It was a glib, slightly amplified female voice that insinuated itself in the fog of Zeke's mental landscape, nudging him from his slouch: "Good afternoon. This is your pre-boarding announcement for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los Angeles. At this time we ask that all First Class passengers, passengers travelling with small children or needing assistance, please come forward for boarding..."

There was a magazine sitting unread on Zeke's lap, every page of it still crisp and glossy. He checked his watch and tried to fathom that two and a half hours had just vanished into the ether. Presumably he had been thinking really hard and should have come to some truly profound realizations — but all he had to show for it was a whole lot of nothing.

Rewinding the tape on the afternoon, he skimmed over what was more or less a sullen funk and came upon the dissonant memory of leaving Casey. The soundtrack was deceptively low-key at that point, albeit with all sorts of gnashing sounds churning beneath the surface — a scene two people saying good-bye while on both sides of them people streamed back and forth to wherever and whatever, seeming to ignore them but perhaps taking a quick, wondering glance if opportunity afforded it. Thinking to themselves It's a couple of kids having a dramatic moment...a couple of...boys...hey, wait a minute, that boy is touching that other boy...

It was right then in front of the Krispy Kreme that Zeke's larynx had betrayed him, dislodging the words I'll never hate you, noises of sympathy made entirely without the authorization of his brain. His whole body had turned treasonous. After all these months, he should have been resistant to the unique alchemy of Casey's expressive facial features but there had been such an elixir of hopelessness, devastation and shame in that visage that it had been all Zeke could do to turn and make his legs bear him away. And he was the injured party, for fuck's sake.

Of course, once he had gotten out of Casey's direct line of sight his body was content follow normal operating procedures again. He had bought that magazine — along with a fresh pack of smokes — thinking he would need something to pass the time with then walked to Gate Forty-Seven where he'd chosen one of the plush, comfortable seats. He had planted himself in it, glorying in that moment when finally he was entirely alone, or at least as alone as anyone could get in an airport filled with thousands of people. Still it was Zeke Tyler at large in the world, just like the good old days. No Frank Connor, no Allison Connor, none of their particular hang-ups and endless, superficial nattering...but really, the Connor parental factor was only a minor irritant compared to the constant splinter-under-the-nails discomfort of being trapped in Casey's company all day, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists as Casey ran the gamut of his avoidance games. Until today he hadn't known that it was possible to pity someone and be furious at them simultaneously.

"No-o-o! Don' wanna!"

This protest came from the throat of a small child, maybe four years old to Zeke's inexperienced eyes. She was blond and blue-eyed and cute enough that she had already learned just how to use it to her advantage. She was stamping her foot and fomenting against a woman who remained seated, attempting to engage her at eye level — her mother, presumably. The woman was enduring the display with strained aplomb while the glare of the girl was hot and absolute, as though her insistence must be sufficiently compelling in and of itself to force compliance.

"I realize that you don't want to," replied the mother in tones measured by weary patience. "But we can't visit Auntie Laura unless we go on the plane."

"Wanna stay with Daddy."

"Sorry, sweetie, but you can't." Now the mother rose to her feet, abandoning negotiation in favour of an exercise of authority. She held out her hand. "Come on — "

"No!"

"Samantha Ann!" The facade of patience having failed, the mother grabbed the girl's hand. The scene became a war of attrition; the mother had to drag her screeching offspring to the gate, containing the child inadequately with one hand and presenting her boarding pass and identification with the other, all the while casting abashed looks at her soon-to-be fellow passengers.

And Zeke mused to himself,Now there's true love.

Not that he knew anything about the "L" word. Ignoramus that he was, he'd deluded himself right up until yesterday afternoon that Casey felt something for him, that there was something real amidst the obsession and the lies and the endless drama. A tiny, obstinate part of him had insisted over and over that it was there and so, over and over, he would dedicate his best resources to dredging up those scraps of evidence. But he no longer had the will for that — nor the inclination, really. Love had never been one of his priorities, and certainly not this stupid, cue-the-music-and-ride- off-into-the sunset thing that had held sway over him for months. He'd envisioned himself as Casey's protector, his soul-mate and, of course, the only person Casey could ever need. What a fucking joke.

"No-o-o-o!" screamed Samantha Ann, her voice rising in pitch and volume to an astonishing level.

Yep, gotta be true love, Zeke concluded. And I'm going to be trapped on an airplane for two hours with it. He had nothing against children but after an almost sleepless night and hours of stress already today he was in need of more peaceful conditions. He had earned a time-out.

So much of the stress had been basic, ordinary anger but a lot of it was shock, too. And his head wouldn't shut the fuck up. It kept muttering about this and that, distracting and occasionally throwing him completely off, abhorring Casey's more annoying qualities one second and rattling away in admiration the next. Of course it went without saying that Casey always had the capacity to surprise him. Just in the past twenty-four hours he'd been totally astounded. Casey had never looked anything but entirely shattered but there had been no zone-outs, no panic attacks. Well, the drugs probably made a difference — but still, Zeke should have known, he should have remembered the strength that Casey could muster when he wanted to.

Yeah, Zeke was impressed by Casey and that was to be expected, he could never entirely despise someone who clawed his way up from absolute bottom the way that Casey had — but he was far more impressed by himself. Never had he come so close to deliberately striking Casey as he had yesterday. He had not only controlled it, though, he had demonstrated that he was really quite a tolerant, forbearing guy. He'd been pretty fucking forbearing today too, sitting quietly next to Casey in that car for three hours and even being civil to him. It did help that Casey had been asleep most of the way, clinging to unconsciousness as obstinately as the little girl was now attempting to cling to the airline kiosk. That had been a great advantage to Zeke, who had needed those hours to somehow retrain his eyes, to teach them that the Casey they beheld had never existed. That image translated by his optical nerves did not depict something sublime and fragile and perfect — or any of a hundred other adjectives Zeke had applied to it. It was a thing of deceit and dysfunction. It was, in and of itself, a lie.

You knew what you were doing when you did it, he had berated silently, staring at Casey's face as the miles flashed past beyond the window frame. You did it on purpose to hurt me, not any other reason. You knew what would get to me and you fucking got to me. Well, actions have consequences, I'm not going to excuse you this time. Zeke Tyler may forgive but he won't forget.

Zeke was not without compassion. He knew that Casey felt a compulsion to do certain things, act in certain ways — but it didn't mean that he wasn't accountable for himself. Zeke had seen him govern himself quite effectively when he wanted to. Such as all through Christmas holidays, putting on a show about improvement and reflection and change. It may have been bullshit but it did require a fair bit of self- possession. Anyway, it was obvious that this thing with Thomas wasn't about attraction; it was about Casey needing to prove that he deserved the things that Roy had done to him. It was Casey seeking proof of Zeke's love too, at least as far as he could comprehend the concept. Or proof that he was the slut that he named himself, that he was all those words that Zeke had heard him use from time to time...filthy, useless, unworthy. He was literally begging Zeke to pass judgment on him. Daring Zeke to prove him right so if Zeke was a nice guy he would not judge. He would just accept and they would move on.

Yeah, Zeke was all limbered up and ready to dance the acceptance dance. He could feel that craven, codependent part of himself urging forgiveness but he just couldn't settle the part of him that was selfish and hurt and demanding a real explanation. Fuck the theory of it all. As far as his heart was concerned, everything that he had done for Casey, all the time he'd put in, and the work, and the fucking sacrifice — all of that should have made a difference. He'd never given so much to another person and he'd never wanted to. He should have made a difference.

And he was not going to accept when he still didn't understand. He still didn't know what had happened in that room in the Herrington Best Western last August, not really. Casey had proven quite conclusively that he could shovel convincing bullshit even under the most stressful conditions, so his stammered agreement to the scenario that Zeke had constructed proved absolutely nothing. Indeed, Zeke had fucked up twice over because not only was the confession incomplete, it had been extracted under duress. Clearly there had been an event and that event had damaged Casey but that was all Zeke really knew. He had complete faith in Roy being a selfish shit but otherwise he had only the testimony of Sasha and the letter Roy had sent that had implied Janice's presence and mentioned things getting a little crazy.

Really, there was nothing whatsoever to suggest that Roy had ever done a thing to Casey that was any worse than what others had done. So Roy had hurt Casey physically? Ah, but Zeke had bruised Casey more than once himself, always with his complete assent, sometimes with his encouragement. Okay, then Roy had neglected Casey — but so had Casey's parents. They had not been condemned for it. They were still around, still active in Casey's life.

If nothing else, Roy had controlled Casey, kept him in a position where being submissive was the only power he had. Roy had disregarded his rights as a person — no question, right? Except that was true of everyone who knew Casey. They all ordered him around, monitored where he went, what he did, what he ate, how much he slept. Seeing as everyone in Casey's life was a Roy, how could Zeke hold Roy accountable for a damn thing? He would have to blame everyone equally, including himself. They were, all of them, Roy.

In the much less convoluted space that was external to Zeke's tirade, the screaming Samantha Ann had been detached from her anchor. Zeke traded a glance with an elderly lady sitting in a seat almost directly across from him. She raised her brows wistfully, as if to say Here we go.

Zeke dislodged himself from the seat that he'd inhabited for almost three hours now and walked as far away as he could, hitching his backpack over one shoulder. He had a strong premonition that if he got on that plane he would lose his mind; the flight, not to mention everything that was to follow it, was becoming less and less endurable. He absolutely didn't want to be in Seattle now but at the same time he didn't know if he could stand beside Jacob and shake hands, laugh at dumb jokes and reminiscences, eat cake and smile indulgently at whatever godawful music was being played. He would much rather...well, nothing. There was nothing he'd rather do.

Except hunt down Roy and hurt him until he confessed that he was a genuinely cruel, heartless bastard who had victimized Casey in ways that Zeke could only begin to empathize with, ways that would make it totally understandable that Casey did the fucked-up things that he did. That would be so much more relevant.

"This is your boarding call on Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los Angeles. All passengers in Rows Thirty through Twenty-One, please come forward..."

Zeke glanced at his boarding pass and confirmed that he was in Row Eight. He had a few minutes to kill, so he could indulge a mad idea in the meantime.

To find and confront Roy. Oh, but it would be a truly audacious move on Zeke's part. He really liked that about it — although it was still less nervy than travelling twice a week to a hotel in Herrington to exploit a much younger, much more vulnerable person, to use them until they were broken. There had to be a sense of entitlement in this man that bordered on sociopathic. It could not be a case of simple misunderstanding or a series of mistakes that culminated in one big mistake. If it was all just a mistake, there would be very little difference between Roy and a person who physically trapped and remorselessly interrogated Casey until he vomited up the worst truth in his possession.

Zeke couldn't deny it: He had pushed Casey far past the point of necessity or kindness or real understanding, forcing Casey to an act of self-destruction. That might just have been Roy-like behaviour...but suppose that Zeke could prove once and for all that he was not Roy —

Fuck it. It was absurd. It was improbable.

It was the only way to be sure that he knew what he knew. To find that there was something he could understand, that he would never just make up a pleasing fiction so he could forgive. Forcing the issue with Casey had gained him nothing except an appreciation that, when it came to lying, Casey had few peers. Even if by some miracle Casey had attempted honesty yesterday, it didn't mean that Zeke had gotten the truth. Information derived from torture was known to be unreliable, plus Casey's memory of the event in question was very likely compromised. He had been starving and dehydrated, barely coherent. Of the three witnesses to that day, he was probably the least credible.

"This is your boarding call for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los Angeles. All passengers in Rows Twenty through Nine, please come forward for boarding. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready."

Standing next to a smooth, grey metal pillar, Zeke watched the line of passengers forming and re-forming. If he was going to Los Angeles, he should really get up and join them...except his body was doing that betrayal thing again. His feet were in a state of outright rebellion.

So what do you want? he demanded of himself. He was not a person who believed much in intuition, but it did seem like the non-sentient parts of himself were trying to tell him something. You don't like this airline? This particular plane? Oh, I know. It's the little girl, right? Well, that's life, you know. You have to put up with a certain amount of shit.

Fuck that, the rest of him shot back. You never used to put up with shit. You were a bad ass alpha dog who did whatever it took to keep things in order.

I've changed...and anyway, I think I've been sufficiently badass lately.

Oh, really? And which badass was it who said all that stuff about 'Oh, I'm sorry, Casey.' 'Sorry I have to do this.' 'I'll forgive you, Casey.' 'I'll never hate you, Casey.'

Zeke's cheeks warmed at his own debasement. What do you want from me?

How about a return to our former glory? There was a time when Zeke Tyler didn't apologize or compromise on what was best for him. He would get off his soft, sentimental ass and take no prisoners.

I could dump Casey, I guess. Would that make you happy?

It would be the simplest way. No one would blame you.

"This is your final boarding call for Northwest Flight 1806 non-stop to Los Angeles. All passengers in Rows Eight through One, please come forward for boarding, and please have your boarding pass and identification ready."

Zeke was finally able to convince his feet to move, taking him to the back of the line. It was ludicrous to be standing there like he didn't know what to do with himself. He had a ticket and a plane waiting for him; he had a destination. Moreover, he had familial obligation and, quite evidently, he had to figure out how to exist in such a way that not every moment of every day was about Casey.

But I don't want to hurt him. He's been hurt enough.

Well, cry me a river...and it's kinda too late to not hurt him by the way. Okay, if you're not going to dump him, you sap, then the least you can do is make sure that we don't look stupid. Maybe he's made a chump of us again but this time we don't have to let him get away with it.

And how would I do that?

Like you don't fucking know.

"Boarding pass, sir?"

Zeke blinked at the smiling female in a red sweater over a red, pin-striped blouse. She was holding out her hand expectantly.

"Um...yeah..." he started.

Unexpectedly, his own hand withdrew itself and the boarding pass.

"Sir?"

"You know what?" he said. "I've changed my mind."

The cynical parts of him said he had just gone psychotic — but he figured the rest of him had to know what it was doing. If he was going to go back to Seattle and forgive Casey — which let's face it, sap was more or less a given — he had to know that at least he wasn't ridiculous, that people weren't snickering behind their hands at him.

"Changed your mind?"

"I don't want to go to Los Angeles today."

"I'm not sure that we'll be able to refund your ticket, sir."

"That's okay." Zeke took a few steps sideways, so that it would be clearly indicated that he was no longer in the line. "Will I need to go back through security to get out?"

"Are you sure, sir? The plane will be leaving in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Um...I will need to page security...and there may be a delay to get your luggage."

"Of course," Zeke answered, and resolved to give it no more than a half hour. If it took longer to get his bags because they were buried in the belly of the plane or something, he would leave and come back for them in a day, or two days...however long it took.

As it turned out, the airline's customer service was more than adequate. Thirty minutes later, Zeke and his luggage were waiting out in the Arrivals zone in front of the airport. There was a long row of taxi-cabs. He waved at one, whose back trunk obligingly popped open for him. Throwing in his bags and slamming it closed, he slipped into the back seat of the vehicle.

"Can you take me to a library?" He'd made the most of his time while waiting for security to clear him and for the airline people to retrieve his bags. It was near the end of the day and he had to act quickly. There wasn't enough time to find a hotel right now, not if he was going to get anything accomplished today, so it looked like he was going to be dragging these fricking suitcases with him everywhere for a while. "There's a public library downtown, right?"

"Sure is...huge one," the cabbie said. She was a largish woman who looked and sounded like she'd led a rough life.

As they descended into metropolitan Cincinnati, Zeke deduced from her choice of radio stations that she liked classic rock. From her complete silence, he deduced that she was not much of a talker and he was relieved; talking would have distracted him. Holding himself in a state of tremulous calm the entire way, he was primed to spring into action the moment he hit the sidewalk. I need to know, he chanted to himself. Need to know, need to know... Zeke Tyler was no gullible idiot, he wouldn't let himself be taken advantage of, and he wouldn't go to his father's wedding until he had proven that.

But there was more. His insides absolutely quivered with satisfaction as he anticipated himself outlining everything he had learned to Casey. I understand you, he would say. And there's nothing you can do about it. He would tell Casey how one of them was going to provide Dr. Yves with the true story of Casey's last encounter with Roy. If Casey refused, then it would fall to Zeke and he would finally be in a position to do it right. Naturally, no other person on the planet would understand Casey as completely as he did — but he could be magnanimous. He would share his acquired knowledge with Dr. Yves, as it would make all the difference in enabling her to do her job.

His cab left him at the main branch of the Cinncinati Public library on Vine Street. It was a modern red-brick and glass edifice that swallowed almost an entire city block; there was an aesthetic surprise when Zeke went inside and discovered that an atrium formed the centre of the structure, wrapping around a much older building. He could see all the way up to the top of five, wondrous floors of information but he could only pause briefly to appreciate the architectural ingenuity. He had his mission.

Moving as speedily as he could, he found a place out of the way to put his bags, near the bank of public access computers that was his objective. A sign informed him that he would have to pay for any printing that he did. He claimed one of the two or three open stations, opened the web browser and Googled "Donald Windle".

There was a lot more material about the man than Zeke had been expecting. The very first hit was an article from the Cincinnati Enquirer describing the opening of a new exhibition at the Contemporary Arts Centre, sponsored by the Windle Family Trust. The article was dated only two months back and went on at some length about Roy, who had appeared at the dedication in person. Zeke was surprised to discover that Roy had recently taken over his father's business; he remembered Roy writing to Casey about how he was planning to dedicate himself to his art — but then, learning that Roy had told another lie should not be anything startling. Casey had studied under a master.

'I'm personally very committed to the arts,' notes Mr. Windle. 'In fact, I was until last year, a graduate student in Fine Arts at the University of Ohio. Some of my work is on the university website. But then my father died and I had to take on other responsibilities.'

Windle is the President and Chair of WindleCorp. His family owns a majority of shares in the company and Windle currently is working full-time with the family business.

'It's a far cry from photography,' Windle says. 'But I'm certainly glad to be able to contribute in this way to something that I love.'

Returning to his search results, Zeke found University of Ohio website and located the student-maintained gallery that Roy had mentioned, as well as descriptions of several courses Roy that had taught last year; he glanced at the images of Roy's work only long enough to note that they were black and white photographic portraits, then moved on.

There was some business relating to a legal action against WindleCorp and some references to membership in the Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce, and finally, there were a number of items from "around town" or social departments of various papers and newsletters. A person who knew nothing of Roy except his name could easily learn that the youthful Mr. and Mrs. Windle had been seen often on the Cincinnati social scene, even before their marriage in May. After only four months together, however, they had divorced. Then, more recently, Donald Windle had been seen about town with various young men. There was one photo of Roy and another person but it was of such poor quality that Zeke could barely make out Roy's features. The caption hinted slyly at the nature of Roy's relationship. A few hits down the page, Zeke came across an article from only three weeks ago discussing Roy's profile as a "prominent gay businessman."

Conscious that the remainder of the afternoon was dwindling, Zeke looked up the website of WindleCorp. As he had suspected, their head office was in downtown Cincinnati. He clicked on the page for WindleCorp's Board of Directors and was not disappointed. Each board member was listed along with his or her picture. Roy was at the top of the page, smiling in his very proper but stylish business attire.

"There you are, shithead," Zeke whispered to himself.

He had been told more than once that Roy was handsome, and the photograph did nothing to contradict it. Longish, wavy brown hair surrounded an almost-pretty face with a straight nose and full lips. The eyes were also brown, and their warmth was notable even in a digital photograph on a less than top-quality monitor. The smile couldn't be said to be anything less than exceptionally attractive.

Zeke printed that page, as well as the page with WindleCorp's address. There was no direct phone number listed for Roy's personal office, but there was a general number for "inquiries". He paid for his printing in a hurry, cramming the sheets in his backpack, and then retrieved the two pieces of luggage that he was truly beginning to hate. It felt like he had been hauling them with him everywhere for weeks now.

The next step was to find a hotel. Emerging onto the slushy, dirty street, he signalled another cab and climbed in. "Where are you going?" asked the cabbie, this time a man who must have hailed from some east Indian country.

"A hotel..." Zeke shrugged. His sense of how little time he had left had him almost frantic now. "Someplace good."

"Someplace good..." muttered the man. "Can you be more specific? How much do you want to spend?"

"Doesn't matter," Zeke grunted, fighting the urge to scream with impatience. "Just take me somewhere."

"How about the Hyatt?"

"That's fine."

While the cabbie drove, Zeke pulled out the phone number to Windle Enterprises. He checked the time and found that it was a few minutes before four. "Fuck me!" he muttered.

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't really care for your language," complained the cabbie.

"Sorry."

Shit. Shitshitshit. Fuck. Maybe he should have tried to somehow reach Roy at home — but there were just too many variables that way. It was a given that asking Sasha to help him was out of the question; Sasha would immediately invest all his persuasive powers in talking Zeke out of this plan. Which left the Cincinnati phonebook, and Zeke had decided while waiting for his luggage earlier not to bother trying it. Even if Roy were listed, which seemed quite unlikely, Zeke could only assume that there were a number of D. Windles and possibly more than one Donald. He only had two days to find and conclude this business; there was no time to go down the list and hope that he got lucky.

Well, he still might be able to catch Roy at his office. The guy was supposedly a high-powered executive now, so chances were he didn't march out the door at four-thirty...that was, if he was in town, and if he was at work.

Chance. Zeke didn't like that word one bit. Chance had far too much sway over this process but if he really thought about that he would become too discouraged to continue. He couldn't allow for despair, not when he had mere minutes to accomplish something here... unless he decided to miss the wedding. If he did that he would burn the very slight bridge that had been slung recently between himself and his father. He would do it if necessary but, to his own surprise, he wasn't quite prepared to light that particular match. Not just yet.

Shaking off the seduction of negative thought, he tried the WindleCorp number and got the receptionist. "WindleCorp, how may I direct your call?"

"Donald Windle's office, please."

Zeke wasn't at all expecting it when the woman replied, "Just a moment and I'll transfer you." He found himself sitting forward on the edge of his seat, oblivious to the where he was being taken, ignorant of anything beyond the walls and ceiling and upholstery of the cab. It couldn't possibly be this easy, it couldn't...There was no Roy at the other end of this phone. It was just too unlikely.

"This is Angela Gomez, executive assistant to Mr. Donald Windle. I am unable to take your call right now but if you — "

Fury surged and ran rampant in every cell, every part of Zeke. Shuddering, he hung up, and resisted the urge to do a Casey on his cell phone. He needed his phone to stay undestroyed or he was screwed.

But he didn't know what the the fuck he was doing here. Stalking his boyfriend's ex-boyfriend, for fuck's sake, like a person who had lost all perspective and possibly their mind. And it was even more stupid than that — the realization spreading inside him like a sickness — because he didn't even have a number he could leave for Roy. If he left his cell number with the Seattle area code, Roy would be suspicious. He doubted that he had the time to change his number to a local one and call Roy back.

Zeke closed his eyes and tried to just breathe through the screams of rage pressing on his windpipe. He should have gotten on the fucking plane.

His sole task for the next few minutes was holding himself together until he had been delivered to the hotel. It materialized soon enough, a multi-storied affair, more new than old and quite upscale for Zeke's needs. He gave his cab driver a large tip all the same and, striding into the lobby, let himself crumble into one of the couches that had been positioned there, one among a succession of living room sets that caused the place to resemble a furniture store.

After a few minutes of being morose, however, pure obstinacy came to his rescue, prodded him to keep going with the plan even if there was little hope for results. With not even a half an hour of useful time left, he had two options — quickly find a shop where he could buy a new phone and set up a new account, or call his cellular provider. Otherwise, he should start approaching people at random and offering them a thousand dollars for the use of their phone for the weekend.

With a deep sigh, he punched the number for his cellular company, not expecting this process to take anything less than an hour. Another thought skittered briefly through his mind — had his provider not been a national enterprise, he would have been really screwed. As it was, a certain amount of discussion was required, interspersed with maddening periods of waiting. A few times he prayed for the ability to transport himself across the cellular network so he could wring someone's neck. Ultimately, it did happen, his old number was cancelled and he was assigned a new number in the Cincinnati area. He then recorded a new outgoing message, using his father's name.

But by now it was well past four-thirty. It was probably impossible to expect anything — he was just stubborn enough to call back WindleCorp. His mood lifted the tiniest bit when the switchboard receptionist actually answered. It seemed that WindleCorp was open until five rather than four-thirty. He again asked for Donald Windle, and this time when he got the assistant's voicemail, he left a message.

"Hello, my name is...Jacob Tyler. I'm a student in journalism at the University of Cincinnati and I was hoping to get in touch with Mr. Windle. I saw some of his work on the University of Ohio student gallery and I've read his bio on-line. I'd really like to interview him for a piece I'm writing. It's for an assignment but it could also get published in the university magazine. I'm very interested in artists who make careers in something more practical and Mr. Windle would be an ideal person to interview. I realize this is an awkward time of year but I already had to get an extension on this and it's due my first day back at school...so I thought I would try to call. If Mr. Windle could call me back as soon as possible, that would be wonderful. My number is 555-7801, please call anytime. Thank you."

Hanging up, he reminded himself that he was fucked. There was no way that Roy would get this message and respond to it before tomorrow, and in fact it would be a miracle if Zeke got any kind of response at all. This whole business really required more considered planning, not to mention some serious stalking; he had been a dope to convince himself that it could be this easy.

Well, the only thing he knew was that it was time to crash. Towards five o'clock he and his bags arrived on the ninth floor. As he slid the key-card into the lock, he was thinking about nothing more ambitious than sprawling on his back. The serene, non-descript space that presented itself to him was one of the most inviting things he had ever seen. He left his luggage by the door and within minutes had moulded himself into a comfortable groove on the bed, with the TV on low.

Inevitably, it was necessary to call his father; at a bare minimum he owed the man a warning that he wasn't going to arrive tonight. Bracing himself for a hard time, Zeke called his father's cell number, not sure where he might be at the moment — home, or work or somewhere else. Not on the highway to LAX to pick up his son, Zeke hoped.

There was an answer before the second ring. "Jacob Tyler."

"Hey...it's Zeke."

"Oh, hi...we're just about to go out to get you, are you using the phone on the plane?"

"Uh...no...I'm not."

A pause, then Jacob said, "Your flight was delayed."

"No."

"So what's going on?"

"Well..."

There didn't seem to be any way to say it, other than to say it.

"I'm not going to be arriving tonight."

Again, a tight silence. "Why not?"

Zeke gave serious consideration to the proposition that he was acting like a confused, brokenhearted twit. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I do intend to be there, it's just that something come up."

"Something came up," Jacob echoed.

"It's...complicated."

"Is it to do with Casey?"

And just like that remorse gave way to resentment. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a guess."

Zeke huffed and blustered but unfortunately he couldn't deny the truth of it. "It kinda does have to do with him... but he has a lot of things going on that you don't understand..."

"I think I do understand a bit. It's okay, Zeke...but I suppose he's not going to be coming to the wedding?"

"That's right," Zeke replied curtly.

It was a statement, not a question: "Something's wrong, isn't it."

"Yes, but I don't really feel like telling you." That came out a lot more harsh than Zeke had intended because, for some reason that was utterly beyond his ability to comprehend, his throat had suddenly started aching.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure."

"You don't sound..."

"I said I'm fine."

"All right — but why haven't you — ? Where are you right now?"

"Cincinnati."

"Why, Zeke?"

"I just fucking told you — "

"Okay, okay," Jacob relented. "Just...make sure you call me tomorrow."

"All right."

"Do you have any idea when you'll be arriving?"

"Some time between now and Sunday night."

Jacob sighed. "Should I be worried about whatever this is?"

Zeke debated ending the call right there. "It's nothing illegal," he forced out. "I should go now, Jacob."

"All right, but...call me tomorrow."

"Okay." Disconnecting, Zeke laid back against the pillow and resumed surfing channels. He found some football and had watched only two plays and one commercial for the Rose Bowl Parade when he realized that this wasn't working for him.

Bare minutes ago he had been looking forward to a night in this very position. Now he was ready to crawl the walls. He was on the bed and then he was up on his feet...then down, then up, then pacing, then standing at the window looking down at the city. There was an energy was coursing through him, insisting that he should get up and run a marathon or build a car from the chassis up — not that he had any clue of how to do that but he could fucking well learn, anything but remain in this room tonight. It was pretty interesting out there in the world. He should take advantage of it, especially since for some time now he'd been privately grousing about his lack of freedom, wishing for time to himself...just for himself.

It might be a good idea to call home before he went out. If Casey or someone tried to call his cell right now, they would get a nasty shock.

Fuck it. He didn't want to talk to Casey — who, he remembered, would not even be home yet. It could wait. And he wanted out. Out of this room, this building. He had not become so co-dependent that he didn't know how to enjoy himself apart from his co-dependee.

Coat...boots...backpack. Grabbing his phone, he stole a look at the battery meter. It was low, and once again he was entirely taken off guard by a desire to go rampaging. The chances of receiving a call tonight were slim, he reminded himself. He should set the battery to charge now so it would be ready for tomorrow. Or he could just take it with him and let it die when its time came, then charge it tonight while he slept. Yeah, that would work and he was being a total fuckwit for some reason, freaking out over ridiculous things, missing the obvious.

The stinging, icy rain outside did not deter him from enjoying his sense of liberation once he was out and wandering around. He did a broad tour of an area of six or seven blocks, thrilling to the physical challenge of dodging people and other obstacles. In the course of his explorations he spotted several restaurants that looked interesting — the only problem with them was that he didn't feel hungry, a peculiarity since he hadn't eaten a thing since corn flakes in the Connors' kitchen this morning, a lifetime ago.

When he began to feel soaked through, he let himself be drawn into a Tower Records store. He spent a solid hour browsing while drying off, and realizing that he was completely out of it as far as music was concerned. Trying not to be obvious, he watched others in the store, young people, to all appearance his contemporaries and yet he felt impossibly removed from them. They wandered in small groups that broke apart in Metal and reformed in Hip-Hop; he listened to them exclaiming and carrying on inane conversations, then sampled CD's all along a wall of listening stations. He heard almost nothing that he liked. He left without buying a thing and once back on the sidewalk, suddenly recalling that he still hadn't listened to the CD that Casey had made for him. It was probably an endless chorus of forgive me's. Never understand me, no, Casey didn't ask for understanding. It was though he intended his inner world to remain shrouded in a mystical, inscrutable cloud.

The next stop was a Barnes & Noble and whereas Zeke had had difficulty with the new music, he had no difficulty finding new things to read. He started off in Fiction and browsed his way from there to Psychology, History and Philosophy. He had five books tucked under his arm by the time he got to the magazines — and there he became enraptured. In Seattle, he'd always had his standbys that he picked up in corner stores or wherever it was convenient in the course of his day but he'd spent little time really exploring the bookstores there. The few excursions he'd taken with Winona had been brief, and few. There was probably every bit as much of a variety in Seattle as here, if not more, and he'd been missing all of it; four months in Seattle and he might as well have been living in Herrington. Whatever happens, he vowed to himself, it's going to be different now. He was not meant to be a small-town boy. He was meant to be cosmopolitan, sophisticated, combing the city for food, books and music to consume.

Setting down his pile of new books on a convenient ledge and his backpack at his feet, he grew roots in the Current Affairs section of the magazines.

When his phone rang, he was so startled that he actually shouted out loud in the store; a bunch of people nearby tried to subtly put more distance between themselves and him. Meanwhile his heart seemed to be trying to do an alien-explosion thing and tear right out of his rib cage. Taking a calming breath — he was Zeke Ice Tyler, action man — he flipped open the phone.

"Hello?"

The voice was unmistakably male and to Zeke's ears it reeked of self- assurance. "Hello, is this Jacob Tyler?"

"Yes?"

"This is Donald Windle calling."

"Oh...hi," Zeke fumbled, and called himself every synonym for idiot that he knew.

"I hope it's not too late for you."

"No..." Zeke said, his voice hoarse from the anxiety straining behind it. He cleared his throat. "I said to call any time." It was quiet at the other end. Clearly, Roy was waiting for a pitch so, Zeke extemporized, "I wasn't expecting you to call back so quickly. I guess you got my message?"

"Yes, my assistant checks messages regularly and thought I'd want to hear this one. It sounds intriguing. You're lucky you phoned today, as it happens I'm going to be away from the office for the next few days."

"I'm really glad you called." Yeah, equilibrium was not impossible. He wouldn't say he was calm, but he could see calm in the distance. "So would you be willing to do an interview with me?"

"Well, I must admit I'm kind of drawn by the idea of someone talking to me as a photographer again."

Zeke had to take a moment to crow to himself: Gotcha. "Is there a time tomorrow that might be good for you?" he asked.

"Actually, tomorrow is awkward. What are you doing right now?"

The balance shifted again and Zeke felt right on the brink of falling into chaos. "Right now...I'm...just at a bookstore."

"Would you like to meet somewhere for a drink?"

Closing his eyes, Zeke answered, "Where were you thinking?"

"Do you know Flanigan's Pub?"

"Think so," he lied.

"I can meet you there in about half an hour. How does that sound?"

"All right. Thank you."

"No problem. I'll see you shortly — wait, what do you look like?"

"Um...I'm kind of tall, with brown hair."

Roy snorted. "We must be twins."

Zeke hung up and for a few moments came close to hyperventilating right there in the bookstore. Calm! he screamed at himself. You will be fucking calm, right fucking now! For some reason that wasn't working so he just started to move, assuming that he would shake it off.

He had a purpose. He would not fuck up.

Now with a somewhat clearer head and some semblance of together- ness, he found that he was already pointed in the direction of the stationery section of the store. He picked out a nice, thick notebook and several pens. At the cash register, he asked for directions to Flanigan's Pub. It turned out that he was not too far away; he was able to walk there and still be a few minutes early.

It was a classic sort of English pub, with a lot of polished wood, brocaded seats, and old-fashioned fixtures. The lower half of the walls was wainscotted, while the upper half was cluttered with memorabilia, all of it intended to invoke a certain time and place. Zeke found a curved bench seat set into one corner which gave him a wide open view of the door, then flagged down a waitress. She was dressed in a uniform that had her resembling a nymph from an Irish Catholic public school. "I'd like a double vodka, please."

"I'll need to see I.D."

"You're kidding." Zeke had been passing for twenty-one since he was sixteen. He dragged out his driver's licence and showed her.

"Okay," the nymph said, with a brief smile.

While she was gone, he pulled from his backpack the black and white reproduction of Roy and gave it a long, careful stare before stashing it away. This was the most unreal moment of his life, more unreal than seeing the alien tentacles squiggling around at the end of Furlong's fingers, more unreal than touching Casey in that very private, intimate place that boys were not supposed to touch boys. This was a moment out of time, a jagged tear in the weave of ordinary and rational. He took long breaths, reminded himself that he was not an anxious type but a composed, analytical person who was super-mature for his years. Sure he was volatile these days, but he could handle this.

The waitress must have sensed the urgency of his request; she brought him his vodka almost immediately. He slugged it back before she could get more than a few feet away, the harsh liquor burning painfully in his empty stomach. "Wait," he gasped.

She turned, raising her brows at the empty glass. "Another?"

"No, I'd like a beer...what do you have on tap?"

"Keith's, Samuel Adams, Guiness, Carlsberg, Heineken, London's Pride, Amstel, Becks..."

He stopped her. "I'll have a pint of Heineken...and a menu please."

"You got it, hon."

The vodka was rapidly working its magic; he could feel the first embrace of it all down his spine, and he sighed with pleasure as the tension was alleviated. Ah, he was getting brave now...more brave every second. Brave like Casey Connor. Meanwhile, all the emotion had been stowed somewhere temporarily inaccessible, where it would have to stay for now.

The door opened, possibly not for the first time since Zeke had come in and he kicked himself for having fallen down in his efforts to watch it. There was a tall man standing there who, at a distance, seemed to match the photo Zeke had printed. He was wearing a creamy wool overcoat that probably cost as much as Zeke's entire tuition for the winter semester. His hair was shorter than in the picture but it was a dark brown and his features fit, yes, he was...an older Hugh Grant above the neck...

With Sasha's description reverberating in his brain, Zeke tried to stare without appearing to stare. The man had shrugged off his coat to reveal a designer suit, probably Armani or some such. He was coming towards Zeke with a tentative, perfectly straight, perfectly white smile, and Zeke was forced to accept that while Roy had been handsome in the photo, he was actually stunning in real life. It might have had something to do with the way that charm simply oozed from the man, making Zeke's body into an instant traitor whose every sense sought to like him.

"Jacob?" Roy asked, taking up a stance at the table but leaving a slight safety margin.

"Donald?" Zeke returned.

A less guarded smile followed. It appeared entirely open and friendly, and it was a shock. It shouldn't have been. Zeke had known a number of monsters, and they were mostly non-sinister in appearance. Indeed, they could be the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

"Call me Roy," said the man, removing his coat and hanging it on the nearest brass hook; it was affixed to the flat, outward-facing end of the booth. He offered to Zeke a hand that was strong yet refined in shape, the fingernails immaculate. "Everyone does."

Zeke shook that hand, half-rising from his seat. He had been worried that he would have trouble touching Roy or otherwise carrying off the charade of a slightly fawning, aspiring journalist, but somehow it was easy. "Thank you for meeting me."

"Oh, no, it's my pleasure." Roy's attentive eyes executed a quick pass over Zeke, all the way down and all the way up but so quickly and subtly a person might have thought they missed it. A tiny smile appeared on the full lips.

As Roy sat down, the waitress reappeared with Zeke's beer in a pint-sized, frosty mug, and the menu that was nothing more than a page with text printed on both sides and laminated. "Good evening, Roy," she said.

"How are you tonight, Meg?"

"Can't complain, can't complain." The young woman toyed with her hair self- consciously, her cheeks pinking obviously even in the subdued light. "What can I get you?"

"My usual, please." Roy gestured at the menu with his eyebrows. "Are you getting something to eat?"

"Yeah." In fact, Zeke was now so hungry that he was almost sick to his stomach. Tossing down that vodka certainly hadn't helped the situation. Quickly, he scanned the plastic card. "I'll have the assorted appetizer platter and then a Flanagan's burger with everything."

Roy chuckled; it sent a frisson of something down Zeke's spine that he was appalled to recognize as pleasurable. He couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on here. He hadn't expected to ever be attracted to another man apart from Casey, and certainly not this man...even if this man was so handsome it should have been illegal, and bore the tantalizing smell of some musky, spicy aftershave. Casey never wore aftershave. In fact, Casey didn't shave. "You're hungry, huh? Can I share your appetizers?"

"Sure, I guess."

"I'll have the chicken and honey-mustard grill as well, Meg."

The woman nodded and took up the menu.

"And this'll be on me," Roy added lightly.

"Oh, no," Zeke protested. "That's not necessary."

"Maybe not, but humour me anyway."

"But you're the one doing me a favour here."

"Yes, but I know how it is for students. Let me get it, Jake...do you mind if I call you Jake?"

And Roy touched him, just briefly grasping his wrist where it lay on the table.

"It's okay," Zeke mumbled, surrendering simultaneously to both the touch and Roy's intention to pay the bill. Zeke — or Jake — was supposed to be a student, after all. "But I would have ordered a steak if I had known you were buying."

Roy laughed. Zeke grinned back and slurped his Heineken.

"I'm curious," Roy said. "How did you happen to know of me?"

"I read a piece in the Enquirer...about the new exhibition."

"Oh, yes, of course. So you're a student at U of C?"

"Yes," Zeke answered. Now that he was warmed up everything was coming easily. He had Mr. Perfectly-Turned-Out Roy Windle gazing intently at him, lapping up his lies — fuck but it felt good to make a dupe of him even if he didn't know it was happening. Especially because he didn't know it was happening. "Third year."

"Are you from Cincinnati?"

"No...I grew up in a smaller place a few hours away."

"I see." Roy made a wistful face and sighed, "I miss being in school."

"How long has it been?"

"This is the first year I haven't been a student since age five. I was going for my Ph.D., you know."

"Right...I think I read that."

"Huh. Thank god for the Internet or we'd all be anonymous," Roy commented, his mouth twitching.

Meg had returned. She placed some sort of fruity looking drink in a wide- brimmed, delicate-stemmed glass on the table in front of Roy. "Here you go, Roy."

Roy treated Meg to a bit of a leer, which she seemed to receive with considerable satisfaction. "Thanks, baby," he said, and she walked away almost panting. While this was going on, Zeke dug out a pen and the new notebook, flipping it open to the first, blank page. "Oh, are we starting the interview now?" Roy wondered.

"Only if you feel comfortable..."

"Oh, but I love talking about me!" Roy exclaimed. It was wistful and utterly engaging, with just the right twinge of something regretful. As each minute passed, it was becoming less of a stretch for Zeke to consider that all this time Roy had been getting a worse rap than he really deserved. Perhaps, as Sasha had once suggested, Roy had been seduced to the dark side by Casey himself. Perhaps there had been a day when Roy felt himself drowning in Casey and no one was around to help him out of the water.

Zeke only realized he hadn't spoken some time when Roy's voice intruded. "What are you thinking about, Jake?"

Taking a risk, Zeke said, "Actually...I'm thinking that I don't really feel like taking notes just yet. I'd rather chat."

"If that's how you want to do it," Roy replied, sounding disinterested. "But you know that I will need to see the piece before it goes anywhere?"

"Of course."

"You must have a good memory."

"Very good. I might want to write down a few specifics, though...like your age."

Roy shrugged. "I turned thirty this year."

Zeke dutifully wrote that down, keeping up the pretense. "Did you have a big party?"

"Just five hundred of my closest friends," Roy replied. Again, there was that hint of bitterness.

"It wasn't your choice to do it that way."

"No, it was — my wife."

"Janice?"

"Yes."

Zeke took a breath, plunged. "I thought you were divorced."

"Not in June I wasn't. Is this relevant to your article?"

"Probably not." Zeke nursed his beer for a few seconds, then met Roy's eyes squarely. His brows had the ability to take on rather fascinating shapes. "I'm just interested."

"You want to know about my scandalous marital history? All right...my wife sued me for divorce a few months back. I didn't contest it, seeing as I'm gay and I only married her because our families wanted it. Is that enough dirt for you?"

"You're out, then?" Zeke asked the question casually but the part of him that wasn't entirely committed to his role as Jake was shaking his head in disbelief. Everything he knew of Roy exclaimed that he would do anything — do all the anythings that he had supposedly done to Casey — out of his ferocious need to keep his sexuality a secret. Zeke wondered what Casey would smash when he learned that Roy had let his penchant for boys get out in the open.

"Quite. In the past few months I've begun to bring male friends with me to events."

Zeke nodded. "I saw some pictures."

The platter of appetizers had arrived, bearing little piles and rows of deep- fried goodness. Zeke bided his time about continuing with the interview, thoroughly enticed by the smell of grease. He started with a fried mushroom and then, at the input from his mouth and stomach, his brain blanked out. For the next minute he was mainly caught up by eating.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Roy asked him suddenly.

"What?"

"My being gay."

"No," Zeke replied, licking his fingers. He shrugged. "Sorry if I got quiet there...I'm just starving."

Roy chuckled. "Like any proper student." He helped himself to a wing, somehow managing to be fastidious about eating it. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're much more interested in me being gay than me being a photographer. I think that's what you really want to talk about...because you have a personal investment."

Zeke washed down a mouthful of food. His adrenaline level was almost off the charts by now, and with the disinhibiting assistance of the alcohol he was feeling absolutely fearless. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning...you're into he's, not she's. Am I right?"

"I like he's and she's."

"Of course," Roy smirked. "Yeah, I'm bisexual too."

"I'll say I'm gay if you want, I don't care one way or another...but I really do like women."

Roy lifted his glass and his brows simultaneously. Gazing directly into Zeke's eyes, he licked his lips as though the drink had only made him more thirsty.

Zeke scrambled for a question that was substantive; he was supposed to be doing an interview here, after all. "I'm curious about what it's like for you in the business world. I mean, since you came out has it been... do people give you a hard time?"

"You'd be surprised by how polite people are, actually."

"What about working with all those crusty old men in business?"

"I can definitely feel a chill at times. Once or twice someone refused to do business with me, but mostly it's just a feeling of discomfort." Roy's mouth quirked. "It hasn't affected our stock any."

"Was that a surprise?"

"Which part?"

"That people are so...well, tolerant."

"Some are just barely tolerant...but yeah, it was a bit." Roy mused, "Maybe my expectations of people were too low. Maybe they've always been too low, actually. I've known I was gay for a long time and, obviously, I tried to hide it. Well, I tried to hide it from my father."

"And he died recently."

Roy looked sharply at Zeke. "Yes."

"And it was after that that you came out."

"You trying to be Barbara Walters, Jake?"

"Maybe."

"I don't want this stuff in the article."

"So it won't be," Zeke said dismissively. He saw that this had not placated Roy any and leaned in, saying, "Look, I have my father issues, too. And I'll be honest — when I figured out I was gay, I didn't take it as well as I would have hoped."

Roy's expression softened. "You always thought you didn't care about sexual preference and suddenly you were one of them... Were you disappointed in yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Me too." Roy sighed. "All right, since we're just two queers having a heart- to-heart...I don't think that I could have come out while my father was still alive. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. He was a rabid homophobe and I didn't want him to hate me."

"I understand," Zeke said softly.

"You know...I think you do."

It was a moment. He was having a frigging moment with Roy. This couldn't be happening...no, this was not genuine accord, it didn't mean anything. He was just an actor right now playing a part, and he was a lot better actor than he'd known. He wouldn't be able to get Roy where he wanted him if he couldn't give the impression of being at least friendly. Rather than be alarmed that the camaraderi was coming more easily than it should have, he should just be glad that in public, Roy was sociable, likeable, even insightful.

Roy shook himself and said, "Hey, we're too serious now. Go on, eat. Take a break from homework."

Eating was the part of the performance that was a total breeze. Zeke took a wing and said, "So do you come here often?" Roy smirked at the line, and feeling himself blush, Zeke added, "I just noticed that they seem to know you."

"Yeah, I'm here at least a couple of times a week. I met Allan here."

"Allan?"

"My — the person I'm seeing right now, and he's going to be calling any second to find out where I am."

"I'm sorry if I'm ruining your plans..."

"Oh, no, not at all. We didn't have anything planned for tonight, but we're going to Vegas tomorrow."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, it is."

"How long are you going for?"

"Just for the weekend. So how about you, are you seeing anyone?"

This time the anger was a sudden but very welcome ambush, incinerating the cozy feelings of a moment ago. He wanted to stand up and blast Roy with his wrath but he slammed down on that and replied briefly, "Yeah, I'm seeing someone."

Roy started to say something but fell silent as Meg showed up with the burger and the chicken sandwich. "Can I get you boys another round?" she said, nodding at the almost empty glass and mug. Zeke noticed that the pub had been filling steadily as he and Roy talked, and the noise level was rising. He wondered what people saw when they looked at this booth in the corner. Two men picking each other up? His feelings about that were ambivalent to be sure, but far better that than the actuality: One man conning and luring another man to some more private situation where he could crucify him at his leisure. These unwanted waves of attraction had to be the product of some inverse, perverse identification between him and his target.

"Another?" Roy inquired of Zeke, who nodded agreement. "Yeah, we'll have two more of the same," he told Meg, wagging his eyebrows first at her, then at Zeke. He had a habit of appearing to be amused. It didn't come across as mean-spirited, not that Zeke had seen. It was just a gift for giving the impression of mild delight and interest in everything that a person did. Zeke could imagine how a person who was especially vulnerable could be taken over by that facade of character.

"So..." Zeke murmured. He had two hands wrapped around his burger. Taking a large bite, he closed his eyes to savour the juices filling his mouth. "Mmm...this is good."

"I have to tell you, Jake, this is different from any interview I've ever done."

"How's that?" Zeke mumbled.

"It feels more like a date...a date with a guy who just asks very pointed questions."

The shiver that went through Zeke was pure, sexual reaction. It seized his body and horrified him, beginning in his face, travelling down his spine and settling heavily in his crotch. It had to be a mistake. It wasn't like Roy was all that attractive; he was quite appealing and charismatic but certainly not irresistible. Zeke had encountered plenty of attractive men before and none of them had inspired the least bit of a tingle. "Well," he said, heart thrumming, skin prickling. "It's not a date."

"How do you know?"

"Because we're both with someone else...and it is an interview. We journalists have these things called ethics."

Roy smiled at this. "Ah, yes...ethics." He picked up his sandwich and took a bite. A dribble of greasy juice rolled out and fell on his expensive tie. "Oh, fuck it!" Roy exclaimed, brushing at it without much exertion. "I'm afraid that's done for." He unknotted and removed the tie right there, opening his shirt at the collar and letting the tie slide crumpled onto the seat beside him. Zeke caught a glimpse of a golden, smooth upper chest, and a thick heat began pooling in his groin.

"Hey, Jake...do they offer a refresher course in ethics at your school?"

Fuck. Roy was seeing him... seeing him seeing. Zeke quickly hooked a stare on one of the quasi-historic framed photos plastered to the wall amongst the vintage signs and various, old-world junk. A bunch of guys who looked like they had just gotten off work at the coal-mines grinned and lifted their mugs.

Around a mouthful of his sandwich, Roy said idly, "Why don't you ask me some more questions?"

"Okay...um..." It was tough to think with blood flowing in the wrong direction. "Who are your favourite photographers?"

"That's the best you can do?"

"Give me a break," Zeke retorted. "I'm trying to eat here."

"All right," Roy laughed. "I guess my favourite would have to be Annie Lebowitz. I also like Ansel Adams...pretty much all the famous ones."

"So you prefer black and white?"

Roy raised his brows, acknowledging Zeke as reasonably well-informed. "That's right. My own work is almost all black and white portraits, actually. But if you saw my stuff on the university site you probably know that, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You know..." Roy toyed with the stem of his glass. "I have some portraits at my apartment that you should see."

Zeke had to breathe carefully lest this entire enterprise slip away from him. He couldn't believe that Roy was being this blatant. Not that it was unwelcome; he'd walked into this situation hoping that some sort of opportunity would arise to get Roy alone and he'd been anticipating making some sort of overture himself. Yet here was Roy once again taking control of the encounter. "Um..." Zeke said, not wanting to come across as too eager while at the same time fighting down his instinctive desire to refuse this man his company. He scrambled for a distraction. "Um...so...so how did you end up running the family business if you want to be an artist?"

Roy sipped his drink and frowned. "Is that really what you want to say?"

"Yeah. It is."

"All right." Roy made a face of exaggerated reflection, pursing his lips. "How did I end up doing this? Well, it's simple. My father died."

"But you didn't have to follow in his footsteps, did you?"

For the first time it seemed he'd thrown Roy off his game. With a marked lack of poise, Roy answered, "I guess I didn't, but he always had this expectation of me...I felt it was something I owed to him. Or maybe that strikes you as lame."

It did, although Zeke wasn't going to say it. He would never be a lawyer because of his father — or be anything because of his father, for that matter. He was the master of his own destiny. "Not at all."

"Really."

"Yeah...I think it's cool."

"Thank you."

"You know...there's another question I wanted to ask. Officially, I mean."

"Which is?"

"Is it possible to be a banker and an artist at the same time?"

Roy laughed deep in his chest, attracting attention from all corners of the room. "I'm not a banker...but I'd have to say yes."

"Do you still take photographs, then?"

"Not...not in the last several months, but you know, it's been a real learning curve for me, doing this job. I'm just starting to feel more comfortable with it so I think I'll have more free time soon."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Roy paused. A faint smile crept across his face and he admitted, "Not really, no. And if you want to know the truth, I'm not really qualified to do it either. I never studied business and I'm not particularly interested in what the market's doing and how to leverage the leveraging and all that shit. I've learned quite a bit but I really intend to rely more and more on my vice presidents as time goes on, so I can do more of what I enjoy while still keeping my hand in." The smile turned sardonic. "I'll bet you're not impressed with that, are you?"

"Not really."

"That's okay. I know there are people a lot more talented than I am who have to do real jobs and never have the time or the freedom to do what they love. So yeah, it's possible to be a business person and putter around as an artist but maybe it's only because I'm stinking rich. I'm a privileged bastard and I know it. "

"Well," Zeke remarked, trying to think of something to say that didn't give away any of his intense dislike at that moment.

"You don't have to comment, Jake, I know how I sound. But at least the money's good for something. I've very keen about the Windle Family Trust, I won't be letting that slide. The fact is, our society doesn't place enough value on certain things...mostly the things that really matter. That's why I'm going to give all I can to the arts. I know it's no solution but it's a start." With an expression of satisfaction, Roy capped this speech by draining his glass. Setting it down, "Do you think that's sufficient for the interview, Jake?"

"I suppose."

"Good — because I'd like to just talk now. Is there someplace that you need to be?"

"No."

"Excellent. Then will you stay and have another drink with me?"

"I guess I could do that." Zeke looked down at the remains of his hamburger. Nervous anticipation had just filled what was left of the gap in his stomach. He pushed the plate a bit to the side.

Signalled by Roy's crooked finger, Meg showed up to remove the remains of their food. She brought back another round and Zeke had to caution himself. Each one of these pints was like two bottles of beer, and it wasn't the watery, domestic stuff either. He was already feeling far more laid back than he probably should have been under the circumstances.

While Zeke was resolving that this would have to be his last drink for the night, Roy put an elbow on the table and appeared to be about to speak — just as his phone rang. Frowning an apology at Zeke, he answered.

"Oh, hi, baby...sorry, I had an after hours meeting...a reporter...just for a student magazine...Allan, I'm pretty tired. I'm going to wrap this up then go home and get rested for tomorrow...so I'll see you tomorrow...yeah, it's going to be great, baby."

Roy snapped his phone closed with a sigh.

"Why Vegas?" Zeke asked, genuinely wanting to know. It wasn't a place he'd ever thought about visiting.

"Oh, just because. We've never been there and he really wanted to go. He likes all that gaudy shit."

"But not you?"

"I suppose I like the extravagance of the whole place."

"You don't seem like a very extravagant guy to me."

"Thanks..." Roy grinned acknowledgment of the remark. "No, I'm not really extravagant, not in any obvious way at least. I have my areas of excess...but I suppose I've always been something of a geek."

"You're not a geek. I know geeks and you're not a geek."

"Thanks," Roy said. By some trick of the light, his eyes appeared to sparkle. "So...Jake. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about you now?"

"Turnabout?" Zeke suggested, steadying himself for it.

"Exactly."

"Okay, shoot... Do you mind if I smoke?

"Go ahead."

Zeke could feel Roy's eyes on him as he fumbled out a smoke and stuck it under his lip. Patting himself down in search of his lighter, he was startled when Roy's hand appeared in front of him along with an engraved, silver lighter. "Let me," Roy said softly. Zeke darted a look at him and saw that the older man was conveying more than the one kind of heat.

Avoiding the eyes across from him, Zeke didn't protest.

As he sat back Roy asked smugly, "How long have you been out?"

"Less than a year," Zeke replied, and smoked with great commitment.

"Really? You don't strike me as the type of guy who'd be in denial."

"I wasn't, exactly. I like women...but I met this person and fell in love with him...so that was that."

Roy raised his brows. "Wow. Just that easy, huh?"

"Hell, no. I fought it for a while." With his free hand, Zeke took a judicious taste of his beer. "Like I said, I'm not very proud of that. But I'm okay with who I am now."

"That's cool." Roy traced the rim of his glass and licked his finger. The motion was far more erotic than it had a right to be. "You seem pretty together."

"Believe me, I'm not."

"I'm sure you're more together than you think you are. I'll bet you're darned near perfect, in fact." Roy tilted his head back; he stared up at the ceiling before lowering his head with a sigh. Zeke was fascinated by how everything the man did contrived to be watchable. "Not like me. I've done some awful things, totally out of control things."

"Things that you're sorry for?"

"Of course," Roy snapped, staring at Zeke. For a moment something angry, perhaps even menacing, glittered in his eyes. Then it faded and he said, "Like for instance, I'm going to ask you to come back to my apartment with me in a little while, even though I'm with someone and you're practically a stranger."

"Do you always cheat on your boyfriend?"

"'Cheat'...sounds so middle class." Roy touched Zeke's hand for the second time that night. "Cards on the table, baby. The truth is, you're not my usual type at all, but there's something about you. Maybe it just boils down to incredible hotness. I'd like you to come home with me so we can have a good time and go our respective ways tomorrow — you to write your little assignment, me to Vegas. Yeah, I'm going to lie to my boyfriend but it wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. What do you say?"

Zeke just smoked for a count of five.

"I could go for that," he replied, careful not to sound too pleased with himself.

Roy's apartment comprised the entire top floor of a more-than-one-hundred years old building, in a neighbourhood that was one mansion after another, interspersed with palatial townhouses. While the exterior of the building was heavily traditional — worked from stone and crusted with heavy flourishes, even guarded by a security man in a gilt-piped uniform — the interior of Roy's home had been transformed into ultra-contemporary. From the doorway Zeke could see most of it and the theme was monochrome; the furniture and walls were white, with very few colour accents. A lot of the decorative touches were in glass. The only exceptions to the rule were the large, framed photographs that were hung on the walls. The frames were black and the mattes white, making for a stark but striking effect.

"My not-so-humble abode," Roy said as he showed Zeke in and took his coat. "Only for when I'm staying in the city, of course. My house is out in the country. What do you think?"

"It's, um...nice."

Roy laughed. "Don't flatter me or anything."

"It's fine." Zeke caught a glimpse of a large terrace off the living room. It had to be spectacular in summer. Right now it looked forlorn and a bit icy, dotted with potted shrubs that had been wrapped for the winter.

"Interior design's not one of your interests, huh?"

Zeke's eyes had moved to one of the nearby framed photos, hanging in the hallway. It was a headshot of an old man, and if it had been in a gallery, Zeke wouldn't have thought to distinguish it from the work of a professional. Of course, art wasn't his forte. "This is your work?" he said, gesturing to the picture.

"All of it, with a few exceptions."

"I like it."

It was then that Zeke noticed Roy's stare. It was a gaze of growing demand, an acquisitive, hot expression that stopped just short of vulgar. "I'm looking at another work of art, right now," Roy said quietly.

Zeke couldn't help it; he laughed. It was nerves, it was surprise, and it was the ridiculousness of the comment — of the whole situation.

Roy must have had no experience of insecurity, for he just raised his brows and wondered, "A bit too precious?"

"Just a bit."

"Let's try a different approach..."

Roy Windle was making his move. He was gliding in, intent upon Zeke's lips. Standing absolutely in place, Zeke seemed to have no shortage of time in which to decide what he was going to do. There was the bewildering attraction he had felt and there was curiosity...but what about that attraction? It made no fucking sense to be attracted to a smooth-talking asshole who was so entirely loathsome to him. And what about Casey — yeah, what about him? What would it feel like to commit the same crime? What did it feel like to be Casey knowing he had been with a person that he didn't want to be with, just to make some kind of point —

There was a pressure on his lips and an invitation and Zeke was frozen, not quite resisting and not quite participating, experiencing something the same as what he had known, but utterly different. Something that tasted new...that tasted like revenge. Okay, perhaps it wasn't right but it could be right enough...no, it wasn't right, and...Um, hello, Zekie boy, what are we doing? This is Roy trying to kiss you, this is Roy... nuzzling his neck wrong and the...fuck...the tongue flicking against his ear...all of it wrong.

Zeke evaded Roy's next attempt, shifting back and away. He closed his eyes and willed his cock down.

Soon he was cognizant of the fact that Roy was gazing at him in open surprise at finding himself thwarted. Well, not thwarted so much as having just been unacknowledged. Zeke was pretty sure that was something that had never happened to Roy before.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm having...an...an attack of guilt."

"It's all right, it'll pass," Roy said, still seeming puzzled. "How about we have a drink and relax for a bit?"

"Sure."

"You wanted to see my work, right?"

Zeke didn't recall saying that but he nodded anyway.

"Check out the study. Some of my best stuff is in there...I'll get you a drink. What would you like?"

"Oh...whatever you're having."

Zeke went down the hall to the door that Roy had indicated. With an antique wood desk and shelves filled with books, this room was somewhat warmer than the rest of the apartment. One wall was hung with a series of three images. As he approached them Zeke was barely paying attention, drawn instead to the bookshelves — until, for a second time in the same night, he exclaimed out loud in shock.

Casey was here, in Roy's study.

In the photo he was sitting or kneeling with his head slightly averted, gazing up towards the right of the frame with a beseeching expression. Roy had caught his face at a most serendipitous angle, while the absence of colour had forced his hair and his eyes to become various shades of darkness. To view it was to contemplate a person seized in a state of complete exposure, the photographer mercilessly offering a glimpse of the subject's world, a place that had to be chaotic and frightening but compelling. It was as though one could, as they took in the photo, feel the obsession of the photographer — to the extent that they shared in the watcher's sadism, drawn to an aesthetic of suffering. Implicated in the moment, they would not come to the subject's rescue.

Zeke vaguely heard Roy come up behind him. He stayed in place, staring at the photo, at Casey captured in a rectangular frame. Wordlessly, Roy handed Zeke a tumbler full of some kind of golden liquor, and they stood side by side gazing at Casey's image.

"Did you take this?" Zeke asked.

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

Roy answered, "He's someone I was seeing for a while. A student at the university. Beautiful, don't you think?"

"I was thinking that you must be a very good photographer."

"I'm not bad but what you're seeing is just him." Roy, it seemed, was far from having grown tired of looking at Casey; he was staring, unbashed. "He's even better in real life, that's what I always tell people when they comment on this picture. Almost everyone who comes in here notices it. I've had buyers in here asking to purchase him but I can't give him up."

Zeke's crisis of ten minutes ago had vanished. He knew exactly why he was here and he was so infuriated that he could have done murder — or at least serious physical harm. For two years Roy had kept Casey hidden and refused to let the world know about their relationship. For two years he made Casey think that he was nothing, that he didn't really exist. Zeke had expected to find Roy pining and seething in secret. Instead, Roy was going out in public with this Allan, among others, and he proudly displayed Casey's captive image to anyone who happened by the apartment.

"He looks really young," Zeke forced out. His jaw ached, he was clenched so tight.

"Ah..." Roy coughed. "I was a bad boy, I'm afraid. He was one of my students."

"Huh." Zeke didn't dare try to say more.

"But I swear, I never forced him to do anything."

Now it had come, the moment when his feelings became uncontainable. His hands were knotted, his throat working as he struggled not to ruin everything by performing an unscheduled evisceration.

Roy had to have seen his emotional upheaval, even in profile. He asked Zeke, "Are you okay?"

"I was wondering..." Zeke heard himself sounding tinny and loud. "Does he know that you have him hanging here?"

Rather than respond immediately, Roy took a long swallow of his whiskey. When he did answer, his voice suggested some anger but more curiosity — like it never had occurred to him that anyone would find offence in having their picture on display without their knowledge. "He knew I took the photo, obviously — but to answer your question, no, he does not know and he's unlikely to. I'm never going to see him again and I'm never going to sell him. He'll just stay here for my private enjoyment and it won't hurt him any. Frankly, I don't know why you're getting your shorts in a knot over this."

Hearing Roy admit that he would never see Casey again held some soothing power. Zeke was able to force his eyes off Casey, to look at Roy and speak more or less normally. "You don't think that there's anything wrong with it?"

Roy massaged the area around his mouth once, delicately, like he wanted to be sure that he wasn't foaming inadvertently. "I don't think there's any harm in it, no."

"No, you wouldn't, would you. I'm sure it never occurred to you. In fact — " Zeke took a step in Roy's direction, closing the distance. It was just a little closer than friendly. "I doubt you that you ever ask yourself if anything's right or wrong before you do it."

"What is this?" Roy had forced his head back a few inches but otherwise didn't give up any ground. "I thought the interview was over."

"I just want to know."

A sly smile crept over Roy's face. "You're a strange man. Are you about to show your true colours? Accuse me of being a rich bastard, beat me up or something?"

Zeke snorted. "Like beating you up would make any difference."

"But I see the way you're looking at me. Why did you come up here if you have all this contempt?"

"Contempt isn't the word."

"What is it, then?"

"A kind of amazement. I'm trying to imagine how you justify you to yourself and I can't figure it out."

Roy's eyes widened. "You don't know me," he said. "All I've done, that you know of, is ‘cheat' on my boyfriend. Lots of people do it...including you, baby."

"But you've done a lot more than that," Zeke pressed.

Roy just stood there for a moment, rooted to the floor while Zeke speculated as to the emotions and thoughts chasing each other in his head. If nothing else it must have dawned on him that this encounter was not what he had imagined and that it was in his best interest to end it quickly. He held out his hand, reaching for the empty glass that Zeke was still holding while saying, "With all due respect, Jake, you're a lovely male creature and I was really hoping to fuck you but now I think you're probably a bit too insane. I'd like for you to go."

Zeke pushed it into Roy's hand with considerable force, enough that the slap of glass against flesh was audible. "You've done a lot more than lie," he reiterated, beginning to choke a bit on his words as everything he'd been keeping in check throttled speech. "Tell me — what you did."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I've asked you to leave — "

"Tell me what else you did to him." Zeke jerked a thumb at Casey on the wall. "Besides put him on your wall without his permission. What else did you do without his permission?"

Abruptly Roy fell silent. "Who are you?" he asked, almost whispering.

"Consider me your priest."

"I don't do confessions." Roy was staring at Zeke. "Did we meet before and I don't remember?"

"No."

"Then who are you?" Roy had been holding his body like it was all he could do to not bolt, but before Zeke's eyes he steadied, the trembling dissipating as his habitual smirk reasserted itself. A few steps took Roy to his desk, where he placed the two glasses he was holding. As he did this he must have been ruling out possibilities, for he abruptly spun to face Zeke and said, "You're here because of Casey, you must be his friend...his boyfriend maybe?"

"Maybe."

"And your real name?"

"If you know I'm his boyfriend then you know who I am."

"Oh, hardly!" Roy said, waving an arrogant hand. "I do remember him mentioning some dumb jock in Herrington who was leading him on — but you wouldn't do that, would you?"

Zeke had come too far to be goaded into losing control. "Say my name," he returned evenly. "Say it now."

"Okay, Zeke, " Roy admitted. "Well, good for you. You sucked me right in. So are you going to kill me now, or just beat the crap out of me?"

Zeke unclenched hands that had been balled at his sides. "Neither."

"You've set all this up but you don't want to hurt me?"

"Oh, I didn't say that."

Roy smirked knowingly.

"I would love to hurt you," Zeke continued. "I've fantasized about making you bleed more times than I can count — but that wouldn't really satisfy me." He shrugged and folded his arms to disguise how hard he was shaking. "Also, I won't be of much use to Casey if I'm in jail."

"Well, aren't you a cool customer," Roy drawled.

"I'm not cool. I'm pretty fucking far from cool. I'm under control right now and I don't intend to touch you, but if I were you I would watch what I say."

A sneer materialized, shaped out of the fear on Roy's face. "Threatening me now, are you?"

"No. Just warning you."

"So what do you want?"

Zeke took a bit of time to breathe before committing himself to a very deep dive. "Just what we've been doing," he answered, at length.

"Meaning what?"

"I mean I want to ask questions and get answers. Just consider this an extension of the interview, but this time you have to tell the one hundred per cent truth."

"I do, do I?"

"Yes."

"And why is that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll go to the police and the media tomorrow and tell them that you sexually assaulted a boy who was ten years younger than you, someone who also happened to be your student."

Roy didn't do anything but blink, and Zeke was unwillingly impressed by his ability to take a hit and come back swinging. "Sexual assault," Roy scorned. "What are you going on about?"

"The Best Western in Herrington, Park Avenue. August twenty-third."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you and Casey — and Janice — in a bed, doing things that Casey didn't want."

Yeah, Roy was good — but not that good. "You wouldn't," he said. He was mostly calm, but Zeke did not miss the rising tide of colour in his face.

"I promise you, I would."

"You wouldn't do that to Casey."

"Let me tell you something about me, Roy. I can be a bit of a prick myself. I often make big decisions about Casey's future without consulting him. So ask yourself if I would I sic the press on him or drag him through some court proceeding just to get you. I think you know the answer to that question."

"There would be no proceeding, as you put it," Roy shot back, almost quivering now. "There's no case and even if it did go to trial, you'd lose." Startling Zeke, the man began to move, drifting across the room to lean on his desk. "You'd have put Casey through that for nothing."

"But we both know it's public opinion that concerns you — whether you were convicted or not. And I wonder what would happen to those stocks of yours."

"I know you think I'm pretty hot shit, baby," Roy sneered. "But I'm not a celebrity. People don't care that much what I do."

"You're a celebrity in your little world. Just think if your friends, relatives, your crusty old business associates knew what you'd been up to...or even if they suspected. What do you think would happen to the Windle name then? Your father would just be turning in his grave, wouldn't he — "

"Shut the fuck up," Roy murmured. His eyes had closed at some point during Zeke's last speech. Opening and narrowing them, he asked, "What do you really want? Money? I'll give you a shitload of it if you just go away."

"I don't need money. I told you, I just want to talk. I want you to tell me about you and Casey and I don't want to hear you trying to excuse or justify yourself. I don't want to hear any of that manipulative crap you put in your letter to Casey...yeah, I read it and I know what your bullshit sounds like."

Roy stared at him. "You...you just want to talk."

"I want an honest conversation."

"You do mean a confession, don't you? And when it's over?"

"We go on with our lives...provided that you can satisfy me."

"I was quite prepared to satisfy you when we came up here." Improbably, there was a smile on Roy's lips. "Our Casey has some taste, doesn't he?"

"Some of the time."

"Oh, but look at us both. We're just — "

"Totally different," Zeke broke in. "For one thing, I actually care how Casey feels. And I have this curious habit of treating him like a human being."

He cringed inwardly at his defensive tone even as he finished speaking. Fuck. He had shown weakness and it was unacceptable.

"Wonderful," Roy crooned, not wasting the opportunity. "And I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he throws you over for someone who's not nearly as good to him as you are."

Okay, this was a lesson. Whatever happened, whatever verbal missiles Roy lobbed, Zeke couldn't, mustn't flinch. He must not react. He held himself still, struggling to think of a neutral response.

"Or has it already happened?" Roy intuited, voice soft. "Yes, I think it has."

"Are you going to talk to me or not?" Zeke snapped.

"I don't know. Somehow I don't think you can really do me much damage."

"Then you don't know me very well."

Roy took a while to mull that. At length, he said, "I suppose I'm not surprised that someone showed up to give me hell. I must say I did expect it to be...someone else."

"Like Sasha, maybe?"

Roy blinked. "You know Sasha."

"He lives with us."

"Lives with...?"

"Me and Casey."

"Oh...I see." Instead of being contemptuous or sardonic as Zeke had been expecting, Roy just looked regretful, much as he had been when Zeke was pretending to interview him earlier. "Well, no, I don't see but I'm not really interested in finding out how your little threesome came about. Sounds hot, though."

"Do we have an understanding or not, Roy? This is the last time I'm asking."

Roy uttered a long sigh. "Just remember...you started this."

"I can live with that."

"You may not believe me, Zeke, but it truly was my intention to leave Casey alone. Did you know that he phoned me a while back?"

"Yes."

"I never thought he'd shout at me like that... I was shocked by how bad he sounded — "

"Stop. Right there."

"Why? I only — "

"I don't want to hear that."

"Well, what do you want to hear? And could we maybe go into the living room and sit while we do this?"

Zeke found himself wanting to resist the idea solely on principle, and realizing how ridiculous that was, he agreed. They might as well be sitting — plus, he'd feel easier in his skin without Casey's picture presiding over him. "Okay." As they moved down the spacious hallway, Zeke asked, "Is this the apartment where you and Casey were together?" He tried to imagine Casey rattling miserably about in this frigid space.

"Fuck, no. That apartment was much smaller, a bit more like a student's digs... although I realize I never actually lived like a student."

They had arrived in the living room, which was about the same size as the entire apartment that Zeke lived in. Roy waved at an assemblage of white couches and chairs grouped around a glass and crystal coffee table. "Have a seat." He went to the bar set against one white wall. "Would you like another drink?"

"No, thanks."

"I promise I'm not going to poison you."

"I know. But I don't want one."

With his back to Zeke, Roy shrugged. Moments later he sat down, holding his second tumbler of whiskey and keeping his distance. Zeke saw his hand shake as he lifted it to his mouth.

"I'm curious," Roy said after the first gulp had gone down. "Why didn't you just phone my office and say who you were?"

"Would you have responded?"

"I don't know — yes, I think so. I don't think I could have resisted."

"Would you have responded as quickly?"

"Hmm...no, probably not. And you wouldn't have had the pleasure of dangling bait and watching me grab at it. You liked sitting there in that bar doing chit- chat, knowing who I was while I didn't have a clue about you, didn't you?"

"I wanted to see how you'd behave if you didn't know who I was."

"Oh, but it's more than that, isn't it? You just had to have me under your power, didn't you, Zeke?" Roy downed the rest of his drink all at once, coughing slightly. "So — so what did you think?"

"About what?"

"About me...you said you wanted to see how I'd behave, how did you find me, then?" Roy sloshed the droplets of liquid in the bottom of his glass, studying them.

Zeke considered not answering — but it would probably come across as defensive yet again. "I can see why Casey got drawn in," he answered.

Roy grinned at this, then said in a low voice, "I'm the only man you've ever been attracted to other than Casey, aren't I?"

Profoundly grateful for the instinct that had kept him from responding to Roy's attentions in the hallway, Zeke answered, "Checking out your package doesn't mean I was attracted to you."

"Hmm...are you going to tell Casey about our kiss, I wonder?"

Zeke suddenly didn't care how defensive he might seem. "We didn't have a kiss, and it's time for you to start answering my questions."

Roy smiled a bit more, like he knew something that Zeke didn't. "All right. Can I just ask one more thing, though?"

"What?"

"How is Casey?"

Upon hearing those syllables formed by Roy's lying mouth, Zeke could barely speak for anger. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "I — told you to watch yourself."

"I'm not trying to provoke. I really want to know."

"He's been better."

"My poor baby," Roy said softly.

"I suggest you shut up before I hit you."

"Do I not have a right to care?"

"No," Zeke refused, "since your caring seems to have no effect on how you treat people."

"Oh, but we've established that I'm a self-absorbed shit," Roy returned gaily.

"You say that like it's something to be proud of. Do you think it makes you deep and tragic, being so unhappy with your life that you can't control what you do to people?"

This brought about a new kind of smile; Zeke wasn't sure what it signified. "You're quite surprising, Zeke. I hope you realize it."

"I have a proper appreciation of my talents, thank you. Now how about we get down to it?"

Smoothing an imaginary crease in his shirt, Roy said, "By all means, let us ‘get down to it'. Where would you like me to begin?"

"At the beginning, when you and Casey met. And I want to know what you really thought, not what sounds nice and romantic. No bullshit."

"It sounds like you already have your own ideas about it, why should I take the trouble to tell you otherwise?"

"Oh, so you were just going to help him with his homework?"

"I'm going to tell you the truth and you can believe it or not. The first time I saw Casey, it was his face on a poster."

"Poster...?"

"Someone at the campus newspaper must have thought it would be fun to turn Casey into the prank of the week. I don't know how they found out about his alien story, maybe they were flipping through old newspapers and recognized him somehow...anyway, they put his picture on a flyer and plastered it to every flat surface on campus. He was already having a hard time, being away from home for the first time, in a new school and now all of a sudden people were looking at him like he was a nutcase."

"What did they do to him?" Zeke growled.

"I don't know about them doing anything. I just saw that he was in my class and he was so sad...actually, he was heartbreaking and I couldn't help myself. I approached him after class and invited him out for coffee. I only wanted to help — " Roy lifted a hand to forestall Zeke's expression of disbelief " — for about the first five minutes." Smiling a private smile, Roy went on, "Of course I noticed right away how he looked but you're just going to have to accept that for a whole five minutes I had nothing but teacherly intentions towards him."

"And then what?"

"Then...nothing. I wanted to spend time with him, he wanted to spend time with me. We spent time together. Sorry to disappoint you but I didn't have some master plan to seduce and lure him against his will."

"But he was your student."

"Yes, and he was extra super young and innocent, and vulnerable — and that sure the hell made him tempting but I would never have forced him to do anything. He was interested in me too. God, he never wanted to let me out of his sight. He had this way of looking at me..." Roy drew an almost rapturous breath and let it out like he had just achieved release. "...and he thought everything I did was wonderful, everything I said was brilliant or funny...do you have any idea what that feels like, how addictive it is?"

Zeke ignored the last. "But you never felt the least guilt over what you were doing, did you?"

"Oh, I knew how our relationship would be judged — but the person whose opinion really mattered to me was my father. He knew I was gay, but he had that old- fashioned idea that homosexuality is like some sickness...like you can overcome it if you work at it. I had promised him I would never be with another guy. And then Casey blew that promise right out of the water."

"Which you blamed him for."

"No," Roy said, far too quickly. He glanced up at Zeke; he shrugged, admitted, "Okay, I did resent him."

"What difference is there?"

"Huge. I know perfectly well in my head that Casey never made me do anything, that it wasn't his fault..."

"But...?"

Roy shrugged. "But every time I looked at him it was like he stole my will, and of course he never gave a fucking damn what people thought of him. He was so used to being different, he didn't know anything else. He didn't know about my promise to my father...I don't see how he could have, but I just know he wouldn't have cared. He asked me to come out one time, just like that. ‘Try being hated,' he said. I swear, he wanted people to know about us. My father — everyone."

"Did you really think you could keep a promise like that?"

"As stupid as it sounds, yes, I did. I know now that it was impossible but at the time I really thought I could have kept it if Casey hadn't been so...well, if he hadn't been Casey. I do know that I was wrong, you must have read that in the letter. I explained how I was terrified of being found out and that was why I hardly ever went anywhere with him. But he didn't seem to mind as long as I spent time with him."

"Didn't mind?" Zeke echoed in outrage.

Roy shook his head. "Hey, I'm trying to explain what I thought at the time, not justify it. I know he minded, I know it hurt him — but he was no frigging picnic either. He was always so clinging and desperate, it was a real downer. I have enough trouble staying out of the dumps as it is...that's the other reason I avoided him."

Zeke couldn't think of a response to that, other than breaking a few of the freak's nice, white teeth.

"And he did hurt me too, you should know that!" Roy went on, his voice heating. "He showed up at my parents' house one Christmas and pretty much outed me without my permission or even a warning."

Zeke clenched and unclenched his fists, and imagined he was squeezing something that just happened to be a part of Roy's anatomy. "How did he do that?"

"He'd had a bad time with his folks that Christmas so he came looking for me at my home. I had no idea he was coming, he didn't tell me or try to phone me before he showed up. I realized after the fact that he had no idea what he was doing but it didn't matter, the damage was already done — and before you ask what damage, my father took one look at him and knew what was going on. He told me to end it but I couldn't."

Roy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands through the pretty, brown hair, massaging his scalp.

"It got pretty bad after that," he continued, lifting his head. "I kept thinking, just one more time and then I'll tell him but I couldn't do it. I would stay away for days and days, sleep over at Janice's or even stay in a hotel, but then I would be sneaking back to my apartment to see Casey. What I didn't know was that Janice had actually hired someone to watch my building...so she knew to the minute how much time I spent there and when Casey was there...and you have no idea how she could be. At one point I convinced Casey to meet me at my office at school and she showed up there too. She started screaming at Casey and me through the door. We were both naked and of course he did one of his blanking out things so I had to dress him and myself before I could open the door. The whole time she's out there pounding and yelling. When she came in she called him ‘slut' and ‘whore' and told him to leave me alone...and he didn't seem to hear her, so she slapped him. He just stood there and took it, which made her even more angry."

Zeke was on his feet and stalking the room, unable to dignify this crap by sitting still for it. "You fuck," he muttered.

"You'll have to be more specific, Zeke. Which part are you hating me for now?"

"Did it never occur to you to get him some help?"

"Of course."

"But you didn't do anything."

Sincere, shit-brown eyes peered up at Zeke. "I didn't want to believe that he was that bad — "

"You didn't want to think that you made him that bad."

Roy made a fist that trembled in the air for a few instants, then dropped just as suddenly, punching his own upper thigh. "I'm not responsible! I may have done things I regret but I'm not the cause!" He seized on his empty tumbler and checked it like he was hoping to find that it had magically replenished itself. "He was crazy from day one and it just got w — "

"He was not crazy, he never has been — "

"And I suppose you're going to tell me now that there really was an alien invasion."

Zeke countered without hesitation, "Yes, there really was an alien invasion. Casey told the truth about that, but you know what? That's beside the point. The point was that he did need help, a fact that you conveniently ignored so that you could keep fucking him whenever and however you liked."

"I cared about him."

"Oh, right. You cared so much that you had to knock him around and leave lots of bruises...so he couldn't forget how much you cared."

"What — I didn't — "

Positioning himself in front of the couch where Roy was sitting, Zeke let himself loom and hope that Roy got every bit as scared as he fucking deserved. "When I found out about your little hotel visits last summer...it was only because he looked like somebody's chew toy and he couldn't hide it anymore."

"I didn't abuse him...You can't have sex without getting a mark or two."

"You can fucking well try. But you didn't want to try, did you? I saw the outline of your fucking teeth on him, you can't tell me you didn't want that to hurt."

"He likes it rough, Zeke, you know that perfectly well, I'm sure so why don't you get off your high horse!"

Zeke moved into an ominous hover and Roy pressed back against the pristine, white cushions.

"Did he ever ask you to hurt him?" Zeke demanded, nearly shouting. "Or did he just take it so he could be close to you?"

"God, how fucking vanilla are you?"

"Enough that I don't try to use my teeth to carve a collar on someone I ‘care' about — call me boring that way!"

"I do. I call you young and unimaginative. And you're exaggerating."

"What if I told you that the morning after you were done with him I had to take him to the hospital?"

There was a visible impact at last. "You — you mean — but he wasn't in good shape, I know that — that wasn't my doing."

"The doctor thought he'd been sexually assaulted."

Roy blanched. "And...?"

"And he couldn't find anything that would prove it but he knew what he was seeing. He thought I did it, that doctor. He looked at me like I was the kind of creep who would beat on a person half my size and just pass it off as a good time — "

Shaking his head, Roy tried to look away from Zeke.

"Don't you fucking try to evade me," Zeke hissed.

"I'm not...I didn't," Roy muttered. "We just had sex, that's all we did — and you'll get the fuck away from me now, if you please."

Zeke eased back no more than an inch. "He was fucking traumatized, you fuck. He still is."

Roy suddenly slammed his empty glass down on the hard wood floor; Zeke heard it break. He leaned over and said, almost in Roy's face, "Now you're going to tell me what happened in that hotel room. Everything. I want you to tell me just how much you wanted to hurt him and just how you did it."

Raising a shuddering hand, Roy scrubbed at his eye. "You want me to lie."

"No, I want to hear the truth that you haven't dared to admit to yourself, you cowardly piece of shit. Come on, I'll help you get started...Casey belonged to you, right? Even if you had dumped him to make Janice happy and he'd gone home, he still belonged to you — "

"Sasha."

"Huh?"

"Sasha forced me to dump him."

"Okay, whatever... Then Sasha made you say it was over but you knew that it was definitely not over, didn't you? Casey was yours and whatever you did to him he'd still come back for more."

"That's right — he — needed me — "

"And you needed him so bad, didn't you? Without him there was nothing in your life that was truly yours."

"Yes," Roy mumbled.

"And no one else should have him."

"That's fucking right!" Roy shouted, startling Zeke into taking a step back. The backs of his calves encountered the coffee table and he almost overbalanced. "In fact, when I saw him in Herrington I suggested to him that no one else seemed interested in him and I'll tell you, I didn't have very much trouble convincing him."

Once again Zeke took to pacing the living room. It was either that or get bloodstains all over the nice, white furniture. "How did Janice end up in that room?" he asked as he measured the distance from one wall to another.

"She was kind of obsessed with me — Casey, too, in a bizarre way. She found out that I'd been going to Herrington and confronted me about it. She ordered me to stop going there." Roy made a face to suggest the type of scorn that must have greeted Janice's demand. "Naturally, I refused."

"Naturally," Zeke echoed.

"I left and went to meet Casey...the last thing I expected was that she'd just follow me."

"How do you mean, follow you?"

"I mean she showed up at the hotel later. She just showed up, she told them she was my wife and of course they were happy to give her the room number. I'm sure she thought to find Casey and me together but he'd already gone. Janice and I fought, she wanted me to come home and never see Casey again. I said I was going to stay there and wait for him like I promised. Then she used the ‘D' word and it just escalated — "

"'D' word?"

"Divorce."

"Oh." Zeke couldn't comprehend why Roy would be so scared of losing someone he didn't want to be with, but he wasn't about to engage in discussion about it.

"It got to the point that she told me if I wanted to have Casey why didn't he just come and live with us, that way she'd know where I was at all times. I told her maybe we should all sleep in the same bed too. I didn't expect her to take me up on it. She said, then you convince him or never see him again. I'm sure she thought he wasn't even going to show that night. But then he did show up — "

Which would have been right after the disaster that had been Delilah's birthday party and Zeke's "coming out", but he wasn't about to share that.

"— and he'd been completely fucked over by someone before he got to me. I guess you'll have to tell me about that. He was hysterical. Worse than hysterical. I tried to calm him down — "

"I don't want to hear about anything kind that you did."

Roy folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "All right, then... I wasn't kind, I'm never kind, I never do anything in the least bit decent and I only tried to calm him down so that I could persuade him to get naked with Janice and me. I got her to leave and then, by god, I fucked him so good, so sweet — "

"What did he say?" Zeke choked, coming to a dead halt in the centre of the living room. His hands itched. His skin was crawling with rage and disgust.

"Say?"

"When he realized what you wanted...with Janice."

"He said no at first. He was very clear about what he didn't want — hell, I'm not sure he even knows what to do with a woman."

"If you don't...I'll...so help me, I'll hurt you if you don't stop."

"Okay, total truth then," Roy said, with a complete absence of remorse, or even interest. "He knew what he didn't want and he didn't want Janice. He told me in no uncertain terms. I sent Janice away so I could change his mind...do you want to hear this blow by blow?"

"I want to know what you did to change his mind."

"You mean how I peeled his clothes off and had him with his face in the pillows and his ass in the air and how he wanted it so much he practically vacuumed the cum out of me?"

Zeke took a step towards the prick before he could stop himself. Just one step, and just one lovely fantasy of Roy crying and begging for mercy while his blood ran freely onto the polished hardwood. He ground out the words: "Are you trying to die?"

Roy opened his mouth. Closed it. "No," he said, unexpectedly subdued.

Zeke tilted his head, scrounging for a hurtful comment in lieu of bloodshed. "You really despise yourself, don't you?"

The older man looked quickly at Zeke. "Don't you dare — "

"You must hate yourself so bad. Poor daddy's boy, so scared of being yourself...Gotta find someone to take it out on, huh? You pitiful fuck."

"Are you my priest or my shrink now?"

"You raped him."

"I did not."

"Say it!"

"I did not and I will not," Roy snarled. "He never said no to me, never. He did say no to Janice at first but he let her join in later. It wasn't rape, none of it."

"But you know you did something wrong."

"Of course I did," Roy said tiredly. "I'm not an idiot. I didn't set out to hurt him but I did take advantage of him. He was obviously very sick and I shouldn't have touched him that day but I can never seem to help myself when it comes to him. There, I've confessed. Are you happy now?"

Zeke held his position. "That can't be all," he said.

"But it is."

"You're lying."

"I'm not. I fucking swear it."

"You have to be lying! There has to be more, there has to be a reason for — "

He stopped.

"Reason for what?" Roy asked. His voice was deadly, soft and terrible in its compassion.

Helpless with sudden grief, Zeke couldn't form a retort. Nor a question. He couldn't quite remember who he was angry at.

Roy's sardonic voice intruded. "You thought you could make sense of everything by coming here, didn't you?"

Zeke could only fall back on a sullen glare, backed by accusation. "It has to be your fault."

"What has to be?" Roy had gotten a whiff of Zeke's blood now, and he went for the jugular without hesitation. "Did Casey do something bad? Did he misbehave, or is he just making you miserable in general?"

Both, Zeke thought, but had the presence of mind not to say. He was still standing in the middle of the living room, so drained he wanted to sit down right there on the floor.

"I think I see what you're up to," Roy went on. "You want to believe he's an innocent victim but he's not having any of it, is he?" He shook his head, smiling. "That sounds like my Casey."

"He's not your — "

"And he's not yours either, from the sound of it." Roy's voice was gaining in strength. "What's going on, Zeke? He wouldn't say I raped him so you come here thinking you could get me to say it?"

Rather than crumble onto the floor, Zeke moved to sit on the nearest piece of furniture, which turned out to be at the other end of the couch that Roy was sitting on. His entire body was weighted down by the knowledge that he shouldn't have come here.

"Well, " Roy said brightly when Zeke had been silent for a while. "It's very late. You need to be getting back to your hotel — unless you were planning on staying for something else?"

Zeke looked at him just in time to glimpse the come-hither. "You're out of your mind," he said, wondering if he might vomit, so intense was his disgust.

"You're attracted to me, Zeke."

"How sick are you that you would have sex with me now?"

"I find the idea kind of appealing, actually."

Roy sidled down the couch until he was close enough for Zeke to smell his aftershave. He stroked Zeke's chest, toying with a button. "It is sick, isn't it? I want to touch you and think of you touching Casey...and you want me to touch you because it's so naughty and perverse and you're so angry..."

Zeke shoved him back. "Get your fucking hand off me."

Smiling, Roy slithered back to where he had been. "Okay, baby. Like I said before, you really aren't my type."

"And I prefer my sex with human beings."

"Ooh," Roy pouted. "Sticks and stones, baby. It's just as well...I really do love my boys small and pretty...and the needier the better, you know."

The words instantly incinerated all the oxygen in Zeke's lungs. He had known this already and he had even said it to Roy but until now he hadn't truly appreciated how pitiful Roy was, how very profoundly he despised himself. The man was repulsed by his own desires, and he was repulsed by Casey for fulfilling them.

"I do believe that it's time for you to be going," Roy said, rising gracefully to his feet. "Thank you, Zeke. This has definitely been one of the more interesting evenings I've had — "

"I'm not done with you yet," Zeke said.

"Oh, please. You are so done."

"I want to meet Janice."

Roy looked bored, which Zeke was beginning to recognize as his stand-by for covering up panic. "Now why would you want to do that? I've told you everything...and I've told you she didn't do much of anything. Allow me this one noble impulse."

"No. I want to hear the story from her too."

"What makes you think she'd ever tell you?"

"Because I'll do the same thing to her that I threatened to do to you if she doesn't."

Slowly, Roy folded once again into the couch. He said, "She's trying to put everything about her marriage to me behind her..."

"And she can...after she talks to me. You still speak to her, don't you?"

"Barely."

"I'm sure you can get in touch with her."

"She's probably out of town...you know, enjoying the holidays like some people do?"

"How about you humour me and let's find out?"

"Right now?"

"No time like the present. Call her up...I'll wait."

Roy's jaw set. He stared at some indefinable point on the wall.

Zeke shrugged. "I can always find her myself. It may take some time but I will, and then you'll have no knowledge of what I say to her or what she says to me. I tell you what...you think about it while I get my coat on. You have until then to decide."

He was allowed to take several steps, almost out of the living room before Roy called him to a halt. "Wait, goddammit."

Zeke stopped. He waited.

"All right!" Roy yielded. "All right, I'll call her but I can't promise anything."

"I get that," Zeke replied, twisting around.

"And what do you want me to say?"

Zeke took a second to pretend to think about it. "I want to sit down with the two of you for a nice, private discussion, and when that discussion is over, this whole business will be over."

Roy nodded, seeming slightly dazed. Without a word, he grabbed for his phone. It was white like everything else, styled like something from the sixties. He dialled from memory, Zeke noted, which was interesting considering he and Janice "barely spoke". Whenever Zeke stopped speaking to a person, he usually dumped their phone number from his memory banks.

"Hello, Rhonda...I hope you've been having a good holiday. Oh, not bad...yes, she's down in the Dominican right now...Yeah, don't we all...so, is Janice around? Really? Lucky break for me, I thought she's be off somewhere herself...Thanks." Roy put the phone against his shoulder. "She's there," he whispered. "Why don't you talk to her?"

"You talk to her first," Zeke replied. He was enjoying watching Roy squirm far too much.

A woman's voice issued from the handset. "Roy?"

Roy quickly put the phone back to his ear. "Janice, it's Roy...yes, sorry..." The voice at the other end was angry. Roy coughed and overrode it. "Just give me a second and I'll tell you...You know that subject that we said we'd never, ever talk about...well, we have to talk about it."

Janice's reaction was easily heard and understood, even if Zeke couldn't make out a word of it.

"Will you give me a fucking second? This isn't my doing, I swear it. I have a man in my apartment right now — " Roy was cut short as the feminine voice rose even higher in volume. "Does it matter how? Is it any of your business...? Thank you. As I was saying, I have this young man in my apartment. His name is Zeke Tyler and he's...he's Casey's boyfriend. Yes, he's standing here right now."

Roy's face was very red. At last he was sweating and Zeke was just petty enough to enjoy the sight of it.

"We've had a very candid conversation about what happened between you, me and Casey...well, he informed me that I have no choice...anyhow, I'm afraid he isn't satisfied and he wants to hear your version of things."

There was no reaction to this that Zeke could hear. He reached for the handset, taking it from Roy's shaking hand. "Give me that..." He pressed it to his ear. "Janice?"

A cool, surprisingly detached voice replied, "Yes."

"This is Zeke."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to agree to meet me and Roy in my hotel room tomorrow at..." Zeke bumped up the time he had been thinking, then bumped it up again. "...at three."

"I have plans for tomorrow."

"I suggest that you change them."

"And if I don't?"

"I've told Roy that if he didn't cooperate I'd go to the police and the press with what I know. He believed me — and I'm making the same promise to you. If you go along with this it will all be over tomorrow and you won't need to be afraid of getting dragged through the mud. All I really want is the truth and I'd rather have the trial in private, but I'll go public if I have to."

It was incredible how even in asking a question the woman contrived to sound imperious. "But you got Roy to tell you what happened, didn't you?"

Zeke replied, "Can I trust Roy to tell me the truth?"

Janice was silent for quite a while. Then she acceded, "All right...three o'clock tomorrow. Which is your hotel?"

"The Hyatt."

"Do you want me to come right to your room?"

"Wait for me in the lobby. I'll meet you and Roy there."

"Acceptable," she said, and hung up.

Zeke hung up. "You heard," he told Roy. "Three o'clock."

"I'm supposed to be leaving for Vegas with Allan tomorrow morning," Roy protested.

"You'll have to make other arrangements."

Roy observed, "You're really here for revenge, aren't you? Not the truth."

It was an interesting experience to watch a person hating you and unable to do anything other than that; Zeke soaked it up and answered at his leisure. "Truth is the priority. Revenge is a bonus. Good night."

Standing, he collected his coat and backpack and departed. The doorman downstairs was happy to call him a cab.

Something happened in the cab, though. One moment he was sitting, looking out the window and thinking about how tired he was, very diligently not replaying the conversation with Roy — and the next, he was trying not to weep. He held on through the drive back and paying the cab driver and all the way through the lobby to the bank of elevators. He did not have the elevator to himself so he had to hold on all the way to the ninth floor.

Once his door opened, he dropped his backpack and walked the straight line in front of the TV set, pressing his fingers against his eyes, gasping and snuffling until he had gotten control over himself. No, he was not falling apart, that was not what was going on here. He was just too fucking tired. His day had been abominably long...incredible to think that it had begun in the Connors' kitchen.

He had only enough energy to strip before he fell into bed, and a soft, black void.

It was undoubtedly a good thing that he had made his appointment with Roy and Janice as late as he had, because he slept until one o'clock the following day, waking up ravenous and absolutely wired.

The first order of business was to call up room service and order the biggest steak dinner on the menu. While he was waiting for his food, he shaved and showered and got dressed. When the meal arrived, he was on the phone with a travel agent. There was a flight that night at nine, to Houston; he would have to spend the night there but then he could get on a ten-thirty a.m. flight to Los Angeles and be at LAX by noon the following day — which, he thought with satisfaction, was still a day before the wedding. After gobbling up his twelve ounce steak, loaded baked potato and a salad that Sasha would have described as tragically uninspired, he called housekeeping and asked them to come make up his room. Then he headed down to the lobby.

Whereupon he realized that he had a problem. There was nothing to do but wait and sitting was out of the question. It seemed as though his skin might actually split open, such was the purity of intent that hummed under it. He gave only brief thought to calling home to see how Casey was doing — very brief thought. There was no need for it. Nor did he call his father. He didn't have anything more to report, and once this was done he would hop on a plane and be in Los Angeles with time to spare. To stay unconfused, be the old Zeke — that was all that he truly needed. The old Zeke had a plan to carry out today. The plan was beautiful, brutal in its simplicity, and there was no place in it for sentiment.

In the half hour he had to wait, he walked around the hotel block five times, using the kind of rapid stride that would never have worked if Casey had been around. Casey could cover a lot of ground for a person with such short legs but at this speed Zeke would have quickly left him behind. He would have been forced to ease off, to modify the length and frequency of his stride...just as he would have to change his entire approach to this day. Or even to give up — oh, yes, it was good to be alone, because he was not done. He was so very fucking far from done.

It was just a few minutes before the designated meeting time when he planted himself in one of the couches in the lobby. In a hotel of this size there was a constant flow of activity through the three entrances, each of which faced a congested major street or avenue. He chose a position where he could watch what he considered to be the "front" entrance, but he decided not to mind if he missed them coming in. He simply couldn't watch all three doors at once.

"Here we go," he muttered.

They might decide to call his bluff, though, and just not show up. But he rather thought they would — and it was imperative that he not bluff or give way on any point. He had to be prepared to do what it took, regardless of the cost. Scandal in the papers, a notorious trial... oh, he did love the idea of a trial. Roy and Janice suffering blow after blow to reputation, pride, finances...and even better, Casey being compelled to talk. That was a perverse delight to contemplate — except, Zeke realized with a tinge of bitterness, not even the force of judicial authority could make Casey talk when he chose not to. He would shut down or work himself into such a state that no competent doctor would let him out of the hospital to testify. Casey, like Zeke, would do whatever it took.

But he was a fuckwit, to be thinking of Casey now. That was absolutely what he must not do, not if he was to be successful this afternoon. He must keep that crystalline, glittering purpose. There could be no doubt, no weakness.

Zeke committed himself to not think — to look around instead, maybe observe the people around him for a bit. There were several other men sitting nearby, reading newspapers or magazines. There was a youngish woman sitting on the edge of a couch, uneasily perched between two of the men, her suitcase by her feet, half- blocking the row between the couches. Her eyes met Zeke's; she smiled slightly and glanced away. Over at the long, polished counter there were all manner of well- dressed, well-turned out people, but Zeke saw one man in jeans and plaid flannels, wearing hiking boots. On his other side, the hostess for the hotel pub-restaurant was trying to politely handle what looked like a homeless man. Zeke imagined that this was a frequent occurrence; they were in the core of the downtown and it was winter.

He checked his watch. Five after three.

Maybe it was for the best if they didn't show. It was time to go on to the wedding maybe, admit defeat...but then after, he didn't know what. He just knew that he couldn't let things go back to how they'd been before.

"Zeke."

He careened back to reality and saw Roy standing there maybe five feet away, alongside a slim, blond woman. She wore the kind of high-end conservative style that could be afforded only by the very wealthy. Her jewelry was subtle; her hair a smooth, shoulder-length mane of blond, an effortlessness that probably took hours to achieve. Her face was composed to the point of haughtiness. As she moved closer, however, Zeke could read the intense stress just beneath.

He stood up to greet her. "Janice?"

She graced him with a regal nod. While Roy's gift was his ability to bespell his victims, hers was an aloof manner that would appeal greatly to a certain type of man. She wasn't a lot older than Zeke, and not hard to look at by any means, but there was an almost virginal purity about her. It was difficult to imagine her taking her clothes off, let alone having sex. And it was almost impossible to imagine her wanting to do any of what Roy had described.

"Well?" she said. "Can we get this over with?"

Zeke gestured that they should follow him. No one said a word while they waited for the elevator, rode to the ninth floor, walked to Room 914. Zeke hoped that the housekeeping staff had done their work and was relieved to find, when he opened the door, that they had. Not that it was anything but ridiculous to care if his unwilling guests thought him slovenly.

"Come on in," he said, suddenly at a loss as to how to begin. "Would you...um, like a drink?" He peeled off his coat and threw it on the bed, noticing as he did that Roy was acting the part of the gentleman, helping Janice with her own coat and hanging it up for her like they were out for a night at the theatre. "The mini-bar's stocked."

"No...thank you," she replied. Roy glanced at the fridge with momentary longing but said nothing. Janice glided over to the space by the window, to the two wing-backed style chairs and low table that were arranged near it. She took the liberty of sitting in one of them, crossing her legs and generally conveying that she was a queen holding court.

"So how do we do this?" wondered her disgraced consort, sitting in the other chair. Roy was nervous, it seemed...which was interesting. He hadn't acted half as frightened when Zeke suddenly materialized in his life last night.

"We just begin," Zeke said. And just like that, his insecurity gave a good impression of having disappeared. With nowhere else to sit, he took a corner of the nearest bed. He was resolute, dispassionate, under control. He was Zeke Tyler once more.

"You aren't recording this conversation, are you?" Janice asked. Her tone was just short of contemptuous.

"No."

"I'll have to take your word for that."

"Yes. You will."

Unexpectedly, she showed him that she too had a capacity for contradiction, appearing much younger than she had just a minute ago. It was a vulnerable look, putting Zeke in mind of a freckled ten-year-old. "I had hoped to never have to speak of this again," she observed.

He tossed back, "The thing is, when you destroy a person there tends to be repercussions."

Janice's face twisted slightly.

Roy made a sound of disgust. "We didn't destroy Casey, he was destroyed before we got to him — don't let him bullshit you, Jan."

Janice's lips thinned. Whatever contempt she had for Zeke, it was patently held tenfold for Roy. She retorted, "I'd like to know what happened."

"In what way?" Zeke returned.

"I mean that night...after we left, what happened to Casey?"

"You mean after you and Roy were finished with him?"

Her lips were almost non-existent now. "So to speak."

"I don't know entirely, I didn't find him until the next morning. He was at a restaurant that we both know, in the bathroom. I don't know how he got there but I think he walked. He was all beat up and completely out of it so I took him to the hospital. He ended up in the psychiatric hospital for a while...because he was a danger to himself, you see. Since then he's had anxiety so bad that he has a hard time leaving home. He's afraid of people and he's had no life to speak of besides pills and appointments."

Zeke was quite aware that he was overdoing it, and doing Casey an injustice besides. He didn't care at the moment. It was gratifying to watch Janice's composure cracking, breaking open and exposing the human feelings beneath. They didn't appear to include remorse, not just yet — although he sensed that it was there to be trawled. "God," she whispered.

"Give me a break!" Roy said, smirking. "We didn't do that — Casey was practically a hermit when he was with me and he had all sort of episodes to begin with. I saw it myself."

Janice turned the remains of her cold mask upon him. "But he obviously needed medical attention and we did nothing." Her back became straighter, her posture more rigid if that were possible. "I would like to apologize to him."

This elicited a full snort from Roy.

"I don't think Casey would care to hear it," Zeke said. "I'm not sure how he'd react to hearing from you."

"Then perhaps I could write it..."

"No, no, no!" Roy broke in, he leaned forward, addressing Janice with some urgency. "We can't do that. You were the one who said we should leave him alone, Jan."

"Oh, but it's a bit late for that," Zeke noted. "Isn't it, Roy?"

"What do you mean?" Janice asked. "Roy hasn't seen Casey since that night at the hotel." She sought confirmation from Roy. "You haven't, have you?"

"No, I haven't seen him."

"But you didn't 'leave him alone' either, did you?" Zeke needled.

He'd had a hunch that Janice didn't know about the letter, and her reaction bore it out. Every visible bit of skin went hectic, from her brows to the slight bit of skin showing above the top button of her blouse. "You...absolute shit," she said to Roy. Her mask didn't just split apart; it crumbled completely, revealing an anger so absolute that Zeke almost could feel sorry for Roy. Almost.

Roy was shaking his head. "You just had to tell her that," he muttered in Zeke's direction.

"What did you do?" Janice demanded of Roy. She rose to her feet, and although she was not much taller than Casey, her anger cast a convincing shadow. "Tell me or I'll just ask him — which I'm sure he'll be only to happy to tell me — "

Still Roy didn't answer, so Zeke chimed in, "He wrote Casey a letter. It was a real piece of work too."

"What did you write, Roy?"

"Jan — " Roy pleaded, breathing rapidly.

"Don't call me that. What did you say in the letter?"

Silence. Roy's face was almost glowing purple with being-caught- ness, and Zeke basked in it.

"Roy... tell me now."

"At least can't we have this conversation in private?"

"I want to have it now." Janice was once again in her chair but just on the edge of it. When Roy was not forthcoming, she said to Zeke with brittle calm, "A week after Herrington I told him I was divorcing him. He had made it very clear to me that he was going to continue on with Casey regardless of what had happened — I think he had already gone looking for him at the university." Turning on Roy, she added, "I could just see your wheels turning, thinking you would go get him and keep him tucked away somewhere, never mind what you had just done to him — "

"Oh, and suddenly you're all about being nice to poor Casey," Roy sneered.

"I wasn't nice to him." Janice held her head high as she stated, "I didn't like him and I still don't, but at least I have some concept of right and wrong. I figured the least I could do was keep you away from him."

"Spare me, please. You just wanted to make sure that I wasn't happy."

Janice didn't appear to have heard the accusation. "I can't believe that you would promise me and then immediately — " For a few seconds, she couldn't continue. She forced out, "We had an agreement."

"Do you have to talk about this in front of him?"

As she informed on Roy, Janice's expression was nothing less than vindictive. She told Zeke, "The grounds for the divorce were adultery and emotional cruelty but that was all it said in the documents. I told him I would leave out the details of his...homosexual relationship...as long as he didn't contest anything, and as long as he swore never to approach Casey again."

"You know damned well that you didn't want to put in any details," Roy snarled. "They would be far more humiliating for you than me."

"I would have done it."

"You believe that if it makes you feel better."

"And I would never have agreed to the financial settlement that you proposed if you hadn't promised me...but then of course you had to turn around and let the whole world know you were gay!"

Roy shrugged. "I just thought it was time."

"You just never do anything unless you can stick it to someone else at the same time. And when did you send that letter?"

Zeke volunteered, "We got it early in September through Casey's parents."

Janice became mottled with red all over again. "You promised me," she hissed at Roy, "and then turned around and wrote him. Was it on the same day even?"

"The same afternoon," Roy returned with vicious satisfaction. "I'm not about to have you or anyone else tell me who to love."

"Then all I can say is thank god you never loved me. I'm the better for it."

Roy stood up so suddenly that Janice flinched. He blinked several times, glaring at her, then subsided into his chair and muttered, "Can we get on with this?"

Except Janice wasn't ready to let it go. "Why did you write him?" she pressed.

"Why?" Roy burst out. "Because I wanted him back, that's why! And believe it or not, I did want to explain things."

"I read your ‘explanation'," Zeke said. "All you did was hurt him more." He had to clasp his hands in his lap as they were shaking badly. "I'm not going to let that happen again."

"I want to apologize, not explain — " Janice started.

"No," Zeke cut her off, not minding if he sounded cruel. "I'm not going to let either of you justify yourself to him... but if you want to write something, I do have an assignment for you."

"What's that?" Janice asked.

"This is something I want the two of you to work on together."

"What now?" Roy sighed, as though the entire business couldn't possibly be more tedious.

"Before you leave this room today, I want you two to agree to the facts of what happened between you and Casey on that day in the hotel and write it all down. I want you both to sign off on it."

Eyes were gaping, mouths slack, and Zeke was delighted to see Roy and Janice so entirely stupefied. "You both have to agree that what you put down is accurate and true," he added.

"I told you everything yesterday," Roy said, overriding Janice who was now attempting to form some words.

"Not everything...not enough."

"You just can't accept that Casey would lie to you."

Zeke had already learned the importance of making himself impervious to any of Roy's snide but insightful little attacks; that was where he had gone wrong last night. Now in the light of another day and another round the comments glanced off him without causing any damage. He replied, "If you told the truth, then you won't mind reviewing it with Janice and writing it down."

"I do mind — "

"I absolutely refuse!" Janice erupted. She was rigid with indignation. "I'm not going to put anything on paper so — so you can — take it to the police and — !"

"Jan, calm the fuck down," Roy said. He had become very still and yet there was a sense of barely restrained aggression to him, like he might have launched himself from the chair at any moment. Until this moment Zeke had been of the opinion that the man was capable of emotional violence only — but now he had to wonder if, or how often, he had shown this side of himself to Casey. "For one thing, there's nothing to share with the police. We didn't commit a crime."

"But we — "

"Listen to me...I told my lawyer the whole story and if you believe nothing I say at least believe that I am honest with my lawyer. He said we did nothing criminal." Still with that hint of threat, Roy turned his focus upon Zeke, even as he continued by implication to address Janice. "But of course we are terrible, immoral people, or at least I am. I admitted as much last night and I told Zeke that it was mostly my fault, so please don't get worked up."

"I don't have to write it down," Janice said, her mouth trembling.

"No, you don't have to," Zeke responded, speaking to both of them. "You can not do what I ask but I have to assume, then, that you would prefer to wait and see what speculations your local papers can come up with."

"I don't care," Janice pronounced. "Let them make up whatever they like, I'll know it isn't the truth." She removed herself from her chair and took several proud steps, plainly intending to leave.

Roy's head snapped away from Zeke. "Janice," he said.

Her steps slowed, stopped. Facing her ex-husband, she said, "You're an idiot, Roy. This guy is not going to do what he says. He's here for Casey, he's not going to go to the press. He's gambling on your fear of being embarrassed and of course you're falling for it because you always do. You're pathetic, and I'm leaving."

She didn't budge, however. Her eyes fluttered anxiously around the room, touching on Zeke often. He saw a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

"I'm not here for Casey," Zeke corrected her. His brain churned, manically producing words and sounds that his mouth could barely keep up to. "I'm not deluding myself that my motives are pure — I'm here for me. I've decided that I need to know the truth and I don't care what it does to Casey, I swear to fucking god if I have to I'll go to the police on Monday. I will personally drag Casey all the way here to make a statement if necessary. I won't enjoy it, but I'll do it."

Janice was staring at him in horror by the time he finished. "I don't believe you."

Roy was also assessing Zeke, but he came down on the other side of the issue. "I'd suggest that you do believe him, Jan," he offered.

"Why? I don't — "

"Because I think I know how he feels."

Zeke did not miss Roy's smug little half-grin. "You don't know shit," he snapped, and Roy just grinned some more.

"But what — " Janice fumbled. "Why do you want — why does it have to be on paper?"

"It's for me and Casey to read together."

"You don't make any sense."

"It's like this...Understanding Casey is a project I've been working on for the past five months. When I take something on I don't fail. I'll do what I have to to get it finished and I'm sure I can get more truth out of you this way than through the legal system. It isn't enough for me to hear it and then tell Casey what I heard. I need Casey to hear it directly from you and this is the easiest way, short of putting it on tape. I swear to you no one will ever see it but Casey and me."

And possibly Sasha, he noted to himself. He certainly had no objection to keeping one or two things from Sasha, but the man could be maddeningly persistent.

"Janice...I do believe you wanted to do right by Casey," Zeke fabricated. "I'm sure you regret what you did and you want to do something to make amends."

Wordless and obviously struggling, she just blinked at him.

"That's crap," Roy said. "You can't make amends for some things. Apologies are useless, they're just an insult. Once you do something really bad, you can't go back. You can't be forgiven... I'm just more honest about that than most."

Janice's chin lifted again. "If you're honest then I'm Mother Theresa."

She sat once more, her mask back in place — at least for now.

Zeke retrieved from the top of the dresser the pad of paper and the pens he had just bought last night. He placed them on the table in between Roy and Janice. "Let's consider this a revision of that piece of shit letter you wrote," he said to Roy.

"Will you leave the room while we do this?" Janice asked Zeke.

"Absolutely not. I don't want to give you a chance to agree on some watered down version of the story. I'm going to be here the whole time."

Her hand shook as she reached for the pen. "This is humiliating."

"That's the idea. Just be glad I'm not going to ask you to recreate it on the bed for me."

"With you playing the part of Casey?" she mused, ice-cold eyes stabbing at him. "I don't think so."

Zeke suddenly felt sick inside but he forced it down along with the detritus of doubt, self-recrimination and just plain old nerves. Zeke Tyler did not have nerves; he didn't harbour redundancies such as second thoughts.

"Let's get to work," he said.

This was going to be one of those days.

There were several of them in Zeke's memory, days that he didn't really think about, at least not consciously. Every couple of years he would glance at them, then put them away for another year or two. It wasn't that they were especially bad or good but that they tended to invoke a blistering intensity of feelings. He had always liked to think that he wasn't about that.

Like there had been that one when — well, he thought he might have been ten because his father had long since stopped living in Herrington full-time. At that point Jacob had been living in Cincinnati for two years, yet he still showed up regularly. To visit Zeke, he claimed, but Zeke knew that he and Rachel would spend the night together almost every time. Jacob would sleep in her bed and a lot of times she would take off the next morning and they wouldn't know where she went. Presumably, to see one of the many men she liked to keep on a string. No matter how many times it happened, his father appeared surprised by it.

On this particular day in Zeke's memory, they had all woke up in the morning to find Rachel still in the house. Jacob had even cooked breakfast, and the three of them ate together. It hadn't been perfect; Rachel fidgeted and snapped at them both, and she'd left immediately after. Zeke hadn't cared. He'd been glad when it was just him and Jacob. They had spent the whole afternoon doing nothing of very great importance, and that was the day that Jacob had said to Zeke, "The best way to feel things is with your head." Or something like that. It was a rule that Zeke had tried to live by, but he was beginning to learn that there were times when even thinking could be the enemy.

Such as now when it was nine twenty-five and he was running to his gate at the Greater Cincinnati Regional Airport while shouting into his phone. "It's Zeke, I'm on my way — "

"Zeke," said Jacob's relieved voice. "I was worried — "

"I'm getting on a plane right now. I need to stay over tonight in Houston but I'll be there tomorrow around noon, okay?"

"But...okay, all right...I have to go get a final fitting for my...but someone will meet you...um..." There were mutters in the background. "You will? Thanks...all right, Zeke, Melissa's daughter, Chloe, she'll be there."

"Okay — gotta go!" Zeke hung up without another word. He dodged families and business people and other people in uniforms, and finally, he skidded up to the kiosk where an attendant was waiting with arms folded and toe tapping. Ten minutes later, his plane was taxiing with him in it. He was mired in the middle of a row of passengers, some of whom he knew were glaring at him for having held them up. "I've got to quit smoking," he panted.

There was a warm chuckle beside him. He turned and noted a petite, older man wearing a polo shirt and nylon slacks. "You say that now," the man said. "I've been trying for about fifty years. Still smoking."

And just to corroborate, the man bent over and engaged in the most horrendous, appalling round of coughing. It sounded like whatever was left of his lungs was choking him on its way up. Zeke stared ahead, at the male steward who was doing his safety demonstration, and hoped that his horror didn't show.

"I quit," said the person to Zeke's right, an older woman with a beehive and a drawl.

"Yeah," Zeke said, regretting having made his comment out loud. Now that he was breathing normally again, he didn't feel so much like he was ready to give up the cigarettes anyway, and he certainly didn't feel like hearing a sermon about it.

"The patch. It worked for me."

With a private grin, Zeke envisioned himself with nicotine flooding his body from multiple sources, patches and cigarettes. And why not chew some Nicorette in his spare time.

"So are you from Houston?" the woman asked

Shit. She was a talker.

"No," he said, and then added with forced politeness, "Going to my father's wedding in Los Angeles."

"Oh, how nice! I've never been but I think I'd be kinda scared, it's so big."

"I've never been either."

"But...doesn't your father live there?"

"Yeah," Zeke replied, volunteering nothing.

"Oh...I see."

Zeke didn't think that she did see. Meanwhile, he was beginning to see that he should have gone first class. Two hours in the air provided nothing to rebut the conclusion. Neither of the two who flanked him could be said to chatter non-stop but all the same, Zeke was kept fairly busy just being civil.

On the other hand, it occurred to him later as he dragged himself and his bags through the door of his hotel room at midnight, maybe that had been for the best; when it came to not thinking, he needed all the distraction he could get. Although broken down with stress and overuse, his brain would persist and grind gears, keeping him from a sound sleep. It didn't help that he was cranky, sticky and clammy from his brief exposure to the Houston climate, having travelled to this monster of an airport hotel in an unconditioned cab. And this was nothing compared to the summer, the cabbie had told him.

After a quick shower he laid on his bed. Into his brain popped some random notion of reading over the words written earlier that day by Janice and Roy. It was a pretty compelling read to be sure, but nothing that he would really want to lose himself in over and over. Besides, he already knew what was in there; he had reviewed it all, even as it had gotten late and he knew he was going to be hard-pressed to make it to the airport. After he watched them each put their signature to the paper, he'd then snatched up the pages, folded them and stuffed them in his backpack.

His attention drifted to the phone, lying in the time-honoured position on the nightstand between two double beds. It was still only ten o'clock in Seattle

Not yet, said a strange, small voice from within him, and he obeyed it without question. Instead of calling home, he chain-smoked and denuded the mini-bar while he watched TV late into the night. The combination of mood-altering substances and mind-numbing entertainment kept everything at bay, and finally he was able to sleep.

The next morning's flight was short, only an hour and a half. Zeke was more than content with that. He was getting very tired of airplanes. The airline breakfast had been particularly hard to take this morning — but at least he had shaken off his hangover sufficiently that he was craving a real meal well before he landed in Los Angeles.

He knew nothing of Melissa's daughter and more or less expected a cardboard sign with his name on it when he got off the plane — not a young woman who walked right up to him and said, in a husky, buxom voice, "Zeke?"

He blinked. "Chloe?"

She smiled and stuck out her hand. Her hair was super-cropped and blond, body taut and athletic. In another life he would have been instantly attracted to her. Okay — he was attracted to her, and maybe the Roy thing wasn't anything to torment himself about. Maybe he was just in a mood to be attracted to everyone he met. He wondered if he would have felt any attraction towards Chloe had Casey been with him, knowing that Casey would have gone berserk just at the sight of her.

"How did you...?"

"Find you? Your dad gave me a picture. Shall we get your bags?" She proposed it with that same to-the-point, no-nonsense way of talking that he'd observed in her mother.

It didn't take long for them to collect his things and get going. By the time they had crossed the asphalt desert of the parking lot, Zeke knew that he had entered another world where sunshine was the norm and any temperature below sixty was considered harsh. He noticed that many people were wearing coats, jackets or sweaters. Meanwhile, he was ready to stop at the nearest Old Navy and buy a pair of shorts. As much as he hated to admit that the weather had any impact on his mood, something in him did lighten at the brush of warmth across his skin.

"Hey...what ‘cha thinking?" Chloe asked him unexpectedly.

He had turned his face to the sun. "It's good to get away from winter," he replied.

"It's not so cold in Seattle," she noted.

"Not so warm either. And it rains all the time."

"Huh," Chloe said brightly. "Listen to us going on about the weather! We must think we don't have anything to talk about — oh, here's my car."

She drove an almost-new Mustang convertible, candy-apple red. Zeke felt himself grinning. "This is your car?"

"Yep...why, you don't like it?"

"Oh, I like it. In fact...will you marry me?"

She laughed. "There's that slight hurdle where you're into guys."

"I'd make an exception."

Still smiling, she teased gently, "And we're kind of brother and sister, too." She opened her trunk; it was small, but they managed to get the hockey bag in. "What the hell are you lugging around here?"

"Christmas presents," he grunted, tossing his suitcase into the tiny bench that served as a back seat.

"Oh, that explains it," she said without a hint of irony. "Hop in."

Soon they were flying at a slightly illegal velocity towards — Glendale, she informed him. He was amazed by how good he felt just being outside with the wind in his face. She let him bide in quiet enjoyment for some time but after a while she said, her voice slightly raised over the rush of air and the roar of other vehicles, "It's too bad you couldn't bring your boyfriend."

"Um...well...he just couldn't."

"I should tell you, your father has been freaked out for at least a month. I've never seen anyone get so uptight, you'd think he was the bride."

"Is your mom nervous?"

"Oh, no." Chloe shook her head. "She's a very stress-free person!"

"What about you? Are you a stress-free person?" he asked, watching her hands on the wheel. She drove like she talked — concise and confident.

"Not totally...but pretty close to it."

"And what do you do?"

"You won't believe this but...I'm a programmer."

"Why would I not believe it?"

"I don't know, maybe because programmers are all supposed to be geeky guys with thick glasses and plastic pocket protectors. I seem to get that a lot."

"What kind of programming?"

"I work for a company that makes educational software."

"That's cool."

"Yeah..." Chloe took an exit, only one of a thousand they had passed. The sign didn't say "This way to Glendale" but she had to know her way around. If anyone had asked, Zeke would have denied it but even after having driven in some major cities with fairly busy freeways he felt slightly intimidated here. It was only slightly less chaotic than a colony of maddened insects. To his slight surprise, however, he was finding himself able to relax with her driving. It was nothing sexist; he tended to trust only himself behind the wheel. "So what about you?"

"I'm just going to school. Philosophy."

"I hear you've already owned a business though. That's impressive."

"Not very. I just cashed in on being a small-town football star. You're much more impressive."

"Let's agree that we're both impressive then."

Zeke couldn't help a grin. "All right. So...what do we have to do for this standing up business?"

She gave him a brief, oblique look. "Just — stand up. Put our signature on a document, smile for the camera, then eat and dance."

"I think I can handle that."

"By the way...you'll be staying at the house with my mother and Jacob and me. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," Zeke said.

The house where Melissa and Jacob resided was somehow very California- esque to his eyes; it was not obscenely large but still formidable, with Spanish colonial touches. It was perched on a verdant hillside, accessed by a road that wound through the thick, well-planned foliage the clotted the neighbourhood. There was a Ferrari parked in the drive, and a Mercedes-Benz Off-Roader. Jacob and Melissa weren't hurting.

"Looks like your dad's back from his fitting," Chloe observed.

"Did they buy this house together?" Zeke asked as Chloe parked behind the Ferrari.

She appeared half-startled at his ignorance, and half-amused. "No, this is kind of my childhood home. Mom's business sort of took off when I was twelve or thirteen, and we moved here after that. Your dad just decided to move in with her."

Zeke didn't correct this second reference to Jacob as his "dad".

They went around to the back, entering the house by means of a large patio boasting the most enormous, multi-tiered grill that Zeke had ever seen. The backyard was an expanse of rich green, set with a jewel-shaped pool. Currently, there was also an arched trellis adorned with white and blue flowers placed at the edge of one part of the yard. Facing the trellis were rows of white folding chairs set out in two groups with an aisle formed in between them. It hadn't occurred to Zeke that the wedding was going to be here at the house rather than in a church or some other public venue. Counting the chairs, he took some comfort in the fact that there was seating for only about fifty people.

Sasha would have gone into multiple orgasms at the sight of the kitchen. It was ten times the size of the one they shared in Seattle, boasting all stainless steel appliances, surfaces gleaming in the sunshine. There were ceramic tiles everywhere and an enormous Mexican-style table that could easily seat twelve.

"Home sweet home," Chloe announced. "Or it used to be anyway."

"You don't live here?"

"No, I live in San Diego now. Would you like a tour?"

"Um...maybe later."

"Okay." Chloe hollered out, "Mom! Jacob!"

Just moments later, Melissa appeared wearing a luxurious terry robe, her face covered in some greenish mud. She was holding something in her hand; diligent observation led Zeke to determine that it was two slices of cucumber. Jacob was almost on her heels. Incongruously, he was fully dressed in slacks and a crisp shirt, holding a folder that looked work-related.

"Zeke," he said with a stiff smile. "I've been worried — "

"Yes, but he's here now, dear," Melissa overrode him. Unlike her fiancee, she gave the appearance of being simply pleased to welcome him, with not a trace of anxiety. She came up and kissed him on the cheek, taking care not to leave any of her face behind. She smelled of fruit and earth. "I'm so sorry Casey couldn't make it after all, I was really looking forward to seeing him again."

Zeke gave her a hard stare but couldn't see that she was anything but sincere.

"Sit down, dear...Chloe, get him something to drink, please, I just have to finish up here."

"Mom was having a little home spa," Chloe explained unnecessarily. "But it's really Jacob who should have it." She grinned cheekily at Zeke's father.

Zeke sat down at the table, bemused and strangely discomfited by this cozy, domestic display.

"What would you like to drink, Zeke? We have coffee, tea, all sorts of juice — are you hungry?"

"Actually...yeah."

"There's couple of wraps in the fridge, we get them from this place that makes them for take-out."

"Sounds good."

"I'll be right back," Melissa sang. "Chloe, dear, would you — ?"

"Yeah, Mom...I'll feed him."

For the first time since leaving Casey at the Cincinnati airport, Zeke was aware of some guilt; this all didn't sit very well when he had every reason to believe that Casey was at home doing nothing but suffering. His anger was still burning but it wasn't nearly the all-consuming inferno that it had been. Fury was a wonderful shield against remorse but he couldn't sustain it indefinitely, and now suddenly his time away from home was morphing into a vacation-like situation, complete with the beautiful girl of Casey's worst fears.

"Is it okay if I use the phone?" he blurted as Jacob slid into a nearby chair. "It's long distance. Or I could use my cell — " Without a word, Chloe brought the phone to him. It was shaped like a giant chili pepper, bright red with a green cap. "I'm just going to check in at home," he explained but Chloe was already on to the next task, rooting in the fridge. She looked over her shoulder momentarily.

"Of course," his father said.

Except there was no answer at home. Not sure if this should be reassuring or not, Zeke left a message: "Hey, it's Zeke. Just wanted to let you know I'm at Jacob and Melissa's house. Just in case you tried my cell, I've been messing with the number. For now if you want to reach me, just call me here. It's..."

"818-555-9770," his father supplied, feeding it to him slowly as he repeated it into the phone. Chloe put a plate in front of him with what looked like some sun-dried tomato thing of above-average vegetable content.

"So, that's all," he finished. "Um...bye for now."

Hanging up, he struggled to get his head back to Los Angeles. It was rather worrisome that no one had answered the phone. He wondered if he should keep calling until he got an answer, maybe something was happening —

No. He was entitled to give his attention to something other than Casey for a few hours, especially since he was here now and there was nothing he could actually do. And after he had just done what he had done... Fuck, he had gone the distance, hadn't he? He had hunted down Roy. He had stalked and threatened and extorted information from him and Janice and now he had a head full of stuff that he wished he didn't.

Self-possession, moral outrage and righteous indignation — all the run-away reactions scrabbling for the last dregs of fuel went supernova, collapsing like so much hot air. What remained, what felt real, were his actions of the past forty-eight hours. The things he had threatened. He could tell himself now that he had been bluffing when he said there was nothing he wouldn't do to get the truth but he was afraid it had been anything but a bluff. He really had wanted to know so badly that he didn't care how it hurt Casey. Yeah, he knew he was a challenging personality, he'd known that for a long time. He could be bold, domineering, arrogant, and a real jerk — but in this instance he had just plain outdone himself.

Jacob's voice tugged him away from his floundering. "Zeke."

Chloe put a glass of juice on the table, near his hand. He looked up and saw that while he had been ruminating Melissa had reappeared, minus the mud. She and Jacob were watching Zeke strangely, and he supposed that he was pretty strange indeed. He didn't belong here. He was a pinched, scabby thing squinting into the light, not sure if he could tolerate anything wholesome.

"Zeke," Jacob said. "Can we talk?"

At that, Melissa grinned and said brightly, "Translation: ‘Go away, everyone else.' Come on, Chloe." Before Zeke could protest, they both went out the door to the patio; Chloe winked once at Zeke just before she slipped through, leaving him to Jacob. He had never felt so weary.

"I've done something I'm afraid you're going to be angry about," Jacob started.

This was unexpected; Zeke had been expecting a lecture about Casey and related issues. "Do you have to tell me now?" he wondered.

"I'm afraid I do."

"Okay...what is it?"

"Ah...um..." Jacob seemed to have to struggle to look at Zeke. "So, your mother called me last night."

Zeke searched his father's face and accessed his rusty database of family facial twitches. "You invited her to the wedding," he guessed.

"Yes — " Jacob lifted his hands in a petition for lenience. "Now just hear me out."

"You promised, Jacob."

"I know I did, that's why I'm apologizing now."

Zeke was about to get up from the table and flee — he was going to flee it all, Casey, his mother, his father, he was going to run to the other side of the country, New York or something and start all over and never let human feelings trouble him again — when he heard Roy's words actually come from his mouth: "Yeah, well you know what? Apologies are pretty damn useless once something is done!"

Fuck. Fuck This had to be a new low when he was parroting Roy- Fucking-Windle. He fell back into his chair, his muscles going limp.

"Will you let me explain?" his father asked.

"What's to explain?" he said flatly. "She called and twisted the knot until you had to invite her." There was a throbbing behind his eyes. He said, not caring about anything except the need to have an answer and an ending to all the crap, "How can you be like this? You're a grown man, you have a better than average ability to reason through things, why do you let her do this to you?"

"Zeke, that's enough." Jacob folded his hands on the table. "I know I've screwed up big time, but I'm still your father."

"You think that's enough to get you my respect?"

"No, of course not...but I'm not going to let you walk all over me either. I had a choice as to whether or not to invite Rachel when she called, and I chose to ask her. Not because she manipulated me into it but because I wanted it."

"Oh, I see. It does your ego good to see two women arguing over you, does it?"

"I said that's enough, Zeke!" Jacob's tone hardened into something surprisingly authoritative, even disciplinary. "You have every right to be angry with me for how I've treated you but I'm not going to let you play this game where I have to take whatever you dish out. Are we communicating?"

Zeke blinked. "Yes."

At this more filial response, there was a softening in Jacob's tone. "Believe it or not, there may be a few things you can learn from me, Zeke. You don't know everything just yet."

Closing his eyes, Zeke surrendered to his own weariness. He rubbed his temples. "I know that," he said.

"It's taken a long time to get to the point that I can do this. The way I see it, I'm not really strong if I have to avoid her. Building a wall and saying 'don't come in'...that's not strength as far as I'm concerned. Melissa understands...and I hope you'll understand too."

"Is Rachel staying here too?"

"No, absolutely not."

"And she knows I'll be there."

"Yes. For what it's worth, she's promised to be good."

Zeke snorted his opinion of that.

"I know," Jacob said, wincing. "But I can promise you this...if she gets out of hand she won't be staying."

"Jacob...?" Zeke sat forward, hunching over the table. He could hear the strain in his own voice, feel the end of his day very near, waiting for him. He was feeding on scraps now but this was a question that he needed to ask. "Why did you stay with her for so long? I think I'm entitled to know that...and I really do want to understand."

"Well, then..." His father looked up towards the ceiling. "I loved her, for a start. There was no way not to love her. I know I had this image of her in my head that just didn't turn out to be the truth... I mean, as of today I can say I'll never really know what she feels or thinks, but I believed for a long time that she was a desperate, sad person who would change if I just did everything right. It took me ten years to figure out that I couldn't change her. I don't think she can change...whatever happened to her, it was already too late by the time I met her. Or maybe she was born that way, I don't know. Back then I thought...I thought that, despite everything, she needed me and that was what kept me going." Jacob smiled wistfully. "Obviously, being smart has nothing to do with it."

There was no reason that these words should have had the power to smash the last of Zeke's resources...but they did. He pushed himself onto his feet, driven by a dire need to get to someplace private. "Ex-excuse me," he gulped. "I — "

He didn't know which room he was supposed to be in. He sat down again, trying to retain an iota of dignity.

"What's the matter, Zeke?" his father said gently.

Zeke was going to lose it and he mustn't. He must not. He was...he was calm, cool and collected...icy...absolutely icy...

"Is it about Casey?"

"I — don't know what to do — " Zeke withdrew his hands from the table so that he couldn't be touched. If someone touched him now it would be disaster.

"Maybe...you could tell me?"

Zeke put all of his will into resisting the siren call of another person's sympathy. "I — can't," he gasped, trying to breathe through it. "Can't talk now." He got through another full inhale and exhale. "I'd like to go to my room — wherever that is."

"Sure," Jacob said. He didn't seem upset, that Zeke could see. "I understand. You look tired, you'll probably feel better after a bit of a rest. We were thinking we could go out for a drive and dinner later, just the four of us. How does that sound?"

"I guess."

"Your room will be the second on the right, at the top of the stairs. Do you want this?" Jacob pointed to the veggie wrap.

Zeke shook his head. Stumbling a little, he collected his suitcase and backpack. For a moment he stared hopelessly at the hockey bag.

"Never mind that," his father told him. "Just take it easy for a little while." He put a hand on Zeke's shoulder and patted it a couple of times before letting him go.

His room was very appealing, full of natural light with his own small patio overlooking the backyard. He left his suitcase where it lay, but before lying down he removed the Janice and Roy Statement from his backpack. Holding the wad of pages for a second, he put them down on the dresser. Watching them as though he actually thought they might jump up and bite him — fuck, he was so losing it — he slumped on the bed, gradually inching back until he was reclined against the pillows. He closed his eyes and tried to be aware of nothing but the warm sun on his face.

The pages on the dresser had permeated the room, and him. Almost immediately, a tableau began to form in his mind, shaped out of information that was to him both dreadful and fascinating.

Roy is lying on the bed, reading something but thinking that soon the day would be over and he'll have to go back to Cincinnati without Casey, while Janice waits, standing at the window. There is a knock and Roy leaps up, grinning. ‘It's him,' he says.

Zeke growled and crumpled that image — but his fatigued, jittering brain refused to give up the scene and turned to words in lieu of pictures. Janice's words, spoken and then written.

Casey came in the room and right away they started hugging and touching while I watched them. At first Casey didn't realize I was there. He was clinging to Roy and he looked ill —

Zeke pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and growled, "Get the fuck out of my head." He really didn't want to do this now. Now, he wanted to rest a bit before he was called upon to socialize some more. But the thoughts of Casey and Roy together wouldn't go and his body twitched with the need to do violence to somebody...an opportunity missed...so good, so sweet...he wanted it so much...

"Fuck!" Zeke sat up so quickly he got dizzy. "Fucker...mother fucker..."

It made as good a mantra as any, probably better than most. He made his entire consciousness into a great, silent fuck you. It would not banish Roy and Janice, but it did keep him occupied for a while, long enough to construct a flimsy pretense of control.

Forty five minutes later, Chloe knocked politely on his door and asked him if he was ready to go on a little excursion. They drove to Santa Monica that afternoon, Melissa pointing out the sights along the way, and ate supper at a seafood place where it was so fresh it was almost crawling off the table. The drive home was accompanied by a spectacular sunset. Zeke hadn't been expecting to enjoy himself, but he did. Without Chloe, it would have been another story, of course, but he also noted peculiar, random moments of feeling soothed and reassured by the energy between Melissa and his father. He'd been exposed to it before, but here where they were in their own element, it came across as something benevolent, nearly powerful. It was the dynamic of two very good friends who were careful to never let things get too heavy but weren't afraid of showing each other how they cared.

It was almost ten when they got back; Zeke was dying to smoke. There had been no smoking in the restaurant, and it was definitely off-limits in the Mercedes. However, before Zeke could take steps to satisfy his craving, Jacob pressed the button on the answering machine and Sasha's voice immediately haunted the kitchen.

"Hello. I'm calling for Zeke Tyler...? Got your message, sweetheart. I'm about to head out to work...I'm just thinking about you, hope you're doing okay. Talk to you later."

"Huh," Chloe commented. "Is that the famous boyfriend?"

"No," Zeke said, distracted by his efforts to parse Sasha's words. "That was the famous roommate." There was something taut but simmering, something angry...and a new kind of something perhaps. Some tension was to be expected, given the way that Zeke and Casey had recently parted. But Zeke had known that when he left. Still, he mused, "Maybe I'd better call tonight."

"Or you could wait until tomorrow," Jacob said. When Zeke looked at him he shrugged, added, "It didn't sound all that urgent."

"I haven't called — " spoken to Casey "— for two days."

"You called this afternoon."

Zeke didn't waste any time trying to not be suspicious. "What are you trying to do, Jacob?" He noticed that Melissa and Chloe suddenly found some very acute piece of wedding business to discuss off in another sector of the kitchen, not quite out of earshot.

"Just that maybe a little distance isn't such a bad idea."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you sure? You'd be surprised what I know."

"I mean, you don't know about me and Casey. You don't know why I should call or shouldn't call. Just stating a fact."

"All right, that's true," Jacob admitted. "But I do know you're exhausted. You've let them know where to reach you if there's an emergency. No one will fault you for taking a few days for yourself."

He thought it but didn't say it: Being here is not what I'd call ‘for myself'.

"Okay," he allowed. "You have a point." Besides that there was a throb behind his eye, and all his muscles were stiff. If he didn't remove himself from this kitchen and this company, he would pick a fight. "Uh...is it okay if I smoke out on the deck?"

"Ahhm," Melissa hedged. Chloe nudged her and she concluded, "Yes. I'll get you something for an ashtray." She went to a cupboard and rummaged.

"Hey, Zeke!" Chloe exclaimed suddenly. "How about a before-bed swim?"

"I...don't have a suit with me."

"I'm sure we could find you an old pair of shorts... it's very relaxing."

"Thanks, but...no thanks." As though providing reinforcement, Melissa handed him a shallow, ceramic bowl. "Thanks."

"You shouldn't smoke, dear," she chastised. "Do you know what it does to — "

"Mom!" Chloe explained. "He knows. All the smokers know...so no preaching, okay?"

Melissa shook her head sadly. "Of course. Sorry, dear."

"It's fine," Zeke said, congratulating himself on how very affable he was being tonight. "It is your house. Um...I think I'm going to turn in right after this. Thanks for supper, Melissa...Jacob."

"Do you need a sweater?" his father asked.

"No, thanks. Are you kidding?"

"It feels a little chilly to me. Anyway...good night."

Soon it was just him alone, hanging over the deck railing while he sucked back toxic fumes and listened to the distant night sounds. It was surprisingly quiet around here considering the millions of human beings on all sides of him. The totality of their noise somehow disintegrated into a soft hiss, while in the foreground there were crickets and the odd dog barking.

All over again, he felt like an interloper in such a peaceful scene. He shouldn't be here like this, he didn't belong. It felt like he had just left that hotel room a minute ago and he should still be there, freely constructing a narrative out of the most embarrassing, intimate and hateful things...the things that had happened to Casey.

"Is Casey really going to read this?" Roy asked.

"I said that, didn't I?" Zeke replied. He had just endured for a second time Roy's tale of being alone with Casey in the hotel room — or, what Roy liked to call the All-Time Greatest Fuck. It was old news by now but nevertheless Zeke's teeth hurt from being clenched against an attack scream.

"Yes, well...I'm just asking."

"Why?"

"Because..." Roy trailed away. Then with a defiant lift of his chin, he finished, "There's no reason to hurt him more if it can be avoided."

"You just tell the fucking truth."

"And nothing more?"

Roy had manufactured a few tears, just enough to make his eyes glisten. Zeke was almost impressed. "Nothing more," he grunted.

"What if I want to tell him I think he's amazing and beautiful?"

"You say you don't want to hurt him, so don't."

"How can that hurt him?"

"Just write down the truth...and never mind if it's not pretty."

Speaking to the page in front of him, Roy muttered, "And I'm sure you never tell anything but the truth, right Zeke?"

"Shut up and write."

"Yes, do shut up," Janice snapped. "I'd like this to be over some day."

Roy resumed writing; Zeke let him go for a few minutes, then decreed, "Read it out loud."

Narrowing his eyes briefly at Zeke, Roy read, "'After we were finished I knew it was time for Janice to come back. I called her — "

"No. Not good enough."

"That's what happened, what do you — "

"More detail."

Glowering, Roy yanked out the page he had been writing on and ripped it in two. The fragments drifted gently to the floor as he complained, "This is my private life — and Casey's. How would you like it if — "

"I don't care. I want the details."

Roy narrated loudly, "After I exploded inside Casey's ass I withdrew my dripping cock. Pouring sweat, I tried to catch my breath as I stroked his porcelain white flanks — "

"God!" Janice said, hiding her eyes.

"Not that kind of detail," Zeke gritted.

"Then perhaps you'd be so good as to dictate exactly what you want me to write."

"I want to know how Casey was — what he said, what you said — "

"He wasn't saying much of anything." Roy's handsome face pinched slightly, as though it had just occurred to him that something had been wrong. "He kept saying he was ready, which I thought was kind of odd but I figured he just wanted to get it over with so we could get back to our usual sort of activities. I thought, just give him what he needs right now and then we could go home and I'd make it better."

"How? By fucking him some more?"

Janice had her face completely averted now but Zeke didn't give a shit about her delicate sensibilities.

Roy spat back, "I have a tender side too, Zeke. I wanted him to come home with me. I would have been very good to him, I would have done anything he wanted!"

"As long as no one knew." Zeke ran his hands up into his hair, massaging his temples along the way. There was just nowhere to put his rage. "So...he said he was ready, was that all he said?"

"Yes...no, come to think of it, he was muttering stuff about 'them'. I can't remember if it was before or after."

"'Them'?"

"I kissed his ear at one point and he practically broke his arm trying to get away. When I asked him what was wrong he said something like 'that's how they get you'."

Zeke launched himself from his spot on the bed — and managed to put on the brakes just a foot or two short of Roy's chair.

"You going to hit me now, Zeke? I know how much you want to."

"No," Zeke growled. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

"But I deserve it, don't I?" Roy's eyes were lowered, in shadow. He cast a quick look at Janice, then back down at his lap. "Go ahead."

"Fuck you!" Zeke found himself laughing, because it was really quite funny that a person could be so profoundly self-centred and still so ignorant of himself. A show of guilt was offered up as it was the appropriate flavour for right now, but Zeke had no idea if it was real or artificial. After almost twenty-four hours with this man he still had no idea where the truth was even though he was right in the eye of it.

"What shall I write then?" Roy asked quietly, still putting on a show of diffidence.

"The truth," Zeke said.

"I started to and you stopped me."

It occurred to Zeke that Roy was near his limit, just like the rest of them in the room. He elaborated, "Write a paragraph about what you just told me and be sure to include that you were wrong."

Then he took a very-much-needed personal time-out in the bathroom, to splash cold water on his face and examine himself in the mirror for a half a minute. When he returned, he resumed pacing the expanse of carpet in front of the TV, while Roy recited what he had just written: "‘Both before and after the sex it was quite apparent to me that Casey was in extreme distress. Even if he was more than willing to have sex, I should have realized that it was the last thing he needed.'" He finished reading the paragraph out loud and added coyly, "Will that do?"

It was a facsimile of remorse. Zeke could have held out for better — but his stamina was failing by the second and he just wanted this to be over. He said, "Okay, Janice, you take over now."

Taking the pen, Janice closed her eyes and reflected for a few minutes. She started, speaking her memories aloud, "I came upstairs and found the two of them naked in the bed. Casey didn't look at me, I don't think he was even aware that I was in the room at first but Roy said he was ready. I didn't want to do it. Roy said, 'You wanted this, now you've got it. Don't humiliate us more by backing out now.'"

"Is that what you said?" Zeke asked Roy.

"More or less. Actually, I think I only mentioned how humiliating this was to Casey, but never mind."

Janice didn't acknowledge Roy at all; her eyes were stony, chipping away at the wall. She continued, "So I took off my clothes and got in the bed. Casey was sitting up watching me and I remember thinking he seemed terrified of me. Roy forced him to lie down because he was as stiff as a board."

"I did not force him," Roy contradicted.

"You did so."

"I helped him to get comfortable, or I tried. He was just so tense..."

"Yeah, I agree with that," Janice rasped. She got up abruptly and wandered over to the TV, resting a hand on it. Looking at neither of the other two people in the room, she spoke as to inanimate objects. "Maybe he was saying 'yes' but his body was definitely saying 'no'. I think I said it wouldn't work but Roy took my hand and put it on his...on his penis. We both touched him there but nothing happened. Roy, he...he got more...more active. He said, 'touch him, touch him'. He kissed Casey and told me to kiss him, so I did. That was when I knew I couldn't do it, because he didn't react at all. His lips were almost blue. I pulled back and...I kind of lost it. I froze. Meanwhile Roy was all over Casey. He had his hands all over him...in-inside, you know...and for a while I just..." Janice's voice trembled. "...I just watched. I watched him."

Unexpectedly, she broke down and began to sob; her back was heaving, her shoulders shaking with spasms of emotion.

"I watched while he...he put Casey the way he wanted him and went inside him...and Casey never did anything or said anything. He wasn't there, he didn't even blink except when Roy did that. It was like...like he was a doll that Roy was playing with."

Zeke wondered if he was on the brink of a major cardiac incident. His face was both burning hot and devoid of sensation, numb. Blood-lust sang in his ears as he said to Roy, "Is — is it — true?"

"More or less," Roy said flatly, his eyes blank.

"Is that what you told your lawyer?"

"More or less."

"Stop saying that!" Janice shouted suddenly. "Why can't you just for once say 'Yes, I did a bad thing'?"

"I did say it. I have said it — "

It wasn't that Roy's voice broke. It just stopped like he'd put a cork in a bottle. He put his face down on the table, resting his forehead there just for an instant, just one second and then he lifted his head again and resembled his usual, smirking self. "Finish telling him," he said to Janice.

Janice turned away from the TV and the wall, wiping both eyes simultaneously with her thumbs.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay...um...Roy didn't get to...um, finish because I said I couldn't do it. I said it a few times before he heard me but when he did, he sort of...well, he pulled out and we argued... I... I've never seen him so angry. He said I ruined everything. I said I couldn't do it, I asked Casey to get dressed... I wasn't sure if he heard me. I put my clothes on as fast as I could. I felt so dirty. And Roy got dressed too... I told him then I never wanted him to see Casey again or I would divorce him and I wish I could say that was for Casey's sake but it wasn't, not right then. I just never wanted — not even a chance that I would have to face him again. I wanted him gone, I never wanted to hear his name again."

"Wait," Zeke interrupted hoarsely. He heard himself croak, "Is that how it happened, Roy?"

Roy waved a hand.

Zeke shook his head. "That's not good enough."

"Yes, fuck you, yes! Except don't you believe her acting all noble like she wanted to save Casey from me. She touched him too, she had her hands on him and it turned her on."

"You — you — " Janice sputtered.

"Asshole, yes. I am an asshole — but I'm not the only one in the room."

"It — did not — turn me on."

"Well." Roy glared scornfully at his ex-wife. "I guess we'll never know, will we?"

"I'm the one who stopped it."

"Yes, but only after you got a good taste of him."

"You have to agree on what happened," Zeke ground out. His head hurt so much that he could barely think.

Roy answered, "We can put it down the way Janice told it. I just want you to realize she's no innocent."

"But is Janice's way the truth?"

"‘The truth, the truth'," Roy mocked him. "God, life must be hard for you."

"I never said I was innocent," Janice protested. "I touched him a bit, I kissed him once. But Roy did everything else."

"You agree?" Zeke said to Roy, who rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," he drawled.

"Get writing then," Zeke commanded.

Janice wrote for half an hour while Zeke tried to ignore his pain. For once, Roy seemed subdued, sitting quietly, his attention elsewhere. When Janice stopped writing, Zeke asked, "Done?

"No. There's a little more." There was no sign in her of the ravages of half an hour ago. "After Roy left, I...I don't know what I thought — maybe I'd take Casey to a friend or ask him what I could do but he was sort of hiding in a corner of the room and I didn't know... I mean, I knew I should stay and help him but I just couldn't face it. If I tried to help it would be a big mess, people would see me and ask what happened and I couldn't bear it, I couldn't."

"So you ran away," Zeke finished for her.

"Yes," she said, her emotions quite well in hand now. "I did worry about what happened to him, I swear I did. I checked your local paper every day for a few weeks and there was nothing. I needed to know, so I hired...hired an investigator and I learned that Casey had moved to Seattle, that he's living with you and that Sasha. I didn't tell Roy, of course."

"Write it down," Zeke said tiredly. He didn't have it in him to care that she — and just as easily, Roy — could have known exactly where they were living all this time. And he probably should have been more outraged at her pitiful self-justification for having left Casey in the state he had been in. It would seem that he was far too accustomed to the disgusting lack of ethics, the absence of even ordinary compassion in these two people. At this point, nothing they did struck him as shocking.

"Why can't I put in an apology?" Janice asked.

After a moment of trying and failing to think of a better reason, Zeke replied, "Because."

Her mouth tightened.

"Just write that you were wrong," he added. "That's all I care about. And you, too — " He addressed Roy. "I want you to say how wrong you were to just take off."

Roy considered him for a moment, then said, "What do you really want, Zeke? The truth, or a confession?"

Zeke wasn't about to answer that. He glanced at the clock radio and said, "I want to get out of this room. I have a plane to catch."

Roy just smiled and took the pen when it was his turn.

Twenty minutes later, they departed, all three of them at the same time. Zeke left his keycards on the dresser. In the hallway, he was struggling with his luggage when Roy picked up the hockey bag. "No," Zeke protested.

"Don't be stupid. I'm not going to contaminate it."

As before, they rode the elevator down to the lobby together. There was no talk, no eye contact. Zeke had to think that they were just as eager to get away from him as he was to escape them. Once they were standing in the lobby he warned, "I'd better not ever learn that either of you has attempted to contact Casey in any way."

"As long as I never hear from you again," Janice retorted, haughtier than ever. Examining her, Zeke saw only the slightest trace of red around her eyes. "If Casey ever wanted to contact me, though...for an apology..." She offered Zeke her card.

"I doubt that — "

"Please. Just take it."

Reluctantly, Zeke accepted the card. He tucked it in a pocket thinking he would get rid of it at first opportunity, while Janice walked away without another word.

"Nice to see you again, dear!" Roy called after her. She didn't turn or otherwise respond to him. "Well, baby," he said to Zeke. "Let's get you on your way."

Zeke scowled. "I can manage myself...I've had enough of you."

"Ditto, I assure you. Humour me — I'd like to see you in the cab and actually hear you tell the driver to take you to the airport. For my peace of mind."

"Whatever."

They walked out one of the exits, the one where there was a carport full of taxis, shuttles, limousines. "A cab, please," Roy said to the doorman, before Zeke could.

The man nodded and turned to wave over one of the drivers who was standing by.

"It's been interesting," Roy started.

"Don't even," Zeke retorted. The cab pulled up and the doorman began to lift his bags into the trunk. "We're not friends, and in a few seconds we won't even be acquaintances."

It happened, then — Zeke was about to reach for the handle of the car when the other man moved and crossed every one of Zeke's borders in an instant, catching him entirely unaware, getting a handful of Zeke's coat and yanking him forward into a kiss. This was no tentative foray like last night — it was a mouth mashed against Zeke's, a tongue probing without invitation. It went on just until shock moved past itself into reaction, stumbling over rage and hatred and absolute incredulity. All while the coldest part of Zeke was noting the taste and the texture. Interesting, it commented. Not erotic, not in the least, but certainly an intriguing thing to happen —

He shoved Roy back. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you," he gulped, "not to touch people without their permission?"

Roy affected a serious consideration of the comment, then replied, "Oh, come on, Zeke. I don't think permission was an issue."

Zeke spent a moment digesting that, then rounded off and delivered his best punch flat in Roy's face. He suspected that the bones in his hand shattered on contact — but somehow he barely felt it.

"Hey!" cried the doorman. "You can't — stop — no fighting, I'll call security!"

Roy had reeled back against the car door. Holding one hand against his face, he threw up the other hand to forestall his rescuer. "It's okay, it's okay...it's all right. I'm fine."

The doorman said icily to Zeke, "Please get in the cab now, sir."

"I'm trying to do that," Zeke returned, "if this prick would just get out of my way."

Roy edged sideways and around Zeke. "Kinky," he remarked, feeling his lip. His eyes were nothing but amused. There was no blood that Zeke could see, but perhaps there would be a bruise. He hoped so.

He got into the car without a word. Just before the doorman shut the door for him, Roy called out, "Kiss Casey for me!"

The sounds of Glendale quietly wrapping up the day were all around Zeke still, infuriating him with their blithe ignorance of his crisis. He crushed his cigarette, cramming his mouth around a shriek or howl or scream, fighting back swell after swell of tears. Why the fuck was he crying about this anyway? He was pissed. Not grieving, not some stupid sap who missed his boyfriend, not...no, he was not sad...

Not so badass now, huh, Zekie boy?

Shut the fuck up.

Where's the old Zeke Tyler you were talking about?

The old Zeke Tyler's gone. And, he realized, possibly never existed. Because he couldn't deny it anymore. He was the prey of his emotions, much like the majority of the human race.

"Hey."

He whirled so fast that the person behind him jumped.

"Oh, sorry!" Chloe exclaimed under her breath.

Zeke scrubbed furiously at the tears. Breaking down in front of Sasha was one thing — the man had earned it. This was just mortifying.

"Can I help?" she breathed.

He shook his head.

"You sure?"

"Yes," he whispered, and started moving. He passed her and kept going. He didn't stop until he was in his room with a door between him and everything else. Flopping face-down on the bed, he called forth the second wave of misery.

So he was a suck but, more to the point, he was a fuck-up. He'd had one chance to make things right but it had been a disaster, and now he was lying here in tears like the sap that he was. All he had been trying to do was the right thing...hadn't he? He had his failings of course and he knew that he didn't always act rationally but he really had done this, confronted Roy and Janice, for both himself and Casey. He remembered thinking that, and really, it wouldn't have been such a bad thing to put the truth on the table. If he had asked Yves, wouldn't she have agreed that the truth was best, even if Casey didn't want to hear it? So, yeah, he was controlling, possessive...what would the books say about that?

Insecurity, he supposed. He'd had a lousy childhood, poor him, so he didn't trust easily. His mother could shed a mood like she was just dead skin cells, one moment affectionate to the point of smothering, the next railing about something, the next weeping a torrent. So was it any wonder he liked consistency, that he liked people to act as they said and say as they meant? Or that he thought everything they said should be reasonable? At least they should admit it, if it wasn't. Most of all, if a person loved him they should act appropriately. They should not sleep around. They should not let other people lay hands on them, not if they were his. That was the bottom line, wasn't it? It fucking well hurt.

After a while of learning that crying alone was not actually less miserable than crying in front of another person, he slipped gradually into surcease, and then quiet unconsciousness.

A whisper jarred him, followed by a straight shot of morning light. "...shh...!"

"Ma, this is..."

"I just need to see...oh, it's wrinkled."

"Mother, would you just let it be?"

"I'm sure he'd much rather be unwrinkled tonight..."

"He's sleeping..."

"Not anymore," Zeke said. He lurched into an upright position, rubbing a crust of dried tears from his burning eyes.

Melissa was caught, holding his tux up for inspection. "Oh, Zeke, dear, I'm sorry."

"'s okay. Time?"

Chloe replied, "It's after one o'clock. You were really wiped, weren't you?"

There was no visible discomfort in her, and Zeke was easily able to respond in kind, acting like nothing at all embarrassing had transpired. "Yeah...it's been a long haul." He noticed that he had slept in his clothes. Glancing down at himself, he said, "So the tux is in bad shape, huh?"

"Well," Melissa replied, not overtly concerned. "It could use a pressing. Just let me take it and deal with it okay? It's just one less thing for Jacob to obsess about. I'll have it back here by two...plenty of time."

"What time does everything start?"

"The ceremony is at five o'clock."

By the time Zeke got up and showered and shaved and ate breakfast, the suit was wrinkle-free. He considered calling Seattle again but felt reluctant, mainly because he was somewhat obligated to focus on this wedding business for several hours. He didn't want to be worrying while essentially stuck here, so he decided that if there was any sort of emergency they would keep calling until they connected with him. Sasha had said he was going to work last night — if something serious had been going on, it would not have been business as usual.

He dressed with a little more care than was his habit, figuring it was the least he could do on this occasion. He didn't look bad in the tux, and the teal cummerbund and tie were, as promised, not in the least bit girly.

Around four-thirty he went downstairs. There was no sign of Jacob or Melissa but Chloe was standing at the patio door, looking down towards the designated locale for the wedding ritual. "Some guests have arrived," she said. She was wearing a flowery, gauzy dress in shades of blue and green that perfectly complimented the teal that he was wearing. With a single pendant suspended from a choker-style necklace, no jewelry other than a single, funky ring and no shoes in sight, she was dazzling. Zeke felt rather uplifted at the sight of her. He walked up and casually kissed her on the cheek.

"What was that for?" she said, smiling.

"It was a brother-sister thing."

"Oh, was it?"

"Yeah."

Zeke glanced out through the glass door. His knowledge of weddings had been based solely on things seen in movies, on the magazine covers that he had walked past in bookstores, not to mention the various excesses that Delilah had planned at one time. For some unknown reason she'd been determined to involve every conceivable tradition, and she'd invited half of Herrington. True to Jacob's promise, however, today's event was shaping up as reasonably understated. The flowers were subtle, the size of the gathering modest. The music was simple, provided by a trio of cello, flute and soprano; Zeke could hear a hint of it floating up and through the glass. Nothing cheesy so far.

There were five or six people sitting in chairs down on the lawn, all dressed for the occasion — and one of them was Rachel. Zeke could only see the back of her but he had no difficulty identifying her.

"What was that heavy sigh about?" Chloe asked.

"Did I sigh?"

"You did. It sounded major."

"My mother is down there."

"Oh. Then I see your point."

"Have you met her?"

"Hell, no. I've heard a bit about her. I'm a little scared, to tell the truth."

"You want to meet her?" he asked. He figured he would have to encounter his mother sooner or later, and it was better to do it with another person around to absorb some of the overflow.

Chloe made an alarmed face but Zeke didn't buy that she was actually afraid of anyone or anything. "All right," she said. Wherever her shoes were, she did not feel compelled to put them on yet.

They strolled down the lawn to where the guests were assembling; rather eerily, Rachel's head spun and caught Zeke approaching before he could make a sound to identify himself. "Ezekiel!" she cried. She jumped up and ran to hug him; her perfume wafted and enveloped him. "Oh, mon chθr. It's lovely to see you."

"Hi, Rachel," he said.

At his impersonation of a stump, she made a pouty face. "Oh, I see. All right. It's good to see you, sir." Her gaze travelled to Chloe.

"This is Chloe," Zeke introduced her. "She's Melissa's daughter."

"Ah." Rachel gave the younger woman a long stare, smiling all the while. "It's nice to meet you, Chloe. So how does it feel to have a step-brother?"

Chloe shrugged. "That's a funny-sounding word. But seeing as we are about to appear in a whole series of photos together...I'm quite glad to meet him." There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Rachel had the natural ability to see a person's vulnerabilities and get her hooks into them; she must have seen quickly that her evil powers would avail her little with respect to Chloe, so she turned back to Zeke. "So, Zeke."

"So," he grunted.

"How's life in Seattle?"

"Fine."

"'Fine'? That's all I get?"

"Why, what did you want?"

"I thought that since you haven't seen fit to provide me with your phone number and I haven't spoken to you in almost six months, you might have a little more to say."

"Seattle's fine," Zeke reiterated.

"You do look a little worn, mon chθr."

"Not at all."

Rachel made a show of looking surveying the lawn. "Is Casey around?"

"No," Zeke replied, and was profoundly relieved that Casey was not to be subjected to his mother again. "He's in Seattle."

"Oh. But I was sure he would come with you." Rachel lowered her voice. "I hope that everything's working out between you two?"

"Rachel," Zeke cautioned. "You know better than to try that shit."

Pretending to be completely surprised and puzzled, Rachel said, "I was only curious."

"Sure you were."

"I know how hard it is when a relationship doesn't work out."

It was a relief to notice Jacob waving from up on the deck. With a quick survey of the yard, Zeke saw that most of the chairs had filled while he was engaged in the usual mother-son repartee. He said, "I need to go," and walked away without waiting for Rachel to acknowledge it.

Jacob's tux matched his own and was perfectly cut, with an identical tie and cummerbund. And his father did, Zeke admitted to himself, look rather like Steve Martin. Next to Jacob there was a middle-aged man wearing a white linen tunic, flowing pants and beads. Zeke also spotted Melissa standing just inside the patio doors. Her dress was long but simple, mercifully devoid of the spangly, sparkly shit that Zeke associated with wedding dresses. Also, it was an uncommon shade of blue. She waved to Zeke and he waved back before he could feel self-conscious about it.

"Zeke, Chloe, this is Michael," Jacob introduced. "He's from the Unitarian Church. He's going to perform the wedding."

"Lovely to meet you both," Michael greeted them and received back all the appropriate responses. "Okay, here's how it's going to go. I'll go up front. Zeke, Chloe, if you could join me up there when you're ready? Then Jacob and Melissa will walk up together. The musicians know their cue. There'll be some speeches and vows and then there'll be a longer song while everyone signs the marriage certificate. And then we're done."

"That's it?" Zeke asked, surprised.

"That's it."

Chloe nudged him. "What, you didn't believe me?"

Michael asked, "Are we ready then?"

Jacob glanced over at Melissa, who nodded. "Yes," he said.

"Wonderful. See you at the reception." Michael issued an enormous, toothy smile and started the process, casually walking down the steps and across the lawn to stand off to one side of the arched trellis.

At that point, the trio swung into a rendition of I Will Always Love You. Chloe grimaced and stuck out her elbow. "Would you like to do this traditional-like, sir?"

He took her arm. "You bet, ma'am."

She never did put on her shoes.

When they reached the front, the horror of the song came to an end. Then Melissa and Jacob came into view, arm in arm. The couple simply left the house and walked down the aisle between the two sectors of chairs, making no great drama of it. For their "walking down the aisle" song, they had chosen a rendition of "Love Will Keep Us Together". Somehow, it worked. They took their places under the arch with Zeke and Chloe on either side of them, and Michael began to speak.

The ceremony was short, but it was followed by a stretch of three hours that almost made Zeke regret his decision to attend. The four of them went to a local park and had a series of photos taken in various poses and combinations, some more formal, some casual. This process took well over an hour. Then they went to the Glendale Country Club, where still more pictures were snapped.

From there it only got worse. At some point during the photo session Chloe made a crack about a "reception line" and Zeke nearly panicked before Melissa chastised her and assured him that it wasn't going to happen. However, when they arrived at the small ballroom that had been hired for the evening, the four of them got pinned near the door by a group of well-wishers that rapidly turned into a controlled melee; it seemed like every person who came in the door immediately joined the mob. There were a few minutes when Zeke came very close to following Casey's example by slipping away to hide in the bathroom for a while. One after another, Zeke met a pack of his father's partners and colleagues from the law firm, Melissa's best friend Andrea, Melissa's sister and brother and mother and cousins, friends of Jacob's from college and law school. He even met a cousin whose existence he hadn't been aware of, the offspring of an aunt who had only been the subject of rumour as far as he was concerned. She was not in attendance, but her son William was almost forty, overweight and evidently much displeased with all that he saw, including Zeke.

This experience paled, however, to the sheer horror of Rachel approaching, wearing a broad smile like she had figured out a way to take credit for this entire day. It was the first time Zeke had seen his parents in the same space in more than three years. Reality started to tilt a little as Rachel drew near, and it nearly fell over pole- axed when Rachel gave Jacob a kiss and an embrace.

"Glad you could make it," Jacob said softly. "Have you met Melissa yet?"

"No," Rachel replied. "I did get introduced to..."

"Chloe," Zeke put in.

"Yes, Chloe." Rachel offered her hand to Melissa. "Pleased to meet you. I'm the ex-wife."

Melissa clasped Rachel's claw. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Really," Rachel said, somewhere between a purr and a sly question. She was not releasing Melissa's appendage. Meanwhile, Zeke observed that Melissa's bronzed talons were just slightly longer than his mother's.

"Absolutely," Melissa replied, her smile glued on.

"I understand it was kind of last minute..."

"That's all right."

"But you know, I called Jacob and it is New Year's Eve...and it just so happened I didn't have anywhere else to be..."

Melissa's expression didn't change, not one fraction of a whit of a hair.

"Anyway...congratulations," Rachel finished, releasing the other woman's hand. She moved on, and Zeke let out the breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. There were still three or four people standing by, but he'd had enough. "I'm getting a drink," he said.

Chloe followed him towards the bar. "I like the way you think...She doesn't seem that bad," she observed. "A little obvious maybe, but she didn't make a scene or anything."

Zeke snorted. "Just give her a chance. Would you like a drink?"

"Yeah, I'll have a glass of white wine."

"One vodka and one glass of..." Zeke scanned the menu. There were two house wines being offered, which was a bit of a let-down even if he didn't drink the stuff. This being California, he had been expecting access to an entire cellar. "Chardonnay?" he queried.

"That's fine."

The bartender was all business, supplying the drinks without conversation and Zeke respected that. He handed Chloe her glass, feeling the siren call of the cigarettes in his pocket. "Do you feel like taking a walk outside?"

"Sure...a walk," Chloe grinned.

They found one of the exits that took them to a patio area overlooking a beautifully manicured garden and pond. Beyond it was a part of the golf course itself. Chloe just raised an eyebrow when Zeke tipped out his cigarette. "My mother is a born- again non-smoker, you know."

"Really."

"Oh, yeah. I'm surprised she hasn't gone to battle with you over it yet."

"Well...I am a guest. And I'll be gone in a few days."

Few days. The words suddenly seemed to fall in a great emptiness in his head. He wasn't due back to Seattle until Wednesday. That would be almost six, almost seven days away from Casey altogether, including this night that was a holiday for most people. Most people would be with the people who were important to them, come midnight.

"What are you thinking?" Chloe asked.

"Nothing."

Her expression in response to this was, justifiably, disbelieving.

"Okay," Zeke admitted. "I'm thinking maybe I won't stay until Wednesday."

Chloe sipped her wine. She said, "Missing him or worrying about him?"

Zeke respected her too much to pretend not to understand. "Both, I guess."

"I overheard Jacob and my mom talking about him...Casey, right?"

"What did Jacob say?" Zeke wanted to know.

"It was right after you called to tell him about the change in plans and he didn't say all that much. They were just talking about how Casey had seemed to want to come on the trip and it was too bad he couldn't. And Mom said something about him being a nervous type and then Jacob just said ‘hmm' and how he was worried about you." Chloe caught Zeke's eye. "And you do seem pretty miserable."

At her oblique reference to last night's embarrassing scene, Zeke barked a laugh. "I do, huh?"

"Yeah. So what's it all about?"

He looked at her. She was looking back steadily. He said, trying to sound carefree, "But we only just met."

"Ah, but I'm your big sister now." Chloe shrugged. "You don't have to. I'm just offering."

Zeke was silent.

"Okay, forget it — "

"No, it's just...I'm trying to figure out the most efficient way to put it."

Chloe sat down at one of the patio tables. "Fuck efficiency. Just tell me." She patted the chair adjacent to her.

After a moment, Zeke sat. He hunted for an ashtray and couldn't see one.

"Just a second," Chloe said. She downed her wine and then placed the empty glass on the table. "Use that." At Zeke's look she shrugged and said, "It was crap anyway. So what's the deal with Casey, huh?"

Zeke hauled in a breath. "He fucked someone else."

"Ah. How do you know?"

"He told me."

"Hmm."

"And it wasn't the first time either."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch. I've been so...so pissed off the last few days."

"Understandable."

"But I don't feel pissed off anymore."

"Why's that?"

"It's complicated."

"I don't think it is. I think you just miss him."

Zeke waved a hand. "All right. Yes."

"Did you dump him?"

Zeke blinked.

"I ask," Chloe said, "because a lot of people would dump him. I would, if a guy did that to me. And here you are alone, and not very happy."

"No," Zeke said, "I'm not dumping him," and for the first time he really knew that it was true. He'd been playing games with himself, pretending now and then that he wasn't going back, while the rest of the time wondering if he was just a blowhard. "I mean...I don't want to dump him but I don't want to be like Jacob either, making excuses for everything that he does for years and years. That's just pathetic."

Chloe was looking closely, studying him like he was a line of code.

"What?" he said.

"I don't think what your father did was pathetic," she said.

"You weren't there. She made him look like such an idiot."

She shrugged. "I think it takes a lot of courage to let someone make you look like an idiot."

Zeke winced and retorted, "That makes no sense — and you just said you would dump someone for cheating on you."

"I never said I was brave." Chloe giggled. "Hey, don't listen to me! I'm not exactly known for giving good relationship advice." She glanced over her shoulder, in the window. "And they're probably waiting for us."

"Waiting...? Why?"

"To start dinner, silly."

She took his hand to lead him inside. It felt good.

His father met them halfway across the room. "There you are!" he exclaimed. "We were trying to get started."

"Sorry," Chloe apologized.

"It's okay. Come on and sit down..."

The four of them were situated at a small, head table. Chloe was positioned at her mother's side, at the other end of the table from Zeke and that did not make him happy. There was something entirely easy about talking to her. It was like the touch of a cool, crisp stream of water — definable and clean, an uncomplicated distillation of good humour and natural intelligence. He seemed to remember feeling that he could be like that at one time.

One of the lawyers who had been presented to Zeke earlier came up to the podium that was positioned immediately at his right. The man introduced himself as Ronald Richard — Zeke was glad that he mentioned his name because he had zero retention of any of the names of the people he'd met today — and made a brief speech, simply welcoming everyone and then promising to shut up until after dinner. He was a natural orator, making even this mundane business entertaining.

Perhaps the greatest advantage to sitting at the head table, the only advantage really, was that they were served their dinner first. It was beef, chicken, or vegetarian. Zeke had chosen beef but when it arrived he was dismayed by how much open space there was on his plate. It was aesthetically very sophisticated, but he knew he was going to be hungry when he was finished.

"I know that look," Jacob remarked.

"Oh, yeah?" Zeke was uneasy at the prospect of being trapped in conversation with his father for the next half hour to forty-five minutes but he was going to be stoic about it.

"It's like, where's the rest of my dinner? When you were a kid you had a huge appetite, I remember. You would use that exact same face on me."

Zeke tried to remember a context for this statement. Sluggishly, it came to him — himself and his father sitting at a table, not talking about the fact that neither of them knew where Rachel was, while they ate macaroni and cheese.

"Did you actually cook?" Zeke said, looking for verification of the improbable.

"Mostly I ordered in...but once in a while, yeah. I'm surprised that doesn't stick in your mind, I was so bad at it."

"I probably tried to put it out of my mind." Zeke was focussed mostly on hacking up the tiny piece of meat on his place — filet mignon stuffed with wild mushrooms and drizzled with truffle sauce. There was a small ensemble of roasted potatoes and steamed vegetables as well.

Jacob chuckled a bit. "The only defense, I guess."

"Yeah."

They both ate for several minutes, not speaking. They could easily hear Chloe and Melissa's conversation and, up to a point, could pretend that they were busy following it. When it got too uncomfortable, Zeke drew upon a topic that he knew would bring his father and himself together. "So far so good," he commented.

"What's that?"

Zeke gestured subtly in Rachel's direction. She was seated at a table with the long-lost cousin and was conversing animatedly with him. Zeke wondered if they had known each other before. "No major incidents so far."

"I'm not expecting trouble," his father said mildly.

"You give her more credit than I do."

His father shrugged. "She wants to be here through the whole thing. She's not going to go overboard. She's just going to be her sweet, spiteful self."

Zeke had his doubts, but he didn't say so. It occurred to him that despite his claims, Jacob was still under Rachel's power somewhat. He was surprised that Melissa would put up with it; he wouldn't have. That his father could describe her in the terms he had and still not be concerned about her potential for disruption was bewildering.

All too soon there was nothing left on Zeke's plate. He reconciled himself to hunger, at least until he could get to the nearest drive through.

Shortly, Ronald the emcee got up and informed everyone that there would be cake and champagne at midnight. He then gave a humourous talk about Jacob, informed mostly by lawyer stories but still reasonably entertaining. He had most of the assembled group laughing by the end.

Finally, the bride and groom got up to speak.

"Thank you everyone for being a part of this night," Melissa said. "We're not going to talk very long, but there are some people who deserve recognition. Thank you Glendale Country Club and particularly the serving staff."

"Especially the bartender!" someone called out, drawing laughter.

Melissa nodded and smiled. "Yes, all the staff here have been wonderful. And I want to thank my beautiful daughter, Chloe. She's been fetching and carrying and soothing nerves all during this past week.

The guests clapped politely. Zeke nodded to Chloe, while she rolled her eyes.

"I would also like to thank Jacob's gorgeous son, Zeke." Jacob gave her a playful smack on the arm and there was more laughter from the audience. "Zeke is studying philosophy in Seattle and flew here to be with us, and to be a witness to our marriage. Zeke..." Melissa twisted and looked down at Zeke, who wished that he could have a brain aneurysm and thus escape this. "No, I'm not going to embarrass you, honey. I just wanted to say that it means a great deal to us, more than you know."

Zeke dredged up a smile.

Jacob gently interposed himself between Melissa and the mike, again causing an outburst of hilarity. "All right, Mel, all right," he said, and the mirth spread a bit. "I'm not going to drag this out," he said. "Melissa can say it all better than I can, and I know everyone wants to get on to the fun part of the evening. I just want to say..." He cleared his throat. "Thank you to my dear wife, my partner Melissa." His voice even shook. Zeke couldn't believe he was hearing it; he decided that it might be phlegm. "My world was a pretty grey place before you came along. I..." Jacob paused, smiled in self-deprecation. "I'm going to get way too soppy here in a second. What I meant to say was thank you, because there's really no other word that applies."

Amidst enthusiastic applause, Melissa leaned over and kissed Jacob soundly, then rubbed a smear of lipstick from his mouth. Zeke felt compelled to steal a look at Rachel. She was sitting with a smile on her face and a straight back, clapping along with everyone else. It seemed authentic enough, but as Zeke was looking, her eyes moved slyly in his direction and the corners of her mouth turned sardonic.

"All right, we'll have the music rolling in a few minutes," Jacob said. "Mel and I will start out the first dance but that's absolutely the last bit of tradition you'll see... except for kissing at midnight, I hope. Please — and I really mean please — join us on the floor before the song ends. I need the camouflage."

It struck Zeke as his father switched off the microphone and stood back: The man looked happy. He wondered if that was what Jacob had wanted Rachel to see. It was a calculated risk to be sure, but it had to be gratifying to show her, to let her see...Look, I'm moving on with my life finally and I'd like you to recognize it. Oh, and I'm not above gloating a little at your expense.

Chloe had slid into the chair next to Zeke. "Are you going to dance with me, Zeke?" she said, rather coyly.

"Huh? No, absolutely not."

She put on an amused pout. "I'll assume you didn't mean for me to take that personally."

"Oh. Sorry, it's just — I don't dance."

"There's nothing to it! You just put your arms around me and sway back and forth. That's what most guys do."

"Hmm."

"Zeke, don't be a scaredy boy."

"I'm not."

"Then why won't you...?"

"I just don't like to."

"How do you know if you've never done it?"

"Anyway, Casey would freak out."

"Because you're dancing with a girl? Oh, really, it's not like you're planning on sweeping me off to have your way with me."

Zeke didn't let himself react.

"Hey, I insist that you just for this night stop thinking about Casey, and I insist that you dance with me."

Not think about Casey. It didn't sound like a workable premise.

"Zeke?"

"All right," he sighed. "I'll dance with you."

Chloe clapped her hands once. "Excellent!" she crowed and rubbed them in a deliberate impersonation of Mr. Burns. Zeke had to laugh.

While they waited for the DJ to set up, Zeke went to refill their drinks. At the bar he ran into Jacob's law partner, who had been the emcee. "Hi...so you're Jacob's son! It's great to meet you finally." The man — Ronald — was portly and jovial, a bit red in the face.

Since Zeke hadn't remembered the man's name earlier, he decided he should be a bit more civil than he was inclined to. "That's right," he said."

"So...are you thinking about following in dad's footsteps, going into law?"

"Why would I be?" Zeke returned, getting testy despite his good intentions.

The man blinked. "No reason. Just that it seems to get passed down like some genetic condition. My father was a lawyer too."

"Oh...well, no. I'm not sure what I want to do, actually." He'd been fixated on saving Casey and going to school. That was all he could see.

"Lots of time to decide, right?"

"Yes..." It was Zeke's turn to order. He addressed the bartender with, "Double vodka and a white wine, please."

Meanwhile, Ronald went on, "You don't want to be in a rush."

The man's eyes were kind, genuinely interested in Zeke. Zeke took his drinks and agreed, very graciously in his opinion, "Absolutely." Turning, he found himself face-to-face with his mother.

"Oh, is that for me, dear?" she said, nodding at the glass of wine.

Under most circumstances Zeke would have just snapped no and went on his way. Here and now, he wanted to not make or instigate any scenes. "Um..." he said.

"I'll get you one, ma'am," said the portly lawyer. "A white wine?"

Rachel nodded and dismissed him. Her eyes searched Zeke, alighting on his face. "Come talk to me for a bit, mon chθr." The eyes sparkled and Zeke felt the old tug in his gut.

"No," he reacted, not caring what impression he made.

"Oh, Zekie!" She moved in close, slipping her arm in his. "Everyone will think we don't get along. You don't want that, do you?"

A thousand retorts pressed on Zeke's brain. Instead of giving way to them, he sighed, "Fine. Okay."

Collecting her glass of wine from the man, she led him back to her table, which was currently empty. The others who had been seated here were scattered about the room, mingling.

"Mon Dieu, I just spent the most tedious time!" she lamented. "Jacob's cousin has to be the most boring man ever."

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

"Oh, no, Zekie, hardly! I was just being polite."

"Rachel, you're never just polite. And don't ever call me Zekie again."

His mother sipped her wine, hiding a smirk. "So forceful."

"Are you done? Because — "

"No, Zeke, don't go." If Zeke didn't know better, he might have drawn the conclusion that she wanted his company badly. "I'm all alone in this room, just stay here with me for a minute."

"You did choose to come here."

"You're very right. I did want to see for myself...and I noticed how your father made a point of saying that he was starting a new, better life. Just so everyone knows he was never happy with me."

Zeke said, "Well, was he?"

Rachel glanced at him and replied with a shrug, "No, he was miserable." Not like it was an admission. She was just remarking on something that was not news, and nothing she might take ownership in. Her eyes flickered back in Zeke's direction. "You know, Zeke, it hurts that you won't let me have your address or phone number. You always did before."

"It wasn't a good idea before and it wasn't this time," he said, tossing off the words cruelly. Surveying the room, he saw that the music seemed about to start. And that was a good thing.

"You wound me, mon chθr. Your father has room for me in his life and he has far more reason than anyone to hate me."

"I guess I'm not as gullible as Jacob."

"Oh, Zeke, really! You wouldn't see me more than once or twice a year, you know that."

He uttered a mirthless laugh. It had to be funny to hear a mother beg for access to her son by reminding him that she'd make herself scarce.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"You, trying to do your version of maternal."

"Let's be honest, Zeke. An occasional visit is more than enough for both of us."

It was astounding how she still had the power to affect him. Not to hurt him, he was long past that...but to make him angry, absolutely. "Forget it," he snapped, rising from his chair.

"I didn't mean it that way, Zeke, I only meant — "

"Did Jacob let you come here so you could make this pitch?" Zeke gritted.

"No, but..." Rachel shrugged demurely. "That was the excuse he made, he really just wanted to get me here so he could prove to himself that he's over me...which he'll never be, I'm afraid."

Son of a bitch. He hadn't even been suspecting Jacob when he asked the question. It had been intended solely as a challenge and now he was repulsed by any notion of being shackled to these two people solely because they each donated a lump of cells. "I'm done with this conversation."

"You'll dance a song or two with me, though, won't you?"

"Absofuckinglutely not." Zeke stalked over to where Chloe was standing, next to the DJ's table. She was perusing the list of songs. "Here's your wine," he said.

"Oh! I'd given up hope."

"I got caught by my mother."

Chloe turned and surveyed Rachel from twenty-five feet away, watching her chatting once again with Zeke's stranger-cousin. "You know," Chloe said. "She doesn't look like a monster."

"Well, she is. On the surface she may seem human but in fact she's an evil, soul-destroying bitch."

Chloe frowned. "That's harsh."

"It's the truth."

Finally, the music was starting. The song that Jacob and Melissa had chosen to begin was Sea of Love. They were not great dancers but were obviously enjoying themselves. Watching his father, Zeke could feel his anger towards him cooling just a little. Parents were, inevitably, a disappointment — but at least this man was not mean and he was reasonably comprehensible. Even if an intensely annoying, high-handed and un-self-aware know-it-all, he at least tried not to be himself on occasion.

"Come on," Chloe said when the song was half over, tugging on Zeke's hand.

Oh, no, he was not at all happy, pressed together with her under forty or so pairs of eyes. He didn't like not being good at something. If he was going to be lousy at a thing, he liked to try it in private first — but Chloe didn't seem to care. She draped her arms around his neck, her body touching his more than it wasn't...belly, thighs, hands, breasts, all soft in all the right places...and she smelled wonderful too. It felt oddly familiar, holding her. This entire night was just odd. Dancing, smiling, eating...conversing with his fucked-up parents. He shouldn't be doing any of it, not when they had thoroughly ditched him before, not when Casey was at home in who- knew-what sort of affliction. Every moment was probably difficult for Casey right now and here Zeke was...dancing.

"You've got a little scrunch, right between your eyes," Chloe noted.

"Just thinking."

"I see. You do that too much."

"I like thinking."

"You need to try harder to just have fun."

"Try harder to have fun?"

"Yeah. Just...shut all that stuff off for a bit, how about?"

"I..."

"It is allowed."

"I know, but — "

"Then do it."

He tried. He focussed on his feet, on not making an idiot of himself. The dance turned out to be endurable although he continued to believe that he sucked.

Next, she compelled him to dance to a few fast songs, which made him feel completely absurd. The cure was a lot more vodka, naturally. And he was to discover that there was a bit of a formula to it: the degree of self-consciousness was inversely proportional to the time spent on the dance floor, the level of enthusiasm in one's movements, and the quantity of alcohol consumed. Within a mere three hours, Zeke had become a good enough dancer that he would have confidently stood up with Prince, Michael Jackson, James Brown and any number of Backstreet Boys.

"Hey, check it out!" Chloe bellowed over the thunder of music. "That guy over there is giving you the horny eye!"

Zeke refused to be obvious and look. "Do you have to shout?" he shouted.

"Yeah! You should dance with him!"

Unable to stand it, Zeke tried to be subtle as he glanced over his shoulder. The man was olive-skinned with dark eyes and built like a fire-fighter. He smiled at Zeke, whose headsnap back in Chloe's direction nearly dislocated his neck. "Do I look gay?" he yelled.

"What?"

"Do I — look — gay?!"

Chloe frowned — just as the song ended and there were a few quiet seconds to use for conversation. "Are you kidding?" she said.

"I just don't like the idea of...people jumping to conclusions."

Her frown deepened. "I'm sure — "

A new song started to blast its way around the room; Zeke recognized it only vaguely.

"— sure he just sees a hot, young thing!" she hollered. "Go and dance with him!"

"No!"

"Oh, come on!"

"I said no!" The way his libido was running, he'd probably end up fucking a complete stranger and that just didn't suit him. Not that he wasn't as randy as the next guy — and it had nothing to do with Casey. It would be completely reasonable for him to get a little action of his own now, no one would fault him. But really, he'd just as soon do it with Chloe, who was not actually his sister.

When the next round of slow songs started, he went over to Melissa and Jacob and asked the bride for a dance. She seemed delighted by this — but half way through the song he saw her smile go still. He followed the direction of her stare.

Jacob was dancing with Rachel. It was not especially intimate but he wore an expression that was hazy and nostalgic.

"Don't mind Rachel," Zeke said. "She's trying to get under your skin. It's what she does."

"But Jacob didn't have to go along with it," Melissa replied sadly.

Across the way, Rachel caught Zeke's eye, and she looked just about as pleased with herself as that proverbial cat, just batting her prey around now, enjoying the slow death.

Zeke said to Melissa, "Excuse me." He broke away from her, went over and said to Jacob, "I'm going to cut in."

For a man who had been in a trance, Jacob seemed grateful. He stepped back, saying, "Oh...yes, of course." Like Melissa, Zeke had to wonder how he could still be so spineless. Whatever Jacob had wanted to prove, this couldn't be it.

"Thank you for the dance, Jakey," Rachel purred softly.

Jacob blinked at her.

"Your wife was looking for you," Zeke said to him. And he gripped his mother's hand, put his arm around her waist and turned her away from Jacob.

"Ah, now I'm happy," Rachel sighed. "I get to dance with my handsome son."

Unpremeditated, Zeke did something completely generous, watching himself from the side with certain amazement. Well, he hadn't gotten his father a wedding gift yet. "If I give you my phone number will you leave Jacob alone forever?"

Her eyebrows shot up, eyes heating with a canny joy. "Why, Zeke! You're so good to your father."

"Will you?" he pressed. "Will you promise?"

"Yes, dear. I will. I'm really here because of you, you know. I wouldn't have come otherwise."

"All right, then. So you write him a nice thank you note for inviting you and that's the last time you communicate with him in any way, shape or form."

"I'm so proud of you, Zeke."

"Shut up," he hissed.

"I'm not playing with you now. I mean it. You're everything that I'm not."

"And no one could be a better role model than you," Zeke retorted. His meaning was not lost on her, he was sure.

"Why, thank you. I'll bet you're just as sweet and kind to Casey. And he needs all that goodness, Zeke. I'll bet he needs a lot."

He tightened his grip on her hand, wanting it to hurt. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

"Help myself? But what do you mean, dear?"

"I'm warning you now...if you call our apartment or visit, you will be nice to Casey or all of your privileges will be revoked."

"Surely he of all people wouldn't be afraid of me."

"He can handle anything and I repeat...you will be nice to him."

"Yes, dear."

The song hadn't quite ended but Zeke went up to the DJ's table and found a scrap of paper and the pen that the DJ had put there for people to write down their song requests. He scribbled his — and Casey's — phone number and brought it to Rachel.

"I don't want you to use it for at least a few months," he said.

"Oh, Zeke — "

"Rachel. I said at least a few months."

She pouted. "A few as in three?" she haggled.

"Yes. Three."

"Duly noted." Zeke stepped away from her, determined not to have any further conversation.

For the next several hours the wine and vodka flowed freely, and he and Chloe got progressively more drunk. They danced and talked about inconsequential things and it was so good, so easy. Zeke tried but didn't quite conquer the resentful thoughts about how a social gathering had become so un-easy for him lately. Not that he was a party animal, but it was good to just hang out with a fun, slightly flaky female who seemed not to take herself seriously at all and yet was capable of being quite serious. Towards midnight, she picked up two glasses of champagne and they stood together, holding them, waiting for the countdown.

"Any resolutions?" she asked.

"Nah." He had a whole philosophical explanation for it but he refrained from using it. He really did analyze things too fucking much sometimes. He told her so, in fact.

"No, really?" was her response.

"But I like thinking, you know? It...just..."

"Makes everything make sense?"

"‘xactly — you — you know, you're really fucking awesome."

"No, you are."

"No, y — okay, let's just agree that we're both awesome."

"Okay," she giggled.

The DJ had turned down his music and started shouting into the microphone. "Okay, folks, it's time...!" His voice was a bit shrill but that was just one of the many things that weren't bothering Zeke right now.

"Ten...! Nine...! Eight...!"

Involuntarily, Zeke wondered what Casey was doing. Maybe he should call him right at midnight. It wouldn't be midnight in Seattle but that was okay — maybe he should, maybe...maybe he wished he actually was with Casey right now.

"Six!"

"Five!"

Maybe, just maybe, he, Zeke Tyler, was that idiot Chloe had mentioned.

"Hey, Chloe!" he shouted.

"What?"

"Did you know I'm an idiot!?"

"One!" the crowd screamed.

The idiot jumped and yelled along with them — and now he seemed to be faced with a beautiful female who needed a kiss. He let himself be grabbed, drawn in close — ha ha, funny dιjΰ vu all over again with people kissing him lately. It was soft, exquisite, everything he could ask for in a mouth.

But wrong, again.

"Chloe," he whispered, taking a step back. "Chloe."

"Yes."

"I'm gay."

"I think I knew that," she said, giving him a jab with her elbow.

"And I'm an idiot."

"Oh, shush."

Jacob appeared out of nowhere and Zeke let his father hug him. Then he let Melissa hug him. To his relief, he didn't see his mother. She must have slipped away at some point without Zeke knowing it, which was just fine with him.

The music started up again — a real house dance type number, and Chloe grabbed his arm. "Time to dance," she commanded.

Around one, the party started to break up. He was at that most energized stage of drunkenness and wanted to walk, so he convinced Chloe to join him — and not only because he would have gotten lost with out her. She pinched a bottle of the "crappy house white" to take with her and they walked all the way back to the house, in no particular rush. Chloe told him about her job and her house-mate. She shared some amusing anecdotes about her mother that made Zeke like Melissa more than he had. He just listened and smoked while as he walked. He would take a swig when she offered, grimacing at the taste but it had been either that or lose his high on the long walk back. It was three-thirty when they walked into the kitchen in Melissa and Jacob's house. No one else was home; apparently, the older generation could party harder.

"I'm not ready to crash yet, are you?" Chloe asked him.

"Nah."

"Let's just sit out on the deck for a bit..." Wavering a little, she went out through the glass sliding doors and planted herself at the top of the stairs that delivered a person from the deck to the lawn. After a second, Zeke reached in the cupboard, looking for the bowl that Melissa had given him before for smoking purposes. He couldn't find it, so he grabbed the closest thing he could see, another ceramic thing that was much larger, kind of a cross between a bowl and a plate.

Following Chloe out, he sat down beside her at the top of the steps and lit up yet another cigarette. The way the world was swimming for him now, he knew that he was nearing his limit. Walking had been okay, but as soon as he sat down, he felt his body's demand for a full collapse.

"It's nice here," he commented.

"Mmm." Apparently not realizing that it was empty, Chloe tipped up her wine bottle. When nothing came out she scowled and held it even higher, trying to squint down the neck. It was quite hilarious. "What?" she demanded at Zeke's laughter. "I'm thirsty."

"Maybe you need some water."

"Oh, good idea." She pulled up her knees and laid her head on them, peering at Zeke sideways. "Hey."

"Hey," he returned.

"You feel better now?"

"Better than what?"

"You know. Before."

He considered, replied, "Yeah. Still don't know what I'm doing."

"I dunno what you mean...you either go back to him or not, see?"

"I know, but..." He was looking right at her when he had the crazy idea that maybe he should tell her everything. "This whole thing is a mess and I'm nuts — you know where I was before this?"

"Where were you?"

"I went to see his ex-boyfriend in Cin-Cincinnati...blackmailed him into writing down stuff about what he did to Casey...and ex-boyfriend's ex-wife too..."

She looked blank.

"Yeah, it sounds totally crazy, doesn't it? I have this long sort of...like a statement...in my room talking about all the stuff they did and I still don't know what to believe, you know? It's like there's no way to really see it in my head..."

"I dunno what to s-say."

"Let me show it to you. Maybe you can...you could..."

Even drunk, there were words he wouldn't say. Not in this lifetime.

Help me.

"S-sure," she slurred, her eyes closing.

He left his cigarette smouldering in the giant ashtray, and was taken aback by how badly everything spun when he tried to get up; he had to grab the railing to steady himself. "Just a sec'," he said, and stumbled into the house.

He was back a few minutes later with the pages — but it was too late. Chloe was asleep sitting up, her head resting on her knees. After watching her for a few disappointed seconds, he squatted and put the papers down on the deck. He shook her.

"...mmph...what...?"

"It's time to go to bed."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely right."

"Come on...up we go." He grasped her upper arms and tugged lightly, relieved when she stood more or less on her own power. There was a moment when she nearly overbalanced but he grabbed her and held her steady.

"G'night," she said, beginning to wobble in the direction of the door. "You?"

"In a few minutes..." he returned, waving her on her way.

Standing up was uncomfortable, and really tiring. Hitting the deck once again, he found that his cigarette was almost all ash. Oh, well. He thought about lighting a new one...and picked up the Roy and Janice papers instead. After all, he'd gone more than twenty-four hours without thinking about this stuff.

Through the lens of alcohol, Janice's neat script was slightly blurred but still plenty legible. He started to read it, skipping to the second paragraph.

I knew it wouldn't work, what Roy was proposing and I said so. That was when Casey saw me and Roy started this whole routine about how we could be a family. It made me want to be sick. Casey wanted nothing to do with me either and I don't blame him for that. We'd only had one other interaction and I had been very hostile to him. Roy seemed to think he could convince him, though, and I didn't believe it. I didn't want it. I thought if I forced the issue Roy would blink and then we'd go home. So I went into the hotel bar to wait while Roy did whatever he was going to do to persuade Casey. I knew what they were doing together, of course. I drank as much as I could, as fast as I could.

He stopped reading. After all that he had done to get these words, they were still void of real meaning. Closing his eyes, he once again envisioned the scene; it arose almost unbidden, as though it were lying in wait, as though he really was being snatched back to the event itself and not sitting here in the middle of the night attempting to combine everything he knew into a singular act of cognition. He could see the room through those cold, judging eyes, hear those frigid tones. He could even experience the event from within her brittle headspace. Applying all of his imaginative talents, he could be Janice, standing in today's hotel room...reliving another hotel room of five months ago.

She says, "This isn't going to work."

And she can't keep her disgust out of her voice. Roy is sitting down with Casey, holding him and stroking him, crooning to him as though he's some kind of pet. For all Roy knows she could feel just as much as that inside, she just has the poise not to show it and Roy will never figure that out. All Roy sees is his little toy — that not- male, not-anything face, those bizarre eyes. He doesn't look or act like a man. It's repulsive to watch.

See now, how Roy is holding the creature's face against him, not letting him look, as though she were the bizarre, perverted thing, not him. This disgust isn't about men being with men, she is quick to tell herself. She is open-minded, but she feels like she is watching mutants dance and rub against each other, they are so strange with their high emotions and their extremes.

And now Roy is laying it on so thick, she wants to vomit. Saying "Don't look, don't look until you believe what I'm saying...Janice loves you, Janice wants to be with you too" but the creature is not stupid at least. A single eye peers away from Roy's shirt, glassy with horror, and he says, "No" and she is intensely relieved.

Shaking his head, Zeke threw off Janice for the moment.

Maybe it hadn't happened that way, exactly. Maybe she really did want the threesome to happen, maybe she did have some desire — a desire to win. Her filter for everything was dignity, her constant terror that the world would discover how she was in over her head. How appalled and vulnerable she must have felt upon realizing that she had gone and fallen in love with her fiancee, then husband. If Zeke had been inclined to be generous towards her, he might have added her to the list of Roy's victims. Like many, she was helpless before the onslaught of Roy's charm, and Casey was that thing that she couldn't endure — the rival with the greater claim.

Yeah, she had wanted something out of Casey...If she couldn't have Roy, she would have revenge.

She knows this is insanity. She's ready to quit now. She says so but Roy protests. His lashes flutter like he's entering a trance state while his hands close on the creature's body. He is almost humming as he tells her to go away, let him handle this. She watches his eyes darken, knows exactly what he means. She has a vision of the two of them on the bed. She sees two faces twisted up in ecstacy, hears the sound of flesh slapping on flesh and Roy's cries: "Casey...Casey...Casey."

Her heart fills up with hatred. She stares at the toy's limpid, lowered eyes, his pretty skin and she hopes that it hurts when Roy sticks his cock in him. She agrees to go downstairs to the lounge so that Roy can do the handling, not that the creature will ever agree to it. She certainly wouldn't.

And she had gone downstairs, leaving Casey alone with Roy, and when she came back he was broken...just like she'd hoped. She would have gotten in that bed just to seal her victory and realized not even halfway through how hollow it was.

Hollow just like reading her words on the page. The way she told it, she'd been tugged along by anger and circumstance. Roy had even said it himself — they would never know if she had been driven by jealousy that was transformed into resignation, or if at some point during the proceedings she had stolen a moment to wallow in malicious enjoyment before, appalled at herself, she called a halt to it.

And, Zeke realized, he didn't much care.

His head was spinning, a gentle, dizzy motion that begged for him to lie down. He didn't know why he was still trying to be awake and struggling through this shit, but he fought the call of sleep, lit up a fresh smoke and turned the page to Roy's section of the document. He read about Roy reclined there on the bed in the hotel room, four months ago, waiting and knowing that Casey would show up. Not surprised or even relieved when there was the knock at the door because he knew that Casey had nowhere else to go.

He sits up swiftly, a hungry smile on his face, as Janice turns from the window. Their eyes meet and he is enraged all over again...how dare she try to take Casey from him, how dare she...

He goes to the door and is ready to open his arms to Casey — but he is startled by Casey's extreme distress. He has seen Casey in all kinds of hysteria over the past two years but this is a bit off-putting. Obviously that Zeke has been doing something to his Casey and it really is time for Casey to come home with him. This thing with Janice could even work. They could be a family. Anything is possible with Casey, after all. He never says 'no'.

And he is not about to let his Casey be lost to him. He is threatened on all sides now — from Janice, from this Zeke, from Sasha earlier and even from Casey, who it turns out does have one line that he won't cross. He considers himself lucky that this Zeke has been too stupid to stake his claim. Zeke doesn't seem to realize what it takes to hold Casey. Stupid boy, small-town yokel hiding behind his little boy fears. Stupid Zeke Tyler...now Zeke will be erased from Casey, fucked right out of him.

There is no resistence as he undresses Casey. Casey whimpers for him, doing everything he can to help him along even though he seems weak and sick. He has a mark on his arm that Roy didn't put there. Casey is in bad shape, poor baby. After this he will take Casey home, take care of him and Casey will never, ever want to leave him. With his father dead, Casey can even live with him in the big house in the country.

He explains all this to Casey. How it will be just the two of them. They only have to do this once with Janice and then it will be them forever. Casey stops protesting and moves into his hands, is moulded into the position that he likes and he gets him ready with a bit of saliva and then pushes inside. He is welcomed at every moment, at every inch. He feels like he is being lost, drawn down, that Casey is swallowing him up. There is an instant, just an instant when his heart claws for freedom. When it is over he is coming, crowing with omnipotence —

With a disgusted exclamation, Zeke threw the pages down on the deck. It served no purpose to dwell on this, and he wouldn't, just like he wouldn't dwell on the thoughts of Casey with Thomas. He wouldn't obsess over where and how it had happened — the two of them crammed in a back seat or an alleyway, or in the apartment, Casey and Thomas naked in his bed. Unless he was prepared to ask, he was not going to think about it.

It came back to him that he was supposed to be working on forgiving Casey. That was what he was working on here, wasn't it, and he wasn't having the greatest success. He had read all of these pages through twice now, and heard the story told twice from Roy, once from Janice. And he still didn't know what had happened to Casey, not really, because he couldn't be in Casey's head. He'd been in Roy's; he'd been in Janice's. He'd experienced that event over and over now, but not as Casey had experienced it. The fact of it was that he was never going to know. Even if Casey someday took the time and trouble to try and explain it, he wouldn't know. There was something about it that belonged to Casey absolutely, and Casey just wasn't going to share it —

But there was an idea taking shape out of his alcoholic haze, rising above the rational mechanism that was still cranking and sputtering.

There was no such thing as perfect understanding. If there was, if it was possible to achieve perfect empathy, such an act could only destroy Casey — the Casey, the one who was essentially puzzling and challenging and felt all sorts of things that he didn't attempt to put into words. To not know him was to love him.

"Fuck," Zeke whispered.

To not know him was to save him.

Zeke collected the pages that were slightly scattered around him. He placed them in the bowl that he had been using as an ashtray and flicked on his lighter. He brought it in close to the paper, holding it near enough that they might catch at any moment.

No cold voice sounded in his head to stop him, or to start him on some crazed, reckless quest for knowledge. He might be drunk, but he was grateful for this clarity. In vodka veritas. No truth in these pages, nothing to be done with this disgusting litany of events except get revenge against the wrong person because he was feeling more than he had ever believed he would feel, and it caused him pain, and he had wanted someone to blame for it. This was not about forgiveness, or acceptance. It was about possession.

"Okay, already, okay," he muttered, not sure who he was talking to. "I give up..."

The orange and yellow flames took hold, and the paper was quickly consumed, leaving ashes and charred fragments.

After a sleep that was far too short and far from quality, he woke with a head that wanted to split in two and a gurgling, burning, empty stomach — a frequent occurrence lately, it seemed. He rolled onto his back and restrained a moan.

It occurred to Zeke that he would prefer to be in his own bed, in Seattle. The perpetual grey skies would suit his current state of physical well-being much better than this bright, cheery sunshine. Fuck it — now that the obligations were satisfied, he just really wanted to go home, and not in the least because was ready to confront Casey with his forgiveness, armed with a written confession of sorts —

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

This couldn't be happening.

Zeke did not howl, although it felt so much like the right idea. There was no question that he might have dreamed it; he really had burned Roy's Confession. He was the World Champion Fucktard.

Of course he remembered why he'd done it; he had not blacked out or anything. The reasoning had been sound enough but how that lead inevitably to the destruction of something he'd worked so hard to obtain for himself... well, only a drunken idiot could know the answer to that. If only that same idiot could have been run over by a bus on his way home last night. He might be in the hospital recovering, or permanently disfigured, but at least the pages would still exist.

Roy was laughing at him now, the fuck.

Zeke heard voices downstairs, probably in the kitchen. Having breakfast — or lunch, he amended, seeing the time. Okay, so first things first...He would deal with his hangover and then he would try to figure out what therapeutic steps were necessary to prevent himself from shooting himself in the head. He forced himself to rise from his bed, tottering forward into the day.

Not five minutes later he appeared downstairs, having performed the minimal acts of pissing and brushing his teeth. Melissa and Jacob were dressed, eating fruit and bagels, and they were disgustingly chipper for people who couldn't have slept much. To Zeke's jaundiced satisfaction, however, Chloe was sitting there looking plenty rough.

"We were just about to check and make sure you were alive!" Melissa welcomed him.

"Um," Zeke responded.

"How are you feeling?"

"Ugly." Zeke spotted the empty wine bottle out on the patio along with Melissa's bowl that held the remains of Roy's and Janice's confession.

"Me ugly too," Chloe deadpanned. She was presiding over a bowl of mushy- looking cereal. "Unk."

Zeke slid into a chair several feet away from the lot of them. "Do you have any aspirin?"

"Sure," Melissa said, going off to fetch them. She was smiling far too much for Zeke's peace of mind. Zeke didn't think she'd be smiling when she discovered what he'd done to her bowl.

"You hurting?" Zeke said to Chloe.

"God, yes."

"Good. It's all your fault."

"How do you figure that?"

"Dunno. Just ‘cuz."

Melissa returned with a bottle of Aleve. After downing a couple he was able to focus on the next most imminent source of discomfort — his stomach. He could deal with the fact that he was an unbelievable fucking idiot later.

"You want to make it up to me?" he asked Chloe.

"Why? What?"

"Take me on a junk food run."

"We have all sorts of food here," Melissa began.

"No, sorry...I need grease."

"I'm not even dressed," protested Chloe.

"Neither am I. Just to a drive-through?"

"I'll take you," Jacob announced.

Zeke gave Chloe one more hopeful look and she just waved a limp, wan hand. He gave up and followed his father out of the house and into yet another gorgeous day. He really had to wonder how people got any work done, living in this climate. Sliding into the passengers' side of the four-runner, he was very happy to not be driving.

As they pulled out from under the house's tree-lined drive-way, he noted that he was missing his sunglasses. He created a shield over his eyes with his hand, fighting back a random scream.

"You had a good time?" Jacob asked.

Zeke answered, "Yeah." Which was true. The worst parts had been merely tedious and the encounters with Rachel were only a few minutes altogether. The rest of it had been fun, notwithstanding the disastrous culmination of too much vodka and too few brain cells. "Chloe is cool," he added.

"You two did seem to hit it off." Jacob treated Zeke to a sideways grin. "Mel and I are really pleased about that."

"Well, what's not to like?" Zeke grumbled.

"Yes, she is a wonderful girl..." Jacob directed the vehicle onto a street that was dotted on both sides with fast food joints, plazas, family restaurants and other enterprises. "Where'd you want to stop?"

"Um...I'll holler." Zeke was surveying, trying to decide what suited his stomach most at the moment. Something with a lot of fat and very little of nutritional merit, that was a given. Through the forest of commercial signage, he spotted his destination. "There's a White Castle."

"Oh, no, Zeke."

"Oh, yes, Zeke."

"In all good conscience, as your father — "

"My stomach and I are both grown-ups, we can be as reckless and self- destructive as we want."

Jacob shook his head, biting his lips. "Melissa wouldn't be happy."

"Yeah, well she's not here. And this is hangover medicine." Zeke had yet another lousy realization in a day that was shaping up to be nothing but lousy. Like he needed further proof of his fucktardedness. "Shit. I didn't even bring my wallet."

"It's okay," Jacob sighed. "I'll get it since I didn't feed you enough last night."

They turned into the White Castle drive-through. Zeke ordered ten hamburgers along with fries and orange soda, and began eating them the moment they were in his lap.

"Whoa, there," Jacob admonished. "Remember to chew."

"Yes, sir." Zeke rolled his eyes. And he noticed that Jacob kept glancing over at the burger he was eating, even as he steered and accelerated and braked. "Do you want one?"

Jacob's gaze snapped forward. "Oh, no. No, no."

"I'll never tell, I swear." In his current dark mood, Zeke liked the idea of subverting his father's will. "Just one, Jacob."

"You're a bad influence."

"I try."

"All right, but I have to pull over somewhere. I won't eat while driving. I used to do that a lot and it wasn't a good thing."

Zeke shrugged, and waited until Jacob had pulled into the the nearest gas station parking lot before unwrapping a burger and handing it over. They ate in silence, while Zeke half-listened to the classical music coming through the speakers and tried to manufacture a state of not-thinkingness. By the time he was done eating, his stomach felt better at least. As for the rest of his misery...there was no helping it. He was fucked by his own fucking hand.

Jacob was licking his fingers. "I haven't eaten one of those in years," he told Zeke.

"You've been deprived."

"Melissa thinks all junk food is evil. She won't have it in the house and she won't let me eat it, ever."

"She and Sasha should talk."

Sasha. Zeke wondered what Sasha would make of everything Zeke had done since he last saw him. He had a not-so-funny feeling that Sasha would have approved of the burning ceremony — but only after he'd read the pages himself.

"Thank you for doing what you did last night, Zeke."

At another time, Zeke would be glad that Jacob and Melissa's relationship seemed to have not taken any harm from the dancing incident. It would feel good to know he was able to protect something. At the moment, however, he didn't give a flying fuck. "Don't mention it," he grunted.

"She just strolled up and asked and I couldn't think of a polite way to say no."

"You could try just saying no."

"You're right. But she seemed so...lonely."

It was then that the idea came into Zeke's head, springing spontaneously to life out of sheer nothing: Forgiveness and understanding were two different things. He really could do either, or both. Or neither. Forgiveness didn't have to be an act of kindness, and understanding could be downright cruel.

The notion was not without precedent; there was a muddled collection of thoughts that bore some similarity to it. Through his intoxicated haze last night, he'd made a fairly holistic leap and now, in a more clear-headed state, he could articulate it: If he were relentless enough, resolute and tough and willing to smash through whatever resisted his acts of comprehension, he would eventually have something completely dissected and open to him but it wouldn't be the thing he started out with. He would take the life from it even as he forced it to give up its secrets.

I don't want to hurt him...even if he hurt me first.

As always, there was his more jaded, dry voiced self: Still, Zekie, you didn't have to burn the thing...it's not like he'll even know about your magnificent gesture.

Jacob glanced over at Zeke. "Do you have a napkin there?"

Zeke handed one over.

"I don't know if it's possible to destroy all the evidence," Jacob said, wiping his hands and mouth with a little more vigour than was necessary or useful. "She'll probably smell it on me."

"Just say the smell from the bag contaminated the car."

"I'll try...but she has a nose like...like I don't know." Jacob trailed away, looking at Zeke in a way that meant some unmanly sort of mush was en route. "Zeke, I'm really, really happy that you decided to come."

"It's okay."

"And I know you've got a lot going on in your life...it means a lot to me that you still came."

"It's okay," Zeke said again.

Jacob put the car in gear. "What do you want to do today? There's still time for some sight seeing. We can do anything you like."

"Um...I don't know." His gut tugged, telling him he should be going home. "I need to call Seattle when we get back."

"Oh! I forgot...Casey called this morning."

Zeke figured his head must be swivelling as though he were possessed by demons, and he was possessed by something, that was for sure: It was the desire to kill his father. He'd gotten past the little manipulation he'd discovered last night but this was too fucking much... "You forgot? He called and you didn't call me?"

"It was early, you were sleeping."

"You still should have got me up!" Zeke growled. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now," Jacob returned, as cool as — as a man who was accustomed to bullshitting for a living, it so happened.

"You waited on purpose, though."

"You've only been up for forty-five minutes, Zeke, and frankly, it wasn't in my head that I needed to tell you immediately."

"What did he say?"

"Not much. He just asked to speak to you. I would have thought he'd say congratulations or something — "

"What did you tell him?"

"I see I should have made a transcript."

"What did you tell him?!"

"I told him you were sleeping and he just said ‘oh' and then he asked me to let you know that he called. And that's it."

"How did he sound?"

Jacob sighed. "Like he always does."

"What's that? What do you mean by that?"

"That he sounded scared."

Fuck, how long — how many hours since Casey had called? Enough for anything to happen. Casey had been abandoned by him at the airport and no doubt believed that Zeke hated him. Yet he had called Jacob's house, looking for Zeke. That must mean he was desperate and something bad was going down. There was no other possible interpretation.

Zeke's mind was consumed by the need to get to the phone. He could barely wait for the car to come to a stop in the driveway; he was up and out before the vehicle could entirely lose its momentum. He negotiated a series of straight lines and efficient curves to get to the phone in the kitchen, only half-noticing the presence of Chloe and Melissa. He snatched up the thing.

And once again, there was no answer when he called. Subduing the rising panic, he left another message:

"Hi, it's Zeke. I heard you called. I'm coming home early. I'll call again and let you know when I arrive. If you're trying to call, my cell number right now is 818-555- 7801."

He turned and found three pairs of round eyes pointed at him.

"You're leaving?" Melissa asked, just as he disconnected the chili pepper.

"I'm going to pack and get on my way to the airport, yes. Hopefully I can get on a flight today."

"But..." Melissa faltered. "I thought..."

Jacob was standing next to her now, having followed Zeke in more slowly. "Zeke," he urged. "Please don't go, stay until Wednesday like you planned. It's only the day after tomorrow."

"No. I need to go."

"If there were an emergency you can be sure you'd know about it by now."

"Not necessarily." There were all sorts of ways that a disaster could unfold that would have left him out of the loop. The fact was that he'd been fucking lying to himself the past couple of days so that he could enjoy cavorting with a pretty girl at a dance. "I don't know what's going on."

"Wait and try to call again at least. You're probably just having bad luck getting through. They could have gone out or something."

"Or something is wrong." Zeke started for the exit to the hallway which would take him to the stairs.

"Zeke — please, think about what you're doing."

He turned, one hand on the wall. "And what am I doing?"

"Zeke," Melissa started. "I think — "

"Don't you even try to come over all parental on me."

"You don't need to attack her," Jacob said coldly.

"Okay, fine," Zeke retorted. "You going to tell me not to get too involved, Jacob? Been there, done that. I've been around and around in my head about it and the only thing I do know is that you don't have a fucking clue about my life!"

Melissa started as he reached the climax of that speech. She began to edge away, glancing at her daughter like she wanted to grab her and run for cover.

"I'm sorry," Zeke said to her, to both women in the room. "I'm not mad at you — or you, Chloe. I like you both just fine, but the fact is none of you know what I'm dealing with. If I say I have to go then you wish me bon voyage and hope everything works out."

He made it as far as the first stair before Jacob caught him, taking his arm.

"No, that's not all!" Jacob let go, with a wave of what appeared to be regret for having grabbed him. "Maybe I'd have a clue if you told me."

"Oh, no. It is not that easy, Jacob. You take off for ten years and think you can just stroll back in with an apology? It doesn't work that way."

"I know all that. I just hoped..."

"Hoped what?"

"That we could put things behind us...have it all out."

"I don't need to have anything out. What I do need is a ride to the airport but if I can't get that from you I'll manage on my own. Like always."

He whirled and went up to his room, hoping that Jacob wouldn't follow. Of course, the sound of feet followed him all the way up.

"Why did you come here?" Jacob asked, standing just inside the door while Zeke tossed things into his suitcase. Tux, tie, shoes, dirty socks and underwear, all of it went in the heap. "For a free meal and a party — ? I don't think so."

"Honestly? I came here because I was pissed off and needed some time to myself. Now I'm not so pissed off and I'd like to go home."

"Bullshit. You're furious."

"I meant not so pissed off at Casey. Obviously I'm still pissed off at you. On top of everything else, you deliberately didn't tell me he called! Admit it, Jacob, because I'm not stupid!"

"Okay, yes. But I meant to tell you today...which I did. I just didn't think you needed to know first thing."

"You think he's bad news."

"I think you think about him too much." Jacob caught himself, shaking his head. "But I'm not allowed to discuss this subject, am I? Your rules — unless you're giving me a dispensation to talk."

Fucking lawyers. Out loud, Zeke answered, "Go ahead, man. I brought it up, astonish me with your insight."

"You want to do this right now?"

"It's probably our last shot at it, so yeah."

Jacob went silent suddenly. He stared at Zeke uneasily, reverting back to the non-communicative version of himself that was much more familiar to Zeke.

"I'll help you get started then," Zeke said. "Let's see... Casey is sucking me dry, I'm going to waste my life with him, he'll never change and I'm just clinging to him because I'm a co-dependent idiot...right? Which is something you understand intimately, of course."

Jacob blinked, unfazed by the implied insult. "That's part of it."

"What did I miss?"

"Of course I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did but there's more...there's something unhealthy about your relationship with him and it goes back to Herrington three years ago. It's like the two of you are stuck in your secret little world and no one else can get in."

"Is that supposed to be a surprise? We lived through something scary."

"Oh, Zeke, really. Alien invasion? Couldn't you make up something more plausible?"

"Why would I make that up?"

"To cover for Casey, I assume."

Zeke hadn't quite expected this, even though it was a line of logic he was quite familiar with. "You think Casey is some sort of dangerous criminal. You think it was all him and the rest of us just lied to cover it up."

"I'm not without compassion for him, Zeke. Whatever it was I'm sure he didn't know what he was doing but you shouldn't have to let yourself be all twisted up because of it."

"Fuck, you know — you and Rachel really are two of a kind! I told you exactly how it happened. You and Rachel were the only ones I told — and what response did I get? You both looked at me like I was a piece of shit and then you disappeared without a word for three fucking years!"

"I refuse to believe — "

"Aliens invaded, Jacob. That's the truth — and I let Casey go out on a limb, I didn't back him up the way I should have. I was a coward... an entire town full of people and he was the only brave one of the lot of us, the only person with the nerve to tell the truth. Fucking backward stupid fucking town...and then they went and made me the hero and Casey the monster."

"God, Zeke, will you just stop?"

"What do you want me to do? Lie? Make up a story about how the aliens never actually came here and never actually tried to take over?"

"It couldn't have happened like you said! You couldn't have — " Jacob cut himself short.

"I couldn't have what?"

"You're not violent, Zeke. You were a lot of things but you were never violent."

"But you don't know me, Jacob. I helped to exterminate them...like I explained to you before, remember? You must remember the part where I put a gun right between my principal's eyes and fired? She just dropped like a broken doll, you know... and I made the poison that finished her off."

"Oh, God."

"I told you all this before, Father. You listened and acted like you gave a damn but then you just ran for cover — and I guess I can't blame you. I was a creep who didn't give a damn about anything — until Casey, that is. I still don't give a damn about much of anything. All this shit — " Zeke swept a hand around, indicating the house, the wedding, the very idea of family. "I don't give a fuck about it. All I care about is him." He thought he was finished, but just moments later he continued, in the knowledge that there was plenty more to be said. "You know, I was afraid that I take after you that way but it occurs to me that I've bested you a hundred times over in the obsession game. You have no idea the lengths that I'll go to — that I have gone to." He observed, with a certain amount of delight, the depth of pain in his father's face. "Now I'm going to pack. If you'll excuse me."

It took him less than half an hour to get organized. He dressed, foregoing the shower that he needed and the shave that was probably recommended. The whole time an old, almost-forgotten line of Sasha's kept up a singsong in his head. You can't go home again, you can't go home again, you can't —

When he presented himself in the kitchen there was no sign of Jacob, nor of Melissa. Chloe was there, however, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. "It's New Year's Day, do you think you'll be able to get a flight?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'll go stand-by if I have to."

"I'll drive you, then."

His eyes stung. "You sure?" he muttered, refusing to rub them.

"Of course," she scoffed.

"Where's Jacob?"

"I'm not sure. He was very upset, he and Mom took off somewhere."

It was a quiet drive. She let him off at the airport and was understanding enough not to come in and linger with him. Parked temporarily in the drop-off zone, she waited until he had loaded up his bags on a dolly and then gestured to him. He leaned in towards her; she reached up and gave him brief hug, a haphazard curl of her arm around his neck, then pressed a piece of paper into his.

"What's this?"

"My email and phone number."

"What for?"

"To keep in touch, dummy."

Fuck if he wasn't going gooey again. "Um...Chloe..."

"Forget it. I just hope everything works out." Chloe grinned, and then turning from him, drove away. Zeke stared after her for a few moments and then tucked the piece of paper in his jeans pocket.

He learned that by going stand-by he could probably get on a flight that was leaving at five, unless it unexpectedly filled. The airline lady told him it was unlikely to get full, however; most people had their plans for New Year's settled well in advance.

At three-thirty, they called and gave him the good news — he was on the flight. The rest was becoming routine. Standing in line to check in, going through security, the entire business...He was switched off for most of it. He put his metal items in the plastic container and let them pat him down. He watched dully as they took everything out of his carry-on bag and put it back in, then waited for the scanner to spit it out at the other end. Then he walked directly to his gate, pausing only long enough to buy a coffee. He thought about his phone, thought about using it and perhaps getting through this time — but he was having sensations that he could only admit as fear. If it was something really bad and he had to sit here waiting and useless for hours, he would lose it once and for all.

So he found himself sitting once again amongst a row of interconnected airport chairs, staring at nothing and having accomplished nothing. He bent over, putting his head in his hands, and waited for the announcement that he was going home.

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