Trab's 'There He Sat' Parts I - XIII

[Cole Parker]

There He Sat

By Trab

It was a Friday night, well, evening, really. Dark, wet, and cold, the weather had been anything but a pleasure to all who braved it, including me. The TV programming just totally sucked today, and I had completely exhausted my small library of tapes and DVDs. I bundled myself up, and dragged my sorry ass into the car and left for the movie rental place. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could see that there was only one other person who had braved the damp misery.

Ten feet away, in an older Toyota Corolla, which might or might not really be red, as sodium vapor lights hide colors so effectively, sat a youngish man, whose color couldn?t be disguised. The light, against the black background, highlighted the blond hair that was more like white cotton, topping a blanched face. He was looking down, and slowly picked a longish French fry out of a small packet. Putting it in his mouth, he chewed slowly. When done, he wiped his eyes. And again. Then, ever so hesitantly, he picked out another fry. Again the slow movement of his hand to his mouth, the careful and hesitant nibbling of this morsel, and again, wiping his eyes.

Feeling rather like a creep, I watched him. He was beautiful, he was alone, he was hurting. Yes, I could see that those were tears he was wiping from his eyes. I tried to imagine what could possibly be wrong. What could induce someone to go out on a night like tonight, and eat alone, in the cold and the dark? How had life screwed with him? Why does life suck so? Why? I could stand it no more. I had to do something; anything, to relieve the pain, the anguish, the despair.

I drove away without ever getting out of my car, leaving his pain behind me, for him to suffer in the now empty parking lot; and taking my own pain with me. 335

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There He Sat II

By Camy

Arriving home I put the keys on their hook, hung up my coat, and then instead of going to watch TV, I stood on the mat by the front door, not even bothering to turn on the light. Inside I was screaming, my mind in turmoil over the total stranger in the Corolla.

As if in a dream I took my coat off the hook, slid it on, grabbed the keys and ran to the car. I was split. This wasn?t me. I?d never done anything like this before. I was being stupid: melodramatic. And yet I knew. I knew I had too. I was needed. For the first time in an age I felt I could make a difference.

Instinct was in control, whilst the me that I?d been since the end of my one brief relationship, laughed bitterly at the stupidity. ?You don?t think he?ll be grateful, do you?? I told myself to shut up. ?Oh, I would if you?d only be sensible. Chasing twinks at your age, who do you think you are??

?SHUT UP!? I screamed as I made a left turn too fast, the car sliding sideways. Instant heebie-jeebies, as fear helped me correct the mistake. I slowed from sixty, and was about to pull into the car park where I?d seen him, when I saw the Corolla pulling out. I clenched my toes, indecisive, then slowly blinked: put my foot on the accelerator, and followed.

I could see him through the rear window, his blonde hair caught briefly in my headlights, and noted in passing that the Corolla was red. For some reason that seemed important. Knowing the car's colour somehow legitimised my foolishness.

The lights ahead turned amber. I floored the gas, and shot though on red, slowing immediately so he wouldn?t suspect I was following. What on earth was I doing? ?yes, I was about to ask that, too.? my mind played with me. ?Home is where the TV is. Peaceful ? safe.?

?Boring. I?ve been peaceful and safe for far too long.? I said, chuckling as I turned on the radio: Carol King?s Tapestry feeding my angst as I followed the Corolla onto the mountain road. 371

There He Sat III - by Bruin

Off the main highway, the road became narrow and windy as it climbed upwards through the thickly wooded hillside. As I drove I tried to collect my thoughts. My mind was racing, and in there somewhere was a plaintive cry that said: "Stop, turn round and go home. This is none of your business and you may get into trouble if you continue." I was ignoring that voice, not a very loud or persuasive voice anyway. I was trying to gather my thoughts about the guy in the car ahead. So far I was keeping him in sight but he was making good speed and my big sedan was not built for windy lanes.

I needed to establish what I knew or could surmise about him. Very little. I knew he must be in his mid-twenties and I knew, as far as the sodium lights had allowed me to see, that he was drop dead gorgeous (I allowed myself that thought for the first time, now I was committed to this wild escapade). He drove a Toyota Corolla, about five years old, in red. The most reliable car in the world according to some major survey I remembered. But not a sporty car, though you'd never guess it the way he was devouring the road and making me sweat to keep up. He'd been eating fries out of a bag. Like a MacDonald's bag. There's no MacDonald's near the video rental store, I wondered where he'd got them from. So I knew not much about him.

He was pulling ahead of me and the bends in the road were occasionally obscuring my sight of him. I tried to close the gap, driving my big V8 beyond the limits of the suspension system, so on the corners the car was wallowing badly and the tyres were scrabbling on the leaf-strewn road surface. Once or twice I frightened myself as the rear end swung out and I narrowly avoided going into spin. And I was now so focussed on controlling my car at speed that when the Corolla suddenly turned off the road onto a forest track I nearly missed it. As it was I overshot and had to brake, skidding nearly into a tree, reverse, and point my hood into the narrow track. His vehicle must be a foot narrower than mine, and I began to worry that I would get stuck.

We came out of the forest into an area where the trees had been recently felled and my attention was caught momentarily by the breathtaking view across the valley. Even in the dark and the wet I was impressed. The lights in the windows of homesteads on the opposite hillside looked so inviting. My attention snapped back to the track ahead of me and just in time, only just in time, I slammed on the anchors. I came to a stop about a yard short of the red Corolla, stationary and with the driver's door swinging open. Beside the car stood the blond man, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead, pointing a rifle at me.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" he called, his voice cracked and hoarse. 541

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There He Sat IV

by Camy

I didn't answer. I couldn't: frozen to a spot in time and space.

"Get out!" he called, his voice still undeniably stressed, yet somehow attractive too. 'Yep, attractive and with a gun, way to go' I thought as I pulled the door handle, the rusty hinges squeaking loudly as I shouldered it open.

"Slowly, now!" he said, "No ...."

"Sudden moves?" I interrupted him. "Yeah, I've watched cops shows too." 'nice' I thought, astounded by my nerve. 'Now he'll shoot ... and then I?ll die.' "I'm getting out." I said.

One leg followed the other while I tried to fabricate a reasonable explanation for following a total stranger five miles into the mountains. Then, as I stood up, I heard a crunch: felt a tremendous pain at the back of my head, and in slow motion the world, lit only by headlights, faded to black.

'Thanks be it was all a dream,' I thought as I woke up to find a cool flannel mopping my forehead. It was so soothing I kept my eyes shut, and felt myself smile ... then groan in delayed agony, as the pain at the back of my head flowered exquisitely. I opened my eyes just as the flannel was removed.

The blonde man was sitting in front of me, seemingly, if I was any judge of expressions, concerned. 'You're no judge, you're a fool! He's got a gun!' I reminded myself as he soaked the flannel in a bowl before squeezing it out and replacing it gently on my brow.

"You hit your head, John," he said, a flash smile crossing his face. ?Red lips, and a nice smile,? I thought, then groaned again.

"Hit my hea ...." I stopped to look at him. 'Forget the nice smile. He's going to kill you for being a weirdo!' I told myself to shut up, and for once, surprisingly, I did.

"You know my name." I managed. He nodded, the smile flashing across his face again.

"Uh huh, your wallet ...." His eyes were of the palest lilac, and he was, apart from not appearing angry at all, and being right in front of me, beautiful. I gulped, and the concerned look arrived back. It made him look even more beautiful: almost angelic.

He held a glass of water, helped me drink, then re-arranged my pillows. I winced as my fingers traced a large lump on the back of my head, and there was that smile again, though this time it seemed somehow mischievious. He reached forward, cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me. Then he sat back.

?Before the others come barging in wanting to know why I have a complete stranger in my bed I thought I should welcome you to Shangri-la ?.? I blinked. ?Now,? he continued, smoothing down my blanket, ?why were you following me?? 482

There He Sat pt V

by Bruin Fisher

from an original idea by Trab

Well, I knew he had just asked a question, but it didn't register; I was still floundering. How did I hurt my head? How did I get from the edge of the forest in the rain to this comfy bed? How did the tearful man with the wet hair, the beautiful eyes and the gun turn into the smiling angel of mercy with the same beautiful eyes I was looking at? And why did he think he could kiss me? I didn't have answers and my brain grew confused and fuzzy in the attempt. So he'd sat on the edge of the bed and asked a second time, and then a third, before the words filtered through and I realised what he was saying.

Knowing what he was asking me didn't help much; I didn't have a rational explanation. I mustered my resources and tried to come up with something plausible.

"I went out to hire a video. In the car park I saw you, you looked like you were in trouble, I should have offered help but I chickened out and drove off, without even getting a film. But you had worried me and I went back, just as you were driving off.?

He just watched me. He didn't make a sound, like he was waiting for me to continue. So I did.

"Maybe I should have turned around when I saw you drive off but you seemed so desperate, I was worried about you."

"What made you think I was in trouble?"

"You were crying."

He gave an odd snort like a suppressed giggle. I looked up into his face in time to see it squash into an ear-to-ear grin, crinkly eyes and all.

"That would be the onions in my kebab. I love onions but these were powerful, enough to blow the top of your head off ? and make your eyes water." He was laughing now, and struggling to talk through it. "That's all it was. But thank you for your concern!"

I couldn't help but see the funny side of it, and soon we were laughing together. I reached out for his hand and grasped it in mine, a sort of friendship gesture.

When I had some control back, I asked: "How did I get here? Where are we?"

"You hit your head on the end of your roof bars as you stood up out of your car. Knocked yourself out cold, and I couldn't bring you round. So I put you in my car and brought you home. I left your car on the side of the lane, but I locked it and it'll be okay there till you're ready to get it. It's only a quarter mile back along the lane from here."

"And here is?"

"My home. My parents' home, actually, my Dad's the forest warden, and I still live here and my sister does. They'll be here soon and I'm going to have to explain you to them."

"I don't know your name."

"Eric. Eric Hofstraat. If you promise to keep quiet about it I'll admit my real name is Alveric, after the dwarf in the Wagner operas, but I prefer Eric, it doesn't need so much explaining!"

"Hi, Eric. I'm John Trubshaw. You checked my wallet so you know that."

"Yes, sorry, I hope you don't mind, I was trying to find who to phone about you when I couldn't bring you round. There's a picture of you hugging another guy. Your brother?"

"No, my boyfriend. That was four years ago, we split up not long after the picture was taken, but I keep the photo."

I'm always like that. If being gay comes up I come right out and say, but I always have to watch faces after I've spoken to see if I'm going to have trouble. I watched Eric, and there was no reaction. I kind of guessed there wouldn't be ? I still hadn't asked him about kissing me ? and the way he kissed had told me enough about him.

There was a commotion coming from below ? downstairs, I guessed.

"That'll be the folks home. You ready for this?" asked Eric.

I nodded, without any idea what to be ready for.

The door of the bedroom opened, and a short, buxom woman with a pretty, round face and elfin features walked straight in, with a puzzled frown, and a very large policeman right behind her.

"Eric, darling, there's a policeman here to see you. You're not in any trouble, are you?" - and at that moment she spotted me on the bed and took a step backwards, putting her hand to her mouth and wailing "Oh, oh... oh!" 794

There He Sat

Extrapolation of a work by Trab

Chapter VI, by Cole Parker

My head was swimming as events kept unfolding. I?d begun the evening on a lonely quest to find a video to watch, and now I was who knew where, but supposedly in a mountain cabin with an attractive but enigmatic man, an emotional young woman who I knew nothing at all about, and a gargantuan policeman who was wearing an intimidating scowl and look of no nonsense on his face. Top that off with a throbbing headache and the swimming feeling was easily explained.

The woman was still looking at me and sort of gurgling, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide, and it suddenly occurred to me why. When she had appeared, old habits had taken over, and I?d struggled to stand up. My head had rebelled as I?d tried to rise, but I had made it up far enough so I was now sitting on the side of the bed, both my hands holding my head firmly, as it felt like it was going to explode at any moment and my hands might help to contain the mess.

It was then, watching the woman ogle me, that I realized I was entirely naked. Eric must have undressed me before helping me into bed. With my head in the state it was in, I hadn?t realized it. The woman?s wide eyes, focused as they were on my middle half, my somewhat thickened by Eric?s kiss of moments ago middle half, seemed to be memorizing me. Should we meet again some day, she might not know my face, but other parts she?d certainly be able to recognize.

I lowered my hands and attempted to pull the covers over me, but I was sitting on them and that didn?t work at all. I grabbed a pillow and set it in my lap, blushing furiously. Just what I needed, more blood in my head. The pounding was now worse than ever.

?What?s this, then?? asked the policeman, drawing himself taller and assuming an expression of disgust. ?What?s going on here? And are you Eric Hofstraat??

?Yes, that?s me,? the man who?d told me that was his name answered.

?Then you?ll have to come with me. You?re wanted for questioning.?

?Questioning about what?? Eric looked completely befuddled. I was still somewhat out of my wits, nothing was making a great deal of sense to me, and my attention was split between what was going on between the policeman and Eric, and the woman who?s eyes were now fastened on my pillow, but that Eric seemed to be lost was apparent.

The policeman reached onto his belt and took off a pair of handcuffs. ?There was an incident at a video store tonight. We?ve had a string of murders at video stores lately, always on a Friday night. Now, we have another dead body, and a surveillance tape shows your car leaving the scene. Now, are you going to come peacefully, or are we going to have a bit of fun here??

[Trab]

Oh, bloody well done, Cole. Talk about creating tension. Bet you're an awesome lover, keeping your partner hovering at the point of no return for ages.

[Camy]

Cole, dude!

That's not only a great 'chapter', but you've also set a thundering good direction for a continuation.

Hat doffed,

Camy

[Cole Parker]

Aw, shucks.

C

[Trab]

Who's next? Part VII awaits.

[Camy]

Who's next? Part VII awaits.

How about you, Trab?

Actually, after a bit of thought, I think you should be in charge of 'There He Sat', considering it was your piece we all leapt upon. That way it could be roughly scheduled, and we wouldn't get people writing the same 'chapter'.

Cole has left it in a great place, and I'd leap at the chance to write more, had I not already written a couple, and if I wasn't in the middle of writing Seraph 14.

Camy

[Trab]

Now, now, Camy. You can't use Seraph as an excuse, since you're always in the middle of that. In fact, isn't it that exact chapter you're always in the middle of?

I don't mind acting as 'traffic cop' but I do need to have people send me a PM saying they'd like to write a Part. I can't really assign this to people who might not be interested. And no, I cannot write a piece. My stories are personal experiences, modified slightly, and I really don't have the ability to just make things up. I'm more like a reporter than a story teller.

[Camy]

Now, now, Camy. You can't use Seraph as an excuse, since you're always in the middle of that. In fact, isn't it that exact chapter you're always in the middle of?

Ha! That would have been more than a fair comment if you'd made it the day before yesterday! You're quite right: I was struggling for months, but with 13, not 14. 13 is now finished, and being edited.

I don't mind acting as 'traffic cop' but I do need to have people send me a PM saying they'd like to write a Part. I can't really assign this to people who might not be interested.

That's great! Okay, put me down for another one, please. Just not right yet.

Camy

[Bruin Fisher]

put me down for another one...

Camy

Not to be outdone by an emu...

Trab, I'm game to do another section any time. Just let me know when!

Bruin

[Trab]

Cool, Bruin. Anyone else want to be added to the list? Jack Scribe? Des? Colin? AJ? Graeme? Hylas? Madrigal? or any of you others?

[Trab]

The Tantalizing Tales of the Travails of the Troubled Trubshaw

Book One: There He Sat

By Trab

It was a Friday night, well, evening, really. Dark, wet, and cold, the weather had been anything but a pleasure to all who braved it, including me. The TV programming just totally sucked today, and I had completely exhausted my small library of tapes and DVDs. I bundled myself up, and dragged my sorry ass into the car and left for the movie rental place. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could see that there was only one other person who had braved the damp misery.

Ten feet away, in an older Toyota Corolla, which might or might not really be red, as sodium vapor lights hide colors so effectively, sat a youngish man, whose color couldn’t be disguised. The light, against the black background, highlighted the blond hair that was more like white cotton, topping a blanched face. He was looking down, and slowly picked a longish French fry out of a small packet. Putting it in his mouth, he chewed slowly. When done, he wiped his eyes. And again. Then, ever so hesitantly, he picked out another fry. Again the slow movement of his hand to his mouth, the careful and hesitant nibbling of this morsel, and again, wiping his eyes.

Feeling rather like a creep, I watched him. He was beautiful, he was alone, he was hurting. Yes, I could see that those were tears he was wiping from his eyes. I tried to imagine what could possibly be wrong. What could induce someone to go out on a night like tonight, and eat alone, in the cold and the dark? How had life screwed with him? Why does life suck so? Why? I could stand it no more. I had to do something; anything, to relieve the pain, the anguish, the despair.

I drove away without ever getting out of my car, leaving his pain behind me, for him to suffer in the now empty parking lot; and taking my own pain with me.

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There He Sat II

By Camy

Arriving home I put the keys on their hook, hung up my coat, and then instead of going to watch TV, I stood on the mat by the front door, not even bothering to turn on the light. Inside I was screaming, my mind in turmoil over the total stranger in the Corolla.

As if in a dream I took my coat off the hook, slid it on, grabbed the keys and ran to the car. I was split. This wasn’t me. I’d never done anything like this before. I was being stupid: melodramatic. And yet I knew. I knew I had too. I was needed. For the first time in an age I felt I could make a difference.

Instinct was in control, whilst the me that I’d been since the end of my one brief relationship, laughed bitterly at the stupidity. ‘You don’t think he’ll be grateful, do you?’ I told myself to shut up. ‘Oh, I would if you’d only be sensible. Chasing twinks at your age, who do you think you are?’

“SHUT UP!” I screamed as I made a left turn too fast, the car sliding sideways. Instant heebie-jeebies, as fear helped me correct the mistake. I slowed from sixty, and was about to pull into the car park where I’d seen him, when I saw the Corolla pulling out. I clenched my toes, indecisive, then slowly blinked: put my foot on the accelerator, and followed.

I could see him through the rear window, his blonde hair caught briefly in my headlights, and noted in passing that the Corolla was red. For some reason that seemed important. Knowing the car's colour somehow legitimised my foolishness.

The lights ahead turned amber. I floored the gas, and shot though on red, slowing immediately so he wouldn’t suspect I was following. What on earth was I doing? ‘yes, I was about to ask that, too.’ my mind played with me. ‘Home is where the TV is. Peaceful … safe.’

“Boring. I’ve been peaceful and safe for far too long.” I said, chuckling as I turned on the radio: Carol King’s Tapestry feeding my angst as I followed the Corolla onto the mountain road.

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There He Sat III - by Bruin

Off the main highway, the road became narrow and windy as it climbed upwards through the thickly wooded hillside. As I drove I tried to collect my thoughts. My mind was racing, and in there somewhere was a plaintive cry that said: "Stop, turn round and go home. This is none of your business and you may get into trouble if you continue." I was ignoring that voice, not a very loud or persuasive voice anyway. I was trying to gather my thoughts about the guy in the car ahead. So far I was keeping him in sight but he was making good speed and my big sedan was not built for windy lanes.

I needed to establish what I knew or could surmise about him. Very little. I knew he must be in his mid-twenties and I knew, as far as the sodium lights had allowed me to see, that he was drop dead gorgeous (I allowed myself that thought for the first time, now I was committed to this wild escapade). He drove a Toyota Corolla, about five years old, in red. The most reliable car in the world according to some major survey I remembered. But not a sporty car, though you'd never guess it the way he was devouring the road and making me sweat to keep up. He'd been eating fries out of a bag. Like a MacDonald's bag. There's no MacDonald's near the video rental store, I wondered where he'd got them from. So I knew not much about him.

He was pulling ahead of me and the bends in the road were occasionally obscuring my sight of him. I tried to close the gap, driving my big V8 beyond the limits of the suspension system, so on the corners the car was wallowing badly and the tyres were scrabbling on the leaf-strewn road surface. Once or twice I frightened myself as the rear end swung out and I narrowly avoided going into spin. And I was now so focussed on controlling my car at speed that when the Corolla suddenly turned off the road onto a forest track I nearly missed it. As it was I overshot and had to brake, skidding nearly into a tree, reverse, and point my hood into the narrow track. His vehicle must be a foot narrower than mine, and I began to worry that I would get stuck.

We came out of the forest into an area where the trees had been recently felled and my attention was caught momentarily by the breathtaking view across the valley. Even in the dark and the wet I was impressed. The lights in the windows of homesteads on the opposite hillside looked so inviting. My attention snapped back to the track ahead of me and just in time, only just in time, I slammed on the anchors. I came to a stop about a yard short of the red Corolla, stationary and with the driver's door swinging open. Beside the car stood the blond man, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead, pointing a rifle at me.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" he called, his voice cracked and hoarse.

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There He Sat IV

by Camy

I didn't answer. I couldn't: frozen to a spot in time and space.

"Get out!" he called, his voice still undeniably stressed, yet somehow attractive too. 'Yep, attractive and with a gun, way to go' I thought as I pulled the door handle, the rusty hinges squeaking loudly as I shouldered it open.

"Slowly, now!" he said, "No ...."

"Sudden moves?" I interrupted him. "Yeah, I've watched cops shows too." 'nice' I thought, astounded by my nerve. 'Now he'll shoot ... and then I’ll die.' "I'm getting out." I said.

One leg followed the other while I tried to fabricate a reasonable explanation for following a total stranger five miles into the mountains. Then, as I stood up, I heard a crunch: felt a tremendous pain at the back of my head, and in slow motion the world, lit only by headlights, faded to black.

'Thanks be it was all a dream,' I thought as I woke up to find a cool flannel mopping my forehead. It was so soothing I kept my eyes shut, and felt myself smile ... then groan in delayed agony, as the pain at the back of my head flowered exquisitely. I opened my eyes just as the flannel was removed.

The blonde man was sitting in front of me, seemingly, if I was any judge of expressions, concerned. 'You're no judge, you're a fool! He's got a gun!' I reminded myself as he soaked the flannel in a bowl before squeezing it out and replacing it gently on my brow.

"You hit your head, John," he said, a flash smile crossing his face. ‘Red lips, and a nice smile,’ I thought, then groaned again.

"Hit my hea ...." I stopped to look at him. 'Forget the nice smile. He's going to kill you for being a weirdo!' I told myself to shut up, and for once, surprisingly, I did.

"You know my name." I managed. He nodded, the smile flashing across his face again.

"Uh huh, your wallet ...." His eyes were of the palest lilac, and he was, apart from not appearing angry at all, and being right in front of me, beautiful. I gulped, and the concerned look arrived back. It made him look even more beautiful: almost angelic.

He held a glass of water, helped me drink, then re-arranged my pillows. I winced as my fingers traced a large lump on the back of my head, and there was that smile again, though this time it seemed somehow mischievious. He reached forward, cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me. Then he sat back.

“Before the others come barging in wanting to know why I have a complete stranger in my bed I thought I should welcome you to Shangri-la ….” I blinked. “Now,” he continued, smoothing down my blanket, “why were you following me?”

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There He Sat V

by Bruin Fisher

from an original idea by Trab

Well, I knew he had just asked a question, but it didn't register; I was still floundering. How did I hurt my head? How did I get from the edge of the forest in the rain to this comfy bed? How did the tearful man with the wet hair, the beautiful eyes and the gun turn into the smiling angel of mercy with the same beautiful eyes I was looking at? And why did he think he could kiss me? I didn't have answers and my brain grew confused and fuzzy in the attempt. So he'd sat on the edge of the bed and asked a second time, and then a third, before the words filtered through and I realised what he was saying.

Knowing what he was asking me didn't help much; I didn't have a rational explanation. I mustered my resources and tried to come up with something plausible.

"I went out to hire a video. In the car park I saw you, you looked like you were in trouble, I should have offered help but I chickened out and drove off, without even getting a film. But you had worried me and I went back, just as you were driving off.”

He just watched me. He didn't make a sound, like he was waiting for me to continue. So I did.

"Maybe I should have turned around when I saw you drive off but you seemed so desperate, I was worried about you."

"What made you think I was in trouble?"

"You were crying."

He gave an odd snort like a suppressed giggle. I looked up into his face in time to see it squash into an ear-to-ear grin, crinkly eyes and all.

"That would be the onions in my kebab. I love onions but these were powerful, enough to blow the top of your head off – and make your eyes water." He was laughing now, and struggling to talk through it. "That's all it was. But thank you for your concern!"

I couldn't help but see the funny side of it, and soon we were laughing together. I reached out for his hand and grasped it in mine, a sort of friendship gesture.

When I had some control back, I asked: "How did I get here? Where are we?"

"You hit your head on the end of your roof bars as you stood up out of your car. Knocked yourself out cold, and I couldn't bring you round. So I put you in my car and brought you home. I left your car on the side of the lane, but I locked it and it'll be okay there till you're ready to get it. It's only a quarter mile back along the lane from here."

"And here is?"

"My home. My parents' home, actually, my Dad's the forest warden, and I still live here and my sister does. They'll be here soon and I'm going to have to explain you to them."

"I don't know your name."

"Eric. Eric Hofstraat. If you promise to keep quiet about it I'll admit my real name is Alveric, after the dwarf in the Wagner operas, but I prefer Eric, it doesn't need so much explaining!"

"Hi, Eric. I'm John Trubshaw. You checked my wallet so you know that."

"Yes, sorry, I hope you don't mind, I was trying to find who to phone about you when I couldn't bring you round. There's a picture of you hugging another guy. Your brother?"

"No, my boyfriend. That was four years ago, we split up not long after the picture was taken, but I keep the photo."

I'm always like that. If being gay comes up I come right out and say, but I always have to watch faces after I've spoken to see if I'm going to have trouble. I watched Eric, and there was no reaction. I kind of guessed there wouldn't be – I still hadn't asked him about kissing me – and the way he kissed had told me enough about him.

There was a commotion coming from below – downstairs, I guessed.

"That'll be the folks home. You ready for this?" asked Eric.

I nodded, without any idea what to be ready for.

The door of the bedroom opened, and a short, buxom woman with a pretty, round face and elfin features walked straight in, with a puzzled frown, and a very large policeman right behind her.

"Eric, darling, there's a policeman here to see you. You're not in any trouble, are you?" - and at that moment she spotted me on the bed and took a step backwards, putting her hand to her mouth and wailing "Oh, oh... oh!"

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There He Sat

Extrapolation of a work by Trab

Chapter VI, by Cole Parker

My head was swimming as events kept unfolding. I’d begun the evening on a lonely quest to find a video to watch, and now I was who knew where, but supposedly in a mountain cabin with an attractive but enigmatic man, an emotional young woman who I knew nothing at all about, and a gargantuan policeman who was wearing an intimidating scowl and look of no nonsense on his face. Top that off with a throbbing headache and the swimming feeling was easily explained.

The woman was still looking at me and sort of gurgling, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide, and it suddenly occurred to me why. When she had appeared, old habits had taken over, and I’d struggled to stand up. My head had rebelled as I’d tried to rise, but I had made it up far enough so I was now sitting on the side of the bed, both my hands holding my head firmly, as it felt like it was going to explode at any moment and my hands might help to contain the mess.

It was then, watching the woman ogle me, that I realized I was entirely naked. Eric must have undressed me before helping me into bed. With my head in the state it was in, I hadn’t realized it. The woman’s wide eyes, focused as they were on my middle half, my somewhat thickened by Eric’s kiss of moments ago middle half, seemed to be memorizing me. Should we meet again some day, she might not know my face, but other parts she’d certainly be able to recognize.

I lowered my hands and attempted to pull the covers over me, but I was sitting on them and that didn’t work at all. I grabbed a pillow and set it in my lap, blushing furiously. Just what I needed, more blood in my head. The pounding was now worse than ever.

“What’s this, then?” asked the policeman, drawing himself taller and assuming an expression of disgust. “What’s going on here? And are you Eric Hofstraat?”

“Yes, that’s me,” the man who’d told me that was his name answered.

“Then you’ll have to come with me. You’re wanted for questioning.”

“Questioning about what?” Eric looked completely befuddled. I was still somewhat out of my wits, nothing was making a great deal of sense to me, and my attention was split between what was going on between the policeman and Eric, and the woman who’s eyes were now fastened on my pillow, but that Eric seemed to be lost was apparent.

The policeman reached onto his belt and took off a pair of handcuffs. “There was an incident at a video store tonight. We’ve had a string of murders at video stores lately, always on a Friday night. Now, we have another dead body, and a surveillance tape shows your car leaving the scene. Now, are you going to come peacefully, or are we going to have a bit of fun here?”

--------

The Tantalizing Tales of the Travails of the Troubled Trubshaw

Book One: There He Sat

Extrapolations of a work by Trab

Chapter VII, by Trab

“I want to talk to my lawyer, before I go anywhere.” Eric spoke up. He turned to his mom, who had finally stopped ogling my nether regions upon hearing the policeman’s demand, and used his eyes to plead with her.

She turned to the officer, and stated vehemently, “You’re not taking him anywhere. Not without a warrant. You’re not in an active chase, and therefore you’ll need a warrant to take my client away. You may step out of the house now, and let my son and his ‘friend’ get decent.” She turned away from the officer dismissively, knowing that he really had no choice.

“Ma’am? You’re a lawyer?” he shuddered a bit, knowing that he had no legal right to be in the house at this point.

Turning back momentarily, Eric’s mom shot visual daggers at the officer, gestured towards the door with a sweeping movement of her arm, and softly muttered, “Off you go, officer. Off you go.”

The crestfallen officer retreated to the door, opened it with a quick jerk, and then tried a second time, this time turning the knob first. As he angrily slammed the door on his own foot, I heard him mutter, “Damn. I’m gettin’ to be as bad as cousin Bryce and his buddy Eran. What a bummer.” With that, he was gone.

I still had no idea of what was going on, and sat there, the pillow still clutched to my middle area. Fortunately, Eric came to the rescue. “Sorry, John. I didn’t do anything at that store, I really didn’t, but I’m on the watch list. A few years ago, I did something really stupid, and now I’m a marked man. If it weren’t for mom, I’d have been in even more trouble than you could imagine.” Eric was looking terribly down at this point, and I wanted to give him a huge hug, but there was still the issue of Mrs. Lawyer Hofstraat.

“It’s a long story, John, but I’ll let Eric tell you. Suffice to say that we were really upset as parents. I’m going to head to the kitchen to let you boys get straightened around, and you can meet me there in a short while.” With that, she left, taking away the danger to my modesty.

“Dude, you’d better start talkin’.” I murmured, as I looked around for something to put on.

“Here, John,” Eric said, handing me some clothing from a dresser. “This is really embarrassing to talk about. Just remember, I was young and stupid, and now I’m paying for it for the rest of my life.”

“Surely it can’t be as bad as all that,” I questioned. You don’t look like the type to do anything nasty, and your mother’s a lawyer and dad’s a forest warden, those are practically peace officers.”

“Well, that’s probably the only reason I’m not in jail. My mom fought for me, and my dad assured the sentencing judge that he would make sure I would never cause the system trouble again. And now this, and I didn’t even do anything.”

“What happened? What did you do?”

“I was caught having sex. With a guy. Unfortunately, he was also underage. They charged and convicted me of statutory rape, and I’ve been restricted as to where I can live. Luckily, we live in the woods, so there aren’t any children around here, but even me being at a video store is enough to put out an alert. Now that poor Peter is dead, all hell is going to come about.”

I paused in my dressing, my brain whirling about like a cork in Niagara Falls, and felt truly nauseous. I felt faint, for moment, then finally managed to get my voice. “Eric, if you didn’t do anything, how do you know the video store clerk’s name? You weren’t really crying from the onions, were you? And your mom wasn’t practically at the point of screaming about my privates, was she? What did she see that made her react like that to seeing me naked, and bloody in your bed?”

Erik blanched, then ran out of the room the second he managed to fumble open the door.

BRUIN, WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO NEXT, WITH PART VIII?

[Bruin Fisher]

Wow, Trab, that's a barnstormer. You really upped the ante with this one! A fantastic, exciting chapter.

What was all that about not being able to write imaginitive fiction? With due respect to the others, skilled writers all, you put the rest of us in the shade!

And yes I'll certainly have a go at following on, I just hope I don't ruin it. Thanks for the invite.

Bruin

[Trab]

Aw, shucks. Twas nothing, really. (I love my pain meds) {JOKING}

[Camy]

What was all that about not being able to write imaginative fiction?

Yeah, what was all that all that about ? Hmm?

Trying to pull the wool over our eyes all this time. Shame on you! Shame which is more than totally mitigated by that wonderful segment ... and the beautifully sneaky allusion to Eran and Bryce in 'Doors of Love'.

Kudos!

Camy

[Bruin Fisher]

The Tantalizing Tales of the Travails of the Troubled Trubshaw

Book One: There He Sat

Extrapolations of a work by Trab

Chapter VIII, by Bruin

It didn't take me long to realise why he ran for it. My brain gradually returned to form as I finished dressing.

I'd made a mistake. If I hadn't been so muddle-headed I'd never have tripped up so stupidly. I'd challenged poor Eric on why he knew the video store clerk's name was Peter, after he'd said 'Poor Peter's dead'. And now, after fast winding the exchange back in my mind, I realised no-one had said it was the clerk who died and not a customer. Eric would realise that straight away and ran in fear, assuming that my slip-up meant I was the murderer.

What should I do now? What would Eric be doing? Getting the police back? Probably. So I had to get away before they returned. I finished tying the laces of the sneakers Eric had passed me ? about my size, but definitely not my sneakers ? and opened the door. The corridor was empty and I slipped out and closed the door, incongruously aware that the door had opened smoothly and without trouble for me, though both Eric and the cop had struggled with it. I made my way down the corridor, the sneakers quiet on the carpeted floor. I heard the sound of a motorcycle starting up and roaring off, and was surprised to see from the window above the stairwell a classic Harley Davidson being ridden, I was sure, by the woman I'd taken for Eric's mother.

I tiptoed down the stairs. If you tread on the side of the stair instead of the middle part, it is less likely to creak, and I got down to ground level without any noise. As I headed for the outer door ahead of me, Eric appeared from a side door and jumped as he saw me. He disappeared again and I ran for it, but not quickly enough ? he re-appeared holding his rifle, pointed it straight at my heart and said: ?stand very still!?

The fight went out of me and my shoulders slumped. Who was this guy? What did he want from me? Why was he acting so erratically ? and how did he know the dead man was called Peter?

Just minutes previously, he had kissed me tenderly. Now he marched up to me and swung the butt of his rifle against my jaw. I went flying against the wall, pain washing through me, and slid down to the floor. He followed up with a kick in the ribs and his heel slammed down on my hand, grinding my knuckles into the carpet.

?Get up!? he barked, and I struggled to my feet and stood doubled over with the pain. With his rifle he gestured me forward towards a door under the stairwell. ?Open it and go in!?

It was pitch dark but I felt my way into the gloom and nearly lost my footing when the ground wasn't there ahead of me. I realised I was at the top of another stairwell, and began carefully to climb down. Eric followed me in and felt for a light switch, lighting a dim naked bulb below us, which gave me adequate light to negotiate the stairs safely. At the foot we were in a bare cellar and Eric motioned me against the far wall.

He just stood, looking daggers at me in the light of the bulb above his head.

?What do you want with me? What have I done??

?Ha! You ask that? You scum. You killed Peter, didn't you? Did you kill all those others the cop was talking about too? Why would you do that? Why....? and he faltered, his shoulders shaking as he began to cry, his face contorting in anguish. When he began speaking again his voice was different, agonised, reminiscent of a wolf baying at the moon. ?Peter was the boy I was caught with. I loved him, you killed him...?

- Bruin

[Trab]

Oh my. What wonderful twists.

Camy, I know you said you didn't have any time, but you're next up with Number IX. If you really can't do it, please post that info, and we'll see if someone else can do one.

[Camy]

Oh my. What wonderful twists.

Camy, I know you said you didn't have any time, but you're next up with Number IX. If you really can't do it, please post that info, and we'll see if someone else can do one.

I'll do my level best ... and perhaps my slanted best, too.

It'll be along shortly.

Camy

[Camy]

The Tantalizing Tales of the Travails of the Troubled Trubshaw

Book One: There He Sat

Extrapolations of a work by Trab

Chapter IX, by Camy

"So why did you kiss me?" I said, thinking the question would at least make him pause before putting a bullet in me. The result was far more spectacular. With a wail, Eric crumpled to the floor, dropping the gun in the process. It was unfortunate that it went off, deafening us both, and tearing a nick out of my upper arm. Had either of us been able to hear it, my shriek might well have harmonised with Eric's wail. As it was I managed to kick the gun away from him, and wincing, knelt down and took him in my arms.

"You poor boy," I murmured, stroking his thick blonde hair and trying to calm him down. "I can see why you might think I was the Video Store Killer, but I'm not. I'm an undercover agent with the F.B.I." He froze, then turned and looked at me with lilac eyes that simply pierced my soul … and I felt ... I felt ….

"Can you prove it?"

"Sorry?" I blinked, forcing myself back from the wonderful possibilities that my mind had magicked.

"I said can you prove it?" He smiled, and I knew it didn't matter.

"I can if we go to my car, my agency ID is in a floor safe."

"Oh. Okay." And with that he melted back into my arms. I continued stroking his hair, the single naked bulb in the ceiling casting deep shadows: making the scene even more surreal than it already was.

“You’re wet,” he said presently. “I can feel it.”

“That’s because you shot me.” I chuckled, the pain reduced by a flood of endorphins and other natural goodies my brain was releasing as a result of Eric’s closeness. “We should get out of here before we start to suffer rising damp.”

“Yes,” he giggled, pulled me to my feet and pointed at the gun. “What should we do with it.”

I liked the sound of the ‘we.’

“Prop it in the corner, then over coffee we need to think about tonight’s problems.”

“Oh,” gently he touched my arm, and not surprisingly I screamed. “Sorry!” he squeaked, “I thought it was your other arm.”

“What, the one without any blood?” I said somewhat acerbically through clenched teeth, holding back a sudden desire to hit him. “Anyway, I didn’t mean that problem.” I added. “I meant we need to work out who it was that told the police you had killed Peter.”

“Oh,” he said, again.

We managed to get to the top of the stairs without further difficulty, only to find the door had swung shut and was locked. With a sigh and using a part of my FBI training hitherto unexplored, I had it open in two kicks. Eric helped me into the kitchen, found a clean towel for my arm, and put on a pot of coffee. We were sitting around the kitchen table waiting for it to percolate when he cleared his throat.

“In the car park ….” He glanced at me, tears in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“When I was crying ….” He blinked, a tear running down his cheek.

“Mmm.”

“Well … I was lying when I said I’d had an onion laden kebab. I was crying ‘cause I saw Peter in the video store.” Pausing, he took a deep breath and sniffed: silent tears freely falling. “Petey in another man’s arms … maybe he told the police I was there ….”

The clock on the wall was overwhelmingly loud until the dam broke.

“Oh Petey!” Eric wailed. “Petey!!!”

--Camy

with thanks to Bruin.

[Bruin Fisher]

Wow! This story is edge-of-your-seat exciting. Camy has picked up the baton and run with it and what a section he has produced!

Now, Trab, who's next??? And what happens next? We have to know....

Bruin

[Trab]

I wish I knew who's next. People are writing this stuff way to fast, and I can't get enough people lined up to get ahead of the game.

[Camy]

*coughs*

I need more of 'The Tantalizing Tales of the Travails of the Troubled Trubshaw'

Oddly, one of the characters in 'Seraph' is called Trubshaw. And there I was thinking it was a amazingly rare name.

*coughs*

More please, your Trabness, sir.

Camy

[Trab]

Chapter 10 by Trab

I held Eric close, as his wails slowly decreased in intensity, more from exhaustion than any reduction of his anguish.

?Eric? Eric, will you be okay if I let go of you? I really need to ?go??

A sort of a semi-laughing snort, and he let go of me somewhat. ?I guess. Funny, isn?t it? No matter how you feel, your body just keeps on working?fluids, solids, hunger?whatever??

?Yeah, and right now I need to address that.? I fully untangled myself from Eric's limbs, and stood up. ?I?ll be right back?uh, where?s the bathroom??

?On the left, just past the door you kicked out. Mom and dad are gonna be so pissed.?

?I?ll pay for it, I guess, although nobody should ever have a door in the house that locks by itself. Be right back.?

I quickly found the john, used the facilities, and headed back to Eric. On the way though, I noticed a phone in a shallow nook in the hallway. Making a quick decision, I delayed my return, and picked up the phone, then dialed a secret number.

~Control.~

?This is Special Agent John Trubshaw, Id #19496329. I need known details of a murder which took place a few hours ago, at the video rental store in Parksdale. I believe the clerk, first name ?Peter? was killed in the same way as a number of other recent video store killings.?

~Hold, sir~

I twiddled my thumb on the handset, anxious to get back to Eric, but anxious to get any kind of information I could, on this mystery directly involving me.

~Sir. There was no murder at any video store in Parksdale, at least not that has been reported to the police. Where did you get your information?~

?Directly from a police officer who came to question the man I was with, at his home in the Eastvale Forest Reserve.?

~Sir, I don?t want to point out the obvious, as I?m only dispatch, but how would that officer have known to go deep into the woods to find him, even if there had been a crime committed?~

?My god!? I exclaimed loudly. ?That was no police officer at all. Thinking about it, I never saw a badge, and he never actually named himself. And he lied about there being a murder.? My head reeled from confusion, and maybe a bit of blood loss too. ?Thank you, Control.?

~Are you okay, sir? Do you need any assistance?~

?No. Yes. Shit. Don't ask questions that way. Yes, I?m okay, and no, I don?t need any assistance. Thanks again, Control.?

~Goodnight, sir.~ A click, and I was listening to the dial tone. I looked up, and Eric was standing there, right in front of me, a quizzically hopefull expression on his face.

?Petey isn?t dead??

-------

[DesDownunder]

Trab! That is excellent. So intriguing. So inventive and very clever. I love it. What will happen now?

[Trab]

Now? The whining about who's going to do Chapter XI will start. LOL

You want to try one, Des?

[DesDownunder]

I would love to Trab, but truth be told, I am not all that well at the moment and I'm stressed out with work etc.

Stress really plays havoc with my creativity.

Best leave me off the list for the moment.

But I am enjoying seeing the work unfold.