Engle Byen A Place to Call Home Page 8

  My confusion turns to joy as I put all that has just happened aside, I begin to remember fragments of my “human life” as Viktor puts it. I have Benson with me, I feel that everything will be OK; I’ll be OK with whatever comes next.

  Suddenly the muffled voices that I had been hearing faintly in the back of my mind became crystal clear.

  “Michael, it’s mum, dad’s here too, Paul you go first.”

  “Mikey, I love you so much. We can’t bear to let you live like this any longer. It's not really living to have all these wires and tubes keeping you alive. I know you would want to be set free, Mikey. It’s been six months now and nothing has changed; no improvement. If you can hear me this is the saddest day of my life.”

  “Michael, dad and I agree with your partner, Paul, we can’t let you go on like this. You should be allowed to rest, my beautiful boy.”

  “Son, know that we all love you dearly and this isn’t a choice we made easily. We will miss you so very much. Be free and fly my beautiful kind son, we love you.”

  I felt a hand on my chest, it radiated great warmth. It was in that moment I realised that my best mate, Dylan, was also there. I heard him say in a trembling voice, “Goodbye, mate.”

  Tap tap, tap tap, psssst... beeeeeeeeep...

  It was finally time for me to go.

  Epilogue

  A heavy mist encased me, limiting the view of my surroundings. I don’t feel the cold biting chill that should accompany this dark gloomy winter’s day.

  I make the same journey often, how often, I don’t know, time is just a word. Something piques my curiosity in this unchanging environment, something appears different.

  My eyes scan the area near me and as far into the distance as I can see. I don't notice anything different. In the dead quiet of this place, I hear the crunching of gravel, footsteps. The crunching noise becomes louder and closer.

  I see two figures dressed in black, a male and a female walking towards me. Gradually, through the mist, I make out the faces of the approaching couple; it’s mum and dad.

  I give them a limp smile which isn’t acknowledged as they stand either side of me.

  Standing in between them, I wrap my arms around their waists, drawing them in closer to me. In unison, we lower our heads to view the cold grey marble headstone of my twin brother, Zac.

  It’s then that I notice what has changed. Gold lettering ‘Michael Pridemore’ carved into the same cold grey marble headstone as my brother...

  The Road to Engle Byen

  (A prequel)

  The first two chapters of the next instalment in the series.

  Available 2018

  DAVID GOLDON

  Copyright © 2017 David Goldon

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Locales are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contact: davidgolddon@gmail.com

  www.davidgoldon.com

  Chapter One

  “You’re an angel,” the rather plump Madonna impersonator lip-synced whilst looking directly into Michael’s ice blue eyes. Embarrassed by the attention, Michael looked away breaking eye contact with the drag queen. At almost six-foot, high cheekbones, chiselled jaw and a well-toned muscular body, Michael had model good looks. He would often attract the attention of men, women and drag queens as well, wherever he went. As the music faded and the drag queen left the stage, the thump-thump of loud dance music filled the club. The crowd surrounding him began to disperse, many club-goers making their way directly to the bar. Michael remained standing in the same spot glancing over to the queue at the bar waiting for it to thin out before heading over for his usual lemon lime and bitters.

  “Hey, I think Flab-donna has the hots for you, she couldn’t keep her eyes off you,” came a voice from behind Michael. He turned around to see a short old man smiling at him.

  “Yeah, I noticed she kept looking and singing at me, I didn’t know where to look” Michael laughed.

  “What brings a handsome young man like yourself to a dingy club like this, are you waiting for your boyfriend to arrive?” the old guy asked.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend, I just finished work and came here to wind down a bit.”

  "Sorry, bit hard to hear, you'll have to move in closer. What do you do for a job?"

  "I'm a nurse at the hospital not far from here, I often pop into this club for a while, have a drink, a bit of a dance and then go home,” Michael replied in the loudest voice he could muster without screaming at the old guy.

  “Never alone I’m sure, you’re such a gorgeous hunk,” the old guy said as he grabbed Michael on the arse and squeezed.

  Usually, up for a genuine chat with new people of any age, Michael turned and walked away without saying anything to the old guy. He hates that he can’t have a conversation with someone without there being an ulterior motive.

  The queue at the bar had thinned and Michael manoeuvred his way over to it through the throng of sweaty clubbers. The Muscle Mary behind the bar ignored the other patrons waiting for service and headed directly to Michael.

  “What can I get you tonight gorgeous?” The Muscle Mary asks flashing a smile, teeth whiter than the polar ice caps.

  Michael’s eyes scanned the tattoos on the barman’s chest and arms. “Lemon, lime and bitters, thanks.”

  As the barman turned around to prepare his drink, Michael couldn’t help but notice the barman’s tight denim shorts and pert bubble butt. Taking a five dollar note out of his wallet and holding it out in readiness for the barman to take, the barman squeezes Michael’s hand shut, gives him a big smile, hands him his drink and moves on to the next customer.

  Standing near the dancefloor, drink in hand, Michael admires the muscled torso’s dripping in sweat and moving in unison to the beat of the dance music. His favourite dance anthem of all time begins to thump out of the speakers. Quickly placing his unfinished drink on the nearby ledge, he moves onto the dance floor and begins moving his body to the pulsating rhythm. Wide eye men stare at him, wet hair, faces dripping in sweat. He feels hands on his hips, his t-shirt moving up his stomach, he raises his arms up in the air allowing his t-shirt to be taken off by a stranger dancing behind him. The stranger tucks Michael’s t-shirt into the back of his designer jeans, he turns around and smiles at the young handsome stranger, who is also shirtless, and they dance together until the song ends.

  Finding himself in the middle of the dance floor covered in sweat and extremely parched he navigates his way through the masses of bodies to get back and finish that much-needed drink. He picks up his half-full glass and guzzles down the refreshing beverage. He turns away from the dance floor. Making his way to the bar, his shoes slightly sticking to the carpet. He needs water and fast.

  Michael feels uncontrollably dizzy, his legs feel like jelly, he fears his legs are about to give way. Knowing he won’t be able to make it to the bar without falling over, his eyes scan the room for somewhere to sit down. He spies a vacant barstool near a wall and makes his way to it, stumbling slightly. Now seated, he can’t feel his legs, his arms feel numb as the thump, thump of the dance music invades his head. A thick fog of dry ice is pumped into the club, the old guy with the roving hands appears as if by magic right in front of him as he tries to steady himself by leaning against the wall.

  “You all right there mate, you had too much to drink?” The old guy asked as he rubbed Michael’s leg with his wrinkly old hand.

  Michael tries to speak but is unable, he can hardly move, his heart begins racing as he realises he has obviously been drugged. The old guy puts his arm around the back of Michael’s neck gently rubbing it.

  “Let’s get you home, I’ll take good care of you,” he whisper
s.

  “Fuck off, you dirty old letch!” A loud voice came out of nowhere as the old man released his grip on Michael and went tumbling back against the wall sliding down it and landing on the sticky carpet. Virtually incapacitated and unable to speak, Michael saw the guy that assaulted the old guy and noticed two big burly bouncers pushing their way through the crowd over to him after witnessing the violent confrontation that had just unfolded.

  “Are you with him?” one of the bouncers asked the violent hero.

  “Yeah, I am, this old guy was sleazing onto my boyfriend and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sorry, but I had to do something to stop him."

  “Yeah, well you and your boyfriend, who’s not looking so good, better leave now.” The other bouncer was helping the old guy up off the floor sitting him down on a nearby barstool.

  The violent hero took Michael’s t-shirt out from the back of his jeans and put it back on him. The bouncer assisted lifting Michael up off the barstool and escorted him out to the front of the club with help from the violent hero.

  Chapter Two

  A bright light was shining on Michael's face as he slowly opened his eyes, the brightness was too much. He turned away from the light to discover it was the sun shining through a window. Disorientated, he saw a digital clock on a bedside table, the time was 12.34pm. He looked up at the unfamiliar dirty ceiling and surveyed his surrounds. There was a computer desk, a rack of CD's, an old chest of drawers and some framed prints on the wall. All very cheap and nasty, like you would expect to find in a student's bedroom. Turning up his nose at the putrid smell of stale cigarette smoke he realised he was lying naked on his back in someone else's bed. Fragments of what had transpired last night began to flash through his mind, that old man who drugged him and the violent hero that saved him.

  Michael sat up slowly in the strange bed amongst unfamiliar surrounds, there was no one else with him in the bed. Glancing down to the floor he spied his clothes amongst others strewn across the floor. Rising slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed he reached over and retrieved his unmistakable clothing from the piles of clothes on the floor. As he began to put his clothes on he noticed some red marks on his wrists, a few bruises on his chest, and his behind was quite painful.

  The bedroom door opened swiftly taking Michael by surprise. From behind it appeared a plain looking guy with a somewhat plump figure, some awful undistinguishable tattoos on his arms, he was dressed in sleep shorts and a white singlet.

  "Uh, hi," Michael said. "I guess you were the guy that saved me last night, so thanks for that, I really appreciate it. I think that old guy spiked my drink while I was on the dancefloor, he tried to chat me up earlier and I wasn't interested and…"

  “Oh, it wasn’t him,” the violent hero guy interrupted. “It was me and you better go get yourself an AIDS test too. Now I have my revenge you can fuck off out of here, you psycho nut job.”

  Michael was dazed and confused, he had never met this guy before, what revenge would he be seeking? Hurriedly Michael put the rest of his clothes and shoes on. Looking at this disturbed individual standing there at the bedroom door Michael pushed past him not saying a word, walking fast paced down a small hallway he saw the front door and bolted towards it. Frantically opening the locks on the door, hoping all the time that this psycho hadn’t locked him in. Success! The door was unlocked, he slammed the door shut behind him and found himself in a stairwell with numbered doors belonging to other units. It was an older style apartment building which was quite dark and cold. There was a window in the stairwell, he could see the street outside and ran as fast as he could down one flight of stairs. He found the exit and flung the door open, running down a few steps to the footpath and the safety of the sunny street.

  Relived to be free of that monster, he ran as fast as his designer dress shoes would carry him, which wasn't as fast as he could usually run. The street was small, on both sides of the street, there were many older style apartment blocks. He saw a small park in the distance and headed for it. There were kids on playground equipment and Michael headed towards a tree and sat down underneath it to regain his breath. Watching the kids playing, he took a little time to reminisce about his own childhood and how things had changed so dramatically since those early days of innocence.

  Snapping back into reality Michael began to sob uncontrollably as he recalled the situation he had just escaped from. Some of the kids in the playground gave him weird looks when they heard him crying. "Oh shit!" Michael gasped as he felt for his phone. He was relieved to find it was still in his pocket. Feeling his other pocket, his keys and wallet were still there. He stood and retrieved his phone from his pocket. Looking at it, trying to focus, he wiped the tears from his eyes and attempted to regain his composure. It didn’t take him long to figure out who he was going to call; his best friend Dylan.

  “Dylan, I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, tied up, raped and I have AIDS, all apart of someone plotting revenge on me,” Michael blurted as soon as Dylan answered his call.

  “What Michael? Slow down, you are such a drama queen. Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Well, I managed to escape and I just ran and ran and I’m here in a park, can you come and get me please?”

  “Sure, where are you?”

  “I don’t know, in a park somewhere.”

  “Michael,” Dylan said sternly, “calm down, get yourself together and tell me where you are.”

  “But I don’t know where I am,” Michael replied hysterically.

  “Ok, you have a navigator app on your phone, turn it on and let me know where you are.” Hands shaking, Michael located the app on his phone and turned it on. To his surprise, he was only one suburb away from where he lives.

  “Dylan, I’m not that far from my place, but you still have to come and pick me up, I need you to examine me.”

  After Michael had informed Dylan of his location, Dylan left his penthouse apartment in Collins Street, located in the heart of Melbourne city and headed off to pick up Michael in the nearby suburb of Prahran.

  Dylan is a doctor, at six foot, built like a gladiator and telling anyone that will listen he is a direct descendant of Scandinavian Vikings, his dance card is always full. When word gets out that he is naturally blond and a doctor there is generally a feeding frenzy of people wanting to be his best friend and more. He was best friends with Michael’s identical twin brother, Zac; they met at university where they both studied medicine and graduated together. Michael and Dylan were dating for a while but it just became too weird for Dylan to be dating someone that looks exactly like his best friend Zac.

  Dylan drove Michael to his nearby medical practice. “Michael, you haven’t been interfered with and you don’t have HIV, though the bruising on your wrists indicate you’ve been restrained in some way. Your drug test shows positive for Rohypnol, which is more commonly referred to as a ‘date rape’ drug which I'm sure you have had dealings with at the hospital. That drug will show up in your blood for about 24 hours. I'm giving you a medical certificate for seven days just to be sure. It won't be a good look for a nurse to return a positive drug test result if you are given a random test at work and of course, there are your patients to be concerned about.” Dylan said in his best doctor’s voice.

  “But Dylan, my bottom is hurting, are you sure I haven’t been raped?”

  Dylan sighed, “No Michael, you have haemorrhoids.” They both laughed hysterically. “But,” Dylan interrupted, “Being drugged is quite serious, you should report it to the police.”

  “Yeah, I guess you are right, but I can’t remember where I was and I don’t know if I would recognise that guy again. He did say something about getting his revenge on me but I don’t know what I have done, I’m sure I haven’t laid eyes on him before,” bleated Michael.

  “Michael, if I am to be very honest with you, Zac did have quite a few enemies out in the club scene. He treated a lot of people quite badly, perhaps this guy was one of them and he mistook you fo
r Zac and as a part of his plan he wanted to just scare you telling you, to get checked for HIV.”

  “Yeah but Zac has been dead for nearly two years now and….”

  Dylan interrupted, "Michael, Zac was stabbed to death in a frenzied attack, probably by some drug addict, the crowd he used to run with were a bit suspect, to say the least."

  About the author

  David attended a newly formed writing group to support his friends. He had no intention, patience or time to write any stories himself, or so he thought. Inadvertently he was drawn into participating in some writing exercises. His long-cobwebbed creativity began to emerge transitioning into a new-found passion for story writing. David aims to infiltrate the LGBT literary world with stories of love, life and lessons learned with an Australian flavour.

  David lives in Melbourne, Australia with his long-term partner and two fur babies.

  www.davidgoldon.com

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