The Creation of Frankie Carrozza

The Three Little Secrets

'Slap my buttocks and call me sailor! Mutiny is afoot this night!' Trevor Hamilton cackled ecstatically, hanging by one hand out of the corner of a red double-decker bus to embrace the brisk September night dangerously and daringly, before leaping onto the pavement to fleet through the streets under the shroud of night as the women and men slumbered. They slipped quickly down alleyways, creeping like the faeries in the woods and the monsters from under the beds that the children feared, due soon to become one, but still young in Eton during 1981. 'Do not be dilatory, my lad; even though the night is young and as are we, we don't have a moment to spare!'
Their sleek black leather shoes reverberated sharp wet slaps on the cobbled pavement, shimmering like silvery blades under the light of the lamp post once they'd stepped off the glistening dew-soaked grass of the quad and skirted around the corner of the building.
Mullioned windows burned bright orange like mouths of fireplaces hovering above as the silhouettes of the two boys skedaddled quickly underneath them like spectres and disappearing out of sight, passing briefly by the glass like wicks on two lit candles.
Without a word spoken, they paused to gather air in their lungs beneath a lamp post, both clutching it as they scrutinised one another, conjuring fog between them from frosty breaths. Diligent eyes reconnoitred the grounds around them, lingering over the gables and garrets for a moment before the boys swept away once again on foot. Powerless to suppress it, they cackled uproariously with one another as they fled under the black welkin like two vampires stalking the night. Prowling underneath a hood of secrecy amongst a realm made for cloak-and-dagger operations, a bat and a bird took flight together.
'Before we venture any further, Hamilton, are we absolutely certain that this is a good idea?' asked the swarthier boy as they neared the destination of their objection. A jaw clenched dubiously against beige skin, the colour of sandalwood; it was the flavour of old Italian blood straining through his veins from his father's family, contorting with the Englishness of his features passed down from his mother's people. He found his voice was tainted with timidness, somewhat; it was the first time such unbecoming behaviour had betrayed his tongue, absent during the times all other similar antics had been executed.
The door to the Hopgarden dormitories stood ajar, revealing a slice of white marble gleaming from within the foyer like the pearly gates to Heaven, where soon both boys intended to make a Hell. From the garrets above, light poured down like auburn lacquer, spilling through the balconies of the prefects rooms to join the colours splashing over the macadam and slathering over the steps as thick as marmalade, leading towards the mouth of the entrance like a lolling tongue made of illumination.
'This is a step farther beyond anything we've ever attempted before. It is extortion, after all. The consequences may be harsher than what we've foreseen if the outcome we intend does not go as hoped—if it all goes awry, that is,' the other boy continued as furtive eyes swept over sash and canted bay windows. Shadows, firelight, music, and muffled voices told tales of signs of life inside. The sky was lit by moonlight and starlight, and a faint wind whispered from the rose bushes.
The fretful boy had reached the entrance first, standing at the edge of the light with his body crouched slightly, his arms crooked and hands raised out ahead of them as though he'd been frozen mid-run, halting like a spied rabbit exiting the burrow and sniffing the air for the scent of the predator as he glanced over his shoulder, awaiting his crueller companion, the fox.
Trevor Hamilton's cadaverous complexion glowed like bone in the dark as he strode across the path from under the spindly hands of the prickly trees, his black greatcoat flapping like bat wings, causing him to appear like the Grim Reaper come to collect. Before his body loomed forward so that his face materialised out of the darkness, the edges of his sharp features were outlined and contoured with shadow to give the impression of a grinning skull. 'No, it isn't a good idea ... it's a great idea. If you wish to seek out the power of supremacy, others must fall from the ladder first for us to make the climb; therefore, this plan is extremely essential to the overall grand scheme ... almost paramount, actually. I am the brilliant mastermind behind it all, so I ought to know,' Trevor snapped hoarsely, his voice as coarse as gravel, barely louder than a whisper and uttered through an invective tongue that was always callous and laced with spite. The boy with the same deathlike pallor of a sickly youth kept cooped away in an attic room away from the light of day suddenly turned to the beige lad as he passed him, yanking him into the light. 'Where is your courage and gumption, Frankie Carrozza? Why are you being so hesitant now that we are near? Mind you, when have you ever given a toss about consequences for that matter? We have already carried out the necessary precautions. Now you're talking nonsense, heir to Selworthy, because I have witnessed you performing much worse—be it malicious or salacious—deeds than the forthcoming feat.'
The two boys stopped against stone alcoves and stared at each other across the glass and wooden doorframe of the entrance. Dark eyes loomed from the shadows to shine like knives and scorch like fire beneath a hood of long and heavy eyelashes that crushed lashes as thick as spider legs and as dark as soot against an ashen complexion; the steely grey irises were the colour of storms, violent seas, the two silver coins placed over the eyelids of the deceased, and cigarette smoke and ash, searing from around pupils as black as inkwells. The leer was full of profound secrets and depthless malice. The tenebrous gaze was met with a pair of emerald eyes, the colour of forests, jungles, and fields, dappled with twinkling light like fir trees dashed with snow, full of curious secrets and charming mischief. As Frankie gazed back, his body began to rise and fall like a buoy bobbing out in the ocean, stirring excitement into his heart until a smirk split open his oaky cheeks and widened the jaws permanently kissed with a wintry redness. They proceeded to look at one another with clenched mouths, equal in height, until the boy with the healthier glow to him—as opposed to the milky and silky skin of the other boy, so pale that his blemishes almost shimmered lilac—began to shake his head enthusiastically with his tongue clenched between his teeth. Frankie Carrozza recalled the ideologies and philosophies discussed vehemently over late-night nightcaps and quickly accepted the notion that fate hung in the balance tonight.
'It is as I thought, Carrozza: you desire this as deeply as I do. I know the great yearn for it trembles in your very loins.' Trevor Hamilton cackled and swirled his overcoat as he swept in villainously through the doors, tainting the light in the foyer with his unnatural presence like a feather of a crow in the snow. The heavy thuds of Hamilton's boots jingled and clunked, clinking the spurs off the floor as he strode inside like an outlaw come to challenge the sheriff at the local saloon. 'Devilish deceit is the price to pay for schoolyard royalty—albeit, if it truly is a currency exchanged on our behalf and not just a disposition already lingering within us. I do not believe these parables when they say that sins have the ability to mar our souls ... as it would have me wondering how much space I have left on that glowing white force to commit more immoral practices before it is smirched entirely to black. Do you think there had been any free passes granted to us before we understood our wrongdoings? What I mean to say is: do you think it begun at a certain age, such as adolescence or the first moment we received the Eucharist in our mouths long after we had put one another into them? Surely you cannot punish keen and curious babes only just no longer sexless beings; they are not at fault for they are not in control, chemically-compelled by testosterone and pheromones run ragged by healthy intrigue and an irrational need for experimentation that completely envelopes their senses. In regards to this evening, this isn't any different from us having the same childish adventures we've had all our years together, only now they are age-appropriate antics, I suppose, and punitive measures are much harsher towards us if these hands of ours perform corrupt acts... say, grievous bodily harm. Let us play pirates, and we shall steal the trove of regal jewels that are rightfully ours come the new reign. Let us become the heirs of truly limitless power and forge a world to our own liking like young gods roaming the Garden of Eton. Let us embark on a sordid adventure to usurp the unworthy usurpers wasting their rule by way of negligence and see what we can find or lose along the way once we harness the true potential of monarchy!'
'This is a very drastic step forward from dressing up as clowns and terrorising the local children at night or wearing long black cloaks and standing on one another's shoulders outside retirement homes in the rain with scythes in our hands, Hamilton.' Frankie sighed.
'Fear of venturing into the extremes is for the prematurely deceased, Frankie,' Trevor remarked.
The boys skulked down the last corridor. Trevor was smoking and making large arcs with his hand, bringing the cigarette up to his mouth and swinging it back down to his hip as he flicked ash on the ground, trailing the fingers of his other hand along the wall, approaching the door like a villain in a pantomime as his leather satchel full of tricks jingled dangerously by his side.
They were still wearing their school uniforms; their white shirts tumbled out untucked, their ties hung dishevelled like nooses, and their black trousers were rumpled untidily from the activities of the day. Wordless, they marched under the ceiling lights with Hamilton leading as the shepherd and Frankie hurrying behind as the sheep. If there was ever a thrilling sensation discovered in heading directly towards the gallows, Frankie Carrozza felt it profoundly now. 'And ... and this will help us acquire what it is we desire? You're certain of it?' he asked. An accusatory frown dug between his brow as he eyed Hamilton's back. 'I'm not trying to find fault, but—'
'My plan shall begin to bring us what we want: everything, and to never need to answer to anyone ever again. How long have you known me, Carrozza? Years and years and years, since we were barefooted, so do trust me as much as you have done all of the other times before. We can have every mouth eating from the palms of our hands, reaching down from an ascendancy that has us overlooking this dominion like emperors, much too high for the prefects and even the teachers to be able to point a finger of blame in our direction. We shall be invincible to punishment ... impervious to rules! We shall be crowned as mighty kings! We shall be worshiped as young gods, perched on thrones in our pantheon, which will soon be built from the ruins of this school. Lords! Kings! Gods! Lordy, kingly gods! Do you wish to die unknown and swiftly forgotten like an anonymous peasant gurgling on soppy muck by the ditch, fizzling pathetically like a match spluttering against louder winds, or do you want to thrive like a bonfire of fireworks to alight hundreds of night skies that thousands upon thousands of eyes shall admire long after your fire has perished and you have died? Would you like to be immortalised in the constellations like a Greek hero by becoming this dawn's Achilles? Do you want to be limited or do you wish for a legacy? You choose: miffed or myth? Do you want to be so quiet or to be so very loud in a world so large? I can ensure it all. When in all of my days has my word ever rung false?'
Frankie Carrozza struggled to deny that he had a penchant for misbehaviour as he paused to rub the back of his head, exposing the whisper of reluctance beneath the roar for revelry, which Hamilton considered to be a weakness and the resistance of a small fire needing to be conquered beneath his stamping boot so it may rise as a phoenix anew with redirected purpose, whichever way he may coax it. After all, not long after the moment he learned to speak his first word ("More"), Trevor Hamilton had become an eristic wordsmith.
'What is it, Carrozza? If in doubt, remember the plan and the rewards to be reaped from it. Are you in doubt?' Trevor stopped to stub his cigarette out on the corridor wall, glancing at his comrade through eyes narrowed into snake-like slits as he ground the ash into the wood before throwing the butt over his shoulder. 'You are making me very mad, and I don't want you to make me mad. Haven't you performed as the filthy adult film star inside the cheap motel room before? Drapes smoked with cigarettes and bedsheets soaked with gin. You, the serial adulterer, enter the scene with your lines memorised and your role revised. Your gestures executed in such a professional manner so as to solely entice the audience, which you've perfected to exquisite detail, from the expression on your face to the tantalising removal of your jacket. You have allured many along your woven web of seduction, my little spider. Shall I name the other earl's son, whom you helped make the glass panels of the greenhouse shake in Belfast's Botanic Gardens until they cracked? How about the duke, who called out to our Lord and saviour, Jesus Christ, with tears springing to his eyes as he stood on the castellations of Caernarfon Castle and wept promises of your membership into the infamously exclusive gentlemen's club known as Narcissus' Garden as you buckled the legs from under him? How about the sensational time we showed the constable who caught us smoking a spliff on Monnow Bridge? Have you forgotten what you did in that sentry box with the guard for midnight admittance into the Tower of London? What about that time in the library of the Harlaxton Manor with an MP, a candlestick, four tassels, a snooker cue, and some dice? Wasn't there also a brief encounter with the twin sons of the Mayor of Canterbury during our stay in Durham, both of whom had an unusually open and rather intimate relationship with one another and a proclivity for sharing boys? Their father had walked into their bedroom at that very moment, simultaneously discovering two things: both of his sons tied to the poles of their fourposter beds and that they ... comme des garçons. If I recall correctly, you'd remained politely perched upon the dresser between the beds and nonchalantly smoking one of the mayor's expensive cigars before he chased us down the gardens wearing little more than our black and white briefs, our shoes, and glee on our cheeks. Don't you remember? We'd told his neighbours that we'd just escaped from his secret underground dungeons, where he'd been keeping us as slaves for unspeakable exploits. What about—'
'Oh, fine then. Shoot me dead like a dog in a ditch because I like to have fun,' Frankie grumbled. 'And it was you who orchestrated their father's timely arrival due to your wish to punish him because you didn't agree with his sentimental politics and the way he kept harping on about how costly his cigars were at dinner.'
'Fun? My ambitious boy, it seems like you've set out on a quest to conquer the entire peerage of England.'
'Wouldn't that be a glorious challenge?'
'Have you become much too righteous for turning tricks?' Trevor spat. 'You once enjoyed those wicked deeds the few times you've participated in hustling just for the thrill of it. Come, boy, don't wuss out on me now, dearest friend.'
Although they had formed an inexplicable bond from their younger days, having known one another since they ran barefooted due to family ties preformed before their births, their friendship was sealed with a secret, the discovery of a bloody lamb with its head trapped between the barbed wire of a fence a few fields over from the Carrozza Manor one summer evening when they were both seven-years-old, and a midsummer murder most foul.
Upon the cusp of night and day, underneath the gentle nuances shifting between, Frankie, dutiful and distressed, pushed his sleeves up his arms to act the farmer and tried to free the bleating and bleeding lamb from its cruel imprisonment. Trevor Hamilton had lingered by his shoulder like a cruel slither of his subconscious; he was a demonic and angelic omen even then at the age of seven, insisting the lamb required mercy, that it deserved leniency.
Carrozza had begged and bargained for its life against these admissions, adamant that they could save the young creature; Trevor, however, armed with a clever and precocious mouth, had told him that either way, the wounds the lamb had received from struggling would not permit it to live through to see the dawn, pained until the end, and nor did he believe that they had the capabilities to free it from its jagged confinements as the posts had been dug too deep.
Although attempting to remain honourably resilient until the end, Frankie had accepted defeat when the lamb's cries began to wither, encouraged by a mouth harnessing mature wit. He did not wish for the young to suffer.
He found the stone in a nearby brook, wiping childish tears from his eyes as he knelt to pry the rock from the stream. As both he and Hamilton hoisted it up over their heads together, Carrozza closed his eyes tight once they brought it down upon the skull of the lamb. Hamilton had grinned manically, prideful from saving the damned. Taking advantage of Frankie's trance, lost for a moment to utter horror, Hamilton had reached across and slit the palm of his hand on the barbed wire before guiding Frankie's hand over to slice his, too, until a crimson tear cried down his wrist. Trevor clasped their bloody palms together, mixed with several of Frankie's own tears shed over the death. Hamilton put a filthy finger to his own lips to split a wicked smirk, and whispered, 'This will be our little secret.'
According to Trevor Hamilton, the ritualistic promise of secrecy had forged them into blood brothers, which lasted throughout their years together. With their hands clasped, the inexpressible bond was entwined with blood, tears, and secrets, knitting their souls together and sewing their mouths shut with the seams of an oath enveloping the unspeakable, bloody feat.
Nonetheless, to this very day, usually during drunken mornings, Frankie Carrozza could still distinctly recall from memory the sound of the sharp crack of the lamb's neck, ringing out like a gunshot across the fields and loud enough to scatter magpies from the beech trees filling the nearby woodlands, leaving the poor animal hanging limp over the fence like a wilted, broken cloud.
Frankie Carrozza and Trevor Hamilton sat on the driver's box wrestling over the reins of a stagecoach that was spiriting onwards rapidly, out of control, freewheeling, and ploughing tremendously and treacherously towards undoubted peril; inside the carriage, Seraphina Rose and Bethany Holiday took the remaining spaces in the cargo area with the leather curtains pulled shut, prepared to climb out and take over the reins when needed, walk from the ruins of it once it crashed, or to fall into danger as casualties of the collision. The four of them were each a distinct flavour baked into a pie for an acquired taste. They were kindred and of a piece, flames burning and encircling one another, and once together they were never anything less but a wildfire leaving a wake of havoc. It was intensely unhealthy and it was greatly appreciated, for they truly understood what it felt like to be absolutely alive once those flames ignited with such harrowing consequences. How could anyone else understand them, but each other and no other, as they stood together amongst the rubble, sodden with rain and smeared in smoke, soot, and ash from the desolated ruins they'd left? It can be quite tricky to burn the crooked bridges between when they'd all been friends since playing as cubs; as tricky as life may be with them, it was also much too arduous to imagine a life without them, even if they poisoned the waters or muddied the tracks of the path ahead. Their souls were stitched together at the seams, for the better or the worst.
'And we have arrived at where it shall all begin: the gateway to our origins. For once this is done, the master plan will ignite like wildfire along a gunpowder trail. Like art, the masterpiece shall unfold. Are you prepared to apply the first stroke of your paintbrush?' Trevor Hamilton glanced towards Frankie as they stood on the last step of the staircase opposite the brown door that was seeping light, smoke, and laughter through the gap underneath.
With the silvery, cunning gleam prominent in Trevor's beady little eyes, Frankie believed that the very same mad and wily glint lived in the eyes of Guy Fawkes before he attempted to blow the House of Lords to smithereens. The irises burned from such an insatiable inferno smouldering within, so intense that Frankie could feel the heat of it washing over him like a sirocco wind, having him envision the flames reflecting in Hamilton's eyes as they did on the many occasions he'd set fire to something to satisfy his penchant for pyromania. Even as a young boy, Hamilton had always been a fanatic of fire; he was a pyromaniac, who kept a list of all the things he'd burned to cinder, slowly growing larger and larger in mass the older he became. Without a match to light tonight, a different blaze was conjured in those tarry pools he had for pupils; one that produced lechery and villainy, a dark and vampiric presence that was somewhat charmingly chaotic and in which his allure was his fangs. He'd wielded a certain sinister element of undeniable seduction, yet, at the same time, he could portray the politest, kindest, and most charming role when needed; the latter was a fabricated lie, a powerful performance woven so masterfully and learned by helming the theatre stage. Truth be told: Hamilton was rotten to the very core, but it was appetising to those partial to a bad seed. This, his grand scheme to begin tonight, was to be his biggest bomb yet.
'I'm still slightly skeptical about this, Hamilton. I honestly couldn't be arsed to deal with the repercussions of it all if it goes arse over tit. Give me a moment to think.' Frankie frowned broodily as he stared at the door, his knee bobbing impatiently and apprehensively.
Hamilton, however, reached around and cupped Frankie's behind with his hand and squeezed the rear of the trousers roughly, causing for the boy to yelp and jump away. 'Yes, it is as I thought,' Hamilton purred. 'The bruises are only just fading on your bottom from the last walloping these tossers gave you. Don't you want to put an end to such a sadistic punishment being inflicted by those blatant sadists? To no longer be their masochistic lackey? Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not wish to abolish the patriarchy; I just plan to take the crown and sit the throne to rule it.'
Trevor cocked his ear to listen to the voices muttering behind the door, rising over the din of gentle music. 'All you had done was pollute the fountains with dishwashing liquid to flood the quad with bubbles and suds. Although I didn't think it was particularly creative and thought it to be a rather weak effort of your talents for mischief on your behalf, that isn't to say I didn't find it somewhat humorous all the same to see them all flocking around trying to stop it. Now, do you not seek revenge, my vengeful Carrozza? Does it not stir in your gut like a welcomed beast? I once believed the monster always lived there, considering what you did to William Maury's career as the college's newsletter editor for writing a disparaging review about you in the school play.'
Frankie rubbed the back of his thigh, his eyes narrowing into vicious slits that he redirected towards the frame of the door until, militantly, he nodded his head, untethered his misgivings, and became drafted fully into the war.
Much like the serpent whispering all of its sinful exclamations until Eve plucked the apple that led to her downfall, damnation, and banishment, Trevor handed over the bottle of burgundy liquid he'd removed from his satchel and Frankie, with the Devil invited inside and summoning his mettle and mustering his confidence, strode forward with newfound conviction and shoved open the door.
They were greeted with a mist of smoke, thick enough for the coastline to choke on, inhaling the scent of brandy and the smoke of cigarettes and cigars that stained the room. Only two prefects occupied it, but they were the two individuals they sought—the two leaders of the prestigious elite in charge of the corridors. They glanced up from where they sat on one of the sofas, hiding their perfectly tailored suits beneath red velvet smoking jackets, their walking canes and top hats sitting forgotten by their sides like crowns and sceptres, and their cheeks flushed from the substances they were swilling in their manicured hands.
Trevor swept in behind Frankie, adorning a malicious grin, sticking his hands into his pockets and scrutinising the foggy room as they stood before the two older boys.
'Messrs. Carrozza and Hamilton, whatever do we owe the unpleasant displeasure of your presence calling at this ungodly hour?' Adam Gillespie bellowed as he studied them both. 'I have not summoned either of you forth to interrupt our discussion about Drew's nonsensical theory that the older the books on the bookcase, the quicker and thicker the dust lies on them.'
Drew Hogarth's eyes raked up them both with little interest. Frankie vividly recalled that very same slimy smile dressing his face as he became the first assailant to make use of the cane on him when they had finally exposed him as the culprit who was tampering with the fountains on a weekly basis. He was instantly possessed with a profound urge to decorate the smile with a nail gun. Hamilton had placed the empty evidence in a cubbyhole belonging to another boy to frame him, but a tattler named Jeremy Belvedere had run snivelling to the prefects with his little black book documenting criminal behaviour so as to use his unusually pointy tongue to stab Carrozza in the back. Belvedere was next on his list of marked men.
Carrozza stretched his shoulders and held the bottle out towards him, his eyes glowering drowsily as he caught theirs. 'This bottle is a symbol of my apologies for my misbehaviour and misdemeanours performed over last term ... and the one before that ... and the one before that ... and all the rest.'
Gillespie laughed loftily. 'And here I believed your reddened buttocks was all the sincere apologies needed to be heeded.'
Hogarth's spiteful sniggers joined his and the two prefects encouraged a drunken spur of cackles from one another. Frankie bit down on his tongue so hard he feared his mouth would soon fill with blood.
'Well, take this Bourgogne wine as a token of the second act to follow the intermission between punishments. It is from the year Churchill won the general election: 1951,' Frankie replied, struggling to hold back rebuke.
'Oh, very well, very well, lad. One mustn't deny additional sauce, wouldn't you say so, my dear Hogarth?'
'No, Gillespie. One should never shun some rotgut when one prefers to tipple,' Drew replied, tumbling into a fit of giggles.
Gillespie suddenly paused whilst reaching toward the bottle and eyed the two boys warily before returning his suspicious gaze to the wine. His eyes deliberated over Hamilton for a very long time before a sly smile slowly tore apart his cheeks, no doubt placing him as the student who'd set fire to the bicycle shed in his first year before beginning a riot of revolt against democracy. Inspired by an essay topic based on Che Guevara that he'd been in the middle of completing, Trevor had riled up a huge horde and encouraged them into voting him for head boy, but the rebellion was quickly abolished.
'Sit for a spell and have a drink with us, boys. I dare say you have brought the ... ahem, poison ... so you may as well taste the substance,' Gillespie exclaimed as he stumped out his cigar on an ashtray stand.
'No, we mustn't intrude,' Hamilton answered for them hesitantly. 'We have prayers to attend, you see.'
'Oh, but I insist. It is a Friday evening after all, Hamilton. You would care for a drink. I am well aware that you are both fond of it enough, having heard that you're usually to be found in revelry whilst fleeing the cricket pitches or committing debauchery in the local taverns of the town. Although I haven't caught you red-handed in the pubs thus far to justify a reason to leave you reddened elsewhere, doesn't mean that one evening I won't. I am giving you a free pass to be excused from prayers to wet your tongues on this good alcohol ... if I am to believe that it is prayer that finds you on your knees.' Gillespie was somewhat more intelligent than how he conducted himself, with his smile tearing his lips higher, but never quite reaching his malicious eyes; however, Hamilton was cleverer and all the more malevolent still.
Gillespie would be quite attractive with his weak, but firm, jaw ... nice set of lips upon a thin and remarkably pointy face, Frankie observed as his eyes shifted over to Trevor, feeling the intensity in the room rising until it was as palpable as how he imagined the atmosphere of an exchange taking place on the premises of a Columbian drug lord to be. That is, if he didn't have a coward's chin and wasn't such a pompous prat.
'Unless, of course, there is something wrong with the liquid?' Gillespie continued, squinting a chary eye. 'Tampered, poisoned, infected, or corrupted, perhaps?'
'Hardly. As if we are likely to be or do any of the sort. As they say, poison is a woman's weapon, and we're more likely to slit your throat and keep your eyes on ours so we may watch the life die from them to ensure it happened.' Hamilton moved much too quickly and eagerly towards the cabinet to extract two tumblers from it, Frankie thought. 'Very well, if you do insist then. We will accept the free passage most humbly and most willingly. Mind you, this bargain better hold beyond today and tomorrow.'
Trevor strode towards the door to kick it shut with the heel of his boot before turning the lock. As he made his way towards the other three, he purposely knocked Frankie down into the free space between the two boys lounging on the settee.
'Come on, boys! Several for the road!' Drew Hogarth laughed giddily until his rubescent cheeks wobbled merrily.
It wasn't long before they had all taken enough of the alcohol for a healthy red glow to spruce their cheeks and cause their eyes to glitter with mirth. Gillespie talked mostly of politics, of Thatcher, and of his interest to enter the Cabinet as a minister, boring the two younger boys beyond natural limits, both of whom remained feigning keen interest as Mozart told fairy tales behind them.
'It is the man who gives off such a profound presence who ought to be revered. Every eye can see the strong ambiance of an assertive man from Downing Street in a suit when he enters the room. Who wouldn't set out to achieve such magnetism?' Gillespie droned, speaking enough for all of them. 'Mind you, only a select few can capture or be born with such charisma.'
Hamilton had been circling the room, casing the place and inspecting the photographs before setting them facedown on the mantlepiece. He placed his hands on the back of the settee, sensing opportunity. 'Quite right. How unusual that I find myself actually agreeing with you this once, Adam,' Trevor interjected carefully and daringly, disregarding the intoxicated prefect's protests at the usage of his forename and dodging the wave of his hand. 'In fact, wouldn't you say that my dear friend here, Frankie Carrozza, naturally possesses the potential ingredients for such an aura? No doubt passed on across generations from his blood, which has led to him being the son of the 8th Earl of Wiltshire, Lord Carrozza, making him the Honourable Frankie Carrozza. All that needs to be done now is for it to be prepared, cooked, and properly presented on a plate, I'd say.'
Adam Gillespie and Drew Hogarth both regarded Frankie, cocking their heads back to get a better look at him.
'Personally, I think he seems to already possess it ... commanding attention earlier with that despicably youthful arrogance of his once he'd strode into the room. He has the ignorance for it, I'll confess that, and at such a ripe age, too. It could be much greater if he only knew how to wield it, don't you think?' Trevor continued silkily. 'It is possibly in the perpetual rouge tint of his cheekbones that calls to the eye first and foremost. Not to mention those delicious dimples of his that hold quite a gathering of it; they would make any boy seem a docile halfwit if Frankie didn't dispel that notion by being overtly clever, with a dash of egotism and a slither of much too much pride. They emit charm, and charm conceals danger.'
At this announcement, Frankie felt the chilled fingers of Trevor's hand creeping across his cheeks to trace his jaw from behind him as he sat sipping the drink in his lap nonchalantly.
'Perhaps it is this physique of his, frankly suggesting that it will one day soon be tall and strong, with dusky skin pulled tight over taut muscle, a boy no doubt worshipped by the sun, and with a jawline that goes on for days ... such supple, hairless, and youthful flesh.'
Gillespie cleared his throat uneasily. 'Y-yes ... it—it could be all of those things, it appears. I can see that, perhaps.'
'Yes, yes!' Drew agreed eagerly. 'Alas ... hic ... supple, indeed.'
'Perhaps it is also in his masculine and feminine beauty, with his features and rapidly growing structure caught for now somewhere on the cusp of an androgynous bloom. A Greek Adonis, just upon the verge of breaking out from the cocoon of his pubescent years into a young man of fifteen years. A forbidden fruit just ripe for the picking, some would say. Such cherry-coloured lips and those cheeks with a strawberry-coloured rouge. Go ahead, gaze into those glassy and grassy, emerald-coloured eyes, drunk on mirth and youth and precious innocence, and see the plead in them, begging to be plucked and corrupted, just hoping for one to wrap their lips around and take a bite. Can't a delirious and desirous plea be found deep in those eyes, wishing to be indulged in?' Trevor drawled, his mesmeric voice becoming enthralling.
Frankie lifted his hands out and gently laid them in the laps of the two prefects once Hamilton took the drink from his hand, as swiftly and secretly as spies during espionage. His firm grip was confident enough to cause Drew Hogarth to splutter and spill his drink down himself, a flush burning up his neck and forehead as alcohol glistened where it dribbled sloppily to his chin. Trevor's hand moved further down his neck, caressing down his throat until it slipped under his shirt. Another hand slithered down the other side of his head to unbutton the top buttons of his white shirt, his school blazer long abandoned on the carpet.
From the corner of his peripheral vision, Frankie could see movement stirring in the crotches of the two boys' trousers, unravelling to the melody of the pungi whispering from the snake charmer behind them. Carrozza's eyes closed slightly, decorating his face with an guiltless expression, parting his lips to hint of coming ecstasy. He licked his mouth, enjoying the capture of success.
'One mustn't.' Adam Gillespie coughed, taking a long sip to stunt himself.
Trevor placed his hand on the back of Adam's head and encouraged him forward towards Frankie's neck, who sat as stiff and as accommodating as a statue as he stared ahead. He was unperturbed as Trevor instigated the transaction like a vampiric lord feeding his legion of children the warmth and blood of Frankie, the offering.
'One simply must,' Trevor softly coaxed.
Frankie felt the older boy's lips on his neck, sloppy, wet, warm, keen, aggressive, and inexperienced, but fine all the same; it was not the quality of the painting they sought, but the inspiration behind it and the quantity. Adam continued to kiss hungry trails up his throat and across his cheek as though his wilted lungs were struggling for air and this was the only source of sustenance available that would allow him to live on. He touched at Frankie as though he was seeking a warm flame in the coldest winter, slipping his hand in through the slot of his open shirt and tugging at the skin beneath.
Once holding back the dam became all too much to bear, rushed with desire, Drew Hogarth replicated a similar performance on the other side of Carrozza. 'Oh, good God ... oh, Lord!' he panted into his ear as he clumsily fed off of him.
Frankie remained insouciant, smiling humourlessly and gazing out the window overlooking the quad and taking a gulp of Adam's smoky brandy as the two boys fought to open the rest of his shirt, busy yanking desperately at their own leather belts and buckles.
Frankie Carrozza fell away into memory. In the summer the Carrozza family had first moved to Selworthy, when they were both eleven-years-old, he and Trevor Hamilton had found themselves rummaging around the cluttered attic, exploring all of the nooks and crannies of the manor house to uncover the secret passageways and treasures. Ransacking through the ragged maps, old books, chests with broken hinges, boxes of chipped vinyls, crackled mirrors, a large and forgotten fourposter bed with the wood splintered and a bent frame, globes made to store liquor, rusted bicycles, armchairs with shredded upholstery, ancient toys, torn paintings, mannequins dressed in vintage clothing, and tattered, multicoloured drapes hanging over the hammer beam trusses, the boys toppled breathless onto the dusty carpets, disappointed that they'd found no treasure map that winked towards pirates and peril.
Sitting opposite one another on the musty embroidered carpets with dust motes gliding like gilded faeries between the chutes of multicoloured light filtering in through the stained-glass window that matched the lampshades, as colourful as a kaleidoscope, the boys had stared at one another for a very long time, bored and restless. Their parents were down below and very far away, wandering the rooms and gardens of the country house to show the Hamiltons around. They could hear little more than the sounds of their beating hearts, the rustling bird building a nest in the gables outside, and the whoosh of a cold draught sighing up the stone fireplace in the corner of the attic.
To appease themselves, Hamilton suggested that the boys played a game of Truth or Dare. The dares started off as innocent as lambs, daring one another to put on silly hats or frocks, stand on their heads for ten seconds, walk like a crab towards the broken dresser, shatter the stand-alone mirror with one of the candles, or leap onto the bed from the crooked wardrobe, until Hamilton cajoled the other boy further. The bold and assured grin on Trevor's mouth had slipped and faded away into a twitch once the dares became all the more risqué, growing just as nervous and equally as excited as Frankie once an intense silence settled over them, both enticed by the sordid thrill of participating in something the boys knew they oughtn't be, their curiosity having them venturing into brand new territory that belonged to their elders by exploring natural urges, leaving their innocence behind to pale in the light streaming through the stained-glass windows, rotting like perished fruit.
They'd stood facing one another on either side of the rug, wordless and staring as their heart rates rose until the thump was strong enough to bruise their ribcages, becoming louder than everything else in the attic. They challenged one another, egging the other one so that it seemed the game was suggested by the other participant, for them to take the blame if it went awry or it was said otherwise. Swallowing their thickening saliva through shuddery breaths and watching with wondrous eyes, trepidation took ahold of them as they slowly removed each article of clothing, dropping them aside onto the dusty, cinnamon-coloured carpet and tensing their knees to keep them from trembling. Their bravery had abandoned their tongues, too fearful to courageously say aloud all of the indecent acts they'd read about or accidentally witnessed adults perform that they wanted to experience with the other due to a profound,  premature, and voracious inquisitiveness, too scared of the other's reaction. Instead, they found an old red cloche hat and filled it with pieces of paper that they'd written their bawdy suggestions on for each of them to take turns plucking a scrunched ball from it like apples in an orchid.
Once they'd finished with their clumsy fumbling, they lay side by side on the carpet as bare as the nymphs dancing through the copses on the peeling wallpaper, bathing beneath the dusty honey-coloured sunlight pouring in through the grimy windows. Red friction burns shone from their knees, elbows and buttocks, glowing like hot coals. Breathless and wiping his mouth on his forearm, Trevor Hamilton had whispered those same six words again: 'This will be our little secret.'
And so the frisky and risky game of Truth or Dare had remained undisclosed as years past and their Adam's apples emerged and their shadows grew taller until they rose up to touch the rafters in the attic these days. Gradually escalating, it became so that there were seldom any secrets kept hidden, rarely any desires left untold; when one of them wished to explore a fantasy, a thought, a secret, or an idea, they would test it out on the other, making a silver platter out of their body. Stimulated by the determination not to leave any adventure unexplored, it was how they'd come to learn of the world.
Click!
Frankie forced himself to suppress a chuckle as he felt the sensation of one of the boy's tongues sliding along his clavicle and up over his Adam's apple, with hands pawing at his thighs.
Click!
The hand ventured up to massage his crotch and Frankie fell back, placing his arms along the back of the settee and separating his thighs wide as the two boys continued to devour him ravenously, lifting a leg up over each of their knees.
Click!
'What is that infuriating noise?' Gillespie spat as he pried his mouth from Frankie's throat with a wet smack, wiping his lips on the back of a hand.
Trevor paced back and forth before them in his long black overcoat, shaking a fresh polaroid in his hand like a tambourine and clutching a camera in the other.
'You take a splendid picture, Gillespie. Your rear is poking up in this one as though you're posed for a double-page November spread for Playgirl.' Trevor grinned cheekily. 'Now, let us get your roosters out from inside their turfs of bramble and we'll see what sort of show we can sell.'
'Sorry?' Drew muttered breathlessly, aghast.
The complexions of the two boys paled like milk as it dawned upon them. Quickly growing fearful as they grasped the situation, they threw themselves back from nibbling upon the boy sandwiched between them.
'You sneaky little bundle of shrivelling rat droppings, Hamilton!' Adam shrieked, pulling his smoking jacket over tight to cover himself. 'You absolute conniving little ... rat!'
'Oh Gillespie, I wouldn't be opposed to being incredibly polite to me if the shoe was on the other foot, considering that I am the one currently flapping a photograph of you in the middle of cupping a handful of my dear friend's family jewels as though he was a handsome Belle de Jour, framed by a clutter of brandy, red wine, and whiskey bottles, and tinted by cigars perfuming the air, don't you think?' Trevor cackled. His face was deathly pale, but his black and silver eyes never seemed so alive, glowing like charcoal and ash in his glower. Ruses were Hamilton's most preferable drug. 'I am quite certain that this would end in severe punishment on your behalf. Perhaps even expulsion would be upon the horizon as I do believe this is only but an experimental step and a few drinks away from buggery. I do not necessarily think that this sort of rampant and wanton behaviour—writhing beneath the sheets with a fellow boy, that is—would uphold as decent reputation to get you through the doors of 10 Downing Street, my degenerate democrat.'
'You devious bastard!' Gillespie groaned in protest, slumping defeatedly against the sofa as Drew Hogarth sat folded inwardly from shame. Frankie remained unruffled, smiling as he crossed his legs and slid his arms along the wings of the sofa, inspecting his nails.
'Why thank you!' Hamilton gaped, touching his chest. 'Two things I've always proudly considered myself, regardless of what Mother says.'
'What ... what do you want?'
'Consider it our insurance policy, that's all,' Trevor declared as he poured himself another measure of bourbon on the rocks like a Bond villain. 'Of course, with you two being the utmost respected prefects and one of you the head boy, placed at the very top of the hierarchal food chain in this college, it had to be you to ensure it all worked out perfectly. You can't blame me, since it is your status which is at fault for positioning you into such a sticky situation. With these scandalous and passionate photographs—with a touch of romantic artistry applied by my hand, might I add—looking quite like a boardroom above a grand hotel with its smoky aroma and frisky, alcohol-fuelled banquet attended by many a member of the Parliament and a few high-end hookers, it'll certify that you or no other prefect shall come for us.'
'C-come for you?' Drew stuttered.
'What you're thinking isn't exactly what I meant. Get your mind out of the gutters, you naughty boy. I mean that you or no other will come after us. We are both now untouchable.'
'We could enforce greater punishment through injuries inflicted upon you both ... more severe than what that picture could cost us.' Adam sneered.
'Will it? What have we to lose compared to you? Perhaps our motor skills lessening for a spell, but then again, Frankie and I have been beaten plenty of times. In fact, we've begun to enjoy ourselves quite a bit, too. We can endure pain. We would persevere through it. A caning over the gymnasium bar would do little more than infusing indifference and wrath; therefore, your threats are pitiful and futile. However, this will cost you your repute. This will latch onto you like a barnacle and nobody is going to want to put their rosy lips around someone's rosy pecker when their reputation has been shattered asunder from such a scandal.'
Trevor cackled as he glanced between the pair. The power he held over them both seemed to make him appear taller and older, though only fifteen-years-old himself and two years younger than them.
'This is preposterous! This is extortion! You pair of blackmailing scoundrels!' Gillespie swore and hissed with a fervent outrage.
Trevor gazed at him slyly, enjoying Adam's frustration and spiralling demise. He took a sip of the bourbon, causing for the ice to clink against the glass as he titled it towards the boy to show his acceptance to the compliment. 'Thank you very much, you complete disgrace. You see, this was the problem with Bonnie and Clyde and their gorgeous excursion: they never secured guaranteed coverage, a warranty on their lives to make them as invincible as us to ensure they remained ongoing before they headed foolishly into battle. It's a very fine dream to play as sovereign to an imperial realm, but everyone gets it wrong; you see, you unseat the king first and then you take the throne before you worm your way through the crowd to snatch the lesser titles you desire—the larger the hand, the more you can grab. Also, might I add, quite fine bourbon you have in your possession, an absolute treasure of a find.'
'How exactly are we to stop other prefects from reprimanding the pair of you?'
'You will ensure it. I'm certain you will find a way, as I know you have the power to do so. Do not play the mummer's farce.'
Conquered, Gillespie bowed his head and glared between his knees at the floor. 'How can we be certain that you won't just leak out the photographs either way for sheer kicks?'
Trevor grinned at the top of his head. 'You shall just have to trust us.'
Gillespie spat out a small laugh at the ludicrousness. 'What an utter joke of a sentence strung together.'
'Think, Gillespie, think! How do you ever hope to matriculate to Oxford if you don't ever use that bloody brain wedged into your noggin? Why would we publish the photographs in the newsletter and have you vilified?' Trevor hissed. 'That would be like the warrior chucking his shield into the dirt just before a volley of arrows rained down upon him.'
'What a valiant image to paint yourself behind,' Adam muttered venomously, 'when you yourself are nothing of the sort.'
'Quite right. Well, since we are all in agreement over getting into bed with one another ...' Trevor slithered forward towards the middle of the settee to tower over Frankie, who sat picking at a tooth coolly, and reached down to tug at the top of the other boy's zipper until it yielded. 'For the boys meeting our demands so graciously, my darling Lolita, you shall reward them, won't you? Adam is the head boy, after all, so fellatio just sounds all the more appropriate.'
Glowering slightly, Frankie stared Trevor in the eye for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. This had not been included in the initial plan. Sighing begrudgingly, he ignored Hamilton's encouraging wink and petted the back of their necks.
'Claim your guerdon, boys,' Trevor whispered sultrily, as he set down his glass and turned up Bang Bang by Nancy Sinatra on the gramophone. 'Settle your teeth around the cherry and dig in.'
'Hold on. We haven't negotiated my terms yet,' Frankie announced, staring ahead of himself.
'Your—your terms?' Adam repeated fretfully, his face beginning to wan.
'I want that mermaid over there,' he demanded, pointing towards the dresser, where the gramophone and miniature jukebox sat. Beside them rose a huge viridian mermaid statue with mint-coloured hair wearing a crystallised crown clustered with multicoloured seashells, gems, medallions, jewellery, pearls, beads, glitter, and gold chains. It reminded him of a night spent in Miami over the summer, where he, Seraphina Rose, Bethany Holiday, and Trevor Hamilton had swam in the swimming pool of their hotel with a girl dressed as a mermaid in a bubblegum pink wig and another with teal-coloured hair, drinking strawberry wine, smoking spliffs, and talking about the Hollywood legends of the Golden era.
'It's yours!' they cried in union.
The two boys were still quite eager to reconvene, with hearts and groins keen, hoping that the culmination of their arousal might not be entirely dashed tonight; Carrozza could see the desire swelling in their eyes and in other areas. They writhed like two lionesses and he was the gazelle; however, it was a very incorrect viewpoint, for he was the hunter, drawing his prey in close enough to bleed them dry. He shared another gaze with Trevor, who was in the middle of removing his own clothes, stripping them from himself and casting them aside like coins to the beggar, getting ready to join the banquet with a slow thrust to his pelvis and a sway in his hips.
We shall be kings and gods! This is the beginning of our legend! Hamilton mouthed to him excitedly, producing a sanctimonious smirk as Carrozza felt one of the prefects gently caressing the back of his bared shoulder with shy lips, now smushed in between them again.
Frankie kept his eyes locked on Trevor's as he slowly raised his free hand up to take the back of the head of the second salivating vampire lingering by his ear with risen fangs, directing him lower down his torso to feed and satisfy his craving.
Resting a knee between Frankie's legs, Trevor leaned down and kissed his mouth hard until it hurt, nipping it with his teeth until a lip bled red. He drew his tongue up towards his ear like a knife slitting a throat and whispered those old familiar six words again: 'It will be our little secret.'