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    Stefan
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

A Promise and a Curse - Prologue. Prologue

THE PROTAGONISTS

Benedikt Schaefer-- Young student at the Academy of Arts. Strong minded and a bit out of control sometimes. Fell in love with Simon.

Simon Langenburg-- Occasional hustler and dealer. Old lover of Marcus Weidenbruch. Dismissed by Marcus when he caught him with another man in bed. HIV infected.

Nicholas Zellner-- Young, very talented painter, student friend of Benedikt. Shy, hurt but gaining self-confidence by meeting Marcus Weidenbruch.

Marcus Weidenbruch-- Very rich and famous promoter of Art. Collector of art works and antiques. Marcus and Nicholas have been a couple for some months. Strong but a bit selfish. Scatty but loveable and tender.

Sebastian von Scheffel-- Marcus' best and eldest friend. They were once lovers. Cocky, funny and witty, after every pair of pants in town. Works in Rome for Marcus and is one of the leaders of the excavation of ancient Rome. He and Nicholas had a one night stand.

Daniel von Falkenstein-- Sebastian's cousin. Owner of a castle in Italy's South-Tyrol. Taciturn, thoughtful, loner.

Kay Kristian Langenburg-- Young sales clerk. Brother of Simon and Sebastian's lover. Cheeky, funny, carefree. Doesn't know about Sebastian's and Nicholas' affair. Lives with Sebastian in Rome now.

Frank Neumann-- Nicholas' and Ben's teacher at the Academy of Arts. He raped Nicholas and tried to do the same to Benedikt. Picked up Simon from the street and spent one night with him without protection. Emotionless, fan of S & M.

Eduard Ehlers-- Secretary of the Senator for Arts and Culture of Berlin. Fan of S & M, living it out with Frank Neumann.

Walter-Udo Leister-- Student of the Academy of Arts, nephew of Eduard, strongly supported by him. He hates gays, especially his teacher, Frank Neumann.

Rene Jankowsky-- The one by whom Simon got HIV infected and the reason Simon and Marcus broke up. A bit obscure in his intentions.

Vera and Rudolf Zellner-- Nicholas' parents. Rudolf disapproves of Nicholas' homosexuality and hates Marcus for the same reason and because of his wealth. Narrow minded. Vera is opposed to her husband and left their flat.

Matthias Barth-- Nicholas' straight friend of mutual sales clear times at a shopping center. Matthias still works there, helped Nicholas during hard times.

Johannes Voss-- Elder employee and Restorer at Marcus' working hall.

Anna Weyler-- Marcus' housekeeper. Curious, jealous, annoying sometimes. Loyally devoted to Marcus. Tried to interrupt Marcus' and Nicholas' relationship but adjusted herself now with his presence.

Alexander Karowski-- Marcus' ex-employee. Tried to kidnap and to kill Nicholas for personal reasons.

Elli Schneider-- Wife of Marcus' business partner. Owns a portrait of Kay painted by Nicholas and commissioned him to paint her family.

Carola and Wolff Langenburg-- Simon's and Kay's parents. After selling their factory, now living at the Isle of Sylt. Not caring about their sons.

George Rosenstock-- Inheritor of London's optical glass factory. Had an encounter with Marcus.

Karl-- Marcus' employee working in London.

Andrea-- Italian, one of Sebastian's ex-lovers.

Roberto-- Italian, friend of Andrea.

PRELUDE

The pair of pliers very easily turned the square bolt set in the gate lock. The man's relieved grin remained unseen because of the black stocking mask he had pulled over his head. Good old Daniel von Falkenstein, how nice he kept his castle in such good shape.

Just another easy turn on the right side and the gate snapped open. Noiselessly it swung on its hinges.

He took his toolbox and merged with the shadows of the gate arch - a black dressed silhouette on soundless sneakers.

Arriving in the paved yard, he orientated himself quickly and looked up to the walls of the inner yard. The cold light of a three quarter moon reflected in his eyes. No sound was to be heard except the soft, creepy flapping wings of a tawny owl, which flew over the stout, old fortress tower.

The man shivered a bit; South-Tyrol's mountain nights were cool and he was dressed only in a black cat suit. He dropped his gaze to the ground and turned on the torch. Thank heavens von Falkenstein didn't have a dog, crossed his mind. Actually it was pretty careless.

He entered the next open entrance, rummaged for a sheet of paper, unfolded it and studied the layout plan of the castle. He climbed the wooden staircase to the first floor without being afraid anybody could hear him. Von Falkenstein, the owner of this place, was in Meran. He hoped that his friend could hold him there long enough.

His steps creaked over old, dusty floorboards until he reached the balcony and stepped again into the open air. He could hear the little creek gurgling over moss-covered stones below the balcony. He directed his eyes into the distance until his gaze fell upon the mountains opposite. Here and there a flickering point of light showed him the place of a house; then he looked down into the warm sea of lights of the town of Meran below his feet. He saw the illuminated casino and the iron lamps, which lit up the pedestrian zone and parkways along the river.

After a while he broke himself free to study once again the ground plan. He crossed a large room the owner probably used as his living room, climbed the stairs and opened another door. Rooted to the spot he remained on the threshold, then he lifted the torch and lightened the little chapel he was standing in.

It was made completely of wood, with heavy rafters, imitation gothic carvings - he wasn't quite sure. Set into the wainscot were painted pictures of saints and a heavy Crucifix hung down from a crossbeam.

The beam of the torch searched from one wall to another. Somewhere here it had to be... The cone of light moved over a covered object. With two steps he was there and quickly removed the cloth. With some effort he suppressed a moan and bent forward. It wasn't as big as he had expected it to be, but he certainly understood now why it was so precious.

With his teeth he pulled off his thin black glove and touched very cautiously the wood carved reredos, then he made the sign of the cross - quickly and almost furtively. The carved Mother Mary with her chubby-cheeked child in her arms seemed to smile at him, as if she would encourage him to take her with him. Adoringly his eyes followed the countless arches and curves, the carved foliage, the creative ornaments. Difficult to believe that it was made of wood and was done about 400 years ago - it gave the impression of a goldsmith's work or of a painting done with a fine brush.

After a long glance he replaced the cloth over the altar again and lifted it from its place. Soon the reredos would be complete again, he thought. He unrolled the padded wardrobe suitcase, pumped a little air into it and stowed the altar pieces away. Then he left the castle in the same way he had come.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

To Ben –

"If you should ever read this, I hope I'm still among the living. I know I do not have much time. You might say there are still years to come but I feel old. Well, not exactly. When you are with me I feel like the 21 years old lad I had been the day I met Marcus. Oh God, Marcus. I know you never heard our story, only the sad ending, haven't you?

It's more difficult for me than I thought to write all this down when speaking is so much easier. I can't tell you everything; can't tell you all those tales and stay calm; keep my countenance. But it has to be out before it is too late. I lost Oliver before we could say good-bye and I don't want you to feel the same afterwards. Gosh, why am I so dreary and a drama queen all of a sudden?

I have been trying for a while to sort my memories but each of them swirls in my mind like a .... wheel of colours. Which reminds me ... I owe you Oliver's story and you have never heard about Jo.

So, where to start?"

Copyright © 2011 Stefan; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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