The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Power of Love       The Power of
Love

 

by Anna Parrish

  
 *March 27, 1655, (Wednesday),*
 *Doyle-- age 10;
 Bodie-- age 11:*

"Stop the whispering and get on with your work," Cowley said sternly, a
forbidding expression in his eyes.

The dark eyed boy scowled at the austere teacher but the ten year old with
the long, chestnut curls kept his eyes down and away from the instructor's
faded blue ones.

"Have you something to say to me, Master Bodie?"

Bodie glanced quickly at the switch hanging on the wall and murmured, "No,
Sir."

"Aye, I thought not. Go to the board and finish the problem. Jackson, you
may re-turn to your seat now." The fair haired lad at the chalk-board
returned the piece of chalk gratefully back into the trough and hurried
back to his seat. Bodie's walk to the board was slow, reluctant.

"We do not have the whole day, sir. Kindly cease your lagging."

Bodie glowered at the math problem; Doyle could have done it, one, two,
three, but the dark hair youngster, though proficient at sports (and
fighting when the need arose), was not very skilled at advanced
mathematics.

"Are you memorizing it?" Cowley demanded.

"I can't do it," Bodie admitted. His jaws grew taut.

"You can."

"No, I can't."

"Bodie, I say you can. Stop listening to your heart and pay attention to
your brains. You are capable of following through with the solving; Now do
it."

Bodie, body tense, picked up the chalk and studied the board with mutinous
eyes. Shock came moments later when he realized he could do it. His hand
moved feverishly across the black surface. He turned in triumph and stared
in delight at the slim teacher. "I did it!"

"Aye, Bodie, that's a good lad. Now return to your seat."

Bodie scrunched up his eyes. He stood for a moment, wanting more praise
from the man but when it was not forthcoming, he retired back to his desk.

"I did it!" he whispered to his best friend and constant companion.

"I knew you could," Doyle whispered back.

Bodie viewed him with astonishment. "But how...."

"I will have silence," Cowley informed them in a hard voice. "Take out
your spellers and practice the words on page one-fifty-three."

Bodie's eyes drifted out the window to alight on the dark castle that
loomed both threatening and enticing on the hillside.

"Master Bodie, did I direct different instructions to you?"

"No, sir." The young boy tugged his speller from inside his desk and
opened it up. Page one-fifty-three: archery...artifice...aversion.... He
definitely had an aversion to being in school on a day like this.

*I could be swimming*, Bodie thought. He gazed sideways at Doyle. *With
Ray....* Naked...dripping with water...the sun making his skin...his
un-clothed flesh...glow with life. There it was again! That strange
yearning in his groin. Bewildered at what his body was doing to him, he
turned his gaze back outside, back to the strange castle.

*They say it's haunted; They say Lord Hemispot is a warlock. I wonder if
he is.* Bodie yelped in pain as Cowley's thin, switch came whistling down
on his unprotected hand. Bodie drew up, hugged it tight to his chest. He
hated the tears that sprang to his blue eyes. They were a sign of weakness
to him.

"Your eyes should be focused on the page, Bodie, not on the castle. Next
time, I'll use the strap. Do you comprehend?"

"Yes, sir." The young boy bit his lip to keep any further words from
escaping but they yelled in his head.

"Aye, I thought you would." Cowley continued his stroll down the aisle.

"I hate him," Bodie grumbled-bled as he and Doyle walked home from school
later.

"Who? Mr. Cowley?"

"No, your da! Of course I mean the Cow. I don't like being hit!"

"I know."

Bitterness twisted the young features. "I get hit at home; I get hit at
school! I'm tired of it, Ray!"

"I know." He gripped his friend's arm in compassion and total
understanding. Bodie's da was a mean man.

"You don't know, Ray, what I...what he...." Bodie choked on the words.
"You just don't know what's it like." The pain, the tribulation in his
life rose like bile into his throat.

The tone in his friend's voice made Doyle feel uncomfortable. "What is it,
William?"

"No." How sad he sounded, how bleakly accepting. "Never mind; It's my
problem."

Bodie's eyes shifted up toward the dark house on the hill. They lingered
there thought-fully. "I wonder if Lord Hemispot really is a warlock like
they say."

"He's just a strange, old man. You know how people are; They enjoy making
mountains out of dung heaps."

"I wouldn't mind having that power." There was an earnest, wishful sound
in his voice.

"He doesn't have any power, not really. He's just real good at fooling
people."

"No one tells him what to do. Can you imagine having that much
domination?"

"No one wishes him good morrow either, William."

"No one wants to work for him. They're all afraid of him. I wish...."
Bodie turned sorrowful eyes toward his friend. "I wish people were afraid
of me!"

"You wouldn't have any friends!"

"I wouldn't have anyone hurting me either!" He crossed his arms across his
chest and hugged himself tight. "No one would touch me, not ever again."

Doyle didn't know how to answer that one; He changed the subject slightly.
"Can you imagine how dirty his house is?"

Bodie half smiled, completely understanding. "He has Adle working for
him."

"Still, one man can't possibly keep that huge place clean. It's his fault
though; If he wouldn't pretend he's some type of magician...."

"Warlock," Bodie corrected.

"Warlock...if he wouldn't go around pretending to be one, he could have
dozens of servants taking care of him."

"Adle can't talk."

"I know."

"They say Lord Hemispot became enraged at his servant and placed a curse
on him."

"People say a lot but it doesn't mean it's the truth."

"No, but Mrs. Cardle swears she saw him do it."

"Mrs. Cardle drinks. No one believes anything she says, not even her
husband. My da told me."

"I'm going to go up there one day and find out for sure."

"You would be wasting your time."

Bodie shrugged. Hesitantly, a little fearfully as well, he admitted in a
low voice, "Ray, I'm going to run away to sea. I know they'll take me! I'm
eleven and I'm big and I'm strong."

"You can't! William...."

"What have I got to keep me here? School? My da? This town? I can read and
write and do sums. That's all I need. All he knows is a fist and a kick.
He told me I could go to school until I was twelve, but he's already
talking about taking me out and making me work with him. What kind of life
would I have here? Should I stay and be a woodcutter like my da? Should I
work from dawn till dusk, risking life and limb cutting down trees?
There's nothing here, Ray, nothing."

"I'm here."

"You'll go off to school in London to study when you're older. You know
you will. We both heard your parents talking to the old Cow."

He kicked viciously at a rock. "I can wait until Da goes off to cut wood
Saturday and then I can hitch a ride with the peddler. Bundy's going to
Liverpool that day. He'll let me ride in his cart; He's already said he
would. He'd take me right to the waterfront in Liverpool. He knows a
couple of seamen from the taverns he goes to. He'll introduce me; I can
sign on as a cabin boy."

"Maybe you should think about this, William; Once you're on a ship, out to
sea...." Distress made it hard to breathe, made him feel cold inside.

"I have thought about it." Suddenly, without warning, Bodie clenched his
friend's arms. "Don't you say anything to anyone, you hear me! Don't you
tell my Da! Don't you tell Cowley! Promise me!" He shook Doyle. "Promise
me!"

"I...prom...ise! Stop...shak...ing...me!" Bodie released him. "I'm not
stupid, William. If I told your Da, he'd beat you and then keep you locked
up. If I told Mr. Cowley, he'd tell your da, and you'd be in trouble. I
wouldn't do that you! You're my friend. I won't say anything to anyone, I
promise, but I wish you wouldn't go."

"There's nothing for me here, Ray, nothing."

"Just think about it a couple of days, until Monday, please. That's all I
ask. You might not feel this way next week, but if you do, if you still
want to go off, well, the peddler comes back in a month, doesn't he?"

"I'll think about it." But his face was closed, distant, and that worried
Doyle, made him feel strange inside. "Come on. We better go. If Da gets
home before I do...."

Doyle only nodded; He did not have to say anything. He knew what Mr. Bodie
would do to his son. Everyone in the village knew...and no one did
anything about it.

*Life is unfair*, he thought as they half ran the rest of the way to the
fork where Bodie would leave him. *William shouldn't have such a father.*
He told himself all the way home that Bodie wouldn't follow through with
his plans to run off to sea. Bodie had never lied to him.

******

*April 1st, 1655, (Monday):*

Doyle had convinced himself so thoroughly, that when Monday came, and he
waited and waited for Bodie at the fork, he grew alarmed. Had Bodie's
father gotten too rough? Had he beaten his son so badly this time that
Bodie couldn't go to school? Or had the man finally decided to pull his
son from his education? Doyle was torn between going on to school and
going to Bodie's cottage. His worry won out and he ran down the right fork
towards the woods.

The woodcutter's dwelling gave every appearance of being desolate,
deserted. Doyle knocked. When no one answered, he pushed open the door and
went in.

"Mr. Bodie?" Nothing.... "William?" Again, there was no reply.

Doyle's footsteps echoed eerily through the unoccupied building. Relief
waited on the sidelines, growing stronger as the youngster continued
failing in his search for an injured friend. But...if he wasn't injured,
then, why wasn't he in school?

"Will?" His voice shook with dread as he hesitated before the opening to
the tiny cubicle where his friend slept. He nudged aside the old, faded
curtain that was the only door to privacy Bodie claimed, and peered
inside. Relief flooded the young boy; Bodie was not lying within.

But the question returned in full force...where was he?

Doyle noticed Bodie's clothing was not hanging on the pegs. It was then
that the truth hit him; Bodie had run off to sea.

Desolation struck hard. He had lost his friend. William had promised to
wait but hadn't. Bodie had lied to him. Tears flooded Doyle's green eyes.
Blindly, he stumbled from the silent cottage.

He was calm when he reached the school, embittered and irate, but calm
enough until he saw Cowley.

"You two are late. You'll stay after and make up for your tardiness."

"Mr. Cowley...." There was something in his tone that made the teacher
glance sharply toward him. The fragile dam of anger Doyle had built around
his heart broke and the agony of losing his best friend, of that pal's
betrayal, returned fourfold.

"Raymond?" Cowley's tone was quiet, his walk toward his best student slow
and easy, but his blue eyes contained concern.

"He's gone! William is gone! He told me he'd stay but he lied! He's gone!"
Tears blinded him. He felt Cowley's hands on his arms and allowed the man
to turn him around so he faced the hallway again. "He lied to me!"

"Aye, so you said. Murphy, you're in charge. I expect the work you're all
doing now to be finished when I come back, and if I hear any noise, I
shall be angry. Is that understood?"

"I'll keep them in line, Sir," Murphy bragged pompously.

"See that you do." Cowley led Doyle down the hallway and on to his private
quarters.

"I'll make you a warm cup of tea. Sit." Doyle sat. He blinked rapidly to
keep the tears at bay. "What happened?" Cowley inquired gently as he put
water on to boil.

"William's gone." The tears overflowed again. "He lied to me; He said he
would stay and he didn't."

"Where has he gone?" Cowley was a man who did not believe in wasted time;
As he talked, he measured dark tea granules into his tea pot. Doyle did
not reply; He simply sat there, wiping at the moisture on his cheeks, in
his eyes. "Doyle, where did he go?"

"I promised I wouldn't say anything." The tears had ceased but the
depression that darkened his life at that moment made his inflection dull.

"Aye," Cowley murmured dryly, "you would." In a louder, clearer voice, he
asked, "Does his father know?" He poured water into the tea pot, covered
it with a thick cloth. The teacher went to the small davenport and sat
beside Doyle.

"I don't know." Grief altered the color of his eyes, darkening them. "Why
did he do it?"

"Did he not say anything to you?"

"He said there was nothing for him here and that he was tired of getting
struck by you and his father."

"What I did, I did for his own good. Someday, he'll realize that. I fear
he'll not find it any easier at sea; Most captains keep a tight hold on
the men on board their vessels. Nay, I doubt he'll find an easier life."

"I would like to go home."

"Why?" At the perplexed, hurting shimmer in the green eyes, Cowley
announced briskly, "Life is not an easy thing to face at times, but you'll
not be doing yourself a service by running away and hiding whenever
something's bothers you."

Doyle bit his lower lip so hard, drops of blood appeared on the torn
flesh.

"You'll go back into that classroom and continue with your education."

"Yes, sir." A wall of grayness grew around him, like a mist it was,
growing thicker with each passing moment.

"I expect you to continue as you did before. I'll not allow you to slack
off."

"Yes, sir." The tears had finally ceased but the mist of depression hung
on.

Cowley's touch of understanding shocked the boy. "It is hard now, saying
good-by, but I promise, it'll get easier."

Doyle believed him, and that offered him a great deal of comfort. "Yes,
sir."

The next day, Bodie, senior came stomping into the school room. "I heard
my boy has run off! You, Doyle, did you know he was going?!" The rage on
his face made him appear uglier than he was. Fear froze Doyle's voice. "I
asked you a question!" The grown-up stepped further into the room.

Cowley stepped between the furious man and the youngster. "You canna come
into my class room with your wrath."

"Step aside, schoolteacher," Bodie, senior said in disgust. He shoved the
smaller man aside and took two more steps toward Doyle. The man's thick,
strong hand went up. "Did you know?"

"I'll not let you batter someone's else's child." Cowley worked a miracle;
One moment, Bodie, senior was standing, and the next, he was flying
backwards into the wall. The huge man was up again instantly. The wrath he
was experiencing had grown until his whole face was mottled. "You will act
like a human, if you can, or you will leave my home."

"You...."

Cowley's stance stopped him. "If you try to touch Ray Doyle, I will trash
you to the very inch of your life." Something in his voice told the huge,
mountain of a man that he would...and that he could. Bodie, senior tried
to glare him down but Cowley would not be capitulate and it was the
taller, heavier man who surrendered, angrily to be sure, but succumb he
did.

"I want my son." His inflection revealed his extreme rage.

"We shall go into my private quarters and speak. Doyle, you will accompany
us."

"Yes, sir." His voice, to his horror, was barely above a whisper.

"Hold your head up, Doyle. You've done nothing wrong," Cowley ordered
firmly.

Doyle wanted to believe but that repellent glower on Bodie, senior's face,
produced icy dread within the ten year old's body. They went into the back
room and Cowley shut the door.

"Did you know my son was leaving?"

Doyle's mouth worked for a moment then, "Yes...I mean...he told me but I
thought...he promised he would wait." His was so cold with the fear he was
experiencing, he trembled violently. His face was ashen.

"Where did he go?" Bodie, senior demanded.

"The sea; He ran off to become a cabin boy on a ship."

Bodie, senior's fist slammed into a small table. It broke into huge,
splintered pieces of polished wood.

"You will kindly cease destroying my home." The warning look in George
Cowley's expression informed the other man he meant business.

"If I find him...."

"That...sir..." Cowley said sharply, bluntly, "is one reason why he ran
off to sea." Bodie's father did not understand. "A child needs love, not
violence."

"You! Oh, aye, you're with boys all day long, but what do you know about
rearing one? Will would have spent his life playing if I had not kept a
tight reign on him! Dallying doesn't provide a living; He has to be harder
than the next man if he wants to get anywhere in this life! Aye, I smacked
him around...when he needed it. Love doesn't fill an empty belly." Bodie,
senior shook his shaggy head. He turned hard, black eyes on Ray Doyle.
"You should have told me."

"I didn't think he'd do it. He promised me he'd think about it."

"If I find him...." Bodie's father left, stomping from the room.

"I pity young Bodie if that man locates him," Cowley murmured. Doyle
shivered in apprehension. "Go back to the class room. You have to finish
your essay."

"Yes, sir."

Three days later, Ray Doyle was waylaid by Tommy McKay, the town bully,
and Bolter, his crony. McKay jumped out of a tree right in Doyle's path.
Doyle nearly swallowed his tongue. He clutched his books to his chest.

"You're alone, you are," McKay said smugly. Doyle inhaled raggedly. "Not
so brave without that Bodie, are you? He's not here to fight your battles,
is he?"

"Let me pass."

"Or what? Will you cosh me? Huh?" He pushed Doyle. "Will ya?" He viewed
the younger boy's white countenance with conceited satisfaction. "Nah, not
you. You're a coward, a regular peepbird, you are. I don't like your
face." McKay struck Doyle with an extremely accurate fist. Both boys
jumped on the younger one then. They left Doyle in the ground, weeping.

Bleeding, clothes torn and dirty, Doyle picked up his soiled hat, plopped
it wearily back on his head. He limped home. His father demanded the names
but Doyle refused to tell. Fear was the major reason behind the silence;
If McKay was accused, he'd be even rougher the next time.

The next day, Cowley viewed the battered features, the withdrawn manner of
the youngster in hidden dismay. "Stay after school." Doyle nodded, too
depressed to talk. At four, Cowley inquired, "What happened?"

"Nothing." Bright cheeked, Doyle kept his eyes downward, centered on his
scratched hands.

"I'll not have you lying to me. Falsehoods are one thing I will not abide.
Do you grasp my words?" Doyle nodded. "What happened?"

Panic made the boy's voice tremble. "I have to go home!" He shot up.
Cowley grabbed his upper arm but just as quickly let go when Doyle
flinched in pain. "Please, Mr. Cowley." Green eyes pleaded with the man.

"Go then." Worried, he watched the ten year Ray Doyle run from the room.

Ray's footsteps slowed as he neared the spot where the boys had met him
yesterday. Surely they wouldn't be here again today. Surely once was
enough.

They were there.

"Cor, if it ain't the peepbird."

McKay moved forward in relish as Doyle backed up. The older boys were
rougher than yesterday and Doyle finally grabbed a branch from the ground.
"Put it down, peepbird."

"Leave me alone!" His panic and terror could not be hid.

"I said, put it down, peepbird." McKay's mouth twisted. "I don't like that
stick in your hand." He shot forward and jerked the branch from Doyle.
"Nah, I don't like it at all." He swung the large branch at the younger
boy's face and Doyle's right cheek bone was broken, the flesh split and
gaping. The pain was so intense, he fell unconscious to the ground. He lay
there bleeding. His father, concerned over the beatings and the lateness,
went in search and found him comatose on the ground.

When Doyle had recovered enough that the laudanum could be halted, Cowley
brought homework for Doyle to do. "This should keep your mind occupied
while you finish recuperating."

Doyle glanced apathetically at the books.

"When you're better, I'll teach you how to defend yourself. Your father
agrees that these beatings canna go on." Dull eyes glittered with
humiliation as they gazed, briefly, into discerning blue ones. Cowley's
heart ached for the young lad but he did not show it. It was not the
teacher's way. "Who did it?" Doyle closed his bruised eyes. "Was it
Bodie's father?"

"No."

It was difficult for him to talk. His speech was slow and slightly
slurred. IF he moved the muscles in his face too much or too fast, the
pain returned. He reopened his eyes, met Cowley's scrutiny with numbness.
If he did not think then he did not truly feel.

"You'll not do them nor yourself any favors by hiding their identities."

"I thank you for the books." "Wicked creatures they are to take advantage
of an innocent such as yourself, but you'll not be staying that way. I'll
see to that. I'll teach you self-defense."

"I don't...." Doyle took in a deep breath, "I don't like to fight."

"I don't imagine you're overly fond of being battered either. It's settled
then. When you're well enough, when that cheek bone has healed, I'll start
the lessons. Until then, I'll be bringing your work here. Your father will
be keeping you home."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'll not let you be slacking of because you're in a little pain."

"No, sir."

"See that you do all that work. I shall return tomorrow evening to fetch
it and answer any questions you might have."

"Yes, sir."

Cowley hesitated then said in a perceptive voice. "Aye, I know things are
dark right now but they'll not be staying that way."

"No, sir."

Ah, but did the boy believe the man?

No.

"You're a good lad, Ray Doyle; Aye, a good lad, and I'm proud of you."

"Yes, sir, thank you." What did it matter? Bodie was gone; Bodie had lied
to him. He tried to grit his teeth to keep the tears at bay but the pain
of that action nearly over-whelmed him. Sickness churned in his stomach.

"Tomorrow is another day, Raymond."

"Yes, sir."

Cowley hesitated then said, "I will be back."

"Yes, sir."

******

*Seven years later...

May 17, 1662*
 *Doyle-- age 17:*

"Mail!" March yelled as he entered the dorm room. The other students
gathered around him. One by one, the tall, lanky red-head handed envelopes
out to the proper pupil. Doyle took his two and went to his bed. He opened
the one from George Cowley first.

"In the year of Our Lord, 1662, this Third of May, Dear Ray...."

There was news from the village, odds and ends and then: "...Bodie
returned April 20th. Shortly after his return, he took on a position with
Lord Hemispot. Three days later, Bodie's father died in a freak accident.
The death did not seem to bother our Bodie. It's doubtful he's forgiven
the old man for things that were done to him while he was growing up.

"I do not like the suffering in Bodie's eyes. He stays away from me. I
have tried to speak to him, but he refuses to have anything to do with me.
Perhaps he would like to hear from you...."

Doyle dropped the letter onto his lap.

Bodie was back.

Vivid images of eleven year old William Bodie filled Doyle's mind....
Laughter, sunshine on dark hair, impish grins right before they pulled a
prank...and the visions changed and he saw a sad Bodie, a bitter friend
who desperately wanted a normal, happy life and knew he'd never get it.

Had going to sea been a good thing for him? From Cowley's words, it
hadn't.

Would Bodie remember him? Would he want to hear from him?

Doyle tugged his small chest from beneath his bed and opened it. He
removed pencil and paper and began to write:

"Dear William...."

Why was it so hard to write to a friend? There had been a time when there
was not enough time in the day to speak together. Words tumbled from them
both as though there would never be another day.

*We're older*, Doyle pondered pensively. *We've changed, gone in different
directions. Where's the meeting point now?*

Sighing, he put words on the paper, memories, accounts of his own life
now; He asked questions.

The letter was mailed, but it came back, unopened.

******

*April 21, 1662*
 *Bodie-- age 18:*

Bodie stared at the dark house on the hillside. Lord Hemispot was still
alive, so was his one servant, Adle. Bodie had seen many things in his
travel, done a lot, things that could not be explained away by rational
explanations. Was Hemispot a warlock like Momot had said? Was he involved
with sorcery? Was he really as strong as that old Arabian had claimed?

He rubbed his jaw where his father had struck him that morning. Cynicism
made his lips twist in sardonic pride. He had smacked his father back,
sent him onto his backside. "Don't ever hit me again," he had told his
father. "And don't you ever come into my room and force me to lay with you
again. I'm not a child any longer and I won't let you touch me like that,
not ever again."

"I bought your clothes! I fed you! You were a parasite. Why should you
live in my home without returning something?"

"I pity you." *And*, he thought, battling the strong emotions that tried
to surge upward and take over, *I hate you. God forgive me, but I hate you
more than I've ever hated anyone. You're my father but I wish you were
dead.*

"Ungrateful bastard!" Bodie senior had snarled. "Get out of my house!"

"As you will...father...."

Bodie walked slowly to the dark house, knocked on the door. Adle opened
it, peering out through a thick crack. "I wish to see Lord Hemispot; I've
come for a job, ' Bodie said.

"Let him enter," a harsh, accented voice said from the darkness of the
house. Adle opened the door and Bodie entered, spine stiff and straight.
He met the thin slits of the old man's examination with a cool one of his
own. Hemispot was ancient, with more wrinkles and aged flesh than anyone
Bodie had ever seen. "You wish to work for me?"

"I do."

"What can you do?"

Bodie stopped playing around. "I studied in Arabia."

"Studied what?"

"The Misitorak."

The old man's eyes grew wide. There were strange flecks of gold in the
brown orbs; There was a red rim around each pupil. "Have you?"

"That and other books."

"Who was your master?"

"I have no master. I studied with Momot Babart."

"Is he still alive?"

"He is."

"Did he talk of me?"

"He did."

"And you came to see if what he said had any basis in truth."

"I did."

Hemispot walked around the sturdy, muscular form of William Bodie. "The
villagers say I that I dance with the devil."

"I have heard that."

"What they say is true. Does this frighten you?"

"No."

"It should. Only a fool is unafraid of darkness." He ran his had up and
down Bodie's arm, felt the muscle beneath the coat. "You are strong.
Perhaps, you will do. There is one test. If you pass it, you may labor
beside me; If you fail, you die. Are you willing to take this test?"

"I am."

"Why?"

"I want power."

"Power is quite often deceiving; Power often controls the person who tries
to claim it, if the mortal is weak."

"It will not control me."

"Power is often the brother to revenge. Is this what you truly seek?"

"Part of it." His eyes grew distant. A spark of rage sparkled in their
blue depths. "Part of it," he repeated in a strange voice.

Hemispot smiled. "I see the black strands of hatred around you. Who is
it?" He watched the struggle in Bodie. "Is it more than one?"

"Yes." *My father*, he thought in torment, *those two men on the
ship...that man in Egypt....*

"You must learn to control that hatred, channel it. Hatred can be more
powerful than love." His old eyes narrowed. "Are you willing to learn?"

"I want to learn."

"There is a price."

"There is always a price. What is yours?"

The old man smiled sleepily. "Have you ever enjoyed pain?" He watched the
tightening of the other man's facial muscles. "I see you have tasted from
that cup."

"Yes."

"If my payment includes that, will you pay it?"

There was a moment's hesitation, then, "Yes."

"Your desire to learn and your desire for revenge, are your masters."

"I have no masters."

"You do. Perhaps, one day, you will stand alone, but that time is not now.
Come with me. Let us perform the test. If you survive, then you may move
into this house with Adle and me; If you do not weather it, I shall
deposit your body at your father's door."

"I understand."

"Do you accept this?"

"I do."

"Then come."

They went to the sub-basement. The stairs were damp, slippery. Adle went
before them with a torch to light their way. That portion of the house
smelled, not just of mildew and mold, but of other things...a little of
brimstone and sulfur.

Bodie's stomach twisted. For one brief moment, he thought about turning,
about escaping. Memories returned sharply to torment and taunt him. His
spine grew rigid. Turn and leave? No. He was tired of taking orders, of
having to do what others demanded simply because they were stronger than
he was. He wanted to have the power to make others do what he wanted. If
this was the only way to lay claim to that, then so be it.

Adle opened a side door at the bottom of the stairs and stepped through
the opening. Hemispot and Bodie followed him. Heat slapped them in their
faces. It was a dungeon with a flame pit in the middle. The flames were
bright and strong. Around the pit, a pentagram had been drawn; Around that
pentagram, ancient markings had been painted onto the stone floor. Bodie
read each one, recognizing them from his studies in Arabia.

This was a place of agony. Instruments of torture decorated the huge, cold
room.

In the corner, odd apparatuses stood, glassware, metal containers. Huge,
old books graced tabletops.

"That is an eternal flame," Hemispot said. "It will never go out. Look
around, William Bodie, what do you see?"

"I see a place of suffering and abuse."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes and let your soul do the seeing."

Bodie did. "I see power...and...." He shivered.

"Yes?" There was a gloating emotion in that old man's one word.

"And evil."

"Yes! Now, go look at the books, William."

Bodie did, and recognized many names Momot had given him.

"I can show you the secrets of those books...if you pass the
test...if...you agree to my terms."

"I have agreed to your terms. I am ready for the test."

"Then go to the blackened beams."

Bodie did.

"Undress." There was a second or two of delay then Bodie did as the old
man had instructed. "No, face the pit."

Bodie turned and inspected the flames with dazed eyes. Thinking about
doing something wasn't quite the same as actually doing it.

"Raise your arms and allow Adle to fasten you into the apparatus. Adle,
pull his arms tightly upward; He must not be able to work free." Adle did.
Bodie grunted once or twice as the mute made extra sure the bonds were
tight. "Now do his feet. William, spread your legs."

Bodie did and Adle secured his feet in metal bands. "Leave us, Adle."
Without waiting, the mute vanished out of that dark, malodorous room.

Hemispot ran his hands over Bodie's nude body. He cupped the firm
buttocks, toyed with the man's limp penis. Sighing, the old man murmured,
"I wish I could be the first with you but I fear he would not like it. He
is not pleasant when he is angered."

He went to the tables in the corner. He undressed and coated his body with
putrid smelling oil. Streaks of red appeared on the ancient body.
Chanting, he mixed several ingredients into a silver chalice. He moved
slowly toward Bodie. "Close your eyes and inhale."

Bodie did. His head swam, making him dizzy, disoriented. "Drink."

Foul tasting fluid was forced into Bodie's mouth. He swallowed, fighting
back the nausea as he did so. Within moments, he felt as though he was
flying, free of his body, free of the world around him. A vision of a
tall, slim man, a man with chestnut curls, appeared in his mind's eye.
Bodie's groin reacted pleasantly.

"Open your eyes."

Bodie obeyed. He watched the old man limp toward the fire with the cup.
When he poured it into the flames, they shot up a bright purplish-black.
They writhed and altered shape. A man sprang forth from the flames, a lean
person with long, chestnut ringlets. Bodie felt his groin react
immediately, growing fuller. The creature looked around, spied the man
hanging at the posts, and went toward him. It stopped in front of William
Bodie. Human hands caressed the nude, enslaved form. Bodie's penis
hardened fully. The man altered form. It became a grotesque creature,
misshapen, black, scaly. Slimy saliva dripped from the huge, ugly mouth.
Its odor was a scent of death and decay.

Horror shot through Bodie; It grew until it almost claimed him when the
creature began to make love to him.

******

*April 28, 1662,*
 *Bodie-- age 18:*

Bodie's father died when a tree he was cutting fell the wrong way and
crushed his body.

People in the village swore up and down Bodie had placed a curse on his
own father. His obvious lack of caring did little to erase that belief.

******

*September 19, 1665,*
 *Doyle-- age 20, Bodie-- age 21:*

"...People shun him because they say he is insane. I confess I believe he
is. Lord Hemispot died when his house burned down in June. I thought Bodie
would be free then, return to us, but my hopes proved to be false ones; He
has grown worse. The phobia the villagers had placed on Hemispot has now
been transferred to William. They claim he is a warlock and therefore
evil. Sometimes I hear the towns' people muttering about taking his life,
freeing themselves of the corruption he bears. I have made fun of them,
talked them out of doing that wicked act, but there will come a time when
they will no longer listen to me.

"Bodie lives in his father's cabin. He wanders around, not speaking, drunk
most of the time. He neither bathes nor washes his clothing. His hair is
lank, long, filthy. There is a look of death in his eyes.

"You must come. I fear you are the only one who can reach him. I do not
know why I felt thus, but I do. I have no right to request a change of
plans on your part, but if anything of the friendship you once shared with
William remains, you must come."

Doyle reread the letter. Of course he must go. The dreams he had been
having now made sense: Bodie wept in them. He cried for help. Doyle had
struggled in his dreams to reach his friend but there was always a thick,
hideously-black curtain between them.

Going to Paris to study art would have to wait.

Bodie needed him.

The love he had felt for his friend returned. It resided strongly in his
heart, his soul. It was a magnificent thing, beautiful...different than
when they had been boys together. Doyle loved Bodie as only a man could
love another man. He highly doubted Bodie would ever return it, but love
couldn't be stopped simply because it wasn't returned.

Love, if it was real enough, lasted forever.

******

*September 26, 1665,*
 *Doyle-- age 20, Bodie-- age 21:*

The old cottage needed repairs; The weeds choked the grounds around it;
There was a hole in the roof. Doyle peered inside and sighed. The place
was filthy, in bad need of renovation inside as well. Furniture lay
broken, scattered across the room. Mice scurried across the slovenly,
unsanitary floor.

"Oh, Bodie, why?"

The dwelling was empty. Perhaps Cowley would know where Bodie was. An
eerie feeling made Doyle shiver. He whirled, searched the landscape around
him and saw no one. Doyle laughed at himself but the feeling remained. It
felt as though someone was watching him. The world was too quiet; Even the
birds had ceased their singing.

"Bodie?" He waited but no one answered. *Don't be such a fool*, he told
himself. *There's no one there.* Still.... "You know me," he said aloud.
"I'm Ray...Ray Doyle. We were friends once, remember?" Nothing...not even
a breeze. "I'm going into town for cleaning supplies and then I'm coming
back to scour and disinfect this place. How can you live in such
pollution?" The feeling that he was being watched vanished. Doyle picked
up his bag and began the long walk to Cowley's house.

******

"Would you like another wee dram, Raymond?" George Cowley held up his
bottle of fine, old scotch whiskey.

"No, this is fine. I came as soon as I could, Mr. Cowley. How he is?"

"He walks around, muttering. Mrs. Cardle passed out when he walked by her
yesterday. She swears he put a curse on her."

"Gin is her curse, not William."

"Aye, but the villagers choose to believe otherwise. Ah, well, most of
them are fools who still believe there's gold at the end of the rainbow
and spend most of their time looking for it instead of working and earning
their living. What else can you expect from them?"

"You mean there isn't any gold?" Doyle asked lightly. "All these years and
I've been searching those rainbows for nothing."

"Och, you're in fine form, now aren't you?" His eyes sparkled in joy.

Doyle half smiled. "I went to his cabin. I can't believe he would live in
that...mess."

"He's haunted; Anyone with half a brain can see that. They all stood back
and allowed that man to beat his child. I accept blame for that as well. I
could have done something but I did not want to interfere in family
matters; I wish I had now."

"I remember you cowing Bodie's father."

"A bully always backs down when someone confronts him face to face. If
enough of us had gotten together back then.... Och, well, we canna go back
and change the past, can we?"

"No."

Philip, Cowley's lone servant came in. "I've gathered all the cleaning
items you requested, Mr. Cowley."

"Thank you. Leave them on the outer table; Ray will take them with him
when he leaves."

"Yes, sir." He left.

"Will you stay for dinner?"

"That's another thing I need to borrow from you. Could you spare food
until I can make it into the village?"

"Aye. I'll have Philip pack a basket. Will you be staying to sup with me?"

"No, I think I'd like to get back out to the cabin and start cleaning; I'd
like to get as much done before nighttime."

"Then I'll have the basket fixed now. Go with God, Raymond, and be
careful."

"I will."

******

Doyle searched Bodie's face. The shock had worn off from them both. Could
this be the clean, neat child he had once known? Bodie's hair was long,
lank, grimy with oil and dirt. It hung down in his face.

Bodie lifted his head and Doyle saw an expression of animosity and
something so darn close to being discomfort in the blue eyes, it could be
nothing else but that emotion.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?!"

"I've brought food," Doyle said as he lifted the basket in his left hand.
Bodie, silent, hostile, turned his gaze upon the basket in the right hand.
"This is cleaning supplies, and from the looks of you, the first thing to
be scrubbed is you; I've got the water already boiling."

Bodie tromped in and tried to slam the door but the hinges, half undone,
would not allow such a rapid movement. Doyle reached past him and shut the
door in easy, restrained movements.

"This should be fixed. When winter comes...."

"I don't want you here."

"I don't suppose you do. It would spoil the effect, now wouldn't it?"

Despite himself, Bodie asked, "Effect?"

"You've got the whole bloody village afraid of you."

"They should be."

Doyle stared coolly at his friend and Bodie turned away. "Get your clothes
off."

"Gonna fuck with me then? Do I turn you on? Do I make you all hot and
bothered?" He laughed in disdain. "Aren't you terrified you'll get
contaminated?"

"Don't be daft. Look, William, I've come to help, that's all. You need
food; Your home needs cleaning up and repairing, and you need a bath,
clean clothes too. You have to admit that." Bodie grumbled beneath his
breath. "The water is ready."

"I don't want a fucking bath! And I don't want you here! I told you that!"

"You stink." The statement was flat, hard. He settled the huge washtub on
the repulsive, soiled floor, grimacing as he did so. "You smell as though
you've peed on yourself." His lips twisted in disgust. "God, I bet you
did."

"No one asked you to come and smell me, did they?" The hatred, the rage,
was solid, distinct. "You always did like to meddle in other people's
business."

"What's happened to you?"

Bodie rubbed grimy hands in his eyes. "Go away." He stumbled to a stained,
grubby pallet and sank down onto it. His whole form had dejection written
all over it.

"No."

Bodie shot up, darted toward Doyle, prepared to strike the man, force him
out the door...and ended up a crumpled heap on the floor instead. "Don't
ever try that again," Doyle warned. "I'll throw you further next time." He
listened to Bodie's cursing a moment before remarking casually, "I see you
learned a lot of new words while you were at sea; Mr. Cowley would be
proud of you."

"Fuck Cowley." He sat up but did not rise again.

"No, thank you. Get your clothes off." Doyle waited. "You're not going to
eat until you're clean. How hungry are you?" He waited again. "William,
how long has it been since you ate?"

"A couple of days...?" He held his head and moaned. "Just go away, you
damned fool. I don't want you here!"

"Yes, you do." Bodie issued a long line of expletives. "You were watching
when I came in. I felt you. I felt you the first time I came too." After
pouring both cold and hot water into the tub, Doyle went to his friend and
knelt down.

"Let me help you. Do you have any clean clothes?" He expected rejection,
Bodie's shoving him away, but to his surprise, that did not come...nor did
a reply. "Are you addled, Will? Do you have any clean clothes?" He tried
to unbutton the shirt Bodie was wearing but the cloth was so rotten with
age and grime and old food and drink, that the cloth fell apart in his
hands. Love increased, nearly overcame him. It was very difficult for him
to hide it. "Will?"

"In the chest."

"You can finish removing these...things...and get in. I've brought soap."

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Bodie demanded bitterly.

"No."

"I could put a curse on you! A death hex, a spell of bad luck...."

"No you can't. You might fool those silly villagers, but I know better."

"I'm stronger than you. I can hurt you."

"You can, but you won't." When Bodie's lips twisted in scorn, Doyle said
sharply, "Did you hurt me a little while ago? If you really wanted to harm
me, you would have done it then. Now get those rags off; They need to be
burned."

Bodie simply huddled on the floor, appearing confused.

"Cowley gave us strawberry tarts." He watched Bodie's eyes dart to the
baskets. "You'll have to bathe first. I'll not eat with you stinking like
this. You make me ill. Doyle's calm, green eyes conquered the wrathful,
blue ones. He studied Bodie face. "How long has it been since you bathed?"
Bodie shrugged. "Please?" Bodie's head shot upward. "How long?" There was
no expression in the blue eyes but his body was rigid. "The water will get
cool; A warm bath is better than a cold one."

"Leave the cottage then." Doyle's brow lifted in question. "I'll not bathe
while you're watching."

"I'll take these blankets outside and try to wash them. Call me when
you're through."

Bodie simply lifted his shoulders in a non-caring manner again.

"Make sure you wash your hair!" Again, Bodie simply used a swift movement
of his body as acknowledgment. Resisting both the urge to sigh and the one
to shake his old friend, Doyle went outside. It was only when the door was
safely shut and the room was silent that Bodie disrobed. There were old
whip marks on his backs and buttocks. Some of those dated from his early
years at sea; some had been put there by Hemispot.

Half an hour later, they were sitting at table. Doyle had scrubbed it as
carefully as he could but he knew it would have to be burned and a new one
bought. The food was cold but good. Doyle did his best to hide his dismay
as Bodie wolfed down his food, eating as though he hadn't eaten in a long
time. *How many days has it been, William?* Doyle's heart ached for his
friend. "There's a chicken leg left. Would you like it?" Bodie grabbed it
without saying anything and tore into his fried flesh. "No!" Doyle said
sharply minutes later when Bodie went to wipe his greasy hands on his
clean clothing. "Don't you dare. Here...." He thrust a napkin at his
friend. "...Use this." Scowling fiercely, Bodie did. "Now, let's get this
mess cleaned up and then I'll cut your hair."

"You can go now."

"No."

"You always were an irritating bastard."

"And you were always the best friend I've ever had."

Bodie's throat worked convulsively. He rose and went back to sit on the
floor by the fire. "The books are still in Hemispot's cellar. The fire
destroyed the upper floors but didn't harm anything below ground."

"Books?"

"Sorcery, necromancy...black magic...."

"I see. Do you still go there and read them?"

A few seconds of silence passed, then: "No."

"Do you plan to?"

"I might...some day."

"You don't need them." Bodie did not reply. "Let me cut your hair. I don't
suppose you still have your mother's scissors do you?"

"I don't know."

Doyle hunted for the small object but could not find it. "Maybe I could
borrow a pair." A knock sounded at the door. "I wonder who that is?"

"The devil," Bodie said wearily. "He's come to claim his own. Run for your
life, fair Raymond."

"Don't be an ignoramus." Doyle opened the door.

It was Cowley with clean bedding. "I thought you could use these. I would
have sent my man but he was averse to come here. Can you use them?"

"We can. I tried washing what was here, but they're just tatters, not fit
for use." He took the small mountain of blankets and sheets, placed them
carefully on a chair. "I could make use of a pair of scissors as well, if
I may."

"Aye, I have a pair I can lend. Hello, William; How are you?"

Bodie turned his head, faced the brightly burning fire. "Och, well, at
least you look like a human being again. You'll look even better when that
hair has been good. I'll bring the scissors tomorrow, Ray. Will you be
needing anything else?"

"Not for awhile. Thank you, Mr. Cowley."

"Call me George."

Doyle smiled. "Thank you."

"I'll be going but if you need anything, just ask."

"I will, and thank you, again." Cowley left. Doyle turned to Bodie and
said in a hard voice. "You were very rude to him."

"I hate him."

"No, you don't."

Bodie's eyes were wild. "I do! And I hate you! You bloody, interfering
bastard!" Panic rang in his voice.

"If you say it enough, you might just begin to believe it." He made two
make-shift beds on the floor close to the fireplace. When Bodie refused to
budge, Doyle settled a heavy blanket around his friend's shoulder. "You'll
get cold. I've made a bed for you. It won't be a soft one but at least
it's clean."

It was over an hour later before Bodie lay down. A tired sigh escaped as
he turned over onto his side.

"Will? Why?"

"You wouldn't understand, Ray."

"I could try."

"Have you ever hated someone so much you wanted to kill him?"

"No."

"No," Bodie said in mild contempt, "you wouldn't."

Doyle waited a moment then asked, "Who did you hate?"

"It was more than one person, Ray, more than one. There was always someone
who's stronger than me, always someone there to hurt me." Bodie turned
over and refused to answer any more questions.

The sun was bright when Doyle awoke with a jerk. Bodie was sitting on his
pallet beside him.

"Will?"

Bodie adjusted his body until he was lying on top of the other man. There
was a look similar to lust on Bodie's face, in his blue eyes.

"Will! Don't!"

Doyle tried to shove Bodie away but Bodie, ready for the try, tightened
his hold. He gripped his fingers into Doyle's hair and forced a kiss on
the other man. Within seconds, he was thrusting his tongue into the
Doyle's mouth. Doyle adjusted his body and shoved, harder this time.
Engrossed as he was, Bodie was unprepared for the launch. He landed back
onto the hard floor. Doyle rose swiftly. "Don't ever do that again."

"Ever fuck a man, Ray?" Bodie demanded in a hard, cold voice. He stood up.

"Don't ever do that again," Doyle repeated in an odd voice.

"Are you going to leave now?"

"Oh, no, you're not going to get rid of me that easily."

"If you stay...one night...I will rape you."

"Am I one of those you hate?"

Bodie shivered. He turned away "No."

"Then don't do it. Hate can work both ways; Don't forget that."

Bodie whirled. His features were twisted with rage. "I'm evil!"

"No, you're not." The other man began to shudder violently. "William?" He
took a step forward, but Bodie stepped away.

"I killed my father."

"Cowley said a tree fell on him."

Bodie laughed in bitterness. "A tree! I placed a curse on him! I made that
tree fall!"

"That's balderdash and you know it."

"You're a fool!"

"Maybe. Did you hate your father that much?"

Sadness fought with hatred. "Yes."

"Why?"

Bodie faced the fire place. A tiny flame still burned within its blackened
depths. "Did you know he used to rape me when I was a child?"

Sickness made it hard for Doyle to swallow. "No."

"Some of those bruises came when I tried to fight him off."

"Why didn't you tell someone?"

"Who? And what would they have done? Tell him to stop? Take me away from
him? No one would have cared."

"I would have."

"You!? Would you have gone to him, stopped him?"

"No."

"You were such an innocent." How sad Bodie sounded. "I couldn't bear the
thought of taking that away from you. It meant so much to me; it was so
beautiful, so clean."

"William...."

Rage exploded again. "I don't want your damned pity!" He moved rapidly
forward, fists tight. "Get out! Get out!" He stood tense and stiff in
front of Ray Doyle.

"Don't send me away." He lifted his hand slowly and cupped the Bodie's
face. Bodie's rage vanished rapidly. "Don't send me away, Will. Let me
stay with you."

Panic ripped at Bodie's soul. He ran out of his home. He was still gone
when Cowley came with the scissors and another basket of food. "Is
something wrong?"

"Just a slight disagreement with Bodie."

"Are you all right?" the old man inquired.

"Yes, at least, I will be."

"It'll nay be easy, this course you've set for yourself."

"No."

"You're a good man."

"For helping a friend?"

"Aye."

"Bodie's a good person too."

"It's well hidden."

"The rage?"

"Aye. It's taken him over."

"Some of that hostility and hatred is legitimate."

"Oh?"

"What he told me was said in confidence."

"Then I'll not ask." He contemplated his next words before speaking them.
"They're saying in the village that he's hexed you, that you're here
against your will."

"How can people be so stupid!?"

"The village is attached to the past since it has very little contact with
the future. Take care, Raymond."

"I will."

"I'll be going now, and Raymond, don't be too trusting."

"He won't hurt me."

"You've been apart too many years; He's changed."

"Not that much."

"Just take care."

It was late afternoon before Bodie returned. Doyle had the house as clean
as he could by then. Soup was hot on the hearth.

"Cowley brought the scissors. Sit and I'll cut your hair." Doyle fully
expected obstinacy but Bodie only sat. He shivered a couple of times when
Doyle's fingers brushed his neck. Bit by bit, the long, black hair fell to
the floor. When the cutting was done, Doyle said in triumph, "Now you look
more like yourself."

Bodie rose and caught Doyle's eyes with his. Awareness tingled between
them. Doyle grew disconcerted. "Let's go into the village and buy our own
food. We can't live off Cowley. He doesn't make that much money." He
hurried to the door.

"You always were a coward," the dark haired man whispered in derision.

"Don't be too sure of that, William Bodie."

The villagers stared at Bodie in stupefied and at Doyle in awe as Doyle
bossed Bodie around, making him carry what he bought. When Bodie gazed in
hunger at the ale house, Doyle said firmly, "You don't need that," and
Bodie forced his eyes away from the one place in town he had visited
frequently.

"Why?" Bodie asked as they walked home.

"You're my friend."

"You don't know me."

"Don't I?"

"No."

"All right, tell me all about William Bodie."

"I fuck men." His voice was hard, daring.

"I figured that out by myself. What else?"

"I wanna fuck you."

Blushing slightly, Doyle managed to say in a reasonably calm voice, "I
know that. Tell me about the sea."

"It's got salt in it."

"Don't be an arse. You know what I mean."

"You want to hear that every man on board that ship had me?"

"I'm sorry."

Bodie laughed in contempt. "I wasn't a virgin. Father saw to that. The
peddler demanded payment for giving me a ride. The two men in the tavern
wanted compensation for getting me a job on their vessel. The men on the
ship...." Bodie shook his head as emotions, long buried beneath hatred and
vengeance, tried to arise. "There was never any kindness in any of it. I
was simply someone smaller, weaker, someone to use. When I fought back,
they used a whip on me. I was kept locked in the captain's cabin whenever
we were docked. When I was fifteen, I broke loose and jumped overboard. We
were in an Egyptian port then. A rich man caught me stealing food from his
garden and abducted me. I became his slave, to do with what he wanted, and
what he wanted...." He licked his lips, tried to swallow. Doyle kept
silent. Though his heart ached for his friend, he knew any sign of pity
and Bodie would take off.

"There was never any kindness." The sad expression vanished and was
replaced by a grin that made sent shivers of dread up and down Doyle's
spine. "The Ice Maiden sank a couple of months ago."

"Was that the ship you were on?"

"Yes. I cursed it."

"I highly doubt words you spoke had anything to do with its going down."

They reached Bodie's home and went in. "I'm going to curse that Egyptian."

"Let it go." He set the basket of provender on the table. "Let the hatred
go; It's eating away at you; You don't need it."

Bodie shoved him down on the pallet. Even as Doyle fought back, the dark
haired man ripped Doyle's shirt from his body. He moved a free hand down
to jerk Doyle's pants downward as far as he could. "I'm going to rape you!
I'm going to fuck you until you cry out for mercy."

Doyle stopped struggling. His hand went up to caress the rigid face. "I
give myself freely to you." He adjusted his legs to give the other man
better access. "Anything you want, I give to you. You don't have to take
it from me."

Bodie glared down into loving, green eyes. Swift mood changes swept over
him. The hatred vanished...the lust disappeared...confusion came and
went...bewilderment...and then his face crumpled. He lowered his head onto
the bare chest and struggled to keep his tears under check. Doyle's arms
went around him, held him tight and close.

"I love you. I always have. If you want me, I'm yours."

"I'm wicked! I'm evil! I'll end up hurting you." The words were choked
with emotion.

"You're not evil, William. You've just been hurt too much. Let me love
you. Don't hold me away from you."

Bodie's eyes were stormy as they stared into caring, green ones. "Have you
ever tasted pain?"

"We don't need that. Let me undress. Whatever you want from me, I'll give
you. You don't have hurt me and you don't have to take it by force. I give
myself to you."

Suspicious, Bodie moved. As Doyle finished undressing, he began to shudder
violently as lust took over. The gleam in his eyes held nothing of love.
He ripped the clothes from his own body and shoved Doyle back down. His
hands were rough, demanding as they traveled over the slim form. Within
seconds, they altered, became gentle. Hot lips claimed Doyle's soft,
willing ones; Tongues caressed each other. Doyle whimpered as Bodie's
fingers found his penis.

"I...can't...wait..." Bodie groaned.

"Then don't. Get the lard from the basket."

Bodie rose to retrieve it from the container but then stopped, stared down
into desire laden eyes. "How did you know about using lard?"

"I'm not a virgin, William."

"You're not...?"

"There was a man at school. He reminded me of you. I was lonely, missing
you, and we had a short affair."

Confusion reigned supreme in the blue orbs.

"I've always loved you."

"Love?"

"I will always love you. Get the lard and coat yourself." Bewildered,
Bodie did. His shivering increased as he coated his shaft profusely with
the white substance. Forcing Doyle's legs upward, he thrust sharply into
the man beneath him. Doyle gasped in pain and desire. Bodie groaned as he
plunged back and forth into that obedient, hot channel. Time stretched
into eternity; minutes became hours...hours turned into days. He
ejaculated with a scream and a final deep thrust. Collapsing over the
quiet form, he allowed Doyle to hold him close.

"I love you," Doyle whispered, stroking, the perspiring back. "I have
always loved you; I always will."

They slept together that night. When the dream came to haunt Bodie, his
moans of fear and denial woke Doyle. "No! Not now! Please! Not now!"

"William?"

"He's calling me; I have to go to him." Terror was the emotion in his
voice.

"Who's calling you?"

"Shryrclot, the demon of the fire." Doyle tried to hold him down but Bodie
shook him off and shot up. "He's calling me!"

"Don't go; Don't listen. It was just a dream."

Bodie hit him hard enough to daze him. When Doyle came to, his friend was
gone.

"Oh, God, William." Doyle dressed in a hurry and ran to Hemispot's ruins.
It took him a moment to locate the hidden entrance. The stairs were dark
and Doyle slipped more than once. His soul could hear Bodie calling to him
in horror.

A distant, flickering light caught his attention. Doyle increased his
speed as much as he could. It was only a matter of seconds but it felt as
though hours had passed before he was at the entrance. The smell from the
room made him gag. He had to force himself to enter.

Bodie was sanding before the pit, naked. Doyle saw only his friend, but
Bodie was watching a creature, loathsome, obscene in its caricature of a
human being. The ghoul's monstrous penis was enlarge, engorged. It was a
vulgar thing, lewd. It jutted upward, outward in a mockery of a human's
organ. It advanced on William Bodie as he stood silent, frozen.

"William?"

Bodie watched in horror as the scaly, vile head turned toward Doyle. It's
red tinted eyes contained pure animal carnality as it altered its choice
of sexual partners.

"*No*!" Bodie's hands reached. In his mind, he was embracing the demon,
but Doyle saw nothing but his friend clutching air.

"Will? What's wrong?"

"For God's sake, Ray, get out of here!" He seemed to be struggling with
some thing but what? In Bodie's mind, he was losing his fight with the
monster from the pit. "I can't hold it much longer! Get out while you
can!"

"William, there's nothing there." He began to walk toward the other man.

Hysteria tinted Bodie's voice. "Get out! *No*! You will not have him, not
him! I won't let you!" He pushed air towards the pit; he pushed the beast
back towards the pit of fire. "I...won't...let you...*have him*!"

The beast went into the pit. Flames sprang up to claim him again. Bodie's
hands were licked by the fire. Shaken, he whirled toward his friend and
lover.

"Let's go, before he comes back out."

"There was nothing there!"

"There was. We don't have time to talk; We have to leave." He tried to
shove his friend toward the door. The flames sprang up high. "Oh, God." He
shoved Doyle out into the dark hallway. "No!"

By the time Doyle had picked himself up and had turned back toward the
cellar, Bodie was back at the pit. Surely it was the fire that made his
body appear to glow a phosphorescent blue. Surely it was only a trick of
the flames that gave an illusion of a creature in the midst of the pit.
Bodie appeared to be battling it...battling and losing.

Doyle never stopped to analyze his next actions. He did what he did out of
pure instinct...and love. He ran forward, jumped up on the rim of the pit
and added his strength to his lover-friend's. He felt something beneath
his palms. There was something solid before him. No! It was his
imagination; It had to be. The flames were hot, terrifying. His body would
be burned! If he didn't leave, he would die! Doyle stayed. If Bodie needed
his help, then he would take that chance. His own body became opalescence
white; Stronger and stronger it glowed. The creature began to shrink. The
fire's life began to diminish. Within moments, they had died altogether.

When Doyle felt the rim start to crumple, he fell towards the ground,
taking Bodie with him. They watched in silence as the walls of the stone
enclosure fell in upon itself. Seconds later, the opening was sealed. They
felt a rumble beneath their feet.

"We have to get out of here." Bodie jerked Doyle up and then shoved him
towards the door.

"Nice friends you have," Doyle muttered as he desperately tried to keep
his feet.

"Stupid bastard!" Despite himself, Bodie felt the urge to laugh.

Outside, in the cool darkness, the moon guided their way as they made
their way to a safe distance. The ruins of the old house shuddered and
imploded. It sank rapidly into the ground and dirt and the old stones
mingled to form a strange burial place. There had been no sound; The night
remained eerily quiet.

Bodie wept dry tears against a tree.

"Will you tell me why you're running around the land naked?" Doyle
demanded. His voice trembled; His whole body shook with fear. Bodie only
looked at him. "What in the hell was that...that...." He wiggled an arm
towards the pile of rocks.

"A mistake."

"A mistake? A mistake!" He took off his shirt and wrapped it around his
friend's waist.

"Yes." He took a step towards his home, one, two, three....

"William, was it real?"

"Was it?" Bodie's muscles ached badly. They protested further use. If they
had been in charge, he would have fallen to the ground right then and
there, but his will, his strong will, kept him moving.

"You're not going to answer me, are you?" He wanted to lie down and sleep
but if Bodie could keep moving, then so could he.

"Does it matter? It's over with."

"Is it?"

"Yes." Then he thought, *Almost. There is one last thing I must do and
then it really will be over.* They were silent until they reached the
house. "I need to be alone."

"Will?"

Bodie ran his hands through his lover's curls. "You could have been
killed."

"You needed me." A shiver ran up and down his spine. "Was it real?"

"Reality, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Did you see anything
when you came into the room?"

"Just you and the fire."

"Then that's the reality you cling to. Anything else is unimportant. Now
go in. I'll be in in a moment."

"William..."

"You said you loved me."

"I do, with all my heart and soul."

"Then go in, please, and shut the door."

Hesitantly, Doyle went in; the door shut with a tiny click.

Bodie walked slowly toward a clearing before stopping. His breathing was
ragged; It showed his exhaustion. After removing Doyle's shirt, he lifted
his head, his arms and closed his eyes.

Tiny bolts of electricity covered his naked body. He whimpered in agony.
Light radiated from his body. His whimpers changed to sobs as the torment
increased. Bodie fell to his knees. He choked back his screams as the
movement of black power swam over him and through him. The light that
surrounded him shifted from red to blue to yellow and then, finally to a
white that grew in radiance until it would have blinded anyone looking.
The glow died down and Bodie lay back on the cool grass. There was a
lightness in his soul; The hatred was gone, the need for revenge. His
memories remained but they no longer controlled him.

"I love you, Ray Doyle," he whispered in triumph. "I can love you now." He
turned sluggishly and walked proudly back to his home.

-- THE END --

*28 December 1992*

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