Diabloa5 & The Aconite Acolyte

Dunn's Chronicles

Part 1: In Light and Chaos

Proofread by Diabloa5 & Xenos

"Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood."
– George S. Patton

"Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe."
– J.K Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

"I have always liked the monster within idea. I like the zombies being us. Zombies are the blue-collar monsters."
– George Romero

~ Dedicated to Ayas, and the wonderful guys at 3dboys; notably Insomniac, Conradin, Sunnyd, ~
~ Apocrypha, Istari, a special nod to Calvinus and Adrian who started it all, and to Exhaust Manifold ~
~ who made it happen. ~

~ And to all the writers and directors who inspired me from Shakespeare to Stephen King, from ~
~ Steven Spielberg to Quentin Tarantino 3; ~

CLASSIFIED

encrypt key: *********************
decrypt key: **********

From: spook.agent.026@nsa.gov
To: l.richards@mil.gov
Re: Our Mutual Friend

Attached is a copy of the information you requested regarding Mr. Shintao. It is classified information and may not be read by anyone without TS or SCI clearance. I need not remind you to securely delete this email after reading. Copying, printing, or sharing any portion of this document will be viewed as an act of treason and is punishable by death, according to United States Code at 18 U.S.C. § 2381.

-SA 026

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - –

Haruki Shintao Male Oriental Age: 42

According to Social Media (see references on p.2) Mr. Shintao planned a hunting trip in the coastal jungles of West Africa on or around the week of Oct. 9. Airline ticket receipts indicate subject boarding a plane at Naha Airport in Okinawa at 0523 UTC on Oct. 2. A drop on the subject's cell phone and GPS coordinates show subject arriving at Yaoundé Nsimalen International Airport in Cameroon approx. 16 hours later.

Subject's cellphone was turned off until Oct. 15 when GPS coordinates put subject at Hilton Yaoundé Hotel in Cameroon. Ticket receipts show subject departing from Yaoundé Nsimalen International Airport at 1902 UTC on Oct. 16. Subject arrived at Naha Airport in Okinawa 15 hours later.

Ticket receipts show subject departing from Naha Airport on Oct. 20 at 1616 UTC. Subject arrives at Beijing Capital International Airport at 1848 UTC. Beijing Hospital records show one HARUKI SHINTAO, 42, checking in on Oct. 21 at approx. 0930 UTC. Records indicate that subject was admitted for 'flu-like symptoms'. Subject was given an injection of peramivir (Repivab) and released an hour later.

On Oct. 25 at 1646 UTC, subject boarded plane for Berlin Schönefeld Airport (SXF). Subject arrived at SXF at 0219 UTC. Subject remained in Berlin until Oct. 27, when he departed from SXF at 1237 UTC. Ticket receipts indicate that subject arrived at Heathrow Airport at 0159 UTC. Subject stayed in London until 1018 UTC the following day. Receipts show that subject arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York at 1729 UTC.

Subject boarded a plane for Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport (ATL) at 1901 UTC on Oct. 28. Receipts from E-Z Rent-A-Car in Atlanta show that subject rented a vehicle at 1942 UTC, (Faxed copy of subject's Japanese driver's license and International Driving Permit (IDP) included on p.2.) GPS coordinates from a cell phone dump show that subject headed towards I-95 in Charleston, SC via I-20. Subject continued on to Jacksonville, FL, where he was apprehended for aggravated assault and battery by local police.

Subject was involuntarily admitted to Mayo Clinic on Oct. 30, and transferred to Jacksonville Naval Hospital on Oct. 31. Physician reports suggest that subject was violent and showing psychotic symptoms, attacking several staff members. Subject pronounced dead on Nov. 2 at 2358 UTC.

On or around Oct. 26, Beijing reported an outbreak of 'super flu' cases. Infected showed symptoms similar to that of subject. Similar small outbreaks of same virus reported in Berlin, Paris, Moscow, Bucharest, and Warsaw on or around Oct. 29. By Oct. 31, virus reported from various cities across Europe and Asia. First domestic reports of virus on Nov. 2.

Early symptoms of the virus include high fever, muscle pain and involuntary spasms, vomiting and diarrhea. Symptoms last 3 – 5 days. Infected individuals report 'feeling fine' after initial onset has passed. Virus appears to lay dormant for several weeks before returning. Upon reappearance, symptoms are progressively worse and include organ deterioration, and death.

Some individuals remain alive, albeit with an alteration of brain functions. These subjects exhibit advanced organ deterioration, aggression, and psychosis, Virus appears to be highly infectious and spreads through physical contact with infected. Further reports attached (see p. 2 – 4).

CLASSIFIED

Chapter 1

"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."

Who was it that penned that? Miles rummaged though his long forgotten education trying to recall, was it by Baudelaire? La Fontaine perhaps? Miles couldn't remember. French poetry had never been one of his strong suits in school, but the line, which he had heard long ago now, had stuck in his mind. The same could not be said of the attribution. He racked his brain, hoping that the elusive answer would come to him. No such luck.

It was easy enough to let one's mind float in the contemplation of the bucolic countryside that whizzed by as the black Escalade cruised quietly towards their destination. Outside, the incipient signs of spring were on full swing, the branches of the cherry trees pregnant with blossoms, the newly verdant and lush bluegrass of the fields swaying in visible waves of silvery green as the wind blew over it.

Despite his best efforts, the answer remained just beyond his grasp, as if he could finally recall the right answer at any time -annoying. However, the quote resonated with him today more than ever. It was as if the author had long ago foretold Miles predicament.

'His destiny', how often had he tried to avoid it? More than he could, or cared, to recall. His destiny might well be sitting next to him in the back of the Escalade. Miles took his eyes off the landscape, and peeked stealthily inside the vehicle.

There, sharing the back seat of the SUV with him was a young boy, who like he, was peering outside, mesmerized by the landscape. He appeared to be about ten years old, maybe even eleven, but Miles doubted it was so. The delightfully fluffy mat of blond hair lent the boy an appearance of barely contained energy, even though he sat quiet and still. Miles knew that this couldn't be entirely true; boys that age rarely sat so poised and comported. It just wasn't natural.

The kid had his blond head turned towards the opposite window, his gorgeous blue orbs taking in the scenery as the SUV hurtled down the winding road. The boy hadn't paid much attention to Miles since they met at the airport. At least, that was the impression the kid was trying to give, although Miles had noticed a few furtive glances from the boy every now and again. Naturally, the child would be nervous about his first day at St. Xavier's Academy, and curious about the large, muscular man seated beside him. What the boy didn't realize was just how curious Miles was of him.

Miles had finally capitulated, no matter how many times he tried, the answer remained just beyond his grasp. He did however fall in an introspective recollection; How had he come to be here, now, next to this impossibly cute and angelic looking boy?

If he had had choices, he would never have accepted the security consultant position at St. Xavier's school. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond his control, he hadn't had a choice. After having survived countless battles in various theaters of war, been the target of jihadist snipers, loosing brothers in arms to devastating IED attacks, and surviving house-to-house combat in the retaking of Ramadi, he had fallen victim to a stupid traffic accident.

He had been driving to a Burger King right outside the base, when he had to swerve out of the way to avoid a kid playing in the snow. The car had careened out of control, slid across a patch of ice, and crashed into a large walnut tree. Dazed, he had suddenly found himself staring out through the windshield, wondering why the glass was not there. Moments later, the pain had come. Ambulances arrived, quickly and shrilly, along with a bright red fire truck.

The news at the hospital had been devastating. Torn ligament in the knee, compound fracture in the lower leg 3; the words of the doctor had become distorted and unintelligible. In Dunn's troubled mind, the doctor sound almost as if he was mimicking Charlie Brown's teacher, saying nothing more than "wah wah wah". Miles had known exactly what this entailed; his career as a Marine was over. No more core!

Miles had been released on a general discharge, the whole process done in typical marine core fashion: quick, efficient, professional, but also impersonal. He had never felt so lost, so unguided, so tempted to indulge in his long suppressed desires. Instead, he drank, far too much, far too often. There had been gambling too. Not before long, he had found his savings cleaned out, and there were debts and due payments to unsavory characters, which had to be met.

When his old friend, Colonel Stevenson, had brought up this position, he had immediately hesitated. To be 'the' security adviser for one of the premier boarding schools of the nation, to help protect the princelings of the top elite, heirs to shockingly large fortunes, and future wielders of power.

Miles knew he had no business being in a position of trust with young boys, and he would have turned the offer down right away, but he was out of options. There were not many well-paid jobs for a broken down marine after being discharged. He had bills that needed to be addressed, and sitting around on his ass, drinking the day away, wasn't helping. Add to that the fact that his colonel had insisted.

He would think about it, he had told his former officer. That night had been hell. He had though hard and long. Could he contain his yearnings? Could he afford to turn the job down? What if he fell into temptation? What if he could not pay his debts?

One hour, perhaps two at most, that's how much sleep Miles got that night. But finally, in the gray dawn of early morning, he decided to accept the position. In a few days, he had sold whatever possessions he owned, cleared his debts, and had gone to the airport to start a new life. As promising as that sounded, he was still full of worry about his inclinations toward young boys. The thought of losing his self-restraint and actually touching one of those boys filled him with feelings of dread.

Of course, Miles hadn't told Stevenson about his anxiousness, that was something he had to keep to himself. The colonel had children of his own, and to admit these types of feelings was out of the question, it would ruin Miles' career, if not his whole life. At the very least, it would sever some of his tightest friendships and ostracize him. So without any further excuses, Miles had agreed to take on the job, and three days later he was put onto a plane and sent to St. Xavier's.

As he emerged from the airport into the warm, breezy air of a South Carolina spring day, the first thing Dunn had noticed was the slick black SUV parked out front. The windows were tinted black, and the vehicle had been washed and waxed recently and was blemish free. He wondered who the poor schmuck was that had cleaned the cars. Probably some brown-nosing upperclassman, looking to make a name for himself. Dunn chuckled to himself as memories of his own time in high school came flooding back to him. Unlike the wealthy children of St. Xavier's, Miles had to escape his impoverished life through the JROTC. Ah, what times those had been, back when he was naïve and full of piss n' vinegar. But that was a lifetime ago, and Miles had learned much since then.

The passenger door of the SUV opened, and a driver wearing mirrored Aviator sunglasses stepped out.

"Major Dunn?" the man asked, and Miles nodded his head.

"And you must be Matthew Perry," the driver said, addressing somebody behind Miles.

Dunn half turned and found a young boy behind him, straining with both hands to carry a rather heavy looking suitcase.

"Yes 3; sir," the boy grunted as he lurched forward with his luggage.

Dunn's heart leapt in his chest at the astounding beauty of the boy. Such delicate features above a slim but fit build. Miles could feel his heart begin to beat quickly in his chest, perhaps this job was going to be harder than he thought.

"Here, lemme help you with that," he said, hurrying over to relieve the child of his burden. "Thanks." The boy favored him with a shy smile that melted his heart. He walked steadily behind the kid, carrying the child's suitcase with one hand, dragging his own wheeled suitcase with the other, and trying hard not to stare at the boy's ass. This job was certainly going to be a test of his willpower, that's for sure.

"I'm Joe Abrams, the custodian for Saint Xavier's. I've been sent to pick the two of you up."

The driver gave them a polite smile and walked around to the back of the vehicle, opening the trunk. Miles slid young Perry's suitcase in, followed by his own suitcase, and thanked the man as the trunk was closed. When he turned for the passenger door, he found that young Matthew had opened the door for him. Ah, a little gentleman, he thought as he tipped his head to the boy before stepping up into the SUV.

The boy walked around to the passenger's side and climbed in beside him. Miles smiled warmly at him, and the boy honored him with another shy smile in return. He wanted to make some small talk with Matthew, but he felt incredibly awkward and couldn't think of what to say.

"So, are you excited about going to Xavier's?" he asked after finally building up the nerve to address this adorable creature.

"I guess," the boy answered, sounding a little nervous.

A few seconds ticked by while Miles tried to think of something else to ask. "Where are you from?"

"Atlanta," the boy said.

A few more seconds ticked by.

"Atlanta, huh? Do you have a large family there?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. Before another question could be asked, Matthew turned his blond head back toward the window. Miles wondered if he had struck a chord with the child. Something he had said seemed to be upsetting to Matthew, although Miles couldn't quite place his finger on it.

He wondered if this was the way most men felt when talking to a beautiful woman. It almost made him chuckle; he had killed people in Afghanistan, he had been shot at and had watched buddies die right in front of him, and he was more nervous about talking to a little boy than anything else. He gave the boy another nervous smile, then turned his attention to the scenery.

Outside the SUV, the fields of bluegrass stretched on as far as the eye could see. The beautiful landscape was dotted here and there with palmetto, magnolia and maple trees. Above, the sky was an alluring pale blue. Lazy cumulonimbus clouds gently rolled along, looking like giant cotton balls. The occupants of the Escalade rode the remainder of the way to St. Xavier's in silence, taking in the countryside and reflecting upon their futures.

When the SUV came to a stop, Miles gazed out at his new temporary home. St. Xavier's Academy looked almost like a castle; the front had a tall tower in the center of two long rows of dormitories. From where Miles was seated, the first thing that he noticed was the brick archway that had the school's name etched into it. Below the arch was a fancy black baroque entrance gate that opened in the middle. A cobblestone path lay beyond the gate, splitting off in three directions; left, right, and forward. The side paths led towards twin two-story brick buildings, both on opposite ends of the main path. The center path led to the main building, which wrapped around on the left and right sides to form a giant letter "U". There was a grassy quad area in the center, and Miles could just make out several other large buildings in the back, beyond the quad. A brick wall wrapped around the school grounds like a formidable glove, though whether to keep people out or in, Dunn wasn't sure.

"Here we are, welcome to Saint Xavier's," Joe said, turning in his seat and grinning at them, "you may leave your luggage here, somebody will be sent for them."

They opened their doors and stepped out of the Escalade. Gravel from the large parking lot crunched under their feet as they followed Joe towards the school. They crossed the front lawn, and Mr. Abrams started telling them about the history of the academy. Judging by the lack of interest in the man's voice, Miles had a feeling that he had recited this memorized speech many times before.

"Saint Xavier's Academy is an all-boy's school, founded in 1905 by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Charleston. It is named after Saint Francis Xavier S.J., and houses three hundred boys between the ages of nine and sixteen. We are a private institution that serve young men who respond well to small classes, a structured environment and a strong sense of community. Our faculty challenges each boy to reach beyond his current level of performance and expectation to discover his potential. At Saint Xavier's, we develop character by nurturing qualities such as integrity, courage, perseverance and empathy."

Walking behind Mr. Abrams, Dunn nudged Matthew gently with his elbow. The boy looked up at him and gave him a conspiratorial smile when Dunn rolled his eyes at their tour guide, who was blathering on about the school's goals and values. As they passed underneath the brick archway, their escort switched from a historian to a tour guide.

"To the left, you'll see a large dormitory. This dorm belongs to the Eagles, and to the right is the Puma's dorm." Joe said, motioning to either side, "each room in the dorm houses four boys of mixed ages. There are twenty-five rooms in each dormitory, plus the teacher's room which houses two teachers. There are restrooms located on both floors, and a large shower room on the second floor."

Draped across the front of the two buildings were banners, the banner on the left building was a two-tone flag with a screaming eagle depicted in the center. The top half was navy blue, and the bottom half was Battleship gray. The banner hanging above the doorway to the building on the right was also two-tone, this one had a portrait of a fierce looking puma in the center, snarling at anybody that dared to cross the threshold of the dorm. The colors were Dartmouth green above, and pure black below.

"The students are separated into one of three groups upon their arrival," their guide continued, "the eagles, the pumas, and the bears. Each group maintains an equal age ratio so that one group isn't made up of upperclassmen, while another group only has the younger kids. This is all part of the Saint Xavier's tradition, that the younger boys live alongside the older boys so that they may learn the school regulations quickly and grow to emulate the more mature students. You will learn more about this later, when you meet the headmaster, Mister Daniels."

"You said there three dorms?" Dunn asked when Joe paused to take a breath.

"The third is at the rear of the school," their guide informed them, "the Bear's dorm."

Miles wondered why the third dorm was located on the opposite end of the other two. He thought about asking their tour guide, but decided against it since Joe seemed to be bothered by interruptions. He would have to ask the headmaster later on.

"Straight ahead," Mr. Abrams continued, "is the main building. The tall building in the center is the administration building, teacher's offices and the office of the school nurse, Miss Cahill. The shorter buildings stretching out to either side are classrooms. At the end of the hall on the building to the left is a large building that holds the Cafeteria and the Kitchen. The one to the right is a planetarium"

Joe opened one of the double doors at the top of the steps and held it open for them. Miles motioned for the little boy to go first.

"Age before beauty," he said, eliciting a tiny smile from the boy.

He followed young Matthew inside. Directly ahead was a grand staircase that went up a dozen or so steps, then split off to either side. There was a railing at the top, and just past the railing was an office with a sign above the opened doors marked 'Administration Office'. There was a long hallway stretching to Miles's left, and one to his right, both lined with classroom doors. A few muffled voices could be heard coming from behind those closed doors as the teachers taught and the students learned.

Miles and Matthew followed Joe up the stairs and into the administration office. A short, elderly lady was seating behind a desk, going over some sort of forms. Her warm brown eyes scanned the pages behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that sat atop her short nose. Her graying hair was cut short in a typical grandmother's style. As the three entered the office, she looked up at them and graced them with a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Mister Abrams," she said in a voice that matched her smile.

"Morning Missus Eldritch," Joe said, "Mister Dunn and Mister Perry are here to see Mister Daniels."

The friendly lady pressed a button on the intercom, announcing their arrival. A deep sounding voice answered, telling Mrs. Eldritch to let them in. Miles and Matthew walked towards the door while Joe sat down in one of the plush chairs in front of the secretary's desk.

"I'll wait here so I can finish giving you the tour after you've checked in, Mister Dunn."

Miles thanked him and stepped into the large office. He was a bit surprised to see a very large stuffed hawk mounted on the wall above the headmaster's chair. It's wings were spread and it was perched on a branch, looking as though it were about to swoop down and attack.

Aside from the stuffed hawk, the room looked rather cozy. The hardwood floor was the deep reddish-brown of polished mahogany, the majority hidden beneath a large persian rug. Books overflowed from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that adorned one side of the room, while the other side had a stone fireplace, a rosewood divan, and a long table with various knick-knacks spread across it. There was a large, old fashioned globe in one corner of the room, and several black and white portraits adorned the walls.

Mr. Daniels was seated behind a large mahogany executive desk. The man was bald with thick black eyebrows. His brown eyes looked aged but wise, with crow's feet in the corners. The long and somewhat bulbous nose ended above a smiling mouth that was surrounded by a close cropped white beard. Dunn thought the man could look just as comfortable on a fishing boat as he did behind the desk. He stifled a chuckle as his mind conjured up images of the Gorton's Fisherman.

"Ah, Mister Dunn," the headmaster said in a friendly but booming voice as he rose to shake Miles's hand.

"And this must be young master Perry, welcome!"

Matthew's tiny hand disappeared inside the calloused hand of the headmaster as they shook. Matthew seemed to be a bit anxious and squeaked out a nervous "thank you sir" to the older man.

"I realize that you're starting here in the middle of the school year, but I'm sure you will fit right in," the man said to the boy softly.

The headmaster pressed a button on the intercom, and the secretary, Mrs. Eldritch, answered. "Missus Eldritch, would you please call Omar Seku in to the office?"

"Yes, Mister Daniels," she answered.

A moment later, a speaker on the ceiling crackled to life.

"Attention students, would Omar Seku please report to the headmaster's office? Omar Seku to the headmaster's office."

The intercom hissed and fizzled out. Mr. Daniels turned back toward Matthew, gracing the boy with a polite smile. As he went over the school rules and regulations, the smile disappeared and the headmaster became all business.

"There are three houses at Saint Xavier's; Puma, Eagle, and Bear. You are going to be placed in Bear, since it has an opening. Although you will have classes and socialize with other houses, you will eat and sleep with your fellow Bear house mates. The boys in your house are going to be your team and family while you are here, so it would be a good idea to be friendly and cordial to them. You will learn to work together to make your house the best that it can be."

At the mention of family, Matthew winced as though he were in pain. It was very subtle, but enough for Miles to notice. The headmaster, however, seemed not to, and moved on to the next topic – the school uniform.

"Your house colors – and uniforms – are red and blue. The school will provide you with one school jacket, one long-sleeved sweater, one sweater vest, five school shirts, one dress shirt, three ties, three shorts, two pairs of pants, one pair of black shoes, one pair of shower shoes, and ten pairs of socks. Any further clothing items will have to come out of your own pocket. If you lose clothing, you will have to buy more yourself or learn to do without. However, dress clothes you can not go without. These clothes are to be worn on Sundays and special school functions or other occasions, and are mandatory. If you lose an article of your fancy school uniform, you will get a replacement that will be billed towards your tuition. I would recommend you take care of your things while you are here, especially your clothing."

Miles watched the boy while the headmaster continued. Although Matthew was listening closely to everything he was told, the poor kid looked a little scared. The headmaster was a nice enough guy, but his booming voice demanded respect, and most kids would be intimidated by it. Matthew nervously bounced his leg up and down quickly, unaware that he was doing so. Miles noticed that the headmaster glanced at the boy's jackhammering leg with a half-hidden look of distaste. Please don't yell at the poor kid, Miles thought, he's already nervous enough. The leg bouncing probably agitated him, but, much to Miles's relief, the older man politely chose to ignore it.

"We go by the bell system here at Saint Xavier's, the first bell rings at seven-thirty. This is the wake up bell, and when you hear it, you know that you have a half hour to get yourself cleaned and dressed. Breakfast is at eight and lasts for a half hour. At eight-thirty, another bell will ring, signaling the students to return to their dorms and clean up. Prefects will come around at ten minutes to nine to inspect all the dorms, and award points to each dorm room depending on the level of cleanliness. At nine o'clock sharp, the bell will ring again, and classes will start. There will be two ninety minutes classes, then the bell will ring for lunch."

The headmaster cleared his throat and took a breath before continuing.

"Lunch lasts for a half hour. After lunch, students will have a free time period until one o'clock, when classes resume. There are three ninety-minute classes in the afternoon, and the bell will ring for dinner cleanup at five-thirty. Dinner is at six, and after dinner, students have free time until eight o'clock, when all students must return to their dorms. They are allowed to socialize in their common room, or their dorm rooms until nine, then every student is required to shower and clean their teeth. A teacher will be on duty in the shower room to make sure every student washes, and a prefect will be on duty to ensure that all students brush their teeth. Showers last until nine-thirty, then all students are to return to their dorm rooms. Lights out is at ten."

Matthew nodded at all of these instructions, though Miles doubted that he would remember most of them. The boy would learn how the school worked soon enough, and until then, the teachers would go lightly on him 3; or at least they should.

The intercom on Mr. Daniels' desk buzzed, and the headmaster pressed one of the buttons on the small box.

"Mister Daniels?" the secretary's saccharine voice drifted from the intercom, "Omar Seku is here to see you."

"Thank you, Missus Eldritch, please send him in."

A moment later, the door swung open, and a boy walked in. He looked to be about sixteen, his dark ebony face cleanly shaved and his hair cut short. He was clad in the St. Xavier's school uniform; blue jacket over a light blue sweater vest, which in turn covered the white shirt underneath. A blue and red tie adorned the boy's neck, and was neatly tucked beneath the vest. Navy blue slacks covered his legs, and ended with a pair of shiny black shoes. From the red and blue crest upon the left breast of the boy's jacket, Miles could tell that the boy was a member of Bear house. The pin displayed just below the crest marked the older boy as a prefect.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

The prefect spoke with perfect diction, and his tone reminded Miles of one of the 'preppy'duty kids that he had hated back when he was in high school. Miles hated to judge people before he knew them, but this prefect's voice just oozed arrogance and snobbery.

"Yes, Omar, I'd like you to meet Matthew Perry."

Matthew rose from his chair and turned to face the prefect, who raised his hand stiffly. Matthew shook it, and as they lowered their hands, the prefect looked as though he was trying very hard not to wipe his palm across his slacks. In those two seconds, Miles had already decided that he didn't care much for this prefect.

"Matthew is going to be the newest resident of Bear house. I'd like you, Omar, to escort him to the school store to be measured for his uniform, then to his dorm room. When he is settled in, I would like you to give him a quick tour of the school grounds as well. Make him feel at home."

"Yes, sir," the prefect said.

Before Matthew left the office, the headmaster handed him a small booklet that had the school logo emblazoned across the navy blue skiver cover.

"This is your student handbook. Everything you will need to know about Saint Xavier's is in there; the history of the school, the rules, the dress code, the schedules, and even a small map of the school. I would advise you to study the handbook tonight, so you will be ready to go tomorrow morning. And please try not to lose your handbook."

The headmaster rose from his chair and reached across the table to shake Matthew's delicate hand again. He welcomed the boy to St. Xavier's once more, then sat back in his chair while Omar escorted the puny child out of the room. Once the door was shut, it was Miles's turn to be lectured.

"So, Miles, tell me a little bit about yourself."

Ah yes, the interview. Miles had sold his belongings back home and had taken the plane here, but he hadn't officially gotten the job yet. He had a feeling that everything depended upon the answers he gave to the headmaster.

"Ah 3; well sir, I was raised on a farm in Arkansas. As soon as I finished high school I joined the Marine corps, where I was placed with the 1st Battalion, 6th Marines. I saw action in Garmsir in the Helmand Province, and I was in the Battle of Ramadi in Fallujah, where I received two bronze stars, and a Meritorious Service Medal."

So far, so good. The headmaster even looked impressed, which was a very good sign. Unfortunately, the rest of his story wasn't so polished and nice. Miles took a breath and went on.

"I planned on serving out the full twenty years and retiring, but I was involved in a car accident. Meniscus tear, a fracture in my leg, and a tendon tear in my shoulder. That pretty much ended my military career; I was given a general discharge."

Now came the hard part of the story. He didn't want to lie to his new boss on the first day, but he also didn't want to give the man all the gory details of his descent in gambling and alcoholism. It might cost him the job, and he needed it.

"I became depressed and felt sorry for myself. The military had been my life, and now that it was gone, I didn't really care to find anything else. When Colonel Stephenson came to me with this job offer, I was in pretty bad shape. After a lot of thought and soul-searching, I accepted the position. I believe that the discipline that the school offers is exactly what I need in my life right now."

The headmaster seemed to like this last part, and graced Miles with a polite, yet genuine smile.

"Well Mister Dunn, I believe that you will fit right in here at Saint Xavier's. The students need discipline, but they also need someone who can understand and empathize with them. Somebody firm, yet friendly. I consider myself to be a good judge of character, Mister Dunn, and I believe that you are well suited for this job."

A weight seemed to be lifted from Miles's shoulders. Although he hadn't filled out all the paperwork yet, the job was his – if he wanted it.

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Daniels leaned back in his squeaky chair.

"Do you have any questions for me, Mister Dunn?"

Miles thought about it for a moment. He had been briefed on the history of the school before he came here, and he was sure that the schedule and duties would be explained to him. That left him with only one question.

"Well sir, I do have one question. Why are two of the dormitories close together while the third is on the opposite side of the school grounds?"

"Ah, yes, the Bear's dorm. It was built in the sixties, during the middle of the civil rights movement. Saint Xavier's opened it's doors to black students, but being located in the south, the black dormitory was built separate from the white dorms."

The headmaster's eyes took on a stormy look, and his voice lowered and took on a conspiratorial hushed tone.

"It is not something we are proud of here at the academy, but it is part of our history."

The headmaster stopped talking and his eyes dropped to his desk, as though he were observing a moment of silence for the darker history of the school. Then, the storm passed from behind his eyes and he regained his composure, speaking again in his loud, booming voice.

"Speaking of dormitories, I'm afraid that the teacher's dormitory is currently undergoing renovations at the moment, so I am going to place you in the teacher's cubicle in the Bear dorm. This will work out very well anyway, since one of our teachers, Mister Hinzman, recently came down with a rather nasty case of the flu, leaving the other teachers to pick up the slack for the rotations. I thought it would be a good idea to put you directly into the teacher-on-duty rotation so that you can learn the system quickly. You will have night duties twice a week, and you will be on shower duty for Bear dorm once a week."

At the mention of shower duty, Miles's heart skipped a beat. Shower duty? That meant monitoring a room full of nude, wet boys once every week. He felt like singing for joy and crying with despair at the same time. He had come here expecting to be able to hide his secret love of young boys. To tempt him with weekly shower duty was like dangling a bag of heroin in front of a recovering junkie. He swallowed hard, then raised his hand to interrupt Mr. Daniels.

"You have a question?"

"Ah 3; yes sir, what uh 3; what exactly does teacher-on-duty entail?"

"It means that twice a week, you will be expected to motivate the boys and ensure that they follow the proper protocol. Making sure that all the lights are out after ten, that every boy is awake after the morning bell, as well as seeing that the house and school rules are enforced. It's pretty common sense, just make sure the boys behave themselves and follow the rules."

"And where is the teacher's cubicle?"

"It's in the dorm itself. We feel that it is a good idea to have one adult sleeping amongst the boys so that there isn't any rule-breaking. The boys realize that a teacher is on duty at all times, and are less inclined to sneak out after curfew or do anything stupid."

Sleeping amongst the boys 3; if only the headmaster knew how enticing that sounded to Miles 3; inviting, but also terrifying. Twice a week he would have to sleep in a small room that was completely surrounded by boys, and once a week he would be stuck in a room to watch them as they showered. Forget the previous analogy; it wasn't like dangling a bag of heroin in front of a junkie, it was like sticking a heroin-filled needle into a junkie's vein and then asking him not to press down on the plunger. This was going to be much harder than Miles had anticipated.

"Mister Daniels, I'm afraid that isn't really going to work-"

"Isn't going to 3; what do you mean, it isn't going to work?" The headmaster sounded very annoyed, like he thought Miles was trying to shirk his duties.

Miles knew he had better tread carefully here. He was nervous about staying in the same dormitory as a group of boys, afraid that he would end up giving in to his impulses. But he was also scared to death of anybody finding out his secret love of boys, knowing that it would be a stigma that would follow him everywhere, for the rest of his life. He had to come up with some reason why he couldn't stay in the boy's dorm, without revealing his true fears, and he had better come up with it fast.

"Well sir, ah 3; you see, I sometimes wake up from dreams rather 3; loudly."

The headmaster's brow furrowed. "Wake up loudly?"

"Uh, yes sir. Occasionally I have dreams about the war. I have woken up screaming before. I wouldn't want one of the students to wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my screaming. It might scare some of them."

The headmaster squinted his eyes at Miles for a moment, as if trying to read the man's thoughts. Dunn sat as still as a statue, working on breathing exercises to keep his heart rate steady. He couldn't appear nervous to this man, or the entire gig would be off. But he also knew that sleeping in the same dorm as a bunch of boys, and having to watch them shower, might end in disaster. The headmaster clucked his tongue and leaned forward in his chair a little. As he did so, the chair groaned a little, begging to be oiled.

"Is your history of night terrors documented somewhere?"

"Well, no 3;"

"You haven't talked to a doctor about them at all?"

"Not exactly 3;"

The hint of a sly smile played upon the headmaster's lips, and he leaned back in his chair, which creaked again.

"We have our own registered nurse here, Miss Cahill. If you are legitimately having a problem with this parasomnia, I can arrange to have her give you a physical."

Miles tried hard not to show his disappointment. The headmaster had him beat, and they both knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

"That won't be necessary, sir, I had a physical just after I chose to take the job."

The headmaster grinned from ear to ear. Miles had no doubt this was the same smile a student would receive after being outsmarted by the headmaster into confessing to breaking an arbitrary rule. Miles may need to keep an eye on Mr. Daniels, the guy was certainly tricky.

"Then until you can give me some evidence of your 'night terrors', I am going to place you in Bear dorm, where you will be expected to be on dorm duty twice a week."

And shower duty once a week, Miles didn't add. When he was in boot camp years ago, there had been a rumor that the COs put saltpeter in the soldier's food, to prevent them from waking up with 'morning wood'. Perhaps it would be a good idea to invest in some saltpeter now.

"Besides, screaming might actually help wake some of those sleepyhead students up," the headmaster said jovially.

Dunn knew when he was beat. The headmaster knew that he didn't actually suffer from night terrors. Luckily, the man only thought that Dunn didn't want to sleep in the dorm because he wanted privacy, which to an extend was true. But it wasn't going to happen, and all Miles could do now was to nod his head and answer, "yes sir."

Mr. Daniels seemed to have had enough of the niceties for now. After digging around in his desk drawer, he handed several papers, two booklets, and a couple of pamphlets across the table to Miles. One of the booklets was a copy of the student handbook, the same booklet that Matthew had received.

"Here is everything you will need to know, including your schedule, the rules and regulations of Saint Xavier's, a copy of the student handbook and one for the teachers, and your tax information and staff application, which I would ask you to have filled out entirely and given to my secretary by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir," Dunn said.

"The main reason you are here, Mister Dunn, is to fill our vacant security position. Since the previous security adviser came down with a serious illness, we have managed to get by without one, but only just. Recently, there has been a rise in misconduct here at Saint Xavier's."

At the mention of misconduct, Miles arched an eyebrow. "What sort of misconduct?"

"Nothing serious," the headmaster answered, "mostly bullying and petty vandalism, although there have also been a few allegations of theft and narcotic usage. There have also been a few runaways as of late."

Again, the headmaster's voice lowered. He leaned forward across the fancy desk, tenting his fingers in front of him.

"I'm sure you are aware that until recently, this institution has kept a spotless record in the public eye. But due to these minor 3; degredations, I fear that the school's reputation has begun to decline. I will not have this school debauched in such a manner. Therefore, it will be your responsibility – and job, to get to the bottom of these grievances, and rectify the school's position to the respectable stature it once held."

"I understand," Miles said.

So that was what the job was all about. Stephenson had been a little vague on the details, and Miles wasn't sure why the school needed someone of his caliber to fill a position usually reserved for old men and drop outs.

"Obviously, it goes without saying that this is to be kept from the world outside of the walls of Saint Xavier's. All of your reports will come directly to me, and together we will decide upon which actions need to be taken to address these issues."

"Yes, sir."

The headmaster visibly relaxed, leaning back in his chair once more. The seriousness that had been etched upon his face faded, and was replaced once more with the genial smile.

"Excellent," the headmaster said, "I knew you were the right man for the job the minute you walked into my office."

Mr. Daniels pushed a button on the intercom, and the secretary's warm voice once again came over the small metal box.

"Yes, Mister Daniels?"

"Missus Eldritch, is Mister Abrams still there with you?"

"Yes sir, I have him right here."

"Will you send him in please?"

"Yes sir. Mister Abrams, woul-"

The sound of her voice cut off as the headmaster released the button. The doors once again opened, and Mr. Abrams walked in, nodding his head in acknowledgement towards Mr. Daniels.

"Mister Abrams, would you please escort Mister Dunn to the Bear dormitory? He will be staying in the teacher's cubicle there. You may give him a quick tour of the grounds on the way."

"Yes, sir," the janitor said as he held the door open for Miles.

"After you have settled in," Mr. Daniels said, turning to Miles, "you may start on your paperwork until dinnertime. You will hear the cleanup bell ring at 5:30, I would like for you to be at the dinner hall at ten to six, so that I can introduce you to some of the staff before you are presented to the student body."

Presented to the student body 3; In Miles's old military days, he might have made a joke about that. But this was neither the time nor place for dirty humor, so he answered with a firm "yes sir". Miles and Mr. Daniels both rose from their seats, and the headmaster reached across the desk to shake his hand.

"Remember to have your paperwork filled out and given to Missus Eldritch by tomorrow morning," the headmaster said, then took on a warmer tone, "it's good to have you on board, Mister Dunn. I hope you will enjoy your time here at Saint Xavier's."

Miles shook the man's hand firmly, then turned and followed Abrams out. The secretary gave him a friendly smile as he closed the door behind him, and as he passed her desk, she put her hand on his arm softly to stop him.

"You look like a student in trouble, waiting to see the principal" she said sweetly to him, "don't let Mister Daniels upset you. His bark is much worse than his bite, and he is only gruff with people because he cares so much about this school."

Miles assured her that he was just fine, then caught up with Abrams and fell into step beside him.

Leaving the headmaster's office, they were on the second floor of the administration building, which was connected to the main school building that housed the classrooms. As they walked down the staircase, Abrams pointed out that the classical, neo-gothic three-story admin building had a bell tower on top, making it the tallest building on campus. The building was arranged in a giant letter "U", with the cafeteria/kitchen and planetarium housed in the two large buildings at the end of each arm.

They went down the staircase and out one of the back doors. The first building that Abrams pointed out was directly to the left of the cafeteria. It was another dormitory, which he mentioned was the teacher's dorm. Ahead of them, a stone path led north from the school building and cleaved between a large, grassy commons area that was lined with benches and apple trees. At the end of this path was a flight of five stone steps that led to a a raised platform in the center of the quad. There was a bronze statue atop a stone pedestal in the middle of this raised platform. which Miles correctly assumed to be a statue of St. Xavier.

From this stone platform, the path split into three new routes. The path to the left had another set of steps that went down a gentle hill. At the bottom of the hill was a stone wall with an archway in the center. Just beyond this archway was a very old looking, three-story building with a glass observatory on top. Abrams informed Miles that the first two floors of this building contained the library, and the third floor was a greenhouse.

The path that led to the east of the statue bent slightly to the right. Abrams said that this path led to another building that was obscured by another stone wall. This building was home to the shop classes, which was only popular amongst the older students. "It's where the juvie delinquents prefer to hang out," were Abrams exact words on the subject.

The two men followed the path to the north of the statue, which led to a large, twenty-foot [6 m] stone wall. There was an another arch in the center, with twelve descending stone steps beneath. At the bottom of the steps were four outdoor basketball courts, two on either side of the continuing path. To the right was a very large brick building which Abrams said was the gymnasium. To the left was an indoor swimming pool. Beyond the swimming pool, a side path wrapped around the building, and Abrams said that it led to the two stables where the horses were kept.

Between the gym and the swimming pool was a final set of steps. Miles counted twenty of them as they descended. At the bottom was yet another stone archway, and just beyond that was a football field. Abrams told him that this field was not only used for football, but for soccer and field hockey as well. There were bleachers to the left and right of them, as well as directly across the field. The stone path they were following split just beyond the archway; Abrams said the left path led towards more steps that went up to the stables.

A rickety looking wooden and wire fence separated the football field from the rolling hills north of the school. According to his tour guide, the grassy fields that covered these rolling hills was the pasture where the horses grazed, and was surrounded by the wooden fence. Beyond the pasture was nothing but woods that stretched on for miles.

They took the path to the right, which brought them to their final destination; another large dormitory building. It overlooked the football field, and appeared to be a little more modern than the other buildings on the campus.

"Here we are then, the 'Bear's Den'," Abrams said as they ascended the five steps leading up to the building.

Miles looked up at the two-story brick building that was to be his home for the next few months at least. Like the previous two dorms, this one also had a large banner hanging above the front door. The top half was Egyptian blue, the lower half was Fire Engine red, and a picture of a snarling bear took up the majority of the center. Abrams opened the door and Miles followed him inside.

As he stepped across the threshold, he was hit with a plethora of odors. Dirt, sweat, grass, a hint of wet dog, and dirty laundry – the standard dormitory smell. It certainly took him back to his boot camp days, although the musky odors hadn't been as strong back then. Obviously, his unit in the military had worried more about cleanliness than these boys at St. Xavier's did.

As they walked towards the teacher's cubicle, Miles noticed that most of the bedroom doors were open. He glanced into them as they passed. Overall, they were fairly clean. Most of the beds were made, and some of the rooms had posters of sports teams, swimsuit models, or team pennants on the walls. They all looked lived in, and were definitely all boys rooms.

Miles could feel his heart rate pick up in his chest. What the hell?! he thought. Why was he suddenly getting excited about being surrounded by boy's things? It wasn't like there was anything erotic lying around, what was the big deal about walking amongst their everyday items?

Abrams led him to a small room that he said was the 'teacher's cubicle'. It was tiny-about 7x10 feet [2 x 3 m]. The door opened to the middle of the room, the left was taken up by a cot, the right side had a small closet and a lockbox that was attached to the wall beside a small hanging mirror. Directly ahead of the door was a dresser that stood about five feet [1½ m] tall. It was made of hickory, giving it a rugged, outdoor look, was about five feet [1½ m] wide, and had four drawers; two small ones above, and two large below. Leaning against the wall at the foot of the bed was a collapsed wooden folding desk.

Miles stepped over to the closet, which had a fiberglass accordion door with a faux wood grain finish. He pulled it open to reveal a very small closet; only three feet wide and three feet [1 x 1 m] deep. There was a shelf above a single closet rod that stretched across the width of the closet. Miles counted six wire hangers on the rod, one of which had a paper cover over it proclaiming "We ? Our Customers!"

He checked out the lockbox next. It too was made of hickory, the door and each wall was about an inch [2½ cm] thick. There was no back of the box, since it was drilled directly into the wall. An old metal hasp was nailed into the door, and a lock could be placed on it. Apparently, it had been made by a shop class student, and from the looks of the box, it had been a long time ago.

"That's your lockbox," Abrams said from behind him, "anything personal that you don't want to lose you might want to lock up in it. Most of the boys aren't thieves, but things do occasionally go walkabout around here."

Miles turned to face him.

"It looks pretty old, couldn't they just smash it if they wanted something inside?"

"They could," Abrams replied, "but they don't. Not that I've heard of, anyway. Stealing may not be beneath a few of 'em, but destroying property is another monster altogether. There has been a bit of vandalism lately, but nothing too serious. Spraypaint and toilet paper mostly."

The janitor leaned closer to Miles.

"If you want my two cents, it's them dopers that gather around the shop class. They're always lookin' for somethin' to steal, so they can barter for drugs. Unfortunately, I got no proof of that, so don't go spreadin' it around the campus. They may be a bunch of snot-nosed brats, but I'm not fixin' to go against 'em."

"I see."

Abrams straightened himself and motioned for Miles to follow him down the hallway. "Anyway, come on and I'll show you the rest of the dorm." Bear dorm wasn't really anything special. It had a hallway that stretched the length of the building. Across from the front door was a commons room that had three couches, an old tube television set, soda and snack machines, a poker table with chairs set up around, and and old arcade game cabinet in the corner that Miles recognized from his own childhood as Raiden. The coin-op was turned on and running, but judging by the spiderwebs that ran between the joystick and the wall, Miles assumed that it hadn't been played with in a long time. Pity, Miles thought, the kids don't know what they're missing.

On the wall near the TV, there was a dartboard on the wall beside a large bulletin board that had various notes posted on it. Miles leaned in to look at some of the notes. There was a copy of the House rules, the dress code, and the bell schedule. There were also a few handwritten classified ads posted on the board; some asking for help with homework, others offering study buddies, and a few sign-up sheets for some of the school's clubs. Miles studied the board for a moment, then left the common room to continue the tour with Abrams.

Running down the length of the hallway, on both sides, lay the boy's dorm rooms. At the end of the hall that faced North, there was an open doorway that led to the first floor restroom. At the end of the wing that faced to the South, there was a staircase that led to the second floor. The stairs went up ten steps, there was a small platform, then the stairs turned 180° and went up another ten steps. The second floor was one long hallway, with dorm rooms to the left and right, and a large door straight ahead at the other end of the hall, which was the upstairs bathroom.

Both the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms had a feature that Miles found 3; interesting. The bathroom door opened up into the sink area, which had four sinks below a large, polished metal mirror.

To the left was an open doorway that led to the toilets. Walking through this doorway, Miles saw six full stalls to the right, and to the left was the feature that he found interesting; a seven foot [2 m] long porcelain urinal trough. No privacy when the boys were peeing, no dividers, just one long trough. For a moment, Miles thought of all the boys that must have stood here, pissing together side-by-side, and he felt his penis give a tiny lurch in his pants. He quickly flushed the thought from his head and followed Abrams to the shower room.

Miles could see how this was definitely going to be a problem. The shower room was at the end of the hallway on the second floor and consisted of two rooms. The first room was the 'changing room' and was entirely empty aside from the benches that were built into the walls and ran around the entire room. Above the benches were double clothes hooks, each spaced about a foot [30 cm] apart. At the other end of the room was an open doorway that led into the shower room.

The shower room had ten showers, five to the right and five to the left. In the middle of the room was a divider that was about four feet tall and ten feet [1¼x3 m] long. There were five double clothes hooks on either side of the divider for the boys to hang their towels. The showers were simply shower heads and taps put in the wall. No dividers or shower curtains, and no privacy for the boys. Just simple communal, open showers. Miles swallowed when he saw the showers, but when Abrams told him what shower duty entailed, Miles felt faint.

The boys would come to the changing room in their underwear, shower shoes, towel, and a small basket containing their toiletries. They would take their underwear off in the changing room, wrap their towels around their waists and stand in line, waiting for a shower to become free. When one was open, they would hang their towel on the hooks connected to the divider, shower, then dry off. They would wrap the towel around their waists, head back to the changing room to pick up their dirty undies, and return to their dorm rooms to dress.

When Miles went on shower duty, he was to come to the shower room at ten to nine and turn on all the shower taps. The water temperature was automated, so the students were not supposed to mess with the taps, just shower and leave them running for the next student. At nine o'clock when the boys started to arrive, Miles's job was to stand in the doorway between the shower room and the changing room. He would have to keep an eye on the boys in the changing room, making sure there were no fights or troublemaking. He would also have to keep an eye on the boys in the shower room, making sure that they washed themselves, and direct the boys waiting in line to open showers. When every boy had showered, Miles had to turn off all the taps.

Abrams told him that Mr. Daniels was very picky about making sure the boys actually washed themselves. He said that about three years ago, some of the younger boys didn't want to be naked in front of the other boys, and the teacher-on-duty allowed them to wear their swimming trunks in the shower. Several of them developed 'crotch rot', and ever since then, Mr. Daniels made it a point to have the teachers on shower duty be certain that the boys showered naked, and actually washed themselves.

This was not good news for Miles. It meant that once a week, he would have to stare at about one hundred nude boys and watch them as they showered. It might be a dream come true, except that he was trying hard to leave that part of himself behind. He hated the fact that he was attracted to young boys, and he didn't want to test himself this way. But it was one aspect of his new job, and test himself he must.

Much to Miles's relief, Abrams informed him that the teachers had their own private shower in the teacher's dormitory. Whenever Miles needed a shower (which was usually every morning), he would have to gather together his toiletries and huff it across the green in his bathrobe to the teacher's dorm. It was a bit of a pain, but Miles preferred that to sharing the showers with the boys. That would have made things very hard for him, both figuratively and literally.

The teachers also had their own bathrooms, two in the teacher's dorm, and one in the main building of the school. Unfortunately, when Miles was on night duty, he would have to use the boy's dorm bathroom, since he wasn't allowed to leave students unsupervised while he ran all the way to the teacher's dorm. This could be tricky 3; on the evenings that he had night duty, he would have to try his best to only use the restroom in the middle of the night, when the students would all be sleeping and there was less of a chance of him running into a boy in the bathroom.

After the small tour of Bear house, Abrams left Miles in the teacher's cubicle so that he could get started on his paperwork. After unfolding the small desk, Dunn sat on the edge of the bed and began looking over his paperwork. He got no farther than writing his name on the first form, however, when he heard a soft sniffling noise coming from one of the nearby rooms. Miles put the pen down, pushed the desk aside, and left the small cubicle in search of the source of the noise. It came from the bedroom directly across from the cubicle and when Miles peeked his head inside, he saw his little friend, Matthew, sitting on a bunk and looking forlorn.

"Hey bud, aren't you supposed to be touring the school with that prefect?" Miles asked as he pushed open the door and entered the room.

Miles had merely glanced into bedrooms as he had passed them earlier, and had only a glimpse of how the rooms were arranged. Now he could see that the room had four single sized beds, and each bed had a dresser on one side and a small writing desk with a chair on the other. In the middle of the far wall, between two of the beds there was a double hung window. Three of the beds were dressed up with blue and red sheets (Miles noted the house colors), and the desks were covered with books, papers, pens, and various items. There was a swimsuit model poster on the wall above one bed, and another was adorned with a 'Bear House' pennant. Aside from the luggage at the foot end and the boy in the center, Matthew's bed was bare. His writing desk was empty and Miles was willing to bet the dresser was the same.

"I 3; I dunno 3; he brought me here, then said that he had other things to do."

"What?!" Miles couldn't believe his ears, "he just left you here?"

Poor kid, Miles thought. It was bad enough being the new kid and coming to the school in the middle of the year, but to have the prefect – who was the kid's assigned tour guide-abandon you because he had more important things to do was a helluva way to start. Maybe I'll stop by the headmaster's office later and let him know about this. Miles wasn't usually the kind of person to snitch on somebody, but this was a little bit ridiculous. No one should have to go through that kind of treatment on their first day, especially not a kid.

"He said the best way to learn my way around was to just go out and look for myself. He said it would build character."

"He did, huh?"

The boy had been close to tears, but when Miles had come in, he fought valiantly to hide them.

"He said that Bear house didn't have room for any pussies or parasites, and that we needed to learn to be self-re 3; self-re 3; . "

"Self-reliant," Miles helped him finish. The boy nodded, then his eyes went wide. "Please don't tell Mister Daniels! I don't wanna be a tattletale on my first day! The other kids would hate me."

Dunn thought it over for a moment, then nodded his head. He knew what it was like to be the new guy, and he was impressed by the poor kid.

"I won't breathe a word."

The boy nodded and turned his gaze back to the floor. Miles decided to change the topic to try and brighten the kid up a little.

"Hey, I'm supposed to work on these forms, but I think they can wait until later. Would you like to go shoot some hoops on the basketball court?"

The boy shook his blond head slowly in the negative. The boy had seemed depressed since Miles had met him, and it seemed to be much more than the simple "new school" jitters. Something seemed to really be bothering the boy.

"Okay 3; how about we head on over to the stables? I hear they have some nice horses there."

Matthew appeared to be thinking this over. Finally, he nodded and picked himself up from the bare mattress. He followed Miles out of the dorm and as they made their way down the stone steps, Miles had a natural inclination to put his arm around the boy's small shoulders. He refrained from doing so, however, for several reasons. He felt sorry for the boy, but he didn't want to get too close to him. Flying too close to the radiance of this boy's pure, angelic face could cause Miles to end up as Icarus had. He also hadn't had a chance to go through the teacher's handbook yet, and he wasn't sure if that sort of physical contact could be considered inappropriate. It might look unhealthy for the new security adviser to be guiding a new, young student down to a secluded area with his arm wrapped around the boy's shoulders. No, he'd better play it safe until he had a chance to read the handbook.

The spring sun smiled down upon them as they passed the football field and followed the path up a gentle hill to the stables. There were thirteen beautiful horses; most were American Quarter Horses, but Dunn also saw a beautiful palomino Tennessee Walker and a very strong looking American Belgian. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Matthew's eyes widen a little. Judging from the look on the young face, Miles guessed that the boy probably had never been this close to a real horse before.

The fence surrounding the stables was a wooden post and rail, with wire fencing between the rails. Miles walked up to the fence and leaned his forearm against it, holding out his other hand toward the horses. A white and brown Appaloosa that had been resting in the stables ambled over to him and sniffed at his outstretched hand. The horse took a step closer and Miles gently placed his hand on the horse's neck, stroking the short hair gently. Beside him, Matthew appeared to be mesmerized by the large creature.

"It's okay, you can touch him," Miles said to the boy, "let him sniff you first."

Matthew gingerly reached over the fence towards the large horse. The Appaloosa sniffed the boy's hand and tilted it's head to the child. Matthew tried to stroke the horse's nose, but the horse snorted and turned it's head away.

"Pet him here, on the neck," Miles informed the boy, "don't try to pet his face yet. He won't let you do that until he knows you better."

Matthew stood on tiptoe to reach over the fence to the spot where Miles had been rubbing. The horse turned back towards the boy, gracefully forgiving him for the mistake. Miles watched the boy petting the horse. He knew the kid was holding something back, something more than the average first-day jitters. He waited until a shy smile lit upon the boy's lips before he asked him.

"Matthew," he said, not sure where to start, "you seem awfully 3; quiet. Is there something wrong? Don't you like this school?"

The smile that had been on Matthew's lips quickly vanished, replaced with the concerned frown that the child had worn since Miles had met him.

"It's okay," Matthew answered quietly.

"Well what's wrong, bud? Obviously there's something wrong, and if you don't tell me, I won't be able to help you. I've helped people in the past, but only after they opened up and talked to me."

"S' nothing," the boy said stubbornly.

"Come on Matthew, gimme a chance. Talking about whatever's bothering you might not solve your problem, but it will help to talk about it."

The boy sighed. His hand had frozen on the horse's neck and he just stood there for a moment. Then, he began to rub the horse again. Although he talked to Miles, he looked only at the horse, as though Miles wasn't actually there. He said it all quickly and bluntly, as if he just wanted to get it over with.

"I'm here because my mom and my brother died in an accident, and my dad didn't know where else to send me."

Miles remained quiet for a minute. So that's why the kid looked so miserable all the time. Miles wanted to wrap the boy up in a big bear hug badly, but he didn't want to cross a line. He still had to read through the teacher's handbook, and the way Western society went, who knew if a teacher hugging a sad student could be misinterpreted. No, he had better read through the book before he made any kind of physical contact with the boys.

"I'm so sorry, Matthew, I know how hard it is to lose someone close to you. I lost some of my brothers overseas, and it hurt like a bitch. Still does."

The boy stopped stroking the horse and looked up at him when he mentioned having lost his brothers.

"How many brothers did you have?"

"They weren't my real brothers, not by blood, anyway. I used to be a Marine, and they were my brothers-in-arms. I watched some of them die right in front of me, and there wasn't anything I could do to help."

Miles wondered if Matthew felt the same way; that feeling of uselessness at not being able to save someone close to you from the cold arms of death. The emptiness that seemed to fill you like a lead ball in the pit of your stomach. The hopelessness of realizing that you will never see this person again, never talk or touch them again. In an instant, gone forever.

Whether to temporarily chase away the sadness, or perhaps because he was truly interested, Matthew quickly changed the subject.

"You were a Marine?"

"Yep. I joined right out of high school. You see, I lived in a podunk little town, and I wanted nothing more than to get outta there."

Matthew was looking up at him with admiration in his eyes. Miles was touched by what he read in those beautiful blue eyes, even though Matthew hadn't said anything. The boy didn't have to, Miles could see the respect behind those eyes.

"Unfortunately, I had to go off to war," he continued, "and I saw a lot of my friends get hurt. Some of them even died."

He wasn't going to go into specifics with a child about the horrors of war. Let the boy believe that war was what he saw on the TV and in movies, where good guys always won and triumphed over evil. Let him keep that innocence, at least for a while longer.

The two gently stroked the horse in silence for awhile. Nothing else needed to be said, they were simply enjoying each other's company. They were similar in that both were newcomers to the school, and both had tragedy in their backgrounds. Miles was glad to have met the boy, feeling as though they shared a common bond that stretched across the generation gap, and he was sure that Matthew felt the same way.

Another horse joined them at the gate, and Miles began to pet this one, while Matthew continued stroking the Appaloosa. The new horse was an all white American Quarter Horse, and it seemed less cautious than the taller Appaloosa. After sniffing Dunn's hand, it nudged him with it's snout, inviting him to pet it softly on the nose.

"This guy's rather friendly," he said to Matthew. "Can I try?"

"Sure," Miles told him, "but be sure you let him sniff your hand first."

They traded places and the white horse allowed Matthew to pet his nose. This once again brought a soft smile to the boy's lips. Miles decided that the kid had a nice smile. A very nice smile. This isn't going to be as hard as I thought, Miles thought as he watched the boy stroking the horse. Why had he been so worried about being around boys? This seemed natural enough.

From the main school building, the five-thirty bell began to clang, filling the entire campus with three loud rings. Time for dinner clean up, Miles thought, surprised at how quickly he had picked up on the bell system.

"That's the clean up bell," he told Matthew, "I guess you'd better hurry along to the dorm to wash your hands. The next time you hear the bell ring, follow your roommates to the cafeteria, and sit where they sit."

"Are you going to sit with me?" the boy asked as panic filled his eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't, Matthew, I have to be introduced to the staff and the rest of the students. But don't sweat it too much, I'm sure you will fit right in."

The worried look crept back onto Matthew's face, but he nodded. Miles felt as though he should say something more, but he didn't know what. He had never been a parent, and had spent the majority of his adult life trying to avoid young boys. He had no clue what to do to ease the boy's troubled mind.

"Just 3; be yourself. It might be a little tough at first, but pretty soon the other boys will see that you're a nice guy, and everything will be fine. Remember, they were all new once too."

Matthew nodded again, this time with a little more confidence. Then, he turned and walked down the stone path to Bear dorm, alone. Miles could hear the shouting and laughter of hundreds of boys coming from the main building. They were all headed towards their dorms to wash up for dinner. Miles waited until the voices died down, then he gave the horse one final stroke, and took the path that led around the pool, heading for the main building.

He didn't know why he was so nervous, but he didn't want to be seen by all those boys yet. He couldn't explain why, but the thought of being looked upon by almost six hundred pairs of young eyes petrified him. What if they thought he was weird, or stupid? What if they took one look at him and could see 'BOYLOVER' written all over his face? What if he didn't fit here, like a mismatched puzzle piece? Why am I acting like a junior high kid, about to go on his first date? He chuckled to himself and breathed deeply, calming his nerves.

Everything was going to be just fine; after all, that's exactly what he had said to Matthew, hadn't he? The poor boy had everything to fear, and here Miles was, palms sweating and knees shaking at the thought of standing in front of three hundred boys. 'Presenting myself,' as the headmaster had put it.

Miles went directly to the dining hall. He wanted to wash his hands after petting the horses, but he didn't want to come across all the boys – not yet. The dining hall had a side door, and Miles used this to enter. Inside, there were six long rows of tables, with a shorter seventh row in the front. The dining hall was separated from the kitchen by a chest-high partition that had a serving line in front. To the left of the kitchen were two doors marked 'Men' and 'Women'. Miles chose the men's door and washed his hands in the bathroom sink.

When he returned to the dining hall, the tangy smell of barbecue wafting from the kitchen made Miles's mouth water and his stomach growl. The last meal he had eaten was a quick breakfast that morning. He had skipped lunch on the plane, too anxious about his new future to eat. Now that the scent of food cooking filled his nostrils, he found himself to be hungrier than he thought.

Near the shorter table at the front, a few teachers had gathered. Miles found Mr. Daniels talking to a skinny man that was wearing a pair of brown Oliver Peoples Riley glasses and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Miles walked up to them and the headmaster gave him a welcoming smile.

"Mister Dunn, how are you settling in?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Elliott, this is Miles Dunn, the new head of security."

The skinny bespectacled man extended his hand, which Miles shook. Miles would often judge people on the way they shook hands; a nice, firm handshake meant confidence, and in his experience, Miles found that he could usually rely on these types of people. A 'bone-crunching' handshake usually meant that the person was overcompensating for something and probably insecure 3; or was simply an asshole. Miles found a limp-wristed weak shake to mean that the person was also weak, either physically or mentally. This skinny teacher's handshake was the latter.

"Mister Dunn, this is our biology teacher, Mister Lerher."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Dunn," the biology teacher said in a slightly nasally voice.

"Likewise," Miles replied.

"Mister Lerher is one of the teachers in charge of Bear house," Daniels informed him, "the third is Mister Cruise, the history teacher. The three of you will be rotating dorm duty throughout the week."

A young woman wearing an orchid print scrub top and a pair of tight-fitting slacks walked over and extended her hand to Miles.

"Hi," she said in a smooth, sultry voice, "I'm Shirley Cahill, the school nurse."

When Miles took her hand, she gently squeezed his, running her index finger in a soft circle around the inside of his wrist.

"Nice to meet you, Missus Cahill."

"It's Miss," the woman corrected, giving him a sly smile.

The woman was making Miles feel uncomfortable. Is she flirting with me? Dunn asked himself. If she was, she was barking up the wrong tree. Miles had a few girlfriends over the years, but he was never very attracted to them. He preferred boys, which is why this job was such a slice of both heaven and hell.

"Yes, Miss Cahill is an excellent nurse," Daniels said, "any time one of our students is sick or injured, she knows how to fix them right up."

I'll bet she does, Miles thought. He wondered if maybe she had fixed other problems amongst the male students as well 3; she certainly seemed like the "cougar" type. I knew I should have gone into the medical field! He quickly dashed the thought. Better not start thinking such things, it could land him into trouble.

Other teachers introduced themselves to Miles, although he had trouble remembering all their names. Information Overload, as his CO would have said. A few did stand out in his mind, though. Miss. Cahill, for one. The young history teacher, Mr. Cruise, was another. The guy's name was seriously Tom Cruise, and he seemed to live up to that name. He was a bit of a joker, and always had a witty remark for anything that was said. Mr. Lerher, the guy with the weak handshake, was easy enough to remember, as was the only other woman teacher on the staff; the math teacher, Mrs. Simmons.

Then there was Carl Fisher. The man looked almost like a politician, although he seemed friendly enough. In the short time that they talked, Miles could see that the man could match Mr. Cruise's wit, seemed every bit as smart as Mr. Lerher, and was as organized as Mr. Daniels. Miles found that he genuinely liked the guy, who seemed very intelligent, but laid-back. Just as Miles perceived himself.

A few students had begun to trickle in to the dining hall, and just before the six o'clock bell rang, Miles took a seat at the teacher's table between Carl Fisher and Mr. Lerher. When the bell rang and the doors opened, students began to pour into the dining hall like a deluge breaking through a dam. Miles's heart began to race in his chest. He thought that he had been ready for this after talking with Matthew, but standing in front of three hundred boys was much different than a one-on-one chat with a single boy. It was overwhelming. He had to appear to be in control of things, but he felt as though he was lost in a whirlpool.

Miles looked over the sea of laughing children; blonds, brunettes, black-haired and even a few redheads. Starting tomorrow morning, Miles was responsible for the safety of these children. It was his job to make sure they were secure and protected. The thought of being accountable for the well-being of these three hundred children tied his stomach in knots. He hadn't signed the papers yet, maybe it wasn't too late to back out 3;

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. He turned and faced the owner of the hand, Mr. Daniels. The elderly man was standing behind him with a warm smile. Mr. Daniels bent forward and whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry, it looks a little overwhelming, but you'll do just fine."

Miles was about to thank him, but the elderly man turned and walked back to his spot on the bench at the center of the table. The bell clanged a single note, making Miles jump in his seat. Slowly, the laughter and shouting died down and a hush spread over the dinner hall. Miles looked around for his little friend, Matthew, and found the boy sitting quietly between the prefect, Omar, and a dark-haired boy. I sure hope he's making friends, Miles thought. Two seats down from Miles, the headmaster stood up, raised his arms into the air, and addressed the student body.

"May I have everyone's attention please?"

This wasn't needed, since every eye in the place was already on him. Miles found out later that this was standard procedure, having announcements made just before dinner. Although the students were all used to it and knew to listen to the headmaster before the meal officially began, Mr. Daniels was a slave to protocol, and always started the announcements in this manner. The man lowered his hands and continued.

"Some of you may have noticed that there are two new members of the Saint Xavier's family. For those of you that haven't, I would like to take this time to introduce them formally."

The headmaster scanned the room, seeking out the small blond head that belonged to Matthew. Miles had looked back at the boy, who looked utterly petrified. Miles's heart went out to the poor kid, since he knew what was coming next.

"Ah, there you are," the headmaster's voice boomed as he found the boy, "Mister Perry, would you please stand up?"

Matthew winced as if somebody had pricked his stomach with a needle. For a split second, he looked as though he were trying to make himself fade into the background and disappear, but then he slowly rose to his feet. Miles's heart ached again for the kid. Matthew seemed to lean a little on the shy side, and having the entire school-all strangers-turn to stare at you must have been hard. Hell, it's going to be hard enough for me to do, let alone Matthew.

"Boys, I would like to introduce Matthew Perry. He is the newest resident of Bear house, and I'm sure you all will treat him with kindness and respect. To the members of Bear house, I expect you to help Mister Perry get into the swing of things; help him find his classes, teach him how to clean his bunk area for inspection, and above all, train him to follow the ways of Bear house, and to learn what that means."

Matthew was staring down at his shoes during all this. When the headmaster finally told him that he may be seated, the boy dropped into his seat like a ton of bricks. One of the students seated behind the boy leaned across the aisle and whispered something to Matthew. The small group of students around the two quietly laughed, and Matthew's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He looked utterly miserable, and Miles wanted nothing more than to march across the room, yank the whisperer out of his seat, and teach him a thing or two about respect. Instead, he glared at the little bastard until the headmaster mentioned his name.

"I would also like to introduce our new head of security, Mister Dunn."

At the sound of his name, Miles's stomach dropped to his ankles and his heart rate picked up. The headmaster turned towards him, beaming at him like a game show host to a contest winner. Fuck it, he thought, here goes nothing. He rose to his feet, feeling every eye upon him, judging him. Instead of looking around at the students, he fixed his eyes on Matthew, who seemed to have recovered and was looking back at him sympathetically.

"Mister Dunn will also be staying in the Bear dorm, in Mister Hinzman's place. Because of this, he will have full authority over the students, the same as any teacher. I expect you all to treat Mister Dunn with respect and dignity during his stay here."

Dunn remained standing for a moment, then sat down again as the headmaster continued with the evening announcements.

"It has been brought to my attention that some of the students aren't flushing the toilets after using the restroom."

A chorus of "ew's" and groans rose up from amongst the students, while a few others snickered. Mr. Daniels raised his arms again for silence, and the students obeyed.

"The custodians are not your parents. The teachers are not your parents. Fellow students are not your parents. Each one of you is responsible for his own actions, which includes cleaning up after yourselves. I do not wish to hear about another unflushed toilet, or I will start handing out bathroom cleaning duties to students."

Mr. Daniels waited for that thought to sink in for a moment before continuing.

"Starting tomorrow evening, stable cleaning duty will be passed on to Puma house. Puma prefects, please sort out amongst yourselves which students are to report to the stables after classes to clean out the stables each day 3;"

Miles lost interest in Daniels' announcements. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the teachers staring at him. He turned his head slightly and saw that it was the school nurse, Miss. Cahill. She caught his quick glance, and Miles thought he saw her wink at him. Or did she? Miles sighed. As if he didn't have enough trouble keeping his boy loving feelings in check, now he had to deal with a flirty nurse. Most men might consider this to be a fantasy come true, but not Miles. He found himself once again jealously wishing that he could be like other men, attracted to seductive nurses instead of schoolboys.

When the announcements ended, the headmaster allowed the boys to get in line for their food. Each student waited his turn in line, then grabbed a tray and went down the line. There were five servers on duty, each one handing out a different part of the meal. The first server used metal tongs to place a little garden salad on each plate. The next server ladled out baked beans into one of the pockets of every tray. Server number three had the item that was making Miles's mouth water; a large chunk of shredded barbecue chicken between two buns. He couldn't wait to bite into one of those!

The fourth server was on dessert duty. Today's dessert was warm chocolate brownies, fresh out of the oven. The final server handed out drinks, which was a choice of either 2 or chocolate milk. At the end of the line, there was a stacked pyramid of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Miles assumed those were for the kids that didn't care for the hot meal.

Miles waited until all the students had either been served or were in the queue, then he got up. He got in line behind one of the prefects, and picked up a tray. He licked his lips, wishing that the line would move quicker so that he could get his food. The students ahead of him and teacher behind him all seemed to be thinking the same thing, since most of them were staring at the food instead of socializing.

When he had gotten his food, he sat down at the teacher's table. The barbecue was delicious, just the right amount of tart and sweetness. My compliments to the chef. Like many other men, the way to Dunn's heart was through his stomach, and right now, all worries about the school and the boys melted away as he enjoyed his meal. Unfortunately, this feeling of bliss only lasted until dinner ended, and then the anxiousness settled back in.

***

Dunn sat on his small cot, leaning over the collapsible desk to fill out the paperwork. After dinner, a few of the students had come up to him and introduced themselves. He only remembered a few of the names though, mostly those of the boys he thought were the cutest. He knew that within a couple of weeks, he would know every name and face at St. Xavier's, but for now, he could only remember a handful.

Mr. Lerher informed Miles that tonight was Mr. Hinzman's rotation for teacher-on-duty, and since Miles had taken his place, it was supposed to be his turn. However, since it was his first night here, Mr. Lerher kindly offered to cover for him. The next time Miles would be on duty would be during the following week, and by then, he should be familiar with the duties, and able to handle them himself. Miles thanked the skinny biology teacher, and went to his cubicle to start on the various forms.

Although the door was shut, Miles could hear the laughter and loud voices of the boys. At one point, around eight o'clock or so, Miles heard the whistling screech, followed by the loud pop of a bottle rocket being let off outside of a window. There was a bunch of wild hoots and laughs from one of the nearby rooms, followed by the sound of Mr. Lerher, yelling down the hallway about the punishments in store for those caught "shooting off fireworks". The laughter died down to hushed giggles, and shortly afterwards, Mr. Lerher could be heard going down each hallway, announcing that it was time for showers.

Miles thought about going to the door and opening it a crack to get a glimpse of all those shirtless bodies, marching down the hallway to the showers, but he didn't. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to get caught, and he would see them all soon enough; his first shower duty was scheduled for next week.

He turned back to his handbook, trying to drive out the mental image of a hundred shirtless boys walking to the shower room. This sounded easier to do than it actually was. He read the same paragraph six times, but couldn't recall what he had just read. The thought of all those nude boys showering just above his cubicle kept distracting him. He had to get this out of his mind so that he could get back to the task at hand, it was driving him nuts.

He pushed the desk aside and lay back on his thin mattress. He was about to try masturbating to get it over with, when there was a soft knock at his door. The sound made him jump, and he sat up on the cot.

"Uh 3; who is it?"

"It's me, Matthew," came the angelic voice from the other side of the door. "Hold on a minute, Matthew." How ironic is that? Miles thought as he got off the cot, I was just thinking about you, and now here you are. He suddenly felt ashamed; he was just about to fantasize about Matthew before the interruption. Perhaps this was fate's way of knocking some sense back into his head. But when he opened the door, he thought that maybe fate was sending him another message altogether.

Miles reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open wide enough to stick his face though. Matthew stood in front of his door, still dripping from his shower and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and a pair of shower sandals on his feet. The boy carried a small basket filled with shower toiletries in one hand, while the other held up the towel that was a bit too large.

"Sorry for bothering you, Mister Dunn, I just wanted to say good night."

"Oh 3; er 3; thanks, Matthew. That was nice of you." Was that a shy smile that momentarily flashed on the boy's lips? Miles wasn't sure, but he certainly hoped so.

"Have you made any friends yet?" he asked the wet boy.

"Well, not really," Matthew said as he shifted his grip on the towel, "but at least they're not all mean."

"Don't worry, you'll make plenty of friends soon enough."

Especially with a body like that, Miles thought, then mentally scolded himself.

"Thanks, Mister Dunn. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Matthew," Miles said.

Matthew turned to walk back to his room, and Miles managed to catch just a glimpse of the boy's butt crack above the top of the towel. He closed the door and went back to his bed. That small peek had been more than enough to fill him with unwanted lust. Half ashamed, he pulled down the front of his pants and started to stroke himself. Picturing that cute little butt crack in his mind helped, and it didn't take him long before he shot his load. Without any tissues to wipe it up with, he pulled off one of his socks and used it to wipe the cum off his stomach.

With that finally out of the way, he picked up the handbook and began studying it again. His head was clear and he was now able to make sense of what he was reading. Yet the thought of that beautiful young boy, and his adorable butt crack lingered in the back of his mind for the remainder of the evening.

At nine-thirty, things started to quiet down. There was still soft talking that could be heard, but the voices had been confined to their rooms. Miles finished reading the teacher's handbook, placed it on the desk, and turned to lay back on his cot. He laced his fingers together behind his head and crossed his feet at the ankles. The voices of students could still be heard, talking quietly to each other. Miles strained to hear what some of these voices were saying, but they were too muffled to be made out.

At ten o'clock, Mr. Lerher patrolled the hallways, announcing that it was time for lights out. Miles stared up, through the darkness, at the ceiling above him. He wondered just how he was going to make it through this job, when he couldn't even go the first night without rubbing one out as he thought about one of the students. He hadn't read anything in the teacher's handbook titled "what to do if you find yourself lusting after your charges". There was no guidebook on that, Miles would have to deal with this problem alone.

He hated himself for being attracted to boys. Why did he have to be like this? He hadn't asked for it, nor did he want to be. He wished that he could be normal, like most men, and lust after adult women instead of young boys. A part of him wanted to teach these boys, to protect and befriend them, but another part of him wanted something darker. To introduce them to the pleasures of the flesh. To lay with them and caress them and physically love them until they both collapsed upon the bed, panting and worn out from lovemaking.

No, he couldn't think those thoughts. He had to focus on his job, which was to protect the children. He couldn't let his personal desires cloud his mind. He had to keep himself under control at all times, and keep his thoughts in check. He could do it, it was just a matter of self-restraint. Mind over matter; if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.

And as he drifted off to sleep, these thoughts of willpower were pushed out of his head and replaced with the image of Matthew's shy little butt crack as the boy bounded down the hallway.

"Allahu akbar, Ashhadu an la ilaha ill Allah."

Miles listened to the haunting sounds of the adhan being sung by the muezzin as the bloody red sun leisurely sank in the West. For all the problems that persistently plagued the Middle East, Miles always found the sunsets to be stunningly beautiful. He checked his watch; 6:40. His host, a wealthy hotel owner and high ranking chieftain of the Khalil tribe that went by the name of Anwar al-Ghazni, had told him to arrive at the house a half hour after the call to prayer. Miles was to dine with the chieftain to gather information about the Taliban, current drug trafficking activities, and to discuss establishing a regional joint patrol.

This was to be Dunn's first diplomatic mission. After two tours of duty in Afghanistan, he was relocated to Peshawar for the meeting. He had touched down at the old Bhandari Airstrip two days ago, and after meeting with his CO at the Forward Operating Base, he was escorted to the Amin Hotel, where he spent his two days focusing on some of the customs specific to the Khalil people. Under normal circumstances, he would have remained on base, but due to the distance, his CO had booked three rooms at the hotel; one for Dunn, and two for his four-soldier escort. His stay at the hotel was also meant to extend to the Khalil people a show of trust and diplomacy, since the rooms were expensive, it would prove their motives of helping the economy.

The call to prayer ended, and Miles took one final look at the blazing orange sunset from his small balcony. Then, he turned and went back inside. He took a few minutes to go over his five paragraph field orders, then washed his feet, face, and hands in the small basin on the wooden nightstand. He dressed in his MARPAT MCCUU's, and strapped his Beretta M9 to his side. He didn't expect to have to use it, but it was better to be safe than sorry, and he felt better knowing that it was there.

Outside his hotel door, he heard the heavy footfalls of his escort. He smiled to himself; one thing about the military, every soldier arrived early. He opened the door and found two soldiers on his doorstep, both armed with M4A1 carbines. Both soldiers came to attention and saluted him.

"Sir, Sergeant Cormack and Corporal Rourke reporting."

"At ease;" Dunn said, returning their salute, "call me Miles."

"Yes, sir," came the reply, and Dunn rolled his eyes.

As he followed the two soldiers to the Humvee waiting outside, the younger Corporal turned to him.

"Sir, do you think these hajji's will actually work with us?"

"Dunno," he replied, "but I wouldn't recommend calling them 'hajji's' to their faces."

"Roger that, sir" the soldier said, flashing a grin.

They climbed into the Humvee, joining two other soldiers that were there to serve as their driver and gunner. They set off, pulling onto the highway. The call to prayer had not emptied the streets; although the majority of the area was Muslim, there were still enough people out and about to make the roads fairly busy. The streets were the polar opposite of the sunsets above. Littered with plastic bags, empty cans, and various other articles of trash, the roads – contrasted against the orange sky, gave the city the appearance of being a huge slum in the middle of paradise.

Then there was the traffic. Although it was rather slow moving, it was utter chaos; two lanes split into three when an impatient motorcyclist on a Dhoom decided that he was tired of being behind two large trucks. People darted out in front of oncoming cars, horns honked incessantly; it was like a dangerous version of bumper cars. Even their large Humvee was nearly sideswiped by a Suzuki Mehran that had dipped into oncoming traffic to go around a car parked in the middle of the road. Miles hissed in air as they missed the Mehran by mere inches. For obvious reasons, hitting a local wouldn't bode well for their diplomatic mission. Where the fuck did these people learn how to drive, the county fair?!

The chieftain's house was just under five kilometers [3 miles] away, and even with the evening traffic, they made it to the address in ten minutes. Because this was considered the 'ritzy' part of town, there weren't as many people. The streets were practically empty. They pulled up to the curb in front of the large house and Miles and his escort got out. The driver mentioned something about 'not making them wait all goddamned night' as they exited.

Miles and his escort walked through the courtyard and mounted the steps. The corporal knocked on the large diyar wood door which was intricately engraved with scrolling floral designs; it must have cost the owner a lot of money. The soldier was about to knock again when the door opened, and they were greeted by al-Ghazni himself. The man stood at about six feet, and like most Pakistani's, was rather thin. His brown eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses, a white pakol sat atop his head, and he wore a brilliantly white kurta and shalwar.

He greeted them by placing his hand over his heart and nodding slightly. Dunn returned the greeting, and his escort, both already familiar with the local customs, did the same. They stepped inside and Miles was surprised at how tiny the rooms were in the large house. Even though the tribal leader was wealthy, the house would have passed for "middle class" back in the States. At least it isn't a traditional mud house, Miles thought as he entered the main hall.

Each room had Persian rugs covering the floor, and had toshacks and floor pillows lining the walls. The windows were covered with beautiful lace curtains and burgundy silk drapes embroidered with golden petals. Although there was a small television set and some stereo equipment in one room, the house lacked most of the Western amenities.

At the end of the hall stood another man, who was dressed in a green floral print kurta, a maroon colored shalwar, and a green Jinnah cap. This man looked fairly young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one. He spoke perfect English, and introduced himself as Azhar Gulam Mohamedzai, their translator. Eager to please the American soldiers, the man first bowed to them in the traditional Pakistani greeting, then shook their hands. Miles introduced himself and his escort, and the translator forwarded this to the tribal leader in Pashto.

The soldiers followed the two men into a large dining room, where a small group of Pakistani men of minor importance stood waiting. Formal introductions were made, then they all sat down cross-legged at the dastarkhan. Two men, who Miles assumed were servants, began bringing food into the room and setting it down on the large cloth spread across the floor.

When all the food had arrived, Miles closed his eyes and inhaled the exotic aromas of the different spices. Lamb biryani, kabuli palaw, aloo gobi, papri chaat, chicken tikka masala, and naan were the main dishes, with salad and bowls of pomegranates, apples and bananas strewn across the dastarkhan. To drink, each person had hot chai, a can of lemon Fanta, and a bottle of Cristal mineral water. Clearly, the chieftain had gone all out, wanting to please the Americans as much as possible.

The group of men ate, using the fingers of their right hands to dig bits of the food from the dishes and place them on their plates. Miles knew that this was customary here in Pakistan, but he couldn't help feeling a little silly, eating food with his hands like a child. It took a little getting used to, but after watching some of the others eat, he soon found that the best way to do it was to use three fingers as a kind of spoon to scoop the food up to his mouth. He welcomed the spiciness of the food, which caused his eyes to mist and his nose to run. It was all delicious.

After dinner had ended, the men went about discussing the terms of the meeting, using the translator as an intermediary. Apparently, the other men in the room were all semi-high ranking officials in the tribe, each with a shared hatred of the Taliban. They agreed to pass along intel to the American forces, and in return, the Americans would offer them economic assistance and provide them with needed construction materials for local schools.

After the agreements were made, al-Ghazni rose and requested that his guests follow him to another room, which was sectioned off by a large, floral curtain. This room was in the rear of the house, and gave a beautiful view of the mountains and surrounding countryside. One of the men with them picked up a damboora, and another took up khanjari. As the rest of the men took seats around the room, Dunn wondered what this was all about. The translator, who was sitting beside Miles, caught the questioning look on Dunn's face, and smiled at him.

"Bacha bazi," his translator informed him.

"Bacha 3; what?"

"Is 3; entertainment," the man said, with a sparkle in his eye.

The two men began playing their instruments, and a third man started to sing in Pashto. The rest of the Pakistani men started to clap a rhythm, and the three Americans, not sure of what was going on, followed suit. Their host peeked around the curtain and said something in Pashto, and then the curtain opened and a boy of about ten walked into the center of the room.

The young boy was dressed very elegantly, in a flashy shalwar kameez and taqiyah. Rhinestones were attached to each, which gave the appearance of sparkles with every movement the boy made. The child had the most beautiful olive colored skin, with alluring nut-brown eyes that had a look of innocence to them.

As the music played and the men clapped a beat, the boy began to dance. He paced up and down the open area, spinning and contorting his body in a sensuous manner. He moved his arms around him, slowly rotating his wrists as he danced. There were bells on the boy's ankles, which jingled as the boy subtlety stamped his heels to the rhythm of the clapping.

Miles was mesmerized by the twirling child. Such beauty and grace, such elegance. He had never experienced anything like this before. The child danced with the nimbleness of a ballet dancer, spinning on the tips of his toes as he began to clap along with the men. As the pace picked up, the boy spun in circles, seemingly to relish in the attention that the men were giving him. Dunn glanced at al-Ghazni, who was staring back at him intently instead of watching the dancing boy, apparently gauging Dunn's interest.

The song ended, and the boy stopped twirling and gave a little bow. The Pakistani men applauded him, and as the boy raised his face, his eyes met and locked with Dunn's. Miles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His mouth had gone dry, and he could feel a small lurch in the crotch of his pants. The boy was almost hypnotizing him with his gaze; Miles could feel himself becoming lost in those soft brown eyes.

***

Dunn awoke with a start. He checked the alarm clock on the small table beside his bed; it was 6:33 AM. He didn't have to wake up until 7:00 AM, and the bell wouldn't ring to wake the students for another hour yet. He yawned and lay back in bed, thinking back on his dream.

He hadn't dreamed about this in years. It wasn't just a dream, though, it was a memory. It had happened back in 2008, on his diplomatic mission in Pakistan. He could remember everything as though if it had happened the day before, which was why the dream had been so vivid and precise. It must be from all the boys here, Dunn thought. Being around all the cute boys of St. Xavier's must have stirred his memories, bringing one of his favorites forth in the form of a dream.

Dunn sat up, ignoring the erection that caused his boxers to tent out. There wasn't much use in trying to go back to sleep, since his alarm would be going off in about a half hour anyway. Perhaps now would be a good time to take a shower, before the other teachers woke up. Last night, he had read in the handbook that the teacher's showers were separate from the student showers, they were in the staff building which was across the quad from his dorm. He would have to walk a quarter mile [400 m] every time he wanted to shower.

He waited until his erection died down, then put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He removed his toiletry bag from his pack, kicked on a pair of shower shoes, and opened the door of his room. The hallway was silent; the occupants of the dorm rooms all fast asleep. Quietly, Dunn walked down the hallway and left the Bear dorm.

He was greeted by the crisp morning air as he walked down the steps of the dormitory. Birds were out, singing in the trees and looking for mates. He walked around the bleachers set up in front of the football field, went up the stone steps that ascended between the gym and indoor pool, and entered the quad. To save time, he crossed the grassy field instead of following the stone path. After rounding the school building, he turned to the right and passed beneath the stone arch, then climbed the steps to the staff building.

It was fairly quiet in here as well, although he could hear one of the male teachers snoring in one of the rooms. To his immediate left was a large lounge area, with several couches and recliners, a few tables, bookshelves, a television, and a fireplace. To the right was a tiny kitchenette that had a small table, some chairs, a refrigerator, microwave, and coffee machine. Ahead of these rooms the hall broke off into three directions. The fork straight ahead had four doors, which Miles assumed were bedrooms. The path to the right led to the stairs, and the path to the left led to the men's and women's restrooms.

He turned left and walked into the men's room. It was much nicer than the student bathrooms; there were three sinks with mirrors above them against the left wall, and beyond the sinks were five urinals with dividers between them. Across from this, to the right, were four stalls. Directly ahead was the shower room, which had four separate showers. Each shower was surrounded on three sides by tiled walls, and had white shower curtains hanging across the entrances. Miles chose the stall all the way to the right.

He removed his clothing and set them on a wooden bench that ran along the wall, beside the main doorway. He carried his toiletry bag with him into the shower, and turned on the faucet. Hot water assaulted his body, chasing away any remaining remnant of sleep. He started to shampoo his hair, then used his travel size bar of soap to wash his body. When he rinsed the soap off, his mind drifted back to the dream he had, and the events it was lifted from.

After the "entertainment", Miles and his escorts had thanked their host, and after the parting formalities, they returned to their Humvee. The driver and gunner were sitting in the vehicle, smoking cigarettes and keeping watch. Two MRE bags filled with empty food containers were on the floor behind the driver's seat. As Miles entered the vehicle, the driver griped about how long it had taken them, then started up the Humvee and turned onto the highway.

When they returned to the hotel, Miles took a quick shower and put on a clean pair of boxer shorts before crawling into bed. He had just been drifting off to sleep, when there was a soft knock at his door. Bolting upright, Dunn grabbed his service pistol and approached the door. He listened with his ear to the thin wood for a second, and after hearing nothing, he opened the door a crack.

Three figures stood in front of his door; the tribal leader, the translator, and the dancing boy, who was still dressed in his flashy clothing. Dunn felt awkward, standing before them in his boxers, but they didn't seem to mind. Al-Ghazni spoke to the translator, who relayed the message to Dunn.

"Anwar al-Ghazni say he see you like bacheh. He bring as gift to you."

"Huh," Miles said, not understanding, "what gift?"

"Bacheh," the man said, pushing the boy forwards, "is gift to you."

The boy was a gift? Dunn wasn't sure what they meant, how could a boy be a gift? Surely they didn't expect Miles to be able to adopt the boy, did they? Perhaps something was being lost in translation. With his free hand, he scratched his head and asked them to specify.

"Boy is bacheh, he is gift to spend night for you. He do as you please."

Again, the man pushed the boy forwards. To Dunn's mixed pleasure and horror, the boy lifted a soft hand to his crotch and gave him a gentle squeeze through the thin material of his shorts.

"He please you tonight, as gift."

Dunn could feel his face flush. Apparently, they were offering the boy as a sort of prostitute for the night. Dunn was too stunned to think properly for a moment, and when his senses finally returned to him, he brushed the boy's hand away. He couldn't be caught with a child prostitute in his room, what were they thinking?!

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't accept. Please give Mister al-Ghazni my thanks, but I can't have the boy here."

The translator hesitated before speaking again.

"Please, Anwar al-Ghazni offer bacheh as gift to you. To 3; how you say 3; unaccept 3; would be not showing sign of respect. Please, you take bacheh as gift."

"Look, you don't understand. Even if I wanted to, if anybody found out that I was sleeping with a 3; bacheh 3; I would be in deep shit. Do you understand, shit?"

The translator shook his head vehemently.

"No, nobody to find out. Bacheh leave at Fajr, before nobody come awake."

Fajr, the dawn prayer, would be at 4:24 the following morning. His men weren't going to be up by then, so they would never have to know that Miles had a little guest staying with him. He wouldn't actually have to do anything, either. The boy could just rest on the floor while Miles slept. If he didn't accept, he ran the risk of offending his host, and that could put their entire mission in jeopardy. After Dunn had convinced himself that it was better to bring the boy in than to risk affronting the tribal leader, he stood aside and opened the door wider.

"Alright," he said, "but I'm not going to 3; ah 3; do anything with him. He is just going to stay here, that's all."

"Yes, please, is very good."

The boy entered the room, and the two men bowed to Miles, then turned and left quietly. Miles shut the door and turned to face the boy. The child was already in the process of disrobing; his taqiyah was lying on the floor in the corner, and he was currently unbuttoning his kameez. He was looking up at Miles expectantly, as if waiting for instructions. The boy's chest and stomach were smooth under the material, with a cute little belly button peeking out above the boy's shalwar. Miles shook his head and grabbed the boy's hands, pulling them away from the unbuttoned top.

"No," he said, "you can't do that. Do you understand? You are just going to lay here."

He pointed to the bed. He would let the boy sleep on the bed, and he would take a spot on the floor for himself. The boy flashed the cutest smile Miles had ever seen, and took the man's hand, pulling him towards the bed.

"No, you don't get it. I'm not sleeping with you. Do you understand English? Any at all?"

"Please to you," the boy said, parroting the broken English that the translator had used earlier.

The kid's voice was exquisite as the boy himself. Light and airy, with a touch of femininity. At the boy's touch, Miles melted. He was putty in the boy's hands, unable to refuse the kid. The boy placed Miles's hand upon his smooth chest, then pulled the kameez off his young shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

Miles couldn't help himself. He moved his hand across the boy's chest, rubbing a finger in circles around the boy's nipple until it stood erect. The boy then untied the drawstring of his shalwar and let it drop to his ankles. As he stepped out of them, Miles got a glimpse of the boy's penis. It was about an inch [2½ cm] flaccid, normal for a boy his age. Because the boy was a Muslim, he was circumcised cleanly. His scrotum was smooth and tight, not yet stretched by puberty.

Miles stared at that cute little penis as the boy led him towards the bed; his small cocklet bouncing slightly with each step. The boy gently guided Miles down onto the bed, then laid down on top of him. Leaning forward, the boy planted a soft kiss on Miles's lips, then started to slide a hand down into his boxers. As the tender young hand grasped his stiffening manhood, something finally awoke in Miles. He quickly took hold of the boy's wrist and pulled his hand away.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

The boy looked confused for a moment, then he said something in Pashto. He lifted his body off Miles's and started to crawl up towards the man's face. When the young cock was poised directly in front of Dunn's lips, Miles again chastised the boy.

"No."

He pulled the boy back down, and again, the boy looked utterly confused. Giving Miles a questioning look, he once more tried to stick his hand inside of the man's boxer shorts.

"I said no," Miles said.

Finally, the child seemed to realize that Dunn didn't want sex. Not that Miles didn't want sex; he was sure it would feel absolutely amazing, but he just didn't think it was a good idea. His host could potentially use it against him, and the risk of exposure would certainly cost him his job, if not a court-martial. Settling down, the boy nestled in close to Miles. The man put his arm around the boy and held him, massaging the boy's back softly with his fingertips. The boy kissed him on the chin, then placed his head upon Miles's shoulder, bringing his hand up to rub the man's rough cheek.

It wasn't too long before the child was asleep, gently snoring in Miles's arms. Dunn continued to massage the boy's back with his hand, occasionally allowing it to drop down to the boy's flawless butt cheeks, which he would explore with his fingertips. He could feel the boy's limp penis through his boxers, pressed against his own cock. The slumbering child looked completely innocent as he lay draped across the soldier. His light brown skin was so smooth, so hairless. A nude angel, dozing gently upon his chest.

He stayed up all night this way, holding the naked boy in his arms as the cool night air blew in from the open windows and caressed their bodies. Moonlight bathed them in a serene glow. He put his nose to the child's hair and breathed in the boy's exotic odor. He could feel the young chest rising and falling against his own as the child breathed. This was what paradise must feel like.

In the early hours of the morning, Dunn must have finally dozed off, because he was awakened by the distant sound of the muezzin, calling the locals to Fajr. The boy stirred on his chest, and slowly woke up. When he looked up at Dunn, he kissed the man on the lips again before rising. When the boy stood to dress, Miles couldn't help but notice the tiny erection sprouting from between the boy's tender legs. He couldn't blame the kid, he had one as well. He watched the child dress, and when the boy was finished, he bowed to Dunn.

"Please to you?" the boy asked in that adorable voice.

"Yes," Miles replied, nodding, "very much so."

The boy graced him with a beautiful smile and bowed to him.

"Dera manana," he said in Pashto.

"Thank you," Dunn answered, bowing his head.

The boy turned to leave. As he opened the door, he turned back to Miles and gave another small bow, placing his hand over his heart.

"As-salamu alaykum."

And with that, the boy turned and left the door, quietly shutting the door behind him.

As Dunn recalled the memory in the small shower at St. Xavier's, he had started to masturbate. Although nothing had really happened between them, it had been very sensual. Dunn rubbed himself as he pictured the boy in his mind; the deep brown eyes when the boy had first looked upon him, the smooth curves of the boy's supple butt cheeks, the stiff, two-inch [5 cm] erection as the kid dressed in the first rays of morning sunlight. As he finished the memory, images of Matthew, standing in front of his room door wearing nothing but a towel, invaded his mind. All of these things danced through Miles's thoughts as he rubbed himself to orgasm in the hot shower.

When he had finished, he dressed and brushed his teeth in front of the steamed mirror above one of the sinks. As he finished, one of the teachers came into the bathroom, coughing loudly. The balding, overweight man walked over to one of the sinks and spit a wad of phlegm into it. He turned the water on to wash it into the drain, then turned his head toward Miles.

"Morning," he croaked, before launching into another coughing fit.

"Morning," Dunn replied.

As the teacher stumbled over to one of the urinals, Miles hurriedly left the bathroom. The rest of the dormitory was still empty, and Miles walked down the hallway and out the door as quietly as he could.

As he walked across the quad, he wondered whatever had happened to the dancing boy in Pakistan. By now, the boy would be about eighteen or so, no longer the small child that Miles had fallen in love with. He wondered if the boy ever thought of him all these years later. Miles certainly hoped so. He would never forget the beautiful boy, and he had a fleeting hope that the feeling had been mutual.

As Miles entered Bear dorm, he could hear the tinny beep of his travel alarm clock going off. Mr. Lerher was standing in front of his door, and as Miles walked down the hallway, the teacher quickly walked towards him.

"Oh thank God, your alarm has been going off for the last five minutes. I wasn't sure whether I should just barge into your room or not, I thought you might be dead," the teacher joked.

"Sorry about that, I went to the staff dorm to grab a quick shower. I must have forgotten to turn off the alarm."

"No worries," the teacher said, "just do me a favor. Next time, please remember to turn your alarm off if you leave early. It might wake some of the boys up, and believe me, you don't want them up earlier than seven-thirty. They are little terrors if they don't get that extra half hour."

"Will do, sorry again."

Mr. Lerher turned and walked back towards his own room at the opposite end of the hall, and Dunn opened his door and dashed across to his dresser to turn off the small digital alarm clock. The display read 7:06. Oops, Miles thought as he closed his door to dress for the day. His first day here, and the kids would probably hate him already for waking them up early. Oh well, I can't say my first day didn't start out with a bang.

***

*Knock-knock-knock*

"Who is it?"

"It's Shirley," came the muffled voice from behind Carl's door.

"Come on in, Shirl."

The door opened and Shirley Cahill walked into the room. Carl Fisher was seated behind his large mahogany desk, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and his fingers tented below his bottom lip. He was the school's physics and physical science teacher, as well as the Chief of Staff that, along with two other teachers, represented St. Xavier in the Board of Education.

A graying man of forty years, Carl's face was friendly and jovial. His steel blue eyes had an amiable look, like a gentle uncle. His long, thin nose was reminiscent of Peter Cushing's. The dusting of a gray five o'clock shadow surrounded his full lips.

In front of the desk were three others; two seated in ornate high-backed chestnut chairs, and the third in a swivel chair that had probably been wheeled in for this meeting. Shirley glanced around the room, and finding no free chairs, sauntered over and sat on the edge of Carl's desk. Seated closest to her, in the vintage metal EMECO swivel chair, sat Abe Taylor, the school cook. As Shirley perched herself on the corner of the desk, he ran one dark, ebony hand over his graying hair and flashed her a grin, the light glinting off his gold front tooth. She returned his smile and crossed her legs in front of her, giving him just enough of a view of her upper thigh. His eyes lingered over her legs for a moment, then turned back to Carl.

Beside Abe sat the youngest person in the room; seventeen year old Greg Sutton. A prefect from the Eagle dorm, his lustrous blue eyes almost seemed to glow beneath his perfect, auburn hair. His face was one of the most attractive among the students; this was one reason why the boy was considered to be the "star" of the school, and the prefect that most other students aspired to be like.

Like Abe, he too allowed his eyes to follow Shirley's pantyhose covered legs up to the hem of her skirt. When he realized that she was looking at him, he gave her a confident smile, which she returned. He may look like the all-American boy, but hidden behind the flawless façade lurked a darker side. Ruthless, some might even say, with a touch of sadism when he was in the bedroom. Shirley knew this from firsthand experience.

The third person in the room was Rufus Aims, the robust phys. ed. teacher who had boring, brown hair covered the top of his rectangle-shaped head. Shirley always thought that his brown eyes held a bit of a simple-minded look. Of course, she thought, one doesn't have to be a rocket scientist to be a gym teacher. Rufus was perched on the edge of his chair, sitting straight up while his knee kept bouncing impatiently. He looked as though he could spring out of the chair at any moment, blow the silver whistle that hung around his neck, and demand push-ups from everybody in the room. He was friendly enough, but rather obtuse, and not very imaginative in bed. Again, Shirley knew this from experience.

"Well," Carl said after clearing his throat, "we're all here now, let's begin."

He cast Shirley a sideways glance, then turned his attention towards the desk and cleared his throat again. The three men in the chairs sat up attentively, with the exception of Rufus, who was already sitting up straight. The man appeared to have a steel rod for a spine. How does he sit so erect? she thought to herself.

"As all of you are aware," Carl said, addressing them, "we have a new member of the St. Xavier staff; Miles Dunn. Before we go any further, I would like to ask each of you for your first opinions regarding the man. I realize that you haven't had much of a chance to interact with him yet, but sometimes the first impression is the correct impression. I believe that it is important to collect your opinions about Dunn, which may be sculpted later on, as you get to know him better."

"Rufus," Carl said, turning to the gym teacher, "you look anxious to begin, what are your impressions of our Mister Dunn?"

This oughta be good, Shirley thought as the man somehow managed to straighten himself even more. Rufus shrugged his shoulders, then dropped his gaze to the blotter on Carl's desk. A strapping twenty-six year old specimen in perfect health, there weren't too many people that could make Rufus Aims avert his eyes. Carl Fisher, however, was one of those few that could. He's a strong dog, Shirley thought, but he's still just Carl's little lapdog.

"I dunno," Rufus said in a deep baritone voice, "I haven't really had a chance to meet 'im. He had a firm handshake though, so he's not a wuss. He was in the Marines, right?"

Carl nodded slowly.

"Far as I know, that could be either a good thing or a bad thing," Rufus said.

"How so?" Carl asked, raising his eyes to meet Rufus's.

"Well, uh, he could either be an all-American boy, or a total fuck-up. I would hope for the latter, but I haven't really talked to him yet. Chances are, though, that he's a prick."

Shirley was impressed. She often wondered how a meathead jock like Mr. Aims managed to walk and breathe at the same time, and here he had formed a carefully thought-out theory, all by himself. She almost applauded.

It was predictable that Aims wouldn't care much for Dunn. Although he was both muscular and disciplined, he didn't seem to have a very high regard for the military. Rumor had it that he had tried to join the Army, but had been disqualified during his ASVAB test for being "too stupid". Whether this was true or not Shirley didn't know, but she did know that he seemed to hold a grudge against anybody in the military, especially Marines.

Carl nodded slowly as though he was lost in thought. The room was quiet for a moment, then he turned towards Greg.

"And what do you think, Master Sutton?"

Greg, who was another one of Carl's lapdogs, slowly blinked his eyes and met the man's gaze.

"I dunno," he said, his voice dripping confidence, "I mean, I was watching him during dinner last night, and he seemed like he was 3; ah 3; like he was in over his head. Not really fidgety or anything, but his composure just seemed a little too practiced. I think he was nervous as all hell and covering for it."

If anybody knew about covering for their true personality, it would be Greg. Shirley shifted her weight on the desk. Beside her, Carl gave Greg another one of his slow, distant nods. Then he turned to the school cook and asked his opinion.

"He seemed polite to me," said Abe as he ran his dark hand over his graying head again, "he even thanked me for makin' the food, which most people don't do 'round here. I genuinely like him, but like Mistah Rufus said, if he's too clean, it wouldn't be good for us."

Another slow nod.

"Miss Cahill, what are your thoughts on our new head of security?"

Shirley clicked her tongue and tilted her head as though she were thinking about it. Naturally, she had given this much thought earlier and knew exactly what she was going to say, but appearances were everything.

"I tried flirting with him a little before dinner, and again during the meal. He didn't seem to pick up on any of my signals – or he didn't care. Either way, he wasn't interested at all."

"Maybe he's a fag," Rufus blurted out.

Carl had gotten a faraway look in his eyes after Shirley had spoken, and when Rufus interjected, an annoyed look flashed behind his eyes. It faded as quickly as it had come, though, and he once again got the distant look.

"I wonder 3;"

Carl turned towards Greg.

"Master Sutton, I wonder if you would be so kind as to fetch young Anthony Reid sometime after our little meeting. I think lunchtime would be perfect. I have a specific mission in mind for him."

"Yeah," Greg said, leaning back in the chair, "no problem."

"As for the rest of you," Carl said, addressing the group, "I think it would be best if we all lay low for the time being. It certainly wouldn't do to have Mister Dunn asking any unwanted questions. Spread the word around the rest of the club, letting them know that we are going to be much more cautious over the next couple of weeks; at least until we find out what this Mister Dunn is all about."

Carl stared at Greg.

"Especially you, Master Sutton. This business involving your little bully group is beginning to attract attention. This is not a good thing; if the parents, the headmaster, or the members of the school board that can't be bought ever find out about the club, we would all be facing dire consequences. It is imperative that you practice caution and control, especially now that we have an unknown factor among us."

Carl unlaced his fingers and pointed directly at Greg.

"Keep yourself in check, Master Sutton, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Greg answered him.

"If things start to go south, I can turn to my contacts on the board committee to pull some strings, but that's a worst case scenario and it's not guaranteed to work. If we use a little caution it won't come to that, understood?"

The three men and Shirley muttered their acknowledgements, and Carl continued with the meeting.

"I would like to reiterate the guidelines we follow to all of you," he said, casting an accusatory glance at Greg, "it is imperative that you always choose the right student for the right job. Anthony, for example, will be perfect for dealing with Dunn, but he wouldn't do well in some of the "other fields". If you have one of the boys on a job, make sure that they know to avoid making explicit propositions. Have them be vague so they can claim plausible deniability later on. This is important in case there are any complaints to the board in the future."

Greg shifted his weight in the large high-backed chair. He looked to Shirley like he was bored; in fact, they all were. They had gone over these guidelines so many times, that they could probably repeat each of them back to Carl, word for word. Unfortunately, the physics teacher had a bit of a paranoid streak in him, and would often pull them into his office to go over these same directions time and time again.

Seated beside Greg, Rufus glanced at Shirley, and she teasingly winked at him. The big dope, Shirley thought to herself. Since the first time she had seen him, she always thought that he both looked and sounded like that bully, Biff, from the movie Back to the Future. She would have been more interested in him if he had a similar disposition, but Rufus was too friendly. A tough guy with neither bark nor bite.

Carl, noticing their apparent lack of attention, cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair.

"Do we understand one another?"

The club members each voiced their agreements to Carl. Of course we understand, Shirley thought with annoyance, we've been over this more times than I care to count. Carl nodded to himself, rested back into his chair, and moved on to the next topic.

"Master Sutton, do you have any news in regards to Sven Lindquist?"

Greg straightened up in his chair, happy to be finished with the guidelines and at the center of their attention again.

"Well 3; ah, he's 3; uh 3; he doesn't seem very interested at the moment. I've been hounding him for months, but he hasn't changed his mind."

Carl's brows furrowed and he pursed his lips.

"That is unfortunate," the physics teacher said, "I believe he would do well within our little organization. You want him, and more importantly, Thorvald wants him. However, I don't consider it wise to put the entire club at risk over a single boy. After all, there are others."

A forlorn look passed over Greg's face. Obviously, he didn't like to be the bearer of bad news, and Sven's constant escape from baits and resistance to intimidation was making him look bad. Still, Carl was right; the club was far too important to be jeopardized over one boy. He had already gone way over the limits set by Carl for that one.

Carl turned to the aging black cook next.

"Mister Taylor, have you received word from Palmer recently?"

"I have sir," Abe said, his 'sir' coming out like 'suh', "I talked to him day before yestuhday. He told me he was gonna up the prices, due to Mistuh Dunn's arrival."

Carl's scowl turned down even further. I didn't know he could possibly look any crankier, thought Shirley. It was evident that this meeting wasn't going to produce very much good news for the leaders of the club.

"Dammit," Carl said with a sigh, "the greedy son of a bitch! We will have to raise our prices once more. We are lucky that most of our boys have plenty to spend; we won't have to cut your benefits, Abe. Don't worry, the boys will always find ways to pay for their vices, even if it is done by satisfying our own."

The graying man stroked his chin for a moment and stared at the blotter on his desk. He seemed to Shirley to be making up his mind about something. The room was silent while the others watched Carl think, anxiously awaiting his decision. Finally, Carl lifted his eyes to them and spoke.

"We should try to find other suppliers for the merchandise. Certainly Thorvald has contacts, if only to make Mister Palmer more reasonable. I have been considering this for some time now, anyway."

The others echoed their agreements and Carl moved on to the next order of business.

"How about the new boy – what's his name? Matthew something?"

"Matthew Perry, sir," Greg reminded him.

"Matthew Perry, yes. Have you had a chance to meet him yet?"

"Not yet, he ran back to Bear house right after dinner, and he's probably getting ready for classes at the moment. I can try asking around about him during lunch, Omar will probably have some info on his personality."

"Yes, please do that Master Sutton. He has very delicate features, and I would like to know as much as possible about him. He may be harder to reach, since he is in Bear; Eagles and Pumas are always much easier to persuade. However, there's no point in not giving it the old college try, is there Sutton?"

"No sir," the prefect answered with a grin.

"Very good," Carl returned his boy's grin.

"When do you want me to meet up with Mister Abe?" Greg asked.

The cook was seated right beside the boy, and could have been asked himself, but the members of the club knew that all things had to be approved by Carl before any actions were taken. It was the way things had been since the club's inception; Carl was in charge, and everybody knew it.

"Abe, how soon can you have everything prepared?" Carl asked, turning to the cook.

"Well suh, I can have everthang ready ta go by dinnertime, as long as the other cooks don't come sniffin' 'round."

"Alright. Sutton, meet with Abe in the trash area behind the kitchens after tonight's final bell. You can wait until tomorrow to hand it out to the other students. Are you still working from behind the shop building?"

"Yes sir," Greg answered.

"Good, continue to do so tomorrow, then perhaps we shall find another area for you to work. I don't like using the same place too often."

"Will do, sir."

Carl leaned forward, causing his chair to squeak beneath his weight.

"I believe that's all the business we have to cover for today, you may all return to your usual schedules. And Sutton, please remember to have Anthony Reid stop by my office during lunch hour this afternoon."

"Yes sir," Greg said with a grin.

The three men and Shirley rose from their seats and headed towards the door. Carl, meanwhile, opened a drawer on his desk and removed a twelve-year-old bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch. After removing a rocks glass, he poured himself two finger's worth of the whisky. As he sipped on the smooth Scotch, he marveled at the fact that the contents of this very bottle was older than some of the students currently on campus.

***

Perched on the edge of his bed, Matthew was feeling a little overwhelmed. He was alone for the moment; his roommates were still in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and getting ready to start the day. Outside in the hallway, boys could be heard laughing and yelling. Matthew caught glimpses of their conversations with each other, but he didn't join in with them. Everything was still so new, and he was feeling both shy and miserable. He was a very tiny fish in a very large pond, and he wished that he could simply go back to his old school and his old friends in Atlanta.

He sighed to himself and glanced at the digital alarm clock on one of his roommate's dressers. 8:21 was displayed in large, blue numbers. The other three boys that shared his room would be back any minute now, to tidy up the room for morning inspection and collect the books they would need for morning classes.

The first fifty-one minutes of his first full day at St. Xavier hadn't gone too well. All night he had been tossing and turning, his head filled with anxious thoughts about the following day. It seemed as though he was just beginning to doze off when the loud bell rang, jarring him from his sleep and almost causing him to wet himself. Before the other boys were fully up, Matthew quietly sprang out of bed, wearing only his pajama bottoms and his boxers beneath, and dug his toothbrush and toothpaste out of his top drawer. As the other boys were rousing, he opened the bedroom door and tiptoed down the hallway towards the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth.

When he arrived at the bathroom, he felt his heart jump into his throat. The urinals weren't separate like they had been at his old school. Instead, there was one long porcelain trough that had five flushing handles above it. Apparently, there was not going to be much privacy for anybody wanting to pee. He thought about going into one of the stalls, but decided against it. He was alone in the bathroom, but if word got out that he used the private stalls to pee, he would be made fun of.

He dashed across the room and stood in front of the seven-foot [2 m] long trough. Tucking his toothbrush and toothpaste tube under his arm, he yanked down the front of his boxers and started to pee. It made a soft ringing noise as the stream hit the porcelain, one that almost seemed to echo in the empty room. He wondered if the urinal had been designed this way on purpose, to humiliate younger boys in front of their peers.

Before he could finish, another boy entered the room. Afraid of turning around, Matthew could hear the other boy's bare feet slapping across the floor as the boy joined him at the urinal. Matthew caught a glimpse of the other boy beside him out of the corner of his eye. The boy looked about thirteen, and had dark brown hair and a light dusting of freckles. He was wearing a yellow St. Xavier Bears t-shirt and boxer shorts. Matthew quickly looked away and stared down into the urinal, afraid of being called a homo.

The boy beside him began to urinate, and Matthew was dismally aware of how the ring of the other boy's urine sounded louder and stronger than his own. The boy beside him put an arm behind his head to stretch his back, and yawned. Matthew finished up peeing, and was about to turn around when the older boy spoke to him.

"Dang kid, ain'tcha got no hair yet?"

"What?" Matthew asked, turning to the boy.

Without meaning to, his eyes momentarily wandered down to the older boy's crotch, before quickly snapping back up to the boy's face. The boy had a larger, thicker penis than Matthew's own, with a small bush of dark pubic hair above.

"I said you ain't got no hair yet. And yer dick is so puny!"

"It is not puny," Matthew said in an unsure voice.

He never felt as though his penis was small before; it certainly didn't seem small. But it definitely wasn't as large as the older boy's penis. And the fact that the boy had mentioned Matthew's lack of pubic hair made him feel embarrassed, like a little infant.

"Yeah it is," the older boy laughed, "it's like a baby dick!"

The older boy finished peeing and tucked himself back into his boxers. Then, he quickly turned to the open doorway and shouted out to anybody within earshot.

"Hey! The new kid's a little baby, he don't even got no pubes yet!"

Matthew could feel his face flushing with embarrassment. Without bothering to brush his teeth, he pushed past the laughing boy in the doorway and hurried back to his room with his head down. Luckily by that time, the other boys in the dorm had roused and were beginning to make noise, so the insult hadn't been heard by more than a few nearest the bathroom. Still, it was a horrible way to start off his first morning.

He got back to his room just as his roommates were heading for the bathroom. They acknowledged him, but he didn't say anything in return. He was too upset about the situation in the bathroom, being the new kid in a big school, and about everything in general. Luckily, they hadn't seen the tears welling up in his eyes. He only allowed himself to cry for a minute, then he wiped his eyes and forced his emotions back down. He couldn't let them see him crying, it would make things much worse.

He quickly dressed and went for a walk around the school grounds. It was a crisp, spring morning at St. Xavier's, and Matthew soon found himself in front of the stables. The big white and brown horse was there, and when Matthew approached, the horse sauntered over to the fence separating them. Remembering Mr. Dunn's words from the previous day, Matthew allowed the horse to sniff his hand before he tried petting him.

As the strong feeling of depression washed over him again, he stroked the horse's shoulder, talking softly to him. Although it was only his first day, he already hated this school, and everybody in it. As tears rolled down his cheeks, he wished that he could go back home, to Atlanta. Then he remembered that there wasn't really anything there for him anymore, and felt even more miserable.

When the breakfast bell rang, Matthew didn't bother going to the cafeteria. He was hungry, but he didn't want to see or talk to anybody. They probably all hated him anyway, and would only make fun of him. Mr. Dunn seemed nice enough, but he was an adult, and adults didn't understand how kids felt. Besides, Matthew couldn't make friends with one of the teachers, he would be teased mercilessly by the other kids. He had never felt so utterly alone, as he did right now.

He continued to pet the horse until his tears stopped flowing. Then, he wiped them away with the back of his hand and wandered back to his dorm room. His stomach rumbled a little, but he ignored it. To go into the dining hall now, fifteen minutes late and in front of the entire student body, would be social suicide. He would rather die first than face those jeering faces that filled the dining tables.

As he sat on his bed, staring at the alarm clock, he thought about his three roommates. Johnny Fink was on the bunk above Matthew. Like Matthew, he was also eleven. He was a shade smaller than Matthew, and had blue eyes and shaggy, mousy brown hair that looked as though it had never seen a comb. Judging by the horse and other animal posters decorating the space above his bed, Matthew assumed that he was a huge animal lover. Matthew wondered if Johnny had any hair yet, and if not, why the other boys didn't pick on him the way they had Matthew.

The bottom bunk across from Matthew belonged to an oriental boy named Ke Hui Kwan. He was thirteen and slightly overweight. Matthew could tell two things about him right away, simply by looking at his dresser. From the circuit boards, strips of wiring, multimeter and soldering kit, Matthew could tell that Ke was into electronics. From the candy wrappers scattered amongst the other items, Matthew could also tell that Ke had a bit of a sweet tooth. Beside his bunk on the wall was a portrait of what appeared to be a bamboo branch, and some sort of calligraphy symbols. Matthew wondered if the characters were Chinese or Japanese. Whatever they were, Ke certainly seemed to be proud of his heritage.

The bunk above Ke belonged to a boy named Walt Turner. Standing at about six foot four [1.90 m], the sixteen year old towered over the other boys in the dorm. Matthew was very intimidated by him when he first saw him; the boy was taller than most of the teachers in the school! Aside from being tall, Walt was a bit lanky, and Matthew thought that he had a friendly looking face beneath his chestnut-colored hair. Oddly enough, his face had the appearance of a boy younger than his sixteen years.

Matthew couldn't tell anything about Walt's personality, however. His bunk was already neatly made, the sheets folded with a crease and tucked beneath the thin mattress. His dresser was spotless, and on the wall above his bed was a single St. Xavier pennant. The only thing that Matthew could take from this was that Walt was a tidy person; the exact opposite of his bottom bunkmate.

The blue numbers on the digital alarm clock ticked off another minute, and Matthew could hear the sound of Walt's deep, resonating laugh in the hallway. The door opened, and the three boys poured into the room.

"Heya Matty, didja sleep okay?" the youngest of the group asked him.

"I guess," Matt answered, shrugging his shoulders.

The three boys walked over to Matthew's bunk and stood around him. Walt had to place his hand on the top bunk to lean down a little.

"We looked for ya at breakfast, but we couldn't find ya."

"I 3; guess I didn't go," Matthew said miserably.

"Do you want a candy bar?" Ke asked and walked over to his dresser to scoop up two full-sized Butterfingers.

Matthew nodded and thanked Ke as he took the candy bars. He unwrapped one and bit into it, tasting the creamy chocolate and peanut butter. It wasn't a meal, but it was good and would have to carry him through until lunch.

"You okay Matt? Ya look like somebody pissed in yer Cheerios," Johnny said.

Finishing the first Butterfinger, Matthew again shrugged his shoulders. He was fighting back the tears that threatened to spring forth, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would lose control. Thankfully, Walt seemed to notice this, and took the attention off Matthew.

"Aw, shut up Johnny boy, you look like that all the time."

The older boy playfully shoved Ke, who bumped into Johnny and caused him to stumble. "Hey! Watch it ya big galoot!" Johnny said, shoving Ke back into Walt.

"Galoot?!" Walt laughed, "who the hell says that anymore? Where'd ya learn that from, your grandpa?"

"Nah, yer mother taught it to me," Johnny answered with a cheeky grin.

"That's it, now you're gonna get it!"

Walt playfully tackled Johnny, putting him in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles back and forth across the top of Johnny's head. As he did this, he looked up and gave Matthew a wink. Matthew realized that they were putting on a show for him, trying to cheer him up a little. Knowing this, he suddenly didn't feel quite as bad anymore.

"Get off me ya big oaf," Johnny said as he finally freed his head from Walt's hold.

Ke had taken a step backwards when Walt had lunged at Johnny, and now Walt turned to the giggling oriental boy.

"So whatta you lookin' at, porcupine?" Walt said, giving his best Moe Howard impression.

Ke, picking up on the situation, chimed in with a fair impression of Curly.

"I'ma victim of coicumstance!"

" Coicumstance?! Why I oughta 3;"

With that, Walt softly pretended to hit Ke in the stomach. Ke bent over, and Walt pretended to hit him in the forehead. Ke, keeping up the role, stumbled backwards into Johnny. Johnny jumped onto Ke's back and pointed to Walt.

"MUSH! MUSH!"

Ke swiped his feet on the floor like a bull and charged at Walt, who held up an invisible cape beside him like a matador. As Ke charged past him, he pulled Johnny off Ke's back and put him back into a headlock, once again rubbing his knuckles across the boy's scalp. Matthew, feeling much better now that he knew he had a few friends, found himself giggling at their antics.

Walt let go of Johnny, and the younger boy shot him a dirty look and smoothed his hair down.

"See Matt, it ain't all bad here. Stick with us and you'll do just fine," Walt said, then cast a sideways glance at Johnny and added, "well, most of us anyway."

"Ahh, yer mutha," Johnny retorted, sticking his tongue out at Walt.

Walt sat down on the bunk beside Matthew, ducking his head to keep from hitting it against the top bunk. He slung an arm around Matthew's shoulders, and the younger boy felt himself leaning in to the older boy, comforted by it. All previous feelings of intimidation towards the tall boy had evaporated, and for the first time in months, Matthew felt as though he belonged.

"So what's your story, anyway?" Walt asked him gingerly.

"Yeah," Johnny chimed in, "how come ya came in the middle of the school year?"

Matthew hesitated. At the mention of his past, he felt a pang of sadness hit his stomach. These boys seemed very nice, and he was truly thankful that they had made him feel better, but he didn't want to dredge up everything that had happened.

"Hey," Walt said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze, "if you don't wanna tell us right now, that's cool. We're not gonna force you to say anything you don't want to. We're just curious, is all."

"Yeah," Ke said as he sat on the other side of Matthew, "you don't have to say anything. But we might be able to help you feel better if you tell us what's bothering you."

"See Matt, we're like a family here," Walt said softly, "not everybody in the school gets along, and some people you will want to watch out for, but most of the guys in Bear house are okay. And the three of us will have your back no matter what. We're roommates, and we look out for each other."

Walt looked back up at Johnny, who was bent with his hands on his knees in front of Matthew.

"Even Johnny, we even look out for his little punk ass."

Johnny rolled his eyes, then sat on the bunk beside Ke. Matthew glanced at each one of them. He felt safe here, and he could see how much his roommates cared for him and each other. They said that he didn't have to tell them anything, but their eyes were anxiously waiting for him to answer. Matthew put the remaining Butterfinger aside so that he could eat it between classes. Then, with a deep breath, he began his story.

"There's not really too much to tell. I used to live in Atlanta, Georgia, with my parents and my older brother, Mark. We were all happy and everything, and my brother would look out for me, just like you guys do here."

He took another breath before continuing, and felt Walt gently squeeze his shoulder again.

"Well, a couple of months ago, my mom and brother were in a car wreck. My mom died instantly, and my brother was taken to the hospital, where he died a few hours later. We had the funeral and everything, and then my dad seemed to change. It's like he wasn't really there. I mean he was there, he just wasn't, like, there, ya know?"

The three boys nodded, and Walt held him close to his side.

"So my dad, well, he just kinda 3; I don't know. He just kinda got all involved in his work. He's a virologist that works at the CDC in Atlanta, and he like, was studying some new kinda virus or something. He would go to work early and come home late, having our housemaid take care of me. When he actually was home, he would be too tired to really talk. He would just give me a hug and then go to bed."

Matthew could feel the tears welling up again, but he swallowed and fought them back down. He had already started the story, it would be best to just get it all out now.

"So it went on like that for like, a month. He would go to work before I woke up, he would be gone all day, and when he came home, he would either look like, exhausted, or worried or somethin'. He would bring all kinds of papers and stuff home from work, and he would go into the den to work alone. Any time I came in to talk to him, he would say that he was working on something very important and that he was too busy."

"Last week, he actually sat me down and talked to me; like really talked, for the first time since mom and Mark died. He told me that he was going away for a while, and that I was going to a boarding school. I asked him questions about it; things like where was the school, when was I going, stuff like that. He didn't really answer me, he just told me to start thinking about what I wanted to take with me. Then, he went back to the den and started working again. He looked so tired, I just wanted ta run over and give him a big hug, but I knew that his work was important and that I shouldn't bother him."

"The day before yesterday, he told me to pack up my suitcases. I asked him when I was going, and he said 'tomorrow'. I asked him where the school was, and he said that it was in one of the Carolinas or something. He gave me this little book thing and told me to look it up online. That was about all he would say. The next morning, he gave me an airplane ticket and took my bags out to the car. When he dropped me off at the airport, he took me to the lady at the little booth thing in the airport and told me to listen to her and behave myself. Then he gave me this, like, weak sort of hug, and told me that he would see me over the holidays. And that was it, he turned around and left."

"The flight lady was real nice and everything, but I missed my dad. And he just looked so dog tired when he dropped me off, like something was really bugging him. I was nervous being on the plane, and I didn't have anyone there with me. I was alone. When I finally got here, the lady helped me get my bag and then pointed to this big black truck and said that was the St. Xavier's guy and that he was expecting me. The man drove me and Mister Dunn here, and now here I am."

Matthew sighed and looked at the three boys around him. Walt had his head down and his eyes closed, as if in deep thought. Ke was frowning and shaking his head slightly, and Johnny looked like he was about to cry himself. Although Matthew was sad, he was proud of the fact that he had been able to get through the story without crying.

"I'm so sorry, Matt," Walt said.

"Me too," echoed Ke.

"Yeah, man, sorry," Johnny's voice wavered.

"Thanks," Matthew said.

It felt nice to get it all off his chest. He had told Mr. Dunn some of it, but not everything. He hadn't been able to say much yesterday, and he felt closer to these other boys than he did with an adult, anyway.

Just then, the bell rang, making them all jump.

"Oh shit," Johnny said as he sprang from the mattress, "we didn't tidy the room!"

Johnny and Ke both rushed over to their respective beds and hurriedly tried to straighten them up. Walt, whose bed and dresser were already clean, helped Matthew make his bed. In the hallway, two prefects could be heard shouting "INSPECTION! INSPECTION!" as they went from room to room.

"They want things done a certain way," Walt explained, "but I don't have time to show you this morning. I'll have to show you how it's done tomorrow. Basically, they want the sheets folded a certain way, and your dresser and drawers tidy. They will open a drawer or two at random to check for wet clothes and make sure they are folded neatly. Oh course, if some people would follow my lead and keep their dressers neat all the time, they wouldn't have to panic every morning like this."

Walt purposefully said the last sentence louder so the other two boys could hear, and Ke and Johnny both shot him dirty looks over their shoulders as they frantically tried to tidy the clothes in their dresser drawers. Walt shook his head and winked at Matthew. He could hear the inspectors in the room next door, going through a few drawers.

The two boys finished, and stood at the foot of their bunks at attention. Walt finished Matthew's, then walked over to his own bunk and stood at attention. Matthew followed their lead, hoping that Walt had done a decent job for him. As the inspectors could be heard berating a boy next door about food crumbs in his mattress, Johnny whistled between his teeth to get Ke's attention. Looking panicked, Johnny pointed at Ke's dresser top, which was still covered with electronic parts and candy wrappers.

"Ke!" he said in a desperate whisper, "you forgot to clean your dresser!"

Ke let out a little squeak, and quickly opened his top drawer. He swept his arm across the top of his dresser, knocking the electronics and candy wrappers into the drawer, then he tried to place a few folded socks on top of everything to hide it. He shut the drawer and spun around at attention, just as the inspectors entered the room.

Matthew recognized one of the inspectors. It was Omar, the black boy that had shown him to his room yesterday. Matthew didn't like him very much; yesterday, as Omar led him to the room, he had treated Matthew like an annoying little kid. He acted like he had far more important things to do than to show a little pipsqueak around the campus, and when Matthew had asked a few questions, Omar had acted as though he was stupid, and that giving him answers was a waste of precious time.

The other inspector was a slightly nerdy looking kid with large glasses and big ears. He was skinny and looked to be about fifteen. His teeth were bucked, and his dark hair was cut into an outdated "bowl" cut. He was holding a clipboard in one hand, and a pen in the other. Although he was a prefect, he was obviously beneath Omar in the social ranking structure.

Omar eyed them suspiciously as he walked over to Johnny and Matthew's bunk. It almost seemed like he was daring one of them to move as he checked their mattresses. He held up one of the sheets on Johnny's bunk and slid his hand between the sheet and mattress cover. He ran his hand back and forth, then pulled it out and rubbed his fingertips. Then, he did the same to Matthew's mattress.

"New kid," he addressed Matthew, "did you flip your mattress?"

"Err 3; no."

"Why not?" Omar snapped.

Matthew felt a blush rising to his face. How was he supposed to know that he had to flip his thin mattress each day? Nobody had told him that. He was about to explain this to Omar, but stopped himself before he did. Apparently, it had been the job of his roommates to go over the rules with him. Since he was new, he wouldn't get in trouble for not flipping the mattress on his first day – but his roommates might.

Matthew knew that they wouldn't mind, since technically it was their fault anyway, but they were his friends now. If he ratted out his only friends on his first day, he would feel horrible. He had only met them this morning, but he already felt protective of them. No, he would lie and take the blame for it – and whatever punishment came with it.

"Sorry, um 3; I thought they were joking when they said I had to flip it every day. I didn't do it because I didn't believe them."

Omar glared down at him for a moment. Then, he turned to the nerdy boy with the clipboard.

"Mark it as clean," he ordered.

He spun back around and lowered his face until it was level with Matthew's. Matthew could smell his breath, which reminded him of stale peanut butter.

"Since this is your first day, I'mma cut you a break. Consider it a welcome present to St. Xavier's from me. It will also be the last gift I give you. You'd better appreciate it."

"I do, thank you," Matthew said.

Omar waited there for another moment, as if he was expecting Matthew to call him 'sir'. Matthew wasn't going to give him the pleasure. Omar's ego was already big enough, he didn't need it inflated any more.

Behind Omar's back, Walt rolled his eyes, then crossed them and stuck his tongue out. Matthew almost giggled, but managed to hold it down. Omar, annoyed that he hadn't received his 'sir' from Matthew, straightened himself and checked their dressers. He opened two of Matthew's drawers and rifled through them. The clothes were clean and neatly folded, much to Omar's disappointment.

When he opened two of Johnny's drawers, he turned to face Johnny. He held his hand up underneath Johnny's nose and waved it back and forth.

"What is this sticky crap in your sock drawer, Fink?"

"Oh shit, sorry. You must have found my cum-catcher sock."

Omar's eyes went wide with horror for a second, then narrowed again.

"You little bitch, you ain't old enough to cum yet. Besides, it smells like watermelon Jolly Ranchers."

Omar turned to the nerdy prefect and looked over the clipboard.

"Melvin," he said, "mark two demerits for the room. Unwrapped food in the drawer and disrespecting a prefect."

Johnny groaned, but as Omar glared at him, he quickly snapped back to attention. As far as Johnny was concerned, mouthing off to a prefect was enough bravery for one day.

Omar spun around to check the other two mattresses. Satisfied with their cleanliness, he checked one of Walt's drawers.

"Impeccable, as usual," he said mildly to Walt.

Then, he turned to Ke's dresser. Ke looked as though he was about to piss his pants. Omar opened the second drawer from the top, and Ke held his breath. The clothes in this drawer were neatly folded. Omar shut it and opened the bottom drawer. Again, all the clothes were clean. Omar shut the drawer and turned to his partner.

"Looks good," Omar informed Melvin, and the boy nodded and marked something down on the clipboard.

Ke exhaled loudly, relieved. No sooner had he done this than Omar spun back around to face him.

"You say something, Kwan?" he snapped at the Asian boy.

"Nu-no," Ke stammered.

Omar's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he turned back to Ke's dresser. He jerked open the top drawer and peered inside. Beneath the layer of folded socks, he could see the electronic equipment and candy wrappers. He picked up an empty Bite Size Snickers wrapper and held it under Ke's nose.

"Mhmm, what's this fat boy?"

"S 3; snickers," Ke squeaked.

Omar grinned cruelly and waved the wrapper in front of Ke's face.

"Melvin," he said, "mark another three demerits for this room. One for unwrapped candy, one for electronic junk in the drawer, and one for lying to a prefect."

He smirked at Ke, but his victory was short lived.

"Uh 3; I can't Omar."

"What?" Omar spun around to face the bespectacled prefect, "why not?"

"Because," Melvin said in a nasally voice, "you already said it looked good. I already put a check mark by his bunk."

"So erase it and put three demerits," Omar hissed between his clenched teeth.

"But it's in ink," Melvin said and raised the pen for Omar to see.

"Then scratch it off and put the fucking demerits down!"

"Sorry Omar, I can't. The first mark is the official mark, that's the rules."

Omar looked as if somebody had slapped him across the face. His cheeks flushed and he seemed to be restraining himself from punching Melvin's lights out. He stood there fuming for a few seconds, then shoved his way past Melvin and stormed out of the room.

"FINE, WHATEVER! FUCK IT!" he shouted over his shoulder.

As Melvin turned to leave the room, Walt stepped over to him and placed a folded piece of paper on his clipboard. Without looking at the paper, Melvin smiled at Walt, then turned to follow his angry partner across the hallway.

"What was that paper you gave him," Matthew asked.

"A pass to get out of gym class," Walt chuckled, "ya see, Matty, Melvin is a total nerd, but he's a decent guy. He's a prefect, which makes him equal with Omar, but he doesn't like Omar at all. Last year, before he became a prefect, Omar used to push him around and make fun of him. So now, he gets back at him any little way he can."

"Plus," Johnny chimed in, "ol' Melville hates P.E. and he knows that Walt has a few class passes saved up. You'll learn that a little bribery goes a long way here at Saint Zit-vier's."

The boys turned and started pulling their books off of their shared bookshelf and putting them in their messenger bags. In the room across the hall, they could hear Omar shuffling angrily through another poor student's drawers.

"One thing you need to understand about Saint Xavier's is that there are good people, and there are really nasty people. Although Omar seems like a big jerk, he actually lies somewhere between the two groups. His biggest problem is that his head swelled up after becoming a prefect. Now, he thinks that he's God's gift to the planet, and that everybody should go around kissing his ass. He can be a bully at times, but he's definitely not the worst person here."

"Who is the worst person here," Matthew asked innocently.

Walt sighed, "Well, there are a few that I would recommend you stay away from. Greg is one of them; he's like, the star of the school, and everybody wants to be just like him, but deep down he's a scumbag. Most kids don't know that, but I've seen it. Pablo is another one, he's sort of a sadist. He likes to beat up little kids for fun. Not just beat up, but he likes to hurt them. I think that he gets off on watching younger kids cry, like a power trip or something."

"Stay away from the shop classes, too," Johnny said, "ya won't have any classes there until your freshman year anyway. But even then, just go there for the classes and come straight back when they're over. That's where most of the bad kids hang out."

Matthew must have looked scared, because Walt put his arm around him.

"Hey, don't worry Matt. Stick with us and most of Bear house, and you'll be alright."

The first class bell rang, signaling that it was time for morning classes. The boys gathered up their messenger bags, and Matthew stuffed the Butterfinger that Ke had given him into his pocket.

"Do you know where your first class is, Matt?"

"It's English, but I'm not sure where the classroom is."

"Come on," Walt said, motioning to the others, "we'll escort you to your first class, Matt. When it's over, just stand out front of the door and we'll show you where the next class is."

"I think your next class is Math, isn't it?" Johnny asked him.

Matthew checked his schedule.

"Yes," he answered.

"Cool," Johnny grinned, "I'll be in the same class. You can sit next to me, if you want."

"Okay, thanks. I'd like that."

"Just don't let the little spaz keep you from learnin' anything," Walt joked.

"Yeah, ya might end up like Walt," Johnny teased back.

With that, the boys set off to take Matthew to his first class. Matthew had never felt so happy in quite some time; he had been able to tell his story without crying like a blubbering infant, and he had made some genuine friends, all within his first hour and a half. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad here after all 3;

***

A few minutes after the lunch bell rang, there was a very soft knock on the door. Carl put down his pen and looked up at the closed door. He had been grading the tests that his junior students had taken in his second period physics class yesterday morning. Aside from today's dining hall monitors, most of the other teachers would be having lunch together in the teacher's lounge. Carl wouldn't be missed though, as he was known to eat lunch in his office fairly often.

"Come in," he said politely.

The door opened slowly, squeaking a little bit at the halfway point. I'm going to have to oil those hinges, he thought. In the open doorway stood Greg, and in front of him, Anthony Reid, a thirteen year old member of Eagle house. The boy looked young for his age, with porcelain, delicate skin and soft, luscious pale pink lips. His jet black hair was medium length and layered, and his eyes were so light blue that they appeared almost gray.

"You 3; you wanted to see me, Mister Fisher?"

"Yes Anthony, please come in. Greg, shut the door behind you."

The boy nervously chewed on his bottom lip and scratched his upper arm as he walked into the room. The older boy quietly shut the door behind them, then they both stood in front of it, looking at Carl. The older man smiled warmly at the young boy before him, dressed in full school uniform; white shirt, blue and gray striped tie, light blue school vest, and dark blue shorts and jacket. The jacket had the blue and gray Eagle house emblem below the left breast pocket. Absolutely delicious, Carl thought.

"Come here, Anthony," Carl said.

The boy ambled over to the man's desk, and when he stopped in front of it, Carl motioned for him to come around and stand beside him. The boy did as directed, slowly walking around the large mahogany desk and waiting beside the teacher. Carl stood slightly and put his hands beneath the boy's shoulders. With a strained grunt, he picked Anthony up and sat him on the desk. Then, he sat back down and placed his hands on the boy's thighs.

"Greg, listen for anybody coming," he said.

Greg leaned up against the door and turned to watch the boy and man at the desk. Carl turned back toward the boy and smiled reassuringly.

"I have a small job for you, Anthony," Carl said, rubbing the tender young thighs over the material of his shorts.

Anthony stared back at him without an expression; the boy probably knew what sort of job Carl had in store for him. Carl stopped rubbing and raised his hands to the front of the boy's navy blue blazer. He rubbed an index finger around the top gold button and gently undid it. Then, he moved down to the second button and opened it, followed by the third. He placed his hands inside the jacket, slowly moving them back around Anthony's sides until they met in the small of the boy's back.

Grabbing hold of the bottom of the white shirt, Carl slowly pulled it out the back of Anthony's shorts, then worked his way around to the front, untucking it all the way around. He had been looking Anthony in the face the whole time, now he dropped his gaze to the boy's crotch. He brought his hands to rest in the boy's lap, circling the gold button of the blue shorts with a finger.

"Do you know our new head of security, Mister Dunn?"

"Yuh-yes," the boy answered him.

Carl lifted the flap of the shorts fly cover and found the zipper. He pulled it down slowly, then pushed his hand inside. Pushing his way through the boy's boxer shorts, he found the soft cocklet and pulled it out through the open zipper, exposing the pale, circumcised head. He ran his thumb across the little pee slit, then started to stroke the boy's shaft with his fingertips. Gorgeous boy, such a heartbreaker. If only he knew what he did to men like myself.

"Well," Carl went on, "I would like for you to 3; ah 3; see what his preferences are."

Anthony had closed his eyes and tilted his head back a bit when Carl started rubbing his cock. He let out a little whimper as his penis started to harden between the physics teacher's fingertips. Carl wrapped his hand around the boy's cock and started to rub it a little faster, squeezing it tightly. Anthony responded, slowly beginning to thrust his hips upward into Carl's hand reflexively.

"Hu 3; how do I 3; ahhh 3; how do I do that?" Anthony asked.

The boy was breathing heavily and softly moaning above Carl. The man released the young cocklet and unfastened the button of the boy's shorts. He slid his hands down Anthony's legs and pulled off the black shoes and white socks. Since his face was now level with the boy's crotch, Carl leaned forward and took the boy into his mouth.

At the feeling of the warm, wet mouth around him, Anthony made a noise that began as a gasp and ended as a sigh. Carl rubbed his hands up and down the boy's smooth, hairless calves as he swirled his tongue around the head of the boy's penis. He pushed his mouth down until his lips met the cold metal teeth of the zipper, then he puckered them and pushed down further into the boy's shorts. He could feel the circumcised head rubbing against the roof of his palate.

He sucked hard on the boy's cock while Anthony moaned above him. He could feel the boy's soft hands rubbing through his hair, massaging his scalp. Carl moved his hands up the boy's legs to the hem of the shorts. He started to pull them down slowly. He stopped sucking long enough to pull the front down, then helped lift the boy's waist off the desk to slide the shorts and boxers down Anthony's supple butt cheeks. As he slid the clothes down the boy's legs, he looked back up at the tender face.

"Well," he said, "I'm not exactly sure which way Mister Dunn swings. I would like you to try to seduce him a little. I want to see if he likes boys, you see?"

"Okay," the boy answered.

Anthony placed his hands behind him on the desk and leaned back a little. His beautiful, flawless penis stood perfectly erect before him at its full five inches [13 cm]. The boy had no pubic hair yet, and the flesh of his cocklet was every bit as pale as the rest of his skin. Even the scrotum was smooth and pale.

Carl took a minute to remove his own blazer, which he laid carefully across the desk, beside Anthony. The boy saw this, and started to take off his blazer as well. He dropped it onto the floor, which irked Carl a little. He still respected this school, and seeing the house jacket tossed carelessly on the floor bothered him.

"Anthony, please pick up your jacket and place it over the chair. We don't want your clothes to get too wrinkled."

"Yes sir," the boy said.

Anthony hopped off the desk and walked around to the opposite side, allowing Carl a view of his full, perfect ass. He picked up the discarded jacket, dusted it off, and placed it carefully across the top rail of the high-backed chair. He then pulled the sweater vest over his head and placed it over the jacket. Carl, in the meantime, had removed his own sweater and tie, and was quickly unbuttoning his shirt. Anthony started to pull his tie over his head, but Carl stopped him.

"Don't," he said, "leave your tie on, just take the shirt off."

"Yes sir."

Anthony pulled his collar up and unbuttoned his shirt. Keeping the tie loosened around his neck, he slipped out of the shirt and placed it over the vest. Carl took off his shirt, placed it on the desk, and then unbuttoned his slacks. They dropped to the floor, and the white briefs followed. Carl's seven-inch [18 cm] erection stood out from a crop of gray colored pubic hair. He quickly glanced at the clock on his desk; it read 12:10. He had about twenty minutes to finish. After that, he ran the risk of having another teacher come to his door looking for him. Keeping this in mind, he sat back down and motioned with his finger for the boy to come to him.

Anthony bit his bottom lip and smiled shyly, then mounted the desk and began to crawl across it. Carl took hold of the boy's tie with his left hand and pulled him closer until their faces were mere inches apart. He put his finger underneath Anthony's chin and tickled it, the way a kitten's chin is tickled. He brought his face up to Anthony's and kissed the boy while he slid his hand down the boy's neck, over the soft skin of his chest and stomach, and found the rock-hard cocklet. He stroked the boy's penis while they kissed passionately, Carl's hand still wrapped around the boy's tie to keep his face close.

He cupped the boy's scrotum in the palm of his hand, then tickled it with his fingertips. Anthony whimpered a little in Carl's mouth. The man rolled each testicle around between his fingers, then moved his hand up to the boy's rump. He rubbed the soft cheek, then slapped it sharply, leaving a red hand print on the boy's ass. The boy mewled against his lips, and Carl pushed his tongue into the boy's hot, wet mouth. He found the boy's pink puckered butthole with his finger, and rubbed over it in circles. Anthony responded with a soft moan.

When Carl pushed his finger in, Anthony moaned a little louder. The boy had been one of Carl's favorite boys since his arrival two years ago. Although the man had penetrated the boy many times before, the kid's anus was still fairly tight. It pinched around Carl's finger tightly, and Carl started to move in and out. The boy winced a little bit from the lack of lubrication. I can fix that, Carl thought.

He broke off the kiss and told the boy to lay back. Anthony did so, putting his butt down toward Carl's chair and his head hanging off the front of the desk. He bent his knees and spread his legs apart, revealing his small pink hole to the man. Opening a drawer, Carl removed a bottle of KY jelly. He coated two of his fingers with the lubricant, then brought them back to the boy's quivering hole. He pushed one in and the boy gasped and moaned. Carl added the second finger and started pushing them in and out, preparing the boy.

The physics teacher glanced up at Greg, who was still leaning against the door. The prefect had his piercing blue eyes glued on them intently, and his hand wrapped around the stiff cock that was poking over the top of his school slacks. The boy was rubbing his large cock slowly, staring at the fingers moving in and out of the younger boy's pink hole.

Carl smiled and winked at Greg, and the prefect smiled back. In his younger years, Greg had also been one of Carl's favorite boys, and it was not that long ago that he had been in this very same position; a tender young boy of twelve or thirteen, making love to the physics teacher on top of the desk. He had always seemed to enjoy letting the older man fuck him and suck him off, and now in his own twisted way, he seemed to relish watching it being done to the younger boys.

Carl dropped his attention back to the young schoolboy before him. After a couple of minutes, Carl removed his fingers. He poured a small puddle of KY into the palm of his hand and rubbed it over his hardened rod. When it was fully lubed, he placed the tip of his cock against the boy's hole. Anthony pinched his eyes shut tightly and leaned his head back and held on to the edge of the desk tightly. His young boy cock was twitching slightly, begging to be played with.

"You ready?" Carl asked him, and the boy nodded.

Carl slowly pushed in and the boy sucked in a quick breath of air. Being gentle with the boy, Carl continued to push in until he could feel the soft butt cheeks pressed up firmly against his crotch. The kid's anus pinched around his cock, so warm and tight. Anthony gasped again and wrapped his legs around the small of Carl's back, locking tightly like a vise. Carl leaned forward, placing his forearms on either side of Anthony's head. He began to thrust his hips back and forth, pumping himself slowly in and out of the child while he kissed the boy deeply.

Anthony moaned loudly and let go of the desk. He slid his hands beneath Carl's arms and held onto the skin of Carl's back as if for dear life. The boy started to breathe in and out the way a woman does when she is going through labor. Carl, enjoying every inch of the boy's rectum, began to hump faster and harder. They were both perspiring, their sweat mixing together and running down onto the top of the desk.

With his right hand, Carl caressed down the boy's body and found the throbbing little erection. He squeezed it in his hand and rubbed it up and down in time with his thrusts. Anthony moaned and held onto the thrusting man firmly. Carl picked up speed, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh mixing with the boy's wails of desire. He rubbed the boy's penis roughly, knowing that they were both going to reach their climaxes very soon.

Carl pumped into the boy, trying to push himself in deeper with every inward thrust. Beneath him, Anthony was shaking his head back and forth, lost in total ecstasy. The child's rectum squeezed his cock tight. Carl gave one final inward thrust, then held himself in place while his penis started to buck and throb inside the boy. He let out a deep groan and erupted like a volcano, shooting his hot cum inside the boy's rectum.

Beneath him, Anthony's body started to buck. Carl was no longer rubbing him, the boy thrust himself in and out of the man's squeezing grasp. Anthony pushed himself upwards once more, and Carl could feel the cocklet pulsing in his hand like a live snake. Anthony moaned loudly as a few drops of cum dripped onto his stomach. Carl collapsed onto the boy and they lay there together for a few minutes, both spent and gasping for air.

Carl used a finger to wipe the boy's cum off his stomach. He brought it to his lips and tasted it; delicious. No finer nectar had ever been produced than that of a young boy's semen. He glanced at the clock – 12:37. He had taken a little longer than he had hoped. Luckily, nobody had come knocking on his door. Not yet, anyway. He kissed Anthony deeply, then started to get off the trembling child.

Greg, still leaning against the doorway, let out a soft moan of his own. Carl and Anthony both looked up just in time to see the ropes of cum shooting from the prefect's cock. Not the fucking rug, Carl thought. Luckily, the boy's cum splattered on the bare floor, missing the fancy rug by mere inches. Carl looked back down at the nude child still lying back on the desk. He kissed the boy's inner thigh softly.

"So do you understand your mission, Anthony?"

"I 3; I guess so, sir," the boy answered between pants, "I'm s'posed to try hooking up with Mister Dunn to see if he likes boys."

"Yes," Carl said as he bent to pull his pants up, "but be very careful. Don't come on too strong or he may become suspicious. Flirt with him a little, and if it starts to go further, let it. When you are finished, report back to me with the results."

"Yes sir," the boy said, sounding a little uncertain.

Carl ignored the boy's ambivalence. Anthony would do as he requested, Carl was sure of that. The boy liked him well enough, but he also feared the man. It was the perfect position for Carl to be in; one of power and respect. The boy was far too scared to disobey him, and Carl preferred it that way.

Carl kissed the inside of the boy's other thigh, then placed a soft kiss on the tip of the boy's penis head. He sat back in his chair and started to button his shirt, and Anthony crawled off the desk to get dressed. When they had both finished, the boy turned for the door but Carl called him back.

"Hold on a minute there, I have something for you."

Anthony walked back to the desk warily. Carl removed the bottle of Scotch and poured the boy a finger's worth into a glass. He passed it to Anthony, who held it in his hands.

"I dunno, sir 3;" the boy said nervously.

"Sure you do, Anthony, it's a gift. It is rude to turn down a gift, and you wouldn't want to offend me, would you?"

"N 3; no sir," the boy said.

With hands that faintly shook, the boy lifted the glass to his lips. He sipped it and winced at the harshness of the alcohol.

"It's better to take it all in one large gulp," Carl told him.

Anthony, looking a little green around the gills, nodded and tossed it back. When he had swallowed it, he looked as though he wanted to throw up. Fortunately, he managed to keep it down – at least for as long as he was in the office. Carl grinned to himself slyly. The boy had taken the drink against his will; he knew who was in charge around here.

"Very good Anthony. Now remember, be cautious with Dunn, and report back to me when you have completed your task."

"Yes, sir."

Greg opened the door for the younger boy, and as Anthony passed by, he smiled sadistically at the child.

"Mmm, betcha got a real tight ass, lover boy."

Anthony ignored him and left the office. Greg shut the door, then walked over to the desk and sat in one of the chairs. He leaned back in it and put one of his feet up on the mahogany desk. Carl gave him an annoyed look, but the boy kept it there.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Carl asked him.

"Not as much as you did," was the sarcastic reply.

Carl chuckled at the quip and eased back into his chair to pour himself another drink, using the same glass that Anthony had. He removed another glass and poured a drink for Greg, who took it from him and downed it like a shot. This too, annoyed Carl. Good Scotch was to be sipped and savored, not tossed back like a cheap shot of Jack Daniel's.

The boy placed the glass on the desk and motioned for Carl to pour him another one. With a frown, the man poured him another one, this time filling the glass three fingers high. He nudged the glass towards the boy, and Greg picked it up.

"Last one," Carl said, "so you'd better slow down and enjoy it."

"Holdin' out on me, pops?"

"No," Carl said, even though he really was, "I don't want you going to your next class reeking of alcohol."

The prefect snickered at this, but drank the whisky slowly. Carl picked up his glass and took a small sip. As he drank, he thought about the situation with Mr. Miles Dunn, their newest member of staff. Everybody had a secret, and soon enough, he would find out what Dunn's secrets were. Then he would exploit them to keep the man in line. If Dunn resisted, well 3; Carl would cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

***

Miles was settling into his new "office". It was rather small, located near the infirmary and not too far from Carl Fisher's much larger office. At the moment, it was pretty sparse; consisting of a cheap single pedestal steel desk, a scuffed metal rolling chair that looked as though it was straight out of the sixties, two old plastic molded Virco stackable chairs, a small couch that had seen better days against the wall, and a cheap IKEA bookshelf. There was also a small walk-in closet in the corner, beside two four-drawer filing cabinets. Nothing more, nothing less.

He had already changed the layout of the room. Since he would be interviewing students on a one-on-one basis, he placed a single Virco chair in front of his desk, facing away from the door. The other chair, which he didn't plan on using, he put beside the door. Seated behind his desk, the single bookshelf went against the wall to his right. The filing cabinets remained in place on his left. He had not received a computer yet, and the only objects currently on his desk were a shaded banker's desk lamp, and a file storage box. The latter held all the various incident reports filed by the former head of security, going back to 2006.

After Dunn had finished his shower, he had gone back to his cubicle in Bear house to dress for the day, then sat on his bunk and waited for the wake up bell to ring. When it finally went off at seven-thirty, Miles wandered out to find Mr. Lerher, who was walking down the hallway, making sure that the students were up and heading to the bathroom to ready themselves for the morning.

A few of the students stopped to welcome Dunn to the school, which was nice. Some tried to engage him in conversation, asking him where he was from and inquiring about his past, but Lerher hurried them along, telling them that there would be plenty of time for them to get to know the new head of security in the coming weeks. Dunn was grateful to the man for this; he was still a little leery about being surrounded by a group of boys.

He followed the biology teacher around the dorm, learning what was expected of a teacher-on-duty during the morning duties. It seemed easy enough, simply walking up and down the halls, checking in each dorm room to make sure that each student was up, and keeping an eye out for any signs of mischief. Lerher told him that students would often initiate conversation, and that was fine, but Miles shouldn't give all his attention to the student. Occasionally, Mr. Lerher explained, the boys would use a decoy to distract the teacher-on-duty while another group of boys would cause trouble. He told Miles that it was best to be aware of everything going on around him, for the safety of the boys under their care.

The breakfast bell rang at eight o'clock, and Lerher and Dunn stayed behind until all the boys had left the dorm. Then, they went from room to room to make sure there were no stragglers. At five after eight, they walked across the quad to the dining hall, where breakfast was already being served. He was greeted by several staff members as he tried to put names to faces. Tom Cruise, the witty history teacher, Louise Simmons, math teacher, Raymond Tools, who taught literature, and Rufus Aims, the physical education instructor. The school nurse, Miss Cahill, gave him a wink as they headed for the food line, and Miles politely nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Breakfast consisted of a small bowl of scrambled eggs, three sausage links, three strips of bacon, a buttermilk biscuit, and a glass of orange juice. Coffee was provided for the teachers and prefects, but Miles didn't take any; he was energized enough as it was. He loaded up his tray and returned to his seat at the head table, between Carl Fisher and Lerher. After the morning announcements were made by Mr. Daniels, Carl turned to Miles.

"Good morning, Mister Dunn, did you sleep well?"

Miles swallowed the mouthful of biscuit he had taken before answering the physics teacher.

"Yes sir, it was very peaceful."

"Excellent," the man said, smiling and clapping him on the shoulder, "I believe Mister Daniels would like to see you in his office directly after breakfast. He has a few things to go over with you."

"Okay, thanks," Dunn said, and turned back towards his breakfast.

For some reason, he could almost feel Carl's eyes upon him as he ate. He didn't understand why, the man was very friendly, Miles just had the strange sensation that Carl was watching him eat. As Frank Costello said in The Departed, "you can learn a lot, watching things eat." As the quote came to his mind, Miles inwardly shuddered.

After breakfast, Miles stopped by Bear house to collect his paperwork, then went to Mr. Daniel's office, as requested. The kindly secretary smiled at him warmly as he entered the room, and motioned for him to walk right in to the headmaster's office.

"Go ahead, deary, he's waiting for you."

Miles thanked her and opened the door.

"Ahh, Mister Dunn," the loud voice of the headmaster bellowed as he entered the room, "please, sit down. Take a load off."

"Thank you, sir."

Dunn sat in one of the Georgian mahogany chairs in front of the desk. Mr. Daniels collected the paperwork, then discussed a few of Dunn's obligations and what was expected of him. He then picked up a file storage box and placed it on his desk. He mentioned that these were the incident reports filed by the previous security personnel, and that Dunn should start conducting interviews after lunch.

"Why don't you start with a student named Sven Lindquist? He resides in the Puma dorm. I'll track down which class he's in after lunch and let his teacher know that he is to be sent to your office."

"What has he done?" Miles asked him.

"Everything is written down in his file, but I'll give you a brief synopsis. Master Lindquist was a model student during his first year here, respective of his teachers and well liked by the students. This year started out well for him, but within the last few months, he has been getting into a bit of trouble. He has been receiving demerit notes from the prefects, getting into the occasional fight, that sort of thing."

Daniels's brows suddenly furrowed with concern. His demeanor changed from the jolly school headmaster, to that of a concerned onlooker.

"Two weeks ago, there were a couple of bigger issues. First, he was taken to the nurse's office for injuries sustained while fighting. Nothing really major, just a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises. Then, a few days later, there were reports from two of our prefects that he had set off a firecracker in the planetarium, which damaged the projector. Fortunately, a reliable witness stepped forward and provided him with an alibi."

Dunn stroked his chin thoughtfully at this. What could make a good kid suddenly go bad? Why would two of the school's trusted prefects say they witnessed him vandalizing a classroom, only to have somebody else willing to testify to his innocence?

"Master Lindquist has been cleared of the vandalism charge, but we don't understand why he had been blamed in the first place, unless he somehow had something to do with it. I believe that the constant fighting, the infirmary visit, and the vandalism are all linked, but I am unsure as to how or why. I would like you to look over his file and interview him after lunch."

"Yes sir, I can do that."

"Excellent."

The man's manner visibly brightened, and he was the jolly headmaster once again.

"Now, if you will follow me, I will show you to your office."

Dunn rose from his chair and picked up the box of files. Daniels clapped him on the arm as a show of admiration for his strength, then led the way through the large double doors and out of the office. Dunn nodded to the secretary on his way out, and followed Daniels to the office that was to be his own. When the headmaster opened the door, Dunn was slightly disappointed at the size of the room, although it would serve his purposes.

"Here we are, Mister Dunn," Daniels said jovially, "this will be your office."

"May I rearrange the furniture?" Miles asked as he looked about the tiny room.

"By all means," Daniels said, "I have to apologize; your computer workstation should have been delivered by now, but is apparently running late. As soon as it comes in, I will have it brought here directly."

"That's alright," Dunn said, "I'm going to start reading through these files, and when I conduct the interviews I will be using a pad and paper. I can worry about entering everything into the computer later."

"Excellent," Mr. Daniels said, clapping him on the shoulder, "you will find legal pads, pens and pencils in the desk."

Dunn walked over to the cheap metal desk and plopped the storage box on top of it.

"If you will excuse me," the headmaster said, checking his watch, "I have a few pressing phone calls to make. Feel free to arrange the room as you see fit, and make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you, sir, I will."

"And look forward to interviewing young Master Lindquist after lunch," Daniels reminded him.

"Yes sir," Dunn answered.

The headmaster left the room, shutting the door behind him. Before digging into the files, Dunn first went about moving some of the furniture around. When he was satisfied, he sat at the desk, removed the top of the storage box, and pulled out a random incident report, which had been printed up several months prior.

January 13, 2016 9:04 AM

Report filed by: Tom Bartlett
Persons involved: Not applicable at this time

Received complaint about broken window in the shop class building. Upon inspection, it appears to have been broken by a brick, which was found lying beneath the window on the floor. Several tools were reported missing. A list of missing tools will be attached to this report after inventory has been taken.

Dunn sighed. He assumed that it was going to be mind-numbingly boring to have to sift through all these reports. If they were all like this, his job was going to be pretty boring. An image popped into his mind; the thought of him scraping gum off the bottom of a desk and checking the tooth marks in it to compare against dental records. The thought made him chuckle. How far he had fallen; from worrying about his life and the lives of his brothers-in-arms, to trying to track down a stolen shop class hammer. Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he dug out the next file and read through it.

By the time the lunch bell rang, his attitude had changed a bit. Most of the reports were about minor vandalism, but some of them were a little more serious. One case involving an eleven-year-old runaway, and several reports about drug use and assaults. The drugs involved weren't small pot cases either, they ranged from OxyContin to crystal meth. Perhaps this school isn't so squeaky clean after all, he thought.

When he arrived at the dining hall, he waited with the rest of the teachers for the students to fill their trays first, then stood in line behind Mr. Lerher. The food smelled good; they were having Italian chicken sandwiches with French fries, green beans, pear slices, and milk. A small bowl of chef salad was also available.

When his tray was filled, he returned to his usual chair at the staff table, sitting beside Lerher. A few chairs down, Tom Cruise, the history teacher, was talking to another teacher about something funny that one of his students had said in class. Seeing Dunn, Mr. Cruise nodded to him before going back to his story. At least it's beginning to seem more like I belong here, Dunn thought as he sat down to eat his lunch.

Oddly enough, the chair beside Dunn was empty. He thought back for a moment and realized that it was where Carl Fisher, the physics teacher, usually sat. Dunn scanned the cafeteria but didn't see the man anywhere in the room.

"How come Carl's not here?" he asked, turning to Mr. Lerher.

Mr. Lerher took a bite of his chicken sandwich, chewed for a minute, and swallowed it before answering him.

"Fisher's probably eating lunch in his office while he works. He does that every now and then; besides being the physics teacher, he's also an important member of the school board, so he has more than an average amount of work to get done."

"Ah." Dunn said, then asked another question, "Do you know a student by the name of Sven Lindquist?"

"Yes, I know Sven," Lerher said as he looked out over the sea of students.

After a few moments, the biology teacher found the boy he was looking for.

"That's him," he said, pointing to a boy sitting near the end of a table.

Miles followed his finger until he found the boy. Sven looked about twelve or thirteen, with a slender build and long hair that was a very light blond. Even if Dunn didn't know his last name, he would have been able to tell that the boy was of Swedish descent, just from looking at him. His features were distinctly Nordic. Not a bad looking boy at all, Dunn thought. For a split second, Dunn imagined the boy alone in his office after lunch; nude and between his legs, sucking his cock. Quickly, he dashed the image from his mind and concentrated on his food. Goddammit, Miles, get a grip on yourself!

When lunch ended, Miles went back to his office and waited for the boy, going over the student file that Daniels had given him. He didn't have to wait long before there was a light knock on his door.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened and there stood Sven, dressed in the green and black uniform of the Puma house. His naturally platinum blond hair was parted at the side and flowed down the sides of his face. Up close, Miles could faintly see a faded bruise around the boy's right eye. His rosy red cheeks blushed a shade darker as he entered the room.

"Hi 3; um 3; my teacher said I'm s'posed to talk to you?"

"Yes, Sven," Dunn said as he motioned to the chair, "have a seat."

The boy sat down, looking a little nervous. Dunn could appreciate that, most boys weren't called out of class for doing anything good. Sven nervously clasped his hands together in front of him while Dunn sat and picked up his notepad and a pen.

"You don't have to be nervous, Sven, I'm just going to ask you a few questions about a few things. We're just going to talk, okay?"

"Okay," Sven said, without visibly calming.

If Sven was a troublemaker, Dunn would have to report him to the headmaster; something that he would hate to do. Once again, Miles realized just how hard this job could potentially be. Some of the adorable young boys that were in his charge would cause trouble, and it would be his responsibility to turn them in. It saddened him to have to do this.

"Okay, Sven," he said as he checked through the discipline notes in his file, "it looks like you've been here for two years, and up until the last couple of months, you have been an exemplary student. Starting around January of this year, you have been in one 3; two 3; three 3; four fights. The last one sent you to the infirmary. Would you like to discuss what happened in January that changed your behavior?"

The boy stared at his shoes and remained silent. Something was bothering Sven, but he was hesitant to talk about it. Dunn gave him a minute, and when there was no response, he moved on.

"Alright, can you tell me about the vandalism to the planetarium? There are two prefects who state they witnessed you setting off aerial fireworks, which caused damage to the star projector. Anything you would like to tell me about that?"

"I didn't do it," Sven said in a petulant voice.

"But the two prefects say that you did."

"They are liars."

"Both of them?"

"Yes!" the boy said adamantly.

Dunn felt as miserable as Sven looked. He hated having to pick on the poor kid, but it was his job. He decided to switch tactics, instead of demanding an answer from Sven as most of the other adults had, he would act like he believed the boy. Perhaps then, he could get answers.

"Okay, I believe you. Can you tell me why they lied about it?"

This seemed to catch the boy off guard. Sven looked up at him nervously, his brow furrowed.

"Yuh 3; you do?"

"If you say you didn't do it, then I'll believe you unless I can prove otherwise. But you have to help me understand why they would lie about you. What happened in January that caused you to start fighting with other boys?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do," Dunn pressed.

"Yeah? Well I don't care."

Dunn wondered why the boy was being so stubborn. Perhaps Sven just didn't want to rat anybody out, but Dunn didn't think so. Sven was clearly upset, and a simple fear of tattling on a fellow student wouldn't make the boy act this way. Maybe he was being blackmailed, or maybe he had been threatened into silence. Fortunately, Sven wasn't the only one who knew what had happened.

"Alright," Miles said, closing the boy's file folder, "if you won't tell me, I'll ask the prefects that turned you in. I'll just have to ask them why you would say they set you up."

This seemed to get the reaction Dunn was looking for. The boy's eyes suddenly went wide and he looked panicked.

"You 3; you can't do that!"

"Why not? If you don't talk to me, I'll have to get my answers some other way."

Sven looked defeated. His eyes dropped from Dunn's and he sighed heavily.

"It's not my fault, I swear! It's the club!"

"The club?" Dunn asked, jotting a little note on the legal pad.

"They've been trying to make me join! I don't want to, but they are trying to make me!"

"What club, Sven?"

"Th 3; th 3; the club. That's what they call it, just the club."

"What does this club do? Why do they want to force you to join against your will?"

The boy didn't answer the question, but instead tried to change the subject.

"You know William said I was doing homework with him at that time."

There was a sharp knock on the door, and then it was pushed open. Omar, the African-American prefect, peeked his head in the doorway. This made Miles livid; he hadn't said it was okay to come in, and the prefect had no right to just barge into his office like that.

"Mister Dunn, Mister Fisher wanted me to ask you if-"

"Excuse me!" Miles interrupted, "I am with a student; I didn't say you could enter."

"Yes, sorry sir. Mister Fisher just wanted me to-"

"You will have to wait," Miles interrupted him again, "I am busy talking to a student and you need to wait until I am finished."

"Yes sir."

"And from this point on, you will only enter when I tell you to. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Omar said.

The black prefect paused for a second to stare at Sven before withdrawing his head and closing the door. Was that a threatening look? Dunn wondered. He couldn't be sure, but it had almost seemed to be. Miles turned back to Sven, who seemed to be on edge.

"So you were saying, about this club 3;"

"Nothing," Sven said, looking rattled, "it's nothing."

"Come on, Sven, don't clam up again. Does the fighting have something to do with Omar? Is he bullying you?"

"No," Sven said, "it's nothing. I don't have anything else to say."

Miles clicked his tongue and studied the boy. Sven was obviously shaken by the interruption, and it had caused him to shut down. There was no use trying to go on, Sven was not going to give him any answers right now. Perhaps if Miles was to try again later, in a less formal setting.

"Alright Sven, if you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to force it out of you. But I want you to know that you can talk to me anytime, and I might even be able to help you. Okay?"

"Can I go now?" Sven asked as he stood up.

"Go ahead," Dunn said.

As Sven left the office, Miles wrote a few things on his notepad. First he put Sven's name, followed by an arrow that pointed to the words fighting and vandalism. Another arrow started from these words and pointed to the words "the club". Finally, he wrote Omar's name beneath these words, added a question mark, and circled it. If only he knew what the club was all about, he would have the answers he needed to help Sven. But until the boy talked, there wasn't much Miles could do for him.

Guess I'd better see what Fisher wants, he thought. With a sigh, Miles closed the legal pad and went to the door. When he opened it, Omar was nowhere in sight.

***

Walt's class had just ended and he was walking down the hallway in search of Sven Lindquist. He felt like an older brother to the boy, and when Sven had been told at lunch to stop by Mr. Dunn's office during the next class period, Walt became concerned. Could the new security guy be a part of the stupid 'club' that all the school thugs belonged to? Walt was worried about his little buddy, and he had to find out what had happened.

He found Sven at the boy's locker. The golden-haired boy was kneeling at his locker, removing the textbook he would need for his next class. As Walt approached him, the boy looked up and smiled.

"Hey Walt," Sven said as he closed the locker.

"Hey bud, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure."

Walt looked around the busy hallway. There were students everywhere, and he wanted to talk to Sven alone; he didn't know who might overhear their conversation. A few lockers down there was a classroom that was currently empty. Walt led Sven into the room and closed the door behind them.

"So," he said as he crossed his arms and leaned against one of the desks, "what was that meeting all about?"

"With Mister Dunn?"

"Yeah, you cool? Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Sven said, giving him a reassuring grin, "I'm good. He was just asking me a buncha stuff about those fights I had with the club guys, and the vandalism."

"What did you tell him?" Walt asked.

"Not much, but I almost cracked and spilled my guts. Luckily, Omar interrupted us before I could tell him everything."

Walt pondered over what Sven had said for a minute. Sven saw it as a good thing, as a break from the questioning, but Walt thought differently. If Omar had stepped in right at the crucial moment, it meant that he must have been listening in on the interview. It meant that the club's arm stretched further than he had initially thought. It meant that things were becoming more dangerous at the school.

"Do you think that Omar was listening in on you guys?"

"I dunno," Sven shrugged, "I mean, maybe. I didn't see him before I went into the office. He might have just come in at the right time by accident."

"Hmmm 3;"

Walt would have to think about this later. He only had a few more minutes to talk to Sven before the bell rang, and he had another question for the boy.

"Whattya think of Mister Dunn?"

"I like him. I think he seems pretty cool, I just have, like, a good feeling 3; like I can trust him, ya know?"

"Yeah," Walt said, "he seems alright to me, too. At lunch, Matthew said that he was trying to help him feel better, so that's pretty cool. But don't go telling Mister Dunn anything until we know for sure that we can trust him, okay?"

"I won't."

"And stay away from Greg and those guys as much as you can. Try not to go anywhere alone where they can get at you, try to stick around people that you know aren't in the club, okay?"

"Okay," Sven said and grinned at him again.

Walt reached forward and quickly caught Sven's head in a headlock. He lightly rubbed his knuckles across the boy's scalp.

"I know ya won't, ya little punk," he said jokingly.

Beneath his arm, Sven giggled and struggled to free his head. Walt let him up and Sven used his fingers to rake his hair back down into place.

"Come on, bro, you're messin' up my hair."

"You know you like it," Walt said with a smile.

He playfully shoved Sven, and the boy shoved him back. Then, Walt slung his arm around the boy's slender shoulders and led him out of the classroom. The bell rang above them and Walt walked Sven to the boy's next class, which in turn would make him late for his own. Oh well, screw it, he thought, getting the poor kid to feel better is more important than biology right now. Beside him, Sven was walking with his head held a little higher, brimming with his newfound confidence. It made Walt feel good to know that he had made two boys feel better today.

Behind them, at the other end of the hall, stood two figures. Unseen by either of the boys, Omar, and a prefect by the name of Lewis Silva, watched them walking off – and silently seethed.

"Should we go after him?"

"Naw," Omar replied, "later."

NEXT PART