The Augustine Murders - Season 2, Episode 5

II.5

                   “Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”

Christopher MARLOWE

Hero & Leander

February 10^th, 1990 – Saturday

  Scott always felt “electric” after a long, good massage – like a cat. The fabric of his tight jeans created little sparks as he walked on campus grounds, his thighs rubbing against each other sometimes. The air was a bit foggy in the afternoon, but his clean, smooth body was all warm. 
  The young journalist didn’t even need his leather coat, right now. He would only wear it because it looked great on him, and he kept looking at his own reflection as he came to the main hall, with its windows closed and darkened rooms on ground floor.

– “Someone’s going to get some, tonight...”

  His thoughts were still hazy – or sweaty, since he could only think about sex, at the moment. Scott had come close to the students’ dorms, wandering with no particular purpose, except to release some of his tension and frustration.

  The answer to his problem was easy to be found. He would go back to his hotel after dinner, meet Tom in the lobby or call him later, at his desk. Scott didn’t remember if he was on duty that night, but they would come up with something to spend a few hours together.

  It was always more exciting when Tom was supposed to be working at the front desk, instead of going full frontal – his manager could find out – he could be in trouble – they could get caught. Scott enjoyed that thought too. Tom was also resourceful: he had rushed into his room, a few days ago, with two large boxes full of liquors for the hotel’s mini-bars. A maid had been staying in some room for too long, with her cart outside...

  That was a night to remember: wild, loud and drunk – exactly what Scott was wishing for, right now!

  Still, something was missing in that abundance – in spite of all the excitement, all that forbidden sex and fun, and mystery... Scott couldn’t put a label on it, but he wasn’t fully satisfied, even when he was clearly full!

– “What’s that now?”

  There was a small group of people leaving the dorms. Scott recognized Mr Porkenham and Mr Swayn following a tall, corpulent, well-dressed man with two men in black at his sides – obviously bodyguards. 

– “That’s Robert Desmond, our mayor.”

  Scott stopped and turned, startled. Mr Scupper was behind him. He had not noticed him, gathering dead wood behind thick, large bushes.

– “I was just thinking that his face looked familiar.”

– “That’s one of his main assets. I’m pretty sure that “Diamond” Rob got elected just because he looked like he had already been in office all his life. Some people look the part even before they rehearse for it...”

– “Diamond Rob?”

– “Most people refer to him that way”, Mr Scupper shrugged.

– “What was he doing here?”

– “Mr Swayn has obtained local funding to get our auditorium fully restored.”

– “You have an auditorium?”

– “There used to be one, at least. Now it’s barely more than a huge store room. It was almost destroyed in the great fire of 1932. Only the outside walls still stand, now.”

– “So it’s been empty for almost sixty years. It must be a ruin!”

– “Only if you get inside... It’s still our largest building. Does it look anything like a ruin?”

  Mr Scupper pointed to the great dome behind the boys’ dorms. It was built with the same bricks and white tones as the main halls. Scott had never been further than the kitchens, but he couldn’t imagine that such a vast space was currently empty.

  Somehow, it reminded him how he had been troubled by the atmosphere in Saint Augustine Bells. So many things looked grand, old and respectable, but felt strangely fake at the same time – like landscapes painted on large canvases, or elaborated sets meant for a play. Scott was sometimes scared for no reason, like a man walking into a trap – a maze...

  Thoughts kept coming to his mind, making his ears ring like whirlwind. Was this only “make believe” – or worse: an empty shell?

– “Are you feeling all right?”

– “Huh?... Yes, I’m fine.”

– “You just turned pale, as if...”

– “...What?”

– “Don’t mind that”, Mr Scupper smiled. “I was going to say: as if you had just seen a ghost...”

■ ■ ■

  Michael Astern’s death had been handled really well by Mr Swayn, in terms of public relations. There was a big check attached to Senator Astern’s letter of thanks for the ceremony in the memory of his son, so much that the school’s budget was now flushed with federal money.

  Mr Porkenham had a few major projects, which had been postponed for years. He could finally get things done. The mayor’s visit was also a good sign. Biberton would certainly invest more money into their school. He could think big... And for a man whose entire business revolved around “thinking big”, it meant that the sky was the limit – if there was any!

  Scott got to discuss what the board of directors and administrators had told the staff with Mr Scupper, then with Mr Wingrave.

  Rick was in a good mood. He could hope for a substantial pay raise, and new equipment for his duties as head of security.

– “Starting with a new uniform?” Scott teased with a smile.

– “I wish! These pants have shrunk, just like you said!”

– “They look the same to me, honestly...”

– “I can hardly get them closed, these days. Even my thighs feel super tight in the afternoon!”

– “Oh... I thought that you were jogging every day.”

– “You’re right, I do. I guess that’s it. I can’t get myself to walk in these things, sometimes...”

  In truth, Rick couldn’t get up from his chair without help, after a long morning in his office, stuffing his face full of pastries which the students kept providing in the hope of getting some unregistered time out every now and then. The man may be a bit stronger, but he looked fatter than ever...

  Scott would never blame him for the way he ate, since he was eating about as much as Rick – and he took advantage of the students’ bribes just the same. It meant five to six thousand dollars on a “regular” day, after all!

– “Oh... Thinking about security equipment...”

– “Yes?”

– “I have something for you. Off the record, right?”

  Rick handed a big carton box to Scott, with three videotape cassettes in it.

– “Is this...”

– “Video feed from the night when Mickey died.”

– “Thanks!”

– “Don’t thank me... There’s nothing on tape. You’ve already seen the boy’s last appearance on camera, and when the maid found his body. Everything else is... well, just looking at an empty hallway.”

  Scott didn’t insist. He was convinced that there was more to it than just static, in spite of Rick’s lack of interest. He was smiling and excited as he took the bus back to his hotel.

■ ■ ■

February 11^th, 1990 – Sunday

– “Woof... Hello, world!”

  The hotel bathroom was almost like a steam room when Scott came in there, naked. He had turned every button to the max, so his whirlpool tub was hot and toasty, with its surface gently bubbling with foam.

– “Perfect...” Scott praised himself, as he sat on the edge of the hot tub, leaning back to fully enjoy the water jets behind his back.

  There were a few small bottles of various liquors next to him, under the mirror. Scott had not only raided the minibar, last night: since Tom had brought such a large supply of bottles to his bedroom, he kept more than sixty of those, stashed in his suitcase.

– “Just what I need... I could spend all day like this.”

  Scott closed his eyes, resting his chin on his chest. Doing shots on full bottles like this, and keeping them in a line on the side of his tub made him feel like a giant, looking over an ocean of warm, agitated waters...

  He remained silent for a long while, clearing his mind, losing focus even on how good he was feeling right now – sweating abundantly and playing with the water as it kept springing and bubbling around him.

 It was a truly large tub – but Scott wouldn’t share it with anyone!

– “I guess it’s just the right size for me...”

  The big boy ran a hand through his wet hair, which felt a bit flat on his forehead – then he opened his eyes and looked at his own belly, glistening with sweat. If he wanted to feel like a giant, he didn’t have to look further than this...

  Scott had put on almost 30 pounds in three weeks.

– “Oh well... I guess I’ll...”

  He stopped as the phone was ringing in the bedroom. Scott had to rush out of the tub and bathroom. Leaving that tropical comfort was enough to put him in a bad mood, so his morning “Hello” didn’t sound exactly welcoming.

– “Who is it?”

– “It’s me, Will... Is this a wrong time to call?”

– “No, it’s...” Scott looked at the clock. It was almost 11AM. “Okay...”

– “Wow... Good morning, sunshine!” Will commented sarcastically.

– “What is this about?”

– “It’s about you. Isn’t everything...”

– “What about me?”

– “Mr Horn will call you tomorrow, or in a few days... He’s not really happy with your work so far.”

– “Why?”

– “You ask him... He must be thinking that you’ve been staying in Biberton long enough.”

– “Okay... Then I will let him know that I’ve made some really good progress lately. As a matter of fact, I am going to interview Michael’s mother tomorrow.”

– “Mrs. Astern? Are you kidding? She never receives anyone.”

– “And I’m not going to Washington. She will be here tomorrow.”

– “Huh...” Will paused, clearly impressed. “I guess this will buy you some time.”

– “I should hope so!” Scott concluded, a bit abruptly.

  He was getting cold, standing naked in his bedroom, when he could be soaking in the hot tub – but that wasn’t the kind of information he was ready to share with Will...

– “Okay, then... Consider yourself warned. Mr Horn has lost interest in this story about Michael’s mysterious death. If you play your cards right...”

– “I’ll think about a way to sell it to him. Thanks for the heads up, Will.”

– “You’re welcome... And what about you “playing your cards right”, by the way?”

– “What do you mean?”

– “Don’t even try to weasel your way out of this one! You know what I mean... or who, to be more precise.”  

  Scott couldn’t help a smug grin.

– “Right... A certain blonde doctor, built like a big teddy bear playing rugby?”

– “That’s the one. So, do you keep him as a trophy on your mantelpiece?”

– “I’ll tell you when I do...”

– “Come on... Tell me something.”

– “Let’s just say that I’m keeping this one under the vest...”

– “Damn, you pervert... I hate you!”

■ ■ ■

  Will’s advice was not to be ignored. Scott had been enjoying himself for three weeks, and it made sense that he would have to go back to work, sooner or later – but he wanted to keep on enjoying himself!

  It was particularly wicked from him to mention that he had a date with Phil that night, but it was the truth and he couldn’t resist making Will so green with envy that the photographer would have a frog in his throat for days...

  Scott thought a bit further about his dinner deal with Phil. He had not been very honest about the whole thing, since Phil had actually guessed right about the amount of weight he had already put on. The young doctor was no sore loser, at least, and he had agreed to treat Scott at the most expensive restaurant in Biberton – which meant French cuisine.

  Phil had promised him that the food was really tasty and not unbearably fancy. Scott expected from a Southern guy who clearly didn’t belong to the upper class. 

  Eating well was the least Scott could do. He was getting himself prepared for a real feast. The young journalist had eaten a large breakfast at the Paddington hotel’s buffet – as usual – but no lunch, so he wouldn’t spoil his appetite. This allowed him to take a long nap in his whirlpool tub, too, which was the best way to keep him happy – and make him hungry!

– “I guess this will cost him a bit...” Scott rubbed his round, soft belly. “Oh well, he already made it clear that he likes a man with a good appetite...”

  It was almost 4PM when Scott finally got dressed – nice, white T-shirt – a deep blue shirt with a light metallic sheen to it that looked great on him – blue jeans... not too tight – the right pair of shoes to go with his black leather coat...

  Scott looked at his hair in the mirror again – bleached and spiky on top, well combed on the sides, just the way he liked. He was perfectly clean-shaven, with the right touch of cologne to make a good impression. Scott was quite satisfied. If he could look so appealing to himself, the man who would say no to him was yet to be born!

  As he was about to leave, the young journalist took the last cassette and put it in a pocket of his coat. It was no small treasure, and obtaining it from the school would certainly make him look even more successful to Phil.

– “Let’s go for it...”

■ ■ ■

  It was a bit early, but Scott was supposed to meet Phil at Saint Augustine Bells, and he could always find something interesting on a Sunday, with no class for the students, and little to do on the side. It was more likely that the boys would be opened to discussion. Scott was hoping to unveil some of the school’s mysteries that way. 

  Michael’s body was found on a Sunday morning, for instance...

  Unfortunately for the young journalist, there was no group of students outside. The weather was still foggy, and a bit too cold for their taste. Scott could hardly blame them, thinking about his hot tub and its deliciously bubbly massage effect. That was enough to keep him tingly all day long...

– “Okay... Plan B.”

  Scott took a notebook from inside his leather coat. He unfolded one of his handwritten maps of the school’s buildings – more specifically, the dormitories next to the chapel.

  He kept coming back to that place, secretly hoping to find where Father Knox took the boys who had to be “punished” for one reason or another. It was one of the mysteries around Saint Augustine Bells that didn’t revolve around Michael’s death – or maybe there was a connection to it... Scott had to find out.

– “Where do these boys end up?” He kept thinking. “And what happens to them in that darkened place?”

  Even with a pretty detailed map in his hands, Scott felt lost like a rat in a maze, turning right and left with no real purpose – going from one corridor to the next, looking for slightly narrower hallways, as he remembered what path Father Knox had taken.

  Scott’s memories were not exactly accurate, so he was trying to focus on a few clues: dim lights, working with a timer, dead end...

  In spite of all his efforts, Scott could see no alteration in the light, and there were timers pretty much everywhere in the building.

– “This is just impossible... I haven’t been dreaming about it.”

  Evidence kept proving him wrong. Everything around him was familiar, with these clean surfaces and repetitive patterns – door casings, chair rails, crown moldings, carpets, paintings on the walls with no personality whatsoever – but nothing was quite the way he expected. It was enough to make a guy mad, especially after he had spent so much time around that place.

– “This isn’t a dream... Come on. It’s not a dream...”

  Scott could feel his pulse going faster as he kept walking and walking with no sense of direction. His map was completely useless, at this point. He was lost.

  Then everything changed. All the lights went black around Scott, and there was no way for him to switch them on.

– “Great! Just great...”

  The power must have broken down, but the situation turned from inconvenient to downright strange: Scott saw a dim light in the next corridor. His eyes were getting accustomed to the dark, and he walked in that direction, with his heart leaping in his chest.

  Just then, he heard some distant mechanism and found himself facing a group of boys in uniforms, slowly guided by Father Knox.

– “Oh! it’s you, Scott...” The old man saluted him. “What were you doing here, my son?”

– “I was... Huh, I was lost.”

– “Obviously... Well, feel free to join our little flock.”

  The boys around him weren’t so “little” – and they looked like livestock more than anything else: five young pigs, overfed to the point of standing with their shirts opened to the last button, ruffled jackets, bloated faces and a sleepy gaze.

  Scott didn’t say a word as he followed them on their way out. He felt shocked and relieved at the same time. He had not been dreaming any of this. There was a secret room in that building, somewhere close, devoted to fattening these boys at full speed...

  A thought came to him. Scott pretended that his shoelaces were untied and paused for a moment around the corner. There, he marked the baseboard with his key – a discrete sign he could look for, when he would come back. And he was determined to come back.

  Father Knox was leading the boys to some other room. The lights were back to normal, and he opened the door to a large room with tall window panes looking over the park. It was Spartan and almost empty, like a military hospital with six beds. Each bed was equipped with brown leather bands and restrains.

– “Time for a good nap, boys. Come on, come on...”

  The boys didn’t offer much resistance as he took them by the shoulders to get them to bed, one after the next. Scott noticed that they looked exhausted, even more than they looked stuffed. They must have been eating for hours on end...

– “Would you mind helping me, Scott?”

– “Sure...”

  Scott had certainly not expected to help a young student take off his vest and shirt, help him to sit down and lie down on his bed, tuck him in – then bind his wrists and ankles to the bedpost, just as Father Knox did with another boy.

  With their stomachs full and distended to the point of bursting like piñatas, they didn’t mind taking a nap... Being forced to lean forward or backwards made a few boys utter loud and long belches.

– “BUUUUUUURRRRRRRRP !”

  There was no doubt that these boys would engage in some contest to establish who could outbelch his comrades – going for louder, lower, longer and stronger noises, like regular teenagers.

  Only Scott couldn’t accept their current situation as “regular”. He couldn’t help comparing the size and shape of their bellies to Michael’s, when he had first seen the dead boy’s body lying on a table, at the morgue...

  Father Knox was closing the door behind him as they were out of the room.

– “Forgive me, Father... Could you explain something to me?”

– “Of course. What is weighing on your mind, my son?”

  That was just the right choice of words to distract Scott. The tall journalist only hesitated for a moment.

– “What just happened in here?”

– “We only put five of our students to sleep. They will feel better in a few hours.”

– “Why did we have to bind their hands and feet?”

– “Merely a precaution. They can get pretty violent, if you lower your guard.”

– “It sure looks like some kind of punishment...”

– “You could call it disciplinary action. But that’s really no punishment.”

  Scott tried not to think about the kind of “punishment” they applied in Saint Augustine Bells...

– “Of course, they are grounded. You know what these five young hoods did, only two days ago.”

– “No...”

– “So you haven’t heard about the attack on one of our guards? He’s still in the hospital.”

– “Oh? Right, Mr Wingrave told me about it.”

– “I see...” Father Knox smiled. “Of course, you would never picture these sleepy boys breaking a man’s arm, would you?”

– “Not at the moment. They’re quite harmless for now.”

– “That’s right.”

  They were leaving the dormitories. The sun was slowly setting down, and the fog was getting thicker around the buildings. Father Knox took a deep breath, as the air was fresh and invigorating.

– “Men are sheep, you know. Especially young men... They need a shepherd.”

– “Right”, Scott nodded. “I see where you’re going with that.”

– “Do you, really?” Father Knox turned to face him. “Naturally, Jesus was a good shepherd. Did you know that historical evidence shows that he never actually grew a beard?”

– “Huh... No. I had no idea. Why is that important?”

– “It was actually important for his disciples, when they told stories about him. A full beard was a sign of maturity and power in the Middle East. Their Messiah had to sport a beard, so the apostles could preach in a more convincing manner.”

– “Okay...”

– “Times have changed, of course... Look at the cherubs! A kerūb used to be a fierce and mighty angel, a soldier of God. They were represented with the head of a king, the body of an ox and the wings of an eagle. That’s as far as you can get from the crying, pouty piglets you see in our chapel... If I had to preach with pictures today, Jesus would be tall and athletic, wearing a pair of jeans, a tight T-shirt, with cow-boy hat and boots, a well-fed belly and a full trucker’s beard!”

– “Wow...”

  Scott secretly admitted that he wouldn’t mind being caught praying to a God like that – Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Devilish thoughts kept coming to his mind about such a divine threesome...

– “You need the right shepherd for the right flock.” Father Knox continued. “That was true two thousand years ago and it still applies to our world, today. We are always looking for leaders who look the part: determined, commanding, reassuring.”

– “...Fat?”

– “Well...” Father Knox pondered, “Certainly not skinny! We’re doing our boys a favor by fattening them up like this. They will grow rounder and softer, slow and heavy. The boys in this wild bunch will finally be at peace with themselves. Then you know how it goes: look confident, inspire confidence.”

– “That’s true...”

  Even as he agreed with Father Knox, Scott couldn’t forget that one of their students had recently died, being stuffed in a similar manner – if that wasn’t exactly the same...

– “I guess you’re also doing them a favor... by keeping them safe from some other attempt to make them grow really large, really fast.”

  Father Knox looked puzzled.

– “Are you referring to that story they keep talking about?”

– “If you mean Ian’s ghost, then so do I.”

  The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.

– “Oh well...” Father Knox chuckled. “If you want to put a name on it.”

– “You don’t believe in ghosts?”

– “I’m a priest, young man...” He smiled. “If I didn’t believe in the existence of an afterlife, I wouldn’t be here.”

– “You didn’t sound too convinced about this.”

– “I am willing to believe that some people get judged and punished for their actions, and that their spirits may be bound to Earth until they are forgiven...”

– “All right, then. But what about evil spirits?”

– “You don’t have to be a Christian to observe that there are evil forces at work in Nature and mankind.”

– “I’m not discussing philosophic stuff here...”

– “What would you like to know, then?”

– “Do you think that, maybe, Ian’s ghost was responsible for Michael Astern’s death?”

  Scott’s question felt a bit too direct, almost blunt for a man of the cloth working in Saint Augustine Bells... Father Knox still took it well, and offered to share his thoughts with the young journalist.

– “Would you follow me to his bedroom?”

– “Why?” Scott wondered. “I thought it was still closed by the Police.”

– “Come on, it’s been weeks. Sheriff Maxwell was there yesterday to remove the locks. But it’s still unoccupied.”

– “Okay... So?”

– “Michael was Jewish. I guess you already knew that. He was a brilliant young man, and we had some very interesting talks, every once in a while. We came to agree on a few important things, like the fact that we keep praying for an eternal life when we don’t even know what to do with this one.”

– “I see...”

  Scott wasn’t quite ready to follow a priest on such subjects.

– “During the last few days, maybe a week before he died, Michael came to me to talk to someone he could trust. He was nervous and agitated. I was also under the impression that he was depressed, with mood swings ranging from self-pity to anger... Then he told me that something was threatening him, something he couldn’t figure out.”

– “A threat over his life?”

– “Later evidence would point that way, don’t you think?”

– “Well... yes.”

– “Michael didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t even believe in most legends. With all his intelligence, he could only analyze things, put them on a dissection table under the cold light of reason.”

– “You mean to say that he had no faith.”

– “Exactly.”

– “And... This would be the reason why he died?”

– “I didn’t say that, but it’s a thought not to be dismissed...”

  They were standing by the door, in front of the chapel. Father Knox looked a bit tired, after another long day. Sunday had to be the busiest day of the week for him, just as it was Scott’s laziest day...

– “Why did you want me to go to Michael’s bedroom?”

– “Some students keep claiming that you can still hear noises like munching and guzzling, gulping down, distant burping and so on, all coming from inside his room.”

– “Oh...”

– “Who could pretend that it isn’t so? It’s a dormitory, after all. If these so-called distant noises don’t come from his bedroom, they are uttered from the room next door...”

– “Of course. Someone should listen more carefully, to make sure...”

– “Would you be willing to do it?”

  Scott was startled by the question. It felt like a genuine offer.

– “How would I do that?”

– “Easy, just spend the night in his bedroom. You could sleep in his bed, I don’t see why it should be frowned upon.”

– “Huh... I don’t know, really...”

– “Why? Are you afraid that you might... see a ghost?”

  Father Knox had come much closer to Scott, who only realized then that he was blushing deeply – but maybe not for the reason he would tell. This was a really tempting offer, and the young journalist was struggling not to say yes right away. The handsome black priest pulled him out of his hesitation with a clear, sympathetic laugh.

– “Very good, young man!” He patted Scott on his shoulder. “You are willing to believe in a ghost you don’t see, and you feel more comfortable not being in its presence... Saint Thomas might have learned a few things from you. Ha ha!”

■ ■ ■

  Scott wasn’t feeling too reassured after his talk with Father Knox. Sitting on the couch in the doctor’s waiting room and watching the video from the VHS cassette he had brought was like a breath of fresh air.

  There was a TV set with a recorder for Phil’s patients – probably to keep them waiting reasonably patiently. Scott was interested in his opinion about the last moments on tape.

– “Do you notice anything I should know about?”

– “I don’t know... From what I can see here, everything happened just as Mr Porkenham communicated to everyone.”

  Phil was focusing on the way people kept coming in and out of frame. He had to rewind again.

– “I believe that Mr Porkenham and Mr Wingrave have missed something.”

– “Okay...” Phil started reading again. “What did you have in mind?”

– “Nothing in particular. Just something...”

  Scott didn’t know where to look, because he was convinced that there could be something or someone that was there when it shouldn’t have – and something that was missing on frame which was brought later to the crime scene.

  After another five minutes of film, Phil paused to rewind again. Then he only offered a suggestion.

– “I think you’re right...”

– “What did we miss?”

– “Almost nothing that could be caught on camera... Of course, we have focused entirely on that. Now, what if we pay attention to the sound?”

– “But there’s no soundtrack!”

– “That’s right. Real clues are never actually visible until you put them under the correct light. If you turn off the sound of your TV, what you see is silenced, but it does not become dumb.”

– “Okay... Let’s go silent, then. We won’t feel dumb.”

– “Look at this scene. You know that an explosion is violent and loud, but when you see windows breaking, walls trembling and a big bolt of light on camera, you are still able to guess that something exploded, even off screen...”

– “Huh... Interesting. And how does it apply to our video?”

– “Look at the final five minutes.”

  Phil started reading after “8:16AM”.

– “So the maid comes in. Nothing dramatic yet... Students passing by in their pajamas... Then it changes suddenly. They all gather at the door, other bedroom doors are opened, and every boy on that level rushes to the victim’s door... The maid must have been screaming.”

– “Sure, but we already knew that.”

– “Right. Now, just look at the door next to the victim’s... The maid screams, everyone in the hall is startled and come to see what just happened, others are following. And now, only now, this boy next door gets out and joins the crowd.”

  Scott could see that door opening, close to the camera, and a very tubby boy step into the hall, looking drowsy. He looked strangely familiar. Where was the last time Scott had seen him?

– “Is that all there is to be seen?”

– “Dan should have been one of the first boys there, and he came up last.”

– “I guess.”

– “He should have been out of his room much sooner.”

– “You don’t think he’s just...” Scott was about to say “too fat to run”, but he didn’t feel like calling the boy fat, for some reason, so he said “...a bit slow?”

– “You could say that. But look at the other door next to Michael’s. Do you see how it goes on that side of his room?”

  That bedroom was further down the hall, and there was a crowd of chubby, agitated boys standing in front of it.

– “I can’t see a thing. All those boys are hiding it completely.”

– “At eye level, unfortunately, yes.”

– “What do you mean?”

– “Look at the top of the door... There, it’s only getting opened now. That’s even later than on the other side.”

– “So... what does it tell us?”

– “It means that Dan... I mean Daniel Hilton... and Owen Dickson stand out in this crowd.”

– “I don’t even see Owen...”

– “There he is, with his best friend Brad. Bradford Dulles.”

– “Wait! They were involved in that assault, a few days ago...”

– “That’s right. I haven’t seen them since that day.”

– “Oh, I’ve seen them. Don’t worry about these two. I almost interviewed Owen, and I was supposed to interview Brad, but...”

– “Yes, that boy always meant trouble.”

  Scott looked at the time on the video recorder. It was past 8PM.

– “Time to go. You don’t want to be late when you have a reservation, right?”

– “You’re right. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  Phil took off his lab coat and washed his hands in the sink. He was only wearing a plain, grey T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Scott gave him a funny look.

– “Are you all dressed up?”

– “My coat is hanging in the dresser.”

– “I mean... This is the best clothes you have for tonight.”

– “Pretty much.”

– “So there is no dress code in that restaurant, where you’re taking me?”

– “Come on, this is still Biberton. We’re not in New York...”

  Scott didn’t argue over it. Phil’s coat was pretty much like his jeans. It didn’t look bad on him. Phil would be fine in a diner, but he would stand out like a sore thumb in a fancy restaurant.

  The young journalist turned and coughed to hide a smug grin when his friend took his wallet and put it in his pocket. It looked desperately flat, especially set against the remarkable bulge in the blonde guy’s crotch...

– “Okay. Let’s go, then.”

■ ■ ■

  Matt’s was the only French restaurant in Biberton. It was rather discrete, in a small street on the corner of Main Street after the hardware store. There was a flight of stairs leading to its entrance, with a French flag next to the neon sign.

  With a modest exterior, the place was clearly classy once the customer stepped inside. Phil opened the door before Scott, and they were welcomed by Mr Matthieu, the owner – a typical Frenchman in his early forties with dark, well-combed hair and a little mustache like Errol Flynn.

– “Welcome Phil, mon vieux...” He embraced Phil, then turned to Scott and shook his hand. “Bienvenue in my restaurant. I hope that you will enjoy a pleasant evening with us.”

  There were only two or three couples drinking and eating appetizers, but Scott followed Matt and Phil across the room. A waiter offered to take their coats and they entered a private salon, where a table for two was already dressed.

– “This is turning into a real dinner date...” Scott thought, genuinely impressed by the place, with its cozy atmosphere, nice furniture and silverware.

  Matt helped Scott sit down and retired politely. He was followed by a young man in a black and white suit, who came with matches to light the candles on the table.

– “Bonsoir messieurs... My name is André, I will be your waiter for this evening.”

  He handed the menu to Scott. Every dish was presented in French, with a few words of explanation in English. Scott skipped through the pages. Something was wrong about it: there was no mention of price in his menu.

  With a slightly puzzled look at Phil, he asked why that was missing.

– “Monsieur is a guest tonight.” André explained. “It is only natural that you enjoy your meal without being distracted by how expensive it may be.”

  Phil didn’t say a word. Scott admitted that it showed good manners toward the guests, but he was burning to know. There was probably more than curiosity in his attitude. Scott couldn’t tell if he only wished to find out about the restaurant’s rates in general, or make sure that he would be served what cost more than anything else on his menu. It could be a combination of both – with the added spice attached to any forbidden action.

– “If Monsieur needs anything, don’t hesitate to ask me...”

– “Thank you. Well, I don’t know... Everything looks so good.”

– “I will come back in a moment.”

  Scott was still aching to know. Phil told him about the suggestions of the day and a few specialties of Matt’s, but he wasn’t listening.

– “I need to wash my hands.”

– “Okay...”

  Leaving their private salon, Scott proceeded to the men’s room, passing by the counter where he was sure to find a pile of menus. He could always take a peak when nobody would be watching.

– “...Scott?”

  Matt was just stepping out of the kitchen. Scott was almost caught red-handed, but he kept his cool.

– “May I have a word with you?”

– “Sure... What is it?”

– “Please, follow me to the bar.”

  Scott did as he was told, and Matt poured two glasses of red wine. They were standing in a relatively dark corner of the restaurant, where they could have a private conversation.

– “Great wine...” Scott appreciated, and ventured a guess. “Is it a Merlot?”

– “Merlot is only a kind of grapes.” Matt corrected. “This is a Haut-Médoc, a pretty good vintage of Château Laffite.”

– “That’s... Bordeaux, right?”

– “Right.” Matt hesitated a bit. “There is something I wished to share with you, but I need your word that you won’t tell Phil about this.”

– “What is it?”

– “I know that it may sound a bit rude, but you are well aware that Phil couldn’t afford dinner in this place.”

– “I guess... Is that why you put us in a private corner?”

– “More or less.” Matt nodded. “I agreed with Phil that you would enjoy a more pleasant soirée without being bothered or interrupted, but it allows me not to comment on the way you are dressed.”

– “I knew it! I’ve told him about this.”

  Scott still resented the fact that Matt put him in the same category as Phil in terms of clothes. What he was wearing had to be more expensive than a dinner at his place.

  Matt took a sip of wine and got to the point.

– “Of course, Phil is good friend of mine. Well... maybe not really a friend, but he’s always been there for me and my wife, and our daughter. So I couldn’t say no to him when...”

– “What did he ask you?”

– “He didn’t ask so much as he offered to pay for your dinner in a way that he could afford... more or less.”

– “Okay...”

– “So he’s been spending every evening in our kitchen, this week, working on your meal for tonight. Jérôme, our chef, only looked over what he was doing, but it went fine. Phil is a pretty great cook, you know.”

– “I see... What should I choose on my menu?”

– “You can have anything you want.”

– “I don’t understand. What did he cook for us?”

– “Phil cooked every item on your menu. He couldn’t tell what you would wish to eat, so he prepared a plate for you.”

– “How about his own dinner?”

– “He will simply eat something else that he has already cooked. Whatever you decide to eat is already prepared in our cold room. Our chef only has to heat it up and add the appropriate decoration.”

– “But why did Phil do all that?”

– “I guess he wished for you to enjoy a nice meal, in a nice place... He still has to pay for the wine, which will cost him a pretty penny. That’s the best way he could treat you. I suspect that he’s already in trouble with his bank.”

– “Of course...”

– “You weren’t supposed to know any of this. Phil asked me to keep it a secret.”

– “Why are you telling me, then?”

– “I don’t know...” Matt looked away. “Naturally, Jérôme was a bit bothered with our little arrangement. If anything had to go wrong with your meal, he wouldn’t want to be blamed for it. He’s a professional, and he would feel responsible even for something he didn’t cook. So he’s been pestering me about it, all day. Then I thought about it, and my conclusion was that you had a right to know what your friend did for you. But not a word to Phil... D’accord?”

– “You have my word.”

  It hardly took a minute for Scott to take a leak and wash his hands. Standing in front of the mirror, he noticed that he had not stopped smiling, like a child on Christmas Eve. He was happy – more than just “happy”: he was excited about his dinner in a way he didn’t quite expect.

– “This will be great. I’m hungry...”

  Back in their private salon with Phil, Scott asked him nonchalantly about what he had chosen to eat.

– “I’m down to a few choices... How about you?”

– “I don’t know yet.” Scott didn't even look at the pages. “I can’t decide... Everything always sounds so tasty on paper.”

  André, their waiter, came back to take their orders on his small notepad.

– “What have you decided, gentlemen?”

– “...Scott?”

– “Everything looks so good... I guess I’ll have that.”

– “What exactly will you “have”, Monsieur?”

– “Didn’t I just say it? I’ll have everything.”

  There was a moment of silence. André had lost his stiff composure, staring at Scott wide-eyed and almost gaping – like a goldfish in a glassy bowl. Phil also looked frozen with the menu in his hands.

– “Everything? Monsieur is joking, of course...”

– “Why would I be joking? This will save you some time too. You only have one word to write on your pad...”

– “Of course.”

  Scott gave the menu to the waiter, whose hands were shaking a bit. Then he turned to Phil. The blonde guy looked pale, completely lost for words.

– “How about you, Phil?”

– “Huh... I don’t know, really... Are you sure about your order?”

– “Of course. This will be a real treat!”

  Phil looked into his menu, trying not to look dizzy, although his ears must be ringing at the moment. André was writing “everything” with his pen.

– “You can always eat leftovers from your friend’s meal...” He mumbled.

  That comment earned him a sudden look from Phil that was more striking than lightning. It didn’t last a full second, but the waiter was put back in his place at once. Comparing a paying customer to a dog wasn’t exactly the right thing to do – he could always hope for a zero percent tip.

  Phil only ordered something that would resemble steak, dressed in a mishmash of fancy words. Scott still noticed that his friend spoke good French, and the way he ordered drinks was quite commanding – and impressive, considering Matt’s earlier comment about the prices of their vintage bottles.

– “I think I can trust you to choose the right wine to match every dish for Mr Girder.”

– “I will do my best, Monsieur...” André bowed.

  When their waiter was gone, Scott took a long look at Phil. The poor guy was catching his breath. He was still pale, but anger and panic kept flushing his face with red blood, which made him look like a wild tiger trapped in a cage.

  Scott didn’t say a word. It dawned on him that he had just put the two of them in a rather strange position. Just as he was about to feel guilty, Matt almost rushed into the salon.

– “André just told me about your... choice for tonight’s dinner.”

– “Is there a problem?”

  Matt and Scott exchanged a pretty intense look, until the owner’s lips curled up into a bright smile. Then he turned to Phil.

– “Is that okay with you?”

– “Of course... Scott will get a pretty good taste of your French cuisine.”

– “You are absolutely right.” Matt stood straight, beaming with pride. “And since you have engaged my restaurant into such a challenge, our staff will endeavor to please you in the best way we can. This will be a true service à la française. Would you allow me to take a picture of the table?”

– “Sure... What is a service à la française, exactly?”

– “I guess you would call it a “buffet dinner for one”. We shall bring various dishes at the same time, but every plate will be served to you.”

– “That sounds great! You do that...”

  Matt left them together, as they unfolded their napkins. Phil was smiling, but Scott could tell that there was a knot in his stomach. It was a bit wicked of him to take advantage of what Matt had told him as a secret. Phil didn’t suspect a thing, obviously, but the poor guy had to be thinking about how much this would cost him in the end.

  For the first time since the day they had met, Scott gave him a thorough look. Phil looked uncomfortable, sitting in his chair, wearing that rather plain T-shirt – which was really tight around his arms and upper chest. A guy like him didn’t belong to a place like this. Still, he was quite handsome with his slightly tousled blonde hair, that nice goatee that brought out his sensual rosy lips, his broad shoulders and strong, masculine neck.

  Scott was also fascinated by his eyes – deep, sparkling green with a feverish glimmer of gold. He thought that tonight’s dinner would probably cost Phil his shirt – a metaphorical shirt, much better than what he was wearing now – but he couldn’t feel guilty over it.

  If that was a way to get this blonde boy shirtless, he would go for it!

– “I... didn’t expect you to be so hungry...” Phil eventually managed to say.

– “I’m starving. And you remember the rule.”

– “What rule?”

– “Our rule for tonight. You said it yourself.”

– “I only said that you would have to eat everything on your plate. I didn’t mean that you should eat everything on the menu...”

  Three waiters entered with a number of large plates. Matt kept the door opened for them. Acting like a maître d’, he announced every dish to Scott with the proper French accent.

– “Salade de lardons des Ardennes et velouté de potiron... Tartines de fromage de chèvre et Gazpacho de poivron aux concombres... Foie gras de canard mi-cuit et Bavarois de tomates au basilic...”

  Scott welcomed these entrées with his eyes wide opened: there was already quite a lot of food for him. But there was more to come.

– “Jambon persillé de Dijon dans son bouillon de moutarde et vinaigre de vin... Tarte flambée forestière et salade frisée aux noix...”

  A third waiter came in with the last entrées. Scott was surrounded with plates, so many delicious dishes served in truly generous amounts and presented in a fancy way. There was a full range of delicacies, cheese, seafood and vegetables.

– “Moules marinières et paillasson de frites au sel de Guérande... Rillettes de thon citronnées et tapenade d’olives noires... Escargots de Bourgogne en croute dans leur soupe à l’oignon...”

  The first waiters had to bring a small table next to Scott, with the proper tablecloth. There was no room left on their table, with two plates right in front of Phil although he hadn’t ordered any first course. When the last plates were in place, the air around Scott was like the inside of a kitchen.

  That was enough to make his mouth water – he was ready to take them on that challenge. His breakfast was long gone, after all. He was hungry!

– “Don’t wait for me... Dig in!” Phil told Scott with a smile.

  For a few minutes, Scott tasted a bit of every dish. A waiter brought an extra basket of baguette bread. Then Scott proceeded to devour dish after dish, using his bread to lick every plate clean and put them in a pile by his side, growing up taller and taller...

– “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier...” Scott said between mouthfuls.

– “What did I say?”

– “About the tape. There is something in it that we haven’t noticed yet.”

– “Oh... Yes, I also think that we have only scratched the surface.”

  Phil still didn’t look comfortable, but he was eager to talk.

– “All right, I’ll switch to easier questions. Let’s talk about you.”

– “How is that easier?”

– “Because you should know the answers.”

– “Okay... What did you want to know?”

  Scott flashed him a satisfied grin. He had a few questions ready, but they might not be appropriate at the moment.

– “Start with the beginning, I guess.”

– “Okay.”

– “What’s your birthday?”

– “January 15^th. I turned 30 a few weeks ago.”

– “Hey!” Scott mumbled with his mouth full. “Happy birthday, grandpa!”

  Phil answered with a sarcastic “Ha. Ha.”

– “So, that makes you...”

– “Old?”

– “I meant your astrological sign.”

– “Oh... I’m a Capricorn. Do you believe in those things?”

– “I sure do. I’m a Leo. And proud of it!”

– “So you were born in August.”

– “August 4^th, to be precise.”

– “Nice...”

– “You’re a Southern boy, right?”

– “Right.”

– “Where are you from, exactly?”

– “Richmond, Virginia.”

– “Sounds nice. I’ve never been to Richmond.”

– “I wouldn’t know. I was born in a hospital, like any other child in the area. My family moved from place to place for a few years.”

– “What, you guys were living in a trailer?”

– “No, nothing like that. We just moved...” Phil’s voice sunk a little. “Then we settled in Norfolk.”

– “Where’s that?”

– “On the Atlantic Coast, North of Chesapeake. They have a big shipyard there, and a great naval station for the US Navy.”

– “Sounds like a nice place.”

– “I should think so. I’ve been living there for more than ten years...”

– “Trick question. What’s the town’s motto?”

– “Huh...” Phil thought about it, then he smiled. Scott appreciated that he looked more relaxed. “It’s short, but you should like it.”

– “What is it?”

– “It’s Crescas... in Latin, of course.”

– “Huh...” Scott tried to figure it out, still devouring his tarte flambée. “What does it mean?”

– “Thou shalt grow...”

  Phil was looking straight into his eyes, such an intense look that Scott suddenly felt naked – in the worst way: not as if his blonde friend had torn his shirt and T-shirt to shreds, but as if they had caught on fire and immediately turned to ash in the wind...

– “Nice...” Scott whispered absent-mindedly.

  He was almost done with his “appetizers” – which proved what an appetite he had! The foie gras, or goose liver, was particularly great but rich and heavy. He had been served quite a generous amount of it, too. As Matt sometimes came to check on Phil and him, very discreetly, Scott looked ready for more.

  Two waiters took the dirty dishes, but the big boy’s seafood meal required four waiters now. Matt, still serving as a regular maître d’, offered a glass of white wine to Scott, as he announced what he would have to eat next.

– “Demoiselles de Cherbourg en Bellevue et oeufs mimosa... Matelote provençale aux ravioles et tomates farcies... Paupiettes de sole de la Côte d’Argent et timbales de riz à la sauce hollandaise...”

– “Oh, my...” Scott looked at all the food coming his way.

– “Huitres en coquilles au citron et olives vertes... Duo de truites blanche et saumonée aux amandes grillées... Brandade de morue à la nîmoise... Papillotes de saumon à l’étouffée de légumes et pommes vapeur...”

– “Wow...”

– “Combat de homards Thermidor, salade fricassée d’écrevisses et pointes d’asperges à la mayonnaise...”

  The two whole lobsters presented to him last made Scott smile like a child. This was more than dinner: it was a parade of food, with fireworks – and he would tear into it enthusiastically!

– “Enjoy...”

  Phil was still not served his steak, and he had to be getting a bit hungry – but Scott made it quite clear that he wouldn’t share his food with anyone. As a matter of fact, everything was so delicious that a long moan of pure pleasure got past his closed lips whenever he would grab a good bite of some new dish...

  The size of Scott’s plates was mute testimony of Phil’s cooking habits. The food was undeniably French, but such generous servings were the signature of a true Southern cook. It was nowhere near the ridiculous amounts of an all-you-can-eat restaurant, but eating three dozen oysters, two large filets of trout on the same plate or a tall heap of shrimp ravioli with cream would feel more than copious to anyone familiar with nouvelle cuisine...

– “Where were we?”

– “In Norfolk, Virginia.”

– “Right. So...” Scott almost gobbled his food, tender as it was. “Any brother or sister?”

– “I have three brothers and sisters.”

– “How many is that?”

– “Three brothers... and three sisters. We were seven kids at home...”

– “Okay, that’s... a lot! I think I saw a picture of them on your desk.”

– “At the hospital? Yes, that was us... a few years ago.”

– “All right. Tell me about them.”

– “Ryan is almost seven years younger than me. He’s in Law school now. Cody was born two years after him. Then Josh is nineteen. Maggie is seventeen. Pat and Ginnie were born three years later.”

– “Pat and Ginnie?”

– “That’s short for Patricia and Virginia.” Phil looked away as he added, “My mother was a fan of Patsy Cline...”

– “And they were born on the same year?”

– “On the same day... Pat and Ginnie are twins.”

– “Wow! Where did your mother give birth, in a litter box under the stairs?”

  Scott almost choked on his last words. He didn’t mean to sound snappy, but it was too late. Phil didn’t look angry at him, but Scott comparing his mother to a cat probably hurt the guy even more than being compared to a dog by the waiter.

– “So... You’re the big brother in the family.”

– “Yes.”

  There was still a moment of silence. Scott had a hunch that Phil had been short of cash for much longer than he thought. It had nothing to do with the way he dressed, or the way people looked down on him – although it appeared that he was used to it, even when he met someone new...

  Scott was no longer eating: he was stuffing himself, like a genuine glutton. In the way he ate, and considering the large amounts of food around him again, he came to the conclusion that Phil may have known real hunger as a child – the kind of hunger that keeps burning inside your stomach for days on end, hunger that turns your saliva into blood, and your blood into poison – the kind of severe malnourishment that plagues the Poor and can only come from a prolonged lack of food, when even bread or milk become more precious than gold...

  Thinking about this brought unpleasant memories to him. Scott remembered how he had suffered from hunger pangs for a few months. What if Phil had gone through years and years of it? That would explain a few things about the guy.

  Thinking about how hungry he had been also renewed Scott’s appetite – and he devoured his food so fast that Phil kindly suggested that they were in no hurry...

  Scott changed the subject again.

– “Where did you study medicine?”

– “In the Army. I left home when I was seventeen. My parents could not afford to send me to Med School, so I enlisted as soon as I could.”

– “Where did you go, then?”

– “I was still in Virginia...” Phil hesitated to drink a glass of wine. “I started studying in Lexington... Then I spent some time in Fort Sam.”

– “What’s that?”

– “Fort Sam Houston. It’s in Texas, near San Antonio.”

– “Nice... Did you get to meet any cowboy?”

– “I have a cowboy hat somewhere,” Phil smiled. “But real cowboys have become an endangered species, you know...”

– “Then you were a soldier.”

– “Yes, Sir.”

  Scott felt a secret tingling in his heart as Phil had just said “Yes, Sir” as a reflex – the way only a real soldier gets to say it. That was the sexiest thing for him.

– “How...” He mumbled. “How long have you been a soldier?”

– “I left the Army three years ago. So that’s... about ten years, in total.”

– “Did you see much action?”

  As much as he was willing to have a nice conversation with Scott, Phil did not look too comfortable about sharing such information.

– “You know... I am not really a soldier.” He almost stuttered. “I was a brigade surgeon, in the Brigade support battalion... I was Charlie.”

– “Charlie? What, like Charlie’s Angels?”

– “What? No... God, no...” Phil managed to smile. “Members of the Medical Corps are sometimes called the “Charlie company”. We come after “Alpha” and “Bravo”, you see. Supply and distribution, and Field maintenance...”

– “Okay. But you’ve been into combat situations, then.”

– “Fortunately, not too much. Only a few occasions... I was lucky that we were no longer openly at war in Asia, although I did spend some time in Korea.”

– “I must have seen a document about that in your office.”

  Phil only shrugged as Scott mentioned it.

– “Don’t pay attention to these. It’s all official. It’s only paper...”

– “You mean it was only skirmish.”

– “Something like that...”

  Scott was more than a bit full after all the fish and shrimps and oysters and lobster he had feasted on. Matt came back to announce his entremets – which meant that there would be even more food to come!

  The new plates disposed on the table were hardly smaller than the previous ones. Scott was beginning to sweat as much as he had been drooling earlier, as the food presented to him seemed particularly tasty.

– “Réduction de coq au vin et coquillettes à la crème... Crabes et crevettes en terrine, salade de maquereaux et anchois au vin blanc... Bouchées à la reine et gâteau de pommes de terre limousines... Pieds de porc à la Sainte-Menehould et coteaux champenois... Quiche lorraine et fondue d’épinards au gingembre...”

  There was enough meat and dough for a whole family, but Scott had not seen the half of it: chicken and roasted pig, in almost massive amounts, with more pasta and potatoes – all for him!

– “Blancs de poulet fermier aux carottes sur lit de tagliatelles... Cochon de lait rôti sur champ de pommes dauphines... Boudin noir de Pierrefonds et gratin dauphinois...”

  Scott’s head was spinning. He had to catch his breath again... The air in that private salon had turned from inviting to intoxicating, with so many delicious little – far from little! – delicacies ready to be eaten.

  Matt wished him a devilish “Bon appétit!” and left him to face the next round of his challenge. Scott was full, in a way he had never been full before – not in his athletic, Football days – not even since he had come to Biberton. Just 100% full.

– “Scott? Are you feeling okay?”

– “I’m fine. This shirt is just way too tight, right now...”

  While it would feel natural to open a button on top, Scott felt the need to start with the buttons around his waist, where the fabric of his shirt was distended and pulled in all directions to the point of bursting along the seams...

– “Do you mind?”

– “Mind what?...” Phil wondered.

  Scott got up and opened his shirt down to the last button. Then he let his belly breathe, which made him let out a loud belch.

– “BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRP!!!”

  Still sitting at the table, Phil blushed but didn’t comment on it. Scott sat down and proceeded to eat some chicken – for starters...

– “Are you feeling better?...”

– “Much better!”

– “I guess Matt’s food is okay.”

– “That would be an understatement...” Scott gulped down his food with a glass of white wine.

  There were five bottles on the table – three bottles of red wine, two bottles of different white wines – and there were only a few drops left in the first four bottles... Scott’s head was no longer spinning: he was already tipsy, and well on his way to get himself stinking drunk like a skunk!

  For some reason, being with Phil made everything feel okay – as if the blonde, handsome guy was looking after him rather than just looking at him. Matt was bringing another bottle of excellent red wine. Scott felt a sudden impulse, when the Frenchman asked him if everything was to his liking.

– “Are you kidding me? This is the best food I’ve eaten in my life!”

– “I’m... glad that you enjoy it so much.”

– “I do, I do... I really, really do...” Scott was almost babbling. “You know what?”

– “What?”

– “I would like to say a word to your chef, what’s his name?”

– “You mean monsieur Jérôme?” Matt looked a bit peaky.

– “Yeah, monsieur Jérôme... Could you ask him to come to our table?”

– “I will see what I can do.”

  Phil looked even more embarrassed than Matt, but there was nothing he could do. After a minute, Matt came back with a tall man in a white apron and chef’s hat. Scott couldn’t praise him enough about his cooking.

  The cook was standing next to him, looking down and shifting his weight from his left leg to his right leg – what the French call a “dancing bear”, la danse de l’ours. Scott couldn’t enjoy himself more over this...

– “Monsieur is too kind...” The cook finally mumbled, or grumbled.

– “Keep bringing it on, chef!” Scott grinned, leaning back on his chair – then he gave his full belly a few sounding slaps. “This is my kind of food... I could eat like this all day, every day... I wouldn’t mind getting FAT on it!”

  Matt and his cook were definitely stunned by Scott’s outburst. While that last bit couldn’t be regarded as rude, it was certainly not a compliment. The chef had good reasons to feel both angry and humiliated over this.

  Once he was gone, Matt found a few words to put everyone in a better, brighter mood... Looking at Phil with some genuine respect, he commented on Scott’s compliments.

– “Being unjustly blamed always hurts, but undeserved compliments can sting just as bad. I should hope that you gentlemen will enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

  Scott noticed a change in Phil’s attitude. He was so stunned that he wouldn't be embarrassed anymore. This dinner date was a disaster, and he was ready to face the consequences. Then he was looking at Scott in a different way – as if the young, overfed journalist presented some new and unexpected interest.

– “You didn’t have to praise their food with such enthusiasm, you know...”

– “Everything tastes delicious, so far. I don’t see why I shouldn’t compliment the chef on it.”

– “I guess... You were right about something.”

– “What’s that?”

– “If you keep eating like this, you are going to get fatter... I mean, fat.”

– “...So?”

– “You have already put on some weight. It’s getting quite noticeable...”

– “I know!” Scott smiled, still stuffing his mouth.

– “You don’t mind getting a bit fatter, then.”

  Phil’s voice felt softer than silk. Scott could be wrong, but he felt the blonde man caressing him with his eyes – and probably undressing him even more than he was right now.

– “I must have been spending too much time in Saint Augustine Bells...”

– “True...” Phil let out a sad sigh. “Life around here isn’t really healthy.”

– “It wouldn’t be much healthier if they lived on carrots and turnips like a bunch of rabbits. And it would be a much more dangerous place if these violent kids were locked together in a Fat Camp.”

– “You’re absolutely right.”

– “So what if I put on another thirty pounds? I rather like being a bit overweight. It’s actually better for your body to be slightly chubby than even slightly skinny. I’ve read it somewhere...”

– “You’d have to establish what slightly stands for, in the first place.”

  Scott’s stomach was still churning when the “main courses” were announced. Matt was coming back at Scott in a most gallant way, the way you should expect a Frenchman to fight back...

– “Magrets de canard poêlé à la plancha, cèpes farcis à la bordelaise et pommes de terre sous la cendre...”

– “That’s duck meat, right?”

  There was so much meat that three ducks must have been participating to that dish alone...

– “Entrecôtes maître de chai aux échalotes et fagots de haricots verts...”

  Matt announced that dish as a plural. This was also Phil’s order. The blonde guy was starving, at this point. Scott had not even let him get his hands on a piece of bread, until now...

  Tipsy as he was, the young journalist didn’t say a word, but it was not lost on him that Phil’s beef steak was noticeably smaller than the one he was served.

– “Tournedos Rossini, écrasé de pommes de terre aux fines herbes et lentilles vertes du Puy...”

– “Wow, more beef steak with goose liver on top?”

– “Andouillette au Beaujolais et artichauts à la crème...”

  Scott was drooling again. This was turning into a never-ending  orgy of meat! He almost felt like ordering champagne...

– “Aloyau braisé au Cognac et ratatouille de courgettes et aubergines confites... Confit d’oie du Périgord au chou rouge et pommes frites à la sarladaise... Quenelles de veau relevées à la moutarde... Flamiche picarde et champignons de Paris...”

– “Ooof...” Scott was about to whisper “Have mercy on me!”

– “Filet de bœuf Chateaubriand sauce béarnaise, pommes château et piperade... Pâté de rognons de porc à la crème aux deux poivres...”

  The atmosphere around Scott and Phil was worse than intoxicating, at this point – it was steamy. The two men started eating in silence, exchanging looks every now and then. Scott mentioned the Army again.

– “Where were you last stationed?”

– “In Germany... I completed my studies there. It was a great place to learn. I got to practice a lot in the LRMC.”

– “What’s the LRMC?”

– “It stands for Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. There is an important US Army base around there...”

– “How long did you stay?”

– “About three years, maybe four... I had plans to join a team to do research.”

– “What stopped you?”

– “I...” Phil’s voice broke a little. “I failed...”

– “What, did you flunk chemistry or something?”

– “No, nothing like that...”

  After a moment of hesitation, Phil poured himself a glass of red wine.

– “I had a nervous breakdown... I couldn’t go on. The Army signed my discharge and sent me back home.”

– “Oh... What happened?”

– “I don’t know if you have heard much about the “Ramstein Air Show” incident?”

– “I don’t remember, if I have.”

  Phil drank his wine in two sips. It was the end of the bottle, and it looked like he would need something stronger to tell Scott about that event.

– “It occurred on August 28^th 1988. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. About three hundred thousand people had come for Flugtag '88, the annual air show in Ramstein US Air Base. We had invited aircrafts of the Italian Air Force, and three planes from their team crashed to the ground... All the pilots died, and no less than 67 spectators. Another pilot also died in the emergency medical evacuation helicopter. I knew him pretty well, we had been working together. The whole day was catastrophic. About thirty-three hundred civilians sustained serious injuries in the resulting explosion and fire.”

  Scott managed to make a long, whistling sound.

– “How did that even happen?”

– “Well... The jets were performing the Durchstoßenes Herz formation. I mean, the “pierced heart” formation. Basically, two groups of aircrafts create a heart shape in front of the audience along the runway. When they complete the lower tip of the heart, the two groups of planes pass each other parallel to the runway. Then a lone aircraft comes in the direction of the audience, and pierces the heart.”

– “Huh...”

– “In this case, the last jet hit another one and crashed on the runway. A lot of people in the spectator area were hit by small airplane parts. Then the fuel oil spilled and caused a fire in a matter of seconds. It was horrible...”

– “I can imagine.”

– “I was there with a few friends. We weren’t prepared for anything like that. We tried to react and provide first aid, but there was too much panic among the crowd... I didn’t have much equipment with me. It took almost an hour to get ambulances and assistance. We took as many injured people as we could to the hospital.”

– “What did you do then?”

– “I did what I could... I helped... We all worked around the clock for a whole week, with over five hundred patients in need of treatment. Then the whole personnel was audited, as the incident had caused inquiries and some reports came back, revealing serious shortcomings in the handling of large-scale medical emergencies by German civil and American military authorities. Then we found ourselves under a lot of pressure.”

– “Red tape to heal the wounds?” Scott frowned. “I don’t think so...”

– “Quite right... Then I was assigned to crisis counseling, since a center had been immediately established at the nearby Southside Base Chapel. I spent weeks in there, only working at the hospital during the night. As a witness to the event, I could provide group and individual counseling.”

  Phil’s voice was sinking lower than his usual baritone register. Scott was also fascinated by the color of his eyes, going much darker as he was looking into some old and painful memories.

– “Okay... So you did pretty well.”

– “I don’t know. I guess... I was really stressed for a while, so it was probably better that I had a lot of things to do, and people to talk to... Six months after the event, when the Army ended that counseling program, I just... collapsed.”

– “What do you mean?”

– “I don’t know... I couldn’t get myself to sleep at night. I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. I had to be pushed to do anything, even taking a shower. That’s how I got sent back to Richmond.”

– “Well, you’re obviously over it now.”

– “I should think so...” Phil concluded, unconvinced but smiling.

  Scott was interested in his friend’s memories, but he almost regretted opening such wounds. It was quite likely that Phil had suffered a few more injuries like that. The way he looked at everyone and everything with a kind smile could be covering something much deeper and darker in his nature.

– “Are you ready for ice-creams and desserts?”

  Matt’s interruption came at the right moment – even as Scott was seriously considering the possibility that his whole belly could burst like an overcooked sausage. He thought about the students he had put to bed, a few hours earlier. These kids were only amateurs compared to the way he looked and felt, now!

– “Sure.” Scott panted. “Bring it on...”

  He couldn’t tell whether Matt was proud of his cuisine, in the way he told him about every new dish – or raising the bar to Scott’s level, like a good sport – or poking fun at him in an almost sadistic manner.

– “Duo de fraisier et framboisier glacés... Pets de nonne à la confiture de cerise des neiges... Médaillons de nougat cantonné de nougatine et coulis de framboise...”

  Facing sweets and ice cream was a genuine breath of fresh air for Scott. His belly was groaning angrily, and the big boy felt the urge to rub some ice around his bellybutton.

– “Poire Belle-Hélène et sa couronne de meringues... Profiteroles à la chantilly et fontaine de chocolat... Crêpes Suzette et bombe glacée au Grand Marnier...”

  Scott was torn between the demands from his gluttonous appetite and the need to release some tension in his guts. He couldn’t wait for Matt to leave him alone with Phil.

– “Parfait aux bananes fraîches et blancs d’œufs battus... Charlotte aux fraises en sucre glace et crème bavaroise...”

  As soon as Matt and the waiters were gone, Scott let out another long, loud and obnoxious belch. He had been eating too much meat and sauce, way too fast.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!”

  Phil was getting used to it, at this point. Scott’s rude attitude amused him. He wouldn’t have to think about burning bodies, opened wounds, blood and corpses – not when he was in the presence of a young, handsome man who put on such a show... Scott looked more than “meaty”, right now – with his belly exposed between a pair of pants already too tight around his hips and a dirty T-shirt that kept riding up on him with every breath...

– “Sorry about that...” Scott blushed.

– “Please, there is only the two of us. Make yourself comfortable.”

– “Now that you mention it... My pants are killing me!”

  Scott got up again, reaching for the top button of his jeans. His hands were a bit slippery, but his wish was still granted – much faster than he expected, too – as two buttons suddenly popped out... The young man’s belly jutted even further and sagged in front of him a bit.

  Standing next to the dinner table, Scott let out another booming belch that put the light out of a few candles. He looked like he was about to deliver twins at any moment, now...

– “Are you still ready to eat all this?” Phil asked, genuinely concerned.

– “Of course... I just need a little time.”

– “I guess you need more than a little time. You need a little help.”

– “Didn’t I make myself clear, in the first place? I’m not sharing any of this with you... or anyone else, for that matter.”

  Phil didn’t know what to say. Scott felt almost hungry again. In a way, being aggressive with Phil made him feel better, as if everything was under control.

– “Got it? Food. Mine!”

– “Okay... That’s not what I meant, anyway.”

– “What did you mean?”

  Scott was leaning back on his chair, rubbing his belly in circles. Phil smiled and got his own chair close to him. Then he grabbed a spoon and took a piece of ice-cream with chocolate.

– “Open up.”

– “...Huh?”

– “You’re too tired to eat. You need help... This is me helping.”

– “Oh... Right.”

  Phil gently brought the spoon to Scott’s lips. The big boy licked it clean, his friend reached for something different and fed him a bit of everything, in a matter of minutes. This felt a lot better than shoveling for food and eating all by himself.

– “How do you like that?”

– “It’s delicious...”

– “Good.”

– “I want more!”

  For some reason, Scott’s frozen desserts went by a lot easier than anything he had eaten before. It was a different kind of delight, too – not only for his taste buds, but flowing through his whole body.

  Phil was even encouraging him, as he was almost down to the last bites...

– “You really have quite an appetite!”

– “I know... I love food. I love to eat...”

– “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know.”

– “You said it earlier... I’m going to get fat.”

– “Eating well won’t make you... that much fatter. There is measure in everything.”

– “Not with me...” Scott sighed, trying not to moan again.

– “What do you mean?”

– “I don’t know... It’s like... I have this gaping hole inside me. Like a bunch of unanswered questions.”

– “You’re always asking questions...” Phil looked into Scott’s eyes with a friendly smile.

– “I feel the need to feed my hunger...” Scott gulped down. “Then I just can’t stop... I’m insatiable.”

– “I see...”

  Scott was done with that first round of desserts. Phil pulled his chair a bit, still listening to him.

– “I’ve been through therapy. My mom insisted on it, but they only told me crap. I know that I’m following a dangerous path. That’s just my nature. That’s how I got to be a Football star in college. That’s how I got myself injured. Then that’s how I got fat... and thin.”

– “Then you should stop asking questions, Scott... Follow your nature.”

– “What if that makes me crash and burn?”

– “Then...” Phil thought about it. “Then that will make you a star, instead of a black hole...”

  It was a beautiful thought. Scott looked into his blonde friend's eyes – almost lovingly... There was a moment of silence, but they no longer felt embarrassed over anything. Words were no longer necessary between them.

  The door was opened. Matt was already back with desserts.

  Scott sat straight, ignoring the fact that his belly was resting in his lap like a large ball of dough.

– “Are you ready for warm desserts, now?”

– “I’m more than ready! This oven is hot...”

  Matt was actually impressed with Scott’s capacities. Clearly, there were no hard feelings on his part. He was proud to serve such a customer.

– “Tarte tatin sur lit de crème anglaise et sa boule de crème glacée à la vanille... Trio de crèmes brûlées au caramel et sirop d’érable... Fondant de chocolat aux noix et pains d’épice aux noisettes...”

– “Hmmm... Good!” Scott licked his lips.

– “Croustade aux pommes et mousses aux trois chocolats... Mousse de pêches et oreillons d’abricots frais... Tarte aux mirabelles et eau-de-vie de Nancy...”

  Scott was in Heaven. He couldn’t care less if cooking like this was murder!

– “Duo de flaugnardes aux pommes et aux poires fraîches... Tarte aux quetsches et soufflé glacé au marc de Gewürztraminer...”

  Phil didn’t get to eat any dessert, but he didn’t seem to mind.

– “This should be a piece of cake...” He joked.

– “It will be, if you cut it for me.”

  Scott winked at his friend, who got close to him again, and fed him everything down to the last bite. Phil didn’t even force him. Scott kept eating at a steady pace, and his blonde friend enjoyed it almost as much as he enjoyed every piece of cake or tart, or pie...

– “Hmmmph, this is just too good...”

– “I wonder how you even got to be skinny.”

– “No money, no food. You do the math.”

– “I understand...”

– “Hmmmph...” Scott moaned shamelessly.

– “You’re a lot better off, being overfed.”

– “Oh, definitely! As a matter of fact...”

– “Yes?”

  Phil paused. Scott was now rubbing his belly with both hands.

– “I meant to say... I’m not looking forward to leaving this place.”

– “This is still desserts, Scott. We’ll have to leave at some point.”

– “I didn’t mean this restaurant. I meant... Biberton.”

– “I heard you in the first place...”

  Scott couldn’t miss the sadness in his friend’s voice. This made his heart beat a lot louder inside his chest. Then he realized that he would miss a lot more than the food and comfort he had found in Biberton...

– “Do you have to leave... anytime soon?”

– “I will have to discuss it with my boss.” Scott grunted. “Going home means no more beer like the brews you have in here. No more breakfasts like the buffet they serve at the Paddington hotel. No more meals like the feasts they force on you in Saint Augustine Bells.”

– “I guess...”

– “Then I’ll have to go lean again... Lean, lean, lean...”

  Phil had brought a whole pear pie to Scott’s lips, only a bit larger than his palm – but Phil had such big, masculine hands... Scott devoured, proudly, making a pig of himself.

– “I had no idea that you hated being so lean.”

– “I’m definitely happier like this!” Scott thumped his belly, which was larger than a ripe watermelon. “I will ask for my boss to let me stay for another month. I may have to beg him for it...”

– “You do that...” Phil fed him another small pie. “We need you around here. You have done some real progress, investigating Michael’s murder.”

– “You don’t mind me asking questions, then.” Scott teased.

– “I guess that’s part of your nature.”

– “Then I should follow my path.”

– “You should follow your star...”

  Scott could use a little compliment like that. It helped him go through the rest of his chocolate mousse, too.

– “You know what I think about all this?”

– “Sure...”

– “Saint Augustine Belch... Ha!” Scott snapped. “That school’s motto should be

        Skin and bones will do you harm,

        While blubber keeps you warm!”

  Phil looked at Scott, a bit puzzled again.

– “I didn’t know that one, but you certainly have a point.”

  Scott also made a good case for it. His belly was more than full – it looked like a balloon, only inflated with something a lot heavier than air!

  Matt came back into their private salon, silently admitting defeat.

– “All right... Check please.”

  Phil excused himself, following Matt to the counter after that gargantuan meal. He looked pale again, as if he had to pay for everything with a pint of his own blood – like a man who would sign a deal with the Devil...

  Scott was alone for a moment, but he was served a few large cups of coffee with a myriad of mignardises – sweets that would make any candy maker cry for joy.

– “How do you call these?” He asked the waiter.

– “We call this our Trio d’éclairs au chocolat... This is our Millefeuille fondant et crème pâtissière... Café gourmand aux madeleines de Commercy...”

– “How about these?”

– “This is our famous Pièce montée aux choux à la crème, pâte d’amandes et croquignoles... And this is a Clafoutis aux cerises noires...”

– “Hmmm...” Scott purred like a cat. “Delicious. And these?”

– “Macarons au chocolat et caramel au beurre salé...” André enumerated patiently. “This is an île flottante, with our own recipe of cannelés de Bordeaux, and these are mirlitons de Pont-Audemer...”

  Sitting at the table alone, Scott suddenly wondered about the time. He wasn’t wearing his watch, but the door to the restaurant was opened, and there was a clock. It was almost 3AM!

– “Have we been really here for... six hours?”

  It felt like half an hour to him – then three weeks in Biberton hardly felt like a few days. Scott was enjoying himself way too much in that little town!

  With the door opened, he could listen to Matt’s conversation with Phil. The poor guy was sorry for tonight’s misunderstanding, but the Frenchman reassured him entirely. It was more than possible that he enjoyed acting generous and forgiving about the whole evening.

– “Quel goinfre, ton copain, quand même!”

  Scott didn’t understand French, but he guessed that it had something to do with the way he had been stuffing his face and burping like a pig – more like the King of Pigs!

– “Oh well...” He gave a few more appreciative pats to his belly.

■ ■ ■

  Scott had not only eaten a ton of food. He had also been through four bottles of red wine and four bottles of white wine, with a few cognacs and liquors before coffee... Needless to say, Phil had to help him get out of the place.

– “There you go...”

– “I’m so stuffed. Why did I even eat that much?”

– “It’s better if you don’t ask yourself that, Scott. Come on.”

– “Yeah...”

  Phil was doing his best to guide Scott, but the taller, grotesquely overfed boy kept leaning on him. They had hardly taken two steps out of Matt’s.

– “I hope that you had a good evening, at least...”

– “That was the best!”

– “Good wine, and good food...”

  Scott remembered that Phil was responsible for the quality – and quantity – of his dinner... He took his friend by surprise, turning to hug him rather clumsily. His coat fell on the ground, along with Phil’s.

– “That was the most delicious meal ever... Thank you, big bear!”

  And he kissed him on the cheek. He was probably aiming for the blonde boy’s lips, but his legs were no longer ready to carry him and he missed the point. Phil blushed as he had to keep him standing against his chest.

– “Did... Did you just call me big bear?”

– “Hmmm? I guess I did. After all, you have this... big, bearish frame!” Scott was leaning over him with all his weight. “And you have all this big bear brawn... and a big bear’s chest, with lots of big bear fur...” He patted Phil's stomach, firm and tight as it was now. “And you have this big bear voice, and kids love to play with you like a big teddy bear...”

  Scott was totally ignoring how red in the face Phil was, right then. In his tipsy, happy state, he kept on rubbing and patting the blonde guy’s meaty, muscled chest like a fluffy pillow.

– “Of course, you’re pretty... beefy. You must have the heart of an ox... but it wouldn’t feel right to call you a bull, right?”

– “No, I guess that wouldn’t be quite... appropriate.”

– “And you’re always busy like a beaver, but you are so meant to be a bear!” Scott went on, losing sight of his own train of thoughts. “I mean... You’re clearly not an eagle. Ha!” His sharp laugh startled his friend. “And you wouldn’t want me to call you a deer either. Right? Nice Virginian, what is it... Whitetail? Hmmm?”

– “No... Not really.” Phil concluded, still blushing.

  Then he snapped out of it, holding Scott in a close embrace, as the tall boy looked like he would fall flat on his face. Phil was close enough to whisper into his friend's ear.

– “I guess I should thank you for making me feel... like a bear.”

– “Huh... Sure. Why?”

  Phil’s eyes were already half-closed, darker and brighter than the night around them in all its star-spangled glory.

– “You’re asking too many questions, Scott...”

– “Hmmm?”

– “Just follow your Nature...”

  Then Phil kissed him. It was a much stronger kiss, but Scott had a hunch that rambling on like he just had, comparing his friend to a variety of wild animals, had ruined what could have been a perfect moment between them. The thought was enough to get him sober immediately.

– “Woah... huh...” Scott resumed.

  Phil’s kiss was still amazing: lips, tongue play, hands, posture – this was a perfect ten out of ten, even according to Scott’s own standards...

  The air around him felt warm again. Phil had just grabbed his coat before Scott would step on it, and he was gently putting it on his shoulders. This caused a shiver down his spine.

– “Don’t get cold now... I’ll walk you to your hotel.”

  Scott had only shivered because he was too stunned for words... He didn’t expect someone like Phil, who always looked like a drifter, to show such perfect manners toward him. Then Phil was raised in the South – maybe that counted for something...

■ ■ ■

  

  The night was full of stars. As they walked down empty streets, Phil discussed what Scott had already mentioned in the video feed from Sunday morning, when Michael’s body was found by the maid and his classmates.

– “Sure... What about it?”

– “I was thinking about Michael’s neighbors, Daniel and Owen... and Brad.”

– “Just because they were closer to the scene and came up after everyone else?”

– “Yes. I believe that they had trouble sleeping.”

– “Huh...”

– “And I believe that the reason why they had a pretty rough night is linked to what happened inside Michael’s bedroom, during that night.”

– “So whoever or... whatever killed Michael had to be pretty noisy. We just don’t have it on tape, because there is no sound.”

– “I would say it was loud enough to be a nuisance for Michael’s neighbors.”

– “But not enough for them to come out and complain about it...” Scott suggested. “If that was the case, we would have seen one of them on camera, at some point during the night!”

– “That’s right. An inconvenience, but with no reaction to it, no action against it. Now you can probably estimate the level, almost the nature of that noise.”

– “It would have to be a lot like this...”

   And Scott grabbed a few rushed, large bites of air, mimicking what he had been doing for hours, smacking his lips and patting his belly.

– “Maybe...” Phil smiled. Then his voice got deeper and serious. “Or maybe there was something more to it.”

– “What did you have in mind?”

– “It must have been a rather constant noise, or they would have fallen into sleep anyway... Boys like them tend to overcome that kind of inconvenience. So it had to be pretty loud, at least for a few isolated moments.”

– “Then why did they let it go on?”

– “It depends on what they heard... It may have been loud, but they didn’t dare to go check.”

– “Are you thinking that, maybe, that was Michael calling out for help?”

– “I’m afraid so. It would be very likely, although... when you take into account the nature of his accident, the boy was too engorged to cry out... So it wasn’t out of guilt that they came out of bed later than the others.”

– “What else could it be?”

– “...Out of fear.”

(To be continued...)