Charles
Journal
Charles
 SFPD Detective Lorna Crockett and Travis Weatherford, an employee at Pierce & Langford Brokerage Firm, having an affair with Zeno Eliot, ex-lover of deceased Clarence Belin. Travis Weatherford sat alone in the stark interrogation room of the Hall of Justice, the clock ticking quietly as he awaited interrogation. He was torn, having witnessed something crucial that night. But should he reveal it? The yellow Porsche he spotted on Villa Terrace belonged to Jerry. Implicating Jerry could entangle him in a mess far beyond Ahab's murder. He shuddered at the thought of Jerry's retaliation or the relentless questioning that might follow. His mind raced, doubting the late-night sighting. Had his eyes deceived him? Was there an innocent reason for Jerry's car being there? The stakes were high, with Zeno already under suspicion. Travis braced himself, torn between revealing the truth and preserving his safety. He recalled Jerry's confession about his relationship with Harlan, Abel's lover when they both were younger, and his animosity towards Abel after Abel took Harlan away from him. But Abel was not Ahab, despite their resemblance. He could see no possible motive, nothing to really tell the police about a co-worker and a friend. His mind was a tangled web of doubt and fear. Justice urged him to speak, but self-preservation whispered caution. He feared the fallout of crossing Jerry and the potential breakdown of friendships. Detective Crockett walked into the room with a calm, yet commanding presence. She was a petite, firm, and in-shape woman, with blonde hair neatly tied back, and a sharp gaze that missed nothing. She wore a grey pantsuit with an open-cut white blouse, exuding professionalism and authority. Her demeanor was composed, exuding an air of confidence and determination, suggesting she had conducted countless interrogations and knew precisely how to extract the truth. As she took a seat across from him, her expression was one of measured patience, ready to listen but also prepared to probe deeper if necessary. "Mr. Weatherford, I’m Detective Lorna Crockett," she began, her voice steady and reassuring. "I understand this must be a difficult time, but it's crucial that we get to the bottom of what happened last night. Anything you can tell me will help." Travis nodded, his mind whirling. “I wasn’t there when Ahab got shot,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But you were outside the house when the gunshots were fired, correct?” “Yes, but I didn’t hear the shots.” He paused, recalling the woman with red hair who resembled Precious May running down the street. “Who let you in the house?” “The front door was open.” “And you saw no one come out?” “No one. I went in alone and saw Zeno... standing over Ahab’s body.” “Was he holding the gun?” “No, it was on the floor by the body.” Detective Crockett listened intently, piecing together the fragments of Travis’s account. The open door and unseen departure puzzled her. Zeno standing over the body without the weapon raised more questions. “His fingerprints are all over that Luger, the gun that killed Mr. Ahab Erikson,” she reminded Travis. “You know this?” Travis replayed the eerie scene—the creaking floorboards, the thick tension, the faint scent of gunpowder. He remembered a shadowy figure slipping through the back door. The image of Zeno and Ahab, one breathing hard, the other dying, haunted him. “Yes, I know. But Zeno wasn’t holding a gun when I arrived. He was trying to help Ahab. I tended to the others before calling the police.” Detective Crockett's eyebrows rose slightly, but she quickly resumed a professional demeanor. "That's significant, Mr. Weatherford. Thank you for your honesty. We'll investigate further." "Then you're done with me?" "For the moment. But I have one more question: What is your relationship with Zeno Eliot?" Travis swallowed again, uncertain whether to tell her the truth and decided he wouldn't—for now. "We're friends." "But isn't Zeno Eliot involved with Abel Erikson, the one who got hit over the head?" "Yes, but I was there as a friend. A friend. Nothing more." "I understand," Crockett said as she stood to leave. "You can leave anytime. Thank you, Mr. Weatherford for your cooperation." "You're welcome," Travis said, standing and feeling a mix of relief and dread. He ran his fingers through his hair. The truth was still hidden, and he feared what might come next.
0 Comments
 The Erikson House, Pemberton Steps, San Franbcisco Christmas Day had arrived with an unsettling air of tension. Inspector Samuel Kruse found himself working on what should have been a day of celebration, but instead was marred by a murder in the Erikson House in Twin Peaks’ Pemberton Steps that had shattered the early hours of Christmas morning. As the clock struck 1:00 a.m., Kruse's mind was far from holiday cheer, focused instead on the grim task before him. "Another murder on Christmas Day," Kruse muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “For once, it didn’t happen in the Tenderloin.” The streets of the city were eerily quiet; the usual festive decorations appeared somber, shrouded in the early hours' dripping fog. The Erikson house on Pemberton Steps stood at the center of the chaos, now a crime scene swarmed by forensic teams and police officers. The scent of pine needles mingled discordantly with the sharp, metallic tang of blood. "Who could have done this?" Officer Patel asked, his voice trembling slightly as he surveyed the scene. Inspector Kruse adjusted his coat, aware that the investigation required his immediate attention. The clock was ticking, and the truth behind the murder had to be uncovered. "We need to move quickly," Kruse said, his voice firm. "Every second counts." EMT workers whisked away two injured victims, house owner Abel Erikson and his mother Zelta, to an ambulance bound for San Francisco General Hospital. Samuel experienced a bittersweet mix of emotions upon seeing artist Zeno Eliot in the living room, realizing he lived in the Erikson house. He had met Zeno in North Beach, liked him very much, and attended his exhibition at Fong Gallery on Market Street. It wasn’t lost on him that he owned a self-portrait of Zeno, hanging in his bedroom—a memento now tinged with sorrow. "Zeno, I need to ask you some questions," Kruse said, his tone gentle yet firm. Zeno was accompanied by his friend, Travis Weatherford. The atmosphere grew increasingly somber as they came across the deceased in the hall. He had been shot from behind twice, or so it seemed. The medical examiner and the forensics team meticulously handled the body details. "Do you recognize this man?" Kruse asked Zeno, pointing at the body. Just then, an officer approached, holding a plastic evidence bag containing what appeared to be the murder weapon—a Luger pistol. Samuel took the bag, his eyes narrowing as he studied the gun, then glanced up to observe Zeno's reaction. His face changed, and he shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to his friend, Travis, who looked equally unsettled. Samuel couldn't shake the feeling that the weapon might hold more significance than just being a murder instrument. "Yes, I knew him," Zeno said, his voice heavy with a mix of relief and sorrow. He watched as the sheet was pulled over the lifeless face. "Ahab Erikson is dead without mercy." A deep sigh escaped him, the weight of a long-held secret lifting from his shoulders. The man who had held his future in his hands was gone, and the Luger bore the undeniable proof of his demise. "I need you both at headquarters for further questioning," Kruse said, his eyes locking onto Zeno's. Given the circumstances, Samuel knew they all needed to be interrogated at headquarters—Zeno Eliot, Travis Weatherford, neighbor Klara Belinsky, and probably a host of others yet to be uncovered. Klara had mentioned seeing a red-haired woman running from the house and the scene of the crime, a detail that could prove crucial to the investigation. "Klara, can you describe the woman you saw?" Kruse asked, his voice steady. Klara eagerly recounted her observations, stating, "As I informed the other officer, Inspector, the woman had fiery red hair and fled the house wearing a blue jacket that billowed in the wind. She attempted to enter a car parked on the street, but it was locked.” "Can you describe the car? The make, color, license plate?" Kruse asked. "It was a Porsche," Klara confirmed. "A dull yellow 1970s model. I only caught part the license plate number. I'm certain it was something like JA-507, but can't recall the middle letter." However, upon inspection, there was no trace of the car that had been parked haphazardly in the street with its lights on. "We need to locate that car," Kruse asserted, his resolve unyielding as he observed Zeno embracing Travis. "It could be the key to finding the killer."  Pemberton Steps, San Francisco It was already Christmas morning, a few minutes past midnight, when Klara Belinsky, a resident of a nearby apartment by the Erikson house on Pemberton Steps, was abruptly drawn to her window by the sharp, successive sounds of three gunshots.
As she peered through the gap in her curtain, curiosity mingled with apprehension washed over her. The dim light of her room contrasted with the chaos unfolding outside, casting a haunting glow on her anxious expression. From her vantage point, Klara observed the scene below: frantic figures darting in and out of the shadows, the distant wail of sirens growing louder with each passing second. The icy wind sneaked through the small gap in her window, sending shivers down her spine as she clutched the curtain tighter, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes caught sight of a woman with striking red hair sprinting away from the area, her distinctive blue jacket billowing wildly as she fled, making her an unmistakable figure in the tumult. Adding to the surreal nature of the scene, she noticed a peculiar vehicle parked haphazardly nearby. Its engine was still running, and the lights were on, casting an eerie glow that heightened the overall sense of disorder. Despite the fear that gripped her, Klara felt a compelling sense of duty to commit as many details as possible to memory. Every flicker of light, every whisper of sound, etched themselves into her mind. She knew her observations could be invaluable to the authorities in piecing together the chaotic events that had just transpired. With a trembling hand, Klara nervously clutched her phone. The flickering light from the streetlamp outside cast menacing shadows on her apartment walls, making the room feel oppressive and alive. Her heart pounded, each beat a painful reminder of the gravity of her decision. As she grappled with the potential consequences of her actions, the distant wail of more sirens and the hum of city life filtered through the thin walls, adding to the pressure. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to do. Her throat dry and her palms slick with sweat, Klara knew this was her civic responsibility. With a determined resolve, she proceeded to dial 911.  When one's blood pressure reaches alarmingly high levels for several months now, it does not necessarily induce panic, but it does prompt a significant concern regarding past behaviors, such as excessive drinking and other unhealthy habits. This concern often leads to the realization that these behaviors may need to be altered if one aims to achieve a long and healthy life, possibly reaching the age of 101 or higher because departure is such great sorrow. This realization can trigger the contemplation of lifestyle changes, including reducing alcohol consumption and adopting healthier habits. Achieving the milestone of 101 years is a commendable goal, and it underscores the notion that it is never too late to begin prioritizing one's health.
As the arrival of spring becomes more imminent, with increasing instances of clear, blue skies and sunny, albeit cold, February mornings, one is inspired to resume running. The first running session commenced yesterday with an hour long jog down to Annsville Creek, where the sight of icicles hanging from giant boulders along the Hudson River was quite invigorating. The decision to return to running is not solely motivated by physical health but also by the desire to reconnect with nature and attain a sense of peace and clarity. The act of running along the Hudson, amidst the breathtaking winter scenery, became a poignant reminder of life's beauty and the significance of personal well-being. Additionally, it offered a period for reflection and reinforced the commitment to a healthier, more balanced lifestyle. Moreover, the role of sexual activity in overall well-being should not be overlooked, provided it is balanced. For instance, an exceptionally satisfying experience should contribute to a sense of fulfillment and contentment. When sex is fulfilling, it results in a restful night, followed by waking up with a long stretch and a big smile...
  The closure of esteemed establishments is an inevitable aspect of the passage of time, often leading to a sense of loss within the community. The recent closure of Bucko!, located in the Flatiron building adjacent to Peekskill Coffee, was particularly poignant since I reside in close proximity to the owners, who live on Nelson Avenue, just two blocks southeast of my home on Decatur Avenue by Fort Hill. The couple, Katie and (he is Canadian), met "over counter" when Katie was managing an antiques store in Brooklyn. "Brian would come in frequently, and eventually we struck up a conversation." That was ten years ago when they fell in love, got married, moved to Peekskill, and now have a son and a daughter. You will see them in a red wagon being pulled through the neighborhood by Brian occasionally. Bucko! was unique in its offering of high-quality gifts and clothing for both women and men manufactured by a Canadian, vintage clothing for as low $15, and hand-soap produced in the nearby Catskills, making it a distinctive presence downtown. The curated selection of unique items and the welcoming atmosphere established Bucko! as a cherished locale. Its absence will undoubtedly be deeply felt by the community, particularly by those who appreciated its unique character and local charm.  Zeno Dexter Eliot created with AI. Abel was saying as he fixed them martinis, "New York is always so beautiful at Christmas. We have to go back next Christmas and experience all of it in New York, including New Year's Eve. Hey, that's an idea. Why don't we go to New York for New Year's Eve? We could watch the ball drop in Times Square, which is something everyone should experience at least once," he suggested. "Or we could enjoy a fancy dinner at one of those rooftop restaurants with a view of the skyline. If we're feeling adventurous, we might even take a midnight cruise on the Hudson River to see the fireworks." Zeno, although he loved New York, was not fully engaged in the conversation. His attention was abruptly diverted by a sound in the hall, causing his senses to heighten. The floor creaked, sending a shiver down his spine, as he knew who was there. It was Ahab, who came for Abel's petty cash, which was more than a million dollars the last time Zeno checked, from the study's safe behind the portrait of Jacob Erikson, Abel and Ahab's father. Zeno's intuition was correct; Ahab had indeed returned to the house he was banned from, his presence unmistakable. Abel, oblivious to the danger, continued talking as he handed Zeno a martini. Sipping his own, Abel followed Zeno's gaze to the door and, upon seeing Ahab, his face paled as he dropped his drink. "What are you doing here?" Abel demanded. Ahab froze for a moment, his hand hovering near the doorframe as if caught in a spotlight. His eyes widened, but he quickly composed himself, offering a sly grin that betrayed no hint of remorse. "Just thought I'd drop by for old times' sake," he replied nonchalantly, though his voice carried a hint of defiance. Zeno took a deep breath, trying to remain calm in the tense situation. He stepped forward, positioning himself between Abel and Ahab, and said, "Ahab, it's time for us to talk. Let's go somewhere private and sort this out before things get out of hand." "You knew about this?" Abel's voice rose in anger, his eyes flashing with betrayal. "You and my Zeno together on this?" Zeno, still reeling from the revelation, tried again to interject, but the brothers' confrontation escalated. Ahab's smirk faded, replaced by a steely resolve as he stepped closer to Abel, their faces inches apart. The tension in the room thickened, each brother waiting for the other to make the next move. Abel's anger boiled over, and he shoved Ahab back. Ahab stumbled but quickly regained his footing, his eyes locked onto Abel's. Zeno, sensing the impending violence, stepped in again, pleading for them to stop. But the brothers were beyond reason, their emotions raw and unchecked. "Get the hell out! You're trespassing!" Abel screamed, his voice echoing through the house. In an instant, Zeno knocked him unconscious with a vase, leaving Ahab with a sly grin. "Do what you have to do and go. Just go," Zeno urged Ahab, turning as Zelta’s door creaked open. "Mother, it’s me," Ahab said, his voice softening. In the dark hall, Zelta stood trembling, clutching the Luger pistol. "No, it’s not you. Stop right there," she commanded, her voice shaky as she aimed the weapon. Zeno began to rise, but at that very moment, the lights went out, plunging the house into complete darkness with a gunshot echoing through the void...  Zeno did not hear the phone as he descended the spiral staircase from the master bedroom, carrying Abel's Luger pistol. He had taken it from the study after hearing a noise downstairs. Believing it was Ahab, he went into Zelta’s bedroom and temporarily placed the gun on Zelta's dresser while she slept. He then quietly entered the living room where a Christmas tree stood near the window, surrounded by presents. He was shocked to see Maynard with Abel in the hall. As Maynard took Abel's suitcases upstairs, Abel entered the living room, and they hugged. "I finished early in New York," Abel told him, kissing him hard on the lips. "So, I came home for Christmas. Surprised?" "Yes, I am," Zeno replied, struggling to maintain his composure as he remembered Ahab was likely on his way. He contemplated re-setting the alarm when he caught sight of Maynard, who bid them goodnight from the doorway before heading to his residence in the Attached Adu in the backyard. "What's the matter?" said Abel, sensing something was wrong. "Why do you look so distressed?" Zeno's heart pounded as he grappled with the chaos unfolding in his mind. He was torn between seeing Abel unexpectedly and the dread of Ahab's imminent arrival, knowing the two could not meet under any circumstances. The thought of keeping his secret under wraps troubled him, leaving him caught in a web of anxiety and fear. He managed a weak smile, trying to steady his nerves. "It's nothing," he said, his voice barely steady. "Just a bit startled. So, tell me more about New York." He hoped to divert Abel's attention while he desperately tried to think of a way to keep Ahab, who was already creeping up the stairs, from entering the living room. Meanwhile, Zelta awakened in bed to a faint, rhythmic tapping sound coming from the window, as if someone or something was trying to get her attention. The noise was persistent enough to pull her from her dream, and she strained her ears to determine if it was just the wind or something more ominous. Her heart raced as she considered the possibilities, wondering if she should investigate or stay safely under the covers. Without turning on the lamp, she rose and made her way towards the door. Her heart skipped a beat, and a cold chill ran down her spine. She froze for a moment, staring at the Luger pistol on the dresser wondering how it had ended up there. Her mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. She picked up the Luger. A surge of fear mingled with a strange sense of empowerment coursed through her veins. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the cold metal, feeling a burgeoning courage, she didn’t know she possessed.  Travis sat on the left side of the bar in the Pendulum on 18th Street at Castro, drinking a Budweiser beer and observing the lights and garlands hanging on the walls. Conversations and laughter filled the narrow space, accompanied by holiday music of Eartha Kitt playing in the background. The scent of spiced drinks and pine was present, contributing to the atmosphere. Some patrons were deep in thought, while others were engaged in discussions, adding to the bar's activity. Despite the bustling environment, Travis's thoughts were focused on Zeno, whom he had driven home for Ahad's planned attempt to access Abel's safe. Concerned about potential complications, Travis regretted leaving Zeno alone. To ensure that everything proceeded as intended, he decided to return to Twin Peaks and wait outside the house on Pemberton Steps for Zeno's protection. He couldn't allow Zeno to be harmed. He was distressed that Zeno insisted on being in the house during Ahab's robbery of Abel's safe. After making this decision, he signaled the bartender for a shot of whiskey. At that moment, Jerry Adkisson entered the bar. Travis quickly finished his drink and approached Jerry, preparing for their upcoming conversation. "Merry Christmas, Jerry," Travis said, greeting Jerry with a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Travis," Jerry replied. "What are you drinking?" "Heineken," Jerry answered, offering Travis money, which he declined as he ordered another Bud for himself. They then moved to a more private location within the bar. "I thought you might be here if not with Zeno," Jerry remarked, sipping his beer. "I just dropped Zeno off. We'll meet up later," Travis responded. "Has Abel been informed about your relationship?" Jerry inquired. "What do you mean?" Travis asked. "That you're seeing each other behind his back," Jerry clarified. "If he doesn’t know, he'll be told before the new year," Travis said. "Good luck with that," Jerry said, raising his beer. "Abel Erikson is tough. From what I’ve heard, Zeno is more than just a partner to him. They had a real wedding in Denmark." "Zeno plans to annul the marriage. We’ll be together, with or without Abel’s consent." "Like I said, good luck." "Thank you." “In the early 1970s, I was involved with Abel and Harlan, who reminds me of Zeno. I loved Harlan, but he secretly ended up with Abel. Harlan, an artist, died under suspicious circumstances initially deemed suicide. As a Catholic, Harlan viewed suicide as a mortal sin, leading me to doubt that his death was self-inflicted.” Travis sipped his beer. "What are you suggesting, Jerry?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Jerry leaned in, his expression grave. "I think Abel might have had something to do with Harlan's death," he replied, his tone heavy with implication. Travis's eyes widened in disbelief, and he nearly choked on his drink. He set his beer down on the meat rack with a trembling hand, his mind racing to process the gravity of Jerry's words. "Are you saying Abel is dangerous?" he stammered, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I can't be certain," Jerry admitted, "but the similarities between Harlan and Zeno are too striking to ignore. You and Zeno need to tread carefully before confronting Abel with your goals." Travis nodded slowly, his fear now unmistakable. "To prove this information of Harlan’s death is true, we need to gather more evidence before making any accusations," he said, his voice barely audible. Jerry concurred, disclosing that he had already commenced his inquiries. This decision followed the police's failure to uncover any relevant information during their discreet investigation into Abel's history and potential motives. Jerry now believed Abel’s motive was connected to the insurance money Abel received following Harlan's death. Abel and Harlan had been inseparable for years, he told Travis, their bond forged through a shared passion for art and a deep mutual respect. Many believed their connection went beyond friendship, but neither had confirmed it publicly. When Zeno entered Abel's life, the dynamics shifted dramatically. Zeno's charm and talent captivated Abel, drawing him into a whirlwind romance that culminated in their Danish wedding. However, lingering shadows from Harlan's tragic end seemed to haunt Abel as well as Jerry, who raised questions about Abel's true intentions and feelings for Zeno, though he suspected they were monetary. "I spoke with Zaide, Abel's friend and attorney," Jerry persisted. "She couldn't share much due to her professional role but mentioned Abel is coming back from New York to surprise Zeno for Christmas Eve. She suggested I ask Abel directly. I'll do that tonight to get it off my chest." "This is unexpected," Travis muttered, expressing concern about Zeno and the potential ramifications involving Ahab, Precious, and now Abel as well. He glanced at the phone by the door, realizing the urgency of warning Zeno immediately. "He should be home in Twin Peaks in a few hours," Jerry replied, checking his watch, "assuming no unforeseen travel disruptions." "Excuse me for a moment, Jerry," Travis said, heading for the phone. He inserted a dime and called Zeno. After several rings with no answer and a growing sense of anxiety, Travis hung up the phone and informed Jerry that he had to leave. As he hurried out the door, his mind raced with worst-case scenarios. His heart pounded with urgency, and he couldn't shake the dread that something terrible might already be unfolding. Despite the crisp air outside, a cold sweat clung to his skin as he climbed into his Jeep and drove up 18th Street towards Twin Peaks.  CHAPTER 26 At the summit of Twin Peaks, the soft melodies of classic rock permeated the air, with Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" providing an ideal auditory backdrop to the panoramic view. The music harmoniously intertwined with the subdued hum of the city below, fostering a serene ambiance. From this elevated perspective, the expansive cityscape revealed itself as vibrant, featuring the iconic Bay Bridge extending majestically across the bay. Skyscrapers punctuated the night sky in the distance, their windows reflecting like a myriad of tiny mirrors as Travis and Zeno shared a joint in Travis's jeep. The city's breathtaking beauty appeared to contrast sharply with the internal turmoil they experienced. While the city lights emanated a sense of tranquility and order, their hearts were burdened with confusion and unresolved tension after meeting Ahab and Precious. In that moment, the peacefulness of their environment starkly contrasted with the intricate complexities of their intertwined emotions. "I am still processing all of this," Travis stated. "I recognize that my marriage to Abel was a mistake," Zeno acknowledged. "It isn't legally valid or recognized here in the United States." "You exchanged vows with each other in Copenhagen. Regardless of its legal status here, you made a commitment to Abel in Denmark, where marriage between two men is legally recognized." "Does that bother you?" "After hearing it tonight with Ahab and Precious, yes it does. I am bothered by it. Abel is your husband. That's more than just two men living together. I am bothered. I hate it." Travis always believed in the sanctity of commitment, and the revelation that Zeno had married someone else, even if it was abroad, felt like a breach of trust. As he grappled with his emotions, he couldn't help but wonder how this revelation would impact their relationship moving forward. His words hung heavy in the air, echoing the deep sense of frustration and longing that accompanied their reality. Despite the picturesque setting, the disparity between their personal commitment and societal acceptance appeared large, casting a shadow over their moment of calm. It was a poignant reminder that love, while powerful, often faced obstacles that required more than just personal resolve to overcome. "Didn't you consider your relationship with Clarence to be like a marriage, too?" Zeno said, passing the joint to Travis. "What makes what I did in Denmark any different than Clarence being your domestic partner here in San Francisco? He was legally yours; you were legally his." "Let’s talk about Clarence," Travis said. "I haven't shared all the details before." He took a deep breath. "You’re right. Clarence was more than just a partner; he was my anchor and confidant. Losing him has been incredibly challenging. I never wanted to hide anything from you, but I was afraid it might change things between us if I told you how he really died." "You only mentioned he passed away in Georgia?" "That is correct, he did pass away in Georgia." "Was he sick for a long time?" "Not exactly." "I don't understand. He wasn't much older than you." "That is also correct. He was a few years older. I didn’t know he was sick. He never told me about it before he left for Georgia." "What happened?" Zeno asked as they listened to Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" while sharing a nearly finished joint. The song's themes of healing and comfort contrasted sharply with the somber mood of their conversation, offering a momentary escape from the heaviness of the topic. Zeno reflected on life's unpredictable rhythm, intertwined with moments of joy and sorrow. “He contracted the virus that has been circulating, commonly referred to as Gay Men's Syndrome or GRID,” Travis said, feeling resentment. “The government's response was insufficient to save Clarence, and the stigma surrounding homosexuality puts us all at risk.” Zeno reflected on the importance of community support during such crises. "I've read about it," Zeno said, his voice a blend of fear and empathy. "I've lost several friends, and the speed at which it spreads is alarming. It underscores the fragility of life and the need to value our time together. I've been tested as well." "Have you learned the outcome?" "Although the result is currently negative, I received an extensive briefing on the numerous risks associated not only with that but also other sexually transmitted diseases. Travis, considering your long-term relationship with Clarence, you were also likely exposed." "I've been with you, too. We never used condoms. Not one time." "I know,” Zeno said, feeling a wave of relief mixed with anxiety as he processed the implications of their conversation. The fear of the unknown was bigger than he wanted to think about, but their shared vulnerability brought a sense of closeness and understanding between them. He realized that navigating through such a crisis required trust, honesty, and a deeper connection with those around him. “So what? We swallowed a hundred times. You’re inside of me, I’m in you. We can’t change that.” "No one informed us in time," Travis said. "We were left in the dark until it was too late." "It's frustrating and scary," Zeno continued, his voice shaking slightly. "We need to be more careful from now on. Let's get tested again and make sure we're both okay. And from now on, we will take every precaution." "I haven't been tested." "Why not? I got tested. Rather, Abel made me get tested at Davis Medical Center with Dr. Price." "Perhaps, Abel isn’t so bad after all. He saved you for me. I’m elated to hear you don’t have it.” He paused, his heart raced with conflicting emotions, torn between relief and lingering suspicion. The possibility of hidden motives gnawed at him, leaving him on edge. Despite the good news that Zeno was negative, a sense of unease lingered in the back of his mind of himself. “Zeno, what if I have it? What if I lose you..." Travis's voice cracked, and he began to cry. His fear was overwhelming, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. The uncertainty gnawed at him, making it hard to think clearly or find comfort in Zeno's words. Each sob was a release of the anxiety that had been building inside him, a testament to the weight of the unknown that he was struggling to bear. "I don't care," Zeno embraced him tightly, stroking his silky blond hair. "I don't care if you have it or not. I'm not leaving you, Travis. I will never leave you. If it's meant to be, I'll contract it too and die right by your side. I don’t think I could live without you. I love you like I've never loved anyone else in my life. I love you so much." They kissed like it was their last, savoring the moment and the connection they shared. In that embrace, they found solace and strength, knowing their love would endure whatever challenges lay ahead. Meanwhile Abel, visibly uneasy, glanced across the aisle at Maynard as they both secured their seatbelts, bracing against the violent turbulence. A storm had engulfed their path as they headed towards San Francisco, causing the private jet to shudder with each gust of wind. Abel observed Maynard, noting his fervent prayers, a sight he had never witnessed before. The severity of the storm had instilled a profound fear in Maynard, evident in his tense demeanor and whispered pleas. Abel's own anxiety manifested as a knot in his stomach, his focus on breathing disrupted by the plane's erratic movements. Despite his trepidation, Abel's concern for Maynard was evident. The luxurious cabin, with its plush leather seats and gleaming wood accents, felt increasingly fragile against the storm's fury. The soft ambient lighting flickered, casting eerie shadows across the once elegant, now unsettling, surroundings. The calming hum of the engines was drowned out by the relentless roar of the wind, transforming the opulent space into a gilded cage. "We're going to be okay, Maynard," Abel reassured him. "We'll be sipping egg nogg very soon in San Francisco for Christmas Eve with Zeno, I am sure." "I hope so, boss," Maynard replied, closing his eyes and whispering another prayer to God, hoping for their safe arrival.  The preparation of fried chicken proved to be unexpectedly labor-intensive. My involvement was limited to seasoning the chicken with salt, pepper, and flour, while Rico was responsible for the more demanding tasks of monitoring and turning the chicken. An effective method for seasoning fried chicken involves marinating it in buttermilk and spices overnight, which enhances both the flavor and tenderness of the meat, resulting in a juicier and more flavorful dish. The quality of the drumsticks surpassed expectations. However, the cleanup process was less satisfactory, although it was manageable with assistance from Rico, who undertook the majority of the work. Rico consumed most of the chicken and was pleased with the outcome, as he maintains a waist size of 28, in contrast to my own, which has regrettably reached the 30s at this age. He expressed a desire to repeat the process, but I have insisted that it not become a weekly or even a monthly occurrence due to the significant physical effort required afterward to burn off the calories in my case. That was something we laughed about and soon forgot. There is likely no optimal approach to caring for a married man who is already married. How does one justify causing harm to someone they do not know? Despite my desire for him to leave, he does not leave or return to full-time to his wife. A part of me wants to reject him, but something prevents me from doing so because the friendship is more important than the other needs. How can my actions be considered sinful when I am not woman, when I appreciate the way he expresses pleasure, and he makes me feel so wonderful? I thought adultery only applied to different sexes and not same-sex individuals?
 |
AuthorCHARLES PEARSON
Archives
July 2025
Categories |
RSS Feed