The Picture In The Attic

Remy found himself reading page after page of the journal, becoming so intent that he neglected the hour until late. Beautiful swirls of practiced cursive spun together forming elegant words of lust and devotion.

One entry read how Jacques and his regiment were led by Lt. General John Pemberton into Vicksburg to fight against General Grant in a multi-city attack full of confusion, victory and inevitable defeat by Grant. It was here that the military tone changed to that of hate for the other side, and then to unexpected friendship and romance of one soldier to another.

July 2, 1863

It is my turn to stand guard at the West Post of the town.
Several of us have been stabbed and killed by an unknown
predator during the night. John [Pemberton] thinks Grant
is up to foolishness and so asked me to watch over my
small group of men.

I am now two hours into my watch, and so far I only
hear the crickets chirping through ringing in my ears
from the loud canons of the day. Neither me or
Private Flynn hear anything. The night is peaceful
to us.

By my second cup of coffee, I hear strange rustlings
in the trees. I am going to check on the sounds. I
have already told Flynn to watch for my light if
danger finds me. 11.32 PM.

Leaning back into a tub of hot bathwater, Remy held the book above water and read the very entry over and over again, imagining Jacques standing at his post and scribbling the words down before closing the book and turning to the dark forest. He turned the page and found the next entry to be on the morning of the 3rd of July.

His head rest against the wall and his body, balancing on his bottom to stay in one place, began pulsing with entrancement in each word. He read of Jacques capture and lost fight of freedom as a bear of a man attacked him from a tall tree and forced him into submitting, after he was pressed to the ground with what felt like a knifepoint in his back. As he savoured each word, he began to close his eyes and place himself as his grandfather, being overrun by a Union soldier.

Remy closed the book and placed it on the lid to the wicker hamper, beside the tub, before sighing and sinking lower into the warmth. It was evening already and he chose a bath before finishing his investigation into Jacques mysterious past. His mind replayed the words in his head as if listening to a recording while seeing the pictures of the story play out.

July 3, 1863

Since my last writings, I have become prisoner
to the most unique of men. I am not bound nor
gagged but I can feel him guarding me,
eventhough he is asleep.

I came upon him last night during my check of
a noise. I was well into the forest when he
dropped down from a tree and knocked my
musket out of my hands. I was able to turn
around and see my attacker before he was
gone from in front of me, and came to stand
behind me. I could hear his wicked laugh as
he swung at my coat with knives.

We rolled around in the dirt and leaves and
fought as two wild men. The look in his eyes
was as if he had forgotten he was wearing a
yankee uniform. He was able to best me by
shoving me to the ground, again, and pressing
what felt like a knife to my back. I could hear
his cruel whisper in my ear, telling me not to
move. I did not.

I now find myself in his tent, in the middle of
the forest. I believe us to be on the outskirts
of Grant's armies. However, I cannot say
completely.

He lay there in the tub for awhile, with his eyes closed. He had skimmed over a few entries after the capture and found himself picturing what happened. Relaxing back into the tub as Jacques lay back on the bed, and moved his hand flatly across his chest as Logan had done to his counterpart. Moving his hand down to his waist and stopping just before his erection, his fingers tickled the patch of skin at the base before slowly wrapping his hand around his manhood.

~~~~~~~~~

Logan was fully dressed in his uniform but took the time to undress Jacques while exploring his smooth and hairless body. Tossing the shell jacket aside and carefully unbuttoning the shirt's five breast buttons, Logan sighed annoyedly and pulled the whole garment off of his captive. He watched as Jacques' eyes followed the shirt as it landed on floor, along with the jacket, before making another daring move.

"What are you doing? I have no secret compar'ments on my body." Jacques lay there on the cot, reclining on his elbows and giving the man a dangerously brave look. A hand came up to the back of his neck and held him there. He found himself staring into the eyes of his captor and fighting an urge to shiver as the man let go of his neck and wrapped his fingers around the thin band that held his long ponytail. His head jerked back as the band slipped off of the hair, letting auburn locks spill free.

Crouching just over his prisoner, Logan smiled wickedly. "I ain't lookin for compartments. But since you brought it up....." His eyes shifted lower, to Jacques' pants. He began to unfasten them and only smirked as Jacques grabbed at the sides of the cot out of startlement. Removing the pants along with heavy black calvary boots, Logan tossed the clothes into a pile on the far side of the tent. Standing up to stare down at the young captain, Logan added. "I prefer to question my prisoners without having to worry about what they might be hiding." He grinned at the site of a naked Confederate Captain, frozen in terror and humiliation, laying on his cot. "Now, why don't you start by tellin me yer name, rank, and all that."

Tensing as he sat up and covered his manhood with his hands, a firm answer was replied with a deep Cajun drawl. "Captain Jacques LeBeau, 15th regiment to de Confederate States, under President Davis. What does a yankee like you care?" Jacques glared at his short, hairy and timid captor.

"Who's yer commandin officer, so I'll know where to send the body?"

Jacques didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the man who stood not 3 paces away, and plotted multiple escape routes in his head.

Logan lift his left foot and placed it against the side of the cot, draping his arms across his thigh and leaning over to ask again. "Commandin officer, boy." He leaned forward even more to stare into Jacques' eyes and growl his anger as his question continued to go unanswered.

"Since ya gonna kill me anyway, why should I tell ya? I'm bettin you already know where my camp is, you can bring me dere. If you so bold." Jacques spat a clever retort that made Logan lean back and sigh again in annoyance.

"I kill if I see fit. But, right now, I just want answers or you just might get to go home in a pine box." Logan growled louder, leaned forward and reached for the back of Jacques head to grab a fist full of soft auburn hair. "Commanding officer, now!"

Jacques groaned at his hair being pulled and head being tossed back, harshly. "Pemberton. Lt. General John C. Pemberton. Don't Grant tell you Northern boys anythin?" Feeling bold enough to glare at his verbal attacker, Jacques balled his fists and snarled at the man.

A glare that turned into a smirk and then a quiet laugh as Logan sat back, releasing Jacques' hair. "Nope. He don't. Lieutenant Logan Howlett, 5th regiment from New York." He introduced himself and smiled a smug smile. "For the record." Logan retreated his foot from the cot and stood up to turn around and pick up the pile of clothing and go through it.

"I've told you who I am, must you go through thin's dat ain't yers, too?" Jacques scowled as Logan squat down and picked up the gray jacket. Since he had begun to argue with Logan, he had forgotten that he sat there in the nude. Seeing Logan going through his clothes regained his humility and made him shiver.

Logan tossed the crumpled shirt back at Jacques. "Just tired of you shiverin like a scared rabbit."

A cool breeze from the air conditioner made Remy shiver as he opened his eyes to find himself sitting in cold bathwater. He hadn't realised that while his eyes were closed, thinking of being undressed by Logan, he was enjoying the private show in exhibition. He began stroking himself, slowly, and as the scene intensified, Remy found something so erotic in the way Logan had carefully undressed him and stood there as if to admire him? It had only aroused him more that Logan paid no attention to the man's naked body but, leaned forward to ask his questions. He came as Logan had pulled his hair and growled at him, finding something so sexual and predatorial in that that Remy lost all control. Taking a deep breath before sitting forward to drain the water, he stood up and turned the fawcett on, letting warm water caress his body. The entry still fresh in his mind as he soaped his body and his hair before rinsing and shutting the water off. Hurriedly, Remy dried himself and picked up the book from the hamper lid, making his way back into the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~

Slipping on his gray sweatpants and carrying the damp towel back to the towelrack in the bathroom, he paused to look at the painting. "Naughty man, mon brave. Naughty naughty." Shaking his head and continuing, he laughed to himself about his curious fantasy.

The journal he had left sitting on the bed, while he yawned and shuffled back down the stairs to shut off lights and check the doors to be locked. Leaving the livingroom for last, he walked over to the trunk and looked about the contents still inside. Something caught his eye at the bottom and he bent over, reached in and let it sit in his palm as he stood back up.

A small silver, oval locket with a tiny raised cross on the front, accompanied by a thin silver chain. Hesitating before opening it, he had a feeling he knew what he would find. Two small pictures on either side; one of Logan and the other of Jacques. "Talk about obsession." He said quietly and tucked the locket into his right pocket as he closed the lid and shut off the lights, leaving the room.

Remy closed his bedroom door and took out the locket as he sat down on the bed, facing the painting. His hand idled over the cover of the journal as he stared into Logan's eyes on the painting. He held the locket in his left hand and let his thumb run over the cross, almost rubbing it away. The other hand held the book tightly as if he were afraid to let it go.

The phone rang and Remy jumped at the sudden noise that broke the intense quiet. Getting up and letting go of the book, he turned and walked over to the phone on the empty side of the bed. He pushed the button and said hello.

"It's me, poppie. Bobbie." The tiny voice of a 7 year old spoke up.

Remy smiled. "Hey petite. It's late, non?" He stared at the blue numbers on the clock on his side of the bed as he asked.

Roberta sniffled and answered. "Yea but, gran'pa says I can call you and tell you goodnight. Alex says g'night too, and dat I'm a baby fer callin' you. But, gran'pa says dat it's his phone an' I can call if I want to. You miss me, poppie?"

Choking on his slight sorrow of her words, Remy smiled even more and nodded to himself. "Oui, chile. I miss you so much but, you have fun wit' your grandpa an' I'll see you on Sunday. Okay? I love you, petite. G'night."

"Night, poppie!" Was the cheerful reply before she blew a kiss into the phone and hung up to go to bed.

"Night cherie." He whispered as he pushed the button to hang up the phone. Placing it back on the stand, he yawned again. Being that the light overhead had been on, Remy walked back around the end of the bed and hit the light, leaving the bedside light on. He crawled onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, with the locket and journal in his hand.

He stared at the painting a moment before yawning again and placing the book and locket on his nightstand. Sinking down into the bed, he reached up to turn off the light and lay there in the darkness, thinking about the night in Logan's tent, and if it was coincidence that he looked like his grandfather. "Morning. I'll get to it in de morning." He told himself as the last thing he saw between his closing eyes, was the potrait of Logan.

Continued......