HALFWAY TO THIRTY
(Version 2.0)

©2008-2010, Write By Myself, All Rights Reserved.
Any duplication, in whole or in part, is expressly prohibited without the written consent of the author.
REVISION DATE: 5 March 2010

* * * * *

Halfway To Thirty
CHAPTER ONE: Lotus AirManta
©2008-2010, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.

Boris Molotov shoved the smartcard into the slot in the all-stainless door panel, which caused the LED to glow green, and subsequently open the gull-wing door on the hovercar. This action happened thousands of times an hour all over the planet, and it wouldn’t have been at all unusual except for the fact that Boris had only just turned fifteen. Legal driving age was sixteen on Earth.

His rakish dark blond hair was cut short -- his choice -- because it kept the hair out of his eyes. Boris jumped into the hovercar, inserting the same smartcard into the slot next to the steering yoke and pressed the ignite button before the plasma display had even warmed up and displayed the customary greeting.

The nuclear drive powered up quickly, the pulsing thump-thump making the car shake slightly because the magnetic braking system was still fully engaged. After a few seconds, the screen warmed up and displayed “Hello, Kieran.” He ignored it. After all this was neither the first hovercar he stole, nor would it be the last. Had fortune been with him, however, he might have paused to reconsider taking this particular car.

He released the parking brake disengaging the magnets and the car rose slightly; he throttled it gently forward and the car rose higher and began moving forward. Boris rather fancied this car, and thought maybe he’d keep this one -- after it was worked over by his local chop-shop to make it impossible to trace back to whomever this ‘Kieran’ guy was.

The car continued its gradual rise, Boris marvelling at how the Lotus AirManta handled like an airplane yet maintained the visual grace of its namesake car. As he approached the hovercar highway, Boris prepared for the riskiest part of his theft. The hovercar highway was like a scene out of an old Jetsons cartoon. There were beacons that sent out all sorts of different signals to guide cars in and out of the densely packed, high-speed flow. Only a fool would try to do it manually and Boris was no fool.

He had to turn on the autopilot for a few moments, and when he did that, he’d be on the grid albeit for only a moment or two. If someone was looking, in that brief instant he could be found. But the odds on someone watching for this particular car out of the millions in use at any moment were slim. They would only be looking if it was reported stolen, and only a few seconds had elapsed. He engaged the autopilot, which took over instantly and the hovercar effortlessly began to move into traffic while the words “enter destination” flashed on the holoscreen.

Once the car had entered into the stream of traffic, he disengaged the autopilot so he couldn’t be tracked. It was engaged for less than two minutes in total. He tapped an arrow on the display screen causing the vehicle to increase speed slightly, and he then drifted into the long-haul lanes, which were used for those going elsewhere on the planet – generally journeys of 500 or more miles. He barely even noticed the slight bump when the car went hypersonic. Soon he was travelling at Mach four. He longed for the day when a hovercar would enable you to leave the planet, but that was still science-fiction. Travel outside the stratosphere still required a proper spacecraft and a pilot with a real license.

Boris was determined to get the most out of his remaining sixteen years before the chip implanted in his heart at birth would make his heart stop beating. He thought the chips were a stupid plan to control the population, but thirty was a long way off. He wasn’t the only one who turned to a life of recklessness to make the arbitrarily short life more exciting. After all when you know when your time is up, there’s not a lot of incentive to live life simply or safely. The unintended consequence of this political policy was that two societies had developed: one law abiding and much like the old Earth societies, and a new one whose citizens lived for the moment. Boris was definitely in the latter.

Rarely were people taken to the two special hospitals that had the facilities to have those chips removed without killing the patient instantly. The pilots for interplanetary shuttles were one such group afforded that privilege and sometimes a really good doctor or maybe a national hereo. There were only a few dozen of the pilots, and they were all grizzled veterans. Since the journeys were so long, it wouldn’t do to have a pilot cock-off halfway to the destination. He dreamed of the opportunity to be a pilot on an interplanetary shuttle, but that was one of the hardest jobs to get: one in a trillion odds at best, and not many people had such luck.

Boris felt an uncomfortable itch, and scratched his crotch viciously as he looked in the rear-view mirror for any sign of pursuit, but he didn’t see anything unusual behind him. He glanced at his reflection again and thought his eyes looked a different colour, but it couldn’t be. It had to be the light: they still must be that same unusual blue-green colour they’d always been.

As the hovercar reached Canadian airspace, he dropped the car out of the long-haul traffic lanes into a local lane. He struggled with the manoeuvre since the car rocked as it exited hypersonic drive, but engaging the autopilot again would be too risky, and would give his position away. Too much time had passed since the theft, and someone might very well be looking for this hovercar by now. He felt a sharp rocking from the hovercar, which confused him because he was certain he’d not hit anything. He felt it again. THUMP. THUMP. The car came to an unceremonious halt. He tried to keep it moving, but all the controls were suddenly dead. He wondered what the hell was going wrong.

“POLICE! Your vehicle is in traction and you are being towed to the ground. This vehicle has been reported stolen.”

“FUCK!” yelled Boris and he banged the steering yoke. He pulled the stolen smartcard out of the ignition slot, cracked the window open, and dropped it out where it fluttered down to the ground still at least a few hundred feet below, where he hoped nobody would find it. He knew the drill. If you get caught, only get caught with the car, but not the car and the card. Two strikes was an automatic death sentence. One strike might or might not be.

As the car was set gently down on the ground, he tried to open the door so he could run for it, but the coppers were too smart for that. The door wouldn't open until they released the traction devices that kept the vehicle immobilized. Technology wasn’t always your friend realized Boris.

The cops came towards the car, photon guns drawn. Nothing hurt like getting hit with a photon blast. Or so he was told. He put his arms over his head, interlacing his fingers so they wouldn’t shoot him. He was the very picture of submission. He got out peaceably when they opened the door.

“You stupid little fuck,” said the officer who was not much older than he was. “You stole Kieran Tormark’s favourite car. Do you have any idea how pissed he is?”

Boris’ heart sank. He’d had no idea whose car this was when he’d taken, just that it was a valuable top-of-the-range model, and he wanted it. Keiran Tormark’s prized car? Fuck! He shook his head at his bad luck, unbelieving, then in a voice full of defeat, he spoke to the officer. “Just kill me. Please!”

“No such luck. Once we get you back to the station and booked, he’s coming over for you,” said the officer with a vicious tone to his voice. He paused for effect. “Personally.”

Boris started to cry softly and it wasn’t an act either. New Law dictated that if you were arrested for a crime against another person, the wronged person could claim you. You were released from public sentencing and turned over to that person or his heirs if appropriate. That person could release you, seek restitution of whatever compensation he saw fit, or exert his own punishment on you without fear of reprisals. This often resulted in savage beatings and death. It was legalized murder.

Boris wasn’t sure what would happen, but since Kieran Tormark was the legendary leader of the Irish Mafia and was famous for brutally torturing his victims and maiming them, and making their deaths last for hours or even days, he had an idea that whatever it was would be long and painful. Boris began to sob uncontrollably as the reality of the situation sunk in.

“Shut your gob,” said the officer, which just caused Boris to cry even harder.

Boris didn’t hear the loud crack as the truncheon hit him on the back of the head. Boris crumpled to the ground and the officer dragged him along like a sack of laundry, leaving a trickle of blood on the ground as the sole reminder that Boris had been there.

Halfway To Thirty
CHAPTER TWO: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling
©2008-2010, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.

Boris awoke in a small, plain, grey, dank, cold, smelly cell. His head was throbbing, and when he put his hand back to feel the knot, he was greeted by caked blood. Not only did it mean he’d taken quite a hit, it also meant he’d been unconscious for a while if the blood had time to dry and cake. He wondered if he had a concussion, then he realized it didn’t much matter. A date with Kieran Tormark was a date with death.

As he was contemplating the pitiful turn of events in his life, the cell door opened. “Get up!” shouted a harsh voice.

Boris complied, standing slowly, shakily, trying not to fall back down. He wobbled and stuck his hand out to steady himself against the wall.

“Oi! He’s here for his cargo,” a loud voice echoed down the hall.

“Right then, you. Come with me, and don’t try anything funny. Himself told us not to put the cuffs on before we turned you over.”

Boris didn’t answer and slowly moved forward trying to pretend the horrific odours of piss and vomit from the prison didn’t bother him. Trying anything funny was the last thing on his mind. The way his head felt, he was lucky he could remain upright.

He came around the corner, and saw a teenager, not much older than himself. Seventeen maybe. Red hair, a few freckles, and the most awesome green eyes peered back at him. He tried to look into those eyes but he saw nothing, felt nothing. It was like looking into a painting and not a human, and he suppressed a shudder. He knew this kid was a psychopath and that any hope of salvation was ruined. A mob henchman was nothing to trifle with.

“This my cargo?” asked a soft, lilting voice in a thick Irish brogue.

“Yessir!” replied the officer.

“I hope he’s not damaged. That wouldn’t go well.”

“Nosir! A little bump on the back of the head from the scuffle when we arrested him. He’ll be fine except for maybe a slight headache.”

Boris wondered why the cop was lying to the teenager. It didn’t make sense.

The Irish teen handed the officer a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on him and load him in the back of my hovercar.”

The officer complied and Boris said nothing. He was now a passenger in the car he had stolen less than a day ago. Boris had a lot of questions, but he knew when he finally met Kieran Tormark properly, he’d be in a huge bit of trouble. He didn’t want to antagonize the kid sent to bring him there. He was outside the law now and it frightened him.

The Irish teen took a look at Boris, and smiled, his eyes causing Boris to shudder internally in fear. It was the smile of a predator and not a friend. “So, you must have questions.”

Boris figured lying would do nothing but upset the driver, so he opted for the truth. “Yeah, I do. I’ll make sure your boss knows it was an accident and it won’t happen again. I know I fucked up. Big time.”

“That you did. You crossed the wrong guy.”

“I know. I’m really, really, really, sorry. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll have that opportunity, Boris.”

Boris grew nervous. “You know my name then? I’m Boris Molotov. What’s your name?”

“Kieran Tormark.”

“What? You can’t be! You’re too young.”

“I quite assure you, I am. Kieran Tormark the Third to be exact. The first is dead, due to a most unfortunate accident. The second is resting at home and the third, me, is here with you. In my car. Which you fucking stole. Which pisses me off. Greatly.”

“Dear gods.”

“I don’t much think the gods will help you with this one.”

“Maybe we can work something out.”

“I am quite confident we can. In fact, I know it.”

Kieran’s words and facial expression didn’t match. While the words would have normally relieved Boris, he felt unsettled by the facial expression. Boris was smart and trusted his instincts. He was worried, and for many reasons. If they were going to Kieran Tormark’s home, he should have been blindfolded. He wasn’t, and that didn’t speak well for the future, or at least not his future.

Nearly a full hour later, they pulled into the driveway of an absurdly large, old-fashioned mansion. It looked almost like one of the plantations from the antebellum South. Boris looked around, and noted the lack of guards. He was sure they were there, but he didn’t see even one. And the fact that Kieran the Third didn’t feel the need for bodyguards meant he was very dangerous indeed.

“Alright, Boris, come with me.”

Boris got out and followed Kieran like an obedient puppy, having no other choice. Soon they were in a bedroom that looked like it belonged to a typical teenager, though there were some unusual things on the walls. Boris recognized a nunchaku, a throwing star, and a pair of brass knuckles. There were other things, which he assumed were weapons, but he had no idea what they were.

“Put your hands out in front of you.”

Boris complied, and Kieran produced a set of keys and unlocked the handcuffs.

“Take off all your clothes.”

Boris hesitated, briefly confused, and then asked “Why?”

“This one time, I will not punish you for your hesitation because I haven’t yet explained the rules of your stay with us. No, you may not ask why. You will follow all instructions given to you instantly and without question. If you fail to comply you will be punished. Each punishment will be worse than the previous one.”

Boris knew this wouldn’t be the place to be bashful or defiant. He began to undress. When done, Kieran instructed him to put his clothes in the rubbish tin. Boris complied as he began to feel real fear welling up in him in addition to the humiliating embarrassment of being fully exposed.

“Open that door,” said Kieran pointing.

Boris complied, and saw it went into an en suite bathroom.

“Take a shower. You reek. Take as short or as long as you want. There are towels hanging on the back of the door. When you’re ready to come out, knock on the door so I know you’re coming. Sudden moves tend to startle me, and, trust me, you really wouldn’t want to do that.”

“Okay.”

Boris was feeling a bit better physically, though mentally he was out-of-sorts at best. Although Kieran was interesting on at least one level, something just wasn’t right with him. Boris realized he had to get out somehow. No matter what Kieran might say, no boss of the Irish Mafia was going to let him off the hook. Boris spent most of the time cleaning his head where it was bloodied, and doing his best to clean it.

Boris wanted to shave his barely formed stubble, but didn’t want to touch any of Kieran’s things. He figured the more respectable he looked, the better it would go for him. When he was done showering and washing his hair, he dried off and knocked on the door, keeping the towel around his waist.

“You may come out.”

Boris opened the door but didn’t leave, and said, “Excuse me, I wanted to shave but didn’t want to use your things without asking.”

“You’re already learning. That’s good. In the right-hand drawer you will find what you need,” said Kieran nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” said Boris, shutting the door behind him. He shaved and preened himself a bit in front of the mirror, even combing his hair wincing when the comb hit the sport where the truncheon had brained him. He knocked again, received no answer, so knocked again, and then cautiously exited the bathroom after still receiving no answer.

He didn't see Kieran, and as he looked around, he noticed some things from the wall were missing. He found his clothes had been removed from the room entirely, and were nowhere to be seen. He sat down in a chair and waited, wearing nothing but the towel around his waist.

Soon the door opened and Kieran walked in.

“What are you doing out?”

“I knocked and there was no answer.”

Kieran’s face turned red, but he remained silent and marched up to Boris. “Those were not the instructions you were given,” he barked angrily. And, suddenly, his fist flew out and knocked Boris solidly in the side of the mouth.

Blood splattered and Boris fell sideways with the punch, as he crouched into a ball to protect himself.

“See what you made me do?” demanded Kieran as he licked the blood from his knuckles a wistful look in his eyes.

Boris tried to talk but blood oozed out, his lip split, making a mess on the floor. Kieran looked at the fresh stain on his carpet with a puzzled look before kicking out with his foot and connecting with Boris’ stomach eliciting a sharp cry. A second kick went right to the testicles, and Boris whimpered like a whipped puppy, and spewed vomit, which was coloured with blood. “You are so bad. I don’t know why I’ve been so nice to you. I should kill you now. But I won’t. I’m going to give you another chance.”

The pain from his still aching head, his lip, his jaw, and his groin was unbearable. As he lost consciousness, Boris had a momentary thought that this was some sort of sick, perverted game. And then everything was black.

Some hours later, he regained consciousness in a bed. He cautiously opened his eyes, and realized he was still in Kieran’s room. He was also still naked. Kieran was nowhere to be seen. He’d been cleaned up, and put to bed like a child.

Boris took stock of his situation. He was naked, in pain, and in the bed of a seriously demented, probably psychopathic, Irish Mafia member. His fear kept him lying in bed. He hoped it would soon lead him to a way to escape. He decided that his modesty was no obstacle, and he’d rather run naked than stay. He just had to get the lay of the land before he could go.

He tried to get up, but he was in too much pain. He heard the door begin to open and he lay still, wondering what fresh new hell was about to befall him.

“Ah! I see you’re awake, Boris and I’m feeling ever so generous this morning. I slept in the guest quarters so you could get some rest. I suppose you have more questions, so you have thirty minutes to ask as many as you want.”

“Thanks. Can you please help me to sit up? I don’t think I can manage it myself.”

Kieran reached out and Boris flinched reflexively, but Kieran only helped him to sit up, then grabbed a chair and sat next to the bed. Boris was still mortified to be naked in front of a stranger, but at this point he’d given up worrying about it too much.

“Okay, why have you taken my clothes? I realize it may not seem like much to you, but it’s sort of embarrassing to me.”

“Hard to run away if you’re naked, isn’t it? Or maybe I like to look. You’re not bad looking, you know. Besides, keeping you in your place is valuable. You need to understand that you are mine.”

“Fair enough. What are you planning to do to me?”

“Ah, yes, the money question. I had intended, quite simply, to beat you to death. I find much joy in that: feeling someone’s life flow slowly away, through your fingers, knowing you’re the cause. Watching someone’s life drain away is oddly erotic, in fact. And you have such a very pretty face,” said Kieran, putting his hand out and stroking Boris’ cheek gently.

Boris shuddered at the touch. Kieran noticed and his countenance darkened considerably, but said nothing more.

“I understand it’s your right to do whatever you want, but why did you beat me so badly for such a minor thing?” Boris was feeling very uncomfortable under Kieran’s constant, leering gaze.

“Yes, it is my right. Why? I like it. That’s all the reason you need. Besides, as long as you know I can destroy you, your will is mine.”

“You seem to think I’m valuable to you, and are allowing me to ask questions and shower. Being horribly beaten seems at odds with that. You already have my attention. Is there anything I can do to stop the beatings? If you want to kill me, just do it.”

Rage took Kieran, and he screamed, “Don’t tell me what to do! I’ll do what I want, when I want.” He drew his hand back and slapped Boris hard, breaking his lip anew, causing blood to trickle down. Because Boris was already injured it hurt badly. Kieran reached back to swing again, but the rage passed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that just yet. You really must learn to respect your betters.”

“I’m sorry,” said Boris meekly and sincerely, now convinced Kieran was totally psychotic.

“Boris, we need someone for an experiment, and that’s why we’ve selected you. You’re convenient and any damage won’t become our problem since you’re already our property.”

“I don’t understand,” said Boris.

“We, my father and I, have developed a special chemical that disables the death chip. If it works, you no longer have to worry about your heart stopping around your 30th birthday. We’ve experimented before but there were unexpected side effects. We think the problems are ironed out now, though.”

“We intend to conduct this experiment on you. In payment for that, your debt will be cancelled and you’ll be set free. That’s why my father told me I couldn’t kill you.”

“What are the side effects?” asked Boris.

“The first person died instantly. The second person lived but there was an irregular heartbeat that started as the result of the chemicals, though he made it to about thirty-four. We think we now know how to modulate the chemicals to work.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Daddy doesn’t feel living in a society based on an old book called Logan’s Run is a good idea. You know, you’d be a shame to waste if it goes wrong. I could keep you as a pet and I’m sure I could get Daddy to agree. But that would only work if you agreed. Do you have any interest?”

Without thinking, Boris said, “No, that’s not a choice I’d make.” As soon as he said it, he flinched back, expecting to be hit. It didn’t come. He was surprised.

“Too bad. You could make someone happy,” said Kieran in a wistful tone.

“Do you have a steady love interest?” asked Boris, curious.

“Not really. In my chosen life path, it’s extraordinarily difficult. I’d take someone who could put up with me but I don’t think that person exists. Why do you think that is?”

Boris knew the answer, but didn’t really want to say. He didn’t relish another beating. Kieran stared at him, awaiting an answer. Boris figured he had nothing to lose. He was neck deep in shit here, and might as well get in some verbal revenge. “Kieran you may have the looks, but you’re not a nice person by any standard. That’s got a great deal to do with it. Beating people doesn’t work: it teaches fear. People won’t trust you or respect you: they’ll fear you. It isn’t the same. Respect is earned.”

“I could make you sleep with me. I could take you and have my way with you,” said Kieran but there was no malice or threat in his voice.

“I don’t doubt it,” said an emboldened Boris. “But you’d have sex without love and that’s meaningless. Besides, I wouldn’t enjoy it, which means you wouldn’t really enjoy it either because there’d be no reciprocation. No mutual joy.”

“I don’t need meaning and who the fuck cares if you enjoy it? It only matters if I do. And I would certainly enjoy it.”

“No matter what you think, you need love,” said Boris innocently enough trying to make a point, but it was a mistake.

Kieran lashed out, smashing him with a powerful right hook. Borsi’ head flew back into the wall and he crumpled in agony, fortunately he was already sitting on the edge of the bed so he just collapsed back into it at an awkward angle. He felt the now familiar trickle of blood from yet another wound. He briefly wondered if he’d be beaten for getting blood on the all white sheets even though Kieran was the cause of the blood.

“Fuck me!” shouted Kieran, storming towards to the door and out of the room, frustrated.

“You’re a fucking nut job,” shouted Boris after him, tempting fate.

“I heard that,” said Kieran marching back in, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I just don’t care anymore. Do your worst.”

“Okay,” said Kieran grabbing his brass knuckles, throwing his hand through them, and delivering a punishing blow towards Boris’ crotch.

Boris had decided enough was enough and it was time to at least try to fight back. He moved his hand to block the punch that was moving towards his crotch, and it connected and Boris felt a wave of nausea go forward as the bones in his hand and wrist cracked and broke. He cried out in pain unable to fight or even protect himself. Another blow landed on his rib cage, and another sickening crack was heard. He laboured to breathe, and that took what remained of his strength.

“Be careful what you ask for, Boris. This is all your fault. You made me do this. You brought this upon yourself.”

Boris wanted to argue, to yell, but his breaths came slowly and agonizingly. Instead, he watched the fiery Kieran storm out with a temper that matched the colour of his hair. Boris slipped into unconsciousness in a pool of blood and vomit.

Halfway To Thirty
CHAPTER THREE: The Sins of the Father
©2008-2010, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.

The door opened with a loud thud, awakening Boris. A big, bulky man stood there. Boris was just regaining his senses. Everything hurt. Through the pain, he looked at the man, and saw someone who must have been close to thirty because he looked old to Boris. The family resemblance was obvious.

“Hello, Boris. I’m Kieran’s father. You may call me Mister Tormark. It’ll be less confusing that way. I see my little boy has been playing rough.”

“Your boy is a psycho,” muttered Boris painfully.

“I see you don’t quite get it,” said the elder Tormark, crashing a fist into Boris’ face. Boris spit out two teeth and blood oozed out. “You have wronged our family and you think calling us names will make it better? We offer you the chance for freedom and you treat us like this? Today’s youth disappoint me. You know, my son would probably bed you instead of kill you but apparently a slow, painful death has appeal to you.”

“No. I’m not that way. I’d rather die than have anything to do with your son.” Boris was in so much pain, a little more or even a lot more wouldn’t matter.

“I believe you shall have your wish if you don’t change your attitude. Don’t forget, we could just give you the treatment anyway. We don’t have to have your consent.” The elder Tormark reached over, grabbed a small chunk of Boris’ hair and yanked it out at the roots leaving a bloody mess. Boris screamed in agony.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge, boy,” and with that, the elder Tormark turned and left the room in a foul mood, kicking the door angrily.

Boris realized the whole family was probably psychotic and it was time for a new tactic. It was hard to think through the pain of his broken teeth, hand, wrist, and ribs in addition to the fresh bloody patch on his head. He hurt everywhere. He thought that he probably even had the concussion he considered earlier.

He didn’t want to die here. He knew cooperation wouldn’t guarantee anything. Boris knew he needed a doctor. Seeing a doctor required him to escape. If he was successful in escaping, he’d probably be able to find a doctor. But he also knew any reputable doctor would ask questions: questions that would lead them to call the police. That would, in turn, result in his return to the Tormark estate without any treatment since Boris was now the legal property of Kieran Tormark until he was released. Boris passed out, having no energy or strength, as the pain overwhelmed him.

When he awakened he was still naked and in what appeared to be a hospital room. He was in traction, had a cast on his hand that extended past his wrist, and had several IVs stuck into his arms. His mind wandered in and out.

Soon a man who obviously a doctor of some sort came in, and asked, “So, how is my patient doing?”

“What’s happened to me?”

“I’m the personal physician of the Tormark family, Doctor Colin. I’ve taken the liberty of fixing your superficial wounds, cleaning you up, and setting your broken bones. I’ve also given you pain killers to numb you. I’d imagine you are in considerable pain.”

“I am in pain, quite a bit of it. But if they’re going to kill me, why are you helping me?”

“Helping you? Dear, dear. Is that what you think? Heavens no! I am just fixing you up for Kieran. He fully intends to have his way with you, but he wants you relatively healthy as he destroys you slowly. He wants it to last.”

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“A very good, very well paid doctor.”

“And this is how you treat a human being?”

“Don’t be silly. You are property now, not a person, nothing more than a possession. You have no value, no rights. You are no different to me than a rubbish tin or a pocket book. Chattel and nothing more.”

Boris relaxed all his muscles in resignation. He was beaten. There was no way out. Suicide would be his best choice now. He normally wouldn’t have the stomach for sucide, but he might just have to make an exception. He was in no shape to find a way to do it now, but when he was healed a bit, he’d start looking for a way. Obviously Kieran had plans for him that involved some healing, so he probably had a few weeks before his nightmare would resume.

Days passed and time had no meaning for Boris.

Every day the doctor would come in and check on him. Kieran would come in and check on him as well, never speaking a word. He’d look at Boris, sometimes lifting up the sheets and looking at Boris’ naked body and smiling – but it wasn’t a comforting smile, but rather a very disquieting one. A few times he even stuck his hand under the covers and fondled Boris gently and then drew back his fingers, sniffing them, and then gently licking them, before leaving the room.

Days passed and Boris slowly grew more pensive. He had no concept of time.

Boris was feeling a bit better, and he was now being restrained so he couldn’t escape nor do any harm to himself or others. He had lots of time to think because the HoloVision had nothing but soap operas on most of the time and those held no interest for him. He’d been doing little but thinking for two weeks now. And, now, finally, he had a plan.

Kieran showed up and came into the room, just as he did on all the previous days. Today was one of the days he looked under the covers at Boris’ nakedness followed by a grope. It always made Boris feel dirty and very uncomfortable, though he wouldn’t have been able to explain why if he were asked. It was just a gut feeling. Kieran turned to leave as he always did after sniffing his fingers. He was almost at the door when Boris said, “Can we talk? I have no right to ask you anything, but I hope will you at least listen to me.”

Kieran turned around, and sat in the doctor’s chair that was near the foot of Boris’ bed. He rolled the chair forward and said, “I wondered if you’d speak to me.”

“I think we started out on the wrong foot. I wronged you, and you made me a generous offer, and I didn’t respond in an appropriate way. I’m very sorry for that,” said Boris as convincingly as he could. No sane person could possibly buy it, but Kieran wasn’t sane by any measure Boris knew.

“I am glad you are beginning to see that. There’s hope for you yet. If I believe you.”

“It’ll take time, I know. If you give me that chance, I can try to earn your trust,” said Boris sincerely.

“No, I will never trust you or anyone. Ever. But, perhaps, we can come to an understanding.”

“Whatever you want, Kieran. I am yours to command,” offered Boris.

“Yes, I realize that. I suppose I should tell you what’s next.”

“The drug to neutralize the death chip?”

“Yes, eventually. But I have some new plans for you prior to that.”

“May I ask what they are?” asked Boris obsequiously.

‘You’re learning how to behave,” observed Kieran, sounding pleased. “But I’d much rather surprise you,” said Kieran.

Boris shuddered visibly and Kieran noticed. This caused Boris to shudder again.

“Boris, don’t worry. I have no plans to hit you as long as you behave properly. The doctor will clean you up and bring you to my room tomorrow evening. I look forward to our meeting,” stated Kieran without emotion as he got up, and headed towards the door after one last grope accompanied by a sniff.

“Thank you, sir,” said Boris to the departing Kieran, who didn’t reply.

Halfway To Thirty
CHAPTER FOUR: Livin’ on a Prayer
©2008-2010, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.

Boris awakened in Kieran’s room. He realized that along with the medications in the IVs there must also have been tranquilizers or sleeping drugs. There was no way he’d be still sleeping this much otherwise.

He got out of bed, still naked, and realized getting dressed would just earn him another beating. He looked at himself in the mirror and realized he didn’t really look that bad except for the cast. Whatever bruises he may have had, were faded to almost nothing. The broken bone and missing teeth were but reminders. As he scanned his five foot eight frame, he realized he’d lost some weight but was still a bit stocky mostly because of his build.

He scanned his whole body for any signs of injuries. Doctor Colin was definitely a miracle worker, because as far as Boris could tell, he was better than he was when he came in save for the cast and the missing two teeth. He was hoping that they needed him in good shape for the experiment.

He thought, momentarily, about how many weeks it had been since he’d last pleasured himself. His body was always quick to respond, and looked in the mirror as his body began to respond to the thoughts.

Kieran came in while Boris was still looking in the mirror. Boris turned around and said, quickly, “I was just checking my injuries.”

“I see,” said Kieran with a leering look. “Well, at least, we don’t have to figure out how to get you in the mood.” He reached back and locked the door. “Get back in bed. Just lie on top of the sheets.”

Boris deflated instantly. He silently prayed to any of the gods that were listening, as Kieran got undressed. “Turn over so you’re on your stomach,” said Kieran’s emotionless voice.

Boris complied, knowing what was going to come. “I bet you’re looking forward to this. Honestly, I’m not gay. But I won’t resist. I can’t take another beating.”

“I’m not gay either, but I recognize a pretty face when I see one. I just need an outlet, and you’re the lucky recipient,” said Kieran coldly, as he undressed.

Boris turned his head and looked at Kieran briefly to determine how much this might hurt. His look confirmed his worst fears: this would be very painful, indeed. “This isn’t how I expected my first time to go,” he said.

“Most people don’t get what they expect their first time.” Kieran got onto the bed and straddled Boris, his excitement obvious.

“You know, I’d feel a little better about this if I could take a quick shower and clean up before we start. It’d make it more special and enjoyable for you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” asked Kieran with genuine surprise.

“If we’re going do this, I suppose I might as well make the most of it. So, yes, I’ll do it.”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Kieran as he rolled over to let Boris get up.

Boris got out of bed. Suddenly, without warning, Boris swung his arm -- wrist and hand still ensconced in the cast -- and slammed it into Kieran’s head. Kieran collapsed flat onto the bed, and Boris hit him on the back of the head again, and again, until he saw blood stains on the cast. Boris stopped when he realized his wrist really hurt even though it was still protected by the cast. The repeated blows had possibly re-broken it. Even though Kieran was his tormentor, the violence didn’t make him feel good. It wasn’t something he’d ever enjoy.

Boris rummaged around the armoire and put on the clothes that fit him best, and dug around in Kieran’s pockets for a smartcard, grabbed it, and stood up. He then opened the door to the room slowly, peering out. He saw no one and ran. The house was deserted, or at least this wing of it was. Part of Boris’ conscience was trying to get through and make him realize he had just beaten someone to a bloody pulp, possibly even killed him. Boris mentally shouted his conscience down. Kieran had forced him into it. Defense against rape was a damned good reason as far as he was concerned. Boris didn’t much care if Kieran was alive or dead, nor would he spend the time to check.

He found the garage without much difficulty. In most homes, the hovercar port was located in the back of the house so ingress and egress could be made without being seen from the street. And a gangster would certainly see that as very beneficial. Boris breathed a sigh of relief as he found Kieran’s car, and started it. When it was ready to go, he opened the garage door and backed out, and prepared to bolt.

He throttled the car forward, accelerating as fast as he dared without losing control. Having already stolen it once, he had some familiarity with it. His one chance would be to get the car away from here and to a chop shop, trading it for something else. The shop would disable the VIN chip rendering the stolen vehicle untraceable.

He knew he was fucked when he heard the hovercar alarm go off. “This vehicle is stolen. The anti-theft feature has been engaged.” He swore vitriolically, wondering why he hadn’t realized they’d probably installed them in all the cars after the first theft.

The car began to slow down, and he wasn’t yet even a mile from the Tormark Mansion. He knew he’d have to make a run for it, but he hadn’t the strength he would need for that.

“Shit,” he thought, “fucked again!”

Boris opened the hatch, jumped out, and tried running. He knew after a few steps that his fears were correct and he was doomed to failure. He was in pain, he couldn’t move effectively, and his brain wasn’t processing data fast enough to get him away. His only options were to give up or to commit suicide. Neither appealed to him because he was a fighter, but he could barely move. He stopped in a grass-covered field and sat down to await the police.

Halfway To Thirty
CHAPTER FOUR: And in the End…
©2008-2010, WriteByMyself, All Rights Reserved.

It didn’t take long and soon he was surrounded by police officers, weapons drawn. “What were you thinking son? Do you have any idea whose car this is?”

“Of course I do. I stole it from his garage.”

The officers’ collective eyes grew wide with surprise. They didn’t think anyone would be brave enough to cross the Tormark clan. “You’ll have to come with us down to the station,” said the officer who appeared to be in charge. He then reached out and grabbed Boris by the cast causing him to scream in agony as bolts of pain shot through his arm. “Sorry about that son. How’d you break it?”

“They did it to me.”

Nobody had to ask who ‘they’ were. “I can’t cuff you properly as your wrist is in a cast. So don’t try anything funny. I’ll sit in the back with you and get one of the other officers to drive. I’ll cuff your good arm to the cage.”

Boris was pleased that the officer was being civil to him. It wasn’t something he’d expected from the police. Boris got in the back of the police hovercar without further instruction and sat down. The officer got in next to him, “If you behave, I won’t put the shackles on. It’s a short ride back to the precinct.”

“I’ll behave. I’m so happy to be out of the lair of those sadists.”

Another officer got in the front and started the vehicle, and soon they were back at the precinct.

“Ok, son. I’m going to get out first, then you will get out and stand in place. You are not to move more than one foot away from the car or I’ll have to shoot you.” The officer who was driving got out and opened the rear door, which, like with most police vehicles, could only be opened from the outside. Boris followed the instructions carefully and soon they were in the station. The driver disappeared leaving Boris alone with the arresting officer. After a brief wait, Boris was led to a desk in a private office.

“Sit down here. I’m going to cuff your good arm to the chair.”

“Okay,” said Boris putting his arm out to make it easy. He was cuffed and the officer left. Boris thought it would be easy to just walk out with the chair, but he soon found out the chair was bolted to the floor. He cursed silently at the thoroughness of the police. Like them or not, they had likely seen every trick in the book and there wasn’t an easy way to beat them.

The door opened and a tall, red-headed man walked in. “I’m Sergeant Colm Kelley. I understand you’re a legal possession of the Tormark clan and you’ve escaped after being brutalized. That’s the story I’ve been given.”

“I believe that to be an oversimplification, but that is the gist of it, Sergeant Kelley.”

“You’re a ward. You’re their property, nothing more than chattel. I have to return you.”

Boris’ heart sank. “Please. I’ll do anything to not go back.”

“I believe it, son. The fact you stole their car again indicates that. They’ll be given the choice to take you back or have you put to death. Either way, today is a very unlucky day for you.”

“I’d pick death. At least it’d be humane compared to what they’ll do. But I realize it’s not my pick.”

“The only benefit is that you’ll get proper medical attention here before you’re released.”

“Why bother? So they can break me again?”

“It’s procedure.”

Boris rolled his eyes at the irony of the statement. “You seem pretty by-the-book for your age. How old are you? You look like you’re 30 and at that age you shouldn’t care much about anything – I mean your number’s almost up.”

“It’s really none of your business, but I’m going to be 30 any day. You know these things don’t kill you miraculously on your birthday. They have a margin of error of up to three or four months. They had to do that to keep people from dying early. One day I’ll go to bed and not wake up.”

“That’s so grim.”

“Enough talk, come with me,” said Sergeant Kelley as he undid the cuff holding Boris to the chair. He led Boris to the infirmary where he was attached to a tether so he could be moved around the lab but which would prevent him from escaping. Soon, Boris was undergoing a thorough medical exam.

The exam went quickly, and aside from a large number of almost-faded bruises, nothing was seriously wrong except that his cast was cracked and his wrist needed to be re-set. That was done, and after that he was taken to a dental office down the hall to have his damaged and missing teeth fixed. Boris pleaded to not go to the dentist, as it was a long-time fear of his.

Boris spent a little over a month in the transient prison ward. He wondered that he hadn’t seen a judge yet, nor had he been interrogated, but he didn’t question it. One day he was brought to Sergeant Kelley’s office and instructed to sit down. Boris’ cast was gone, and he was in more or less the same condition he was in before that rueful day he first stole the Tormark kid’s car. He sat and was cuffed in place.

It was nearly thirty minutes before Sergeant Kelley arrived. “Lovely to see you. You’re looking vigorous, hearty, and hale.”

“Thanks, I suppose.”

“I have a surprise for you, Boris.”

“You’re letting me go?”

“While that would certainly be a surprise, it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Sergeant Kelley pressed the intercom button and said, “Send our visitor in, please.” A few moments later, there was a knock on the door, “Come!”

A lilting voice shouted, “Uncle Colm, so wonderful to see you.”

“You as well! I’ve a very special present for you.”

Boris turned around and was staring into the face of the young Kieran Tormark. Fear welled up in him, the room spun, and he passed out as the grin on Kieran’s face grew wider and more malevolent.

Boris awakened, handcuffed, in the back of Kieran’s Lotus AirManta. He grunted before he realized where he was, and heard “I see you’re awake” which made him suddenly remember the events that had transpired earlier.

“Just kill me. Get it over with.”

“They nursed you back to health as a gift to me while I was recovering from the beating you gave me. So why would I want to kill my toy?”

“You deserved that beating. I’m not a toy, and I’m not your property.”

“Actually, Boris, you are my property in every sense of the word: legally and factually. It doesn’t have to be this way. If you’d just behave, you wouldn’t make me do all these bad things to try and correct your aberrant behaviour. Do you think I enjoy it?”

“Yes, I do think so. You told me as much. Besides, it seems that way. The perception of the facts is the reality of those same facts, even if it’s not the truth.”

Kieran sighed, seeming remorseful, almost sincere. “We’re going to have a talk when we get back. A long talk. If you act civilly, you may even enjoy it.”

They pulled into the Tormark estate, and Kieran opened the door for Boris to exit the hovercar, and at the same time, aimed a photon gun at him. “This is to make sure you behave.” Kieran gave Boris a surprisingly gentle shove in the appropriate direction, and they walked into the mansion. Soon they were in Kieran’s room, unchanged since his last visit and all too familiar to Boris.

“Sit,” Kieran barked and Boris complied immediately. Kieran turned briefly, locking the door, and then sat down next to Boris. He threw the gun onto the bed and reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “No funny stuff,” he said unlocking Boris’ handcuffs.

Boris knew ‘funny stuff’ wasn’t in the cards.

“Let’s pretend we just met and start over, okay?” asked Kieran. Kieran made direct eye contact with Boris, the first time he’d ever done that.

“Yes, sir, if you say so, sir.”

“Very good. You remember how to behave properly, but you can drop that for this conversation. Pretend we’re equal.”

“We are equal,” insisted Boris and he winced back for the blow he knew was coming. It didn’t come.

“Dear, dear, dear. I suppose I did deserve that. Only, it’s just not true: we’re not equal.”

“Yes, sir,” spat Boris derisively.

“Damn. This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

“You know what I think?” asked Boris.

“Tell me, I want nothing more than to know,” said Kieran.

“I think you actually do want to talk to me and you have no idea how to deal with a person as a human. You’re either dealing with humans as property, servants, or superiors. You don’t know how to deal with equals. And you probably don’t have any friends. I think you want one and are at a total and complete loss.”

Kieran didn’t reply and appeared deep in thought. Boris seriously thought about the gun, about making an escape attempt. He had energy and strength now. He could do it. Kieran was here, but his mind didn’t seem to be present. He glanced over at the gun, and started plotting.

“I saw you look at the gun. Don’t think I didn’t notice. In fact, you know what I’m going to do?”

Boris was afraid, and peeped a short “What?”

Kieran went to the photon gun, showed Boris it was fully charged, then flicked off the safety. Boris thought this was it. He hoped it would be quick and painless. Instead, Kieran sat back down, and put the gun on the table, sliding it toward Boris. “There you go. Take it.”

“What?” asked Boris, wondering what was afoot.

“You think that you want to kill me. You want the gun and I just gave you the gun. If you think you can do it, pick it up and shoot me. Otherwise, we’re going to have this conversation.”

Boris grabbed the gun quickly, and pointed it at Kieran. Kieran didn’t move and instead smugly said, “Make sure you aim at my head or my stomach. And shoot a few times. That’ll make sure I die quickly. The headshot is cleaner. I can understand that you’ve probably not done this before, and it’s important to make sure your victim dies quickly so they can’t retaliate or call for help.”

Boris put his finger on the trigger. He wanted to pull the trigger. He tried to do it, but he just couldn’t do it. He wanted to kill the smug little psychotic shit in front of him, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He wasn’t in danger, nor did he feel threatened. “Fucking arsehole,” swore Boris, throwing the gun back on the bed. He was angry with himself.

Kieran smiled, and to Boris it looked like a real smile and not one from a psychopath. “Sorry, Boris. Really. Now think about that. I really want to make things right. I put my life in your hands just then.”

“It surprised me, but you somehow knew I couldn’t do it.”

“No, I guessed but I didn’t really know. Most people don’t have murder in them under any circumstances, and neither do you. But I could have been wrong. Now, will you please give me a chance? That’s all I want. A chance.”

“Not much choice I guess.”

“I am a product of my upbringing, you know. My father is a mobster. I didn’t get to choose what I want to be. My life was set in stone the day I was born. I’ve been trained to be a copy of my father my whole life.”

“You can be whoever you want.”

“In theory you’re right, of course. In reality, it’s not possible. A life of no friends, being sheltered from everything and being told how things are, makes you reliant on what you are told. You just comply because there are no other options in such a situation.”

“Well, that’s fascinating, but what does it have to do with me?”

“I like you. You’re strong. You’re opinionated. And pretty. I want us to be friends.”

“You’re absolutely barking mad.”

Kieran’s face grew red. He got up and pulled his arm back, forming a fist ready to pummel Boris into oblivion. Then, he stopped, as Boris raised his hands to protect his face. “Boris, you may be right. I can see why you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like me.”

“After what you did to me, there’s no way I’d ever be able to be friends with you. Beat me, torture me, kill me, I’ll never really be your friend.”

“I see that now,” said Kieran sadly. “I need to find someone who hasn’t seen that side of me and then make sure they never do.”

“That may be the only way, but I don’t think you have it in you to keep yourself in control to that degree. It may sound cliché but a leopard can’t change its spots, Kieran.”

“Maybe one day you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“What now?”

“Well I suppose that the deep, meaningful conversation I wanted to have with you is pointless. I’ve cocked this one up badly, haven’t I? I guess there’s no other choice left.”

“Please, make it painless?” begged Boris.

“Don’t be silly. I told you I like you. I’m not going to kill you, though father might.” Kieran was pacing rapidly around the room, restless like a caged tiger. Boris stopped watching him and began thinking about the gun again. He knew something was up but he wasn’t sure what. Suddenly, he felt a jab in his arm and as he turned, he saw the contents of a syringe entering his blood stream.

“What the hell have you done?”

“If this latest formula works, you’ve got your whole natural life ahead of you. And then I’ll inject me and my father as well.”

Kieran led Boris to another room, shoved him in, and locked the door. Boris looked around and decided it wasn’t much different than a hotel room except for the fact there were surveillance cameras everywhere so there was no corner of the room uncovered.  

He lay down and put on the HoloVision and watched the latest singing competition on Radio GaGa. It was soothing but stupid. Over the next two weeks, he was visited several times by Doctor Colin who performed various tests that always involved drawing vials of blood. The doctor asked him various questions and wrote furiously on a pad. An armed guard always accompanied the doctor and at no point did Boris have any chance for escape.

For two weeks, Boris didn’t see Kieran, The boredom wore on him, but between the HoloVision and some old books of no particular literary value, he managed not to go insane. Finally, two weeks and four days after the injection, there was a knock on the door. That got his attention. Nobody ever knocked; they just came in. The knock repeated, and he said, “Come in.”

The younger Kieran Tormark came in, and said, “Well, Boris, it looks like we got it.”

“The formula you mean?”

“Yes, the very one. It goes through your system in about ten days and it’s been eighteen. We’ve not detected the electronic signature of the heart device for nearly a week. And, more importantly, you’re alive and perfectly healthy. That is an unqualified success. We have a carefully documented chemical formula if we ever need to make more. In the meantime, my father and myself have also taken doses.”

“So we three will live forever?”

“Not forever but at least for the length of our natural lives.”

“Don’t you think the doctor will take some too?”

“I don’t believe he’s alive anymore. He met an unfortunate accident moments ago,” said Kieran displaying his photon gun briefly before tucking it back away. “Things like that happen to people who try to blackmail their employer.”

“I see,” said Boris realizing that Kieran remained a cold-blooded killer with no remorse. “So now what? You kill me too?”

“No, don’t be absurd. I made a deal with you. I am honourable. Besides, I keep telling you I like you despite what you’ve done to me.”

“Really? I get to go? Just like that?” asked Boris excitedly.

“Yep. Just like that. Almost,” said Kieran, pulling out a sheaf of papers. “These are your release papers showing we’ve come to an agreement. You have to turn them over to Sergeant Kelley in person. After that, they’ll processed and within 24 to 48 hours, you’ll be taken to wherever you want and be released. We’ll even give you some money if you want.”

“I shouldn’t thank you after what you put me through, but thank you,” said Boris sincerely.

“Maybe one day you’ll change your mind about me. I really hope so.”

Kieran lunged forward and Boris flinched, expecting a killing blow as Kieran grabbed for him, but he was pulled into a tight bear-hug instead, but he didn’t return it. He didn’t return the kiss Kieran tried to give him either. A few moments later, he was released from the hug. Kieran looked at him sadly, shaking his had, almost looking like he was having a real feeling. Boris didn’t care. Kieran was a monster.

Boris was pleased to find that Kieran was true to his word and soon he was dropped off at the station, with a wad of cash, the release papers, and a ticket for a HoloBus ride to anywhere on the planet. He went in, handed over the papers to Sergeant Kelly. Sergeant Kelly clearly didn’t believe the paperwork, and he cuffed Boris immediately, calling the Tormark household for verification. He looked almost disappointed releasing Boris. “You’re free to go. Your record has been expunged. Don’t fuck it up this time, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Two weeks later, Boris was in San Francisco when a Ferrari AirStallion drove by and he thought, “Wow. I’d look really cool driving that....”

-- end --