I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you readers.
The encouragement you supply really, really helps.
You're awesome.
Jack finds himself in a world unlike any he has ever imagined. He stands in the midst of a vast, fallow field. Above him, great chunks of land slowly float across the sky. Castles, mausoleums, cathedrals, and pieces of lands long forgotten pass overhead. Some of them collide, reduced to a floating plethora of debris suspended in the air. Aside from the hellish crescendo of the colliding isles, this place is devoid of sound.
Jack's attention strays to the horizon where he sees a figure astride a great black horse. Jack ventures a step forward. The figure turns his horse and spurs it in the opposite direction. They fade into the distance, like a mirage. Jack, having no idea of his location, dashes after them. Suddenly, there is nothing under his feet.
He plummets downwards, hands searching in the blackness for something to grab ahold of. His descent comes to an abrupt halt when his feet meet the ground. He emerges into a grey, rocky world awash in shadow. Empty cages hang from the ceiling. He searches, though he does not know what he seeks. The jagged crags loom in ominous shapes. He crosses a bridge. Jack chances a glance downward, his eyes met with a black abyss that transcends his definition of infinite. He finds himself in a circular sanctum, much taller than it is wide. There are seven identical shadows on the walls. They circle him vulturously. Jack is frightened. Yet, even as he acknowledges his fear, it is as though the feeling is being syphoned from him.
"Cold and dark," lures a velvety voice. "What blends better than cold and dark?"
"Who are you?" Jack asks the emptiness. Two amber eyes open and leer at him from a black passage ahead. The ticking of a clock swims into his ears. Or is it a heartbeat? Jack regards the eyes warily. They grow. Jack starts to retreat, his steps uncertain and unnaturally heavy until he is rooted to the floor. Jack looks down. His feet are immersed in some sort of viscous black goo. He can see his breath in the air.
His attention snaps back to the eyes that now have a human figure to go with them. Before he can scream, the figure is flesh against him. Jack can feel arms around him. There are lips on his neck. He hardly notices he is falling until he is half-submerged in the black goo beneath. The figure bears down on him. He sinks. Jack cannot breathe until what he can only assume are lips find his mouth. Though he does not inhale, Jack's lungs fill with air. He starts to kiss the figure back. In that moment, he needs nothing else.
The ooze dissolves his clothing. The black seeps into Jack's pores, staining his skin and hair. It's a bridge. No, it's a bed. It's a bed dripping with black. Jack's fingers burrow into the muddy black back of the figure. They're the same color - comprised of the same slippery black muck. Jack feels, rather than sees. His heightened libido races through his veins. The figure starts to consume him in a way Jack cannot describe.
Jack awakens to the sound of his own lascivious moaning. His sheets are sticky. He sits up like a shot, covered in sweat. His hand flies to his lips, vacant and lonely. Engulfed by a sense of profound loss, he sighs wistfully. He was so comfortable – so taken with the seductive darkness. Jack has never been romanced, but he cannot help but equate the specter who visits in the night to what that might feel like.
He longs for this elusive, faceless figure. There is no denying it, even in his waking hours. Jack holds fast to this haunting phantom. It frightens and bewitches him. Is this figure… Adam?
Cold and dark, he recalls. He wonders what it means.
Jack glances at the clock. Morning. It is time to prepare for the World Championship Figure Skating Competition.
Adam is on his way back to his suite with a heavy heart when Pitch's chocolate voice swims into his ears. "Ah. Mr. Russell." Adam's eyes snap up, finding Black standing at the entrance to the hotel's classiest, low lighted bar. "Congratulations on Jack's victory. You must be so proud." Adam manages a wan, wary smile at Pitch Black, fearing what might follow. "Join me for a drink, won't you? You should celebrate," Pitch remarks, his thin lips easing into an oily smirk.
Adam eyes him skeptically. "Don't you-?"
Pitch raises his hand, palm turned out to politely stop him. "I understand your affections for the boy, Adam. Just as I understand his for you. This revelry runs too deep. It is an affair only the two of you can sever. I dare not stake a claim one can contest in such a potent manner. He would never truly be mine, not while you linger at the forefront of his mind."
Adam blinks, the shock at his invitation evident on his face. "You mean-?"
"Join me for a drink," Pitch repeats cordially. "We can discuss it then."
They sit side by side at the glossy red wood counter. The bartender fixes them their cocktails.
"What will you do now?" Pitch asks. "You're quite a coveted representative, being employed by not one, but two victorious Worlds contestants."
Adam thinks about it, having never before experienced the freedom to fantasize. "I don't know. Honestly… I might settle down. I might…" He swallows hard. Resolutely, "I might ask Jack to settle down with me."
Pitch hums in response. "I thought you might say something of that nature." The bartender places the drinks in front of Pitch. Pitch passes Adam's rum and coke into his waiting palm. Pitch raises his own martini and toasts him gracefully. "Best of luck to you."
Adam is still so blindsided by the man's surrender that he toasts him back without a word. He raises the much-needed drink to his lips and takes a few deep swallows. They sit in silence for a brief moment until Pitch produces a slender green vial from his coat.
Adam's brows knit together. "What is that?"
"Antidote," Pitch says.
The word hangs in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
Pitch turns his head and fixes Adam in a bold, triumphant stare. The color gradually leaves Adam's face. He does not need to ask what it is for. Before he can snatch it out of Pitch's hand, the vial disappears in a wisp of black smoke. Adam promptly drops his drink. The commotion of the bar and the stark atmosphere prevents others from noticing.
Pitch continues. "It is waiting for you on a plane to Juno, Alaska. Your ticket has already been purchased. When you are at cruising altitude, one of the flight attendants will bring it to you." Adam chokes back a sob. "You are to tell Jack's unfortunate family that he perished in a tragic car accident, courtesy of a drunk driver. And then you will disappear… and never attempt to contact him, or myself, again. Funds are being wired to an account as we speak. You've done well for me, Adam Russell. I trust you will not botch this last assignment." Pitch levels him with a cold, diabolical smile. "You have two hours… before you become just another corpse for my collection."
Adam is engulfed in a blur of white and blue as Jack leaps into his arms. Adam catches him, too stupefied to push him away and too brokenhearted by the kiss that follows. He clutches him as tightly as he can with strong hands and promises he cannot keep. Jack is beyond his reach now.
Jack, oblivious, beams up at Adam with his big, bright blue eyes and his thousand watt smile.
"I won, Adam! Can you believe it?"
Adam's façade is breaking. "Of course I can. You're an excellent skater." He sets Jack on his feet. Adam turns away, keying open his room.
Behind him, "I couldn't have done it without your incessant nagging." Adam clenches his teeth and strides into his room. "Really. I owe you everything." Jack comes to the door. Adam can hear the confusion and dying excitement in his voice. "Well… It's after Worlds." His voice tappers off in a tenous laugh.
Adam knows precisely what that is supposed to remind him of. Everything aches. Adam drags his suitcase out from the closet, thrusts it onto the bed, and starts packing.
Adam is acting stranger than usual. Maybe he's just nervous. Grown men get nervous, right? Jack strides into his room, pivots, and plops down on the edge of the bed. "Moving into my room?" he asks blithely.
Adam hesitates as he reaches for his last pair of dress shoes. Hoarsely, "No Jack." He snatches them up and stuffs them into the bag. Jack watches him. He doesn't understand.
Jack frowns. "Moving to a different room?"
"No. I'm leaving."
Jack fidgets uncomfortably. "To another hotel?"
More forcefully, "No Jack. I'm leaving the city. I have… urgent business elsewhere."
His hopes are rekindled. "Oh. Well then I'll come with you!" Jack pops up and walks towards the door. After all, he has to pack. Adam's words freeze him in place.
"No. You won't."
Jack slowly turns to face him. He folds his arms, hoping it will calm the rolling of his stomach. "Then I'm waiting here?" he guesses, "Until you come back?"
"I'm not coming back."
Jack's expression bleeds out, his skin adopting an even paler tone than usual. He is too stunned to pay attention to what Adam is doing anymore. "What do you mean?"
"Did I stutter? I'm not coming back. And you're not coming with me."
Jack is floundering. Tears well in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, trying to seem more offended than crushed. Adam doesn't answer him. "Adam?"
"It's business," he replies gruffly.
Jack starts to panic. Tension turns his muscles to steel. "Adam, I don't know anyone here." Adam doesn't answer him. Jack, mortified and teary eyed, chokes on whatever he wants to say. He swallows hard. "Adam you can't. You can't just-"
"Jack, what you and I had was nothing more than your wild hormones and one too many drinks on my part. There was never any "after Worlds". There was never an "us" at the end of this thing."
"That's a lie. You don't mean that," Jack snaps back, hating how his voice cracks and his lip keeps quivering.
"I do. Now leave."
"Adam, I have nowhere to go!"
"Go back to your room."
"How am I supposed to live!? I don't even have enough money for a plane ticket home!""
Adam slips into his accent. As he stuffs his jeans into the bag, "Tha''s not my problem. You're seventeen. You'll fig'ya et out."
Jack is close to sobbing. "Oh my god," he realizes. "You're serious."
Adam meets his eyes from across the room for the first time that night. "Did you think I was jokin'? Are you really tha' stupid? You've been with me so long tha' ye can't think for ya'self now? I'm leavin'. You're on ya' own. I was 'ere to be your manage'ah'. I 'ave no other obligation to you."
Jack stands there a moment longer, suffocating under the heartache. He shakes his head, certain the pain in his chest will kill him. He turns on his heel and hurries out of the room. His vision swims in the hall, nearly colliding with an elderly couple on the way to their suite. Jack hurries past them. He fumbles for the card key. The crocodile tears make it impossible. He eventually sinks to the floor, fitting himself against the doorjam, and hugs his knees. He cries quietly.
The hallways is empty. Everyone else is too busy partying.
But for the life of him, Jack can't think of anything worth celebrating right now.