

### DYLAN

By James France

Copyright 2016 James France

Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer

This book is entirely a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed are for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

Adult Content Warning

This book contains strong language, descriptions of male and female nudity, and descriptions of sexual acts. During the course of the story the theme of wet look is covered quite extensively. For some people wet look is a recreational activity and an escape from conventional behaviour. However, for others, wet look is a recognised sexual fetish. With this warning in consideration this book will not be suitable for minors or sensitive readers.
Contents

Dylan

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Acknowledgements

About James France

Connect with James France

DYLAN

### Chapter 1

Eric Callows woke up at quarter past five in the morning to get ready for work. He always preferred to rise early because he wanted to miss the worst of the morning traffic. If he left for work too late the drive from Benoni, east of Johannesburg to Sandton in the north, he could spend anywhere between one and two hours in traffic, depending on whether there had been an accident or if one of local industry's unmaintained and decaying trucks had broken down. He swung his legs off the bed and curled his toes on the bedroom carpet, spending a minute curling and uncurling his toes and breathing rhythmically. He found this little ritual satisfying because he liked the feeling of the thick-pile carpet under his toes.

After taking a shower, brushing his teeth and getting dressed Eric opened the curtains, looking out at the glorious summer day. The sun had already risen and there were only a few clouds peppering the sky, offering no threat of rain. It looked like it would be a pleasant Monday, as far as Mondays went. He had a light breakfast of coffee, cereal and two fried eggs. The coffee was a good brand, aromatic and delectable, unlike the cheap chicory-with-a-bit-of-coffee brand that was to be found in the kitchen at work. Satisfied that he was ready for the day, he picked up his laptop bag and opened the outside door. The warmth of the January day was already pleasant, and the aromas of the grass and the flowers watered by the previous night's rain made him smile.

He lived in a garden flat at the back of a three-bedroomed suburban house on a quiet street. The flat had a combined lounge and kitchen, and a reasonably-sized bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. Eric's home was cheap, but the monthly rental was also cheap and he could tolerate its flaws. Sometimes in the evening he could hear his landlady's cats mewling and screeching at the neighbours' cats. He wished that she would keep them in the house instead of letting them run around outside, singing the cats' choir.

The large living room spanned the breadth of the flat and exposed a structural fault. On opposing walls of the living room were large cracks, in line with each other, and following a similar track down the wall running from floor to ceiling. The cracks were most likely the result of subsidence, but Eric was not worried that the flat would collapse, or that a sinkhole would swallow the place whole like a whale eating plankton. His landlady was known to him as Mrs van der Walt; he had never known her first name. She was prim and proper in the old-fashioned way, but Eric enjoyed her company and was often invited over for coffee and a chat.

Mrs van der Walt lived in the main part of the house with her nine-year old grand-daughter, Emily. She had gained custody of Emily when the court declared her parents to be unfit to look after their own child. Having unemployed, dope-smoking parents who hoarded so much rubbish in the house that you could not see the floor was not deemed a suitable environment for a child to grow up in. Even living under the protection of her grandmother, Emily had recently found that she could not be protected from everything.

Three weeks ago she was riding her bicycle in the street, oblivious to any danger, when the front wheel ditched into a pothole, throwing her onto the unforgiving tarmac. She had sustained a fracture in her right femur, and she was now hobbling around on a pair of crutches. The doctor had told Mrs van der Walt that Emily was lucky that the bone had not shattered, in which event she would have needed surgery.

Eric put the laptop bag in the boot of his car and opened the driver's door, sliding in behind the wheel for another battle with the morning's rush-hour traffic. The car was a nearly-new white Ford Focus ST with red racing stripes, leather seats and a powerful engine. The car was beyond what he could afford to buy on his salary, and was a source of envy from some of his work colleagues. If he had to buy a car on his salary, he would be driving some kind of old beater which would need lots of attention on the weekends to make it through the next week.

After his parents' death nearly a year ago he had inherited some money from the estate, as well as receiving a payment from their life insurance policy. Being a young man he had wanted to drive a fast car, buy nice things and party a lot, and he had given little thought to saving his money. His sister, Stephanie, had inherited and moved into their parents' house. Eric's brother, Stephen, had gained a similar sum of money to Eric's and had used some of it to move to Australia. He was a software developer with enough experience to land a well-paying job in Sydney, where he had lived for the past ten months. Stephanie seemed to have gained the lion's share of the estate and the life insurance payment, but there had been no bickering about it.

Eric's parents had been killed in a road accident. At least the police road accident investigator had ruled it as an accident. His parents had been driving home one evening after a night out at the theatre. While driving on Main Road on the outskirts of the suburb of Farrarmere a car travelling at least twice the speed limit (according to witnesses) had veered into their lane and hit their car head-on. Eric's parents and the other driver had all been killed on impact. The other driver, identified as a twenty-nine-year-old man named Frik Stols, had been an unemployed drug addict. His autopsy had revealed that his blood contained dangerous levels of cocaine and alcohol. If he had just stayed at home that night and gone to sleep the dosage alone might have killed him.

Eric was the youngest of the three Callows children. Stephen was three years older than Eric, and they had always been good friends. Eric had kept in contact with Stephen through emails and frequent phone calls, many of which were dialled from Sydney, as international calls from South Africa were so expensive.

Eric's relationship with Stephanie had never been very close. She was twelve years older than Eric and her treatment of him had been more maternal than sisterly. Five years ago Stephanie had married a lawyer called Clive Wilson, who seemed like a decent guy, but Eric did not have a close relationship with him because of the tension between himself and Stephanie. Being unmarried with no plans to marry any time soon, Eric still sometimes thought of Stephanie as being a Callows, rather than a Wilson. Stephen was still a bachelor, enjoying the social scene in Sydney and playing the field with the young ladies.

Eric drove to Braycon Paint Industries, where he worked as a systems programmer. He had followed a career in programming because he had seen the success that Stephen had enjoyed. Eric was still a junior developer, hungry for experience and the opportunity to grow his career like Stephen had, but the company just saw information technology as a necessary evil, and the department staff were paid salaries which were below the typical market level. Eric sometimes wondered if he had picked the right career because he found the work to be boring and repetitive, and he felt that even after just over a year his career had already stagnated.

Despite the relatively light traffic Eric exercised his usual measure of caution when he was behind the wheel. His parents' death was a constant reminder that a life could end at any time and without warning. South Africans are not known for their due care and diligence on the road, and as a result road accidents are the leading cause of non-natural deaths in the province of Gauteng. With all of this in mind Eric was too timid to take unnecessary risks on the same roads where some other people drove like psychopaths on PCP.

Sometimes he wondered why he had bought the zippy Focus ST, as he never explored its performance potential. He supposed that one advantage of the car was that it had some pulling power with the ladies. Women liked guys with nice cars - it was just a fact. Driving in the fast lane of the freeway was like being in a NASCAR race. The painted lane boundary was just a couple of feet away from the central barrier, and often there was a car closer to Eric's rear bumper than it was to the barrier. He did not use the slow lane because it was taken up by wheezing trucks that struggled to climb the slightest incline. Eric usually found the middle lane to be hogged by slow drivers who did not seem to understand the concepts of proper lane usage and traffic flow. Once he was off the freeway the traffic in Sandton was another adventure. Marlboro Road had two lanes which were always congested, but the taxi drivers somehow always found another lane, whether it was between the two existing lanes or on the pavement.

***

After enduring this chaotic rat race for fifty minutes Eric finally arrived at work. He swiped his access card at the main gate and parked in the underground parking lot. He walked up the stairs to the third-floor systems department, preferring this bit of exercise to using the lift, which had been known to get stuck on more than one occasion.

When he had started working for Braycon Paint Industries he was impressed by the fact that he had his own office with a view over the landscaped garden. Having his own office gave him a feeling of importance. He knew that his position in the company was lowly, but his office made him feel like an executive. In most companies the systems programmers were bunched together in an open-plan office, where there was often some dissent over what setting the air conditioning system should be on, and whether it was proper for people to eat at their desks.

Braycon Paint Industry's building was just two years old and it had not been designed to accommodate a large open-plan office. It had been built with comfort in mind. The hallways and offices had decent carpets, there were facilities such as well-equipped kitchens and vending machines, and there were massive expanses of glass which gave people a good view of the outside world.

As usual Eric started his work day by starting his laptop and going to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee while the computer went through the process of starting Windows, opening the anti-virus and various other applications which the company had installed. Sometimes he wished that the company would get some modern computer equipment because his laptop must have been about six years old. On one occasion Eric's boss and systems manager, Andy Platt, had brought up the issue with the information technology director, Richard Owen, whose reply was to the effect that the company's business was paint manufacture, and that the computers did what they were needed to do.

Eric was sure that Owen's money-saving strategies earned him a good Christmas bonus and helped to ensure his job security. Eric had never liked Owen because he was egomaniacal and a high-and-mighty authoritarian. He did now allow junior staff to address him by his first name, and he always wore grey suits that were plain but not cheap. Owens' grey suits made Eric imagine him as high-ranking Nazi Party officer.

Eric returned from the kitchen with his cup of cheap coffee which had no aroma and a bearable, but not good, taste. He opened his web browser as he did first thing every day to check his emails and see if there were any Facebook and Twitter updates from his friends and interest groups. He had 143 friends on Facebook, and 305 Twitter followers, most of whom he would never actually meet in real life. He had gained most of his online followers by talking about current events, exotic places, exotic cars, and sharing random thoughts with other people.

After twenty minutes of web-surfing and catching up with his Facebook and Twitter accounts he heard Andy Platt walking down the corridor. Eric knew it was him before he saw him because Andy was one of those people with a distinct walk, which was heavy footed but swift.

Eric closed his Internet browser while Andy poked his head around his office door and said, 'Good morning, Eric. Did you have a good weekend?'

'It was great, thanks,' Eric replied, 'how are you today?'

'I am fine, thanks. Did you finish that thing on Friday?'

That thing. Eric paused for a few seconds to try to decipher the question, as there were millions of things in the world. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Andy was talking about, as he had a bad habit of being vague by referring to tasks as "that thing", or "that job". His meetings were often conducted with people he referred to as "who's it?" or "thingy". Andy's patchy memory was a source of both amusement and frustration among the department staff.

'Oh, do you mean the changes to the entry screen for the paint formulations? Yes, I have finished and tested it. I think that it is ready for user testing.'

'That's very good. Please ask, erm... you know, Rachael to look at it when she comes in. We need this to go live today.'

'Will do. How's your dog?' Andy's terrier had been hit with a glancing blow by a passing car the previous morning. The dog had bolted out of Andy's yard and run into the road when Andy had opened the gate.

'He's recovering nicely, thanks,' Andy replied. 'It turned out that the car barely grazed him. There are no broken bones. I don't think that he will be rushing out into the street again. He still seems to be a bit shaken up.'

'That's good to hear. Things could have been a lot worse. He's a lucky dog.'

'He certainly is. Oh, I have some other work for you to do. Just give me a short while then I will get back to you. Remember to speak to Rachael, won't you?'

In layman's terms, "going live" meant that a computer programme had been tested and accepted for use by people who needed it to carry out their duties. Rachael Sanders was a beautiful twenty-four-year-old programme tester who Eric found very attractive and charming. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, brown eyes, a small nose, a cute smile which made Eric think of a chipmunk, and a body that had been sculpted by many hours of jogging.

Eric was not usually shy around girls, but Rachael turned him into jelly for some reason that he could not work out. He was often too shy to say much more than 'Hi' to Rachael in social conversation. All he seemed to be able to do was to ogle her when she was not looking. Eric found that frustrating because he had enjoyed his fair share of sexual relationships with other women. Rachael was not like the other women that Eric had been with. She was the most beautiful and charming woman he had ever spoken to, and she seemed to be on a plinth that was too high for him to climb.

An hour after Andy's "short while" had started the offices of the systems department were full with the other staff, who usually arrived at times varying between seven-thirty and eight o' clock. Eric spent a brief moment to say good morning to his fellow programmers and then walked into Rachael's office to ask her to test his paint formulations screen. Today she was wearing a black miniskirt with a complimentary purple blouse which had a hint of blue, and black high heels. Her perfume hit Eric's nose with the grace of a breeze of wind in a beautiful valley filled with flowers.

She smiled her chipmunk smile and said, 'Sure. I'll be glad to see what marvels you have performed.'

Eric blushed slightly and said, 'Thank you. I hope you'll be dazzled.' He was thinking of asking Rachael if she wanted to go to the canteen with him later on for lunch, a question that frustrated him because he had not been able to work up the nerve to ask it. It was not as if he was asking her out on a date or a wild week in the Maldives.

He must have been thinking for longer than he realised because she asked him, 'Is anything wrong? You seem distracted by something.'

He blushed a deep red and stammered, 'I-I'm sorry. Um, I was just thinking of something, you know, letting my mind wander. Ah! Found it!'

Rachael giggled and said, 'Eric, you can be so funny sometimes.'

Eric smiled at her sheepishly and scampered back to his office, feeling quite foolish and frustrated at his shyness around Rachael.

Eric did not have lunch with Rachael as he hoped that he would do one day. Usually he ate a full canteen meal with a few work acquaintances - he did not have any real work "friends", just "acquaintances". Today he just wanted to be alone after his bumbling attempt to ask Rachael for lunch, so he bought a chicken sandwich from the canteen and ate it at his desk. Eric spent his lunch break chatting online on his Facebook and Twitter accounts, and browsing some of his favourite Internet sites. In fact, he had spent a lot of the morning randomly browsing the Internet and playing Solitaire because Andy's "short while" had been thwarted by back-to-back meetings.

After lunch Eric was bored as he was a lot of the time at work, being either left without work to do, or given work that any computer-literate person could do. During Eric's bored state he thought of Rachael and imagined what she would look like naked and what she would be like to sleep with. Eric's mind was filled with sexual thoughts and he felt the desire to look for some erotic websites to satiate his lustful mind. He paused for a moment because he was not sure if employees' Internet usage was monitored, but he gave in to his desire because his thoughts of Rachael had given him an erection and he craved more stimulation. He figured that everybody had more serious jobs to do than follow his every movement, and that he should be safe to explore the kinkier regions of the Internet for just a short while.

He opened up Google and searched for phrases such as "kinky", "naked", "hot and wet" and "sex". It appeared that no restrictions had been installed on the company's web servers because his search yielded plenty of websites with pictures of topless women. Eric found some photos of fully naked women, but many websites would only expose their choicest pictures if you were willing to disclose your credit card details.

He found a search result that was entitled "Sexy and Wet". He clicked on the link and was taken aback to see that it was a gay site full of pictures of young men in their early- to mid-twenties. One man was wearing wet jeans and sporting a muscular torso. There was a picture of a handsome blond man with impossibly smooth skin, who was wearing a white cloth that had been tied into a thong. He was standing under an apparently man-made waterfall, posing with his hands behind his neck and his torso leaning slightly to the left for effect. A third picture showed two naked men in their late-twenties sitting on a bench with their arms around each other's waists. One of them had his free hand covering his crotch and the other was covering his nether-regions with a baseball cap. Feeling embarrassed at what he was seeing, Eric clicked a link that was labelled "Get me out! It's too hot here!!!!".

He was presented with a new screen with a message at the top: "Sorry to see you go. Here's something to tempt you back." Taking up the rest of the screen was a close-up picture of the crotch of a model wearing unzipped wet jeans, with his penis erect and in full view. Eric blushed when he saw the picture and thanked God that nobody had wandered into his office while his attention had been taken up by his web browsing. Shaking his head, he reached for his mouse to click the Home button on the web browser and muttered, 'Dirty freaks'.

Before Eric touched the mouse Andy appeared in his office doorway and asked, 'Sorry, did you say something?'

'Oh, no, I was just talking to myself,' Eric replied.

'It's time for our weekly staff meeting.'

Eric thanked God that Andy could only see the back of his monitor. Eric stood up absently and walked to the right side of his desk, and gasped as he realised that he had forgotten the picture on his screen. Andy asked Eric if he was alright, to which he replied that he had a bit of indigestion. He hastily grabbed the mouse with his left hand and clicked the top-right corner of the screen to close the web browser. They both walked to the boardroom together, chatting about the busy day that Andy had had so far.

The staff meeting was the usual weekly meeting, a fairly pointless affair which Eric saw as a waste of productive time, even though he had no work to do at the moment. The systems developers all met with Andy to discuss projects on the go and projects to come, as well as smaller jobs that needed doing. As in most weekly staff meetings, about ten or twenty minutes of useful information was discussed in the space of an hour. The rest of the meeting consisted of team members' stories of their personal lives, along with some lame jokes. Of course, there were a few giggles when Andy referred to somebody as "thingy" before recalling the person's name. Eric only showed some interest when some work was finally allocated to him, about six hours after Andy had said that he would give him some work in a "short while".

When the meeting was finally over Eric returned to his office to start the task that had been given to him. Eric had been assigned a job to make a small change on over thirty system screens. Due to a former junior programmer's sloppiness the "r" had been omitted from the "Braycon" part of the company's name, so that it showed up as "Baycon". In the meeting the staff had laughed with Eric about his "bacon job". At least the humour had cheered him up a bit. Eric's mood started dropping again as he thought of taking on yet another simple and repetitive job which offered no challenge whatsoever. This donkey work was the type of work that frustrated him; it was not the serious systems development work that he was eager to get stuck into.

When Eric sat down behind his desk he was horrified to see a sheet of A4 paper attached to the laptop with some Sellotape, covering the screen. Eric sat for over a minute, looking at the paper. A single word had been written on it in large letters with a bold marker pen: BUSTED!

***

Eric removed the sheet of paper, scrunched it up and threw it into the bin. He sat in a trance-like state of shock, knowing that he had made a terrible mistake by searching for erotic websites. Eric was shaken from his trance by the sound of a few people laughing at the far end of the corridor. Less than a minute later he heard the laughing grow louder as other people seemed to have gathered at the end of the corridor. He left his office to see what the big joke was, worried that it had something to do with the "BUSTED" sign.

In the corridor he saw a fellow programmer, Jake Richmond, bending over and laughing hysterically as if he had just seen the funniest thing in history. Rachael was standing in her office doorway, watching the group who were gathered at the notice board, where the big joke seemed to be. She looked at Eric, suppressed a laugh and then blushed and looked at the floor. The group of programmers and systems operators gathered at the notice board saw Eric approaching, tried to put on straight faces and took a step back so that he could see what was so funny.

The joke was on Eric as he had feared, and he did not find it funny at all. The network administrators had placed a report of his recent Internet usage on the notice board, listing every website that Eric had visited today, with a computer-generated description. Websites on the list that the computer printout had described as "erotica" and "gay/erotica" had been highlighted with a pink marker pen.

As Eric stared at the report in disbelief the small crowd around the notice board started laughing again, and some of them were patting him on the back and shoulders. Brett Small, a programmer who Eric was friendly with, put a reassuring hand on Eric's shoulder and told him, 'Don't worry. This will blow over. By tomorrow nobody will care.' Eric was too embarrassed to be comforted by Brett's reassuring remark.

He looked at the other people and pleaded, 'It's not what you all think. I'm not like that.'

One of the systems operators opened his arms as if he wanted to embrace Eric and cooed, 'Ooh Eric!', then blew him a mock kiss. This drew more howls of laughter and Eric felt his cheeks flush.

Eric left the crowd and stormed into the network administrators' office, spoiling for a fight, a war, bloodshed, mutilation, anything to suppress his embarrassment. Eric stood in the doorway, glaring at the two systems administrators. He could feel droplets of sweat running down from his brow and tricking from his armpits and down the sides of his body.

Gavin Thornton, one if the administrators, cocked his eyes up at Eric and asked, 'Yes, Eric?' Eric could not believe that Gavin was looking at him so self-righteously, with no hint of intimidation at the furious look on his face.

Despite his rage all Eric could blurt out was, 'Why?'

'Are you here to work or wank?' Gavin asked in an authoritative tone.

Gavin's colleague, Sipho Buthelezi, laughed at Gavin's comment and repeated, 'Work or wank! That's classic, Gavin!'

Eric glowered at Sipho, who abruptly stopped laughing.

After giving himself a moment to think of a response Eric responded, 'I am here to work. What the fuck are you here for? You had no right...' Eric blustered and drew another breath. He continued, 'You had no right to humiliate me in front of everyone like that. Apologise to me now!'

Gavin's eyes narrowed and he said, 'Watch how you talk to me. Everything that you or anybody else does on the network is seen by us. I can dig up anybody's Internet audit report from the past twelve months. I can destroy your career if you want to challenge me. Do you want to push me? I beg you, try it and see what happens.'

Sipho had been giggling again as he was reading Eric's audit report, but now he was looking concerned as the mood in the office was becoming very confrontational.

Eric could feel the sweat continue to pour and his face felt like a small furnace which must have been a burning red or purple colour by now. Eric showed a middle finger to Gavin and said, 'Challenge that, you self-righteous fuck. You think you're such hot shit around here don't you? You are just another techie, no better than the rest of us. Get it? I do not have to answer to you and you cannot threaten my career either. You're nobody to me, now that I think of it. I have always hated the way you carry yourself, like you're the big cheese around here.'

Gavin momentarily looked shocked at Eric's outburst, then gave Eric a hateful stare without saying anything for what seemed like a minute. He finally broke his silence and chastised, 'I am not used to being treated with such disrespect. I may be a techie, but I know somebody who does have authority: Richard Owen. Do you know him? Yes, I know you do because I've heard some of the comments you've made about him in the past. I am going to send your Internet usage report to him. Maybe that will teach you to respect some authority.'

The colour drained from Eric's face but he continued to sweat and his shirt was getting soaked. He knew that Richard Owen practised authority as well as he projected it. He had once fired a staff member for reading an online novel during working hours. Owen did not want employees to have Internet access at all, but he grudgingly allowed it on the grounds that it was often needed for work purposes.

Eric took a deep breath while Gavin stared a hole through him. Sipho was looking at both of them worriedly and twisting the fingers of both of his hands together. After a few moments, when Eric felt that he could talk without ranting, he looked at Gavin and said, 'OK. I'm sorry for my outburst. I know that I was out of order. I just cannot believe that you put that usage report on the notice board. It was improper to humiliate he like that in front of the other staff.'

'I don't think that you realise that we have strict Internet usage policies here,' Gavin replied. 'If I don't enforce them it's my ass on the line. You were the one who put me in this spot.' He also seemed to be cooling down and was looking at Eric with a serious, but not angry, stare.

'But why did you let the whole department see what I have been browsing?'

'It's called shock tactics. It's not a personal attack on you. In fact, we've done this before.'

'It was unnecessary to do that. You could have just told me. Why didn't you?'

'Are you likely to do that shit again?'

'No. Never,' Eric replied sheepishly, looking down at the carpet.

'Exactly,' said Gavin with a triumphant look on his face.

Eric turned away from the network administrators' office and saw that the crowd of people who had been laughing at him were still in the corridor, and that they had been joined by some other people who were most likely wondering what the commotion had been about. Nobody was laughing now; Eric saw various expressions of shock, concern and awe on his colleagues' faces. He stormed through the crowd, forcing some people to move out of his way.

Rachael stepped in front of Eric and started, 'Eric, I'm sorry...' and touched his shoulder, but Eric was so furious that he stepped around Rachael, the touch of her hand and the smell of her perfume doing nothing to improve his mood. He turned to the notice board, ripped the Internet usage report off it and carried on walking down the corridor.

He was not only angry at Gavin and Sipho for humiliating him, but he was also angry with himself for being naive enough to think that his Internet usage at work would go unnoticed. Moreover, he was embarrassed because he had become a laughing stock in front of his co-workers. He hoped that Brett was correct in his assumption that the whole episode would blow over.

Eric punched his partially-ajar office door open with his left fist and slammed it shut behind him with a bang. He glanced over the report before ripping it up into pieces and throwing in into the bin. He sat down and stared blankly in front of him, not really focusing on the door nor the wall in front of him. His mind was fully preoccupied by the argument with Gavin and the spectacle he had made of himself in front of his colleagues. He wondered whether his colleagues would ever look at him the same way again. He was worried about what might happen if Gavin escalated the incident as he had threatened.

The work he had been given in the team meeting would have to wait till tomorrow. It was due by the end of tomorrow, but Eric did not feel that he was capable of working right now. The fact that it was mid-afternoon was a small blessing, as he would not have to wait long before he could go home. He considered sneaking out of the building to go home early, but he did not want to get into trouble for a time-keeping offence as well.

His left fist was beginning to throb, or more likely the adrenaline was waning and Eric was beginning to feel the pain for the first time. Eric walked over to the window and looked out at the garden, rubbing his left knuckles with his right hand. The sight of the stream running over the rockery and the sound of the birds twittering the trees did nothing to calm him. He could still feel his temper burning hot as he continued to run things over and over in his mind. Hurting himself had made his mood even fouler although, he could be thankful that he had not seemingly caused himself any real injury.

He turned towards his desk and swept his empty coffee mug with his hand. It landed on the thick-pile carpet and tumbled with a muffled sound, but it did not break. Eric was relieved that it had made little noise as the last thing he wanted was to have people running into his office, thinking that he having a raging melt-down. Look everybody, Eric's losing it. Call the men in white coats. Eric finally sat down in his chair, put his elbows on the desk and placed his forehead in his hands. He thought about Gavin's threat again and hoped that he would not escalate the incident to Richard Owen. If he did, it could spell the end of his career at Braycon Paint Industries.

***

### Chapter 2

To Eric's relief, Tuesday passed uneventfully and nobody mentioned the Internet usage incident. He felt self-conscious during the day as he was wary of how people might treat him. Every time he heard a laugh in the offices he had a feeling that his colleagues were laughing at him, when the joke could have been about anything under the sun.

At lunch he sat with Brett Small and a few other friendly colleagues. Everything seemed normal. Conversation flowed among them like it did on any other day. The previous day's events weighed too heavily on Eric's mind and he could not refrain from asking the others at the lunch table if yesterday's incident had passed over.

Brett said, 'Just as I told you. It's all water under the bridge. Don't worry.'

Another colleague said, 'Brett's right. We all do silly things we regret later. Just take it as one of life's lessons. People laughed about it yesterday, but don't stress about it. It's over.'

***

When Eric arrived at work on Wednesday he started up his laptop and went for a cup of coffee. When Eric stepped back into his office he opened his work email account. Among the usual company announcements in his inbox he saw one email that hit him like a bee-sting to the eye. It was a meeting invitation for nine o' clock with Andy Platt. The subject header of the email was entitled "Internet Usage". Attached to the email was a document detailing Eric's Internet usage.

Eric started to sweat. Gavin had actually carried out his threat to escalate the report to management. He hoped that only Andy knew about this because that miserable stiff, Owen would tear him apart. Eric looked through the audit report. It showed all of his Internet usage for the past month. It was all in fine detail: Websites visited, date and time each site was visited, time spent on each website, nature of content of each site, and search queries entered into Internet search engines. He saw that his searches for sexual content were there, just as he had typed them into Google. He felt acid rising in his digestive tract when he saw an entry showing that he had spent forty-three minutes on "Sexy Wet Fun". On the report the site had been described as "gay/erotic".

Eric stared at the printed line that showed the amount of time that he had spent on the "Sexy Wet Fun" website. He was sure that there was some kind of mistake and he racked his brain to think what the mistake was. Forty-three minutes? Surely it was a glitch in the report? I almost forgot to close the website when Andy called me into the team meeting. What happened next? I closed the website! Was I looking at the screen? No! Did I not click the mouse on the close button? What about the "BUSTED" note? The network admins monitored all Internet usage, stupid! Gavin could not wait to report me - he had known how I had felt about him for ages. This had been his opportunity to kick me in the balls.

As Eric ran the situation over in his mind like an endless recording Andy walked past his office, then double-backed and stood in the doorway. Eric did not notice him at first. He shyly greeted him, 'Good morning.'

Andy looked at Eric for a few seconds without answering the greeting. His facial expression was tense. Today he would not be chatting to Eric about his dog, or anything else that made up their usual pleasant chats. Today Eric would be facing the music and it would be raucous and hard on the ears.

Andy said tightly, 'Remember our meeting at nine,' then turned around and walked out of the doorway. Eric decided that the best thing that he could do at the time was just to get his head down and get some work done. Maybe the meeting would not be as bad as he was dreading.

***

Just before nine o' clock Eric walked to Andy's office. The door was open, but Eric knocked. Somehow just walking into Andy's office as he would under normal circumstances did not seem right.

'Come in,' Andy said. Eric could hear a note of tension in Andy's voice.

Andy's desk was against the same wall as the door, so he could not see who was entering his office without turning his head. Eric walked into the office and Andy said 'Eric. Close the door and sit down.'

Eric looked at Andy. The look on his face was not a look of disappointment or anger, as he had expected. Andy's expression was grim. Eric could feel his nerves tingling, then buzzing like an apocalyptic lightning storm.

Andy started, 'From the email I sent you this morning you know why you have been called into this meeting. I must say that I am very disappointed and disturbed to have seen your Internet usage report. What were you thinking?'

'I'm sorry,' Eric responded weakly.

'Surely you have been working at this company long enough to be aware of the rules regarding Internet access?'

'It was never fully explained to me. Also I thought that if had spare time-'

'The rules are on the shared drive,' Andy interrupted. 'You have no excuse. In fact, there are frequent corporate communications advising employees to read the ethical standards required of each employee.'

'Nothing like this will ever happen again. I'll make sure that I am familiar with the rules,' Eric said submissively.

'I'm afraid that this situation is not so simple.'

Eric took in Andy's last statement and felt cold inside. How serious could this situation really be? Eric wondered. During his time with the company he had felt comfortable in Andy's department. Day-to-day working life seemed to be pretty informal.

'How do you mean?' Eric asked, tensing up.

Andy answered, 'There are some complications that have come up. Gavin has reported your Internet usage to Richard Owen. He has also laid a complaint that you threatened him.'

'I did not threaten him. I was angry with him because he put my Internet usage report on the notice board for all to see.' Eric felt like going back to Gavin's office and punching the self-satisfied creep in the face.

'I heard about that. That is a separate matter, though.'

'So Gavin will not be punished at all?'

'I shouldn't be telling you this, but he will most likely receive a warning.' Eric nodded his head with only a small feeling of satisfaction. Maybe things would not be so bad after all. He and Gavin would be given a slap on the wrist and all would be settled.

'There are two other issues,' Andy continued. 'When you left your office for the team meeting on Monday did you remember what was on your screen?' Eric shivered.

'I thought I had closed that picture. I was not looking for stuff like that. I am not even gay.'

'The concern is not your sexuality. In fact, Richard Owen believes that you left the picture open as a mockery of the company's "Celebrate the Difference" campaign.'

A few months previously the company had started a campaign to encourage people to tolerate one other and to feel comfortable with whom they are. The message of the campaign was that regardless of race, cultural beliefs and sexual orientation, we are all human beings deserving of respect.

'I must be blunt, Eric. Richard was not impressed at all. He has expressed his displeasure to other executives, who are appalled at your actions.'

Eric was close to tears. He was dreading the answer to the question on his lips, but he had to ask it. He asked, 'What is the other issue?'

'It gets worse I'm afraid,' Andy replied. 'When Edna..., sorry, Esmerelda was cleaning your office she saw the picture on your screen. She was so upset that she complained to the facilities manager, who sent her home for the day. Do you know that her sister was indecently assaulted just a few weeks ago?' The assault was not supposed to become public knowledge, but the rumour mill had churned away as it does. Nearly everybody in the building knew about it.

Eric felt the first tear forming in his left eye. He wiped it away and pleaded, 'I did not mean any harm. I made a horrible, but simple mistake, that's all.'

Andy continued, 'I have heard from senior management that Esmerelda is considering suing the company. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Richard called me into a meeting yesterday to discuss this whole incident. He told me that he wanted you to be summarily dismissed from your position.'

Eric began to lose control of his emotions as more tears began to flow. Andy offered him a tissue. Eric took it gratefully and wiped his face. He soaked the tissue with tears and sweat. He could feel the sweat creating pools in the armpits of his shirt and running down his chest. Andy gave him a few moments to compose himself.

Andy said, 'Eric, I gave Richard a good account of your work here. It took me over half-an-hour of talking, but I persuaded him not to dismiss you outright.'

Eric looked up at Andy hopefully, but his hopes were soon to be dashed. Andy laid out the bad news: 'Richard has given you two choices. You can face a disciplinary hearing, which Richard is confident will lead to your dismissal. The other option that you have is to resign now, effective today.'

Andy handed a pre-written resignation letter to Eric. It was a stock letter stating that he, Eric Callows, wished to tender his resignation effective immediately. Andy said, 'If I were you I would resign. Richard wants you out. To be honest with you, if I were in your position I would prefer to resign than be fired.'

'Then, what?' Eric asked miserably. 'I'm still out of work.'

'I should not be doing this, but I'll let you put my name on your CV as a reference. This company has a no-reference policy, but I will put in a good word for you. Nobody needs to know why you really left this company.'

'Thank you. I really appreciate that.' Eric nodded gratefully.

'I would advise you to put your CV on the web as soon as you can. There are lots of companies out there looking for young blood with some work experience. You'll soon be back on your feet.'

'I suppose things could be worse,' Eric replied.

'Of course,' Andy said. He picked up the telephone, dialled reception and asked for security to come to his office. He saw the panicked expression on Eric's face and explained, 'It's standard procedure. If an employee is dismissed in any way, we ask security to escort them from the building to avoid any incident.'

Two security guards entered Andy's office a few minutes later. Andy stood up and held his hand out to Eric. Eric got up from his chair and shook Andy's hand. 'Good luck,' Andy said.

The guards accompanied Eric to his office so that he could collect his personal belongings. After he was sure that he had everything he walked down the corridor with the two guards behind him. He wanted to see Rachael one more time, but he did not look into her office to see if she was there; in fact, he kept his head down as he made his exit via the corridor. These were not the conditions under which he wanted to say goodbye. The only office he looked into was Gavin and Sipho's. Eric stopped in the doorway and saw Gavin. Gavin beamed a victorious smile and waved a hand in a "ta-ta" gesture. Eric spat at Gavin and shouted, 'Fuck you!' The security guards each held one of Eric's arms and walked him out to the parking area. They followed him to his car.

With a screech of the Ford's tyres, Eric drove out of the car park and headed for the main gate. He could not wait to get out now. He wished that he had had the opportunity to confront Richard-Son-of-a-Bitch-Owen as well. The security guard at the gate had been instructed to take Eric's access card. He opened the gate for Eric and he set off again with more screeching of tyres. Eric had left Braycon Paint Industries for the last time. He felt bitter about his dismissal, but he knew that even if it were possible, he would not want to return. His name was tarnished for as long as people remembered the Internet incident.

***

Chapter 3

Eric drove back to Benoni more slowly than usual because he did not know what he was going to do when he got there. In his current state of mind he could not think of doing much apart from lying in bed all day, waiting for sleep to end the worst day of his life. The drive felt to him like his own funeral procession.

As Eric neared Benoni he decided that he would go to the Homestead Dam. The park there was one of his favourite spots, where he had been several times with friends, just spending the day shooting the breeze over a few drinks and a barbeque. Sometimes Eric walked there alone when something was weighing on his mind. The park which flanked the dam was over a kilometre long. Going for a good walk in these peaceful surroundings often helped him to think things over.

Despite his slow driving, Eric arrived at Wilge Road which ran adjacent to the park more quickly than he expected, as his thoughts had been on the day's events, rather than on his driving. There was plenty of space just off the road for Eric to park his car. He looked at the upmarket residential houses on the other side of the road. Fat chance of me ever affording one of those, Eric thought bitterly. He stepped over the low guard rail which had been put up to stop people from driving their cars in the park, and started walking towards the water.

The park was rich with lush trees and the grass was often mown by the local council, so it never felt like you were walking through the wild veld. There were several benches dotted around the park. At the north end of the park where the river flowed into the dam was a play area for children with swings, a slide, climbing frames, and a carousel. Apart from the odd piece of litter the park was usually well kept.

There was a proper walking path closer to the road, but Eric often liked to walk nearer to the water's edge to watch the canoeists, wind-surfers, anglers and other people who came to the dam to unwind. Quite often fish - mostly bass - could be seen swimming right to the edge of the water.

The new school term had just started, and it was late in the morning on a work-day. The park had a peaceful air about it. Eric noticed only one group of about five cars parked at a spot next to the park fence. The owners of the cars must have been in someone's house because the only people Eric saw were an angler and a pair of vagrants digging into one of the metal rubbish bins for whatever would be of value to them. Looking at the vagrants and the bin made Eric feel like the rubbish that nobody wanted. It was not even eleven o' clock and the day was already hot. Eric sat down on the grass and leant back against a tree. He stared out at the dam, wondering what he was going to do.

***

After sitting for almost an hour he thought about Andy's advice to update his CV to place on the web. That had been obvious to him all along, but relaxing on the grass had eased his mind a bit and helped him think about the day's events. The feeling of shock over losing his job had abated slightly, and he was feeling determined to recover his career. He would be able to find work quickly, as Andy had said. That could wait for later, though. Eric was enjoying his time at the dam and a couple of hours would not make any difference.

Eric was hungry and the hot weather had left him feeling slightly dehydrated. He returned to his car and got his packed lunch out of the boot. He saw a soft drinks vendor riding a large, heavy tricycle with a plastic box on the back. He bought an orange-flavoured Fanta. He was so thirsty that he opened it and took a swig of it before he even paid for it. He saw a bench near the water's edge a few hundred metres away, where he decided he would go and have his lunch.

After eating his ham sandwiches and finishing his drink he got up from the bench and stood at the water's edge with his lunch box his right hand. Eric stood for a few minutes, mesmerised by the ripples of the water. He was so deep in thought that he let go of his lunch box without realising it until he heard the splash. He looked down and saw it floating at the water's edge.

He squatted and reached down to grab it and his right shoe slipped on the slick edge of the grass. He tumbled forward into the water, ending up a foot deep on his hands and knees in the water. 'Shit!' Eric grumbled. He grabbed his lunch box and got out of the water as quickly as he could. He stormed back to the bench and started taking off his shoes, which were surely ruined. Eric's peaceful mood had been soured by one clumsy mistake. He looked around to see if anybody had been watching him. What happened next left him raptured.

A male youth walked past the bench, and ignoring Eric, stepped into the water and started wading. He was wearing light blue jeans and a matching denim jacket with a white T-shirt. He continued to wade deeper into the water, as if it were the most natural place to take a walk. Eric stood up and watched the youth. He was not sure what he was planning to do. Is he going to commit suicide? Eric wondered.

He shouted out, 'Hey!' The youth ignored him and continued to wade until the water was up to his waist. He then dived head-first into the water. Eric saw his feet kick up, then sink into the water. Eric knew that he would have to make an attempt to rescue him, but his fears proved to be unfounded when after being underwater for a few seconds, the youth resurfaced. He swam a few strokes towards the bank, then stood up and shook his head like a wet dog.

The youth was facing Eric without looking at him. He seemed to be completely nonchalant about his impromptu swim. To Eric, he looked like he was in his late teens and he was a few inches shorter than himself, maybe five-foot-nine. His build was slim, but not skinny. He had straight blond hair that looked like it had not been trimmed for a couple of months because it nearly touched his eyebrows. Eric did not usually pay attention to, and never envied another male's looks, but he was struck by how handsome this youth looked. His facial features and apparently well-maintained build could make any heart-throb pop star feel insecure. Eric thought that his blond hair only made him look even more handsome.

Eric realised that he was still wearing his wet shoes and went back to the bench to take off his shoes and socks. He hoped that the shoes were not ruined. They had cost him over three thousand Rand. He checked his pockets and was relieved to find that the water had soaked his trousers to just below his pockets. At least his car keys and cell phone had not been damaged.

'Your friend's hot!' remarked a female voice. Eric turned around to see who had just spoken to him. A young lady in her mid-twenties stepped next to the bench and looked at the youth, who was now lying on his back, treading the water. Eric said, 'I don't know him. He just came here and started swimming. I thought he was going to drown himself.'

'Weren't you just swimming with him?' the lady asked, gesturing towards Eric's sodden shoes and socks which he had placed on the end of the bench.

'No. I fell in by accident. I dropped my lunch box in the water, then fell in when I tried to grab it.'

'Whoops!' The lady exclaimed with a giggle. 'That's bad luck. Did you ruin your cell phone?'

'No. I'm just worried about my shoes. They were expensive.'

'Just walk barefoot to your car and fill the shoes with newspaper when you get home,' she said while digging in her handbag. She took a Samsung tablet out of her handbag, ticked her finger nail on the screen a few times then held it up to take a picture of the youth, who was still swimming.

'Don't you think he will mind having his picture taken, like on those candid videos people upload to YouTube?'

'What do you think?' the lady answered. The youth had moved a bit closer to them. The water was at mid-thigh depth on him. He shook his head again then stood in a pose. His legs were slightly parted, with one leg in front of the other. He placed his thumbs in his jeans pockets, and his fingers on the sides of his thighs. He bowed his head slightly with a light smile. The lady took another couple of pictures. The youth then placed one hand behind his head, raised his head and pouted. He looked like he knew something about modelling. Eric thought that he was as a bit of a show-off. He also could not figure out why he had wanted to swim in his clothes. The lady was not concerned about the young man's state of mind - she was clicking away on her tablet, smiling.

'He's pretty vain, don't you think?' Eric observed.

'Pretty and vain. He's definitely not short on confidence.'

'What are you going to do with the pictures you took?'

'I'll put them on my Facebook page. My girl-friends will love this guy. Maybe even one or two of my male friends too, now that I think of it. I don't think he'll mind because he looks like he's loving the attention.'

The youth started wading out of the water. He was soaked through from head to toe, but the look on his face was one of fulfilment. Still ignoring Eric, he approached the young lady. He asked her if he could see the pictures that she had taken. She looked rather bashful at first, but he assured her that it was his pleasure, giving her the opportunity to photograph him.

She showed him the pictures. He nodded at them approvingly, and even asked her to show a few of them to him again. Of course she could upload the pictures to her Facebook account, he told her. The two of them seemed to be hitting it off. Eric wondered how soon they would be exchanging cell phone numbers. The youth told her that it was nice meeting her and kissed her on the cheek.

He then turned to Eric and walked towards the bench. 'Hi,' he said. The lady must have thought that she had had a good chance with this "hot" youth because she looked puzzled when he turned his attention to Eric, rather than her.

Eric put his footwear and lunch box on the ground next to him as the youth walked past him. Eric noticed that he had been swimming in a pair of lace-up plimsolls and socks. He sat down to the left of Eric. Unlike Eric, he did not remove his footwear or fuss about any personal belongings that might have been ruined by the water. Eric noticed that the lady stood around for about another half-minute, then walked away looking disillusioned.

'I thought I was the only one around here,' the youth said.

Eric was confused by this comment. 'Only one what?'

'I like swimming in my clothes in public, so do you,' he answered casually.

'Nah. I just fell in. It was just one of those embarrassing moments.'

'Why don't you go in for a proper swim? You're already wet. You'll like it.'

'I'm trying to dry off now. I nearly ruined my car keys and phone. I bet my shoes are stuffed. What about your things?'

The youth unbuttoned a top pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a small plastic food bag which was tied in a tight knot. 'I just keep my car keys in this. My car seats are covered with those big black bin bags. The only thing that gets wet is me.'

'That's quite clever.'

'By the way, my name is Dylan,' the youth said. He offered his hand and Eric shook it.

'I'm Eric'.

Eric asked, 'Why do you swim in your clothes? Pardon me for saying it, but some people would say it's a bit different.'

'Screw what other people think. I dress any way I want and I swim wearing what I want to swim in. Swimming fully clothed is sensual. It feels beautiful and wet clothes look amazing.'

'Falling in the dam didn't feel too good for me. I felt like an idiot.'

'I suppose it's not for everyone. I like the right audience. That woman was head-over-heels for me. I just can't stand those people who ask me if I'm alright after a swim. That pisses me off. I never miss those foam and pool parties at the nightclubs. Dancing to techno music with foam all over you... it's one of the best nights out you can have. If you find something you like doing, keep doing it. That's how you enjoy life. People who think I'm weird are people I don't want to know. They'd might as well not exist because they don't know happiness when it smacks them in the face.'

'I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I've never heard of somebody swimming in their clothes for fun, though. I wouldn't do it.'

'Earlier I said that I thought I was the only one around here who enjoys swimming fully-clothed. Maybe I am, but there are thousands of people around the world who do it as well. Search around the web on Google and YouTube and you'll find thousands of people like me. What I do is part of who I am. What harm am I doing? I don't need to apologise to anybody. People who think they have to conform to society's norms might as well be dead. They have no individuality.'

Eric was slightly perturbed by that last statement. 'That sounds a bit harsh. I don't mean to offend you.'

Dylan ignored Eric's answer. 'So Eric, how old are you?'

Funny question, Eric thought. He answered, 'I recently turned twenty-two.'

'I'm twenty-one. We're pretty close in age.'

'I thought you were about seventeen or something.'

Dylan smiled. 'I get that quite a lot. I have one of those a pretty-looking baby faces.'

Dylan looked at Eric's clothes. 'So, are you on a lunch break from work or something? What do you do?' he asked.

Eric looked back at Dylan then stared at the ground next to his feet. 'My line of work is IT. I'm on a very extended break. They fired me today,' he replied bitterly.

'What for?' Dylan asked.

'I broke their Internet usage rules and they got all uppity about it. Some asshole called Gavin ratted on me. It went all the way to upper management and they wanted me out.'

'Rules!' Dylan scoffed. 'I live my own way. I don't need to be stuck in an office all day, obeying a company's rules. There's the law, which I suppose we need to some extent. But what happens when you work for a firm? Your freedom goes down the toilet. What about this Gavin character? Are you going to get him back? I would kick the shit out of him.'

Eric remembered Gavin's triumphant look when he was being escorted out of the building by security. He did not see if his spit had hit Gavin, which would have at least given him a bit of satisfaction. Eric's bitterness was mainly directed towards Richard Owen. He had placed a lot of charges on Eric's shoulders without giving him a chance to defend himself.

Dylan lightly slapped Eric's arm with the back of his hand. 'Didn't you hear me? Are you going to stand up for yourself or what?'

'No,' Eric replied. 'If I did what I felt like doing to him I'd end up in jail for assault. I just have to find another job. That's what is really important to me now.'

'That's pretty sad,' Dylan commented, shaking his head.

'So what would you do?' Eric asked.

'I wouldn't work in the first place. I don't need that crap in my life.'

'I thought you meant that not getting back at Gavin was sad. What's sad about wanting to find another job? How are you going to get by without working?'

'My family is loaded. They have a pretty good business going and I've got money, too. I inherited a packet when my dad's parents died. I reckon that I will not have to work if I'm smart with my money.'

'Is that so? What business is your family in?'

'Well, my family has been in the steel engineering business since the early nineteen-hundreds. My great-great-granddad started his own workshop, making small machine parts for a local mine. He did pretty well for himself. His business grew and he started getting business from other mines. The company has been passed down through the family line and now my dad runs it. He does not do much work for the mines these days. He owns seven workshops or something like that. A few are in other parts of the country. They build machine components for engineering workshops, and the money rolls in.

'But do you know what's really sad? Even with all his money my Dad works over ten hours every day. Works, for shit's sake! Not only that, but he travels all over, looking for new contracts and paying visits to all his workshops. There are regular worker Jonnies like you who have an easier life. One day the family empire will be handed down to me. I'll tell you this: I'm not going to be a slave like my dad. I will sell the whole thing and live life as it should be lived. I'll travel, drive fast cars and score lots of sex. These people who spend the best years of their lives working are slaves. Think about it. They wake up earlier than they want to for their bosses. They spend hours in rush hour traffic for their bosses. They work at least eight hours a day for their bosses. Then they drive home again in the rush hour traffic and go to bed early so that they can wake up early again. And what do they get for it? They live the standard of life that their salaries allow - what their bosses allow. Those people in the rat race have more miserable lives than rats in my opinion.'

Dylan's little speech was turning into a rant. Eric could see that he was getting more excitable. Dylan carried on, 'These people might as well live in a cage with a giant hamster wheel in it. Every now and then somebody can feed them a stick of bread so that they have enough energy to keep running. Why do you want that? I'm not getting stuck in that rut. Over my fucking dead body!'

'It's just the way it is for most of us,' Eric said in a matter-of-fact manner.

Ignoring Eric's comment Dylan continued his rant. 'I have a theory that some people are placed on this Earth to not conform to that miserable cycle. I'm not even talking about people like pop stars and actors. Sure, they are rich and famous, but at what cost? They still work for the industry. They have to do promo work, interviews, they are chased around by the paparazzi all the time. In a lot of cases their lives are no better even than yours. How many of these people have worked hard and drugged themselves to death? I'm going to live above all that, in my own way, not in the way that some dickhead dictates to me.'

Eric was glad that Dylan had finally stopped to take a breath. He saw that Dylan's apparently easy-going nature had disappeared, and he now looked agitated. Eric decided that he did not particularly like Dylan. His first impression of him was that he was vain and arrogant. After listening to Dylan's speech he felt offended by Dylan's high-and-mighty tone and his contemptuous attitude towards society and towards him. He had never met a person who was so strident. He thought of walking away, but decided to stay a short while longer and make a point.

Eric faced Dylan and said, 'What about the clothes you wear and the food you eat. What about the house you live in? The car you drive?'

'What about them?' Dylan asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

'Do you think all of that falls out of the sky? People work hard to produce those things. Everybody works for everybody else. That includes spoilt brats like you. Being rich as you claim does not make you superior. I live in a rented granny flat at the side of an old lady's house but I do not see you as being any better than me or her.'

Dylan's eyes narrowed. He did not seem to like having his bubble burst. Eric ignored the look and asked, 'Have you ever worked in your life?'

Dylan stared at Eric contemptuously. Eric noticed that Dylan's eyes were a grey colour, like cold steel. Dylan glared at Eric for what seemed like a few minutes, but was probably closer to ten seconds.

Dylan answered, 'If you must know, I worked at a modelling agency, some place called "Beautiful Models Galore". I didn't stay long, though. I didn't like the people and they didn't like me. I think that they were jealous of me. You have to go through an assessment before they hire you. I sailed through it, as you can imagine. Have you ever tried modelling? You're not too bad-looking yourself. I must say that you're too self-righteous for my liking, just like those Beautiful Model Galore assholes.'

Without waiting for Eric to answer, he said, 'I was apparently too good for them, but maybe they will go for the "boy next door" look. You have a good jaw-line. The chestnut hair and green eyes complement your looks. Maybe you should go for it. Good looking guys usually get better cages and hamster wheels to work in.'

Eric was feeling rather perplexed. A few minutes ago Dylan had put Eric on a level lower than a rat, and now he had just complimented him on his looks. Eric did not consider himself to be particularly good-looking, maybe slightly better than average. He had had his fair share of girlfriends over the years, who had found him attractive. Apart from the usual grooming and dressing in good clothes, he had not been overly conscious of his looks.

Eric considered Dylan's reference to employed people as being hamsters and rats to be very condescending. Eric did not want to get involved in another confrontation, though. Being fired from work and listening to Dylan's theory of superiority had tired him.

He jokingly asked Dylan, 'You're not coming on to me are you?'

'Why? Are you lame?'

'How do you mean?'

'I must have scored with about two hundred people. I like to have my fair share of women who will fall over each other for someone like me. I don't leave the men wanting either. Being bisexual gives me unlimited choice. It's the best sexual orientation there is. What about you? Are you a virgin or something?' Dylan scoffed.

'No! I've had girlfriends. Some have been serious relationships, but I have had a few one-night stands.' Eric was not sure why he was justifying his sex life to Dylan. He felt ready to leave now.

Dylan said, 'I'll bet. You are a good-looker. You could maybe lose ten kilograms, but you are good-looking anyway.'

'What about that lady who was taking the photographs? You said she was falling for you, but you just dismissed her.'

'I found you more interesting. I hoped that we could swim together when I saw your wet clothes. I did not realise you were as boring most people.'

Eric put his hands on the bench to push himself up. He said, 'I'd better be going'.

He stopped in his tracks when he felt a kiss on his left cheek. Eric turned towards Dylan, who suddenly leant forwards and wrapped his arms around him. Dylan's grip was surprisingly strong. Dylan pulled Eric closer to him and kissed him on the lips. Eric was stunned and transiently paralysed with shock. Dylan moved one of his hands behind Eric's head and drew him closer. Dylan's kiss was unrelenting and Eric struggled to breathe as he felt Dylan's tongue probing in his mouth. He was sure that he had inadvertently kissed Dylan back while trying to draw a breath.

Eric's initial paralysis broke, and he put his hands on Dylan's chest and pushed him as hard as he could, pressing the ball of his right foot into the ground for leverage. Dylan skittered across the bench and landed on the ground on his backside.

Eric heard somebody exclaim, 'Whoa!' He looked past Dylan and saw a group of five youths, whom he assumed were college boys, sitting on the grass. They were all looking at Eric and Dylan, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. They were too far away for Eric to hear what they were saying. Eric wondered how long they had been there.

Dylan stood up and paced to the edge of the water, in front of the bench. He was standing with his hands on his hips. Eric could hear him breathing. He sounded like an athlete who had just finished a one-hundred-metre race. Eric stood up. Dylan sounded like he was about to explode and Eric needed to be ready to defend himself if necessary.

Dylan turned around and stormed towards Eric. His face had turned a furious shade of purple and his breath was hissing though his teeth. Eric watched him approach, but was caught off guard when Dylan ran the last two steps and pushed Eric hard in the chest. Eric fell back down on the bench, his legs splaying in the air. While trying to find his footing, he accidentally kicked his lunchbox a few feet away from him.

Eric looked up at Dylan, who was glaring down at him. Dylan lifted his right foot and placed it on Eric's right knee. Eric pushed Dylan's shin, forcing him to put his foot back on the ground. In a quick movement Dylan raised his foot again and stamped his heel hard into Eric's thigh, just above the knee. Eric winced in pain as he felt Dylan's weight bearing down on his leg. He looked at Dylan's plimsoll, which seemed a pathetic sight. It was probably a size seven at most and it was still soggy, despite the amount of time it had been on dry land. Eric did not want to show any sign of submission and he reached out to push Dylan away again.

'Look at me!' Dylan growled.

He grabbed Eric's chin with his left hand and tried to force his head up. Eric swatted Dylan's arm away and looked up at him. Dylan was standing in an aggressive pose, leaning forward with his right forearm over his right thigh, and staring Eric in the face. Dylan's face was a picture of pure hatred. Eric could not help looking into Dylan's eyes. Those cold-steel eyes had a crazed look about them. For a moment Eric thought of himself being on an ancient battlefield, living his final breath before a Viking battle axe cleaved his skull. Despite his smaller size and his boyish looks, Eric found Dylan quite intimidating.

Dylan did not say anything at first. He stared at Eric, his eyes narrowing. Eric sat, staring up at Dylan. He felt transfixed by his apparent lack of fear and total disdain for him. Eric expected Dylan to start yelling at him, but when he spoke his voice was low and even.

He said, 'You piece of shit. Nobody treats me like that. We were having a nice conversation, I tried to show you some compassion, and then you shoved me like a piece of garbage.'

'Compassion?' Eric asked incredulously. 'You tried to make me feel ashamed of who I am, then you practically raped me!'

Eric could hear the college boys talking excitedly. He picked up a few comments: 'gays', 'lover's quarrel', 'fight'. Eric glanced over and them and redirected his attention to Dylan. Dylan leant in closer to Eric so that they were almost face-to-face. Eric could feel the pressure on his leg increasing.

Dylan continued, 'I tried to show compassion because of the pathetic life you live, Worker Johnny. I bet you're feeling bad now that you know you are a closet queen. What would your girlfriends have thought about that?'

'You kissed me, you freak.'

'And you kissed me back and I bet you loved it. You are a queen who hides in the closet. You come out when you find a nice pretty boy to play with. Is that what you do in the park? Do you stalk around, looking for a good catch? And you call me a freak?'

'You're a sick piece of shit. Get your fucking foot off me.' Eric pushed Dylan's leg, but he was leaning in with too much weight to be pushed off easily. Dylan twisted his heel back and forth to put more pressure on Eric's leg. Eric hissed with the pain.

Dylan smiled slightly as he saw Eric's discomfort. 'There is a term that the gay community has for people like you. Do you know what that is?'

'Straight? I actually don't care. Get your foot off me now!'

'No. You're what is called "straight-acting". You act like a tough guy, a real man's man, but you're gay and too scared to admit it.'

'I have a term for you: a sad, deluded fuck-up.'

'I'm going to do you a favour.' Dylan paused. Eric did not want to hear anything else that Dylan had to say. 'What I am going to do,' he continued, 'is to end your miserable existence.'

'Try it,' Eric snarled angrily. 'Come on! Grab a brick and smash my head in!'

Dylan said slowly and with malicious inflection, 'You are going to kill yourself. I will give you the will to do it. I am going to be all over you until you crack and you can take it no longer.'

'Just fuck off, you sick bastard! Fucking nut job!'

Dylan took his foot off Eric's leg and took a small step back. Eric felt a hard slap hit the right side of his head. He had not even seen it coming. He heard a ringing sound in his right ear. The college boys made a collective 'Oooh!' sound. Eric shook his head and tapped his ear. Dylan slapped him again, this time on his left cheek. Enraged, Eric bolted up from the bench. Dylan stepped back and sneered gleefully.

'It's on! They're going to fight!' one on the college boys exclaimed.

Dylan was distracted as he looked in their direction. Eric's leg was throbbing in pain from Dylan's earlier attack. He thought that a muscle had probably been bruised. He gritted his teeth and lunged towards Dylan, taking advantage of his distraction. With all of his weight behind him he pushed Dylan in the chest. Dylan stumbled backwards, into the dam, where he fell on his back in water two feet deep. The college boys started howling with laughter. Eric looked at them and one of them gave him a thumbs-up. He called to Eric, 'You rock!'

Eric turned his attention back to Dylan. Despite his anger, Eric smiled triumphantly at Dylan. He had steadied himself into a sitting position. His knees were just visible above the surface of the water and his denim jacket and T-shirt were completely soaked again. He was looking furiously at the college boys, who were still laughing. He stood up and splashed his way out of the water. He walked quickly towards Eric. His expression was one of anger and embarrassment. His fists were balled and Eric braced himself for another attack.

Dylan walked up to Eric and barged his chest into Eric's. Eric took a step back. Dylan was huffing and puffing with rage. When he began to speak he was struggling to get his words out between his heavy breaths.

He panted, 'This... this...' He paused and started again, 'This...will... Never be over!' He punctuated each word by poking Eric in the chest.

Dylan screamed with rage, 'You're dead! Dead!'

Dylan turned around and kicked a discarded water bottle that was on the ground. Eric simply stood still and watched this performance. When Dylan faced Eric again he looked slightly more collected.

He pointed his finger at Eric and said, 'I could beat you to death, leaving your rat body in a pool of blood. But you deserve to suffer. I will never leave you alone. Not until you die.'

***

Eric turned his back on Dylan and started limping away. He looked back at Dylan a couple of times to make sure that he was not going to be attacked from behind, but Dylan just stood on the spot, watching Eric walk away.

Dylan saw Eric's green, plastic lunch box on the ground near the bench. He picked it up and looked at it in disdain. He had not eaten from a lunch box since he was in school. Was it normal for working people to eat like this? Lunch is supposed to be eaten from a plate with fine cutlery, not scrounged from a plastic box. Dylan threw the box into the dam with a side-arm swing and watched it splash into the water. Dylan realised that he was wasting time. If he was going to follow up on his threat he needed to follow Eric and find out where he lived. Dylan looked to see how far Eric had gone. He had stopped to talk to the college boys, who probably wanted to know what the argument was about. Dylan wished that they would all die for laughing at him. He had never been so humiliated. Using Eric's distraction to his advantage, he ran in the opposite direction to his car.

Dylan reached his red Volkswagen Jetta, fished the plastic bag from his pocket and ripped the keys out of it. He quickly opened the driver's door and slipped onto the plastic-covered seat. His car was shielded from Eric's view by a Toyota, probably one of the college boys' cars. From his vantage point he could see Eric walking away from them. Dylan started his car's engine and prepared himself to start driving slowly forward when Eric walked out of view.

Eric did not walk far before he stood on something and rubbed his foot, a pained expression on his face. Dylan giggled to himself. Eric started walking back towards the bench. Dylan ducked in his seat when he thought that Eric had looked in his direction when he turned around. What's he doing now? Dylan wondered.

***

When Eric stepped on the stone he realised that he had forgotten to pick up his shoes, socks and lunch box. He walked gingerly back to the bench. He was still limping from the pain in his thigh. Now his other foot was smarting from the stone. He walked past the college boys. One of them called out, 'Respect!'

Eric asked them if they had seen where Dylan had gone.

A young man with dyed-black hair said, 'He ran off somewhere over there,' jerking his thumb towards the parked cars further along the road. 'He looked pretty pissed off. When you pushed him in the dam, that was the best laugh we've had in ages.'

Eric smiled and said, 'Good.'

Another member of the group asked Eric, 'So were you two gay lovers or something?'

'Absolutely not! He just came onto me. That's why I pushed him off,' Eric answered.

'I would have done more than just push him. I would have kicked his balls into his mouth,' remarked the black-haired youth.

Eric nodded with a smile and walked back to the bench.

Eric was relieved to find that his shoes and socks were still at the bench, where he had left them. Despite his painful foot he decided that he would take the young lady's advice and carry his shoes, as they were still wet. He would just have to tread carefully. Eric looked for his lunch box and observed that it was not on the ground where he had left it. He remembered kicking it when Dylan had pushed him onto the bench. Eric stood for a minute, looking at the ground around him.

'He threw it in the dam,' one of the college boys called out. Eric spotted it floating far away in the water. He was not prepared to go swimming to recover a cheap plastic box, so he left it.

He started walking back to his car. He was still in some pain, but it was beginning to abate.

***

'Yes, you've got your shoes you moron. Now move!' Dylan grumbled irritably. He watched Eric as started walking away. Once he was out of sight Dylan would drive forward just enough to see which car Eric got into.

Dylan let his mind wander to his own car. It had been an eighteenth birthday present and it was as old as he was. He had been bitterly disappointed when his father proudly presented it to him and told him that it had been repaired to showroom condition. He had been hoping for something that would draw envious stares like an Audi R8 or a BMW M6. This Jetta had not even been a top-of-the-range model. When he had asked his father why he had bought this car, his father had explained to him that he wanted him to realise that money did not fall in front of his every footstep. His father wanted him to respect the hard work that the family had put into making the business successful. This explanation did not make sense to Dylan, and he held feelings of resentment for some time.

After receiving his inheritance from his grandparents he had decided to make the car faster. He had taken it to a specialist tuning shop which had rebuilt the four-cylinder engine with high-performance parts, and then spiced it up by installing a twin-turbocharger system. It was about four times as powerful as the stock factory car. He also had sports suspension and larger wheels and tyres fitted to handle the extra power. He had not wanted the car to look too ostentatious; he wanted the car to be a sleeper car (a car that is much faster than it looks). He loved the astonished looks on the faces of hot-hatch drivers when he out-dragged them between traffic lights. He had become quite attached to the car.

Dylan realised that he was day-dreaming and looked out at the park. Eric was nowhere to be seen. Dylan cursed himself and started the car. He drove for about three hundred metres and stopped when he saw Eric. He was still in the park, but he was approaching a line of cars. He watched Eric open the door of a white Ford Focus ST with red racing stripes. Dylan was impressed. How had that slob been able to afford that car? he wondered.

Eric was talking a while to get in the car and start the engine. Dylan thumped the steering wheel. Does your whole life work in slow motion, Eric? Dylan looked at himself in the overhead mirror. His face was still pink with anger, but he was relieved that he had not been marked during the confrontation with Eric.

Eric turned off the grass parking area and pulled a U-turn into the street. He was driving away from Dylan. Dylan was not concerned about Eric's powerful car because his car would easily keep up. Dylan stayed where his was until Eric turned around the sharp bend at Wilge Road. Dylan then put his foot down and the Jetta roared down the road. A pedestrian had to jump out of the way as Dylan sped past him. When Dylan reached the bend he slowed down. Dylan rounded the bend at the same pace that most drivers would. He saw Eric's car driving up the hill, indicating for a right turn. As the street was quiet Dylan drove slightly below the speed limit. He had once read an article on the Internet about car tailing technique. This was the first time he had put it into practise.

Eric turned down Southy Road, which was always quiet outside the rush hour. Dylan let Eric open the distance then followed him from far back. Dylan cursed Eric as the car clattered over the speed bumps. The sports suspension was very stiff, and this was one drawback of it. Eric stopped at the traffic light at the bottom of Southy Road. Dylan caught up with Eric and momentarily stopped behind him before the light turned green. Dylan turned his head and pretended to be wiping his face, hoping that Eric had not seen him. When Eric turned left onto Main Road he did not drive as if he were being followed. He stuck strictly to the speed limit. Miss Daisy in a Focus ST? Dylan thought with amusement.

Eric carried on driving along Main Road for a couple of kilometres to the intersection of Great North Road, where Main Road became Fifth Avenue. At one point a car pulled in front of Dylan. Dylan overtook it to maintain his view of Eric. Eric crossed the junction of Seventh Street just before the light changed to amber.

Dylan had to change down to second gear and gun the engine to cross the intersection on the red light just before he encountered any cross-traffic. Dylan breathed a sigh of relief and held his cautious following distance. The rest of the drive was plain-sailing with Eric leading the way and indicating every turn. Eventually Eric led Dylan into the suburb of Rynfield. Eric turned in to Fairbairn Street, a short residential street which ended in a T-junction. Dylan parked behind a Mercedes and waited to see where Eric would go next. Eric turned right into a driveway and Dylan watched Eric get out of the car to open the gate. Dylan giggled to himself when he saw that Eric was still barefoot.

After Eric had driven into the house's driveway Dylan waited for ten minutes. That would give Eric enough time to get in the house, then Dylan could drive past and take note of where he lived.

As he waited, Dylan appraised himself in the overhead mirror. He looked at his blond hair. He loved the shade of it - not white, not yellow - just a perfect blond. His hair was looking a bit tussled, so he brushed it with his hands. He adjusted the mirror to look at his eyes. He had always liked having grey eyes. He wondered if maybe one of his ancestors was of Scandinavian descent. As he lowered the mirror to appraise his nose and cheeks he noticed that he was not flushed anymore. He was in better spirits now that he had captured his prey. He lowered the mirror further to look at his full, but not thick lips; his diamond-shaped jaw; and finally his slender neck. Dylan smiled at himself. He was a jewel in a world of rats, hamsters, and the plain and ugly.

Dylan decided that he had waited for long enough. He drove along Fairbairn Street at a slow pace and saw Eric's Ford parked under a shaded car port. Eric was nowhere to be seen, and must have gone into his little hidey-hole at the side of the house. Dylan drove away to his own home. On the way he was thinking about the events that had unfolded at the dam.

Eric started this. He was impressed when he saw me swimming in my clothes. Most people are, just like the lady who took the photographs. Why didn't Eric take a picture? Was he jealous of my freedom to do as I like? Who was Eric to lecture me about work? I kissed him to show that I have compassion for his sad life and he went mad and attacked me. He's a nut. He will pay for humiliating me in front of those other bums. He thinks that I am a joke, a pissant who can be shoved around at His Majesty's will.

Oh Eric, I'm coming for you. You don't have long before I break you into a suicidal wreck. You will be responsible for anything that I do to you.

***

### Chapter 4

Eric dragged himself out of bed shortly after ten the next morning. The previous day's events had left him feeling drained and depressed. After coming home from the dam he had switched off his cell phone, drawn himself a bath and sat in the water until it had become cold. He had started watching a movie on the TV but he was not enjoying it. After switching off the TV he had gone to bed, skipping dinner.

After his breakfast of cereal and two fried eggs he was feeling a bit more like himself. He switched on his home computer and updated his CV, including Andy Platt's name as a reference. He hoped that Andy would stick to his word and give him a good reference. He connected to the Internet and posted his CV on several Gauteng-based employment agencies' web sites. He hoped that a careers agency would give him a call before too long, which reminded him to switch his cell phone on again.

He considered his financial situation. He had been paid last week and he still had most of last month's salary. Braycon Paint Industries would owe him for the few days he had worked since then, plus the few days of annual leave that were due to him. Overall it would not amount to much. He figured that he would have enough money to last another six weeks if he lived lean. He was annoyed with himself for squandering his inheritance money.

He had not realised that what seemed like a sizeable sum of money could be spent so easily. He had bought the car; he had replaced many of his clothes with much more fashionable and upmarket items and had bought a TAG Heuer watch; he had also bought expensive toys such as his computer, a large LCD TV, a home theatre system, a PlayStation 4, and a camera-fitted drone that he had only used twice. Then there had been the entertainment. He had spent most of his nights going out to clubs and nightclubs with his friends and his girlfriend. On most of these nights he had picked up the full tab.

He thought about his now ex-girlfriend. He had taken her on holiday to Cancun, and he had bought her a necklace that had cost him nearly thirty thousand Rand. She had left him because she felt that the money had changed him and that he was acting like a playboy. He had changed during that time because he needed a release from the grief he had felt after losing his parents. After he had run out of money some of his friends had stopped calling him. At least he still had "The Three R's": Rick, Roger and Robert, who had been good friends of his for years.

He opened an Internet blog called "Talk About Benoni". It was a site where people wrote about local events, local problems, or just generally socialised. He scanned through the latest posts: There was going to be a dog fair at one of the local schools next Saturday. Emma395 was eight months pregnant, and excited to meet her baby boy. Ky65 was offering to sell his guitar for five hundred Rand. Andrew Eksteen wanted to know who had scraped his yellow BMW in the Northmead Mall parking lot yesterday. Fascinating stuff. There was a post that did catch his eye. It had been written by somebody using the alias DM5. Eric read it with interest:

Yesterday I was at the Homestead Dam, taking a walk and minding my own busines. I like the dam because its tranquil and cool. The tranquility was ruined by a crazy man. I noticed him following me. I did not stress, but then he started walking faster towards me. I started to run away and tripped on a tree root and fell on my face. It hurt and I felt like I had been thrown with a brick. The next thing I knew, the man caught up with me and started feeling me up. He had on black trousers and a purple shirt. I think he was in his early twenties. We were near the water and the creep pushed me in. I was all wet, like dripping. Then he told me I looked real sexy when wet. He then hugged me like real tight; I didn't want to hug him but he was much bigger than me. While he was hugging me he kissed me all over my face and felt me up all over my waist and booty. He even told me he was called Eric. After the kissing and stuff he drove off in a white Ford Focus that had red racing stripes. I read his lisense plate and remembered it nicely. I have not been to the police yet but will if my laywer says i havea case. I am so angry now about this. If ur going to the dam watch out for this freak.

Eric shook his head, and despite his low mood he had to laugh to himself. This had been undoubtedly written by Dylan. If he thought that this would drive him to suicide he would be in for a shock. Eric was also amused but puzzled by the poor quality of Dylan's writing. When he had been talking to Dylan at the dam he had seemed to be quite articulate. Eric wondered what the "M5" stood for. Perhaps Dylan's surname began with an "M", and the "5" could mean anything or nothing.

A minute later somebody called Matt had answered Dylan's post: "Bummer dude. Will watch my back if I go there". Eric laughed again. He doubted that Dylan had seen his licence plate, or that he would be able to do anything with it if he had. Dylan had just written this post to let off some steam, and possibly to try to scare him. He was certain that yesterday's incident with Dylan was one of those rare and bizarre encounters, and that he would most likely not see him again. Nevertheless, Dylan had left Eric intrigued.

Eric remembered what Dylan had told him about the wet clothing culture, and the material that was apparently on the Internet. He first searched for "wet clothes" on Google. The search returned several pages on how to dry your clothes after being out in the rain, or after washing them. He tried other search phrases such as "swim in clothes", "wet for fun", and "love being wet". These searches yielded several websites which contained several pictures of men, women, boys and girls showering fully clothed, swimming fully clothed, or getting wet in the rain. He learnt that this behaviour was referred to as "wet look".

One web site showed several pictures of high school graduates playing in the town square fountain in full school uniform on their last day of school. Another website showed eighteen-year-old models fully clothed in a splash pool; more pictures could be ordered from this web site for a fee. On YouTube Eric found much more wet look material. Some users had created playlists of their favourite wet video clips.

He watched some of these video clips. Among others there was a man of about forty, wearing a suit, crawling through a muddy bog; a famous young pop star playing in the ocean wearing smart clothes; English school boys running up to large puddles on the grass and sliding on their bellies in the water; "Trash the Dress" wedding videos; teenagers (mostly boys) sitting in the bath fully clothed; and graduate aircraft pilots being dunked in a lake in their smart clothing after taking their first solo flight.

Eric was amazed at how much material there was to look at. A person could literally spend days looking at wet pictures and watching wet videos. He noticed that the trend was very popular in America, Thailand, the UK, and several European countries. He did not find anything about wet look in South African websites. He remembered what Dylan had said to him: 'I thought I was the only one around here'. He had been confused by that statement at first, but now he knew what Dylan had been talking about.

Something else occurred to Eric. He went back to Google and typed "vain loves himself". The search engine returned results about vanity, but he was more interested in the search results that mentioned narcissism. He started reading an article which explained the common traits of narcissism. He was interested to learn that not only do narcissists have an elevated opinion of themselves, but they have little control of their anger and are prone to either have bouts of violent rage, or give the silent treatment to whoever has upset them. He also read that if you corrected a narcissist's comment he was liable to change the subject, rather than admit that he was wrong. What he had read so far was a lot like what he had seen and heard from Dylan.

Eric was interrupted by the ring tone of his cell phone. On the screen was the text: "Incoming call... Roger". Roger was Eric's best friend.

He answered the phone, 'Roger! How's things?'

'I wanted to ask you that. We were missing you last night.'

'Last night?'

'Yeah. You were supposed to meet me and Rick at Shooters to play pool.'

'Shit, sorry. I forgot all about it. I had the worst day ever yesterday.'

'Really? What happened?'

'I lost my job. The bastards fired me.'

'Shit, man. You were fired? What for?'

'Well, it's kind of embarrassing. I was fired for looking at porn on the net. The bosses did not take kindly to that, the stuck-up bastards.'

'I hate to tell you, but you just can't do that. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to lecture you or take the company's side, but all companies have their Internet rules.'

'I know. I really screwed things up. I have put my CV on the web. I just hope that I get a new job soon.'

'Just remind me: What programming language did you use? Was it Java?'

'That's the one.'

'Our IT department uses Java as well. Maybe I can talk to my boss and try to sort something out for you. You've got my email. Send me your CV.'

'That would be awesome, Rog. I'd owe you one if you could help me.'

'Are you going to be alright until you find work?'

'I'll have to be. If it comes down to it, I'll have to deliver pizzas. My sister could help me if she wanted, but I doubt that she would.'

'I remember you once said that you hardly ever spoke to her.'

'No. We just never got along, going back to when we were kids. Stephanie's twelve years older than me and she always treated me like a baby.'

'What about your bro' in Australia?'

'I think he would be more willing to help, but he likes to live it up. He probably doesn't have much saved up. I think I'd feel bad asking him for money anyway. He always watched out for me. It would be like taking him for granted as the go-to-guy.'

'Well, I'll be hoping and praying that things work out for you. I will definitely give your CV to my boss.'

'Thanks. That would be great.'

Eric thought of telling Roger what happened at the dam but he would find it awkward to tell the story, especially the events leading to the confrontation. Roger distracted Eric from his thoughts of Dylan when he spoke again. 'Oh yeah, the reason I called you was to invite you to a night out at The 27 Club on Saturday.'

'That place is kind of expensive. I have to watch how I spend now.'

The 27 Club was an expensive night club in an area of central Johannesburg which had been rejuvenated in recent years. It was a popular party venue with a steep cover charge and highly marked-up drinks. Some of the shooters and cocktails on offer could cost over a hundred Rand each; even a beer cost over forty Rand. These days it seemed outrageously expensive to Eric, but some months ago Eric would buy these drinks for his friends as if he had an unending supply of money.

'Eric, I remember all the times you took us all out and paid for everything. I want to return the favour. Your expenses are all on me.'

'I really appreciate that, Rog. You're a good friend, you always have been.'

'No sweat. Guess what?'

'What?'

'This isn't an ordinary party. It's - get this - a fancy dress foam party!'

'Is it? I've never been to a foam party. How does it work? Is there a machine in the ceiling that pours out the foam on part of the dance floor?'

'Some clubs do that, but the foam only covers about half the dance floor. At The 27 Club they have these powerful foam cannons that swing back and forth and shoot a thick stream of foam over eight metres. Everybody gets foamed. They only switch the machine off for a while when the whole dance floor is five feet deep in foam.'

'What happens if you are shorter than five feet?' Eric jested.

'You bring a box with you!' Roger said with a laugh.

Eric laughed at Roger's joke and asked, 'Who's going?'

'It's me, Rick, Robert and Damon. And you of course, if you're game.'

'Sure. I'll go. It's a bit short notice but I'll try to get a costume.'

'If you don't it's not a disaster. My costume will be pretty basic. My dad has an old black suit he says I can wear. He never wears it now, and it was cheap to begin with. I am going to wear it with sunglasses like an FBI agent or Men in Black or whatever.'

'Sounds cool. When does it start?'

'I've got a leaflet here. Doors open at eight, prize-giving is at nine-thirty. At ten the foam party starts.'

'What are we doing about transport?'

'Damon says he'll drive. He's virtually a teetotaller and he has that big car that will fit all of us. Pick you up at seven-thirty?'

'Great. Will look forward to it. Thanks, Rog.'

'Yeah. And you look after yourself. Things will work out. See you on Saturday.'

'Cheers. See you, Rog.'

Roger hung up. Eric was in much better spirits after hearing from Roger. They had been friends since primary school and they had shared many good times and laughs together. Eric was excited about the foam party as well. He felt that going to the party would be what he needed to unwind his taut nerves. He was still worried about finding work despite Andy's assurance that the job market was good, and Roger's offer to help. Eric thought about his confrontation with Dylan and Dylan's pathetic attack on the blog.

He had the feeling that there was something about the blog that he should double-check. He did not feel intimidated by Dylan's accusations or his threat about going to the police. There was something else that seemed to be wrong about it.

Eric sat in front of his computer again and opened the Talk About Benoni blog. He found Dylan's blog entry and noticed that another reply had been added. Gerrit87 asked "Wher U on LSD when this happened? Sounds to crazy to believe." Maybe Dylan had been on drugs because his behaviour definitely had been bizarre.

Eric read Dylan's post again because something about it had been niggling in the back of his mind. Initially he could not find anything about it that he should worry about. He read it one more time, then he realised what had been bothering him. The post had been written in one paragraph, was full of spelling mistakes, and the wording was generally childlike. What Eric found interesting was that every sentence began with a capital letter and ended with a full stop. Dylan had also punctuated his post with commas, and had even used the commonly misunderstood semicolon. Eric realised that Dylan had deliberately written the post badly to give Eric a false sense of security. Dylan wanted Eric to think that he was an idiot so that he would lower his guard. Eric wondered what kind of answer he would get if he responded to Dylan's post with something like "I know it's you, Dylan. Find a psychiatrist. Eric." He did not send a reply because he hoped that the situation would simmer down on its own. The worst thing that he could do was to fan the flames.

Eric racked his brain for some information that Dylan had given him. He had said that he worked for a modelling agency once, but he could not remember which one. All that he could remember was that the name contained the word "Galore". He opened the Google search engine and typed in "model galore". There were several modelling agencies with "Models" and "Galore" in their names. Most of these agencies were based in America, but one search result caught his eye. The entry for Beautiful Models Galore had a line below it: "The prettiest models are right here in Boksburg!" Eric clapped his hands and whispered 'Yes!' to himself. He clicked the link to Beautiful Models Galore. On the "Contact Us" page there was an email query form, a telephone number, and their address with a map.

***

Eric decided that the best way to approach Beautiful Models Galore was to go there and speak to them in person. After lunch he programmed his TomTom to direct him to the address. It took him twenty minutes to drive to the modelling agency, which was in a small strip mall that also housed a mini-market, an estate agency, a fast food outlet, and a Laundromat. He parked in the one remaining available space outside the mini-market.

Outside Beautiful Models Galore he rang the bell. A couple of seconds later the buzzer on the gate sounded and he let himself in. At the reception desk was a woman in her early forties who was heavily made-up, and who Eric assumed may have been a model herself when she was younger. Sitting next to her was a young woman of about Eric's age, who did look like a model. She was reading a magazine, from which she only diverted her attention momentarily to glance at Eric.

Eric was not sure what approach to take at first, so he decided on the most direct one. He said to the older woman, 'Good afternoon Miss. I am looking for Dylan.'

'It's Mrs Strydom, and there is no Dylan working here,' she answered curtly.

'And thank God for that!' the young woman proclaimed.

'Gina!' Mrs Strydom snapped. Gina blushed and carried on reading her magazine.

'What is your interest in Dylan?' Mrs Strydom asked, giving Gina a sharp look.

Eric thought up the best lie that he could on the spot. 'I met Dylan at a party a couple of weeks ago. We got along really well, but we did not exchange any contact details. He did mention that he worked here. I'm keen to get in touch with him if you can help.'

'We had a Dylan working here, yes,' Mrs Strydom informed him.

'But not anymore? Are we talking about the same person, a bit younger than me, short-ish and blond?'

'I believe that we are, and no, he does not work here anymore.'

'Could you help me with a phone number or address or some way to contact him?'

'I'm sorry. We never give out personal information about current or former employees - it's our policy. I can give you some advice and I would take it seriously. I'd advise you to watch the company you keep.'

Gina looked up at Eric and nodded. Mrs Strydom missed the gesture. She said, 'Is there anything else we can do for you?'

'No. I just wanted to ask about Dylan.'

Mrs Strydom gave Eric a "tough luck" shrug, and getting the hint that the conversation was over, Eric left the agency.

As Eric was walking back to his car he heard a voice call, 'Wait.' Gina trotted towards Eric, her heels clicking on the pavement.

She said, 'I cannot talk long. I told the boss that I am just going to buy a yoghurt. I'll tell you something about Dylan.'

'Can you help me to find him?' Eric asked.

'I could get fired for giving you his contact details, but let me tell you something that you must know. Don't bother looking for him. He's got a screw loose, maybe all of them.'

'How do you mean?'

'He was here for less than two weeks, and he was unbearable. He has such a serious mean streak about him.'

'What did he do?' Eric asked, his interest piqued.

'He was just so cruel, and he looked down on us like we were trash. He gave us all animal names for one thing. I was "Lap Dog" because I'm Mrs Strydom's assistant. We have a twenty-eight model he called "Old Shep" because he is the oldest of our models. Then there was poor Amanda.'

'What happened with her?'

'Dylan called her "Elephant Seal". He told her that having sex with a walrus would be less disgusting than having sex with her. That day she ran out of the agency in tears. We heard that she had tried to commit suicide later that day by taking an overdose of pills.'

'Jesus! Was he fired after that?'

'He was given a stern warning, but he was fired the next day anyway after an argument with Kevin. Kevin hated Dylan, partly because he called him "Giraffe" because of his height, but Kevin also felt that Dylan had been given an easy pass in our assessments and he called Dylan a fraud. I hate to admit it, but Dylan's looks blew us away and the tests were only a formality. We knew that we had found a dead cert for a modelling contract and we were willing to put up with his crap for a while. We made a mistake by being so tolerant with him.'

'Was the argument with Kevin the last straw?'

'It was when he threatened to get some sulphuric acid and throw it in his face. I'm telling you this because you seem to be a nice guy and I don't want you to be involved with that monster. He will do something to harm you, I can guarantee that.'

'I'm glad I lost touch with him. God knows where our friendship would have ended up, maybe with me dead in a dumpster. Do you think he was serious about the acid threat?'

'I believe he was serious. He's not right in the head. People like him can sweep you away with their charm before they show their true colours.'

'How long ago was he fired?'

'About three weeks ago.'

'Have any of you heard from him since then?'

'No. Not a peep, thank God. Look, I'd better go. Mrs Strydom might be wondering where I am. Take care of yourself and keep away from Dylan, whatever you do.' She started walking back to the agency.

'Don't forget the yoghurt,' Eric reminded her.

'Oh! Thanks.' Gina moved as quickly as her heels would allow as she entered the mini-market.

As Eric drove away from the strip mall he remembered Dylan's threat as if he were speaking to him now: "I could beat you to death, leaving your rat body in a pool of blood. But you deserve to suffer. I will never leave you alone. Not until you die." Eric was disturbed by what Gina had told him. The fact that he had not revisited the modelling agency did not mean that he might not have something planned for later. Gina had said that Dylan had some screws loose. Judging by what Eric knew about Dylan, the screws had already fallen out and the machine was irreparable.

***

When Eric was home again he switched his computer on and checked his email. There was an email in his inbox from a careers agency. He opened the email and almost jumped out his seat when he read it. The agency had a client who had a position open, and they felt that Eric's profile met the requirements for the job. They wanted him to phone them as soon as possible.

Eric dialled the number at the bottom of the email. A lady answered, 'Super Computers Careers, Emma speaking. How can I help you?'

Eric read the name at the bottom of the email and said, 'Good day. May I speak to Danelle Badenhorst please?'

'Yes Sir, I will put you straight through.'

A few seconds later another voice answered the phone, 'Danelle Badenhorst.'

Eric greeted again, 'Good day,' and continued, 'My name is Eric Callows. I am calling about the email you sent me regarding job reference SP493.'

'Ah, Mr Callows! I'm glad that you saw my email. I have a client that is desperate for a Java developer. Would you be available on Tuesday at nine o' clock for an interview?'

'Yes, definitely,' Eric said excitedly.

'This client is a company in Germiston called Jansen Steel Engineering. They have a website, which I suggest you study so that you will have some knowledge about them for the interview.' She read out their website address to Eric, who read it back to confirm that he had written it down correctly.

Danelle said, 'On the site you will find some information about the company and their contact numbers and a map to their address. You will be interviewed by their IT manager, Rabie Bekker. Make sure that you are there by nine, he's a stickler for punctuality.'

'I will. Thanks.'

'There's something that Mr Bekker may be interested to know. It's about your departure from Braycon Paint Industries.'

Eric felt his throat tighten. He gulped inaudibly and asked, 'Yes?'

'I phoned your former employer, Andy Platt for a reference.' Eric started to sweat.

Danelle said, 'Andy gave you a glowing reference. He said that you were punctual, well-mannered, keen to learn, and an absolute pleasure to work with. He did not tell me why you resigned, though. He said that it was company policy not to.'

Thank you, Andy. Eric breathed an inaudible sigh. 'We did have a good working relationship.'

'I must ask you, why did you resign when you had no other job lined up? That usually sets off alarm bells in the employment industry because it suggests that something was wrong. In your case it does not sound like things were going too badly in your job if Mr Platt's reference is anything to go by.'

Eric thought up his story quickly: 'There was a complication that made working there difficult. I was constantly being bullied by one of my colleagues. He was well-known in the company as the type who liked to pick on the junior staff. For some reason he really had it in for me. After over a year of this I just could not take it anymore.'

'He sounds like one of those difficult office bullies that we sometimes hear stories about. Didn't anybody do anything about him? Things must have been really bad if you resigned because of it.'

'It was unbearable, but I knew that if I reported him he would just cause me more misery. I handed in my resignation and Mr Platt allowed me to leave without working in my notice period because there were enough staff to cover for me.'

'OK, that was just a base that I needed to cover, and I appreciate your honesty. It has been nice talking to you. Best of luck for Tuesday.'

'Thank you very much.'

'Enjoy your day, Mr Callows. Bye.'

'Goodbye.'

Eric pumped both of his fists in the air. He could not believe that he had landed an interview so quickly. He was not keen on the idea of working in Germiston because it was a grimy little industrial town, a far cry from Sandton. The most important thing for him was that it was a job opportunity that he desperately needed. At least the drive to work would be shorter and less busy, too. He was also relieved because if he did not find work soon he would have to phone Stephanie, who could afford to help him, but would most likely not want to.

***

### Chapter 5

On Saturday night Eric was dressed up in a cowboy outfit made up of cowboy boots sans spurs, faux leather trousers, chaps made of some kind of synthetic material, a leather brown belt with a large plastic silver buckle, a brown shirt, and a white cowboy hat. He was not particularly happy with the costume but it was all he could get at such short notice. He assumed that the few costume shops in the area had seen a lot of business in the past week because The 27 Club was always packed to the rafters despite its high prices.

The only other costumes remaining in the shop that would fit Eric were a gorilla outfit, a mock Victorian-era dress that he would be too embarrassed to wear, and a spaceman suit with its helmet missing. He would have taken the spaceman suit if the helmet had not been missing. He looked at himself in the mirror and shrugged his shoulders. He had hoped that the outfit came with a gun belt and a toy gun, but the lady in the shop explained to him that she was not allowed to supply mock weapons because people could mistake them for real weapons, which would be undesirable in a place like a nightclub where fights were highly probable.

At seven-thirty Eric heard a car horn and saw a pair of headlights at the gate. Punctual as ever, Damon had come to pick him up. He locked up the flat and approached Damon's old Hyundai Sonata.

Rick called, 'Howdy pardner! Where's your horse?'

Eric laughed and said, 'They wouldn't let me hire one.'

A burst of laughter came from the car and Damon said, 'Cool costume. Make sure you pick up a cowgirl tonight'. This comment drew more laughter.

Eric opened the back-left door of the car and looked at his friends under the car's interior light. Roger, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, was wearing the black suit and dark glasses that he had mentioned, Damon and Rick had opted to just wear their regular casual clothes, and Robert was wearing a rubber gimp outfit and holding the mask in his hands.

Eric pointed at Robert and said, 'What the hell is that?'

'Something that nobody else would probably ever dare to wear,' Robert answered.

The boys laughed again and Eric got into the car.

After a forty-minute drive they arrived at The 27 Club, where all of the street parking in the immediate area was already taken up. Damon drove down to the next block and found a parking space on the other side of the road. Damon performed an illegal U-turn and parked the car so that it was facing the club's entrance.

When they exited the car a black man wearing a florescent green vest over his shirt asked, 'Look after your car, boss?'

Damon said, 'OK. Keep it safe and I'll pay you more,' then gave the man a five Rand coin.

As they were walking up the street towards The 27 Club Robert said, 'I feel like a real prick wearing this in the street.'

Rick suggested, 'Why not put the mask on, then you'll feel anonymous.'

Robert put the mask over his head, zipped up the back of it and in a muffled voice he asked, 'Iv thith better?'

The rest of the boys started howling with laughter and Eric said, 'I think there's a flaw in your costume. You sound like Kenny from South Park!'

Robert mumbled through his mask, 'Sfhut upf!'

They were now laughing so hysterically that they could barely walk. Eric was holding onto a wall for support and Roger was bent over double, unable to contain his laughter. Robert started laughing through his mask, which set the others into more fits of laughter.

When Damon could speak again he exclaimed, 'This is classic! This will be a night to remember!'

Robert removed his mask, giggling like a giddy school child. After they had stopped laughing they joined the line outside the club, which was already queuing around the corner. Most of the people in the queue were in fancy dress, while others had opted to wear their regular going-out clothes like Damon and Rick had. The doors to the club were already open and after waiting for around twenty minutes the boys were at the entrance. In the entrance they paid their cover charge, except for Eric, who reluctantly allowed Roger to pay for him. They were all given a rubber stamp with the club's logo on their left wrists so that they could get in again without paying if they left at any time during the night.

Beyond the entrance was a right-turn which led to the main area of the club. The dance floor was sunken into the ground by a few feet, and was accessible via four diagonally-opposing sets of stairs. The area surrounding the dance floor was a good five metres wide, giving people ample room to walk around. There was a bar at the far end of the club, and another to the right side. There was an upstairs area with a walkway which mirrored the one downstairs. At the edge of the walkway was a balustrade which people could look over to see the dance floor from above. The upstairs area had another bar, some couches, and tables with bar stools.

On the oval wall that surrounded the club were murals of rock stars who had died at the age of twenty-seven, hence the name "The 27 Club". Among the stars depicted in the murals were Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and Pete de Freitas. Eric thought that it was ironic that most of the murals depicted rock stars because The 27 Club almost exclusively played various genres of electronica dance music. At the moment the music was playing, but it allowed for easy conversation. The volume would only be turned up when the party was in full swing.

They headed straight towards the main bar at the far end of the club. The carpet was sticky underfoot in places from when people had spilled their drinks in recent parties. Eric thought that a high-end nightclub like this would be spotless for the next party, but he supposed that even the best places had their flaws.

At the bar Roger said, 'Let's start this party right. Tequila slammers all round!'

The other boys shouted, 'Yeah!' and pulled out their wallets. Roger saw Eric holding his wallet and surreptitiously wagged his finger at him. Eric nodded at Roger with a smile and put his wallet back in his pocket.

They all downed their tequila at the same time and Rick blurted out, 'Bleagh!' The others laughed as he wiped at his mouth and stuck out his tongue. For their second drink they ordered beers, except for Damon who wanted a coke. Damon was always the designated driver because he would usually only have one alcoholic drink, then settle on soft drinks for the rest of the night.

As it was still only eight-twenty the club was less than half-full, but there were probably about four hundred people inside. While the boys were drinking they did some people-watching to see how other people were dressed. Among the assortment of costumed revellers there was a British bobby, a man in a wedding dress, a group of late-teens dressed in school uniforms, a spaceman with a helmet (bastard, Eric thought), a small crowd of cross-dressed men and women, a young woman in a mock medieval dress, and a man dressed in horse-riding attire.

***

Shortly before nine o' clock the boys were on the dance floor with drinks in their hands, looking at the pretty girls rather than dancing. A few people were dancing, but most people were either standing in their groups and talking, or just mulling around. Eric stepped in a sticky patch where a previously-spilled drink had not been cleaned up properly.

While he was looking at the sole of one his boots Rick commented, 'They're overdoing it a bit aren't they?' Eric looked at Rick, who was gesturing towards the entrance.

Four young men had entered the club wearing simple coverall house-cleaning dresses in a checked blue and green pattern, which could be bought at any supermarket. They looked to be around twenty to twenty-two years old, except for a smaller man who looked barely eighteen, and not much taller than five-foot-four.

Leading them in was Dylan. He was not dressed as a house cleaner; he looked more like the rich lady of the house. He was wearing an expensive-looking red mini-dress, red high-heels, and red lipstick. His blond hair had been trimmed smartly and styled into a subtle faux hawk hairstyle with a generous amount of hair gel. His hair had been finger-brushed up on both sides and slightly peaked off-centre. It was loose, laid-back version of a Mohawk. The faux hawk was a chic style that could be used for a casual look, or even a formal look if it was styled as subtly as Dylan's was. Dylan's hair style looked like the work of a good hair stylist. Eric wondered how many hundreds of Rand he had spent on his hair alone.

Eric was initially shocked at seeing Dylan, but then he remembered that when he had been talking to Dylan at the dam he had mentioned that he always attended foam parties. But why this foam party? Eric wondered. Because he never misses a foam party. Weren't you paying attention?

Roger nudged Eric and said, 'What's wrong? You look upset about something. You're not worrying about your job are you?'

'Yeah. It's been stressing me out. Sorry, it's a problem for another day,' Eric replied.

'Don't worry. Like I said, I might be able to hook you up. We're here to have fun, so enjoy yourself.'

Eric smiled at Roger and said, 'Sure.'

Eric noticed that everybody who Dylan passed was looking at him in awe, and ignoring his cleaning lady friends. Eric had to admit to himself that he looked impressive. As Dylan passed two men dressed as zombies they both gave him a yearning look, which he answered by looking at them with contempt. He then smiled as he looked at the other people staring at him, obviously enjoying being the centre of attention. Eric noticed that Dylan walked gracefully on his high-heels, and he surmised that this was not the first time that he had worn them.

While Dylan and his friends headed towards the main bar Eric turned his back to them and faced his own friends. The last thing that he wanted was for Dylan to see him and cause a scene. He had met Dylan only once, but he knew from his behaviour at the dam and his Internet blog post that Dylan had placed a target on his chest, and that Dylan would strike if he was given any opportunity.

Roger commented, 'That blond pretty boy looks like a real poser.'

'Maybe those are his work clothes,' Robert quipped.

They all laughed, including Eric, who was trying to pretend that he did not know Dylan.

'What's with the other guys in the maids' costumes?' Eric wondered aloud.

'It looks a bit weird doesn't it? Like blondie is their leader or something,' Damon observed.

'Have you noticed how everybody is looking at him, though? I wonder if he will win the prize for the best costume?' Rick said.

'No, that will be Robert. I hope that they ask you to make a speech on the mike when you get your prize,' Damon joked.

The boys all cracked up laughing again, as they had done earlier in the street.

Dylan and his friends started the night with a couple of shooters at the bar. Since Dylan was not carrying a handbag and his outfit did not have pockets one of his friends paid for the drinks, pulling money from the pockets of his dress. Eric assumed that the money was Dylan's, that was if Dylan was as rich as he claimed to be. Eric kept an eye on Dylan, trying not to stare.

After drinking their shooters Dylan and his friends moved to the dance floor with beers in their hands.

Roger said to Eric, 'Do you know those guys?'

'No. Why?'

'You've barely taken your eyes off them since they came in.' Eric knew that Roger was right and that he had been staring more than he realised.

'I just think that their outfits are a bit weird. Why is the blond guy dolled up like that, while the others look like house maids? I bet that those clothes he's wearing weren't cheap.'

Robert said, 'You're not an expert on women's clothing are you?' He laughed and clapped Eric on the shoulder. 'But seriously, I bet he was supposed to dress like the others and he upstaged them by wearing that dress with the heels. He's a poser.'

'I don't like people like that. I mean, look at me and Rick. We're happy to just wear our regular partying clothes,' Damon said.

'No, that's not it,' Roger said with a smile. 'You're just a pair of lazy buggers who couldn't be bothered getting costumes.' Eric and Robert laughed.

Eric turned around again and noticed that Dylan was not with his friends. He scanned the dance floor and saw two of Dylan's friends standing about fifteen metres away. Nearer the opposite end of the dance floor, he saw Dylan talking to three people who looked to be about twenty years old: a couple and a single lady who was wearing a shiny blue dress. The young lady was a very pretty-looking brunette with long, blue-tinted hair which flowed to between her shoulder blades. It looked like Dylan was on the pull, and he was interested in this young lady. The couple seemed to be charmed by Dylan, as they were chatting casually with him. What happened next did not surprise Eric too much. The lady in blue hugged her friends and walked away with Dylan, holding hands with him.

'Seeing anything interesting?' Robert asked. He was holding his gimp mask, rather than wearing it.

'I'm just doing a bit of people-watching, checking out the costumes. Put your mask on,' Eric said with a wry smile.

'Yes. Give us another laugh,' said Rick.

'I think I made a bad choice,' Robert conceded. 'This costume is boiling and it feels even worse with the mask. I'll just put it on for the prize-giving.'

'You're up against some stiff competition, judging from what I've been looking at,' Eric said.

The boys looked around at the growing crowd in the club. It was approaching nine o' clock and there must have been over eleven hundred people in the club. The 27 Club could accommodate close to two thousand people. Among the later arrivals were a mock coven of witches, a trio with dirty faces dressed in rags who did not make very convincing tramps, a couple wearing Jacob Zuma masks, and a crowd of six men wearing gimp costumes.

Eric pointed at the men in gimp costumes and said to Robert, 'It looks like you're out of the running.'

'Whatever,' Robert replied, 'dressing up at these parties is just part of the fun. I just wish I had chosen something different. I'm steaming in this thing.'

'Take it off,' Roger dared.

'Sure, I'll take it off. The Naked Man would be the cherry on the cake.'

Eric turned around to look at the crowd. He pretended to be people-watching, but he had lost sight of Dylan. He saw the same two friends where they had been standing earlier, and wondered where the other two had gone. He then saw Dylan with his new girlfriend, standing on the same side of the dance floor as him, but near the opposite end. They were facing each other, holding hands. They seemed to be going through the getting-to-know-you stage of their relationship, talking and occasionally kissing each other on the lips.

Eric watched Dylan and his girlfriend for a few moments and turned back to his friends. When he looked around he was surprised to see the two house cleaners who seemed to have disappeared for a while. One of them looked a year or so older than Eric and was a bit larger than him. The other was the little youth who had probably had to show his ID document to get into the club. They were carrying glasses of beer and they had stopped close enough to Eric for him to hear what they were saying, despite the music which had increased in volume.

The bigger man pointed at Dylan and smiled. He said to his companion, 'It looks like our boy has done it again.'

The younger man did not look as happy for Dylan. He said sourly, 'What ever Dylan wants, he gets. How can anyone always be so lucky?'

They walked away and joined their fellow house cleaner friends.

***

At nine-thirty the music was turned down to a background-music level and the DJ shouted into the microphone, 'Welcome to the 27 Club fancy dress foam party!' The near-capacity crowd roared and whooped. 'It's time, people! Among the multitudes it will be my pleasure to pick out the best costume. There are so many tremendous costumes in front of me that it has been hard for me to decide, but a decision must be made!'

Eric looked down at his cowboy costume and made an educated guess that his was one of the worst.

The DJ carried on, 'But before I make the announcement, you know what happens at ten don't you?' He pointed at the foam cannons with rhythmic jabbing motion of his arms and chanted, 'Foam! Foam! Foam! Foam!'

The hundreds of people in the club chanted along with the DJ until the noise became cacophonous.

The DJ put his microphone down and raised both hands to gesture to the crowd to quieten down. While Eric was watching this performance he noticed that Dylan, his girlfriend and the rest of his friends were huddled in front of the DJ's booth. There were several people standing between them and the booth, but they had placed themselves in a good position to get noticed.

The DJ picked up the microphone again and yelled excitedly, 'Let's see who will win two complimentary tickets to our Valentine's Day party!' The DJ pointed his finger at the two zombies, whose eyes lit up for a second before the DJ theatrically swept his arm back and forth, pointing out several potential winners. After half a minute of suspense the DJ raised his hand and lowered it, pointing into the crowd.

'We have a winner!' the DJ yelled. 'The pretty lady in red! Come up here!' Dylan's girlfriend jumped excitedly and kissed Dylan on the cheek. His friends patted him on the shoulders, except for Sour Face who was giving Dylan a sarcastic slow clap, which he did not seem to notice.

Dylan gracefully climbed the steps into the DJ booth and shook hands with the DJ. The DJ asked, 'What's your name, young man?'

'My name is Dylan,' Dylan answered with an amorous tone is his voice.

'Well, young Sir. Here are your tickets to the Valentine's Day party.' He handed them to Dylan and continued, 'Oh! Did I forget something? Was there something else? As a surprise, we also have a crisp two hundred Rand note for our winner.'

Dylan's friends whooped, most of the members of the audience clapped politely, and a handful of people booed either in jest or in derision.

Dylan looked at the tickets and the money in his hand and thought, I am wearing eighteen thousand Rand's worth of clothes and this idiot thinks that I need this piss-willy prize? With a sweep of his hand Dylan tossed the tickets and the two hundred Rand into the crowd. As the pieces of paper disappeared into the sea of humanity he noticed some people scrabbling on the floor to claim the prize, like rats fighting over a single nibble of cheese.

'Wow! Not only gorgeous but generous!' the DJ exclaimed.

Dylan touched his fingertips to his lips and blew a kiss to the crowd. Some people laughed, assuming that he was just hamming it up, playing his character. One person heckled, 'Get off, you fag!' Dylan blew a kiss to the heckler, who turned bright red with embarrassment.

Dylan looked at the DJ who had a dumbfounded look on his face. Dylan touched his mouth with his left hand and blew a kiss to the people to his left, and then did the same for the people on the right. Many people in the audience were looking at each other quizzically.

Another heckler shouted, 'Give us a kiss!'

Dylan grabbed the microphone which the DJ had put down during Dylan's performance and said, 'Dream on boy-oh.'

The DJ reached out for the microphone, which Dylan gave back to him. The DJ muttered, 'Thank you Dylan,' and gestured towards the stairs with an open palm.

The music started playing again at a high volume and Dylan stayed in the DJ booth for a few more seconds. He shook his head at the DJ and thought, Go ahead Mister Dee-Jay. Spoil the moment for me and everybody else. These people would be happy to look at me all night, but you play your music and earn your fucking money.

Dylan had no trouble negotiating the steps with his high heels and did not use the bannister. He joined his friends who, except for Sour Face, congratulated him and hugged him in turn.

His girlfriend, Janine, put her arms around his slender neck and gave him a kiss. She said, 'I've never met anybody like you. You're not only beautiful, but so cool and confident.'

Dylan thought that he saw the youngest member of his crowd, Thomas, giving him a dirty look, but he banished the thought when Thomas patted him on the shoulder and said, 'I almost caught the money you threw, but some chick got it.'

Unimpressed, Dylan answered, 'Better luck next time. You're enjoying yourself aren't you?'

'Sure I am. Thanks for inviting me,' Thomas answered

Dylan did not acknowledge Thomas' reply, having turned his attention to Janine, who he was now kissing.

Rick had a look of disgust on his face. He said, 'What was that crap all about? There are lots of better costumes here than a red dress. Why was he acting like some kind of Hollywood movie diva, tossing his prize into the crowd?'

'Like I said, he's a poser. Didn't he realise how many people were laughing when he was blowing kisses at everybody? What a complete asshole,' Roger said.

'Maybe the DJ picked him because he fancied him,' Rick suggested.

Robert's eyes lit up and he said, 'Hey Eric, do you want to exchange costumes? I'd rather be a cowboy than wear this shit thing for another second. Eric?'

Eric was looking at Dylan again. He knew that he should try to remain inconspicuous but he was amazed at Dylan's audacity. He was also trying to work out what was going on with Sour Face. When Dylan had re-joined his friends Eric could not help but notice that there seemed to be some hard feeling between him and Dylan. He wondered if the two had recently had a falling-out and they were slowly building bridges again.

Eric looked at Dylan's friends. Apart from wearing those horrible dresses they were generally tall and handsome, and seemed to radiate confidence. Eric wondered if Dylan's friends also considered themselves to be above the rest of society. Sour Face was the exception: He was small, had poor posture, and was barely better-looking than ugly. His skin was spotty and his floppy mousy-brown hair did him no favours. Eric noticed that he seemed a bit withdrawn and was listening to what he could hear of the conversation above the music, without saying too much himself. Eric noticed that he gave Dylan a jealous look a few times while he was hugging and kissing his girlfriend.

Robert shook Eric's shoulder, almost making him jump. He said, 'What's up? You're looking at that guy again. Do you know him from somewhere?'

'No,' Eric answered and blushed slightly.

'If you've had a fight with him or something it's better that you don't look at him. I don't want to get into a scrap. I'm here to have fun, which you don't seem to be having,' Roger remarked.

'Nah. It's not that,' Eric answered, 'It's just the way he was acting on stage that bothered me. Like you said, he seems a real asshole. I don't need to know him to know that I don't like him.'

Damon, Rick and Robert were also looking at Eric questioningly.

'It's not just when he was in the DJ booth, you were looking at him before. What's going on?' Damon asked.

Eric was feeling increasingly comfortable and he felt that he needed to make up a story because the truth would sound too unbelievable. Dylan's friend, who Eric had heard talking to Sour Face, walked past Eric with a heavy smell of alcohol in his breath and headed towards the toilets, maybe to be sick.

Once he was out of earshot Eric said, 'It's nothing really. Last week I had an argument with him at the Northmead Square over a parking space. I was indicating to go into a space, then he just came along behind me, passed me and drove into it before I could. We had a short argument, then that was the end of it. I'm just surprised to see him here.'

Rick tapped Eric's belly with a knuckle and said, 'So that's what's bothering you. It was a minor issue. Just let it go.'

'Yeah, you're right. I'm just not myself right now, with losing my job and all,' Eric said

***

Dylan's friend emerged from the toilets and approached Eric. Eric had not noticed him coming until he was a few feet away. Eric turned towards him, expecting trouble because either Dylan or his friends must have noticed him looking at Dylan. The young man put his arm around Eric's shoulders, giving him a whiff of his alcohol-odoured breath and pointed at Dylan.

He burped and told Eric, 'I know he's pretty, but he's already spoken for.'

He let out another burp, laughed to himself and staggered over to Dylan, who was still accompanied by the rest of his friends. The boys watched him go and Rick said, 'What a prick!'

The man reached Dylan, who was giving his girlfriend another kiss, and put his hand on his left shoulder, almost toppling him over with his uncoordinated weight. He said something to Dylan and pointed at Eric. Dylan saw Eric for the first time, and after showing a brief expression of surprise, threw his head back and laughed. His girlfriend seemed to be asking Dylan what was so funny, and she giggled when he told her. Eric did not want to know what Dylan's friend had said, but it was no doubt something that would be embarrassing to him. He turned his back and tried to ignore Dylan and his friends.

'Don't look now, but Lady in Red is coming this way. His friends are all watching him,' Robert said.

Eric did not look, vainly hoping that Dylan would walk straight past him and go to the bar or the toilet. His hopes were dashed when Dylan held Eric's left wrist tenderly with his right hand. Before Eric could shake him off, Dylan walked in front of him, sliding the fingers of his right hand down from Eric's wrist, across his palm and to the end of his fingertips. Dylan stood face-to-face with Eric, smiling adoringly. He had positioned himself so that he was surrounded by Rick, Robert, Roger and Damon, but was also facing his own friends.

'Eric!' Dylan exclaimed. 'Fancy seeing you here. It's so lovely to see you again. How have you been keeping?' Eric was speechless, as were his friends who were looking at him suspiciously.

Dylan continued, 'As you probably noticed, I have picked up a gorgeous girlfriend, but I still have feelings for you. I asked my lovely Janine if she would mind if I had one dance with you, just for old time's sake.'

Rick, Robert, Roger and Damon all wore astounded expressions and were alternately looking at each other, and at Eric and Dylan.

Dylan said to them, 'I'm Dylan, an old flame of Eric's. He's still looking handsome.'

Outraged, Eric bellowed, 'This piece of shit's lying!'

Unable to contain himself, Eric lunged forward and punched Dylan on the jaw. The punch landed only a glancing blow because Dylan seemed to be ready for it and he had started moving backwards, only to be betrayed by his high heels, which were not appropriate fighting footwear. Dylan stumbled back a few steps and fell over, rolling onto his back.

Taking advantage of Dylan's prone position, Eric dived on top of him, losing his cowboy hat in the process, and rained punches at Dylan's face, which he blocked with his forearms. Not a single punch connected, but Eric surprised Dylan by leaning forward and dropping his knee into his gut. Dylan made a retching sound, having been badly winded.

Eric felt several hands grabbing at his shoulders, arms and wrists, which he fought off as he scrambled over Dylan, only managing to grab a handful of his dress before somebody wrapped his hands around his waist and bodily picked him up. As Eric's grip on Dylan's dress was wrenched away he heard a ripping sound, and he felt the sensation of being airborne before being deposited onto his feet.

Eric found himself face-to-face with a bouncer who looked like a three-hundred-pound brick of muscle. The bouncer gripped Eric's right bicep and waved another two bouncers onto the dance floor. They manoeuvred themselves between Eric's friends and Dylan's friends, who had advanced to help Dylan. Eric noticed that Sour Face was not standing with his friends, but was standing a few metres away with a smirk on his face. The two other bouncers stood side-by-side, a few feet apart with their arms spread out, forming a very large human barrier.

They only allowed Dylan's girlfriend to pass, who knelt down and put her arms around Dylan, who was still sitting on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Eric turned his head to glare at Dylan, who was glaring back at him with a promise of murder in his eyes. Dylan seemed to notice for the first time that his girlfriend was hugging him. He looked at her angrily and she looked both shocked and hurt by Dylan's expression.

She started, 'Dylan, I...'

Dylan pushed her away and snarled, 'Get off me you goddamned cunt! I don't need you!' She got up off the floor crying and scuttled into the crowd, most likely hoping to find the two friends she had been with earlier.

The bouncer who had lifted Eric off Dylan pointed at Robert, Roger, Damon, Rick and Eric in turn and commanded, 'You, you, you, you... and you! Follow me to the entrance.'

Damon pleaded to the bouncer, 'We were trying to break up the fight. It was just Eric who was fighting.'

'Zero tolerance for violence. Sorry, pal,' the bouncer answered unapologetically.

He called one of the bouncers who was standing in front of Dylan's friends, 'Frank, can you follow these gentlemen to the door?'

The lead bouncer started walking and the boys followed him. Frank walked behind them to make sure that none of them give him the slip. Eric looked back at Dylan who was still sitting on the floor, fuming. He noticed Sour Face smiling at him, and was surprised when he was given a surreptitious thumbs-up.

At the entrance of the club the lead bouncer said, 'Wait here. We have a leaving present for you.'

The boys looked at each other uneasily, expecting to be roughed-up or possibly locked in a room until the police arrived.

Their fear abated when Frank said to the doorman, 'Carlo, please red-stamp these gentlemen.'

As the boys walked up to Carlo in turn he stamped a red cross next to The 27 Club's logo stamp that they had been given when they first entered the club.

***

Outside the club Damon scolded, 'Brilliant, Eric. You've really fucked up this night.'

Eric apologised meekly and asked, 'Why don't we just go somewhere else?'

'How, Eric?' Rick asked. 'No clubs in this area will let us in with these red stamps. They all use the same system. It warns other clubs of troublemakers.'

'Let's wash them off then,' Eric suggested.

'Wash them off!' Rick said with a scoff. 'Do you know how much soap and scrubbing it takes to wash this off?'

Robert added, 'Let's be honest, do you want to go anywhere else dressed as a cowboy? I'm not going anywhere in this suit. Oh shit! I left my mask inside on the dance floor. I will have to pay for this suit now.'

Roger sighed and said, 'Let's go back to Benoni. I think this night's a bust.'

The others agreed with him and they walked back to the car, feeling dejected. As they reached the Sonata the car guard waved at them and said, 'It's alright. All safe. I looked after it.'

Damon gave him another ten Rand and they all got into the car.

Damon said, 'I'm not driving anywhere until I know what the hell went on in there. That story you spun about the parking space was bullshit, Eric. How did he know your name? Is there something that you want to tell us?'

Eric sighed and told the others about his encounter with Dylan at the park. He told them most of the story: Dylan swimming in his clothes, the young woman taking pictures of him, his talk with Eric and the fight that they had.

Roger looked at Eric suspiciously and said, 'Wait. You're saying that this nut was swimming in branded clothing, and then he wanted to beat you up because you disagreed with his outlook on life? Something does not add up there.'

***

Inside the club Dylan was still sitting on the floor. Eric's knee shot had really winded him and he felt that he needed a few minutes to recover. His friends were asking him if he was alright and trying to calm him down. A lot of people in the vicinity were standing in a semi-circle around Dylan and his friends. Dylan noticed that Thomas was standing near the dance floor wall to his left, not wanting anything to do with what had just happened.

When Dylan had his breath back he stood up and his left foot slipped out from under him and he fell on his backside again, drawing a lot of laughter from the other revellers. Ignoring the laughing rats, Dylan looked at his left shoe and noticed that the heel had broken off. He took both shoes off and then saw that his dress had been torn near the left shoulder strap. He balled his right hand into fist and thumped the floor a few times.

His best friend, Adam, said, 'Take it easy, dude. Those assholes are gone now.'

He held his hand out to Dylan, who snatched it and accepted Adam's assistance in helping him up. On his feet with his shoes in his left hand, Dylan scanned the people crowded round him, who were all staring at him. Their laughter had mostly abated.

Somebody in front of Dylan said to his friend, 'He looks seriously pissed off.' His friend nudged him and shushed him as Dylan looked at them. Even though Dylan did not have an intimidating presence about him, the two men averted their gaze.

Dylan looked at the tear in his dress. It was almost a foot long and it exposed most of the left side of Dylan's chest. Dylan held the flap of loose material.

Another person in the crowd called out, 'Where's your bra?' This comment drew some laughter, but the laughter that angered him most came from Thomas, who covered his mouth when he saw Dylan furiously wheel around towards him.

Dylan shouted, 'Do you think that's funny you little shit?' and threw one of his shoes at Thomas, who moved out of the way before it hit his head.

Dylan walked towards Thomas, who scurried off the dance floor. Dylan re-joined his friends but he was too furious to speak to any of them. When any of them tried to talk to him or touch him he rebuffed them. He again turned towards the crowd of people who were still laughing at him, chattering excitedly, or just staring at him in surprise.

He yelled, 'Do you fuckers think this is fucking funny? Huh? Come on! I'll take on anybody who wants to laugh at me.'

One man in his mid-twenties pointed at Dylan and laughed at him with an exaggerated "ha-ha-ha-ha-ha". Dylan grunted and threw his remaining shoe, which bounced off the man's chest. The man took a step forward, spoiling for a fight which Adam stepped in to avoid. Adam put his arm around Dylan's torso from behind and pulled him back. Dylan's other friends, Jake and Graham each held an arm to try to restrain him. Dylan was like a fighting bull anxious to get out of its pen for a rodeo.

A bouncer stood in front of the angry man and stretched out his hand to touch his chest with his fingertips. The man backed away with his hands held up in surrender. The same bouncer then turned his attention to Dylan, and lifted him up into a fireman's carry in one swift move. The crowd cheered as Dylan was being carried out of the nightclub.

Near the entrance the bouncer put Dylan down. Unable to contain his anger, Dylan jabbed his two right forefingers at the bouncer's chest and said, 'I'm going to fucking sue you. I've got more money than this place is worth.'

The bouncer said, 'Yeah, yeah. Everybody says they'll sue us. Red stamp please, Carlo.' Dylan had his wrist stamped and then stormed out of the club, followed by Adam, Jake and Graham.

Outside the air was much cooler than it had been a couple of hours ago. Dylan could feel the cold pavement in his bare feet, and a slight gust of wind chilled his legs and blew into the tear in his dress.

Dylan looked around and growled, 'Thomas! Where is Thomas? I want him now!'

From inside the club Dylan heard the DJ shout, 'It's time!', and the revellers started chanting, 'Foam! Foam! Foam! Foam!'

Dylan kicked the outside wall of the club with the ball of his right foot and shouted, 'Fuck! We're going to miss the party now!'

Adam had sobered up somewhat. He stepped into the club's entrance and saw Thomas standing at the opposite wall. 'Are you coming?' Adam asked.

'What about Dylan? He seems pretty hot right now,' Thomas answered.

'Don't worry. You know Dylan. He's beyond furious right now, but he will cool off soon enough.'

'OK. Just tell him I'll be a few minutes. I want to wait for him to cool down.'

'Alright. Don't worry.'

Adam stepped outside and told Dylan that Thomas was in the toilet and would be out soon.

Knowing that Thomas was hiding from him, Dylan said, 'He'd better be here soon. The longer he takes the worse I will make it for him.'

***

Eric took a swallow and cleared his throat. He would have to tell his friends the full story, including Dylan's attempt to seduce him. They were all looking at him expectedly, except Roger who, from the view point of the front passenger seat, seemed to have found something interesting to look at.

Eric was about to speak, when Roger exclaimed, 'Look! It's those other guys. Did they get thrown out as well?'

The others turned and took a good look at what was going on in the next block.

Rick said to Eric, 'You ripped up that Dylan guy pretty good. He's lost his shoes, and look at the tear in his dress.'

They watched a purple-faced Dylan pace back and forth while his friends seemed to be trying to calm him down.

A few minutes later Sour Face exited the club with some trepidation. Dylan grabbed hold of him and spun him around. From the Sonata the boys had a side-view of both Dylan and Sour Face. Dylan raised his right fist, then the young man who had directed Dylan's attention to Eric earlier held his arm, and seemed to be pleading with him not to punch Sour Face, who looked terrified.

Instead of punching Sour Face Dylan read him the riot act, shouting at him and jabbing him in the chest. The boys would still hear Dylan shouting if they had parked a block further down, but they could not hear what he was saying. During Dylan's tirade Sour Face was nodding apologetically and seemed to be saying 'sorry' a lot, although none of the boys in the car were expert lip-readers. After a few minutes Dylan finally stopped yelling at Sour Face, grabbed the front of his dress and pushed him against the wall. Dylan and his friends started walking down the street, crossing the road into the same block where the Sonata was parked.

Roger suggested, 'Let's go before they see us.'

'No arguments there,' Damon said as he started the car's engine. He drove past Dylan and his friends, and took a right-turn at the first intersection.

***

During the walk to the car Dylan's mood seemed to have improved a bit. The sky was clouding over and a cold wind was blowing. It was almost as if Dylan's anger had been transferred to the weather.

'The car's just a block away. Let's run before it pisses down,' said Jake.

'That sounds like a good idea to me,' Graham agreed.

Dylan had a different opinion. He asked, 'Why? I'm not scared of a bit of water.'

'Bare feet, water and lightning are not a good combination. It looks like we could be in for a storm,' Adam said.

Dylan considered Adam's point and cooed, 'Tommy... Little Tommy-boy. Come over here.'

Thomas walked to Dylan and looked at him nervously. Thomas hated it when Dylan talked to him like he was a toddler, but he felt too afraid protest.

Dylan said, 'It seems that I'm in danger of being struck by lightning. I've been carrying you for the last two months only because I like Adam. It's your turn to carry me. I need a piggy-back to the car.'

Wishing that he had not mentioned the possibility of a storm, Adam said, 'It's enough already, Dylan. Just leave him alone now.'

'Didn't you see him laughing at me? And after everything I have done for him? Tommy-boy has to make that up to me.'

'But you're much bigger than me. Take my shoes - we're about the same shoe size,' Thomas pleaded weakly.

'Then we'll risk getting you electrocuted, which would be very sad. If you want to stay in my good books, carry me. It's only for one block. Even you could manage that. Squat down so that I can get on your back.'

Thomas squatted down and Dylan sat across Thomas' back with his knees under Thomas' armpits.

'Now lift,' Dylan commanded.

'This is stupid! Stop it!' Adam protested.

Dylan ignored Adam and repeated his command. Thomas grunted and squirmed, but he was able to lift Dylan and keep his balance. Thomas started moving forward slowly, struggling to bear Dylan's weight.

Dylan said to Thomas, 'This isn't good enough.' He slapped Thomas on the left side of his head and snapped, 'Faster! You're embarrassing me.'

Thomas tried to pick up the pace, but he felt like he was going to collapse. Dylan slapped Thomas on the right side of his head and shouted, 'Come on! Useless piece of shit!'

Dazed and buckling under Dylan's weight, Thomas fell to his knees and Dylan landed on his feet, holding onto Thomas' shoulders for balance.

Adam grabbed Dylan's right arm and shouted, 'Enough! This is ridiculous! Just walk to the fucking car.'

Dylan was surprised at Adam's rebuke and looked at him incredulously. Adam tried to reason with Dylan, 'You've made your point. You're angry with Thomas for laughing at you, but I'm not going to watch my cousin being bullied like this.'

'I like you Adam, but don't do anything to change my mind about that,' Dylan replied.

Thomas was trying to catch his breath and he seemed to be close to tears. Adam asked Thomas if he was alright, to which Thomas replied breathlessly, 'Y-yes. No more.'

Adam looked at Dylan and pleaded, 'He's had enough. Let's just calm down and get into the car.'

***

In the Hyundai Sonata the boys rode in silence for a while, annoyed at being thrown out of the club and wondering what was going on with Eric. Eric hoped that none of the others would ask him for any more details about what happened at the dam. As they exited the outskirts of Johannesburg the rain came down hard. Damon put on the windscreen wipers and turned up the volume of the USB player. Eric did not even know what the music was, even though he had probably heard it many times before. His mind was spinning like a jet turbine.

Damon navigated the car smoothly through the heavy rain and entered the N12 freeway which would take them back to Benoni. After driving for a few kilometres they reached the Edenvale area and the rain stopped. It had been a localised rain shower, which is a common phenomenon in the Johannesburg summer. Damon sped the car up to one hundred and twenty kilometres per hour, the national speed limit on South Africa's freeways.

Rick was sitting in the middle of the back seat of the car, next to Eric. He shouted over the music, 'What happened with that Dylan guy at the dam?'

Damon switched off the USB player and said, 'What?'

Rick repeated the question that he had asked Eric. Eric tensed up and said, 'I told you what happened.'

'Roger had a good point earlier. Your story doesn't add up. What else happened?' Robert interjected.

Eric drew in a long breath and sighed in resignation. He said, 'Dylan tried to kiss me and I rejected him.'

'Is this Dylan guy gay then? He seemed straight as an arrow when he was with that girl,' Damon said.

'He's bisexual. He told me that before he kissed me.'

'Whoa, whoa! You said that he tried to kiss you. Now you're saying he did kiss you,' Rick said accusingly. Roger was squirming uncomfortably in his seat, realising that he had put Eric in an awkward position.

Rick said, 'Eric, you'd might as well tell us what happened between you and Dylan. If you're gay we won't think any less of you, right guys?'

Only Robert and Roger concurred.

Eric wiped a hand over his face and said, 'Alright, dammit. I'll tell you. First I want to make it clear to you that I am not gay. You've seen me with girls haven't you? And before you think it, I am not one of those closet queens.'

'Alright, we get it,' Rick said.

'What happened is that I was feeling sick of talking to Dylan, so I was about to stand up, then he kissed me on the left cheek. When I looked at him he piled into me, grabbing me and kissing me on the mouth. I pushed him off the bench, then decked him. He fell into the dam and some college boys started laughing at him. He was so embarrassed and angry that he said that he would make my life a misery.'

Eric drew deep breaths in and out, feeling relieved that he had got his story out, but also wondering what the others would think of it.

'OK, but why is Dylan so determined to destroy you just because you had an argument with him and then blew him off? It doesn't make sense,' Damon said.

'Because he's a lunatic. I read up about people with his personality traits. He's a narcissist.'

'A what?' Robert asked.

'He thinks that he's God's gift to the Earth. If anybody gets on the wrong side of him he goes into a rage, like he did with that little guy outside the club.'

'That's different,' Robert said, 'but what about him coming onto you in the club and talking about the good old days?'

Eric was getting frustrated. He blustered, 'He wanted to humiliate me in front of you all. Can't you understand that?'

'This story gets more and more elaborate,' Rick said.

'Hmmm,' Damon concurred.

Eric was tired of this conversation and did not offer any more argument. In fact, he had found the entire night exhausting, having to do a one-man sentry duty looking out for Dylan, getting into a fight, and now having his friends question both his sexuality and his innocence in the war with Dylan. He was relieved to see the sign indicating that the Snake Road turnoff was only two kilometres away.

The car was like a tomb on the way to Eric's home. Nobody spoke, and Eric could only guess what his friends were thinking. After what felt like a torturous few kilometres in the car, Damon finally pulled up in front of Mrs van der Walt's house.

Damon said, 'Night, Eric', making it clear that he wanted Eric out of the car.

Eric pushed the door open and said, 'Sorry guys.'

The others remained silent apart from Roger who said, 'We'll talk, OK?'

Eric muttered, 'Cool' and slammed the door shut.

As soon as the door closed Damon drove away. Eric wondered how many of the friends in the car he would see again. He also hoped that he could go to bed, fall asleep and not wake up until tomorrow afternoon. Somehow he knew that that would not happen because his mind was still a cacophony of screaming thoughts that would probably keep him awake all night.

***

After a speedy drive back to Benoni in Dylan's mother's Mercedes Dylan invited the rest of the boys back to his house for a party because his parents were away on a weekend break. Although Adam had managed to smooth things over somewhat between Dylan and Thomas, Dylan said that he would take Thomas home instead of bringing him back to his place for the party.

Thomas stayed with his parents in a three-bedroomed house in Oak Street in Northmead. Dylan stopped the car on Oak Street, a hundred metres from the house. Dylan told Thomas to get out of the car.

'We're not at the house yet,' Adam protested.

Dylan got out of the car while Thomas was closing the door and stepping onto the pavement. Dylan put his hand on Thomas' shoulder. Thomas faced him and Dylan hugged him, and said, 'I'm so sorry.'

Thomas started crying and sobbed, 'I shouldn't have laughed at you.'

Dylan tightened his hug and icily said through gritted teeth, 'I'm so sorry I wasted two months carrying a hopeless little field mouse like you.'

Dylan released his hug and with the swiftness of a snake, punched Thomas on the nose. Thomas' nose made a cracking noise and a splatter of blood flew from his face, like in a boxing movie. Thomas fell to the ground, howling in pain and holding his nose in a vain attempt to stop the flow of blood. Dylan stood over Thomas and started stamping on the side of his left thigh.

Adam was already out of the car after Dylan had delivered his third stamp and he grabbed him from behind, restraining him. He cursed himself for not being ready to stop Dylan before he had thrown his punch.

'Scurry home, field mouse. I never want to see you again,' Dylan sneered.

Adam spun Dylan around, slapped him across the face and yelled, 'What the fuck was that? You're an absolute bastard!'

Dylan grinned at Adam and said, 'That was discipline, and an example of what I do to people who cross me. You'd better not touch me again, or I'll do the same to you.'

'I've seen how you act when you are angry before, but you've crossed the line this time.'

In a mocking baby voice Dylan said, 'Does that mean Adam no want to be fwends no more?'

'You make me sick!'

Taking on a serious tone, Dylan narrowed his eyes and said, 'This is your last chance. You can stay with me, which means you will party a lot, get introduced to women, get invited to LAN parties, and be friends with my other friends, of which I have many. We've known each other since primary school. Do you want to give up our friendship? All of your friends were made through me. Do you want to lose their friendship as well?'

Dylan cocked his head, waiting for an answer.

'Alright. I'm with you, but everything you did to Thomas tonight was bullshit. At least drive him home. He's hurt.'

'I can't do that. He'll get blood all over the car. Walk him home, then come with me back to my place for the party.'

Adam ran to Thomas, who had got up and managed to limp about fifteen metres, and put his arm around him. Thomas was sobbing as Adam walked him to the house.

Before Adam opened the gate he said, 'I'm so sorry for what Dylan did to you. I have to go with him - I have too much to lose if I don't.'

Through his blood and tears Thomas pleaded, 'Don't leave me as well.'

'I won't abandon you. I will see you tomorrow,' Adam assured him.

As Thomas limped towards the front door Adam reluctantly climbed into the front passenger seat of the Mercedes.

Dylan smirked at Adam and said, 'An easy decision wasn't it?'

Adam glared at Dylan, who nonchalantly put the car in gear and floored the accelerator pedal, causing the rear wheels to spin as the car began to roar down the street.

***

### Chapter 6

Eric did not sleep as well as he had wanted to. He spent the first two hours in bed thinking about his latest run-in with Dylan and the possible loss of his friends. After fruitlessly trying to sleep he got out of bed and slowly sipped a glass of milk and curled his bare toes on the carpet. This seemed to help relax him enough to go back to bed and finally get some sleep. He woke up in daylight and groaned when he looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was only shortly past seven. He lay in bed, feeling too depressed to get up. It was a Sunday morning, and he could not think of anything in particular that he would want to do even if he was not depressed.

Eric had almost fallen asleep again, when his cell phone started ringing. He groggily turned over and picked it up from the bedside table. The screen indicated that Mrs van der Walt was calling him, and it was now 8:47. That's odd - why is she calling me on the phone? Eric wondered.

He answered the phone and started to say, 'Good mor-'.

Mrs van der Walt interrupted him in a frantic voice, 'Thank God, Eric. Please come to the front door. There is somebody here and I do not like the look of him.'

Eric said, 'I'll be right there.' He quickly put on a pair of jeans and dashed outside, bare-chested and bare-footed.

Eric ran around to the front of the house and was taken aback when he saw Sour Face standing at the front door. He saw Mrs van der Walt looking out of an open lounge window with a concerned look on her face.

Eric told her, 'It's alright Mrs van. I know him.'

Eric looked at Sour Face, who looked more like Broken Face: His nose looked like it had been broken and recently reset, as there was a bump on it. There were deep purple rings around his eyes. Eric noticed that below the hem of his shorts there was an ugly yellow-black bruise on the side of his left leg.

He asked, 'What happened to you?'

Sour Face had a desperate expression on his face which made Eric feel a bit sorry for him. When he spoke he sounded like he had a bad cold. He said, 'I need to talk to you. It's about last night.'

'OK. Bring your car inside and park behind the white Ford, then follow me around the side of the house,' Eric said.

He gave Mrs van der Walt a wave, indicating that all was fine. She stayed at the window and watched Sour Face as he limped towards his car. The kid's car was an old blue Fiat Uno. Eric heard the starter motor whir a few times before the engine puttered into life, belching a large cloud of grey smoke out of the exhaust. Eric grimaced when he looked at the smoke and imagined an iceberg melting into the Arctic Ocean.

When Sour face had parked the car he limped to Eric, who led him into the flat. Eric said, 'Come on in,' and led Sour Face into the flat. He said, 'I'm Eric.'

'Nice to meet you, I'm Thomas Wilson,' Sour Face responded.

'I'm surprised to see you here. To what do I owe this pleasure?'

'I need to talk to you about Dylan. We had a bust-up last night.'

'So I see, but why come to me?'

'What happened between you and Dylan last night isn't the end. He really has it in for you. I want to tell you as well that I want nothing else to do with him.'

'Yeah, I figured. In the club I saw the look on your face when Dylan won that contest, and the way you seemed to be so happy when I decked him.'

'That was awesome. I have been sick of him for a while. You're just lucky that he was tipsy and he was wearing high heels.'

'Why's that?'

'Because he's a red belt in taekwondo. I've seen him show off some of his moves and he's really good.'

'He doesn't seem so tough. The first time I met him was at the Homestead Dam. He annoyed me so much that I pushed him and he went flying into the water. He just sat there in the dam, pouting like a little kid. He didn't put up much of a fight.'

Thomas started laughing, then groaned and held his nose for a moment. He said, 'I wish I could have been there to see that! But don't underestimate him - look what he did to me. When I walked into the house my parents were still up and they freaked out when they saw my nose and all the blood. My Dad took me to the Medicross to have my nose reset.'

'It doesn't look quite right, though.'

'No. The doctor said that my nose had been virtually squashed across my left cheek, and that it would never the same. He told me that he's seen worse cases, but mine was quite bad.'

Eric said, 'Before we have a proper talk let me get some drinks. I can offer you coffee or beer.' Thomas asked for a coffee and Eric joined him. After a poor night's sleep a cup of Joe was the tonic he needed. He decided not to bother getting a shirt because the morning air was already warm.

Eric sat down and asked, 'What was going on outside the club? Dylan seemed to be seriously pissed with you.'

'He was,' Thomas answered. 'He was angry because he saw me smiling after your scuffle with him.' Thomas then told Eric what had happened after he had been thrown out of the club.

Eric scoffed and said, 'It sounds like he really threw a hissy fit. Weren't you scared when he threw the shoe at you, like he was going to attack you or something?'

'I was, but I just couldn't help myself laughing. When Dylan fell over again with his broken shoe it was like slapstick comedy. Then people started making funny remarks that made him so angry that he challenged half of the people there to a fight!'

Thomas had been laughing as he spoke, but then his mood became more sombre. He said, 'I was so sorry for that girl he was with. She seemed like a lovely girl. The way he pushed her away and swore at her was disgusting. She was heartbroken.'

Thomas told Eric about having to give Dylan a piggyback to the car, and Eric shook his head in disgust.

'Did Dylan say anything about me?' Eric asked.

'He said lots about you. We thought he had calmed down, but he was driving and by the time he got us onto the freeway he started getting angry again and thumping the steering wheel. He was ranting about you humiliating him for the second and last time. He said that he would come to this address and kill you. He repeated that a few times, and that's how I knew where you lived.'

'The son of a bitch must have followed me home from the dam. That's how he knows where I live. I didn't notice anybody following me. What kind of car does he drive?'

'I don't know much about cars; all I can tell you is that it's a red sedan with four doors and a boot. Anyway, on the freeway he was scaring us. He was driving his mother's Mercedes and he was clocking over two hundred and thirty, dodging around other cars. This was while he was ranting and raving. We were sure that he was going to get us killed.'

'When did he beat you up?'

'He stopped down the road from my house. It was weird. He hugged me and said he was sorry then he beat me up. My cousin, Adam stopped him from doing any more damage. Adam helped me walk to the house and then got back in the car with Dylan.'

'What? He left you? I don't believe that!'

'He has been friends with Dylan for years and years, and he's made a lot of friends through him. He even threatened to end their friendship if Adam didn't go back to his place.'

'Earlier you said you were sick of Dylan. Why's that?'

'He's so flash and he acts like he is royalty. He was never a good friend of mine. He only tolerated me because of Adam. I only knew him for a couple of months but he often took jabs at me about being small and wearing cheap clothes all the time. I'm a quiet kind of person. He was always calling me "little mouse".'

'Dylan and his animal names! I spoke to a woman at a modelling agency he used to work for. He annoyed people there by giving them animal names.'

'Dylan likes to belittle everybody. Like at the party, with his costume. It wasn't what he said he would wear.'

'Let me guess: He wanted to upstage the rest of you at the party. That's why he was dressed like a pretty woman while the rest of you looked like maids.'

'That's right. He came up with the idea and said he would buy the maid dresses for all of us. Then on the night he picked us up in the Mercedes, wearing that dress. Like I said, he's flash.' Thomas pondered for a moment and asked Eric, 'What happened at the dam anyway?'

Since Eric had already given the finer details to his best friends he told Thomas everything.

Thomas looked both surprised and shocked as he listened to Eric's story. When Eric had finished he said, 'I knew that Dylan was weird, but his ideas about life sound totally whacked-out. And you said he was bisexual? I didn't know that.'

'He's full of surprises it seems. By the way, you wouldn't know Dylan's surname would you?' Eric asked.

'Reid, as in R-E-I-D. Why, are you going to call the cops about his threats?'

'No. I have a better idea. I want to see if he has any social media pages, see what I can find out about him. I suppose you've already seen his Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest pages and whatever other social media pages he has?'

'I don't have the Internet at home. I hardly know what social media is all about.'

'Well, let's have a look now.'

'Cool!' Thomas said excitedly while he rubbed his hands together like a lottery player whose first four numbers had come up, and was eagerly awaiting the next number.

***

Dylan was driving his modified Volkswagen towards Eric's house. When he had a stretch of road long enough he pushed the accelerator to the floor and revved the engine to the redline. He then let go of the accelerator and listened to the twittering sound that the waste gate made as excess air was expelled from the turbocharger system. He loved that sound, and he felt like he could drive like this all the time if it were not for the risk of damaging the engine.

Once Dylan reached Eric's house he was surprised to see Thomas' car parked in the driveway. He killed the engine and sat, staring at Thomas' car and thought, So you've turned to your uncle Eric for help. What are you telling him, little Tommy-boy? Oh, Tommy-boy, we really will have to have a talk about this. I'll be seeing you soon.

Dylan stayed where he was for another few minutes, hoping that Eric would not look out of the window at the wrong time. He considered reversing the car so that it would not be directly in front of the house, but he dismissed that idea because risk was what made life more fun.

He observed the entrance to the house. There was a tall lockable gate closing off the driveway, but the low wall across the rest of the property had a walk-in gate which looked like it had no lock. He looked at the adjacent houses and saw a house two doors down with a seven-foot-high brick wall with no peepholes. That would be a perfect place to park when he came around again to visit. First he would talk to Thomas about his visit with Eric. Once that bit of business was out of the way he would call some special friends.

***

Eric booted up his computer, which would not take long because it was better than the outdated junk that Braycon Paint Industries had given him to work with. Thomas remarked, 'Your PC looks a lot faster than mine. I've got an old one with Windows XP. It's fine, though, because I have old games that are still fun to play.'

'This is an i7 with Windows 10. It really flies. You need a high-end PC for the latest games,' Eric said.

After the computer had booted up Eric connected to the Internet and opened his Facebook page. Thomas whistled and said, 'One hundred and forty friends! How do you know so many people?'

Eric explained, 'I had three more the other day. I only know about forty of these people, and the rest are just friends of friends, who I made "friends" with on Facebook because I liked their comments.' He made quotation gestures with his first two fingers of each hand when he mentioned the friends who were not really friends. 'I want to see Dylan's page if he has one. You said that his name is Dylan Reid?'

Thomas nodded enthusiastically and said, 'I never knew that social media was so awesome. I wish I had the Internet at home.'

Eric typed "Dylan Reid" into the search bar and was presented with seven search results. While he was looking at the tiny thumbnail pictures Thomas pointed to a facial close-up profile picture and said, 'There! That's him.' Eric clicked on the Dylan Reid that Thomas had pointed out and opened the page. Eric was amazed at the first things he saw on Dylan's Facebook page.

He noticed that Dylan did not have "friends", instead he had 336,745 followers because his page had been set up as a public figure rather than a regular individual. Thomas' eyes seemed to be goggling at the number of followers that Dylan had. Eric looked at Thomas and remarked, 'I was not expecting that. Whoa! Look at his latest entry.'

At the top of the page was a photograph of Dylan and the friends who had been with him at The 27 Club, minus Thomas of course. They were still wearing their costumes, and the tear in Dylan's dress was showing prominently. What interested both Eric and Thomas was that they were standing in the shallow end of the swimming pool with their clothes and hair completely soaked. They were standing in a line, linking each other together with their arms around each other's shoulders, all grinning broadly. Eric assumed that they had set up a camera on a tripod and set the timer to give themselves time to get into position. Above the picture was a caption that read: "Got thrown out of the foam party at the 27. We had a pool party instead."

Below the picture there were some comments from other Facebook users. Eric and Thomas read them with interest:

Emma Fourie: Haha. Awesome picture but OMFG what happened? Your dress is torn. Why did u get thrown out?

Dylan Reid: Got into a fight. I won the fancy costume contest and some loser attacked me for wearing a dress. He looked worse after the fight.

Eric laughed and said, 'That's rich!'

'What does OMFG mean?' asked Thomas

'On the Internet there are loads of acronyms that people use. OMFG means "Oh my fucking God".'

Thomas grunted in disgust and said, 'I don't like that sort of blasphemy.'

It occurred to Eric that Thomas had not cursed a single time during their conversation. He asked, 'Are you church-going?'

'Yes I am,' Thomas proclaimed.

'You don't mind if we carry on do you? This is interesting.'

'Not at all. Let's see what other people have to say. Maybe we will learn a few more things about Dylan.'

Eric scrolled down and read some more of the numerous comments. Dylan's followers seemed to have been busy:

Andre Beauchamp: Vive le Dylan! Cool picture. You look hot in that dress. I bet you shaved your legs as well as your arms you sexy boy.

Dylan Reid: I always shave my body. Body hair is for apes.

Andre Beauchamp: Witty, sexy and tough. This loser you mentioned sounds like a homophobic pig.

Gill van Tonder: Love the wet look. You and your friends are hot.

Rhonda Jones: Kick ass, Taekwon-Dylan!

Dylan Reid: People underestimate me because I am smaller. BIG MISTAKE!!!

Barry68: Cum here to Fresno, CA. Would love to swim with u. I bet not ALL of you is small.

Dylan Reid: What are you, 68 years old? You look it. I don't like old people.

Barry68: I'm 61. You're pretty but yur attitude is ugly.

Dylan Reid: Fuck off then, Opie.

Barry68: You'll be old one day.

Dylan Reid: I will age better than you, you shaggy-bearded hairy bastard. Didn't I just tell you to fuck off?

Thomas said, 'What a charmer! I almost forgot - my cousin, Adam is in this picture. He is standing to the left of Dylan, our left.'

'I remember that he cracked a joke with me about looking at Dylan. I still think it's fucked up that he stayed with Dylan after what he did to you.' Minding his language he added, 'Sorry, I don't mean to offend you.'

'It's alright. Where can we see more stuff?'

'We can scroll down the Timeline page here, or we can check out his photos.'

'Let's look at some more photos. Even the first one showed a side of Dylan that I never knew about.'

Eric clicked the "Photos" link and the screen filled with photos of Dylan. Eric assumed that there must be hundreds of photos because the scroll bar on the right continued to lengthen as more pictures loaded. There was another picture of Dylan in his red dress and high heels, but without the tear. He was sitting on an inflatable sun lounger in the pool. His dress and shoes were wet.

'What's this wet clothing thing about?' Thomas asked.

'It's something that Dylan mentioned when I met him at the dam. He had actually been swimming in his clothes before he started talking to me. He said that there are lots of people worldwide who are into it. I did some searching myself and found lots of wet look material on the web.'

'Looks freaky to me,' Thomas remarked with a grunt.

Eric expanded more photos, in which Dylan was more often wearing wet clothes than not. Among the photos they saw Dylan with a man of about thirty, both wearing formal suits, standing chest-high in the pool and kissing; Dylan standing naked in the pool with his manhood just below the surface; and a picture of Dylan wearing formal black trousers with a frilly dress shirt, bow tie and black shoes, standing in the spray of lawn sprinklers.

Thomas shook his head and said with disgust, 'I'm glad that he dumped me. He's got something seriously wrong with him. I could've done without the broken nose, though.'

'Dylan's nuts, but I think that I underestimated him at first. I just thought that he was just some insecure kid who was lashing out. He seems to be quite intelligent, though. At The 27 Club he humiliated me in front of my friends by making out that we once had a sexual relationship in the past. I'm not sure if they're still my friends after that and the fight. In the car they were treating me like I was an alien to them.'

'Dylan is very intelligent and vindictive. I would watch out for him.'

'Maybe I need to find a way to stay ahead of him. Do you know where he lives?'

'I don't know his address. Adam told me that he lives in one of those mansions on The Drive in Westdene.'

The Drive was a road in the centre of Westdene, which encircled a bird sanctuary, which was more like a large stagnant pond surrounded by an ugly steel fence. It was common to see dead birds and fish in the reeds. The houses on The Drive were the most expensive in Benoni, but they were not really big enough to be called mansions. It was hardly Beverly Hills.

'It sounds like his family really is as rich as he claimed. Is there somewhere else I might find him?'

Thomas pondered the question for a moment and said, 'He's a serious gamer. He goes to a lot of LAN parties; in fact he hosts a lot himself and pays the costs. He never invited me to his house, but he let me go to the LAN parties.'

'I've never been to a LAN party myself. It's when a lot of gamers all go online together and play the same game against other people around the world isn't it?'

'That's right. Sometimes they just play against each other. A group of gamers who play together are called a "guild". Nearly all of these big LAN parties are at the Benoni Community Hall.'

'Do you know when the next one is?'

'Yes. It's on Wednesday at eight in the evening. They usually play until people are too tired or have to go to school or work the next day. Sometimes they go on into the early hours of the morning.'

'What games do you play at these parties?'

'We play Red Faction a lot, sometimes it's Quake. They're shooter-type games where you run around killing your opponents, and even parts of the scenery can be shot up.'

'That doesn't sound very Christian,' Eric joked.

'We don't all hide under our beds with a Bible to keep us safe. Most Christians enjoy the pleasures of the world, whether they like to admit it or not.'

'I think I will visit the LAN party on Wednesday. Do you think that Dylan will be there?'

'I'd say most definitely.' Thomas looked sad and added, 'I won't be going anymore, not with Dylan there. I can understand why Adam didn't want to end their friendship now.'

'I'll be looking forward to meeting Dylan. You said the Benoni Community Hall?'

'Yes. What do you have in mind?'

'I'll think of something. I want to stop our rivalry some way or other. I have enough problems as it is. I lost my job on Tuesday as well.'

Thomas shook his head. 'I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?'

'It's a long story, but if you get an office job be careful how you use the Internet.'

'If you say so,' Thomas said, unsure of what Eric really meant. 'Do you have any interviews or anything?'

'I do. I have an interview on Tuesday at nine. It's the only one I have so far.'

'I hope that it works out for you. I hope you can patch things up with your friends as well. You seem to have gained a maniac enemy and lost your friends within the last few days.'

Eric suppressed a tear and said, 'Yeah. This week has turned my life upside down. To tell you the truth, I don't know how everything went wrong so fast. I'm not sure what was the worst, losing my job or meeting Dylan.'

'I'll pray for you,' Thomas offered. He put his hand on Eric's shoulder and bowed his head. Eric did not state that he did not believe in prayer, or offer any other kind of protest. At that moment he felt that if he was wrong and that there was a God, he needed all the help he could get.

***

After Thomas had driven away and his car's emissions had probably caused an ice sheet to break away from the Antarctic ice shelf, Eric went back to his computer to see what else he could find out about Dylan. He opened his Twitter account and found Dylan's Twitter page. He saw that Dylan was following fifty-seven people, but had "404.6K Followers" as Twitter put it. 'How?' Eric wondered. Eric had 305 followers, which he had gained over more than three years.

He read a few of Dylan's Tweets from the latest entry going backwards, only paying attention to what Dylan was saying and not the retweets or replies from other users.

'I am very angry at the moment. Some dick got me into a fight and ruined my night out. Cost me R18000 in ruined clothes.'

'Going to a foam party. Cannot wait to get covered in foam. Will dress appropriately.'

'Have you ever genuinely hated somebody? Eric is my enemy. He is the Devil.'

'Got into a fight at the dam. Some poor slob who lost his job took his frustrations out on me.'

'It feels perfect to wake up and be perfect. I am special and everybody admires me for it. How many of you would want to kiss my naked body?'

'Look, drool, kiss your screen, whatever.'

The last comment that Eric read was accompanied by a picture of Dylan standing in what Eric assumed was his bedroom. In the picture Dylan had his hands spread out as if he was imitating an aeroplane, and he was smiling conceitedly. His full figure was visible from head to toe and he was stark naked.

At the dam Eric had thought that Dylan looked more athletic than skinny. Looking at this picture he was impressed with Dylan's build. His muscles were not large, but they were well-defined. Eric assumed that Dylan's taekwondo training had been responsible for his physical development. There were several comments to this picture including one from a woman who told Dylan that she would like to lick every inch of his body. Some negative comments were of a homophobic nature, while others criticised Dylan for being a poser. One of his haters told him to get cancer and die quickly.

He scrolled up the screen to the picture again to see if he could spot anything of interest in the room itself. The room had an expensive-looking patterned red carpet, but the camera had been set up to only show Dylan and the only other detail that Eric could see was that the walls were painted in textured white paint. Eric started to feel embarrassed when he allowed his gaze to fall back to Dylan. Not only was he conscious of the fact that he was looking at a naked young man, his nemesis no less, but he felt strangely insecure by Dylan's superior physique. Eric felt jealous of Dylan as well for having the self-confidence to even post a picture like this for over four hundred thousand people to see. Eric would never dare to put a naked selfie on social media.

Eric was not too surprised or offended by Dylan's other Tweets. In fact, he had expected Dylan to vent about his problems with him, as he had done about his problems with Dylan. He was mainly surprised at how many people would follow a creep like him because he was not a celebrity in the true sense. He had no doubt that Dylan was an interesting and unique individual, which was maybe why he did have such a large following.

Eric found another thing about Dylan that bothered him. For the first time he felt scared of him. In the red corner Dylan appeared to be a very bold and influential person, he had several friends who could back him up, he was smart, and he had shown that he had a propensity for cruelty. In the blue corner Eric was the underdog, alone and vulnerable.

Eric's train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Eric looked at the screen and answered, 'Hi Rog. I'm sorry about last night. I was going to call you later to talk about it.'

'Hi Eric. When we left you last night I said we'd talk.'

'Oh! You won't guess who was just here.'

'Who was that?'

'Do you remember one of Dylan's friends at the nightclub, a little guy?'

'Are you talking about the one who was being crapped out by this Dylan guy when we were watching from the car?'

'Yes. He came here and told me that Dylan beat him up last night when he dropped him off near his house. It turned out that the barney was about him laughing at Dylan. Apparently he went ballistic after we left, throwing his shoes around and screaming at the crowd.'

'Dylan sounds like a real hot head. Why did that little kid visit you?' Whatever Roger had wanted to talk to Eric about had been side-tracked by this discussion about Dylan and Thomas.

'He came to warn me that Dylan wants revenge.' Eric laughed. He continued, 'We looked at Dylan's Facebook page. There are thousands of pictures of him in wet clothes. All wet! Even his pretty red dress and his nice tuxedo clothes. He was even wet wearing them! Do you know what they did after they left the nightclub? They all jumped in the pool and took a photo! They were all wet! On Twitter he even posted a page of himself naked! Yeah, sure, that's a normal thing to do! Maybe I will do the same and have people licking their screens and kissing my cock!' Eric laughed again.

'Eric, Eric! Settle down,' Roger tried to pacify him.

'Settle down? I have lost my job and a lunatic is after me!'

'Did you hear yourself when you were talking about Dylan just now? You sounded manic! I'm worried about you.'

Eric shouted, 'I'm worried about me too!' He took a breath and said more calmly, 'Wait, wait. I'm just thinking about something we talked about. Did you find a job for me? We talked about it on Thursday.'

Roger was silent for a moment before he said, 'I'm sorry, no. I talked to my boss on Friday afternoon and he said that we are not looking for any more programmers. I really wished that I could help you there.'

'Why didn't you tell me yesterday or even on Friday?'

'I wanted you to enjoy your night out. I thought that it might be better to tell you later. I didn't think that a few days would make any difference.'

'Can you ask them again today?'

'Eric, it's Sunday. I'm saying this to you as a friend: Get your shit together. Take a breath - actually do it now - and tell me how deep you are in.'

Eric breathed deeply a few times and said. 'I'm sorry Rog. This crap over the last week has stressed me more than I realised. I'm alright now. I have a job interview on Tuesday. I'll nail it.'

'That's more like it. Be positive and don't panic.'

'Yeah. I'll be ready.' Eric sighed and said, 'The other guys were pissed at me last night. I think that I should apologise to them.'

Roger paused for moment and said, 'That's what I phoned you about. Only Damon is really pissed. He even said that he didn't want to see you again.'

'That sounds a bit harsh. I know that I haven't been close friends with Damon, like I have been with you, Rick and Robert. But to just dump me like that...'

'Damon did not dump you at the drop of a hat. We were all talking about you last night. The thing is, we've been worried about you for a long time. You've been different since your parents died.'

'How do you mean?'

'It was like you became the ultimate social animal. You were splashing money about, taking us out and entertaining us all. Everything about you just seemed different to the Eric we knew.'

'I didn't hear any complaints when I had the money. People only started leaving me when the money dried out. I noticed during those times how you, Rick, Robert and Damon enjoyed my hospitality.'

'That's not fair, Eric. What I'm talking about is how you changed. You've never been a shy guy, but all of a sudden you were going out in expensive clothes, you were taking us to lap-dancing clubs. It was like real Eric was hiding behind the party animal, not wanting to open up about his feelings. What happened to the more amiable Eric who we could just go to a pub with and shoot the breeze?'

'His fucking parents died, that's what happened. I needed a coping mechanism. Using the money I inherited for fun was my way of coping. Don't you get that?'

'Even when your money ran out you were not the same Eric whose company we all enjoyed.'

'When a close family member of yours dies tell me how easy it is to come to terms with it. Maybe you can explain that to Rick and Robert. Damon can fuck off if he doesn't want to see me anymore.'

'Eric, we just feel that it's better if we give you space to get you head together. You need your family.'

'Are you telling me that you're dumping me as well? And what family are you talking about? Stephen is thousands of kilometres away in Australia and I can't talk to Stephanie. Without you I'm alone.'

'Listen. You need to contact your family. They have been in the same boat as you. We're not dumping you, we are worried about you and we want to give you some space.'

'That doesn't make any goddamned sense. Friends are supposed to stick together, aren't they?'

'This is painful for all of us. The thing is that Rick and Robert have said that they have not enjoyed your company for a while. They say that you are a different person.'

'So I'm three friends down! Is that what you're telling me? Are you still my friend?'

'Of course I am. So are Rick and Robert, but they are worried about you, like I am. You need to think about your well-being, even see a counsellor or something. Like I said, though, we feel that you need some space to get your life together.'

'You do that. Keep your distance, friend.'

'Eric-'

Eric did not allow Roger to continue, and ended the call. He wished that he had a regular telephone because slamming the handset into the cradle would have felt more satisfying. Eric was furious as he ran over the conversation in his head. We're concerned for you but we will not be around to help you. Find a shrink. Oh, by the way, thanks for the parties. We would have preferred a pub, but we were prepared to sacrifice that for the lap dances.

Bastards, fucking bastards.

Eric now knew for a fact that he was alone in this situation. He put his face in his hands and sobbed properly for the first time since his parents died.

***

### Chapter 7

Dylan stopped his car in front of the tall, rusty gate outside Thomas' house and honked his horn. He knew that Thomas would be home alone because late on a Monday morning both of his parents would be at work, and his fourteen-year-old brother would be at school. That was unless one of them was having a sick day, which Dylan hoped was not the case.

Nearly thirty seconds had passed and there was no response from within the house. He could not phone Thomas because he did not have his cell phone number. He knew that asking Adam for the number would not be a good move because Adam would still be upset about his treatment of Thomas after the foam party. Adam would also find it funny that Dylan would want to speak to Thomas.

He honked the horn three times and waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He switched off the car radio because he had to think about what he was going to say to Thomas. This delay was turning out to be a blessing in disguise. Dylan saw a movement through the net curtain of the lounge window. Thomas was looking out of the window and staring back at Dylan. The look of shock on his face showed that he was not too enthusiastic about seeing Dylan again. Dylan got out of the car.

He almost stumbled when he stepped on a section of driveway where the bricks had sunk into the ground. The house was hardly Blenheim Palace. It was a basic three-bedroom suburban house with a corrugated iron roof and a tatty-looking front garden that had not seen a lawnmower for a while. The whole property looked like it needed a good make-over. The roof was nearly stripped of its paint and had rust spots all over it, and the house walls and the window frames definitely could have benefited from a full repainting. Dylan doubted that there was a pool in the back, but he was sure that if there was a pool it would be a slime pit that he would not want to swim in.

Thomas was still at the window. He had parted the net curtain for a clearer view out and Dylan could see the look of trepidation on his face. Dylan waved to him and called, 'Thomas! Can we talk? I'm sorry, OK?' After a short pause Thomas opened the front door and walked up to the gate with a slight limp. Thomas looked worried and he did not say anything, not even a simple greeting.

Dylan saw the damage that he had done to Thomas' face, but he still felt that he had deserved it at the time. There were heavy purple rings around his eyes and Dylan noticed the bump on his nose. In taekwondo class he had once seen somebody break his nose in a sparring session. He also had had purple bruising around his eyes that got worse for a few days before it started to heal.

Dylan almost felt some sympathy, seeing this broken, scared little man standing in front of him. He said, 'How are you doing, kid?'

'Fine, I suppose. I bit sore,' Thomas replied bluntly.

'I was pretty rough on you on Saturday night. I shouldn't have taken everything out on you. It was that other guy who caused all the trouble, not you. I want to offer my apologies. I'm not playing a joke on you, I really am sorry.'

Looking at Dylan's feet, Thomas meekly said, 'Alright. I'm sorry for laughing at you.' Dylan extended his hand through the bars of the gate, and Thomas accepted the handshake.

'I'd like to take you out to make up for everything,' Dylan said.

'I was thinking of just playing some games on the computer. Besides, I can't go out looking like this.'

Dylan smiled and said, 'Your face doesn't look that bad. Nobody will give you a second glance. I want to take you to Carnival City. I'll buy you a good lunch and we can play the slots, or whatever you fancy.'

'I don't believe in gambling. It's a sin.'

'You won't be gambling because you won't be using your own money. This is my treat to you. Isn't gambling only a sin if you gamble recklessly and waste the money that you need to live on? We won't be gambling serious money, just playing the games. I don't want to hand over tons of money to the casino. I just want us to have a bit of fun. Taking you out is my way of saying sorry.'

Thomas pondered Dylan's proposal and said, 'I should change into something smarter.'

Dylan appraised Thomas's clothes and said, 'Look at me. I'm wearing cargo pants and a T-shirt. They're not too fussy as long as you look decent and you're wearing shoes. This isn't Monte Carlo! Maybe a nicer shirt will help, but the jeans and trainers and fine.'

Thomas looked at his T-shirt. There was a print on it that was badly faded and he noticed that there were some frayed threads on the end of his right sleeve. He said, 'Thanks for the offer, Dylan.' Dylan was waiting for the "...but" followed by an excuse not to go out. Instead of making an excuse Thomas asked, 'Will you give me a few minutes? I'll get another shirt. Do you want to come in?'

'Nah, I'll just sit in the car and wait for you. It won't take long to change your shirt.'

Thomas went back inside the house and stripped off his shirt. He sprayed some deodorant under his armpits and on his chest. He started to feel good. He was pleasantly surprised that Dylan had come to apologise to him and invite him out. During his acquaintance with Dylan he had felt out of place because Dylan had always made him feel like he was just there and, not particularly wanted. Since moving to Benoni two months ago he had not made any friends and he only had Adam to thank for giving him a social outlet. He picked a white golf shirt out of his wardrobe, which he assumed would be presentable enough.

Dylan sat in the car, watching two birds hopping around on top of the garden wall. He knew nothing about aviculture and he had no clue as to what species they were. He just found that watching them kept his mind busy while he was waiting for Thomas. He had not wanted to go into the house, especially if the inside looked anything like the outside. Besides, knowing that he was waiting in the car would make Thomas hurry up.

When Thomas locked the front door and approached the gate Dylan looked at Thomas' shirt and thought, cheap, but good enough. Dylan's clothes probably cost ten times the amount that Thomas, or more likely his parents had spent on his clothes, but he was not going to make a point of it. As Thomas opened the gates they made a horrible screeching sound, which was repeated when he closed them. Dylan pressed the central locking button and opened the passenger door, having to lean over quite far to do so. Sometimes he hated being short.

Thomas sat in the passenger seat and closed the car door. Dylan pointed at Thomas' shirt and said, 'That looks a lot better.' Thomas nodded and smiled.

Dylan reversed out of the driveway. As he enjoyed doing, he booted the throttle and the car surged forward with a long burst of tyre squeal. Thomas sucked in a deep breath and grabbed the sides of his seat.

As the car reached a hundred kilometres an hour Thomas' eyes widened like satellite dishes and he frantically yelled, 'The stop sign!' Thomas was sure that Dylan would not make the stop sign and he was still accelerating.

When it seemed impossibly late Dylan braked hard and stopped just before the stop line. Thomas gasped. Dylan grinned at Thomas and said, 'Stop sign. Check. Stopped. Check.'

As Dylan set off from the stop sign at a slightly gentler pace he said to Thomas, 'Don't worry about this car. It handles like a racing car. It can hit a hundred from zero in under six seconds. I can give you the tuning shop's number if you want.'

Dylan knew full well that Thomas would not be able to afford a car like this. The market value for a Volkswagen Jetta of this age was barely forty thousand Rand, but Dylan had spent a substantial six-figure amount on modifications.

'I'm sure I can't afford to fix up my car like this. I struggle just to pay for the petrol. This car's awesome,' Thomas said.

'I like driving this car, now that it's what it should have been in the first place. You're far too nervous as a passenger, though. I can show you what this car can do.'

'I'd prefer to go a bit slower.'

'That's boring. I didn't pay good money to make this car boring.'

Dylan turned right on to O' Reilly Merry Street, which was a main single-lane road with several cross-streets. Dylan drove down the road like a man possessed, determined to burst through every vehicle in his way. He overtook other cars when the space between his car and oncoming traffic seemed to be too tight for him to complete the manoeuvre. Several other drivers flashed their lights and honked their horns. Dylan glanced at Thomas who was as white as a sheet.

A gap opened in the road ahead and Dylan accelerated to close the gap with the next car in front. The driver of the other car was a woman, who swerved off the road when she saw the Jetta approaching behind her at over twice the speed limit. Her car crossed a house's driveway, veered left on the grass verge and the passenger side scraped along the garden wall until it came to a stop.

'You ran her off the road!' Thomas exclaimed.

'She ran herself off the road. Nervous drivers like that are dangerous. The fact that she crashed was a perfect case in point.'

'We've got to go back!'

'Why? We weren't involved in the accident. Besides, she wasn't hurt.'

'How do you know?'

'I saw her. She hit the steering wheel with her hand. You can't do that if you're seriously injured. Stop fussing and enjoy the ride.'

Dylan looked in his rear-view mirror and saw that two cars had stopped at the accident scene. Nobody was making an attempt to chase Dylan down and stop him. He was finding Thomas' nervousness amusing. Some of his former passengers had been jittery when he had performed some daring moves, but Thomas was in a different league.

His next overtaking move almost ended in disaster. As he was overtaking an eighteen-wheeler a car had pulled out of a side street to the left and turned into the road, facing the Jetta. Dylan geared down and accelerated violently. The driver of the other car started flashing his headlights frantically. There seemed to be no way that they would make the gap.

Thomas screamed, 'Brake!'

Dylan ignored him and continued accelerating. The car's engine was screaming and Thomas noticed that the after-market rev counter pod on top of the dashboard indicated that the racing camshaft was spinning at just over 8100 rpm. Thomas reached out to the dashboard with his palms and started screaming at a higher pitch than the engine. As the critical moment was approaching the other driver swerved to the side of the road and Dylan tore past him and the truck simultaneously.

Thomas stopped screaming and made an 'Ah-ah-ah-ah' sound.

Dylan grinned and said, 'Nothing to it. I don't know why you freaked out like that. We really need to work on your nerves. You're too wound up.'

Thomas wished that they had taken his car, even if he had to pay for the petrol himself. Actually, he was beginning to wish that he had stayed at home and carried on playing computer games.

As Dylan turned onto Snake Road he accelerated hard, but then backed off when a beeping sound came from a device that had been placed on top of the dashboard. Dylan changed into fourth gear and kept his speed at an even sixty kilometres per hour.

'Speed trap,' Dylan grumbled. 'This country has one of the highest crime rates in the world and all they care about is speeding. Morons!'

Thomas had wondered what the device was. After the overtaking stunt with the truck Dylan had driven slightly less recklessly and Thomas had been given a chance to ease his nerves.

He pointed at the speed trap detector and asked, 'Is that legal?'

'Sure it is. It made me slow down and drive at the legal limit. That's enough to keep the cops happy,' Dylan answered.

'That sounds reasonable. Wouldn't it save some bother just to drive at the speed limit anyway?'

Dylan felt like hitting Thomas again, in fact he wanted to keep on punching him until he had broken through the shell in which Thomas seemed to have spent his life. Dylan knew that he was eighteen years old, but he had the naivety of an eighteen-month-old.

A little bit further down Snake Road Dylan swung the car to the left without slowing down and accelerated hard up the freeway ramp. Thomas urgently turned around in his seat to look back, and then looked at Dylan worriedly. Dylan did not look back at him, but continued to charge up the onramp, jerking the gearstick hard with each up-change. Even though the onramp was on an incline the car easily burst through the freeway speed limit. Dylan's friendly demeanour had changed and he had a hard look on his face. He stared hard at the road ahead, still accelerating with his foot to the floor. He swung the car to the right to overtake a truck then swung to the left to get past another car that was accelerating at a sedate pace. It had been unnecessary to change lanes so violently because there had been plenty of room to perform the manoeuvres.

With a nervous timbre in his voice Thomas said, 'Dylan, Carnival City is down the road back there!'

'Yes it is,' Dylan responded coldly.

'We're going the wrong way!'

'Not for me, we're not. We're going for a drive and we're going to have a talk. Yesterday I saw you at that cunt, Eric's house. You're going to tell me everything that you talked about.'

'It was nothing really. It was just a friendly visit.' Thomas began to sweat. He knew that he had told Eric a lot about Dylan, but he had thought that Dylan was finished with him, and that he would never see him again.

'A friendly visit was it?' Dylan punched the steering wheel. 'You didn't say a word to your friend at The 27 Club. You went to see him afterwards to tell him about me, didn't you?' Dylan repeated the question with a screech in his voice, 'Didn't you?'

Shaking, Thomas said, 'I'm sorry. I made friends with him because of the way you had been treating me.'

Dylan also began to shake, but with anger. He swerved around a couple of slower cars on the freeway, eliciting a middle-finger gesture from one driver. 'So the enemy of my enemy is my friend. That's what you were thinking wasn't it?'

'It wasn't like that.'

'How did you find out where he lived?'

'When you were driving us home from Johannesburg you were talking about going to Eric's house and doing him in. You mentioned his address.'

'Did I?'

'Yes. You were pretty wound up and you were...'

'Just pretty wound up? Like I am now?' Dylan shouted. He was driving at over two hundred kilometres an hour but he let go of the steering wheel with his left hand and punched Thomas hard on the shoulder.

Thomas yelped and held his shoulder, grimacing in pain. He groaned, 'You were furious.'

'Yes, Thomas. I was goddamned furious with Eric. Since yesterday I have been goddamned furious with you, you shit little turncoat.'

'I'm sorry,' Thomas offered weakly.

'Stop saying you're sorry. That won't help you. Now shut your fucking mouth and I will tell you what we are going to do now. Nod if you understand.'

Thomas nodded.

'We're not going to Carnival City. We are driving east. During the drive you will tell me what you talked about with Eric.' He glared at Thomas, keeping his eyes on him despite the breakneck speed.

Thomas nodded.

'You will tell me everything you told Eric about me.'

Thomas nodded.

'You will tell me everything that Eric told you about me.'

Thomas nodded.

'Give me your cell phone.'

After a brief moment of hesitation he handed it to Dylan. Dylan opened the driver's window and tossed the phone out of the car. 'Any questions?'

'How far are we going?' Thomas asked in a panic-stricken voice.

'That depends on how much there is to talk about. As you may have noticed I'm driving fast so you'd better talk fast.'

***

### Chapter 8

Eric had enjoyed a blissfully Dylan-free day. He had spent a lot of the morning reading a novel, which he had almost forgotten about after he had lost his job. The feud with Dylan was though not yet over. He really hoped that Dylan would be at the LAN party as Thomas seemed sure that he would be. Despite this pending confrontation Eric tried to keep his mind off Dylan and try to live a normal day. He found it hard to believe that he had only met Dylan five days ago. He felt like he had known him for much longer than that.

After lunch Eric had tired of the novel and decided to watch some TV. One of the channels was airing a vintage professional wrestling programme. He did not know much about professional wrestling, and only watched it on rare occasions. He always found the athleticism of the wrestlers impressive, even though the result of the match was always predetermined and the match itself appeared to be mainly rehearsed. In this vintage programme the wrestlers were not as well-muscled as some of the chiselled modern wrestlers, and some of them were so big that they made "obese" seem like an inappropriate term to describe them. Judging by the clothing and hair styles of the fans Eric guessed that this programme was recorded sometime in the Eighties. He sometimes found the commentary to be amusing as well. They really knew how to ham it up.

In one match he was watching the two wrestlers were standing on the mat and leaning against one another in a move known as a Collar and Elbow Tie-Up. One of the wrestlers kicked his opponent in the groin. The afflicted wrestler bent over with his hands over his groin, putting an exaggerated wide-eyed expression of pain on his face.

An outraged commentator yelled, 'Look at that! Did you see that?'

The colour commentator barked, 'See what? Somebody tell that idiot to stop playing possum and get back in the match!' He was doing what a professional wrestling colour commentator does, which is support the villain and make outrageous comments, no matter how unreasonable he sounds.

'Are you telling me that you didn't see that? Let's watch the replay.'

The move was shown again in slow motion and the colour commentator said, 'Woah, yeah! Did you see how he kept his back to the referee and nailed him? That's quality wrestling!'

'Quality? I call that dirty wrestling. He should be disqualified for that!'

'How can the referee disqualify him? He didn't even see it!'

'Well, he should have been in position to see it shouldn't he? I must say that we didn't use filthy moves like that in my day.'

'Things have changed since your day, though. The pocket watch was invented, people started using electricity... I bet you sometimes cheated and pulled an opponent's beard when you were wrestling the cavemen.'

'Will you stop?'

Eric watched the wrestling for half an hour before deciding that he had better get prepared for the next day's interview in Germiston. He booted up his computer and connected to Jansen Steel Engineering's website. He was under-awed by the content of the site, mainly by the fact that it only consisted of a single page.

He remembered that Braycon Paint Industries' website had a professional-looking home page with links to other pages which provided information such as the company's history, divisional activity, geographical footprint, social responsibility projects, environmental efforts, directors' profiles, career opportunities, and contact information with a map to the offices.

The website of Jansen Steel Engineering was an eyesore, with poor usage of colour and fonts. At the top of the page was large company logo, which was unimaginatively styled as the company's full name in bold red capital letters. They had obviously not hired the services of a skilled graphic designer to create a more eye-catching logo.

Below the logo there was a paragraph which gave some information about the company. Despite Eric's good eyesight he struggled to read it because the lettering was in green, it was too small, and it was in a font that looked like spidery handwriting. He had to use the zoom function on his web browser to read it.

The paragraph stated that the company had been founded in 1994 by Johan Jansen, and that their main line of business was building machine parts as per their client's specifications. The blurb mentioned some "prestigious" clients whom Eric had never heard of.

Just below the company blurb was a link which was labelled "Contact Us". He clicked it and the page scrolled down slightly, but the company's contact information was cut off at the bottom of the screen. Eric muttered, 'Schmucks,' and scrolled down the screen manually and saw the company's address, contact number and a map that had been poorly drawn in hand and scanned into the page. Eric hoped that Jansen Engineering Industries was a much better company than was presented in their website. Maybe if he was not offered the job he could offer to rebuild their website for a modest fee.

Ignoring the pitiful map on the company's website he searched for the address on Google Maps. He was relieved to see that the company was not too far off the freeway. Germiston was a small town in a west-south-westerly direction from Benoni. Germiston was not too far away, but parts of it could be a nuisance to drive to. He had read some websites on interview etiquette, and the general consensus was that it was ideal to arrive at your interview ten minutes early. He reasoned that if he left at twenty-past-eight he should arrive at his interview with enough time to spare.

The next task was to pick out some suitable interview clothes. During his heavy spending days he had bought some nice formal clothes for work, but he wanted to wear his suit. He had a charcoal Nautica suit, which was complemented by a textured blue shirt and red tie of the same brand. He had bought the outfit when he had been invited to a friend's wedding. At that time he had never owned a suit and he had wanted to look good out of respect for the occasion. He remembered feeling quite overdressed because he had been the only guest wearing a suit, but people complimented him on how good he had looked. At the wedding another guest had turned up in jeans and a lumberjack shirt, which Eric had found very inappropriate.

Eric took the clothes out of his wardrobe to appraise them. The suit had been dry-cleaned after the wedding despite that fact that it had only been worn once, and had not even been spoiled by a spilled drink or anything like that. He could not remember how much he had spent on the outfit but he knew that it had been worth at least a few months' salary. He decided without doubt that this would be the perfect outfit to impress an interviewer. For his interview with Braycon Paint Industries he had had to settle for black chinos, a white shirt and a turquoise tie. He placed the clothes back in the wardrobe.

He then remembered the shoes and started to panic. He realised that after his accidental dunk in the dam he had not filled the shoes with newspaper as the young lady had advised. He picked them up and inspected them carefully. The bridge of the shoes had sagged a bit and there were some stains from the dirty dam water, but the leather had not cracked. He thoroughly polished and cleaned the shoes until they had their old shine back. He put them on and they felt a bit uncomfortable, but he reasoned that if he kept them on for a while the shape of his feet would hopefully reset the bridge. Every now and then he wriggled his toes because the toecaps were pinching a bit.

***

After eight o' clock in the evening Eric received a phone call. He did not recognise the number that was displayed on the screen, but he answered it anyway. Maybe Danelle Badenhorst was calling him to wish him good luck for tomorrow's interview.

'Hello?' he answered.

An agitated voice asked, 'Are you Eric?'

What now? Eric wondered. 'Yes, I am. Who is this?'

'My name is Adam. I'm Thomas' cousin.'

'Ah! Thomas mentioned you. We had a talk yesterday. How is he doing?'

'He's in the fucking hospital, that's how he's doing. Sorry, I'm just so pissed off at the moment.'

'What? What happened?' Eric asked anxiously.

'He had a nervous breakdown. I'll kill Dylan.'

'How? What did Dylan do to him? Will he be alright?'

'Can we talk in person? It's a long story.'

'Fine. When would be good for you?'

'Right now. I'm parked outside.'

Eric quickly walked to the outside gate and saw an Audi A3 under the street light. When he approached the driver's window he recognised Adam immediately as one of Dylan's friends from The 27 Club. He was the one who had made a joke about Eric looking at Dylan and pointed him out to him.

Seeing the scowl on Eric's face Adam said, 'I know, I shouldn't have caused kak between you and Dylan. I'm sorry. Can we talk?'

Eric opened the gate for Adam to drive in and walked him into the flat. Knowing that he did not need to ask, he took two beers out of the fridge and gave one to Adam. He said, 'Let's sit down.'

Adam was visibly upset. Before saying anything more to Eric he sat down heavily and drank two long swigs of his beer. He bashed the arm of the couch with his fist and said, 'How could he do something like that? Fuck our friendship, it's over!'

'Settle down. What happened? What did Dylan do?' Eric asked.

Adam paused to compose himself and said, 'When Thomas was here Dylan drove past and saw his car. He wanted to find out what you had been talking about.'

'Dylan was here?' Eric felt a cold chill course through his body.

'I don't know what he had in mind, but he's really pissed with you about what happened at the foam party. He seemed to know you from before then. Were you friends once?'

'Let's talk about that later. What about Thomas? What happened?'

'Dylan rocked up at his house and made out that he wanted to make up for what he had done by taking him out to Carnival City. Instead he dropped him off a couple of kilometres short of Witbank.'

'Witbank?' Eric asked incredulously.

'Thomas was tricked. Dylan drove him onto the freeway and made him tell him everything. Even when Thomas had nothing else to tell Dylan still drove him out there and dumped him on the side of the freeway.'

'That dirty son of a bitch!'

'I won't disagree with that! What did you talk about anyway? I didn't want to ask Thomas because it would be like putting him through the whole interrogation again.'

'He told me about Dylan's tantrum at the club. We saw him giving Thomas a helling from the car. We didn't stick around too long because we didn't want to get into any more trouble with your crowd. He also told me about Dylan beating him up when he dropped him off. He told me Dylan's full name and we looked at his Facebook profile. I saw you in a picture taken that night in the pool.'

Adam looked a bit sheepish and said, 'We went to Dylan's for a party to make up for the nightclub disaster.'

'You went with Dylan when had just beaten up Thomas?' Eric already knew this, but he wanted to hear Adam's side of the story.

'I wish I hadn't. I had been friends with Dylan since early on in primary school. He gave me a choice between going to his house, or going with Thomas and ending our friendship.'

'Right...'

Adam blushed and looked at Eric with a guilty expression. He said, 'I helped Thomas get home. Dylan stopped short because he didn't want to beat him up directly in front of the house. I felt like shit for going on with Dylan, but we're done now. We were best friends for fifteen years, nearly all our lives. This fall-out hurts me, but he always ran Thomas down. Today he seriously crossed the line.'

'So are you and Dylan enemies now?'

Adam paused and looked at the carpet. He sighed and said, 'To tell you the truth, I really don't know. Right now I don't want to see or hear from him. What he did to Thomas has pissed off me and the rest of the family. If our friendship ends like this, then that upsets me too. We were close as brothers and Dylan's a really fun friend to have.'

'I can understand how you feel. After my fight with Dylan my friends disowned me, or at least it feels that way. They say that I've changed. My parents died nearly a year ago and I still cannot come to terms with it.'

'I'm sorry to hear about that. It sounds like your friends are being harsh.'

'Right now I feel comfortable not speaking to them, not if that's their attitude. They don't appreciate what I've been going through.' Eric was eager to get back to the purpose of Adam's visit. 'Going back to Thomas, what actually happened?'

'There's one more thing I need to ask first. What else did Thomas tell you?'

'He told me that Dylan lives on The Drive. He also mentioned a LAN party on Wednesday, where I could most likely find him. I bet that if Thomas told him about that he would have lost it.'

'Whatever Thomas told him was enough to drive him over the edge. Dylan has a hell of a temper and seeing him angry is not a pretty sight. I've never heard of him doing anything like this to anybody, though. Like I mentioned, he never liked Thomas.'

'Do you want another beer?'

'I shouldn't because I'm driving home, but I won't say no.'

When Eric returned with the beers he asked, 'So what did happen in Witbank?'

'Half a kilometre before the Witbank turnoff Dylan pulled over to the side of the road and told Thomas to walk. He gave him ten seconds to get out of the car or have his nose re-broken, along with the rest of his face. All Thomas could do was get out of the car, then Dylan drive off. He had to walk the rest of the way to Witbank, even with his bad leg.'

'Didn't he call anybody for help?'

'He couldn't. Dylan took his phone and threw it out of the window as they were leaving Benoni.'

'Shit! What did he do?'

'Well, at Witbank he found a service station and sat outside the shop. He had been there for over half an hour before somebody helped him.'

'I'm so sorry. It must have been hell for him.'

Adam did not acknowledge Eric's statement of the obvious. He said, 'This Indian guy called me and told me that Thomas was stuck in Witbank. He told me that he was calling for him because he was crying uncontrollably and it even took him a few minutes just to get my phone number out of him. I'm surprised that Thomas could remember it in the state he was in.'

Adam's face screwed up in anger again and he thumped the arm of the couch like he had done earlier. Eric nodded silently and waited for Adam to cool down again.

Adam put his hand to his forehead and said, 'This is my fault. I should not have told Dylan that you seemed to have taken a fancy to him. That's what I said before he laughed at you. He said he would ask you for a dance as a joke. I'm sorry. I didn't expect things to turn out like this.'

Adam continued, 'The guy who helped Thomas was called Sagren Naidoo. He said that he would drive Thomas home himself if he was going to Johannesburg, but he was heading for Mozambique. But do you know what he did? He bought Thomas one of those big sub sandwiches, a bottle of water and a coke to tide him over until I could get to him.'

'That shows that there are some really good people out there.'

'It does. I told him that I would get in touch with him later and let him know how Thomas was doing. I really appreciated what he did for Thomas.'

'How long did it take you to get out there?'

'Less than an hour and a half. I was driving fast, but not as stupidly fast as Dylan drives. When Thomas saw me he just burst into tears. He stood up and hugged me. I just held him for a few minutes and told him that the worst was over. I didn't care what other people might have been thinking.'

'Did he say much on the way back?'

'Some details, but he was so tired and in a state of shock. I just wanted to get him home. I took him to my uncle's house and told him what happened. He decided to take him to the Linmed hospital because he was virtually catatonic by that time.'

'Shit. How is he doing now?'

'We went to visit him this evening. He seems to be bouncing back. He's talking more and he ate his dinner. He's in the psychiatric ward and he'll be seeing a psychiatrist and a psychologist tomorrow. We were told that they're really good.'

Psychiatric ward, Eric thought. Dylan had really done a number on him. 'How long is he going to be in hospital?'

'The shrinks will decide. The admitting doctor said he would at least need a couple of days of sedation. He can't stay too long anyway because the hospital plan my uncle pays for only allows for about a week.'

'I'd like to go and see him.'

'I don't think that's a good idea. My uncle blames you for what happened.'

'Me? Why?'

'He said that if you hadn't turned Thomas against Dylan this wouldn't have happened. I know he's got it all wrong, but that's the way he sees it.'

'I have Thomas' number. Do you think it will be OK for me to talk to him, after he's had some time to recover, of course?'

'You can't call him. Dylan threw his phone away, remember? I'll let you know how he's doing. I have to ask you something. Did you know Dylan before the fight at the nightclub? Where do you fit in to all of this?'

Eric told Adam the full story, including his job loss, Dylan's swim in the dam, their talk, and the kiss that Eric reluctantly shared with Dylan.

Adam commented, 'It does not surprise me that Dylan got into such a rage. Being rejected is one of his sore points, and being humiliated in front of those other guys wouldn't have helped things. Dylan can't handle being made to look bad in any way.'

'But he kissed me right on the mouth! I felt like being sick. Did you know that he was bisexual?'

'Not until a few years ago. He admitted that he had known about it himself when he was thirteen, but he always kept it to himself. I was surprised when he told me, but I didn't think any less of him. I'm not homophobic. Since he came out he's still had a lot more girlfriends than boyfriends, though.'

Adam thought for a moment, pulled a face and asked, 'Dylan was swimming in the dam? In that skank water? That does not sound like his scene.'

'I was there. He even posed when he saw a woman taking pictures of him. When I was talking to Dylan he said that he swam in the dam quite often, but he was the only one who seemed to do it.'

'I know he's into wet clothes. I don't understand it myself. I didn't know that he goes to the dam to swim, though. I suppose that he might get bored and lonely sometimes.'

'Dylan? He does not strike me as the type who knows what boredom and loneliness is.'

'He's a serious party animal in the weekends and he keeps up a busy social life most evenings, but during the week his friends are either at work or studying. I've told him that he needs a daily activity of some sort, but he doesn't realise that having lots of money isn't everything.'

'I must admit that I could use a vault full of money right now. Dylan seems to be really obsessed about wet clothing. I've seen his pictures online.'

'He is. Every party he throws turns into a pool party. He usually takes the lead and jumps into the pool in his clothes. He encourages other people to swim with him, which they usually do when they work up the nerve, or get drunk enough, to swim in their clothes. At some of his parties he will go through four or five changes of clothes.'

'Don't his friends find it weird?'

'Some do, but if they hold it against Dylan he just doesn't call them again. He makes friends so easily and he can afford to dump people who do not accept him for who he is.'

'What do you think of it? What about his parents?'

'I've known about it since we were young. He was always jumping in puddles as a kid. Sometimes when we got together at his house he would jump into the pool whether he was wearing jeans, his school uniform or whatever. It just made me laugh. Sometimes he got me and a few other friends into the water with him. Even when I swam with him I didn't find anything cool or exciting about being wet fully-clothed. It just seemed stupid to me, but Dylan's a hard person to refuse.'

'Didn't his parents have anything to say about it?'

'His parents considered sending him for counselling at first but Dylan showed them these wet sites on the Internet, including the ones which were aimed at kids but also gave safety advice to parents.'

'So then they accepted it?'

'Pretty much. They just let him get on with it, just like they usually let him do what he wants because he's just a typical spoilt rich kid. His parents are water babies themselves. Did you know that their house has three pools?'

'Three!' Eric exclaimed.

'Three,' Adam repeated. 'There's a really big pool in the front garden, a smaller pool in the back garden with cascading splash pools that feed the main pool, and even a little en-suite pool in the master bedroom!'

'Geez! I can't even picture an en-suite pool. I suppose it would be nice to have a quick dip before going to work.'

Eric thought for moment. 'How often does Dylan have these parties? You said "every party he throws".'

'He has parties on most weekends,' Adam replied. 'His parents like to get away on the weekends. They have a holiday cottage in the Drakensberg, a few hours away. Other times they go somewhere else fairly near. Once or twice a year they go overseas for a couple of weeks and Dylan really amps it up then. His parents do not mind as long as they don't come home to a wrecked house.'

Adam seemed to notice for the first time that Eric was wearing his formal shoes. He squinted at Eric's feet and commented, 'Nice shoes. I'm not sure if they go with the shorts, though.'

Eric had forgotten that he was still wearing the shoes. 'I was wearing these when I fell into the dam. I'm going to a job interview tomorrow and I forgot to clean these up until just before you came. I'm just wearing them in because they feel a bit uncomfortable.'

'Good luck with it. What kind of job are you going for?'

'Software development.'

'I'm into health insurance myself. I am being trained to be a corporate client consultant. There's good money in that.'

Adam looked at the clock and said, 'I think that I'd better be going home. I need to make an early start tomorrow. Thanks for talking to me and for the drinks.'

'Thank you for coming to tell me about Thomas. There's one other thing I wanted to ask you. Do you have Dylan's phone number?'

'I do. Dylan only gives it to a handful of people. If he wants to talk to other people he calls them.'

'Could you give it to me?'

Adam looked doubtful. He said with an apologetic inflection, 'I don't think that it's a good idea. On the off-chance that Dylan and I do become friends again I will end up having to mend fences with him for giving you his number on top of everything else. I would like the two of us to be friends, though. It's been really good talking to you.'

Eric was disappointed that he could not get Dylan's phone number, but he understood that Adam was conflicted about his relationship with Dylan. It must have been difficult for Adam to end such a long and close friendship.

As Eric walked Adam to his car he said, 'Keep in touch. I'd like to hear how Thomas is doing.'

'I will. We'll talk again soon,' Adam replied. 'Good luck with your interview tomorrow.'

'Thanks a lot. See you later.'

After Adam left Eric threw the beer cans away and decided to have an early night. He needed to be in good form in the morning.

***

### Chapter 9

After Eric had dressed for his interview he looked at himself in the mirror. The Nautica suit, shirt and tie looked very smart and the colours complemented each other wonderfully. When he had bought it the shop owner had measured him up and he had tried on a few different sizes to find the best fit possible. He did not use hair products at all (unless you counted shampoo) and he had combed his hair neatly with a left parting. He ensured that his tie was straight and smiled at himself. It was nearly twenty past eight and he felt ready.

Eric found Jansen Engineering Industries quite easily and arrived twenty minutes before the interview was due to start. There was no parking lot as such, but there was enough room off the road for the cars to park against the building. He parked at the far end of the parking area from the entrance, between a battered Nissan Langley and an older-generation Ford Focus. The building was quite long and there must have been about thirty cars parked outside. During the few minutes that he had to spare before he went inside he thought of his conversation with Adam. He had been distressed to hear about what Dylan had done to Thomas. He mentally slapped himself and told himself to just focus on the moment. To him, this interview felt like the most important event imaginable.

Eric got out of the car and noticed that there was an unpleasant sulphurous smell in the air. This part of Germiston was not one of the more heavily-industrialised areas, but the wind had carried with it the pungent mixture of noxious industrial outputs from across town. While he walked towards the entrance of the building he glanced at the cars. Nearly all of them were old, and he assumed that they belonged to the shop-floor staff who could not afford to buy newer cars. He thought about the office staff such as a bookkeeper or accountant, IT staff, salesmen, and administrators. He wondered how much money they earned because there was not much evidence of wealth amongst the cars. In fact, his own car was the best that he had seen by far. Near the entrance there were three reserved parking spaces occupied by two new BMWs and a Mercedes-AMG.

***

Dylan's special friends had supplied him with a man called Francois. He was in his late thirties, an ex-policeman who had been fired from the force for stealing evidence. They drove slowly down Fairbairn Street and Dylan pointed at the tall brick wall near Eric's residence and said, 'Pull up onto the grass next to that wall. Eric is only two doors down.' Francois parked the elderly BMW on the grass and killed the engine.

Dylan had once been arrested for excessive speeding. On the way to the police station the arresting officer had been alone in the car with Dylan. He had stopped at the side of the road and offered to drop the charge and ensure that Dylan's car was not impounded if Dylan paid him two thousand Rand. Dylan accepted the offer and the officer, a captain, had ordered one of his subordinates to take Dylan's car to a local shopping mall.

At the mall the captain had asked Dylan to sit in the police car with him for a quick talk. It was then that he offered to give Dylan the number of a man who could introduce him to some people in Tembisa who performed special favours, including supplying police uniforms, making uniform badges, supplying illegal firearms, and quashing minor cases by ensuring that case files were "lost", among other services. Dylan had been told to pay an extra thousand Rand for the contact number, and to have the case against him quashed. Dylan paid the money, and he had then been released.

Francois looked at Dylan and asked, 'Are you ready for this, kid? Don't worry about a thing. I've done three of these gigs before.'

Dylan looked in the vanity mirror on the sun visor and straightened his cap. He said, 'I'm ready.'

Francois looked in the overhead mirror to ensure that his own cap was straight. He also checked that his moustache did not have a hair out of place.

'Let's go,' he said.

***

When Eric pulled the entrance door the first time it did not open. He heard a buzzing sound and a click, then he opened the door. The reception area was fairly basic-looking with a grey carpet, a reception desk behind a counter, a few chairs and a coffee table with some engineering publications splayed over it. The place had a cheap atmosphere about it.

There was a sweet smell in the air that was more overpowering than the industrial stench outside. The receptionist was a very young man who looked like he was fresh out of school. He was clean-shaven, his black hair was short and spiky, and he was wearing a smart long-sleeved white shirt with grey pinstripes. The kid's baby-face made Eric feel quite old, even though he knew that many older people would still refer to him as a kid.

Eric approached the reception desk and the smell grew stronger. Eric wondered how much deodorant and cologne the kid had sprayed on this morning. He thought that it was unusual for the receptionist to be a male because he had always assumed that all companies had female receptionists. The kid was leaning back in his chair, listening to music through a pair of ear buds and reading a GQ magazine. At first he did not seem to acknowledge Eric at all, even though he knew that he was there because he had buzzed the door open for him.

Eric knocked politely on the counter and smiled. The receptionist removed his ear buds and asked, 'Can I help you?'

'Good morning. My name is Eric Callows. I have a nine o' clock appointment with Rabie Bekker,' Eric answered.

The kid said, 'Er, OK.' He picked up the telephone receiver and typed in an extension number. 'Hi. Uncle Rabie. There's somebody called Eric here to see you.'

Eric thought that if this kid was to be the company receptionist he should go on some training and learn about business etiquette. After receiving a reply, he put the receiver down, placed ear buds back in his ears and clicked the play button on his MP3 player. He did not even invite Eric to take a seat.

Eric stood next to the counter and waited, then at precisely nine o' clock a man entered reception and introduced himself to Eric as Rabie Bekker. Mr Bekker was in his early forties, at least seventy pounds overweight and he evidently had not shaved or washed his hair this morning. He was not as well-dressed as his nephew, either. He was wearing aged green chinos, brown sandals with no socks, and a terrible-looking two-tone shirt made of a heavy, durable material. The shirt was an ash-grey colour with dark-blue breast pockets. The upper part of the shirt from shoulder level was the same shade of blue as the pockets. Eric had seen other people wearing similar shirts, but nobody seemed to be able to make them look good.

After exchanging pleasantries Mr Bekker asked Eric to follow him to his office. When Mr Bekker turned around Eric noticed that the back of his shirt was untucked.

Apart from a quick "how are you, did you find the place alright?" type of conversation they did not talk much as Mr Bekker led the way. They climbed a flight of steel steps and walked along railed-off a steel walkway which overlooked the workshop floor. Eric saw men working on a variety of machines which he did not recognise. There were other workers carrying lumps of steel or sweeping the floor, and there was another man with a clipboard, ticking off what Eric assumed were the finished products to be shipped to the customers. Eric noticed that one of the floor sweepers looked slightly tipsy and that he was drinking from a bottle of coke. He wondered what else might be in the bottle.

Eric was glad when Mr Bekker turned right into an office and closed the door behind them. The noise of the machines and the workers shouting over the noise had been cacophonous. The room into which Mr Bekker had led him was a small open-plan office with a similar grey carpet to the one in reception. This carpet was well-worn and gave off a strong musty smell. He wished that the other employees had taken a bath in vanity products like the kid downstairs because it would at least overpower the smell of the carpet. Eric was beginning to feel very overdressed for this environment. If he had known, he would not have worn the suit.

Mr Bekker swept his arm towards the six employees in the office and said, 'This is our IT office.'

Eric briefly looked at the other people who gave him a brief glance and carried on with their work. One bored-looking woman with red hair, who was eating a Twinkie, looked at Eric and gave him a brief smile. She then started tapping away on her keyboard. The smile was gone in an instant, and the look on her face seemed to convey that she was utterly fed up. Eric noticed that everybody in the office looked like they would rather be somewhere else. Mr Bekker opened a door and led him into a single office adjacent to the main IT office.

Mr Bekker's office had the same grey, smelly carpet as the main IT office. There was not much in the way of luxury in the office. The cheap desk had a laptop, a mess of papers, a pen and an ashtray on it. The main chair was a good-quality padded swivel chair, while the two chairs in front of the desk were probably from the cheaper end of the furniture supplier's range. At least they were not plastic garden chairs, which might have been better suited for this dump.

Mr Bekker slumped into his chair and motioned with his hand for Eric to sit down. As Eric sat Mr Bekker lit up a cigarette.

Amused by the surprised look on Eric's face he said, 'This is my brother-in-law's company, this is my office, and I get to follow my own rules.'

Eric knew that smoking in an enclosed area in a workplace was illegal in South Africa but he did not protest. He already hated this place, but he would still work here if he was offered the job.

Mr Bekker opened the interview with a fairly stock question: 'What do you know about our company?'

Eric answered, 'You specialise in producing machine parts for several clients. The company was founded in nineteen-ninety-four by Johan Jansen.' You also have the worst website I have ever seen, he wanted to say. He was annoyed that he could not find out much more about the company.

Mr Bekker frowned and said, 'We started in ninety-five.'

'The website said ninety-four,' Eric responded, being careful not to sound argumentative.

Mr Bekker said, 'Hmmm. That's odd,' and tapped the keys on his laptop keyboard. Eric thought that this interview was turning into a complete disaster. He had not been impressed by the receptionist, he thought that the work environment was disgusting, Mr Bekker looked like a hobo and was smoking illegally, and now they were debating as to when the company had started business! It occurred to Eric that he had not even been offered a coffee, which he believed was customary in an interview.

Mr Bekker's eyes widened and he said, 'Oh. There is a mistake on the website. I'll have to get them to fix that.' Eric felt relieved that at least he had shown that he had done his homework.

Mr Bekker continued the interview by talking with Eric about his qualifications and experience. He asked Eric why he left his previous job, to which he replied with the story that Danelle Badenhorst had fallen for. Sometimes Eric disturbed himself by how easily he could spin a lie when necessary. Mr Bekker asked a few more stock interview questions such as "Why do you want this job?" and "Where do you see yourself in five years?" to which Eric provided stock replies. Some of the Internet articles that he had read on interviews had also covered common interview questions and how to answer them, and he was prepared for these.

Mr Bekker then asked, 'How good is your Afrikaans?'

'Not very good, to be honest. I can speak a bit, but I am not fluent,' Eric said.

Mr Bekker shook his head and told Eric, 'You might struggle here. This is a very Afrikaans environment. In the IT office out there they all speak in Afrikaans. I'm not sure how well you would fit in.' He added, 'You've lived in South Africa for your whole life haven't you? Why didn't you learn to speak Afrikaans?'

Eric felt that he was in a tight spot which he would not get out of cleanly. He also felt like he was deliberately being provoked. He answered, 'I didn't think that it was all that relevant these days.'

Mr Bekker raised his eyebrows and said, 'Afrikaans is more widely spoken as a home language than English. It's one of the principal languages of the country. Didn't you realise that? Would you be willing to learn Afrikaans?'

Eric felt like asking Mr Bekker if he would be willing to learn the two most widely-spoken languages in South Africa, which were Xhosa and Zulu. Instead he said, 'I don't think so, with all due respect.'

He knew for sure that the interview was a bust now.

Mr Bekker took a drag of his cigarette and casually blew out the smoke, as if Eric were not sitting in front of him. He said, 'It doesn't sound very respectful to me.'

No longer caring about the interview, Eric passively looked at Mr Bekker and shrugged his shoulders. Without asking Eric if he would like to ask any questions Mr Bekker thanked him for his time and walked him back to reception. Eric was assaulted by the overpowering aroma of the receptionist's deodorant and cologne again. It was still better than the stench in the rest of the building. Out of the corner of his eye Eric saw Mr Bekker give the receptionist a thumbs-down. The kid smiled and shrugged his shoulders before pressing the button to unlock the door. Eric walked out without saying goodbye to Mr Bekker or shaking his hand.

***

### Chapter 10

When Eric arrived back home he opened the gates and waved at Mrs van der Walt, who was looking out of the lounge window. While he drove the car in to the driveway she came out of the house and waited for him. He noticed that she appeared to be disturbed about something.

He switched off the air-conditioner and the engine, and was aware that there was a distinct odour of cigarette smoke residue on his jacket. He would have to send the suit for dry cleaning again before his next interview. He got out of the car and greeted her.

She asked him, 'How did the interview go, then?'

Eric shook his head and said, 'It was a disaster, I'm afraid. I didn't get along with my interviewer at all. He was a funny man.'

'That's a shame. Hopefully you will have more luck next time.' She breathed in deeply and said, 'Eric, could you please come into the house? I need to talk to you. I'll make some coffee while you change your clothes. You must be feeling hot in that suit.'

Eric was indeed feeling hot after leaving the comfort of the air-conditioned car. He said, 'OK. I'll be over in a couple of minutes. Is there anything wrong? You look worried about something.'

'Yes. It's quite serious, I'm afraid. We'll sit down and talk when you come back.'

Eric quickly changed his clothes. He wondered what had happened while he was away. Since he had lost his job his life had been one problem after another, and he hoped that this latest drama was not as serious as Mrs van der Walt had made it out to be.

He found the door of the house to be ajar and Mrs van der Walt was already sitting at a corner table in the lounge. On the table was a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

'Come in,' she called. Eric shut the door behind him and sat down at the table. She invited him to help himself to the biscuits. She took one herself and dipped it into her coffee. Eric took a sip of his coffee and looked at her expectantly.

After swallowing the first bite and washing it down with a sip of coffee she said, 'I'm going to ask you something and a need a truthful answer.'

Eric did not have a clue what this was about, but he said, 'Anything you need to know.'

'I feel a bit ashamed to ask you a blunt question like this, but I must know. Eric, are you taking drugs?'

Eric was aghast. 'Drugs? Absolutely not! Whatever gave you that idea?'

'The police did.' She looked at him pleadingly and said, 'You are the best tenant I have ever had and having you here has been an absolute pleasure. Please tell me that you are not involved in drugs.'

'The police were here? What did they say?'

'They told me that they needed to search the premises because they had received information that there was a stash of drugs here.'

'I would never touch drugs. The whole drug trade sickens me. Did the police actually raid the house?'

'It wasn't actually one of those sting operations that you see on TV, but there were two officers, a Sergeant Grobler and a Constable Lamprecht according to their name badges.' Mrs van der Walt was always watching police dramas and police reality shows on TV. The typical poorly-acted daytime dramas really did not do it for her.

Eric thought for a moment and asked, 'Did they turn the whole place over? My flat looks like it has not been touched.'

'They only seemed to be interested in your flat. I'm surprised that they didn't make a mess. The police aren't known for their gentle approach during a raid, and they don't clean up after themselves.'

'Did they find anything?'

'They didn't say anything specific, but they walked out with a cardboard box which they said contained evidence to take back to the station. They asked me if I had a box for them to use, which I thought was strange.'

Mrs van der Walt drank a longer gulp of her coffee and took another biscuit. Eric had no appetite for biscuits, and he did not even feel like drinking his coffee.

She asked Eric, 'What's really going on, Eric? Why would the police only be interested in your flat?'

'I honestly don't know. I wonder if somebody made a false tip-off? This all sounds crazy.'

Emily hobbled into the room on her crutches. She had become quite used to them and she was moving around very well. She asked, 'Are you talking about the police this morning? That one blond policeman was strange. Why did he keep giving me nasty looks? I've done nothing wrong.'

'I noticed the way he was looking at you. You've done nothing wrong, angel. He seemed a bit odd to me as well.'

'Which one was that?' Eric asked.

'Constable Lamprecht,' Mrs van der Walt answered. 'He didn't look much like a typical policeman. He was a very young man with a sweet-looking face. He only looked about eighteen and he was a bit shorter than you. The sergeant was a man in his late-thirties, with a moustache.'

Eric frowned and balled his fists under the table. He knew immediately who "Constable Lamprecht" was.

Mrs van der Walt continued, 'Do you know what was odd as well? When they arrived they referred to you by your first name only. After they had been in your flat they started referring to you as "Mr Callows"'.

Eric had wanted to keep Mrs van der Walt out of his feud with Dylan. Now the little bastard had invaded her property and his home by posing as a policeman. Eric wanted to make sure that his facts were right before he told Mrs van der Walt that he thought that the raid was a fake.

He asked her, 'Did they come in a police car?'

She pondered the question, then said, 'No. I just saw them walk down the garden path from the small gate. There was no car at all. When they left they walked out of the garden and I watched them walk along the street until they were out of sight. Why wouldn't they park in the driveway if they were going to walk in and knock on the door anyway?'

'It sounds very irregular,' Eric commented.

'Do you know what else was odd? When they were in your flat they would not let me in so I watched them through the glass doors. I saw the younger one take some pictures on one of those fancy digital cameras. At one point they were squabbling about something.'

'Did they even show you a warrant when they arrived?'

'They did. It looked genuine to me.'

Eric put his hands on the table and put his fingers together in a steeple. He said, 'I don't think that these were real cops at all. I don't know who the older man was, but from your description of the younger man I know who he is. He's called Dylan Reid.'

'Who is Dylan Reid?'

'He's a nasty piece of work. We met once and we took a dislike to each other. He hasn't left me alone ever since.'

'He looked so innocent, with that baby face. Is he really just a trouble-maker, as you say?'

'He's no angel. That, I can guarantee. I've never met somebody as vindictive as him. He's actually older than he looks, closer to my age.'

Emily was still hanging around and listening to the conversation. She asked excitedly, 'Were those policemen really criminals?'

Mrs van der Walt replied, 'I'm afraid it seems like it, honey. Let me talk to Eric so that we can sort this out.'

Emily said, 'Love you, Gran,' and hobbled out of the room.

Mrs van der Walt said, 'I'm sorry, Eric. When they came here wearing their uniforms and name badges and carrying a warrant I did not ask any questions. I just let them in.'

'It wasn't your fault. I would have fallen for their trick as well,' Eric said. He patted Mrs van der Walt's hand.

'Well, I'm not having this. I am going to call the police. I think before I do that you should make sure that they didn't steal anything from your flat.'

'I'll do that. I'll be back in a few minutes,'

Eric searched around his flat and saw that none of his appliances had been stolen. He wondered what had been in the cardboard box, or if they had only used it for show. After satisfying himself that the common theft targets such as his electrical goods were untouched he searched through his desk drawers. Nothing seemed to be amiss and all his documents were where they should be. On closer inspection it appeared that the only thing that was missing was a fifty Rand note.

Eric went back to the house and told Mrs van der Walt that nothing seemed to be missing apart from the fifty Rand.

'Alright,' she said. 'I'm going to make the call.' She dialled 10111 and received a prompt reply. Eric listened to Mrs van der Walt's side of the conversation.

'Hello. I would like to report a home invasion.'

'I live at 37 Fairbairn Street.'

'No, 37, not 27. Yes, 37.' She sighed and repeated, 'It's F-A-I-R-B-A-I-R-N Street in Rynfield.'

'Excuse me? R-Y-N-F-I-E-L-D.'

'It was two men dressed as police officers. No, it wasn't a break-in. I let them in because they were wearing police uniforms and they had a warrant.'

'They were definitely not real policemen. There was no police car and they did not seem to act like proper professional policemen. My lodger actually knows one of them. He is a trouble-maker called Dylan Reid.'

'I'm not saying that the police are unprofessional.' She sounded exasperated.

'What I am saying is that these two were imposters. No, they are not here now. They left an hour ago.'

'I'm only calling you now because I wasn't sure. I spoke to my lodger and we are sure now that they were fake cops. What? Oh, D-Y-L-A-N R-E-I-D. No, that's a "Y", not an "E".'

'They also stole fifty Rand from my lodger.'

She groaned and said, 'She wants to speak to you.'

'Hello?' Eric said.

'Do you want to report a theft?' the emergency operator asked brusquely.

'Yes. My name is Eric Callows. I had fifty Rand stolen.'

'Our officers are very busy, Mr Kellas. You will have to come to the station to open the case.'

'But my landlady's property was invaded.'

'She let them in.'

'Well, she didn't know that they were fake cops, did she? Impersonating a police officer is a serious crime.'

'Your landlady needs to report the crime.'

Eric gripped the phone receiver more tightly, looked at Mrs van der Walt despairingly and leant against a chair. He let out an exhausted breath and said, 'You were speaking to my landlady a minute ago!'

'There is no need to be aggressive, Sir. Can I speak to your landlady?'

Eric shook his head at Mrs van der Walt and handed the phone receiver back to her and listened to her side of the conversation again.

'Hello?'

'I am the landlady. I'm the person you were speaking to a just now!'

'Yes, he is my lodger.'

'Could you please send a car out? Those men had no right to be on my property.'

She put her hand to her forehead. 'I let them in because I thought they were policemen. They were not.'

'Oh my! It's 37 Fairbairn. No! F-A-I-R-B-A-I-R-N.'

'Thank you.'

She put the receiver down wearily and said, 'Talking to her was more traumatic than the fake police raid. She said that she would dispatch a car. Would you like another coffee? I need one after all that.'

'Yes, please. What a palaver that was!' Eric said. 'After I've had my coffee I'd better carry on with my job-hunting. I need a job and fast.'

'I'm sure that things will work out.'

By the time that Eric had finished his coffee the police had not arrived. After the conversation that he and Mrs van der Walt had had with the police dispatcher he wondered whether or not they would come at all. He bid Mrs van der Walt farewell and she told him that she would let him know when the police had arrived, but she was not too hopeful that they would come, either.

A while after Eric had changed his suit for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt he received a call from Danelle Badenhorst. Rabie Bekker had told her that he was definitely not a suitable candidate for the company. Danelle told him that there were no other opportunities available at the moment, but she would keep his CV on file. He spent much of the afternoon sending his CV to more agencies, something that occurred to him that he should have done earlier.

Later in the afternoon he paid a quick visit to Mrs van der Walt. She told him that police still had not arrived, and both agreed that it seemed to be a lost cause to try to call them again. They would not bother going to the police station because not much real harm had been caused, and the only theft had been of a fifty Rand note.

Eric did not have much to do to pass the time until the evening, apart from playing computer games. He was feeling nervous about the difficult phone call he would have to make later. He ran several scenarios in his head, but none of them seemed to end well.

Shortly before Eric was going to start cooking his dinner Mrs van der Walt invited him over to eat with her and Emily. She had made chicken a la king and there was plenty for the three of them with some to spare. During dinner they did not talk about the police or Dylan. Mrs van der Walt offered to allow Eric to stay for the next month rent-free if he had not found a job by then. She told him that she could only afford the one month and it was not an offer she would have made to just anybody. Eric was very grateful for the gesture and he decided that he should buy her a gift of some sort. After saying goodbye Eric returned to his flat and looked at the clock. Now was as good a time as any.

***

According to the clock it was 6:34 in the evening. Eric assumed that Stephanie was home from work and that she and Clive would have eaten their dinner. They had no children because they could not have their own due to Clive's low sperm count. They had discussed artificial insemination as an option, but Stephanie had dismissed it. She had said that she did not want to give birth to another man's child, and that she would rather remain childless.

Eric searched for Stephanie's home number on his phone and after a brief hesitation he pressed the call button. Clive answered the phone, 'Hello. Callows residence.'

Eric said cheerfully, 'Hello Clive. It's Eric. We haven't spoken for a while. How are you?'

'Fine thanks, Eric. How are you doing?'

'Not brilliantly to be honest. Is Stephanie home?'

'Yes she is. Let me call her.'

Eric heard Clive call out, 'Stephanie, love. Eric is on the phone.' Eric heard Stephanie groan and say, 'Right. I'll take it.'

Stephanie seemed to be trying to sound pleasant, but Eric could hear the hostility in her voice. 'Hello, Eric. What are you up to?'

'Hi Steph. To be honest I am up to my neck in it at the moment.'

'I've told you before not to call me Steph. It sounds like a medical condition. Do you mean that you are up to your neck in work?'

'I wish I was. I lost my job last week.'

'You did what! How did you mess that up?'

'They let me go for abusing the Internet. I didn't realise that they had such strict policies.'

Stephanie breathed out with a huff. 'Of course they have Internet policies, like all companies. Surely they must have had a document spelling everything out.' Eric had not expected much sympathy from his sister.

'I know. I made a stupid mistake. Now I'm job-hunting. I've put my CV out everywhere.'

'Stupid mistakes have always been your forte. I'm glad to hear that you are at least making an effort to look for a new job.'

'I'm trying. I don't suppose that you know of any jobs going?'

'Eric, you know that I own a beauty parlour. I cannot help you with IT work.'

'Well, I was just wondering if any of your clients were looking for a programmer. I'm grasping at straws at the moment.'

'Why did you really phone me, Eric?'

Eric took in a breath and braced himself for the storm. 'I'm in serious trouble. I hardly have any money left, not even a month's salary.'

'What happened to your money? Would you like to remind me how much money you received after our parents died?'

'A bit over eight hundred and eighty thousand.'

'So what happened to all that money? You squandered it didn't you? I told you to invest it didn't I?' Eric knew that she was right and he was embarrassed to admit it.

'I know. I made a mistake.'

'A mistake? You bought that silly car when you already had a car in good working order. How much did that cost?'

Eric did not want to argue with her because he was still hoping that she would help him. 'I can't remember exactly.'

'Give me an inexact figure, then.'

'The car cost around four hundred thousand. I know that I spent too much.'

Stephanie gasped. 'You blew nearly half of your money on a car? What about the rest of it?'

Eric swallowed because this would be a difficult admission to make. He answered, 'I'll be straight with you. I bought some expensive new clothes, some home luxuries and I took my friends out to some expensive clubs and partied a lot.'

'Oh my God!' Stephanie said, raising her voice. 'Just the same old irresponsible Eric Callows. If you had invested the money as I told you, you could have close to a million Rand by now, maybe more! Now you're telling me that you don't even have enough money to last the next month?'

'Yes. I'm telling you that I'm broke.'

'You're hopeless, Eric Callows. All your life I have had to look after you because you were so immature. Stephen wasn't much better, but at least he has landed on his feet. I'm also shocked that you spent so much money on parties. Did you find something to celebrate about Mum and Dad's deaths?'

It was Eric's turn to start getting annoyed. 'That's not fair, Stephanie. I was grieving just like the rest of the family. That was just my way of coping. I'm still grieving, damn you! Am I the only one?'

Stephanie remained silent for a while and Eric thought that she might have walked away from the phone. When she spoke again her voice was shaking, 'They were my parents too. Do you think that I have no feelings at all? After we sorted out Mum and Dad's estate you never called me. I suppose that you were too busy playing with your friends.'

Eric heard Stephanie begin to cry. The sound was muffled, as if she was holding her hand over the receiver.

'You could have called me. What stopped you from doing that?'

When she was ready to talk again she said coldly, 'You are twenty-three years old, Eric, a grown man. I am not going to baby you anymore. You sort this out yourself.'

Eric heard a click as Stephanie hung up the telephone. He thought to himself, Twenty-three? She doesn't even care enough about me to know my age!

He had known that convincing Stephanie to lend him some money was a narrow bet, but he felt disheartened and disappointed by how badly the call had gone. Stephanie still held onto grudges from the past, and her comment about Eric celebrating the death of his parents had been extremely hurtful to him.

Even though he had only eaten recently he felt a craving for a Nutella chocolate and hazelnut spread sandwich. After making the sandwich with a generous layer of Nutella spread he took a bite and walked back in to the lounge with the sandwich on a plate. There was something that caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He looked at the bookcase and saw the large gap on one shelf. Half of the shelf, which was full this morning, was now empty. He now knew what Dylan and "Sergeant Grobler" had taken away in their cardboard box, and it had not been novels.

He looked at the empty space in disbelief for over two minutes before shouting, 'I'll kill you, Dylan!' He grunted and threw the plate against the wall. The plate did not so much break as explode as it hit the wall with a bang. Small fragments of pottery scattered all over the room, some of them hitting Eric. He looked around the room and saw small fragments all over the carpet, on the TV stand and littered over his couches. Some of the fragments had landed on the kitchen floor. He was not in a mood for cleaning up and he only picked up the remainder of the sandwich which was on one of the couches and threw it in the kitchen bin.

Eric had several disturbances during the night. For a long time he could not sleep because he could not help thinking about the events of what had been a terrible day. The only thing that had cheered him up had been having dinner and sharing some quality time with Mrs van der Walt and Emily. After midnight his cell phone rang. The display only showed that the number was unknown. He grudgingly answered it but the line was silent. He looked at the display again and saw that the call had been terminated. During the next hour the phone rang twice again, but there was nobody for Eric to talk to. When the phone rang yet again he considered rejecting the call and switching the phone off. He decided to give the caller another chance because he had an idea of who it was.

When he answered the phone he heard light breathing. He said, 'I know it's you, Dylan. I want my things back.'

'No,' Dylan replied haughtily. Eric waited and Dylan did not say anything else, he just breathed lightly.

'I'll be seeing you soon. Go to bed, Dylan.'

Eric ended the call and switched the phone off. Tomorrow night he would more than likely find Dylan at the LAN party if Thomas' information was correct. Telling Dylan to go to bed had been strangely satisfying, as if he had just brushed him off and treated him like a child. After drinking a half-glass of milk he was able to fall sleep.

***
Chapter 11

On Wednesday morning Dylan was sitting at the dining room table with his parents and eating the first course of breakfast, which consisted of plain Greek yoghurt layered with honey and topped with quartered strawberries. Rosa, the house cook, was working in the kitchen, preparing an English breakfast. Harold Reid liked to take it slowly in the morning and relax before going to work. He hated having to get out of bed early just to rush to work, as do most people.

Being the managing director of his own company gave him the luxury of sleeping in, having a proper breakfast, skimming through The Times and getting to his office at around nine o' clock, once the rush hour was over. Working into the early evening did not affect his home life too badly because he rarely slept for more than six hours, which gave him time to relax in the evening with his wife, Melanie.

His motto was that work was necessary, but it should not take over your life. He sometimes despaired when he heard about professional people, such as some chartered accountants, who worked over fifteen hours every day. In his opinion, they only lived to work. (He only excluded emergency workers and hospital staff from this opinion. He had been very thankful of the paramedics and hospital ER staff who had been on hand when he had had a heart scare over a year ago.)

Harold asked Melanie, 'Have you seen our son this morning? He's apparently been replaced by a mutant.'

Melanie smiled at Dylan, who rolled his eyes and ate the last spoonful of honey and yoghurt.

Less than a minute later Rosa came into the living room, followed by the aroma of grilled bacon and sausages. She put the sundae glasses onto a tray and Melanie thanked her and asked her if she would be a darling and make some more coffee. 'Yes, Ma'am. Would you like some toast as well? The main course is nearly ready.'

'Yes, please. That would be lovely,' Melanie replied.

Harold lowered his paper and looked up at Rosa. He asked her, 'How do you think Dylan looks?'

With a smile she said, 'He's still Dylan. He's a very handsome young man.' She returned to the kitchen to continue preparing breakfast.

Harold said to Dylan, 'I think that she agrees with me. You look ridiculous.' He guffawed. 'Maybe there's a story about it in the paper here.'

Dylan cocked his eyes at his father and said, 'Funny, very funny. Anyway, if I decide that I don't like this look anymore I can change back to my old look in an hour.'

'Thank the Good Lord for that!'

Melanie got up from her chair and said, 'I remember another young man who experimented with some pretty wild ideas.' She stood behind Harold and hugged him.

'Oh yes, Dad? How did you dress in the eighteen-fifties?' Dylan asked with a smirk on his face.

Melanie laughed and gave Dylan a false scolding look. Harold said, 'Ha-ha-ha, Dylan. You'll be my age before you know it. Then you'll be wondering why the youth have such bad dress sense.'

Melanie laughed again and said, 'You should have seen your dad at the primary school dance in his three-piece pink suit, flared trousers of course. Then there was the long-haired rocker phase.'

Dylan laughed. 'You don't have pictures do you?'

'I wish I did. You can imagine, though. Ah! Thank you, Rosa.' Melanie sat down as Rosa wheeled a serving trolley into the dining room, with a fresh pot of coffee and a rack of toast on the lower shelf, and three English breakfasts on the upper shelf.

Dylan had never understood his parents. They had been sweethearts in primary school and had stayed together ever since. Soon after leaving high school they had married, having never been in any other relationships during their school lives. They only had Dylan much later, when they were in their early thirties. Dylan had never known why he had been born so long after they were married. Evidently they had taken family planning very seriously. If he had had things his way, he would have preferred to have been born when his parents were sixty so that he would not have to wait so long to inherit the family fortune. He did not despise his parents, but as his father sometimes said, business was business.

Dylan could neither understand why his parents had latched onto each other so young and stayed faithful to each other. As far as Dylan was concerned relationships were supposed to be short, a week or two at the most. The field was wide and it was impossible to play it if you could not let go and seek new conquests.

After breakfast Dylan brushed his teeth for the second time. He had made it a habit to brush his teeth after every meal - sometimes even after drinking tea or coffee - because he did not want food stains or plaque to spoil his teeth. Dylan brushed more quickly than usual because he was excited by what he had found in Eric's flat.

He sat down behind his desk and booted up his computer. Skipping his usual social media activity, he opened the pictures that he had taken with his camera. Instead of taking actual documents of interest he had taken photos of them. He had pictures of Eric's identity document, a cell phone statement, and some pictures of the flat itself. He found the pictures of the flat amusing because he could not imagine anybody living in a dingy hole like that, especially somebody who supposedly had worked in a professional job. He did not intend to use Eric's identity document for anything other than personal interest; he knew that if he distributed it or put it online even his special friends might not be able to clear his slate, as they had done with his speeding offence.

Dylan had uploaded all of the pictures to his computer. He laughed at Eric's mug shot on the identity document that had been issued six years earlier. He did not think that Eric looked ugly or weird at sixteen, in fact he still found him good-looking. Dylan did not understand it himself, but there was always something about photos of people from when they were younger that made them look funny. From the document he learnt that Eric's full name was Eric Michael Callows. He was surprised to see that Eric was only just over a month older than him. He remembered Eric telling him that he had recently turned twenty-two.

Apart from taking pictures Dylan had taken some personal effects of Eric's. They had little monetary value, but the nature of them was priceless and they had kept Dylan preoccupied for most of the previous day. Dylan was not sure what he would do with them when he was finished. He did not know whether to burn them, throw them in the trash, or dump them on the side of the road for somebody else to pick up. Maybe he could use them in some way to gain leverage over Eric because he would want them back.

Dylan's raid on Eric's flat had almost been ruined by that idiot, Francois. While Dylan wanted it to be an intelligence-gathering exercise Francois had been trying to turn it into a house robbery. Francois had wanted to take Eric's computer, which may have contained some interesting information, but Francois just wanted the computer to sell for whatever he could get. He tried to reason with Dylan that he would tell the landlady that the computer could contain incriminating evidence, but Dylan did not want to be lumbered with stolen goods which could have got him into trouble.

While they had been bickering over the computer Dylan had noticed the landlady eyeing them suspiciously from outside the glass door. He noticed that while Francois was searching Eric's desk drawers he had stolen a fifty Rand note that he had found in a small metal box. It was not that Dylan cared about Eric's loss of money, but he was annoyed with Francois because he was not following the plan. He was just a bum who was using the opportunity to benefit himself.

***

Looking at Eric's teenage photograph made Dylan think of his own school days. There was a day during the first week in Grade Eight, when Dylan had made some personal discoveries - most notably the fact that he was capable of feeling sexually attracted to other boys, and that he loved wearing wet clothes. The catalyst had been a fellow Grade Eight pupil called Aaron Walker.

On that day two Grade Eleven bullies had pushed Aaron into the school fish pond during lunch break. Dylan had been in the crowd surrounding the pond and he had watched Aaron Walker while he was standing nearly waist-deep in the water. His hair and clothes were completely wet through.

Apart from a few sympathetic souls everybody was laughing at Aaron. Dylan had found himself in rapt fascination by the sight of the wet and angry Aaron. He was good-looking and had blond hair like Dylan. He was wearing the school uniform of black shoes, grey trousers, white shirt, a red blazer with the school crest, and a red-and-white striped tie that looked like a barber's pole. The more that Dylan looked at Aaron all wet the more he found himself strangely attracted to him.

Aaron had been wading back and forth in the pond, looking for a way out. The two bullies were circling the pond like lions trapping a gazelle, and every time Aaron made an attempt to get out the bullies would let him climb partially out before pushing him in again. Each extra dunk made the crowd of kids laugh again. After a third dunk Aaron was shouting for somebody to help him and hitting the surface of the water with his fists in frustration.

It was then that Dylan had decided to do something. He felt that he was falling in love with Aaron and he wanted to be wet with him. He had had his blazer draped over his arm because it was a warm January day. He put his blazer on and made his move.

He squeezed through the crowd and made his way to the fish pond. Behind him he heard his best friend Adam call, 'What are you doing, Dylan?'

He stood in front of one of the bullies, with his back to the pond. The bully said to him, 'What's your problem, little fish? Do you want to swim as well?'

Without saying a word Dylan had stepped backwards and fallen into the pond, fully submerging himself. He stood up, then knelt on the bottom of the pond so that the surface of the water lapped against his upper chest. The feeling of the water had been beautiful and Dylan had laid back, lowering his body and the back of his head in the water. He had been completely lost in the moment.

When Dylan stood up again he was a wet fish in the water, just like Aaron. Since he was a bit shorter than Aaron he was standing in the water up to his waist. The laughter from the crowd had turned to amazed murmuring. Some of the kids were looking at Dylan and Aaron with slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions. The bullies had stopped moving around the pond and Aaron was looking at Dylan in amazement. In a show of solidarity Dylan put his forearm on Aaron's shoulder. Aaron had not tried to get out of the pond again, as he seemed to be stunned by Dylan's actions.

Dylan beckoned the bullies to join them in the pond, but they walked away with the crowd heckling them. Dylan climbed out of the pond first, then offered his hand to help Aaron out.

Aaron had faced Dylan and said, 'I don't know who you are or why you did that but that took serious guts. Thanks a lot. I'm Aaron Walker.' When Dylan introduced himself he had felt like kissing Aaron, but thought better of it.

The crowd had started applauding Aaron and Dylan, with some people they did not even know patting them on the shoulders and shaking their hands. A friend of Dylan's, Graham Peele was laughing. He said to Dylan, 'That was classic! You're a legend, Dylan!' Adam had also joined Dylan. He told Dylan that that had been the wildest thing that he had ever seen and he introduced himself to Aaron.

Since Dylan and Aaron were soaking wet the school principal had sent them home for the day. The next day Dylan found out that the bullies, Deon Davids and Andrew Scott, had both been suspended from school for a week. Dylan's little stunt had also earned him a punishment. He had been ordered to write "I will respect the school uniform" one hundred times by the next morning. He had felt that he had been hard done by, but he wrote the lines and handed them to the principal the next day. The principal had glanced over the lines, making a quick estimate of the line count, and then thrown the paper in the bin and told Dylan to get to class.

Dylan's friendship with Aaron did not last for long because Dylan found him to be boring when he got to know him. One day Dylan had been invited to Aaron's house for dinner. Aaron had played rock music that Dylan did not like, and shown him his collection of model aircraft magazines which he had found utterly boring. Dylan had still been wearing his school uniform and had tried to spice things up by jumping into the swimming pool, but Aaron had refused to join him and was horrified when Dylan got out of the pool and walked through the house in his wet clothes. When Aaron's mother saw Dylan and Aaron arguing in Aaron's bedroom, with Dylan standing in a puddle of water on the carpet she had called Dylan's mother to pick him up. Dylan's mother was extremely apologetic and offered to pay for any carpet cleaning bills, which she promised Dylan would go out of his pocket money.

Even after falling out with Aaron, Dylan still found him attractive and fondly remembered the rapture he had felt by the sight of him in his wet school uniform. Besides that, Dylan did not talk to him again and he did not miss him when he left the school two years later.

After reminiscing about Aaron Walker he looked for him online. It did not take him long to find Aaron on Pinterest. According to his profile summary Aaron was now a trainee accountant. Dylan looked at the pictures that Aaron had uploaded, all of which appeared to have been taken recently. Despite being the same age as Dylan the years had not been kind to Aaron. He had gained a slight belly, he was wearing glasses, and his hairline was already beginning to recede.

Dylan mused, 'Did you get caught in a nuclear fallout or something?'

He no longer found Aaron Walker attractive at all.

***

Thinking about his school days made Dylan fast-forward to Grade Eleven, when a strange, quiet boy had joined the school. He had a disordered bush of dark ginger hair on his head and a freckly face with very plain features. He was in Dylan's homeroom and some of his classes, and what interested Dylan was that he was hopelessly shy. Dylan had always been an extreme extrovert going back to early childhood, and he could not understand a person who seemed to be too scared to even say hello to people. Dylan could not be bothered with him, but some other kids had tried to chat with him. Despite his classmates' good intentions he seemed to be determined to stay in his shell.

None of the other pupils even knew his name because he did not talk to anybody. Dylan settled on the name "Frizzy Lizzy" because of his appearance and because he thought that it just sounded funny. Dylan kept the name to himself, making it his own private joke. After only three weeks Frizzy Lizzy left the school without anybody other than the teachers ever knowing who he was. Dylan wondered how many times he had changed schools because of his apparent social anxiety. Dylan leant back in his desk chair and imagined where Frizzy Lizzy might be now.

Frizzy Lizzy was working behind the counter in a fast food shop called "Horrible Slop for Slobs". His ginger hair had grown into a large Seventies-style afro which looked like a circus clown's hairpiece. His once-plain face was now adorned with acne due to poor personal hygiene. He was wearing what was once a white apron, but it was covered with yellowish-green marks.

A customer walked into the shop and nodded at Frizzy Lizzy, who picked his nose and wiped the outcome of his nasal mining onto his apron. The customer was wearing a horrible polyester brown suit, and his unwashed hair was pasted to his scalp as if it had been soaked in cooking oil. The customer noticed Frizzy Lizzy's hand-written paper name badge and squinted as he slowly read it, following each letter with his index finger.

He commented. 'That's an unusual name. What's on today?' Frizzy Lizzy took a step back and nervously pointed at a small blackboard with only two items on it. The choices were polony soup for seven Rand, or chicken entrail sandwiches for ten Rand.

As the customer was pondering his choices Dylan walked into the shop with a pair of hedge clippers. He walked behind the counter and chopped a large part of Frizzy Lizzy's hair off with one snip of the blades. Frizzy Lizzy considered the lump of hair that littered his side of the counter, then used some of it to make a sandwich, which he sold to the customer for three Rand.

The customer walked out of the shop, eating his sandwich and apparently enjoying it. Dylan rammed the hedge clippers into Frizzy Lizzy's right ear and pushed them through his head so that the point of the blades protruded from his left ear. As Dylan exited the shop he said to Frizzy Lizzy, 'Have a nice life, or whatever you call your existence.' Frizzy Lizzy dumbly waved Dylan goodbye, seemingly unconcerned about the hedge clippers that were still embedded in his head.

Dylan threw his head back and laughed loudly at his vision of Frizzy Lizzy. He slapped his hand on the desk and continued to laugh until his sides began to hurt. In actuality he did not care where Frizzy Lizzy was because he was a nobody, a non-entity, as he himself had made clear to everybody at school. Dylan was born to be special and he did not waste his time with nobodies who chose to be outcasts.

***

Dylan stopped laughing about Frizzy Lizzy and decided to focus his mind on the task that he had set himself for the day, which was finding out more about Eric. Before carrying on looking at the items that he had taken from Eric's flat he decided to try to look him up online. Eric was not on Pinterest, but he had a profile on Facebook. The search found only one person called Eric Callows and Dylan opened his profile page. Dylan thumped his fist on the desk and said, 'You absolute shit!'

Eric's Facebook page was empty. He had obviously set up his posts and pictures so that only people he had accepted as "Friends" could see them. The "About" section yielded no information at all regarding Eric's workplace, sexual preferences, places visited, hobbies, or favourite entertainers. The only information that Dylan could see was that Eric had 141 friends. He did not read much into this because many Facebook followers befriended everybody who made an interesting comment on another friend's post. For all he knew Eric could actually have 141 friends, or more likely he only knew a small handful of them in person.

He thought that a friend count of 141 was sad when compared with his own count of over 336,900 followers. He knew that Eric was not a complete loner because he had seen him with four friends at The 27 Club. He knew that he would blow Eric's mind if he could see the extent of his own social life. He remembered that at the dam Eric had looked a bit dubious when Dylan had mentioned the number of people he had bedded, but Dylan wondered if Eric had lied about his past relationships. He's definitely a virgin. I bet he's even scared to give his female friends a friendly hug or kiss, if he even has any. Maybe even Frizzy Lizzy has scored more than Eric. Dylan sent Eric a friend request on Facebook because it might be funny to see how he might react.

Dylan scanned other social media sites to see if Eric did in fact have a life. Eric did not have Google Plus, Tumblr or Flickr accounts. At least Eric had a Twitter account. Dylan shook his head when he saw that Eric had managed to scratch together barely three hundred followers. Dylan had amassed nearly 405,000 followers by posting pictures of himself, photographs from his house parties and commentary about the world and his love for himself. He had some jealous haters among his followers, who seemed to only follow him to give him abuse. Dylan did not let the haters bother him. He either ignored their comments, taunted them by saying that he loved them, or retweeted hateful comments that were so embarrassing that he found them amusing. Dylan scanned through some of Eric's Tweets, starting at an earlier date and scrolling up the screen to the most recent Tweets.

'Bad day at the office today. Went to the dam later and some freak was swimming in his clothes. He is called Dylan. He tried to kiss me and went berserk when I stopped him.'

'Saw a blog entry from "DM5" accusing me of being a sex pest. It was Dylan - no doubt. If you see this, Dylan, you are a sad, pathetic specimen.'

'Went to a foam party. Dylan was there! Got into a fight. We were thrown out. I think I have lost some friends.' Dylan smiled and said, 'You'll lose much more than that, shithead.'

'Made a friend called Thomas. He was part of Dylan's crowd. He's shy but has more character than Dylan will ever have. Unlike Dylan he is human.' Dylan laughed at this comment and said. 'Good luck with Thomas. Two losers in a pod.'

'Job interview tomorrow. Fingers crossed...'

'Dylan broke into my home and stole some personal items. I'll kill him.'

'Jobless and I feel alone. Even my sister is against me. I cannot stand this. How can my life fall apart in one week?'

Dylan drummed his hands on the desk with excitement after reading the last comment, which had only been posted an hour ago. He had not known until now how much effect he really was having on Eric. Dylan was pleased that his ingenuity was causing Eric to start cracking after only a week. Not only that, but he was reaching out on social media for help, a sure sign of desperation. Dylan typed a reply to Eric's latest comment:

"Why suffer? Have you tried bleach? I will gladly buy it for you."

Dylan called Rosa on the house intercom and asked her to make him a ham sandwich and bring him a coke. He had not realised until he had looked at the clock on the wall that nearly two hours had passed since breakfast. He had the metabolism of a greyhound, which necessitated a substantial calorie intake. It also caused him to go through a lot of toothpaste and toothbrushes.

He liked efficiency and he was feeling slightly annoyed with himself for spending so much time day-dreaming. He decided to give social media a rest for the time being and continue reading what he considered to be the main prize of the haul from Eric's flat: ten years' worth of hand-written diaries.

For the time being he had seen all he had wanted of the photographs that he had taken, but he did not delete them from his computer. He had also looked through Eric's photo albums which contained family photos (some of them evidently from long before Eric was born) and several childhood photos of Eric and his siblings. When Dylan had seen one picture of Stephanie with Eric and Stephen he had thought that she was Eric's aunt, and had been surprised when he had seen the label below the picture stating: "The Three Callows Children: Stephen, Stephanie, Eric (2001)".

Yesterday Dylan had been flicking through the diaries at random then, in the evening he had started reading the latest diary in descending date order. He reached for the latest diary when there was a knock on the door. Dylan called, 'Come in.' Rosa entered the room holding a tray with a plate, a can of coke and glass. She had made the ham sandwich just as Dylan liked it, in a round bread roll with lettuce. He thanked her and she left the room. He quite liked Rosa. She had been working for the family since Dylan had been a small child and she had always had a soft spot for him.

Dylan poured the coke into the glass and quickly ate the sandwich. After wiping his hands on a tissue he picked up the diary and continued reading. He reached an entry that had been written early in February. While he was reading it he took a gulp of his coke and nearly choked on it. He spat the coke back into the glass, spilling a bit of it on the carpet. He coughed a few times and wiped his mouth with another tissue, which he tossed aside without even aiming for the bin. He re-read the entry a few times and leant his elbow on the desk with a wide smile on his face. Dylan was going to rub this new-found information hard in Eric's face, and it would hurt.

As he was relishing his discovery he heard a low bong sound from the computer's speakers. He knew that it was an alert from Facebook that a notification had come through. Eric had responded to Dylan's friend request: "You think you're hilarious don't you? No, you're not getting access to my Facebook page, you idiot." Dylan typed a message to Eric: "We can't be friends? You really hurt me. I'm enjoying your diaries. Better than any novel I have read. By the way, man-up and stop whining about me on Twitter." Dylan logged out of Facebook, not bothering to wait for whatever inane response Eric might have.

***

### Chapter 12

Eric arrived at the Benoni Community Hall at around half past nine because he did not see the point in arriving for the start of the LAN party and waiting for Dylan to arrive. Judging from the noise he heard when he got out of his car it seemed that the party was in full swing. He felt a cool breeze of air hit him and ruffle his hair. He imagined that the cool air would set the scene for his discussion with Dylan (that was, if Dylan would even speak to him). Eric felt determined to regain his property, and might drag Dylan out of there kicking and screaming if he did not want to talk.

He walked into the entrance of the hall and saw at least fifty young adults and teenagers playing games on a variety of laptops and desktop computers. Among the youngsters he noticed a few older adults in their thirties and forties. His ears were assaulted by the sounds of gunfire, crashes, and the excited voices of the gamers. He scanned the gamers but he could not see Dylan. There were a few young blonds around Dylan's age. He looked at them again to make sure that he had not skipped Dylan, but all he got was a dirty look from one man of about nineteen who probably felt that Eric was staring too much.

Behind him a voice said, 'Mister? Hello?' He turned and noticed for the first time that there was a man sitting behind a desk at the entrance. He had been so keen to find Dylan that he had been oblivious of him. The man was a surly-looking character wearing a black vest that he barely fit into. Eric noticed that part of his belly was showing around his waistline. The tattoos all over his arms were unimaginative skull and snake designs. He had a scruffy, partially-grown beard which made Eric wonder if he possessed something resembling a mirror.

Eric stood in front of the desk and the man said, 'Are you missing something? The entrance fee is fifty Rand and you need to bring your own computer. As far as I know the Cloud isn't wired into our brains yet, so you still need a computer.'

Eric did not like the doorman's sarcastic and surly attitude which matched his surly look, but he needed to be polite if he was to get anything out of him. He cleared his throat and said, 'Hi. I was just looking for a friend here. I really need to speak to him about something important.'

'People don't like to be disturbed when they're playing,' the doorman grumbled abruptly.

'My friend will understand. It's just that I was looking around and I'm not sure if he's here. He said he would be, but I can't see him.'

'Did you forget what your friend looks like?'

Eric smiled at the doorman, humouring his sarcastic joke. The doorman did not return the smile and eyed Eric suspiciously.

The doorman said, 'Who's your friend?'

'He's a blond guy around my age. He's about so tall,' Eric said and held the flat of his hand at the level of the bridge of his nose. 'His name is Dylan Reid.'

'Ah, Dylan. Why didn't you say? I know the guy, he's just not blond anymore. I'll get him for you.'

Not blond anymore? Eric wondered. As the man left his desk Eric noticed that he was wearing a man-bun in his hair. He almost laughed because this supposedly sophisticated hairstyle contrasted so ridiculously with the rest of his ensemble. The doorman approached a young man in black clothes who was sitting at the middle of a table, with his back to Eric. The young man's hair was dyed black, and tufts of it had been twisted into spikes. His head looked like a desolate woodland in a fantasy movie, with dead gnarled tree trunks twisting out of the ground. Eric thought that the doorman must be speaking to the wrong person.

The young man listened to the doorman and then looked around with an annoyed look on his face, evidently not happy about the interruption. Eric was surprised to see that it was indeed Dylan. When Dylan saw Eric his face flushed.

Dylan stood up and Eric could hear the doorman ask, 'Who is he, then?'

Dylan answered loudly enough for to Eric to hear over the noise, 'He's miserable white trash. I'll get rid of him.'

As Dylan walked towards Eric, apparently in no hurry, Eric took in Dylan's new look. Under the horrible hairstyle Dylan's eyebrows had been blackened and he was wearing black lipstick. He was wearing a Lacuna Coil T-shirt, which confused Eric. Dylan had said that he liked electronica music, but Lacuna Coil were an Italian Goth-metal band. The T-shirt was tucked into heavy-looking, baggy black corduroy trousers with double-pleat styling and turn-ups. The trousers looked too big for Dylan, and the bottoms of the legs bunched up. Pleated corduroy trousers had been fashionable with young people for a while, but not in recent times. The only piece of clothing that seemed to look natural on him were his black Nike trainers.

Dylan stopped slightly short of Eric and looked up at him with a stern expression. Eric looked slowly down from Dylan's face to his feet, and then slowly looked back up again until his was looking him in the face.

Eric smiled and asked, 'Is this another fancy dress party? I reckon that you'll win the wooden spoon for this one.'

Dylan scowled at Eric and walked past him, barging into his shoulder. Eric noticed the confusion on the doorman's face. The doorman spread his arms questioningly and Eric shrugged.

Eric said, 'He has these moods. We're good friends, really.' He wondered what Dylan would think of that comment. He had invited him to be friends on Facebook, after all.

Some of the other gamers had paused their playing when they saw the obvious tension between Eric and Dylan. Eric turned around to follow Dylan, who was already walking through the parking area.

Dylan stood under a lamp and waited for Eric, who could not help smirking despite having serious business to discuss with him. When Eric reached him, Dylan manoeuvred himself so that he had his back to the hall. Eric stood opposite him.

The doorman called out from the doorway, 'Hey Dylan! Is everything OK? Who is that guy?' Without looking back Dylan raised his left arm at the elbow and held up his hand, indicating that everything was alright.

Despite his anger with Dylan, Eric sniggered and asked, 'What have you done to yourself, anyway?' He waved an outstretched palm up and down Dylan's body.

Dylan shook his spiky-haired head and said, 'I can make anything look good. You can wear the best of your wardrobe and you still look like shit. I can see myself on a Calvin Klein or a Christian Dior billboard one day.'

Eric laughed and said, 'I'm sure. They'll be clamouring for this look, whatever it's supposed to be.'

'This look is what I want it to be,' Dylan answered cryptically.

'Which is?' Eric asked, smiling.

'You didn't come here to talk fashion,' Dylan said, evading the question.

Eric stopped smiling. It was time to be serious. He said, 'I came here to have a talk with DM5.'

'Who?' Dylan looked confused.

'Don't you remember the alias you used on that blog when you accused me of accosting you at the park? Perhaps I could speak to Constable Lamprecht? Maybe Dylan Reid is available?'

'You're interrupting my game. I know what you want so get to the point and stop wasting my time.'

'Fine. First of all, you had no right to invade my space. You also had no right to scare my landlady like that.'

'When she saw the cop uniforms she was a complete walkover. It was so easy.' Dylan smiled with satisfaction.

Dylan asked, 'What's wrong with that little crippled shit? That clack-clack-clack sound she made with her crutches pissed me off no end. I wanted to push her over and beat the shit out of her.'

'You would really beat up a nine-year-old girl with a broken leg, you sick freak? I've seen you fight, or at least try to. Even she could take out a weak little pussy like you.'

'Thomas has seen me fight, too.' Dylan giggled. 'Did you like the facial modifications I did on him?'

Eric noticed that a small handful of gamers had abandoned their games and were standing outside, watching Dylan and Eric. The surly doorman was also watching. Eric did not want to fight Dylan and cause a scene, even though his comments about Emily and Thomas warranted a few punches to his face.

He said to Dylan, 'I heard about what you did to Thomas after he spoke to me. Why did you have to do that?'

Dylan laughed and clapped his hands. 'That was classic wasn't it? I did it because he made me angry, OK? Some people - like you and mousy Thomas - just don't get it. Don't make me angry. I live a good life, better than you could imagine but, when people upset me and spoil that they raise Hell's fury for themselves.'

'Not Hell's fury, just your insanity,' Eric responded contemptuously.

Interrupting Dylan when he attempted to speak again Eric said, 'We called the police about your fake cop act.'

'Quite right! Impersonating a police officer is serious stuff. It's funny how nobody came to arrest me. Maybe you would like to save the police some time.' He held out his hands as if he were offering to be cuffed.

'Put your hands down, you fool! Everything's a joke to you. I want to know why you invaded my flat. I also want those diaries and photo albums you stole.' Eric was surprised at how well he was keeping his cool.

'Do you really want to know why I was in there? I thought it was obvious.'

'Yes. Spell it out for me if you think it is necessary.'

'I'm getting bored with this. I'm going to carry on with my game.' Dylan tried to walk away from Eric, but he grabbed Dylan's arm and pulled him back. Dylan shook his arm loose and squared up to Eric.

Eric felt his composure crumbling. He shouted, 'Explain yourself!'

One of the young men at the hall entrance shouted to the people inside, 'Hey! Hey! Dylan's fighting some guy!' Eric heard a commotion from within the hall with chairs being drawn back and people running. In seconds people were squeezing past each other to get outside and see what was happening. Dylan looked around at the people who had just exited the hall. He raised his palms up in fake despair and slapped the sides of his legs.

'Now look what you've done. You've upset everybody. If I go back in now I won't be able to play my game because everybody will be nagging me to find out what was going on out here,' Dylan said with fake exasperation.

'I'm not playing games here. What right did you have to invade my home and steal my stuff? Tell me!'

'Not that it's your business!'

Eric burst in, 'It is my business! You were in my flat, posing as a cop. You stole my diaries and photo albums. Are you incapable of appreciating the impact of your actions?'

'If you must know I wanted to find out all about you. Are you satisfied now?'

'No, Dylan. You have some explaining to do. Carry on.'

'Right!' Dylan said with some annoyance. 'I wanted to see what kind of place somebody like you would live in. I wanted to get some information about you, like your phone number and anything else that might have been interesting. I even took a photo of your ID document.'

'You played this elaborate cop act to get my phone number? Wait... you said that you copied my ID document. Is this an identity fraud scam you're planning? That's serious jail time if you do that.'

'Why would I want to pretend to be you? I might depress myself and commit suicide. I wanted to find out more about you, my enemy. Don't you know anything about warfare? I knew that there must have been something that even you would have of personal value, and of interest to me.'

'That's why you stole my stuff?'

'Duh, Eric. You've figured it out at last. Don't worry. They're in safe hands. I've enjoyed reading your diaries and looking at your photos.'

'Go home now and get them or I'm calling the police. I have no tolerance for thieves, and I will lay charges if necessary.'

'There you go again, talking about the law like you think you're a lawyer.'

'I'll repeat myself so that it sinks in: You're a thief. Either get my things or I will call the police. This is your last chance.'

Dylan shook his head. 'Tell you what, you buy ten diaries and a few photo albums and I'll write you a cheque.' Dylan giggled again.

'What's funny about this? Those items are sentimental. Don't you even understand that, you nut job?'

'Of course I do! Do you think that I'm retarded? Do you think the cops will care? Which country do you think we are living in? Don't you think the cops have better things to do, with all these rapes, murders, and house robberies going on? Half of them are crooked anyway. They won't care about your sentimentality. They might even think it's as pathetic as I find it. Go and call them now and see what happens.'

Knowing that Dylan had the upper hand made Eric feel slightly nauseous. He thought that it would be fitting to be sick over Dylan's odd-matching clothing, or even better, in his face.

Dylan saw that Eric was stalling and he goaded him, 'What are you waiting for? Call piggy-wiggy. If they come I'll donate five hundred Rand to them.'

'You mean you'll bribe them to leave?' Eric retorted.

'No. I'll donate the money to the SAPS as a whole to promote their cause. Maybe I'll give you a couple of hundred to cover your losses, like I offered. Come to think of it, cheques are old fashioned, aren't they? Besides, you could use some money since you are a jobless bum these days.'

'I'd rather put used toilet paper in my pocket than accept your offer, even if it was sincere. You really make me sick.'

Sensing an escalation in the argument, the crowd outside the hall started buzzing. Some people started to move forward to gather around Dylan and Eric.

The doorman called out, 'No! Get back and give them some room. Whatever they are talking about is personal.'

Eric was surprised that the surly doorman wanted people to respect their space. The nearest people were only about four metres away anyway, so they would have caught a lot of the conversation.

Dylan looked back and shouted to the crowd, 'Can't we have a conversation in private?'

He nodded at the doorman and said, 'Thanks, Gus.'

Nobody tried to get any closer, but nobody went back into the hall either. They knew that a fight was inevitable and they did not want to miss anything.

'Assholes,' Dylan muttered.

'Is that how you apologise for your friends?' Eric asked contemptuously.

'They're not all my friends. Didn't you want to talk about your things?'

'Yes. We are going to talk about you returning them to me.'

Ignoring Eric's demand Dylan said, 'I was flipping through your more recent diaries. I figured that it made sense to see who you are now, and not who you were when you started writing them. Do you know what I found?'

'What? And be careful. This is personal, remember.'

'From almost a year ago there is a beautiful entry which really touched my heart.' He patted his chest with his right hand. He continued, 'Do you want to hear it? Whatever, here it is: "We buried Mum and Dad today. Why did you have to be taken from us so early? I will always love you, Mum and Dad."'

Dylan let out an exaggerated sigh and said, 'Awwwww.'

Eric felt a chill run through him. He knew that Dylan was capable of extreme cruelty, but his mockery of the death of his parents deeply shocked him. He was initially speechless, but a tide of anger rose in him before he exploded.

'Don't go there! Don't ever...' Eric paused to suppress a sob that wanted to burst out. Eric pushed Dylan and shouted in his face, 'They were my parents! My parents, damn you to Hell! Fuck it, this conversation is over. I'm just going to leave you in a bleeding heap under this light for everybody to see.'

A vicious look crossed Dylan's face. He said, 'What are you going to do, knock me on my ass again? That seems to be your best trick. You can't fight. I think it's time for me to show you what I can do.'

The assembled crowd started buzzing again as Eric raised his fists like a boxer. Eric challenged Dylan, 'Come on! Come on! You piece-of-shit pussy!'

A voice from the crowd called, 'Kick his ass, Dylan!' More people started shouting encouragement, nearly all for Dylan.

Eric remembered to position himself on the balls of his feet for better manoeuvrability. He had never been trained in fighting, but he had seen enough mixed martial arts fighting and boxing on TV to think that he had picked enough up to hold his own in a fight. His confidence was also buoyed by the fact that he had hurt Dylan in The 27 Club. Eric was about to throw his first shot, when Dylan did something that he had not bargained for.

Dylan stepped back with his right foot and jumped in the air, performing a perfect spinning heel kick. Dylan rotated fully in mid-air, with the heel of his right foot passing within an inch of Eric's nose. Eric could feel and hear the whoosh of air being displaced. He could smell the rubber on the sole of Dylan's trainer. Even though the kick did not connect, Eric stumbled backwards and fell over. He knew that Dylan had missed deliberately, and wanted to show him what he was capable of. The crowd roared as Dylan completed the kick and Eric went down. Some hecklers encouraged Dylan to carry on and give Eric a proper kicking.

Eric looked up at Dylan, who was hitching up his trousers, which had dropped a few inches because he was not wearing a belt. Dylan mockingly held out his hand to help Eric up, then quickly withdrew it. Some of Dylan's friends were whooping and clapping him on the shoulders. One person picked up Dylan around the waist, spun him around and put him down again, making Dylan laugh. They were treating him like he had won a world championship of some sort.

As people calmed down, Dylan looked down at Eric with a look of triumph on his face. Eric remained sitting on the ground because Dylan's single kick had convinced him that he had severely underestimated Dylan, and that a fight would have ended in disaster. He felt crushed.

Dylan told people to give him some space because he had something more to say to Eric. He stepped forward and beckoned Eric to stand up. When Eric ignored him Dylan yelled, 'Get up! I'm not talking to you down there!'

Eric stood up and stumbled slightly, and a few people laughed. In an attempt to regain some dignity, he stood face-to-face with Dylan and glared into his eyes.

Dylan spoke with a hostile tone in his voice. 'Eric Michael Callows, my enemy! The worst enemy I have ever had. Do you still want to fight? No, I don't really think you do. I'm going to break you slowly. Psychological scars hurt more than broken noses. At least now you know not to challenge me. But let me remind you of one thing: This will never be over. You brought this on yourself. You know that, don't you?'

'So hate me. I hate you too. Mark my words, though. I will get my property from you no matter what it takes,' Eric said. 'The way I see it, the only mistake I made was to meet you in the first place. You need psychiatric help.'

'Did you say you would do whatever it takes? Really? I was going to burn the mementoes of your crap life when I had finished with them, but you have issued a challenge which is impressive for a rat on its last legs.'

'I want my things. The rat stuff is getting really old, too. By the way, I wanted to tell you something earlier before you interrupted me. You look like shit, you stupid asshole.' He laughed and exclaimed, 'Call Christian Dior!' Eric felt a bit of vindication when he saw how put out Dylan looked.

'We'll meet again, Eric. You'll regret what you just said,' Dylan said bitterly.

'There's no doubt that we will. You have a debt to pay, Dylan.'

Sitting in his car, Eric watched Dylan follow the guild of gamers flow back into the building. One of Dylan's friends had his arm around his shoulders and seemed to be having a serious discussion with him. Dylan's friend shot Eric a dirty look before entering the building. Eric felt that he had won a minor victory because he felt more hopeful that he would regain his diaries and photo albums. The victory felt bitter-sweet, though, because he knew that Dylan would not just hand them over out of kindness or sympathy.

***
Chapter 13

In the morning Eric spent nearly half an hour cleaning up the debris from the plate that he had smashed the previous night. He was surprised that one small side plate could cause such a mess. Something had been bothering him for most of the day; he knew that there was something that he was supposed to remember. In the mid-afternoon he considered that he might have forgotten somebody's birthday and consulted the calendar which was stuck to the fridge door with a magnet. He felt a pang of shame that he had almost forgotten such an important date. It did not feel to him like a year had nearly passed, as financial woes and his feud with Dylan had fully preoccupied his mind. Tomorrow was the first anniversary of his parents' deaths.

He decided that he would buy some flowers and visit his parents' graves tomorrow, but going alone did not feel right to him. They had been Stephanie and Stephen's parents as well. He knew that getting Stephen out from Australia would be unfeasible at such short notice, but he could at least call him tomorrow. He knew that he would have to call Stephanie again and, judging from their hostile exchange the other day he was expecting another argument, but family matters were important to Eric. He hoped that Stephanie would realise how much the family meant to him.

He found Stephanie's cell phone number on his phone and hesitated before pressing the call button. The nature of this call was delicate and he knew that Stephanie would come out fighting as soon as she heard his voice. He considered how he would begin the conversation before pressing the call button. He called Stephanie but the phone rang for nearly a minute before a recorded message announced, 'The person you are trying to call cannot be reached.' Either she was busy or she was avoiding his call.

He waited for fifteen minutes and then tried to call her again. After the phone had rang for over thirty seconds Stephanie answered and snapped, 'Leave me alone, Eric. I told you that I'm not helping you with any money. To be frank with you, I'm finished with your crap.'

'I'm not calling you about my situation or money. I want to talk about tomorrow.'

Stephanie paused as if Eric's last comment had caused her brain to "recalculate" like a car GPS that was as lost as its driver.

'Tomorrow? What about it?' she asked, sounding rather confused.

'Tomorrow is the anniversary of our parents' deaths. I was thinking that we should put our differences aside at least to pay our respects. I want to go to their gravesite and lay some flowers.'

Stephanie remained silent again for a few seconds. 'Is it really tomorrow? I don't know how I could have forgotten.'

'I almost forgot, myself. My mind is all over the place at the moment.'

'Yes, I suppose it will be, with losing your job and running out of money.' Don't rub it in, Eric thought.

'Why don't we both go? I think that it's appropriate since we are their surviving children. I can buy the flowers.'

'It's very thoughtful of you, Eric. It's a pity that Stephen is not here, then all three of the Callows children could be there.'

'That would have been nice. Maybe we can call him afterwards.'

'We could do that. There is something that I must ask, which may not sound appropriate to this conversation.'

'What is that?'

'You are not just trying to curry favour with me so that I will lend you money are you?' Eric thought that Stephanie's comment was very inappropriate. She was expecting the worst from him when he was trying to do what he felt was a family duty.

'No! Like I said when I last spoke to you I'm still grieving for our parents. I feel that this will be beneficial to us.'

'I'm sorry, Eric. I know that they can see us from Heaven and they will be proud of us.'

'So will you go with me?'

'Yes I will, but I'll buy my own flowers. I think that we should pay our respects in our own ways.'

'What about work?'

'Oh, I'm sure that the staff at the parlour will survive without me for an hour or so.'

'Shall I pick you up at around ten at the parlour?'

'Let me pick you up. I'll see you at ten tomorrow.'

After the call ended Eric was glad that Stephanie had agreed to go with him to the cemetery. He was only a bit disappointed that she had mentioned the money again, but he had expected her to be on guard about that after Tuesday's phone call. He was not too surprised that she did not want to ride in his car, since she had seen it as an unnecessary, and perhaps even a disrespectful purchase.

Eric went out to the supermarket to buy some flowers, preferring to avoid a florist's dearer prices. He did not know which kind of flowers were the most appropriate for laying on a grave (a matter that a florist would have been able to advise him on), so he settled on some pink roses. He did not have a vase at home so he filled a beer glass with water and put them in there for the time being. He wondered what Stephanie would have thought if she had seen that.

***

At twenty past ten the next morning Stephanie honked her horn outside the gate. Eric had decided to dress up for the occasion, and he was wearing black trousers, a grey shirt, a grey patterned tie, and his black shoes. As he opened the door of Stephanie's Audi Q3 he was relieved to see that she had dressed up as well, in a purple dress and a matching purple hat. Her outfit was more conservative than flashy, as had always been her style. Her flowers, a bouquet of white hydrangeas and red poinsettias, had been placed on the rear passenger seat

When they greeted each other there was no friendly kiss or a hug. They simply exchanged pleasantries and Stephanie apologised for her tardiness. It turned out that one of her girls had nearly messed up a hair-colouring job and Stephanie had had to rescue her.

At the cemetery they found themselves alone. Since the cemetery was open for most of the day during the week people had plenty of time to pay their respects. Stephanie remarked on how much the grass had grown and how the council should keep up with their maintenance. During their walk to their parents' graves they noticed that a few headstones had been vandalised by graffiti.

Eric pointed it out and said, 'It's disgusting isn't it?'

Stephanie shook her head and said, 'Some people are pigs. At least we came on a nice day. I like the sound that the wind makes in the trees. It just feels so peaceful here.'

When they reached their parents' adjacent graves Stephanie tutted and said, 'Somebody dropped some litter between the graves.'

'It looks like an envelope,' Eric said.

He put his flowers down next to the envelope and picked it up and opened it. He found a card inside and froze when he saw what it was and what was inside it.

'What's the matter, Eric?' Stephanie held the card with one hand so that she could see what was written inside it. She gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

The card was a "Get Well Soon" card and a message had been written inside:

Dear Mum and Dad,

Get well soon. We heard that Hell is uncomfortable. That is why we did not bother to visit you.

Love, Eric

'What is this?' Stephanie asked, panting.

'It's Dylan, the bastard. He's even sicker than I thought. He won't get away with this.'

'Who the hell is Dylan? Is he a friend? Did you set this up as a prank? What's wrong with you, Eric?' Tears began to flow down Stephanie's cheeks.

Eric was worried that Stephanie was about to run out of the cemetery and never want to see him again. He said, 'I met Dylan last week. After I lost my job I went to the park at the Homestead Dam and he was there. We started talking and-'

'And planning what?' She was crying.

'We just talked and I didn't like him - he was just... off. He hasn't left me alone ever since. He's a complete lunatic.'

'How did he know about today? What did you tell him?'

'Oh, it's such a long story,' he said despairingly.

'Well, I want to hear it. This is not fair on me to see this.'

He told her about Dylan following him home, the fake police raid, the stolen diaries and their confrontation at the LAN party.

'Oh Eric! What have you got yourself into?' she wailed.

'The worst time of my life. That's what this is.'

He tore the card and envelope into pieces. Realising that there was no litter bin nearby he put the torn shreds in his trouser pocket. Stephanie was still clutching the flowers in her right hand, but she held her left hand over her face as she was weeping. He put his around her shoulders and told her, 'I'm so sorry about this. I did not expect Dylan to go after the family like this. I'll deal with him.'

He held onto her and she leant her head against his shoulder. Neither of them moved for a while, not at least until Stephanie stopped crying.

She looked at Eric and said, 'Look into my eyes and promise me that you are not making this up.'

He looked at her face with a sincere expression and said, 'I swear that this is the truth. I am really at the end of my tether with Dylan. He's sick.'

'Have you spoken to the police about him?'

'My landlady tried to call them after he entered my flat. They never even came.'

'Typical. Anyway, we came here for our parents. This Dylan character won't ruin this day and he can go to Hell. Pick up your flowers.'

Eric picked up his flowers and Stephanie stood in front of the two graves. She beckoned Eric to stand next to her, which he did without asking Stephanie why. Stephanie said a prayer and laid her flowers on their mother's grave. Eric followed her lead and placed his flowers on their father's grave. They stood for a few minutes in silence, then left the cemetery arm-in-arm.

At Stephanie's house Eric profusely apologised for what Dylan had done and told her the rest of what happened between the two of them. Stephanie talked about taking civil action against Dylan even if the police were not interested. She reminded Eric that Clive was a lawyer and she said that she would find out what options they had.

They phoned Stephen who seemed to be very content with life in Australia. They did not mention Dylan, but he was upset when he was told about Eric's job loss. He offered to pay for Eric to spend two weeks in Australia because he had some leave available. Unfortunately, this offer fell flat because Eric's passport had expired.

After Stephanie dropped Eric back home they exchanged a kiss and Stephanie said, 'Thank you for today. It was a beautiful gesture, Eric.'

'It would have been if it were not for Dylan,' Eric said miserably.

'He sounds like a sad specimen, but he'll either give up on you or we'll make him.'

'I really hope so.'

'I've been thinking. I know that I've been harsh with you over the years and I can't bear to see you in this situation. I've decided to help you out. I'll give you a month's worth of living costs to help tide you over.'

Coming from Stephanie, this was like being offered the property rights to the moon. Eric hugged her and said, 'Thanks so much. I'll return the favour... well, I'll pay you back when I can.'

'No need,' she answered, smiling. 'You did your bit today. If it were not for you I might have forgotten about today altogether. Business is so busy I don't know whether I'm coming or going sometimes.'

After another hug and a peck on the lips they parted ways. He wished that he could have seen the look on Dylan's face when he realised that his dirty stunt had failed and that he could now be facing legal action.

***
Chapter 14

A few hours after saying goodbye to Stephanie Eric received a phone call from Adam. He had been feeling good about the time that he had spent with Stephanie, despite Dylan's sick prank. He hoped that Adam would be in a better mood than he was when he had visited him, and that he would have some good news about Thomas.

Eric answered the phone, 'Adam. How's things? How is Thomas doing?'

'All's good, Eric. Thomas was only in hospital for a couple of days. He was discharged yesterday.'

'That's really good to hear. How is he doing?'

'The sedation therapy seemed to do the job. The shrinks at the hospital wanted him to start a course of long-term counselling, not just because of the Witbank incident, but because they think that his introversion will affect his adult development. The problem there is that my uncle can't afford it. Can you believe that it costs seven hundred Rand a session?'

'That wouldn't surprise me. These people aren't cheap. I know because I needed some short-term grief counselling after my parents died.'

'We'll get Thomas on his feet. At least he's made a new friend already, well, two including you.'

'Oh? He does not strike me as the type of person who could walk into a nightclub and walk out with a girl on each arm. Sorry, maybe that was a bad analogy.'

'He made a new friend through me: Dylan.'

'Please tell me you're kidding! Why Dylan of all people? He damn near killed him!'

'It was a difficult situation to sort out. Do you remember how I was angry with Dylan, but I was not really sure if I could end our friendship?'

'Yeah?'

'I decided to give Dylan another chance. I told him what had happened to Thomas after his interrogation, and I told him that I wanted him to apologise for it.'

'I bet that went down well,' Eric said scornfully.

'It didn't at first. Dylan said that he didn't want to fall out with me, but he felt that what he did to Thomas was justified. Dylan isn't known for his empathy.'

'I know only too well. He's the cruellest, most narcissistic bastard I've ever met. I'm actually shocked that you wanted to speak to him again.'

'I have to admit that he has some major flaws that he will not admit to himself, but I remember the good times we have had. If you're on friendly terms with Dylan he's one of the funniest and most fun people you can ever meet.'

'If you can forgive Dylan you're a better person than me, I'll give you that. I hate the little shit's guts. How did you get Thomas to speak to Dylan?'

'That wasn't easy, either. He was too scared to see Dylan when I first suggested it, and I was worried that I'd brought up the subject too soon after he'd left the hospital. I didn't mention it to his parents because they would have gone nuts.'

'How did you pull it off?'

'I arranged a meeting at my flat, which I managed to get Thomas and Dylan to agree to. Getting Thomas to agree to it was much harder than it was with Dylan. I picked up Thomas, bought him a take-away from Steers and brought him to the flat where we had a long chat. I assured him that I really would disown Dylan if there was any trouble.'

'I bet that was a difficult meeting to set up.'

'You're telling me! I felt like Henry Kissinger.'

'Who's he?'

'He was the US secretary of state who led negotiations between the Viet Cong and the South Vietnamese government in 1973. He effectively ended the US-Vietnam war. It wasn't exactly a happy agreement, but it got the job done. I'm actually a bit of a modern history buff.'

'I never understood that war, and why the Americans had to get involved in the first place. That idiot, Tricky Dicky!'

'It was Kennedy who got America involved, not Nixon. He gave financial support to the South. Lyndon B. Johnson was the one who sent the troops in. Sorry... I'm rambling and probably boring you to death.'

Eric smiled to himself and said, 'I officially stand corrected. Anyway, how was Dylan towards Thomas? Did he cause any trouble?'

'Well, he came to my flat at seven in the evening as planned. Thomas had told me that he felt uncomfortable talking to Dylan so I did a lot of the talking for him. I basically explained to Dylan that what he had done to Thomas was way out of proportion to anything that Thomas had done.'

'Do you think that it sunk in?'

'It seemed to do eventually. Dylan said that he was still angry with Thomas for laughing at him at the nightclub, even though we thought that he had already punished him enough for that. He then said that when he saw Thomas at your house he saw him as a Judas.'

'But when Thomas saw me he had already fallen out with Dylan. How could Dylan feel betrayed?'

'It was because he felt that Thomas had joined your side of the feud you two are having. It's like Dylan has a crazed obsession with destroying you.'

'You don't need to remind me of that. Both you and Thomas have had your beefs with Dylan, but my problem with him is separate. I really don't understand how his mind works.'

Eric added, 'How did the meeting end up anyway?'

'Really well, actually. Thomas and Dylan apologised to each other, then Dylan gave Thomas a big hug. Being the emotional type he is, Thomas started crying, and Dylan just held him tighter and let him spill his tears over his shirt. I almost started tearing up myself.'

'What did Dylan have against Thomas all this time? Thomas told me that he felt that he was just an unwelcome hanger-on.'

'Dylan found Thomas boring, and he had some cross words with me at times for bringing him along. He also disliked him for his looks. Dylan has this thing about wanting to surround himself with beautiful people, not that I put myself in that category - we're just old friends. Let's be honest, Thomas isn't exactly the best-looking guy in the world.'

'I know that Dylan's vain, but he needs to come down to earth a little.'

'I won't argue with that. Guess what else happened?'

'What's that?'

'Dylan invited Thomas to his twenty-second birthday party tomorrow night. He's never invited Thomas to the house before. He's invited me to the party, of course.'

It occurred to Eric that Dylan was only five weeks younger than him, even though he looked five years younger. He said, 'Enjoy it. You can bet your life that I won't pop around to wish him a happy birthday.'

'It's funny you should say that. He's invited you, too.'

'Dylan has invited me to his party? His loose screw must have fallen out. Why the hell would he want me there?'

'He said that he has some property of yours that he wants to return. He even bragged about the fake police raid that he pulled off. I was shocked about that, to tell you the truth.'

'Nothing about Dylan could shock me anymore. Tell him to come over here with my things. He can apologise to my landlady while he's here.'

'I tried to persuade him to do the decent thing and take your things to you, but he insists that you go to the party and pick them up yourself.'

'I'm sick of his games.' Eric sighed. 'All right. I'll grab my things and leave. What time should I go?'

'He says half-past eight. I think that I must warn you: There may be a catch somewhere, so be prepared. That's probably why he won't take your stuff to you.'

'Right, thanks.'

'There's another thing I should mention. Dress nice. You don't need to wear a suit or anything like that, but definitely wear something fashionable, and nothing cheap.'

'Why? I don't want to stay there. I'll be in and out in five minutes, whether Dylan likes it or not. I won't even have a single drink with him.'

'Like I said, I don't know what Dylan is up to, but you will stand a better chance of winning him over of you play by his rules. Maybe even take a change of clothes, and make sure that those are nice, too.'

'What goes on at Dylan's parties? You told me that all of his parties are pool parties, but I'm not swimming with him either.'

'I'm just advising you to be prepared. I don't know if Dylan will give you your things back straight away, and he might have you thrown in the pool for all I know. He has done it to me a couple of times, but I've learnt to take it on the chin, and when it happens I just swim because I'm soaked anyway. Usually other people jump in the pool in their nice clothes, too. I suppose it's like herd mentality - get some people in the pool and others will follow.'

'Wouldn't it make sense for people to swim in their scruffy clothes to save on dry-cleaning bills?'

'Dylan picks up all dry-cleaning tabs. Once he had somebody thrown out of a party for swimming in his shorts and T-shirt. Dylan only lets people swim in trunks or costumes if he finds them attractive. He always swims fully-clothed.'

'Is that what Dylan has parties for? Just to see people get wet?'

'Dylan's just a party animal. The wet thing is just a bonus to him. He's quite a showman and he always does something to make people laugh, except for that one time...'

'Oh yes? What happened then?'

'He got a bit too horny with a girl in the pool. They stripped naked and had sex right in front of the other guests. People were getting out of the pool and looking on in shock. Some people just left. I had to kneel down at the side of the pool and tell Dylan. He still finished his fuck, but then he apologised to his guests. You hardly ever hear Dylan apologise for anything.'

'He sounds like a real dog. How many people go to his parties anyway?'

'Anywhere between fifty and two hundred.'

'Really? That's pretty impressive.' Eric felt rather envious. He did not even know fifty people that he could invite to a party. 'He sounds like he draws quite a crowd.'

'He does. Sometimes he allows some gate crashers as long as they bring their own drinks and don't cause any trouble.'

'What does Dylan do to entertain the people, apart from having sex in the pool?'

Adam laughed and said, 'He always does something to make people laugh. There was one time he hired some people to host a karaoke party. Dylan can't sing and he knows it, but he performed a set of four songs, singing really badly and dancing like an idiot. He had people in stitches! Like I said, he's a showman.'

'Dylan can do as he pleases tomorrow, as long as I get my things back. After that I hope that he stays out of my life forever.'

'I'm sorry about the whole situation between you and Dylan. It really has got out of hand. I hope that he doesn't cause any complications for you. You are coming aren't you?'

'I'll go. Maybe I'll take a cake along to splat in Dylan's face as well.'

Adam said with a laugh, 'OK. Maybe do that,' and gave Eric the address.

***
Chapter 15

On Saturday evening Eric dressed in black jeans which gave off a metallic shine when the light caught them in a certain way, a red Nike T-shirt, and black Soviet training shoes. He had used a large glob of wet-look hair styling gel to get rid of the office worker look. It was not a professional job, but he was happy with it. Taking Adam's advice, he put a change of clothing - formal black trousers, a navy blue shirt, and his black shoes - into a large bag. He reasoned that two sets of completely different clothes would impress Dylan, if that was what was required. He just hoped that if he did get wet he would also not get wet in his change of clothes. He doubted that his shoes would survive another dip in the water, and he doubted further that Dylan would pay to replace them.

Eric dumped the bag into the car boot and drove to Dylan's house. He parked outside on the street because he did not want to give Dylan the impression that he intended to stay. The ten-foot wall was painted in twilight blue, and when he walked to the driveway he noticed that the house was painted in the same shade. The house was a double-storey, and the internal floor space of each storey was at least twice the size of Mrs van der Walt's whole property. On top of the gateposts were two-foot-high gargoyles. He had never understood why people used such an ugly mythical creature to supposedly make a property look classier.

As he walked through the open gate he smelt the multi-coloured rhododendrons at the bottom of the garden. The driveway up to the house curved slightly around a sprawling lawn which had a large tree in the centre. He heard the swish of the leaves rustling in the breeze. He heard the sound of somebody splashing in water. Although he could not see it clearly from the bottom of the driveway, the front pool was evidently a few metres to the side of the driveway, which culminated in a loop surrounding a fountain.

As he started walking up the driveway Adam and Thomas came down to greet him. Adam was wearing fashionable casual clothes, but Thomas was wearing cheap-looking jeans, a yellow golf shirt and black-and-white plimsolls. Evidently Dylan had relaxed his dress code for Thomas.

He shook hands with Thomas and said, 'You're looking well. I was sorry to hear about your ordeal.'

'Hi Eric!' Thomas said enthusiastically. 'It's good to see you again. I feel a lot better, thanks. Dylan's a nice guy when you give him a chance. He's in the pool right now. Are you ready to say hello?'

Adam shook Eric's hand and waited for Thomas to walk out of earshot. He said, 'Thomas was told that you were invited to the party to make peace with Dylan. He's a bit naive, being the kid that he is. I'm glad that you're here on time. Dylan was threatening to burn your photo albums and diaries if you were late.'

'I suppose we'd better go up there and get this over with.'

'I agree. Just be nice and play it cool. Don't let his friends intimidate you.'

Eric was not sure what kind of friends Dylan had, but he walked with Adam to the pool area. Near the pool a fire had been lit in the fire pit, which was unnecessary on a warm evening. He figured that the fire had been lit to make the threat of burning his photo albums and diaries real.

Dylan was swimming in the pool fully clothed, as Adam said that he always did at parties. He was wearing the same heavy, baggy corduroy trousers that he had been wearing at the LAN party, a matching waist-length corduroy jacket, a blue T-shirt, and black trainers. At least he had got rid of his ridiculous black hairstyle - now his hair was its natural blond with no gel.

Dylan turned around in his backstroke position and saw Eric. 'Eric, my man! I'm glad you made it. I see you didn't bring a present. Never mind. You're here and that's the main thing.'

Eric looked around and saw only two other people, a young man treading water in the deep end of the pool and a large man standing near the fire pit. The large man must have been six-foot-five at least, and his clothes looked like they were liable to split open at any moment, just like the Incredible Hulk's did when he was in a rage. He looked quite a lot older than the rest of the group, maybe about thirty.

While Eric was looking at the man Dylan said, 'The big man there is Dieter. Why don't you say hello? Don't be shy.' Dieter turned around and seeing Eric for the first time, smiled warmly and shook his hand. Eric expected Dieter to crush the bones in his hand to dust, but his handshake was firm but gentle.

Dylan said, 'I want you to meet my boyfriend, Maurice.'

The young man had moved to the shallow end of the pool. He was handsome and had black hair with a long fringe. He was about the same height as Dylan, but he also had a well-defined, but not bulky, muscular body like Dylan's. Unlike Dylan he was not swimming fully-clothed, but was only wearing a pair of Tommy Hilfiger briefs.

'He's one of my taekwondo buddies. He's only nineteen years old. Isn't he cute?' Dylan said.

Maurice held out his hand. Eric squatted down, looking behind him to make sure that nobody was going to dump him in the pool, and shook Maurice's hand. After shaking hands Eric asked, 'Maurice? Are you French?'

'No, I'm not.' Maurice groaned. 'It's my stupid parents. They went to Paris a year before I was born and they became real Francophiles. I'll have my name changed one day, I swear.'

'You've met Adam and Tommy-boy as well of course,' Dylan said.

'Yes. It's quite an impressive turnout you have here.'

Ignoring Eric's sarcasm Dylan said, 'Tommy-boy and I had some differences before, but we're friends now. In fact, we'll be putting on a show together later.'

Eric turned to Thomas and said, 'Don't do anything you don't want to do.'

'He won't,' Adam said stiffly. The look that he exchanged with Dylan told Eric that they actually still had some way to go before they had fully rebuilt fences.

Dylan said to Eric, 'You were right about my experimental neo-Goth look. It sucked. I was trying to make corduroy look cool at the same time, but that's impossible.'

'So why are you wearing it now?' Eric asked.

'Because it looks and feels awesome when wet. Have you ever dropped a large towel in the bath? It soaks up a lot of water. Corduroy is just like that.'

'Fascinating,' Eric said flatly. He could not care less about Dylan's interest in the water-retentive properties of corduroy.

'Come in and swim with me, Eric.'

'I don't think so. You promised to return the things you stole from my flat. Let's just do that.' Thomas looked at Dylan with a confused look on his face.

'Tommy-boy. Why don't you fix us some drinks, tap water for Eric.' Thomas dutifully walked into the house.

'I'd like to see you get wet in those jeans and T-shirt.'

'I'm not swimming. I'll collect my things and go. You can keep the fifty Rand you stole if you really need it.'

'Do you really think I wanted fifty Rand?' Dylan gestured towards the house. 'It was that low-life who helped me. You can track him down if you need it back.'

Dylan swam to the steps of the pool and climbed out. Water showered from his wet and sagging clothes, leaving puddles on the paving next to pool. He approached Eric with his arms outspread. Eric tried to back away from Dylan, but Dieter stood behind him and put his large hands over his shoulders. Dylan walked into Eric with a splat from his wet clothes and put his arms around him. Eric squirmed, but he could not move away from Dieter's grip. Dylan moved closer in so that his thighs were against Eric's. Eric could feel water running down his legs and onto his trainers. Dylan backed off and Maurice laughed as Eric grimaced at his wet T-shirt and jeans.

'I just had to do that,' Dylan remarked before letting out a burst of laughter. Dieter was laughing as well. Eric looked at Adam, who simply looked back apologetically.

'Enough crap,' Eric snapped, 'when do I get my things back?'

'Right now if you behave yourself,' Dylan said.

Dylan walked around the other side of the fire pit, where Eric saw his photo albums and diaries stacked up on a small table. Dylan picked up a diary and said, 'Give your car keys and phone to Dieter.'

'No way!' Eric blurted.

Dylan lowered the diary into the flames and pulled it out quickly before it caught alight. Dieter remarked, 'Lekker braai, ne?' Great barbeque, hey?

'Dieter said it. Either hand over your keys and phone, or this record of your little life goes up in smoke.'

'I'm not giving you my car! Are you crazy?'

'We don't want your car or your phone. We just want you. You are staying here for the night while Dieter looks after your car keys and cell phone. He doesn't drink, he won't joy-ride in your car or even take a cent of airtime from your phone. I have never met a more honest person. He's as good as gold. So, what do you want? I'm running out of patience.'

Furious, Eric reluctantly gave his car keys and cell phone to Dieter. He had put them in plastic food bags in the event that he did get wet. He was glad that he had done so now.

'Clever boy, Eric. I taught you something at the dam. Now as promised, you will get your things back. By the way, it was an interesting read. I didn't get to finish reading everything because I only made friends with Adam again and agreed to do this yesterday, so I was on short notice.'

'What will happen now?' Eric asked, gritting his teeth.

'Dieter will do the honours and put your things in the car, then he'll make sure that you stay here until tomorrow morning. I want you to see how the better half enjoy themselves.'

'This is ridiculous.'

'I don't think so. If you feel strongly about it, you can go to the police station tomorrow and tell them that you were forced to stay at a party against your will. Oh, and there are some rules to follow.'

'What?' Eric wanted nothing more than to punch Dylan in the mouth, but knew that he would be pummelled if he tried that.

Dylan smiled at Dieter and said, 'The rules that Dieter will enforce are: One, this is my birthday so don't annoy me; two, don't talk to my guests unless they talk to you first; three, I'm feeling generous so you can have soft drinks but no alcohol; and four, when the other guests are here you will be the first to swim in your clothes, which are wet anyway. Are you happy?'

'No, but I will follow your bullshit rules and suffer your company for one night.'

'Be nice, now. Dieter...'

Dieter picked up the pile of Eric's photo albums and diaries, and carried them down the driveway. As Eric followed Dieter he heard Dylan yell, 'Whoo-hoo!' and jump in the pool. Maurice clapped his hands. At the car Dieter gave Eric the photo albums and diaries, pulled the car keys out of the plastic bag and unlocked the door. He told Eric to put them in the car, then when he shut the door Dieter locked the car and put the keys in his trouser pocket.

Eric was briefly relieved that his property was now back in his hands, but a thought occurred to him. 'What if you just come down here again and take my stuff out of the car?' Eric asked.

'I won't. Trust me,' Dieter answered.

'I don't even know you. As far as I know you could be another of Dylan's paid thugs.'

'You got that half-right. Usually Dylan invites me to his parties because we are friends and I can sort out trouble-makers. In this case he has paid me to look after you, so I am paid, but not a thug. Your things are safe and you are safe with me.'

'Look, you've got nothing against me. Just let me leave. Tell Dylan that enough is enough.'

'I'd like to, but Dylan is paying me two thousand bucks to make sure that you obey the rules. I'm a barman. Do you know what kind of crappy money I make? Two thousand bucks for a night's work is a goldmine for me.'

'Shit. Well, I suppose it's only one night.'

'That's right. I wouldn't usually do this but I need the money and Dylan's a good pal. It's not like you're being kidnapped or anything. Don't tell Dylan, but I'll relax the rules a bit for you if you don't do anything stupid.'

'Where is everybody? I thought that Dylan's parties were big?'

'This is the before party. The main party only starts at nine. Dylan just wanted the extra time to sort you out.'

When they reached the pool again Thomas had put the drinks on a table. He handed the glass of water to Eric and gave him a puzzled look.

Eric said, 'I'm sparing myself.' Thomas smiled at Eric as he took a sip of the water.

'You're all wet. Did I miss something?' Thomas asked.

'Not much. It was just Dylan's way of saying hello.'

Dylan smirked at Eric and Thomas and said, 'I'd better get ready.' He climbed out of the pool and slopped across the paving and into a Jacuzzi room opposite the pool. Eric watched Dylan get into the Jacuzzi in his corduroy outfit, stand up in the water and admire himself in the mirrors for a minute before peeling the clothes off and dropping them on the floor. He wrapped a towel around himself and walked into the house, followed by Maurice. A house servant picked up Dylan's clothes, no doubt to take them to the laundry.

Adam walked up to Eric and said, 'I suppose it could have been worse. How are you feeling?'

'Pissed off,' Eric answered curtly.

'You'll be alright. After Dylan's had a few drinks he might even forget the stupid rules he gave you. There is one you should follow, though.'

'What's that?'

'Be the first to jump in the pool. Dylan's friends will think that you're cool if you dare to jump in the pool first. It might give Dylan a shock, too.'

'Maybe I will do that, but I won't change my clothes because he will expect me to swim in those as well.'

Eric turned to Thomas and asked, 'What's this show that Dylan wants you to put on?'

'It's just a bit of fun, that's all. Dylan will be doing it with me, so at least I won't be alone. Apart from that he wanted to keep it a surprise.'

'If I don't like what Dylan is doing with Thomas I will stop it. Make no mistake about that,' Adam said adamantly.

Dieter appeared to be indifferent to this conversation. Eric wondered how far Dylan expected Dieter to extend his tentacles because, after all, by himself he would not be able to control the large crowd that they were expecting.

***

By half past nine several cars were parked on both sides of the street and there must have been about seventy guests mulling around the front of the house, the pool and the front garden. Electronica dance music was playing at a moderate volume, which was just right to get people in the mood. Dylan had changed into a red wool suit, a purple shirt, and black shoes. He was standing with a small group of friends between the fountain and the pool, where he could greet new arrivals. Eric was chatting with Dieter, Adam and Thomas. He found that Dieter was actually very likeable once you got to know him. Eric was holding a glass of coke, which Dieter had poured for him before, to Eric's surprise, slipping in a shot of rum. It seemed that Dieter was being quite liberal with the rules.

A new guest arrived and pointed at Dylan's suit. 'That's not your birthday suit!' he said with a laugh. Dylan strained a laugh at the weak joke.

Eric looked around at the other guests and he saw that Adam was right about Dylan's obsession with beautiful people. Everybody seemed to be much better-looking than average, and were either well-dressed or fashionably dressed in a casual manner. He saw women in skirts and dresses of various shapes and sizes, but all very attractive. Some women were wearing jeans and casual tops, but nothing that you would find in a thrift shop. The men were mainly wearing branded casual clothes, but Eric noticed a few who looked like they were dressed for work, and there was a pair of men wearing suits, one blue and the other khaki. All of the guests seemed to be aged between about eighteen and twenty-five. Dieter must have been the eldest by at least five years.

Adam poked Eric and pointed at two teenage men who were play-wrestling at the side of the pool. Adam made a "go" motion to Eric, knowing that it was the perfect opportunity for him to make his move.

Mustering all of his courage, Eric let out a war-cry and dive-bombed into the pool, splashing the two teenagers. When Eric surfaced the two teenagers had stopped wrestling and were brushing water off their clothes. Other people crowded around the pool as Eric swam to the shallow end, where he lay on his back and trod water. Several people were laughing, while others were looking at Eric with surprised expressions on their faces.

Adam started pumping his fist and chanted, 'Eric! Eric! Eric!' Other people started to join in the chat when Dylan appeared, standing on the paving near the steps at the shallow end of the pool. Eric waded closer to Dylan and scooped handfuls of water, which he threw over the front of the bemused Dylan's suit.

A new chant started up, 'Dylan! Dylan! Dylan!' Not to be outdone Dylan quickly stepped into the water and walked down the pool steps. He waded into the shallow end of the pool in his expensive-looking red suit until he was standing in front of Eric. Dylan gave Eric the cold icy glare that he had become accustomed to. People had started clapping and cheering when Dylan entered the pool but the noise died down when they felt the unease in the air.

Eric spread out his arms and said quietly so that only Dylan could hear, 'I did what you asked me to do.'

He knew that Dylan was miffed because rule number four had been a challenge that he had not expected him to take up in front of so many people. The tension was broken when the two teenagers who had been wrestling jumped into the pool fully-clothed. One of them playfully hooked his arm around Dylan's neck and pulled him underwater. Eric got out of the pool to a round of applause.

Adam slapped Eric between his shoulder blades and said, 'That was awesome, Eric. I think you'll make friends in this crowd. It actually reminded me of something Dylan did in the school fish pond when we were kids.'

Dieter shook Eric's hand and said, 'You're a really cool guy. Usually people don't want to swim in their clothes until they've seen Dylan do it; that's unless somebody gets thrown in first.'

In the pool Dylan challenged the two teenagers to a race to the deep end and back. A pretty blonde lady stood on the second step of the pool in her formal dress and called out, 'Ready... Steady... Go!' The three boys swam across the pool, with Dylan taking the lead fairly quickly despite his heavier clothing. By the time Dylan reached the wall at the deep end he had increased the lead but the other boys did not give up. Dylan swam back to the shallow end and the young blonde declared him the winner.

The other boys stood in the shallow end, catching their breath. Dylan approached the blonde and kissed her, then picked her up and carried her into deeper water. She squealed as the water lapped at her clothes. Maurice, who for whatever reason, had dressed up in a tuxedo, jumped into the pool and hugged Dylan. He was followed into the pool by the man in the blue suit, a teenage girl in a black mini-dress, and then a mass-jump was made by eight guests at the same time.

Thomas commented, 'It looks like you've started the pool party, Eric.'

Dylan got out of the pool with his trousers clinging to his legs and his jacket raining water onto the ground around him. Ignoring Adam and Dieter, he tapped Thomas' chest with the back of his hand and said, 'Let's get ready.'

As Thomas disappeared into the house a concerned look crossed Adam's face. Dieter touched his shoulder and said, 'Stop worrying. Dylan won't harm Thomas.'

Eric heard a slopping sound, which was probably Dylan dumping his suit in the Jacuzzi room, and wondered if he had stopped to admire himself in the mirror again. The same house servant walked into the Jacuzzi room and Eric watched her take the suit to an outbuilding which he assumed was the laundry so that she could hang it to dry. He looked around and noticed other staff members walking around with trays of snacks and short drinks, serving the guests.

A brunette woman approached Eric and said, 'You're not shy about making an entrance. My name is Bianca.' Her smile was dazzling.

'I'm Eric. It's nice to meet you.' He smiled back at her.

Bianca was a tall, beautiful brunette with long legs and voluptuous breasts that probably had been surgically enhanced. Her hazel eyes reminded him of Rachael, but he thought that Bianca was far more attractive. She was wearing a dark purple silk dress and matching purple shoes with subtle heels. Her makeup had been tastefully applied and her purple lipstick complemented her looks, as well as complementing the purple theme of her clothing. Eric thought that she was absolutely gorgeous. She was wearing a perfume that inflamed Eric's senses further. As if by telepathy they reached out to each other and held hands. They walked hand-in-hand away from Adam and Dieter. Eric looked back at Dieter, who smiled and nodded his head. They walked to the edge of the lawn, where they could talk and watch the swimmers in the pool.

'Are you good friends with Dylan?' Bianca asked.

'Not really. We only met fairly recently.' Eric did not want to talk about his troubles with Dylan, and he decided that it would be wise to be economical with the truth.

'I think you'll like him. He's such a funny guy. I'm a former girlfriend of his.'

'But you've obviously stayed good friends.'

'Oh yes. Dylan isn't the type to stay in long relationships. I read him soon after we got together, but we had a good time and I wasn't really broken up when Dylan wanted to move on.'

'I bet that Dylan has broken a lot of hearts in his time, though.'

'I'm sure he has. Some girls... and boys have wanted a long-term relationship, and they have been bitterly disappointed. A few people here are former lovers of his. Even though we're not in a relationship we still sleep together every now and then.'

'It doesn't sound like a classic romance, if you don't mind me saying.'

Bianca laughed and said, 'It isn't, but Dylan is really just a big kid who wants to play around. Now take poor Maurice over there' - she pointed at Maurice who was standing at pool-side with his arms folded and a grumpy look on his face - 'and tell me what he is thinking.'

'He seems like the clingy type. Dylan has only left him alone for a few minutes and he's sulking. Does he think that Dylan's run off with Thomas?'

'Who's Thomas?'

'He's Adam's cousin. He's a bit shy but I have a feeling that Dylan is going to do something about that soon.'

'You don't mean...'

'Oh no, not that! I think we'll see in a few minutes.'

'Is this the first party you've been to here?'

'Yes. I was told that Dylan likes pool parties, so I thought I'd take a dare and make a quick impression.'

'That was really cool. Dylan's always wet at these parties. He looked really smart in that red suit, and not many people would've dared to swim in something like that. Come to think of it, maybe Maurice is also upset because he jumped in the pool in a tuxedo and Dylan just quickly hugged him and left the pool without taking a good look at him. Maybe he feels that he got dressed up for nothing.'

'I saw that, too. Dylan's probably just preoccupied at the moment, and Maurice is getting in a huff over nothing.'

'What I found a bit weird, was that when he got into the pool I could tell that something seemed a bit off, even though he had his back to me.'

'I think he was a bit surprised because I jumped in the pool first. He told me that he likes to get the pool party going, and I jumped the gun.'

'I'm sure it's not a big deal.'

Dylan appeared with Thomas at poolside, most likely having walked out from the front door. They stood together at the foot of the pool, wearing black silk dresses and no shoes. Eric noticed the mortified look on Maurice's face as he saw them. Thomas' dress was too big for him, probably being part of Dylan's collection. Eric wondered what else was in Dylan's wardrobe. Eric looked at Adam, who had become tense.

The music stopped and Dylan raised a cordless microphone to his mouth. He spoke into the microphone, 'Ladies and gentlemen, please clear the pool. I want to introduce you to Thomas, Adam's little cousin. We've got a little presentation for you.'

Dylan handed the microphone to a friend and nodded to somebody in the house, who was standing at the lounge window, next to the sound system. The music to Swan Lake started and Dylan and Thomas gracefully walked down the pool steps and into the shallow end of the pool. They faced each other, a few feet apart, then they both outstretched their arms and Dylan pulled Thomas towards him. They performed a poor waltz which got people laughing, then they lay on their backs opposite each other with their feet touching. Paddling their feet against each other's, they completed a full turn in the water. At one point Thomas let out a giggle, relishing the moment. They stood up and performed a few salsa twists which did not go with the music, but the audience clapped anyway. Dylan raised Thomas' hand and they both took a bow. Eric had thought of his mother during the performance because Swan Lake had been one of her favourite ballets.

While they were climbing out of the pool the music died down and Dylan and Thomas received rapturous applause from the guests. Eric noticed that Maurice was walking down the driveway at a fast, heavy pace. If he could have seen his face he would have seen a thundercloud. Adam was shaking his head, but he was also clapping and laughing. Despite his dry clothes he gave an exuberant Thomas a hug and then shook Dylan's hand. Adam was evidently relieved that Dylan had not done anything to hurt or embarrass Thomas. Eric felt happy for Thomas because it appeared that a layer of his shell had just been broken.

Bianca was laughing. She said to Eric, 'That's what I just love about Dylan. How many people would do that, or even think of doing that?'

'Not many I'd say. It looks like Maurice wasn't happy - he took off out of here during the performance.'

'That doesn't surprise me. He's a bit of a drama queen. You can tell the insecure ones straight away. It's like you pointed out earlier when he looked angry because Dylan went into the house with Thomas.' Bianca glanced at Maurice, who looked angrily at Dylan before getting into his car. Bianca shook her head and smiled at Eric. She said, 'You strike me as being the more confident, sure-of-yourself type.'

'I am.' He kissed Bianca on the lips. 'That's my way of saying that I really like you.'

She kissed Eric back, a much longer kiss and said, 'That's my way of saying that I think I have the hots for you.'

Dylan and Thomas had gone back into the house to change again. As Eric and Bianca kissed he wondered what Dylan's next costume would be. He certainly would be wearing a mean frown if he saw Eric kissing Bianca.

Eric did not see Dylan for a while because he and Bianca had moved to the lawn, where they chatted about everything under the sun, from being raised by her mother after her father had absconded, the state of South African politics, the fact that the purpose of life is just to have fun, the Reid family house, and Dylan's other friends.

At one point he saw Thomas with his arms around a girl's waist, tentatively kissing her lips. He gave Thomas a thumbs-up, which he returned behind his new (and most likely first) girlfriend's back. Eric was enjoying this party much more than he had expected, and he was extremely happy for Thomas. The kid had found his feet tonight, and it had been Dylan, of all people, who had made it happen.

After Eric and Bianca had been alone for over well over an hour Dylan put on another show. He came out of the Jacuzzi room, wearing what Eric recognised as one of the cheap dresses that his friends were wearing at the fancy dress party at The 27 Club. It was far too big for him, but he was not wearing it for its glamour. He was trotting around the pool area and the garden, dodging around the guests and saying things like 'excuse me', 'my apologies', 'glad to see you', 'whoops' and 'coming through'. As he ran around people they started laughing. When Dylan passed Eric and Bianca they saw that he had cut a slit up the back of the dress right up to the collar. As he ran around the material flapped in the wind and his bare buttocks were in full view. Eric was surprised that Dylan did not skip a step or look annoyed when he saw him with Bianca. Bianca laughed when she saw Dylan's bare behind and exclaimed, 'Oh, Dylan!' Even Eric had to laugh at this ridiculous sight.

After his jog Dylan dived into the pool and stripped off the dress. He walked out of the pool naked and several guests started howling with laughter. One woman spanked Dylan's backside as he walked past. He turned to her and planted a kiss on her lips, which drew more laughter. Adam had been right about Dylan being a showman.

Bianca said between fits of laughter, 'You've just got to love him!'

Eric noticed that one young man with several green wrist bands on his left wrist gave Dylan a look of disgust when he walked past him. Dieter noticed it and approached him. He tapped the young man on the arm and pointed towards the gate.

As Dieter was walking the green band man out, Eric said, 'I just want to see this. You don't think Dieter will beat him up do you?'

'No. Dieter's a darling. He looks like such a tough nut but he's really a gentle soul. Dieter only fights if he needs to defend himself, which is something he can do pretty well.'

The green band man looked back and yelled, 'Christelle! Come on!' A young lady, who was no doubt Christelle, looked at the green band man in disappointment, apologised to her friends, and followed him and Dieter out.

Eric and Bianca stood at the gate with Dieter and watched the unhappy couple as they walked to their car. They could hear them arguing.

'Jason, what's your problem?'

'My problem? Seeing that freak showing his dick to everyone is my problem. I saw that you took a good look as well.'

'Don't be ridiculous! He was having a joke. Everybody was watching him and laughing.'

'I wasn't laughing. How can anybody be so shameless? I can't believe he's even a friend of yours. You shouldn't be hanging with creeps like him.'

'Oh, stop being so stuck up! Stop telling me who I can make friends with.'

'Christelle, just shut up and get in the car!'

Bianca had her hand over her mouth, trying unsuccessfully to suppress her laughter. Dieter shook his head and said, 'I don't think he'll come back here.'

'Would that bother Dylan?' Eric asked.

'I doubt it. If you don't like Dylan or what he does he doesn't want to know you. I think that will go for Maurice as well.'

Dieter, Eric and Bianca walked up the driveway together, and Eric felt that he was no longer under Dieter's watch. If he was, Dieter was hiding it well. Eric did not even think to ask if he could have his car keys and cell phone back now. Meeting Bianca had really made his night.

Dieter remarked, 'I'm dying for a coke,' and walked into the house.

Bianca said, 'When Dylan gets dressed and comes out again why don't we go into the house' - she squeezed one of Eric's buttocks - 'and go upstairs?'

Eric knew the risk involved if they were caught, but he said, 'I cordially accept your invitation.'

He did not care about offending Dylan, but he was concerned that Dieter might say something to ensure that he earned the money that Dylan had promised him. That could mean that Eric would not get his diaries and photo albums back after all. Eric looked around and guessed that there were probably a hundred and fifty guests at the party now. It was possible that Dieter would find somebody else to talk to since he had not been keeping a tight rein on Eric anyway.

After fifteen minutes had passed Dylan came out of the house, wearing the same corduroy outfit that he had started with. It looked like the house servant had been busy in the laundry, as his clothes were dry. Eric supposed that there would be nothing that she could do about the suit except have it taken to the dry-cleaners once it had drip-dried. He wondered why Dylan was wearing the corduroy outfit again because he did not blend with the fashionably-dressed guests, and he had said that he no longer liked it. Eric decided that Dylan was too complicated to work out.

'Let's go,' said Bianca.

Eric followed her through the garden and towards the front door to the house. He saw Dieter with his back to him, talking to a small crowd of guests. He looked out for Dylan and noticed that he was standing near the pool, talking to some other guests and watching people swimming in the pool, not paying any attention to Eric and Bianca.

They went upstairs and Bianca said, 'This room's just fine.'

The light was on and Eric recognised the red carpet and white walls from the picture on Twitter. After a brief hesitation during which Eric stood in the hallway, he followed Bianca into the room. The room had a king-sized bed, a desk with a computer on top of it, a large plasma TV on the wall, and a large walk-in wardrobe with a dressing room.

Bianca said, 'This is Dylan's bedroom. It's perfect isn't it?'

'Shouldn't we use one of the guest rooms?'

'No. There might already be people in those rooms, doing whatever takes their fancy. Nobody will come in here but Dylan, and I don't think that he'll come up here again, at least not for a while.'

Eric and Bianca lay down on the bed, keeping the light on. As they wrapped their arms around each other and started kissing the music stopped and they heard some excitement from among the guests. They peeked out of the gap in the curtains, being careful not to be seen. Two servants were wheeling a large serving trolley with a giant cake on it, which might be big enough to serve everybody if it was cut into small pieces. The cake had well over twenty-two candles on it. Some other servants were carrying buckets of some kind of pink gunge that Eric could not identify.

Bianca looked at her watch. She said, 'It's ten to midnight. They almost forgot about the cake! This is one of the best of Dylan's parties I have been to. Everybody looks like they are having a ball.'

'Except for moping Maurice and that other couple earlier.'

'There's always somebody who finds fault with something,' Bianca noted.

Two men hoisted Dylan up on their shoulders and everybody sang Happy Birthday. At the end of the song Dylan was given the microphone again and the two men put him down. He thanked the guests for coming to the party, then approached the cake.

He said, 'My wish is that somebody help me trash these crappy clothes for me. You've heard of "trash the dress", right?' Dylan put down the microphone and blew out the candles in one long puff and the guests applauded.

One of the guests took the microphone and said, 'We thought that we'd surprise you and provide some pudding to go with the cake.'

Eric and Bianca saw a child's inflatable pool near the fountain, which they had not noticed during their dash to the house. The servants were just finishing filling the pool with the buckets of pink goo. The two men who had hoisted Dylan on their shoulders scooped up Dylan, one holding him under his armpits and the other holding his feet. They carried him to the inflatable pool and dumped him in. Dylan rolled around in the pool, covering his clothing and hair with pudding and scooping a handful of it into his mouth.

People were laughing and the guest with the microphone said, 'It's a good thing that you wanted to trash those clothes because we were going to give you a pudding bath anyway.' Dylan laughed and threw a handful of pudding at him.

In Dylan's bedroom Eric and Bianca watched as Dylan started running around, hugging people who could not move out of the way in time. He was a gloopy mess, and the people he hugged got slimy pink pudding on their clothes, but they did not seem to be offended. He then ran back to the inflatable pool and threw handfuls of pudding at people. He then belly-flopped into the inflatable pool, covering his face with pudding and drawing more laughter.

Bianca said, 'He's such a big baby, but loveable with it!'

'Won't he come back up here now to change again?' Eric fretted.

'No, look,' Bianca said.

A pink gunge-covered Dylan was walking towards the pool. He stood at the side of the pool, watching the pudding slop into the ground next to him. Four people then picked him up, and threw him up into the air. He landed in the swimming pool and started swimming, leaving a trail of pink globs behind him in the water. Some already-wet guests jumped into the pool with him. The music started up again.

Bianca smiled and said, 'I think that he'll be busy for a while. Let's get busy, too.'

Bianca stripped off her dress, revealing that she was not wearing any underwear. Eric scanned his eyes over her beautiful breasts, down to her navel, then on to her inviting vagina, and down her shapely legs.

He stripped his own clothes off and Bianca said, 'Let's do this now, Eric.' Her nipples were already erect and Eric felt himself beginning to stiffen as well.

They flopped onto the bed together. Eric kissed Bianca on the neck and started moving his hands from the bottom of her breasts, to the sides. They felt wonderful in his hands, but Bianca put her right hand over her breasts and said, 'We might not have too much time. Let's go for the main part.'

'Shit! I don't have a condom,' Eric said.

'It's OK. I'm on the pill. You won't make me pregnant.'

She spread her legs and Eric smoothly entered her. He thrust slowly and deep, pausing before pulling back for the next thrust. Bianca moaned with pleasure and Eric continued his slow, rhythmic motion. She leant forward and grabbed Eric's back with both hands, pulling him in deeper. He could feel her fingernails scratching him but he continued without breaking the rhythm.

Bianca panted, 'Eric, you're amazing. I've never had it quite like this before. You're much better than Dylan.'

'Really?'

'He's terrible in bed. He bounces around like an electrified rabbit. There's no finesse at all.'

Eric laughed and Bianca started snickering at her joke. Eric felt himself beginning to climax and he paused for a moment.

'Why did you stop?' Bianca asked.

'Just saving the best for a bit longer,' Eric panted.

Eric felt his penis begin to relax and he started the slow, rhythmic thrust again. Eric filled Bianca and soon after that she climaxed, making a gasping sound with her mouth open in an expression of ecstasy. Eric rolled off her and they lay side-by-side on the bed in silence, catching their breath and savouring the moment. Eric was in a trance of pure bliss.

Bianca broke Eric's spell when she said, 'I think we'd better get back down to the party. If Dylan comes up here to change he won't be happy if he sees us in his bed.'

In this moment Eric did not care what Dylan may be thinking, but he thought about Dieter who still had his car keys and cell phone. They quickly got dressed. As Eric was about to lead the way out of the room Bianca hugged him and gave him a long and tender kiss on the lips.

'We must meet up like this again sometime, sooner rather than later,' Bianca said dreamily.

Eric felt as if he wanted to sweep Bianca away from here and live on an island with her for the rest of their lives. He said, 'That sounds like a good plan,' and kissed her, probing her tongue with his.

After the kiss they smiled at each other and Eric said, 'Let's go before we get caught in here.'

Bianca opened the door by a few inches so that she could see whether anybody was coming, then she opened the door fully and said quietly, 'All clear. Let's get back downstairs.'

Eric and Bianca left the bedroom unseen and climbed down the staircase. They passed a couple who were kissing, and neither batted an eyelid at them. When they joined the party again they bumped into Dieter. Oh shit, Eric thought.

'There you are! I thought that you'd left early or something,' Dieter said.

'We just went to the bathroom,' Eric said.

'Together?'

'It's the gentlemanly thing to escort your lady.'

Bianca smiled at Dieter and he smiled back. Apparently forgetting that he was only supposed to be watching Eric and not any of the other guests he said, 'Enjoy the rest of the evening,' and walked away.

'That was weird,' Bianca said. 'He doesn't seem to have been himself all night. Maybe I should talk to him.'

'I'm sure he's alright. Maybe he ate something that did not agree with him.'

Eric pointed at Dieter, who was now chatting with an Amazon in a red dress. He said, 'Maybe Dieter has just found himself a match.'

Eric looked around and saw that Thomas was still with the girl he had seen him with earlier. They were sitting on a step, chatting. Adam had just stripped down to his briefs and jumped into the pool. Eric saw somebody throw Adam's clothes into the pool. Adam shouted, 'You shithead!' Dylan laughed and sprang out of the pool like a gymnast. He grabbed the guest who had thrown Adam's clothes into the pool and pushed him in, fully clothed.

Eric and Bianca laughed together at this scene, knowing that Adam was not really too upset about his clothes being thrown in the pool. Adam saw them, pointed at the young man who Dylan had just pushed into the pool and raised his fist in mock victory. Bianca pointed at Dylan and made a hand-clapping motion at Adam, who grinned.

Bianca looked at her watch and said, 'It's getting a bit late. I suppose I'd better get home, I need to be up bright and early in the morning.' Earlier Bianca had told Eric that her mother had been sick and that she was looking after her while she was convalescing.

Bianca turned to Eric and said, 'I've loved spending this time with you. Call me, won't you?'

'I will. We'll go for dinner and take in a show or something.'

Eric walked her to her car and they exchanged phone numbers. After a long kiss goodnight, she gracefully sat down in the seat of her sports coupe and drove away. Eric watched the car until it turned up one of the streets leading away from The Drive, wishing that he could be in the car with her.

He walked back up the driveway to the party, which was beginning to dwindle. It was not yet half-past twelve, but Eric assumed that not all of the guests were up to having an all-nighter. He saw that Dieter and Thomas were still preoccupied with their new girlfriends, and Adam was still in the pool with Dylan, who looked drunk and uninterested in what Eric was doing. Eric did not particularly feel like striking up a conversation with anybody else, and he was feeling at a loose end without Bianca.

He went upstairs and found an empty guest room. He took off his shoes and lay down on the bed. He put his hands down by his sides and thought of Bianca. After knowing Rachael he had never thought that he could be so besotted by another woman as he was with Bianca, and he could not wait to see her again. He only lay down for a short period until he fell asleep to dream happy dreams about a possible future with Bianca.

***

When Eric woke up in the morning he was not in the bed that he remembered falling asleep in. He was sure that he had not been drunk enough to have mistaken the bedroom for the back garden, where he now found himself. He could not guess what time it was because the sky was overcast. He was snapped fully awake by a gust of wind that chilled him. He stared in disbelief at his boxer shorts, which were the only clothing that he was wearing. He wondered who had discovered him in the bedroom, and who had carried him down the stairs and into the back garden.

He heard the sound of dogs barking and saw a fence separating three Dobermans from the rest of the back garden. He rolled to one side and nearly fell into the second pool which Adam had mentioned. As he moved he felt something strange in the front of his boxer shorts. He pulled on the waistband and saw that his car keys and cell phone had been stuffed into his underwear. There was also a folded piece of A4 paper. He opened it and saw that it was a handwritten letter. Curious, he sat on the edge of a flowerbed and read it.

Eric,

It took some balls to come to my party. I must admit that I was impressed that you were not quite as boring and lame as I thought you were. However, we will never be friends because I never wanted that and you insulted me at my birthday party.

First you made me look like a fool when you challenged me in the pool. I heard Adam chanting, and I will have a serious talk with him. If we fall out again that's on you. Then you had the cheek to spend the night with one of my dear friends and take her to my bed, of all places. Did I not set the boundaries clearly enough?

I know that Dieter did not do the job that I asked him to do because not only did he let you hang out with Bianca, but the friends who carried you to the garden said you were pissed and out like a light. Did I not tell you that you were not allowed to drink?

I have only paid Dieter a quarter of what I promised him. I told him that it was your fault and gave him your address. If he has an issue with the money, he knows where to go.

Do not worry about your clothes. The dogs will have sorted those out by now. I have left you something to wear. You will find your new clothes next to the fence, where the dogs are. If you get too close and they bite, don't come crying to me.

I am disappointed in you for taking advantage of me while I was extending my hospitality to you. You are the rat and I am the soaring eagle. Never forget that.

Please kindly get the fuck out of here.

Dylan

Eric approached the garden fence and saw that his jeans, T-shirt, trainers and socks had been ripped to pieces by the dogs. Dylan had left him the black corduroy trousers and jacket, which were still soaking wet. Even if they were dry and Eric's size he would not want to wear Dylan's clothing. He picked them up and threw them over the fence for the dogs, who started fighting over them and tearing them apart.

He walked around the front of the house, being careful to negotiate his way around bottles, broken glass, beer cans, blotches of pink pudding, and other detritus from the party. He shouted, 'Dylan!' There was no answer and he could not see any of the house staff about. He wondered whether he should knock on the door of one of the servants' quarters, but he decided that it would not be fair to disturb them. He shouted again more loudly, 'Dylan!'

He waited for a few minutes, pacing back and forth under Dylan's bedroom window, but the only response to his calls was the sound of the dogs barking. He picked a few small stones out of a pebbled flower bed and threw them one-by-one at Dylan's window.

He shouted, 'Dylan! Wake up and let me out, now!'

He was beginning to think that he was alone on the property when he saw a figure appear in the bedroom window. He looked up and saw a woman in a T-shirt looking down at him quizzically. Dylan then appeared at the window and said something to the woman. They both started laughing and Eric showed Dylan his middle finger. Dylan disappeared from the window and the main gates to the property started to open soon after.

As soon as the gates had fully opened they started to close again. Eric had to dash, and he ran barefoot down the lawn, hoping that there were no stones or other sharp debris to step on. He stayed close to the driveway, and he was lucky that the lawn was well-tended and that nobody had dropped anything where he was running. He sprinted the last few metres just before the gates closed. He was thankful that the driveway was paved, and that there was no sun to heat the paving. As he passed through the gates he felt them pinch his shoulders. He had just made it out just in time.

The first thing that occurred to him when he reached the car was to look through the front passenger window. His diaries and photo albums were on the floor in front of the passenger seat, where he had left them.

He felt the temptation to get into the car because he did not want to be seen in the street with only his boxer shorts on, but it would be awkward if he was seen by Mrs van der Walt or Emily in this condition. He decided to get his change of clothes out of the boot and dress against the side of the car facing the ten-foot wall. Fortunately for him there were no houses on the other side of the road, only the smelly pond. Hoping that none of the neighbours saw him and that no cars passed on the street, he dressed quickly. Once he was fully dressed he pressed the intercom button at the gate.

Dylan's voice spat out of the crackling speaker, 'What?'

'Hey, Soaring Eagle! Thanks for the change of clothes. I think the dogs are wearing them now.'

'Good for them.'

'Oh, and thanks for the use of your bedroom. I rate Maurice a ten.'

There was a stunned silence before Dylan stammered, 'W-what did you say?'

Eric walked away without saying a word.

During Eric's drive home his cell phone rang incessantly. He ignored it and kept the car radio turned up. When Eric was home he checked his cell phone and the screen indicated that there were fifty-six missed calls from an unknown number. The cell phone rang again and Eric decided to answer it this time.

'Yes, Dylan?'

'I've been trying to call you.'

'So I see. Was it anything important?'

'Listen, you prick. Nobody makes a fool out of me,' - Dylan was breathing hard and barely masking his outrage - 'and nobody fucks my girlfriends in my bed!'

'Who are you talking about?'

'Bianca! Who do you think? I saw you with her during the party. Somebody saw you go into my bedroom. He told me this morning. You were bullshitting me when you mentioned Maurice.'

'I spent time with her but what makes you think I slept with her? Actually, I did pick up Maurice after you blew him out.'

Dylan was speechless, breathing heavily into the phone. When he spoke again he said, 'Maurice? He went off with you? I saw you with Bianca! Somebody told me that Maurice had left!'

'I'm sure that you couldn't have been watching everybody all the time.'

'It was Dieter's job to watch you. Maurice was my boyfriend! And you fucked him in my bed?'

Eric laughed a long laugh before hanging up the phone. He switched it off to avoid any more pestering from Dylan. He wished that Dylan had called him on Skype. He would have loved to have seen the look on Dylan's face when he thought that he had lost Maurice to him. Eric wondered who the girl at the bedroom window had been and he was amused at the irony that Dylan was upset about losing Maurice when he was evidently being unfaithful to him.

Eric spent over an hour on the phone with Bianca on Sunday, laughing about the party and Dylan's behaviour, and talking about their new relationship. Eric did not mention what had happened to him when he woke up this morning. He did not want to bring any negativity into this budding relationship, or appear to be trying to turn Bianca against Dylan. They agreed that they would meet sometime during the week at Bianca's house for a cup of coffee because she wanted to introduce him to her mother.

***
Chapter 16

By lunchtime on Monday Eric was feeling thoroughly fed up, having spent the morning fruitlessly following up with the employment agencies who had no interviews lined up for him. He wondered how long he would have to hear the word "no" before somebody would finally invite him for another interview. His only opportunity had been at Jansen Engineering Industries, and he now wished that he had been offered that job. He would even put up with facing the arrogant boy-receptionist creep every day, the smelly carpet, the miserable faces in the IT office, and that scruffy and arrogant douchebag, Rabie Bekker.

After sitting in the flat for a long time he decided to go to the Homestead Dam to pass a couple of hours. Eric was painfully aware of the fact that this was where his problems with Dylan had started but he was not going to let that deter him.

Eric parked at the west end of the park, intending to walk the full length of the park and back again. Maybe he would cover the distance twice over just to pass some time and give himself a chance to think about his employment situation. He felt the same way he had the Wednesday before last, when he had lost his job.

As Eric walked he heard his feet swish in the grass, which had grown quite rapidly since his last visit. As he was feeling tense he kept up a fairly quick pace, and had decided to just carry on walking until he tired himself out. On a day like this there seemed to be nothing better to do.

Eric had only covered barely half of the distance across the park when he saw something that made him say, 'Oh, no!' to himself.

About a hundred metres away there was a group of eight high schoolers who had obviously skipped out of school early. They were still dressed in their uniforms, consisting of blue blazers, grey trousers for the boys, grey skirts for the girls, white shirts, blue ties and black shoes. Eric saw Dylan in the water, wearing a similar school uniform, except for his blazer and tie which were red. He was trying to cajole the other school kids to join him in the water.

One of the girls stuck the toe of her shoe in the water before backing off. The kids laughed and Dylan swam away, crossing the dam and stopping just short of the back lawn of a house which had a small boat jetty next to it. Dylan stood in the water at the edge of the lawn, facing the house. There was no boat there, and since there were no boats on the water that Eric could see, he assumed that the owners had bought the house for the view, and not because they were keen boaters.

Eric considered leaving the dam, but he instead decided to backtrack to the nearest bench that he had passed. On the seat was some marker-pen graffiti that stated "Donald pissed on this bench". Ignoring the infantile joke, he sat down and watched Dylan as he waded knee-deep back into the water. Dylan sat down in the water and the school kids started shouting at him to swim back across the dam. The home owner appeared on the lawn and stood near the water's edge with his hands on his hips. Dylan, still sitting in the water, turned around to face him. Eric wondered what he was saying to Dylan, but he was technically off the property, so he was probably not complaining about him trespassing.

A tramp, whom Eric had not seen approaching, sat down next to him and chuckled, pointing at Dylan. The tramp was maybe in his mid-thirties, but it was hard to guess. He had a shaggy beard and overgrown and unkempt hair, but his clothes were still in one piece, albeit dirty.

Eric was about to stand up when the tramp said, 'I know that kid. He's fruitier than a Christmas pudding.'

Instead of leaving, Eric was interested to hear what the tramp had to say. He asked, 'Really? What's his story? It's weird that he's swimming in a school uniform.'

'I don't really know. He just comes here and swims in his clothes. He's got some serious anger issues, too.'

'How do you mean?' Eric knew exactly what the tramp meant, but he wanted to hear about his experience with Dylan.

'Well, there was this one time when he was in the water dressed to the nines. He had really smart-looking black trousers, a white frilly dress shirt, a bow tie, and classy-looking black shoes. He looked like he was dressed to go to a wedding or something, but he was rolling around in that mucky water. He had mud on his shirt because the bottom of that dam is very mushy. When I walked near the water and watched him he just sat there, like he is now.'

'Some people, I just can't work out,' Eric remarked casually.

'And do you know what happened? I asked him if he was enjoying himself, just being friendly, and he went berserk! He stood up and started screaming at me, asking me why I was talking to him and why can't I get a job instead of bugging him. He then picked up a stone and threw it at my head, missing me by inches. I started to run away, but he caught up with me and punched me in the back and slapped me across the head a few times.'

'He sounds absolutely nutty. Just looking at him now makes me wonder what's going on inside his head.' Dylan had started swimming across the dam again.

'What did you do?' Eric asked.

'There wasn't much I could do. I cannot fight to save my life, so I just took the hits and prayed that he would stop. He said he'd kill me if he saw me again and then he went back into the water for a swim. Have you ever heard anything like it?'

'No. It sounds incredible. Then again, what I can see now is incredible.' He pointed at Dylan, who was swiftly making his way across the dam. He remembered how fast he had swam during the swimming competition at his birthday party.

'By the way, my name's Sam. Actually it's Samuel Lombard the Second, after my asshole father, but please call me Sam.' Sam seemed articulate enough to Eric.

'I'm Eric. Nice to meet you, Sam.'

'I hate being called Samuel. My father is a hot-shot merchant banker in Johannesburg and he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. As you can probably guess, things did not work out so well.'

'What happened, if you don't mind me asking?'

'Believe it or not, I was a chartered accountant. I was running my own practice and I had ten trainee accountants working under me. But the thing was, I hated the work. I had studied all of those years and done my articles because my father wanted me to have a career in finance.'

'What did you really want to do?'

'I had no other plans. Since school my father had been grooming me for a financial career and that was just the way I went. You may be wondering why I am here, looking like this and destitute.'

'I don't want to pry...'

'Don't worry about that. One night I went out to Emperor's Palace with some colleagues and I discovered gambling. I bet you can guess where this is going?'

'You got hooked? Sorry to sound blunt.'

'You could say that. I started arriving home to my wife late at night because I would go to the casino after work. Some days I wouldn't even go to work at all. I neglected my practice so badly that the Board shut me down because our audit files were either not done or were a mess. Three of my trainees had even jumped ship without me noticing. Because of me the others were left without a job to go to.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Then my wife filed for divorce and the court gave her custody of the kids because I was deemed to be an unfit father. I still couldn't stop gambling even after all that. All my money went down the tubes.'

'Couldn't your father or any of his contacts have helped you?'

Sam pulled a face that showed both anguish and anger. 'Hell, no. My parents and my siblings disowned me. They all say that I'm a disgrace to the family. So now I've been living rough for seven months.'

'Seven months? I lost my job a couple of weeks ago and I am already at my wit's end.'

'What was your business?'

'I was an IT developer. I have agents looking out for work for me.'

'Well, I wish you all the best. I just gave up trying after I suffered a nervous breakdown. Living rough has something to say for it. At least there's no responsibility and no asshole father to push me to excel, excel, excel.'

'Where do you sleep?'

'Most of the time I sleep around here. There's a cosy spot at the dam wall. It's under some trees and the ground is flat enough. I spend a lot of time at the dam, so that's why I have seen water boy over there a few times. I watch him when he swims but I keep my distance from him.'

Dylan had just reached the park side of the dam and was wading out of the water. The school kids were watching him in wonderment. When Dylan set foot on the grass one of the boys gave Dylan a playful push, which Dylan responded to by pretending that he had been pushed by a truck and leapt back into the water, landing in a sitting position. The kids laughed.

'He would kill me if I did that to him,' Sam commented.

Eric and Sam watched Dylan for a while and Eric noticed that Dylan was holding out some blue paper to the school kids. He could not tell for certain from where they were sitting, but he thought that Dylan was holding out hundred Rand notes. A young boy of about fourteen stepped towards Dylan, who shook his head and pointed to an older girl. She seemed reluctant to do whatever it was that Dylan was proposing.

Eric shook his head in puzzlement and said, 'What's he doing? Maybe I should go down there.'

Sam held his arm and said, 'Wait, look.'

A tall boy of about sixteen had accepted Dylan's offering, taken off his blazer and had stepped into the water to the cheers of his friends. He sat down in barely a few inches of water and stood up again. Dylan did not look impressed. He pointed at the boy's blazer and rubbed his thumb over the fingers of his left hand.

'Did he pay money for that kid to go in the water? What a freak!' Sam said.

'It seems that he didn't get his money's worth. He looks unhappy.'

The boy put on his blazer, waded back into the water up to his waist and swam, alternately performing a crawl and a back stroke. One of the other boys got caught up in the moment and joined his friend in the water. Dylan followed him, and the three swam together. When the three of them got out of the water Dylan shook hands with the two wet boys, who got some laughs from their friends.

Eric's attention was distracted from Dylan when Sam said, 'That's a first. He always swims alone. He seems like a sad figure. Maybe he will end up like me one day.'

'You don't need to run yourself down like that. Shit happens,' Eric said.

'It certainly does. Still, I'm not all alone. About two kilometres away there is a church that feeds the poor once a week. We listen to a short sermon, sing a few songs and then eat beef or chicken stew with vegetables. It only costs two Rand. If you can't pay you volunteer to help clean up afterwards.'

'That sounds very reasonable. What do you do about food otherwise?'

'I just have to search around for scraps. You'd be surprised what people throw away after braais in the park. I don't beg for money because people just assume that you're after drugs and I don't want anybody to think that of me.'

'It must be tough.'

'It can be, but God provides.'

'I'm not really a believer,' Eric replied, hoping that he would not offend Sam.

'"Not really"? It sounds like there is a spark of belief in you.'

'I have a new friend called Thomas who is a Christian. Maybe his strong faith has influenced me a little.'

'Well, I'll tell you this \- God has provided for me. You might not think it to look at my situation, but look at the positives: I have clothes, I am fed, and I have left my life of stress behind. I think that things happen for a reason because God is that reason. Do you think that we, and the trees and the birds, and even the grass are accidents of evolution? No, God did all this.'

'It makes you think,' Eric admitted.

'It makes you know,' Sam told Eric adamantly. 'I know that you are under pressure from losing you job and I would like to pray for you. Do you want that?'

'Sure. I'm still really not sure if I believe in God, but I could use any help that I can get.'

'The fact that you are not sure, but you want prayer, shows that you are ready to open your arms to God. I want you to hold my hands and I will pray for you. Don't worry about what other people will think.'

Eric felt odd doing it, but he decided to just give in and accept Sam's offer for prayer. He held out his hands. Sam held them and said a prayer for Eric's salvation and for his future prosperity. When the prayer was over Eric felt a feeling of peace that he could not explain.

Somebody walking towards them was clapping. Eric and Sam looked for the source of the sound and saw Dylan walking towards them.

'Maybe I could pray for him, too,' Sam muttered.

Dylan stopped clapping and smiled at Eric. He said, 'Well, well, well. I see you've found your kind of people, Eric. You're holding hands, too. Isn't that sweet? Have you found that special person you want to spend your life with? I'm not surprised if Bianca dumped you, and you've settled in with this creature.'

He looked at Sam disdainfully and said, 'What are you doing here anyway, you old bag of piss? You're just a fucking grub. Just cleanse the earth and kill yourself, will you?'

'Is that his animal name, Dylan?' Eric asked scornfully.

Sam said to Eric, 'Do you know him? You didn't say.'

'It wasn't worth mentioning until he came here. He caused trouble with me as well when I came here one time. That's all you do isn't it, Dylan? Cause trouble?'

Dylan ignored him and said to Sam, 'I thought I told you not to be around when I'm here.'

'You came to us, you moron. Now piss off,' Eric retorted.

Dylan shook his head and said to Eric, 'It's a shame. I showed you what kind of life you could have had and you chose this.' He pointed at Sam.

He continued, 'Did you see what I did down there? I paid that kid five hundred Rand to swim with me and' - he pointed at Sam - 'he doesn't even know what five hundred Rand looks like, and you deserve to be in this grub's position.'

Dylan pointed to a middle-aged woman digging in one of the metal dustbins and said, 'Do you see that piece of trash over there?'

'Do you mean the plastic bag or the beer can next to it?' Eric asked facetiously.

Sam chortled, seemingly impressed by Eric's willingness to stand up to Dylan.

Dylan shot Sam a look then grabbed Eric's T-shirt and said, 'This isn't fucking comedy hour! Do you see the bum? That's your future, you goddamned ingrate. Either that or an early death.'

'He puts on a good show doesn't he?' Sam said.

'Fuck off!' Dylan shouted at Sam.

Eric looked down at Dylan's blazer cuff, which was dripping water down Eric's T-shirt. 'You're wetting me.' he said indifferently. He grabbed a fistful of Dylan's blazer and squeezed some water out of it, which splashed onto his trousers. Sam guffawed and Dylan glared at him hatefully.

'Why are you so angry, Dylan?' Eric asked in mock concern. 'Is it because I upstaged you at your party or because I'm talking to Sam here, a man who has more heart and integrity than you will ever know? I'd say that you're the only pathetic grub around here.'

Dylan let go of Eric's shirt and stared at him angrily. At least a minute passed before a thoughtful look crossed Dylan's face. For a moment Eric thought that he was beginning to have an introspective moment, but he was wrong. In a sudden deft move Dylan planted a solid side-kick with his left foot to the side of Sam's face. Sam grunted with pain and Dylan started walking away, audibly grumbling to himself.

Outraged, Eric hit the bench with his fist and said, 'That's it!'

He marched after Dylan and shouted, 'Hey!'

Dylan turned around and Eric grabbed the lapels of his blazer and pushed him. He did not think that he had pushed him so hard, but Dylan fell to the ground, rolled backwards over his left shoulder and flopped onto his front. He rose to his knees and bent over, grabbing his shoulder and groaning loudly in pain. Eric looked at Sam, who was rubbing the side of his mouth. He also seemed to be surprised by the pain that Dylan was apparently in.

A beefy hand grabbed Eric's left shoulder and spun him around. He was facing a large man who was wearing the uniform of Homestead Security. Another guard who had been in the same security car was standing close by. The man said, 'I saw that! Do you think you can get away with beating up school boys? You're under arrest.'

'I hardly touched him!' Eric protested.

'It looks like you touched him hard enough.' Dylan was still kneeling on the ground and groaning.

Sam stood up from the bench, pointed at Dylan and said, 'That little bastard kicked me. Look!' He lifted the left side of his upper lip and showed the security guard the blood that was trickling over his teeth.

Eric needed to set the record straight. He said, 'That's right. It was an unprovoked assault. I must tell you as well that he's not a school boy. He's twenty-two years old and a menace to society. Do you see those school kids down there? He even paid one of them five hundred Rand to swim with him.'

The guard looked at the school kids. The ones who were already wet were standing in the shallow water, splashing each other. Dylan suddenly forgot about his shoulder injury, stood up and pushed Eric.

He shouted at the guard, 'He's lying! He just attacked me. You saw it.'

'Oh yes?' inquired the guard. 'What about the gentleman you allegedly kicked? In fact, I want to see some identification. There's something odd about all of this. If you are twenty-two as he said, why are you in school uniform? Why are you wet, and why did you pay those kids to swim with you?'

'Bullshit! It's all bullshit!' He pointed at Eric and said, 'I want to press charges against him for assault!'

Sam interjected, 'Sir, I want this little freak to be charged. He kicked me and there must be a law about dressing up in school uniform and soliciting with school kids.'

Dylan had become extremely flustered. The guard let him know that he was standing too close for his liking by shoving him back. This time he did not fall over, but carried on protesting his innocence. He whined, 'I did not solicit, you stupid pricks! I just wanted them to swim with me. Is there a law against that?'

The guard gave his partner a quizzical look, who answered him by shaking his head. He said to Dylan, 'I'm calling the police. You want to charge this young man, and this gentleman wants to charge you. You can all sort it out at the police station.'

The guard made a call on the radio while his partner grabbed hold of both Eric and Dylan by the arms and walked them to the Homestead Security car. The second guard opened the left rear door and told them both to get in. Dylan was hesitant, but he complied when the guard drew his truncheon. Eric was told to get into the car after Dylan, and the guard slammed the door shut and locked them in. They would not be able to get out because the locking mechanism only worked from outside the car and the rear windows did not wind down. The guard sat in the driver's seat while his partner had a talk with Sam.

Eric turned to face Dylan, who looked like he could snap at any moment. Dylan's face was a picture of fury, and he seemed to be trying to glare a hole in the driver's seat in front of him, and. Eric did not care how angry Dylan was because he had brought all of this on himself anyway. He was angry with Dylan for causing this situation and getting him arrested.

'You didn't have to kick Sam. What did he ever do to you? Like I said, you always have to cause trouble. What's wrong with you?'

Dylan stayed silent for a few seconds, maintaining his thunderous expression. Without looking at Eric he said curtly, 'Don't talk to me.'

The driver turned around in his seat and commanded, 'Both of you be quiet! I'm not listening to you argue. Save it for your police statements.'

The other guard radioed for a police car, which was patrolling the area. It arrived within ten minutes, with blue lights flashing but no siren. The sight of the police car with its blue lights and the two uniformed occupants frightened Eric. He had never been in trouble with the police in his life, and the prospect of being arrested was something that he thought was both shameful and frightening. He knew that the South African police could be brutal, and their holding cells were sources of all kinds of horror stories.

***

After a speedy drive during which the police officer at the wheel had probably committed enough traffic offences to deserve a hundred tickets, they arrived at the Benoni Police Station at the bottom of town. Unlike the two police officers who were talking animatedly and joking in their home language, Eric and Dylan remained silent. For a short spell Dylan glared at Eric, who ignored him and looked out of the car window.

As Eric and Dylan were being walked into the police station two police women walked past and tittered when they saw Dylan in his damp and dirty school uniform. Eric thought that he looked ridiculous as well, but he was not in the mood to comment or laugh. They were told to hand in any personal effects, which were sealed in plastic bags. Eric hoped that Dylan had some extra money in his wallet because he knew that it would go into the "police donation fund". After initial processing they were taken to the holding cells.

There were four cells, divided by a brick wall into blocks of two. Each block of two cells was separated by bars. Above the door to each cell was a sign stating "MAX 4 OCCUPANTS". Each cell had one toilet, a couple of soiled mattresses and a few blankets. Eric assumed that the mattresses and the blankets were allocated on the "bitch or bad-ass system". He had no intention of being anybody's bitch, but he knew that he would not be able to handle himself if the other prisoners ganged up on him.

Eric was shoved into one cell by a burly police officer and was revolted by the stench emanating from the toilet. It had no seat, which had probably been ripped off and used as a weapon at some time. The blood-stained and filthy mattresses and blankets strewn on the floor looked almost as unappealing as the toilet. If he were to stay the night, he might take his chances with the cold stone floor. There was a single bench that flanked the back wall and the wall that separated the cell from the next.

Eric saw that Dylan was in the next cell, which was separated by the bars. He felt like starting an argument with him, but he was more concerned by his cellmates. The cell that was supposed to hold only four people already had six other people in it. It occurred to Eric that, apart from a skinny and greasy-looking white man with a blotchy complexion, the other prisoners looked like anybody that you could pass on the street. After all, a criminal did not usually have a special look unless he was a gang member. They had been ordinary members of society before they had transgressed the law.

In Dylan's cell there were five other prisoners, who were all bigger than him. Dylan tried to sit on the bench at the back wall but two prisoners blocked the spot that he wanted. When he tried to sit on the other bench he was blocked there as well. He gave up trying to sit down and opted to just stand in the middle of the cell. Eric wondered how tough Dylan would be against his cellmates, or if he would dare attack any of them as he had done to Sam.

A cellmate in Eric's cell squatted over the toilet and did his business. Eric was painfully aware that he would have to go through a similar indignity if nature called. After the man had finished he pulled his pants up, having nothing to wipe himself with. He tried to flush the toilet but there was no water in the cistern. The smell was oppressive and Eric tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth.

In the next cell one man said, 'Eish, man. Did you eat shit to make such smelly shit?' Some of the other prisoners laughed, but Dylan did not find any humour in the situation. He looked at the toilet and pulled a disgusted face, having never been in surroundings like these in his pampered life.

The greaseball, who seemed unperturbed by the stench, approached Eric with a cigarette and asked, 'Have you got a light?'

'Sorry, I don't even smoke,' Eric answered as politely as possible.

The greaseball shrugged his shoulders and said, 'I'll get a light sometime. I'm not even supposed to have this smoke, but the cops here know me.' Eric had no doubt about that.

After an hour had passed one more inmate was put into Dylan's cell. He was a big man with tattoos all over his arms. When he wanted to sit at the bench opposite Eric's cell another inmate stood up to give him more than enough space. Eric wondered if any of the tattoos were gang signs because the other prisoners were evidently intimidated by him. His large frame, large tattooed arms, and the mean look on his face were enough to make him intimidating, regardless of any gang affiliations.

Dylan was clearly intimidated by the new arrival because he backed away and stood close to the bars separating his cell from Eric's. One of the prisoners in Eric's cell stood at the bars near the cell door and peered at the cell guards as they walked away. The prisoner was a tall, thin man with the face of a troll. When he seemed to be satisfied that the guards were out of sight he manoeuvred himself towards the bars that separated the cells.

He reached through the bars and stroked the back of Dylan's head. He said, 'Beautiful boy. Come closer.'

Dylan spun around and took a step back. He was breathing heavily and staring at the pervert intensely. Eric felt a cold shiver run through his body. He had read about sexual attacks in police holding cells in the press, and he actually felt frightened for Dylan. As much as he despised him the thought of seeing him being raped was unbearable.

The pervert who had stroked Dylan hissed, 'Come here, little boy. Put your back to the bars and pull your pants down.'

Dylan took another step back and the large prisoner who looked like a gangster stood up and moved towards Dylan from behind.

Throwing caution to the wind, Eric shouted, 'Dylan, behind you!'

It was too late. The large prisoner had grabbed Dylan's arms and was pushing him towards his aggressor. Eric was not sure whether he should attack the pervert because his cellmates might gang up on him.

Dylan was almost within reaching distance of the pervert, when he leant his neck forward, then pulled his head back violently, butting his captor in the face. The big man's nose exploded in a splash of blood and he let out an enraged bellow. Surprisingly he did not fall down.

Using his left foot to pivot anti-clockwise, Dylan delivered a stiff right roundhouse kick to the forearm of the pervert who was still trying to grasp him. The pervert's elbow hit the bar with such force that his arm bent the wrong way. He fell to the ground, screaming in agony and the occupants in both cells started shouting in both excitement and shock. When Eric looked at the pervert's arm he cringed. The ligaments in his elbow must have been severely damaged by the kick and it was possible that the elbow itself was either broken or dislocated.

Dylan faced the man who had tried to push him to the bars. He was holding his nose, but he still looked like he was game for a fight. Dylan lunged forward with his right leg and punched the man solidly in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. The man staggered back and slumped onto the bench, wheezing and struggling to breathe through his mouth. Dylan turned around and menacingly looked at his other cellmates, who continued to shout but offered no challenge.

The two cell guards, who must have heard the commotion, appeared outside the cells. Some of the shouting inmates turned their attention to the guards and pointed at the man with the bent arm, who was still lying on the floor. The younger of the officers looked at him with a wide-eyed expression of shock. The other guard was of a higher rank, and had probably seen much worse in his time. He barked at the prisoners to shut up and looked at the man, whose screams had subsided to a pained sobbing.

The older officer exclaimed, 'Ei-ei-ei! Shit!' One of the prisoners in Dylan's cell pointed at Dylan and loudly started talking to the guards and poorly mimicked the spin kick that had damaged the pervert's elbow.

The older officer told him to shut up and after a brief discussion in Zulu the two officers entered Eric's cell and pulled the injured prisoner from the floor by his good arm and walked him out of the cell. Eric assumed that he would be taken to a government hospital for treatment. The large tattooed man in the other cell continued to hold his nose and made no attempt to draw the guards' attention to his injury.

When the guards had gone and the commotion had calmed down Dylan looked at Eric and gave him a slight nod of his head. Eric returned the gesture, surprised that Dylan would even give him a subtle gesture of thanks.

About half an hour later the younger guard returned and opened the door to Dylan's cell. He told Dylan to go with him. Dylan looked at the man with the broken nose, who looked ready for another round but would not get the opportunity, and then followed the guard down the corridor without looking back. Eric wondered if Dylan was going to face new charges for rearranging the pervert's elbow, and he hoped that the man was still in severe pain.

After another twenty minutes or so the same guard returned and released Eric from his cell. As Eric was walking down the corridor with the guard he asked, 'What's happening?'

'You are being released. The charges have been dropped,' the guard replied.

In the public area of the police station Clive and Stephanie were waiting. When they saw Eric approach Stephanie ran to Eric and hugged him. She said, 'We were so worried about you. We're taking you to our place for dinner and a talk.'

***

In the car Eric did not get the tongue-lashing that he had been expecting. Clive and Stephanie had been told the whole story about what had happened at the dam, and they were proud of what Eric had tried to do for Sam. They were only disappointed that he had not given Dylan a well-deserved punch during the altercation.

Eric was grateful to be out of the police station and he was wondering about Dylan. He said, 'What's going to happen now?'

'You mean with the assault case?' Clive asked.

'Yes.'

'There's no case anymore. The police and Homestead Security wanted to charge both you and Dylan with public disturbance, but I managed to persuade them to drop the charge since there were no witnesses other than Samuel, who was a victim. Apparently even the school kids at the dam didn't notice the commotion because they were too busy laughing at their friends in the water.'

'What about Dylan?'

'He dropped the charge against you. Samuel was questioned at the police station about the incident and he said that he would drop the charge of assault against Dylan if he dropped his charge of assault against you.'

'How noble of Dylan,' Eric said sarcastically. 'Did you hear that he mangled some guy's arm in the cells?'

'We heard about that. We had a quick chat with his lawyer and there will be no charge because he was defending himself.'

'I couldn't help myself at the time but I actually tried to warn Dylan before he was attacked.'

'That shows that you're a better person than him,' Stephanie said.

'Oh, where's Sam now?'

'He's back at the park. While you were still in the cells the police had finished with him, but he had no transport. Clive took him to a roadhouse to buy him a couple of burgers then Sam said that he wanted to go back to the dam.'

She patted Clive affectionately on the cheek and said, 'You're such an old softy aren't you?'

'I couldn't just leave the poor guy at the bottom of town. He would have been walking for hours to get back to the dam. He looked like he needed a decent meal as well,' Clive said.

'Thanks for everything. Sorry for dragging you into this,' Eric said.

Stephanie said, 'Don't worry about it. We're family. We look out for each other.'

Unable to hold back his emotions, Eric began to sob.

***

Stephanie had prepared a dinner of roast beef with roast potatoes and vegetables. They were drinking a good Merlot. It was the best meal that Eric had had in a long time. As a bachelor he had learnt how to cook, but he always kept his meals simple and sometimes had takeaways when could not be bothered to cook.

The conversation over dinner was about Eric's problems with Dylan and the civil case that Stephanie had suggested after she and Eric had visited their parent's graves. Clive asked Eric to tell him the entire story, leaving out no detail, no matter how embarrassing it may be.

As Clive was finishing his dessert he said, 'In all of my years as a lawyer I have never heard of a situation as bizarre as this.'

'Do you think that Eric would have a good case?' Stephanie asked.

Clive scratched his head and cringed. 'I think that it would be difficult to get a judge to hear this case.'

'You're kidding! That's bullshit!' Stephanie said angrily.

'Don't shoot the messenger. I don't make the law; I only serve it.'

'But why?' Stephanie pressed.

'The truth is that Eric has not been a helpless victim.'

He looked at Eric and said, 'Didn't you say that you went to meet Dylan twice, and even attended one of his parties? You also told me that you even went to his previous employer to talk about him. Didn't you also say that you assaulted Dylan at that nightclub, and not in self-defence?'

'Yes, I did. All of it,' Eric admitted.

'If you were so scared of Dylan you wouldn't go to his party, even if you were collecting stolen property.'

'That's one thing. What about him entering my flat and stealing my things?'

'There was never any police record of that, no case number.'

'That's only because the idiots didn't show up.'

'But you did recover those items didn't you?'

'Yes, but Dylan forced me to stay the night, then stripped me of my clothes.'

Clive shook his head and said, 'The court would just see that as an adolescent prank. Didn't you also say that you were with a girl in his bedroom?'

Eric blushed and answered, 'Yes.'

'And you and Dylan have been slandering each other on social media?'

'Yes.' Eric put a hand to his forehead and said, 'We've got nothing, have we?'

'I'm afraid that you don't have anything concrete. You could both try to sue and counter-sue but it would be a waste of time and money.'

'Yeah. I suppose so. I don't know how to deal with him. He's like a fly that won't stop buzzing around my head.'

'Have you considered trying to make friends with him?'

'Make friends?' Stephanie butted in. 'What about the sick card he left at the cemetery?'

'I won't deny that that was disgusting, and I feel like punching Dylan myself for that. The thing is, Eric and Dylan are just going to carry on fighting and things could spiral into something much more serious.'

'Make friends. Good one,' Eric muttered scornfully.

Stephanie said, 'Maybe Clive has a point. I doubt that I would want to make friends with that little creep myself, though.'

Clive shook his head, 'I doubt you would. Shall we discuss the other matter?'

'What other matter?' Eric asked.

Stephanie poured some more Merlot for the three of them and said, 'Clive and I have been talking about your situation. We think that you should move in with us while you are busy sorting yourself out.'

'Really? Mrs van der Walt said that she could put me up for another month.'

'We've got a spare bedroom for you, and another spare room to hold your furniture. Besides, do you think it's fair on that poor woman to give you free rent? Don't you think that she might be worried about you, not to mention her own and her granddaughter's safety after Dylan entered her property?'

'You've got a good point. I promise that I won't be a burden, and I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate this. How soon do you want me to move in, anyway?'

'As soon as you can. We'll pay Mrs van der Walt a month's notice,' said Clive.

***

Eric drove home in his Ford, which they had picked up from the dam after leaving the police station. He decided not to tell Mrs van der Walt about moving into Clive and Stephanie's house until tomorrow because he was exhausted after such a traumatic day, and he only wanted to soak in the bath. Being in that police cell for over two hours had made him feel filthy, and he felt that he could stay in the bath for the remainder of the evening until bedtime.

It was nearly quarter past eight, so he would have plenty of time to wash himself and relax in the soothing water. He did not have any bath salts or oils because he never used them. He wondered if these products would have made him feel any better. He turned on the bath taps and threw in a splash of bubble bath. The bathwater had only been running for a minute when the cell phone rang.

He answered wearily, 'Hello?'

'Did you make it out of there without being ass-raped?' asked Dylan.

'I did, thanks for asking.'

'I never thought I would thank you for anything, but thanks for what you did in the cells today.'

Eric was stunned that Dylan had phoned him to express his appreciation. He walked to the bath to turn off the taps. He said, 'We've had our problems but I couldn't let them do that to you. I am human, you know.'

'I wouldn't have done the same for you. You know that don't you?'

Eric's heart sank. He said, 'I wouldn't have expected much from you. Are you just calling me to tell me what you next evil plan is?' he asked disdainfully.

'Not exactly. I'll tell you the truth. I'm tired of us fighting all the time. I want us to settle it tonight.'

Eric was taken aback and did not know how to respond. He thought that Dylan had finally realised that things had gone too far. It was about time.

Dylan said, 'Are you still there?'

'I'm here. I want to stop this crap as well. So let's talk about it.'

'Not like this.'

'OK. What do you want to do? Shall I visit you at your place or do you want to talk in a pub or something?'

'No. Too much has happened between us to just have a nice chat. Do you remember where we first met at the dam, at that bench? I want you there at ten tonight.'

'What's your game, Dylan? Let's just get together and talk like civilised people.'

'Maybe we will talk, but I want you there. If you don't show up things will never change. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

'I don't understand why you want to do things like this.'

'We've both got a lot to sort out and we won't achieve that over a few beers. It's either the meeting I proposed or nothing.'

'What's really going to happen if I show up? Are you going to hide behind a tree and shoot me? I'm not stupid.'

'Neither am I. Do you think I'd want to go down for murder? I'm giving you the chance to meet me and sort everything out.'

'I still can't see why we can't just meet and talk like normal people.' At this point Eric wished that he had Adam with him to act as mediator.

'We're still enemies, the way I see it. I'm not going to sit down and have a drink with you. My terms are final.'

'Maybe I'll stay here and enjoy my hot bath.'

'You suit yourself. I'll be there. If you don't show up things will get worse for you. I'll only wait until ten, so if you're late then tough shit.'

Before Eric could say anything else Dylan ended the call. Eric did not like the terms that Dylan had given him, but he felt that he had no other choice. Eric considered the other possibility that this was a trick, and that Dylan would not even be at the dam.

***
Chapter 17

Eric was nervous because he did not know what Dylan had in mind. Would he be greeted by a number of Dylan's friends and pounded into the ground? Would it be a one-on-one fight? Would they have a verbal debate? Would Dylan pay Eric some money to get out of town? He decided to dress for the eventuality of a fight: black shorts, a black T-shirt, and sturdy Black Puma hiking trainers with think soles and good ankle protection.

He looked at himself in the mirror and said to himself, 'Dylan's going to kill you.' He considered taking a weapon with him as a back-up, but he decided against it because he had never used a weapon in his life, and if Dylan saw a weapon it would put him on the offensive. He also considered the possibility of killing Dylan after meeting him for what he assumed was a pre-arranged fight. He would be charged with murder, and even Clive's clever legal mind would not be able to spare Eric from prison.

After taking a few deep breaths and saying a short prayer for good luck, Eric went outside and got into his car. He found that the music on his USB stick was making his mind race, rather than helping him to keep calm and he switched it off. Nearly halfway to the dam he considered turning back home, but he knew that this would be a bad move because Dylan had promised him further hardship if he did not show up. Eric felt that he had suffered enough harassment, humiliation and rejection at the hands of Dylan. This entire situation had to end tonight somehow or other.

When Eric reached Wilge Road he drove slowly because he could not remember which bench he had been sitting on when he first met Dylan. After driving a short distance he saw Dylan's car, but it did not seem to Eric to be in the correct area of the dam. He stopped next to Dylan's car and took a good look to see if Dylan was inside. He wasn't, and Eric guessed that Dylan had reached the rendezvous point early. He considered getting out of his car and vandalising Dylan's Jetta. He could kick in the body panels, scratch the paintwork and smash the windows in. He dismissed this idea because he felt more committed to meeting Dylan to end this rivalry, and there was the other problem that somebody in one of the houses would hear the commotion and call the police.

He drove further along Wilge Road at a slow pace, trying to remember which bench he was supposed to go to. The fact that it was a cloudless night with a full moon helped him see silhouettes of trees, bins and benches in the park. Eric was beginning to worry that he was going to miss the rendezvous agreed upon with Dylan. The car clock indicated that it was already a few minutes past ten. Finally, he saw a figure sitting on a bench near the water's edge. He parked his car, turned on his cell phone torch so that he could see where he was going, and slowly started walking towards the bench, dreading the impending confrontation.

Eric was glad of the torch because as he walked he saw broken beer bottles littering the ground, tree roots that could easily be tripped over, and small ditches in the ground which would easily cause a twisted ankle even with good trainers on his feet. When he was about fifteen metres away from the bench he briefly shined the light on the sitting figure. It was undoubtedly Dylan.

Eric rounded the front of the bench at a safe distance and shone the light on Dylan, who was dressed for a fight. He was wearing a taekwondo dobok replete with baggy white trousers with what Eric assumed was Korean writing printed down the sides. His white jacket was folded across him and held in place with a red belt. On the jacket there was more Korean writing, accompanied by the logo of a club. The name of the club, which Eric could not make out in the moonlight, encircled a dragon whose form made a spherical shape. Although taekwondo practitioners trained barefoot and competed in officially-approved fighting shoes, Dylan was wearing trainers which were lighter than Eric's.

After appraising Dylan for a few seconds Dylan hissed, 'Turn that fucking light off! Are you trying to draw attention? This is only between you and me. You're not getting out of this so you'd better man-up now. You're lucky you caught me when you did because I thought that you had chickened out and I was about to leave. That would have caused a lot of complications for you.'

Knowing that a fight was inevitable Eric drew a deep breath and tried to psyche himself up by thinking about everything that Dylan had done to him. He challenged Dylan, 'Are we going to talk shit all night or did you come here for a fight?' He removed his T-shirt.

'That's the spirit, rat-boy. We are going to fight and I'm going to leave you bloody and broken.'

'Maybe I'll surprise you.'

Dylan laughed and said, 'So surprise me.' Dylan backed away from the bench to a small clearing which would give them room to fight. 'I'm going to give you some free shots. I'm just going to stand here and protect myself if necessary. Ready?'

Dylan's condescending attitude even at a time like this infuriated Eric. He said to Dylan, 'I'm past ready. I'm going to rip your goddamned head off!'

Eric ran towards Dylan and attempted a running scissor kick like he had once seen on TV. The attempt was pathetic. When Eric was within a few feet of Dylan he sprung into the air, and sloppily kicked out with his right foot. Dylan only had to take a casual step back to avoid the move, and Eric lost his balance and fell flat on his back.

Dylan clapped and said, 'Very good. I won't give you too many free shots, otherwise we'll be here all night. Then again, maybe I could just stand here and watch you beat yourself up.'

Eric stood up, feeling slightly winded but definitely not finished. Eric closed up on Dylan and threw a volley of left-right roundhouse punches like a drunken bar-brawler. Dylan simply dodged the punches by leaning his head away from them. Only one punch came close enough to necessitate a forearm block from Dylan.

Dylan pushed Eric back and shook his head in amusement. He looked like he was still waiting for the fight to start. He had not broken a sweat, he was not breathing heavily, and he did not even seem to have a hair out of place.

He scolded, 'I get better fights when I spar with the white-belt beginners in class. Even young girls show more determination than you to at least land one shot. I thought that after everything I'd put you through you might have shown some spirit. I'm going to walk away and treat this as a no-show.'

Eric said, 'Maybe I'll just do what you have done to me and make your life a misery.'

Dylan said, 'If you had wanted to do that you would have tried already. Let's face it, you're just not as intelligent as me and you do not have the resources that I- uuugh!'

While Dylan had been talking Eric had seen his opening and caught Dylan solidly in the gut with a thrust kick. Dylan stepped back with a look of shock on his face. Keeping his eyes on Eric he brushed the area where Eric had landed the kick. A malevolent look came over Dylan's face as he stepped his right foot back into a fighting stance. His left fist was at high-chest level, covering his sternum, while his right fist was covering his gut.

Eric felt a brief moment of triumph after landing his kick, but he knew that the fun and games were over. He knew that he would not be able to emulate Dylan's fighting style or ability, but he raised both fists like a boxer and glared determinedly at Dylan. Eric knew that the time had come, and that some way or other this fight would end Dylan's vendetta against him.

Dylan opened up the fight by kicking at Eric. He pivoted his left foot anti-clockwise and swung the instep of his right foot towards Eric's head. Eric backed off when Dylan started moving. Dylan followed-up the first roundhouse kick with a reverse roundhouse, completing the rotation. Dylan's follow-up kick almost hit Eric on the left cheek. Eric scrambled backwards and slipped, falling back on the grass next to the bench. As Eric was sitting up Dylan swung his right leg in an upward arc and brought his heel down on Eric's left shoulder. Eric groaned as a sudden bolt of pain flared from the trapezius muscle. Eric knew that he was lucky that Dylan had not caught his collar bone, as the kick would surely have broken it.

As he was nursing his injured shoulder Eric kept his eyes on Dylan, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and shadow-boxing, mocking Eric. Dylan moved back into his original stance and said, 'That was an axe kick. Did you like that?'

Before Eric could start to stand up Dylan bounced his feet one more time and spun 180 degrees in a clockwise motion, switching his back foot with his front foot, and thrust the heel of his right foot into Eric's nose. Eric grunted as the impact knocked his head back, and he saw a glob of blood fly from his nose. He was dizzy with pain and he cupped his hands over his nose which was bleeding profusely.

Dylan grinned when he saw how much damage he had inflicted so far. He grabbed a handful of Eric's hair and made him face him. He said, 'Break's over, if you'll excuse the pun. Either get up or I'll still count this as a no-show.'

While Dylan was still holding his hair Eric allowed the blood to pool in his cupped hands. In a move that shocked Dylan, Eric shot his hands upwards and splashed Dylan's face with blood, getting some of it in his mouth.

Dylan wiped at his face frantically and spat repeatedly. He spluttered, 'Fuck! You want to fight dirty? I'm going to break every bone in your flabby body, then I am going to kick the flab out of you.'

It was obvious to Eric that Dylan's temper was his weakness and he temporarily had his mind off the game. Eric scrambled to his feet and charged at Dylan, landing a running punch to the side of Dylan's head. Dylan had not had time to see the punch coming and he grunted as he was knocked to the ground.

As soon as Dylan went down Eric dived on top of him, just as he had done during their confrontation at The 27 Club. Eric hammed his fists at Dylan's face mercilessly, but Dylan was able to block the punches as he had done before. As Eric rained down punches like a typhoon he was dismayed at how quickly he was running out of breath. Finally, he broke through Dylan's defence and landed a hard punch on Dylan's left eye, which was sure to swell up into a nice shiner by the next morning. Eric's victory was short lived, as Dylan clapped both of his hands over Eric's ears. Eric's ears started to ring and he felt too disoriented to continue his attack. Dylan squirmed out from under Eric's body and stood up.

Dylan got to his feet with less grace and speed than he had been moving with earlier. He dabbed his left eye with his palm and then grabbed hold of Eric's chin. He told Eric, 'If you have caused any lasting facial damage you'd better run out of town because I will kill you.'

He pulled Eric to his feet by his arms and watched as Eric staggered around, his equilibrium temporarily lost. Picking the perfect time to strike, Dylan rushed forwards and struck Eric in the sternum with a running thrust kick.

Eric stumbled backwards, stepped into the warm water of the dam and lost his footing, falling onto his back, just as Dylan had done during their first confrontation. Dylan ran in to the water and jumped onto Eric, straddling his thighs across Eric's torso. Dylan's left eye was already beginning to swell, but his right eye showed the madness of a serial killer who was on the brink of his next kill.

He put his hands around Eric's throat. Eric shouted, 'No!' before Dylan gripped more tightly and pushed Eric's face under the water. Eric was underwater for less than half a minute but he thought that he was going to die because he had not taken a breath. In what he thought must be the final moment of his life he envisioned a cartoon pair of lungs with question marks in them.

Just before Eric thought he would pass out Dylan yanked his head put of the water. Eric retched and gurgled as he tried to clear his airways and breathe again. Dylan gave Eric enough time to take a few breaths before speaking to him. Eric saw a look of devilish glee on Dylan's face.

Dylan said, 'At least I cleaned some of that blood from your face. You should thank me. I still have your reeking blood on my face.'

Eric wriggled under Dylan's weight and Dylan punched him between the eyes hard enough to stun him, but not hard enough to knock him out. Dylan quickly splashed some water over his face to wash the blood away. He then held Eric's throat again and stared into his eyes hatefully.

Dylan said, 'The next time your head goes under it stays under. I am going to start a countdown in Korean. You can stop me at any time by giving me the next number.'

Eric coughed and pleaded, 'I can't speak Korean!'

Dylan answered, 'How fortunate,' and started his count: 'Yol... ahop... yadol... elgob... yasot... dasot... net... set... dul...' Dylan paused and smiled when he saw the look of terror on Eric's face. Eric was not trying to put up much of a fight because he was still stunned from Dylan's last punch.

Dylan said gleefully, 'Don't you want to shout out the next number? I told you that I'd drive you to suicide, didn't I? I'll put you out of your misery, then. The number one in Korean is hanna.' Dylan firmed his grip on Eric's throat. Although Eric still felt too weak to shift under Dylan's weight, he had the presence of mind to draw in a deep breath. Dylan pushed Eric's face underwater, maintaining his grip on his throat.

Eric was not only being drowned, but he was also being strangled. He knew that panicking would force him to exhale the precious air from his lungs. Despite his predicament he had to keep calm and find a way out of this. He tried throwing some punches at Dylan's face, which proved to be weak and ineffective. He tried raising his head but that proved to be impossible because Dylan was leaning his weight onto his neck.

Guessing that his lungs may betray him after not much more than thirty seconds, Eric desperately used both hands to feel the bottom of the dam as well as the surface to find something to hit Dylan with. His hands grabbed at sand, water plants, a few tiny stones and a plastic fast-food carton of some kind. He knew that he had to do something desperately because he was struggling to hold on to his breath. It was then that he found a beer bottle with his right hand, grabbed it by the neck and swung it. It hit Dylan hard on the left side of his head, forcing him to momentarily release his grip. Eric hit Dylan again with a harder blow and the bottle shattered.

Dylan seemed to simply fall off Eric, giving Eric a chance to lift his head out of the water. He breathed deeply with his mouth, taking in as much air as possible. Eric relished the sweet air and the feeling of never being more alive. He looked over at Dylan, whose head had been cut by the glass. In the moonlight Eric saw a thin but steady stream of blood run down Dylan's head and course its way down the side of his neck, staining the shoulder and left breast of his dobok. Dylan was kneeling in the water, evidently dazed and unable to continue fighting for now. Eric crawled out of the lake on his hands and knees. When he reached the bench he stayed on his knees and slumped forward over the seat.

***

Dylan stood up in the water and looked at Eric, who was slumped on the bench, apparently barely conscious. He felt the side of his head and looked at the growing patch of blood on his dobok. He touched his head again and used his forefinger to probe the wound. He felt a small hole in his skin, and there were a few bits of glass remaining which he plucked out as well as he could.

He waded out of the water, making an attempt to splash as little as possible. As he closed the distance between himself and Eric he considered his next move. He could not believe that he had been bested by Eric, this most pathetic rat of them all. In reality, though, Dylan was the one still standing and able to fight. He was upset with himself for underestimating Eric. He thought that this fight would be a walk-over with his taekwondo training, but Eric had shown an impressive amount of resolve.

Dylan crept up behind Eric and looked down at him. He was breathing heavily and he was resting his head in his folded arms on the bench, the fight apparently out of him. He had expected him to be a no-show, or at least cheat by bringing a friend. Instead Eric had put up a fight and wounded Dylan, damaging his face and cutting a hole in his head. Once in taekwondo class a student had burst Dylan's lip and he had returned the favour by "accidentally" breaking his opponent's nose. Dylan could not accept anything other than an outright victory.

Dylan swiftly slipped his right arm around Eric's neck, with the crook of his arm around Eric's throat and his right hand on his own left shoulder. He locked the hold in by placing his left hand on the back of Eric's head and pushing down while squeezing with his right arm. Eric gagged and started waving his arms around, apparently looking for a weapon in thin air.

Dylan snarled, 'Do you yield?' He loosened his grip momentarily, but Eric was unable to speak - all his was capable of was coughing. Dylan reapplied the hold, listening to the gurgling sound of Eric's blocked passageways trying to scoop in air. Dylan snarled more loudly, 'Do you yield?' Eric banged his fist on the bench in desperation and Dylan finally released the hold.

Holding his throat, Eric wheezed as he started to breathe again. He was surprised to see that Dylan had walked to the other side of the bench, and was sitting calmly. He wondered what Dylan was thinking about, maybe his next plan of attack? When Eric felt that he was strong enough to stand up again he lunged towards Dylan and threw a punch which Dylan batted away effortlessly. Eric fell on the ground at Dylan's feet.

Dylan put his hand on Eric's shoulder and said, 'I yield, too. Sit down next to me.' Eric sensed from Dylan's calm demeanour that the fight really was over. He hoped that Dylan was not playing with him because he felt that he really could not fight any longer. He stumbled to his feet and collapsed onto the bench next to Dylan. He found it ironic that they were now sitting together just as they were when their feud started.

For the first time Eric noticed that Dylan was wearing cologne, which seemed strange since he had come to the dam for a fight. Then again, after knowing Dylan for a few weeks he knew that even preparing for a fight would not get in the way of his vanity. Dylan had his head bowed, taking in deep breaths. Eric noticed that Dylan's shoulders were slumped and he had crossed his hands, a far cry from the cocky appearance that he was used to seeing in him.

Dylan turned his head towards Eric and said, 'Are you all right?' He put his left hand over the wound on the side of his head.

'I think so,' Eric said in a croaky voice. 'I bet my nose looks like Thomas' did after you beat him up.'

Dylan looked at Eric's face and said, 'I don't think it's broken. You were bleeding a gusher, though. It's still bleeding a bit.'

'I'm sorry for throwing my blood into your face. I know that it was a dirty move, but I was desperate to buy myself some time. I suppose when a non-fighter like me is up against a taekwondo expert you need to fight dirty. How's your head?'

'It feels like I've been stabbed, but the bleeding is slowing. I'm not really a taekwondo expert; I'm not even a black belt yet.'

'Well, you were good enough to kick my ass. I only managed to get in a few lucky shots.'

Dylan put his arm around Eric's shoulders and said, 'Fuck, Eric.'

Eric did not try to shake Dylan off. He put his forearm on Dylan's right shoulder and said, 'Fuck, Dylan.'

Dylan smiled at Eric, who started laughing. Eric asked, 'Why are we saying "fuck"?' He continued laughing.

Dylan laughed along with Eric. This moment felt to Eric like they were two good friends laughing over old times. Dylan eventually stopped laughing and said, 'This whole situation between us has been fucked up, that's why.'

Dylan bowed his head slightly while he was looking at Eric. He said, 'I took things way too far. It became such an obsession for me to hurt you that I was driving myself crazy. I admit that I have a mean streak, but I've hardly known myself lately. I feel like I've become a monster.'

He tightened his hug on Eric and felt tears beginning to form. Dylan retained his composure and said, 'I'm sorry, Eric. I really am.'

Eric patted Dylan on the shoulder and said, 'I'm sorry, too.' Eric noticed the tears in Dylan's eyes and started to feel emotional himself. They sat in silence for a while, letting the warm breeze of the night wash over them. To Eric it felt like the wind was washing their hatred away.

The only thing that spoilt the moment was the smell of the dam water, which was not oppressive, but it did have a slightly putrid odour to it, probably as a result of a broken sewer main that residents a few kilometres upstream of the dam had been complaining about. The smell made Eric think of his first confrontation with Dylan.

He said, 'There's one thing bothering me. When we started arguing the first time you did not put up much of a fight, apart from slapping me. You let me push you into the dam like you weighed as much as a little kid. Judging by the look on your face you did not appreciate me pushing you in the water.'

'Well, I hope that this does not come as a shock to you, but I was attracted to you, not just as a potential friend, but sexually attracted. That's why I kissed you - I misread you because I thought that you were like me.'

'Alright...'

'Then when you pushed me in the water and those guys started laughing at me like I was a circus clown, while I was emotionally hurt from your rejection. That was why I was so angry. I'll be the first to admit that maybe I have too much of an ego and I can't handle it when I'm made to look bad.'

Eric was surprised by Dylan's confession about his ego, as narcissistic egomaniacs rarely found fault with themselves.

Eric asked, 'Why didn't you just beat me up on the spot? From what I know about you, you just lash out when you're upset. What you did to me seemed like some elaborate plan.'

'I decided against fighting you because it would only entertain those kids who thought we were gays having a falling-out. Besides, a security guard or cop on patrol would have broken us up. I would still be pissed off, with unfinished business. That was why I followed you to your house and worked on a different plan of attack.'

'I can see your point of view, kind of. I have a personal question I want to ask you.'

'Fire away.'

'I read up on the Internet about this whole wet look thing. Like you said, it is popular in some parts of the world, but not here. Didn't you get frustrated with people who thought you were being weird?'

'I did. Sometimes people would ask me if I was alright, and one time security asked me if I wanted them to call a chaplain to talk to. A few people have even prayed for me before! The only people who swam with me were those school kids, and I had to pay one of them to do it. I'm not going to swim in my clothes in public anymore. Besides, I don't know what kind of disease I might catch from the water in this dam.'

'What about your parties?'

'Oh yeah. I'll definitely keep that up. People accept me for who I am, and as you have seen a lot of people end up swimming with me.'

'I think that's cool. One thing I admired about you was your self-confidence and your ability to get people to play along with you at your parties. I have some advice that I would like to give you.'

'What's that?'

'Stay cool, but be nicer to people. You can live a good life without looking down on other people.'

'I know. I have been a real asshole sometimes, going right back to early school days. I always felt superior to other people. I don't know whether it was because I'm a rich kid and I was better-looking than the other kids, or if I felt that most of the other kids were just lame wallflowers.'

'What about us? I'd like us to put this crap behind us and be friends.'

Dylan tousled Eric's hair and said, 'We already are. I'm just thinking... there's another foam party coming up in Sandton next weekend. Do you want to go? Bring some of your own friends, too.'

'I'd like to, but I need to watch my finances. I'm still unemployed.'

'I'm inviting you to a party. I'll pay for you, no problem. As far as work is concerned, I'll speak to my Dad. I'm sure that I can wangle something for you.'

'Thanks a lot, Dylan. You don't know how much this will mean to me.'

Dylan stood up and said, 'No worries. I'll give you a call. Oh, and bring Bianca. You do like her don't you?'

'We've got a good thing going.'

'That's great. I hope that you treat her better than I did.'

Eric stood up and shook hands with Dylan, something that he would have thought impossible before this night. Dylan said, 'Come here,' and hugged Eric again.

As they parted ways and started walking to their cars Eric called out, 'Be good.' Dylan turned and smiled at Eric, giving him a thumbs-up. While Eric was walking to his car he started to cry. Everything that had happened over the past few weeks had been traumatic for him, but he thanked God that it was all over and that he had helped to change Dylan's ways. The thing that he was most grateful for was that he and Dylan were friends, and would hopefully remain friends.

###

Thank you for reading my story. I would appreciate any comments or reviews, whether positive or negative. Please use the contact information provided on the final page to get in touch with me.

James France

### Acknowledgements

Very few books are solely the work of the author. In the process of writing this book several people have helped me along the way, who deserve my thanks. First of all I would like to thank my family and friends for their support (Auntie Susan has been very keen to read this book). Thanks go out to Anthony France for checking over the storyline, and to John France for sifting through my several typos and grammatical errors (I hope that there are none on this page). Many thanks to my friend and fellow author, Wayne Roux, for his invaluable advice on the writing process and independent publishing. You can find him online at http://www.waynerouxauthor.com. I thoroughly enjoyed working with Craig Banks, who created the cover design for this book. More examples of his work can be found on the Facebook account "Craig Banks Art". Last, but not of course least, I would like to thank the team at Smashwords for answering my queries and for providing a platform for independent authors to ply their trade.

### About James France

James France is a novelist and short story writer whose preferred genres are thrillers and horrors. His stories dabble in the mysterious, the macabre and the cerebral. If you like the unconventional and the unexpected, read a James France story. Apart from writing James enjoys reading, loud rock music, and good South African red wine.

Connect with James France

Find me at Smashwords: <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Jamesrfrance>

Email me: mailto:jamesfranceauthor@gmail.com

