"Rain"
Part 1
by Beryll & Osiris Brackhaus

 

September 2004, Paris

- Colin -

'...it can't rain all the time, the sky won't fall forever... and though the night seems long... your tears won't fall... forever.'

The lines of the song echoed in my head while my fingers played the notes on the bar in front of me. I was just finishing my glass of wine before I would be heading home. It had been a quiet night, not many patrons in the 'Chez Chantale', listening to me playing the piano. But that was just the way I liked it.

Absentmindedly I listened to the news broadcast on the TV mounted over the bar.

"...was the fifth body found this month." the reporter was just telling the camera in a well practiced tone of concern. "The police says that it has a strong lead now, but observers are beginning to doubt that they have any evidence at all. The killer titled 'Jacqueline, the Ripper' has murdered 16 male 'homeless boys' so far. The police again strongly warns against walking the streets of the Beaubourg in Paris after nightfall..."

What was this city coming to, that a nuthead bloodsucker could hunt and kill so openly without his secrecy-obsessed brethren stopping him?

The screen was now showing a photograph of the latest victim and I felt cold anger make the hair on my neck rise. I had known this young man, had sheltered him on my houseboat for a few nights about half a year ago. I felt the claws on my fingers wish to extend. Maybe I would not wait for those bloodsuckers to take care of their mad cousin. This was turning more and more personal with each kill.

I was grateful when his cellphone rang, distracting me from the instinct to hunt that rose in my blood.

"Yes?" I answered none-commitively.

"Hey, Colin! How are you doing, softpaw?" the cheerful voice of my brother Orlando startled me out of my gloomy mood.

"Orli, hey, what's up, man?" I greeted him happily. "Haven't heard from you in ages, still alive and kicking?"

"You can say so." Orlando answered his voice crackling slightly as if the line wasn't very stable.

"Where are you calling from?" I asked curiously. My brother had a habit of visiting the remotest places.

"Let me see... Timsten... it's called Timsten... somewhere between Las Vegas and LA. I'm on my way to visit sis in LA to spend the winter there. Have been out on the road for months, need a bit of rest. How are you doing?"

"Fine, mostly, still in Paris."

"Mostly?" Orlando asked, immediately picking up on that word with catlike curiosity.

"Yeah, there's a mad bloodsucker on a rampage out here at the moment and I'm starting to seriously consider going after him. He's gobbled down two kids I knew."

"Ewh, be careful, bro, will ya?"

My dear big brother, always worrying about me when I was perfectly able to take care of myself.

"Yeah, of course. So how are you doing?"

Orlando laughed. "Great. You won't believe this but I've picked up a doggie who's been following me for two weeks now."

I blinked at my phone. Had I heard that right? "A dog? Orli, are you on dope?"

"Naw, seriously, he's quite cute, a bit shaggy maybe but quite cute."

I shook my head in disbelieve. "You're not taking it along to LA, are you? Sis will be... none too happy."

"I'm sure she'll get used to him... listen, man... my change is used up, just wanted to say hello and send you a hug. Be careful about that bloodsucker, huh?"

"Yeah, will be. Take care too!"

And then only the crackling of static energy remained in the line.

With a fond smile I put the phone away again. It was nice to hear from my sibs now and then. We had never been really close, that just didn't happen with cats, but to stay loosely connected was good. And as always Orlando seemed to be doing just fine.

Lost in my memories of times when we had been wandering together for a while, it took me a moment to notice that I was not alone at the bar anymore. The young man who was leaning against it, sipping on a glass of Coke must have walked in while I was on the phone.

And what a nice sight he was. Wearing only skintight jeans and a faded leather jacket he revealed a body that looked just delicious. And his posture showed clearly that he knew full well how good he looked. The fact that he was wet to the bone accentuated his sexual appeal even more.

I knew enough of the boys working the streets of Paris to recognize one showing off his goods. But I had never seen this particular one before. And I was quite sure that I would have noticed him.

The man was shivering slightly, pushing his wet shoulder length hair out of his eyes. It was only late September, but the weather had turned nasty early this year and cold rain had been busy drowning Paris for nearly a week now.

I leaned a bit closer to get a sniff and felt a delighted purr rise in my throat, when I caught the slight scent of cinnamon and the strong scent of man. This guy smelled good.

The young must have noticed my move, for he now turned his head to look at me too.

"You look like you're cold," I said, putting on my most charming smile, "how about I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I'm not working." The reply was somewhat cold but not enough to deter me.

I turned the friendly warmth in my voice up another notch. "Your job is drinking coffee?" he asked

The young man glanced at the barkeeper with a mixture of longing and worry. He did want that coffee, I was sure of that.

"I don't want to get the owner angry by picking up customers in his place." he explained.

"Hey, I'm not buying you, just a coffee, no more." I tried to reassure him and was rewarded with a small smile.

"Okay, then, just coffee." the young man said.

I gestured to the barkeeper, who complied smilingly.

"And don't worry about the owner," I said, "he happens to be a good friend of mine."

We remained silent, till a cup of steaming coffee had been placed in front of the young man and he had taken a first sip, sighing happily and warming his hands on the cup.

"So what are you doing here at this hour?" the young man asked curiously.

"I play piano here every few days." I explained, pointing at the piano in the back.

I let my gaze travel up and down the lean body next to me. The young man was about a head taller than me but that made him even more yummy in my eyes.

"I've never seen you around here before," I ventured, "are you new to Paris?"

The young man nodded. "Yeah, I've just moved here from Marseille. More money to be made."

I grinned. "I'm sure you'll be quite successful." I said, resisting the urge to lean forward and take another noseful of the other man's scent.

The young man smiled again. "I hope so, I could really use a lucky break."

"Well, if you ever need a place to crash, you are welcome on my boat." I offered quickly. "I certainly wouldn't mind."

The young man raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? That's quite generous." The smile turned into an indecent smirk. "I'm sure I'll find a way of paying you."

I shrugged. "If you want to. But you are welcome even if you don't. It's an offer that's open to most of the boys in the streets. Sometimes you just need a place to feel safe and dry and that's all I offer."

"Thank you." the young man said, this time with sincere gratitude. "So... where do I find you, if I want to? Here?"

I nodded. "I'm here every second or third night, playing. But most of the boys will be able to show you to my boat. Just ask for Colin."

"Maybe I will." The man said, "I'm Michael."

"Pleased to meet you." I replied.

Then I downed the last of my wine. "Well then, good luck to you. I'll be heading home." I said, before I could get even more interested. I tried to suppress the hope that this yummy guy would get in enough trouble that he would appear at my door soon.

"See you around." I said in farewell and then left the Chez Chantale without another glance at Michael. I wouldn't break with my iron rule never to buy a hooker's time. Even if right now I was feeling the urge to do so.

The walk home was long and the cold rain would hopefully manage to cool me down.

---

- Michael -

"I - umm... kinda lost my accommodation. You mind if I come in?"

Standing in front of the piano player's houseboat's door, the cold rain drenching me to the bone, I hoped he wouldn't mind if I took up his offer to stay with him only two days after he initially made it.

"Sure! Just come in!"

But apparently, my worries had been unnecessary.
Beaming widely, Colin gestured me in, and to my increasing worry, I found myself seriously looking forward to staying with him. Especially as my host wore nothing more than faded black jeans and a slim silver necklace, revealing a slightly hairy chest lean and fit enough to make my mouth go dry.
But I was on duty, I reminded myself, and shouldn't let myself get personally involved.

"Thanks", I said softly, stepping inside the low room ensuring I brushed across his skin just enough it didn't seem too calculated.

It was warm inside, and pleasantly dry after all of Paris had become nothing but wet and dreary during the last weeks. Colin shooed me on until I found myself standing in something like a living room, with a burning open fireplace and hundreds of things cluttering the floor, the shelves and virtually every inch of space.

It was an awful mess, but clean, and so very welcoming and cozy it increased my anticipation another notch. If only I had met this man under different circumstances.

"Are you hungry?", Colin asked all of a sudden.

"Huh?"

"Would you like something to eat? Sure you would. You look like you're starving."

No, I didn't. Only by strength of will could I keep myself from looking down my chest to check if there was something wrong with my physique. I had put quite some time and effort into shaping myself up, and anyone implying I was less than perfect made me kind of nervous.

"Lasagna?"

Despite the fact that I shouldn't eat something as fat as that and the tiny rivulet of icy water running down my bare back from my drenched hair, I felt my stomach growling at the thought.

"Sounds great", I heard myself say before I could think about it. "If I don't bother you too much...", I added, thoughtfully biting my lower lip, which I had been told made me look a bit shy and all the more devastating for a man of my size.

"Nah. My pleasure." And off my host was, disappearing somewhere into the depths of his houseboat, starting to rummage in the kitchen.

Which conveniently gave me a moment of time to gather my thoughts.

This wasn't the first time I was in the streets, working undercover as a hustler. Damn, sometimes I even liked this part of being a police officer, maybe even more than the actual job.

But this time, things were bloody serious.

There was a madman out in town, and he had already killed sixteen guys, five of them in the last four weeks. As one of the few officers in the Paris homicide department fitting the killer's apparent pattern of victims, I was sent out on the streets as bait.
And as I had nothing better to do then playing pretend at selling myself, it had been decided I could just as well hook up with one of our prime suspects and check him out.

But bloody damn nobody had warned me that besides looking pretty hot himself, he was a seriously nice guy. And the way him smiling at me made me feel all fuzzy and bright inside didn't bode well for my professional detachment during the days to come.

All right, I told myself, just sum up the facts. He's a late twenty-something Caucasian male, fit, part of the scene and had been acquainted with most of the victims, even if only by playing in the same bar as the kids had gone for a late drink between two customers.
But in a case with basically no leads at all, you contend with what you've got.

Slowly, I slid out of my wet jacket, searching for a place near the fire where it wouldn't drip on any of the countless books or magazines lying all around. Considering my host's choice of subjects, he was interested in close to everything, maybe with a slight preference to arts and music.

Somewhere off, I could hear him hum in the kitchen, and one by one, I got out of my shoes and out of my trouser, until I was wearing nothing but my shorts.

Apparently, I had really taken enough time getting myself drenched outside, I thought. Even my shorts were wet.
But I didn't want to take them off as well, not to spoil the sight I wanted to give my host when he would return.
I surely would increase my chances of attracting his homicidal attention if he thought me sexy, if he was the killer, that is. And if not - well, I surely wouldn't mind any other kind of attention he was willing to spare for me.

So when Colin finally arrived carrying a small tray with a steaming plate of lasagna and a bottle of beer, he found me crouching close to his fireplace, warming my hands, trying to dry my still dripping hair.

I could almost feel his look linger on my back, and I was sure there was more to his soft longing sigh than just my wishful thinking.

"Hey", he said gesturing at the plate. "Your dinner's ready. And there should be a clean towel on top of that pile to your right."

"Oh great." Grabbing said towel, I noticed in surprise that it was really clean, even slightly smelling of some subtle conditioner. Not just 'not dirty', as one might have expected by the general appearance of this household.

I just hoped there would soon appear something I didn't like about this guy.

Sitting down on a couch Colin had somehow dug free from the omnipresent junk, I tackled the food with a healthy appetite that only develops after one had been seriously wet and chilled to the bone.

Only after a while I realized that my host was standing there, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking at me with a friendly, slightly curious smile.

"What?", I asked, smiling around another mouthful of the truly delicious lasagna.

"Nothing. I just - I thought it would be nice if you'd take up my offer quite soon, so now here you are and I wonder if you wouldn't have gotten in trouble without me wanting you to lose your place."

I just shrugged, trying not to smile too openly. Seemed he was just as fond of me a I had hoped.

"Don't worry. See, the friend I was staying with, her boyfriend returned all of a sudden from jail. And he was very sure I had to leave, so things got a little rough."

"I hope no one got seriously hurt."

Again, I shrugged, this time with a dirty grin. "As I have been told, they were able to stitch him up quite nicely." Cheering at Colin's gleeful laughter with my bottle, I added: "But I just didn't feel like staying any longer, you see?"

"Absolutely."

For a moment, the only sounds were the crackling fire, the soft waves against the boat's hull and the constant buzz of the rain on the houseboat's tin deck.

"You can sleep on the couch, if you want to." He seriously didn't sound as if he'd expect me to share his bed tonight. "There's a blanket rolled up on one side, and if you need a pillow, there are enough on the floor."

I just nodded silently, and without another word, Colin went over to the piano standing in a crammed corner of the room, put down his whiskey, accommodated himself and started to play.

Finishing my dinner, I just sat there, listening.

Except for the fact that there was a serious chance of him being one of the worst serial killers of this century, he was really damn close to someone I could terribly fall in love with. Dangerously close.

And he truly didn't seem as if he'd expect me to 'pay' for staying at his place. So, despite my body being of diametrically opposed opinion, I decided against making any further move on him.
It would only be credible if a hustler would try and see if he truly could stay on his own for a night, even if he wouldn't have minded otherwise.

So I curled up underneath the blanket, listening to Colin play terribly melancholic interpretations of old Beatles songs, and wondered if life would be so bad if I just lived as his partner.
But tomorrow, I would make a move on him, I promised myself. All else would be a shameful waste.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus & Beryll

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