Page 55 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

Alex picked up the gift, wondering if Elliot felt a tinge of remorse for what had happened.

It was wrapped in tasteful navy-blue paper and tied with a big sky-blue bow.

Alex slid his finger under the wrapping and opened it to find a picture he was all too familiar with.

It was a still version of Halo of Fire , featuring Hudson Brink standing in a ring of flames, looking like a burnished Greek god.

“Oh,” he whispered, and suddenly he was back in that flat he’d shared with Neil at university.

“I thought you’d like it as a memento of the night you snared the biggest movie star in the world.” Elliot sat back, looking smug.

“I’m not sure I snared him so much as he speared me,” Alex murmured, gazing at the photo. God, how he hated it. Firstly, because it reminded him of Neil, and now, because it reminded him of Hudson Brink, who was a shitty human being, even if he was hot.

“I know you prefer not to have light boxes in your room, so I dug out this old still version that I keep in my study. I thought how perfect it would be for you. After breakfast, I’ll help you hang it over your bed.”

Alex knew it wasn’t meant as an apology.

Elliot really did think he had enjoyed Hud’s attentions, and he was full of himself for providing him with what he was sure was the perfect gift.

Maybe Chris would have loved it. Elliot always assumed that Alex felt the same way about everything as his dead husband.

Maybe Chris would have been thrilled to be Hud’s plaything at a party.

The encounter with Hud changed their dynamic, opening up a floodgate. Now, Elliot wanted to watch Alex being fucked at all his parties, and sometimes just when mingling over dinner and drinks with his coterie of gay friends, and that became their new normal.

For some reason it turned him on to see Alex being bent over and fucked by another man. As a precaution, Alex made sure to carry lube with him at all times, leaving tubes of the stuff in all his pockets.

“I was thinking,” Elliot said one day over breakfast, while Alex was between his legs delivering his usual morning blow job, “why don’t I take you to an indie show?”

An indie show? Alex looked up at him. What the hell was that? Elliot gave a delighted laugh and directed Alex’s head back down to his cock. “Don’t stop, Chris.”

Alex redoubled his efforts, while Elliot explained, “An indie show is where you can take your beautiful servant and swap him for someone else’s beautiful servant.” Elliot beamed. “Doesn’t that sound exciting? ”

Alex was glad his mouth was full, saving him from having to reply, because it didn’t sound remotely exciting.

It wasn’t. Their first show was in a hotel in St Albans, far away from anyone Elliot knew. He wanted it to feel illicit and forbidden, because that aroused him. He knew he shouldn’t be prostituting Alex, but the idea of swapping him for another boy was too thrilling.

Alex gazed out of the window as they drove there, watching the ever-present black SUAV trailing behind them. He never mentioned it to Elliot, but he must have noticed. Did he know why it was there?

“You’ll enjoy this,” Elliot declared, smiling at Alex as he drove. “I’m aware that I’m much older than you. This will be exciting for a young slut like you. A chance for you to sleep with other men without little old me around, cramping your style. I don’t like to think of you missing out.”

Alex suppressed a smile. Elliot’s self-delusion knew no bounds.

He wasn’t doing this for Alex but for himself.

He was the one who wanted an endless stream of beautiful young men to sleep with.

He’d had Alex many times and he was bored.

He wanted someone new and exciting. Elliot’s leg jiggled up and down as he drove, exuding a fractious, nervy sense of anticipation.

“Did you do stuff like this with Chris?” Alex asked, hoping to jolt Elliot out of his edgy, aroused mood.

His cheek suddenly stung and he put up a hand to where Elliot had slapped him.

“You are Chris,” Elliot snapped.

Alex nursed his cheek, wondering if Elliot even remembered what he’d said the first night he’d arrived. I will never hit you, my darling. So much for that.

Elliot glanced sideways at him, looking embarrassed by his outburst. “I’m sorry, my love. Don’t be angry with me. I just want you to be Chris, that’s all. Is that too much to ask?” He pursed his lips into a huge, exaggerated pout.

Alex wasn’t angry with him. It was hard to ever be angry with Elliot because he was such a child, and a grieving one at that.

He’d slapped Alex because he was having a tantrum.

It was as if he thought that if he called Alex by his dead husband’s name, dressed him in his clothes, and did the kinds of activities they’d once done together, Alex would magically become Chris.

The hotel was small, damp, and ugly. The whole event shrieked of a certain kind of sleazy seediness. The bar area, next to a dismal, decaying ballroom left over from a different age, was where the show was being held.

Alex was given a band with the number twenty-three to attach to his arm and sent off to a room where a number of other indies were hanging around, waiting for it to kick off. This was an exclusively gay event, and only men were present.

After about an hour, during which they were served enough drink to encourage a party atmosphere, the door swung open, and they were called to strut out onto the stage at one end of the ballroom.

The event was packed with men staring intently as the indies were paraded around.

It was all Alex could do not to laugh. This was like one of those old-fashioned beauty pageants but with far more sleaze.

The indies, by and large, were young and attractive, the men watching not so much.

They skewed older, which made sense. Alex wondered how many of the young indies were Quarterlands kids, selling themselves like Solange and Ted, desperate to get out of the slums and live a decent life on dry land.

If this was what it took, they’d do it. Many would view it as better than working all hours in a factory or in construction, and definitely better than a government work camp, where conditions were notoriously squalid.

“Number three,” the compere called. “A lovely young indie whose skills are making his houder dinner and having a very talented mouth. At least, that’s what it says here!

” The compere laughed, reading off a card in his hand.

Number three sashayed happily around the stage, clearly enjoying the catcalls and whistles that came his way.

This was a furtive, underground event, and that seemed to only add to the febrile atmosphere.

As the evening wore on and the drinks flowed freely, the mood of the watching houders turned ugly.

They were openly leering, assessing and discussing which of the young men they wanted.

No money would change hands. This was skirting dangerously close to the edges of the law but just about staying within it.

The houder whose indie received the most votes would have his first pick of the boys on display, and then the one with the second most votes, and so it went on.

It was a cattle market. Alex was only surprised nobody checked his teeth or shoved a finger up his arse.

Soon, it would be his turn. How would Chris behave?

he wondered. It would be easier if he could be someone else as he paraded around that stage.

Chris was a tease who liked showing off his pert bum in tight-fitting trousers.

He’d play the crowd and enjoy every minute of being admired.

That wasn’t Alex, but if the only way to get through this was to play-act being someone else, then so be it.

The boy in front of him grinned and waved as he stepped onto the stage, walked a little way across it, pretended to drop something, then bent over, wiggling his arse at the crowd, who roared their approval.

He stood up, cheeks flushed, winked, and carried on.

Alex knew he couldn’t do that. He didn’t have it in him.

Finally, it was his turn. He played it cool and aloof, his mask firmly in place.

Nobody looking at him would know if he was loving or hating this.

His face was a perfect blank as he walked onto that stage, then paused, turned his head, and slowly let his gaze wander over the watching men, checking them out.

An uneasy murmur went up from the crowd.

This indie was looking at them the way they were looking at him, and they didn’t like it.

Finally, with a cold, hard stare, he turned and stalked off the stage.

He could have kicked himself as he left.

He’d got their attention, when he should have scurried on and off and left no impression at all.

There was an interval while the houders considered their decision, and then they wrote down their first, second, and third choices and put them in sealed envelopes, which were collected and counted up.

While all this was going on, there was some “entertainment” in the form of a couple of male strippers. Elliot pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed Alex excitedly.

“Oh, you were good, Chris,” he exclaimed. “They couldn’t take their eyes off you. Well done.” He planted a smacking great kiss on Alex’s cheek.

The votes were counted and the compere took to the stage again.

“Well, this is unusual. One indie received the top vote from every houder here. Step forward, number twenty-three. ”

Alex felt his cheeks burn and heard Elliot squeal, just like he did when they were having sex. He walked onstage with his houder, and Elliot gushed about how delighted he was.

“Which indie do you choose as your prize?” the compere asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Number fifteen,” Elliot said immediately, choosing a somewhat shy-looking, red-faced boy with a sweet smile.

“Number fifteen’s houder – come and claim your prize, you lucky bastard.”

Fifteen’s houder leapt onto the stage, pulling his indie behind him. His hands went immediately around Alex’s waist, positively salivating at the sight of him. He shoved his indie in Elliot’s direction, then dragged Alex away without another word.

Alex went with the man to the hotel room he’d been allocated for the night. The arrangement was that you stayed overnight and were reunited with your houder in the hotel cafeteria for breakfast the following morning.

Alex’s houder for the night was plain and portly, but beyond demanding vigorous sex for half the night, he made no unusual or unpleasant requests.

When it was all over, and the man was finally sated, Alex lay looking at the wall.

It wasn’t, he supposed, as bad as it had been at Tyler’s, but often he’d felt he had the upper hand there, by virtue of all Tyler’s clients being vetted, the dossiers that had given him an inkling of what lay ahead, and the constant security presence outside his bedroom door.

This, by comparison, was sketchy and dangerous, and he felt more used, like a piece of meat.

“How was it?” Elliot asked eagerly on the drive home the next day. “Did you love it? Wasn’t it fantastic? That boy… his arse alone was worth the entry fee. Oh, it was so good.”

Alex said nothing. He just gazed into the wing mirror at the black SUAV driving along behind them.

Thereafter, Elliot took him to a show every month. Alex learned how to appear boring onstage, but Elliot always dressed him to best effect, and it was impossible to hide his obvious good looks. He always won the contest for Elliot, who therefore always had his pick of the indies on display .

Months passed in a haze of holophotography, wild parties, drugs, and shows. Alex went along with all of it because what else could he do? He hadn’t expected to still be alive after Spain, and yet here he was, somehow living a life of sorts.

One morning, they woke up to a thick fall of snow outside. The sky was dark and ominous, and the nearby lost zone was as grey as iron.

“Let’s do a shoot,” Alex suggested.

“In this? It’s freezing.” Elliot shivered theatrically, despite the fact they were tucked up warm indoors.

“But look at the colours.” Alex pointed at the sky. “Look at how still everything is, waiting for the snow to fall again.”

He could always appeal to Elliot’s artistic side, and soon they were outside, dressed up against the elements, trying to find the right place to film. Alex spotted it – an area where the grey of the lost zone seemed to meet the fullness of the snow-filled clouds.

Elliot was taking forever to set up, and even though he was dressed in a heavy black winter coat, Alex was freezing.

He could hardly complain; this had been his idea, after all.

Usually, living Elliot’s high-octane life meant he rarely had time to think about anything, but all of a sudden, standing here in the snow waiting, he did.

What the hell was he doing? Solange lay dead in a lost zone just like the one behind him.

He’d vowed to bring her killer to justice, but what had he done?

Nothing. He hadn’t even attempted to report Tyler.

It was as if he’d given up on his mission altogether.

What would Ted say? He’d trusted Alex to bring Tyler down.

Or Gideon, who had given him all the skills he needed to pass as the perfect servant until his moment came to act.

He thought about Joe; he’d pursue Tyler as if his life depended on it, if he was in this situation.

But Alex? He felt like Hamlet, endlessly procrastinating, frozen like the scene around him, completely unable to take action.

As he stood there lost in thought, the snow began to fall again, dizzying swirls surrounding him like a shroud.

He was silent, still, completely motionless.

He felt as if he’d been asleep for years, biding his time, waiting for…

what? Was this the life he was settling for, or did he intend to make good on his vow to Solange?

He stared sightlessly in to space, hating himself.

If he’d been sleepwalking for so long, then surely it was time for him to wake up?

At that moment he blinked, startled by that realisation.

“Got it,” Elliot called, and he came to.

“I didn’t realise you’d started,” he murmured.

“You were half asleep, and there was a beautiful stillness to the composition. I got all I needed. Now, let’s go back. It’s freezing.”

Later, when Elliot had run it through all his filters, edited and trimmed it and created a beautiful render, Alex thought it was the most beautiful holopic he’d ever made, but every time he looked at it, he couldn’t help thinking of Solange and his mission to seek justice for her.

He’d been asleep for long enough. It was time to wake up.