Lord of the Boys
by Foster I. Pines
fosteripines@gmail.com
*Feedback is much appreciated, along with your thoughts on where this story should go.
*I have published a book, "A Boy's Own Island", available on Amazon if you are interested.
*Please consider donating to the Nifty archive.
Part 3
"You can Google this stuff?" Liam said.
"Yeah," Sam said. He was in a fit of typing and clicking on his laptop.
"And it's just...there?"
"Are you one-hundred years old or something? Yes! I mean, it's not all...there, but, you know, there's, like, enough."
Liam's heartbeat still thumped after his confrontation with Christian Waller in the empty locker room. He had run back to his dorm room to find Sam. He had considered what, if anything, he should tell Sam, but his excitement overtook him and he had spilled it all: the shouting, the bracelet, the other bracelet, the cryptic threats, Christian's rage at seeing the mark on his wrist. It was the mark on his wrist that Sam had wanted to talk about.
"The numbers. Three-three-three. It's the Order of Ives." Sam spoke with a finality that confused Liam even further.
"The Order of Knives?"
"Ives. The Order of Ives."
"The Order of Ives," Liam said slowly. The words meant nothing to him.
Sam read Liam's expression intently and was dumbstruck by his ignorance. "Are you serious?"
"What?"
"You don't know what it is, do you?"
"The Order of Ives?"
"Yes, the Order of Ives. What is it?" Sam turned in his chair to face Liam.
"Well...it's...uh...it's a kind of order that..."
Sam shook his head. "Pathetic." He held out his hand. "Give it to me."
"Give what to you?" Liam subtly hid behind his back the red speedo that Christian had hurled back at him in the gym.
"Your gay card! This is inexcusable!"
Liam had never seen Sam so animated, or so familiar with him. He couldn't help but smile at Sam's exaggerated exasperation. He wanted to keep playing dumb, to see how much energy he could draw from Sam, to see how bright his face might become. But he also wanted some answers.
"Sam, please, help me out!" he jokingly pleaded.
"OK, OK. Look." Sam directed Liam's eyes to his computer as he spoke. The headline of the page he had drawn up was clear enough: "The Order of Ives: Oldest Gay Collegiate Secret Society."
"A gay secret society?" Liam furrowed his brow.
"Oh my God, you're tragic. You do realize that some gays only enroll here to have a chance at joining the Order, right? Like, that's the only reason they come here."
"To join the society?"
"Yes!" Sam exclaimed.
"Are any of those gays in this room?"
Sam grew quiet and blushed. He paused before he spoke again. "I'd never be chosen. They pick...they pick...people like you."
"Midwesterners?" Liam teased.
Sam begrudgingly smiled. "No, you know...people with your...you know...situation." He waved his hand in a circle in Liam's direction.
Liam's smile was sly. "Hm. I have a nice situation?"
"Perhaps."
"Wonderful."
Sam huffed. "You're unbearable."
"And you," Liam said as he leaned down and placed his hands on Sam's shoulders, "you have a very nice situation yourself."
Before any tension could rise Sam shook his shoulders free of Liam's grips. "Shut up!"
Liam changed tracks. "Well, what does a gay secret society do anyway?"
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Gay stuff?" Liam asked jokingly.
"Yes. They do gay stuff."
"Probably jerk-off stuff, huh?"
"You're the worst."
"Lots of jerk-off stuff, I bet. Loads of it."
Sam groaned.
"Did you see what I did there?" Liam elbowed Sam. "`Loads' of it?"
"Kill me now."
Liam finally broke and laughed. "OK, so it's a gay secret society. And they put the mark of the beast or whatever this shit is on my wrist. What next?"
"I don't know. You maybe get initiated or whatever. Some of this stuff is online but some of it is..."
"Secret?"
"Jesus. Yes. It's secret."
"How about that?"
A quiet moment passed between them. Their eyes scanned the screen in front of them. Fragments of text stuck with Liam: "fear of exposure", "government officials", "sacred rites", "worldwide brotherhood". The quiet grew quieter still as Sam scrolled down the page and they both saw a sketch of a wrist displaying the familiar numbers: 333. Another fragment: "called beneath the hidden moon". Liam finally broke the heavy silence.
"So do I just go around waving my wrist in the air until somebody drags me into the sex dungeon? Is my new bestie Christian Waller gonna send me a carrier pigeon to invite me to the jerk-off stuff?"
A spark of realization flashed across Sam's eyes. He turned to face Liam in his excitement.
"No," he said solemnly. "You go to the crypt."
Liam cocked his head. "Excuse me? The what now?"
Early evening had forced the heat of the late summer afternoon into retreat. Liam and Sam felt the beginnings of a mercifully cool evening as they wound their way through the lengthening shadows of the headstones in St. Augustine Cemetery. They walked with careful steps; they read with careful eyes. Tombstones, headstones, obelisks, small mausoleums. They studied all their inscriptions as they passed, looking for a sign.
"Be honest," Liam said. "You brought me here to kill me."
"You wish."
"You're gonna choke me out and just roll me in an open grave. I knew it."
"I bet you'd like that."
"Choke me, daddy."
"Shut up." Sam stopped in front a small mausoleum, about four by ten feet, as tall as he was. Simon Clyde, or what was left of him, was to be found inside, rotting away since 1876. Sam moved on.
Liam stopped a moment and scanned the vast graveyard all around him. "There's nothing here that seems big enough to fit more than a handful of people, living people that is. And definitely nothing big enough for a whole society."
"Well, now that depends on how big the society is, doesn't it?" Sam said.
"You know what I mean."
Sam tapped his head. "Think, Einstein."
"Huh?"
"It's probably not above ground. We're looking for a passageway to something, you know...down there." Sam pointed to a headstone at his feet.
"Oh, hell no," Liam protested. "No bones, no mummies."
"Calm down."
"Nope. Nope. Nope."
"Little baby."
"I'm not a baby. I'm just...think about it. Mummies are huge boner killers. Would definitely put a damper on the secret society jerk-off stuff. Definitely."
Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they're into that kinda stuff."
"You're a nasty hoe."
"Just sayin'."
The sun sank behind a massive maple tree at one end of the cemetery. A gentle breeze passed over them.
"Let's finish this tomorrow or something," Liam said. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry."
Liam smiled. Sam knew him well, it seemed. "Sure, but it's dinnerti--"
"There!" Sam blurted out.
Liam whipped his head around and followed Sam's pointing finger towards another small mausoleum. The inscription made things plain enough: no name, no dates, just "333".
Without another word spoken between them, they both stepped up to the mausoleum's metal door, which was framed by two stone columns and a pediment bearing the inscription overhead. They softened their steps, approaching the door silently. Sam placed a hand on the metal handle. He looked to Liam, who nodded silently, and then he pulled.
Nothing. The door was firmly locked. Liam came up beside Sam and began to admire the metalwork of the door. What looked like metal thatch-work from afar was in fact an expanse of interwoven metal snakes. Liam placed an admiring hand on the door and traced along one of the serpentine figures.
A sudden clang sent both Sam and Liam leaping backwards from the door. Liam tripped over a tombstone, barely managing to brace his fall onto the soft grass.
"Look," Sam said, calling Liam to his feet. The clang had come from a hidden keypad above the doorhandle, now exposed beneath the underbelly of one of the snakes.
They leaned over the keypad, side by side.
"Five digits," Liam whispered.
"Any idea?" Sam asked.
Liam slowly began fingering the keypad. Three-three-three-three-three.
Nothing.
"Are you serious?" Sam groaned.
"Worth a shot."
Sam tried a few combinations, to no avail.
"Well, I guess you don't just let yourself in," Sam finally said.
Liam eyed the door carefully. "Guess not."
Sam softly sighed.
"Can we go to dinner now?"
Tendrils of steam rose from Liam's shower stall and spread out across the ceiling of the small communal bathroom. Drops of perspiration accumulated on the flaking, chipped paint of the walls. Liam sang to himself, alone.
Shampoo between his palms, he took time to accomplish more than the usual cursory washing of his sandy blonde hair. He massaged his scalp and felt his low humming reverberate through his chest. The rising steam carried away the last remaining aches of his day-long hangover. His body felt refreshed.
His thoughts, however, threatened to overtake him. Somehow they were only small thoughts, for now. Christian Waller, 333, the Order of Ives, the crypt. In his mind they were still miniatures; they were diversions, intriguing and somewhat entertaining. He closed his eyes and rubbed soap over his face and eyelids. The pressure of his fingers elicited a flash, a phosphene, that pulsed in front of his closed eyes. With it came a sudden remembrance of the glint of Christian's bracelet, and with that the menacing scowl of Christian's face. These small thoughts, he knew, would not stay small for long.
He lathered his smooth chest and tight abs. A nice situation, he smiled to himself. That was how Sam had put it. A nice situation. He indulged himself a moment and flicked at his nipples. He was half-hard in an instant, as usual. He dropped a soapy hand down to his cock and gently stroked.
He conjured up Christian before his mind's eye. Christian Waller the water polo god: pulling himself out of the pool, rivulets of water coursing down his muscular frame between pecs and over abs. His bulge hung low in his speedo as he stepped across the pool deck towards Liam. Liam saw himself from above, back flush against a concrete wall, silently begging for Christian to approach but also terrified of the heavy footsteps stalking towards him.
Liam braced his arm against the wall of the shower and kept pumping at his cock, now hard and swollen.
Christian was upon him. He was pulling down his speedo, his thick cock about to spring forth into view, but Liam could not see because Christian's other hand reached out to him, to his neck, and began to squeeze. Christian's face was a wicked smile; Liam couldn't breathe. He tried to shake the scene and move to a different one: Christian's smooth ass cheeks spreading wide for his cock, Christian drooling and gagging on a mouthful of his cock, Christian groaning as his tight hole received Liam's load. But the scene wouldn't change. He was still against the wall, his panicked face reddening under Christian's gaze, under his choking grip.
A finger appeared to his side and outstretched between his face and Christian's grin. He didn't see but he knew whose it was: Sam's. It grazed his lips, gently tracing along them. He felt Christian's grip lighten.
Bam!
The metal shower door flung open and crashed against the wall. His back to the door, Liam tried to spin about but found himself pressed fast and hard against the shower wall before he could see the intruder. Or rather intruders, he thought. He could feel two pairs of hands manhandling him, mashing his face flush against the wall, pinning his arms behind his back, overpowering him completely.
"What the fuck!" Christian yelled.
"He is a big boy," one of the voices said.
"Shut up!" the other hissed.
"Just saying. Nice big dick."
"Shut up!"
The first voice obeyed; the second voice paused a moment and then brought its lips close to Liam's ear.
"Stay put," it said slowly, with a fierce determination.
"What the fuck!?" Liam spoke in muffled tones, barely able to move his jaw, pressed as it was against the shower wall.
"Stay. Put."
"Huh?"
"Stay OUT of the graveyard. Stay away from things you know nothing about. Got it?!"
Liam couldn't place either of the voices. He reasoned as best he could in the panic of the moment.
"You guys friends of Christian?"
The hand gripping his hair quickly pulled back and pushed forward, slamming Liam's face against the wall.
"Guess so," he mumbled.
"Stay. OUT!"
"So I'm officially uninvited to the party, huh? Too bad because--"
The exited as quickly as they came. Liam saw a flash of two masked faces before the metal shower door was slammed back in his face, sending him slipping and tumbling to the tile floor. He could taste the metallic tang of his nosebleed.
Liam sprang to his feet and ran to the shower door. The two figures had put the length of the hallway between themselves and Liam. A chase was futile. He grabbed recklessly at the bathroom counter and sent the first thing he gripped, a can of shaving gel, sailing down the hallway. It bounced, clanged, and sprayed erratically, and then the hallway fell silent. Liam, stark naked, wiped the blood from his nose and stared down the empty hallway, struggling to catch his breath.
A head popped out of a doorway halfway down the hall.
"What the fuck, man?"
My thoughts exactly, Liam thought.
"Who falls that bad in the shower? That's like my grandma or something."
Liam sat down on his bed, grabbed a tissue, and held it to his nose.
"I dunno. Just kinda happened."
Sam eyed him carefully. "Well, shit. Are you OK?"
Liam held up the bloody tissue. Sam shook his head. Liam rested his jolted head on his bed; his wet hair soaked his pillow. Liam felt the room spinning and realized he'd been hit harder than he realized; it felt like the morning's hangover all over again.
Sam was too excited not to carry on. "Well, listen. I think I have an idea how we can get into the crypt. I think the five-digit code is probably one of these--"
"No." Liam waved his free hand in the air. "No crypt."
"No crypt?"
"No crypt. No graveyard. Forget it."
"Forget it?" Sam was crushed, but he hid it as best he could from Liam.
"If the Ives Order or whatever wants me, they can come find me. I'm not gonna go and open graves and shit to find them."
Sam said nothing.
"OK?" Liam asked.
"OK," Sam answered.
Silence fell over them for a moment. Liam didn't know why he lied about the shower. Was it fear, he asked himself? Not really. Did he trust Sam? Of course. But yet something inside him told him to hold back, so he did.
"It didn't come off, huh?" Sam said softly.
"Huh?"
"The numbers...on your wrist." Sam pointed to the "333" on Liam's wrist.
"Oh," Liam said, lifting the bloody tissues to get a better look at the mark. All his scrubbing in the shower had smudged it only imperceptibly. "It'll come off," he said assuredly.
Sam sighed.
Liam rolled in bed, facing away from Sam towards the wall. He furtively pulled the pair of red speedos out from a between his mattress and the wall. He felt the smooth fabric between his rubbing fingers. He rolled the fabric between his fingers until he came to the part he was looking for, the crotch of the suit, where the smooth fabric was suddenly irregular and bumpy.
Sam turned out his desk lamp and put on his headphones. "Get some rest, man. That was a fucked up day."
Liam felt along the crotch of the speedo. He had felt it before, the red threads embroidered onto the red speedo, nearly impossible to see but noticeable with a careful touch. He fingered the threads and read their message to himself: eight, two, six, eight, two.
He pictured the door to the crypt with its tangle of metal snakes. He remembered the keypad. Five digits, he said to himself.
Sam was right. It had been a fucked up day, but it wasn't over yet.
by Foster I. Pines
fosteripines@gmail.com
*Feedback is much appreciated, along with your thoughts on where this story should go.
*I have published a book, "A Boy's Own Island", available on Amazon if you are interested.
*Please consider donating to the Nifty archive.