CARTER'S SHADOW
Chapter 26 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
Will sat in his office, the leading edge of a headache moving
in as he stared at the endless charts and graphs plotting employee productivity,
or rather the complete lack of it. The quiet din of the call centre was getting
to him. He had a cup of coffee sitting on the edge of his desk that he knew
would help, but it seemed everytime he reached for it someone would interrupt
him; so far he had avoided trying to drink it for the past five minutes, and
for those five minutes he had a little peace.
He looked up at his partition wall, a temporary office for the
most junior of the four call centre managers; they had unfolded a section
of cubicle wall and cordoned off a corner of the call center tucked away from
the rest of the employees where he could work. Unfortunately the lack of a
door, or a solid wall, meant he was fair game for everyone who felt the need
to ask him questions.
He heaved another sigh, scribbling some more notes onto his
clipboard as he stared at a screen trying to focus. Was this what it felt
like to be steaming straight for a burnout? He hoped not, they needed the
money, which meant he had to put up with the long hours.
"Carter!"
Will groaned inwardly as his boss made his way into the office;
the man was only a few years older than Will was, yet he swaggered with the
kind of self-importance that a man developed with a decade's worth of sales
experience. That faint hint of bullshit that always seemed to follow the man
around in his cheap polyester suit and power tie.
Scott was the kind of man most people chose to run and hide
from when they saw him coming. Unfortunately Will was trapped behind his desk,
and short of vaulting the cubicle wall, he wasn't going to get away.
"Scott." Will didn't look up from his facts and figures;
if he continued to look busy maybe Scott would go away.
No such luck; Scott took a seat across from him and took the
clipboard of figures Will was working on and flipped through them, "Is
this the attrition report?"
"No, I'm still putting that together," Will replied,
finally looking across at his boss, realizing how much he truly loathed the
man. There was something about a man that excelled at riding the coattails
of other peoples' successes and took credit for the work of the people under
him. Will reached out and took a sip of his coffee; he might as well since
he was being interrupted anyway.
"I can't stress the importance of that report," Scott
insisted. "We need to start tracking the reasons people are quitting
so that we can develop a strategy to deal with it."
Will felt like saying that the number-one reason people left
the call centre was they hated their boss. But he refrained from saying anything,
and simply nodded along with Scott; the last thing he needed to do was piss
off the man that signed his pay cheques.
"Good," Scott said, rising. "By the way, I'm
switching you to salary."
Will blinked, "Excuse me?"
"I notice you've been clocking a lot of overtime lately,"
Scott nodded to a board that tracked Will's schedule for the past week. "We
can't afford to pay out that much overtime, so by switching you to salary
I won't have to."
Will's grip tightened around his pen. So that meant he would
be expected to work the full twelve-hour days without being paid extra for
it. He bit down hard, clenching his teeth to keep from saying something that
he would regret, and probably result in him being turfed out by security.
He simply nodded his head again.
"Good, then it's settled." Scott sauntered out of
the office, heading for his customary rounds, as Will bent his head, and drew
a ragged breath; that was all he needed, a pay cut, and a massive one at that.
He felt the wave of stress crashing in, rubbing his head with his hands, as
he felt that all too familiar knot begin to sink into his stomach.
* * *
West drew up short. He was staring straight into Brad's eyes
who was blocking his way through the corridor towards his locker, a couple
of the younger Storm clustered around him. And as usual, Jensen was standing
just behind Brad, smiling in anticipation.
"Guys," West nodded, taking a step forward.
Brad barred his way, the former team captain's jaw set angrily
as he squared his shoulders.
West met Brad's cold eyes with a firm look of his own. He wasn't
about to be intimidated by his former friend. It seemed all their history
together had been buried beneath ancient hatreds. Brad was looking for someone
to blame for everything that had happened to him, and instead of blaming himself,
it was easier to blame the 'fag'.
If that was the way it was going to go down, then that was the
way it had to be. West pulled a foot back, readying himself for...
Brad's first swing was lazy, trying to take West by surprise.
He was skipping the formalities of a challenge, bypassing the usual shouting
match. He wasn't after words, he was after blood.
West swept Brad's hands aside with no effort at all, allowing
Brad to carry forward on his own momentum, as West cut his legs out from under
him and propelled Brad to the ground.
Brad sprawled, and came up, furious, as West turned years of
martial arts training to good account. Years had taught him where to set his
feet, and what to look for. Brad came in again, as West demonstrated another
perfect block, his hands pushing Brad's clumsy swings aside with well-timed
arm sweeps. Again Brad sailed to the floor as West turned.
"First thing my mom did after I came out to her was sign
me up for a self-defence class." West relaxed his shoulders and lifted
his hands again, "She figured I'd run into people like you; I just didn't
think it'd actually be you, Brad."
Brad picked himself up off of the floor again; he wasn't hurt,
just humiliated, and his eyes showed the hate he felt as he looked back towards
the others with him. "Don't fucking stand there!" he yelled.
West took a step back, the four of Brad's cronies edging in
on him cautiously as Brad balled up his fists, and West knew that he was in
trouble.
* * *
Blake glanced behind him as he followed Matt into the disused
toilets down in the basement of the school, close to the chem. labs. It was
one of the places where the school's illicit drug deals usually went down
on the lunch hour. But both Matt and Blake were skipping off second period,
and no one would be down there.
Blake looked about the grimy school washroom, as he pushed Matt
into one of the cubicles, pushing the door closed behind him. The cubicle
was cramped, and smelled like bleach, but both of them were oblivious to it
as they came together, kissing.
After a second or so Matt pushed back shaking his head. "No...no
kissing..." he said, screwing up his nose.
Blake stepped back, his eyes sweeping over Matt's face before
nodding and leaning back in to nibble on Matt's neck--he knew the drill. Boys
like Matt wanted the gratification without it getting too gay. Funny having
sex with a guy was less gay than kissing...
* * *
The blow sent West reeling. He couldn't keep up with five guys;
if he didn't stop playing defence and start giving back he would... his head
snapped back again as he tasted blood, his own blood, and he saw a burst of
stars. His even calm collapsed into desperation as he lashed out with his
own fists.
* * *
Will was on his lunch break, sitting behind the wheel of his
Jeep, his forehead resting against it as he let the well of emotions seep
out. All that work, all that hard work and he was left with nothing to show
for it. The only thanks he had gotten was to have his paycheque slashed, and
his overtime taken away from him.
How was he supposed to stay ahead of the bills now? Andrew's
school ate up a large part of their budget; add that to the costs of modern
life... Will was starting to feel like he was drowning, sliding under the
weight of bills.
It wasn't as if he was living in the lap of luxury to begin
with; it was a struggle to strech every single dollar to cover the myriad
of expenses they had. But they had been getting by, dependent on the overtime
Will had been earning. He was trading pieces of his own happiness to provide
for someone else, a sacrifice he did gladly, but how much longer could they
go on?
He sat up a bit and looked over at the squat brick building,
his employees clustered around the doorway smoking, laughing, and being kids.
When did he grow past that? Probably the moment they made him a manager; what
was supposed to be a proud accomplishment now felt like a lead weight dragging
him steadily downwards.
* * *
Matt groaned as Blake expertly traced his tongue down his neck,
tickling his Adam's Apple as those thin hands slid up and under his shirt,
following the contours of his abs, stirring the hairs around his navel.
He panted heavily as he arched his back, pressing his hips against
Blake's as they touched. The sensations drove him wild as he became even more
aroused, pushing Blake back against the far wall of the cubicle, pulling up
Blake's shirt to reveal a thin chest.
Blake's eyes coyly beckoned him on as Matt explored his body,
rough fingers pulling at his milky white skin, tugging at its smooth surface,
pressing him further. Encouraging him onwards....
* * *
West collapsed to a knee, as the boot drove itself into his
ribs; he choked and coughed as he landed against a bank of lockers, trying
to get back to his feet as the back hand propelled him backwards.
He pushed upwards, grabbing onto the first person he could,
both of them crashing back to the ground, tearing and punching each other
frantically. But it wasn't enough; West was dragged back, up and off. Another
blow landed in his stomach as he fell again to his knees.
* * *
Will's hands searched for the phone, discarded as it always
was on the passenger seat beside him; he lifted it and made to punch in a
number. He paused as he stared at its LED screen asking him to hit send, and
he found he couldn't do it.
How did you tell someone you loved that you couldn't afford
to keep a promise? The whole point that he had taken that job in the first
place was to provide for him and Andrew. Give the man he loved a shot at finishing
law school so that at least one of them could attain a dream.
His head sank again, resting on the steering wheel as he let
the phone drop again to the dashboard and clatter away.
* * *
The vibration of the zipper sliding down caused Matt to suck
in his breath in ragged anticipation as Blake skilfully worked him free. It
wasn't love--there was nothing about love involved in it; it was sex, pure
and simple sex. It was two people needing some kind of satisfaction, the thrill
of both of them in a place where they could get caught...
Matt gasped again, Blake's silky hair sliding down over his
exposed skin as he went down touching Matt, tasting him, and drawing that
tongue up again, sliding down...
* * *
He tried to open his eye as he fell back against the lockers;
he needed to see their faces, to understand... to at least...
The heel connecting with his chest caused him to double over
again. He couldn't get back up, every muscle in him screamed out in pain.
But he knew that if he didn't get up and try to get away he would only be
beaten worse.
He tried to find the will to work his legs, drawing on that
reserve of character that kept him defiant. That which ensured he was still
him, no matter how many times they hit him. No matter how much pain he was
in, so long as he was still himself they couldn't beat him...
He stood cradling his arm, his shoulder had separated, he was
sure of it. He swallowed, still tasting the coppery taste of blood, willing
himself to take a shaky step forward.
Brad drove the heel of his palm into his face and West went
over backwards, crashing to the ground a final time.
* * *
The thumping on the window made Will jump as he sat upright
and stared into the face of one of his employees, and he rolled down the window.
"Scott's looking for you," the young guy said, gesturing
towards the doors.
Will turned his head, glancing at the clock. It'd only been
ten minutes. Was he the only employee not permitted a full lunch break? Whatever
Scott needed could it not wait another fifty minutes?
Will nodded mutely at the employee, taking the time to draw
his keys out of the ignition as he drew upon his own inner strength to carry
him forward. He pulled open the Jeep door and climbed down, trudging wearily
back in towards the desk, and the darkness that waited for him there.
* * *
Matt's hands balled, still entwined in Blake's hair as he drew
close, huffing again. He took shallow breaths as he pounded his hips forward
to an inescapable beat. His toes curled as he felt the burning rise within
him.
Blake's head rose and fell as he manipulated Matt closer and
closer, feeling Matt begin to quiver and shake. Driving him onwards to do
more, to go faster...
* * *
West was barely aware; the fists had stopped, a moment stretching
into an eternity as he lay there staring up at the faces leaning over him.
He felt Brad kneel down beside him, Brad's fist grabbing ahold of West's hair
and lifting his head.
West swam in a muddle of pain and waves of dizziness, looking
up into Brad's eyes as he tried to find his voice... trying to find words...
his voice bubbled, but the words wouldn't... couldn't form.
"You just paid for what you took from me," Brad hissed,
hauling back and spitting fully into West's face. "Fag..."
* * *
Will sat down behind his desk, his face betraying no emotion
as he walled it all up inside himself. He moved papers from one side of his
desk to another as he collected his resolve to face Scott, every instinct
in him demanding that he quit. That he simply walk out for the treatment he
was receiving. But he couldn't do that.
He knew his responsibilities and he accepted them. He would
continue to work hard, taking the experience he gained there, and he would
use it to get himself a better job.
A stepping-stone, he lied to himself, to something better.
He saw Scott approaching his office, that same crumpled polyester
suit worn like a mantle around a self-important dictator who felt the need
to make everyone's life pure misery. Ignorant, and unconcerned with other
people.
Will looked at his watch and up at Scott, "You wanted to
see me?"
"I'm putting together employee performance reviews, I need
your master list of staff," Scott said idly.
"It's where it always is," Will gestured across to
the broad yellow binder with the words Master Staff List, written in plain
letters on its spine.
"Good," Scott said, taking it and walking back towards
his own office.
Will leaned back into his chair, wondering at how someone so
dense had ever made it to the manager's office. It just went to show how far
kissing ass could get a person with zero social skills, and no brains.
* * *
Matt pushed back from Blake, pulling up his jeans and fastening
them again, feeling the wave of shame that always came after he realized what
he'd done. He looked down at himself as he tucked in his shirt.
What was wrong with him that all he could do was seize sexual
gratification from the first place he could get it? Why couldn't he get a
girl to do that for him? He liked Blake, Blake was fun, but gay sex hurt like
a bitch...
Every time he thought about that pain, and how much it had hurt
him... his shoulders fell, is that what it felt like for someone he did it
to? What was with these hang-ups, how come they only assailed him after the
fact. Wasn't it supposed to make him feel good?
He was resting on the edge of the sink, watching the water cascading
down from the tap over his hands. He could see Blake in the mirror buttoning
up his shirt and plastering down his hair, watching Matt in concern, as if
he'd seen it all before and knew what was coming next.
Was Matt just going to be another typical guy?
Matt looked down at the water; if he was going to make a decision
about himself, what he wanted, then it would have to be then, before he blew
a good thing.
"I'm not gay," he said looking back at Blake.
"I know," Blake said quietly.
Matt nodded and turned, pushing Blake back into the cubicle,
leaning in to kiss him.
"You're not gay," Blake said mischievously, as he
felt Matt's hands working his belt buckle.
* * *
"Go!" West heard someone cry, then the thumping of
footsteps as he turned his head weakly to watch feet running away from him.
It was like he was watching from a haze, detached yet still
aware. There was no pain where he was; he was beyond pain for the moment.
He knew he was hurt, but he felt nothing.
He heard the other feet running towards him, as he rolled his
head to look at the leather shoes; no student wore shoes like that... they
were too expensive, too dressy for a student. He saw a beige khaki-covered
knee, and a pair of hands on him, gentle, shaking him.
He reached out to grab the white shirt, firmly gripping hold
of it, trying to speak again as he looked up into Coach Highmore's eyes. But
again words didn't come as he slipped into unconsciousness.
