The two men sat in silence. Opposite each other in contemplation of this awful dawn. One Smoked. His hand moved mechanically to lift the cigarette to his lips, he drew deeply before lowering the hand to its resting place on the chair arm. His eyes turquoise and sparkling gazed intently at his friend.

The other man was entirely motionless. His eyes were shut tight, as though pushing back some terrible image. His mind spun relentlessly. His palms still sweated, his fingers tingled and his hands shook. His heart beat cold blood through his veins. Yet the thrill of it all the chase, the catch, the victory ran like a silver thread through the black tapestry in his mind.

The smoking man spoke at last; "We have to get rid of the body. His voice was low, barely audible across the room, but his words were crystal clear and caused Timothy to shiver.

Tim opened his eyes. They were red, as though he had been weeping. He blinked almost stupidly at Graham. "Oh. Jesus." He whispered, "Jesus Christ."

"Stop calling for Jesus." Said Graham, "There is nothing he can do for you now."

"What have we done?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"What will we do?"

"I don't know that yet, either." Graham dragged the last of the life from his cigarette, stubbed it out and rose to his bare feet. He walked to the window and pulled the curtains wide.

Timothy moved like lightning, leaping from the sofa, pushing past Graham and swishing the curtains closed again.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't want anyone to see us."

"Timothy," Graham put a warm hand on Tim's shoulder, smiling just a little, "This is the front room, there's nothing to see. All your neighbours who care to know, already know I'm here. My car is parked in your drive, where it has been since yesterday afternoon. I even spoke to Mrs Parker at five past one, when I pulled up." His smile widened just a fraction, "That is all there is to know."

Something in Graham's voice, some dark charm in his tone, calmed Tim down a little.

Graham continued: "We have to act completely normal. Nothing happened. Trust me for once. I have never let you down, and I won't start now." He leaned in and kissed Tim firmly on the lips while his free hand pulled the curtains wide once again. He felt the tension in Tim slip away and an arm go around his waist. "That's better." he almost purred, "Everything will be alright."

"What about the." Tim couldn't bring himself to say the word.

"body?" Graham filled in the blank for him.

"Yeah."

"I'll sort it, babe. I'll sort it."

***

"Tim!" Graham called sharply from upstairs, "Tim, I need some help."

Timothy shivered. For a second, he considered helping himself to one of Graham's mentholated cigarettes. He didn't smoke. Never had done. In fact he was proud to say had never even been tempted by that poison-filled little paper tube that had, once-upon-a-time, been so fashionable. He hated the smell they left in his front room. He hated the smoke that hung in a blue-grey fog around Grahams head. Hated the taste of burnt tobacco when he kissed Graham.

But he loved Graham. Totally.

"Tim?"

"I'm coming."

He forced himself to his feet and approached the stairs hesitantly, as though this house was totally unfamiliar to him, knowing what the task ahead of him was, and still dreading it completely.

He took the stairs one at a time. Not looking up. His feet felt heavy. Unnaturally so. His mind always busy raced at unfathomable speed, visualizing the sight that would greet him. His stomach did a slow role.

"Tim!"

"I'm here."

"You're not moving."

"Huh?"

"We don't have all day, babe."

"Oh. Yeah."

Graham reached out for Tim's hand, gripped it firmly and urged him upwards. At the top of the stairs, Graham hugged Tim tightly. "I'm sorry, Tim." He whispered, "I can't do this on my own."

Tim felt his stomach turn over again. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could already smell it. The dead thing.

The dead thing that lay spread-eagled over the top of his bed.

Graham was gentle, but remained firm as he urged Tim towards the den of horrors that was the bedroom.

It was a warm room. With a low ceiling painted in "Indian Spice", walls in a mellow, gentle yellow, thick-pile carpet in dark rust. The curtains, heavy velvet also in rust, were still drawn closed. There was little light to see with.

Tim winced as Graham flicked on the overhead light switch, drenching the room in harsh white light.

And there it was.

Atop the pale yellow bedcover. Something vile and unnatural. Naked and spread-eagled, as though ready for sacrifice to some blood-thirsty god. The wrists and ankles were still bound, the gaping mouth still gagged and the choke-chain still tight around the swollen throat. And the eyes still stared into the nothingness that we all will one day gaze upon.

"We have to move it." Graham's voice cracked.

Tim turned and bolted, retching, hand clutched over his mouth. The stray thought: "Just like in the movies" flashed almost imperceptibly through his mind.

Graham stood still for a moment, studying the body, listening to Tim puking air and spit. He wanted to do the same thing, as his own stomach looped-the-loop. But his mind was fixed. He would do what had to be done. As he always had. There was no option here. No other way out. But it had to be done carefully. Already Graham had worked out exactly what to say to the police should they come knocking. But it was unlikely to come to that. The dead man once named David Price had no immediate family. Certainly none living in the U.K. No particularly close friends, either, so it would be some time before he was reported as missing. That bought time, at least. And time is like the ocean; the waves crashing ceaselessly on the shore soon swept away the footprints left by passers-by.

Tim returned. Pale and shaking. He looked again at the body and groaned.

"We have to move it to the bathtub." Graham tried not to sound too callous, but firm enough to encourage his partner in more than one way who seemed on the verge of feinting. "You take its legs, I'll take the arms. Between us we should manage." He turned to face Tim, "We have to do this, Tim. We have no choice."

Tim nodded, knowing that Graham was right. Of course he was right. Graham was always right. Graham was the strong one, the smart one.

Tim steeled himself and took a small step towards the foot of the bed. He groaned as he touched the body's ankle. It was till warm, like a dying ember. Still soft, supple and amazingly unwieldy.

David Price had been a big man. Six-foot-six and built like an ox. The only person who had been able to carry David Price when he was alive was David Price himself, but now. The phrase "dead weight" occurred to Tim, and the meaning seemed somehow clearer.

The ten-pace journey from bedroom to bathroom seemed a hundred yards, but they got there eventually, hoisting the body ungracefully into the bathtub and both winced at the hollow "thud-thud" sound it made as it hit the sides. Graham thought to himself that it was a damn good thing that the house was detached. He turned to Tim, "Go for a long walk or something." He instructed, "This will take some time. And for god's sake don't come back until I say."

Tim nodded, forced himself to look away from the crumpled heap of flesh in the bathtub. He studied Graham's face for a moment, almost unnerved by the conviction he saw in the usually-smiling face. He turned and walked away, glancing back once into the bathroom in time to see Graham lift a hacksaw.

"I'll call you." Said Graham flatly as he pushed the door closed.

***

It was hard work. Harder than Graham had at first naively, obviously thought. He had imagined it to be akin to carving the Christmas Turkey: measuring the position of the joint, first cutting through the flesh, then through the muscle, meat and tendon. It was a little like carving a big bird, he supposed, but on a grander scale. And cooked poultry doesn't bleed so profusely. Graham knew there would be no great gush of blood as there was no beating heart, but the blood certainly did flow. And spatter. It seemed to cover every surface in the room. It was over the wall, on the tiled floor, soaking into his jeans and covered his bare torso.

Graham didn't know the time he had of course removed his watch but it was shortly after two in the afternoon. He had been working for almost five hours, and was almost finished. All he had left was to break the chest cavity. Split the ribs and separate the heart and

lungs. Then to clean up, once all the little pieces were packaged up in the black bin liners he had brought up with the hacksaw this morning.

He put the hacksaw down, wiped more sweat from his forehead leaving a streak of bright, fresh blood and reached through the broken ribs to pull out the heart. With the dead heart in his blood-caked hands he realised exactly what he was doing. As if waking from a nightmare. He almost expected to wake up in the bed, warm and comfortable with Tim by his side. There was, of course, no waking moment. Almost without realising it, he began to weep.

With no option, he continued with his grisly task.

***

Tim sat at the back of the auditorium. Eyes open, but unseeing. He was oblivious to the shuffling about him, the giggling kids, grumbling adults, the scent of buttery popcorn and the closing credits on the screen in front.

The movie whatever it had been - was over. He had missed the final happy ending. The hugs and kisses all round. The usual crap that came spewing from Hollywood in an unending fetid stream. All glamorous and pretty. Fake and fairytale.

He had to leave the house. Had to. At first, he had just sat in the sitting room, not knowing what to do, where to go. Then he had heard the sounds. The bumping, scraping, sawing, squealing of metal through bone. He'd been sick again. In the kitchen sink this time. He couldn't remember if he had cleaned it up. Didn't really care. That was when he ran. Almost literally.

He had walked down the street as quickly as he could, around the corner, stopped and wondered stupidly where he was going. After a spell of wondering around the shops in the town, looking at things, seeing none of them, he had somehow ended up here, not watching a movie he had never heard of.

His mind bubbled like a cauldron. Filled with a filthy brew. There was a clear image in his mind of what he felt he knew was going on in his house. All the blood and bits. Flesh and viscera. He could still see the dead man's eyes glazed and empty staring up at the ceiling.

Last nightwhat a night.

At the club, high on alcohol and atmosphere, he and Graham had danced and flirted with each other and others that took their fancy. Just before ten, Graham noticed the guy they had been waiting for. Graham had said it was a surprise for Tim. And it certainly was. David Price. Tall, dark, gorgeously handsome. The stuff of fantasy.

"There he is." Graham had whispered in Tim's ear, "Isn't he just fabulous?"

Tim's heart had stopped beating. Surely Graham didn't know.

Tim had forced that particularly disturbing thought from his mind. "Oh, yeah!" he had responded.

Graham smiled. A grin like a Cheshire cat. Cool, confident, teasing and all the time just a little unnerving. "Do you want him?"

Tim had to look away, unsure of just how much his face was really telling. After a full minute, he answered, "Yes." he said.

"Then you shall have him." Graham slipped away through the crowd and was gone for almost half an hour, leaving Tim to ponder and fret to himself.

When Graham returned, David was in tow. A strange look past over his golden face, then was gone. A bright, smile that warmed Tim's heart. "You a'right?" David had to shout to be heard over Kylie.

"I certainly am." Was Tim's response. His heart beat just a little faster. He saw a strange smile pass over Graham's lips as he turned away.

***

Graham was scrubbing the last of the blood off his chest. The liquid soap was almost finished, his skin was raw and stinging, but the blood had been so stubborn. He was standing under the shower, knowing it was about to run cold. When it did, he told himself, it would be time to get rid of the many pieces of David Price.

He had to get to the garbage tip before it closed. It struck Graham as bizarre that a garbage tip would be fenced, gated and locked every night. The reason was to keep the local yobs out and from causing havoc with their nasty habit of dragging the worst of the rubbish and piling it up in front of the town mayor's ten-bedroom mansion.

Graham sniggered to himself; maybe finding a well decayed dismembered body would stop the vandals.

The water began to chill.

Graham left the shower, dressed in fresh jeans and sweatshirt, and began to shift the black bags.

He intentionally made an open show of loading up his car, knowing it would be pointless to hide his activities from Mrs Parker next door. Mrs Parker would undoubtedly be standing at her kitchen window peering intently at him through her bottle-bottom NHS spectacles.

"Just old clothes and nick-knacks for the charity shop" he told her in his mind.

With the fourth and thankfully final bag in the boot, Graham set off. He stopped once before reaching the sight, to smear a little mud over his number plates. Not too much so as to make it obvious, but enough to make it difficult to make out one or two of the digits. It was unlikely that there would be anyone to see him, but he thought it safer to use the mud than take that chance.

***

Not once had Tim considered the consequences. He wanted something. Something dark and delicious. Something Graham would never give him. Something just a little dangerous.

There seemed little point in making small-talk, but all three men made the effort. Tim was aware only of the smouldering fire in his loins. Like a dog that smells a bitch on heat a block away. His imagination was already well ahead of itself, and there would be no turning back.

Graham called for a taxi cab at about eleven thirty, and they were home in half an hour. With hardly a word spoken between them, they followed each other up to the bedroom.

It was Graham who had pulled the bonds and the choke chain from Tim's wardrobe. At first, Tim was horrified that his carnal collection had been found, but Graham laughed at him. Of course Graham knew. There was nothing about Tim that Graham did not know.

David had giggled like a little boy as the bonds went on him. But the laughter soon stopped.

Both Tim and Graham helped themselves to David's sculptured body, while David himself was powerless, straining sometimes to escape the bonds. His struggling made his muscles writhe sensuously, like small animals beneath smooth skin.

The exact details of the whole experience were no longer clear to Tim. What he did remember was the fact that it was one of the most thrilling, exciting, awe-inspiring moments in time he had ever known. They all three seemed to experience heights of pleasure none had imagined possible until then.

Or was that just him?

Graham seemed keen to let Tim enjoy David while he kept a check on the bonds and choke chain. In fact, he seemed to fade in and out of the scene like some sort of drama teacher, quietly instructing and guiding, before pulling Tim towards himself and whispering something about wanting Tim more than David.

"Because I love you, not him."

Graham reached over David and checked the bonds once more before turning his full attention to Tim.

It was this recollection that turned Tim's blood to ice. Did Graham realise the chain was too tight? Was it.on purpose?

Did Graham know about David already? How could he? That littleencounter was months ago. A brief encounter, at that. Less than a one night stand.

***

Graham was waiting for him. Sitting in his favourite chair, smoking, as usual. The air was heavy with the smoke, but Tim sensed something else in the air.

Before Graham said a word, Tim knew what was coming.

"It's done." Graham spoke softly. "It's over." His eyes glittered with an unfamiliar light, but he managed a smile that was almost familiar.

"Oh. Right". Tim's throat was tight. He had had time to settle his mind in the walk home, and now felt a little foolish. Surely he could say he knew Graham well enough after these last few years, to know he wasn't capable of deliberate murder.

Graham stood and opened his arms, a gesture that Tim knew well. They stood in silent embrace for a few moments. Tim allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.

Graham spoke. His voice was cold, and the words were jaggered shards of splintered metal. "I warned, you didn't I?" His arms tightened around Tim, vice-like, "I warned you. Cheat on me and I'll kill you. But I couldn't. I couldn't because I love you." The arms tightened further, taking Tim's breath away, "I love you more than you will ever, ever know. And I could never let you go."