St. Lucy of Syracuse Long Term Care Facility

Joel Tarnower hurried down the corridor, pausing to check the clock at the nurse's station. Louise Purdy, a plump, pleasant black woman in starched white looked up from a romance novel, and smiled at him. "Hey, cutie." Joel smiled at her shyly. She noticed that he was bouncing up and down on his toes, and her voice took on a firm, mothering tone. "Joel, are you dancing?"

Joel went very still, brown eyes going wide. He shook his head hard, his corn silk blonde hair flashing under the fluorescent light. "No ma'am! Only... only... only when Doctor Clyde says I can. One, two hours a day." His softly handsome face scrunched up like a child complaining about some hated restriction. "That's hardly any at all."

"It is for most of us, baby," said Louise.

"But if I could just practice a few more hours a day I could be so much better." He scratched at the counter top, eyes on his fingers. "And I'm not scared when I dance."

"What did Doctor Clyde tell you?"

Joel took a deep breath. "He told me that the dancing couldn't keep me safe, that I have to face the world." He gave a tiny smile, not looking at Louise. "He said that I took the term 'dancing through life' too far."

Joel had entered the facility almost two years before, when he was nineteen. He'd been a painfully shy and withdrawn child, and his mother had pushed him into taking dance classes, hoping they would increase his self-confidence. It didn't. When he was fifteen he was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, agoraphobia, and an eating disorder--among other things.

While he lived at home he functioned--but then he went away to college. Several months into his freshman year his parents got a phone call. Had they heard from Joel? He hadn't attended classes for two weeks. There was no answer when they knocked at the door of his dorm room, but there was always music playing inside. The college was hesitant to interfere with any student who was paying extra for private accommodations, but maybe they out to check--

He spent over a week in the hospital that time, recovering from malnutrition, dehydration, and total exhaustion brought on by dancing close to eighteen hours a day. That was the first time. The parents were reluctant to let him on his own again, but also reluctant to 'crush his spirit'. He was in worse shape the second time--it went on longer, because he knew enough to call his parents occasionally, to allay their worries. This time the doctor warned that if he kept it up, he'd kill himself before he was twenty-one.

They had him declared incompetent, keeping him under their care, even though he'd just reached his majority. It never occurred to Joel to fight it. He threw up whatever his mother bullied him into eating. If he was left by himself he danced constantly, with or without music, dancing till he literally dropped in his tracks. In desperation they began tying him to a chair during the day, and his bed during the night.

Someone reported them. They were given a choice--place Joel in supervised care, or go to jail and have the authorities place him in supervised care. While they discussed it, Joel was placed in the sort of place they meant--a large, impersonal, subsistence care unit.

Joel attempted suicide. His parents sent him to Saint Lucy's.

It had a discreet reputation for conscientious, comfortable care among their set. They'd visited, and been very impressed by both the facilities, and the staff--Doctor Whyman in particular. Such a charming man, and so gentle and concerned with Joel. He assured them that, while he couldn't guarantee that Joel would ever be able to live independently ("He's a very fragile soul, I'm afraid."), he would be well cared for, and as happy as it was possible to make him. That was how it had been, and Joel was quite happy at Saint Lucy's--for the most part.

Louise nodded, smiling. "That sounds like him."

Joel bounced again. "I have to go. I'm supposed to wake him up."

Louise opened her book again. "You go on, then." As he hurried off, she shook her head, smiling. *Maybe he don't dance, but I never saw anyone his age come that close to skipping. He sure does think a lot of Doctor Clyde.*

Joel had reached the end of the corridor, and turned off into the short section that led outside. He was reaching for the handle of the door when the voice behind him said, "Where do you think you're going, Twinkle Toes?" The tone was deliberately harsh and abrupt, and the small, slender blonde man flinched--just as Bill Landrue had known he would. Bill repressed the nasty grin that wanted to break out, figuring that a scowl would be more effective this time around. He couldn't believe his luck, coming out right behind one of the more pampered clients just as he was about to do something Bill thought shouldn't be allowed.

Joel's first instinct was to bury his face in the corner, curling in on himself, but he knew from past experience that would only aggravate the situation. Landrue couldn't stand to be ignored. The problem was that he also wasn't good with confrontation, and even craven submission didn't work all the time. You could never tell when his enjoyment of your helpless cringing would kick over into disgust. Joel was a well educated young man, and he occasionally reflected that Landrue would have been right at home as a brainwasher. He had mastered the art of keeping those in his power completely off balance. Of course, in this case they were unbalanced to begin with.

Bill Landrue had worked in several 'care facilities', and he'd never seen one where they allowed the loonies such freedom of movement. Granted this little fairy was harmless, but it wasn't good to let them start thinking they had rights, or anything. Joel was one of their pets, though, so he had the run of the place.

Now Bill watched as Joel Turnower turned to face him. It wasn't a confrontation, though. He had long ago learned to read body language, and Joel was radiating 'don't hurt me'. His eyes were fixed somewhere around Bill's second shirt button, and he knew that they wouldn't rise to his face unless he physically forced the issue. "I said where do you think you're going? It's going to be dark any time now."

"Doctor Clyde asked me to wake him up," Joel whispered. Then he dared a peek at Landrue's face, wanting to be sure he realized the significance of this.

He did. If Doctor Whyman had specifically asked one of the clients to do something, then there was no arguing about it. The night duty doctor's word was not to be questioned, no matter how unorthodox some of his proclamations might seem. Landrue knew this, and he didn't like it. He also didn't like that he'd been wrong about Joel daring to look him in the face. "Well, aren't you just the airiest little alarm clock in the world?" He deepened the scowl. "Have you been dancing?" Joel shook his head quickly. Bill crowded in closer, deliberately closing the space between them. "Don't lie to me. You're sweating. We've got air conditioning in here, Twinkle Toes. Why should you sweat if you haven't been dancing?" He gave a hard smile. "Nothing making you nervous, is it?"

"Doctor Clyde," Joel's voice was barely audible, "asked me to wake him up."

Bill's interest broke suddenly. "Christ, don't you start with that broken record shit, like Rita Redundant." He moved back, giving his prey room to move.

Joel turned quickly and opened the door. Before he could step through it a hard shove took him in the middle of the back, making him stumble out into the warm dusk. He would have fallen, but he caught one of the posts that held up the area walkway. He heard Bill say, "G'wan, Clumsy. You wouldn't want to be late."

Joel clung to the post till he was sure that the door was closed, before slowly standing up again, making sure of his footing. He could feel the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away quickly, while looking around to be sure there was no one else near. Once he was sure he pushed away from the pole and danced furiously, his movements almost frantic.

As he whirled and leaped, his thoughts raced in a jumble. *Spoiled! I was so looking forward to this. All day, all day long, ever since Doctor Clyde asked me last night, looking forward to it. My treat. No one else gets to wake him up--not the nurses, not the sick ones, not the almost-not-quite-well ones, not even Mister Cosmic. Only me, because I'm his good boy. And Bill spoiled it!*

Then Joel seemed to hear Doctor Clyde's voice. Doctor Clyde had explained to him that this was all right. It wasn't like with some of the delusionals who heard demons and angels, or perhaps God, or maybe aliens. "Though who am I to say if they're totally wrong?" Doctor Clyde had said cheerfully. "But with you Joel, when this happens, you're just remembering what I told you. It might be very, very vivid, but it is just remembering--I think."

This time he remembered (or heard) Clyde saying, "Not spoiled, Joel. There are going to be assholes in this world--it's an unavoidable fact of life. The trick is not to let them impact you so much. They're going to try, but don't let them spoil your pleasures in life. It's all about power, Joel. Don't give them the power."

Joel had never felt powerful in his life, but he tried to do as Doctor Clyde said. He forced himself to stop. He trembled with the effort, but he managed it, and walked back to the small cottage that housed Doctor Clyde. When he knocked, the door was answered by a very plump young woman. She gave him a too bright grin, nodding so that her corkscrew blonde curls bobbled. "Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel."

"Hello, Rita."

"Hello, hello, hello, hello. What can I, what can I, what what what what what can I do do do do do for you you?"

Joel could feel himself blushing. "Doctor Clyde asked me to wake him up." It seemed impossible, but the woman's smile got even brighter. She stepped aside to let him in, giggling. Joel reflected that he really liked Rita--she was such a cheerful person. She used to be called the Merry Widow. You'd never know that she'd poisoned three husbands, and an even dozen of her in-laws. Doctor Clyde said that she might have gotten away with it if she hadn't lost her temper and finally bludgeoned her last mother-in-law. He'd chosen her as his Daywatcher soon after she was admitted five years ago.

Joel followed Rita toward the back of the cottage, toward Doctor Clyde's bedroom. The door was innocent looking--till you noticed how heavy the hinges were, and how thick the frame. The bland wood veneer covered a solid steel core, and though it could be opened easily from the inside, no one got in without a bazooka, or... Rita fished the locket she wore around her neck out of her cleavage, and popped it open, revealing a key. She unlocked the door, patted Joel on the shoulder, giggled again, and trotted away. Joel didn't waste any time going inside. He'd been instructed very carefully that the door was never to be open a second longer than was necessary.

It was like stepping into another era--the Victorian. The four-poster bed was of thick, dark wood, as was the dresser and wardrobe. The wallpaper was flocked, the floor polished wood covered by numerous rugs, and every flat surface was covered by doilies, plants, and knick-knacks. The only modern touches were a bulbs instead of lamps in the wall sconces, an up-to-date bathroom to one side--and the television set placed at the foot of the bed, coaxial cable discreetly disappearing under a rug.

The room was never brightly lighted, and now the only illumination came from where the bathroom door had been left ajar. Joel leaned back against the outside door, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom before he went any further. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust.

Doctor Clyde was in his usual pose--sprawled on his back, his long limbs ensuring that he took up most of the mattress surface. The room was silent. Clyde, as usual, was sleeping with his mouth open, but there was no snoring. That was one of Clyde's little peculiarities, and Joel had learned to accept it, and even like it--like the perpetually cool skin. Clyde had assured Joel that of course he could breathe, he just didn't see much point in bothering, unless he needed the air to say something.

Joel tiptoed over and stood beside the bed, gazing down at the man who had saved his life. He was quite clear on that point. If there had been no Doctor Clyde he would have found some way to do away with himself. He could be stubbornly persistent when he wished--his long refusal to regulate his dancing or eating was proof of that. Joel gazed at Clyde in adoration--the lean, wiry grace of his body, the marble paleness of his skin, the untidy mess of longish, dark hair.

Joel bent down and slipped off his loafers, then peeled down his socks. When he straightened, hands reaching for his collar, he was confronted by a lively blue gaze, and a mild accusation. "You're late."

Joel drooped. "I'm sorry. I was going to be in bed with you when you woke up, as you asked."

Clyde smiled. "It's still a nice way to wake up, Joel. It just would have been nicer if my beautiful boy had been snuggled up against my side. Come on. You know we only have a couple of hours before I have to be on duty."

Clyde propped himself comfortably against the headboard and watched Joel strip. While he enjoyed the show, he was also observing the boy with a clinical eye. He was pleased to note that the weight Joel had gained was staying on. Now the young man was slender, rather than skinny. When Clyde had first seen him, he'd seemed little more than bones, skin, and sinew. Still, Clyde had been able to look beyond the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks and see that the boy could be a beauty. The unusual nature of Joel's mental condition was what had attracted Clyde at first, but the doctor had never denied his fondness for pretty things. Particularly pretty young males.

When Joel was nude, Clyde twirled his finger, and the boy obligingly did a slow turn before sliding under the sheets and cuddling against the older man. Clyde wrapped his arms around Joel, rubbing his face against the boy's soft hair. "One of the things I hate about my condition is that I don't have that lovely drifting toward consciousness any more. The sun slips below the horizon and BANG--wide awake." Clyde sighed. "I used to spend all morning dozing and waking." He smiled, moving down to nuzzle Joel's ear. "Perhaps making love to some sweet bedmate in between. And around noon my valet would bring us our chocolate..."

Joel giggled at the tickling sensation. "But I thought you told me that you grew up very poor, crowded in one bed with your two brothers."

"Did I? Maybe I did. Then again, perhaps I was a laborer, and I had to rise before dawn to toil." He frowned and dropped lower, pressing his face to the warm skin of Joel's neck, sniffing deeply.

"And I think you said once that you were, um, a chef to a great lord, and you had to get up early to go to market to find the finest..." Clyde licked his neck, and Joel giggled again, "Doctor Clyde!"

Clyde pulled back, and took Joel's chin, turning his face so that their eyes met. "Joel, what frightened you?" Joel went very quiet. He tried to look away, but Clyde's grip was firm. "Don't deny it. I'm like a dog when it comes to this--I can smell fear. And your skin is salty, so you've been sweating." His voice was stern. "Fear, and sweating. Did you dance, Joel?"

"No! No, I swear, Doctor Clyde."

"Joel."

Joel burst into tears. "I'm sorry! I tried not to, but he scared me. I was so happy because I was coming to see you, and he... he WANTED me to be afraid of him. And he pushed me. I'm sorry."

Clyde was rocking him, stroking his hair. "Sh, sh. It's all right, Joel. I know you didn't mean to disobey. Was it Landrue again?" Joel nodded. "He didn't hurt you?" Joel shook his head. "Damn him, anyway. I'm going to have to do something about him soon."

"I'm sorry I danced."

"You were frightened, and that is how you cope. You stopped though, didn't you?"

Joel nodded vigorously. "Yes! I hardly danced at all. Just a little, tiny bit, and I remembered what you'd told me about not letting other people spoil my happiness, or have the power. I stopped."

Clyde kissed his forehead. "Good boy. Clever boy. Not long ago you would have danced yourself into a collapse." This time he tipped Joel's face up and kissed his lips. "I'm very proud of you."

Joel threw his arms around Clyde and said anxiously. "Then we will?"

Clyde smiled slyly. "We will what?"

Joel was blushing again. Clyde loved to see the blood rise in his cheeks, turning them rosy. "You... you'll give me the special kiss?"

"Yes. And I believe it's time for you to give me one in return." Joel's eyes lit up, like a child being offered a special treat. "Anything else?"

Joel looked away, but his fingers were playing in Clyde's hair. "My bottom isn't sore at all."

Clyde laughed, and kissed Joel heartily. "Yes, you perfect little treasure, we'll do that, too. But first the kisses."

Joel nodded agreement. He loved to take Doctor Clyde into his body, and he always enjoyed it, but it was a lot better after the special kisses. If Doctor Clyde didn't give him a special kiss first it could be a little uncomfortable. He was awfully cool.

Clyde examined Joel's throat, noting with satisfaction that there were no marks. He'd long ago warned the rest of the staff that Joel was his private property, and he might share, but they'd damn sure better ask permission. He gently sank his fangs through the pale skin, closing his eyes to relish the first salty-sweet burst of blood. Joel gripped his shoulders, making occasional mewling sounds as the vampire drank. He sighed in regret when Clyde pulled away. Clyde knew very well that the boy would joyfully allow himself to be drained, but that wasn't going to happen. Not for a long, long time, anyway.

"Your turn, darling boy." Clyde reached over to the bedside table and picked up something shaped a bit like a set of brass knuckles. The difference was that it was carved from ivory, and two wickedly sharp spikes jutted out, about two inches apart. "Where would you like to kiss me tonight?" Joel touched the aching, blood-moist spot on his own throat, then touched the mirror spot on Clyde. "Delightful."

Clyde quickly popped his closed fist against his throat. The prongs stabbed into quickly warming flesh, and blood welled from the two punctures as Clyde laid aside the device. In almost the same motion he looped one arm around Joel. With the other he drew the boy's head down, pressing his face against the seeping wound. Joel latched on like an infant at its mother's breast, and Clyde sighed voluptuously.

He lazily enjoyed the sensual treat--Joel's smooth, warm skin against his own, the soft, wet suction at his throat, the anticipation of what was to come. He could feel the firmness of Joel's eager erection pressing against his hip, and he smiled. "Enough, little one." Joel mumbled something, and Clyde put an edge in his voice. "Enough!" Then he gentled his tone. "You know what happened the last time I let you drink your fill." Joel stopped sucking, rolling his head to rest his cheek on Clyde's shoulder as the older man patted his back. "That's right. Isn't it more fun to spend with me inside you?"

"Yes."

"Did you prepare yourself for me, or do I need to...?" Joel moved quickly. He tossed back the sheet and straddled Clyde's legs. Facing the foot of the bed, he reached back and parted his own buttocks, presenting himself. Clyde chuckled. "You ARE enthusiastic tonight, aren't you? Let me check." Clyde prodded gently. "Mm, yes--open and oiled." He gave the boy's white bottom an affectionate squeeze. "Take what you want, Joel." As Joel positioned himself, then sank down slowly, Clyde reflected that he'd have a hard time getting anyone to believe how sexually aggressive the shy, quiet boy could be.

The coupling was short and hard. As Clyde had observed, Joel was eager. Clothed, he looked a touch frail. Nude, the taut musculature of his body was evident. He was lithe, and agile, and he rode Clyde with enthusiasm. It wasn't long before Clyde clamped onto the boy's hips, holding him down while he found his release. At the same time he reached around and caressed Joel to a whimpering climax.

Finally Clyde wrapped his arms around Joel and slid prone in the bed, letting Joel lie on top of him--like a blanket. He contentedly stroked the boy's heaving chest and flanks, waiting for his breathing to slow to normal. After a moment Joel said. "Thank you." Clyde pinched him, eliciting another giggle. After a moment Joel said, "Doctor Clyde, there's someone new."

"Yes, Joel--I know. Her name is Kathleen. I checked her in last night, while you were asleep."

"Is she interesting?"

"Yes, very." He hugged Joel. "The outside world believes she's a very bad girl."

"Why?"

"There's some evidence that she killed three people," Clyde chuckled, "and possibly ate a portion of one of them."

"Oo, ick!" Joel made a face, but his tone was curious. "Did she cook it, or did she eat it raw?"

"Raw."

"Can I meet her?"

"She might bite you, Joel," Clyde warned.

"You wouldn't let her," he said confidently.

"Your trust is a precious thing." He patted the boy's belly. "We'll see. I'll need to watch her for a while first. From what I've seen so far, I don't think there will be a problem. She's one of the quiet ones. The very quiet ones."

Joel turned over, keeping himself draped on top of Clyde. He kissed the vampire's nose. "Sometimes the quiet ones can surprise you."

Clyde grinned, squeezing him. "Indeed they can."