Ch. 25 – A Game of Fate

Chapter Twenty-Five – A Game of Fate

Hudson woke up with a start. A strange dream had disturbed his sleep through what felt like the entire night. It involved Otis wielding a gun and laughing a harsh unpleasant laugh, and every time Hudson had tried to take the weapon away from him his beautiful face had turned into the nightmarish visage of Gideon Keres. Other faces had come and gone, belonging to Jackie, Jasper, Angel, and the victims the police had on file. In his dream, Hudson had walked down a gallery of such faces, a gallery of death – he had thought at the time – although many of them hanging there were still alive.

Still? He straightened up until he was in a sitting position and ran his hands over his face. A grey morning was sneaking into bed with them and the promise of a new day filled him with apprehension. He reached for Otis, who was deeply asleep. Not a morning person, his beautiful boyfriend. That was enough to bring a smile to his face, the remnants of his bad dreams already shrinking and fading to the shape of a soon to be forgotten memory.

He pushed himself out of bed and traipsed toward the bathroom. What nonsense. He wasn't the kind to believe in dreams. They only went to show the tremendous amount of stress he had been under lately. He would catch those bastards soon. Watkins and Keres obviously wanted a debut with a bang for Till The Sweet End, and they had no idea there was an intruder in their midst. 

Not one, but two. Hudson trusted Jackie to be on his side until the end. After that, he would have to take care of the guy, one way or another. He couldn't just abandon him to his own devices. Funny how paternal he felt toward the young thug. But, in his book, Jackie was someone who could use some saving, and saving was Hudson's job.

He went through the motions, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, washing away the misery of last night's dreams. Otis's bathroom was small and filled with steam quickly, giving him the illusion of being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket that would protect him against the world outside, no matter what. 

Safe. Safety. Otis's favorite words were getting under his skin, it seemed. Well, he needed to get out of there and face the music, as always. 

A pleasant smell wafted to his nostrils as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom. By the looks of things, Otis was busy making toast, faithful to his promise to bring Hudson his breakfast in bed. 

"Sorry about the smell," Otis called out from his small kitchen. "This place is so small that I can't help it."

"Don't worry," Hudson shouted back as he put on his jeans and t-shirt. He checked his gun, too; it looked like Otis hadn't let himself fall prey to curiosity again, because the thing looked like it hadn't been moved from where he'd left it.

He needed to trust Otis, but the unsettling sensation he had experienced last night upon seeing his gun in the slender white hand came back. He pushed it down. To have a boyfriend, one to whom he had just confessed his love, meant to have faith, too.

A smile curled his lips as he remembered Pete saying that to him over and over. Have a little faith, man, just a little faith. There had never been a bigger optimist than his best friend. That hadn't helped him in the end, but whenever Hudson recalled the good times he had spent with Pete, he wished silently for a heaven to exist somewhere. Another world, deserving of so much love for life as Pete had used to have.

In the memory of his best friend, he could have faith. He let out a deep sigh and stowed the gun in the special holster attached to his calf. Draping the jeans over his boot to conceal the thing, Hudson took one last critical look. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use it, but its presence was reassuring. 

Otis came back with a plate filled with toast. "Are you leaving already?"

"No, not yet. But somehow, prancing around naked and eating your toast sounded a bit too decadent for me," Hudson said.

"You should bring a few things over. Like casual clothes you can wear indoors. Do you have any?"

Hudson laughed. "I'm not that helpless. My wardrobe is fine."

"I could buy some things for you," Otis said while his pretty face scrunched up in thought. "But I need to know your sizes."

Hudson took the plate from Otis's hand and placed it on the nightstand. "Are you sure you can budget for things like that? I'm a big guy. And I have expensive taste."

Otis gave him a long once-over. "Expensive? It doesn't look like it. And yes, I can budget."

Hudson hugged Otis, pressing the willowy body against his own, enjoying his warmth. "You really want to make yourself indispensable, don't you? I've heard that's how the road to perdition starts."

"I don't think I understand," Otis's muffled words emerged from below. 

"I'm just teasing you. I'll bring some more clothes later tonight. Is that all right?"

"Yes, certainly. I will make room for them in the closet. Hudson, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead. You made me toast, so you're entitled to ask as many questions as you want."

"I've read a little and…" The hesitation stretched for a few moments. "I believe I would like to be owned. By you." The last words were a dropped whisper, barely audible.

"Owned? That choker isn't enough? A leash?"

"I don't think so," Otis continued in the same quiet murmur. "Not anymore."

"Damn, you want to make it official," Hudson said in a teasing voice. "I'll think of something. Until then, I want you to know that you're mine and I won't let you go. How does that sound as a promise?"

"It sounds great," Otis agreed hurriedly. "I like your hands, here," he said and took Hudson's arms to move them until they were resting on his shoulders.

Hudson couldn't say that he was in the least surprised to feel Otis pressing his fingers around his svelte throat. From there, he got the gist. He held his hands wrapped around Otis's neck, pressing only gently at the base in front with his thumbs. 

"I gotta say, my beautiful prince," he chuckled, "you are a lot kinkier than I thought."

"I don't understand a lot of things, but I understand this," Otis continued in the same soft voice. "I understand why people want it because I want it, too. And I'm so lucky to have found you, because I know it cannot be just anyone."

"Your words are music to my ears, do you know that?" Hudson said tenderly and moved his mouth slowly over Otis's plump lips, coaxing a sweet kiss out of him. "I'm lucky, as well."

"Do you believe in fate?" Otis murmured against his lips. 

Fate. Hudson couldn't say he was the superstitious type. 

"I mean," Otis added, "it must have been fate that caused you to move into this building, and I moved into this building, and we crossed paths like this. Take away any one small decision that has led us here, and we might not have happened. And that would have been very sad, although we would never have known it."

"I have no idea. I'm not into fortunetelling and the like. People make their own luck, I guess. And fate."

"That makes sense," Otis agreed. "I moved here because it was cheap and I could afford it. There wasn't that much of a choice. Did you have to choose between this place and another?"

"No," Hudson said. "It seemed like the perfect option for what I had in mind."

It did. Not the perfect option for finding a boyfriend and falling in love with him, but his choice had been logical if that was what Otis wanted to find out with all these questions. 

***

Since Hudson seemed keen on not believing in fate, Otis decided against asking him about sensations of foreboding and whatnot. It bothered him that he was still thinking of the unpleasant feeling he had experienced the other day when he and Missy had both noticed that distressing draft. His skin crawled just thinking about it. 

There was no such thing as fate, and Hudson was right. He didn't even know why he was getting so obsessed with it. Maybe because he was happy and he didn't want anything to come between him and his happiness. It was an unreasonable worry about things that could happen. He shook them away.

The most important aspect right now was that he was slowly getting Hudson to move in with him. He was being a tad sneaky about it, but he had been busy reading all sorts of blogs with relationship advice and a bit of sneakiness could take one a long way. As long as there was no resistance on the other's part, it meant that they both wanted the same thing.

Still, moving too fast could scare the potential partner off, and Otis couldn't have that. Now that he had that out of the way, he could focus on more practical aspects such as freeing enough space in his closet for Hudson's things.

He must have been lost in thought for a while because Hudson pulled him back from his musings. 

"A lot on your mind?" 

"Yes, according to reliable research, humans have around 60,000 thoughts every day. That sounds like a lot, and although I haven't counted them--"

"What are you thinking of right now?"

There were many things, and that research must have been right on point. Otis remembered that there was something he had been meaning to ask Hudson.

"The pictures of me you took that time," he began, feeling courageous, "are you going to correct them? With your special brushes?"

"I don't see one reason why I'd do that."

"But they can't be perfect. I'm not perfect," Otis argued.

Hudson chuckled and pressed his lips against Otis's forehead. "That's where you're wrong. In my eyes, you're perfect."

"And is that good enough for you?"

"Only you would ask such a question. Otis, you really have no idea," Hudson continued and sighed but not like someone in pain or exasperated. It was difficult for Otis to put his finger on exactly the significance of that sigh, but it was surely positive. "There is only one possible answer. Yes. You're good enough, perfect as you are."

Later, after Hudson was gone, Otis realized something amazing. His small apartment seemed like a palace. It was no longer small. It was even beyond adequate. There was so much room for him and everything that made his heart feel as if it was full to the brim.

***

Their meeting place was, once again, at the location of the new club, and Hudson noticed the changes once he walked inside. Before entering, he would have sworn that the industrial building lay in the same state of disarray as it had previously, but that impression faded as soon as he took in the modifications made to the large, cathedral-like, room.

The furniture was in place, the tables and chairs included. A stage had been built in the front and several St. Andrew's crosses made the background for it. The other paraphernalia in place made anyone looking believe that it was just a regular club catering to people with a developed taste for pain as part of their sexual congress. 

It was nothing like that here, Hudson thought. The difference lay in the trust and the ability not to betray that trust that practitioners of that particular kink were known for. Trust wasn't an ingredient in the layout offered by the – soon to be opened, most probably – club that went by that ominous moniker. 

He waited for a while, observing his surroundings, taking note of every nook and cranny. Jackie hurried over to him after sneaking through a side door. He had to have another talk with the guy about stopping that. They couldn't act like they were conspiring all the time. For all they knew, there were cameras hidden in the heavy folds of the crimson curtains covering the back of the stage, peeking at them from underneath the tables arranged in two semicircles to allow a narrow path between them, or observing them like cold strange eyes from the beams crisscrossing the ceiling. That part had been left as it had been. Part of the charm, perhaps.

"Something is so off," Jackie hissed at him as soon as he was within earshot.

"What do you mean?" Hudson took his camera and began snapping pictures of the place.

"They're in a hurry or something. I mean, I have an idea why, but I don't know for sure. Man, I just don't know." Jackie shuddered and his lips twisted into a grimace.

"Out with it," Hudson advised shortly while he schooled his face into a bored expression and snapped picture after picture, like the professional he was supposed to be. 

"Jasper… he's in a bad way, man," Jackie said and sighed noisily. "He doesn't eat, and he's sleeping way too much. I think they must have done something wrong, drugged him too much."

"We'll have to get him out of here then." 

"Yeah, I agree with that. Only we might not have time."

As soon as Jackie said those words, the doors behind them opened, letting in Watkins and Keres.

"Well, Vegas," Keres said shrewdly, "what do you think of the place?"

"It looks good," Hudson replied. "It looks like it's almost ready to open its doors to patrons."

"And it is," Keres confirmed. "Watkins here keeps telling me that we should wait, but I don't see why. We already have all the seats reserved for the premiere."

"Are there any holdups?" Hudson asked. He noticed how Jackie moved to stand behind him, at a fair distance from Watkins and Keres, but he couldn't advise the young man against it. 

"Watkins believes that something is missing to make it perfect."

Hudson set his eyes on Keres, his nightmarish face lit by a sinister sort of glee. Whatever was happening behind those usually expressionless eyes, it couldn't be good.

"Because something is missing," Watkins insisted. "We have Angel, and we have Jasper. But we need three acts for opening night." The manager in charge pointed at the three saltires on the stage. 

"It will all work out," Keres said in his bizarre metallic voice. "We will soon have our third star with us."

Another potential victim. So, Angel was to go on the stage. Did he know? Was he aware of what that show was, ultimately, about? Hudson looked at the stage again, trying hard to rein in the unsettling feeling nestling in the pit of his stomach. Or was Angel to be spared?

And who was the third, unknown, person to be made to climb on the stage and join the line-up? Three young bodies, full of life, lined up for those eager patrons to see, to watch, while they writhed and squirmed for the same people's delight.

"You know there's always Jackie here," Keres added and laughed, if what came out of him could be call a laugh. 

"No, Jackie's too old," Watkins said through his teeth, although it looked like it pained him greatly to disagree with his boss like that.

"No fucking way. I'm not getting up there," Jackie said aggressively.

"Relax. I have someone else in mind. Someone beautiful," Keres replied. "Only the best for our soon to be loyal customers."

Hudson made a mental note. The room housed ten tables, each with four places. Sold out, wasn't that what they were saying? That meant a good honest amount of work for the force, once they descended upon this place. Today, he'd call the captain. This was one time when he would no longer rely on Gavin alone and their friendship.

"Is there going to be a rehearsal?" he asked. "I could take pictures and upload them for your future customers to see. When is the premiere?"

"The day after tomorrow. Vegas, you're booked from now until then, so make sure to phone home and tell them they're not going to see you for the next 72 hours or so." Keres's eyes were keen on him.

"Our star photographer here only has one toy," Watkins added. "And I doubt that toy is going to have a say against his spending time at work."

Why were they talking as if they knew shit about the nature of the relationship between him and Otis? Hudson couldn't shake off the unpleasantness he experienced just thinking about those two and his boyfriend in the same setting. 

"I'm a free man," he said with a fake smile. "And the boss here is wrong. I have many toys. They keep knocking on my door."

Keres acted surprised as he turned toward Watkins. "Didn't you say you saw an incredibly beautiful boy at Vegas's place? What was that all about?"

Hudson kept his jaw in check but it wasn't easy. He couldn't protest too much as he could risk giving his interest in Otis away, and he didn't want these two horrible individuals to have even the slightest idea about the true nature of his relationship with his neighbor.

Watkins waved. "Vegas is a fly guy, so it doesn't surprise me that he's already forgotten about that scrumptious little thing I met at his place when I first visited him."

That didn't settle the nest of snakes in his stomach. As soon as he had the chance, he'd call Gavin, have a detail guarding Otis from afar. If anyone could make such a thing happen on the down-low, it was that guy. And he was going to make that chance appear right now. 

"I need the little boys' room for a moment," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," Watkins waved at him like it was stupid even to say such a thing. "We'll be here to finalize the details. You and Jackie have a ton of work, so don't you forget about it."

He sauntered off, his mind already working in overdrive. Had he been too lax about the whole thing? Had he missed details that he should have seen? First things first. Call Gavin.

***

"What do you need?" Gavin asked him directly without any preamble.

"A security detail. Supervision. 24/7."

"And it isn't even Christmas yet," Gavin said dryly. "Who should I shadow?"

"I didn't say it has to be you," Hudson said quickly.

"I wouldn't let anyone else have the honor of telling you."

"Telling me what?"

"That you fucked up. You did, right?"

"Let's leave this conversation for another time." Hudson fired the details at Gavin in a hushed voice. 

Next, the captain would be put in the loop. This op was getting close to its end, and Hudson was sure as hell he wasn't going to let anything go wrong. He would be ready, and the backup team would be ready, too.

***

Otis picked up each figurine and wiped it lovingly. They needed a bit of dusting because lately he had been too busy with Hudson to pay proper attention to his cleaning chores. A situation like that needed to be remedied fast before things began piling up, like grandma had told him so many times. She would be so proud of him right now. Settling into the life of an adult, getting a boyfriend, trying out so many new and different dishes. It was what she wanted for him: a normal, happy life.

He felt normal and happy. He had more than he had ever imagined he would have by this age. His development had been slow and achieved with great pain. For once, he felt as if he was getting his big break. From here on out, things would be simpler and easier.

He turned his head suddenly. Was that the front door? Could it be Hudson? But he always knocked, not try the lock directly, as that was what he was hearing. 

Yes, someone was trying the lock, and Otis stopped, dead in his tracks. Two words came to his mind. Home invasion. And it was silly to think of something like that because he had nothing worth stealing. Yet, whoever was there, right behind the door, wasn't knocking and waiting politely for the person inside to come to the door. With one steady hand, Otis pulled out his phone. He had read enough on the topic to know what to do.

The door opened abruptly, admitting a dark shape that moved toward him so quickly he only saw a blur. Otis grunted as he felt the sting in his neck. The phone dropped from his hand just as an impatient voice at the other end uttered the expected words. 

"911, what's your emergency?"

Otis felt strange. How come he couldn't talk? In his fall, his arm caught the shelf of figurines, and he only managed to turn his head before he saw them dropping like a multi-colored rain, accompanying him on his way to the floor.

The last thing he heard was the sound of glass crunching under something heavy. And the last thing he saw was a black boot right next to his face.

***

His head was pounding and he couldn't open his eyes. Not at first, at least, but he made an effort. From across the room, his own reflection met him.

Where was he? Otis felt his neck first, his fingers scraping over a small sting, no bigger than the mark left by a mosquito. He checked his face, his head, and then his body. He appeared to be in one piece, and that was the thing to check first in case you could still move and you had just been in an accident. 

Only there had been no accident. Otis looked around. He was inside a bare room with a mirror wall. He moved closer toward it and stared at himself. Indeed, there seemed to be nothing broken. Was he dreaming? That was always a possibility. But dreams happened fast, while seeming to last a long time.

He struggled to remember everything as it had happened. Researchers believed that the more people were asked about a certain incident, the more likely it was possible for investigators to hear different versions of the string of events. Otis believed in accuracy of detail above all else.

The floor creaked under his feet and then he noticed that his footwear had gone astray. The strange attacker must have wanted his shoes. Otis stored the detail away and continued his slow evaluation of the situation.

There was no door, no obvious sign of one. The mirror wall had to be the key to getting outside then. Without hesitation, but with slow moves, he moved closer and began exploring the smooth surface with his fingers. The mirror was cool under his fingertips.

He tipped his head back and followed the edge of the wall where it met the ceiling. It wasn't obvious, but there was a small space between them. If he could get that high and tried to pry it open, maybe he had a chance. 

He looked around again. Heavy curtains covered what could very well be a window. Otis gave up on inspecting the mirror wall and focused his attention on his new finding. He grabbed the curtains and shook them, but they were heavy and solidly secured by their fittings. Still, he could push them up so that he could look outside. 

It was a window, but it wasn't made of glass. Otis felt the surface again; it had to be durable plexiglass and that wouldn't break, not easily as far as he knew. But it allowed him to see beyond it, so he looked. 

Directly across from where he was there was a one-story building. Something about it struck Otis as familiar, but he couldn't say what. No, it wasn't the building, but more like its surroundings. A conviction that he was still in the same city began growing inside him.

Could he pound on the glass and get someone's attention? He could try, but there was no one outside as far as his eyes could see. Also, he needed to consider saving his strength since there was no way of telling how long he would have to wait for the person behind all this to open the door and let him out.

How could he categorize what was happening? Had he been kidnapped? But he had no family, no money. Someone must have mistaken him for someone else. There was nothing to gain from his kidnapping. As soon as the kidnapper showed their face, just a manner of speaking since they would surely be masked, Otis would calmly explain that he was poor and all alone in the world.

Not so alone, he remembered, but shook his head, thoughts like bees trying to get inside his mind. Hudson was almost as poor as he was since he had to rent a place in the same building. Otis didn't want to think of Hudson. This situation was somethign bad, and Hudson was all the good in his life right now.

A wave of weakness made his knees buckle under him. The therapist had warned him about such episodes. They were part of a distant life, but he couldn't keep them at bay, not now.

Her feet making noise, making the floorboards heave with each of her steps. A hand grabbing his arm so tightly it brought tears to his eyes. And then, the taunt, "Are you going to cry now? Crying makes you ugly, did you know that?" The harsh laugh. "You're ugly anyway. It doesn't matter." Then, the abrupt warning. "Don't you dare cry. It pisses me off."

Otis took one deep breath. Mindfulness. You're in the present now. Those things are in the past. You are safe...?

He wasn't safe. He blinked away the tears. He was in danger, one that was waiting to disclose a name for itself. His heart was beating faster. He was trapped. His eyes searched frantically for a way out, a way that wasn't there.

And then, the slow admission of the facts. This had happened to him before. Otis crouched and rested his back agains the wall. Yes, he had been here before, not here, in this strange room with a mirror as big as a wall, but trapped and left alone until he'd go mad with fear.

Fear never helped. It never went away, but it didn't help. Other things helped. Such as a bent paper clip that could open a locked door. What did he have on himself to help him? That was what he needed to focus on, not fear, not those scary memories. His fingers began moving as his mind started to work. A shirt had buttons, a pair of pants had a zipper. A belt had a buckle.

There was little he could do with such flimsy weapons by his side, yet so much. He turned around, looking again. His eyes became blurry as his fingers got busy. He must have tempted fate. He hadn't atoned for the bad in his life yet; someone up there was keeping the tally, and he must have come up short. That was why this was happening to him.

No, he would not let fear get the better of him. He had promised his grandma, and he had promised the nice lady that had helped him throughout those years. Even if he was trapped in this scary empty room.

And he needed to think, think about a way out. There had to be one. He only had to find it.

***

A strange sound woke him up. To conserve his strength, he had decided that it was for the better to sleep like soldiers who took advantage of every minute they got right in the middle of wars. But he hadn't slept, not really, fear deep inside his gut always awake, keeping guard for him.

It took him a few moments to understand what that sound had been. He picked up the soda can and stared at it. It appeared to be as mundane an item as he had expected. But he wouldn't drink it. There was a possibility that there was something bad in it, injected in there without any visible signs left to be discovered by anyone searching. He put it back and stepped away from it, although his throat was parched. How long had he been in there? He didn't have his phone, and people no longer wore wristwatches unless they were very rich. 

How useless that information was now. If he had been smart, he would be wearing a watch now, and he would have known how long he had been there. 

Another sound and he turned to see someone walking in from behind the mirror wall. As he had suspected, that was the door, too. At least, a part of it.

He examined the person walking up to him without blinking. He, because he appeared to be a man, wore some sort of mask. Otis hid his surprise when he realized, from up close, that it was no mask. The man's face looked as if it were all a scar.

"You didn't have your drink."

His voice was strange, too, but Otis kept silent. Could it be that this person was some sort of automaton? Such an amazing feat would have been all over the media. But he didn't appear to be human, either. 

Too bad it wasn't a dream.

The man raised one gloved hand and pushed his hair out of his eye. Otis didn't blink. 

"How lovely," the robot-like voice said. "Such a beautiful scar. You're not scared of me, are you?"

Otis didn't blink. He kept staring.

"We're alike, you and I," the stranger whispered, moving his face close. "What a wonderful surprise. Keep looking at me, beautiful, behold me in your gaze, and I shall keep you."

Otis didn't blink. He wouldn't miss a moment, a detail of what was going on.

***

Hudson winced as his phone kept buzzing in his pocket. It was his burner. Was Otis safe? Why was Gavin calling him? And could it really not wait?

The buzzing stopped, and he surreptitiously grabbed the thing. Since Watkins and Keres weren't there, he could afford a small indiscretion.

Bad news, partner.

TBC