1. Allan
Chapter one
Allan
I stood on the beach as the sun began its descent behind a nightmare hellscape of a Canadian prairie thunderstorm. Grains of sand cascaded through my toes as I wiggled them. Lightning illuminated the horizon, exposing layer upon layer of threatening clouds. Thunder rumbled across the sky.
Despite the early evening, the sticky summer air was cloying and the late-day heat oppressive.
The beer bottle I held had lost its chill. I took a swig anyway.
The alcohol haze I had been chasing eluded me.
"Allan, don't just stand there, grab the cooler and let's go!" Brent called out from the shoreline.
He, Shawn, and Dylan were tugging on the canoe Brent had managed to scam off his parents.
All of us were in our late twenties, and none of us had a fucking dime to our names, a direction in life, or a purpose. Our existence was one party after another. One brain-dead idea, after another.
I had grown tired of our games.
"Do you see that?" I hoisted the empty beer bottle toward the oncoming storm. "We're never going to get to the island before that catches up to us."
"The storm is on the other side of the lake. It's not even coming in this direction." Brent rolled his eyes and dropped the front end of the canoe. "For fuck's sake." He ran up the steep sand embankment to where I stood, bent over, heaved the overpacked red cooler up, and glared at me. "You could help."
"And you could fuck off."
Brent and I had a serious dislike of each another, but Shawn and Dylan had invited us both on this crazy camping trip without each of us knowing the other had been asked.
History existed between Brent and me. A torrid summer fling during university that ended up with me adorning a black eye and Brent sporting stitches in his lip from where I'd punched him.
Brent's attitude and anger were well known, and those qualities had landed him on the bench while playing for the university's hockey team. The reprimand had been brief, though, as hockey often championed aggression. The catastrophic relationship between us, however, had damaged me so badly I had dropped out of school to be rid of him. I did not wish to remain in his toxic presence.
Brent eventually got thrown off the hockey team after an overabundance of hostility and violence on the ice got his team disqualified from the season's provincial tournament. That killed Brent's scholarship and ended his educational career.
Now we made meager livings as part-time bartender and used car salesman.
I slung the cocktails.
Brent had the required slimy demeanor for sales. If the world didn't play along to Brent's rules, or measure up to his expectations, all hell broke loose, as it had on my face.
But as with back then, and now, I was done taking any shit from Brent Caron.
If I had a way back to the city, I would have driven home the minute I saw him standing on the beach, but Shawn held the keys to the only vehicle. One he had borrowed from his sister.
We were a pathetic band of lost souls—the quintessential millennials everyone complained about, and to be honest, I couldn't blame them.
I know, we weren't all lazy, inept, and unable to hold a job. We did have friends who owned their own businesses, had earned degrees, and held down good-paying jobs. Hell, some of our friends were already starting families.
Not us.
The four of us were constantly landing on the wrong side of poor choices.
"Come on, guys. At least try to get along. Brent's right, Allan. The storms always follow the shore along the west and north side of the lake. We'll be fine, but we should go now, otherwise we'll be pitching tents in the dark." Shawn yelled over the wind and lapping waves.
Yeah, sure the storm isn't coming this way.
"I've seen Allan's pitched tent in the dark. It's impressive!" Dylan snickered.
"Not as impressive as yours!" I yelled back. It wasn't a lie. Dylan's dick was legendary.
Shawn and Dylan laughed.
"Gross." Brent said just loud enough for me to hear as he wobbled his way over to the canoe jamming the cooler into the boat that already contained way more than it should.
We're gonna sink, drown, and die in that thing.
"Come on! Let's go." Shawn gave a battle cry akin to some Viking and shoved the boat into the water, then climbed in with dexterity and grace.
I shook my head. I suppose if the boat was going down and there existed a remote chance I could die, it couldn't be that bad.
I understand drowning only resulted in panic for a couple of minutes. Then it promised sweet slumber under calm waters.
I shrugged, tossed my empty beer bottle into the bushes, and ran down to get into the boat.
After forty minutes of furious paddling, and carefully keeping watch on the storm near us, the canoe made landfall on the island we intended to be our weekend getaway. The four of us worked together to pull the boat far enough out of the water so it wouldn't drift away, and on enough dry land that we could empty it without getting our feet any more wet than they already were. The amount of splashing from the paddles flinging about and the constant slosh of waves coming into the overstuffed boat rendered my socks into what equated to a squishy sponge inside my running shoes. I hated the soggy sensation. Wet feet were a special kind of hell.
I glanced up as I slung my backpack over one arm.
The typical Canadian National Park signs you see in abundance within their grounds are always screwed to brown-stained wooden posts, sporting a drab-green metal sheet and white lettering.
"National Parks of Canada This island is a protected sanctuary. Day use is not permitted. Camping is not permitted. Please exit the island."
"Well, that's a first," I said.
Shawn glanced at me questioningly. I nodded my head toward the sign.
"Bah. No one ever pays attention to those things. Besides. It's already late. Ain't no park ranger going to descend on us now."
He was probably right. Although, the warning tugged at my insides like a moored boat yanks and pulls on its tether.
Tossing common sense over my shoulder for the second time in less than an hour, I helped unload the canoe.
"I'll make a fire!" Dylan exclaimed.
We hadn't even picked an appropriate spot to camp yet, but off he went into the woods to find logs to burn.
Pyromaniac.
At that very moment I wondered if I had brought enough booze to be pleasantly gonzo for two days. Probably not.
I liked Shawn and Dylan. They were fun. But Brent was another story altogether and dealing with his shit required uncalculated volumes of alcohol.
Rolling my eyes at the various shitty scenarios my brain created of Brent ruining my weekend, the three of us agreed on a clearing several feet from shore that would act as a good spot to set up camp.
Dylan emerged from the underbrush a few minutes later with an armful of deadwood. He got busy creating a fire pit, making a circle of stones, then picking out smaller pieces of wood and twigs to use as kindling.
Shawn and I organized the supplies. Brent started drinking.
"You could help." I used his own words against him.
"Fuck you." He used my words against me.
This was going to be a stellar weekend.
"All right you two. That's enough. You're both grown men. You had a little incident several years ago. Get over it. Dylan and I were hoping you two might have a good enough time this weekend that you'd bury the hatchet. So, could you fucking grow up? Please?"
I pursed my lips as I stared at Shawn.
He wasn't wrong.
I didn't have to like Brent, but I could at least be civil and try to make this a half decent weekend excursion.
I nodded acceptance.
Brent rolled his eyes, tossed his empty beer bottle, then cracked another open. "Yeah, whatever."
We weren't worried about bears, so the cooler stayed on the ground near where we would put the tents.
It was then I realized…
There were only two tents.
"Oh, come on. what the hell?"
"What the fuck is the matter now?" Shawn turned and asked, appearing obviously frustrated. The entrails of his tent hung limply from his hands.
"There's only two tents?"
"That's all we could get our hands on."
"Well then I'm sleeping with you two!"
"Honey, I love you, loads, but not like that. And Dylan and I are gonna have some wild camping sex. So, no. You sleep in that tent there as soon as you get it set up. And yes, you're sharing it with Brent. Deal."
"Fuck my life."
Brent was now on beer number three.
"Come on, Al, my pal, it won't be that bad." He slapped me on the back as he picked up the tent still nestled in its plastic sleeve.
Shit. Brent's mood had changed in fifteen minutes, the alcohol already starting to take effect. This was gonna be one hell of a weekend.
I hated myself for it, but once Brent was in this state, it became easier to assume a submissive role around him. Let him be the leader and take control. The friendly demeanor was a guise. Under that booze-soaked mask portraying a good-time-Charlie, lay an abusive, angry monster just simmering under the surface, waiting for a cause to set him off.
No one needed to see that. Ever. I'd already seen it far too often.
I stood back until Brent had the tent unfurled from the bag, then jumped into action as he barked out commands.
Within twenty minutes our tent stood, complete with a fly to protect us in case of rain.
Which now we could smell. The petrichor saturated the summer air.
Thunder made its presence known several times, and just as we sat down in front of the fire, with beer and coolers in hand, the first few raindrops fell.
"At least we made it here and got the tents set up." I mumbled.
"It's just a few raindrops. These summer storms blow over. I bet the ground won't even be wet." Brent stated, almost taunting Mother Nature to see if she dared rain on his parade.
We sat around the smoky bonfire and in short order put a hefty dint into our liquor supply. To Brent's credit, and perhaps his taunt, the storm didn't appear to be coming our way. We could hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, and flashes of lightning illuminated our site so, we went down to the island's shoreline to look out across the lake and watch the bolts dance across the sky.
"Hey, who wants to go skinny-dipping?" Shawn said with a goofy look on his face.
"Oh, damn, that's a great idea!" Dylan said, already stripping out of his clothes. At every party, he was always the first one to have his dick out at the slightest provocation to show others his horse-like appendage.
Before I knew it, I heard splashing as Shawn, Dylan, and Brent frolicked in the water.
"Come on, Allan! The water is actually really warm." Dylan cried out, then dove under the surface, disappearing into the black.
At this point, it was dark, the sun having long set, hiding from us beneath the horizon. The invading storm, however, kept us briefly illuminated by the constant electrical arcs that cut through the night sky.
"Don't be shy, Allan. It's not like we haven't all seen you naked before." Brent laughed.
I tilted my head back, exasperated and a little drunk.
There went common sense, one more time for today.
I stripped, took the last swallow of my beer, then advanced into the inky liquid.
"Oh, shit. You weren't kidding. It is warm." But the lake was relatively shallow, especially around the island, and in late August, the water had had the entire blazing summer to heat up.
I lay back, letting the darkness envelop me, soothing water caressing my skin.
There is something about swimming naked. It hits different.
With nothing on, and the water currents flowing everywhere, it's hard not to get at least a little chub.
My meditative floating became rudely interrupted as Brent swam over to me. Shawn and Dylan were already making out. Needless to say, they wouldn't have just chubs going on. Dylan's third leg would be on full display soon enough.
"They're having fun," Brent said, eyeing the couple.
"Would seem."
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?" Derision set in.
Brent nodded in their direction.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Ah come on. You know what's going to happen. We'll all end up at the campsite soon and disappear into our tents, and we'll have to lay there listening to them."
"And?"
"That's boring. At least we could be having our own fun."
"Are you out of your mind? Do you not remember the last time we were together?"
"Yeah. I do. And I'm still sore about that."
"Excuse me?"
"Allan, look. I know I can be a real asshole, and I have some anger issues."
"Some?" My voice went up several octaves.
"Come on. I'm trying here."
"Brent, you ruined me."
"I'm sorry."
That took me aback. Brent Caron never apologized. That realization must have been written all over my face because he picked up on it fast.
"I've been seeing a therapist and doing some work. I'm trying, man. It's hard, but I'm trying."
"Seriously?" It must have been the booze, because with that confession, years of anger and resentment toward him suddenly slid off my skin like an oil slick.
Brent came closer to me. Close enough I could feel the warmth his body emanated.
"I am serious. And I am sorry."
Just then Dylan moaned. "Oh yeah, baby. Stroke it."
Brent and I looked at each other and giggled.
"Yup. We're going to listen to Shawn get banged until the wee hours of the morning," I said. "That man's colon is gonna be wrecked."
"Well, we could listen, or we could have our own fun." Brent closed the distance until his body pressed up against mine.
It was hard to say no to Brent. He was attractive. Toned, but not overly muscled. Hairy, but not a gorilla. And although Dylan had the dong to make porn stars envious, Brent's ramrod uncut dick was currently brushing up against my thigh, and it was nothing to dismiss. The boy had girth and a decent amount of length.
As much as I hated to give in to him, because he was as toxic as arsenic, I hadn't had sex in almost a year, and maybe, just maybe, a romp with Brent tonight would make the rest of the weekend okay.
I mean, we've all had sex with our exes, right?
Brent leaned in for a kiss.
With common sense completely abandoning me, I met his lips.
All the good memories of our wild summer came flooding back, rushing in on me like tidewaters, pulling me under.
Fighting against the current proved impossible.
Giving into the taut muscle, the gentle tickle of his fur against my skin, and the warmth of his tongue inside my mouth gave me an instant boner.
I sighed.
I hated him for what he'd done to me, but I couldn't lie to myself. I missed this.
When Brent was on his best behaviour, the sex ranked pretty damn high.
His hand, gentle, yet firm, grabbed my erection and stroked.
I returned the gesture.
"Come on, let's go back to the tent," he said.
At that very moment the heavens opened, and the thunder cracked above us as lightning streaked above our heads.
"I'd say it's time to get out of the water before we're all electrocuted." I yelled out, hopefully getting Dylan and Shawn's attention.
The four of us rushed to the shore, gathered up our discarded belongings, and made a beeline for our respective shelters.
Dylan's monster dick flopped against his leg, making wet smacking noises as we ran.
We all laughed.
As soon as we got back to the campsite, Dylan helicoptered for us, as we stood in the pouring rain; then like gophers disappearing into their burrows, we all vanished into our respective tents, the thin material the only barrier that promised us dryness.
I zipped up the entrance, turned, and found Brent had flipped on the lantern, which cast shadows against the far side of the tent. He laid back, stroking his member.
He patted the spot next to him.
"Come on. Let's play."
I grabbed each of us another beer, opened them, then shimmied over.
Placing Brent's beer bottle on the underside of his sac made him screech, until he snatched the bottle out of my hand and laughed.
He took a long hearty swig.
"Naughty."
I shrugged.
"I am sorry. You know that, right?"
"I guess. One night's apology doesn't make it all better. But it's a start."
"Okay, good. You wanna touch it?" He glanced at his dick.
"Duh. It's your best feature."
I drank some more. So did he.
We kissed some more.
We groped.
We enjoyed each other's company.
It was nice.
And then before I knew it, the heaviness of booze, exhaustion, and the staccato beats of raindrops hitting our tent pulled the blanket of sleep over me.
Laying in the crook of Brent's arm and resting my head on his glorious chest, I lost consciousness.
I woke with a start.
But I couldn't get up.
Something heavy lay on top of me.
I shook my head, cloudy from booze.
I let out a muffled complaint.
A hand pushed my head into my backpack.
Something hard was pressing up against my ass.
It was then I realized Brent was on top of me. I could smell his beer breath. I remembered the feel of his anger from years gone by as he attempted to spear me. Dark, consuming rage filled our tent as his thrusts missed the mark, but his intent became glaringly clear.
Lifting my head against the pressure he applied, I growled, "Get off!"
I shook my shoulder, trying to dislodge him.
The rain poured down.
His steel rod banged against my ass cheeks.
I could tell his intoxication had altered any accuracy of where Brent wanted his erection to go. He stammered out something indecipherable, but the tone was angry.
"Brent! No!"
The rain came down harder.
And so did Brent's grinding.
My nightmare summer relationship came cascading down on me, threatening to drown me once again.
"No!" I screamed.
I hoisted an elbow up, met resistance, and heard a crack.
My elbow screamed out in white hot pain as it connected with Brent's jaw.
"Fuck you." Brent screamed.
Those words came across crystal clear. No drunken slurring evident whatsoever.
Lightning briefly made the entire tent white.
Brent huddled in the corner, holding his face. His eyes filled with rage.
His mouth opened, teeth bared, bloodied, as he snarled.
He launched himself at me.
I held up one hand, not prepared to put up with his shit. Not again. Not for anything.
"No!" I screamed. All the years of anger, all the pain he'd caused, funneled into one word, despite the apology that had occurred earlier. His actions now had erased any goodwill he'd attempted to build.
But as the word escaped my lips something primal streamed out from me.
A torrent of emotions.
The rain had transformed. It no longer fell from the sky.
It inundated us.
Waves crashed over the tent, pitching us sideways.
Thunder rolled across the sky. Wave after wave pummeled us, pitching our tent into a torrent of water.
I struggled to grasp solid ground.
Brent disappeared from my sight, carried away by the raging waters as the tent material tore apart.
I fell under the surface. Into the blackness. Into the calm.
Brent was gone.
Everything was still.
The emptiness of unconsciousness pulled me down.
"Thanks for coming, Patrick." I heard an older man's voice, gruff, authoritative. "There are two bodies over there, and well…just down the path, there's another, or what's left of it. I have never seen anything like this."
"The council appreciates you calling us in before the community at large gets a hold of this. Definitely the aftermath from one of ours."
"Magic then?"
"Yes, but, this is raw, untrained. Wild." This voice was different than the other. Kinder? Gentler? "We'll get this cleaned up for you."
"More magic?"
"I'm afraid so."
Did they just say magic?
"So, this one is the only survivor?"
"Yup. Been unconscious since I found him. He's breathing shallowly, and there's a heartbeat, but it's thready. Like I said, I was doing lake patrol. Boated past the island and saw the canoe. Thought I should take a look. Kinda glad I did. Kinda not glad I did. Ya know?"
"I understand. You can go. I'll tend to this."
And then there was silence again. My bones were tired. Everything ached.
Lying naked in a puddle of water and face down in the mud didn't convince me to get up. I couldn't move.
And then I flew through the air, landing on hard shoulders in a fireman's carry, and was hauled away.
That undercurrent of black calming water enveloped me again, and I sank beneath the surface.