Angel's Trumpets - 6. Chapter 6

Via Appia

Roberto rang at the house with the number 34. It had been four days since he had heard from Andrea. He didn't show up at their usual meeting point and Roberto couldn't reach him. Nobody had heard from him. Worried he had decided to visit him personally - nobody knew what George Rosenstock would have in stock.

When he saw the barricaded house - all blinds pulled down - he was even more worried. Nobody answered his ringing. Had George taken him to London again? Or had something dramatic happened?

Roberto walked around like a tiger in it's cave. He spoke half aloud to himself, watched some cars, driving on the Via Appia, or busses packed with tourists on their way to visit some of the many catacombs, then he leafed through his brief case. There must have been the number of the locksmith. One of his friends from school times worked there. He found it and dialed the number on his cell phone. He was pleased to hear that Silvio would be there soon.

It wasn't that easy to crack the lock. Roberto had promised his friend an extra bonus and so he doubled his efforts. The door was open now but the lock was destroyed. Roberto didn't care and entered the house, together with Silvio. It was empty. No traces of a drama, until Roberto found Andrea's letter upon the kitchen table.

"Roberto,

Something mystifying happened here. We had a visitor last night and George has vanished. I've found an exit in the basement, I left the door open. Hope to find an escape.

Andrea."

Both stared at the handwriting, then Silvio dragged Roberto with him down the stairs where they found instantly the open door and the steps downwards. "Madonna. Where is this leading to? Canalization?"

Roberto shrugged. "I have no clue. Shall we follow?" He already had entered the steps and went down were it ended in a tight tunnel which had no end he could see. "Andrea?" he shouted. No answer. He shouted louder but the thick layer of earth swallowed each sound.

"Roberto, come up, you can't go there alone. Let's call the police."

"No." Roberto arrived in the basement again. "I'll call a friend first."

Palatine Hill

Sebastian, in a meter deep excavation hole at the palatine, gasped for air. He received the location of the tunnel and rushed back to the museum where he pulled out maps of Rome and the underground. One of the possibilities was the catacombs of San Sebastiano. Holy cow. He imagined Andrea wandering around in the labyrinth of tunnels and ways. He would find the exit just per chance. Hopefully he had foot to eat and water to drink. He shook his head. That lad! And where was George? Roberto had said they had a strange visitor and then George had vanished. Another mysterious event. Thoughtfully he stared at one of his colleagues and pondered the possibilities. If they would call the police, they would tell him to stop joking. No one can get lost in the catacombs, for there aren't any secret entrances and the guides leading the tourists through the underground knew each junction and every dead end. Add to this, they would need hundreds of people to follow every cross way.

What if he would start with San Sebastiano?

"Something wrong with you?" his colleague asked.

"Well, apparently somebody has lost his way in the catacombs."

"What? Madonna mia, how can this happen? It's impossible."

"Not if you find a secret entrance and start your tour from the wrong end."

Carlo's face was a question mark.

"One of my friends was locked into a house for days and he tried to find an escape. He found a door in the basement that led into a tunnel. There isn't a canalization you know. The house is at Via Appia Antica, in the surrounding area is just San Sebastiano."

Carlo rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Jesus. What will you do not? He'll never find the way out."

"He must!" Sebastian called. "I'm going." He dressed quickly into his jeans and shirt and rushed out to his car, driving out of the town through the Porta Sebastiano which led him straight to Via Appia Antica. It wasn't long until he stopped his car at George's villa.

Via Appia

Roberto looked like a little heap of mishap. He rose from the patch of grass and was sitting up and tried to smile while he handed Sebastian Andrea's letter. "I'm glad you came," he said, "what are we supposed to do now?"

"Have you had a look at the basement?"

"I've found the door; it's leading down a staircase and into a tunnel, as Andrea wrote."

"I believe it belongs to the labyrinth of the Sebastiano-catacombs." He took Roberto's shoulder and went with him into George's house. "I suppose you both met as often as it was possible, right?"

Roberto nodded. "When George was out. Andrea didn't come to our meeting point; I've waited three days."

Sebastian looked around the rooms. "He writes there was a mysterious visitor?" Opening the door to the guest room he saw the untidy bed, the open tube upon the carpet and the condom. "Is this George's and Andrea's bedroom?"

"No, it's upstairs."

"Ever been here before?"

"I know from Andrea's descriptions."

Sebastian nodded absentmindedly. "No phone." He rattled at the blinds. "It's like a bunker. George must be paranoid."

"Just afraid of burglars. Aren't you?"

"Hell, yes, but this is no fun. Where's the basement?"

Roberto calmed down. Sebastian's imperturbability in such things was amazing. He felt much better since he was here. He followed him down and waited while Sebastian turned the light into the tunnel. "Ok, will you come with me?"

"There?" Roberto looked alternately into the darkness and to Sebastian. "We need torches and something to eat," he said then.

"And this." Sebastian lifted his first aid kit from his car.

Rome's Underground

Fifteen minutes later both entered the tunnel. "I just hope you both can bring yourself to keep our hands off George and his money in the future", Sebastian whispered. "George Rosenstock is mad. Afraid he needs help." He stood and pointed the light into Roberto's strained face. His blue eyes shimmered startled. "You aren't aware, are you. There's nothing funny about psycho's." Briefly he thought about the mad killer of Luigi's Bar. Two weirdoes were much too much although compared to the murderer, George was almost a cake. Anyhow, he was responsible that Andreas was now in danger of death.

"We just wanted the money," Roberto defended himself. Sebastian sighed. "I know. Money, that's all you both can think of."

"It's a difference to have money or to work hard for it." Roberto answered edgily.

"This you call work?" Sebastian shook his head. "Oh, no quarrel. I understand your point. George doesn't deserve any better, but Andrea ... he must learn that life isn't a game."

Roberto muttered something incomprehensive, then he tripped over a stone and fell to the ground. Sebastian helped him up. "Let's see." He unfolded a map and studied the red line. It ended halfway between the church of San Sebastiano and George's villa. The ways both were at, were incomplete and drawn with thin, broken lines. That meant that nobody had examined this areas exactly. His torch searched the walls. Just as they crossed the first junction he saw an arrow carved into the tuff stone.

"Ah, there we go. It's fresh, it must have been Andrea."

Roberto followed him excitedly. Sebastian started to call Andrea's name but there wasn't an answer. The walls swallowed each sound. Roberto was getting edgy and fumbled at the neck of his shirt. He clutched Sebastian's hand although they couldn't walk side by side, but just in a single file. Certainly it wasn't Roberto's cup of tea. He wheezed and Sebastian pressed his hand. "It's all right, Roberto. Relax, there's no danger."

"You can talk, Andrea didn't find his way out too and you tell me there's no danger."

Sebastian said nothing, he knew that Roberto was right. Actually it was insane what he was doing, but if they would follow Andrea's marks on the walls they surely would find him sooner or later.

At each junction they saw the arrows but Sebastian had the feeling that they were going in circles; left and left then right and again left - this wasn't the most intelligent way out. But what could they do?

He pulled out the water bottle and handed it to Roberto who was sweating. It was sticky and the air pretty bad. They had passed the loculi and now Sebastian was absolutely sure that this part of the labyrinth belonged to the catacombs.

How old they might be? He counted. The first ones belonged to the Etruscan, then Rome's citizens followed . . . about 3000 years? If he wasn't mistaken they were at the very lowest level of all the levels.

"Sshht," he made. "Have you heard something?"

"Nothing." Both listened with bent heads. Sebastian thought to hear a scratching on stone. There wasn't any animals here. The beam of his torch flickered. Jesus Christ, he had forgotten to bring another battery. If it would give up it's life there would just be Roberto's. He cursed his rashness not to inform Marcus or any other who was at his house.

Santa Maria del Priorato

The dome of St. Peter was small enough to fit into the keyhole of Santa Maria del Priorato. Like an ordinary tourist, Gianluca Borghese-Caffarelli pressed his eyes against the backdoor of the church, overlooking the garden to St. Peter's cupola. Then he turned and smiled at the Grandmaster Tomasz Kotomy. "Do you enjoy your new home?"

Tomasz' look followed the carved letter's above the church portal. "Sovrano Militare Ordine di Malta" it read; the church belonged to the Grand Master's building. S. Maria del Priorato was located at the Aventin, next to other outstanding old and important churches, and owned a pretty garden around - almost a park. Since the formalities of taking over the relics he had found in Daniel von Falkenstein's altar, both had become sort of friends

"Yes, I do indeed. It's a marvelous place and the building is really comfortable." Although I didn't like too much comfort, he added in his mind. Tomasz Kotomy was a severe man in his decisions and to himself. Since he had moved from Prague to Rome he had felt it pretty distinctly: Romes clerical world wasn't exactly his own. Thanks God he had his sovereignty. The Order of the Maltese Knights was a state of its own with it's own money, own stamps and even owned a small fleet.

He motioned Gianluca to come with him through the rose garden. Gianluca's body ached for another cup of tea from his flowers. He had gotten used to it. More than he actually wanted. He breathed the scent of the roses, in no way as intoxicating as the scent of the Angel's Trumpets, but strong enough to sway. It had not only happened one time that Gianluca found himself at a place he couldn't remember how he had gotten there. Sometimes he lay naked in front of his fireplace; his semen dried upon his abdomen. Or he couldn't get rid of this effect to become erect.

"I'm still happy about our little adventure," Tomasz said. Surprisingly he chuckled.

"Oh yes," Gianluca answered. "It was THE surprise for all believers. The Santo Bambino was too long missed."

"Well, I suppose you will keep our secret. I mean, it wasn't fair that one of my brotherly knights had snatched it to pray each night for his sister that was severely ill."

"Was that so?" Gianluca raised one eyebrow. "And how is his sister now?"

"Recovered completely."

Gianluca gasped surprised. He had never believed that praying to an old chunk of wood would help. But perhaps. . . . it was just the belief that makes people strong. Just a psychological matter. Actually he shouldn't think such blasphemous things. Being cardinal of the highest instance of Rome demanded the strongest belief ever, not just a mimicry for the public. Had he ever had this belief? Gianluca was sure that he left it somewhere in the small bed of his childhood.

Gianluca followed Tomasz into the house. He counted the days until Friday where he would see Leandro again. He craved to push his cock into Leandro's body. Maybe he would be cured once for all time. He hoped it each time. Each rapture would finally overlap the ugly picture of his childhood or raze them out. But yet it didn't happen. Not yet.

"My predecessor had had a liking for Caravaggio," he heard Tomasz saying. He had let him into his private rooms, which were very homely furnished.

"I have put down some of them."

"Why?" Gianluca asked. "I suppose it's just copies, all of the well-known Caravaggio's are hanging in churches and museums."

Tomasz nodded. "Grandmaster Adolfo had a liking for young men too, I suppose." He opened a curtain. Gianluca saw large formatted picture frames on the walls with copies of Caravaggio's "Drunken Bacchus", "The Boy with the Fruit basket", and the "Lute players". He even detected the painting of "Amor Victor"; a recklessly laughing boy - naked and very alive; a boy from the streets. Gianluca felt his cock rising. Bloody hell, it happened to him all the time nowadays. He was just thankful for his cloak.

Tomasz watched him silently, saw his flushed face and his suspicions got a touch of reality. His young aide-de-camp he had taken with him from Prague had told him a secret lately. Now it was time to get the proof.

"I find them most beautiful", Gianluca croaked. He had folded his hands in front of his abdomen, but Tomasz hadn't missed the tent. His black eyes pierced Gianluca.

"There's nothing wrong with showing human beauty", the cardinal said finally, pulling himself together.

"But there's no obvious reason to show beauty with an religious issue. It distracts the believer from contemplation", Tomasz replied sharply. "Therefore I've put them down."

Gianluca looked up. "But those paintings aren't of holy issue. Caravaggio did make paintings of that nature though."

"Exactly. So these have nothing to do here in an holy house."

It cost Tomasz a lot to get that severe, it all happened to bring Gianluca out of his shell. Seriously Tomasz had nothing against a fine looking lad. He had seen so many things and in his religious understanding was a place for worldly desires; he himself hadn't fought clean thinking about the deal he had made with Sebastian von Scheffel to get the relics from his cousin's altar. So - he had no reasons to play the judge. But what he disliked was violence. Tomasz' predecessor had indeed an affinity for little girls and boys and therefore had been transferred to a small village somewhere in the deserts of Africa.

He measured his opposite very carefully. Cardinal Gianluca showed traces of drug abuse: the glazed eyes with the widened pupils, the trembling fingers, the restlessness and erratic movements. He asked himself what the reason was for Gianluca to take drugs. He reckoned it was opium or coke.

He cleared his throat. "Carvagaggio once belonged to our order of the knights of Malta. But then something happened that the order's history kept secret. They always called him 'tanquam membrum putridum et foetidum'.

"A painter who is cursed", Gianluca translated low. "Why?"

"He was dismissed dishonourably and had to leave the island."

"Why?" Gianluca repeated. He would have been a very bad connoisseur of art and artists if he wouldn't know the reason. Caravaggio was gay. Probably he had seduced other knights.

"Ah, Christo", Tomasz smiled as his aide-de-camp entered the room silently with a tray of cups and cakes. He placed it upon a table beside the leather sofas. Tomasz winked him to take the seat next to him. Christo obeyed, sat down and looked expectantly into Gianluca face. There was a faint bit of a smile around his lips.

Gianluca, sitting on the other sofa, hit the realization that he knew this face with the strength of a boxer's punch. He knew not only the face but the body too. Where was it? Luigi's Bar or any other gay location in Rome? His blurred look darted from Christo to Tomasz, back and forth and again. What was this game about? Did the Grandmaster know his secret? He blinked and Christo reciprocated his stare. But the consequence was that Tomasz Kotomy sanctioned what Christo did in his spare time by night. The young man didn't wear a robe nor any other signs of belonging to the order as a priest.

"My young friend here let me into a secret recently", Tomasz started to speak. "If you're afraid of my discretion, I can assure you. Your secret is safe with me."

Pah, those words Gianluca had heard before; some days ago Leandro had said the same. Jesus Christ.

"What do you want now?"

"Nothing. Christo told me some juicy details about you and your. . . . a trifle strange predilection." He bent forward and poured tea into the cups. "I just say 'Luigi's Bar'".

Gianluca's face was unreadable. Even the trembling of his fingers stopped. If it was important he could be calm as a whale.

"There were two murders at "Luigi's Bar" lately. They started when an interesting man began to visit this establishment. A man with a hood and a cloak. Don't you find this odd? How would somebody get the idea to use a clerical fancy dress to kill?"

Gianluca still wore his unshakeable cardinal's face. "Of course I've heard about it."

"You were visitor too, I've heard?" Tomasz continued.

Gianluca's eyes wandered to Christo who had his gaze still fixed on Gianluca. He could read like an open book. "I've seen you without the hood. You were fucking me like a buck rabbit." Gianluca cast down briefly his eyes to met Christo's with steelness.

"To make no mistakes. I know Christo since his childhood. That he opened his heart one day to me that his sexual inclination doesn't match the so-called normal way, has no meaning to me. I've seen a lot in the world. And I 'm not Jesus to condemn the people here on earth. God loves variety, he added with a smirk.

He handed Christo a cup of tea and drank from his own. "So I don't think the Curia will be interested in these things. But. . . ." Tomasz' eyes were piercing hot, "being a homosexual is one thing. Being an abuser is another."

"What makes you think a homosexual and abuser is the same?"

Tomasz grimaced. "That's your interpretation. I didn't make the connection."

"You have no proof that the man with the hood and the long cock and the killer is one and the same."

Tomasz raised his eyebrows. "Have I mentioned that he has a long. . . . penis?'

Gianluca bit his lips. "Anyway, it was to be heard all over the place."

Christo smiled. Of course he had no proof. But he could remember the fingers strangling his wind pipe at the very edge of his orgasm. . . and he wasn't the first one he had learnt. He wasn't quite sure which game his godfather played here though. Tomasz Kotomy could be very relentless at the slightest mistake but he had always been like a father to him. Christo himself had to put down Caravaggio's paintings shortly before his guest would arrive and now he knew the reason for this. He had eavesdropped at the door before he had entered the room.

"You have nothing on me, Grandmaster," Gianluca said now cold and determined. The friendly tone was gone completely. "I'm a member of the Catholic Curia at the Holy See."

"And I am the representative of the Sovereign State of the Order of Malta", Tomasz shot back sharply. "You are on my territory, I could easily take you into custody and surrender you to the police."

"Ha, Gianluca laughed shrilly. "Police? We have nothing to do with the police of Italy! And besides . . . what is this all about? You're not Torquemada, the grand-inquisitor but you're acting like him." He stood up. "Have a nice day."

He flashed a hateful glance at Christo before he turned and stormed out of the room.

Out of the house he took a deep breath. He was certainly in a fix. Two threats now . . . what should he do?"

Rome's Underground

When Andrea opened his eyes it was as if he never had opened them. It was pitch dark. His torch had given up it's ghost a long time ago. He even was too weak to curse himself about his dopey behaviour. When he held his ear to the water bottle he could hear that there wasn't much water left. There was some of the cheese still and bread for he hadn't eaten very much the last days. Days . . . . he considered it to be days he was here, captured in the labyrinth of thousands of tight passages.

First he had crept on all fours until he hit his head several times, his hands were bleeding and the fabric of his jeans was torn.

Great, Andrea Cassini. You will end your young and useless life under Rome's ground. He laughed out loud. He did this often and it scared him not in the least, for the sound of his coarse laughter was completely swallowed up. He had followed the footsteps upwards and had reached another level until he found yet another steps. He must have been now in the second, counting from above; the way the tourists with their guides usually used. But he hadn't made out any sound nor noise. Just his talking to himself, the smell of his own body; sweat and fear. But now he had given up the creeping. He was too weak for this. How long could a man survive without water? Three, four days? Better to swallow the rest that was in the bottle and end it quickly. He groped for the plastic bottle and drank.

Rome's Underground

Sebastian's torch flickered from time to time but with each hit he gave it, it burned again. Andrea's arrows had ended abruptly at a staircase leading up to the level above. Roberto's coughing and disruptive breathing was getting on his nerves, but he still tried to soothe the lad. Although he couldn't get on anymore, Roberto was driven by a secret power. Of course, the thought, he loved Andrea and the thought of losing him here, meter deep under the earth was a ridiculous thought. They must find him.

Exhausted he leaned against a wall next to a hole with a skeleton. Some marble plates covered others, decorated with a reverse swastika, the sign for life. How odd, he thought. He considered to turn back. He sure had made his own marks when Andrea's had stopped, but slowly he was losing his sense for orientation. If he just had called Marcus; they could start their search from San Sebastiano, but nobody knew that they were here. Again he thought to hear something . . . a laughter? Probably the laughter was in his mind. He looked at Roberto next to him, who sat there, slumped together, his head upon his knees. He stroked over his blond hair. "Let's get on, Roberto." He pulled him to his feet.

Galleria Borghese

Gianluca debated with himself whether to go to Camillo's Bar "Forty Seven" or not. He poured himself a cup of tea. One of the trumpet-like yellow flowers lay upon the tray. He groped for it and sniffed the intoxicating sweet scent. Instantly a pang in his brain conjured pictures.

The Catholic University at Bologna had been full of handsome young men. One of the big fortunes to be a clerical man was first to be surrounded with men and second to be freed from the presence of women.

Surely he had heard the rumours about the dismissing of his closest two friends - he was the reason for this. He had know about their homosexuality and had promised them to keep it secret; but after he had suffered all those nights, listening to the groans and moans, the wet slurping and the fluid that splashed upon naked skin he couldn't hold on. He had jacked himself each time, trying to forget the pain his father had aroused in his body. He had hated not only himself but his friends too. He envied both their ability to be happy. Then he had gone to the head master and both were caught inflagranti and dismissed dishonourably.

From that day on Gianluca had lost self-respect; he considered himself as Archangel Gabriel watching over the purity of humanity. With all his heart he hoped that Gabriel would make himself a better human, take all the guilt from his shoulders. He must have been a very bad child that his father had done such obnoxious things to him. He must have been born with a sin, like his father was born with a sin, and now to erase each faggot he knew existed had become sort of his purpose in life.

Gainluca sniffed again. He didn't know exactly when he admitted to himself that he was a faggot too; when the desires had become so urgent that his hand didn't suffice to satisfy them. . . He never dreamt of getting ploughed by somebody - in fact this thought had always frightened him, and it was buried in the farthest corner of his heart. But the sucking mouth he could remember . . . that was something special and the indescribable feelings he had when he pushed his engorged member into the tight tunnel that was the anus of a young boy.

All of his time as a prelate in Florence he had avoided to get caught, although he had abused each of the servers. He had simply told them to exorcise the devil, their forbidden sexual desires and promised them absolution from all their future sins and the heaven afterwards too. He believed what he said and the boys held still, never telling a word. He hoped for a sign of God, either to stop him or to approve of him.

He still waited for this sign, but since he had started to kill, everything was in vain. The noose tightened around his neck. If he would go to meet his date today, it would probably be his last date, but this should be a showdown the world would remember. The longest fuck in his life, that was full of errors and turmoil's and false conclusions.

He couldn't change what he was - a queer, a faggot that had inherited his father's inclinations - or better - he had never experienced another form of love and its expression. Gianluca emptied his cup of tea. The flowers had helped him to see clear. Angel's Trumpets. He smiled. He seemed to hear the heavenly music it promised. Perhaps it would guide him to the land of no thoughts, of no pain, of no desires.

He stood up and left the Villa with his car. It didn't take long until he arrived at his aim outside the walls. The street was deserted when Gianluca entered a dilapidated house and on its backside a door that led straight into a hill. He lit a candle and rushed through a tight passage, dug into the mountain's stone, opened a squeaking door and entered a small room. He placed the candle beside the bed then he looked down onto the sleeping, haggard body of that British guy he had kidnapped and first thought to be dead. But he was still alive, but hardly. Softly he slapped his cheeks until he opened his eyes. He held the cup to his lips and emptied it into the eager mouth. He was speaking words Gianluca couldn't understand. But he had been so stupid to let him into his house he had to take the consequences. Gianluca grinned. He was like Lord Dracula, who needed an invitation to kill. Gianluca took out a comb and tried to smooth the dishevelled hair.

Then, with a sweep, he removed the thin cover from George's naked body. He wasn't a young boy but Gianluca didn't mind. His body was there for him, nothing more he wanted - and he never tried to enter him.

Fondly and thankfully he inspected him, then rolled him over to his stomach. He dropped his cloak and stroked his iron hard cock, smearing the drops of excitement all over the long shaft. Achingly he stepped over George's motionless body and parted his ass cheeks with both hands. He bent down and lapped the crack down to the red and torn opening. Too much use of it, Gianluca thought. Although he had cared for it with cream and ointment. The rim of it twitched and George let a moan escape. Gianluca couldn't make out if it was a moan from pleasure or pain. Not that it mattered at all. Pleasure and pain was the same.

Once more he rolled him over and stared at the thin pole dangling between George's legs. He wished it would be thicker as he liked it, but he couldn't have everything. Slowly he took the cut tip of the penis between his lips. Jewish boy, he thought smiling. He started sucking, rolled the penis in his mouth but it didn't rise as always. It never raised for him. One time he wished to see joy in one of the eyes he had fucked, not only horniness or fear, but George's eyes were closed. A stubble covered his cheeks and he could count his ribs. Surely George was on the way of starving he thought, suddenly guiltily.

Anyway. He licked and sucked his way down. A limp cook was better than no cock. Drooling he lifted George's legs, spread them and smeared once more his pre-cum all over his own jumping cock. The he pressed forward. George moaned in his drugged sleep. He didn't even know his name . . . Then he was in up to the hilt and lingered in his movements; revelled in the sensations, fighting the urge to buck like a rabbit but couldn't hold on for long. Again and again he pulled out his tool to ram it into George's bowels and each jab was accompanied with a curse against God and his father.

George was bleeding when he was finished. Gianluca took the cloth he had prepared for these occasions and wiped him, then spread an ointment all over the opening. He watched his own blood-soiled cock. Was it worth it? The quick satisfaction of the body? He shook his head. That wasn't bodily satisfaction. That was a way to redemption. He should let go of the British man. The final judgement was near.

Giancolo

Leandro got home and smelled Daniel's prepared lunch from the entrance. So it must feel this way if he would come home and Danny was waiting for him. He smiled and entered the kitchen, where he found Daniel with his apron, busy turning the Italian sausages in the pan. In another pan was roasting the boiled polenta. "Sorry, I wanted to pick you up, but forgot the time", Daniel said, pulling Leandro to his side. He gave him a kiss, that left Leandro out of breath. What happened to him? Suspiciously he looked into Daniel's green eyes, but found nothing but sheer happiness to see him.

"Where have you lost Vincenzo?" he asked him.

"Vincenzo? Well . . . " Leandro took the cutlery. "Don't know. I've seen him yesterday, that's all." He looked up. "Are we alone?"

"Yes, Marcus and Nick are on sightseeing tour, Ben and Simon started a tour down south Naples to visit Pompeii. They will stay overnight or something." He smiled. "So the house is all ours.

"You forgot Sebastian and Kay."

"Oh yes. I wonder where they are, they didn't tell me if they are coming back late."

"I'm not very hungry." Leandro was smiling his best seductive smile. Then he looked at his watch. "What do you think about joining me under the shower?" He brought his lips close to Daniel's and counted in his mind the tiny freckles upon the bridge of his nose and the even more tiny ones upon his cheeks. They were hardly visible for Daniel's skin had a deep bronze tone. "I long to see the pale stripes of your body," he teased him, "no doubt you were laying in the sun and I have to catch up a lot with you!" Leandro eased the cooking spoon from Daniel's fingers and dragged him along upstairs to his room and into the shower.

Daniel giggled like a boy about Leandro's playfulness but soon his mouth was covered with his lover's fierce and hot lips. He dismissed all thoughts about Felix from his mind, whose acting was similar, but Leandro was just like a wonder to him. He enjoyed all the tender attention the young man gave him; while Felix' hands had been just demanding and searching for the fulfilment of his own wishes.

"Good thing is that there's water under a shower," Leandro giggled into his ear, when Daniel shot his load all over him and the walls next. "Imagine Antonella finding this." The resounding kiss drowned even the splashing of the water.

Daniel wrapped Leandro in a big towel and rubbed him. "Say you'll come with me to my home." Almost involuntary the words had slipped out. "I'd hate to leave you. I can't go without you."

Leandro stared at him, suddenly motionless. "This was meant seriously, wasn't it," he said finally. Daniel nodded.

"And what am I supposed to do there?"

"But honey, there are museums too! I can get you a job. Or you could help me restoring the castle."

Leandro plopped upon his bed and held the towel tightly wrapped around his body. Water dropped from his hair into his eyes. Daniel squatted in front of him and took his hands.

"Forget this Vincenzo."

"Pah, Vincenzo. He just promised me and promised me. . . and then he married."

"Indeed so. So why do you hesitate?"

"I don't know. It's just a feeling"' Leandro said low. "Give me a little bit more time, will you?" The deep eyes pleaded. Daniel nodded slowly. "But . . .

Leandro quickly put a finger across his lips. "Sshh." He bent over, put his hand around Daniel's neck and kissed him. It was a wet and promising kiss. Then he jumped up, dropped the towel and dressed into fresh jeans and a shirt. He turned. "Are you coming?"

It was getting later and later and still there was no sign of Sebastian and Kay. Well, Marcus wasn't that upset because he thought that both had an appointment in the town with each other and just forgot to phone, but as Kay arrived, their anxiety grew. Sebastian wasn't at his working place, nobody answered the phone and when he tried it on his mobile they couldn't get a connection. Kay spent a sleepless night upon the sofa in the patio; in the early morning hours he poured over the telephone book and dialled each hospital number he could find with no result. Sebastian was swallowed by the earth.

Leandro's arms embraced Daniel and raked through his auburn hair. His penis pushed slowly forward. It was at the crack of dawn, and fresh air streamed through the open window. "Do you think Sebastian came home?" he whispered into his lover's ears.

Daniel followed Leonard's gentle movement, but opened his eyes. "Why not? I'm sure he had his reasons." His mouth searched for Leandro's. "Stop talking now."

Leandro smiled and took pace. It was too good to feel Daniel completely. "I wish we could leave out that condom," he said low after a while.

Daniel's mind flashed back to the night with Kay three months ago where both had had a similar conversation. He hadn't gone all the way with Kay because neither of them had a condom handy. He still hadn't told Leandro about that night, but didn't feel a reason that he had to.

"I never had a use for it," Leandro continued. "There was only Vincenzo and we both were virgins."

"You've trusted him?"

"Yeah." Leandro gyrated his hips. Slowly, slowly, until he almost stopped. He kissed Daniel's neck, his ear and cheeks.

"He was the only one? Really?"

Leandro supported his weight on his elbows to look into Daniel's eyes. "You know how it is to live in a village. We both didn't know of any other gays; so the opportunity was like nil."

Daniel nodded. "How was he?"

"In bed? Well, clumsy, like me. I told you we were virgins." He thought a moment. "Do you think he gets blowjobs? From his wife I mean."

Daniel grinned. "Don't ask me, honey. If yes, I'm convinced they aren't half as good as yours."

Leandro laughed out loud merrily. "Poor man. Like all straights. They never had real sex." He was serious again. "So how would it be if I'd live with you? What would the people say?"

"Is it important to you what the people say?"

"I used to care, Danny. But we both could be strong enough." He smiled into his eyes and started his movements anew. A moan escaped Daniel's throat; he wrapped his legs tighter around Leandro fell silent too.

Shortly before he reached his peak he thought that he had fallen in love with Daniel more than he had expected. Now, in the heat of the moment he would do everything with him, go wherever he wanted him to go. He felt Daniel's muscles clamp and switch around his penis as he shot his white semen between their bodies; enough to sent Leandro over the edge. Daniel covered his mouth with his own to muffle any sound. He remembered that Vincenzo had always done the same, but he had never asked him why. Perhaps he was that loud that the people next door would have had their share.

Daniel lowered his legs but didn't want Leandro to leave him. Felix had this annoying habit to either fall asleep instantly or to jump up to hit the shower and then he was gone. The more he enjoyed Leandros mental and physical closeness. He held him thigh and heard him mumble, "What does your castle look like?"

Daniel smiled and stroked Leandro's dark hair. "Big and old. Ivy covered partly. Twelve rooms."

"What? Twelve rooms?"

"Most of them are locked and the furniture covered. But I built bathrooms in some of them for guests. That was hard work to do with all the water connections. Felix wasn't a help with the restorations anyway."

"We could have a dog . . ." Leandro said. His voice sounded very sleepy.

"Yes, we could." Daniel pressed his body even tighter. Did this mean that he considered to follow him home? His heartbeat - just calmed down - quickened again. But he didn't want to press him. Albeit what Nicholas had advised him - he had expressed his wish and now it was up to Leandro.

"Or a cat . . ." Leandro's hands roamed over Daniel's body. It was good to lay there, protected and safe. "Do you want to open the castle to the public? And where are you staying then?"

"I'd have my private rooms, don't worry."

Leandro flinched a bit. He had just thought about Cardinal Borghese and his private wing. Tomorrow they would meet at Camillo's "Fourty Seven". IF the cardinal would show up that was. He lifted his head. "You do come with me tomorrow, right?"

"What do you mean? Ah, you mean your date with the cardinal. Leandro, I still think it's most dangerous what you're doing."

"The strippers will be with us and Nando is burning to take revenge for his brother."

Daniel sighed. "I just hope you've got the right man. What if he isn't?"

"So what? We must try everything. Since the police won't do anything about this, it's up to us."

"Madonna, you're pretty persistent, aren't you?" Daniel said with a grin.

"That's what Vincenzo always complained about," Leandro chuckled.

Marcus threw back the receiver into its cradle. He looked most concerned. "You know what Sebastian's colleague told me?"

Nicholas and Kay were all ears. "He told him yesterday that a friend called. Another friend had locked himself into a house and then probably lost his way into the catacombs under the earth. But he didn't say where and which friend."

"What?" Nick and Kay said in unison. "What friend could it be?"

Marcus shrugged his shoulders. "How many friends does Sebastian have for whom he would risk such a thing? I suppose he went straight there and tries to save the guy. Jesus, do you know what this means? He could be wandering around in those labyrinths." He jumped up and searched in Sebastian's bookshelves for Rome guides. He leafed through them until he found the right pages.

He looked briefly and absentminded up when Daniel and Leandro entered the kitchen, both completely dressed. "Danny, has Sebastian ever mentioned a friend living near the Via Appia?"

"Huh?"

"Wait a moment", Kay piped up. "You said Via Appia? Surely George Rosenstock lives there. Sebastian mentioned that Roberto told him that George has bought an old house there where he lives with Andrea."

"That's it!" Marcus held his finger between the pages and sat down in a wicker chair around the table. "What have we here . . . Domitilla catacombs, the Villa Casala, that's the entrance to the tomb of Vibria . . . or San Callisto? That's Via Appia 110. Which number does George live at, do you know?"

"Um . . . . 34 or something."

"The Jewish catacombs are there, that's 119A. . . the tomb of Cecilia Metella and then there's San Sebastiano. That's number 50. It's the closest by." He thought a moment. "Surely the numbers aren't important. The tunnels are kilometers long." Bemused he stared at the pages.

"Why don't we go and look for George's house? Isn't it on the way to the catacombs?" Kay asked. He had dark rings under his eyes and under the deep tan his skin was pale.

Marcus nodded. Yes, he would do this. If Sebastian really had been such an oaf to enter the catacombs without telling anybody then this was his last chance for help. Determined he shut closed the book.