Bear Hunter

Bear Hunter 3

This is the third chapter of `Bear Hunter'. A new chapter will come out every week. Any comments or questions can be directed to the author at nothlit(at)hotmail(dot)com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

Bear Hunter Chapter 3

A bright flash of lightning streaked across the sky, and for an instant I could see everything. I saw the tiny outlines of the few small houses by the coast we had left twenty minutes ago. I saw the cold, choppy sea all around our small boat as if frozen in time by the strobe effect of the white brilliance that lasted less than a second. I also noticed the fact that we were heading out to open sea, with not a strip of land in sight. And, of course, I saw Matt's face, fixed on mine with a fierce, defiant look as he guided the boat towards our destination.

The lightning flash died away and I was left with afterimages dancing around the edges of my vision. The night was very dark. The only light I could really see was the bright, diffused spot that marked the town I was fleeing. Ahead of us there was only darkness, and the roar of the motor to fill the silence.

"We should go back," Matt said suddenly. His voice was deep, with a slight rough edge to it that I liked. "Whatever you're running away from, it can wait. If the storm catches us at sea, in the dark, we're dead."

"We're not going back," I said. "And don't even think of turning around."

Matt sighed. "Then you're a fucking idiot. You're going to get us both drowned in this weather."

"Shut up and mind the boat. I'm the one with the gun pointing at your face. I may not be able to see you, but I can hear you well enough to guess where you are."

I heard a shuffling sound, something being moved around in the bottom of the boat.

"Hey," I warned him. "Watch it. What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The shuffling sounds didn't stop. "Trying to stay alive. I got a flashlight in here."

I heard the sound of a zipper being undone and then some clicks. Then a very bright light shone right in my face.

"Ow!" I yelled. "What the fuck?!"

I had to shield my eyes from the sudden glare and I heard Matt trying to rush close enough to tackle me, but I kept the gun steady.

"Nice try," I told him. "But come any closer and I will shoot. I promise."

I heard him settle back down. My eyes were watering, and I wiped them with the back of my free hand.

"Hmmm," Matt said, his light still on me. He moved it up and down a bit.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Get that out light out of my face," I snapped.

Matt shone the light elsewhere. It was a big flashlight he carried, its casing a bright yellow color. One of those waterproof models by the look of it. Its beam of light was strong and lit up a small section of the dark surface of the sea. Matt moved it expertly around, trying to get his bearings.

"Over there," he said after a while, mostly to himself. He altered the course of the boat slightly and we sailed on. The wind was getting colder, and out here there was no cover from it. I began to hope we'd arrived quickly wherever we were going.

"How much further is it?" I asked him.

He was looking out at sea, flashlight in hand, the other hand firmly set to steer the boat in the direction he wanted. I was again struck by his looks. His searching look as he watched the waves was sharp and alert, his brow knitted in a frown that could have been concentration as he sailed or anger directed at me.

"Ten minutes, maybe more," he said. "It's not far but I veered off course."

"Where are we going?"

He spared me a quick, derisive look. "Maybe you should have asked that before you jumped in my boat and forced me to sail off at gunpoint."

"Keep on being a smartass and you'll find I can do more than point this thing at you. I'll ask again. Where are we going?"

Matt shrugged. "My house. At the other end of the bay."

"Is it another town?"

"Another town?" Matt asked me, allowing himself a brief grin. "I live alone. It's a narrow strip of land leading out from the forest. Sea on all sides but the one leading deep into the wilderness. No roads go there; only way in or out is by sea."

My eyes widened slightly in surprise. It was almost too good to be true. An isolated place to hide in, no way in or out...

"Are you sure you live there alone?" I asked him.

"Why would I lie? You'll see soon enough either way. You can believe me, or not. I don't really care."

"I think I'll be staying there for a while, then. I need a place to lie low."

Matt sneered. "Of course."

"What?"

"Your name is Sven, right? I know your type. Big brutes, all muscle and no brains. Probably shot someone in a brawl in some bar when you were too drunk to think and now you're hiding from the cops. You think you're so smart coming to some little Alaskan town to hide, but what you don't realize is that the smaller the town, the more you stand out. Your clothes, your Southern accent; even that beard; everything gives you away as a stranger in these parts. If you really wanted to blend in and disappear, you'd have gone to a big city. Not here."

"You know nothing about me," I warned him, "so shut up."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? Please. You shoot me now and you really will die, and quickly. You don't know the waters around here. Trust me, the only thing that's kept us from running right into the rocks that are all over the shallower parts of the bay is the fact that I've been sailing this route since I was three. I know the waters."

"I'll trust my chances at it alone if you keep on pissing me off."

"Says the idiot who decided to sail out right before a storm in the middle of the night."

I caught Matt's eye and smiled. He didn't know me at all, or he might have known that when I get mad, that's usually the dangerous smile I give whoever I'm about to beat up senseless.

"You're pretty cocky, Matt," I said, my voice deceptively calm. "But I'm not playing around. I will shoot you if I have to, make no mistake. I've shot a man once before, and I won't hesitate to do it again. Also, you forget that you're at my mercy right now. Nobody's going to come looking for you in many days. You said it yourself: you were planning to sail out if the morning. There's a storm coming, and in your own words, the sea will be impassable for days and days while the storm blows itself out. There is no land route to this house you say you live in, so you'll be trapped with me, with no way to call for help or to receive any. I could kill you and throw your body out into the sea right now and a month from now nobody will have found it. I'm a long way from home, and I haven't come this far to have some overconfident little prick trying to get wise and turn me over to the cops. So shut the fuck up, steer the damn boat, and get us to the house. I'm running out of patience."

I was pleased to see a brief shadow of uncertainty pass over Matt's features. He recovered quickly, but for an instant there I had seen actual fear. That was good. He needed to understand I wasn't playing around.

A few minutes later, the clouds began to part, however briefly, and the moon shone through them for a bit, shedding pale silvery light over our surroundings. The light was too faint to make out any details, but when Matt pointed ahead of us, I turned around briefly and was able to see the house we were heading for by the light of the moon. Matt hadn't lied: it was a two-story structure, longer than it was wide, standing in the middle of a clear swath of land that fell down into the sea in a low beach dotted with rocks and dark shapes that could have been shrubs. It was surrounded by the sea on all sides but the back one, where a narrow strip of land led deep into a dark mass that I assumed were far-off trees. The place was completely isolated; not a light shone anywhere. Far, far away behind us I could make out the faintest glimmer of the town lights, but other than that everything was solitude, and the sound of the waves, the roar of the motor and the steady beating of the cold, salty wind on my face.

Matt increased the speed now that we were closer.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"You said you wanted to get there quickly," he said, turning off his flashlight. He didn't need it anymore now that the moon was out, apparently.

"Okay."

A couple minutes passed, and the house in the distance got bigger very quickly. I thought about the rocks Matt said dotted the shallow waters we were crossing, and wondered why he was going so fast in the dark. If he didn't stop soon, we might reach the beach and hit—

I realized it a split second too late. I tried to brace myself, but the boat slammed into the sand of the beach before I could hold on to anything. The motor groaned and there was a snap of wood as I was thrown back by the sudden impact, my body sent flying backwards by the force of the crash. I sailed through the air, dazed, and fell on the rocky beach squarely on my back. The wind was knocked out of me and I lost the grip on my gun.

Matt had beached the boat violently on purpose. As I struggled to get some air back into my lungs, I saw him vault over the boat and come barreling down right at me. He had the flashlight in his hand and he was on me before I could stand up. I saw him swing the flashlight like a club, going right for my head.

My arm shot upward to block the impact, and the hard shell of the flashlight hit my elbow squarely. I winced in pain but managed to throw the flashlight from Matt's grasp and pull him down, my other fist swinging in an arc to catch him in the jaw. The hit connected, but there was no real force behind it. Matt was thrown sideways by the impact and I used the time to stand up, ready for the fight.

I looked around for my gun, didn't see it. When I looked back at Matt, he was already jumping back onto his feet. He assumed a fighting stance, fists drawn up in a boxer's guard, feet spread apart for balance. Then he came at me.

His first punch caught me by surprise. I was expecting a jab, but he feinted with his right and slammed his left into my ribs, putting all his weight into the punch and making me double up in pain. He tried to follow up with a savage knee right into my face, but I used my elbow to block it and tackled him before he could recover, throwing him to the ground with me on top of him and using my superior weight and height to pin him to the ground. I was grunting with effort, using my advantage but still fighting to keep his arms from locking into a hold around my neck, using my legs to limit his movement and trying to get my forearm to press down on his own neck.

Matt fought back fiercely. He was very strong, and it took all of my own strength just to fight back his trashing, sudden moves as he tried to break my grip. He somehow freed his right leg from my grasp and brought his knee up in a brutal blow that caught me right in the groin. My grip on his arms slackened for an instant with the pain that exploded through my body, and Matt used the opportunity to shove me away and roll on top of me, his arms fighting for purchase as he tried to bend my right arm in an unnatural angle to force me to give up or pop my shoulder from its socket.

Instead of resisting the savage pull of his grip, I gave into it, pushing back with my feet on the wet sand of the beach and rolling back, over Matt, reversing our positions so now I was behind him, both of us kneeling in the sand, and I yanked his right arm behind his back, bending it upwards, making Matt cry out in pain.

My breath was coming in gasps and my skin was slick with sweat by then, the cold forgotten, every second of the full-out fight an entire minute as my muscles tensed up against the enormous strength of Matt's body. He forcefully tried to free himself, pushing back on me, tugging so hard I nearly lost my grip and forcing me to grab him closer, almost as if we were embracing but for the grunts and the low gasps of pain that escaped Matt every time I tightened the hold and twisted his arm upwards, ever so slightly, tightening the hold. I could smell Matt's scent clearly since we were so close: sweat, salt, and smoke. The more he struggled, the more strength I applied, our bodies so close together that I was momentarily shocked to find out I had a raging hard-on as I wrestled with him, my hips so close to his ass that he had to feel my big, hard dick digging into his hard butt even as he bucked and pulled and tried to break the iron grip I kept him in. My unexpected burst of lust distracted me, and Matt made me regret it.

Matt's resistance slackened all at once and I was caught off guard. I leaned into him without meaning to, and at that same instant he threw his head back with all his strength. He caught me right in the nose with the back of his head and my sight went black for a second. The sudden pain disabled me long enough for Matt to break free of me, wheel around and deliver a brutal kick to my chest that threw me back, down the slope of the beach. I lost my footing, tripped and fell back on the sand, landing on a sharp rock that dug into my skin.

Matt stood up, a rock in his hand. He was livid, panting, sweating, and I saw bloodlust in his eyes. He was going for it, now that I was helpless, and there was no way I'd—

My hand felt something metallic. A barrel.

Even as Matt raised the rock over his head to smash my head in with it, I snatched the gun from the sand, wheeled it in my hand to point it, and cocked it right at Matt's heart.

"Drop it," I panted.

Matt saw the gun. He froze. For a heartbeat he stood there, rock raised, chest heaving with the effort of the fight, his furious eyes locked into mine. I was still lying on the beach, wet, bleeding from my nose, but with my grip on the gun steady, and deadly seriousness in my eyes. He'd fought well, but I'd won.

"Drop it," I repeated. "Now."

Matt threw the rock away with an angry growl. I stood up quickly, keeping my distance so he wouldn't try to jump me and get the gun before I could shoot.

"Fuck you," Matt said, his voice shaking with rage. "You have no right to do this! No right!"

I nodded slowly. "I won, though. Nice second try. I won't allow a third one, if that's what you're thinking. Lead the way. We're going to that house right now."

"I need to secure the boat. The dock is right over there."

"I said we're going... now," I repeated, my voice low and dangerous. "Walk. Do it."

Matt glanced at his boat with yearning and worry, but he did as he was told. A flash of lighting lit everything up: the old house, standing in a slight rise of the terrain, old and forbidding. The boat, swaying slightly with the waves. And Matt, of course, trudging up the slope, hands balled into fists. He didn't glance back at me, but I kept my gun ready, trained on his back.

"Hurry up," I said, as the first heavy drops of rain plopped down on the sand, on my hair and on my back. "It's starting to rain."

Matt trudged along with a sure step, and we got to the house before the rain had begun to fall in earnest. A booming roll of thunder shook the glass in the windows as Matt unlocked the front door and stepped inside, quickly. I was right behind him. I wasn't going to give him any more chances to turn on me.

I shut the door behind me. The house was very dark.

"Get the lights," I said. "And don't even think of trying anything again."

I heard the sound of something heavy being picked up. I fired a shot up, straight at the roof. In the fleeting burst of fire I caught a flash of Matt holding an old vase, about to throw it my way. At the sound of the shot, he let it drop, startled. The vase fell, crashing down to the floor to break into a million pieces.

"The lights," I repeated, feeling around the wall next to the door as I spoke.

I found a switch by myself and flicked it open. The room was flooded with warm, yellow light.

"Over there," I said, gesturing with a nod of my head at a heavy wooden chair that appeared to be a hundred years old. "Sit."

He sat, but as he did, Matt glared at me with such raw fury that I was certain he'd try to take me out if I gave him half a chance. That made me grin. The fact that this guy tried to fight me every opportunity he got told me he was probably as headstrong and stubborn as I was, and willing to risk getting shot if it meant he could get rid of me. I'd never met a guy that brave before. I wiped some blood off my nose as I reflected on that and used the time to look around the house, keeping my gun pointing at him the whole time.

The house was old—that much was clear. Most of it was wood: the walls, the floor, the furniture. Hand-made from what I could see. The chair I'd made Matt sit on had been carved with great skill; it was well-worn, but the snarling wolf heads that finished each of the armrests were lifelike and well preserved.

There wasn't much clutter in the main room, for such an old house as this one appeared to be. It wasn't your typical grandmother residence where every square inch of the tables or walls was covered with some memento of a trip to somewhere or fading, framed pictures of relatives. There was only one table that I saw further back, big enough for four people and hand-carved as the chair; from the same wood, too, by the looks of it.  Several smaller, high-backed chairs stood around the table. It didn't have a centerpiece or anything on it; it was just there. No ornamentation. The walls didn't have any family pictures I could see, although there was a wooden plaque with a magnificent pair of antlers hanging right over the fireplace. There was a gun rack by the stairs leading up, too, and I saw several hunting rifles, a shotgun and a wooden chest right underneath them that probably had ammunition boxes and the like inside. By the wall on which I was standing was a coat hanger, a pair of large boots which must have belonged to Matt, and a woodcutter's axe, well-worn but sharp. The place smelled of wood and pine needles; clean, uncluttered. A hunter's cabin.

"I'm going to need a rope," I told Matt, as I finished my inspection of the main room. He was sitting on his chair near the fireplace, where another wooden chair identical to the one I'd made him sit on, but newer-looking, stood facing the ashes of the dead fire.

"Bite me."

"I can tie you up, or I can shoot you in both knees so I can sleep easy knowing you won't try anything. Your choice."

He glared at me in silence, a vein on his forehead standing out slightly from the anger he held inside. Finally, he nodded curtly, darting his eyes at the door opposite the main entrance.

"In the kitchen. By the pantry. There should be a coil of rope."

"Good. You go get it."

He looked at me, then quickly at the axe by the door.

I grinned. "I'm not leaving you alone in here so you can get that and chop my head off. Now go and get the rope."

"Fine."

He stood up and went to the kitchen, which was somehow attached to the main room as an add-on. The door connecting both rooms looked newer than the walls around me. The more I looked at the place, the more I got the feeling that the main room had originally been all there was to the house; a cabin probably built a long time ago. The upper story, and the kitchen area, had probably been added later, and reinforced while keeping the original cabin mostly intact.

"This place looks old," I said while Matt got the rope. I kept an eye on him in case he tried to snatch a kitchen knife to throw at me.

"Yeah," he answered. "My great-grandfather built it."

"When?"

Matt had found the rope and shouldered it. "That's none of your business."

I gestured in the direction of the main room with my gun. "Back to the chair. Come on."

Matt went back to the chair and sat down, with the rope in his hands.

"Tie your legs," I ordered.

"What?"

"Do it."

He did. Not very well, but I expected that. When he was done, I stood behind him in the chair and grabbed the end of the rope.

"I don't think I need to say this again, Matt, but don't try anything."

He didn't answer me.

I worked quickly, tying him up tight so he wouldn't be able to move and free himself unless I let him. I wound some rope around his chest and secured that to the back of the chair, then moved to his arms and pinned them to the armrests with the remainder of the rope. The final knot I tied behind his shins so he wouldn't be able to reach it in any possible way. When I was done, Matt sat in the chair completely helpless and bound to it so tightly that the only thing he was able to move was his head.

"All done," I said, standing in front of him, looking for weak points in the rope. I stroked my beard absently. There were none.

"Now what?" Matt asked, his voice tight with anger.

"Now we sleep," I said. "I assume you have a bed upstairs."

"Fuck you."

I laughed, putting my gun away, through my belt. "Good night, Matt. I'll talk to you in the morning."

A brief lightning flash illuminated the windows as I turned away. It threw Matt's shadow on the wooden floor with sharp, inky blackness, and outlined Matt's fierce look as he watched me, seething. I grinned and went upstairs.

Up on the second floor, the patter of the rain was much louder. The wooden stairs creaked dangerously under my weight, and I almost hit my head with a low beam that supported the ceiling on the upper floor. This part of the house was modern-looking, completely unlike the bottom main room. A narrow hallway opened into a small area where a TV and a couple couches stood near a window on the far end. On either side of the hallway were doors, two on the left and one on the right. I went to the one on the right and tried the knob, but the door was locked. I shrugged and tried the door on the left furthest from the staircase. It opened easily into a small bedroom; Matt's room, obviously. I looked in, then back out and tried the other door on the left. A bathroom, small but well-kept. I was pretty dirty after the fight on the beach, but right then what I wanted most was to sleep. It had to be close to three in the morning and I'd had a long day. I closed the bathroom door and walked into Matt's room.

I threw myself onto his bed, fully clothed, and closed my eyes. The room was cold, and there were some covers nearby, but I was just too tired to care. I crossed my arms over my head, kicked off my shoes and let myself relax. The loud, rhythmical sound of raindrops hitting the window pane and falling on the room soon lulled me to sleep.

"...ake up!"

I grunted, rolled around.

"Wake up!"

I blinked. My body felt sore; the room was dark. There was an instant when I thought I was back at the hotel. Then I saw the unfamiliar walls, decorated with posters of old sci-fi movies. I remembered where I was then.

"Hey Sven!"

It was Matt's voice, coming from below. How long had I slept? I looked out the window: the rain was falling steadily in thick grey sheets over the beach. This room had a seaside view, but I couldn't see anything other than a grayish mist after a couple dozen feet. The sky and the sea blended into the same leaden color, and the sound of raindrops falling was a constant, heavy murmur in the air.

There was an alarm clock by the bed: it read 11:17. It was so dark that at first I thought it meant eleven at night, but that made no sense. The sun was out; it was hidden by heavy clouds but there was still some pale, washed-out light coming through the window. It was morning, then. I had slept for eight or nine hours.

"SVEN!"

I yawned and stood up, stretching until my shoulder joints popped. I felt stiff, and several places in my body hurt where Matt had punched me or hit me last night. It was cold in the room, too, and I heard a drip, drip coming from somewhere that might have been a leak.

I put on my shoes and went out into the hallway, yawning some more.

"Wake up, Sven!"

"Shut up," I said gruffly. "You already woke me up."

Before going downstairs I went into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. I found a towel nearby and dried off my beard, then walked to the toilet and took a long piss, as a faint rumble of thunder boomed from far away. I gave my dick a couple shakes when I was done and flushed. Then I went downstairs, ducking so I wouldn't hit my head with the ceiling beam.

Matt had managed to turn the heavy chair so it would face the staircase, and he had even gotten a foot or so closer to the stairs over the night. When he saw me, he stopped struggling against his bonds.

"What do you want?" I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"It was about damn time you woke up. Untie me."

"Why would I do that?" I asked him. As I approached, I took a good look at him in the light of day. He must have been struggling for a while because he was sweating; his hair was a mess, and there was a faint shadow of a beard on his face that I hadn't noticed yesterday night. I felt my dick stir slightly at the sight of him bound like that, with an angry scowl on his face.

"Untie me," he repeated.

"Why?"

"You want me to piss my pants?" he exploded. "I'll come back down and you can tie me up all you want, but I got to take a leak! Now!"

"Oh," I said. It hadn't occurred to me that he might have to go to the bathroom once he was tied up. "How do I know you're not just faking it?"

"I'm not!"

"I don't know..."

"Dude," he said, his tone changing. "Please. I'm about to piss myself for real."

I felt a stab of regret at my thoughtlessness, but I was still wary. "You won't try anything?"

"I won't. Really. Let me go upstairs. You can stand guard outside if you want or whatever. Just... hurry."

"Okay."

I untied him as quickly as I could with one hand, keeping my gun ready in the other. As soon as his arms were free, Matt began to tug and pull and the rope around his feet so it would go faster. I gave the knot a final yank, freeing him, and braced myself for an attack, but Matt went straight for the stairs and climbed the steps two at a time.

I was close behind, not about to let him get out of my sight.

He made a beeline for the bathroom and was about to shut the door when I put my foot down on the threshold, preventing it.

"What the fuck?" he said, turning around momentarily. "Let me close it!"

"Can't," I answered. "You might still try something."

He didn't argue; he really had to go. He unzipped his pants quickly and took out his dick, aiming for the toilet bowl. He sighed audibly as a constant, clear jet of piss began to stream from his dick.

"Oh, man," he said. "I almost didn't make it."

I didn't answer him; I was too busy staring at his dick. It was magnificent, even only half-hard as it was right then. It was thick like a sausage, big and uncut. The foreskin covering his dick's head framed the stream of piss coming out of him, and a single forked vein ran the length of Matt's shaft from the side I could see. Fully hard, his dick could be as big as mine, even. Near the base, by the open fly of his jeans, I caught a glimpse of Matt's dark, curly pubic hair, untrimmed by the looks of it.

"Ahhh," Matt said, relaxing visibly. He was still pissing after nearly a minute, and I couldn't blame him. I hadn't thought of this particular detail when I'd decided to tie him up. That led me to think about just what the hell I'd do with him now that the storm had arrived; I had nowhere to go, but I just couldn't keep him tied up for who knew how many days it would take the storm to pass. Or could I? I'd need to think about it.

Finally, the last drops of piss dripped out of Matt's dick. I hastily tore my eyes away from it when he looked my way.

"Um... could you leave now?" he said. "I won't try anything but I need some time alone."

"What for?" I asked, suspicious.

Matt sighed irritably. Was he blushing? I couldn't tell for sure. "I..."

"Yeah?"

He glanced meaningfully at the toilet.

"Oh," I said. "Oh! Right. I'll, uh... be right outside."

I closed the door behind me as I left. I felt embarrassed, which surprised me. I even walked further down the hall to give Matt some privacy. I tried the locked door again while I waited, but no luck. It was shut tight. Instead I walked to the small TV area, where a big window had a commanding view of the sea beyond. The rain was still falling down heavily, and it looked like it had no plans to stop for a long time. There wasn't much wind, though, which was good. The rain fell mostly straight down in a constant, never-ending flood.

I wondered where the thermostat for this place was, and then wondered if Matt even had heating. This place was old... but then again, he did have electricity and running water. And, even if he didn't have a heating system, there was a chimney on the lower level, and I'd seen a nice pile of firewood nearby. We wouldn't freeze or anything while the storm lasted.

My stomach grumbled, and I realized I was very hungry. I wondered what food would be available here. I hadn't checked out the kitchen very well last night.

I heard the sound of flushing and I turned around. Maybe Matt would behave if I made him promise not to try anything; he'd kept his word so far. Maybe I was overreacting a bit with the kidnapper act.

Then bathroom door opened, and Matt stormed out with a metal pole in both hands.

The fact that the hallway was so narrow saved me from being clubbed in the head with the heavy pole. Matt crossed the distance between us impossibly fast, shouting with rage, and swung the pole over his head in a two-handed blow that would have shattered my skull if it had landed. Part of my brain realized belatedly that the metal pole was really the thing that must have held the shower curtain up in the bathroom. The larger part of my brain just tried to duck Matt's sudden, savage attack.

The pole got stuck between the two walls before it could hit me, though, and that bought me a precious split second in which to react. I barreled right into Matt, shoulder first, and used my momentum and bigger body to slam into him, throwing him backwards, and knocking the shower curtain rod from his hands. He lost his footing and was thrown to the floor, sliding on the wood with the force of the blow. He quickly tried to stand up and come back at me, but then he heard a click and stopped. I had my gun ready again.

"Back to the chair," I said, panting, trying not to give away just how close it had been. I'd left my guard down for just a second and I'd almost let Matt get the upper hand.

Matt ground his teeth but nodded, and went downstairs slowly, with me close behind.

"I was about to let you go," I said as he sat back down on his chair. "Not anymore, though."

"This is my home," he said angrily. "You have no right to do this. What will you do, keep me tied up here all week while the storm blows out?"

I had no idea, but I wasn't about to admit it. "Shut up and tie your legs like before. No more funny tricks, either. You won't catch me off-guard again."

I tied Matt up quickly, wary of him but also slightly aroused by being so close to him. He was a good match for me; a cunning fighter, relentless. He wouldn't give up trying to get back at me, that much I knew now. I had no idea how we'd manage to last through the storm, but I couldn't let him go. If I did, I'd end up right where he was now.

"Stay there while I go to the kitchen," I said.

"Oh, right. Like I can go anywhere else."

I sighed irritably and went to the kitchen.

"There's a few eggs and some bacon in the fridge," Matt called out. "Not much else. I was just bringing supplies back when you kidnapped me. Supplies which you stupidly left behind in the boat, under the rain, by the way. They must be useless now."

I found the eggs and the bacon, and looked around until I found some oil.

"Will I be eating anything?" Matt called angrily. "Or will you make me starve, too? Let me guess: you'll let me starve. I guess I shouldn't expect anything better from a kidnapper."

I didn't answer him. He was so irritating that I wanted to go yell in his face, but a part of me was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable about this whole thing. I hadn't really thought about the consequences of my actions yesterday night when I'd forced Matt to bring me here. I had no choice about it now, so for the time being I'd keep him tied up, but I couldn't help wondering what my grandfather would think if he could see me now. He would probably be ashamed. He would probably say that wasn't how he'd raised me. The thought burned, and I cooked the eggs angrily, cursing my luck. I couldn't let Matt see his words were getting to me, though. I had to keep him afraid of what I'd do.

By the time I finished cooking and came back into the main room with a plate, Matt was acting much less cocky. He looked at the eggs with longing, but he didn't say anything to me.

"Here," I said, practically throwing the plate on his lap. "Eat."

He struggled briefly against the rope. Both his arms were pinned down tight. "How?"

I rolled my eyes. "You got to be kidding me."

"Hey. It's not my fault you didn't plan this."

I loosened the rope just enough so he could eat properly and gave him a spoon. I wasn't going to trust him with a fork after the bathroom incident.

"There," I said. "Eat. My food's getting cold."

I brought my own plate from the kitchen and sat in the chair opposite him. I'd forgotten to use salt and the eggs were bland, the bacon undercooked. I scarfed it down just the same. I was hungry.

"You suck at cooking," Matt said, making a face at his limp strip of bacon.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"I don't remember asking to be kidnapped and tied up in my own house."

I finished the awful meal in silence, having no real answer to that. Outside the rain was falling down more heavily; the temperature was dropping, too.

"Where's the thermostat?" I asked Matt.

"Over there. By the table. Just don't crank it up too high. It gets expensive very quickly."

"Give me your plate."

"Sure."

I took the dirty plates to the sink, then returned. I finally found the damn thermostat and cranked it up a bit.

I sat back down in the chair next to Matt, avoiding his eyes. I took out my gun and started cleaning it with a rag I kept in the inner pocket of my jacket.

Matt watched me in silence as I worked; I could tell from the way his body was angled. I refused to meet his eyes. Watching the gun my grandfather had given me, I couldn't escape from the recurring thought that he was watching me now, and was thoroughly ashamed of me for what I was doing.

But what else was I supposed to do? I'd killed a man. I wouldn't go to prison for doing what was right and killing the son of a bitch that had killed the only father I'd ever known. I had to run; I had to hide. And that meant staying here, even if it was wrong to do it like this. I couldn't afford to have a conscience right now.

"That's a fine weapon," Matt said at one point. I looked up, surprised. He was still angry, but his expression showed a shadow of resignation, too. Or maybe he was just bored and wanted to talk.

"Thanks," I grunted. "It was handed down to me."

"Colt Woodsman, correct?"

"Yeah," I answered, surprised he knew the model. "Do you collect guns?"

"No. My father used to, though, before he had to sell most of them. He paid nearly five hundred dollars for one just like the one you have there. Yours is in better condition, though. I can tell even from here."

There was a faint scratching sound coming from somewhere, but I thought it was the rain.

"My grandfather gave it to me," I said. "He'd use it for hunting small game from time to time. It was his favorite gun."

I looked at the gun, lost in thought, remembering the time he'd given the gun to me. I'd been eighteen—it had been my birthday present. I remembered my mother protesting that she didn't want me to go around town with that gun, and my grandfather telling her that I was responsible enough to have a gun of my own now. He helped me register it and everything. From that day on, he treated me like a man, not a boy. I began helping more around the farm, assuming more responsibilities. I liked to think I'd never let him down—until now.

"It's a special gun, right?" Matt asked.

I glanced his way. He'd been looking at me the whole time. The scratching sound was fainter now.

"Yeah," I answered. "It is."

"Sven?"

"Huh?"

"What did you do? Why are you running?"

I sighed. "I killed a man, Matt. I shot him with this gun and now he's dead."

I saw Matt's eyes widen, and there was a brief flash of real fear.

"Will you... kill me, too?" he asked.

I looked at him, gun in hand. "No. I don't think so. I just need a place to hide."

"Oh," he said. "Okay."

The scratching sound ended suddenly and something dropped to the floor behind Matt's chair. A bathroom razor.

Matt met my eyes. "You shouldn't have left me alone in the bathroom."

His right hand was suddenly free as he pulled on the now-cut rope, and he reached into his pocket with a smooth, lightning-fast motion. He took out a tiny BB gun out of his pocket and pointed it up at me.

It was point-blank range. I didn't even have a chance to dodge before he fired.

The next chapter will come out next Tuesday! If you like this story, make sure to check out my other Nifty story, `Learning with a Man' at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/learning-with-a-man/