Trembling With the Strings

A Rape Whistle

I laughed in Dray’s arms as we heard shrieking and shouts coming from upstairs. We were relaxing quietly on the sofa in the den, but my brothers weren’t being so peaceful. They were running around upstairs, checking out every square inch of our new house. Demetrius came stumbling down the stairs, diving into my arms.

“Well, hey there,” I murmured teasingly as Darius smiled, reaching out and ruffling the small boy’s hair.

“What do you think, Marty? How’d I do?” he asked softly, pulling him onto his lap.

Martin grinned from ear to ear, nodding furiously as he hugged my fiancé close. “Great!” he shrieked suddenly, kissing him on the cheek.

“Someday that will make you a faggot,” Darius warned him. “But you can get away with that for at least right now.”

“Fag?”

“Darius!” I groaned, covering my brother’s ears. “Watch your language! He’s just a kid!”

He laughed, telling Demetrius to go play with his brothers out back. I hadn’t understood why at first, but then he pulled me tight to his chest and crushed his lips to mine.

“We should go break the bed in,” he purred in my ear before kissing my jaw.

“Dray,” I mumbled as he attacked my lips again.

“But it’s been so long.” He sounded like a little kid! “And soon you’ll be too fat for me to wrap my arms around!”

“Well, ouch!” I teased, pulling myself out of his arms and running for the steps. He caught up to me quickly, throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me into our bedroom. “I need a rape whistle.”

“A what?” he asked, dropping me carelessly onto the bed and kissing my neck.

“A rape whistle. You know, a whistle you wear around your neck so you can blow in it and make people run to you before the guy can rape you.”

“Huh, well I’ve got something better for you to blow,” he mumbled, lifting my shirt a little. But he hesitated. “On second thought, I really don’t feel like it.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked him, sitting up beside him. He glanced over at me through tired eyes as if he was torn.

“Gracie,” he groaned, kissing me gently. “I want to so fucking bad, but I can’t! I just picture my kid saying, ‘Keep it in your pants, man: I live here!’

I stared at him for a bit before deciding he had finally lost it. I was about to tease him relentlessly, but then I heard a bloodcurdling scream.

It came from the backyard.

“Oh my God!” I cried, shoving Darius off of me and dashing down the steps and out the back door.

Marcus was sitting in the grass, his shirt covered in blood. He was crying, and he was holding something—no: someone.

It was Johnny!

And he wasn’t moving…