Autumn 1987

            Cameo’s “Word Up” was thumping on the stereo, making the amber colored beer in the plastic cups ripple, the foam head long since going flat. The drone of vibrant voices was occasionally interrupted by the high pitched, giddy shriek of some drunken co-ed being hauled up the spiral staircase by a testosterone driven fraternity member. The woman’s shrieks were eventually drowned out by the whoops of fellow fraternity brothers.

            It was blithe pandemonium contained within a stone structure that had seen its fair share of celebrations laced with mild debaucheries and regrettable decisions. There would be a few sore heads roaming the halls of the frat house the next morning, not to mention the quick exits of several young ladies swearing off booze until the inevitable next time.

            Dark eyes watched in mild amusement as the shrieking co-ed disappeared down the main hall, to the rooms above. He enjoyed parties such as these; there was a certain amount of anonymity about them. The loud music kept conversations to a minimum and the mixture of chaos and alcohol made everything blur together into a decadent tapestry that was bacchanalian in nature.  

            He could watch without fear of being revealed because you were supposed to look at parties like this. Like runway models and Calvin Klein ads he admired them from afar. Their beauty readily displayed for him to enjoy. Like a Picasso or Caravaggio, their scintillating splendor was so bright, so perfect that it took every ounce of his willpower not to touch.

            “Hey, George!”

            He wasn’t certain how or why his fraternity brothers had nicknamed him George but after a year it had stuck, he was George. George knew it could’ve been worse, Shawn Borens got the unlucky moniker of Pisser. To have to deal with that name for four years of college would be a bit too much for George.

            “Yea,” he called out over the thump, thump, thump of the base beat, watching as Trent Kestic, the House Treasurer approached.

            “You got the next beer run.” The blonde haired young man could be a stunt-double for Kajagoogoo’s Lamal, right down to the sleeveless shirt under the white linen jacket.

            George nodded, taking the money from Trent. He needed a breath of fresh air, a moment to resync. He felt as if his façade was slowly slipping, like melted ice cream running down the side of a cone, he needed time away. “You got a shopping list?” George asked almost at the same moment as the list was being pulled from Trent’s back pocket. “Okay,” George waved the shopping list in the air as he headed for the front door.

            Sometimes it is the most mundane of circumstances that define a person’s existence and sometimes their end. Through a confluence of events George found himself nearly ran down by a skateboarding Aaron Giels. A seventeen year old drop out, Giels boasted he lived by the Slaughter mantra of “up all night, sleep all day” and was looking for a party. With his mask fully in place, George played to the kid’s desires.

            “I gotta make a beer run,” George told the pretty young man with the long, wavy sandy-blonde hair and Pantera t-shirt. “If you want to help with the kegs, I’ll get you into the party,” George threw a thumb over his shoulder at the frat house.

            The shriek and laughter of several scantily clad girls running across the well manicured front lawn was the clincher and the deal was sealed. Giels bright, perfect smile radiated as he turned to George with a “Hell, yea!”

            Giels was energy in human form. He was carefree even though his life had not always been easy and he took very little serious and almost nothing to heart. He was the kid that lived in the moment and at that moment he wanted to party. As promised he helped George with the kegs of beer and George got him into the party, it was mutually beneficial to befriend one another. But like any good opportunistic pathogen, given the right circumstances one parasite will inevitably cause damage.

            The party was running out of gas but Aaron Giels was still raring to go. He had slipped his new “friend” hours before but with limited options, sought George out once more. “Hey, you interested in scoring some pot?” Giels asked, hopping onto the bar near George his hip haphazardly bumping into George’s resting elbow.  

            With a practiced smile, George agreed with just the right amount of exuberance. He wasn’t interested in drugs or partying until he dropped. He was fascinated by the beautiful and lively creature before him. He wondered what kept the young man going, how he bounced with life so effortlessly. Like beauty, George was fascinated by the emotions of life.

            He had known boredom before, been brought to anger once or twice in his twenty-one years, he’d even been amused now and then but emotions that had life beyond a few moments, that could be sustained indefinitely, those were the emotions he sought. He wanted more, knew there must be more. Even his normally vacuous mother had experienced love and heartache and all the other emotions that seemed to have life beyond the perimeters of a given moment in time.

            After meeting up with one of Giels’ former school friends, George had suggested a vacant house in a neighborhood almost forgotten by the living. The craftsman bungalow had obviously been someone’s pride and joy fifty years ago. The ornate woodwork and attention to details were still evident underneath the graffiti and neglect.             George had always been fascinated by the home, ever since he had accidentally discovered it. It seemed to have a soul and it spoke to him as people rarely did. He had toyed with the idea of buying the house but knew his father would only scoff at him, telling him it would be a bad investment.

            The two entered the cottage through the overgrown backdoor. The four-panel heavy oak door had been boarded over by a piece of plywood that was well weathered and warped. Either the owner or looters had removed the light fixtures, drawer handles and even the kitchen sink but the beauty of the house still whispered through.

            The house became their after hours party hut. George never heard from or saw Aaron Giels between parties but the kid always knew when their was going to have beer, food and fun. George smiled whimsically through Giels excuses. How he had a new job, his parents were cracking down on him, he was taking general education classes to get his diploma. George could sense a lie almost before it was uttered, his life was a never-ending series of lies, fabrications and ruses and in truth Giels’ lies did not bother him.

            It was during one of their post party get-togethers that Giels let George know he was leaving Las Vegas with some friends. He was going to L.A. to try his hand at modeling just like George had suggested many weeks earlier. George didn’t take the young man serious at first, the boy was such a consummate liar.

            Then it hit George, like continents colliding at mach one. His heart began to pound fast and heavy in his chest. He thought he was having a heart attack as he grabbed at the front of his shirt, gasping for air. Giels’ glassy eyes gleamed as he chuckled and pointed at George.

            “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Giels laughed, taking another long drag on his hastily rolled joint.

            “Chest…killing…me,” George wheezed in between ragged breaths as he doubled over.

            Giels just continued to laugh, the sound reverberating in George’s skull. He realized that what he was feeling was panic but could not understand why. Giels was merely a sideline amusement, what did he care if the narcissistic loser left town…and then it dawned on him. Aaron Giels had been his vicarious doppelganger, a self serving, pretty boy with thoughts that did not venture far from his own pleasures.

            George had achieved a tenuous connection to those things he wanted through the parasitic Giels. However remotely, he had felt joy and friendship and now Giels was going to take that away. George had looked for that emotional link all his life, he couldn’t let it go, not until he no longer wanted it.

            “You can’t go,” George blurted out, coming to his feet.

            His dramatic gesture fueled another laughing fit by Giels, who stumbled off the broke-down rocking chair they had unearthed in the cellar. “What?” Giels laughed from the floor, pointing up at George. “Are you nuts?”

            “No,” George said softly. He didn’t think he was crazy and in truth it didn’t truly bother him whether he was or wasn’t.

            Giels seemed to notice George’s demeanor and slowly started to compose himself, climbing unsteadily to his feet. “Hey man…George,” Giels said, coming to stand in front of George his left hand reaching out to the other man’s steady shoulder. “You know you’re my friend, right?”

            George watched in anticipation as Giels leaned into him, his lips slightly parted, a dark sparkle in his eyes. George realized he was holding his breath and slowly let it out, his heart fluttering oddly in his chest. The feeling both wanted and unwanted as he waited, waited, waited.

            All at once Giels’ dark sensuous look broke and gave way to a giant grin and hardy laughter. “Damn! I had you goin!”

            A split second of surprise sparked within George before it gave way to cold disgust, one of the few emotions he was acquainted with. “Yes,” he answered flatly, not willing to muster a façade.

            “You’re such a fag,” Giels laughed insultingly, shoving George playfully away as he stumbled for the table that held their cooler of beer. “You thought I was going to kiss you. Probably hoping I’d blow ya.”

            George listened quietly as Giels insulted and degraded him in between slurps of beer and rounds of laughter. Somehow his beautiful friend had turned ugly, like watching a masterpiece being burnt to charred ash. It was almost painful to watch, he wanted to gaze upon the brilliance of Aaron Giels, the beauty and joie de vie not the loud drunkenness and vulgarity that danced before him.

            With Giels turned away from him, George approached. His only thought was to return Giels to his former state of splendor. He had no plan of action, his body acting on some primitive level he was not fully conscious of. With what seemed like a will of their own his arms snaked around the younger man’s neck before yanking him roughly back against George’s chest.

            George watched their reflection in the boarded up glass of the large bay window that would have looked out over the front yard. He watched in fascination as Giels thrashed and bucked against the reflection of himself and wondered how it seemed so effortless to control the terrified man. George smiled, he felt alive. He felt life racing through him, even as it slowly drained from Aaron Giels.

            Lowering the dead teenager to the floor, George stared at the lifeless body. In death Giels was perfect. His beautiful features were soft, serene, almost angelic. He stood admiring the dead body at his feet for several minutes before becoming acutely aware of the wet, tacky feeling between his legs. Looking down in astonishment, George could see the dark, wet spot spread out across his crotch. With eyes wide open he glanced between the front of his jeans and the dead teen on the floor.

            Fumbling for the snap of his jeans, George yanked open his fly and stabbed his right hand roughly into his underpants. Eyes still wide with amazement, he pulled his hand from his pants, wet and sticky. George’s head rolled back and with an open mouthed smile he sighed. He had not even been aware at the time but he had ejaculated.

            Such abandonment! George marveled. He had tried masturbation ever since he was fourteen but it had never had much of an appeal, the end pleasure always difficult to obtain. When he had gone to college he had experimented with prostitutes, thinking that he simply could not self-gratify like others. Most had been profound disappointments.

            Like a bolt from the sky, George realized two things. The sun would soon be cresting the horizon and he needed to establish an alibi. The latter wouldn’t be difficult with a fraternity house full of drunken men but he needed to take care of Giels’ body. Looking down at Giels, George came to the deep understanding that he was not ready to part with his vivacious partner, so forming a plan, George hid the body in the towel cupboard of the upstairs bathroom. He would be back soon but he did not want someone accidentally stumbling upon his new toy while he was away.

            With a wide grin, George slipped from the house. He would put on his mask, make himself known and seen within his house before making his way back to the house. Giggling insanely as he started his car, George quickly reprimanded himself. He had no intention of getting caught and every intention of investigating these new feelings. Was it possible that he had truly taken Aaron Giels, that some of that energy that had originally drawn George to the teenager had passed to him?

            Logically, George argued to himself it could not. Still, he had never known such excitement. It was as if his heart had just begun pumping. For twenty-one years he had walked around dead to the world, mimicking the emotions of others, learning the role required of him to fit in. Now he felt life, its vibrancy making him tremble. It was a drug and he wanted more.

            “Yes…more,” George whispered, speeding off to set his plans in motion. Much more!