Dorian Gray. John Garavaglia

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      Dorian pointed at the screen and started laughing. “I’ve seen this before too…actually twice. Both times with you, and you don’t have at least the courtesy of establishing a ‘spoiler alert’ before you ruin a scene.”

      “Don’t you boys have anything better to do?” Said a voice from the kitchen. Dorian turned his head to find his stepmother Lori Lord wearing a very formfitting black cocktail dress. The ensemble was completed with a Cosmopolitan in her hand that she was rarely seen without. “If it’s not video games or some gory piece of trash, do you ever engage in anything useful?”

      Like topping off your Cosmo for the third time this afternoon? Dorian silently seethed.

      In her younger days Lori had graced the cover on every magazine that has ever been published. Then she briefly transitioned into a short film career. One of them was a Segal flick—before he got too fat to kick. And now she spends her days organizing fundraisers and her own clothing line.

      She’s wearing more makeup than usual, Dorian saw. He saw tension in his stepmother’s cheeks as she entered the room.

      DORIAN GRAY

      • 80 •

       Dorian gave out a frustrating sigh. “I suppose we could get a bit of homework done.”

      Lori briefly looked at the television and quickly turned away when she saw a gruesome scene. “Uchhh! How can you watch this?”

      “Don’t tell me you’re scared of this, Lori.” Teased Dorian. “It’s nothing but latex, CGI, and corn syrup with red dye #5.”

      Lori gave him stern look. Dorian recognized that look all too well. It was nearly identical to the one his mother had given him every time he would ever talk back to her or did something he wasn’t supposed to.

      “How many times do I have to tell you boys?” Lori said in a very disciplinary voice. “I don’t want to see this garbage when I’m home.”

      “Sorry, Lori.” Dorian apologized, taking the remote and stopping the DVD. “It’s just a dumb movie.”

      Then he mentally followed with, So was buying a diamond ankle cuff for your yappy Yorkie?

      Lori gave him a pleasant smile and proceeded to exit the room. “You are such a good boy, Dorian.” Then she shifted her gaze to her son Henry. “I wish everyone is considerate as you.”

      Henry could see Dorian’s eyes studying his mother. Mom does look a lot like me, Henry noticed.

      Then Dorian suddenly felt a punch in his arm. He looked over to discover it was Henry who delivered the blow.

      “Dude,” he whispered to Dorian’s ear, “stop pretending to be the good son!”

      JOHN GRAVAGLIA

      • 81 •

      “Oh. I almost forgot, Dorian.” Lori said, peering through the archway. “A package came for you this morning. I’m pretty sure it’s that special edition Grand Theft Murder game you ordered.”

      “Oh, sweet.” Smiled Dorian.

      He got off the couch and briskly walked to the counter and found the tightly wrapped parcel right next to the fruit bowl. A look of excitement ran across his face. He had been waiting for this ever since he saw the demo play at last summer’s E3 convention. All the top game magazines had built up the hype that this game would make Splatter House look like Sesame Street.

      “All right, Dorian.” Encouraged Henry, shifting around in his seat. “Open it up and let’s kill some hookers!”

      Dorian lifted the package. It was the size and width of a hardcover book. Then he looked at the return address, and he became puzzled.

      Henry saw the expression on his friend’s face, wondering what was the matter. “What’s wrong, bro? Is it broken?”

      “No,” Dorian replied, inspecting the package. “It’s from London.”

      “What? They give you a foreign game instead? I don’t think you’d be able to play that on an American system.”

      “I don’t think it’s the game, Henry.”

      Henry gave Dorian a concerned look. “Dorian…did you get drunk and order random stuff from the Internet again?”

      “No!” Dorian replied in defense. “I didn’t order anything from London. I’m going to check my records and see what I may or may not have ordered.”

      DORIAN GRAY

      • 82 •

      “Okay,” said Henry, turning the horror movie back on and taking a sip from his soda. “If you want anything I’ll be right here.”

      Dorian took the package into his room, and began to track all the orders he made on every shopping site he visited in the last year, but it showed no record of a London purchase. He took a pair of scissors to open it. He carefully peeled away the wrapping paper to find a card. Dorian opened the envelope to see it was from his stepfather George Lord.

      George often found himself socializing with people whose names and activities were the topic of articles found in every newspaper in the city, and they weren’t always mentioned in the best light.

      That made for some uncomfortable dealings, but George was used to easing the hurt feelings of the town’s politicians, celebrities, and assorted power brokers. On rare occasions, however, he spoke bluntly at social affairs. Something told Dorian that this wasn’t the usual care package.

      Dear Dorian,

      Sometimes opportunity unveils itself in the strangest places and thousands of miles away. I know, on occasion, you have asked about your family. You were so young when you lost your mother and of course, your father has long disappeared into the mists of mystery.

      JOHN GRAVAGLIA

      • 83 •

      Dorian opened the package and pulled out an old skeleton key. It had to be at least a couple of centuries old, but it looked like it never aged. It was carefully preserved and it never lost its shine. Dorian studied it carefully and then looked through the box to see if there was anything else.

      Nothing.

      Dorian could feel his skin crawl. Maybe there’s a treasure map on the other side of the letter, he thought. But to his disappointment, the back of the paper was completely blank. Jeeze, George. If you’re going to ask me to steal the Declaration of Independence I won’t speak to you ever again.

      Dorian had known George Lord for his entire life. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to say George was more of father to him. After Dorian’s biological father left him, and his mother’s death, George was the one who listened and encouraged Dorian to follow his own interests. With that in mind, Dorian continued to read the rest of the mysterious letter.

      Not to be overly dramatic, but over the years I have told you what I can, which, sadly, wasn’t much to satisfy your desire to learn СКАЧАТЬ