It wasn’t exactly fear that Charlie felt as he walked into the tidy shopfront with its scent of chemicals and leather. It was dark with shadowy portraits of nameless people staring at him from the walls, but as soon as the man shut and locked the shop door behind them, he lit a lamp that stood as if waiting for him on a counter near the door.
“It’s not much,” the man said. “At least, it’s not much up front. Come and see the studio.”
Silently, eyes wide as he took in every detail, Charlie followed the man behind a small counter and through a curtain into the back of the shop.
The space behind that curtain was much larger than Charlie expected. It contained a staged area with a variety of curtains and screens that could be drawn down or across one wall. A small chaise lounge sat in the middle of the space, and severalchairs and a column tall enough to lean on were crowded off to one side.
Charlie paused to study the chaise lounge, wondering how he might end up displayed across it. He knew he wasn’t anything special to look at, especially not after a month of fending for himself on the streets with almost no money.
As if the man could read his thoughts, he said, “Come through here. You can have a good, thorough wash and something to eat, and then we’ll get started.”
Excitement fizzed through Charlie at those words. It was mad for him to be just as eager to get started, whatever the full meaning of those words were, as he was at the promise of food.
The man led him on, through a nondescript door at the back of the room and into an area that looked far more like a living space than a studio. It must have been the man’s private quarters. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on a stand, then gestured for Charlie to accompany him up a narrow set of stairs to the first floor.
“The bedroom is back this way,” the man said, nodding down the hall. “But I’m sure you’d rather stop here first.”
He opened the door into a room that made Charlie gasp. It was a simple room with a plain floor, unadorned walls, and a small window, but what left him gasping was the large, claw-footed bathtub.
“Nothing but the best for my subjects,” the man said with a self-satisfied grin. “Of course, it will take a while to heat enough water to make it a truly enjoyable bath. If you’re in a hurry, it will have to be cold water only, but look.”
He stepped over to the miraculous tub and turned a handle.
Charlie gasped audibly as clear, fresh water spilled from the tap.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” the man asked, a teasing light in his eyes.
Charlie glanced up at him, jaw hanging open. He truly had crossed over into some sort of wild, new land of secret pleasures.
The man laughed at his expression, then turned off the tap and stepped over to a small cabinet beside the tub. “I’ll give you some time to wash,” he said, taking a thick towel from the cabinet. “Soap is just there. I’ll find a robe and something for you to eat while you’re busy, and I’ll get the camera in place.”
Charlie barely listened to the man’s words. He stared at the tub, his mind already attempting to solve the puzzle of how it worked. He’d only ever dreamed of seeing a house with running water before.
“It’s just a bit of plumbing,” the man said, his smile bright and charmed. “It isn’t going to hurt you….” He drew his sentence out, then raised his eyebrows like he was waiting for something. “Your name?” he asked when Charlie wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
“Charlie,” Charlie said in a soft, small voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the need to speak.
“Oh, so you can talk,” the man said, his smile widening. When Charlie only nodded in return, he laughed. “I’m Jonathan,” he said, extending his hand.
Charlie stared at his hand for a moment, face going red. He definitely should not have been shaking his savior’s hand, let alone calling him by his given name. But the man seemed so insistent, so he extended a trembling hand to him.
“Don’t you worry, Charlie,” Jonathan said, all friendliness and heat. “I take good care of my boys. You’re in perfectly safe hands here.”
Those words were like a cannon blast in Charlie’s gut. His boys? He had brought other boys to his studio, taken pictures of them?
And why should he care? He was nothing to Jonathan and Jonathan was nothing to him.
But that didn’t feel entirely true. Jonathan could have walked away and let him die on the street, stripped and starving. Instead, he’d brought Charlie to this place, was offering to feed him, was offering him a bath. It had been weeks since Charlie had had a bath.
“It’s alright,” Jonathan said, stepping closer, his voice like a warm embrace. “Wash up and try not to think about things too deeply.”
Charlie might have been settled by those kind words, if Jonathan hadn’t stepped over to the cabinet again and pulled out a large enema, setting it beside the tub.
“You’ll want to use this to wash as well,” he said with a salacious wink.
Charlie’s face went hot as Jonathan winked at him, then left the room. He knew what the enema was, what it was for. He’d used one before. Rossindale had insisted.
There was no question in his mind at all about how the night would unfold.
