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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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I would like to thank my editor, Peter who, while he drives me crazier than I already am, helps to make what I write much better. I also want to thank my "phantom editors" who read, critique and manage to find "glitches" I've missed.
I also wish to thank my readers. You make it all worthwhile.
On a perfectly selfish note, the first novel in the series, "The Phantom of Aurora" is available in paperback (two volumes) through Amazon and Barnes and Noble. I am also editing "The Boys of Aurora" for publication and hope to find a publisher soon. My goal is to publish in the spring of 2006.
The Knights of Aurora
Chapter 13
The Hospital of Saint John of the Cross of Acre - Present Day
Jeremie Cher carefully adjusted Jergen's silver and black-striped tie and then gently gave the man's firm chest a pat. "There, you are absolutely perfect," he murmured.
Jergen regarded his reflection in the mirror fixed to the back of the wardrobe door. He did look good, in a grey cutaway coat, matching white-piped waistcoat, and striped trousers. "Not bad for $76.50, tax included," he observed, his deep blue eyes shining. He gave Jeremie Cher a smile. "Syd Silver's makes a killing every year!"
"I look positively drab!" complained Jeremie Cher. He regarded the slightly travel-wrinkled dark suit he was wearing. "I hope no one will notice."
"And if they do, they will be far too polite to mention it," responded Jergen. He reached out and squeezed Jeremie Cher's shoulder. "Your robe will hide the wrinkles."
"My robe? I have to wear a robe?"
"You do," said Jergen firmly. "Everything is laid out in what is really the Dean's dining room, robe, collar and oh, a floppy hat with a ostrich feather, white, and the thing looks to be a pain in the ass to keep on if the wind kicks up, which it always does this time of the year!"
Sitting on the bed, Jeremie Cher gave Jergen a sharp look. "Maybe you'd better fill me in on what is going to happen."
Sitting beside the man he hoped would be not only his lover, but also his life partner, Jergen began. "First, we go over to the Chapter House, which is attached to the Chapel. As you're a Companion, and already a part of the Order, you go into the Dean's Reception Room and meet your friends and the Knights. They serve munchies and champagne."
"A hell of a long way to come for drink," sniped Jeremie Cher.
"Do be quiet," responded Jergen. "Now, while you're in the parlour, I will be in the private chapel. There, together with my sponsors, I will be invested - made a knight and all that."
Smiling nostalgically, Jeremie Cher said, "I remember when I became a Companion. Michael Chan hired the ballroom of the Admiralty House Hotel in Comox. It was quite impressive."
"The ceremony here is quite low-key," replied Jergen. "The local Holiday Inn doesn't have a ballroom."
Snickering, Jeremie Cher waved for Jergen to continue.
"After the Investiture," continue Jergen, "The new Knights then return to parlour where you and the others greet us." He grinned lasciviously. "I will try to control myself when we exchange the 'Kiss of Peace'."
"Don't hold back on my account," responded Jeremie Cher with a grin.
Waggling his eyebrows, Jergen replied laughingly, "I won't, but I should tell you that my sponsors are Eugen Arenberg, Mike Sunderland and Steve Lee . . ."
"Damn, you sure picked a bunch of 'prime stud', as my female students would say," said Jeremie Cher.
"Well, I have known Eugen for years, and I'm an Assistant Coach - I teach soccer - so I more or less had to ask the Master of the Sword, Mike that is. Steve's been a good friend over the years, too." He squared his shoulders, "I feel very honoured that they all agreed to sponsor me."
A small smile formed on Jeremie Cher's lips. "I remember them all fondly," he said softly.
Noting the smile, Jergen asked waspishly, "Fondly?"
Jeremie Cher detected the doubting tone in Jergen's voice. "Eugen was in hospital when we returned from Quebec, Mike and Steve were old friends from my Sea Cadet days and no, I did not sleep with any of them."
Jergen's eyes grew wide. "But damn it, Jeremie, you are one of the best looking guys I have ever met, and I've seen photos of you from back then! You were some stud!"
Jeremie Cher laughed until his sides ached. "I may have looked like a stud, but I never did anything with anyone!" He looked awkward a moment and then giggled. "But damn, I was some cute!"
Jergen wanted to say something snappish, but could not. Jeremie Cher was still some cute! Instead he asked, "But . . . well you must have had the opportunity," he insisted. "Hell, you spent what, three months and more with the damnedest, finest looking young bucks I ever saw, and believe me, I've seen a few!"
"Never happened," returned Jeremie Cher. He smiled brightly. "All I ever did was say that if there was anyone who could take Little Jeremie for a walk in the moonlight, it would be Phantom." He feigned a frown. "And that never happened, either!"
Knowing the effect that The Phantom had on his friends, and indeed, still had on many of the boys of the hospital, Jergen could understand Jeremy's offer. But then there was . . .
"Jeremie, you also spent time with the Chan cousins!" said Jergen. "Now, you cannot tell me that you weren't tempted. Damn it, Alistair Chan is a fine, handsome man! And his brother, well Arden can still turn heads!"
Jeremie had seen neither of the Chan brothers for years. "I am sure they are both very good looking, and I am sure that both would be interesting to be with, but, dear Jergen, while I do hate to disappoint you, I must tell you that I never did anything with either of them." He thought a moment, "Well, except Alistair. I danced with him."
"You what?" exclaimed Jergen.
"I danced with him," replied Jeremie Cher with a grin. "He's not a bad dancer."
Jergen gave the handsome man who had been his first, and in his own mind, his only love, a disgusted look. He looked around, saw what he was looking for and tossed Jeremie Cher's overcoat to him. "Come on, we're running late."
As he put on his coat, Jeremie Cher asked, "Where are we going?"
"The Chapter House. And while we're walking there you are going to tell me how you, when in a house full of temptation and beef, managed to do nothing but dance!"
The manor house of the Grand Master of the Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre, British Pacific Properties, Vancouver, August 1976
When The Phantom returned downstairs the party was in progress, actually a series of parties. In the double drawing room a marathon, cutthroat game of Monopoly and sing-along was in progress. The Phantom paused to watch as Randy, Joey, Simon, and Calvin parodied, with gesturing and body wiggling, the lyrics to "Delta Dawn", which drifted in from the Garden Room:
"Delta Dawn, what's that big fleur you have?
Can it be a faded rose from days gone by?
And did I hear you say, you're a-meetin' with him today,
To take you to that Dockyard in the sky?"
The Phantom shuddered, and wondered why sailors seemed to think it necessary to change the lyrics of almost every song they heard? Then he remembered what the Twins had done with the words to 'Guide Me, Oh Thou Great Jehovah'; although in fairness they had not composed the new lyrics, but had learned them on an exchange visit to England. But they had remembered every word. Aided and abetted by Greg Carroll, the Ship's Writer, who had mimeographed Todd's hastily written lyrics, and Ray Cornwallis, who was in charge of the seating arrangements and slipped the printed sheets into the official program for the Commanding Officer's Anniversary Parade. The new words had proven a showstopper if ever there was one. The only thing that saved the Twins' collective butts from the wrath of The Gunner had been Mrs. Stockman who, for her own reasons, collected the scatological renderings of sailors, and cadets. She had thought the new hymn "precious" and defused what could have been an ugly situation.
As The Phantom watched, Joey rose and bellowed out in a high-pitched, near-soprano, some more words, which he and Randy were making up as they went along:
"In her younger days they called her Delta Dawn,
Ugliest woman you ever laid eyes on,
Then a man of low degree stood in her lee,
And showed her the biggest dick she ever did see!"
Three of the young Cousins, Max, Will and Teddy, who had been cheating at Monopoly enthusiastically, and amassing wads of play money, began laughing and giggling so much that they failed to notice Calvin helping himself to their stashes. The Phantom shook his head and prayed that Tanya Tucker never heard of this little change in her lyrical writing.
Behind The Phantom, the Maestro groaned softly. He needed to kick everybody out as he and a crew of waiters and footmen were standing by to convert the drawing rooms into a dining room, Michael's dining room being much too small for the horde that was expected at table the next evening. The Maestro also despaired at the two Hepplewhite sofa tables that the boys had pushed together to form their gaming platform. He hoped some French polishing would repair any damage. The Phantom smiled sheepishly at the older man, shrugged a "boys will be boys" shrug and went down the corridor and into the Garden Room, where a dance was in progress.
As a good host, Michael thought that he had planned for any eventuality. Being new in the role, he had consulted with Major Meinertzhagen, who had attended a few weekend house parties in his day. The Major had been at some pain to remind Michael that while yes, he had attended the weekend gatherings, they had all been for adults, and usually involved shooting something, grouse in August, stags in Autumn, and so on.
Michael had no desire to upset the Ministry of Natural Resources, who controlled the forests that surrounded the estate. Besides, he doubted there were many stags in the pine trees and red woods anyway! Then there was the Ministry of Tourism, which would take a dim view of teenage boys traipsing through the woods taking pot shots at the campers and hikers. The Major thought back to his days as a youth and suggested board games. They were always good for passing the time, and brought out the competitive spirit in young men. Jigsaw puzzles, the bigger and more intricate the better, were also popular. There was something about a box filled with chopped out, intricate pieces of coloured cardboard that intrigued and tantalized to a degree that once started just had to be finished. Jigsaw puzzles just had to be fiddled and poked with by every passer-by, including the staff members, who could not resist slipping a piece into place. Even the Queen, herself, was an aficionado of jigsaw puzzles, always working away on an intricate design when she spent Christmas at Windsor - and woe betide anyone who dropped or lost a piece, or set the last, ultimate bit into place. Such was the Queen's passion that corgis had been banished to the stables for gobbling down a bit of a puzzle.
Following the Major's advice, Patrick had been sent downtown to Woodward's where he purchased several copies of every board game they had to offer, from Monopoly to Stratego, and games in between. Tactfully, Patrick did not bring back a game of Chinese checkers.
When Chef arrived he too was consulted. Michael asked the old man what the boys did in the evening, after their chores had been completed, and their uniforms for the next day prepared and their boots polished. Chef opined that they played cards, board games, gossiped, and listened to the wireless, and the camp seemed to thump and tremble with anything from Country and Western to Calypso blaring from the radio speakers. Chef said the music - if the cacophony of sound could be dignified with the title - gave him a headache, and an excuse to close his office door and take his "medicine"!
Patrick, who was not that much older than the oldest of the young knights, also suggested that a stereo system might be set up in the Garden Room, suggesting that it might be a good idea to turn the chamber into sort of "party room". With the terrace directly outside, there would be plenty of room. Michael, who had a German stereo system, with all the bells and whistles, built into a cabinet in the library, did not think it a good idea to move the beast. He also opined that his taste in music, which ran more to Brahms and Chopin, might differ from that of his guests.
Pete Sheppard stepped in, advising that the Security Force had a portable system set up in their canteen, which could be easily moved into the main house. He also volunteered to canvas his men for records, as they all seemed to have masses of the things. As it turned out, the men of the Security Force were not all that much different from the Boys of Aurora. At night they played cards, worked jigsaw puzzles, played board games and darts, or mended their kit and - the only difference - drank beer.
With Pete supervising, everything was in place by the time the young knights and guests and the Cousins returned from downtown. The furniture in the room had been pushed back against the walls and the long table covered with a thick linen cloth to protect the finish. The Maestro, his larders replenished, set out trays of sandwiches hors d'ouvres and, at Chef's suggestion, plenty of sodas and cake! The Maestro thought that Chef was courting disaster. All the young men needed was more sugar!
When The Phantom and Colin entered the Garden Room, "Delta Dawn" ended abruptly and before Chef could react or strangle Fred, who with Nathan assisting, was acting as DJ, Carl Douglas singing "Kung Fu Fighting" blared loudly from the speakers, setting off what seemed to be some sort of Aboriginal fertility dance as the young knights and the Cousins started to gyrate and bounce about the room.
Chef was not having a good night. While he approved of innocent fun, he did not want the lads to make the wrong impression. He was aware that some of them had formed relationships and while he had no objection to the lads showing a little affection by dancing together, there was a line he would not allow them to cross. Slow dancing was one thing, what he called "dirty dancing" quite another! He remembered with blazing clarity what had happened to poor Killian Logan on the night of the end-of-year barbecue when he had danced with . . . Chef could not for his life remember the girl's name.
What he did remember was Killian grinding and rubbing the girl (who ground and rubbed right back) and doing something no gentleman should ever do, at least on the dance floor, ending up shuddering convulsively and turning beet red with embarrassment, the consequences of what was widely known as a "dry rub" and what The Phantom later called "a dirty great stain on the inside of his Jockeys!"
As an old sailor, Chef knew that it was almost traditional, when there was a dearth or females, or none at all, for the lads to dance together. That was completely acceptable, to the extent that it was not uncommon for the young Naval cadets, and old Petty Officers up for promotion, to be taught dancing, one half of the class tying a handkerchief around their arms and playing the roles of ladies. Chef himself had learned how to dance that way, being squired on the arm of a grizzly old Stoker with bad breath!
Determined that his boys would act with dignity and decorum Chef, as stern-faced as a Mother Superior, had tried to invoke the "Twelve Inch Rule", when the first slow dance was played, insisting that there be that much distance between the dancers at all times. Caroline Arundel told Mary Randolph that she hadn't heard that rule since her incarceration in the Ursiline Convent School!
Chef's dictum met with some opposition. What irked the dancing young men was that Chef thought them low enough to sneak in a dry rub! Still, the cadets thought it best to let the old fool think he had his way. They were enjoying themselves and as they did not need, or want, Chef's bellowing and muttering to spoil the evening, they kept the proper distance, and remained silent.
Not so Blake Putnam Randolph. He was dancing with Matthew Chan, quite sedately Blake thought, when Chef sidled up and muttered, "Twelve inches, lad, twelve inches!"
Blake stopped dancing abruptly and stared at Chef. Then he said, "Twelve inches? But Chef, I can only manage nine! Is that all right?"
Chef went away sputtering and muttering about "pestiferous kilties". Cory, who had been dancing with Sean at the time (and bitching about Sean insisting on observing Chef's stupid rule), had glided smoothly alongside Blake. He could not resist the opportunity. He looked Blake up and down, and then smiled. "Nine inches?" he sniffed archly. "You might make seven, on a calm day, with a following sea, a clean bottom and all laundry aloft!" Cory then swirled away, ignoring the shocked look on Sean's face and the black daggers that Blake's eyes shot at him.
Matthew, who had heard Cory, giggled and then took Blake's hand and they resumed dancing. "Seven inches, huh," he asked Blake presently. His dark eyes twinkled as he added, "I wish!"
Blake, somewhat taken aback, asked, "What do you mean?"
Laughing, Matthew looked around to make sure that he would not be overheard. "Don't you know what people say about Chinese men?"
"I'm afraid to ask," responded Blake.
With a giggle, Matthew replied, "Small dick, cums quick!" He gently squeezed Blake's hand. "Not that it's true, of course," he said huskily.
Hoping that Matthew was suggesting something a little more than dancing, Blake replied smoothly, "Not in your case, I take it?"
Matthew shook his head. "Don't believe everything Arden prattles on about," he replied enigmatically.
Flushing slightly, Blake lowered his eyes. "You know, I hear that Michael has a magnificent library."
The music stopped and the two young men drew apart. Fred put on Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze", which cleared the dance floor. Blake and Matthew retired to sit on one of the sofas. Matthew looked around. No one was dancing, although a few were weaving with the music. Alistair was deep in conversation with Caroline Arundel, while Mabell Airlie, a pained expression on her face, was chatting politely with Doctor Bradley-Smith, Mary Randolph was helping two of the younger Cousins, Max and Will, to choose something from the buffet.
Matthew noticed that the white boys seemed to be making a point to be polite to the Cousins. Tyler and Val, together with Mark and Tony, were regaling Cornelius of their adventures in the cadets, while Ray and Kevin were bemoaning their fate as cooks and galley slaves under the not so benign dictatorship of Chef, to John and Michael. Arden was all but glued to Harry's side.
Leaning slightly, Matthew murmured. "I have never been in this house before, and I have no idea where the library is," he told Blake. "But then, Michael supposedly has some wonderful first editions." He pretended to sigh, and then seemed to brighten. "Say, maybe, um, nah . . ." His voice trailed off.
"What?" Blake asked.
"Well, I was just sort of thinking that maybe, um, you know, maybe you'd like to help me find the library." Matthew hurried on. "I mean, only if you want to, and like I said, I've never been here, so I don't know where it is, and um, well, would you...?"
Blake squirmed nervously and rubbed the sweaty palms of his hands constantly on his khaki chinos, thinking that geeze, he had never been so attracted to a boy before, never been affected so much before. He stared into Matthew's deep, dark eyes. "Um, maybe we can go and look for the library?" he said quietly. "Um, if you want."
Flushing, and knowing that this handsome . . . no . . . beautiful . . . white boy wanted him as much as he wanted the white boy, nodded his head vigorously. "Oh, yeah," he breathed.
Blake rose and gestured toward the door. "Let's go then."
As Blake and Matthew moved toward the door, hoping that they were not drawing too much attention to their leaving, Fred and Nathan had a small spat involving what type of music would be played next. Fred wanted something "wild and wonderful, something to get the blood going". Nathan preferred something slower, a little romance, and reminded Fred that there were ladies present. He also reminded Fred that if he wanted to prove later on in the evening that Britannia ruled the waves, he had better shut his gate and put on something decent! Nathan won and Fred spun the record, and Bobby Vinton singing "Satin Pillows" poured from the speakers.
Caroline Arundel extended her hand and led Alistair to the dance floor where she began to teach a very simple step, which would, she assured him, be perfectly acceptable at any cotillion. Mary Randolph looked around for her nephew, found him missing, and accepted Stuart's offer to dance. Mabell Airlie politely declined the doctor's offer to dance and then tapped Tyler's shoulder. Tyler bowed graciously to Mabell and led her onto the floor. The calculated snub to Doctor Bradley-Smith was not lost on anyone in the room.
The Phantom took advantage of the music to ask Colin to dance. Colin warned The Phantom that he was not a very good dancer, which proved to be a classic understatement. Colin was a beautiful, handsome man, with many sterling qualities. Sadly, dancing was not one of those qualities. Colin lumbered - like a bear - and tended to look down at his feet, to make sure that he was in step with his partner. The Phantom raised his eyes, smiled sweetly, and carried on.
As they circled the room The Phantom saw Pete Sheppard and Michael enter. Pete cast a long, searching look at the doctor, who was busily filling a plate with food, and then nodded. The Phantom saw the nod and whispered to Colin. "Go and distract Pete a moment."
Colin started. "What, why?"
"Because whatever it is Pete is going to do is about to go down. Now go and talk to Pete. Ask him about using Ned tomorrow, and what we talked about."
Colin nodded. "What are you going to do?" he asked The Phantom.
"I need time to get out onto the terrace," replied The Phantom, breaking his hold on Colin. He looked at Colin, his green eyes soft and dark. "I want to be there when Pete . . . I want to let Pete know that he is not alone."
Looking around the room, Colin asked, "What about him?" He nodded ever so slightly at the doctor.
"He's too busy filling his gut," sniped The Phantom. "But he'll notice Pete's outside. Trust me."
"Do I have a choice?" asked Colin. He squeezed The Phantom's hand. "Just be careful."
"I will be." And with that The Phantom slipped through the French doors that led to the terrace.
Doctor Bradley-Smith was much too busy ogling what he called the "eye candy" to notice The Phantom slipping outside. After his session in the brothel earlier in the day, Daniel's hormones were again raging and he was feeling decidedly frisky. Not for a little S & M. That would be much too dangerous to even suggest here. No, he thought idly, maybe just a little boy meat, a little roll in the hay, so to speak.
Sighing inwardly, the doctor surveyed the room. Damn, there was some wonderful beefcake on offer and, if their cuddling and close dancing was any indication, half of them were on the make, the horny little buggers! For a few minutes Daniel allowed his mind to wander, wondering if that delicious copper-headed boy dancing with the dark Adonis, might be susceptible to a little extra medical attention. Or one of the Americans perhaps? The tall, blond one, Mark, was gorgeous, and from the heft of his basket in the tight jeans he was wearing, hung. The dark-skinned Italian that Mark was dancing with wasn't all that bad either.
His eyes slid around the room. He saw Harry, a gorgeous hunk if ever there lived one, and reputed, from gossip Daniel overheard, owner of something called "The Pride of the Fleet and the Escorts". Daniel hoped that the euphemism meant what he thought it did. But then, he thought that Harry might be more interested in little Chinese boys. Harry was slow dancing with Arden, who had kicked off his shoes and was standing on Harry's feet, giggling away as they slowly navigated the room.
"Oh, well, it takes all kinds, and who am I to talk?"
Another couple glided by, one of the Twins, Cory, Daniel remembered, who was dancing with a short, slim redheaded boy. Sean? Yes, Sean. Not bad looking, in a rough sort of way, and much to skinny for Daniel's tastes. He adored a robust, muscular partner.
Daniel's eyes found Sandro, who had conned Nate Schoenmann into dancing. The Russian was quite something to look at, Daniel thought, as was the dark haired, dark-eyed Nate. Daniel's nostrils flared briefly. Semites, of course. Jews. One had to be so very careful these days as modern medical procedure had all but eliminated the essential difference between Jew and Gentile. As a doctor Daniel approved of the elimination, if only for reasons of health and cleanliness, aesthetics aside, of course. However, as a confirmed lecher and sybarite, Daniel did adore the natural look.
Although he knew he had no hope in hell of enticing anyone but a horny footman into his room, Daniel continued his wishful gazing. He saw Colin Arnott chatting animatedly with Pete Sheppard. Now there was a hunk! Daniel told himself. Colin was possibly one of the most glorious men that Daniel had ever seen. Pete wasn't bad, but there was no comparison.
Daniel allowed himself to dream about bedding Lieutenant Arnott. Then, finding himself unconsciously drooling, quickly patted his lips dry with the napkin he was holding. What the doctor did not know was that Colin had seen the movement and, shuddering slightly, quickly turned away, for some reason thinking of his pretentious and snobbish Aunt Charlotte, who was not quite as ladylike as Doctor Bradley-Smith!
As the Bobby Vinton concert continued, and "Blue On Blue" began playing, Daniel settled back, resigned to an evening alone, and played one of his favourite games, "Is he, or isn't he?" wherein in he tried to discern who was circumcised, and who was not. He had started the game years ago, as a freshman in high school, quietly surveying the farm boys as they ascended the school bus steps. It was a pleasant pastime, and helped to make the long miles to school pass quickly.
Of course he learned, much too quickly he thought, who was what, firstly thanks to the gossip of two of his female classmates, who seemed to have felt, sucked, or engaged in some form of sexual activity with half the boys in the county. The girls always sat in front of Daniel (they were the second students to board, Daniel being the first) and compared notes every inch of the way as the bus navigated the winding farm roads. Later there was gym, and swimming, and Daniel had a long list of mental pictures to help him with his nightly masturbation. By the time he graduated high school he knew exactly the length and width, and status, of every swinging dick for miles around.
Daniel was forced to resort to his game in university. The only dick he saw, small and wrinkled though it was, belonged to his roommate whom Daniel considered beneath his notice being, in Daniel's newly acquired, self-granted loftiness as a pre-med undergrad whose family paid his fees, a low-born, inner-city Mick on a scholarship. Daniel played no sports, and did not swim in the college pool, so had no opportunity to compare or drool.
When he joined the Naval Reserve, Daniel continued to play the game until his Basic Officers Course, when all were revealed. Junior Officers Under Training were quite yummy, Daniel thought, but obeyed the rule that it was dirty bird that soiled its own nest, and avoided temptation.
He continued to avoid temptation in Medical School after being accepted in the Forces University Training Scheme. He was much too busy, and given the temper of the times when it came to gays, much too frightened to do anything overt. He did manage to find a not so very secret men's room in the basement of Theological College where every stall had a glory hole, and all the jocks came to be serviced when their girlfriends couldn't, or wouldn't put out. It was a place of anonymity, where no names were ever asked, or ever given, and Daniel spent much of senior year sitting in the third stall from the end.
After Medical School, and being assigned to the Esquimalt RCNH, Daniel had little reason to play his game. After all, everybody had to have a physical once a year and Daniel soon had a library of mental pictures to spend his evenings with, at least until he discovered the gay scene in downtown Vancouver, and began to visit Diem's house.
As the music stopped and Fred began to argue with Harry, who wanted a little more zing! Daniel smiled to himself. Of course, there was really no point in even trying to play the "Is he, or isn't he?" game. The knights would never been accepted if they had not conformed to Article 26 of the Rule. He recalled the Investiture in Comox and Doctor Reynolds announcing "All Save One!" and wondered which "one" it was.
Peter Race walked by and the doctor's eyes rose slightly. Peter was a Companion and . . . The only restrictions in the Rule were for the protection of Pages, and Peter Race was not a page, but a Companion. Knights could, and did, enjoy the company of other knights, so why not companions? It was an interesting concept, Daniel thought, although he had no intention of following through.
Still, one could wonder, Daniel thought. He regarded Peter through hooded eyes and wondered if the lad were a Roman Catholic, and how reactionary and rigid the local parish priest was. Few knew that the Roman Catholic Church was adamantly opposed to circumcision, as evidence by two papal bulls, one in 1442, which threatened that it could not possibly be observed "without the loss of eternal salvation". If this were the case then there were a lot of Catholic boys destined to hellfire. And, Daniel thought, the admonitions were not confined to the 15th Century. The latest fanfaronade of papal flatulence had occurred as late as 1952 and one had only to look in any catechism. This, in retrospect, considering that the condemnation came from an organization that refused to allow its priests to marry and wanted to condemn Leonardo da Vinci as a heretic and whitewashed Michelangelo's frescos, considering them to be salacious and immoral, was not at all surprising!
Not that it mattered. Peter Race was a touch too young and Daniel did not need that evil-minded little prick that Michael Chan - the Grand Master indeed - was about to raise to the peerage turning those emerald eyes of his in his direction. Better to leave well enough alone.
Daniel's thoughts drifted to other possibilities - Alex Grinchsten perhaps. Daniel wondered what ethnicity Alex had. German, he thought. Or perhaps Pete Sheppard? Alex was cute, in a washed-out sort of way, but Pete seemed to exude masculinity. Of course neither man had ever indicated any interest in other men, and Daniel had no illusions. Both Alex and Pete were ex-soldiers, and this appealed to Daniel. He preferred his partners to be rough and tough, to balance his effeminacy. Daniel had convinced himself that there was something about a fey, girlish male that brought out the nurturing instinct in some males, particularly those who were former service men, who liked to be gentle, but rough, asserting their maleness.
A small sigh escaped Daniel's lips as he watched Pete and Colin talking. Pete had, at first, looked serious, seeming to disapprove of whatever it was that the officer was talking about. Then Pete brightened, and he laughed - he had a delightful smile that caused Daniel's nether regions to quiver - and began to nod. Whatever it was, Pete approved of it and Daniel saw him look over to where the young knights were dancing, nod vigorously and then gesture toward the terrace. Colin demurred, and Pete shrugged.
As Daniel watched, Pete nodded briskly to Colin and left the Garden Room. Through the open doors Daniel could see Pete leaning against the massive stone railing, quietly smoking a cigarette. The more he watched, the more Daniel began to wonder, should he, could he, or . . .
Rising from his seat, Daniel thought, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," as he walked purposefully onto the terrace.
Pete Sheppard leaned against the stone railing separating the terrace from the gardens, thinking. He had to be very careful in what he planned to do. Pete thought he had the measure of Doctor Bradley-Smith, and knew instinctively that he needed to go slowly, to appear as normal as possible, and not spook the man. Bradley-Smith was a sneak, but a clever sneak, with a feral slyness that could in all probability sniff out a scam at thirty paces. The doctor had to believe that what he was told was the truth, and Pete had to tell him that "truth" in as casual a way as he could. Everything Pete said had to be done in a relaxed, almost unthinking way, an apparently inadvertent, accidental slip of confidentiality.
As he finished his cigarette, Pete wondered when he should make his move. He had no doubts about climbing into the doctor's bed. The guy was horny, and Pete had seen the doctor ogling and slavering over the young knights, and the older Cousins. Pete had also received a complete report from the surveillance team, and had had a long talk with Cousin Tommy Chan about the Dallas Street brothel.
It took a great deal to disgust Tommy Chan. When you came from the old walled city of Hong Kong, and ran free in the streets of the European part of the city, you saw a lot, heard a lot, and did what you had to do to survive. In his time Cousin Tommy had known pimps and prostitutes, bootleggers and heroin dealers. Tommy had been in some of the lowest whorehouses in Shanghai, where long rooms filled with girls of all ages plied their ancient trade in tiny, wooden-walled cribs.
Cousin Tommy, who was sleeping with Joel, was not a hypocrite. He knew that homosexuality existed in every age, in every culture. He also knew that there were variations, subcultures that needed release. He knew transvestites, transsexuals, "B Girls" and leather boys. All of these Tommy could, and did, take in his stride. After all, man was essentially a sexual being, an animal, with animal needs, and there was always someone around to satisfy their needs, more often then not for a price.
The Dallas Street brothel satisfied many needs. What disgusted Tommy was that the courtesans, all male, were virtual slaves, purchased in the refugee camps that now dotted Southeast Asia, camps filled with broken detritus of war. Minh's agents purchased boys, and girls, many mere children, smuggled them into America and Canada, and placed them in the houses he controlled or owned in a dozen cities. These unfortunates pandered to the sexual appetites of anyone who had the price of their services. This in itself was not unusual. There had been a time when any town or city of any pretension had a Red Light District. Toronto and Montreal had them, San Francisco's was still notorious, and New York, the Big Apple, boasted a hundred or more "comfort houses". Tommy accepted them as he accepted life. Sex was a part of life, as much a part as living, and dying.
Tommy had many agents who did nothing but wander the streets of Vancouver, most of them in Chinatown, but some, disguised as street beggars and transients, in the other parts of town, including Little Saigon and Little Italy. Tommy's informants said little, but heard and saw much. Everything they heard or saw, every rumour, every sniggering aside, they reported to Tommy. Tommy had known of the Dallas Street brothel almost from the moment it opened its doors and accepted its first customer. What Tommy heard, Tommy did not like.
The Dallas Street brothel catered to every sexual perversion a man could dream up. There were no restrictions, and so long as no was actually killed, customers were made to feel welcome. Tommy, his loathing palpable, had told Pete that inside the building there were boys that catered to old Chinese men, old men who firmly believed that an infusion of fresh semen, drawn from a young boy, prolonged virility and increased vitality. Boys who had just begun ejaculating were kept lying in a bed. The old man would enter, lower his head, fellate the child, and swallow. The old man would then leave, convinced that the boy's essence had given him new vigour.
On one floor of the brothel there were special rooms, fitted with drains in the tiled floor, where men paid to be debased and humiliated by young men urinating and defecating on them. Tommy had shuddered at the telling. There were rooms where plays were performed, where young boys donned fancy dress and pretended to be shepherdesses, or milkmaids, performing acts that Tommy could not conceive of.
The brothel offered something for everybody, including those who enjoyed domination. How Tommy came to know that Doctor Bradley-Smith played slave to a leather-clad "master" who wielded a satin-sheathed whip, Tommy had not said, and Pete did not asked. Some things were best left unsaid.
What was important was that the doctor was a long-term client, first having visited the brothel well over a year ago. Again, Tommy had not revealed his source of information. The doctor, as a diversion, also enjoyed more or less conventional man-sex, although he had a reputation for roughness.
Pete's stomach had churned as he listened to Tommy recounting the details of the brothel, what went on in the brothel, and then men who visited it. Even Joel, who had been in some low dens of iniquity in his time, and who had been listening, alternating between avid curiosity and sheer, unspoken loathing, professed disgust and ordered the two men out of his office, for fear of losing his lunch! As the two men were leaving Joel called out, "And perhaps it's time someone considered a Bar of Justice!"
"A Bar of Justice," Pete thought to himself. Michael had not said yet just what he planned on doing with and to the doctor. Pete, knowing Michael, assumed that his revenge would be terrible. It was bad enough that Daniel Bradley-Smith had betrayed Michael personally, and was actively working with his enemies. What was worse, or so Pete thought Michael would think, was the doctor's betrayal of the Order. As a Knight, the doctor had sworn loyalty to not only the Order, but to his fellow knights, his brothers!
Pete knew that a Bar of Justice had already been called to punish those knights who had used their positions to not only loot the Common Treasury, but were actively involved in paedophilia, buying and selling young boys for their own amusement and pleasure. Pete was not too involved in this Bar. He knew that the Chancellor of the Order was in Toronto, waiting to strike at what the Major called grandiloquently, "The Heart of the Beast". Pete also knew that in every major city, from Saint John's to Victoria, Michael's associates and the Tsangs waited patiently for the moment to act.
In the undercroft, behind firmly closed doors, Joel laboured over his computer keyboard. Joe Hobbes and Gabe Izard, who Pete suspected were lovers, researched archives and records and followed up on the leads Joel provided. A day of reckoning was coming for all who had betrayed their Oath, and while Pete knew that Doctor Bradley-Smith would be included, he did not know how, or when. He just knew that the doctor would soon pay for his betrayal, and Pete wondered if he would also play a part in collecting the payment. He had killed before, but that had been war, and in the heat of battle he neither knew nor cared of the consequences of his actions. Now, however he faced a greater challenge.
Pete had grown up in Middle America, the heartland, as it was called, and his father, for all his faults, had instilled in his sons the basic tenets of a man: a man never lied, he never stole, he never cheated and he never betrayed his family. Pete Sheppard believed with all his heart in these tenets.
Pete's father had also taught his sons that a man was born with a basic sense of decency, of fair play, of honour. A man of honour would face his problems, his adversities, and overcome them, or not, without resorting to deceit or treachery. A man might, in the fullness of time, gain wealth and power, but if he gained these things by lying, by stealing, by harming others to gain his ends, then he lost honour, and once this was lost, a man was nothing. A man could lose his wealth and his power. He could also regain them, but if he lost his honour, nothing he did or said would ever bring it back.
The seeds of honour sown by Pete's father were nurtured and grew to ripeness when Pete joined the Marines, reinforced with the concept that a soldier, a sailor, an airman, a Marine, fought with honour and never betrayed his buddies, his mates, his ship, his regiment, his Corps. A soldier lived by a code of honour and in Vietnam Pete had fought his war according to the precepts of honour. What he had learned in "Boot" he brought into practice, and had fought his battles, honing his skills in the art of war, in battlefield tactics, in jungle warfare, manipulating his enemies through feints and deceptions in military movements. That the enemy had no honour, and used deceit and treachery and betrayal to gain his ends, was not important to Pete. He had fought his war with decency and as honourably as he could. He had stayed the course in the face of deceit and treachery back home. Pete Sheppard had kept his honour.
As an honourable man, Pete had viewed the betrayal by his leaders, by his people, by his family, with sadness and disappointment. His anger had led him to turn his back on his own kind. Let them live without honour. He would not. He would never lie to his men, to his comrades in arms, never betray them, as he had been betrayed. In his mind, Pete had not lowered the Colours. He had furled them carefully, and lovingly put them away until a better time. Let others raise the white flag - he would not. He had left his home, his family, his people, his country, leaving behind all he had loved and held dear - save one thing. He had brought to Canada something only he could lose - his honour.
The concept of honour, so deeply ingrained in him, caused Pete great inner turmoil. The mission he was about to embark on, which he had, admittedly, volunteered for, contrasted in every way his teachings and his beliefs, forcing Pete to swallow his contempt for a dishonourable enemy and hide his true feelings. For Pete, a man who loathed liars and lying, was himself reduced to lying and treachery. His justifiable pride in his abilities to wage war was replaced by a feeling of self-loathing, for he knew that in order to do what needed to be done, he would - no, he must - lower himself to into a cesspool, debase himself, and find in himself the skills of what a true man of honour should not have, the ability to lie and deceive without remorse and with no thought save the consequences of the lying and the deceit.
For Pete, who knew his enemy, sleeping with the doctor was necessary. If there were another way, neither he nor Michael, nor the Major, could see it. Daniel Bradley-Smith was a spy, sent to gather information. The information that Daniel Bradley-Smith gathered, and passed on, would enable a ruthless and determined enemy to attack Pete's protection forces, to murder Michael Chan, and all who were with him. The reasons for the doctor's treachery did not matter. What mattered was that this Judas Iscariot must be led to believe what he was told, and report a different "reality" to Diem.
On the battlefield, Pete had been confident in his abilities to defeat the enemy. His training, his conditioning, his experience had always been there to help him. But now . . .
There was no battlefield, no jungle. Pete would be, in all too short a time, required to enter another man's bedroom, and by guile and deceit, convince that man that what he was hearing was the truth and all of Pete's self-doubts rose to haunt him. Could he present all the right nuances of physical movement? Could he find the words, the whispered confidences, to ring true? Did he have the ability to deceive a treacherous traitor?
All Pete's doubts whirled through his brain as the disgust at what he had to do, and his fear of failure, tied his stomach in knots. He could not fail. He could not!
Lost in thought, Pete did not hear Daniel walk onto the terrace, and remained unaware of the doctor's presence until he heard him say, "A beautiful night, isn't it?"
Pete, startled, whirled. Daniel held up both hands. "Whoa! I'm friendly!" he declared, flashing his brightest smile.
Pete's alertness deflated as he swallowed his pride. "Sorry, old habits die hard," he said, apologizing.
Laughing what he thought was a tinkling laugh Daniel rolled his eyes. "I'm lucky you don't have a gun!" He patted his chest theatrically. "Why, you might have shot me!"
In the bushes at the far end of the terrace, The Phantom stifled a silent gag.
"As it happens, I am armed," replied Pete. He opened his suit jacket to reveal a leather holster from which the grip of a sidearm poked.
Moving closer to Pete, Daniel pretended surprise. "A Browning?"
Pete nodded. "I prefer it. Some of the other guys prefer different weapons." He patted the holstered weapon. "I brought this home from Vietnam."
Daniel, who had seen the black clad guards patrolling the perimeters of the estate, assumed, rightly, that "the other guys" were the protection officers. A small bit of information that Diem would be interested in. He decided to delve a little deeper. "Vietnam? You were there?"
"Yes," replied Peter simply. Then, almost as if it were an inconsequential afterthought, he added, "All of the American officers were as well. The Brits are ex-service as well."
"Hmm," Daniel thought, "a little more firepower than Diem knows." He smiled winningly and said aloud, "But you're home now, and the war is over."
Pete's face darkened. "Yes, the war is over, and I can never go home again."
"Touched a nerve," thought Daniel. He wondered why it was Pete could not go home - he surmised, from Pete's comments about Vietnam and Americans, that Pete was American born. He knew Vietnam Vets were virtual pariahs in the States. Not really all that interested in Pete's troubles, and thinking, "Life's a bitch - and then you die", Daniel reached out and gave Pete's shoulder a sympathetic pat. Still, he said, "Times change, people change, they always do."
Pete detected the note of insincerity in the doctor's voice. "Yes, they do," he agreed, resisting the urge to shrug away the doctor's hand.
Before either man could say anything more the music changed and once more a raucous, rhythmic thumping filled the air. "I don't know where they get the energy," marvelled Pete. "They just seem to want to keep going and going!"
"Ah, the resilience of youth!" replied the doctor, who was not really that much older than the oldest of the young knights.
At that point Harry intervened, giving Pete the opportunity he needed to fill the doctor's head with lies and Daniel the opening he needed to begin what he thought was the seduction of Pete.
Harry was no fan of modern music. He considered himself a competent bandsman, and while he was prepared to make allowances, he was not prepared to jump about like a rabbit on steroids, pretending that two chords and six thumps on an electric guitar was music. He dismissed every one of the loud, punk rock, shock rock bands as little more than noisemakers!
Harry rounded on poor Fred, thumped Nate on the top of the head, and those closest to the turntable dodged records as Harry searched for something decent to dance to. He found something he liked, handed the LP to Fred and snarled, "If you don't want to stage a re-enactment of the Battle of Lake Erie you'll play this!"
Almost immediately Ella Fitzgerald's low, sultry voice filled the room, singing "Blue Moon".
On the terrace, Daniel watched as Pete's face grew pale. Fearing the onset of a sudden illness, and the end of his plans for the evening, Daniel asked, "Are you all right? You're not ill, are you?"
Pete raised a shaking hand wiped his forehead. "That song," he whispered.
"What? 'Blue Moon'?"
"Yes. It . . . it brings back memories."
"Memories?" the doctor asked himself. Perhaps Pete's psychological troubles were deeper than they appeared. "Um, bad ones?" Daniel asked.
Humming a few bars of the song, and seeing an opening, Pete smiled wistfully. "Pleasant, actually."
"Really?"
"Yes." Pete sniggered. "Believe it or not, I actually slow-danced to that song for the first time."
"It's a very nice song to dance to," agreed Daniel. "I've danced to it."
Pete feigned embarrassment. "Um, well, never mind."
"No," wheedled Daniel. He reached out and gently rubbed the lapel of Pete's suit jacket. "Tell me."
Looking away, and smiling to himself Pete offered, "You didn't dance with a man."
"A man?" asked Daniel, surprised. "You slow danced with a man?"
Pointing, Pete said, "The party in there reminds me of the last party I attended in Vietnam, and the night I slow danced with a man."
"Oh?"
"There was a Christmas Party," said Pete nostalgically. "Christmas, 1974. The Marine Guard at the Embassy got hold of some booze and food and had a party. They invited some girls in, not many, and . . . well, I was standing outside, by the embassy pool. Maybe it was the loneliness, maybe the booze, but one of the guards, a buddy of mine, came out and before I knew it, we were dancing."
"Well there's nothing wrong with that!" exclaimed Daniel. He had not removed his hand from Pete's jacket, and Pete hand not pushed it away. A good sign!
"In itself, yes," said Pete, this time blushing with real embarrassment. "It's, um, it's what happened after we danced," he blurted, truthfully.
Daniel's eyes widened. Could he be that lucky? "You mean you, um . . ." he began tentatively.
Pete laughed quietly. "Let's just say that I spent the night with him."
"You don't sound disappointed," said Daniel pointedly.
"I wasn't, and I'm not," responded Pete. He did not elaborate.
Daniel's mind began to work feverously. So, Pete had been with a man, and had obviously enjoyed the experience. Could it be . . .? "So, you don't mind a bit of deja vu?" he asked coquettishly.
Pete knew what Daniel was hinting at and decided to play along. He laughed huskily. "May I tell you a secret?"
"Of course."
Pete leaned forward and whispered, again truthfully, "It was the best sex I ever had!"
Starting, Daniel stared at Pete. "You mean, um, you and he, you . . ."
Nodding, Pete confirmed Daniel's unasked question. Then he said, "Come on, you're a professed knight," he said, hopefully sounding secretive. "You know the score. You're in the Navy. Guys like us, we have to be careful." He shrugged. "When opportunity comes along, you don't kick it in the nuts now, do you?"
Daniel tried to look sad. "Sometimes, it is very lonely," he lied. He moved in for what he thought was the kill. "It must have been very lonely, in Vietnam I mean."
"Sometimes," agreed Pete, noncommittally. "For some."
"For your, um, friend?"
Pete laughed quietly. "Him? No, not really. He spent his entire tour at the Embassy. He never fired a shot in anger." He seemed to look angry. "I think we were just too drunk . . ." He let his voice trail off.
Daniel sniffed inwardly. How many times had he heard that excuse? Pete liked a little man on the side, and there was no denying it. "It happens," murmured Daniel, trying to sound disinterested.
"Yes. Still, it was . . . pleasant."
Taking Pete's words as a cue, Daniel leaned seductively against the railing. Pete thought that the doctor looked like Bette Davis in one of her baser roles. In the shadows The Phantom bit his fist to successfully stifle his giggles, thinking that if the doctor were wearing a dress he would look exactly like one of the "girls" that strolled along the streets of Gastown or hung out at Hastings and Main!
" . . . And there is nothing wrong with two men, in a similar situation, enjoying each other's company," Daniel was saying when Pete returned to listening to him. "It's quite normal." Daniel pretended to impart a confidence. "Why, even I've done it!"
All but choking to contain his laughter, Pete managed, "You have?"
As Pete watched, Daniel allowed what he hoped was a dreamy look come into his eyes. "Oh, yes. Quite, um nice, given the situation."
Deliberately, Pete moved closer, to the doctor. "Um, you and another guy?" feigning surprise at the doctor's admission, his words inferring disbelief that Daniel would do such a thing.
Daniel lowered his eyes, and said, "A long time ago. One does get so lonely, doesn't one?" Before Pete could answer Daniel then reached out and ran his fingers down Pete's face. He cocked his head, listening to Ella's singing. "The song is beautiful, don't you think. And so apropos to the situation."
Nodding dumbly, Pete replied. "Yes. And it does bring back memories," he whispered. He looked directly into Daniel's eyes. "Very pleasant memories."
Daniel did not reply. He slowly rose from his leaning position and took Pete in his arms. "Shall we . . . would you care to . . . dance?"
Nodding, Pete steeled himself, and the two men began to dance, slowly, closely. Daniel, smiling rapturously, began to sing in a tenuous, quavering tenor, in company with Ella Fitzgerald:
"Blue moon,
You saw me standing alone,
Without a dream in my heart,
Without a love of my own."
They dance in a small circle, giving into each other's eyes. Daniel slowly began to move his hand downward as he continued to sing:
"Blue moon,
You knew just what I was there for,
You heard me saying a prayer for,
Somebody I really could care for."
Daniel's hand found Pete's crotch and he gently rubbed the back of his hand against the hidden treasure he knew was there. As the tempo sped up lightly, and Pete did not resist, Daniel's hand began to squeeze gently as he crooned:
"And then there suddenly appeared before me,
The only one my arms will ever hold,
I heard somebody whisper 'Please adore me',
And when I looked
The moon had turned to gold."
Under Daniel's hands, Pete's manhood grew hard and firm. Daniel felt the man's hardness and thought that while it was not the largest "treasure" in town, it was more than adequate. His eyes sparkled with lust as he continued:
"Blue moon,
Now I'm no longer alone,
Without out a dream in my heart,
Without a love of my own."
The music stopped and Pete, breathing heavily, forced himself to look in Daniel's face. Daniel took this as a very good sign and whispered, "Please adore me."
Swallowing, Pete nodded, and whispered. "Not here!" He looked around, his eyes wide, hoping that Daniel took his actions for a real fear of being discovered. "Not here," Pete repeated.
Daniel understood. As the officer in charge of the Security Force Pete did not want anyone to know of what Daniel hoped was a secret passion. Nodding, and giving Pete's genitals a final squeeze, Daniel whispered, "My room?"
Pete appeared to hesitate, and then nodded. "We have to be careful." He cast an apparent anxious glance into the Garden Room. "I don't want . . ."
Daniel knew exactly what Pete did not want. "I'll slip away now," he said softly. "You know where my room is?"
"Uh, yeah. I'll wait a bit. I have to talk to Ned about something, and then I'll come up," returned Pete, maintaining his facade of nervousness. "About a half hour?"
Daniel drew away slowly. "That will be wonderful," he said. "I'll be waiting."
As Daniel tittupped across the terrace and into the house, Pete took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and shook one free. His hands were shaking, his nerves taut springs as the realization of what he was about to do sunk in. Just as he was about to raise the lighter The Phantom stepped from the shadows.
"Might I have one of those?" he asked.
Pete wheeled, startled, the flame from the lighter revealing his anger and his shame. He saw the slim youth standing a few yards away, his face calm, and his green eyes clear. "You . . . you heard?" Pete managed after a long pause.
Taking the lighter from Pete's hands, The Phantom carefully lit the cigarette dangling from Pete's lips. "I heard," he said softly. He reached for the pack of cigarettes in Pete's hand, took it, and examined the label. Frowning, The Phantom took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a perfect ring of tobacco smoke. "I prefer 'Export A'," he said nonchalantly, as if listening to two men planning a tryst were a normal, everyday event. "But 'Marlboros' will do."
They smoked in silence for a while, listening to the raucous music - apparently Harry had managed to gain control of the turntable and someone, male, was wailing about losing his pickup and his girl, and the bridge was out and the river rising. Harry adored Country and Western, and The Phantom shuddered.
"Please, don't say anything," Pete asked abruptly through tight lips. "It's none of your business," he finished harshly.
The Phantom understood the strain Pete was labouring under and was not offended by the man's curtness. "In a way, yes," he replied calmly. "In another, what you are about to do is a service to the Order."
"The Order?" spat Pete. "I am doing a service for Michael Chan! I am not a part of your damned Order! I never will be!"
Shaking his head, The Phantom placed a tentative hand on Pete's arm. "Ah, but they are one and the same. The Order is Michael Chan, and Michael Chan is the Order." He withdrew a bit and regarded the cigarette he held reflectively. He stared at the ruby red end, and then turned to Pete.
"You are a part of the Order, Pete, whether you want to be or not." The Phantom's eyes seemed to glow with light. "You are telling yourself that what you are about to do is a necessary thing - you don't want to do it, but you must. There is no other way, is there?"
"No." Pete's voice was low, and filled with pain.
Carefully The Phantom fieldstripped the cigarette he had been smoking. "When it is finished, I will be waiting. We will be waiting." He turned abruptly and was about to open the door into the garden room when Pete's anguished voice stopped him.
"Wait!"
The Phantom turned. "You must decide, in your own mind, Pete, that what you are doing is right."
In two quick steps Pete was beside The Phantom. Not thinking he grabbed The Phantom's injured hand. The Phantom winced, but said nothing.
"You don't know what I must do!" Pete whispered. "You're just a snot-nosed kid!"
The Phantom looked into Pete's blazing eyes. Gently he extricated his hand from Pete's. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward and his lips touched Pete's.
His eyes wide, not knowing what he was doing, Pete returned the kiss and then withdrew. He could not speak, his senses overwhelmed.
"You are my brother, Peter Sheppard," murmured The Phantom as his hand caressed Pete's flaming cheek. "When what you are about to do is finished, we will be waiting."
The Phantom turned and went into the house, leaving a surprised, confused, Pete standing there in the darkness.
As he raised his hand to touch the place . . . to feel again the warmth of The Phantom's touch, Pete saw The Phantom stop beside the drinks table, turn, and return Pete's gaze.
Somehow, Pete realised, turning away from the light, the laughter, and the music, somehow he had made it easier. Somehow The Phantom knew exactly how Pete felt and as Pete walked into the darkness he knew that no matter what happened, The Phantom would understand and suddenly his nervousness was gone . . . and the shame.