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Chapter one
Knox
It'snicetositdown and relax for a change. It's not much, the weight of the world is pressing down on me, but I need a break from it all. Using Porter is great at focusing my mind, but it doesn't clear it. That is what this room is for. Anyone who sees it, thinks that I am crazy, but I love it. Porter's favourite room is the dance studio, and while I am quickly becoming a fan of his dancing, this is mine.
It is a large corner room, like my own master bedroom, but on the opposite side of the house. Unlike my bedroom, it has front and side windows. I made great use of that fact by building a wall straight down the middle of the room. My relaxation room is now two separate parts. The other side of my partition wall is where we enter, with the door to the landing, and also a second door to the ensuite. It's set up with the massage table and all the healthy things associated with relaxation. My masseuse comes in twice a week, but I may need to increase that to daily with everything going on.
This side is accessed from the other via a locked door. It's always locked, whether I'm in here or out. This space is where I engage in less healthy methods of relaxation. I'm not into self-harming, but the taste and smell of a fat cigar just unwinds my soul. I lay out in my leather chair, having laid it back into an almost bed-like position. The blackout blinds hug the window, not letting a speck of light through, so the projector's swirls of light on the ceiling are my only visual stimulus.
My vinyl record player dances through Dark Side of the Moon. It's my favourite record in moments like this. As Pink Floyd kicks off that very first beat, I feel more at peace already.
I own the record shop it came from, that was my first act of human kindness towards another person. My dad sent me to collect a debt, the poor man was trying to keep a roof over his head and his dream business alive. He couldn't pay and my father ordered broken legs if he didn't. I had Gavriil and Nico waiting in the car, just in case the rage of my sister's recent death hadn't been enough. That was back when the killer pair did house calls. Nico had a special leg breaking kit he was keen to use, but I was determined not to need the tiny twelve year old. I saw only good and kindness in the eyes of that man. I paid his debt myself, bought his shop and left him in peace. I felt I'd done Nico a service that day and vowed he would only be asked to hurt really bad people so he wouldn't have to see those eyes. Which in hindsight, was a pretty twisted thing to wish for a child. That thought has never been strong enough to stain the happy memory associated with the sound playing.
My only sense left now is touch, and that just requires a squishy ball in one hand and rolling the cigar in the other.
I own the only cigar shop in the city. The previous owner was an old man, one son working hard in the shop to help the ageing man, the other squandered everything on drugs. That was the son I was interested in, but the elderly man begged for his son's life. The fee was his shop.
That was the day I adopted my second human equivalent of my donkey. Saving donkeys to balance my evil deeds had become saving people. The old man reminded me of that ancient fellow in the karate movie, and I found a slice of my humanity in what I did next. I let him and his family work the shop as they had been for years. I let them live rent free above it. I let them keep all the money they make, and I protect the business from scumbags. Cigars are a dying business, but I only have to bail the business out by ten grand a year to keep them going, such a worthy fee on my conscience. The smell of my free cigars reminds me of their happy faces. All their money worries disappeared that day, and the younger son turned his life around. That is what the smell polluting my lungs means to me. No screams of dying men or blood on my hands can get past the thickening air around me. This is where I find true peace.
The weightlessness fills me, soothing my soul like a relaxing bathtub of positive energy.
Finally, I am ready to return to my life outside of this room. To the gorgeous boy skulking around somewhere, and to the lost child who's cry for help has ruffled all the wrong feathers.
I leave the room dishevelled, my shirt open and untucked, my tie squiffy and loose. I'll need a coffee and a tidy up before starting my workday.
Porter standing in the other half of the room scares me to death.
"Oh, hello. The door was unlocked. This door is never unlocked but I could hear Pink Floyd playing and I wanted to see, and this room is great and you…" Porter's guilt has him spewing words as a defence mechanism.
I cover the distance to my boy and scoop him up in my arms. Gingerly, I plant a kiss in his lips and wait for signs of protest about my cigar breath.
"Well, you look like you've been cheating on me, but if it's just with music and cigars, I can live with that."
"Good," I praise. "You hump that dance pole almost daily."
"Knox…" My boy so rarely addresses me by name.
"Yes treasure?" This is serious, my boy is a ball of nerves.
"I want to try the knife play again." His voice is a nervous whisper against my bare chest.
"I didn't think you liked it. You had a panic attack."
"Being cut in front of her was sexy as hell, but I was still trying to deny how I felt. Then I realised she didn't care, and I didn't know whether to feel happy or sad. But I remember you took those feelings away and made everything better."
"I would love to try that again with you. When this mess is all sorted, I'll take you away on the yacht for a week and live every fantasy you've ever had."
"Does that include my sister? I want you to fuck me and I want her to see how happy I am, instead of gasping and panicking like a child." He leans into me, his arms around my middle, tucking under my open shirt.
"If you want, and if I can find her. But you don’t have to let her see that."
“What? Oh, no! Not fuck me in front of her. I just want her to see that I’m happy here, not the terrified mess I was. And the sex, totally separate, but I wouldn’t mind your poker buddies seeing again. Maybe.”
“You really are a sex slut.”
"Can I still go to the studio viewing?"
"Of course. Just take Freddie and a few guys with you. And bring me back photos from every angle. I need a good reason to say no."
