Beyond Paradise
I've Been Waiting a Lifetime
Billie stared helplessly at the torn shirt. The deep gouges in the metal door made him flinch as he imagined those same teeth tearing into Fowler's young body, holding him captive as the Zeileter did unspeakable things to him. A shudder ran through him, knowing that before the night was over, it might well be him they savaged and left for dead--or worse.
Jabril was opening the padlock, motioning them quickly inside the building. Sabeil took the fabric out of his hand, sniffing it and examining it closely. As the door clanged shut, he looked up at them with steady eyes.
"There's no blood on this," he announced, and the boys looked around at each other as if to make sure they'd heard right.
"Maybe he threw it away to sidetrack them," Billie said.
Jabril nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like him. They probably caught the scent and followed it here." He looked at Billie, his eyebrows lifting in a hopeful smile. "That could be good news for you--maybe they won't be looking for the right person tonight."
Billie swung the guitar off his shoulder and leaned it against the wall carefully. "I'll feel better when I know he's okay," he said. "I'd hate to think anything had happened to him because of me."
A door at the back of the warehouse, behind the barracks area, creaked softly open, and Tabib slipped almost silently through. He carried a dark blue backpack by one strap, and its heft suggested he had packed it almost to bursting. A wistful smile touched his face as he approached them, but faded when he counted two of their number missing.
"Fowler hasn't come back yet," Jabril told him, reading the question on his face. "Aden went back to try to make sure he wasn't cornered. We think he's probably hiding out until they give him enough distance to make a run for it, but you'd better be ready just in case. " He turned to Billie again, his eyes softening. "And I think you might want to see if there's anything you can do to help our friend here get focused. Mischa will be setting up in an hour or two, so we don't have much time."
Tabib unzipped the pack, and reached into its depths, pulling out an hourglass filled with blue-green sand, and a little silver vial. "Sit," he said, motioning Billie toward a folding chair, and he pulled another up for himself, sitting so they were face to face. He opened the vial, tipping it to pour out a few drops of golden-colored oil into the palm of his hand, and set it beside him on the floor.
Dipping a finger into the liquid, he reached forward and touched Billie's forehead, rubbing a small circle on the skin. Warmth began to spread across his face, sinking into the very bones of his face, and as it penetrated deeper and deeper, the panic he had been fighting for what seemed like an eternity slowly unknotted itself, softening and relaxing until his mind was still and calm. Lifting Billie's hands, Tabib repeated the same ritual with each of his palms, and he could feel the stiffness in his joints fading. The very sinews seemed to warm and awaken, the muscle memory returning like a lost friend, his hands almost sentient with the knowledge of the music he had lost.
He was surprised to feel tears sting his eyes as he looked up at the quiet young boy. "What did you do?" he whispered, flexing his fingers in amazement.
Tabib was capping the vial, wiping his hands on his pants legs. "Just some herbs and stuff," he said. "It calms your nerves and loosens you up." He dropped the oil back into the pack and lifted the hourglass, cupping it between his hands. "This...well, it's easier to show you than to try to explain it. Hold out your hand."
Billie did as he was told. Slowly, Tabib tipped the curved body of the glass until it rested upside down on his palm, and handed it to Billie. The ocean-colored sand began to slip through the slender neck in a tiny stream, forming a little hill on the bottom.
As he looked around him, the faces of the other boys began to stretch and distort slightly, as if he were looking through oil. Tabib was standing, but his movements were slow and dreamlike, and Billie could hear Jabril's footsteps behind him, echoing like a drum. A long moment later, Mischa's guitar appeared in front of him, drifting slowly down into his lap, and he instinctively reached for the neck, wrapping his fingers tightly around it.
Tabib's voice was deep and resonant, and the words stretched excruciatingly. "You'll get used to it. Just play something," he drawled.
Billie looked uncertainly around at Jabril, but the boy was nodding encouragement. "Go ahead," he said in the thick, booming voice of a cartoon giant.
His hands seemed to thrum with anticipation, aching to begin, and as he put his fingertips to the strings, a bolt of ecstasy shot through his veins. It was as if there was nothing else in the world he had ever been meant to do. The closest thing he had ever felt to this was when he had held Adie close to him in the quiet of their bed, their bodies speaking a language that only the two of them could understand, and even then it hadn't been this intoxicating, out-of-body rush.
The pick in his fingers took on a life of its own. Suddenly there erupted an explosion of music as fierce, as vicious, as technically perfect as he had ever played in his life, and the force of it almost knocked him off his feet. It seemed to shake the very rafters, making the walls and windows bulge. He was possessed, blind to everything around him as four years of pent-up rage and frustration unleashed themselves, stunning the boys and leaving them slack-jawed and speechless. On and on it raged, seeming to come from the darkest depths of his soul, until he thought it would consume him with its hunger.
At last he was spent, exhausted as the last notes of the orgasmic onslaught echoed off the crates and ceiling. He opened his eyes, only now realizing he had reflexively shut them tight as if to protect himself.
Jabril had sunk to his knees, his face blank in amazement. Sabeil gripped Tabib's shoulder, his tawny head shaking back and forth as his mouth worked uselessly. The thickness in the air seemed to have passed, and Billie didn't have the slow-motion dreamlike feeling anymore, but his hands were trembling and there was a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip.
"Holy shit!" Sabeil managed to gasp. "I--I've never heard anything like that before!"
Even Tabib's normally serene expression was shaken. "Neither have I. I've seen some incredible guitarists come through here, but you're hands down the best!"
But it was to Jabril that Billie looked for his reaction. He stared at Billie for a moment, and then a sly grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "I think Stroud's a dead motherfucker," he chuckled, and Billie felt the tourniquet that had been strangling his heart unwind so he could finally breathe again. "C'mon, it's showtime."
Jabril was opening the padlock, motioning them quickly inside the building. Sabeil took the fabric out of his hand, sniffing it and examining it closely. As the door clanged shut, he looked up at them with steady eyes.
"There's no blood on this," he announced, and the boys looked around at each other as if to make sure they'd heard right.
"Maybe he threw it away to sidetrack them," Billie said.
Jabril nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like him. They probably caught the scent and followed it here." He looked at Billie, his eyebrows lifting in a hopeful smile. "That could be good news for you--maybe they won't be looking for the right person tonight."
Billie swung the guitar off his shoulder and leaned it against the wall carefully. "I'll feel better when I know he's okay," he said. "I'd hate to think anything had happened to him because of me."
A door at the back of the warehouse, behind the barracks area, creaked softly open, and Tabib slipped almost silently through. He carried a dark blue backpack by one strap, and its heft suggested he had packed it almost to bursting. A wistful smile touched his face as he approached them, but faded when he counted two of their number missing.
"Fowler hasn't come back yet," Jabril told him, reading the question on his face. "Aden went back to try to make sure he wasn't cornered. We think he's probably hiding out until they give him enough distance to make a run for it, but you'd better be ready just in case. " He turned to Billie again, his eyes softening. "And I think you might want to see if there's anything you can do to help our friend here get focused. Mischa will be setting up in an hour or two, so we don't have much time."
Tabib unzipped the pack, and reached into its depths, pulling out an hourglass filled with blue-green sand, and a little silver vial. "Sit," he said, motioning Billie toward a folding chair, and he pulled another up for himself, sitting so they were face to face. He opened the vial, tipping it to pour out a few drops of golden-colored oil into the palm of his hand, and set it beside him on the floor.
Dipping a finger into the liquid, he reached forward and touched Billie's forehead, rubbing a small circle on the skin. Warmth began to spread across his face, sinking into the very bones of his face, and as it penetrated deeper and deeper, the panic he had been fighting for what seemed like an eternity slowly unknotted itself, softening and relaxing until his mind was still and calm. Lifting Billie's hands, Tabib repeated the same ritual with each of his palms, and he could feel the stiffness in his joints fading. The very sinews seemed to warm and awaken, the muscle memory returning like a lost friend, his hands almost sentient with the knowledge of the music he had lost.
He was surprised to feel tears sting his eyes as he looked up at the quiet young boy. "What did you do?" he whispered, flexing his fingers in amazement.
Tabib was capping the vial, wiping his hands on his pants legs. "Just some herbs and stuff," he said. "It calms your nerves and loosens you up." He dropped the oil back into the pack and lifted the hourglass, cupping it between his hands. "This...well, it's easier to show you than to try to explain it. Hold out your hand."
Billie did as he was told. Slowly, Tabib tipped the curved body of the glass until it rested upside down on his palm, and handed it to Billie. The ocean-colored sand began to slip through the slender neck in a tiny stream, forming a little hill on the bottom.
As he looked around him, the faces of the other boys began to stretch and distort slightly, as if he were looking through oil. Tabib was standing, but his movements were slow and dreamlike, and Billie could hear Jabril's footsteps behind him, echoing like a drum. A long moment later, Mischa's guitar appeared in front of him, drifting slowly down into his lap, and he instinctively reached for the neck, wrapping his fingers tightly around it.
Tabib's voice was deep and resonant, and the words stretched excruciatingly. "You'll get used to it. Just play something," he drawled.
Billie looked uncertainly around at Jabril, but the boy was nodding encouragement. "Go ahead," he said in the thick, booming voice of a cartoon giant.
His hands seemed to thrum with anticipation, aching to begin, and as he put his fingertips to the strings, a bolt of ecstasy shot through his veins. It was as if there was nothing else in the world he had ever been meant to do. The closest thing he had ever felt to this was when he had held Adie close to him in the quiet of their bed, their bodies speaking a language that only the two of them could understand, and even then it hadn't been this intoxicating, out-of-body rush.
The pick in his fingers took on a life of its own. Suddenly there erupted an explosion of music as fierce, as vicious, as technically perfect as he had ever played in his life, and the force of it almost knocked him off his feet. It seemed to shake the very rafters, making the walls and windows bulge. He was possessed, blind to everything around him as four years of pent-up rage and frustration unleashed themselves, stunning the boys and leaving them slack-jawed and speechless. On and on it raged, seeming to come from the darkest depths of his soul, until he thought it would consume him with its hunger.
At last he was spent, exhausted as the last notes of the orgasmic onslaught echoed off the crates and ceiling. He opened his eyes, only now realizing he had reflexively shut them tight as if to protect himself.
Jabril had sunk to his knees, his face blank in amazement. Sabeil gripped Tabib's shoulder, his tawny head shaking back and forth as his mouth worked uselessly. The thickness in the air seemed to have passed, and Billie didn't have the slow-motion dreamlike feeling anymore, but his hands were trembling and there was a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip.
"Holy shit!" Sabeil managed to gasp. "I--I've never heard anything like that before!"
Even Tabib's normally serene expression was shaken. "Neither have I. I've seen some incredible guitarists come through here, but you're hands down the best!"
But it was to Jabril that Billie looked for his reaction. He stared at Billie for a moment, and then a sly grin lifted one corner of his mouth. "I think Stroud's a dead motherfucker," he chuckled, and Billie felt the tourniquet that had been strangling his heart unwind so he could finally breathe again. "C'mon, it's showtime."