Angel's Trumpets - 5. Chapter 5

Via Appia

Andrea had snatched one of George's newspapers laying on the kitchen table. He couldn't believe it. Sebastian had been under suspicion of murder and was in custody for almost 48 hours. Since he was a man of Rome's interest, the newspaper reported it under the title 'local news' which Andrea always read first. The evening paper George had brought when he came home said that he was released this noon because another murder happened at Luigi's Bar. Madonna mia. He was just thankful that Roberto hadn't been there. But he knew that George had been out last evening and as usual didn't tell him where. Since George's phone wasn't working yet - Roman conditions! - he couldn't get in contact with Roberto. He hadn't had sex with George for three days, that was a record, Andrea grinned, and so George perhaps found his relief somewhere else. Perhaps at Luigi's Bar?

But soon enough he felt George's laboured breath at his neck. He always walked silently as a cat, a most irritating behaviour. And soon his hands roamed all over Andrea's bare chest. It had been hot in the day and the air conditioning was out, for George was prone to colds. He pinched his nipples and bit into Andrea's neck, close under his ear.

George didn't wait anymore for the long dong to come. He just thought about Andrea and his cock that was there always for him as long as he paid him even if he recently didn't want to sleep with him. But he knew how he could turn him on, and this thing never failed its effect. He pulled him from the chair he was sitting in and went with him to the spacious bathroom, where he undressed him completely.

Surprised he noticed that Andrea didn't complain nor struggle; perhaps he was in need of money then? George grinned slyly, turned on the water hose, tested the temperature and started to spray Andrea all over with water, first his shoulders, over his chest, the legs and feet. Andrea giggled and George was so happy to hear this sound that he stepped under the shower with him, fully dressed, and started to move the hose over his abdomen, the ball sack and finally Andrea's penis. He knew the tickling of the water was exquisite and nobody could resist this. It was like a thousand tiny tongues licking and tickling and very quickly Andrea had a raging hard-on.

George turned off the water, took Andrea by the hand as the bell rang at the front door. George froze. It was ten minutes to 10 p.m., who could be the visitor now?

"Stay as you are, or better, wait for me in bed, sweetheart," he told Andrea and went to open the door.

All that he saw was a cloak and a hood, pulled over a face that lay in darkness. Without a word he stepped into the hall and turned off the light. George has stunned. The hooded man passed him by, went to the living room and said slowly, "Turn off each light." He watched when George pressed a combination of numbers that shut the outside blinds. He knew that they went down for each room, so that his house was now a little fortress that nobody would be able to break in to. The combination he alone knew.

It was now pitch dark in the house. Suddenly he remembered Andrea waiting for him in the bedroom. He would await him every minute.

But then there was light, a lit candle in the hand of the visitor, and George shivered with excitement. Finally he would have everything again, the cock he yearned for . . . George went on to the guest room, the bed was invitingly large, a double bed, ready to jump in.

The candle was placed on a table next to the door, too far away to see good enough, but light enough not to stumble.

The cloak was falling down. George stared at the man. His face was covered by a mask, sort of a Zorro mask, that hid his eyes and nose. And his cock was straining up to the ceiling, long and red. Used.

The man tossed him a package of condoms and a tube. "Undress."

The voice was old. Old and demanding. George started to sweat, he tried to peel off his clothes, wet from the shower he had shared with Andrea.

Andrea was still waiting for him . . . . Quickly George rushed to the door and locked it. Then he struggled with his socks and the trousers that seemed to be glued on his body. The cock was getting impatient. It bounced up and down when the man moved in the direction of the bed. George finally was naked, went to him, got on his knees and sniffed. His tongue darting out, catching a few drops of excitement. Circled around the tip that was peering out of the foreskin. Got it into his mouth, and moaned with pleasure. But the man remained silent, there was no movement, he just looked down and watched George's actions.

And then he withdrew and lay upon the bed, George was above him in no time, kneeling between his hairy legs, going down on him like it would be the last time. His own penis was dripping and smearing his fluid all over the sheets and the knees of the unknown man. And then he felt turned over by a surprisingly firm grip, a finger was pushed into his ass, searching his insides. George saw stars exploding before his eyes when he hit the right spot. He spread his legs, mustered himself up for the large intruder but it didn't come. Instead he felt a tongue at his opening, darting in and out, like a second penis, leaving him in a puddle of saliva and spittle. And then he heard the first moan from him. A deep rumble, like a wolf. His penis vanished in the other's mouth, he felt his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, sucking. Sucking and sucking still until he couldn't hold on no more. A deep cry escaped George's mouth, quickly covered by a large hand.

He was turned over once more, his ass stuck high in the air, only fingers greasing him, inside, around and under and then he felt it . . . a large, hard, soft and hot thing those width almost split his anus. But George pushed back, softly first, then more and more until the head slipped in. Once more a cry escaped George but this time the man let it happen. A stronger push and he was in. George gritted his teeth, the hands clamped around the bed linen. Another push, a long stroke, another and he was out again. George silently begged he might come back and bit his lips until they bled when he felt entered again.

He was laying spread eagled upon the bed while the masked man fucked him like a hammer. He heard his panting, the breath upon his back, the sweat dripping upon his skin. Faster and faster, George thought his blood must be dripping from his anus, but still he enjoyed it. More and more. This very moment he felt hands approaching his throat. Large hands wrapping around his neck, strangling his windpipe until he couldn't breath. Something rustled. From the corner of his eyes he saw a white plastic bag. And in this last moment of highest ecstasy, when he drenched the sheets beneath him, he lost consciousness.

Andrea waited in vain. He had enjoyed what George had done to his body, and was willing to give him a good fuck but then he wondered why George didn't appear. The blinds had went down and Andrea had awaited him every second. He had spread himself upon the bed, turned on the TV and must have dropped off, when he heard a cry from below. Something was going on down there. A burglar? Andrea cursed the fact that he had no phone, his cell phone George had taken away.

He didn't dare to look, just tiptoed to the door and lay his ear to the wood. No sound. He opened the door, went out to the staircase and peered down. It was pitch dark. But then a small light appeared. Sort of a candle's light and then there was the shadow of a man, dressed in something wide, like a cloak.

He dragged something heavy. Andrea's heartbeat went to his throat. Silently he slipped back into the bedroom. Then the clicking of the door told him that the man had gone. He heard the turning of keys. Locked. Andrea knew the door was too heavy to destroy it. The blinds were heavy too and strengthened with iron gates. The combination to open them was George's secret. That's for George's panic attacks that a burglar could break into his house.

Andrea sat upon the bed. What now? And what happened to George?

He dragged himself up, pulled on his jeans and went down the staircase. First he tried the entrance door. As feared, it was locked. He rattled, knowing it was in vain. The second bunch of keys, always hanging beside the door, had vanished too. Andrea entered the living room, then the kitchen, the guest bath and finally the guest room. He found the bed clothes disheveled, on the carpet a used condom and an open tube of jelly. The slimy fluid had ran out.

This was getting mysterious. . . who was the secret, nightly visitor whom George let in, slept with and got knocked out finally? On the small table beside the door he found traces of wax. Perhaps it was indeed a candle he had seen. And where was George now? Was he still alive?

And then he made the connection: George at Luigi's Bar - the murder - what if the nightly visitor and the murderer were one and the same? - George killed with a plastic bag. Despair spread out. Fervently he pressed the buttons for the blinds, just in case he could hit the right combination per chance. But nothing moved. Then he opened the glass doors to the garden and banged his fists upon the metal surface, he squeezed his fingers between ground and blinds with the result that his fingertips were bleeding. Then he took a chair and tried to smash the blinds - no luck.

At least he wouldn't starve for the fridge and pantry were stuffed with food. He just hoped that Roberto would show up sooner or later when he didn't hear from him. Andrea once more started his restless walk through the house to find an escape.

Luigi's Bar

The rooms, usually bustling with life, were deserted and dimly lighted. Instead of using the stage for their practices, the strippers had gathered there: Christian, Claudio, Giulio and Nando, the brother of Sascha. They were silent when Luigi and Tasso entered the stage, joining them in their silence.

"It's two of us now," Nando started to speak. "First Paolo, now Sascha." One moment Tasso feared that he would break out into tears. He had the same tiny locks like his brother, the same long lashes shading his eyes, but he was extremely well built, result of countless days in the workout studios.

Tasso sighed and looked at his partner. "We have to tell you that we have decided to close this bar for good," Luigi started, more softly than the men had been used to. Everybody was looking at him. "We aren't sure if we will ever get our license back, that's the main reason."

The guys started to protest and Luigi lifted his hand. "I've spoken to Camillo and he agreed to take you over as a group if you want. You're the best guys." He smiled a little.

They looked at each other; Camillo's nightclub was one of the most luxurious in town. Luigi had paid them well, but perhaps Camillo would pay more. Their faces lit up.

"Of course we will take over all costs of Sascha's funeral," he said to Nando. "I've heard you shared several nights with our mysterious man in chamber 4?"

"Guess we all have. But nobody has ever seen his face. The night Sascha died I had seen him last when he entered chamber 20 with a young man - Vincenzo he called him when we met briefly in the corridor." Nando's head sunk. "That was the last time I saw him." Hastily he wiped his eyes. "But now . . . how can we find out when the bar is closed?"

"You told me you have the film from the camera," Claudio threw in. "You should bring it to the police."

"There's nothing important to see. Just material for a porn movie I'd say."

"Nonetheless. The police might have better possibilities," Luigi said. "Do you know this Vincenzo?"

Nando shook his head. "He seemed nice to me. Probably Sascha had just met him. I haven't seen him afterward, but that's not our man." He looked all around. "We all know since the long dong had started to visit the bar that everything had changed. Former chamber 4 was just a room for foursomes, but then it started to be an insider's tip."

Claudio nodded. "It's just not the abnormal length, it's the thrill around, the candles, the silence and his skill. But he was out of control sometimes. I've seen how he strangled a guy, but thought it was just instinctive at the peak of his orgasm. Probably we've slept with a killer and have just been lucky."

Luigi nodded. "Keep your eyes open then when you start to work for Camillo. I'll set a notice that you have changed your employer, perhaps he will follow you."

Gianicolo

Sebastian had taken his holidays for he still was in a state of shock. Not that the treatment had been bad but this definitely didn't belong to his good experiences in life. They all had picked him up this morning from the police station and he had never been so happy to see them, especially Kay. Since he had heard the new about the second incident at Luigi's Bar he had remained very thoughtful, trying to sort out everything that the guys had told him. How did everything fit together?

Kay came with the news from Tasso; he had done his job there for some hours, mainly talked about Nando's opinion, the empty camera which didn't have Sebastian's fingerprints, naturally.

His legs shook, and he rolled the whiskey in the glass, Marcus had bought him. He was glad that he had quit visiting the dark rooms since he had met Kay.

"Leandro and Daniel had let us into their secrets, Bastian." Marcus sat beside him in a chair under a sunshade in the garden. "Seems as if he has an idea who our friend is. Do you per chance know a Cardinal Borghese?"

"Gianluca Borghese? Sure I know him. Recently he took over the relics from Daniel's altar for the Lateran. He lives in his house that's now Galleria Borghese."

"That was him?" Marcus asked surprised. "But do you know him personally?"

"Not that I know. Why?"

"Leandro is highly suspicious that he is the one and the same: the man with the excitingly long thing and the murderer himself."

Sebastian was too stunned to say anything.

"The bad thing is that Gianluca and Leandro stood face to face at Luigi's Bar. It must have been shortly after the murder. He held a stuffed plastic bag, Leandro said and looked pretty disarranged to put it mildly. Vincenzo told them . . ."

"Stop, give me a break, please," Sebastian said. "Who is this Vincenzo actually?"

"Leandro's ex-lover. He followed both to Luigi and hooked up with Sascha to go with him to the darkrooms. After some time two guys entered the room, one of them was our man, hood and cloak and a candle. Vincenzo was frightened and left the room, leaving Sascha behind."

"Hmm. So it could be that the hood and the other guy were the last to see Sascha alive right?"

"Right. But not necessarily."

"And how are we supposed to find out?" Sebastian took another sip from his whiskey. It had a very relaxing effect.

"Vincenzo gave his report to the police when we've picked you up", Marcus continued. "And then Leandro uttered his suspicions about Borghese."

"Let me guess," Sebastian said calm, "they said they can do nothing because they can't investigate against a cardinal of the Vatican State, right?"

"How do you know?"

Sebastian just smiled. He saw Kay coming from the house and beamed. He made room on the bench where he was sitting and pressed Kay very close to his body. "I didn't sleep one minute," he told him. "Me neither," Kay replied. "Have you filled him in?" he asked Marcus.

"Everything except about this Vincenzo. Marcus said it's Leandro's ex-lover? From Volterra? I've never seen him. Leandro must have hidden this secret from me."

"Surely enough, he was hot for you," Kay said grinning. "So was Vincenzo in his way."

"I don't think Leandro would do such sly things."

"Vincenzo is married," Marcus added. "He left him to marry a woman to save the family set-up, so to say."

Sebastian lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Well . . . how odd. And now he he changed his mind, yes? What's with Daniel and Leandro?"

Marcus and Kay shrugged their shoulders. "I have the feeling they're about to figure it out." Kay nodded over to the men, vanishing around the house: Leandro and Vincenzo.

"I really don't know how to handle this," Leandro was telling him. "Everything is in turmoil inside me." He pulled a leaf to pieces. "I even had to sleep alone this night. I need more time."

Vincenzo's eyes lit up. "And Daniel didn't complain?"

Sure he had, but not that much to change Leandro's mind. He felt pretty bad about it, but he hadn't promised Daniel anything. It was just that Daniel's closeness disturbed his mind from thinking clearly. Actually it wasn't the fact itself whether he had fallen in love with Daniel or not but just that the whole idea had disrupted all his plans he had made for Rome.

Meran? He would be trapped in a small town again. But Daniel's sad eyes made his heart pound. If only he was a little more persistent... like Vincenzo was.

To be serious he couldn't imagine Daniel being that jealous that he would lose his mind and get into a fight with his ex-lover. Although . . .

"Perhaps we have to decide it with fists then. Just me and Daniel, like in an arena."

Leandro snorted. "Gladiator, eh? And the prize is me." He stood and looked into Vincenzo's cornflower blue eyes. "What will you do now? How long will you wait for my decision?"

Leandro suddenly felt the power of his words and the meaning behind them. He should feel flattered that two men would fight for him, but he couldn't.

"Your welcome was pretty harsh," he heard Vincenzo saying. "You blew my mind, took the wind from all my sails and I thought I'd have no chance. But now . . ." He placed his arm around Leandro's waist and pulled him close. "Just remember. Close our eyes and remember our plans. I'll make them reality."

It was hard not to follow his wishes. "With what? Where do you want to go?"

"Stay here in Rome, you have your work and I'll find a suiting shop for the tourists. There can never be enough of them, right?"

Leandro was about to nod. Daniel would return to Meran and would be out of sight. And out of his mind. "I won't give up that easily, I like you too much." That had been Daniel's words but Leandro wasn't sure to if he should believe them. He needed proof. But what about his own feelings? Surely he had fallen in love with Daniel. Daniel was somebody to trust, to restore his tired mind and body, and since Leandro wasn't a person who needed constant entertainment he seemed the right man for him. It was great to share his nights with him and Leandro hadn't missed Vincenzo for a single second of them. Daniel was a man; not the boy Leandro considered Vincenzo to be. He smiled a half smile. Glancing at his former lover he noticed that Vincenzo wasn't a boy anymore either, but in his memories he always considered him to be, like in the old days when they had shared their first kiss, heated from playing. Leandro wasn't able to change this feeling. Vincenzo would always be his childhood friend, a lover that had passed - somebody he was about to leave behind. On the other hand: did he know Daniel enough? Perhaps the old familiarity weighed more?

"Give me more time," he said. "You have enough money to stay?"

Vincenzo nodded, truly convinced that he would win in the end.

Leandro peered through the kitchen window. Daniel and Nicholas were cooking together, preparing a welcome dinner for Sebastian. From the smell, coming through the window, it must be marvelous. Leandro saw them laughing, both had dressed in long aprons that reached to their ankles. Daniel was sure a solid man. He could rely on him, couldn't he? More than he could on Vincenzo?

In his head formed a plan, but he needed Daniel for this, so he delayed it until the night.

Daniel had seen Leandro talking to his old lover from the kitchen window. He saw Vincenzo talking non-stop to Leandro who was taciturn and thoughtful. Perhaps this very moment his destiny was sealed. Would their young love be strong enough to resist the old memories or not? Would he be forced into a verbal or physical fight? Would he fight? It had hurt that Leandro hadn't wanted to share his bed with him last night but what could he do.

He spilled vinegar over his fingers instead of over the salad. Nicholas nudged him. He was sure he had seen them too and was thinking his own part. Although he was a bit shy of asking Daniel he thought it was important. He cleared his throat. "Danny, I think you should do something about this here", he said quietly.

"I know", was Daniel's only answer.

"I know... that's all?" Nicholas was getting agitated. He wiped his hands on his apron and looked closely at the older man. "The little time I've learnt to know Leandro I realised he's worth the fight."

"Fight?" Daniel echoed.

"Yes, fight. Man, you can't stand here and watch Vincenzo dragging his ex-lover into his arms once more. If you feel anything for Leandro you'll have to stand up for him."

Daniel smiled at the young men's heat. "You've learnt something, right?" he said after a while. "I mean the days when you and Marcus..."

Nicholas held his gaze. "Yes, I've learnt something. We both learnt something. If you're in love it's important not to waste any time. Let him know that you want him."

Daniel was still smiling and nodded. "I know you're right. I've never had the opportunity to fight for somebody." That was nonsense he thought immediately. He hadn't fight for his relationship with Felix for instance. Perhaps it would had been possible for both of them to increase their feelings for eachother if he would had given them time. But he hadn't and it was over. And Daniel actually wasn't sad about it. He knew that he was a ditherer, completely different to his cousin Sebastian who always took the bull by the horns. He felt ashamed that this young man had to tell him this, but he wasn't angry. Nicholas was right.

Vincenzo and Leandro had gone. And Daniel promised himself that he wouldn't sleep alone that night.

Via Appia

Roberto didn't show up. It was now the third day and Andrea was getting really despaired. Incessantly he had tried to smash the door and the blinds, leaving just bulges behind. He was able to lift them from the floor, and tried to squeeze himself through but was afraid to get stuck. Then he tried the attic, but the skylights were too small, so he took a sheet and wrote the word "Aiuto" upon it - help. This he hung out but since the opening was so small, nobody would be able to read it.

This morning he had inspected the basement and came back pretty dirty. There was the oil tank and some old stuff from the former owner. But then he had detected a secret door behind a shelf full of old cans and empty glasses and bottles. He pushed the shelf aside and had been able to open the rusted door. There was a steep staircase leading down and Andrea was determined to use it.

So he packed his rucksack with bread, salami and cheese, took a large bottle of water, a torch and some matches. He had absolutely no clue where the staircase would lead him, perhaps to the neighbour next door whose basements were connected, but he doubted it. Why would it be that steep then?

He took a sheet and scribbled some words, then left it at the kitchen table. He gathered all his guts, opened the door and started to enter the staircase.

Somewhere

It was night, or was it day? He neither could make out the time nor which day it was. Whenever he opened his eyes he was surrounded by a steady dim light because the blinds were always shut down. Blinds. . . . he had closed the blinds, that's right . . . but what happened then?

Another morning. Another evening? His tongue felt wet with a slimy, not exactly tasteful fluid, he feared to choke when his mouth was stuffed with a . . . thing that was pliable and hot. Spongy . . . His throat hurt, as well his head and his anus. There had been something but he didn't know what . . . . A weight upon his body helpless on the ground. A bed perhaps. He couldn't open his eyes, they were too heavy. Some more fluid, hot and bitter this time, but he drank thirstily and then . . . oblivion.

Galleria Borghese

The door bell rang. Gianluca, startled, lifted his head. He didn't welcome visitors. It was two in the afternoon, the museum was closed. And very few people knew the entrance door to his wing of the museum. Sighing he closed the book and tenderly wiped over it. Then he dressed into his cloak and went to open the door.

The young man, Leandro, smiled into his face. Gianluca thought he would faint. He couldn't control his facial expression and was sure that it was twitching.

"Signore Cardinal, scusi to disturb you. But I haven't seen you for so long I thought I would meet you at Villa Giulia. The Apollo of Veji, you remember?"

"Si. . . si. I do remember." Gianluca's thoughts paced through his mind. Madonna, what could he want? He had seen him coming from Luigi's Bar. Not a suitable place for a catholic cardinal . . .

"Umm. . . do you want to come in?" He stepped invitingly aside.

"No, no. It's not necessary. What about a walk through the park? I've never seen the park of this house. I've read it's brilliant."

"Oh yes, well, it is. Brilliant." Gianluca hesitated and looked wary. But then he decided to take the bull by the horns. If the boy wanted to blackmail him, he would find a solution. He closed the door behind him and walked with Leandro around the house. It was a nice baroque garden. In the middle of it was sort of a labyrinth, trees were formed to sculptures and the flowers in the beds were decorated as curled snakes. Some very fine specimen of Angel's Trumpets stood in groups, their large, yellow trumpet-like flowers hung in clusters from the branches, oozing an intoxicating smell.

"How is the work, Leandro?"

"Oh, fine, fine. I'm working at the copy of town Ceverteri, you know. It develops slowly, there's so much to think of." He stopped at a bench in front of a box tree hedge. "It's hot today, isn't it."

Gianluca was getting nervous. That guy was beating around the bush. He took a seat and Leandro sat beside him. "To make it short, Leandro. You and I know what you have seen three days ago. What do you want from me?"

Landro jerked a bit for Gianluca had changed the tone. It was now raspy and old. Cold. He was sure that he had walked slowly enough that Daniel and Vincenzo could follow him. If he just could know where they were hidden right now. Daniel wasn't excited about Leandro's suggestion in the first place, but Vincenzo had been all for it despite what he did was dangerous. Daniel.... last night he had met a different Daniel; there was no trace of hesitation on his side. Leandro wondered what had shaken him out of his reserve. But now was no time to ponder.

"Well," Leandro said, "that's no problem, his Eminence. Your secret is well hidden with me."

"Secret?" Gianluca's head flung around. He goggled at the younger man. "What secret?"

"Well, what would a cardinal of the Holy Curia have to do in a gay bar?"

"It was a gay bar?"

Leandro couldn't help but laugh. That was hilarious. "Oh, you didn't know it was a gay bar? You've lost your way then?"

"Surely I did. Actually I wanted to visit some of my lambs but must have gone to the wrong entrance." That was poppycock he thought instantly. How stupid must this young man be to believe that? So he changed the tactic.

"Alright, you have me. I'm not the first gay cardinal and will not be the last. Where is the problem?"

Leandro looked at him with an innocent look. "I don't see a problem, cardinal. You have changed it into one when you denied it."

That had some reasons, Gianluca thought.

"I really just wanted to know how you are," Leandro continued. Well we met a Luigi's Bar and I was surprised, yes. But it's none of my business. You didn't think I wanted to blackmail you? Betray your secret to the curia? Huh, how should I do that? And who would be interested? We all know how the Vatican handles things . . . probably you would be transferred to a small town? Perhaps not."

Gianluca said nothing. He stared intently at his hands which had started to tremble slightly.

"Do you know where to go, now that Luigi's Bar is closed?"

"Scusi? Another bar?"

"Yes. I've heard that the strippers have another engagement at Camillo's "Forty Seven." It's pretty posh. I think I will try it out. Do you?"

"Was this an invitation?" Perhaps he was keen on old men? Gianluca measured him from head to feet. Could it be? Leandro gave him a deep look and Gianluca shivered. His cock started to raise.

"When?" he croaked.

"Let's say Friday night?"

Another suspicious look. Gianluca rose and marched on, Leandro followed him. "I have to go, Signore Cardinal. My break is over."

Gianluca nodded absentmindedly and stared into empty space.

Rome's Underground

His flashlight illuminated just a small patch of the unsteady ground. But, determined, he gripped his bag tighter and started to walk. He felt the burden of earth upon his shoulders; there was no sound, no insects, no mice rustling in the recesses while he went on. Andrea wasn't claustrophobic but the walls were so close together that only one person could pass. Each moment he feared that it could cave in or some creature, well hidden in one on the byways could jump in his way and dig his claws into his body....

He stopped. A crossways. To the left and right passages turned off, vanishing in the darkness outside the circle of light created by his flashlight. Andrea thought that he was pretty unsure of the meaning of this labyrinth under Rome's ground. He wasn't Theseus and Ariadne with a red thread was far away.

So he searched on the ground and picked up a small stone with which he scratched an arrow into the soft Tuff stone that pointed straight on. He had decided not to change the direction. He passed several more cross roads and marked each one, then a draft of air touched his body. He pointed the flashlight to the left and saw a vertical shaft from which coolness poured in. Cautiously he stepped closer and guided the light into the shaft up and downwards. More tuff, and Andrea sensed that this tunnel he was walking along wasn't the last level, but that there must be more down under and more above.

Suddenly a flash bolted through his mind: The catacombs! The catacombs stretched themselves hundreds of kilometers under Rome's ground.

He shivered in the cool air streaming from the shaft. He could walk here for days without finding the exit. Would it be better to return and wait for Roberto? But it wasn't certain that he would show up. And perhaps the killer would come back for his next victim....

Determined, he walked on. At the next crossways he marked the walls until his way reached a dead end. Andrea's knuckles knocked on the stone. Crumbly and greasy. He turned back to the last crossways, took the right junction, another junction and yet another. Now the loculi started. Niches, open or closed with marble plates with withered inscriptions, where the dead bodies had been laid to rest. His flashlight detected more of them, carved into stone: a pelican, a fish - the sign of Peter - a peacock, the Good Shepherd and the sign for Martyrs and Christos Rex.

He followed the narrow tunnels from both sides filled with loculi, his flashlight beam slid over skulls and bones or even complete skeletons. The people of those times must have been much smaller, he tried to distract himself with biological connections. Those small niches, almost made just for children ....

Andrea lost his sense of time, his watch told him that he was just short of three hours in the underground but to him it seemed as if it must have been three days. Exhausted, he sat down and leaned his back against the wall, then he took the water bottle and drank; he was too excited to eat. It was warm; sweat had beaded upon his forehead and upper lip. The air was stale, musty and putrid and he couldn't bring himself to think about the consequences if he couldn't find an exit from this labyrinth. Someday, in hundreds of years, an archaeologist would find this way and would wonder about the strange and stupid tourist that had lost his guide and the way to end up in this ancient cemetery . . .

Andrea closed his eyes and when he opened them again it was yet another hour later. Cursing, he jumped up and rushed forward. But abruptly he stopped. He wasn't sure from which direction he had come . . . he hurried in panic through the tunnels, then it opened into a hall, well a larger room under the earth with grave houses whose arcosols had been decorated with paintings, stucco and graffiti; decayed stones, the doors open so he could see the mummified bodies. On one side of the room was a small staircase leading, presumably, to the ground below this one. Andrea thought a moment. Sometime he must be able to find the area that was given free for the tourists, but as long as there wasn't a light meant there was no hope for him yet. His hate for George grew with each step he made in darkness. If he had had his cock under control and didn't fuck with everybody that rang his door bell he wouldn't be in this tight spot now. Instantly he regretted his thoughts though. George was dead. But this meant that George had know the nightly visitor for he never let strangers into his house. And the consequence was that Andrea would know him too. Was the killer one of the men George met at Luigi's Bar and had invited him to the house the other day? How mysterious this all was.

When he entered the staircase he saw that there was another one, leading up. Pleased he followed. Perhaps he would reach the higher level to meet some workers, preparing the tunnel for tourists.

Galleria Borghese

He was sleeping. Gianluca had checked on him some hours ago. The room was locked, without a window, unreachable. Nobody else except his family knew about this secret place. When Camillo Borghese had become Pope Paul V, he had brought some of the family treasures here to protect them from all the wars that shook Rome and the land of Italy constantly. Paul V had given money for the restorations of this church. His descendants had also used it. It was owing to this place that Napoleon Bonaparte hadn't seen all of the large Borghese-collection to take it with him to Paris.

The light that crept into this room was greenish like the tea Gianluca administered to him regularly. It was a dose that would knock him out, perhaps he would lose his memory, perhaps he would never awake. But Gianluca would have now one for his own, for his pleasure, to use like a sex doll. Oh yes, he had seen the lust in his eyes - nobody had been that eager to spread his ass cheeks for him without any hesitation or inhibitions about the length of his instrument. Gianluca grinned. He had always been proud of that.

He stirred the greenish tea, made from the Angel's Trumpets standing in his Baroque Garden. It was a hallucinogen that would destroy, sooner or later, his nerves, or his brain cells or both. But Gianluca didn't care; he needed his kick, the pictures it created in his mind.

Lovingly he stared at the woodcuts of the open book. He didn't need them anymore, like the porn magazines and video cassettes - finally he had a living body available next door, whenever he was in need of it.

The small, normal operating part of his mind told him that nobody would understand the reasons he needed male bodies that way to be happy and at the same time hated them.

Yes.

He hated himself, like he did all hustlers, strippers, sluts, and faggots in particular, because he was a faggot himself.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped at his tea. Pictures were building in his mind. The silent house in Rome's surrounding. Everything settled long before his birth: The first son inherited the house, the second was allowed to study and the third one had to become a priest. Each family had a priest. The Borgheses were a very old, traditional dynasty, well acknowledged not only in the village where they inhabited an old country house with servants and staff. This tradition belonged to the ancient family of the Borghese, brought forth cardinals and popes. And then there was he: The last one left for his brothers had died. A homosexual.

Pictures in his mind, colourful; the brothers happily together. The fear by night. His father opening the door to the room he shared with his brother. He had been too young to understand. His brother whimpering, the father standing upright, with his pajama trousers on, taking the head of his son and pushing it to his belly, faster and faster. His brother's heavy panting because he could only breath through his nose.

Gianluca didn't understand. He thought that his brother needed comfort so close to his father's body. Those blow jobs had been the only pleasure for his father - for women hardly do this - his brother had explained. But what did Gianluca know about blow jobs then?

Another sip from the tea. He had learned to value the taste of cum when he was 12; his brother had moved out and left him alone to fulfill the desires of a cranky, horny old man. Gianluca thought it to be the right thing, because his father had said it would be ok. Just a secret between father and son, leaving the female side of the world out. He had accustomed to the rancid taste of his father's cum and to his cock he had put into Gianluca's anus. A new experience.

Gianluca closed his eyes. Still he felt the large intruder - similar to his own now. Too large for a 14 years old. He hid the bloody underpants in the deepest corner of his wardrobe. He had to get on his hands and knees - the most animal position he knew for his father couldn't fuck him in a different style because he would have had to look him in the eyes then.

Gianluca hated and loved it. Until today he didn't know which feeling was stronger. And he never had allowed any man to enter him again.

Gianluca's hands wandered absentmindedly over the book's paper sheets. That was the only love he knew and killing was just the act of deliverance.

He always killed his father.

The paper rustled. Gianluca dug his nails in, tore the pages and Poliphiilo and his lover Polio shriveled to paper balls in his fists. He wouldn't let fiction he had made out of his life be destroyed by this young man named Leandro. If necessary he would kill his father again. Like he did each night, in every dream, in any occasion. Since the stripper Paolo had tried to force himself into his body the memories came back. Everything was fresh like in the days of childhood.

He emptied his cup and went away to have a look at his booty.