Page 58 of Exquisite Things

Heaven is hell. The music does feel like it’s inside me, in the worst possible way. Like an alien invader entering my body.

It clangs at my temples. Pierces my heart. Each beat feels like a blade. Sharp and constructed. Created not by humans but

by machines. The bass is too loud, too deep. It makes the whole place shake. The vibration it creates feels like a premonition

of a terrifying future. Mother always said music was our way of communicating with God. This feels more like a conversation

with the devil.

Archie disappears on the dance floor. Rips his shirt off. Kisses a stranger. Then another. A possessed-looking man leans against

one of the speakers, his pupils dilated. He sways his head from side to side so his left ear is against the speaker, then

his right. Left again, then right. I can imagine the way the sound travels from one side of his consciousness to another,

through his analytical left brain, then through his creative right brain.

“We’re overdressed,” Bram says, his eyes on the dance floor, where shirtless men rub up against each other. Bare chests, some

hairy, some smooth, all toned. The smell of sweat and wild abandon. Bram unbuttons the asymmetrical jacket Lily made for him.

Takes it off and tucks it into the waist of his pants. “Come on, join me.”

I’m in a trance. Everyone around me seems so happy to be here.

Smiles on their faces and exhilaration in their eyes.

Arms raised high in the air, like they’re reaching for heaven itself.

I don’t hear what they hear. What I hear is the sound of liberation as industry.

I don’t see a dance floor. I see a factory of uniformity.

I see people celebrating the death of the individuality they fought for.

I tear my jacket off. Not because I want to be one more shirtless object in this mechanized stew of lust. But because I feel

trapped. Claustrophobic. I can’t breathe.

“I need a bathroom,” I say.

“I can’t hear you!” Bram screams into my ear.

I put my lips on his ear and yell. “BATHROOM!”

Bram catches Archie’s eye. He points toward the bathrooms to indicate where we’re headed. Archie heads toward us. Seems to

know instinctively that I’m unwell. He puts an arm around me. Speaks some words I can’t hear.

Bram and Archie each take one of my hands and lead me toward a bathroom. Around us, solitary dancers punch the air with their

fists. A release of aggression. As if they’re fighting an invisible enemy. Archie uses his free arm to push past men sucking

on each other’s lips like they’re trying to inhale each other. Fear, that’s what I hear in the sound of this place. Fear of

what’s to come.

People living like they’re not sure there will be a tomorrow.

Destroying themselves before someone or something else can do it for them.

The music, miraculously, becomes softer as we get close to the bathrooms. We enter one bathroom and find a group of men in

a circle, throwing their heads back wildly as they snort something. God no, not this.

I feel my stomach turn.

Dissonant chords play in my mind.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I croak.

Bram holds me tighter. Archie pushes his way into another bathroom where a handsome man with bulging muscles, wearing nothing

but tight white underwear, washes his hands. “Well, hello, handsome,” the man says to Archie.

“Not right now,” Archie snaps.

Bram leads me to the toilet. Tenderly helps me crouch. I open my mouth and vomit.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’m ruining the fun.”

The muscle clone makes a face of disgust as he looks at me. “Well, that’s unpleasant,” he says coldly.

“You’re unpleasant,” Archie barks.

“Leave us alone,” Bram begs. “He doesn’t feel well.”

Archie pushes the guy back out into the club. He tries to lock the door so we can be alone. But someone pushes it open.

“Occupied!” Archie yells.

The person on the other side doesn’t seem to care. He keeps pushing as Archie keeps pushing back, trying to get the door closed.

“I said it’s occupied,” Archie reiterates.

Bram yells out, “There’s a sick person in here, give us a minute!”

Archie loses the battle. The person on the other side gets the door open. Archie falls to the floor with a thud, his skin

now lying atop the drips of piss that all men seem to leave behind on bathroom floors the world over. Bram strokes my newly

cut hair tenderly. I puke some more, then look over to see an old man lock the door behind him.

He wears leather shoes.

A luxurious overcoat with a fur collar.

A sharp hat on his head that I suddenly realize I’ve seen before...

It’s the man from the limo.

The one who was staring at us.

I knew I sensed something sinister in him.

Something familiar .

Once he’s secured the door, he turns to face me and Bram. Takes off his hat to reveal a balding head, sprigs of limp gray

hair atop it like leftover sprouts in a withered salad. A gaunt face, all skin and bones with eyes haunted by time. He must

be close to ninety years old. He balances himself with a long black cane, his hand on its ornate gold handle.

“If we are to speak accurately, there are three sick people in here.” The old man looks at Archie on the floor. “Unless you’re

sick too. I can’t be sure.”

The old man’s voice sounds like a long-dormant memory. Like a dream I once had, long forgotten.

“I know what my sickness is,” the old man says. “Yours is the one I’m more interested in.”

It’s his smile that brings it all back. Bodies shrink. Skin sags. Hair falls. But the unique shape a smile makes has no age.

“Jack?” I wonder aloud.

“The Jackal,” he corrects me. “It’s been a long time. For me at least.”

I look to Bram. Or perhaps Bram looks to me first. Neither of us can believe it. After all these years, we’ve been found by

someone from our past.

Archie stands up. Confused. Wipes the wetness from his skin with some toilet paper.

“Nice to see you both again.” There’s a diabolical smirk on Jack’s face.

“Bram. Oliver. What’s going on?” Archie asks. “Who is this?”

Jack ignores Archie. Keeps his eyes fixed on us. “Bram?” He thinks. “Like Bram Stoker? Interesting.”

“Archie, go!” Bram yells. “Please, go.”

Archie moves closer to us. “I’m not leaving you alone. Lily would murder me if I didn’t get you home safe.”

Jack looks at Archie now. “Are you like them?” he asks.

“Like what?” Archie asks. Then he wonders aloud, “You mean gay? Is this a... are you the...” Archie’s eyes widen in

horror. “It’s you... You’re the reason gay men are disappearing, aren’t you? You’re the serial killer?”

Jack cackles. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Gay boys are vanishing in London. Where are they?” Archie asks. “What have you done with them?”

“I may be a jackal, but I’m no serial killer.” Jack narrows his gaze at Archie. “They haven’t told you a thing, have they?”

“Told me what?” Archie glances at me and Bram.

“Do you think they’re your friends?” Jack asks.

“They’re more than friends,” Archie snaps. “They’re my family.”

“Jack, enough,” I beg. “This isn’t you.”

Jack looks at me with eyes full of regret. “You’re right. It’s not. I’m not this decrepit person. Inside, I’m still the young

man you once knew and hated—”

“I never hated you,” I lie. Of course I did. Still, I know he’s no serial killer. He does his killing the socially acceptable

way. In boardrooms.

“Of course, I don’t look as lovely as you both still do. Your dewy skin. Your full heads of hair. How magnificent you both

are.”

Bram’s eyes glow with fear. He gives me a nod that tells me to make a run for it. I can hear him without him saying a word. Covertly, he straightens one finger. Then two. I know we’ll run at...

Three.

Bram bolts up from the floor.

I lift myself up from the toilet.

We make a run for the door.

Jack blocks our passage out. Raises his walking cane up. Pushes the tip of its golden handle. A blade pops out from the end

of it. Sharp and threatening. He points it at Archie’s neck. A threat that stops us in our tracks.

“It’s a scary world out there. So much crime. A man can never be too careful. These days.” Jack moves the blade from one side

of Archie’s neck to another. “I wouldn’t move if I were you. One step in the wrong direction and it’s the end for you.”

“I thought you weren’t a killer,” Archie says.

“I’m not whatever serial killer you were referring to,” Jack corrects him. “But to have what these boys have... For that,

I would gladly take your life.”

“Please don’t do this.” Archie’s voice sounds guttural. Desperate. Confused.

“I have no desire to hurt you.” Jack smiles. “In fact, your fate is not in my hands. It’s in theirs . Your family .”

“I’ll scream!” Bram yells.

Jack shrugs. “In this place? Go ahead. No one will hear you.”

“Just put the weapon down,” I beg. “Let Archie go and we’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Jack mulls the offer over. “A fine plan, but in the wrong order. First, you talk, then I put the weapon away and free your

friend.”

“Did you... Did you know we would be here?” Bram asks. “How long have you known?”

Jack’s eyes light up. “You give me more credit than I deserve. I was merely here to look at the eye candy before returning to New York. The cane was a gift from a friend in MI5. One can’t be too careful in London these days, he said.

Thieves everywhere.” Jack’s lips tighten.

The lines on his face look hollow in the harsh light of the bathroom. “You’re thieves too, aren’t you?”

With his free hand, Jack touches Bram’s chest. Runs his hand up and down the goose bumps on his skin.

“Don’t touch him,” I say, pushing Jack’s hand off Bram.

“Thieves of time,” Jack murmurs, almost to himself.

Archie’s frightened eyes find my gaze. “What is he talking—”

Jack cuts Archie off. “I have access to every medicine science has discovered. The best estheticians money can buy. And look

at me.” Jack turns to the mirror. We all find our gaze traveling to his reflection. In the background of the mirror, our faces.