Afraid for both Alec and those who encounter him, Frank buys an old farm house and takes Alec away from the city. Just when a sense of peace begins to settle over Frank-a new potential threat arises, tapping deep into Alec's psyche where Zeke reside...
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"The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head I tried my best to be guarded
I'm an open book instead I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyes That are looking for a purpose
They're still looking for life."
- Broken, LIFEHOUSE
♦
Dust particles floated in the sunrays streaming through the windows that were long overdue for a thorough scrubbing. A thin film of dust layered the hardwood floor and settled on the old furniture throughout the living room. Frank pocketed the house key and looked at Alec. "I'm sorry it isn't nicer. But after a little TLC..."
Alec walked through the living room, leaving faint footprints on the dusty floor behind him. "It's fine," he said. He turned around and looked at Frank. "Is there a bed?"
"A bed?" Frank smiled. "I'm sure there is." To say the place came furnished was all in how one looked at it. There was 'furniture', though it left much to be desired and most of which would be headed for the burn pile as soon as Frank could purchase suitable replacements. Pretty much anything would be a suitable replacement. He had bought the place from a photo alone, which he realized wasn't smart. But he hadn't had time to be picky. He needed a place for him and Alec that was secluded. He clung to the possibility that there was hope for Alec, but to cultivate the glimmer of 'humanity' that he insisted he saw on the boy—he had to keep Alec away from others, at least for the time being.
Frank gazed at the young man, Alec's question—Is there a bed?—lingering in the air between them. He moved closer to Alec and rested his hands on the boy's waist. "Why do you ask?" He kissed him softly. "What could you possibly want with a bed?"
Alec didn't answer the question. "Where is it?"
"Hm." A low throb thumped Frank's crotch. Alec's simple responses had a way of turning Frank on more quickly than if the boy talked dirty. "Well, I don't know exactly," he murmured. "Let's go find it."
Frank took Alec's hand and walked him toward the stairs. Dust clung to the banister, and cobwebs laced between the balusters—a graveyard of dead bugs and air particle debris. The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet but felt sturdy enough. Perhaps he wouldn't have to do an entire overhaul of the place, just some "cosmetic surgery".
The upstairs hallway was laid with a thin carpet that was partially disintegrated and would definitely have to go. No cleaning would salvage that. Frank had yet to come upon a crook or cranny that didn't require thorough cleansing. The floral wallpaper was dried, cracked and peeling. Frank could envision a pleasant white oak paneling in its place. The condition of the house didn't discourage him. He kind of preferred a fixer-upper, something that required hands on attention and care, that he could put his heart into. Alec's fingers absently squeezed his hand and Frank looked at the boy. Like Alec. A bit rough on the exterior...but underneath, a beautiful vision just waiting for the right person to come along and bring it to life.
