Episode 2: “Dealing with the Devil”
Cast of New Characters (for this episode)
Kyle Walgrove: LAPD Detective, early 40’s, brooding demeanor, dark eyes, brawny physique
Heath Alcott: partner to Kyle, firefighter, mid 30’s, surfer boy body, curly blonde locks
Justin Roberts: nephew to Brendon, 16, handsomely tall and thin, delinquent, profane
Vittoria Morelli: roommate to Tristan, early 30’s, sensuous figure, tattooed and pierced
Godfrey Bennington: butler and confidant to Callum Sutcliffe, late 60’s, wise, grey haired
Main Action
Avril Lavigne’s “When You’re Gone” provides the haunting musical ambience and apropos lyrics for the opening of this episode and the following scene:
The pureness of the morning sunlight drifts into the bedroom of Nathan Moynihan. Dressed in his business attire, he sits on his side of the bed, his head cradled gently in his cupped hands. As he raises his head, tears stream down over his cheeks, wetting his crisp, white shirt. He grasps a picture of Brendon, bringing it to his lips and rising from the bed, moves over to where a pile of clothing lies nestled inside the hamper. He opens it, pulling out a shirt that Brendon wore and places it to his nose, inhaling the scent that he has come to know so well—that of his lover’s body.
His emotions totally overwhelm him, causing him to further break down and crouch down into the corner, his tears flowing nonstop and his nose running. I need you, Brendon, he thinks to himself. How am I to go on like this? Now fully lying on the floor, he moves into a fetal position as if hoping to connect with Brendon like an unborn child bonds with its mother through the umbilical cord. Suddenly, the loud peal of the doorbell reverberates into his room. He gets up, automatically wipes down his face with the handkerchief in his blazer pocket, straightens the remainder of his clothing, and rushes out the room and downstairs to open his front door with the last lingering moments of the scene’s song in the background. Handsome Kyle Walgrove, a police detective, stands in the doorway. His dark, penetrating eyes and meditative appearance offer a sense of reassurance to Nathan.
Kyle: Good morning, Nathan. How are you holding up?
Nathan: I’m all right.
Kyle: Your eyes say otherwise. Restless night?
Nathan (gesturing for him to come in): Yeah, it’s hard staying here without him.
Kyle (entering the house): Well, you’ll have company now.
Nathan: So how was he? I hope he wasn’t too much to handle.
Kyle: Nathan, I’m a police officer. I deal with it all the time. And to answer to your question, he’s quite an armload. I should let you know that he was caught smoking pot yesterday.
Nathan (gesturing for him to take a seat): What? Where did he get it? They didn’t call me about it.
Kyle: He’s in with the Hollywood crowd. Kids these days get into lots of stuff. Don’t worry about it. I had a good talk with him. I used to work with NYPD so I know how to be intimidating yet constructive.
Nathan: Why is this happening? He's now my responsibility. With Brendon in the hospital, I know he’d want me to look after him. Where is he?
Kyle: He’s getting his stuff out the car.
Nathan: Thanks again, Kyle.
Kyle: You know all Outrunners take their care of their own.
Nathan: Anything else I should know about Justin? How are his grades?
Kyle: He failed his English exam or rather he didn’t take it. He ditched class that period.
Nathan (collapsing onto his couch): Oh, where are my manners? Would like some coffee or tea?
Kyle: No, I’m all right. We already had breakfast. Heath made his famous blueberry pancakes for us. Hey, we’ll invite you guys over for breakfast tomorrow.
Nathan: How is Heath?
Kyle: He’s doing fine. You know he loves his work, and summers in Los Angeles keep him busy. You know he was one of the first on the scene when the news broke about the fire.
The men hear a shout for help, and they go outside onto the porch to help Justin bring in his luggage. A fetching and lanky young lad, Justin Roberts struggled with the heavy suitcase. Brawny Kyle quickly interceded, and in raising the huge valise, Kyle’s biceps showed beautifully in the sunlight. Kyle’s phone then ringed, and he answered it.
Kyle: That was the station. I have to go, but we should schedule a time to talk, Nathan. Try and think really hard about that evening. Every little bit of information will help us to get this asshole who did this to you and Brendon. Talk with you later… and Justin (pointing his finger at the boy), behave yourself.
Justin: How’s Brendon?
Nathan (voice cracking): He’s the same. But we need to talk about you now and what’s happened for the past two weeks.
Justin (sighing heavily while being led inside): Man, come on!
CALLUM’S HOME, HOLLYCOVE ESTATES
Callum Sutcliffe sat on the verandah of his home in the exclusive community of Hollycove, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands as he looked out at the spectacular view before him. He was thinking of the kiss he had given Nathan Moynihan yesterday…the one which that wretched Allison Trudeau had so inopportunely interrupted. Nathan’s lips had been so soft and tender, like those of Gavin Armitage, his late partner. Callum recalled with delight the first time that he beheld the sight of Nathan Moynihan in his running shorts. It was at the Outrunners meeting at Griffith Park the Tuesday evening nearly three weeks ago when the fire broke.
The seductive tone and lyrics of Garbage’s
“You Look So Fine” plays over the following dream sequence:
Callum languorously leans against the flagpole and turns around to see Nathan Moynihan, the middle-aged muscled stud addressing the group and welcoming all newcomers. Callum raises his hand, announcing his name, whereupon the regular group members acknowledge him. Nathan approaches him and shakes his hand, the moment one of intense tactile sensation, as Callum gets lost in the gaze of Nathan’s penetrating brown eyes. Smiles are briefly exchanged before the group breaks off and begins its various running divisions, but Nathan stays, transfixed and locked in a paralytic moment of sexual intoxication with Callum. He reaches his face forward to give Callum a kiss, their mouths hooked in a torrid coupling of unbridled passion.
Not once caring that their display may be viewed by passersby, Callum reaches for Nathan’s tank top, but instead of lifting it over his head, begins ripping it, the tearing of the fabric an aphrodisiacal resonance for them both. Nathan’s abs exposed, Callum reaches his hands down to Nathan’s shorts and begins slowly drawing them down when suddenly…
His reverie is broken by the entrance of Tristan Bersani coming onto the verandah.
Tristan: I could never tire of this view.
Callum (sotto voce): Yet I’m growing tired of you.
Tristan: The transaction went through beautifully. By the way, I’m sorry about yesterday and how I reacted foolishly in the restaurant.
Callum: Yes, I’m sure you can’t wait to get your commission on the sale of this house.
Tristan: Yeah, well, I’m hoping that you can still get those charges dropped from Dave and Vic. They’re not backing down.
Callum: They hate the paparazzi. It’s as simple as that… not to mention the fact that you secured inappropriate photos of them. For the life of me, I don’t know how you do it. Wouldn’t you be easily discernible if you’re that close up on them in a moment of intimacy? That truly takes some skill.
Tristan: It took some time to master the art, but I also have some high tech gadgets to assist me.
Callum: You’re quite the voyeur, Tristano. No wonder I found these lying on the coffee table out here.
Callum pulls out a pair of binoculars and places them before his eyes, directing them toward a house nestled in an alcove of the mountain. The sharp angle allows him to crisply see the figures of two men inside a house, the drapes pulled up.
Tristan: So I see that you’re spying on Nathan. He arrived back from the hospital last night. It must be difficult on him… not having Brendon around… those two were inseparable. (catching his error) I meant are inseparable.
Callum: Not if I have anything to do with it. Now, who’s the bloke that’s with him?
Tristan (taking the binoculars): By the way, no one says “bloke” here. You’re in America now. You should say “guy.” And that guy that Nathan’s with is named Kyle Walgrove. He’s on the police force and is investigating the Griffith Park arson and the attacks on both Nathan and Brendon.
Callum: Have they found out who’s the culprit?
Tristan: No, but I’m sure that Kyle is over there right now questioning him.
Callum: Who would want to purposely harm Nathan or Brendon? There are rumors that it was a hate crime. I didn’t know that homophobia in America stretched so far to the shores of California, purportedly the most liberal state in this country.
Tristan (placing the binoculars back down): Hatred exists everywhere, Callum, even among your own family and friends. (pause) Hey, there are some handymen in the rooms downstairs. It’s only seven in the morning, and you’ve already got workers here. I have to give you mad props for that, dude. They are like setting up cribs and baby stuff.
Callum: I’m turning the rooms in the western part of the house into a nursery. I have some family that’s coming to visit soon, and I want them to feel comfortable.
Tristan: And they’re bringing a little tyke?
Callum: Oh, yes, he’s a little bundle of joy, and I’m quite fond of him! (suddenly noticing a third figure in the distance). Speaking of youth, who’s the youngster with them?
Tristan: Oh, that’s probably Justin.
Callum: And he is?
Tristan: He’s Brendon’s nephew. His mother—Brendon’s sister—died in a tragic car accident in Minnesota, and he didn’t have any close relatives to look after him. He moved in with his uncle and Nathan just a few weeks ago, but then the fire and the attacks happened. Since both Nate and Brendon were in the hospital, Kyle and his partner Heath, one of the local firefighters, took him into their home.
Callum: Well, the boy looks old enough to take care of himself. How old is he?
Tristan: I think he’s about sixteen. Jailbait if you ask me.
Callum: Shouldn’t he be off for school right now?
Tristan: Yeah, well, Nathan was tutoring him on his college entrance exams. In case you didn’t know, Nathan is the headmaster over Hollycove Preparatory School.
Callum: Oh yes, I’ve heard about it. Many of the celebrities’ children attend there. I’m sure they’re receiving a quality education under Nathan’s administration.
Tristan: I would say so, although Nathan has received some flack lately for wanting to open it more to the common masses. They have some excellent teachers and professors there, and he feels that they could impart their wisdom to some of the children who live beyond the exclusive boundaries of Hollycove, the Hills, and Beverly Hills.
Callum: Hmmm, well, I think in order for him to achieve that goal, he’d need a sizable donation from a willing benefactor.
Tristan (incredulously): You still have money after the purchase of this house?
Callum: Tristano, you’re becoming too informally at ease with me. One should never get into conversations of money, especially with someone who technically has a title of nobility.
Tristan: Ah, yeah, I remember you telling me that you were married to an earl or something.
Callum (snappishly): It was LORD Armitage! His wretched family’s trying to cut me out of what’s rightfully mine. Gavin left me everything as I was his life partner.
Tristan: LIFE partner? You’re only what? 25? 26?
Callum: 27! But it’s a general rule of thumb that British youth are more mature by 10 years than their American counterparts.
Tristan: How old was your partner?
Callum: Gavin would be 45 if he were alive and with me today.
Tristan: Damn, you like ‘em old! You’re into daddies?
Callum: I beg your pardon. I’m not into daddies. Gavin and I shared something special, namely a business relationship that blossomed into something grander. Haven’t you ever had something like that in your life? (suddenly noticing the look of muted bewilderment on Tristan’s face) Oh, yes, of course, you have experienced relationships like that… in your past life as a gigolo.
Tristan: What are you talking about?
Callum: It’s obvious that you still have issues with that part of your life. I was able to piece it together from your reactions at lunch yesterday when you assumed I was sexually hitting on you.
Tristan: Weren’t you? All that touching my hands on the table and talk of exchange…you wanted something out of me.
Callum: I merely desired your help in my plan to secure Nathan Moynihan.
Tristan (laughing): You’re incorrigible.
Callum: In any case, have no fears about my sexual interest in you, for it’s practically nonexistent. You haven’t any substantial wealth or power to command any long term attention from me.
Tristan: You’d be thinking otherwise if you ever see me at “full attention.”
Callum: So care to tell me the bloke who has you on edge?
Tristan: Pardon?
Callum: Yesterday, you were under the impression that someone had sent me to sexually entice you. You kept saying “He sent you, didn’t he?”
Tristan: Uh, Callum, I was just rambling. I had had too much to drink, waiting for you to arrive. Anyway, I have to get back home, but I’ll be in touch with you later today.
Callum: Don’t bother! I won’t be home until this afternoon. I have an appointment at Hollycove Preparatory School.
Tristan: Since when?
Callum: Since about two minutes ago when you told me Nathan works there.
Tristan: Dio Mio!
Callum (winking at him): I must confess, Tristano, you do sound sexy with your Italian, but believe me when I say your God will have nothing to do with my getting Nathan. At most, I’ll allow Him to be a bigger voyeur than you so that He’ll have the delight of watching me sexually have my way with Nathan.
DR. PEYTON ASHLAND’S OFFICE
Dr. Allison Trudeau sits idly in the chair in front of Dr. Peyton Ashland’s desk, staring boringly at his library of books on the back shelf, full of tomes devoted to an endless stream of human neuroses. The door opens, and in comes Peyton, dressed in khakis, a navy shirt, and designer loafers.
Peyton: We’ve got to keep this short. I have an appointment in ten minutes. You said it was urgent and you had to speak with me.
Allison: Look, I don’t mean to pry into your business…
Peyton: But?
Allison: Well, I’m worried about Nathan. He’s back home now, and I know it’s not good for him to live there alone…especially with that viper living next door.
Peyton: Who?
Allison: Your friend Callum Sutcliffe.
Peyton: I can assure you he’s no friend of mine. One of my biggest mistakes! So you’re certain that he bought the house next door to Nathan and Brendon’s? But there’s a ravine between the two estates.
Allison: Yeah, and your point being? Remember Dracula could turn into a bat and fly across distances.
Peyton: And he could also suck you dry. Come to think of it, Callum actually does that quite well, too.
Allison: Spare me the sexual puns, Peyton.
Peyton: Well, if that’s all you’re worried about, then don’t be. I don’t think Callum is a real threat.
Allison: What do you know about this guy? I don’t like him. Could you tell me anything about him that wouldn’t break confidentiality?
Peyton: Allison, I really can’t tell you much more other than he was my patient for a few weeks before he requested a new doctor. And then…
Allison: You slept with him.
Peyton (facetiously): Thanks for finishing my sentence for me. You know if you weren’t lesbian, I’m sure we would have made a great couple.
Allison: Well, according to Callum, Nathan and I would be lovers if not for my Sapphic tendencies. (pausing for his laugh) What were you treating him for?
Peyton: I can see you’re not going to back down.
Allison: Not a chance in hell. I need to know who I’m dealing with.
Peyton: You really think he could be a threat to Nathan and Brendon?
Allison: Well, didn’t he tempt you to sleep with him, breaking with professional ethics?
Peyton: Point taken. Okay, this does not leave this room at all.
Allison: My lips are sealed.
Peyton: Okay. Well, it was about a year ago that I got that grant to pursue some psychiatric studies in the United Kingdom. I was working in one of the best institutions on Harley Street when a colleague suggested that I take this temporary case for this individual who had ties to some noble family.
Allison: The family’s name?
Peyton: I can’t remember. It was some hoity-toity family name. I think it sounded like those expensive French scarves that your girl Chloe loves wearing to the Outrunners autumn and spring balls.
Allison: Hermés?
Peyton: Like I said, I don’t remember the name. Anyway, Callum was married or in a civil partnership with this guy, Lord something-or-other. Apparently, they were out on his yacht in the Mediterranean when a storm came in. Somehow Lord whatever-his-name fell overboard and was lost at sea. The body was never found, but no expense was spared in the search for him.
Allison: So the family suspects Callum of foul play?
Peyton: Well, I don’t know about that, although Callum may have mentioned it in passing. What I do know is that the family is dead-set on keeping Callum’s hands off their money.
Allison: He said something about 80 million pounds. Geez! They must have been a filthy rich family.
Peyton: All I faintly recall was that they were a publishing family. To be honest, Allison, Callum does deserve a hefty share of it. He was their cash cow for the past nine years as their signature novelist who wrote under three different pseudonyms and published books annually under each of them. I think he’s like the second richest British novelist after J.K. Rowling.
Allison: He must be a genius. I cringe to even say that.
Peyton: He’s what the Germans would call a “wunderkind.” He matriculated into Oxford at age fifteen. I think it was there that he met his partner. I think (scratching his head in an attempt to remember) Callum said something about his partner having once been his professor or something to that effect.
Allison: How old is Callum? He’s quite young.
Peyton: I think he’s in his mid-twenties, and I think his partner was nearly twice his age. I haven’t any doubts that true love existed between them. He was all Callum ever talked about in therapy. He was in shock at what had happened on the boat, and it developed into a severe depression. But as the weeks went by—and we’d sometimes have two sessions per week—I think he grew to accept me as a friend who was there to help him through his trying ordeal. But things eventually got out of control during our final sessions when I realized that he was developing amorous feelings for me—a nasty effect of transference, a psychological condition from which I believe he may suffer. But that was almost a year ago, and I’m sure Callum has gotten the help he needs in spite of his revolting arrogance, which could be attributed to his being British.
Allison: I’m telling you he’s going after Nathan, who’s very vulnerable right now, especially with Brendon in the hospital in a coma no less.
Peyton: Why do you have this suspicion anyway?
Allison: Because I saw him kissing Nathan!
Peyton: What? I thought I heard you say something like that yesterday in the restaurant as I was going over the table to check on Tristan’s outburst.
Allison: It’s not what you think. Nathan was asleep at the time, knocked out from the sedative I had given him the night before. You know how he was setting up post next to Brendon’s bedside. Those two are in each other's pocket. Anyway, Callum managed to slither his way into Nathan’s room, and I came in just as he was bending over him, kissing him. So now you see my cause for concern?
Peyton: Duly noted. Well, I’ll speak with him. Feel him out, so to speak. Find out what his intentions are.
Allison: Peyton! Don’t do anything crazy.
Peyton: I’ll go by his place tonight and pay him a little friendly visit. He tends to get spunky with people he doesn’t know… or again maybe that’s just his British ways. I wasn’t there long enough to really understand all their customs. One bite of their food and I was resolved to a nine-month diet of bread and water.
Allison: So that’s how you’ve lost all that weight!
The phone on Peyton’s desk rings. He answers it.
Peyton: Sorry, Allison, my patient is ready. Remember this information stays between us!
Allison (kissing him goodbye): Honestly, it’s not much for me to go on… besides, maybe you’ll be able to get through to him.
Peyton (once the door closes): Yeah, getting through to Callum… the Pope will turn Satanic before that ever happens.
KYLE WALGROVE AND HEATH ALCOTT’S HOME, WEST HOLLYWOOD
Tristan Bersani grabbed onto the shoulders of Heath Alcott, pulling his glistening, sweaty body back onto his erection, Heath’s moans a testament of the enraptured throes of the moment. He reached his head back for Tristan to slip him a passionate kiss, their tongues touching and tingling with excitement. He felt Tristan’s hands wrap around his torso and close in on his erect nipples, twisting them. Heath’s undulating backward pelvic motions reached a feverish pitch, and his moans reached a shattering crescendo just as Tristan achieved orgasm, and both spent bodies collapsed onto each other.
Heath: That was incredible!
Tristan: Thanks, babe! Same time tomorrow?
Heath: Yeah, we won’t have to sneak around so much now that brat Justin is no longer here.
Tristan: What about Kyle?
Heath: What about him? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It’s not like he gives a damn.
Tristan: I guess he’s caught up in the Griffith Park arson and hate crime investigation.
Heath: Yeah, and no time for me.
Tristan: That’s where I come in.
Heath (yanking on the bed sheets): Yeah, well, on that note, I had better get rid of the evidence.
Tristan: Good idea. You should never leave a trail, especially if it’s semen.
Heath moves up to Tristan, placing his hand on the flaccid flesh of his penis, and looks seductively into his warm, dark eyes.
Heath: Want to have another go in the shower?
Tristan: No, I’ve got to run. I’ve got an appointment later today to try and sell another home. You know I finally sold that Hollycove mansion to Callum Sutcliffe from our group.
Heath: He’s hot… I wonder if he’s into multiple partners.
Tristan: Yeah, if one of them happens to be Nathan Moynihan.
Heath: Good luck in trying to score one out of him. Nathan hasn’t given me the time of day. Besides, he and Brendon are always together.
Tristan: Besides, Callum already incurred the wrath of Allison.
Heath: Yikes! I wouldn’t want to be him.
Tristan: Anyway, gotta jet! See you later! (spanking Heath’s exposed bottom)
HOLLYCOVE PREPARATORY SCHOOL, HEADMASTER MOYNIHAN’S OFFICE
There is a knock on Headmaster Nathan Moynihan’s door. Upon getting his approval to enter, his secretary Drusilla enters and announces that he has a visitor.
Nathan: Is he on my calendar?
Drusilla: No, but he insists on meeting with you. I informed him that you have just returned to work, and were presently not seeing any new clients. He speaks with an accent and may be related to one of the foreign students here. At any rate, he adamantly wants to make a generous donation to the school.
Nathan: I’m sorry. I forgot to ask for his name.
Drusilla: It sounded like he said Column Sutcliffe.
Nathan: Oh, you mean Callum. The first syllable of his name sounds like the CAL in SOCAL. I know him vaguely from Outrunners. Please send him in.
Drusilla: Yes, Mr. Moynihan.
Callum shortly thereafter enters the office.
Nathan (extending his hand): Callum, it’s nice to meet you again. (pause) I need my hand back, Callum.
Callum: Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me.
Nathan: Please take a seat. Drusilla, my secretary, informs me that you wish to make a donation.
Callum: Yes, that’s correct. I had heard through the grapevine of your efforts to secure funds for expanding some of Hollycove Prep’s services to the greater Los Angeles youth. I understand that you’ve incurred numerous protests.
Nathan: Well, you know how the class system works—being from Britain and all. While it generally is not the case in most parts of America, it can be quite flagrant here in southern California.
Callum: I was hoping to get onto your calendar—perhaps for lunch soon—so that we could discuss my making a donation to your cause. I’ve always been a charitable person, and I would love to continue that tradition in this country.
Nathan: That’s very thoughtful of you.
Callum: Don’t mention it. Just provide me with a time and date, and we can work out the particulars.
Nathan: Well, my calendar is a mess right now, having been out of commission for the past two weeks. How about lunchtime today? We could have coffee. I’ve got to run into town to look in on Brendon.
Callum (noticing the photo of Nathan and Brendon on the desk): I don’t really know you two that well, but you look like a lovely couple, and I wish him a speedy recovery.
Nathan: So let’s meet at the Starbucks on Harrison St. and Lennon Blvd. 12:30 work for you?
Callum: I’ve nothing better to do at that time. See you then, Mr. Moynihan.
Nathan: Please call me Nathan or Nate. Goodbye.
Callum rises, shakes hands with Nathan once more—remembering to release it this time, and then leaves his office. On his way into the parking lot, he notices the lanky frame of Justin Roberts climbing over the stone fence, indulging in yet another truant activity as he races down the street, away from the academy and toward the bustling life of Hollywood.
Callum (to himself): My day just keeps getting better.
TRISTAN BERSANI’S APARTMENT, WEST HOLLYWOOD
Vittoria Moretti heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. She hopped up from the bed in her cramped West Hollywood apartment, stumbling over the shoes and clothes scattered over her floor. When she went into the main room, she stumbled over her roommate Tristan Bersani’s shoes.
Vittoria: Hello. Oh, it’s you… I told you not to ever call me on the land line. (pause) Yeah, I got some. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.
She rushed into the bathroom, applied lipstick to her voluptuous lips and then some mascara and eye shadow to round out the exotic beauty of her face. Her nosering and the eyebrow piercing both further lent an alien impression to her overall Mediterranean features. Her smooth, olive skin had been mottled with several tattoos, most notably an image of a multiple-headed snake with prominent fangs. Putting the final touches to her façade, Vittoria grabbed a brown paper bag, threw it into her purse, and hurriedly left the apartment.
HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD, NOONTIME
Chloe Dalton exited the deli, clutching a sandwich concocted of roast beef, pickles, peanut butter, and Tabasco sauce. The strange food cravings that she had read about in the baby magazines were starting to materialize, and while she could have found the ingredients at home, she desired to get out and enjoy the bright summer day. She sat outside in the chair, opting to eat al fresco so that she could watch all the various, strange people parade down Hollywood Boulevard, especially this time of year as it was high tourist season.
Suddenly, her vision honed in on a youthful pair. A young man was standing on the corner, talking with a luscious wanton-looking woman whose midriff was exposed, an awful image of a many-headed serpent burning into Chloe’s mind. She hated snakes, and the sight of the tattoo nearly made her want to vomit. She even recalled with horror her runs in the park when would happen upon dead snakes. She saw the boy reach in his pocket, withdraw a $100 note, slip it to the hand of the woman, before she dexterously slipped him a paper bag. Then, an unexpected gust of wind blew the bag over in Chloe’s direction, its careless movement cut short by the leg of her chair. The young man rushed over to her table.
Justin: Excuse me. (bending down to pick the bag)
Chloe: Don’t I know you? Oh yeah, you’re Brendon’s nephew.
Panic-stricken, Justin picked up the bag, but another gust of wind turned it upside down, its contents falling out onto the pavement. Chloe instantly saw the small plastic sandwich bag with some grassy substance sealed inside and immediately knew it was marijuana. Justin snatched up the marijuana, the paper bag, and quickly ran away to the sound of Chloe shouting for him to come back.
CALLUM’S HOME, HOLLYCOVE ESTATES
Dr. Peyton Ashland arrived at the Sutcliffe house in Hollycove and rang the doorbell. An elderly gentleman dressed in servant livery answered the door. Peyton reasoned he must be Godfrey the butler, given Callum’s description of him as far as Peyton could recall from the therapy sessions months ago.
Peyton: I’m here to see Mr. Sutcliffe.
Godfrey: He’s been expecting you.
Peyton: I made no reservations. This is an impromptu visit.
Godfrey: His Lordship knows that.
As Godfrey leaves the room, Peyton wonders how Callum’s in-laws would feel knowing that he was referred to as “His Lordship.” Callum shortly enters the sitting room.
Callum: So you came at last! I figured it wouldn’t take you too long. The master bedroom’s upstairs.
Peyton: You must be confused. I didn’t come here for sex. I came for a civil conversation. By the way, nice place you’ve got. It must have cost you a pretty penny.
Callum: Why are you here, Peyton? Did that bitch send you to check on me?
Peyton: Who? Allison?
Callum: That’s the only bitch I know besides you… but then again you’re usually the bitch when you feel like being submissive.
Peyton (ignoring his remark): She has fair reason to feel that you’re after Nathan Moynihan.
Callum: Why doesn’t she just butt out? I read in the LA Times that Home Depot is having a summer sale. Shouldn’t she be there instead of in Nathan’s business?
Peyton: Are you really going after him?
Callum: What if I am? I always get what I want, and I’m not going to allow you or Allison to get in my way.
Peyton: She’s determined to stop you at all costs.
Callum: Then perhaps you should warn her about me. You know that I play hard.
Peyton: Listen, Callum, clearly you’ve decided on staying here in Los Angeles. It would be a good idea for you to get to know more people other than Nathan Moynihan. There are lots of handsome guys here, many of them of all ages. Just leave Nathan out of your selections.
Callum: Did you ever try to fuck him?
Peyton: Callum! How dare you ask such a question!
Callum: Allison has referenced that many have tried to break them apart but have failed, yet I’ve got both fate and fortune on my side. Besides, it won’t be long before Nathan will need someone to tend to his carnal yearnings as Brendon can no longer satisfy him. I’m practically competing with a corpse!
Peyton: Not only are you incorrigible, but you’re also an insensitive bastard! You should know that Brendon will wake from that coma, and when he does, he and Nathan will be stronger than ever!
Callum: Then I suppose I shall have to see to it that Mr. Roberts doesn’t wake from the coma.
Peyton: That sounds like a threat, Callum. You should be careful about that. If anything happens to Brendon, I’ll know it was you. I should alert the authorities of your intentions.
Callum: Oh, my dear, sweet, Peyton, have you lost all your brains? You wouldn’t dare go to the police with any information about me.
Peyton: Why not? You’re practically making death threats, and as a psychiatric doctor, it’s my duty to protect not only my patients but those people connected with them.
Callum: So now you wish to be ethical? You weren’t that way when you were fucking my brains out. You breathe one word of anything I say to the police, and I’ll tell the whole medical community about your little indiscretion.
Peyton: Callum, that was nearly a year ago. Besides, it would be your word against mine, and given your psychiatric history coupled with the fact you have a noble family armed against you, I don’t think I’d have any trouble convincing the medical community to forgive me—that is if they believe your story in the first place.
Callum maintains his poise, and his face contorts into a wide grin.
Peyton: Why are you smiling like the Cheshire cat?
Callum: As usual, Peyton, you underestimate me. I have your career in the palm of my hand. You really didn’t think that I would pass up the opportunity to relive our brief moments of erotic bliss. I went to the trouble of having our first session recorded for my own personal viewing pleasure. (walking over to this safe, entering a combination, and extracting something from it) It’s on this DVD.
Callum inserted it into a portable DVD player lying on the table and pressed “Play.” The sounds of loud groans, deep sighs, and sharp whimpers followed by sexual expletives filled the room. Peyton stared in disbelief at the image on the small screen—that of him completely naked with Callum, engaging in an indisputable act of steamy carnality.
Callum (staring at Peyton’s groin): Careful, Dr. Ashland, you’re getting excited down there. It’s pretty hot stuff, isn’t it?
Peyton: You scheming bastard!
Callum (pressing “stop” and extracting the DVD): Now that we’re on the same page, I think you’ll realize that I’m not going to let you get in the way, either. If you do, this hits Youtube within ten minutes, and I guarantee you’ll lose your license along with the majority of your friends, although I’m sure you’ll gain a legion of online sex fans.
Peyton: You won’t get away with this, Callum.
Callum (putting the DVD back into the safe): I already have. I trust that you can see yourself out. Oh, and the next time you show up, it better be to make a sequel to this little gem.
Peyton reluctantly moved to the door, and then he suddenly turned around, lunged for Callum, grabbing him by the neck and slamming his body back against the wall.
Peyton: Listen here, you naïve dumb fuck! You had better stop with the games. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you.
Callum (talking through a constricted windpipe): You always were one for rough sex.
At that moment, Godfrey entered the room. Shocked by the scene, he rushes up to the pair, and pries Peyton away from Callum, who’s gasping for breath when finally released.
Callum: You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Peyton! Now get the hell out of my house.
Peyton: I’ll leave but just know that this isn’t over… not by a long shot!
Callum (speaking against the sound of the slamming door): That’s right, Peyton, it’s not over. Your problems are just beginning along with those for Allison and anyone else who gets in my bloody way!
HOLLYWOOD HOSPITAL, BRENDON ROBERTS’ ROOM
A dark-covered trench coated person walks into the room where Brendon Roberts is lying. The shadowy figure traipses over to the recumbent patient and grasps a pillow, suspending it over the face of the comatose patient. The pillow lowers…
TO BE CONTINUED…
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