Cold Hell - 11. Chapter 10

After speaking with my mother I decided I would go into the city. After all it was my eighteenth birthday...it was meant to be special. I called a cab and had it take me downtown. There was a new club I'd heard about for gay men, called The Harbinger. Up until today I had no interest in going. Big crowds, bright lights and loud music weren’t my kind of place to go and have fun. But my curiosity was getting the best of me.

Through the window I had a perfect view of the city's skyline. A paneled cube spun in the central part of the city with flickering newsfeeds and advertisements for Aamodt Corp's latest advancements in technology. A hologram of a famous European sport star waved jovially at a passing helicopter.

Each turn took me from the flashing lights and skyscrapers of the central part of the city, to the gritty desolate parts. Here the buildings were old, left to degrade because the city didn't want to spend the expenses in restoring them. For me there was a gloomy Gothic beauty to this side of town. I loved the haunted look to the buildings: Peeling paint, and faded bricks, dusty windows - many of them shattered or with plastic sheets draped over them.

It had begun to snow by the time the driver pulled up to the side of the curb. I paid the driver and got out. The club was set in an old brick building, the bricks faded out from age. Neon light bled through the windows, green then red, and then blue. Despite the cold, a group of men stood several feet away from the door, smoking and laughing. They spoke in Russian. Behind them stood a bouncer, dressed in black garb. He watched the men closely. Suspiciously. Strapped to his belt was a monitor, a device used to scan for fake IDs. Already I was beginning to have my doubts despite Uncle Charlie's assurances it would pass. People kept finding new ways to make fake identification cards look more real and Aamodt Corp kept finding ways to weed them out. Alas, with the future getting ever closer it was easier to become someone else. It was also becoming harder to hide.

The group of partiers stopped to watch me as I made my way up the steps towards the bouncer. I pretended not to notice them but out of the corner of my eye I took in every detail. They all looked alike, like they could be brothers, or at least trying to look like they were brothers. Tall, thin, dressed in leather and eyeliner. Punk hairdos, facial tattoos and piercings. Like wolves they were checking me out the way a wolf might check out a flock of sheep. I could see inside their head, pictures of thought, and voices. The voices sounded distant, like a tune coming through the speakers of a staticky stereo. Maybe they were thoughts, maybe they were memories - I wasn't sure. Each one of them was picturing what I looked like naked, what I tasted like.

I liked what I saw inside their heads and was bothered by the fact I liked it.

I pulled my ID from my wallet - the one Uncle Charlie had given me at the party - and handed it to the bouncer. Already I could hear the thrash of music from inside, feel the emotion on the other side of the door. All those people squeezed into one space.

With a gloved hand the bouncer pulled out the monitor, a thin transparent device made of hardened plastic. On the back I could see Aamodt Corp's logo. Like everything my father's corporation made, the monitor was not only made for durability but to look sleek and fancy as well.

The lenses of the bouncer's glasses reflected the light coming from the monitor. His face was completely still, showing no emotion though the inside of his head told a different story. Weariness. Exhaustion. He just wanted to get home.

As I'd learned to do around my father I managed to keep my emotions in check. There was a heartstopping moment of stillness when I thought the monitor might show my ID as fake. Finally the screen flashed green followed by a beep of approval.

"Never seen someone go in dressed in a three piece Armani suit before," he grunted as he handed back my ID.

"Excuse me?"

"Your suit. Never seen someone in a suit before. Usually people come in wearing leather or nothing at all." He cocked his head slightly to the left. "Are you sure you came to the right place?"

I tucked my identification card back in my wallet. "I'm about to find out."

The double doors leading into the club groaned as two men opened them from the inside. The moment I stepped over the threshold they closed behind me.

Immediately I was overwhelmed by everything happening around me and inside of me. All the men clustered together on the dance floor, leather clothes and bare skin glowing from the floor and walls. More men dancing on platforms fixed into the ceiling wearing no clothes at all. But men weren't just dancing, many of them were copulating, skin sheened with sweat. A meaty smell permeated the air. The thrash of European metal was deafening yet infectious. All this, mixed with feelings of lust and ecstasy, much of it drug induced, made me feel as if I was floating. Already I was glad I'd decided to come to this place and was grateful to Uncle Charlie for giving me the means to be able to do so.

Towards the left was the bar where patrons sat on stools. To the right was an archway with stairs presumably leading up to the balconies above my head. I weaved my way to the bar. It was impossible not to bump into someone. Many of the men were half naked, wearing nothing more than a harness across their shoulders and chest, and skin tight leather pants with no back to them.

I squeezed my way in and ordered an amaretto sour from the bartender. It was the only drink I knew of low alcohol content I actually liked. From the bar I watched as a couple walked hand in hand towards the archway. They were both completely naked but for jock straps across their groins. I thanked the bartender and he walked away. Curious, I swallowed the rest of my drink, and started to follow. They were already out of sight, beginning to ascend the steps. A chandelier hung above my head.

Suddenly the taller of the couple pushed the other up against the wall. They kissed, grinding up against each other. Then the one who had pushed the other got to his knees and pulled the front of the other's jockstrap down. His partner moaned as he took his length into his mouth, beginning to bob his head up and down.

The man leaning back against the wall looked at me through slitted eyes. His lips spread into a grin. He was sliding his fingers through his lover's hair, pushing him to go down faster. "Want to join in, kid?" he asked.

I didn't know how to respond so I walked on. I didn't walk far before I came to another bizarre scene. A man was cuffed to the wall, his face pressed up against it. He was completely naked.

I watched as another man came up behind him. He was tall, probably the tallest man I'd ever seen, and certainly the largest. His broad shoulders seemed to almost fill the entire hallway. The tattoo of a snake was imprinted on his chest, the tail curling around his belly button. He wore a black leather mask and a black leather kilt . He seemed to take no notice of me as he brought the whip in his hand back over his shoulder.

There was a flash of movement followed by the crack of the whip coming in contact with flesh. The man strapped to the wall tried to scream but the sound was muffled by the ball gag in his mouth. I watched as the whip flashed half a dozen more times, until the flesh on the man's back had opened. With each strike of the whip barbs of pain and pleasure flashed through me. Not my own pain and pleasure but his...and it was making me hard.

I moved on but the image of the man shackled to the wall stayed with me. Why would a human being ever want to put themselves through such an idea...all for the sake of pleasure? Like all the other Aamodts before me I had the IQ of a genius but when it came to human behavior I was confounded.

I moved on.

I turned the corner into another corridor, where a man stood at an open door, dressed in leather. He had close cropped red hair and a medium length beard. His eyes were dark and held mine. I don't know what it was about him, but I found him very attractive. He lifted a cigarette to his mouth, and took a long drag, blowing the smoke in my face. It was real nicotine not the electronic cigarettes. The use of real nicotine had been banned.

"This must be your first time," he said. He had an accent, British or Australian, I couldn't be sure.

"That obvious?"

"Oh yes, I can always tell."

He was baiting me, trying to draw me in. And so far, it was working. I decided to just go along, see what happened. Like my father, he was one of the few people I couldn't actually read. There were those little voices around him but no flashes of memory or emotion.

"It's my birthday. I thought I'd come celebrate."

"Well happy birthday," he said. "I'm Rudolph."

"Danni."

"Nice to meet you, Danni." He offered me his hand.

Instinctively I took a step back. I only shook people's hand when I absolutely had to, when it couldn't be helped. I reminded myself I was out in the real world, for a night around the city. I gulped and shook his hand. With Rudolph there were no flashes of memory or thought, only emotion, a wave of euphoria passing from him into me. He’d taken something, some sort of drug to give him that feeling.

“What is it?” I asked. “What did you take?”

He frowned. “Take?”

“The drug. What drug did you take?”

“Heroin. Have you ever tried it?”

I shook my head.

He grinned. “Would you like to?”

“Yes,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Okay, but only if you come to my place.”

I took a step back. I wasn’t going to this man’s place. I didn’t know him. I knew there were plenty of men here who would’ve accepted his invitation without hesitation but I wouldn’t be one of them.

He held up a hand. “I promise, I don’t mean you any harm. But this is not the place to do it. There are too many people here who would take advantage of you while you’re high.”

“And you’re saying you aren’t one of them?” Lane asked.

“Yes.” Rudolph smiled again, as if smiling proved this point.

I thought of the sense of euphoria I’d felt. For the briefest of moments it had felt like I was floating. Care-free. I wanted to truly know what it felt like. To not know would drive me insane. “Okay.”

“Come with me,” he said, and held out his hand.

Again I hesitated but forced myself to take it. His hands felt soft and warm. Together we walked down the staircase to the main floor. Outside snow was still falling. He hailed a cab. With a galliant wave of his hand Rudolph held the door open for me. “After you.”

I climbed in. Rudolph climbed in after me and gave the driver his address. Minutes later we were passing through the streets of the city underneath a velvety black sky. Passing headlights made Rudolph’s face glow. The more I looked at him the more handsome he became to me. Despite the cauton I’d felt earlier I felt very comfortable around him. Safe even.

Rudolph kept studying me as well. “You look familiar, Danni. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere else before. On TV perhaps? Are you famous?”

“Not really.” I managed to keep my voice neutral. “Tonight I’m just a man trying to enjoy the night.”

He reached over and brushed a finger along my jawline. “Have you ever kissed a man before, Danni?”

“No.”

“So you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“May I kiss you?”

I glanced at the driver through the rearview mirror. His eyes were focused on the road, not on us. I nodded. Rudolph leaned closer so I could smell his breath - it smelled like spearmint - and I leaned towards him, the seat belt pressing up against my belly. A warm feeling spread through me the moment our lips touched. Again I had the sensation I was floating, weightless. Our lips were moving as one, tongue on tongue, spit on spit. Within seconds the knots in my stomach were gone. Suddenly I didn’t care where we were going or what would happen when we got there. I just knew I wanted to feel this way for the rest of my life.

The cab came to a stop. I didn’t want to part, for the feeling to stop, but Rudolph was getting out of the car. He led me to a tall brick building and opened a door at the side. "I'm afraid the elevator's not working," he said apologetically. "We'll have to take the stairs."

It was a long climb to the top but I didn't mind. Rudolph galloped up the stairs with ease; it probably kept him fit having to climb them every day. I was proud I managed to keep up with him.

The door to his apartment slid back like a panel, showing a spacious living room. A wall with a square doorway separated the kitchen - I could see the old fashioned refrigerator from where I stood. To my left was another doorway, leading down a long hallway. Across from where I stood was another set of double doors with a balcony directly outside.

The apartment itself was sparsely furnished; a sectional made of black leather, a wooden coffee table with glass panes in the middle, marred with age. But none of it, despite its age, looked junky or distasteful. The fact Rudolph didn't have a single item with the Aamodt Corp label on it only made me respect him more.

"I like it," I said.

It's not much," he said. "I could afford better more modern appliances but truth be told I don't like Aamodt Corp."

"I don't either."

He helped me peel off my jacket. "Nice suit. Not exactly something you would wear to a leather bar." He hung the jacket in a closet. "Are you ready?"

I nodded.

A moment later we were sitting on the sofa. Rudolph had everything he needed on top of the coffee table. As he explained the process of what we'd be doing I studied the track marks along his hairy pale arms. Judging from the number of track marks he was a frequent user.

I watched him unwrap the needle. He explained the needle was clean. He warned me to always use a clean needle and to never use a needle someone else had already used. He tied a rubber band around my arm so a vein stood pronounced against my flesh. He tipped the heroin, a dark powdery substance, onto a spoon. Under the flame from a lighter the powder dissolved quickly, turning into a liquid. Rudolph moved with a methodical yet confident ease.

The needle barely stung when he slid it into my arm and pushed the plunger in. Blood - my blood - seeped into the needle. For one thing you have to exchange another, I thought. “There,” Rudolph said cheerfully, untying the tourniquet around my arm. He patted my hand. “You’ll be feeling it any minute now.”

He was true to his word, it didn’t take long. There was a rush from the drug and that sense of euphoria, of floating hit me. I actually found myself grinning, looking up at the ceiling. I watched him go through the same process with fascination, unwrapping his own fresh syringe. Before long we were both lying on the sofa, our heads touching. I felt hazy, weightless and heavy at the same time. I’d never before had such an experience.

“I know I’ve seen you somewhere before.” Rudolph’s voice was slow, drowsy. He spoke as if he had all the time in the world to say what needed to be said. “I know I have. What is your last name?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me. You can’t be that important.”

I thought of the two men chasing me down the alley two years ago, the men who’d wanted to rape me. I thought of Rudolph saying he didn’t like Aamodt Corporation’s products. There were so many people who revered my father and just as many who hated him. “My name is Danni Aamodt the V. I’m the son of Danni Aamodt the IV.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which Rudolph said nothing. As the seconds ticked by, I began to worry. Was Rudolph going to hurt me? The drug had muddled my psychic abilities, the exact affect I'd hoped for. For as long as I could remember I'd thought of my being psychic as a curse passed down by my mother but now I realized just how useful it could be. How vulnerable I was without it.

"It must be hard to be the fifth of your name," Rudolph said finally. "Living under the shadow of the four who lived before you. And there are a lot of people who don't like your father. This world is dying. Instead of doing something to save it he keeps sending prisoners to that ice planet. That planet should be ours until we can find something else, not theirs. They should be left to die when this planet goes boom. Sorry. I hope what I'm saying isn't offending you."

"You think half the world hates him?" I said. "No one hates him more than I do. Living under the shadow of someone else is hell. Right now I don't want to be an Aamodt. Will you help me not be an Aamodt?"

He sat up, turned his head so he was looking at me, and smiled. "Yes, I will make you forget you are an Aamodt.

What followed was a collage of sensation completely new to me: the feeling of his hands and lips and tongue and spit on my body. Skin on skin, sweat on sweat. He was gentle, careful, but skilled. When he slid into me after using his tongue it hurt, his cock filling me with its girth. But after a moment of this pain, when I began to relax, it didn't hurt anymore.

It felt good. It felt good to be touched. In the back of my mind I could hear voices but they were made almost nonexistent by the heroin. For as long as I could remember I hated being touched; every time it felt as if someone was hammering sharp spikes into my brain. Each spike was an insight into someone else's head: their memories, their emotions, their thoughts in picture form. I didn't always need to be touched to experience these things, it was just the touching made things so loud and bright it was unbearable.

Up until now I had been trapped on an island no man could reach. For now, thanks to the heroin, I was free.

                    …

When I returned home I knew something was wrong before I even stepped through the door; it was the same overwhelming sense of dread that surged over me when something bad was getting ready to happen and it came over me now.

When I entered the parlor I found Father and Uncle Charlie sitting in the room. Both men were looking morosely into the fire. Dad held a crystal glass of brandy; inside, the glass was only a fifth of the way full. He looked up at me and I could see his eyes were reddened and pricked with tears. I’d never seen him emotional like this before.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

I looked at him and then at Uncle Charlie. I may not have been able to tell what my father was thinking but I could tell what Uncle Charlie was thinking.

“Where is she?”

Uncle Charlie shook his head. Where my father was angry, continuing to demand where I’d been, my father’s best friend who I called uncle, only looked sad.

“She’s gone.”