to
spend the night. He glanced around and saw that one of the houses had a
small front porch covered by the awning. There was also a bench there.
Desmond made his way towards the bench, making sure that he didn't produce
any noise. He'd hate to be kicked under the rain again by the house owners
if they happened to notice him.

   He sat down on that bench carefully and was somewhat relieved when he
realized that the awning protected him from the rain pretty well. He pulled
the bar of chocolate out of his pocket, thinking that *those* hands
definitely didn't touch the candy, and the thought made him queasy again. He
gritted his teeth and pushed those damn thoughts away. The wrapper came off
with the soft creaking complaint, and Desmond sunk his teeth into the dark
bittersweet goodness.

   He was so cold that he kept shaking uncontrollably, but at least now, he
was protected from the rain. He pulled his knees all the way up to his chest
after he finished the chocolate (that candy was gone in less than two
minutes) and hugged himself with both arms tightly. He tried to get some
sleep, but he was shaking so bad that he knew almost immediately that sleep
would not happen tonight.

   "You'll catch pneumonia like this, kid," someone said suddenly, and
Desmond jerked so hard that he almost fell off the bench. For one dreadful
second, he could've sworn that he saw the monocle reflecting raindrops, but
then he realized that it was just his imagination. The man who spoke to him
didn't wear a monocle or even glasses.

   "What the fuck do you care," Desmond muttered, his voice shaky from cold.
The man hemmed in somewhat amused way.

   "Well, considering that this is my house that you are sitting next to..."
he said, and Desmond felt like screaming. Now he'll have to get out of
here... Goddammit!

   "Fine, whatever," he said tightly and got off the bench. "I am leaving."

   "That's not what I meant, you dipshit," the man laughed softly. "What I
meant was, you can wait for the rain to pass inside where it's warm."

   Desmond's eyes immediately narrowed.

   "Uh huh," he said darkly. "In your bed where you'd fuck me senseless,
right?"

   The man hemmed again.

   "Don't flatter yourself, kid," he said. "You are too scrawny for my
taste... And too young. How old are you? Thirteen?"

   "Fourteen," Desmond muttered.

   "Close enough," the man shrugged. "I like my fuck-buddies to at least
have a driver's license."

   "Then why would you invite me in?" Desmond was longing for some warmth;
longing to get away from this blasted rain even if just for a few hours, but
he didn't trust this guy. "What if I rob you and kill you in your sleep?"

   The man laughed as if Desmond just told him the most hilarious joke in
the world.

   "You could try," he said finally. "I wouldn't recommend it though," he
added. "As for why am I doing this..." he shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I
am trying to repent," he said in a softer voice.

   Desmond bit his lip. He felt like one of those dogs that's been abused
and now snarls at everyone who is getting too close for comfort, expecting
them to lash out for no reason. The man shrugged.

   "I am getting cold," he said. "If you'd rather spend the night on the
bench, be my guest."

   He started to walk towards the front door when Desmond said tentatively:

   "Wait..."

   The man stopped and half-turned his head, one of his eyebrows raised in a
silent question.

   "I..." Desmond cleared his throat. "I would like that..." he finished
quietly. "I mean... To come inside..."

   "Okay then," the man nodded calmly as if Desmond just told him something
he already knew. He opened the door. "Get inside," he said when Desmond was
just standing there, fear and mistrust rooting him to the ground. "Get
inside," he repeated with impatience now. "I am cold."

   Finally, Desmond was able to move, and he followed the man into the
house.



****



   Desmond kicked off his wet shoes and winced when he realized that even
his socks were soaked. "Great," he thought gloomily. "This is just great..."

   The man went somewhere and came back a few minutes later with some
clothes in his hands.

   "Here," he handed clothes to Desmond who just looked at him in defiance.
The man rolled his eyes. "You are going to drip water all over the floor.
Just go into the damn bathroom and put these on. They should fit you just
fine. Might be a little too big, but oh well."

   Desmond took the clothes from him very carefully, as if he was afraid
that the guy was going to attack him.

   "Where is the bathroom?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

  "First door on your left," the guy pointed towards the small hallway.

   Desmond went there, perfectly aware of the fact that the man was
following him. He was so tense that his shoulders ached.

   "Here," the guy said and Desmond whirled around. The man was handing him
a towel.

   Desmond took several quick steps back.

   "I am not taking a shower here!" he said and hated the shadow of fear in
his own voice.

   "Wipe your hair with this," the guy rolled his eyes again. "It's wet."

   Desmond blinked and didn't move. The guy put the towel on the counter
next to the sink, his face indifferent, as if he didn't notice Desmond's
reaction.

   "And wash your hands," he added. "They are filthy, and in case if you
want to eat, you'd better clean them."

   Desmond blinked again and the guy walked out of the bathroom, closing the
door after him. Desmond pulled off his soaking-wet clothes and used the
towel to wipe all the water off his body. Dry clothes felt heavenly. He
furiously wiped his wet hair with the towel, trying to get every raindrop
out. Finally, his hair was as dry as it could possibly get right now. Not
completely, of course, but now it was rather damp than wet.

   He looked at the towel thoughtfully, trying to figure out what to do with
it. Finally, he hung it on the top of the shower curtain rod and spread it
out, making sure that it wasn't crumpled. His hands were indeed filthy. Dirt
and dry blood from the scrapes that he got after slamming into the pavement
earlier, made them look caked with something disgusting. Desmond washed them
thoroughly, and after he was done, he wiped them on the same towel.

   He turned the faucets off and took a deep breath, trying to get rid of
that tension. It worked but only partially. Desmond turned the lights off
and walked out of the bathroom.

   "You hungry?" The man was fiddling with the pot on the stove. "I got some
spaghetti left over from a couple of days ago."

   Spaghetti was fine. Anything would be fine. Anything but the pot-roast.

   "Yeah," Desmond said in a small voice. "Thanks..."

   ...After they finished eating, the man said:

   "Second door on your right."

   "Huh?" Desmond looked at him with confusion.

   "That's where you sleep," the man said and the tension was back in all
its glory. "You can lock the door from the inside if you want. There is a
bathroom in there as well, not as big though. So if you decide that you need
a shower after all, go ahead. There should be a toothbrush in there
somewhere too. Look in the drawers. My name is Jason, by the way," he added
and got up, grabbing both plates off the table and putting them into the
sink.

   "I am..." Desmond stared at his own hands. "I am Desmond," he said
finally.

   "Good night, Desmond," Jason nodded and went away. "Turn the lights off
when you leave the kitchen, will you?" he said before disappearing in the
same hallway.

   "Yeah," Desmond muttered.

   ...He did lock the door before going to sleep that night. Then he thought
for a second and shoved one of the chairs against the door as well, making
sure that the back of the said chair was propped firmly against the
doorknob. After doing that, he collapsed on the bed (God, he couldn't even
remember the last time he slept in bed!) and he was out before his head hit
the pillow.