It was like this -- somewhere along the line he'd been scammed. He had somehow agreed to perform in this video-store reject called "The Life of Casey Connor." It was just plain lousy... not a Plan-Nine-From-Outer-Space lousy that was somehow redeemed by its own ineffable badness, but complete, unsalvageable crap. Production values sucked. The script was a nightmare of bad writing, and unfinished too. Sets were made out of cardboard, pipe-cleaners and string, glued together haphazardly and clumsily, like a five-year-old's art project. Props were notional at best and every scene was played against poorly-executed matte paintings. The whole thing was a joke, a pathetically addled account of a real life, and at some point in the narrative the bizarreness of it had gotten so distracting that he just stopped speaking his lines. He couldn't participate in the farce anymore. How he wished everyone involved in perpetrating this monumental disaster would just be content to let him disappear -- but no, they would drag him out of his little room and onto the stage, insisting that he knock off the histrionics and live up to his contract.

"Good morning, Mike. Good morning, Casey..."

There was his cue. Might as well improvise... no one would notice the difference anyway.

The camera's eye came upon a hand... a pasty, inanimate thing. There was something stuck in it, connecting the hand to some equipment just out of frame. He didn't remember noticing this before -- but he did remember the prick of something sharp as it penetrated him. Beyond the hand was a teal-coloured shape, a smiling-faced female in cotton who provoked, administered, managed... they really would do anything to get a body to perform. They would loop tubes about dead human flesh and pump renewing substances into it, defying its best efforts to remain inanimate.

"Remember me, Casey?" the teal-woman nudged gently. There was a babbling in the background, a rise and fall of sound that was vaguely human in origin. Seemed like he had been hearing that for a while, and he was still trying to decide if it were noise or music. It struck him that the hand he was looking at belonged to him. Casey Connor. The protagonist -- not hero, we won't use that word -- of the entire, cheesy production.

There was a flashback having to do with that hand and that needle, something the female had said... it can get worse than this but none of us wants that. The protagonist should hate a character who said that to him, but then he wasn't sure if he could carry off hatred -- or portray any human emotion for that matter -- and so he gave up and decided she was just an extra whose function in the story was to make helpful sounds and gestures.

Such as: "That's okay, sweetheart, I can tell you as many times as you need to hear it. My name is Allie and you look much better today, Casey... do you want to sit up?"

Oh... yeah, right, the protagonist was hurt. His physical routine in this scene must remain in character, to depict a pain not sharp but dull, like everything was dull.

"A bit stiff, huh?" A hand on the arm of the -- no, his, Casey's arm. "No surprise there, you've barely been out of this bed for the last few days. Once you've eaten, I'll take you for a little walk-that'll help... . now, Casey, I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse. You eat this whole breakfast, and I'll take that IV out. Sound good?"

Ah, now there was a film with merit, a more discriminating choice than this third-rate cheese-fest. Brando, gnawing on his words in "The Godfather" -- or how about Brando as Stanley Kowalski in "Streetcar Named Desire"... so hot he made your teeth sweat. Lean and feral, barely sentient, an agent of absolute instinct. Poor Blanche -- she had watched him stalk her and was helpless to stop it, mesmerized by his power. Blanche had this going for her though... she always knew her lines right up until the last page, even when she no longer knew how to connect her inner world with the outer reality. You always got to understand what was going on in her head that way.

If "Streetcar" were anything like "The Life of Casey Connor", Blanche would have been inarticulately wondering how even the faces that she supposedly knew, with names so close they lived on the tip of her tongue, were strange. Strange -- but not unfamiliar. Zeke. Sasha. Mom and Dad. The protagonist -- anti-hero -- had been seeing those faces around him and he would muse I know you, I know this person yet it was all alien -- their skin flat and waxen while the air around them distorted and misshapen.

Allie was still talking; he supposed he had been missing cues all over the place. "Now," she was saying, "The doctor would like to see you regularly every morning, and once you feel up to it you can eat in the lunchroom with the others. In the afternoons we have you slotted into group therapy for an hour... and then there's usually some sort of instructional classes... today we're doing yoga." A smile. "Are you ready for breakfast now?"

... you have no choice... perform already...

The tone changed just slightly: "Casey. Are you ready for breakfast." It was no longer a request.

perform, damn you...

Casey nodded.

She brought him a bowl of pale, soft cereal. No easy mark, she stood there and watched until he had made enough progress to satisfy her. Then there was juice, and a fruit salad. The concept of coffee flitted through his head once, briefly, but he gave up on it almost the moment it happened. If they wanted him to have coffee in this scene they would have given it to him already.

After he was done she took his tray away and then returned to remove the IV as promised. Casey didn't watch it happen, registering the slight sting and ache with his face averted. With the connection severed he rubbed his hand absently, considering the bruise there. How long had that bruise taken to form, he wondered, and when had it started? He had no real recall of the IV being put in, or where that had happened. Maybe everything he remembered happening lately was a fantasy, like Blanche's belief in telegrams from gentleman millionaires and forgiving words from her embittered lover. Maybe he had been in this place for a long time already. But if it were a fantasy, it would have to be just a tiny bit more pleasant, wouldn't it? And there was that still healing burn on his right arm too, no longer bandaged, just a tight, scabby stiffness.

"Casey, it's time to talk to the Doctor now. I'll show you around a little bit on the way there, okay?"

There was no hurry getting him to his feet. The background burbling was now attended by a white confusion close around his head as he moved upright. The clouds cleared slowly, leaving behind the rattle of a human voice. It was then he noticed that there was a third character in this scene. A roommate. The fellow was enormous and homely, like the comic book geek from "The Simpsons". He was talking on a phone at his bedside, as he had been doing all along in a non-stop stream of verbal matter.

"This is Michael Skalesky," Allie introduced the man even as he was talking; he nodded and put the phone against his chest for a moment. "This is Casey Connor."

"Hi... call me Mike," the room-mate responded promptly. "Bipolar Disorder, and you? No, don't tell me. Depression. I've been watching you sleep for the last few days. Man, I've totally been there, you just hate everything and everyone, just lay there in a black stink, right? And well, then you add the fun of being manic the rest of the time and-"

"Mike," Allie interrupted. "Casey has to be somewhere to be right now."

"Oh, right. El Doctoro, gotta come when the big man calls." With that, Mike resumed his telephonic monologue.

Allie directed Casey out into the hallway, which was sparsely populated by other patients as well as staff sporting various shades of cotton-pink, pale blue, fuscia, and Allie's teal. She stayed alongside Casey as they traversed the corridors of his new environment in slow motion. Most of the time that she was touring him about he was thinking wearily about the prospect of having to run dialogue with a room-mate.

"-and this is what we call our Learning Room. You'll come here for group, for classes, and sometimes we have movie nights. There's one tonight in fact. I think we're showing 'Moonstruck'."

She seemed to want a response at this point. "Oh," he said.

"Mike is a good guy, Casey," Allie offered, resuming their walkabout. He followed her meekly. "You're probably thinking he talks a lot, and he does, but then he doesn't really ever require a response so you two should get along great." She flicked a smile over her shoulder to let him know it was a joke. "You can just tell him when you want quiet and he'll be fine with it. He's been here for a month... .here's the office." She positioned him there outside the door. "I'll come back in a little while if you like," she added, touching his arm right before she abandoned him. "Walk you back. Just for today."

Scene: The protagonist, an Extremely Disturbed Mental Patient, stands at an office door. The door bears a nameplate... Doctor Anthony Spadoni, it reads. The Patient stands outside for several minutes in silence despite understanding that he is supposed to go in. The door opens suddenly, startling him. The Doctor is short, olive-skinned. He wears the characteristic white coat and he tends to sweat; there are beads of moisture on his forehead despite the artificial breeze that is making the Patient shiver. The Doctor's hair is an experiment in what men should not do when they begin to thin on top. The Doctor is a person who habitually bears himself with a self-conscious mien of caring and sympathy; he likes to be concerned, to remind the Patient who is the healer and who is to be healed. "Casey?" he says, a bit taken aback.

It seemed that Casey had already acted a scene with this character. Yesterday? Or was it a few days ago? The doctor had gone on and on and he was very tired and eventually nodded his head at the right moment just to get the man to shut up so he could go back to sleep.

"How long have you been standing out here?" The doctor sounded a bit impatient. "You can knock, Casey. It's all right. Come on in." Casey stumbled a little as he passed over the threshold. The doctor did not try to grab his arm and steady him, though, and he wasn't sure what to think of that. "Have a seat, Casey. Anywhere you like."

There were several couches and chairs, all in brown, beaten leather. Expensive, but much easier to clean up if patients made a mess on them, of course. Casey took the spot nearest to the door, on the end of a couch. The doctor went back to his desk and sat behind it. There was a wide gulf between them-ten feet at least.

"How are you feeling today, Casey?"

Another cue. Sometimes he missed them but this one he didn't-he just refused to perform this time.

"Still not much for talking, huh? Okay. I'll talk for a bit. Just in case you don't remember, I'm Dr. Spadoni. My credentials are here on the wall, if you're interested." A curved grimace of the lips. "I'll be working with you while you're here. When you leave the hospital we can continue the therapy on an outpatient basis-that is, if you want to continue working with me. If you don't, I would strongly recommend that you to continue therapy with someone else. Medication is great, but it must be combined with therapy to be properly effective. Do you understand?"

Casey didn't answer.

"I'm sure that you do understand, Casey, because I know that you're a very intelligent young man. Now I don't want you to feel pressure to talk, but the fact is you can't begin healing until you do. Don't think in terms of right or wrong answers here-the important thing is that we begin, and because today is our first real session, we'll take it slow." Dr. Spadoni stopped to moisten his dry lips. Eying Casey with conspicuous compassion, he said, "Maybe there's something you want to ask me?"

There was.

"H-how... long... ?"

"How long have you been here? This is your sixth day. You may find that you don't recall a lot of it, but don't let that distress you. It's hardly surprising with depression-and then there's the dissociation..." The psychiatrist paused, reining himself in. "Do you remember making the decision to stay here?" He barely waited before going on. "We had a talk about it. I explained to you why I thought it was a good idea and you agreed, so you're a voluntary patient at Whitby Psychiatric Hospital. I originally suggested two weeks, but now I'm thinking three or even four might be more realistic. How does that sound?"

Casey shrugged.

"Well, do think about it, there's plenty of time. Now, as for what our goal should be while you're here, I think that our focus should be to start establishing some coping skills -- to help you when you get back out there." Dr. Spadoni whipped out a pad of paper and a pen. "Do you agree?"

He could nod; he did nod.

"Excellent. To start, I want you to know that your parents and Zeke and Sasha have shared some things with me, so I could understand how to help you. Where normally a therapist might start by taking some very basic information such as who your parents are, do you have brothers and sisters, where you live and so on, in this case that isn't really necessary. Of course I do hope to get to know you, Casey, from your perspective. I'm here to help."

Zeke had been in this room... .You've got your work cut out for you,he would have said. Casey's a mess... I can't be here to help, though, I need to go to Seattle and start my new life...

The doctor's voice droned on, "First and foremost there are certain events I'd like to discuss with you."

Perhaps Zeke would go on to It's not that I don't care... we just have separate lives and he doesn't fit in mine... and Sasha might say, Of course I forgive him... my poor kitten has no control over himself... but I can't stand by and be a party to that... gotta go... maybe if he comes back to Cincinnati we can be roomies --

"Casey? Are you hearing me?"

Dr. Spadoni had raised the volume a little. Satisfied that he now had Casey's attention, he continued in a more moderate tone.

"Zeke and Sasha have told me about how you like to go away when something's bothering you. When we're in here I'd like you feel safe and secure enough that you don't have to do that. It's okay, I'm not judging you or telling you that's wrong. I do think, though, that we should work on putting a stop to these episodes... you know why? Because there are a lot of things bothering you that you're trying to avoid feeling or thinking about, that you need to think about. We can talk about all the definitions and textbook terms for what you're experiencing -- but there's a lot to explore there and I'd prefer not to spend our entire time here in the hospital trying to pigeon-hole you. Particularly if you're only going to be here for another week. I am confident enough about the diagnosis of your depression, Casey, but beyond that let's just say that you're using some coping skills right now that are counterproductive. They keep you from processing the things that are bothering you."

Dr. Spadoni broke off his oration, looking to Casey for some response or acknowledgment. He got none, and resumed with a slightly injured air, "I'm talking to you now on the assumption that you're listening, because I think you are. So... going back to my original question... I want to ask you about last Thursday night, the night that ended with you in the hospital. What happened that night, Casey?"

There are bits of a scene lying around... discarded pages describing a hotel room tableau where someone is pressed into a corner making a terrible racket. It has to be some creature in a trap. Western Union... take down this message... desperate, desperate circumstances, caught in a trap... help me... Blanche, just before her final demise. Whoever you are, I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers ... and she put her little hand on the leathery doctor's arm and made her final exit. Rather dignified, not that horrible fucking noise and stuffing your hands in your mouth to stop it and then What are you doing here? I'm calling security and the animal runs and falls and there is almost nothing after that except Zeke's voice, the music of Zeke... they didn't get me, Case... you can trust me...

"Casey, I'm asking because I'd really like to know. I think it's important to establish these facts if we can, for a number of reasons. One of them is a straightforward legal one. If there was a crime committed against you we would want to know, so we could try to see that the person responsible never did it again."

Blanche had it all wrong. She should have known you could not depend upon the kindness of strangers... these people whose faces you were used to seeing but who were nevertheless alien, and you usually found out the hard way that they could not be trusted. Zeke was the only one who understood that; he understood the lies that hid behind faces.

The psychiatrist sighed. "Okay. You don't have to tell me, but just think about it, okay, Casey? Whatever it is, we can handle it. There won't be any judgment here. I just want you to think about it, that's your homework for tomorrow. I also want to ask you to concentrate on the things you need to do to get better, because I know you don't want to stay here any longer than you have to. That means eating every meal and talking to me and participating in group therapy and learning how to look after yourself. And taking your medication of course. It's work, I know, but I have every confidence in you."

While delivering this last speech, Dr. Spadoni got up from his place behind his desk and moved around it to perch himself, half-sitting, on it. He was looking at Casey expectantly, and Casey eventually comprehended that he was to exit. He got to his feet slowly and moved towards the door.

"See you tomorrow, Casey," he heard behind him like a warning.

Allie was outside in the hall and it seemed like the pace was slower than ever on the way back, like he was coated in honey that was crystallizing around his limbs as he tried to move. He couldn't seem to get moving any faster. He couldn't make the assessment as to whether Mike was in their room or not-he didn't see anything but his bed, supple and inviting. He staggered towards it, his eyes closing even as he lay down, hugging his pillow, cool and white, against his face.

Scene: The patient is put through his paces -- time for a pill, time to eat, time to go to group therapy. He does all this but is really thinking about throwing the tray across the room and the pill in the garbage and screaming, just screaming not because it serves any purpose but because it is mad and infantile and will distress everyone and he thinks, maybe next time. The scene features the ubiquitous extra, a little bird named Allie who is always chirping, delivering messages he doesn't want... you have to eat, sweetheart... time for therapy... time for lights out... .don't cry, sweetheart, really, you'll feel better soon... come on, time for a little walk...

Time to see the doctor again.

"Casey, do you remember yesterday we talked about how following the rules will help you to get better? It really would help if you participated in the group. Now, I know it's very early on, but try, Casey, please."

He didn't like the characters from group therapy; he much preferred to sit in the TV room, alone. In group therapy he played the part of the Mute-a role that was actually in great demand among the group members. Circled round him would be the faces of men and women, flat, miserable, grotesque, smiling, staring. There was one who spoke incessantly, a constant noise when you were trying so hard just to pull that haze around you like a blanket. There was one who glared and raged and jumped out of his chair several times, making quite a few of the group nervous.

Yes, Casey definitely preferred to be in the lounge-with Zeke, he was waiting for Zeke right now, wasn't he? On this theme there were more than fragments, there was a whole act that began with him staring at the TV with strangers on all sides of him. Then Zeke said his name and he realized that Zeke was standing in the doorway, looking to him, just looking and staring and watching. Then Zeke whirled and walked away and he wanted to stand up and cry, don't leave me here, please... .don't leave me... but Zeke came back to that lounge the next day when there was no one else around and let Casey press right up against him, didn't he, and the same the next night even though there were other patients in the lounge who stared at them. Zeke came every day and when Casey wasn't in the lounge Zeke would find him and be with him and they hadn't spoken a single word, not one word since Zeke said his name.

"Casey!"

Scene... ? Oh, yes, the doctor's office.

"Hmm."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Kay."

"Allie tells me that you've been doing better generally, but I really would like you to try to interact more with the people here... okay?"

Interacting... that must have been something like when he walked into the lunchroom and everyone stared, giving him the thrice-over, and he spotted a seat at a table where there was no one yet and went there and ate alone. Mike had been at one of the tables but Casey pretended not to have seen him. He and Mike had been interacting plenty though -- Mike was in the habit of trying to involve him in his phone conversations, figuring that Casey must be starved for conversation as his parents had not bothered to get him a phone of his own and even though Casey was a shy little guy, aren't you he must be languishing to give his opinion about orange as opposed to strawberry jello and was El Doctoro married or not and weren't running shoes with built in air pockets the only acceptable form of footwear --

"I'll make you a deal, Casey. Talk with me, really talk with me for the next... oh, let's say twenty minutes... and then you can go. How's that sound? Basic stuff, nothing too hard."

"Okay," Casey consented with some reluctance.

"You're nineteen?"

"Yeah."

"Lived in Herrington your whole life?"

"Mm hmm."

"Until you went to college."

"Yeah."

"Which college?"

"University of Ohio."

"Was it exciting, being in the big city?"

Casey shrugged.

"Scary?"

"Yeah..."

"Go on."

"Didn't... see much."

"Why do you say that?"

"Stayed with Roy."

"And... who's Roy?"

"You know."

"I've heard about him from other people, but not from you. Do you want to tell me about him?"

Casey shook his head.

"All right... then is there something you'd like to talk about instead? What about this summer? You've been staying with your folks?"

"Mmm."

"How's that been?"

He shrugged again.

"Casey. We had a deal. I know you can do this."

"Tired."

"I know. After we're done you can have a nap. Casey... do you remember how yesterday I asked you to think about that last night, before you came here. Are you ready to tell me about it?"

He saw a body splayed out on a bed naked, an offering that was on the brink of being rejected --

"Casey?"

"What?" he whispered. So tired... he touched his face and his hand came away wet. He hadn't known that tired could make him cry so much.

"You were out of it just now."

"Oh."

"This fading away is happening because there is something that you don't want to think about. To make those episodes go away you have to think about it."

"No..."

"You know, it may seem like you can't handle it, but a part of you, a big part of you wants to deal with it. You're fighting to remember, Casey, and I don't mean to scare you but you will remember... because you can handle it. So... I want you to tell me what you do remember about that night."

I remember everything.

"Casey. Tell me something, anything about that night."

"Zeke was mad at me."

"On Thursday?"

"Yes..."

"I understand that Zeke has been coming to visit you every day. And your friend Sasha, and your parents. That's good, Casey. Support is absolutely crucial right now. Your relationship with Zeke is something that we really should discuss, though. He has shared some details about your relationship but I think there's a lot more going on here and it's definitely a big part of how you function day-to-day. Why was Zeke mad at you?"

"Because... I did something bad."

"What did you do?"

He examined the textures and striations in the brown leather he was sitting on.

"Casey... help me out here."

Very suddenly, the words emerging clear and crisp and shocking to his own ears: "Aren't we done?"

Dr. Spadoni folded his arms, his eyebrows rising. "No, I don't think so."

"Want to go back to my room."

"Not just yet. I want to know what you mean by 'you were bad'."

"Doesn't matter."

He had been bad and Zeke got mad but Zeke wasn't mad at him anymore, not really. Zeke would be mad at the doctor, though, if he were in this room right now and saw how the doctor was keeping Casey prisoner. He would fashion a smart-bomb and lob perfectly-honed words at the bald, sweaty man. Never too many, Zeke did not indulge in oratory excess like some people.

"I think it does matter, Casey, a great deal. What did you do that made Zeke mad?"

His jaw ached and his eyes were hot and he wanted the Doctor character to just shut up. "Roy was fucking me," he spat out.

His vulgarity made no impression. "And Zeke found out. What did he do?"

... fuckingiswhatslutscalltherapy... fuckingiswhatslutscalltherapy...

"Casey. What did Zeke say or do when he found out?"

"He..."

"It's okay, Casey."

"He was -- really angry."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," he protested, but weakly. He was so fatigued now, there was nothing left to do but to answer the questions in the hope that the white coat would get what it wanted and leave him alone.

"Casey. This is important. I keep asking you about that night because we need to be clear about what happened. Now, I'm going to be very blunt and direct. When you were admitted to Herrington Emergency your doctor found that you had recently had sexual relations with someone. What he couldn't determine conclusively was whether or not it happened with your consent. Now, I believe you when you say you were meeting Roy on a regular basis before that. But I'm wondering who you were with that night. If it was Roy, that's one thing--"

"No."

"No?"

"No. No. Not Zeke--"

"Okay. There's no need to be upset."

"Not Zeke!"

"Casey. I believe you. Now I'm going to ask something else... did you have consensual sex with Roy then?"

"Yes..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he repeated insistently.

"Sometimes, Casey, situations can be deceptive in terms of how we remember them. I want you to think carefully about it and be sure."

"Not assault." He was finding it hard to sit still; his feet were climbing up on the couch. "Wasn't--"

"All right. But something happened that traumatized you pretty badly. Do you remember what it was?"

"No."

"I think you do, Casey."

"Don't remember... really," he lied, flat and dull.

"Casey..."

His voice crumbled apart. "D-d-don't... re-member."

"You know, Casey, I think we need to talk more about this, but I can see that you're really tired. My suggestion is that we start with that tomorrow. All right?"

He managed to get up with his legs shaking and walk the halls to his room unescorted. When he got back to his bed his mom was waiting there. He went to her, hating himself because he was just using this woman for comfort. "Honey, what's the matter?" she asked, pulling him into her body. It was warm, known-the scent of peppermint gum and Chanel and her hairspray that had been the same for a decade at least.

"Can I go home?"

"Casey, hun..."

"I want to go home."

"Honey..."

"I don't like it here. Want to go."

"Sweetie, you seem upset, maybe you've just had a bad day... ."

He punished her for that insipidity by rearing back out of her arms and staring at her accusingly. It wasn't one of his most mature moments but then those had been few and far between lately.

Sasha came through the door, whistling. He took in their tableau and stopped. "Hey, what's up?"

Casey rubbed his eyes. "Zeke?" he demanded.

"He'll be along shortly. I caught a ride out with your mom... so you'll just have to settle for us for the moment." Sasha smiled hopefully, the smile fading when Casey didn't rush to reassure him. "I've been hanging with Allison," he continued, a bit uncertainly. "Just chatting, you know..." His voice trailed away. "What? What is it?"

Casey repeated his request. "Want to go."

"Go where?"

Tears, again. The reservoir was never empty, apparently, and most times he wouldn't care but he had an inkling that he had to dam them up if he was going to be at all persuasive. "H-home," he stuttered.

Sasha and his mother looked at each other.

"Casey," his mother said firmly, "It doesn't seem like the right time. I'm sure that after some sleep... things will feel different."

Yeah, this was just the sort of thing he meant... we cannot depend upon the kindness of strangers, Zeke. They were between him and the door, familiar strangers with familiar faces, they wanted to keep him here, to tie him down and make him helpless. Trap him with these people who obsessed with what went in and what came out of his body and didn't like him to experience anything that was too bright or too intense or too... much... and plotted how to make him give up all his secrets.

Mike the bipolar roommate saved him then, coming in warbling, "... my heart will... go ah-ah-on..."

Scene: The Sasha-and-Mom-Faces turn in the direction of the singing, distracted just for a second, and the Extremely Disturbed Mental Patient makes for the bathroom, only a few feet away. Within a few heartbeats he is inside, with the door shut and locked. He backs up into the nearest wall and slides into a sitting position there, listening through the air vent.

"Fuck."

"Casey, honey, open the door."

"Casey, come on, don't do this to me."

"Should we call someone?"

"I'd rather not... ."

"What's he going to do?"

"Nothing... I hope... we can try to talk him out."

"You know, the orderlies probably have keys, Casey, they won't let you stay in here. Nice one, though, I never thought to try it myself."

"Would you leave us, please? Um--"

"Mike."

"Mike... if you don't mind... ?"

Casey wrapped his arms around his knees and laid his head down, pushing the voices back, out of earshot. Activity outside subsided to a flurry of conversation and worried feet shuffling.

Zeke's voice cut through the haze suddenly: "Casey! Open this fucking door! Now!"

Not performing wasn't an option, not this time. Casey scooted forward and unlocked the door and let it swing open. There was Sasha, his mom, Zeke, and some staff with faces that he didn't recognize at all. He got quickly on his feet, having disorganized thoughts about running and chasing and tackling.

"Does he need a sedative?" said one of the orderlies, a man with hugely muscled arms protruding from his pink sleeve. He took a menacing step in Casey's direction.

Zeke shoved himself in between the two of them. At the sudden motion, Casey instinctively shrank back but Zeke ignored it and wound himself around Casey, neither asking nor waiting for permission. He directed Casey peremptorily out of the bathroom, steering him away from the orderly.

"Come on, Case... over here."

Casey soon found himself sitting on his bed, draped against a large, warm male frame. His eyes stung and his ears were ringing but he was enclosed by a hard body -- he had grown armour just when he needed it for once and it was now guarding the soft marrow that was his pitiful self.

"What the hell happened?" Zeke wanted to know, still using the voice of command.

"He said he wanted to leave," said Casey's mother. "I... said I didn't think it was the right time and he just locked himself in there."

"Hmm." Zeke smoothed his hand over Casey's back, then up to his neck, massaging slowly. "Can you guys give us some space?"

Casey supposed that the others honoured the request. He kept his eyes closed, soaking up the sensation of Zeke's hand and the smell of Zeke's aftershave. The deep lustre of Zeke's speech where Casey's face pressed against his chest.

"Case... I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. But you were hurt. I had to do it. I just hope you'll forgive me."

Zeke sounded like he was close to tears. That didn't happen; Zeke never cried, never. It had to be a mistake. Casey shook his head, twisting in Zeke's embrace; Zeke removed his arm so Casey could sit up straight next to him.

"I know you hate it here," Zeke said to Casey's face. "And I'm sorry."

He couldn't let Zeke be sad. "No..don't hate it..." he said. That was a slight lie, but it wasn't entirely untrue either. The fact was that he didn't think about whether it was good or bad a lot of the time which meant that it was mostly tolerable; he was just inclined not to admit it but now he had good reason if it made Zeke feel better.

"You do hate it," Zeke said sulkily.

"Don't."

"Do too."

"Don't." He couldn't do a smile, but he imagined Zeke could hear it in his voice.

Zeke sighed. He was looking deeply into Casey's eyes now, in that way that he did. "I know you're just saying that because you don't want to upset me, but thanks anyway. One of these days you're going to get mad and then I'm going to be in real trouble."

Casey fell back into Zeke's chest, grabbing his nearest arm and pulling it around himself. He felt Zeke chuckle a bit and oblige him, enwrapping him securely. Everything about Zeke was soothing to him-his stare, his scent, his touch... his demands, especially.

"So what happened anyway?"

Casey shook his head.

"You know, Case, there's nothing I'd like to do more than grab your suitcase and run out of here and never come back, but I have to agree with your mom on this one. It's not the right time. And as much as I hate to admit it, they seem to be helping you."

Casey was in Zeke's arms and he was content to stay right there, wherever there happened to be. Right now it was in a hospital, and that was endurable.

"I have an idea," Zeke proposed. "We could go out of the hospital for a little while. Just take a drive. Would you like that?"

Zeke sounded enthused by the idea; Casey mumbled his acquiescence.

Dr. Spadoni was not wearing the white coat today, but a brown dress shirt, open at the throat, with beige pants. He was situated as usual behind his desk, even calling out his invitation to Casey to enter rather than getting up to answer the door.

"Good morning, Casey," he said, putting aside a file folder he had been flipping through and leaning back a little in his chair. "So you went out for a drive with your friends last night." The psychiatrist rocked in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk, somewhat agitated. "How did it feel to be out of the hospital?"

"Good," Casey lied.

It had actually been terrifying. It was one thing to want to get away from the hospital and another to actually be outside it, but Casey didn't realize that until it was too late to go back. Zeke had already made a stink about it with the receptionist, who had stopped Casey with a hand on his arm and another on his shoulder and wanted to know his name and where he was going. Zeke had appeared quite prepared to cut down the interloper if she didn't take her hands off Casey and had reminded her that Casey was a voluntary patient who could leave whenever he wanted. In return she got waspish and informed Zeke that even so she wanted to be able to keep track of a patient's comings and goings so the nursing staff weren't under the mistaken impression that they had lost a patient. From there it had degenerated and Sasha had to intervene.

Casey's mom had walked out with them but withdrew in the parking lot saying she had to head home, looking shaken and uncomfortable. She had seemed hesitant with Casey, afraid to touch him, and he had found it in himself to close some of the distance between them, relying on her to do the rest. She managed, kissing him on the cheek, and telling him she would be back the next day, and he wasn't so anxious that he couldn't be glad of that.

Then Zeke, Sasha and Casey were in Zeke's car and it was-not good, but better. Casey sat in the back seat and enjoyed the air on his face. It was not as hot as it had been when he was last outside; the heat wave had come to an end at some point during the past week, while he was lying in his stupor.

They were only gone for an hour but when they got back to the hospital Spadoni was waiting, and he looked extremely displeased. Casey was sent to his room and Zeke and Sasha were called into Spadoni's office. Casey had fallen asleep almost immediately, unable to help it, and he didn't know when Sasha and Zeke left or what was said. A claim that the outing had been enjoyable struck Casey as the appropriate expression of loyalty under the circumstances.

"Casey, I do want to caution you against too much, too soon. Don't push yourself. There's plenty of time to go for drives... and to spend time with Zeke."

"Okay," was the response of least resistance. He asked himself idly if Zeke would want to go out again tonight. Probably, yes.

"I'd like to continue where we left off yesterday, discussing your relationships with Zeke and Roy. I appreciate that you may feel some anger towards me for pushing you to talk about this. That's perfectly okay and I hope you will express that anger to me when it happens."

Casey kept his eyes on the brown leather couch, tracing the abstract figures on it with his index finger.

"Why don't we talk about Roy for a bit since he's been such an important factor in your life?"

He gave a nod, his attention on the patterns under his hand.

"What was it like, with Roy?"

That question brought about a well-deserved silence.

"Casey. Try, please."

"It's... too much."

"All right. Am I correct that you were with Roy the entire time you were at school?"

"Mostly."

"So you were... seventeen? When you met him?"

"Yeah."

"And how old was he?"

"Twenty-seven," Casey sighed.

"That's quite an age difference, especially when you were only seventeen. How did you meet him?"

Casey evaded with, "Didn't Sasha tell you?"

"I got Sasha's perspective, yes, but I haven't heard all the details, and not from you. I know that Roy was one of your teachers. What do you think the world at large would have to say about your relationship with him?"

That was close to laughable-if he could laugh.

"They would disapprove, wouldn't they? Let's see, teacher and student, that's a definite no-no. And he was almost a decade older. And, of course, you're both male-did you know you were gay when you met Roy, Casey?"

"Pretty much."

"So that wasn't an issue for you."

"No."

"But it was for Roy."

Casey was silent.

"So it had to be a secret, right? You were a secret."

Why did the man have to ask questions he already had all the answers to? "You know all this," Casey complained.

"But I want to make sure that we understand it, Casey. I'll bet if we were to canvass the entire two years with Roy it would turn into a long list of hurts and disappointments. Oh, I'm sure it started out okay. You were starting college a year early, you were lonely, and he was genuinely interested in you. The age difference didn't matter because you were mature for your years, weren't you? But even so, all of these things made Roy nervous about your relationship. He kept you hidden. Maybe he resented you because if anyone found out all the blame would fall on him. And you learned, gradually, that you didn't have a voice, that you didn't exist except for Roy. The more you gave, the more he took, am I right?"

"Yes," Casey admitted, seduced by the psychiatrist's complete grasp of the dynamics of his relationship with Roy.

"And then something happened at the end of this past term?"

"He... told me he didn't want to see me... any more."

"Why was that?"

"He was getting married."

"How did that make you feel?"

He shrugged.

"Were you angry, Casey?"

"No."

"Not at all? This guy you'd been with for two years suddenly announces he's going to marry a woman and you felt nothing?"

"I don't... I didn't feel angry."

"Did you feel something?"

"Hurt, scared..."

"What did you say to him?"

"Begged... told him 'you love me'. He did love me, he did--"

"Why would you try so hard to keep someone who didn't want you?"

"I... I.."

"Take your time."

"... was so scared... of not being with him. It was like... I had no choice."

"Why do you think that is, Casey?"

He had to say something, so he said, "I don't know."

"I think you do know, Casey. I think you've known all along what you were doing to yourself but you didn't want to stop-basically because you were afraid of the alternative."

"Don't want to be alone."

"I understand that, Casey, I truly do understand that. Everyone feels that way from time to time, but in your case it's become something extreme... so extreme that you put up with abuse and bury your anger until it makes you sick. I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on this one, Casey-it's good to be alone sometimes. When you know how to be alone, being with other people gets better. And I'm going to go out on a limb and even tell you I think it's a good idea not to be in a romantic or sexual relationship for a while."

Casey let his face morph into a scowl at this.

Dr. Spadoni chuckled. "You don't like that idea."

"No."

"Why is that? Other than the fact that you're a nineteen-year-old male, of course."

"Zeke."

"Zeke." Dr. Spadoni sighed deeply. Did he intend for his patients to see his personal feelings, Casey wondered, or did he believe that he was doing a good job of disguising them? "Casey, do you think that maybe there is something about the way you relate to Zeke that is similar to how you related to Roy?"

Casey rejected the suggestion. "No."

"Of course it isn't completely the same. What I'm suggesting is that you're following a pattern that feels very comfortable to you."

"Zeke's different."

"Are you sure? I've been told that during the last year or so Roy was not very kind to you, Casey, that he took out his anger on you. And then you tell me Zeke was very angry with you and I'm wondering if he's more like Roy than you want to admit."

"No, he... it wasn't.."

"Yes?"

"He -- was right to be angry."

"Surely people make mistakes."

"Yes..." Casey answered, confused.

"You were sleeping with Roy even after what he did to you and lying to Zeke about it -- and that was a mistake. A very human mistake. Does it make it all right for Zeke to hurt you?"

"No!" cried Casey. "He didn't."

"Did you defend yourself at all when he found out?"

"No, he... I was... I lied to him."

"Did you explain why you lied?"

Casey shook his head. "No-no excuse--"

"I'm not saying what you did was right. But you don't always have to be perfect, Casey. It's human to be selfish sometimes. It's okay to ask for another person's understanding when you screw up."

"He -- Zeke -- he's still here." Not angry anymore, he had told Casey-but Casey didn't let himself think about whether Zeke had in fact forgiven him.

"Would you agree with me, though, that you have a tendency to put Zeke's interests first, to let Zeke have his way, to excuse his mistakes and not your own?"

"But--"

"Just like you did with Roy?"

Casey didn't answer.

"Do you think that's something you need to address?" the psychiatrist pressed.

"Guess so." He heard his own sullenness and didn't care much.

"I'm sure that it is very comforting, even addictive, to be subservient, Casey. It can also be a very effective way of being in control, up to a point. I say up to a point because it never works in the long run. And if the person in charge is not generous, or cruel, then you're in big trouble, Casey. I want to suggest to you that there are reasons why you act this way that aren't about feeling good, but a long-established pattern of protecting yourself from things that hurt you. If you have no needs then you can't really be hurt, can you?"

"Suppose."

"But it did hurt when Roy dumped you, when he treated you the way he did, and it did hurt when Zeke got angry at you -- perhaps fairly, perhaps not. You'll have to figure that one out, but to do that you have to be prepared to make demands as a person in your own right." Dr. Spadoni was evaluating, measuring Casey as he described exactly where Casey had gone wrong, how he had been botched, and there was nowhere to hide from it. "Let me ask you this, Casey. If what you have with Zeke is as real and fulfilling as you want to believe, why were you spending time with Roy?"

He was barely conscious of tears sliding down his cheeks. God, he was tired of crying; he was tired of himself, actually.

The psychiatrist spoke very gently. "It's hard to talk about these things, isn't it? They've been all tangled up in your head and when you try to pull on one thread the knot just gets tighter, right?"

Casey nodded.

"That's pretty normal, Casey. You'll probably find after a few weeks on the Paxil that you can think more clearly. For now, just go with whatever pops to the surface and let me guide it. I don't expect perfect sentences or concepts right now. And if you have a feeling... if you're sad, or mad... just go with it."

"O-kay." Casey wiped at his eyes.

"I know it's frustrating."

"It's like... everything... coated in mud..."

"I know. Let me give you a little bit of scientific data. You're a science guy, aren't you? When you're depressed specific chemicals in your brain, particularly seratonin, are all out of whack -- that's a technical psychiatric term, by the way."

Casey was surprised to hear a small giggle. That was himself, that little, nervous sound.

"That's why it's hard to sort everything in your head, Casey, why you can't concentrate, why nothing feels good. People describe it as everything being flat, feeling nothing much of anything even when it's things that you know you love. There's usually a decrease in sexual drive as well. Plus the anxiety. Depression and anxiety often go hand in hand. In your case, I think the anxiety's been with you longer than the depression."

Spadoni put down his paper and pen, signalling the end of the torture.

"You've done very well today, Casey. You can go and relax now... it's over."

Zeke was standing at the window, his back to them.

There was no little degree of Stanley Kowalski in Zeke. Different from Stanley in the way he used his brain, but he had the same absolute connection to his body too. He inhabited his body entirely and was completely in his head at the same time. A contradiction, to be sure. And then there was Blanche, who was a mass of contradictions. At times she seemed so very conscious of what she was getting wrong, how she was contributing to her own misery, and what was needed to stop it. And yet she careened blindly to the end, as though self-awareness was pointless. Straight? What's 'straight'? A line can be straight, or a street. But the heart of a human being... ?

"You missed a good flick the other night, Casey," Mike was holding forth, lying on his stomach on his bed, supposedly reading. The phone was actually somnolent for once. "Ba-dum-bump, ba-dum-bump... when the moon hits yer eye, like a big pizza pie... .that's amore... good flick."

"Oh, 'Moonstruck'!" Sasha chimed in. "I love that one too. You've probably seen it a bunch of times, huh, kitten?"

"Yes," Casey replied, eyes on Zeke's back.

"Don't bother with him, Casey," Sasha said, his voice tight. "He's grumpy today."

Zeke whirled around. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a grumpy gus. Deal with it."

It wasn't often that Zeke was at a loss for words. He glared at Sasha, trembling with rage.

Sasha relented first. "All right, all right... you've had a bona fide bad day." He turned back to Casey. "Our boy's discovering that life out of the closet isn't all pride banners and Broadway musicals."

"Whatever," Zeke growled. He obviously had a lot more to say but was not going to say it now. "Case, let's go for a drive."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Zeke," Sasha said very pointedly, coming as close to hostility as he ever did.

"I think it's a super fucking idea," Zeke snarled.

"Er, um..." Mike interjected, sounding jittery. "I'm out of here." He scampered out the door, as much as a man his size could ever scamper.

Sasha waited until he was gone and then said, "The doctor gave us enough shit already last night-"

"Gee, I'm so anxious to have this conversation for the tenth time," Zeke said, his words drenched in sarcasm.

Sasha disregarded this. He addressed Casey earnestly. "Kitten, what do you think about mixing a bit with some of the people here? Your doctor is worried that you rely on one or two people for your emotional needs, and he's right about that. At school I think the only people you ever talked to were me and Roy, and maybe your lab partners. It's no wonder then that you were devastated when Roy wanted out. You don't have to run for Congress -- but you could try talking to a few people."

Casey knew that anything he said would be weighed against his devotion to Zeke -- who was watching him steadily, ready to judge the exclusivity of his commitment.

"What do you think?" Sasha pushed.

He had to fight to get a few words out under Zeke's intense stare. "I -- don't know them."

"That's just the point, Casey. You told me you didn't have friends, but you have to make friends, you know? I know that you have it in you -- I mean, you decided that I was going to be your friend and then you made an effort to talk to me. And voila, here I am."

Zeke was stalking closer to them, looking like he was about to pounce.

"Don't look at him, Casey. You can do what you want."

"I... know that," he muttered, his voice wavery. "But-I-"

"You would rather hang with me and Zeke?"

He nodded.

"I get that, I would rather hang with me too. But you have to be out of your comfort zone sometime, kitten."

"Yeah, but..."

"What's so scary about it?"

"Can't, you'll think I'm... ."

"I promise I won't."

Casting an uneasy glance in Zeke's direction, he breathed, "Worried... what if... they might be -- one of them... ."

Zeke took swift action. He looked quickly out at the hall to determine who might have heard and quickly shut the door. Then he returned to hover over Casey and said urgently, "You can't say that to anyone else. Do you realize what could happen?"

Casey realized perfectly well.

"In fact..." Zeke added with a strangely agitated expression, "If Dr. Spadoni tries to bring up the subject, you should avoid it."

Casey assured him, "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's good. Go with that."

"Let me get this straight," Sasha said, sounding odd. "You don't actually believe that everyone is an alien, do you?"

Casey hung his head a bit. "No... but... but... they might be..."

"Oh, kitten--"

Sasha moved to hug him, but Zeke got there first and batted Sasha out of the way. "So do you want to go, Casey? For a drive?"

It was a demand and a plea at the same time, containing that truth that Casey could never ignore, never close out of his awareness: Zeke needed a Casey, just like Roy had needed a Casey. It was something that the doctors and the Sashas never understood. Once these men chose to claim him -- if they chose -- they had nowhere else to go to feel good. That was the only real power that Casey knew and it was addictive but he had absolutely no intention of kicking the habit because the alternative was too empty and terrifying to consider... Dr. Spadoni wasn't wrong about that. He just didn't know the half of it.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I want to."

This time when they walked past the receptionist she simply glared and scribbled something on a piece of paper in front of her. Zeke didn't so much as look at her, or anyone else actually, striding regally out the front door without apparent concern for who was following him.

As before, Casey sat in the back seat, and it was feeling much more uncomfortable than the previous evening because this time it seemed like they were going quite a distance. Zeke had taken an exit out of Whitby and now he was on a secondary highway heading into the distance. Houses were less frequent, the scenery more rural. Casey hadn't paid attention and didn't know what direction they were going even, and now was experiencing the curious realization that he truly wanted to go back to the hospital because there was something tranquillizing in the absolute lack of expectations there.

"Zeke," he heard Sasha murmur in the front.

Zeke did not answer.

"Zeke," Sasha said, louder now.

"What?" Zeke snapped.

"This isn't the time. Turn around."

"It feels like the right fucking time."

"It's not. Pull over."

"Nope."

"Pull over -- now."

At last Zeke did as he was told, pulling over at a small roadside rest that conveniently appeared. He sat gripping the steering wheel ferociously and staring out the windshield. He was breathing hard. Sasha was speaking softly, things that Casey couldn't hear over the roaring of panic in his ears.

"I wasn't actually going to..." he made out eventually.

"Well, the rest of us weren't so sure."

Abruptly Zeke pushed his door open and got out. He prowled back and forth on the gravel drive, pacing a twenty foot line to the left of the car. Sasha twisted around and grinned wistfully at Casey.

"It's okay, kitten. Mr. Manly just needs to blow off some steam." Sasha bit hislip, considering. "Casey, I probably shouldn't tell you this. We've been debating it the last couple of days and he didn't want to stress you out any more than you already are and I guess it's too late for that, I'm doing it right now by not getting to the point, aren't I? Okay."

Sasha held out his hand as a substitute for the hug he was unable to give and Casey took it, bemused.

"People in Herrington are giving Zeke a really hard time right now is all and he's more used to rose petals and women falling at his feet, you know? He's handling it -- he's amazing, actually -- but some things happened today that got to him bad. It isn't because he's come out, Casey, but that, well... there are lots of rumours flying around... in relation to you. Some people think that Zeke was the reason you were in the hospital... you'd be shocked at how many defenders you have, kitten, people who don't know you from a hole in the ground. They just like to pass judgments." Sasha snorted in disgust. "Crowd mentality. I half expect them to show up at Zeke's door with torches and pitchforks."

Casey heard this, but he was mainly following Zeke, back and forth... back... and forth. Zeke was a predator with nothing to hunt, every muscle in his body taut. The essence of him was need... need for another creature that would be for him -- give itself up to him. There had to be some doubt in Zeke's soul as to whether Casey could be that because Casey had screwed up, given up part of himself to someone else and that was unacceptable. It was all or nothing.

"You should be proud of him, kitten," Sasha added, suddenly, observing Zeke with open fascination. "The guy may waffle a bit until he makes up his mind, but once he does, he stays the course. He hasn't backed down, not once. He tells whoever wants to know that he's with you, and he sounds happy when he says it."

They both stilled as Zeke stopped pacing, right beside the car. Opening the driver's side door, he bent and flipped up the back seat. "Casey, I need to talk to you."

"Zeke..." Sasha groaned.

Zeke barked, "You shut up." Then, more neutrally: "Casey... ?"

Casey shook his head.

"Casey, for fuck's sake... look, if you really want me to I'll come back there and sit with you, but nothing bad is going to happen if you come out here." Zeke held out his hand and grinned, switching into a goofball charm. "You don't want me to spend the next year in traction, do you?"

Casey took the proffered hand and let himself be extracted from the back seat.

"Stay here," Zeke commanded Sasha. "This is private."

He didn't let go of Casey's hand and they walked out of listening distance from the car, to the edge of the roadside drive overlooking a green field. Despite everything Sasha had said, despite his words to his psychiatrist and his own private insights, Casey was choking on dread. First and foremost Zeke needed to escape and he was going to escape, with or without Casey. Probably without.

"I was going to just keep on driving," was the first thing Zeke said. The volume was turned way down; the words barely seemed intended for Casey to hear. "Just go." He frowned then upon seeing that Casey was quaking with tension and fear. "Case -- ?"

Don't leave me, please...

"What are you thinking?" Zeke looped a casual arm around his shoulders and rubbed his back. "That I want to go somewhere without you? Ain't gonna happen, Case."

"But-but-you're--"

"Shh, just breathe. Tell me slowly."

"You're -- going to Seattle... you... University of Wash... Washington."

Zeke's hand stilled. Casey closed his eyes, fearing what was coming next.

"How did you know that?" Zeke whispered.

"Sorry--"

"No sorry. How did you know?"

"S-saw the cal-calendar..."

"Shit," Zeke swore. Then his hand was on Casey's other shoulder and he said quietly, "How long have you known?"

"Dunno... .a while."

"I see," Zeke said heavily. "Is that why you were... seeing Roy?"

Casey forced himself to look at Zeke and found that Zeke had most definitely not forgiven him.

"Is it?" Zeke pushed. "You saw the calendar and thought I was going to leave?"

"No-no... not... really," Casey stuttered, unable to meet Zeke eye to eye any longer than that. And yes. Roy had been giving him something he needed to survive, something that Zeke had refused him.

"No," Zeke echoed. "So it had nothing to do with it?"

His hand on Casey's shoulder was beginning to feel like a claw, talons almost at the point of bringing retribution in red liquid form.

"I'd like an explanation," declared Zeke with brittle patience. "Maybe not now, I understand it's probably too soon to expect one. But I need one, Casey. I'm going to ask again." Claws sheathed, he was using both hands to try to smooth the tremors out of Casey's shoulders. "I'm not going to think about it now. I do wish you hadn't found out about my plans for college the way you did."

"I didn't mean to, I-"

"No, I'm the one who needs to apologize for that. I should have talked to you, should have told you so you didn't have to walk around thinking I was planning on sneaking out on you. I came to a realization the other day, Casey. I haven't been trusting you."

There it was -- Zeke couldn't trust him. It was over.

"There's something I've been waiting to say this to you. I wanted to say it days ago but I don't think... I didn't think you were ready to hear it."

I've been trying to find a way to tell you... you don't fit in my life anymore, Casey...

Something ruptured and the usual, stupid, broken words began to dribble out of him: "Don't-don't leave m-me, please, I... I'll do an--" No, that wouldn't work, Zeke didn't like that. "I'll b-be good, p-promise-please don't--"

"Case--"

"Never-anyone-else-never-hurt-you--"

Zeke put a hand over Casey's mouth, which certainly didn't help him to get more oxygen but did quiet him instantly. "Shh," ordered Zeke.

Taking his hand away, he began to speak. Casey couldn't hear, didn't want to hear... but steady hands were still working at soothing him and gradually, the actual words began to filter through his panic, a radio broadcast that was gradually came into tune: "... going to Seattle... you're... with me... .not staying here and you're not going back to Cincinnati where that Roy shithead can get to you. You back with me now? I said I'm going to Seattle and you're coming with me. Hear me?"

He was listening completely.

"I'm making this decision for you, Casey. You can get mad at me for it later, and you probably will, but I don't care right now. Right now you don't have any say in the matter."

All had become very, very quiet. His mind and body were still.

"So, this is the deal," Zeke said, cupping Casey's chin, speaking intently to him. Zeke's eyes were nearly glowing with purpose, fixed on his face, laying claim to everything they touched. "You can stay in the hospital for another week or so, getting stronger. Then we're going to pack your stuff and head out west. You decide what to tell your parents. When we get to Seattle we'll crash with Stokes and Stan for a while, then we'll find a place. I'm going to take philosophy and you can finish off your physics degree there or you can start something new if you want. I'll pay for it, I don't care, I want you to do what makes you happy. Okay?"

Casey nodded. He was warm and safe, for the first time since... since forever.

"But there are rules, Case. You're going to eat and take your pills like you're supposed to, and when we get out there we're going to find you a therapist -- a good therapist -- and you're going to go for as long as it takes. That's non-negotiable. Say 'yes, Zeke'."

"Yes, Zeke."

Zeke put his mouth near Casey's and whispered, "That's it, yeah... .fuck, that's one of the best sounds I've heard in a long time."

His breath was hot, raising the hairs on Casey's neck. He seemed to be intending a kiss so Casey strained in that direction, but Zeke had moved on, sighing into Casey's ear. A moist tongue tormented the delicate cartilage and soft lobe, dipping inside once, twice. Casey tilted his head to give Zeke better access to that side of his neck and Zeke took advantage, working his way along the slender muscle that ran from the edge of Casey's jaw to his collarbone.

Casey didn't feel aroused, not at all. His skin was hyper-vigilant, cataloguing the sensations on behalf of his body which had minimal interest in the goings-on. It didn't matter, though, because there was still the relief of being held and touched and what he did feel, what he knew intimately, was the utter imperative to give Zeke whatever he wanted. If Zeke wanted to pull off his clothes and fuck him right here, he would let him do it and rely on his body to perform appropriately, as it always did. In fact, it was beginning to feel like that was not out of the realm of possibility. Zeke was feeding at his throat, pressing his hips and erect cock up against Casey. "Feel that?" Zeke murmured.

"Yes." He hoped that Zeke was too excited to notice that there was no hardness on his partner's side.

"That's for you." Zeke had returned to the vicinity of Casey's mouth. "Remember it... because they're going to say I'm bad news. But you know what you want... don't you?" Suddenly Zeke delved right in, applying fierce and gentle suction to Casey's lips, nibbling on the bottom one briefly, then pulling away. "Yeah... I am bad news aren't I, but I know what you want... what you need..." Finally, he firmed his mouth against Casey's, thrusting with his tongue, kissing so deeply, so completely that Casey began to get dizzy. He lost all sense of anything but Zeke's mouth-until Sasha honked the car horn.

Zeke tore himself away. He looked dazed, flushed, gasping for breath as Casey was gasping.

Sasha honked again, somehow conveying his fury through the horn. Then Sasha was out of the car, glowering. He marched up and grabbed Casey to steer him away from Zeke even though they would have gotten there on their own soon enough. "What the hell's the matter with you?" Sasha snapped at Zeke.

Casey came along without protest, touching his lips wonderingly. They were burning. He stumbled a little and Sasha's hands steadied him. Then he was in the back seat again with no sense of time or distance or direction, only the wind and Zeke's presence that were his universal constant.

"I really wish that you would respect my advice on this matter, Casey." Dr. Spadoni was staring intently at him. "And not just for your sake. For Zeke's too."

Casey blinked at the doctor. He had wakened this morning with something very near a smile, and from a sleep that felt more restful than any so far this summer. He could still, almost, if he really concentrated on it, feel the imprint of Zeke's lips, and he walked around barely aware of his surroundings, imagining the day when he would be back in that car with Zeke and no one would be watching them and he would finally belong to Zeke completely... "Um... .what did you say?" he asked.

"The magic word, apparently," returned his psychiatrist. "`Zeke'."

This time he did smile. "Yeah..."

Dr. Spadoni was frowning with displeasure. "But you didn't hear the part you don't like."

Casey was in a mood to indulge the man. "Which part?"

"That there is risk for both you and Zeke in this. He comes here and asks you to go out for a drive with him and you go because it's what he wants. You keep doing things like that and at some point he's going to wonder if you've ever been honest with him, or he's going to realize that he doesn't know anyone named Casey. No one really wants a relationship where the other person just gives them what they want, one hundred percent of the time. That's the trap. You think you can keep them by giving them everything but they stop being able to notice it. It starts to feel like you're giving them nothing and they may be terribly lonely even though you're right there giving everything you've got. Do you want to do that to Zeke?"

"No," Casey allowed, although he didn't really accept that logic.

"What every human being wants, Casey, is genuine, intimate contact with another human being. The paradox is that to achieve that feeling of oneness, you must have what we call ego integrity. That means boundaries, Casey. It's fun to play at losing them, but you really lose them and pretty soon you two won't recognize each other. Are you following me?"

"Sure," Casey replied. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees and stretched his neck a bit. Shrugging on his best sultry tone, he purred, "You know... you're really good," hoping it would have a diminishing effect on the frequency of the man's lectures in psycho-dynamics.

"Are you trying to flatter me, Casey? Because it isn't necessary."

"Oh... I know."

Dr. Spadoni actually glared at him. "I don't think you're even trying to listen, Casey."

"I am. Really."

"Well, then... my point was that you're not only hurting yourself, you're hurting Zeke. I say again, do you want to do that to him?"

Casey ran his fingers across his mouth, briefly. "Love Zeke."

"And so you pretend to want something you don't want."

"You don't know what I want."

"That's true. I'm glad you said that, Casey. You asserted a right to your own feelings there. You need to do that more often -- which is why it's advisable to back off from any intense or sexual relationship right now."

"You don't like Zeke," Casey challenged.

The doctor rolled his eyes and fidgeted with some papers on his desk. "It's not that I don't like him. I don't know him, and whether I like him or not is irrelevant because you do like him. My problem with Zeke has to do with what's best for you, it's not personal. I'll bet when you're with Zeke you find it difficult to distinguish between what he wants and what you want, am I right?"

"But you don't think-"

"I don't think he's good for you, not right now. I'm not talking theoretically here. I see things in your behaviour this morning that trouble me. You're practically euphoric and I'm sure it's because of something Zeke said or did last night. What would you do if things changed... if Zeke was angry at you again, or if he decided to leave you?"

"He won't," Casey said uneasily-but he had a razor-sharp memory of Zeke's face when he tried to understand Casey being with Roy and piling lie upon lie about it.

"You don't think it's possible?"

"No... .don't want to talk about this."

"We need to talk about this Casey. You could be out of here in a few days and our focus must be the things you do to look after yourself. We need to start building those coping skills. I know I sound like a broken record... but I truly believe your relationship with Zeke is unhealthy. I'm not saying that to blame anybody -- the fact is that any kind of sexual relationship right now would be unhealthy."

"Zeke needs me..."

"I know it feels like--"

" -- and I need him."

"No, what you need is to stand on your own, to step back and know who you are without him, or Roy, or any man. And you particularly don't need to be with a man who is trying to control you, who openly refuses to respect your boundaries, who has even constructed your identity for you in the past!"

That last part didn't jive. He didn't particularly want the details, though-not that he was going to be spared hearing them.

Dr. Spadoni closed his eyes and sighed. "I apologize, Casey. Obviously I do have personal feelings about this. I've had a couple of conversations with Zeke now and we do seem to clash about things. I shouldn't let it get to me and I shouldn't interfere... except that I have a very specific reason to be concerned... that you're spending time with Zeke. It's a difficult topic, though. It's... it has to do with that event three years ago... the one that got you on magazine covers."

The dregs of last night's warmth were sucked out in an instant. "Don't," he whispered tiredly.

"It's important, Casey. We've been dancing around it since you got here."

"Leave it alone -- please."

"We should try to talk about it, because it has everything to do with your relationship with Zeke. Trust me on this."

He wasn't supposed to talk about this, but he couldn't help saying, "You don't believe us so there's no point."

"'Us' meaning you and Zeke?"

A shiver of nerves through his stomach bore witness that the doctor was getting ready to hit him with Something Big. The shiver mutated into a full, bodily vibration. He had not spoken about this with anyone since the day, three years ago, that he had told Roy the full story, and even that had been all externals, nothing of his ongoing feelings about it. Occasional references to "that business" by his parents didn't count and Zeke's recent efforts to get him to try had been stillborn because he. Didn't. Want. To talk. About It. He couldn't, especially now, after... no, mustn't, couldn't, didn'twanttotalkaboutit.

"I remember all that fuss," the doctor went on. "I must admit I've had some academic curiosity about the incident for years... even thought about writing a paper on it. But my interest is not just academic."

... of course it's not academic... they got you... you were one of them --

"I'll bet right now you're probably thinking you can't trust me with this topic -- but you can. You're safe here, Casey."

Casey was on his feet. "No," he blurted, defiant, shaking.

The psychiatrist did not remark on his apparent intention to bolt. He said, mildly, "It must be scary, thinking that anyone -- any person at all -- could be the enemy."

Casey didn't answer, eyeballing the door for distance. He could get there quickly if he had to... but he was unexpectedly lured by the tantalizing suggestion of understanding about fears that had been living inside him for years now.

"What do you think might happen?" asked Dr. Spadoni casually.

He heard himself talking like someone else actually was in control of his body. "They c-could be... anyone."

"Like me?"

For a heartbeat he gaped at the psychiatrist, feeling himself teetering on a brink. "Yes," he wept at last, succumbing to trembling knees and collapsing back onto the couch.

"Go on, Casey. Tell me."

"They have... long... tentacles..they... get inside like that."

"Tentacles," the doctor echoed neutrally, writing.

"Mary Beth... she was the queen... once they get inside no tentacles, look just like... normal."

"What does it feel like when they get inside?"

"Don't know."

"I don't think I quite believe that, Casey. You act like someone who knows intimately that what you fear."

The voice was compelling. Like hers had been. And he was trained to surrender. "Yes," he admitted.

"Go on."

"It's... it's... they-go-in-in-side... you can't stop them... making you..."

"So it's like being violated..."

"... but then you... you don't want them to-to stop..."

He felt something on his arm and recoiled. Spadoni was sitting next to him now, trying to touch him just like they had done to Nurse Harper in the lounge, they had forced her down on the couch and put that thing in her and Spadoni was in between him and the door.

"Casey, I'm not going to hurt you. You're ... very upset... and I just wanted to offer comfort."

"No... t-touching."

"No touching, I swear it. I'll just sit here at the other end of the couch." Dr. Spadoni waited, perhaps for him to calm but must have seen that it wasn't going to happen. "Take some deep breaths. In... out... that's good. And again."

The man was still too close. "Go sit at your desk," Casey stipulated, testing him.

"All right. If that's what you want. This fear can't hurt you, Casey. You won't die from it, just like you won't die from remembering." Dr. Spadoni returned to his usual chair. "I do appreciate you staying in this room, Casey. It shows courage and trust. I respect that." Steepling his fingers... ."You told the press three years ago -- that you killed the queen."

"Yes... killed her."

"But you still have fears that there are aliens among us. Wouldn't it be a great relief to know that there aren't any aliens, that you're safe?"

"Never safe," he muttered.

"From being hurt by other human beings, no. But I have to be honest, Casey, and tell you that I don't remember anything happening to me like what you describe."

And just like that the offer of understanding was withdrawn. It had to have been a tease, bait to get him to open up and reveal his insanity.

"Just think about it, Casey. If it had happened like you said, wouldn't there be other people in this town experiencing the same kind of anxiety and stress that you do? Wouldn't someone be willing to step forward and say, 'yes, I remember'?"

"They all lied... everyone... ."

"And I'm lying now?"

He didn't answer.

"Isn't it a bit improbable that a whole town would be conspiring in this big lie?"

Again, he didn't reply.

"When it comes right down to it, Casey, it doesn't matter to me that you believe aliens invaded our town. People all over the world believe things like that. But my problem is this: I think that story is a cover for the things that actually happened to you, from last week and going back three years ago. They're the real reasons why you don't feel safe."

Dr. Spadoni's voice grew thick and intense as he warmed to his topic.

"Let me tell you about a colleague of mine. Her name is Dr. Allen and she's a specialist, if you want to call it that, on alien abductions. She's interviewed hundreds of people who claimed to be abducted and found they all had very similar memories, like shadowy figures that performed invasive experiments on them, and so on. And in many cases it turned out that those memories were a distorted account of sexual abuse, usually repressed from childhood. Now, I'm not saying your situation is exactly like that. What I'm suggesting is that your memory of the aliens is possibly a screen for some other trauma or a bunch of traumas that are haunting the edges of your memory."

Having pronounced this hypothesis, Dr. Spadoni tapped his fingers together and waited for Casey to accede to logic.

"No..." Casey denied. "Zeke was there, he can tell you."

"Yes, we're back to Zeke now, aren't we?" There was open dislike in the doctor's voice, thinly glazed by solicitude. "Here's the thing that concerns me. What if my theory is right and Zeke is actually preventing you from healing by encouraging you to believe in aliens?"

"Wh-what?"

"Zeke told me that there were some boys who used to bully you in school."

"Um..."

"He said it was ongoing and pretty severe. He said that you were scared most of the time. Is that true?"

... Zeke, leaning in for a kiss, whispering you're brave... did you know that... ?

"Casey. Don't bail on me now. Tell me... is it true, what Zeke said?"

The doctor seemed to have a hold on the place the words came from now, and was pulling them out of him... like that film they showed in school about the shaman who would yank sickness out of people's bellies and it looked like long, bloody ropes torn from them. "Yeah," he admitted, just beholding what was coming out of him, watching the grotesque revelations with no inkling of how to stop them.

"Does that sound like trauma to you?"

"But... I remember it..."

"Isn't it possible that there are parts of it you don't remember?"

"I don't... understand."

"When did the bullying stop, Casey?"

He had heard that accusation before. "After the aliens -- but I didn't make them up."

"I believe that you didn't make them up, Casey. But what if that story was something you came to accept as true, something you needed to be true?"

His eyes were hot and gritty. Surely the shaman must be finished with his performance, but no, he was still pulling hand over hand, hands full of bright red, sickly entrails.

"Casey?"

"I'm... I... want to lay down."

"Keeping secrets on yourself is tiring."

"There's-no--" he laboured for air -- "... no secret... I want to go back to my room."

"Not just yet." The doctor was watching, pulling..."I'll make my point and let you be, Casey. What I'm getting around to saying is... Zeke told me something else when I talked to him. He confessed something to me. I hadn't intended to share this with you because I didn't think it was a priority, but now I see that it's all linked... the alien story, your relationship with Zeke and your difficulty in maintaining boundaries. We won't fix it today, but I need you to understand why you should keep a comfortable distance from Zeke."

He could barely breathe; convulsions were beginning to form in his throat.

"Zeke is very protective of you, Casey. He told me how distressed he was that you were being hurt constantly by those other boys... and then he told me that he made up the alien story sort of by accident -- but then it turned into a way to help you. People left you alone because they thought you were a bit dangerous, but it was really just a story."

"Don't... under... stand."

"Zeke made up the whole story about the alien invasion, Casey, and you've adopted it somewhere along the way as the truth. He explained it to me."

"Zeke... wuh-wouldn't."

"He did. I'm not lying, Casey."

"Stop... shut up..."

"I swear this is what Zeke told me. So you see... there were no aliens. It wasn't a deliberate attempt to hurt you. He meant well, but he didn't expect you to believe it like you did. He's been carrying this around for years now, afraid to say anything I imagine and he told me now only because he knew that I needed to understand in order to help you--"

One final tug and his guts were lying on the floor, his belly gaping empty --

Casey shot up from the couch, aiming for escape -- but there seemed to be something wrong with his feet. And while he was trying to find the door, he couldn't see it. He couldn't see anything. His hands found hard wall but could make no sense of it. He scrabbled, searching for an opening, a way out.

"I'm not judging Zeke." The voice sounded right in his ear, distorted and loud. "He was trying to protect you in his way... but you see why there should be a certain distance between you two right now?"

"Let-let me-let me -- out."

Weight fell on his shoulders, restraining him. "It's all right, Casey."

He moaned it: "Let me out, please..." He struggled against the confinement and if the voice said any more he didn't hear it, he heard only a terrible noise a little bit like that trapped animal had made in that other scene but more broken now because the creature couldn't breathe, he was sobbing for air. The weight on his shoulders forced him down. His face came to rest on hard, smooth... the floor, he knew the floor. He clung to it while heavy hands rested on his back, ready to press again if they needed to.

"It's all right, Casey..." with a sorrowful lilt.

A door sound, a whoosh of colder air on his face and the little bird chirped, "Tony, what... ?"

"Allie, could you... one hundred... chlordiazapox-"

... jacket, doctor? Not unless necessary... .

More doors opening and closing. A stinging in his arm.

"What happened?"

"We... discussion... trauma..." The words trickled away.

"Hey, Case? Casey? You wanna wake up?"

Zeke was sitting next to his bed.

Casey struggled to lift his head. His mouth was glued shut, and there was crud like small chunks of rock accreted in his eyes. "Mmmh."

"You've been in that bed quite a while," Zeke said. "Case? You gonna get up?"

He dragged himself up. His body was a bit stiff again. "... what?"

"Spadoni," Zeke said and made two words of the name, spa and doni, like he wanted to spit on the man. "He said you had a rough session and he had to sedate you. That was yesterday. You were right out of it when I showed up last night." Zeke shifted uncomfortably. "You said stuff to me... that didn't make any sense."

"I... last night?"

"I'll tell you later." Zeke switched gears. "Did you sleep all day today?"

"... don't think so." Now it came back to him... he had been lying there drifting in and out. He couldn't be bothered to respond to his parents or Allie. He didn't eat and Allie had used all kinds of threats but he had figured out that they could be ignored quite safely a lot of the time. Refusing to perform was the only power he had and he would use it as needed.

His legs were like overcooked noodles as he got to his feet. Zeke rushed to help him up; he shoved off Zeke's hand. Everyone was always so eager to help him up after they pushed him down. Maybe Zeke was hurt by his rejection-but it could also be a ploy to get under his guard. Too late, though, Zeke was already there, inhabiting his very centre. There was nothing he could do. It was so perfectly fitting that after all that drama he had let the enemy slip right inside him without so much as a twitch. Funny.

"You're giving me some look there," Zeke said.

"Gotta brush my teeth," Casey muttered, stumbling towards the bathroom.

He went into the bathroom and locked the door. Bracing himself on the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror and was amazed to see a person who resembled himself as far as he knew... brushing his teeth... washing his face... curious...

"Casey?" Zeke called through the door, sounding nervous..

Zeke told me... there were no aliens... he made them up...

How had Zeke sounded when he said that? It couldn't have been that same voice.

"Casey!?"

He unlocked the door and opened it. Outside there was a face he trusted. Would trust, even if it brought him to the demise that he feared.

"Where's Sasha?" he asked.

"He's at home," Zeke supplied. He bit his lip, charmingly insecure right then. "It's just me this afternoon."

Uninvited, Dr. Spadoni poked half of his body into the room. "Casey... I was coming to check on you. I'm glad to see you're up." He glanced at Zeke. "Good afternoon,, Zeke. I suppose you want to go out and take Casey with you."

"Maybe I do. You got a problem with that?"

"That's up to Casey, of course."

"I'll bet you're hungry," Zeke said to Casey. "We could go grab a bite."

Two faces, two sets of eyes with barbed hooks digging into him, two sets of demands.

There was no choice.

"Okay," he consented, averting his face from them both.

Lee's Chinese, it was, in Whitby. Nothing very original about it, but there was something comforting about steamed rice and neon pink sauce. They took a booth and were served by a tiny Asian woman who looked no older than eighteen. Casey ordered Number Three. Zeke ordered Number Six and a pot of tea. Casey kept his head down, fiddling with his wooden chopsticks.

"Case... what's wrong?"

He didn't look up. "Nothing."

"Liar," Zeke returned mildly.

A bubble of black goo rose up and situated itself at the back of his throat. He swallowed furiously. It had to go back down, it had to. Nothing could be gained by it. Of course Zeke did things because he thought they were right. He never meant to but still he did things, he did things and left everyone flapping about scurrying about behind him trying to catch up, to cope... to forgive because it was much better for Zeke to be in charge you wanted him to be in charge so you shouldn't be angry you weren't angry-

There. It went away, down, leaving only the consciousness of being in Zeke's orbit.

"Something's going on with you," Zeke whispered, sounding irritated. "What-"

The waitress showed up with Number Three. Casey set to it with the firm concentration that eating always seemed to require. He followed the precepts of Allie, his trainer in this field of endeavour. Cut two three... bite two three... chew two three...

Zeke wasn't going let it go, though. He didn't take a bite of his own food, just slurped tea for a bit before setting the tiny cup down with a clink that could have taken a chip out of it. Casey lost the mouthful of rice he had cradled in his chopsticks.

"Last night," Zeke started in, "when you were... when I came to visit and you were drugged... you said something to me."

Panic hit the ground running.

"I wouldn't make a deal out of it except it's kind of bothering me."

"It was nothing," Casey mumbled. He reset his grip on the chopsticks and collected a piece of chicken, took a bite out of it, silently pleading that Zeke would want him to focus on eating and give up the interrogation.

"Then you remember-?" Zeke pressed him.

"No."

"Can I tell you what you said?"

He shook his head, but Zeke ignored it.

"You looked right at me for a second, and you said, 'you put me in the closet again'. Why would you say that, Casey?"

Casey put down his chopsticks and cradled his stomach in his hands. There was food in his mouth that tasted like ashes stuck together with grease... he grabbed his napkin and gagged the food into it. For a few cold seconds he thought everything else he had consumed was going to follow that bite on the way out. He pressed his hand against his mouth and fought it down, hearing far away on the edges of a white haze: "Casey... it's okay, I'm stopping now... I'm stopping--"

"No," he whispered, tears squeezing out the corners of his eyes because he couldn't even understand himself, not at all.

"Excuse me." Their waitress seemed to be standing there. "Is the food okay?"

"Yes," he heard Zeke say from afar. "Please... leave us be, he'll be fine." A sinuous motion was Zeke sliding in beside him. "Casey... don't go anywhere."

Zeke's arm enclosed him, rubbing, rubbing his shoulder and as always the contact soothed him. Slowly his breathing evened and he slumped against Zeke. Take me back, he begged in his head. Obviously I belong in that place, not here with regular people. I'm tired, too fucking tired for sweet and sour chicken and fried rice.

"I'm sorry," Zeke said softly in his ear. "I'm sorry."

"Kay."

"I'll shut up now."

"Kay."

"Do you want to finish your food?"

He shook his head.

"Come on, Case. I hate to think you were about to eat this whole plate of food and I wrecked it." Zeke's hand was big and warm and strong against his neck, squeezing his shoulder gently.

there are rules... you eat and take your pills and be a good boy and you can come with me...

"Okay," he sniffed. He pushed the soiled napkin out of sight and picked up his utensils. His hands were shaking too much for the chopsticks; he had to use the fork instead. Zeke stayed right next to him the whole time, making sure the nutcase didn't snap and do himself more damage.

"Do you want to go back?" Zeke asked when they were back in his car.

Even a nutcase could see that Zeke was hurt; it hurt Zeke that Casey couldn't be normal around him, that attempts to treat Casey like the coherent person that Casey should want to be met with disaster. That Casey couldn't tell him to piss off but instead would resort to the cheap manoeuver of throwing a fit in public.

"No," Casey replied, as sanely as he could manage.

"Well... we'll just go for a little tour about, how about that?"

It was quite late -- sunset, and it was spectacular. At its most perfect, the sun just on the edge of the horizon splitting the light into a panoply of reds, oranges and pinks over the remains of a deep blue and a smattering of white clouds. Zeke must have been feeling uncomfortable, for he actually commented on it. "Look at the sky," he said.

"Nice," Casey said.

Zeke looked pained; his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Casey," he said after ten agonizing minutes.

"Yes, Zeke."

"If I've done something wrong... I want you to tell me. You believe me, right, that I want you to tell me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"You can be mad at me, it's okay."

"I know."

"Casey -- would you just-fucking stop it already and tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Casey's heart was ticking down to an explosion and he didn't think he would survive it. He tried to take a breath, and gulped. He tried again -- and again. "Just tired," he got out, and heard himself sound more normal.

"Do you want to--"

"No," he said quickly. He added, "I want to be here with you," which was the truth even if it wasn't.

Aimless, they drove around Whitby while the sun went down and it became dark. Casey slid into a half-sideways position, watching Zeke in profile as he drove with well-delineated, competent motions. Both windows were down and there was a potent but warm breeze through the car that was whipping Zeke's hair up and sideways and back. At one point Zeke lit up a cigarette and Casey watched him smoke, fascinated by his casual fuck-you elegance, with one hand lifting the cigarette to his mouth, holding it, drawing it away and then smoke issuing from his nostrils in the semi-darkness. Right about then Zeke glanced over at Casey and his intent, low-lidded gaze punched Casey in the gut.

They were pulling into a small park that ran along the river through the middle of Whitby, lined by tree-shrouded parking slots. It had to be Makeout Central; there were several cars lined up, silent and motionless, but not a live body in sight. Zeke turned off the motor and just sat silently for a full minute before turning to Casey with naked hunger written in his eyes and mouth and hands.

It wasn't very long before Casey was straddling Zeke in the driver's seat, ignoring the frequent collisions between his lower back and the steering wheel as Zeke plundered his mouth, crushing Casey's skull against his own with one hand while the other arm encircled Casey like a band of iron. Eventually he had Casey forced against the driver-side door, humping with uncoordinated, desperate necessity, unable to find a satisfying level of friction until Casey unzipped him and took him silky smooth and burning in his hand to help him finish. The last few thrusts sent Casey's head into the metal window frame while hot liquid spilled over his hand and onto his clothes.

Casey returned to the hospital late with come stains on his shirt, his lips swollen and chapped from prolonged rubbing against Zeke's stubble. Zeke escorted him in and left him at his bedside. Empty and confused now that Zeke was gone, Casey rolled into his bed and clutched the sheets up under his chin. He could not retrieve the amnesiac happiness that came so easily when he was in contact with Zeke. He tried to find it, calling forth the scent of Zeke and the taste of him and the lines and planes that made up his face -- but at a distance it all smelled and tasted and looked sickening.

The next day he stayed in bed. He didn't go to the doctor's office, he skipped group and classes and lunch and pretty much everything that he could skip. He idly followed the twittering of the nurses trying to bother him out of bed and his parents' attempts to make conversation that gradually subsided into a resigned silence and the up and down and sideways of Mike's endless telephone conversation. When the sound of the chatter became unbearable, Casey pulled the covers over his head even though it was still nearly broad daylight outside and managed to shut it out until the next time Mike decided to try to get his attention.

"Hey, Casey, you coming to movie night?"

Mike's voice was bright and for the first time Casey actively hated him. By this time it should have been perfectly obvious to Mike and everyone else that Casey was not going to fucking perform, he was not going to participate and they should have known better than to ask --

"Okay, I'm going... maybe I'll see you there." Mike called. As if he expected it mattered to Casey. "Oh, hi, guys... don't even try to talk to him, he's having a black day."

Casey clenched the covers in his fists.

"Hey, Case."

"Hi, kitten. Bad day, huh?"

He couldn't quite bring himself to hide his face from them; he pulled down the sheet until it came just up to his neck, suddenly remembering that he was still wearing the same shirt from last night. He didn't want Zeke to see; Zeke would then come to the inexorable realization that his lover was even more of a freak than previously suspected.

Half an hour later Zeke and Sasha gave up trying to coax him out of bed and just sat with him in silence for the remainder of their visit.

Through the sheet, Casey watched the light go down and the dark rise.

When the light grew again, Allie came with the big guns. She had two orderlies with her and was prepared to use them. Casey knew he was not going to win; he threw off the covers and dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. He washed perfunctorily, dressed in the same sweats and a fresh t-shirt and took his time getting to Spadoni's office.

Spadoni was standing at the door, clearly impatient to get him inside. "You didn't show up yesterday."

"Mm hmm."

"Why was that?"

"Didn't feel like it."

The psychiatrist sighed, long and soulfully. "Sit down, Casey, please."

Casey sat, hearing the door close, not watching as Spadoni walked back to his usual place. Unusually, they sat in a total silence for several minutes.

"You look like you didn't sleep last night, Casey," ventured the psychiatrist, breaking the quiet.

"Un huh."

"You know, Casey, I realize you are a voluntary patient here and we have no right to hamper your coming and going, but you had a lot of people worried the other night. We thought you were just going for supper and you came back after ten o'clock. I expect an apology."

"Sorry."

"All right, I'll assume that was more heartfelt than it sounded. And I must ask that in the future if you want to leave the premises for a while, please consider the feelings of the staff here."

"Okay."

"I've asked you for an apology and now it's my turn. I'm sorry for the other day. I misjudged how upsetting that information would be for you and I'm sorry."

"Fine."

"It's not fine. But we make mistakes and we move on, right?"

"Right."

"I still think my goal was correct, though, Casey. And I find it interesting that you chose to go out with Zeke the other night. In light of what I told you. Did you ask him about the stuff that you and I discussed?"

Casey was silent.

"Casey... are you still intending to leave the day after tomorrow?"

"You going to stop me?"

Spadoni reared in surprise. "Of course not. But I'm asking because, quite frankly, I'm concerned about your state of mind right now. It wouldn't hurt to stay another week, perhaps--"

"No."

"All right, that was clear enough." Spadoni shook his head, making a show of regret. "You have a great deal of work ahead of you but you don't have to live here to do it. May I ask where you're going to go?"

"My parents."

"Not to stay with Zeke, then. I admit I'm relieved." After a pause, Spadoni added, "Although I imagine you'll be seeing him every day regardless."

"Do you want to know what we did after supper?"

"You seem angry today, Casey."

"And you seem very interested in what we do, doctor. If you wanna know... we got nasty in his car. I brought him off while he humped me into the steering wheel... I have some new bruises -- would you like to see them?"

"I don't need those kind of details, Casey."

"But you'd like to hear them, wouldn't you?"

"Is this your way of distracting me from a more meaningful topic?"

"Not at all. You said I shouldn't pretend with Zeke, now you know I wasn't pretending. I get off on it, doctor. I can't wait until he fucks me, I love having a man's dick stuffed inside--"

"Casey. If you think you're punishing me somehow for what happened, you're mistaken. You're only hurting yourself by treating yourself this way."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, doctor. In fact... would you like a little taste? We'll have to keep it a secret from Zeke but I have lots of practice at that."

"Casey, stop it. You want to prove that my advice is falling on deaf ears... fine--"

"I'm very good, you know."

" -- but I think you're trying to avoid-the topic of Zeke and aliens and the fact that you're furious at him. You want to switch off your brain and go on with your little fantasy, be my guest. But you'll end up back here sooner or later. Do you want that?"

Silence.

"Do you?"

"No." Casey could hear how small his voice sounded.

"All right, then. Let's get down to the real business at hand. We were discussing your memories of alien invasion."

"I would rather not."

"If we only stuck to the topics you want to discuss, we wouldn't have much to talk about."

Casey pressed his lips together, not sure if the noise he was suppressing was a wail or a scream.

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Do you still insist that your memory of aliens reflects something real?"

"I don't know, okay?"

"Well, that's a start."

Shit -- he shouldn't have said that; he had admitted that he couldn't be sure of anything and he had lost ground. Backtracking, he argued, "I remember it all... so clearly... what she looked like. How scared... I was..."

"False memories are just that, Casey. False memories."

"But I had scars -- on my face-from where they hit me."

"Who hit you?"

"There were these... like slugs... trying to get in. They started to burrow in and... she was screaming."

"Who?"

"The queen. I got her in the eye. It must have hurt her so much. All she really wanted was a home... ."

"You sound guilty when you say that, Casey."

"I had no choice... I had to do it."

"I think we need to explore this more. Now, I don't think for a second that you were directly responsible for the disappearances of Mary Beth and Principal Drake -- but is it not possible that you're carrying around a load of guilt for something that happened and that's why you need to believe that these people were alien creatures from outer space, to justify whatever it was you think you did?"

"No, I told you..."

"A moment ago you just admitted to me you're not sure anymore about your memories."

"Why can't you just let me believe what I want?" Casey burst out.

"I could, Casey. It's not hurting anyone -- except you."

Could it have been an illusion? He could no longer deny it was possible, but if it were the truth, what then? He would have nothing. Not the event that defined him, and not Zeke either. Therefore, it must have happened, because he couldn't survive without Zeke and Zeke only loved him because he was the other that gave up being other... because he was alien. And since it must have happened --

He couldn't be having this conversation.

"I think," he said, trying to sound calm, "I'd like to go now."

"At the very least why don't you ask Zeke about his version of events?"

Casey moved in preparation for standing up. "I want to go."

"Stay where you are, Casey."

It was an order. He had never disobeyed an authority figure before; he was paralyzed.

Spadoni said, "We still have a half an hour."

"It-it doesn't matter... won't help," Casey stammered.

Spadoni had never left his place behind his desk, regarding Casey intently. He launched into another speech with, "I'm very disappointed in myself, Casey. I fear I've allowed our discussions to get a bit adversarial. That's really not the optimal way to work together... although we needn't always agree one hundred per cent either."

Raising his head, Casey pushed the words out with a traitorous mouth that was doing what it could to sabotage him. "I... don't want... to... to discuss the aliens... with you... anymore."

To his eyes, Spadoni didn't react. "I hear you, Casey. I"m quite happy to let the subject drop -- for now."

"Ever. Not discuss ever."

"I don't see how we can avoid it, Casey."

"I'm... I'm leaving." The words emerged with something that sounded close to resolve.

"Not now, Casey, we need to talk."

"Leaving the hospital."

The doctor got quiet for a bit; that must have been a surprise. But he recovered quickly and returned, "It's not a good idea, Casey. I'm sure you feel like you're ready, and you are stronger, no question, but I think if you're honest with yourself you'll admit you're still shaky. You spent yesterday in bed, Casey."

"I can lie in bed at home."

"What about what happened four days ago? You couldn't continue our session because you were so agitated. I had to sedate you, do you remember that?"

Oh, yes, he remembered the scene well. Decisions made for him, information pressed upon an already overused brain, heavy hands on an overused body. Trust me, I know what you need. Open up. Spread 'em. Swallow. This was the Life of Casey Connor, stripped of all the tired, theatrical devices. Before he knew it he was on his feet and he was almost shouting--"You're not helping me!"

"I'm sorry that you feel that way. Casey, all I'm asking for is a few more days. This is a pivotal time. You've been feeling a lot of things, emotions are coming to the surface... like anger... you're angry and you're not thinking clearly."

Spadoni's calm only made Casey more angry, if it was indeed anger that he was feeling. Whatever it was, it made everything easier. Words were coming from him just like they sometimes had in the distant past and he didn't even want to stop them. He declared, "You think you know me but you don't know me. You don't get me."

"Casey -- you're lashing out at me and I'm not the one you're angry with. You want to leave now, play happy with Zeke... it's not going to work. I know your head is filled with fantasies of how it will be but reality isn't like that. Are you even prepared to confront him about what he told me?"

"Zeke lied to you is all."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Whatever the truth is, Casey, I don't think you've had an honest conversation about it with Zeke."

"He wants to help me... everyone wants to help me. So he lies, everyone lies... you lie."

"I?" Spadoni snorted a little, trying to laugh. "I wouldn't lie, Casey."

And Casey understood how to shut this man up once and for all.

He approached the doctor at a slow glide, sidled around the desk and stood where no one ever stood. "Yeah, you do. You just don't know it..."

"What are you doing, Casey?"

"You know what I think?" he said softly. "I think you do remember being with her. You wake up in the middle of the night crying because you seem to have lost something but you don't remember what it is." He drifted closer... he rested both hands on the armrests of the doctor's chair and leaned down. "I think you hate me for taking it away from you."

Their faces were a few inches apart.

"Casey, this is not acceptable behaviour... step back..."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, doctor, I'm just going to jog your memory a little. Remember how it felt? No fear, no pain... no more fighting for acknowledgment because you work in a silly little hospital in Ohio... .she showed you something beautiful, didn't she, and you can't bear to remember."

"Casey... stop this."

"What am I going to do to you, doctor? You have all the power here."

"You've been victimized, and now you're acting out... you're just hurting yourself."

"But you just don't know, do you? I spent time alone with her, Tony. I was with her again not too long ago. You have no way of knowing..." Casey closed the final few inches and breathed in the man's ear. "Maybe I am her, doctor."

Spadoni came up out of his chair, pushing it back and shoving Casey away from him as he took several steps. He came to a stand still, his face grey, his chest heaving.

"You remember now?" Casey said, feeling the words coil and resonate in his throat.

"Casey... listen to me. You're not well."

"I know that, doctor. But you can't help me."

Rasping breaths. "I... agree with that."

"I'm going now." Casey walked to the door. Just before he stepped out he half-turned and said, "You go ahead and write that paper about me if you like."

The next thing he was aware of was throwing up in the bathroom, kneeling beside the toilet, trying to stop heaving.

"Hey, Casey-"

He flipped around, sitting down hard on the bathroom floor. Mike was filling thedoor, looking uncertain and a tad sqeamish.

"You okay? You need a doctor?"

Apparently, yes... that seems to be the consensus. He giggled and half choked, breaking off into a strangled noise.

Mike continued to look uneasy.

"No," Casey out. "No doctor." He wiped his mouth and made himself move, to flush the toilet, to stand up, to brush his teeth. Leaving the bathroom, he saw that Mike was still there, wanting to be helpful.

"Mike, can I... could I use your phone?"

Mike got a lot brighter. "Sure, Casey! Here you go, and I'll leave you alone."

"It's okay... .thank you..." He punched Zeke's number, his fingers almost missing the keys at times.

"Zeke Tyler."

"Zeke."

"Casey?" From the sound of it, Zeke was imagining nothing less than the apocalypse at hearing Casey's voice on the phone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just... will you come and get me?" His voice went high at the end, as emotion threatened to break through and make mush of coherent speech.

"Um... get for a ride, you mean?"

"No." He patted the soft goo back into recognizable sounds. "To go home."

"Casey..." Zeke's mind could be heard clicking away. "What's happened?"

He asked that as though he didn't know, hadn't lied... no. Mustn't think... would not think...

"Casey!" Zeke hollered in his ear.

"It's okay," he replied. "But I'm leaving, I can't stay here."

"It's not that I don't want to, Casey -- fuck, there's nothing that would make me happier, but--"

"I want you to come and get me," he interrupted, much louder than necessary, clutching the phone so hard his hand was aching. "Please, Zeke." He had lowered his voice, slipped into a mode of persuasion that would be more recognizable to Zeke.

"All right," Zeke agreed, sounding breathless, stunned. "I'll be there in less than an hour."

Fighting to remain collected if not calm, Casey set about packing his little suitcase. He decided to sit out in front of the hospital, just to be safe because anything could happen in an hour. They could slap another three-day hold on him if they wanted to... but in actuality they only stopped him long enough to ask him to sign a couple of pieces of paper. He seated himself on the bench out in front, rested his suitcase on his knees and his hands on top of it, watching for Zeke.

A movement at his left made his head snap up.

It was Spadoni, holding out a slip of paper. "Take this please."

"What is it?"

"A prescription for Paxil, for six months. Get it filled and keep taking them. If you have any symptoms that distress you, get to a doctor quickly. I don't expect there will be any, you've been taking it for almost two weeks now. If after two months nothing's changed you'll need to discuss alternatives with a doctor."

He accepted the scrap. "Thank you."

Spadoni appeared to be searching for words. "Casey. I'm just going to say one more thing. Find another therapist... someone you can work with."

Casey gazed at the road, silently intent that Zeke would appear.

"Will you promise me that, Casey?"

"Promise," he grunted.

"Thank you." His former psychiatrist cleared his throat, about to say --

Zeke's Mustang roared into view and within thirty seconds was pulling to a stop right in front of them. Zeke must have broken several laws to get here this quickly; he reached across his own seat and pushed the passenger-side door open for Casey. His face shone with twenty emotions at least.

"C'mon, Case," he urged, acknowledging Spadoni with a nonchalant and victorious expression.

Casey wasted no time getting in, still holding his suitcase. He reached to close the door but unexpectedly Spadoni put his hand on it and held it open.

"Take care of yourself, Casey. And I mean that literally."

Spadoni shut the car door for him.

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