Chapter Ten

Mark Dietrich hoped the guy didn’t show up. He had been disillusioned so many times in the past by guys whose pics were, well, overly flattering. And the one on the way didn’t even have a pic.

Mark was suddenly very tired of all the online games and even the games played in the bars, superficial and never what he really wanted. Besides, a sense of weariness washed over him, filling him with a lethargy that bordered on comatose. He wanted nothing more than to just hop into bed, curl up with the latest Stephen King, and let those fantastic nightmares lull him off to sleep. He would awaken the next morning hopeful. Tomorrow he would meet someone who was in it for more than just the sex. That would be the start of a relationship, the first he’d had with a man in his twenty-six years.

Mark went into the bedroom, shooed his two cats, Chloe and Purdy, off the bed, and pulled back the comforter. He kicked off the gray Nike shorts he wore and looked at himself in the mirror over the bed.

Why couldn’t the guys online be honest? So many of them, when they did bother to show up, were disappointments, nothing like their pics or profiles. Didn’t they realize they would be found out as liars as soon as their prospective “date” opened his door?

He guessed they were like salesmen, hoping against hope that once they got in the door, he could be persuaded.

But they never could persuade Mark. More often than not, he tried to muster up an apologetic expression before saying the line that would send them away. “Sorry. I think I’ll take a pass.”

He would have respected them more, he thought, if they had tried to argue. Even if they had called him a jerk. But they were all wimps, and if they didn’t tell him that the situation was “cool,” they would at least walk away, wordless, head hung low in disappointment. Mark knew he was good-looking, everything he claimed online, and coming so close to finding what he was sure they were seeking had to be hard for them. Listen to you! Ever hear of modesty?

But he wasn’t about to sleep with a guy just because he’d bothered to make the trip to his front door. It was the guy’s own fault, anyway, for not being honest.

Mark pulled the covers up around him. He was on page 676 of Insomnia and wanted to get through it. Why did King have to write these long tomes that took him weeks to read? He had three other books waiting, and it seemed the pages just kept coming, no end in sight. But he was too far along in the book to just put it aside.

The buzzer sounded. “Oh shit,” he whispered, throwing back the covers and setting his book on the nightstand. He was tempted to just let it sound a few times, inducing in him a guilty nervous tension, and not answer it. The guy would go away eventually. Where had his horniness disappeared to?

Still, he couldn’t just leave his visitor down there. That was exactly the kind of behavior he abhorred. He slid into his shorts and went to the front hallway, where he pressed the intercom buzzer.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Ray, from online.”

Mark buzzed him in, wondering if this guy would be the blond muscle-boy he promised. Fat chance.

He waited by the front door, thinking the guy would have to be an Adonis for him to do anything tonight. There was no anticipation as he imagined the elevator bringing the guy up, only dread. But hey, get through this and you can crawl back into bed and let sleep overtake you. Another night alone, chalk it up.

A tentative knock.

Mark peered through the peephole and saw nothing. This does not bode well, he thought, imagining the guy stepping back, out of view. If he was everything he said he was, he would not hide from my view. He would step proudly up for inspection, if he had any confidence in his looks.

Oh well, I didn’t really want anything tonight anyway.

Mark swung the door open.

The guy looked like a little elf. In spite of that, Mark was certain he was much older than the twenty-seven years he had said on the phone. Thirty-seven was more like it, and that was giving him some credit.

No sugar tonight, Mark hummed mentally. “Listen, I’m really tired. I think I’ll take a pass. Sorry.”

The guy’s reaction was swift and unlike the responses Mark was used to seeing. Sure, there was a hint of disappointment, but the way his blue eyes came alive told a tale of rage, too dark for him to even consider letting this stranger in.

The guy was scary.

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t have to do anything. Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

Mark shook his head. “Sorry, man, another time, maybe. I just don’t think I’d be much fun.” He started to close the door.

The guy put up his hand to stop Mark from closing the door. Mark was surprised…and a little taken aback. I guess he’s not used to getting an argument. Well, he’ll get more than that from me.

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“No, man, it’s you who’ll be disappointed. Really.” Mark put a hand to his forehead, as if thinking. “Look, why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you later in the week.”

“Sure you will.”

This was the kind of reaction Mark had wished for. A guy with some spunk. Only there was nothing pleasant about this. Mark wished he had just stayed in bed. Why did he always have to be a decent guy? It was a curse he carried around with him.

“Really. I’ve got to go.” And Mark pushed the door closed, listening with relief as the door latched.

He looked through the peephole and could still see the guy out there. He’s probably coming up with a new tack. Well, fuck him.

As soon as Mark had turned away from the door, the knock sounded. He sighed and stared at the door, waiting for the knock to repeat itself. It did. “Go away, man. Enough.”

The guy’s reply came, muffled, through the wood. “Hey, man, it’s cool. I’m sorry if I came on a little strong. Can you just let me in to use the bathroom? I’ll be out in two seconds.”

Mark gnawed at a hangnail, wondering what he should do. Common sense told him to just leave things alone, crawl back into bed, and try to get some sleep. But the part of him that his mother had always prevailed on to have good manners and to be a gentleman also spoke up. And in the end, Mark listened to the voice of his mother. Where was the harm in letting the guy use the bathroom? After all, he had driven all the way down here at Mark’s request. It was the least he could do. “All you need to do is use the bathroom, right?”

“That’s it. I’ll be out in two seconds.”

Mark wearily opened the door, thinking he was stupid for doing so. But how could he be so cruel as to send the guy on his way without even having the decency to let him use the john?

The guy passed him, giving him a look that was more than dirty as he headed into Mark’s apartment. Mark wished again that he had just left him there. “Which way?”

Mark pointed to the hallway on his right and watched as the guy disappeared into the bathroom. It was quiet in there, too quiet, and Mark began to get anxious. He hurried into the bedroom and picked up his book. He knew sleep would be elusive after this encounter. He plopped down on the couch and opened the book. The lines of type failed to line up.

What’s he doing in there?

In moments, his question was answered as the door opened and the guy emerged, naked and grinning.

Oh no, Mark thought, standing, and then his guts constricted as he noticed the guy was holding a knife in his right hand. Jesus Christ, what was this?

Mark backed up, book still in hand. When the guy got close enough, he swung the heavy tome at his head, feeling it connect.

The guy staggered backward, and the surprise was apparent on his face, his mouth in an O and his eyes wide.

“What’s the matter?” Mark asked, panting now, adrenaline pumping in him like a drug.

The guy rushed at Mark again and succeeded in nicking his arm with the knife. A bright crimson spot of blood appeared on Mark’s forearm. Mark raised the heavy book up again and brought it down on the guy’s forearm.

He gasped in pain and dropped the knife. It clattered to the hardwood floor. He looked up at Mark with an expression Mark could only describe as crazed fury.

“Get the fuck out!” Mark screamed, stooping to grab the knife. He had it now and brandished it in his would-be attacker’s face.

Whimpering, the guy rushed to the bathroom to gather up his clothes.

“I oughta cut your fucking guts out right now! What’s wrong with you?” Mark’s voice quivered with rage and terror.

The guy skirted around Mark, his bundle of clothes clutched close to his chest, and ran for the door.

Mark slammed the door behind him, then leaned close. He heard the guy muttering outside, “I’ll get you. I’ll get you, you son of a bitch.”