For the next two weeks, he spent his days in the study. He told everyone he was
working, which was a plausible excuse. But he was really just sitting at his desk staring
out the window. Sometimes he spoke to the empty room. He’d lean forward in his chair and said things to Captain Lang, hoping Lang might appear to him. But no one ever
replied.
After two weeks had passed, he went down for breakfast one morning as usual.
Brighton was playing with Cleo and Marion was making coffee. He smiled and said good
morning, then sat down and opened the newest edition of Provincetown’s local
newspaper,
The Banner
.
While he was reading, Marion looked up from the coffee machine and said, “You
know, Mr. Moore, something is different around here.”
He lowered the paper and turned to face her. “Different?”
She lifted a mug from the counter and filled it with steaming coffee. “I know you
think I’m daft, but the house seems different to me. When I wake up and walk into the
kitchen, all the cabinet doors are shut, just the way I left them the night before. And
nothing strange or out of the ordinary has happened in over two weeks. To be honest, I
kind of miss it. I know that sounds silly, Mr. Moore. But I got used to all these strange
little things happening around the house. It felt normal.”
Dexter’s stomach jumped and his heart raced. He wanted to talk about Captain
Lang with someone. There were so many words and emotions ready to burst from his
mouth. But he maintained an even expression and said, “Maybe you’re just getting used
to the house, Marion. I haven’t noticed anything different.” Then he leaned forward and
grabbed the end of an old sock hanging from Cleo’s mouth. He pulled the sock and said
to Brighton, “You don’t notice anything different, Brighton, do you?”
Brighton laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t wake up all tucked in
every morning anymore.” While Dexter pulled the sock in Cleo’s mouth, Cleo pulled back as hard as he could. But Cleo couldn’t manage to secure his footing on the wooden
floor. His feet slipped and his body went forward.
Dexter let go of the sock and Cleo fell backward on his hind quarters. “What are
you talking about, Brighton?” He knew he hadn’t been tucking her into bed at night.
She reached for the sock in Cleo’s mouth and said, “While we’ve been here in this
house, I used to always wake up tucked in. Now I don’t anymore. I miss it, too. I always
felt safe and warm.”
Dexter gave Marion a look. “Have you been tucking her into bed at night,
Marion?”
Marion’s eyes were wide. She put down the coffee mug and pressed her palm to
her cheek. “I have no idea what she’s talking about, Mr. Moore. I kiss her goodnight and
close the door. But I never actually tuck her into bed.”
Dexter didn’t want to continue talking about this. He reached for the sock in
Cleo’s mouth and pulled it out with one quick tug. “Sit down and eat your breakfast,
Brighton. You’ll be late for school.”
Brighton stood up and went to her chair. Marion came to the table with a mug of
coffee and looked down at Dexter with her lips pursed. She placed the mug in front of
him and said, “For the first time since I arrived in Keel Cottage, I feel like the house is
empty.”
Dexter laughed and waved his arm. “Marion, you have an overactive imagination,
is all.”
She turned and crossed back to the island. “Maybe so, Mr. Moore, but I know
something’s different around here. I just don’t know what.” Dexter lifted the mug and took a sip of coffee, then lifted the newspaper and
pretended he hadn’t heard what she’d said.
In the months that followed, Dexter returned to his normal routine. He’d resigned
himself to the fact that Captain Lang was not going to return and that life continued. He
stopped talking to empty rooms. He started to go out again. He met Elliot for drinks, he
went to dinner parties with friends, and he kept busy with his work in the Retail
Association.
In the late spring, he began traveling to promote the second book, which was
launching that summer. With the first book, he hadn’t done as much promotion because
of the reality show. But this time he had to do talk shows, magazine interviews, and radio
shows. He met James Campbell in New York to discuss the book launch. James bought
him small gifts, took him to quiet, romantic restaurants, and continued to flirt. He wasn’t
shy. One night while they were standing outside Dexter’s hotel, James put his arms
around Dexter and said, “I’m in love with you. Tell me there’s some hope, Dexter.”
Then he boldly slipped his arm under Dexter’s jacket and grabbed his crotch.
Dexter stepped back and straightened his jacket. “I need time, James,” he said.
“I’m still in love with Michael.” Then he kissed James on the cheek and went into the
hotel alone. He clenched his fists all the way up to his room. He wanted to feel the same
way about James. But he didn’t feel anything more than friendship.
By June, the second book was released and Dexter started jogging in the early
mornings. He discovered that strenuous cardio workouts helped ease stress. And it helped
him forget about his sexual frustrations. He masturbated often. But he hadn’t had sex
with anyone since Captain Lang. He’d jog down the driveway at six in the morning and run all the way to the east end of town and back. He smiled and nodded at the same
people every morning. There were a handful of other people in town with the same
routine. He’d been in Provincetown for two years, yet it felt as if he’d been there all his
life.
Then one morning in the middle of June, he jogged down the driveway and
noticed an unfamiliar car parked in the street at the end of the driveway. He’d never seen
this car; it had New York tags. The summertime tourists were returning and he knew
unfamiliar cars were common. But this one caught his eye. It was a twenty-five-year old
Lincoln Town Car, with faded gold paint and a chocolate brown vinyl roof that had
frayed edges. You didn’t see cars like that in Provincetown often. Most of the tourists
drove new SUVs or expensive foreign cars.
The front windows in the Lincoln were down. Dexter jogged past the driver’s
door and looked inside. There were two young men in the front seat. The passenger had
long, light brown hair and a scruffy goatee. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt, faded
jeans, and dark sunglasses that covered the top half of his face. The driver had black hair.
He wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans. His seat was all the way back and he wasn’t
wearing shoes or socks. His left leg was up and his large bare foot was resting on the
dashboard. There was a tattoo of a snake on his ankle.
Dexter nodded at them and smiled. They reminded him of the rough guys he used
to see all the time in California, riding their skateboards down Santa Monica Boulevard
with their shirts wide open and their pants falling below their waists. These guys all had
three things in common: dark, sexy eyes; huge, thick dicks; and an innate sense of entitlement that suggested the world owed them something for just being young and
handsome.
The driver looked up at Dexter and nodded, then reached between his legs and
scratched his crotch a few times. He did it with sudden jerks so that his dick would move
around. The only thing he could have done that would have been more obvious was
pulling his dick out and shaking it in Dexter’s direction.
Dexter pressed his palm to his throat. He blinked and continued jogging. When he
reached the next block, he turned around and looked back at the old Lincoln. The driver
was standing outside the car now. He was leaning against the front door, with his elbow
on the roof, watching Dexter. Dexter couldn’t see the expression on his face. But he did
see the guy reach down and grab his crotch again.
When Dexter returned an hour later, the car was gone. But it was back again the
next morning. When Dexter jogged by this time, the guy with the dark hair was sitting on
the hood of the car. His shirt was off and his jeans were so far down Dexter could see his
pubic hairs. The other guy was in the passenger seat. He looked Dexter up and down with
a sly grin on his face. Dexter nodded and smiled.
The guy lifted his chin and said, “Hey, baby. I like those shorts. Nice ass.” His
voice was deep and hoarse, with a naughty, playful tone. Guys flirted with each other all
the time in Provincetown, so this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.
Dexter’s eyes opened wide. He wondered if the guy could sense how sexually
frustrated he was. He almost tripped on a crack in the pavement. He was wearing a pair
of tight, black Spandex athletic shorts and a white cotton tank top. He had a red baseball
cap pulled down over his eyes. Guys did this to him all the time; he was used to it. But at that hour of the morning, he didn’t feel sexy, and he wasn’t interested in flirting with
anyone. He didn’t know how to respond to the guy, so he smiled and said, “Thanks,
man,” and kept jogging.
The car was gone by the time he returned. And for the next four days, the pattern
repeated. Sometimes both guys were standing outside the car. They always made a
comment about Dexter’s ass and they always made an obscene gesture with their crotches.
He should have called the police. If Dexter had been a woman he most likely would have
called the police the first day this all began. But Dexter was a gay man, and contrary to
popular stereotypical beliefs, gay men did not think like women. Dexter thought like a
man, and had the ego of a man. And men didn’t call the police, or ask for any kind of
help, unless it was absolutely necessary.
One morning the dark-haired guy actually unzipped his pants and adjusted his
underwear. The morning after that, the guy with the lighter hair licked his lips and
whistled at Dexter. Dexter still didn’t think it was serious enough to call the police. They
seemed harmless enough; they were always smiling. He just figured it was a couple of
smart-asses passing through Provincetown, hoping to make sexual conquests. If he
ignored them, they’d lose interest and disappear.
After a few days of awkward encounters, Dexter decided to change his routine.
Instead of jogging in the morning, he waited until nine o’clock one night. The guys
weren’t there when he left the house. He took a deep breath and sighed. But when he
returned from his run an hour later, the old Lincoln was back again. They must have been
watching his every move from a distance. The guys were outside the car, tossing a
Frisbee to each other in the street. It was dark outside, but they were near a streetlight. Dexter could see they were both shirtless. Their baggy jeans were pulled down to their
hips and it looked like they weren’t wearing any underwear.
Dexter was drenched in sweat. His tank top was clinging to his chest and his
white running shorts hugged his body. When he slowed down to a walk, the guy with the
dark hair looked at him and said, “Hey, baby. Can we use your phone? We’re having a
little car trouble and we need to call someone.” He even sounded like the guys on Santa
Monica Boulevard, with a streetwise accent that had quasi-ethnic undertones. But these
guys weren’t ethnic.
There was no way Dexter was going to invite them into his house. He took a deep
breath and said, “I’ll get my cell phone, guys. It’s in the house.” He was planning to call
the police.
The guy with the dark hair dropped the Frisbee in the street. The guy with the
lighter hair grinned. Dexter smiled at them and turned toward the house. But while
Dexter was walking up the driveway, the guy with the dark hair grabbed Dexter’s arm
and the guy with the lighter hair placed his hand over Dexter’s mouth. Dexter tried to
break free. But they were too strong to resist. The one with the dark hair reached down
and grabbed Dexter’s ass, then whispered, “Let’s go inside, baby. You’re gonna like this.
I’ll bet you have a lot of nice things in that house, too. We’ve been watching you and
your little family.”
After that, everything happened fast. First, they tied Dexter to a chair on the front
porch and gagged him. Then they went inside and tied and gagged Marion to her bed.
When Cleo barked, the guy with the lighter hair scooped him up, brought him to the
garage, and threw him into the trunk of Dexter’s car. Brighton was sound asleep in her room. She didn’t know what was happening, and Dexter, still tied to a chair, prayed she’d