Chapter 1

When Brian’s eyes snapped open, it was still dark outside. The house was still and there was nothing in the air to cause his wakefulness. His exposed skin told him the air was cool and comfortable, a typical early summer morning in the northeast.

No sense in waiting, he thought. The bedside clock said it was 5:11 a.m. Well, there were things to do.

He flipped the covers back and swung his feet out. The wooden floor was cool against his feet, but not uncomfortably so. A momentary pause and then he stood. The sensation of rising, brought him a sense of nostalgia. Odd, that something like getting out of bed would give such a thing, but this was a new day, and with it, a change in his life. Off to the pisser.

Completing the morning ablutions, similar ideas and expectations of ‘what’s going to change for me after this?’ were forefront in his mind, while the body just moved through its paces, performing all of the activities via muscle memory and inertia.

Do I dress up? Brian decided to put on a decent shirt and some slacks, but nothing too fancy. It was typical of what he’d wear to work. Professional, but since he often had a lab coat or different personal protective equipment on, a suit never made sense.

Once dressed, he went downstairs and went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. He didn’t know if he had tea. Closer to six a.m., he took the last of the eggs from the fridge and scrambled them. The refrigerator of a solitary man is often a barren place, and Brian’s was no exception; however, he had intentionally not restocked, simply based on the uncertainty of the journey he was about to embark upon. No sense in getting a bunch of food he may not need. There was just so much damn uncertainty about it all. But his guests weren’t very forth coming with details.

It was only about another hour or so before they were scheduled to arrive.

The business card sat on the table, black with the name in white Gothic on the front,

Corax and Grum

He fingered the edges of the card, before turning it over. The writing hurt his eyes. The back mirrored the front, all white with black Gothic font

Writing Wrongs

Very odd. He swore that it said something else the last time he looked at it. But the misspelling made him chuckle.

There was no contact information. There was no address or any other information about the group. In fact, the card itself was probably the least weird part of how this whole chain of events even started.

At nine p.m. on a Wednesday a few months prior, Brian sat in the Yardarm Pub, down near the waterfront, with a longneck beer in hand. Not to say he was a regular, but other regulars in the Yard could tell the day of the week by what Brian’s drink of choice was. Domestic longneck beer was the sign for Wednesday. Bourbon neat with a water chaser was Friday. A full glass of Shiraz for Saturday. It was a little affectation for him to break up the monotony of drinking too much. If he drank the same thing every night, it would be too easy to call him a drunk. This way, he was just eccentric.

It’s not like he had any place else to be, or person to be with. No, Kristen had seen to that, and seen to it very effectively. So, it was either the Yardarm and Mitch behind the bar, and whomever was in that night, or it was home staring at the walls and drinking to even worse excess. He figured if he was going insane, then he may as well do it with some company.

Bar staff are used to the lonely heart’s pleadings, their sob stories as if they were prosecuting to a jury. Most times, the teller of the story was the aggrieved party and just wanted their complaints to be heard and validated. Sometimes, they were the guilty ones, looking for absolution. Brian’s story was unknown. He just politely declined to talk about why he was there so often. The closest anyone got was a “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” response about his past.

He was polite and cordial to the Yard’s staff, and they looked to him warmly, with affection but also a bit of sadness. He didn’t shy from conversation with anyone, but didn’t go out of his way to start any.

But over the almost three years he had been coming to the Yard, it was the odd look in his eye at times was the tell for the Yard’s staff that he was hurting. Nothing in conversation or demeanor, but in the way he looked or focused his attention at certain times. Something about a sense of longing in a glance that could be identified as once having something and then losing it. Any staff working in dive bars for any period of time have seen that look – it’s someone drinking themselves to death because they have nothing else to live for.

That night the Yard was moderately busy; most of the tables were taken, but there was no band and a reasonable conversation volume was possible, if there was someone to talk to. Brian sat alone nursing his fourth beer. He had planned on two more before he’d walk the three blocks to his second-floor apartment. He was looking across the bar, off in the mid-distance, not at anyone or anything.

“Is this seat taken?” a dry creaky voice to the right of him sounded. There was an accent to it, something vaguely European but not wholly identifiable. Broken from his reverie, he turned and was chest level with a man in a black suit and overcoat. Looking up, the face towering over him was quite long and lean. Gaunt was the word that came to mind. A pronounced Roman nose sat between high cheekbones with hollow cheeks hanging from them; all above a thin almost lipless mouth. Dark and deep-set eyes, almost entirely pupil, stared down at him. Long stringy hair, probably in need of a shower, parted over a high forehead framed the man’s face down to the jawline. Atop that, a dark scally cap sat on his head. The man peered intently at Brian, as if the answer was vitally important, yet he was very still.

“Hmmm? Ah, no. Help yourself.” Brian suddenly needed to be looking away from that face, so he looked back at his mid-distance focus point, and moved his bar stool slightly away from the empty chair targeted by the stranger. The stool squawked as it moved.

“Thank you kindly.”

Brian casually nodded towards the man, but didn’t meet those dark eyes again. For such a tall man, he slid into the seat quite easily, bringing his knees up to sitting just below the overhang of the bar top. The posture reminded Brian of an eager school child leaning forward in a chair. The hat came off and was placed on the other side of the man.

The man ordered a hot tea from Mitch, and retrieved a small coin purse from inside the dark overcoat. The coat fabric rustled softly.

Brian was looking away but found his focus was completely on his companion. From his peripheral vision, Brian saw long, bony fingers delicately pluck the cup off the saucer and brought it to the mouth. A quick slurp and the cup was returned.

This was repeated a few times until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Funny. Why come to a pub for a cup of tea?” Brian asked, looking straight ahead.

“Why indeed!”

Brian could feel the man’s lips pull back on his face. He turned his head and confirmed the grin. The man had the same focus as Brian, straight ahead, mid-distance. Large teeth, yellowed and even like tombstones in a church yard were framed by the thin pale lips. The man then turned to survey Brian, with a slight cock of the head, and the smile got bigger, lips pulling back around the curve of the skull. It seemed there were too many teeth in his mouth.

“I suppose it’s the company,” he continued, holding Brian’s gaze while raising the tea cup back for another sip. “Maybe the conversation. If a conversation were to occur.” Mitch came by with a refresher for the tea. “Thank you, sir!” the man cheerfully added. He produced a rough bronze coin with a funny design from the coin purse and slid it along the bar. The movement was graceful and sly, as if performing a sleight of hand.

The head swiveled back to Brian. “Is that of interest to you, hmmm? A conversation?”

Brian felt himself drawn to the man, into the dialogue started, almost unwillingly. “Um, OK.” Awkward. As if unsure where to start, he forced himself to turn in his seat towards the tall man. “I’m Brian. Brian Whalley.” The large dark pores on the man’s cheek and jaw gave him a permanent five-o’clock shadow.

“Hello Brian Whalley. I’m Corax.” The large pale hand reached out, growing from the sleeve of the overcoat to shake Brian’s hand. Brian’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Just Corax,” he said, answering the unasked question.

“Is that Dutch?”

“Not that I’m aware.” The big grin was mildly unsettling. “What is it you do, Mr. Brian Whalley?”

“Please, it’s just Brian.” Corax nodded in assent. “I’m a scientist. A microbiologist, actually.”

“Really? What is it you study?”

“Well, it’s a bit boring, but I’m the head of operations for a sterilization service provider.” Corax blinked, waiting for him to continue. “We receive products made by other companies like medical and surgical products and things like that and then we process them to make them sterile so that they’re safe for consumers. We kill all the bacteria and nasty stuff living on products.”

Most people’s eyes glazed over when he described this, but not Corax.

“I find that fascinating, Brian. Consider me a user of your work!” Corax’s eyes sparkled while his mouth made a pinched tight, lippy smile, which made Brian take another sip from his beer. “How does it work?”

“You really wanna know? It’s fine for me but it’s a bit boring.”

“Most definitely!” The crook of Corax’s head made him feel like he was under the microscope.

“Well, we take the bulk product, packages and all, and put products into a closed chamber and pump in a really toxic gas, called ethylene oxide. The gas seeps into the product through the packaging and kills all of the microorganisms on the product.”

“Wouldn’t that poison the person who uses it?” the tall man was more interested that Brian had thought he would be.

“No actually. Good question though.” He relaxed as he spoke; this was his comfort zone and he really did enjoy his work, though many thought it was, well, boring. “After exposing the products, the gas is pumped out under vacuum before clean air is pumped back in. We repeat that several times to draw out a little more of the gas with each cycle. In time, all of it is removed. Within a few hours, the product is completely safe to use.”

“My, that is simply wonderful. You kill so many things!” he steepled his long fingers while his head bobbed up and down in delight.

Brian gave an uneasy smile, which felt wrong on his face. “Huh, yeah, I never thought about it that way.”

“Simply delightful, that ethylene oxide!” The sight of the man shivering with delight at the idea was supremely creepy, but oddly endearing.

“Yeah, well, like I said it’s nasty stuff. Not only does it kill everything it touches, it’s also highly explosive.”

“Marvelous!” Corax cackled, a high and reedy noise, while his dark eyes twinkled. “I think I quite like you, Brian. You’ve given me something to think about.” Corax emptied his teacup and stood. Placing his hat back on, and once again extended a long arm to Brian. “I have some things to look after, but perhaps I can have a conversation with you again Brian? I think I’d quite like to hear more about you.”

Brian was a bit taken by the whole odd conversation, but found himself nodding. Despite the man’s distinct appearance and odd behavior, there was something honest and appealing about him. He appeared to not be ill-intentioned, just different. And he did break up the monotony of sitting alone and slowly poisoning himself.

“Sure. I’m here regularly,” and for the first time, he grinned a genuine smile.

“Of course you are!” Corax nodded before heading towards the door. He noticed that Corax had to duck his head on the way out the door. He also noticed the way the rest of the guests were also staring at the departure of the tall strange man.

Mitch walked over and cleaned the tea cup and saucer, while scooping up the change. He looked at the coins in his hand, did a double take, with eyes wide like the saucer in his hand. Brian shrugged his shoulders. Mitch scampered to a corner to look at the coins under a bright light before pocketing them.

Brian finished his beers and headed home, but had a grin on his face almost the entire time, for the first time in a long time.

It was another two weeks before the strange man Corax rejoined Brian at The Yard, this time on Tequila Sunrise Tuesday. Brian has returned the first few nights, expecting to see his strange companion. When he found himself alone, he just drank, excessive even to his own standards. After that weekend, Brian returned to his “normal” drinking levels.

Brian had been lost in his own world, when the voice was next to him. “Ah, Brian. Is this seat taken?” In a near repeat of their first meeting, Brian was startled by the presence next to him before inviting the visitor to sit. Corax slid into the chair in the weird, bird-like manner, with his knees just below the bar top. The hat was placed on the bar.

“Are you staying near here, Mr. Corax?” Brian signaled to Mitch for a tea.

“Thank you, Brian. No. I do not stay here. I pass through here on my duties. And please, if we are to be social, I am simply Corax.” Mitch placed the tea cup in front of him. Corax let the bag steep before removing it.

“What is it you do, Corax?”

“Hmmm,” followed by a pause. “I do many things, but if I’m honest, I’m a traveler. Here and there, here and there,” with a light sing-song. He sipped at the tea, with a small smile. “Ah. Import/Export. That would be it.” Putting down the cup and reaching into the overcoat. Fishing in a pocket for a moment, he produced a business card.

Corax and Grum

In a white font on a black card. Brian examined it. Reading the words made his eyes itch, if such a thing were possible. Flipping it over, the card was white with black writing:

Relocation for All

“I hear there’s good money in that,” Brian signaled for a refill.

“Is there? Hmmm. I’ve found it’s more of a calling.” Those big teeth in that uncomforting smile. “But it’s not without its rewards.”

“Who’s Grum?”

“Ah. Grum is my partner.”

Brian waited a moment for an explanation. When one wasn’t forthcoming, he asked “And?”

“Ah, yes. Apologies. Sometimes I can be quite forgetful about conversation,” Corax signaled for another tea, and in a moment, produced from his coat the coin purse. “If I were the front face of the organization, Grum would be the back end. He handles, say, the operational aspect of the service.”

Mitch waited in front of Corax as long slender fingers fished two dull silver coins of odd size and placed them on the bar. Brian didn’t recognize them, but Mitch was practically jumping to sweep them up. Again, Mitch retreated to study the coins on the other side of the bar. Corax just steeped the tea bag.

“Does Grum travel with you?”

He could practically hear the thin lips peel back as Corax grinned. “Oh yes, he has to join me. The service requires the two of us.” A sip.

“Is he here?”

“Yes,” Corax looked on into Brian’s mid-distance.

“Where?” he asked, looking around in The Yard for someone just like Corax.

“Outside.” As if that answered everything.

“Why doesn’t he come in?” Brian swiveled his head, trying to get a look outside for Grum.

“Well, as I said, I’m the business side of the service.” Corax turned to Brian. His look was somewhat softer and more understanding. Either that, or Brian was growing accustomed to Corax’s odd look and manner. “Grum is happy to remain away from customers until he is needed and then ... well, he does what he must.”

Brian thought about this, while Corax finished his tea. Standing, Corax said “Here we must part, Brian.”

“Oh, OK. Work?”

“Yes, my responsibilities are constant. ‘Never busier’ and all that.” Corax gestured, raising his index finger, as if he were reciting his business’s slogan.

“Well, I wish you good luck. I enjoyed our talk, Corax.”

“Yes, Brian. I did as well. I shall be by, sooner this time, if my scheduling is correct. And it usually is.” I hope to speak with you more at that time.” A nod to Mitch, who came by immediately to see if there was anything else he could do for Corax.

“Great,” Brian saluted the departing figure with his empty Collins glass. “Give my regards to Mr. Grum.”

Corax turned. A pause. “Done,” he said with a nod. “That’s quite kind, as he doesn’t get to meet people as often as I do. Thank you, Brian.”

“You’re welcome.” And with that, the tall figured ducked under the door frame, and was out the door, disappearing into the night.

Oddly happy with the conversation and potential friend, Brian fingered the simple business card left by Corax, and studied it, despite the mild discomfort. He looked up to find Mitch placing a fresh drink in front of him.

“On the house,” Mitch grinned. “Just keep bringing your friend back here.” Brian was about to ask, but decided better of it; gift horses, and all. By the end of the night, Brian could barely walk, and collapsed just inside the door of his apartment. He woke with a sour stomach and aching head, but still in time to make it to work.

Fucking tequila.

A week to the day passed, before Corax made his appearance at the Yard and, when invited, took his perch next to Brian.

“How have you been, Corax?” Mitch brought the tea cup with a small steeping pot, with separate containers of loose tea leaves and boiling water. This was a twist; a unique service set for an infrequent customer? Brian looked at Mitch, wondering where the new level of service was coming from. Mitch was only paying attention to the long lean frame of his companion. The bartender’s eyes followed the hand into the coat pocket, the coin purse. This time an oddly shaped and tarnished dull coin, golden in some spots was placed on the counter, and immediately swiped up by Mitch, to profuse thanks as he left.

“Quite busy. But I found myself in the neighborhood and was reminded by my associate Grum that he returns your kind regards, so here I am!”

“Please thank him for me.” A nod and a grin indicated that he would do just that.

“Gladly. Listen, you seem to be here quite often. Is that correct?” Brian nodded. “Is there some cause for this? Shouldn’t a man such as you be with family?”

Brian locked into his mid-distance stare for a moment, thinking whether this was a topic to discuss. For the years he had been coming to The Yard, he had never discussed why he was there, why he was slowly drinking himself to death or why he would never be with a woman again.

But, in that thought, there was also the uniqueness of Corax. Here was someone who was totally outside Brian’s world. If he revealed his story, there would be no one Corax could repeat it to. Brian’s shame and embarrassment would not be shared with coworkers or anyone else. The nature of the story itself was a burden; carrying around something so toxic to him without being able to get rid of it was torture in itself.

With that thinking, he decided to tell his companion what he had not spoken of to anyone in years.

“There’s no family. There’s no wife,” he sipped his drink, steeling himself for the uncomfortable task to follow. “At least, no wife now. It’s a bit of a story.”

Corax did the head tilt and leaned forward in genuine interest. “I have time I can afford, and it seems as if you need to tell the tale. Please continue. I shall be a patient listener.”

I met Kristen at work about twenty years ago. I was living halfway across the country, and was a staff microbiologist in another sterilization company, where I was focused on lab work and reporting test results to clients.

During my performance review, the head of operations promoted me out of the lab and into the facility operations as a shift manager. With it came a bump in pay and more responsibility. I gladly accepted. The plant was doing well, and our business was expanding, so one of my first orders of business was to work with my boss, the plant supervisor, on an expansion of the facility. I was single and, while dating occasionally, I was very career-centered, so serious relationships for me were just not happening.

The first project I stepped into was that the company needed to add new sterilization chambers into the facility and hire more staff to handle the workload. The sterilization process by itself is very dangerous, as the ethylene oxide gas is both highly toxic and explosive, so getting a new facility built is a nightmare in permits, bureaucracy and safety inspections.

Well, in time and with a lot of effort, we got the facility built and hired new staff. One of the new employees was a young engineer named Kristen Erszacky. She was medium height, with fine features and a slim, athletic build. Nothing too big or small, just everything in its place. I found her very attractive without her being “model material”.

She was hired to work directly on the floor, monitoring the process, which was mostly moving client’s products into the chambers, running the particular sterilization recipe for that client, monitoring the cycle, cleaning the gas off the product and removing the product to ship it to the customer.

Being a woman in any engineering team is an invitation to attention. STEM jobs are male dominated and women, while not as rare as hen’s teeth, were a rare enough commodity.

On top of being attractive, she was a solid engineer. With three years of industrial processing experience before joining us, she already developed the confidence in her abilities and general industry intelligence, which is lacking in many fresh graduates. This means that she wasn’t easily intimidated by men posturing. She could tell them where to shove it. I loved that about her.

She wasn’t a direct report to me, but was in my budget line, so I watched her, while remaining hands-off in her career. But I couldn’t help but look at times.

About three months into her job, she was on the floor while overseeing a washing procedure. The washing process removes the residual gas from the chamber by pumping the gas out, and then refilling the chamber with air or some inert gas like nitrogen. This occurs several times, with each successive wash reducing the amount of poison inside. Of course, the waste gas has to be vented to the atmosphere. To avoid killing all of the neighbors, which would be bad for business, we heat the waste gas before it leaves, using a system called an oxidizer. Simply put, near the exhaust chimney, the gas passes low flames, causing the trace amounts of explosive gas in the exhaust to safely convert into non-toxic gases like carbon dioxide which we can safely vent to the air outside.

Normally, it’s safe since the concentration of the gas was below explosive levels. But on this day, something went wrong.

The night shift had replaced sensors in one of the chambers and signed off on putting the equipment back in service. Kristen and another engineer were on the floor observing the unit for functionality with product inside. The replacement sensor had a faulty ground wire which shorted out after the qualification run. In short, Kristen and her companion had a far higher concentration of gas in the chamber than they thought, and if they ran a wash, they would be sending it to the oxidizer. They were at ground zero next to a bomb which could destroy half the facility. If the explosion spread to the ethylene oxide supplies, the whole building and a good part of the neighborhood could go with it.

In the aftermath, we discovered that the engineer with Kristen, Ken Foley, who should’ve been mentoring her, was flirting with her as they were doing their work. The idiocy here is that both were suited up in full chemical-proof coveralls with facemasks and respirators. Street clothes are not allowed on the chamber room, so it’s like flirting with someone in head-to-toe body armor – there’s nothing to see. What’s even the point? Save it for office time.

But it was enough to distract both of them that they missed the trigger from the faulty sensor. Ken’s lack of professionalism would cause a major industrial accident.

By sheer luck, I was in the control room, which is a shielded booth overlooking the chamber area. The CR has a much more detailed data stream than what the engineers see on the floor, since we have information on all of the chambers, not just the one which Kristen and Ken were running. I caught the offline sensor in their chamber, and right as Ken went to run the first wash, I dove for the override and locked the system before the gas could vent.

I gasped, being the only one at the moment who realized how close to real death and destruction we all were. It was all I could do to not piss myself on the spot.

Ken keyed in the cycle again, but was locked out. He retried the system again, but he was locked out at that point. As calmly as I could, I got on the chamber room PA from the control room and told the two of them to leave the floor and get up to the CR for a debrief.

Once they de-gowned and met me, I met them both into a conference room and replayed the event, my hands were shaking the whole time. They immediately realized how close they came to blowing up half the plant and killing themselves to boot. I had already gone through my panic moment in the CR and the adrenaline was finally leaving me. I watched in real time as Ken and Kristen relived the moment in what would’ve been an ignominious death, because Ken couldn’t keep it in his pants.

Once they caught their breath, Ken began apologizing profusely, to both Kristen and me. He got it. He was a good engineer and understood that the slightest lapse at the wrong moment in that job could be the last one he would ever make.

I gave them both the rest of the day off to think about it, as I didn’t want two overly stressed people around to make more mistakes. But at the same time, I knew both would learn from this and become better engineers. A costly lesson for sure, though and one I never wanted to repeat again.

And that was the last I thought about it until almost six months later.

The annual Christmas party was held at a local hotel, and was a suitably big event to mark the end of an eventful year. The company rented rooms for several of us, so we wouldn’t have to drive home. Post party, a number of my group went into town and hit some of bars and pubs, because why not?

Kristen cornered me at one point with shots, and began thanking me for saving her life. I really hadn’t thought that much about it. I was honest and told her I was unhappy about the incident, but noted that both her and Ken had become very reliable members of the team and I expected good things from them in the future.

One shot led to several and soon she and I were talking at a private table away from colleagues. I asked her about Ken, seeing if he was successful in chasing after her. She grinned and said he was charming but she didn’t date co-workers.

Two hours later, I rolled off of her in my king-sized bed in my hotel room, sweating and trying to catch my breath. She had a thin sheen of sweat on her, and a pleasured smile on her plump lips. She rose from the bed, her lean form was delightful, her toned ass swaying. She returned with a damp wash cloth and gently cleaned my limp cock and balls.

Her efforts began paying results when I had to ask “I thought you didn’t go with co-workers?”

“I didn’t say that,” she smirked, lowering her lips to my hardening cock. Her tongue swirled around the head as she gently tugged on my balls. Opening wider, she easily took half of me into her warm, sucking mouth. I groaned before she bottomed out, with her nose against my stomach. She reversed course and slid her mouth off, and I was fully hard again. Her thumb rubbed small circles at the base of my cock head, alerting my prostate that the next batch of swimmers would be needed momentarily.

I watched as she rose to straddle me, rubbing my little head against her gooey slit.

“I said I don’t date co-workers.”. She easily slid me in to her boiling velvet, and sighed while gliding down until her lower lips kissed my balls. “I have been known to fuck them on occasion, though.”

Her hips moved in a tight orbit, centered around the base of my cock. She ground her clit against me working towards her own orgasm. Her muscular control was exceptional, and I really enjoyed it as we worked together. She wasn’t tight by any means, but she more than made up for it with effort. By morning, she had wrung another two loads out of me, and I was grateful for my own Christmas bonus. Needless to say, we didn’t have to say it was a one-time thing; she had more than paid me back for whatever score she was keeping about the incident with her and Ken.

Except it wasn’t over.

The first Friday night of the new year, I answered the door buzzer at nine p.m. to find Kristen. I could smell some booze on her, but she wasn’t loaded. I was more than a bit surprised; the boldness of the move to show up at my door, uninvited. She smirked, walking into my apartment, saying she knew I was married to my job, so that she could find me at home. While that was true, I also reminded her that this could be seen as “dating” and how I’d have hated for her to go back on her word.