The Secret Stead is the pen name of a UK-based writer and
This chapter contains scenes of extreme sexual and drug abuse and mild profanity, which may cause some readers distress. Please be warned. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. It is a work of cautionary fiction.
Requiem Diabolus | (Resist the devil and he will flee from you — James 4:7)
  Chapt 8 | Contents | Chapt 10  
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ownland had its own nightly traditions that built up over time. Thursday nights were increasingly active between guest and host, so much so, that while many know Thursdays as Throwback Thursdays, the knights of Camelot had coined it as Throw-ya-on-ya-back Thursday.These courageous protector knights on their stolen aluminium steeds of track and tyre would zip around Downland, or park their weary feet on the communal steps, and guard the doors of the innkeepers as the barn animals settled down for the night.
Sometimes they would hear strange animal-like noises coming from the flats, and they would quietly laugh to each other, or knowingly smile to themselves. They would smoke their crack, do their smack, and inbetween light up a joint or two, and once the hours of dark had fully come into their own, they, too, would creep up the steps to the unlocked front doors and enter to make some noises of their own.
Come the morning, when the guests had departed, or were sleeping on the floor beside the innkeeper's bed, the clock that tick, tocked in the night would be reset for the new day. God wore a blindfold when the shadows approached, and so nothing had ever happened; no one recognised the face or body they had hired for a night of forgettable friction, should they happen to come across each other in the light of day. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and so no one spoke of the night hours or Downland's particular form of charity.
Derek had been Downland's most charitable man, though you wouldn't have known it from looking at his first floor flat. When the nights came, his stable appeared dark and empty. His kitchen didn't breathe its fire, so you wouldn't suspect how charitable he was with the dry cereal and fruit salad he'd provide to the wayward soul. And though rarely did a candle burn throughout the night, in the temple of his bedroom he offered food and sustenance in the form of his prayer sessions that would leave you full in other ways. And when Caleb had come to pray, he had come to stay, and so others in need had gladly stayed away.
But in this new Camelot, even Derek would join in on the traditions of Throw-ya-on-ya-back Thursdays, and his kitchen light would remain lit as he hosted Caleb's friends, the loyal knights, to sit around his round table and partake of his kitchen cupboard essentials. It was a special honour bestowed upon those who had helped to cause the greatest nuisance to the Devil below them.
The selected knights sitting at the round table, would be offered bowls of fruit salad to eat as they smoked their crack, thinly disguised by the sickly sweet aroma of their vapes. They would watch the surveillance on Dante and yawn. They would overhear Caleb's baptism in the bathroom and laugh. Then when the prayer session moved to the temple of the bed, they would overhear Caleb's prayers and fall silent.
"What the fuck are they doing in there?" One loyal knight couldn't help but ask one Thursday.
"Don't ask," the Queen of Sheba had whispered.
She had become a regular amongst Caleb's growing band of friends who now frequented the castle of Camelot.
aleb spluttered up snot and saliva as he came to his senses, to find Derek's hands gripped around his throat.
"Our Father. Amen," he coughed.
Derek spat at him, felt a huge lob of his old man's spit go down his throat before he blacked out. He came to, and tried to speak out his lines, but spluttered more saliva instead, mixed in with his old man's own. "Amen," was all he could say, before he lost consciousness again. Came to again, this time to Derek's grunts.
His old man was fucking him, fully clothed. Derek didn't undress these days. Caleb didn't take drugs during sex any more, either. There was no need for the dog collar. Caleb would just strip, get pissed on, and then go into the bedroom to fall on his back in the true Thursday tradition of Downland, while his old man's loyal knights listened to his humiliation from the kitchen. "Our Father, Amen," he would say, rocking back and forth on his back, legs in the air, like a baby in a cradle. Derek would unzip and start to choke him. "Our Father. Amen," he would say, until he couldn't say it anymore. He would wake to find Derek on top of him. "Our Father, Amen," he would say, feeling Derek's hands choke him again.
The fucking didn't hurt Caleb. He hadn't healed, but after the fist punching there was no more pain. He
didn't feel anything down there any more.
He didn't feel anything any more.
He welcomed the darkness.
Sometimes he even prayed he wouldn't wake up again.
aleb tried to disguise his relief when Dante opened the door to him.
"H-h-hey I just wanted to say thank you for this." He put on a silly grin, and rolled his eyes, pointing to his head.
"It is healing well," Dante said.
"I'm a quick healer," he said.
"That is good for you," Dante said, "if you do not start to behave, it will be to your advantage for the next time."
Caleb laughed. "There ain't gonna be a next time. I'm a changed person!"
Dante shrugged. "Only time and God knows the truth of that," he said, as he shut the door on Caleb.
he next day, Caleb knocked on Dante's door again. He had been listening in on Dante for nearly a month now, laughing incredulously at his weird mannerisms, inbetween his prayer sessions with his old man. Even his old man had given out a grin, or two, about it during his choking routine. Thought he'd even called out Dante's name during his black outs.
Funny, how the mind plays tricks on you.
He knocked on Dante's door again, with confidence this time. He was getting to know him so well, thanks to all that eavesdropping, he thought he knew how to get his foot through the door now.
But Dante didn't open the door. So, Caleb loaded his glass pipe, lit it, and waited. Blew its smoke into the air in frustration. Blew it under Dante's door. But the door still did not open.
The nature of the drug meant that sometimes he would start searching for imaginary items he thought he'd dropped on the floor, or at least that's what he told his victims when curiosity made them approach him. As he bent down, his pant's would slide down to reveal the crack of his backside.
He bent down now, his cheeks touching Dante's door.
Crack makes me show my crack, crackerjack, he thought, and began to giggle to himself.
When there was still no sign of Dante at the door, he lost his sense of humour. He stood up, and knocked again.
No answer.
Knocked again.
Still no answer.
He waited for an hour.
Finally, he left. The door never opened to him.
hursday night.
Around Derek's kitchen table, as they ate their customary bowls of fruit salad, the loyal knights wondered what delights they would hear between Derek and Caleb, while the Queen of Sheba cleaned the flat. Inbetween her chores, she would make them all cups of milky white, sweet tea.
They looked up as Caleb walked in through the front door, looking dejected and crestfallen. "The fucker won't open the door to me," he said.
The Queen of Sheba had been wiping the floor of the kitchen, when Caleb walked in. She got up off her hands and knees, dried her hands on her mini skirt, and said, "I got an idea how to help with that."
Caleb's face lit up. "You gonna go and put in a good word for me?"
The Queen of Sheba knew Dante's door was locked to her now. "Those things don't work twice."
She went into her tote bag where she kept a change of clothes. She would take it to the innkeeper of the night. You never knew when you'd need a change of underwear in her profession.
"Here," she said, handing Caleb a book.
"How's this gonna help?"
"Read it," she said.
Caleb took a closer look at its cover. Demons were engaging in all sorts of sexual acts. Kind of reminded him of his old man's prayer sessions. "The Devil's Bible Grimoire? What the actual fuck?"
The Queen of Sheba took a wooden cross from around her neck, and placed it around Caleb's own.
"Sometimes to fight the Devil, you have to become one yourself," she said.
aleb spluttered up snot and saliva as he broke away from the darkness, which had so quickly enveloped him.
But Derek's hands were not gripped around his throat.
His old man was standing over him, with five of the loyal knights. Only Derek looked at him.
"Our Father. Amen," he said weakly.
Derek spat at him, and Caleb felt his old man's spit hit the side of his face, almost blinding him.
"Begin," Derek commanded the knights. And they began to spit on him, too. Spit and saliva rained down on him from high. He tried to catch as many of the welcomed droplets in his mouth as he could. "Our Father. Amen," he said, stronger this time. He raised his legs into the air, rocking back and forth, like a baby in a cradle. The wooden cross around his neck, fell to his left side. "Our Father. Amen," he said, until he couldn't say it anymore. The knights all lined up in a single line to enter him, one by one, as Derek watched, emotionless. The knights now no longer listened, they participated. There was no eye contact, as yet. They weren't fully trained, but Caleb knew that would come in time. One knight began to choke Caleb, and feeling thankful, he turned his head and smiled at his old man.
The choking and fucking didn't hurt Caleb. He felt no pain.
He didn't feel anything any more.
He welcomed the darkness.
Now he always prayed he wouldn't wake up again.
Because he couldn't forget.
he next day, Caleb thought he'd try something different with Dante. He didn't shower at his old man's, and let himself smell of Derek's piss. He didn't take any of his usual fix of dark, either. Then he sat on the steps, looking desperate and desolate, waiting for Dante to bring his cat out for the black fucker's first shit of the day.
Like clockwork, Dante appeared with his cat, but he didn't look in Caleb's direction.
Caleb pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, and coughed. Lay down on the steps like a dropped glass pipe. Hugged his sides, like he saw the Queen of Sheba do. He coughed again, and again.
Dante finally turned his head with a sigh. "Well?"
"I-I-I got no home. No one will take me in anymore 'cause I came to you that night for help."
Dante approached him, and looked into his eyes. But said nothing.
"I'm so hungry. Haven't eaten for days," he said, holding his sides even tighter, trying to conceal the true girth of his stomach. "No one will give me food."
Luna cut short his morning walk, and bounded back to Dante. He arched his back, and began to howl at Caleb. A ball of black fur and blue eyes, signifying his fury.
Caleb tried to stroke the cat, but thought better of it. "He doesn't like me much, does he?"
"Luna is a good judge of character," Dante said. "Do not mind him. He is just saying what is in his heart to say. I, on the other hand, have begun to learn that silence can be golden."
Dante picked up Luna, and shushed him with a kiss on the head. He turned to go back inside.
"Please," tried Caleb again, mindful his old man was listening from his kitchen window, "I just need some food and a place to rest." He took out the wooden cross the Queen of Sheba had given him to wear, thinking it would be a nice touch. "From one Christian to another."
Caleb held his breath, in anticipation.
When Dante nodded at last, it took all his past skills as a hustler not to jump for joy off the steps. His old man was going to reward him well tonight. He could almost feel the taste of Derek's spit in his mouth.
Dante's face looked resigned. "Come in, then. For Angelo's sake, Luna and I will accept you."
Once in, Caleb knew he had to go slow. So, he ate what Dante cooked for him, and thanking him politely, left.
It wouldn't do to overstay his welcome.
aleb looked pleased with himself.
"Well, I'm in," he said to his old man.
"Not yet," Derek said. "We'll see."
"I'm gonna take it slow, this time," he replied. "I've got this."
Derek didn't reply to that, he just directed him to the bathroom.
His old man gave him a small brown bottle. Caleb knew what it was, and he didn't need it with his old man. But he knew better than to question the dictats of the King.
Caleb gave the bottle a good shake, and screwed the top open. He took a deep sniff, first through one nostril, and then the other. He held his breath. Then after five seconds or so, exhaled out.
"Again," Derek commanded.
Caleb repeated the sequence.
"Again."
Caleb did as he was told.
His heart began to beat rapidly. A fire of euphoria reached from his chest to his head. His mind was not his own. His eyes were not his own. He lay on the bathroom floor. A large purple black hole materialised in front of his eyes. Like an opening portal in the ceiling, it moved and undulated, yellow and red spikes burning at its edges. Suddenly, he thought he saw an eye peer at him through the fabric of blackness. A third eye, he thought. His skin prickled with the psychosis, his mind entertaining images of alien beasts and of demons, and wondering how their sexual organs would feel inside him. The darkness, like an orbiting black hole, was coming closer to him now. Until it was directly over his face. His eyes crossed over in pleasurable anticipation. Something beautiful flowed over him, thick and warm, and the ecstasy was almost too much to bear. His sense of smell gone, he tried to groan, but his mouth was full. Derek gave another grunt, as crouching over Caleb, he emptied the last of his bowels over the boy's face. He straightened up to see Caleb smearing his shit all over his mouth. With pure joy.
Caleb had never felt more loved in his life.
To have his old man praising him again was its own reward.
e came back to Dante's front door the following day.
And the day after that.
Until he thought he had buttered Dante up enough with his sob stories to get him to try and rape him. He made sure the loyal knights were patrolling around Dante's flat, too, so they would catch him on their smartphones.
Blackmail was another technique they used with the innkeepers. Blackmail and shame. The distress also got them to use the drugs. He couldn't overplay it, but it was usually a win-win. Caleb was sure this double whammy would give him the ace he needed; if not he'd up the ante, with another ace he had up his sleeve for a winning hand.
I have to stop gambling, he thought to himself, having recently discovered the city's casino and been sucking juicy Arab dick in the bathroom stalls, because all these gambling metaphors are driving me insane.
He knocked on Dante's door. The loyal knights zipped around the street on their stolen steeds.
ante opened the door. Luna spat out his usual welcome at Caleb, and went to hide himself in the bedroom.
Lent was nearly at an end, and Dante had been cooking more than usual, in preparation for the Easter Vigil at his local Catholic Church. "Is it the smell of my cooking that brings you?"
Caleb grinned. "Isn't it always?"
"Come in, then," he said, but said nothing more.
Caleb loved to talk. So, Dante would remain silent, and listen to the boy talk. He seemed to know a lot about Sicilian culture, and its music.
He let him talk and talk while he ate, and Dante listened. He could tell the boy was under the influence of the drugs he took, the evidence was in Caleb's eyes, and his body, but most evident in his hands.
Dante stared at Caleb's swollen, red and trembling fingers, but said nothing. Angelo had told him that to a weak heart, the truth is a hammer and nail, and this boy had the weakest heart he had ever seen.
And after coming back inside with Luna from his morning walk, when he found Caleb slumped on his kitchen floor, aparently asleep, he covered him with a blanket, and left him where he lay.
"Come, my little one," he whispered to Luna. "Let us leave our strange guest to sleep. May it give as much sustenance to his soul, as I hope the food we share gives to his body."
They retired to Dante's bedroom, to take a siesta themselves.
"Don't touch me!" Caleb suddenly shouted, waking up.
Dante walked calmly back into his kitchen, to find Caleb awake, and looking surprised to see he was still dressed, with a blanket on him, no less.
At his kitchen window, a hooded figure was peering in between his Mama's planters, and shaking his head at Caleb.
"Nothing is touching you but the blanket I covered you with," Dante said. "And tell your friend to get away from my window. He will knock over my pots."
Caleb looked frustrated, and throwing the blanket off him, left without saying a word.
aleb did not return for a few days. When next he knocked upon Dante's door, Dante opened it without a word, and let him inside. Luna did not hiss and spit, but he stayed in Dante's bedroom, out of the way of the intruder in his home.
It was Dante who did the talking this time, and Caleb listened. Dante was curious to know why Caleb fell asleep as he did. Caleb told him. He asked him what drugs he took. Caleb told him.
"It is true I am ignorant to the effects of the drugs you take. But are you safe when this happens to you?"
"I-I-I don't know. Sometimes, I wake up when someone has let me sleep on their floor, to find them doing things me," he said. "Bad things. They hurt me."
Dante was shocked by what he heard. Tears leapt to his eyes, but he controlled them. "Whenever you feel unsafe, come and sleep here. I promise you on my Mama's grave, no hand but the hand of God will touch you," he said.
"Thank you," Caleb coughed, trying to remove the lump from this throat. His old man's spit was going to taste so good tonight.
Dante stared at him for a long time in silence, and Caleb began to squirm under his scrutiny.
He had to ask, "What is it?"
"I think it's better I not say," Dante replied.
"Tell me, why you just looked at me like that? I want to know."
Dante sighed. "I have just understood," he began softly, "that this Caleb I see in front of me is the Caleb on cocaine and heroin. So I am trying to imagine you before this, as a child, free of this poison, and wonder if the child you were is now dead or alive."
Caleb looked angry, and he left without saying a word, again.
e did not return the next day, but came back the following one.
He looked disheveled, in hair and clothing, as though for the first time, in a long time, he had slept on the streets, under some bridge or hedgerow.
This continued for some time. Caleb would come, load his pipe, smoke, eat and sleep unmolested. He would wake and disappear during the night, only to return the next day.
"No one has ever been this kind to me before," Caleb said one day.
Dante did not reply. He did not know what to say.
On that day, Dante acted as though his curiosity had taken the better of him, and tried to smell the smoke Caleb blew out into the kitchen.
Instinctively, Caleb moved away, as though protecting him from the smoke. "Don't," he said.
"It is a very strange smell. I smell it all the time from my window. It does not remind me of anything I have smelt before."
"I told you, we call this smack."
"Smack. Of course."
"Yeah, smack is heroin, or dark. You can lace it with crack, or white, as we call it."
"You make it sound like a friend. When someone is so familiar with something, they give it pet names. But I wonder who is the pet, in this instance?"
"Y-yeah," Caleb said, not really understanding what Dante had said, blowing out another large plume of smoke from his lungs. He tried to wave it out of the open kitchen window.
Dante appreciated the courteous gesture. "Thank you. I did not know you cared for my health," he said.
Caleb looked as though he suddenly realised his mistake. He covered it up with a grin, "It's not that. Oh my days! It's just this ain't for free. You gotta pay for it."
Dante nodded, relieved. "Ah, I apologise. No wonder it comes at such a high price, if even its smoke is so valuable to its user."
They both took a step back from each other.
Caleb asked suddenly, "Are we good?"
Dante looked slightly guilty. "I know I am innocent of your ways. But I am not innocent of life's ways. I was, how you say, testing you. And I am curious to learn."
"What you mean?"
"I know you are like a commercial for this product, but not a good one, I fear, Caleb. If this is why you come and smoke this so much now in my presence, you must know I will never become addicted to it. You alone are a good enough reason, if not for the sake of my soul."
Caleb took another step back; he could not hide his anger from Dante. "You chat so much shit, you know? I don't think I can take any more of it."
A loyal knight came to the kitchen window at the sound of Caleb's raised voice, and peered in.
Dante had his back turned to the window. "Then do not come. Food and shelter is all I will ever give you." He gave him a knowing look. "And nothing else."
Caleb tried to shoo his friend away with his eyes. "What you mean?"
"I think we are both aware of what I mean. I do not say things well, but I do not mean offence." Dante indicated the distance between them. Caleb looked angry, and he realised, then, that he had caused offence, but felt no remorse. It was the truth, and the boy had to know it. "This is as close as we will ever get."
The knight at the window tried to smother his giggle.
Caleb raised his voice, again. "Look at you. You think you're God's gift or something? You're ugly, do you know that?"
"If my ugliness is God's gift then of course I accept it. But there are many forms of ugliness, Caleb, some which the eye cannot see. You must know this better than most."
Caleb's spittle hit Dante abruptly in the face, as he shouted, "Fuck you!"
Dante remained unruffled at the boy's outburst. "It is not because of the way you look, or the way I look. I am in love with Angelo. My heart belongs with my body, I do not share one without the other. And, I cannot love a coward."
"You love Angelo, didn't he say he was a coward?" Caleb blurted out, before he could stop himself.
Dante did not even think to ask how Caleb could have known that, but said, "Angelo is a coward of circumstance. You are a coward of character."
Dante walked over to his front door and opened it. "Do not come back until you learn the difference."
Then, as Caleb left, he added, "And tell your friend at my window it is impolite to listen to other people's conversations."
erek had been listening to Caleb and Dante's interactions for days.
He was getting frustrated, and angry. And impatient.
He slapped Caleb that night, the minute he crept in.
"What did you mean by that, no one's ever been that nice to me, remark?"
Caleb made no move to rub his cheek. He took the beatings well now. He just stood there, shadowed and sullen.
"I'm trying to get him to have feelings for me. Don't you hear? The freak won't fuck if he ain't in love."
"That isn't what I want. Next time he gets curious over your smoke, give him your crack for free. Give him it until he's so hooked, he begs for it. Then he can pay for it."
Derek's slate eyes burned red. "I want to hear him beg. Like you used to do."
Caleb needed a hit of the dark, himself. "I'm getting sick of that faggot," he said, not caring about the physical comeback to his disobedience. He didn't like hearing Dante call him a coward, and he didn't like hearing his old man comparing them.
But all Derek said was, "So am I, boy."
Caleb remembered Dante's words to him. You are a coward of character. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
But taking courage from his old man's response, he asked, "Do you love me?"
There was a moment's deadly silence. Derek's eyes narrowed. "Just because my Mum has taken you under her wing, don't let it get to your head."
Derek thought it might be time to get the dog collar on Caleb again, but he wasn't sure if it would still fit him. So, he decided to shorten the leash, instead.
"A father's love knows no bounds," he said, without a smile. "I think it's time to remind you of that."
Derek shoved Caleb into the bathroom.
una was pawing at the front door.
Dante yawned. It was past their bedtime.
"What is it, my darling? You need to take a walk? Okay, but not long, little one."
Dante picked up his cat and opened the front door. They stepped out and went to the stairs. It was a clear, dry night. The moon was almost full.
Dante placed Luna on the ground, and watched the cat go behind a tree.
As he waited, he turned to look at the communal steps. They were always dirty, filled with food wrappers and discarded cigarette lighters.
Tonight, however, they were clean apart from a glass pipe close to the top of the steps. Its glass reflected the moonlight, and Dante, not recognising the object for what it was, climbed up the steps out of curiosity for a closer look.
As he did so, he suddenly saw Caleb come out from his neighbour's front door. His neighbour above. He was soaking wet, as though just out from the shower, and was hurriedly putting on a sock.
"Hey, you okay? I was just sitting on the landing, out of the rain."
Dante did not believe him. Had seen the front door open. There had been no rain.
He said nothing of the truth of what he saw, for he had hammered enough nails into the boy's heart.
"It is okay Caleb, I do not judge anything I have seen. What one must do for food and shelter sometimes requires more than Christian charity."
Caleb killed his eyes, but couldn't stop himself from saying, "Haven't you ever done bad things?"
Before Dante could reply, Luna returned and jumped into Dante's arms, hissing and spitting at Caleb like of old.
Dante thought better than to say what was in his heart, so he simply shushed Luna and went back inside.
Caleb got on a stolen bike left for him by his friends, and rode off into the night, to the Coke n' Poke. It was was of his regular haunts, now.
erek held out two small white pills in his hand.
"Take them," he ordered Caleb, who took them without question.
Caleb was about to pop them in his mouth, when Derek stopped him.
"Not yet. Take them when you go down to your new friend."
Caleb nodded, understanding, but he didn't smile. He hadn't told Derek that Dante had caught him coming out of his flat. His old man knew, but no longer cared.
"He won't be able to resist you once he sees you dance," Derek said.
"Yeah. Sure."
Caleb was getting irritated by Dante's rejections. He had failed to manipulate the fucking faggot to rape him, or to take any type of drug. All he did was offer him food and a place to sleep without getting molested.
He was getting bored with it. He was getting tired of spending time with Dante downstairs, then having to creep back up on his belly to his old man's for his nightly reminder of who belonged to who. Now Dante had caught him, who were they kidding?
And things were changing around the street. In ways he didn't like.
"We ain't never gonna turn him the way you want. Let me frighten him with my mates, like I said in the first place. Get him moved out."
As far away from Downland as possible. That was what Caleb wanted now. Never to see that faggot's face again.
"Not yet," was all Derek said, before adding, "besides I don't want him out."
Derek's face showed no emotion.
"He's nice. I like him."
ante was in the kitchen.
The faggot was cooking and singing again. Caleb grimaced as he sat waiting at the kitchen table for the food he'd have to eat and pretend to like. But he killed his eyes, and put on his best smile.
"That smells delicious," he said.
Dante did not respond, but stopped singing. He prepared a plate of food and placed it in front of Caleb. "Eat," he said.
Caleb tucked in, suddenly realising he was hungry after all. And the food didn't taste so bad.
Chomping away, with a grin, he asked, "Why don't I ever see you eat?"
Luna entered the kitchen, hissing and spitting his welcome at Caleb. Dante picked him up, and kissing the top of his head to quieten him, took him to the bedroom.
When he returned, he said, "It is a Sicilian tradition, we only eat with those we consider our friends."
Caleb gulped down the food in his mouth. He asked, suddenly, "Why don't you like me?"
"I don't like or dislike you. I pity you."
"I don't want your pity," he said, pushing the plate of food away.
"I know, but you have it just the same."
"Why do say these things to me? Why aren't you nice to me?"
Dante stared at him. He tried to keep the words in his heart, but the boy's manner pulled the words out of him.
"I want you to know there is a place where you can eat and sleep, without having to pay for it with your body and soul. If these terms are unacceptable to you, then you can get out."
Caleb felt shame at Dante's words, then, a deep shame that Derek had never made him feel. His old man made him feel strong, had toughened him up so much that he didn't feel anything any more. But he smiled, as he seethed underneath, and said, "No, its okay. And thank you for the meal. This is great."
He continued to eat. He would show this faggot that he was no better than the rest of them. He would get him grunting on top of him, if it was the last thing he did. It didn't matter what Derek said, he'd have Dante finishing in him before he screamed rape. He wanted to hear him give out that last groan.
After he was done eating, he excused himself to the bathroom, and swallowed the pills Derek had given him. He sat on the toilet, waiting for the pills to take effect. He thought of his brother. He hadn't thought about him in a long time. He thought about his mother. Then he thought about nothing.
He was lost to a familiar ether that smothered his brain. The pills had kicked in. His facial expressions softened, his eyes glazed into a single flatline; his body now moving in a soulless, single sexual desire of need. He thoughts were numb, but his body was alive.
The warm sensation in his chest spread down to his bowels, and from his guts it spread out to the top layer of his skin; the downy hairs on his raised goosebumps began to stand on end.
He heard Dante's music in the kitchen, and it seemed to accompany the slow rising euphoria inside him. It picked him up, his sensations and emotions heightened, standing on the tips of his toes, he stretched his arms out and pirouetted out of the bathroom.
A thousand hands were touching him, stripping his inhibitions away one by one, with the clothes he threw into the air. His hoodie. His top. Then he pulled his bottoms down to his ankles and his bare backside exposed, began to bound up and down, making loud thumping noises as his feet hit the floor. He stretched himself across Dante's front door, twerking his bum. He spun his head around, in his usual invite for the watcher to join in, flicking his hair, and licking his lips.
An unexpected strong, sharp slap to his back served to bring him back to his senses. He turned around to see Dante staring at him, aghast and amazed. "Just what are you doing? Put your clothes on now!"
Caleb's sudden descent from on high triggered his old anger to resurface. He began to scream at Dante.
"Just what are you doing? Where are my clothes?"
Dante remained calm. "On the floor where you threw them. You should be ashamed of yourself. Is this any way for a man to behave?"
A modicum of realisation over what he had just witnessed dawned on Dante; it came from no where, but his heart told him it was true. He remembered Caleb coming out from his neighbour above in the night, and all the banging sounds that had confused him, coming through his bedroom ceiling and his bathroom. A look of pity came across his face.
"And I think, now, I am beginning to understand the reason for the banging I have heard come from above me. Tell me, is it some drug you take to make it easy for you to be raped in this way?"
Caleb hurriedly pulled up his pants, and reached for his top and hoodie. His swollen hands were trembling; his face blushed as crimson as his hands.
Then Luna bounded from the bedroom to Dante's defence, trying to scratch and claw at Caleb's arms. He pushed the cat away, shouting, "What would you know about being a man, you fucking faggot?"
"As a faggot, surely, I would know about men. I am in love with one. My man would never behave this way."
"That's what you think! You should have seen him--" He stopped short, when he saw Dante's expression change.
"Yes? Continue," Dante said, quietly.
"You are a fucking weirdo, you know that?"
"Yes. But you show me that we are all strange in our own ways. Surely, a person takes his clothes off to go into the bathroom, not to come out of it? I was worried you were going to run out of my front door naked, so I slapped you."
Was this faggot even for real? A sudden fear crept upon Caleb. What if this freak was aware about his old man's plans for him, and this was all just a put on? He reached for the jacket pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the knife Derek had given him.
He brandished it at Dante. "Don't touch me. You hear me, don't put your fucking hands on me again."
Dante did not show any fear. He stared into Caleb's bloodshot eyes, and then said, "In Sicily we have a saying, that a man, a real man, should never pull a knife on another man, unless he intends to use it."
And with that, he expertly took the knife from Caleb's hand. He snapped it in two, and threw it on the floor, by Caleb's feet.
"There, now you have two pieces to use, if it will help you."
This sudden, surprising display of strength from Dante aroused a feeling of respect in Caleb, normally reserved for his old man. His anger retreated, quickly. His manner became docile. He dropped his clothes back on the floor.
"How the fuck did you do that?"
"Does it matter?"
Uninvited thoughts crawled into Caleb's mind. Dante wasn't as soft as he looked. Hadn't he taken everything they had thrown at him so far?
"I didn't know you were that strong," he said, his eyes glazing over. He licked his lips. He had the sudden desire to taste another's man spit down his throat.
Dante's face gave off an expression of disgust. "Real strength," he said, raising his voice, "is being strong, but having the strength not to use it except in defence. That is the real strength of a real man. But you are not man enough to recognise it."
Dante's barb bought Caleb to his senses. His old man was the new King, and he had got him there. It would be stupid to shift from the side with so much power, to a religious freak who wouldn't use it. Besides, he loved getting away with things. And he loved power.
Dante, as though he had read Caleb's mind, said, "I could never have feelings for you in that way, Caleb. Even if you changed, you would just pretend to change. This is the difference between you and Angelo. You are born this way. He was born his. And I am born the way I am."
Dante picked up Caleb's clothes from the floor and handed them to him. "I could never love you."
He turned his back on Caleb, and went to the kitchen to finish washing up. "Leave my home now, boy, and do not come again. My door will be closed to you."
Putting his top on, Caleb opened the door to leave. When Dante made no move to stop him, he shut it again. In his desperation to succeed for his old man, he asked, "Can't we just be friends?"
Dante stopped washing up, and came back to face him.
"All I will ever want from you is the truth. All you will ever give me is lies. Or your body. We will never be able to give each other what the other wants."
"Please?" Caleb tried a last time. He knew if he left now, Dante wouldn't open his front door to him again. "It will be different now."
"No," Dante said. "If we cannot accept each other as we are, then we cannot be friends. The man I loved taught me that."
He walked past Caleb and opened the door. "I try to keep what I feel about you in my heart, but you make it difficult for me. You are a heroin addict, and I am someone always ready to hammer nails into your heart over it. Best then we stay away from each other."
Caleb looked at him. There was real hurt in his eyes. But who could tell?
"A heroin addict is all I'm ever going to be to you?"
"Tell me, what else are you?"
Caleb said nothing more, but walked out of the door.
Dante bent down to pick up the broken pieces of the knife, and Luna came, purring, licking at his hands.
"Take care. my little one, that you do not cut yourself," he said softly.
aleb was angry. His old rage had returned, and it was here to stay.
He couldn't show his anger in Derek's presence. He had to swallow it down, like he swallowed down his old man's spit every night.
But he had gotten used to that. A person could get used to just about anything. As a hustler, he used familiarity to breed ties that would not usually exist between him and his victim, because no real common interests were shared apart from his body. So, he knew all about that.
He was too frightened to tell his old man, but he knew now that he could pester Dante day and night for months, and his type of familiarity would only breed contempt. They shared nothing of interest, apart from the ones he pretended to share. This was one hustle that had failed, and he would have to suck it up. But he took the saliva from his old man's gob easier than some faggot telling him he was a coward.
He wasn't a coward. He was just clever. Knew what had to be said to get the job done.
And he was going to show all of Downland who the real coward was.
He gathered the knights to the round table on a Thursday night. His old man was out at his mother-in-law's house discussing what could be done next. As a rapist, Dante hadn't raped, as a crack user, he hadn't done crack, and he was far from the definition of a dangerous individual the laws of the land required for Dante to be locked away for public safety.
So, while his old man and his mother-in-law were working on a new plan of action, he thought he'd rustle up some fun to shame Dante.
Caleb wanted Dante to feel shame, like he had felt shame over the faggot's words. He just didn't have that talent for that type of talk, he only had the language of violence. So, with his knights, they talked.
"You know, he tried to rape me, right? I woke up with the faggot's dick in my mouth. The Downland Devil has been trying to brainwash me and convert me to be gay. And we all know, I ain't gay."
The knights around the table nodded in agreement. One nearly broke out in laughter, but another gave out a kick under the table to silence his brother knight.
"He's a Satanist, for fuck's sake! He prays every night to demons. I mean, he's got a black cat. Need I say more?"
And surely, enough had been said.
A plan was set into action.
Knights were going to surround his flat, punch and knock at his windows, to call the snake out from his hole. Then when he came out, he would see a line of knights all along Downland, smartphones recording, with others on bikes, scooters and motorbikes trying to run him over.
And for the finale, they would parade Angelo in front of him, in a twist that Caleb thought was brilliant, even for him. He had told Angelo that he was now a regular visitor at Dante's home, and he had done what he didn't have the balls to do.
Caleb smiled; it was his big, Cheshire cat grin, one he hadn't used for a long while.
ante awoke to shouting outside his window.
"Devil out of Downland! Devil out of Downland!"
He peered through a gap in his bedroom curtain. The shadows had taken over the street. One of the hooded figures, noticing he had parted his curtains, ran over and punched at his glass. Dante didn't flinch, he just stared at the face. He had a balaclava on, and only saw the eyes.
They were a deep blue.
The chant went on. "Devil out of Downland! Devil out of Downland!"
"So, I am now the Devil," he said out aloud. "So, be it. But I must go outside."
He quickly got dressed, putting on his shirt with the rainbow coloured Pride flag on the front. He made sure Luna was safe, kissed his Mama's portrait and then went outside.
The shadows were everywhere; the darkness had spread to every alleyway and corner of the street.
Can anyone see what is around the corners of their lives?
And if they could, would they still walk it?
Yes, Dante thought, I would. I will. I must see Angelo again.
The chants got louder. Smartphones raised in the air, screens and flashlights burning white. "Devil out of Downland! Devil out of Downland!"
Not a single resident opened their doors. Not one looked out of a window, even from mere curiosity. It was as though everyone else was sleeping the sleep of the dead, apart from Dante and his persecutors.
He turned the corner of the intersecting alleyway, and walked out to see the front street lined with hooded, shadowy figures, the same shadows that surrounded his flat by day, and crept around by night.
Dante showed no fear, no emotion to speak of, until in the middle of them, he noticed Caleb, smiling at him.
So, I was right about him, Dante thought, and did not give him a second glance.
Dante had only come out to find the owner of the deep blue eyes. But he could not see the man with the balaclava anywhere.
Suddenly, he heard the roar of a motorbike, as it came hurtling towards him. Dante did not move. He remembered his Mama and how her death had taught him that real courage is how you face death, with dignity and grace. If it was to come to him now, he would face it as his Mama's son.
The bike drove straight towards him, but Dante did not move. It screeched to a stop centimetres away from his feet, but Dante did not flinch. He only moved when the driver flipped the visor of his helmet. It was the man wearing the balaclava, with the deep blue eyes, shot through with blood. The rider, breathing heavily, dropped his head in shame.
"Oh, Angelo," Dante said softly. "One more centimetro, and I would have called you a brave man. So, now we both live, eh, my love? Addio per sempre."
Then Dante walked home, his head held high, while everyone in the street watched him go.
Published 28 April, 2026
