Chapter Eleven -- Knock, Knock

"Who is it?" Sid called, struggling to pull up his jeans. 

"The police," came the muffled answer.

Of course they're gonna say 'the police.' Yeah, like they're gonna say, 'Yes, it's us-- a roving band of axe murders. Please open your door so we may hack you into pieces...' 

While Sid quickly finished fastening his jeans, I jumped up for the door. A peep-hole would be handy, or a window with the right perspective convenient, but since there was neither, I clinked the chain on and braced my body against Sid's door. Legs locked, I opened and cautiously peeked out.

Hmm, it was the police. 

Sid, who stood protectively behind, helped me to relax by rubbing my shoulders as I let the officers in.

"You called in the report?" The skinny dark haired officer asked. 

The other office stood next to him. A goofy looking character, butch hair cut and big ears. A real life Barney Fife-- sticking his thumbs in the band of his holster as he listened. Sid just politely nodded. 

"No vehicles parked on the street within the next few blocks," said Barney. "No black SUVs on the streets. No suspicious looking characters in the neighborhood..." 

I wasn't surprised. All I heard after those words was Andy Griffith whistling his theme song. I needed to stop watching Nick at Night. 

I always wondered how a police officer, like Barney here, identified a 'suspicious looking character.'  What made one person look suspicious and another not? Lurking in the bushes? Wearing dark sun glasses at night? Slinging an semi-automatic rifle?  Yes, these might be indicators. Even more intriguing, could things look suspicious?

Caller: Please send the police to my house immediately... the hide-a-bed... I think it might be concealing something. 

Dispatch: Officer to 121 Maple, resident reports suspicious furniture.

Bang-- I jumped. The officers slammed the door, bringing me back to the light. Sid was bolting the door. 

"Well, that was a waste of time," I said, stepping behind Sid and fitting my chin into the hollow of  his shoulder. I let my index finger trail along the fine hairs on his neck. He shivered. Mmm, our time could have been better spent... "Maybe we should finish what we started." 

Knock, knock at the door again. 

"Who's there?" Sid asked.

"Police!" 

I almost expected Sid to ask back 'Police who?' like this was some bad knock, knock joke from elementary school. 

"Police!" the shout came again for the third time that evening. Funny, it didn't sound like Barney or his partner, but the voice did sound familiar. Before I could stop Sid, the door was ajar. Sure as fuck, it was Shackleton.  Wham-- I threw my body against the door. But Shackleton didn't budge; he allowed the door to slam in his face. This was a game to him-- a laugh to let us know he was still there and watching.

After bolting the door again, Sid turned to me. "I sure fucked that up." What an understatement, but I kept my mouth shut.  

Then Shackleton rapped at the door again.

"He's fucking with us," I swore, throwing the light switch off in the kitchen and rushing into the living room. "Turn off all the lights-- I don't want him to see where we are."

"But... th- then it'd be dark," Sid stuttered.

"Duh, yeah. I don't want him to see us, and I don't want you to become a walking target through the windows, ok?"

"But then we can't see either." Sid hesitated, fumbling with the dining room dimmer switch. 

This was no time for Sid to be afraid of the dark.

"No, shit," I said, turning off the lamp in the living room. 

"I don't like it all dark." Sid stumbled into me. "See... I run into things."

We both tensed as we heard another tap, tap, tap. 

Sid whispered, "Let's go to bed. He can't see in there-- the shades are drawn. And I don't care if it's dark in the bedroom-- it's supposed to be." 

I grabbed Sid's hand with a reassuring squeeze. Alan told me years ago, Sid was afraid of the Boogie Man when he was a kid. Had nightmares for years. That explained his fear of the dark. Hey, and maybe he still was afraid of the Boogie Man. I was, because he was tapping at the front door again.

Hand in hand we inched blindly through the darkness to the bedroom. As soon as we were next to the nightstand, I let go of his hand. Both of us stripped off our clothes in silence, getting ready for bed as quietly as possible. My nerves rattled, and my thoughts clattered. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Shit, this was the first time since all this started that I wasn't lusting after Sid as he stripped down near me. It was dark, but I could make out his silhouette stiffening from Shackleton's constant knocking. Sid was more uptight than me-- if that was possible.

I slipped into bed, and Sid slipped in behind, spooning himself against me. He kissed the fine baby hairs on the back of my neck and squirmed his hips closer. I couldn't hear Shackleton tapping anymore-- I let Sid's heat obliterate everything in my world screwed up and wrong. I just wanted him beside me. He sensed my need, moving his hand around my waist, fondling me. I liked to think he needed me just as much. 

I closed my eyes and kept myself quiet, balling my hands into fists to keep from moaning. I nudged my ass into his cock, and he gently answered with slow deliberate friction. Then I rolled around, facing him.

The electrical charge of his cock brushing against mine sent me searching for Sid's mouth. The second jolt of his hand encircling his cock and mine tight together caused me to clank my teeth into his. Sid pushed me over onto my back. His soft bottom lip brushing my earlobe and whispering, "Some men like this better than ass fucking-- rubbing cocks together until they come."  

Between feeling his cock sliding against mine and his hand skillfully embracing both of our shafts, I couldn't speak. He rubbed both heads together, rolling them in his palm. That, along with his little confessional, sent my heart skipping and my stomach flipping. 

Finally able to speak, I asked him, "What do you like best?" 

I bit back a moan as he answered, "Don't know-- not finished yet."  

Fuck. I felt like I was going to come right then. I groaned in disappointment as he moved his hand out from between us, them moaned in delight as he slipped his right leg between mine and ground his cock against me. Both cocks were slick from sweat and pre-come. I desperately groped my fingers through his sandy hair. I'd always been a bit embarrassed that my cock bent a bit to the left when I was erect, but now this little eccentricity made for a perfect fit, hooking Sid and I together, never breaking the friction. I don't think at that point I would have heard Shackleton if he was smashing down the front door, the blood pounded so hard in my ears. Sid's incredible stomach muscles tensed against me, and his sweet sighs swelled my chest. I kept willing myself to keep from crying out. In futility I finally muffled my cries, burying my mouth against Sid's cheek. I loved the taste of his salty sweat and the smell of our sex. I moaned all the more. 

God. 

He was forced to take my mouth just to silence me, flicking his tongue around in every space in my mouth. His soft lashes flitted gently against my eye lids as his teeth bit my lower lip. We rocked against each other with hard and deliberate thrusts. Slick and wet. This was no quick fuck. We were slowly building a fire. The heat and friction sparked deep inside our souls. Our chests, lips and cocks locked together, igniting. Equals. I shook, and Sid trembled. As I felt myself falling close to the edge, coming, my heart locked with his too-- ready to spontaneously combust. 

And I called out his name, too loudly. But I didn't care. 

After I came, I still rocked against Sid, holding my breath, waiting for his seed to mingle with mine. I became afraid of what I'd do without him. I held him all the tighter. He covered my face with salty kisses as he came. 

We both lay still-- our long soulful kiss broken as we heard the sharp deliberate taps on the bedroom window. 

I closed my eyes and kissed Sid's brow for reassurance. Sickness seeped into my heart, and I struggled to shore it up fast as Sid whispered, "Ignore him." 

I tried. I tried so hard. But my mind couldn't still my heart's worries for Sid.

I hoped Sid didn't know Morse code. But I figured, he must with his analytical mind. As Shackleton tapped his message out a second time, I vainly tried to forget what I heard by pulling Sid close to me. But I couldn't sleep or erase the haunting words: 

Can you save him?

------------------------------

At eight am, I made Sid call ACE Security to install an alarm system and put a peep hole in his frickin' front door. Then I called into work, and explained to Mr. K that I wasn't coming into work today. He didn't ask any questions. 

No way I was leaving Sid alone. Every time I closed my eyes, images of Shackleton at the door last night played out-- only with a much different ending. I was surprised Sid didn't argue with me when I suggested we put the charge on my Visa, forgoing the estimate and just get it put in-- today-- now. Fuck the cost. I can be an impulse buyer, but Sid analyzes every purchase. After last night, he agreed with out one word except to say, he'd pay me back. 

I didn't care.

At 10 o'clock, the security company'd be here. Sid was also supposed to meet a client at noon about updating their web page, and I made him cancel.  I didn't want him out of the house-- not unless he was in a public place. Sid didn't like me telling him what to do, but I told him I didn't give a flying rat's ass. After that psycho-bastard knocking on the window last night, I was afraid. That question terrified me. "Can you save him?" I hoped I'd never needed to answer it. Maybe the message was for Sid, maybe for me, maybe both.  I didn't sleep at all last night thinking about what Shackleton might do to Sid. I don't think Sid got much sleep either.

The security company was right on time. They installed door and window sensors and a glass-break detector, which picks up the thump of window being hit and sound of shattering glass. No more knocking on windows for Mr. Shackleton. 

Of course Sid called Alan and blabbed everything that happened last night. Shit.

Sidney spent the rest of the day on Internet searches for our cast of suspects. He didn't come up with much-- just enough to confirm my suspicion that Glenda and Emma were one and the same person. 

I spent the day playing the guitar. 

I was working on a new song I'd written, when I looked up at Sid and noticed him watching me. I guess playing a D minor diminished, C major, followed by a A minor while singing the words 'Rubber cement' thirty-six times in succession could be irritating to some people. I gave Sid my best grin and said, "I prefer writing music on the piano." 

He looked at me dead pan and said, "I don't think it'd sound any better on the piano." I sorta got pissed off by his comment-- guess I was being a temperamental artist. I missed my studio, my home. I jumped up and went into the kitchen and banged green bean  and Campbell's soup cans around in the cupboard, pretending I was looking for something to eat. 

"Hey, I was just messing with you. Don't have to get all pissy with me."

I opened the fridge and got a Coke. 

"Well, I'm sorry. Guess I've got the jitters. Tonight's the first time since all this happened playing in public-- and the first time with Les. I always get edgy before a gig, but I'm feeling really uneasy about tonight. I don't know if it's safe for you to come."

"You're not leaving me here. No way. Nothing will happen in a crowded barroom. I'm not going to hide like a coward. Besides, we've both safer there than here."

I hated when he was right. 

"I think you're worrying has more to do with this new guy Les. You're worried he's replacing you." 

Now why did Sid have to bring that up? 

"Don't look at me that way," he said. "He can't replace you. The guys in the band love you. Besides, you're better than that Les."

"You didn't hear him last night. He's incredible. But you're right; I was worried about being replaced. Not any more. I'd like a few answers from him though. We need to find out what his Uncle is up to. I think he's going to be there tonight. I don't know if I'll get much of a chance to talk to him, but you can."

"I'll be glad to talk to him."

------------------------------

As we rode to Adam's Den, my hands tapped while I hummed along with Corbain gargling "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on the radio. Every time Sid looked at me in my black leather pants and fish-net shirt…

Twitch.  

I slapped his hand away from my crotch. I don't feel right sauntering into the bar with tight leather jeans and a raging erection. But pulling over to the side of the road for a remedy wasn't an option tonight.

"Ouch. Stop that," Sid said, after I swatted his hand again. "Sorry, you're just so hard to resist. How am I supposed to concentrate on protecting you when you're wearing that?" 

"Protecting me? You're the one who needs protecting. Just stay out of the way if any trouble starts, and I'll be fine." Sid pulled into the back loading dock behind the bar where we were playing. Ted Blandship, one of our sound men, waved at us as he took a drag off his cigarette. 

Adam's Den was a cut above most band bars in the area. Near perfect acoustics with a stage that over-looks the audience. The pay was substantial and timely. Most importantly, the bouncers were real bouncers-- not some drunks paid to bang heads-- any heads. They watched the band like mother bears watch their cubs. And the waitresses never had to worry-- an unwelcome slap on the butt earned the poor slob a spot at the curb outside. And no one ever threw crap at you on stage. The management promoted the top notch atmosphere. I felt better as I walked in. Sid was right; we'd be safer here than at home. It was the ride there and back that worried me most. No pulling off to the side of road for a quickie.

The owners, Bill and Rob Plonski, ran the bar for going on eighteen years. They liked to book bands well in advance. The Bone Yard Bastards and the management had a difference of opinion last Saturday. And the band walked-- leaving no live entertainment. The owners didn't take to disc jockey's on week ends-- flesh and blood bands pulled in crowds with money. That and Bill and Rob both liked our band. We're good, reliable and we could draw a crowd. They knew we were free, so they called us when the other band took a hike. To get a gig here on such short notice was unusual. I don't think the owners would have let the other band walk if we weren't available; they were businessmen after all.

While I helped set up, Sid found a seat with Alan and Lynn up front, saving a seat for me for between sets. All the band was here except our newest member. We were just starting to tune up when he got there, with some lame excuse like he couldn't find the place. I'd been looking out on the floor for his uncle but didn't see him. 

"Is your uncle coming?" I hollered over the amps.

"What?" he yelled back.

"Is Lancaster coming tonight?"

"He can't tonight, but he gonna be here tomorrow." I gave Les the thumbs up. 

"I think we're ready," Ted hollered.

John gave us the nod, "One, two, three," John ripped off a power chord, and we we're off.

During the first couple songs I distractedly watched the floor for Shackleton or Trent's unexpected appearance. I looked over at the table and noticed Sid quietly watching me and scanning the bar-- looking for the same characters-- and Lancaster. I didn't like him watching out for me; I wished he wouldn't. The guys in the band would look out for me; they have for years. We were a family. We watched out for each other.

As I played, I started to relax. We sounded the best we ever have. Les was terrific. I didn't feel intimidated or like I was being replaced. Instead I felt euphoric. I always felt a buzz or rush on stage-- but this was different. We were interconnected. John, Jim, Smith, me and this, Les. The other band members and I have played together, Hell, we grew up together. But this, this was transcending all my expectations for any group. It was Les, that was the key. It wasn't just that he anticipated each hesitation, each movement on the neck of my guitar-- we anticipated each other's. It was uncanny.

When we both sang into the speaker, and it came out magic. And I wasn't the only one noticing. The other band members did-- waitresses weren't waiting on their patrons, instead they stood blocking the isles, watching. And the ones that matter the most, the patrons, heads faced our stage, listening to us not talking to each other.

The crowd hooted and hollered when John said, "This the last song of our first set. So get up out of your seats! We're gonna to play a song that one of our members wrote…" John motioned to me. We all looked at him. John had decided to change the usual order. The reaction from the crowd told us he made the right choice. It was one of those fast, hard, crowd pleasers 'What I Need.'

Don't need dreams, 

Don't need fame.

Don't need you

To feed my pain. 

What I need 

I can't have.

'Cause I can't have

What I need.

By the end of the first verse, the floor was packed. We've never had that many people on the dance floor during a first set song.

When we were done, we got one Hell of an ovation. And we weren't even done for the night. Right then I was so high I didn't think I was ever going to come down.

The whole band pulled up seats to our table, and we had more rounds of beer bought for us than we'd ever drink the whole night. I was slapped on the back so many times on the way to my seat, that I thought I was bruised to the bone. The first thing out of John's mouth when we sat down was, "Les' voice melds with yours-- it's surreal, man!" I smiled, and put my arm around Les, who was smirking. 

I messed his hair. Then lifted my beer up, and cleared my throat, "Here's to Les. And to Failing Upward. May we all Fail and Fall upward." Everyone drank-- except Sid.

"I hope you won't be disappointed," I said as I patted Sid on the knee, "but Les' uncle can't come tonight to see us."

"He said he'd come tomorrow night though," Les added.

"We've never played like this before. I hope we can keep this up for the rest of the night," Smith said.

I looked over at Sid. He caught me looking at him and smiled. "You sound better then you ever have," he said.

John slapped him on the back, "Thank you Sidney Raymond. You must be one Hell of a good fuck to make his guitar hum the way it is." 

Sid grinned into his glass, and my cheeks got hot.

"It's not just me," I said, trying to ignore the comment. "It's all of us. I can't believe how great we sound. Les, you're incredible."

"Where have you been? I don't ever remember seeing you around," Sid said.

"I grew up here. I used to come listen to you play all the time before I went off to college. I played in a band at school. Not a rock band though--  alternative."

"That's cool as long as it's not any of that rap crap," said Jimbo. I noticed that Bill, one of the owners, had come up and was standing behind Alan.

"You're in rare form. Maybe we could extend this arrangement?"

We clanked our bottles together and hooted.

By the end of the second set, we were burning down the house. I even jumped out onto the floor and played (something I never do), and I think John was going to be able to score with over half the women in the bar. I noticed Smith eyeing Les with renewed appreciation. 

Smith got plenty of laughs when he boldly pinched Les' ass. 

We played the usual 'I Want You to Want Me' for the last song of the second set. We liked to do our cover of the song as a solid set ender, its pounding rhythm always gets people pumped. Tonight though, it had a bit more meaning for me. I'd thought all week about this song-- it was one of Sid's favorites that we played. When I began to singing, I looked right at him. He didn't drop his gaze. I got done with the line "I'll get home early for work, if you say that you'll love me" when I heard another voice break in with mine. It was Les. 

I never looked back at Sid again until the last bar of the song. 

Man had I fucked up.

Lynn walked up to me after we quit for break. 

"Wes, I need to talk to you. What the fuck is wrong with you? You'd better stop flirting with that new guitarist.  I thought the two of you were going to start screwing on stage. I know a lot of it is show, but did you have to rub yourself up and down on his leg? Haven't you noticed Sid at all? Look over at him. He's a mess. He's been drinking since you started this last set, and you know he never gets drunk." 

I looked over at the table, and Sid was sitting there, staring into his glass. 

"I think you better go talk to him. Tell him you're sorry," Lynn and I walked up to the table. My passion on stage was over the top and heck, cruel-- but it was for show. Shit, Smith kissed him-- I didn't. Still, I could see how Sid might take it wrong. Probably not a good idea to dry hump his leg. We got near the table, and Sid's doe eyes caught me with such painful intensity that I thought they'd crushed my heart to pulp. I'm such an stupid ass hole. 

That was when the fight started. 

I saw it begin in slow motion-- 

Two guys at the table next with their backs to Sid began yelling intelligent jabs like, 'Fuck you ass hole,' and 'Don't touch my woman.' The bouncers came out of no where, but not before the bigger guy with a 'Do It 'til Ya Die' t-shirt on had the smaller one on the floor pounding him into a bloody mass with his fist. The poor guy on ground pissed his pants-- or else he spilled his beer in a conspicuous place. The big guy picked the little one up off the floor, just as the bouncers grabbed him. The big dude with t-shirt threw a round house punch, missing the poor little schlep and hitting Smith right in the eye. I went over and played mommy-- got Smith ice. Any way, by the time the commotion ended, our final set was ready to begin again. I looked over at Sid. It's a huge cliché, I know, but the show must go on.  He hadn't moved during the brawl, still staring into his beer.

You'd think that knowing Sid was feeling awful, I'd have a bit of empathy and curb my enthusiasm… but what can I say, a musician lives for the crowd. I kept thinking I should be feeling like shit, but the truth was, I felt the best I had in weeks. 

Failing Upward was hot. For the first time I really believed, we could actually something more than a garage band playing in hick bars. 

Then there was this feeling deep down swelling up-- why I could feel this great-- why I was able to feel this wonderful about the band despite all the shit going on in my life. It was Sid-- because I was in love with Sid.

The last song of course is never the last song. I hoped Sid saw it that way, too.

By the time I helped get our equipment together, Alan had already been back stage to talk to me twice about Sid. I told him not to worry that I would drive him home and take care of him. He said that was what he was afraid of, and what the Hell did I do to his best friend anyway?

"Nothing I can't fix," I yelled back. 

On my way to the table I saw Les admiring Smith's eye. 

I sat down next to Sid. He looked up at me and sighed then looked back down in his drink.

"Come on Sid. Give me the keys, I'm driving." He submissively reached in his pocket, pulled out his keys and laid them on the table.

John asked if we wanted to go to Smith's for a party, but I shooed him off. Usually I'm up for a party after playing, but from now on in my life, someone else came first-- Sid. 

I got Sid out to the car without much effort. He didn't say a word to me until we were almost home.

"Wes, what was that all about tonight? I mean, I'm glad the band meshed, and I'm glad your plans for the band are coming together. But tell me Wes, that plan in your head, does it include me?"

I knew what I should have said, but sometimes I'm slow.

"I told Alan tonight that he was right all along," I said. "He's right. I don't deserve someone like you."

"God dam it Wes, that's what people say when they really mean, you're not the one for me."

"Shit. This isn't going right at all. I thought we'd always be friends not matter what."

"Maybe I was wrong." We rode the rest of the way without saying a word.

I tried to help him up the steps, but he wouldn't let me. I kicked open the door and disarmed the security system while Sid stumbled into the bathroom. I re-armed it and threw the car keys on the counter. I could hear Sid puking-- I sat on the sofa with my head down listening to him with the dry heaves. 

Finally, the water splashed in the sink. He wavered out, face pale. He made his way straight into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed.

"Good night, Wes."

I walked to the bedroom. As I stood in the doorway, I heard him whisper my name.

"Yes?" I answered.

"Yes-- you know, yes rhymes with Wes. Yes-- Wes." He paused. "Do you know how hard it's been this week? To have you and not know how you really feel? Dam it, I love you, Wes. And I want you so bad. I want you."

I walked across the room and sat next to him on the bed. I started unbuttoning his shirt, and he watched my hands.

Grabbing my shirt back, he pulled me to him and kissed me hard on the mouth. Then said, "Maybe just one pity fuck."

I slid off his shirt, and he pushed me down on the bed. 

"That's good," I said. "But this ain't pity."

His hands unfastened my leather pants, massaging my cock as he undid each shiny rivet. He watched unblinkingly into my eyes. The black leather stubbornly stuck to my body; Sid strained to get them off me. Throwing them to the floor, he turned me over onto my stomach. 

"Sid?" 

Although I wanted to look into his eyes, his face, and memorize his reaction when I told him, I had to tell him now. I lost the chance as his arm pushed my face into the pillow, reaching over for the lube. It all happened so fast. His fingers thrust into me, cold and sudden, forcing me to bite back a cry. Zip, I felt the vibration of him undoing his fly and the bed roll as he kicked off his jeans. 

"There's something I need to tell you--" I choked. Then my strangled cry seared into pillow as he buried his cock up to his balls inside me. 

I panted in and out in rapid bursts, savoring the bitter pain-- an atonement for my selfish silence. I heard Sid softly sobbing-- whispering, "Sorry," but he rode me in and out all the harder. In between his frenzied slices of agony, I heard him sniff and gulp. I felt his tears wet on my neck. I knew this physical pounding pain would leave me, but his inner pain would engulf him unless I told him. He was fucking me with such desperation, that I was afraid that he thought this drunken fuck will be the last between us. That he believed his doubts about us had come to fruition: that he was just an experimental model. 

My hands staggered across the bed to my sides, gripping the sheets. I wanted my words to mean something, not screamed in throes of passion-pain, uttered to him with my face in a pillow. I wanted him to know that my words came from my soul. Just when I thought the pain was unbearable, a switch tripped, leaving a white hot pleasure in place of agony. The pillow became a statuary for my pathetic cries. With Sid's full weight on me, my body clenched and groaned, hovering near climax. Two more desperate strokes and Sid came inside me, his tears wet in my hair. 

He rolled off of me.

"Sorry," he said, between gasps. "I don't know why I did that-- hurt you. And I forgot to use a condom." 

I turned, facing him, breathing hard. 

"I know why," I panted. "You're falling down drunk. And don't worry about a stupid condom-- I'm Superman. Or did you forget?" 

As Sid wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, I took my own hand up and helped him wipe his tears. I made sure his soft eyes held mine before I continued. 

"I'm the one who's sorry. I should have told you as soon as I knew, but I was afraid. I don't want you to end up like everyone else I've ever loved in my life."

"Wes? What does that mean?" he choked.

"It means I love you." 

I thought he was going squeeze the snot outta me.  "What did you say? I think I heard it, but I'm not sure. Say it again."

"I... love... you." 

As he squeezed me again, he noticed my cock close to bursting tight against him. He reached down and skillfully stroked me, telling me how much he loved me back.

As I came he whispered, "I sure hope I remember this in the morning."