The Straightforward Pathway Has Been Lost…
"Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost." Inferno, Canto I, DanteXXX
AN: If you absolutely adore Stella Gibson…this story is not for you. I do not own the characters, plot, etc. from The Fall. I simply felt like taking them for a dark run…
I humbly apologize in advance…but there were issues in The Fall which affected the timeline of my story. Part of me wanted to think Paul tried to love and marry Sally to create a normal, stable, happy home life for himself. However, they married in 2004 according to one of the police meetings. Additionally, Olivia must turn eight before Sarah Kay is killed in April 2012 because of the comment she makes in the park. Consequently, Sally must be pregnant with Olivia when they marry.
Also, I apologize in advance…there will be triggers (sexual content, moral ambiguity, violent content, unsettling dark quotes). The triggers advance the plotline. I do not make light of Paul Spector's actions.
"People" watching is Peter/Paul's euphemism for watching the ladies.
XXX
Chapter One
June 2002 ~~~ 'when the ship began to sail'
After the incident with Rose, Peter felt he needed to leave Belfast to protect himself. He had no guarantee Rose would not go to the police. He could argue it was consensual rough sex…but the hideous bruises on her neck would betray the undercurrent in him. Her bruises would put him on police radar. He saw Rose was conflicted the last time they were together. He didn't know if she was afraid to continue their dark sexual exploration, afraid of how she felt about him, or if she was simply afraid of him. She simply said they were over. When she promised to never tell anyone about their sexual exploration; he swore to go away and never contact her again.
He packed important things (composition books, lingerie, pictures and a small document lockbox) in a footlocker. His mannequin was stored in a sturdy shipping box. He went to a lock-up facility which offered small storage units to students over the summer to store things needed in dormitory rooms and flats when classes resumed in the fall. He rented one of their 4x4 units for a year and safely stored his dark possessions.
His lockbox contained a picture of his mother, a lock of her hair, a picture of him when he was ten, Peter Baldwin's passport and his Peter Paul Spector birth certificate. His father was John Paul Spector, the son of a Russian Jewish couple in Northern London. He was a soldier, assigned to Belfast during the troubles when he met Mary Garrison and sired a son. Peter was not interested in searching for John Paul Spector or his parents.
Peter sold everything he owned of value, including his car, and traveled to London. He found a bed and meals at a men's only refuge, run by Catholic nuns. He remembered enough prayers and ecclesiastical teachings from his younger days to convince the nuns he was a poor, but honorable, Irish Catholic boy who was down on his luck. Essentially, Peter planned to hide in plain sight.
He hired out as day labor, paid at the end of each day. His physical strength was appreciated at truck yards, loading and unloading trucks; or railway yards, loading and unloading rail cars; or at construction sites. Ten-hour days netted him £40 a day.
At the end of the first day, he bought toiletries, a small lockbox and a lock. He put all his funds, except twenty pounds, in his lockbox and secured his possessions in his assigned locker with his personal lock.
When Peter wasn't working as day labor, he did odd jobs and manual labor at the church, convent, refuge and charity shop for credit at the charity shop, acquiring clothes, books and other needed items. His willingness to perform manual labor for older members of the parish endeared him to the nuns. They had tasks for him from sunrise to sunset on weekends which prevented him from dwelling on Rose…and what if? Before two weeks passed, he obtained a footlocker to hold his possessions when he moved on.
Peter attended the earliest mass on Sunday morning. It was attended by nuns and devout members. The brunettes, too young to interest him, sat with their family. They carried their rosaries and Bibles like an invisible, inviolate shield against assault on their virginity. It amused him.
Peter found a job working at a Caribbean restaurant as a waiter from six to midnight, Tuesday through Saturday. His good looks earned him flirtatious glances and generous tips. Customers, both male and female, wrote their name and private mobile number on the back of business cards tucked inside his tips. He was not interested in any patron of the restaurant. He was not interested in the high school girls who worked at the restaurant.
Because of his work hours, he moved out of the refuge into a pay-by-the-week hotel room, where he kept his money and possessions locked away in the footlocker on the floor of his closet. At the end of his first work week at the restaurant; he went to a pub which catered to college students…and crossed paths with David Alvarez.
XXX
"I owe you," David said. "You know why."
"The night in the dormitory?" Peter asked.
"Yes. I thought you would pick me. You looked at me. Jensen looked at me. I knew he wanted me. But you walked right past me and choose another boy." David said nervously.
"He tried to convince me it was the will of God for me to choose you." Peter said.
"Why didn't you…" David swallowed hard.
"Why didn't I choose you?" Peter asked. "Revenge. I picked the brother of the chosen boy who picked me."
"I'm taking classes and working on my general studies degree. But I have a place in Brixton, and you can stay with me if you want to. I just ask you pay for your own food, drink and drugs." David offered.
"If I move in – you never touch me. You never proposition me," Peter demanded.
"Agreed," David said. "I like girls…college girls."
'So do I,' Peter thought to himself, and had flashbacks of Rose…naked in his bed…her mouth on his cock…passed out while he fucked her hard…and the tender way he worshipped her body because he hoped she loved him.
XXX
David taught him to donate to a sperm bank. Although he was only paid £35 pounds per donation and could only donate ten times, he couldn't turn down an easy £350 profit in a few weeks' time. Peter's good looks worked in his favor. Once Peter tested as clean; the fertility specialist, swayed by his handsome face and physique; decided to forgo any counseling sessions.
One of the older waitresses. Rita, taught him that a blush and a shy smile would triple his tips. She taught him to manicure his nails and use hand cream with cotton gloves nightly to keep his hands soft. She taught him how to use an exfoliating facial weekly to keep his face moisturized. She took him to a salon to get a stylish haircut and eyebrow trim. She taught him to utilize correct posture always. She helped him practice serving wine and holding trays. She taught him which wines to recommend for different dishes.
He spent his available funds on real gold cufflinks and a gold tie tack. They were simple disks with a brushed surface. He took great pleasure in throwing the gold-tone ones he had been wearing in the trash. As his generous tips continued, he purchased a gold-plated watch and a gold-plated pen to take orders.
Rita recommended Peter to her previous employers who owned a catering firm. The catering firm assured Peter if he dressed better...he would be hired for the better events...which meant better wages and tips. Rita counseled him on purchasing quality, high end men's clothes. He spent his sperm bank funds on two black silk ties, two white dress shirts, two pairs of black dress pants, a good black leather belt, and black designer men's shoes.
The catering firm only hired the best looking, best spoken, best workers for wedding breakfasts. A four-hour wedding breakfast netted him £20 and a share of the tip from the bridal party. However, his pockets were filled with £5, £10 and £20 notes, with mobile numbers and names.
It was uncanny how Peter could remember beautiful brunette brides to recreate in his composition book:
A lovely brunette with mischievous grey eyes; her hair in a messy updo; a bottle of champagne exploding between her naked and perky breasts…
A saucy brown-eyed brunette with curly hair which brushed the swells of her naked breasts; wearing a bridal white thong; captured in a mirror while she adjusted her suspender and stockings…
A sweet hazel-eyed brunette with an oval face; wearing nothing but her veil which swirled around her hips and accented her heart-shaped ass…
A blushing brunette with jade green eyes and delicate freckles; sitting in a chair with her legs spread; covering her sex with the bridal bouquet...the deep pink roses of the bouquet matching her pouty lips and erect nipples…
A sedate dark-blue eyed brunette, with 'just-been-fucked' tousled hair; full, firm breasts with \ erect nipples, kneeling on a white fur rug; her hands handcuffed to her ankles; her knees spread…
A vivacious brown-eyed brunette sitting on white satin sheets which offered a tantalizing view of the top of her ass, but covered her legs…brushing her hair over one shoulder…her left breast visible…
An enchanting ebony-haired beauty…naked and leaning against a four-poster bed…wearing white stockings and stilettos…her right leg bent to cover her naked sex…her buxom breasts jutted forward…her head tipped back…eyes closed…
Peter was sure his drawings of the brunette brides were more erotic than their wedding nights which seemed to promise them ordinary sex with ordinary men. He stalked three of the guests from the wedding breakfasts. Peter broke into their flats and stole only white silk or satin panties…the better to masturbate with when he drew erotic pictures of the brunette brides.
XXX
"Rough night?" The pretty brunette waitress at his favorite diner asked Peter.
"Yes," He shrugged. "One of the waiters didn't show tonight, so we were quite busy. I won't complain about the extra work because the tips were excellent."
"You frequent us when you don't go drinking with friends after your Saturday shift at the restaurant," she said.
"I worked a wedding breakfast this morning, it was a ten-hour workday." Peter said. He made over £300 in catering pay, catering tips, and restaurant tips today. He kept three mobile numbers and names from two brunette bridesmaids and a cousin of the bride. The groom's father slipped a £50 note in Peter's pocket, with his business card. Peter enjoyed passing the tip and number to another male waiter, who blushed and smiled.
"Pancakes, eggs and bacon with juice? No coffee or tea to keep you awake?" She asked.
"I didn't know you were so observant," Peter said stiffly. "However, I'd like waffles this morning instead of pancakes."
"I watch everyone. I plan to study theatre arts in college," she said airily. "I want to become a famous actress someday."
"When do you start college," he asked casually, but his self-preservation alarm screamed at him.
"This fall; I've been accepted for Theatre and Performance Studies at King's College here in London." She wrote down his order. "Hey, how is Bernie's new tattoo?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know she had one." Peter didn't pay attention to the personal lives of his coworkers. He read a complimentary copy of a college newspaper, but watched the brunette waitress as she worked. She was observant…too observant. He took the events calendar from the paper and tucked it in his pocket. Free events meant 'people' watching.
"How do you know Bernie got a tattoo?" Peter asked when she brought his breakfast.
"She didn't sit in a booth for two weeks. She sat at the counter. I could see a large bandage across the small of her back, under her shirt when she bent down to pick up her keys which she dropped." Bethany explained.
"Interesting," Peter said, attacking his breakfast. A routine was necessary to make you unobserved; to make you blend into the masses, to prevent you from making obvious mistakes. Perhaps he should ask Bethany what else she observed about him so he could correct obvious tells before he moved on.
When he woke later today, he would shop at a stationery store. He needed new composition books and art pencils; especially since he had the events calendar guiding where and when he would 'people' watch. Tomorrow, he would be sure to attend the Shakespeare on Sunday event in the community park close to campus. He enjoyed the pictures of the attractive brunette cast members in the newspaper.
August 20, 2002 ~~~ 'twas like a bird without a tail'
When Peter became alert on the morning after Susan's death, he packed everything he owned in the footlocker and his trusty backpack. He eliminated any written reference to himself from the Brixton flat before the police sought David with questions about Susan's death. Removing his fingerprints and any possible DNA from the place was a chore; but worth the effort. He had a list of places to check for fingerprints...ice cube trays, light bulbs, light switches, shelves in the medicine cabinet and shelves in the refrigerator; and places to check for DNA…rails on beds, hair from shower drains, washer and dryer filters, bars of soap, etc. He saved almost £2000 from ten weeks of work at both the restaurant and the catering service. Supporting himself, drinking and drugs ate away at his financial safety net. After dark, he left David's flat and walked 30 blocks to a cab stand. He took a cab to a hotel by the train station.
Forty-eight hours later, when the death of Susan Harper and the picture of David Alvarez appeared in the news; Peter took trains and a ferry to Belfast, with his backpack and the footlocker containing his worldly goods. At the train station, he 'people' watched while pretending to read Selected Letters of James Joyce. The letters were risqué and titillating, revealing the intimacy between Joyce and his wife. The title of the book kept everyone from asking questions. They didn't want to be bored to death by an academic.