NOTE: This is a work of fiction, as you will eventually find out. If it is against the laws of your state, region, or province to be reading such material, please take your leave. All characters are fictional unless stated otherwise; any resemblences to real people or persons are totally coinciental. Otherwise, welcome!
WARNING: This story will eventually (most probably) lead to underage sex of young gay males. If this offends you, how in the hell did you get here? If you're a parent sneaking a peek at your kid's website history, this IS a good story, but I'm sure nothing you'd be interested in.
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I can hardly write without any feedback. Please, even if you thought it was absolutely terrible, write to me at atheugoreistories@gmail.com. This isn't my first story, but it IS the first one I've submitted to Nifty. All spealling airrors are myne. So...enjoy!
� Atheugorei, 2016
CHAPTER ONE "Strange Undercurrents"
In which we meet Cayton Abarron -- something strange is found -- we meet Ollie Holbrook -- a frightening flashback
FALL 2001
The storm had caught Holly Abarron by surprise as she inched down I-90, although it really shouldn't have. She had been hearing practically all night about the oncoming storm; but that had been background noise from the nearly muted television. Hank's apartment neighbors liked their peace and quiet, and he humored them just for the fact that he wasn't even there enough to annoy them by turning it on.
And, anyway, it's not like Holly would've paid rapt attention to the television in Hank's presence, no matter how loud or soft it was. Hank was gone so often -- and 'home' so little -- that any spare time they had with each other they liberally took -- even if it were mere minutes. Fortunately, though, Hank had the next day off, so Holly was spending her time with her lover pleasuring him to the nth degree. When the screeching weather alert notification managed to breech the lowered volume of the television screen (nearly ruining the mood), Hank had insisted that they quicken their aerobic activities so that he could send her off before the worst of the storm encroached upon their region.
Despite Hank's well construed intentions, they took quite a while to 'finish up,' and consequently made Holly the target for this particular bad thunderstorm. Craning her neck to look out the blurry windshield, all she saw were ominous clouds and torrential rain. The flash of lightening briefly lit up the roadway, and she noticed that she was currently the only person on the interstate. She fiddled with her radio dial, mildly panicked, and found nothing but static.
Sighing to herself, she sent up a quick and distracted prayer, and turned off the radio. The rain was coming down even harder now (if that were even possible), and she seemed to be going even slower than she had before. She was quick to realize, quite suddenly, that there was no way that she was going to reach her destination in the severe weather, so she meekly resigned her pride, at least for a few seconds, and pulled the '92 Honda Civic slowly to the shoulder of the road.
Greg C. Brine was already having a crappy day when he got the call around 8 AM to come drive down to a random section on I-90. Being the County Sheriff, he normally heard about these auto deaths second-hand; after the fact. But his deputy seemed adament that he come and see what had transpired, so he begrudgingly pulled on his tan overcoat and made his way over.
When he pulled up, he noticed that the section of the interstate was cordoned off. Official yellow police tape surrounded an older-style car and people were busy talking pictures and cataloguing evidence. Disgruntled, he climbed out of his police cruiser and swaggered his way up to his deputy, and man that was nearly bigger than him, in a beefy sort of way.
Brine took a cigarette out of his newly-bought packet of Marlboros, put it to his lips, and spent a few irritating seconds in an effort to light it. His deputy, a dark-faced, brooding sort of man (even more so than Brine) grunted in obvious distain for the product, but waited for the sherrif to speak nonetheless.
"So, why'd you call me down here?" Brine took a long drag on his personal choice of death, and looked at Marty expectantly. Marty held to himself nearly at all times, so he was always a bit stiff in his mannerisms; this was no different. Marty stared at Brine until nearly half his damned cigarette was gone before he decided to open his mouth to answer. It used to drive Brine nuts, but he was used to the pauses now.
"A woman, in her mid-30's, was found last night, dead about 40 feet away from her car. The passenger door was open, and she seems to have died of natural causes."
Brine grunted in retort. "That's it? That's what you made me drive all the way out here, for, Marty? So what? She's dead."
Marty scowled, and shook his head. Glancing, almost wearily back to the car, he continued. "You haven't heard everything yet. We searched her person, and we found some interesting things. For example, her Social Security car seems to have been issued in 1937."
Brine's head snapped up at that one. "What?" He asked, nearly incredulous. Then his face screwed into more a skeptical look. "Eh, probably just a clerical error."
But Marty was already shaking his head in the negative. "We checked, and it's legit. That's not even everything, though." Marty walked alongside Brine as he slowly approached the abandoned car. "From the looks of her person, she looks 30. But check this out." He led Brine over to a white, plastic table that had bagged and numbered evidence on it. Carefully putting on a latex glove, he opened the plastic bag with what seemed to be a wallet in it. He opened the bag, extracted the wallet, and opened it up. With a surgical hand, he removed a few bills from said wallet and held them up for Brine to see.
"That's called money, Marty," Brine said, condescendingly, taking a final drag on his cig, and then throwing it to the ground, crushing it with his boot.
"Fuck you, Brine," Marty snarled, wagging the money for emphasis. He held them out to Brine. "No. Look closer. What series date is it?"
Brine finally relented and snatched the bills out of Marty's hand. He raised his aviator glasses to the top of his head, and squinted in order to see the small numbers on the front of the bill. When he noticed them, he sputtered a bit, and then looked at Marty with a shocked expression.
"Why...these are series 1930 bills!"
"Yes," Marty affirmed, looking at Brine. "The U.S. government always takes older bills out of circulation. In fact, these might be worth more than their face value since they're practically new." He snatched the bills back from Brine's hands, and sealed them back in their bag, putting it away. He then motioned for Brine to follow him as he made his way down the slight embankment to the side of the road. There, Brine could easily make out a woman that was face down in the dirt.
"We did some digging," Marty said, approaching the woman, and squatting down next to her; Brine followed suit. Marty looked around for a stick, found one, and continued to use that as his pointing tool. Pointing to her most obvious article of clothing, her business suit, he said, "This business suit manufacturer went out of business in the mid '50s." He shuffled down and pointed to her shoes. "These shoe manufacturers haven't gone out of business, but they've said that this style of shoe hasn't been worn since at least the early '40s." He shuffled back down to her head. Pointing to her hair, he stated, "And just look at the hairstyle; it's certainly not modern. It looks like something straight out of an old sitcom, but what do I know?"
Just then, both of their heads turned in the direction of commotion from the other end of the cordoned area. People were running around and shouting things, and Brine immediately noticed the black FBI vehicles pulling up to the edge of the blocked-off area. Standing with purpose, he scowled, as did his deputy, and they both strode over to the three vans, which were now releasing a stream of admittedly very important-looking people. He noticed a distracted, black haired man, and walked over to him. When the man turned around, Brine read his clear, plastic ID card, which identified him as the leader of this little invasion.
"What's the meaning of this?" Brine asked vehemently, flapping his hands in the direction of the intruding government force. The man, distracted by a pen and a pad of paper, stopped writing and looked up with a confused expression, as if he didn't know that they were encroaching on a 'private' investigation.
Then, the man smiled. "Oh, were here to take over the investigation. That way you all can go home, and forget that all this ever happened. You won't have to worry about a thing." He then promptly looked back down at his legal pad and wrote furiously, as if he were taking notes.
Marty decided to speak up. "Look, bud, we looked over the woman. We know something's screwy here, so spill it. You must know something if you're just gonna waltz in here like this."
The man looked up and gave Marty a severe condescending expression. "And what, pray tell, would you know? That she's dead?"
Marty's scowl deepened. "No...," he said slowly, allowing a slight knowing smile to cross his face. "We do know that everything about his woman is wrong. Her social security card was issued to her before she was born. The bills in her wallet is from a series that has been discontinued for nearly 50 years. Everything from her hairstyle to her business suit point to the fact that something very odd is going on."
By the time that Marty was done with his little diatribe, the condescending attitude of the man had been replaced with a slightly pale face. The man suddenly looked nervous. "Look," he said, looking first at Brine and then at Marty. "I hate to do this, but by the power vested in the United States government, you have no place here anymore. Your investigation has been overwritten by the FBI; it's our jurisdiction now. So you only have the options of going peacefully, or us throwing you out."
Marty looked stoically at the man, with a slight smile. "There's no way that we're going to leave after finding something this momentous. You certainly understand why we'd want to stay, so that's what I think we'll do, right, Brine?" Brine nodded in agreement.
The man looked at both of them with a pitying expression, and sighed, shaking his head. "Why do they always pick the hard way?" He muttered to himself, softly.
PRESENT DAY "Would you like some more tea, grandpa?" Cayton Abarron asked softly, as he entered the living room and stood in front of the television in order to get his grandfather's attention. The old man, now nearly out of his mind, sat and watched TV all day, for the most part. Cayton made sure to make him eat, and lightly clean up after him, but since he had a catheder and an oxygen tank, Cayton was pretty sure there wasn't much more 'living' Kyle Abarron had to do.
When Kyle grunted in the negative, and weakly waved his hand in an effort to will Cayton out of the way, Cayton sighed and picked up the saucer and cup by Kyle's recliner. He then turned and headed to the kitchen, where he put the duo in the dishwasher. Sitting down at the spacious dining room table gave him a bit of reprieve; he took them time to close his eyes slightly...
"Wake up, moron," someone said, shaking Cayton violently on the shoulder. Cayton started awake, slightly disoriented for a few seconds, until his eyes came to rest on a waifish, long-haired ginger boy leaning over him. Ollie Holbrook seemed to fit the epitome of being 'emo', yet had none of the stereotypical qualities. He was a nice, respected, outgoing boy, who just happened to be tall, thin, long haired, and wear black a lot. Ollie was Cayton's best friend since four years ago when he moved into the neighborhood, and he was usually the one to help Cayton when his grandfather needed more than one person to clean up after him.
"Wha...?" Cayton intelligently said, lifting his head up. The train of drool that had landed on the tabletop was severed as Cayton closed his mouth and looked at the puddle of saliva with disdain. He caught Ollie's attention and motioned to the tissue box on the counter. Once he had a tissue, he started to talk as he wiped up his mess.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep for this long," Cayton opined, looking at the clock and noticing that it was nearing 7 o'clock. He looked sharply up to Ollie, who was already way ahead of him.
"Don't worry, your grandpa's been taken care of. I changed his oxygen, and laid him down on the couch." Ollie absentmindedly took Cayton offered used tissue and strode across the kitchen to throw it away.
Cayton let out a held breath. "Thanks so much, Oll. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Ollie waved that notion away, grabbing a chair and sitting next to Cayton. "Nah, you'd do fine. I usually get more in the way than anything, anyway." Cayton smiled.
"So, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here at 7 o'clock at night?" Ollie gave Cayton a mock hurt expression, which quickly disolved into a good natured smile.
"Just came over to check up on you," he said. "Since school's been out for a few weeks, we haven't seen much of you."
Cayton was kind of a loner at school, but he did hang out with people besides Ollie, however begrudgingly. His little gang at school consisted of two other boys and a girl, all of whom were considered outcasts as well. They all had their own way of looking at the world, and Cayton was drawn to that. Even with that going for them, though, Cayton still was weary to spend time around anyone but Ollie. He'd had no friends before Oll had forced his friendship upon him, and he wasn't very good at initiating conversations. He usually didn't go out of his way to spend much time with the rest of the group.
Cayton snorted, bitterly. "Yeah, you know why that is." Cayton's grandfather, Kyle Abarron, was the formerly estranged father of Holly Abarron, who was Cayton's late mother. After her untimely death, her toddler son was sent to live with her dad, who, at the time, was as healthy as a ox and liked to teach the kid 'how to be a real man.' That entailed verbal and physical abuse that lasted into Cayton's teens; in fact, it only stopped after Kyle had had a stroke and consequently couldn't make good use of his body.
It was Ollie who was Cayton's refuge in the last years of the beatings. Cayton remembers that Kyle would get so drunk, sometimes, he'd pass out, and then Cayton would sneak over to Ollie's house just to break down in tears. Ollie always seemed to understand, even if he really didn't, and he was really the only person that could breech Cayton's self-made facade.
Ollie's features softened at that remark. He replied softly, "Yeah, well, you're a better man than I am for taking care of that rat bastard after all those years..."
Cayton's mouth drew into a knowing, thin line. "Yeah, but who else does he have, Oll? It's just me now, to look after him."
Ollie scowled a bit at that comment, and said, "I dunno why you don't just hire someone to take care of him. If he'd done that to me, you know, I would have let him rot."
Grimacing, Cayton allowed Ollie to voice his opinion, knowing full well that Ollie was the only one that was allowed to talk to him in such a manner. "I know, you've said that more than once."
Ollie shook his head, smirking. "You're something else, you know that?"
"I take pride in my work, thank you," Cayton said, his tongue firmly in cheek. Cayton then arose from his seat to start cleaning up the kitchen. Looking sideways at still seated Ollie while he worked, he said, "You gonna stay the night?"
Ollie nodded the affirmative, his long red bangs softly swaying. "Yeah. Mom and dad are at it again." His shoulder slumped defeatedly, as Cayton looked on from wiping down the bar. "They should just get a divorce or something," he whispered.
Cayton knew that Ollie's family was devoutly Catholic, and the option of divorce wasn't really an option at all. Sue and Travis, Ollie's parents, nearly hated one another, but stayed together 'for the kids.' Well, it turned out to add a tragic complication when Ollie's sister, Hannah, committed suicide in their basement two years ago. Although Cayton hadn't seen the note himself, he surely didn't doubt Ollie when he explained that part of the reason why she had killed herself was because of the horrible atmosphere in their household, among other, more pressing situations.
Again, as a testament to their enduring friendship, Cayton had been the one to talk Ollie out of committing suicide himself, afterwards, and stayed up with him all night to make sure he didn't. Ollie was literally on the brink of permanent destruction, but luckily Cayton had been there to pull him back from the edge. Although Ollie was more outgoing than his friend, there were still some parts of him that he didn't let people see very often; he hated to be vulnerable. But Cayton was really the only person that was allowed to, and had, seen him that way.
"Oll? Remember the rule." Ollie nodded, a bit subdued, knowing subconciously that the rule was not to worry about home situations when you were at the others' house, unless it was urgent or pent up. That was insurance which meant that you were at a 'safe haven,' where your home troubles didn't have to be remembered.
Sighing heavily, and now generally in a more sombre mood, Ollie arose from his chair. "I think I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, indicating that he was heading upstairs. Cayton nodded as he opened the dishwasher and started to pull the racks out.
Once Cayton had cleaned up the kitchen and made sure his grandfather was alright on his nightly place on the couch, he turned off the most of the lights save a night light and the television, and headed upstairs. Once he made his way up the stairs, he turned left down the hallway to his room at the very end.
Kyle Abarron was a wealthy man; that's why Cayton lived in such a nice area. Kyle had been a Korean War veteran and and later started his own medical practice, steming from his time in the Medical Corps. Kyle was sort of a miser, and he ended up buying the very house that Cayton lived in after his wife passed away in '01, around the time that his daughter was found dead. Kyle could have easily bought a mansion, yet he knew that he was getting on in years and settled for a 'downgrade.' When Cayton came to live with him, he found the toddler a nuisance, and incorrectly blamed the kid for his daughter's death. Although he practically detested the kid, he found it improper, however ironic it later would seem, to retain the kid from having a nice room and quality material posessions. The only sort of 'love' the man would infrequently offer was to buy Cayton pretty much whatever he asked for. Unfortunately the other half of the equation was to provide frequent, severe beatings.
Cayton entered his room by pushing open the slightly ajar door, and the closing it behind him softly. He was quite proud of his room. In a rare occurance of temporary solidarity, he and his grandfather redid his room together before Kyle's stroke in 2010. Cayton was thirteen, and had asked to make his room more mature and colorful, than the stark, white room Kyle had hastily provided him. He had picked a quite mature color scheme, being just thirteen, which was a diluted, dark red matched with tan and navy highlights. His room was quite large, with 42" television on a wall mount, complete with every gaming system he could get his hands on. His professional-grade Mac desktop computer set upon his busy desk in the corner; most of his walls were covered in some sort of poster or signed piece of memorabilia. His walk-in closet was really only a small square, but it was walk-in nonetheless.
Cayton noticed that Ollie was still in the shower, which was in his private bathroom with the enterance on the right side of the room. Cayton gathered his pijamas and lounged on the bed watching Netflix until he heard Ollie come out of the bathroom.
He looked over at the slightly damp red-head, and grinned. "It's my turn?" He queried cheekily, jumping up and gathering his stuff. When Ollie responded with a vigorous nod, Cayton retorted, dramatically, "Finally! I've been waiting for years!" Ollie giggled and rolled his eyes at his friend's antics.
While Cayton was busy showering, Ollie headed over to the walk-in closet, dropped his towel, and rummaged around inside for his multiple pair of PJs, which were just glorified shorts and a shirt. Because they spent so much time at each others' houses, it would stand to reason that they'd keep at least a few articles of their own clothing there. Ollie frowned when he couldn't find a shirt, and opted to just use one of Cayton's, which was just slightly loose on him. Throwing his selection on, he exited the closet and threw the moist towel in the hamper. He collapsed on the bed just as Cayton opened the door.
"How was the shower?" Ollie asked as Cayton disappeared into the closet. Ollie could hear him rustle around as he straighted things up, and then looked at him expectantly when he emerged, already fully PJ'd up.
"Fine," Cayton laughed, and while getting a running start and launching on the bed next to his friend, they collapsed in a fit of giggles. Eventually, they calmed down and settled next to one another comfortably, as was their MO. Cayton snatched the TV remote from the nightstand and opened Netflix.
"Anything you wanna watch?" Cayton asked, listlessly clicking between images on the screen.
Ollie furrowed his brow. "Not sure. Nothing too scary, you know what happened last time."
Cayton laughed aloud. "Yeah, I do remember what happened last time! You nearly pissed the bed!"
Ollie made a face. "C'mon, dude, you know how I am with scary movies!" But Cayton was laughing too hard to keep a very straight face.
"Dude. It wasn't even scary. I literally predicted what was gonna happen for you, and you still flipped out!"
Smiling belligerantly, Ollie retorted, "Fine, be that way, Boy Perfect. But don't complain when I make us watch another sci-fi flick."
Cayton groaned in mock protest, since he didn't particularly care for sci-fi stuff. "It's all the same!" He would always bemoan.
"Uhg. Fine, we can watch something sci-fi," Cayton said. He continued in a warning tone, "But be it noted that I am so totally having you make breakfast tomorrow morning."
Ollie's celebration was put to an abrupt halt at that information. "Huh? NO! No way, dude! I hate making breakfast!" Ollie pouted.
Knowing that Ollie wouldn't put up that much of a fight, considering the reward of a good sci-fi flick he'd get out of it, Cayton smiled in obvious victory. Of course, they both knew that Cayton would never force Ollie to do something he didn't want to do, and vice versa, so it wasn't really that big of a deal. Still, Ollie didn't have to particularly like it.
Cayton, with a sly smile on his face, clicked on the remote to start the movie, which Ollie was quickly entranced with. They watched with even Cayton slightly enraptured in the plot, and when it was over they decided to go to bed. Cayton turned off the television, and the only light came from the various lighted objects strewn about the room, casting it in a surreal, familiar glow.
Around 3:30 in the morning, an irritating scratching noise could be heard from the space above them, which ended up waking both of them. With the room still dark, Cayton heard Ollie face towards him in bed, and mumble, "What the hell is that noise?"
Still partially asleep, Cayton responded with a groggy and slow, "Not sure. Maybe an animal?"
They both shrugged and turned around to go back to sleep. Not two minutes later, they were awoken again by the same noise. Ollie uncharacteristically growled in frustration. Turning around again, he said to a now irritated Cayton, "I don't think this animal will stop scratching. I bet it's, like, a squirrel or something."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" Cayton said shortly. Ollie ignored his tone.
"Well, it must be in the attic. Can we, like, shoo it away or something?" On cue, it started scratching again with vigor. Then more scratching noises came from other ends of the room.
"Oh, great." Cayton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He let his head fall back against his pillow in resignation. Rolling his eyes in the dark and exhaling sharply, he said, "Yeah, fine, we'll try to see if we can shoo it off." He reached over and turned on the nightstand lamp, illuminating the room in soft, yellow light. They then arose, both shirtless, and Cayton guided Ollie to the oft unused stairs that led to the unfinished attic. He opened the door, turned on the light in the staircase, and then without waiting to see if Ollie was behind him, ascended the staircase.
The creaking of the old, wooden stairs were almost too loud for comfort. They both made their way up cautiously, not knowing if some sort of flying squirrel would make a sudden appearance.
When they reached the top, Cayton found the bare lightswitch, and flipped it on, causing the bulb to flicker on weakly.
"Wow...," was all that Ollie could get out at the sight that lay before him. All of Kyle's war materials and memorabilia were stocked away up here, including his uniform and delapidated rifle. With the squirrel temorarily forgotten about, Ollie strode his way over to Kyle's mound of ancient equipment and oogled at it. "You never told me he had this stuff up here!"
Cayton looked as surprised as Ollie. "I mean, as far as I know, I didn't think he did. He told me that everything was in storage. I haven't been up here in ages, though."
Ollie squatted down and started to rummage through some of Kyle's stuff. Cayton came up behind him, the squatted in a similar fashion beside him.
"I've always been fascinated with army stuff like this," Ollie admitted, picking up a helmet, and turning it over in his hands. He set it down carefully, and looked at Cayton. "I'm not really built to be in the army, but it still fascinates me."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," Cayton chuckled. He looked at the pile of stuff himself, when he did a double take to look at something he nearly overlooked. "What's that?"
Ollie turned to him with a puzzled expression. "What's what?"
"This." Cayton stood, moved a few things out of the way, and then bent down to retrieve a white cardboard box laying, dicarded, in the back. Pulling it out, he brushed the top off with his hand, which sent a plume of dust cascading into the air. After the obligatory coughing fit they both had from it, Cayton looked at Ollie.
"What do you think is in it?"
With a wry smile, Ollie looked at Cayton. Grabbing the box, he turned it around so Cayton could see the side that was facing away from him.
Looking at the label, Cayton read it aloud, softly. "Operation Nightshade. Huh. I don't think my grandpa's ever mentioned this before. It certainly doesn't look familiar." He reached up and opened the top, casting it to the side. Taking a manilla folder from the top, he opened it and then dumped out the contents. Picking up the first piece of paper that he saw, he scanned his eyes over it while Ollie looked on in anticipation.
"Well?"
Cayton furrowed his brow as he read to himself quietly, the only sound in the now quiet attic being his voiced consonants. He continued to read, mildly confused. When he got to he bottom, he looked up to the red-head. "I dunno, a lot of it is mumbo-jumbo. A bunch of stuff is blacked out, too."
"Lemme see that," Ollie snapped, and snatched the paper from Cayton's hands. Ollie quickly read the letterhead and skimmed the body text, but he was already turning pale.
"What?" Cayton asked, oblivious, when he saw Ollie's reaction. Ollie didn't respond, instead clutching the paper tighter and reading even faster down the page.
Finally, Ollie looked up, obviously shaken by something. "This is from the FBI, you idiot!" He exclaimed suddenly. "Didn't you read the letterhead? It says it right there!"
"Whoa, whoa, the FBI? What does the FBI have to do with grandpa?"
Ollie swallowed. "I'm...not sure. But that's not even the biggest thing." Ollie leaned in to let Cayton have a better look. "Look at what it mentions here--" He pointed to a phrase about halfway down he page. "Temporal displacement, Cayton. Temporal. Displacement."
Never the sci-fi nerd as his friend, Cayton struggled to understand. "What...does that mean? Temp...temporal displacement?" Cayton tried out the new word.
Ollie groaned in frustration, shaking the paper in Cayton's face. "It means time travel, Cayton. It's just a fancy term for it."
Cayton's face retorted with a number of emotions. Amusement. Disbelief. Increduality. Fear. Amusement.
"Ha-ha, very funny, Oll," he said, smiling his charming smile. But Ollie wasn't responding in kind; in fact, he looked deathly serious. "Oll?"
"I don't think this is a game, Cayton," Ollie said gravely, digging around in the box for more parapheralia. After Cayton watched him fish out, and read, two more sheets of heavily redacted information, he gave up.
"Oll, it's getting on 5 o'clock. Let's go to bed; we'll figure out what all this is in the morning." But Ollie waved him off, for which Cayton didn't appreciate.
"Go on to bed, I'll be there in a minute," Ollie mumbled, obviously distracted.
Feeling snubbed, Cayton rolled his eyes, and took one last look at his friend. To deaf ears, he retorted with an "alright, but just a few more minutes, kay?" and returned to his room.
When he awoke again at nearly 9 o'clock that morning, he blindly reached over to feel Ollie's side of the bed, expecting a body.
Just cold sheets greeted his downturned palm.
Well, that ends the first chapter! I will always try to put notices and announcements here at the bottom, just so you'll see it.
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Chapter Two should be out in a few weeks. If you would like me to hurry it along, tell me so at atheugoreistories@gmail.com!
NOTICES
Please, remember to keep the victims in Orlando in your thoughts and prayers. We all know the media likes to drop stories and go onto the next shiny thing, but that doesn't mean we have to forget.
Last week (June 23) New York City made Stonewall Inn a city landmark; this is historic, for, as we know, Stonewall was the first major riot of LGBT citizens to galvanize gay rights globally. It is now being perserved to future generations.