Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Thirty

Henry sat frozen on the chair in his office, his eyes staring at the glowing computer screen before him, his fingers entwined, his mind awash with dark thoughts. It was a cool day in September, a day that was meant for lunch outdoors with Richard Oke and some of their friends from the Mainland, but here he was, trapped in his office, his eyes glued to the picture of Phoenix that was glowing there on the computer monitor.

It was a black-and-white shot of the actor seated cross-legged on a low stool beside the vanity table in a small dressing room. And he was nude, right as the day he was born, and it was the actor as a very young person. It was the actor during the phase of his life when he had sweated out his days at the Drummer Club with the Ali’s snakes. Beneath the photo was a caption that was printed in block letters:

T. O. PHOENIX STARTED OUT AS AN EXOTIC DANCER IN A NIGHT CLUB.

Henry felt the fury rising within him, bubbling to the surface as he minimized the screen window and the offending picture shrank out of sight. The picture had given him an erection, as he was sure that it had given a lot of other gay men hard-ons across the country. There was already more than seventy thousand views of it on the internet, and more than three thousand comments, and so many of them were full of derision for the actor and severe criticisms for his antics.

Phoenix really will be the end of me, he thought savagely, his balled fist slamming into the palm of his left hand, his face contorted with rage. The rage he felt was against the bastard who had done this to the actor out of spite due to the fact that he had been rejected and cast aside.

He had to confront the bastard, perhaps give him a bigger doze of what he had given to that bloody reporter, and so, late that evening, after he had supped with the heavily pregnant Fiona and played with the twins, he got into one of his many cars, a black Honda, and then he drove to the Island. He drove past the compound where he knew that the Northerner lived in, searching for a parking space; he found one at the end of the street, parked there, and then he retraced his steps back to the house.

The house was dark because as usual, the NEPA had not deigned to bring the light, but there was a yellow glow in one of the front windows; a paraffin lamp was burning. He was walking towards the front door when he heard the voices arguing, so he stopped short, turned to the left and hurried away to the window that was emanating the light.

He peered in through the open window, and there stood Ali Hassan, his long, lean body trembling with fury, a dagger clutched in his left hand, his body poised to attack. Before him, pinned with his back to the wall, was Phoenix, an ice pick in his hand. He was breathing heavily, and on his stunning face was a look of grim determination; there was fear there, and there was pain, with hope, and the unmistakable flash of pure excitement that was pure maniac. It was as if he was watching a movie scene with Phoenix and the other man as the star players, but this was real. It was the real deal.

Henry felt long slivers of fear digging into his spine as he watched them, knowing that the scene unfolding before him was not a game. And then he watched, paralyzed with fear and horror as the older man advanced slowly upon the actor, coiled and ready to strike with his dagger, and Phoenix’s brown face was clenched, but there was a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. That smile is evil, Henry thought, sweat trickling into his eyes.

The guy looked ready for whatever was coming to him, his pupils dilated with expectation and the adrenalin pulse of the moment, his face clenched shut like a fist. His chest was heaving with exertion and effort, as if he was doing a fitness routine that was tasking to his endurance.

He mouthed the name of his lover, but he was still rooted to the spot, numb and paralyzed, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his brain that he should do something. But he could do nothing. And it was then that he understood what it meant when a rat was said to be cornered to the wall.