Between the Shadow and the Soul - 3. First Interlude - The Fiend Arises

September 6, 1999

Sitting in his air-conditioned luxury automobile with classical music playing quietly, The Fiend watched from behind his designer sunglasses as young children poured from the middle school like ants flooding out of a damaged nest. Boys and girls from grades four through six spread across the vast lawn and interwoven sidewalks in their first escape from the new school year.

Ranging in age from about nine years old to about twelve, the boisterous crowd of youngsters scampered in all directions, some toward waiting buses and cars, some toward public transit and nearby neighborhoods. Excited or subdued, with friends or alone, they defined perpetual motion.

Only one ten-year-old boy interested The Fiend, so he watched carefully awaiting the child's exit from the modern architecture of the building. But as he watched the six doors leading into and out of the school's lobby, he let his eyes meander a little here and a little there, sometimes drawn by uproarious laughter, sometimes by bright, flashy clothing, and sometimes by his own unspoken hunger.

Yet none of the children caught his eye in that way he often entertained and frequently indulged, and for this he felt thankful. These boys were younger than the usual fare he enjoyed. Not only that, but having just moved to this new city, he felt it prudent to put aside such pursuits lest he begin this new phase of his life by inviting trouble.

Thus his gaze returned to the doors just in time to catch sight of the kid upon whom he waited. The Fiend watched the boy pass through the doors as he chatted with another boy who was slightly taller but around the same age.

The Fiend could not take his eyes off this taller student. Both boys wore backpacks. Whereas the boy for whom he waited carried it upon narrow shoulders, the taller boy had shoulders slightly broader than his waist, a trait of older boys that this youngster already displayed. Additionally, the boy's oversized shirt hung revealingly upon his chest before dangling loosely about his waist, as though the boy had a more masculine, testosterone-driven musculature unlike the more androgynous physiques his male classmates possessed.

Perhaps it's a trick of the backpack, The Fiend pondered momentarily until the taller boy turned to offer his profile as he faced the other boy.

From the side, the kid's body revealed itself even more. The shirt snuggly clung to a chest only slightly more pronounced than would be usual at such an age, and yet The Fiend could see clearly that this young chest was indeed pronounced, even if only a bit.

Even worse, the loose folds of the large shirt settled atop the rounded buttocks that seemed too sensual, too bubble-like, too obvious for someone of that age. This, too, hinted at a body somewhat more developed than his peers, somewhat more defined in ways that normally would not present until later in life.

"Clearly the boy failed a previous grade and was held back," The Fiend told himself, as that would explain why he appeared older and more developed than the boy for whom The Fiend waited. A year or two older, yes, that must be it, he thought.

But he could not take his eyes off this boy, this arresting specimen of youthful masculinity. Because, in addition to an unusually mature look to his form, the boy had a face that, from any angle, seemed to beckon to the idea of perfection. While young and smooth and without the angularity and definition that came with age, the boy's face had an ageless handsomeness that promised to birth a paragon.

The Fiend even wondered if the boy was already a child model, for any marketing guru worth their salary would take one look at him and realize he represented what every boychild wanted to look like and every girlchild wanted to kiss. Cooties notwithstanding, of course.

"He's beautiful," The Fiend whispered to himself, "but too young." Nevertheless, internally he admitted that it would be intriguing to see the boy later in life, perhaps two or four years down the road, just to confirm that his obvious genetic gifts aged him into the teenage beau ideal the The Fiend suspected he would become.

When the two boys waved and smiled at each other before parting ways, The Fiend could scarcely believe how the impish grin of the taller boy struck him in the chest, the gut, and the groin. Perfect white teeth, full lips, and eyes that carried jolly sentiment set The Fiend's nerves afire, kindling a want he should not satisfy whilst giving rise to fantasies he would gladly entertain.

The Fiend watched as the boy for whom he waited glanced around before seeing the car. He gave an energetic wave to The Fiend while jogging toward the vehicle. And all the while The Fiend's eyes followed the taller boy as he walked across the school's yard and turned the corner, disappearing from sight behind the building. The feeling of loss, of disappointment, was surprisingly acute.

Once the boy for whom The Fiend waited climbed into the passenger seat, shut his door and buckled his seatbelt, his backpack dropped to the floor between his feet, The Fiend slowly pulled the car away from the curb and into the slow-moving traffic as he asked, "How'd it go on your first day, kiddo?"

The ten-year-old youngster's face broke into a beaming smile as he began recounting the intrigues and exploits of his first day in the fourth grade. He spoke of new teachers and new friends. He spoke of the interesting way students moved from class to class instead of remaining in the same room all day. He spoke of new subjects he would study.

And then he spoke of his new friend, the bigger kid who had made a point of befriending the small, scrawny, chocolate-skinned boy.

"Is he in your grade?" The Fiend asked.

"Yeah," the boy answered. "Same age, too, Dad. Can you believe it? He looks like one of the older kids, huh?" And the boy recounted his interactions with the taller boy and how they shared many interests, enjoyed laughing at the same jokes, and would surely be the best of friends.

The Fiend smiled at his fortune. Perhaps right now the taller boy was too young, but what he was learning while he drove indicated he might indeed enjoy the opportunity to watch the boy age, to verify that the traits he showed now would mature into an unbelievably beautiful teenager.

Beautiful in the most masculine sense of the word, The Fiend thought, for everything about The Boy screamed of masculine ne plus ultra in the making.

And that was when The Fiend realized he had already begun thinking of the taller kid as The Boy, a singular moniker for a singular child who no doubt would grow into a singular specimen offering the pinnacle of gratification for The Fiend's unwavering sexual appetite.

Interrupting his son, The Fiend asked, "Tell me, Nate, what's your new friend's name?"

"Greg Beaumont. Don't you think Beaumont's a funny name, Dad? I think it's funny."