The Artist and the Actor – 14

 

Monday, Colin began working on the first of his new paintings. He almost passed on lunch, not wanting to break the flow of what he had going on. But he'd skipped breakfast and his stomach let him know if he didn't eat he'd wish he had. He stood back, looking at what he'd accomplished so far, and decided he could spare half an hour, so he cleaned his brushes and headed into the kitchen.

 

He picked up his phone from the counter, turning it on to check for messages. The second he did, it rang. Without thinking, he answered.

 

"Turn on your TV, now!"

 

It took him a moment to recognize it was Shane speaking. "Why," Colin asked.

 

"Just do it, to the local news, and hurry up damn it."

 

Colin did, wondering why the rush. He found out when he heard a reporter say, "...according to Detective Randall, the victim, whose body was found early this morning in his car in the Zoo's parking lot, had been shot multiple times. Detective Randall stated there was no evidence the motive had been robbery as the victim's wallet, with a sizable amount of cash, was still on his person, as was his watch and an expensive ring. The only things missing, according to the detective, were the keys to the car."

 

"Are they fucking kidding?" Colin said in shocked disbelief, the phone gripped tightly in his hand.

 

"Apparently not," Shane replied.

 

"It's…it's just like Kenny's murder." Colin took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

"I know. Look, you probably don't want me to, but I'm coming over. You don't need to be alone right now."

 

Colin was too stunned to argue. Hanging up, he dropped down on the sofa, staring at the TV even though the news show had moved on to another story.

 

There can't be any connection. Not after ten years. It's…it's a coincidence, nothing more.

The Artist and the Actor – 13

 

 

Colin spent much of Sunday working on sketches for his next projects before settling on two that he liked and limning them out on the canvases. By evening, he was ready to take a break, knowing that when he started painting he wouldn't come up for air except to hit the bathroom, fall into bed, or spare a few minutes to toss together a sandwich which he'd take into the studio to eat while working.

 

Turning off the lights in the studio, he went to change from his grubbies into decent jeans and a T-shirt. Then, grabbing a jacket because it was cool, even for March, he set the security system and left the house to walk to the Italian restaurant in the neighborhood that he favored.

 

"How did your opening go?" the waitress asked as she handed him the menu.

 

"Great. Three of my painting sold right out of the gate."

 

She grinned. "It was a horse race?"

 

Colin rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant, Janie."

 

"Yeah, I did. I'm happy for you. If I get the chance, I might stop in to take a look." She chuckled. "If I were rich, I'd even buy one."

 

Since she'd been working at the restaurant ever since he'd been going there, and they were friends, he replied, "If there's one you really fall in love with, and it doesn't have a 'Sold' dot on it, let me know and I'll tell Thomas to sell it to you for…hell, a quarter of the asking price."

 

"You would? You will? Colin, I think I love you."

 

He laughed. "Not that it'll do you any good."

 

"I know, I know, darn it."

 

She took his order and left. As soon as she had, he took a book from his bag and began reading—continuing to while he ate. When he'd finished and paid, he decided to take the long way home. Given what the next day was, his thoughts drifted to Kenny as he walked, remembering the good times before his death. He made a mental note to call his parents in the morning, if they didn't call first. They always touched base on the anniversary of his brother's murder, giving needed support to each other to make it through the day.

 

It's been ten years. Maybe this time it won't be so horrible. For him, it still hurt, but the pain had dimmed, between the painting he'd done in Kenny's memory and visiting the place where he'd died. Exorcising my demon, the way I told Thomas I had? I think so. Mom and Dad never will, not completely, but time has a way of healing even the worst sorrow. He hoped that was true for them.

The Artist and the Actor – 12

 

"It's been three years since I've seen him," Shane protested.

 

"I don't care if it's been thirty years," Thomas retorted tautly. "You must not have cared all that much about him if you don't remember one of the defining moments in his life."

 

"Oh, my God," Shane said softly when it hit him. He turned to stare at the painting, again. "This is Kenny—or Colin's interpretation of him after…after his death."

 

"His murder, Shane. Call it what it was. Colin does. He says, to quote him,—" Thomas gently touched the painting, "—this was his way of exorcising the demon of his loss." He returned his attention to Shane. "The murder happened ten years ago Monday, if I'm correct."

 

Shane nodded. "I think you are." He sighed deeply. "He's dealing with that, and then I show up."

 

"A complication he does not need at the moment. I would appreciate it if you would make yourself scarce where he's concerned."

 

"Who are you to give me orders?" Shane spat out.

 

"Colin's friend. Perhaps one of the few he has these days."

 

"Because he spends all of his time locked in his studio, creating more painting for you to sell," Shane replied with a knowing look.

 

"It's his choice, Shane. Something you apparently didn't realize when the two of you were together."

 

"Oh, I got that. His art is everything. I was just…" Shane shook his head. "I loved him and he loved me, but it wasn't enough for either of us, I guess. Yeah, I screwed up, I admit it, but damn it, Thomas, I couldn't compete with his real passion."

 

"I understand," Thomas replied, patting Shane's shoulder. He looked hard at Shane. "Did you honestly love him?"

 

"With all my heart, as corny as that sounds. I still do, for all the good it does me."

 

"Perhaps," Thomas said pensively. "Perhaps your being back isn't such a bad thing after all. He needs someone who cares, Shane, whether he knows it or not. So, I'll rescind my earlier words. Don't make yourself scarce. On the other hand, don't try to push yourself back into his life. It wouldn't work."

 

"Got it. I'm not sure what the happy medium will be, but I'll figure it out. I have to."

 

"Yes," Thomas agreed. "You do, for both your sakes."

 

The Artist and the Actor – 11

 

Shane was restless as Saturday afternoon eased into evening. He needed something to keep him busy but was damned if he'd go to a movie, or spend a few hours hanging out at a bar. If he did the latter, he'd either drink too much and become depressed, or if it was that kind of bar and he over-indulged, he might try to pick up some guy, which he had no intention of doing. There was only one man he wanted and it hurt to know he couldn't have him.

 

He considered calling Colin, or casually dropping by his house, saying he'd been in the neighborhood and decided to see if he was home.

 

"Yeah, right. He'd hang up, or slam the door in my face."

 

Then, he had a thought. It wouldn't solve his problem, but it might give him some insight into how Colin was doing these days. Changing from his worn jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt into slacks and a decent dress-shirt, he checked to make certain he had his wallet and keys, and then took off to visit Colin's exhibition at the gallery. Because it was in LoDo, only a few blocks from the hotel, he walked.

 

There were several people there when Shane arrived. Buyers he hoped, for Colin's sake. As he wandered, he listened to the comments. They were almost universally positive about the majority of Colin's work. Eventually he got to the painting that had prompted one man, the previous evening, to imply he didn't like Colin's new style.

 

"I do," Shane said under his breath. It was definitely unlike anything of Colin's he seen before—and he'd seen his fair share of his ex's work, both tonight and when they'd lived together. He wondered what had prompted Colin to create it.

 

"The black sheep has returned," someone said from beside Shane.

 

Shane turned to look at the speaker. He was older, probably in his late fifties to early sixties. If he remembered correctly, his name was Thomas Michaelson, and he owned the gallery. "I suppose that's how Colin talks about me, now," Shane replied sourly.

 

"No, Shane. He's relatively circumspect in his comments when he mentions you, which is infrequently. I, on the other hand have several unflattering names for you, considering what you did to him."

 

"I'm sure he laid out all my…what's the word? Peccadilloes?" Shane shrugged. "Whatever you want to call them, Colin probably laid them out in detail as the reason we broke up."

 

"He did, right after it happened. Then you left town and it became a moot point.  Are you moving back?" Thomas asked, not looking the least bit happy at the idea.

 

"No. I'm with the company that's putting on a show at the Buell, starting next Friday. We'll be here for four weeks before we move on."

 

"Just as well, I suppose. He doesn't need any more stress right now."

 

Shane frowned. "Why is he stressed?"

 

Thomas shot him a look of disbelief. "You lived with him for how long and you don't know?"

The Artist and the Actor – 10

 

 

Colin was part way up the winding road before he realized where he was. Ahead of him was Lookout Mountain Park and Buffalo Bill's grave. If he kept going, he'd pass the place where Kenny's body had been found.

 

Would that be so bad? He decided it wouldn't be. Even living as close as he did to where it had happened, fifteen miles or so, Colin had only gone up there a few times when he'd returned to Denver after graduation. Then, he'd stopped. It hurt, knowing Kenny had died alone, his body left for some stranger to find.

 

In spite of that, he had decided to remain in the city, found an apartment, and then taken his portfolio around to some of the local galleries. He had found one that was willing to let him be a part of a 'New Artists' exhibition. From there, he'd begun making a name for himself, to the point that Thomas at Michaelson Art Gallery had courted him, bringing him into the fold when Colin had accepted his offer to be one of the gallery's on-going artists. Then Shane had come into his life. Between him, and Colin's concentration on his art, Kenny had become a sad, painful memory. A brother he had loved and lost.

 

Their parents had taken it a step further, selling their house and moving halfway across the country. Colin didn't blame them. Their memories had to be even more painful than his, leaving an empty spot in their lives and hearts which had belonged to their older son.

 

As he neared the pull-off, Colin slowed almost to a crawl, evoking an angry honk from the car behind him. Resisting the urge to flip the driver off, he eased onto the verge at the side of the road and parked. Getting out of the car, he walked to the spot that he knew was where Kenny's car had been found. Of course there was nothing to show what had happened. He hadn't expected there would be.

 

"I miss you," he said softly. "I always will. I hope, wherever you are, you're at peace."

 

He looked up at the mountains towering in the distance. Their majesty calmed and awed him at the same time. Being who he was, he returned to the car to get a sketch pad and pencils from his bag. Sitting on the hood, he drew what he saw around him, the trees and underbrush, the rocky slopes, even a chipmunk that seemed to pose for him, which made him smile as he dashed off a sketch.

 

Eventually, the shadows of the trees that the sun cast across the road let him know it well past noon. When his stomach growled, too, he decided to leave and head west to Genesee Park and a pizza place where he knew he could happily sate his hunger before returning home.   

The Artist and the Actor – 9

 

Colin was restless, as he usually was the day after an opening for one of his exhibitions at the gallery. It was as if one era had ended and he had yet to begin the next one—at least as far as his diving into a new painting was concerned.

 

On top of that, it was two days until the anniversary of Kenny's murder. The tenth anniversary, damn it, and we'll never know who killed you, or why. He gazed at his brother's photo and the memories came flooding back. You were a good man, and my best friend when we were growing up. I still miss you as much as I did in the days following your death.

 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Colin left the bedroom. He had another, more immediate problem to deal with—Shane and his unexpected appearance at the galley.

 

"Why now, Shane?" he muttered as he walked downstairs. "Do you think you can take advantage of being here to worm your way back into my life? If so, it's not happening."

 

He hoped, no, prayed that Shane wouldn't decide to come by the house. "He wouldn't dare, not after the way things ended."

 

It was easy to say he didn't want to see Shane again, but deep in his heart he had his doubts. He had loved his ex, heart and soul, until Shane's betrayal had destroyed what they'd once had.

 

Then there he was again, looking just as I remembered and with the same cocky attitude.

 

That was one of the things that had drawn Colin to him to begin with. Shane's irreverent love of life with all it had to offer. And the sex. He smiled wryly. It was always great, no matter what else was going on between us. "Until he blew it."

 

Colin knew he was partly to blame for what happened. "But damn it, Shane, you knew coming into our relationship there would be times when I had to concentrate on my art. That didn't give you the right to go looking for sex with the first guy who offered it. It didn't!"

 

He opened the fridge to see what he could fix for breakfast, glaring at the contents as if they were the cause of his whirling emotions. Pulling himself together, he took out two eggs, cheese, and a tomato, using them to make a half-assed omelet that he ate dispiritedly while standing at the counter.

 

If I don't pull myself together…

 

After cleaning up, Colin decided to blow off the day by going for a long drive in the mountains.

 

* * * *

 

Because he'd flown into the city, and was staying at a downtown hotel, Shane rented a car. He had no desire to take the bus to places he used to go when he'd lived in Denver—especially when one of the places was Colin's house. Our house, once upon a time.

 

He had no intention of parking out front and going up to ring the doorbell. He knew full well what the reception would be if he tried that. But driving by, hoping to get a glimpse of Colin…

 

"I'm acting like a lovelorn teenager," he chastised himself as he did just that. I'm too old for this. I shouldn't have gone by the gallery. I knew what would happen. Did I expect him to greet me with open arms after all this time? Maybe in some part of my mind, or heart, I hoped he would. More the fool, I, to misquote Shakespeare.

 

He continued on past the house, heading to a small restaurant several blocks away that he and Colin had often gone to for Sunday breakfasts. Pulling into the lot behind it, he sat for long moment staring off into space, shook his head, and drove away. He wasn't going to try to relive their time together. He couldn't. Not and retain his sanity.

 

"If it wasn't for the show, I'd catch the next plane out of town," he said under his breath. "But I can't. So deal, stupid. Forget he's here. Forget the past. It's exactly that, the past. In a little over four weeks I'll be gone. It can't happen too soon."

The Artist and the Actor – 8

 

    

"It was partly your fault," Shane said under his breath. "When you were focused on a painting it was the only thing that mattered in your life. It was as if I didn't exist except as the guy who did his damnedest to make sure you stopped long enough to eat and sleep."

 

It had frustrated and angered him. So, yeah, I did play around behind your back when that happened. I wanted you but when you ignored me… Hell, what did you expect? I'm not a saint. I never said I was. I like sex. I loved it with you, when you were there and not off in a world of your own. You made me crazy, so I went looking for someone who treated me as if I was worth something.

 

At least that's what he'd told himself—and Colin when he'd found out the first time. He had promised it would never happen again, and then immersed himself in his acting the next time Colin had worked on one of his paintings to the exclusion of everything else. Things had gotten better for a while. We did love each other. Neither of us denied it. It was just…circumstances.  

 

Then, Colin had gotten a commission for two painting and it seemed as if he never left his studio. Shane had vented to one of the actors in the company. The man had commiserated with him, and then offered to help him relieve his frustration. Against his better judgment, Shane had accepted. When Colin had found out, and it was inevitable that he would, it had resulted in an argument to end all arguments. He'd asked… No, he ordered me to get out of his house and his life, and I did.

 

That had been three years previously. Shane had joined a touring company, which took him out of the city—and then another one when the season had ended, and a third one. At first he'd played the field, sleeping with any man who wanted him, and there were several. But over time, he'd found out that didn't ease his pain. Colin was the only man he'd ever loved.

 

And damn it, now that I'm here I'm going to win him back one way or another.

 

The Artist and the Actor – 7

 

 

Turning back to the patrons, Colin apologized and then asked them to excuse him momentarily. When they nodded, a couple of them looking with some amusement between him and Shane, Colin strode off, heading for the gallery's front door. Even without looking, he knew Shane was following. As soon as they were outside he rounded on Shane, asking again, "Why the fuck are you here?"

 

"It's good to see you, too," Shane replied.

 

"That doesn't answer my question. Why the—"

 

"If you say 'fuck' one more time, I might take you up on your offer." Shane grinned evilly.

 

"Not in your wildest dreams."

 

"Colin, you have no idea how much you still figure in my…imagination."

 

"I can't say the same about you," Colin retorted snidely. "You are, at the most, a very distant and rather bad memory." He said the words with a conviction he realized he didn't feel, as much as he wished they were true. Seeing Shane again reminded him too strongly of what they'd once had, before everything went bad. Taking a deep breath, he asked again, but more civilly, "Why are you here?"

 

"I'm in town with the musical that opens next week at the Buell Theater and saw the announcement about your show in the Post. Being at loose ends until Tuesday, I decided to stop by and say hello."

 

"Right."

 

"It's the truth."

 

Colin snorted. "I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word." He made a pretense of looking around before asking, "Where's your latest conquest? At some hotel waiting for you with bated breath?"

 

"That's not fair," Shane protested. "But to answer your question, I don't have anyone in my life right now and I haven't for sometime."

 

"Turning over a new leaf? Why do I find that impossible to believe?"

 

Rather than reply, Shane sighed. "This was a mistake. I'm should have known you wouldn't want to see me again after the way I screwed things up."

 

"More like the way you screwed…hell, I don't remember their names. Jerry? Robert? Kevin? Whatever, you did it behind my back and then denied it when I finally caught on. So you're right, I don't want to see you." Having said that, Colin walked away, returning to the gallery.

The Artist and the Actor – 6

 

Friday afternoon, Colin stood in front of his closet, trying to decide what to wear to the opening. He was damned if he would go the tux route—not that he owned one to begin with—but his normal sweatshirt and jeans were not an option, either.

 

He had slacks in black, grey, and blue, coordinating shirts, and vests. After due consideration, he opted for the black slacks and a poet's shirt, with a teal paisley, double-breasted vest that set off his coppery-red hair.

 

"Fashion maven is me," he said with a laugh as he looked at himself in the mirror. He figured he was outré enough that Thomas wouldn't chastise him for not going with something more formal. After all, he'd done that a few other times, and Thomas had come to accept that he was incorrigible when it came to dressing 'properly' for an opening.

 

He checked the time and decided he'd better get moving if he wasn't going to be late. Making certain he had what he needed; he set the alarm on the security system, locked up, and took off.

 

* * * *

 

Colin and several of the gallery's best patrons stood in front of his newest painting.

 

"This is definitely a change from your normal style," one woman said, cocking her head to one side and then the other as she surveyed it. "Is it the start of a new genre for you?"

 

"I doubt it," Colin replied. "It's an experiment, nothing more. At least for the time being."

 

"It's definitely edgy," a man in full tuxedo regalia said. "However, I much prefer ones like that." He pointed to the painting next to it.

 

"I disagree," a man said from behind Colin.

 

Colin recognized the voice and spun around to look at the handsome, dark-haired, bearded man, asking angrily, "What the fuck are you doing here, Shane?"

 

Shane smiled, replying softly, "Language, Colin. You don't want to shock prospective buyers."

The Artist and the Actor – 5

 

 

Thomas Michaelson was, if not ecstatic, at least obviously relieved when he saw Colin come into the gallery Tuesday morning to deliver the final two paintings for the show, as promised.

 

"Colin, you're going to give me gray hair," he rumbled as he removed the brown paper to reveal the paintings. He studied them, and then tapped one. "Very different from your usual style, but I like it. I think it will bring a good price."

 

"And money is everything," Colin replied wryly.

 

"On a practical level, yes." Thomas patted Colin's arm. "It keeps you in supplies, you know that."

 

Colin chuckled. "At least you didn't say my lavish life style."

 

"You may have a nice house, but from what I've seen of it, you hardly live lavishly."

 

"I save that for my art," Colin admitted as his gaze swept along the gallery wall that held the paintings for his newest exhibition. Most of them were small, with rich, intense colors, depicting the reality of life as seen through the eyes of dreamer.

 

"One reason your works sell. They give the viewer the feeling you understand their deepest feelings, good or bad. Although…" Thomas picked up the painting Colin had just finished. "In this case, I'm not so certain hope is what the average person would feel when they looked at it. Why, Colin?"

 

"Why the change? It's personal, Thomas. In memory of my brother, who shouldn't have died, but did."

 

"I understand," Thomas replied, and his expression said that he meant it. "Yet you're willing to sell it."

 

Colin nodded. "I suppose you could say I exorcised the demon of my loss when I painted it." He smiled as he looked at it. "Don't worry; I'm not going begin creating new ones in this style. It's not me. As I said, it was something I needed to do at the moment. I don't need to keep it to remind me of the past." I get enough of that each time I look at that photo of Kenny. He bit back a sigh before saying, "If you don't need me for anything…"

 

"Not until Friday evening. And Colin, please dress appropriately."

 

Colin chuckled. "Don’t want me playing the starving artist? Not to worry. No one would believe it if I did. I'll see you, dressed to perfection, in three days."

 

Leaving the gallery, he walked two blocks to Wazee and one of his favorite restaurants, happy to find that he wasn't too early. He found a seat on the patio, ordered coffee and the tuna melt when the waiter arrived, and then took his sketchpad and pencils from his messenger bag. An hour later, he finished eating, closed his pad, which now held several ideas for his next painting, and paid. After returning to where he'd parked, he headed home.

The Artist and the Actor – 4

 

"Again, at the moment we have no idea," the chief replied. "The first question is, do you know of any reason why he would have been on Lookout Mountain at that hour of the night?"

 

"No. Or at least not that I can think of," Colin said. "We planned on going to a barbecue thrown by a friend of ours. Kenny called me, before I left the house, to say he might be late because he had something he needed to do." He barely smiled. "Me and my friends decided he was going to pick up a date. He had, well, at least a couple of girlfriends. Right?" He glanced at his father, who nodded. "When he didn't show up, we figured maybe they'd changed their minds."

 

"He didn't say who she was?"

 

"Hell, he didn't even say that was why he'd be late. We just… When he didn't show up. Well, you know…"

 

"Yes," the chief agreed. Turning to David, he asked, "Do you know the names of the girls he was dating?"

 

"A couple of them. He didn't live at home. He had his own apartment and a job at an accounting firm. That's what he went to college for. Maybe someone there would know?"

 

The chief asked for the name and address of the firm, saying he'd send someone to interview the employees in the morning. Then David asked if they could see…"Kenny's body, I guess. Damn it!"

 

The chief said they could as Kenny needed to be officially identified by a family member, and assigned an officer to take them to the county coroner's office.

 

The rest, until they arrived back at the house, was a blur to Colin. He remembered looking through the window separating them from Kenny's body and hearing him mother moan "No-o-o-o" before she broke down, sobbing, when the morgue attendant pulled back the sheet to reveal Kenny's face. Then, they were in the car, and what seemed like an eternity later, he was in the guestroom, listening to his father trying once again to console Nan, his voice filled with the anguish all of them were feeling.

 

Not bothering to undress, Colin threw himself on the bed and finally let the tears flow. He awoke several hours later when sunlight filled the room. Pushing back his misery, he got up, went into the bathroom and after stripping off his wrinkled clothes took a long, hot shower. It did nothing to relieve the emotional pain from Kenny's death, but at least he felt somewhat more human. After dressing, he went downstairs to be with his parents and face the days that lay that lay ahead.

 

Kenny's body was released the day Colin was due to head back to college. He stayed until the funeral, of course, and then took off that evening. According to what the sheriff and the chief of criminal investigations told his father during the weeks after that happened, their investigations had uncovered no motive for the murder, and no suspects. Eventually the case ended up in the Jeffco sheriff department's cold-case files where it had languished for the past ten years.

 

The Artist and the Actor – 3

 

 

"His keys?" Colin repeated, frowning. "Why were they missing?"

 

"At this point the sheriff's investigators have no idea. At least not that they've informed us," the officer replied. "They asked that we notify you, which we have. I'm sure someone will come to talk with you—"

 

"No," David interjected. "We'll go there—now. I want, I need to see…" He stuttered to a stop, his face ashen with grief. "Maybe it's not him. Maybe…"

 

"According to the sheriff, the photo on the driver's license matches the victim and the car is registered to one Kenneth Ainsley."

 

"Who would do that to him?" Colin asked, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. His parents would need him to be their strength, at least for the next few hours.

 

The officer spread his hands as he stood. "That's what the sheriff intends to find out."

 

By then, Nan was sobbing against her husband's shoulder and tears coursed down David's face. Colin wanted to cry too, but bit it back as he got up. "I'll show you to the door," he said to the officers. When they got there, he asked them where he and his parents should go when they arrived…"In Golden?"

 

"Yes," one office replied, giving him the address before they left.

 

It took a while for Colin and his parents to dress, lock the house, and drive to Golden, to the sheriff's department. By the time they arrived, Colin's parents were composed to the point of being stoic when the chief of the criminal investigations unit offered his condolences and told them what the department knew at that point—which was next to nothing as far as Colin was concerned. Someone had shot Kenny multiple times from outside the car, leaving him to die.

 

"Our conclusion, for now, is that it was done by someone obsessed with making certain he was dead," the chief explained. "Numerous shell casings were found both on the front floorboard and on the ground on the driver's side of the car."

 

"What about the weapon?" Colin asked.

 

"It hasn't been found, and my men did a through search of the area," the chief responded. "There were enough casings to suggest the killer reloaded at least twice."

 

"Who could hate him that much?" David asked.

 

"I was about to ask you the same thing," said the chief.

 

"No one," Nan replied after taking a deep breath, obviously reining in impending tears.

 

"I agree," David said.

 

They all looked at Colin. "I have no idea." He turned his attention to the chief. "I'm away at college, so I haven't seen much of him except when I come home on breaks. He never said anything to me about…well…anyone who was pissed off at him for some reason." He paused before asking, "Are you sure he was the intended victim? I mean, could it be a random killing by some whacko?"

'Of Another World' has arrived!

 Of Another World

https://www.jms-books.com/edward-kendrick-c-224_229/of-another-world-p-3936.html

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09BLSKMSF

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/of-another-world-edward-kendrick/1139971500?ean=9781646567836

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/of-another-world

 

GENRE: Gay Fantasy Erotic Romance
LENGTH: 35,695 words
RATING:

A storm at sea leaves shifters Tony and his brother Daniel castaways on an unknown island. They soon discover they much farther from home than they imagined when they meet Brion, the elven mayor of the town of Rerenlion. They also learn all the island's shifters have been magically imprisoned in Stronghold for crimes against the populace. Brion tells them the only way they can return to their own world is with the help of King Cerdic, and gives them a letter of introduction, as well as one for safe passage to the capital.

The safe passage serves them well when they cross paths with elves who hate or distrust them for what they are. When they eventually meet the king, Tony and Cerdic are drawn to each despite the fact that Tony refuses to believe the island's shifters are guilty of the crimes that landed them in Stronghold. He offers to prove they were framed by having Cerdic send him to Stronghold as a spy from another world.

Will Tony be able to prove his theory and survive in the process? Will the shifter and the elf act on their mutual attraction in spite of their differences?

EXCERPT:

From the way the sun slanted through the windows, Tony knew it was a bit after noon when Lord Randel returned. He stood in the doorway, looking between the brothers, and then beckoned. "If you'll come with me, I'll take you to King Cerdic. He's awaiting you in the Audience Chamber."

Leaving the library, they (entered the Great Hall), turned right and crossed to the door behind the King's table. Lord Randel opened it, stepping back to let them enter first.

As soon as they had, Tony sucked in a breath. Seated across from them on an ornately carved, high-backed armchair set on a two-step dais was one of the handsomest men he'd ever seen. He had long blond hair that fell well past his shoulders, deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sensuous mouth. He was dressed in a black vest trimmed with silver embroidery, over a long, brown tunic with inset gold panels on the upper sleeves and a matching peplum at the waist. Black pants and knee-high boots trimmed with silver completed the ensemble.

::Easy, Tony. Remember he's a king and an elf. Way out of your league on all counts even if he did happen to be gay, which is doubtful, I think.::

::I can dream, can't I?::

::As long as that's all you do.::

Lord Randel's "Your Highness, allow me to introduce Tony and Daniel Nichols," brought Tony back to earth.

* * * *

Cerdic looked at the pair of dark-haired men standing before him, his gaze homing in on the younger one. He was dressed in obviously borrowed clothing which was understandable from what he'd been told. They did little to hide his muscular build and the sense of power he radiated, even while in the position of supplicant. To add to his allure, he had dark eyebrows over deep, almost black eyes, and a pair of lips that begged to be kissed.

Reining in his libido -- as he knew the man, the shifter, was unattainable, as well he should be all things considered -- Cerdic gave a minimal bow of his head to acknowledge their presence.

"I understand you are begging for my help to return you to your own world." Cerdic smiled to himself when Tony, the younger shifter, bristled at his words.

"We're not begging," Tony said tightly, obviously ignoring his brother when he laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "We are asking, as strangers who are not responsible for our presence here, that you send us back. We understand you're the only one who can do so."

"I am, but why should I?"

Tony took a step forward. "Because you're not stupid, I hope. You must know that our presence has upset more than a few of your subjects."

From the expression on the elder brother's face, Cerdic felt certain he was upset with Tony's defiant reply, and was undoubtedly letting him know using mind-speak -- words the younger shifter obviously ignored as he waited for Cerdic's answer.

Cerdic tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. "I could send you to join your compatriots in Stronghold. You do know what that is."

"The place in the mountains where you've imprisoned shifters, treating them as enemies of the state."

"Because they are," Cerdic replied angrily.

"On what grounds?"

"That is not you business or your concern."

Tony shook his head. "As I shifter myself, I believe it is. They are my brethren, if not by birth than by species."

Cerdic looked past Tony at the Seneschal. "Lord Randel, please leave us and take Daniel Nichols with you. I wish to speak with this hothead alone."

"Your Majesty," Lord Randel protested at the same time Daniel growled angrily.

"Do it! If Daniel gives you any trouble, call the guards."

With a bow that didn't hide his smile, Lord Randel put his hand on Daniel's arm. "If you'll come with me, quietly please. Don't worry about your brother. King Cerdic hasn't killed anyone in at least two months ... that I know of."

Cerdic bit back a grin at his seneschal's words as he watched him and an obviously pissed off and very reluctant Daniel exit the chamber.

When they were gone, Cerdic stepped down to sit on the top step of the dais, beckoning for Tony to join him. When Tony didn't move, Cerdic chuckled. "Or stand there. It makes no nevermind to me. We can still discuss your concerns either way. It just seems you'd be more comfortable sitting." 

The Artist and the Actor – 2

 

 

"Where's Kenny?" Jim asked, a few minutes after Colin came around to the back yard where everyone had gathered.

 

"Hell if I know. He called me, maybe twenty minutes ago, to tell me he had to make a stop but he was still planning on showing up," Colin replied.

 

Jim laughed. "Maybe he convinced one of his ladies to come with him and she's taking forever to get ready."

 

Given that his brother had the reputation as a player; Colin had no trouble believing that. In the previous three days he'd met two girls Kenny was dating, neither of whom, Kenny swore, knew about the other one.

 

When, an hour later, Kenny still hadn't arrived, Colin figured he'd changed his mind—or whichever girl he was with had changed it for him.

 

The barbecue broke up around eleven as most of the people there were locals who had to go to work Monday morning. Colin was back at his parent's by eleven fifteen. The house was dark, meaning they were already in bed, so he tiptoed quietly up to the guestroom, undressed, and after washing up, slipped under the covers and quickly fell asleep—helped by the few beers he'd had. Not enough to be drunk, but he wasn't sober, either.

 

He was awakened, he didn't know how much later, by the sound of the doorbell. He heard his father grumbling as he went downstairs to, Colin figured, read someone the riot act for being too stupid to realize they were at the wrong house. The sound of the front door opening was followed by a few indistinguishable words and then an "Oh, God, no!" from his father.

 

Colin jumped out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and went into the hallway. His mother was already halfway down the stairs and he followed her into the living room. Two police officers were there, one with his hand on David Ainsley's shoulder.

 

"David, what's wrong?" Colin's mother, Nan, asked as she hurried to her husband's side.  

 

"It's…it's Kenny," he replied in a choked voice. "He…" David looked the officers.

 

"Perhaps it would be best if you all sat down," the first officer suggested.

 

David put his arm around Nan's waist, leading her to the sofa, and the three of them sat, Colin at the far end from his parents.

 

One officer perched on the edge of the armchair opposite them, saying, "As we told you husband, your son Kenneth's car was found in a pull-off on Lookout Mountain, approximately two hours ago, by a Jeffco sheriff's officer. The driver's-side window was shattered, and when the officer approached, he saw someone slumped over the steering wheel. On closer examination, he discovered a body that was riddled with bullet-holes. He immediately called it in and—"

 

"Not Kenny!" Nan wailed. "Please tell me it wasn't him. Please."

 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ainsley. It was," the officer replied quietly. "His wallet was in his pocket. It held a fair amount money. The only thing missing were his car keys. For the moment, because of the money, the sheriff is ruling out robbery as a motive, although that might change when he has more information."

The Artist and the Actor – 1

 

It was early Monday afternoon when Colin paused to step back, tapping his chin with the end of the brush as he studied the painting. It needs… He started to dip the brush into the magenta paint on his palette then shook his head, restraining himself. If I try adding more I'll overwork it.

 

He knew that was true. He'd done it before with other paintings, although not recently. He'd learned to control his need to add just one more touch…or two, or ten.

 

"It's finished," he said under his breath. "It does what I wanted it to, so stop." With a brief smile, he covered the palette to keep the paint from drying until he could deal with it, and then took his brushes to the sink to wash them out.

 

After putting the brushes away, he left his studio—which used to be two bedrooms on the second floor until he'd had the wall between them removed to convert them into one large, airy space. Going downstairs to the kitchen, he wondered what to fix for a late lunch. His phone, turned off so he wouldn't be bothered by calls, was on the counter. Ignoring it for the time being, he made a sandwich, added some pickles to the plate, and sat down at the island to eat. When he finished and washed up, he finally turned the phone on to see if he had any messages—which he did. One was from his agent, two from the owner of the galley where he had a show opening at the end of the week. Ignoring his agent's message for the moment, he called the gallery owner.

 

"Michaelson Gallery, Thomas speaking. How may I help you?"

 

Colin snorted. "Since you know it's me, I think the question is, how can I help you?"

 

"Get the last two paintings over here so we can hang them," Thomas said, his voice tight with frustration.

 

"Tomorrow," Colin replied. "I just finished the final one."

 

"Colin…" He could envision Thomas shaking his head.

 

"Yeah, I know, my bad as the kids say. I promise, I'll have them there in the morning."

 

"See that you do."

 

"Have I ever not had them there in time?" Colin said to a dead phone.

 

He considered calling his agent, and didn't. He knew what the woman would say—that she'd gotten a call from Thomas and that Colin had better do as the man asked. Or you'll drop me? As if. I make you too much money, Vanessa.

 

He stuck the phone in his pocket, returned to his studio long enough to clean his pallet and then went back downstairs to the living room to find something to watch on TV that he hoped wouldn't put him to sleep. He made it halfway through before his eyelids began closing. Shutting it off, he headed up to bed. As he undressed, he paused to look at the pictures hanging between the dresser and the closet. Some were of him from openings at different galleries in the city. Others were of his family. As always, his gaze went to the one of his brother, taken a month before he'd been murdered by, as the police termed it, person or persons unknown.

 

That had happened ten years previously. Colin would never forget that night, or the days that followed. It was March of his senior year and he was home from college for spring break. He and Kenny, who was a year older, were supposed to meet at their friend Jim's house for a reunion barbecue he was throwing for people they'd gone to high school with.

 

 

Every House Has a Secret - 39

 

 

"Can we presume you showed him your great-grandfather's confession?" Brady asked.

 

"I did. It took all my nerve. I almost backed out when it was time to get on the plane. But after our talk, I mean the three of us—" he circled his finger, "—I thought about it and decided it was only fair that I did what Frank and I had planned and showed him, now that we have proof to back up the confession."

 

Rand nodded. "How did he take it?"

 

"About the way you'd expect. At first he didn't believe it was real. Then when he accepted it was, he was horrified. He loved Ethan. It was a blow to everything he thought was the truth about his father—and Ethan." Colin took a drink of his beer before continuing. "Strangely enough, he said he could emphasize with Ethan's feelings, if not what he did. He said if someone murdered one of us, he'd want revenge, too. Of course he wouldn't have tried to frame some for the killings, the way Ethan did, but dealing with the killers? That, he understood."

 

"I suppose anyone one would, on some level," Brady replied. "God only knows there've been enough popular movies made with that theme."

 

They went silent for a moment, each one wrapped in their own thoughts. Then Colin said, "I owe you a debt of gratitude that I'd like to repay, somehow."

 

Rand grinned. "Give me free rein in your bookstore for an hour."

 

"Rand," Brady said, shaking his head.

 

"You've got it," Colin replied. "I take it you're a reader."

 

"Definitely. Come on, I'll show you." Rand led the way into the library.

 

"Yep, you are, but there's still plenty of room for more," Colin said, looking at the shelves which were only half-full. "Come up anytime and we'll see what we can do about adding to your collection. You too, Brady."

 

"Well, I'm not as ardent about them as Rand, but I'm sure I can find a couple that will interest me."

 

When they were back in the living room, Brand said, "If you're planning on staying in the city until morning, we've got a guestroom."

 

"Seriously? That would be great, although I'll have to leave at the crack of dawn to get home. The store opens at ten."

 

Colin did stay, leaving as promised very early the next morning after passing on breakfast. "Don't forget," he said, "I'll expect to see you sometime soon to raid the store."

 

"Believe me, Colin," Rand replied. "That is an offer I could never forget."

 

"He's a nice kid," Brady said as they watched Colin drive away.

 

"He is. It runs in the family, in spite of Ethan Barrett. He probably was, too, until his daughter was murdered. Then he went a little crazy."

 

"More like totally insane." Brady put his arm around Rand's waist as they walked inside. "It's been an interesting few weeks, but now I'm ready for some peace and quiet in our new home, starting with breakfast."

 

"I think I can handle that, too," Rand replied, kissing him. "Pancakes or omelets?"

 

The End