It's raining again, a steady, constant fall, the sort of storm that might last days.  I am wet to my bones, layers of ragged clothing encasing me like old newspaper.  The spreading collection of makeshift shelters succumbs to mud,  small streams forming instantaneously and flowing through pathways and sleeping places alike.  I watch the creatures around me; female, male, who can tell under the grime and well-worn hopelessness? Resigning themselves to the cruel whim of nature, the weak ones salvage what they can from their drowned-out, transitory homes.  The strong ones, myself among them, secure the dry spots.  Even still, I am cold and wet and a distant pang I recognise as hunger distracts me.  There are better places to be.  The thought occurs to me, not for the first time, as I huddle against the storm. Momentarily out of the worst of it; if not getting dry, at least getting no wetter. 

In this twilight world of dirt and despair, I constantly change who I am.  The name I was born with is buried in a place even I have trouble accessing.  My hometown, the memories of a particular house, the faces and names of the people who live in it, all this is locked inside me. Three little words could change all this:  I could become the contrite son and be welcomed back into the family.  Not likely.  Someone has to stand up to him and it might as well be me.  I learned I was not beyond my father's wrath and one day, he'll know he is not beyond mine.
++++

"You say the cutest things," the girl purred and rubbed her face against his arm nearest her.

Remir gave an inaudible sigh and allowed the caress. It had been purely physical, for both of them, so why now the pretence?  Her attempt at playing the coquette made him cruel.

"Nothing I'm sure you haven't heard before," he said, allowing all the boredom he felt to fill his words and the small room that contained her narrow, single bed.

"Hey," she said into that place where neck met shoulder, "it is what it is.  Doesn't mean you have to be a prick..."

Remir laughed.  Perhaps this was why he liked her so much.  It did not take a lot to reveal a sort of prickly hardness Caroline often tried to conceal.

"Give me a cigarette," he told her.

She rolled off him and fished along the floor, producing two cigarettes and a book of matches.  They smoked in companionable silence, Remir wondering when a graceful escape would be permitted.  Caroline was one of many lovers, each satisfying some small part of him but none managing to encompass the whole.  He  puffed on the cigarette, blowing perfect rings to the ceiling and idly fondled her. 

"Gotta go," he finally murmured and knew that she was ready now to give him up.

He avoided her eyes as he dressed and concentrated on making his expression completely blank.  It was the only power he could use against her penetrating stare. He thought of winter days whenever he looked into her eyes -- a blue that was difficult to describe but could pierce him like an knife made of ice if he wasn't careful.  It bothered him that he was so often tempted to melt that ice and it was fear that Caroline could sometimes see this that hardened his heart against her.

When he finally met her gaze, she was smiling. Remir gave long, dark hair a shake.

"Will you believe me if I tell you every second without you will be torture?"

"As much as you believe me when I tell you I feel the same," he replied.

Caroline laughed softly and turned her face from him. Remir left her room, knowing he wasn't as confident as he should have been.

There was no time to dwell on it.  Outside, day was disappearing.  Night stole across the university campus and with the fading sunlight went his confusion and apprehension about Caroline.  In the twilight, the old buildings were ghostly, indistinct, the few weak lights visible through their windows seemed to leak out from past centuries.  Remir watched the lamps that lit the walkways across the Green splutter on, their chemical glow pooling around him and forming a path to Thayer Street and the next tryst of the day.

The university dominated this part of town, the entire east side expropriated by the spread of libraries, laboratories and administration buildings.  To escape its influence required a walk of twenty minutes in any direction and the few people on the street reflected this.  Remir paid them no mind.  The peculiar mix of people that constituted a university, so alike despite their diversity, he saw them without seeing them, could accurately identify them in parts of the city far from the university.  He took his place amongst them without thinking, and headed for a popular sandwich shop on the corner of Thayer Street and Angell Street.  At the last minute, it occurred to him that a newspaper might help him through what was to come.

The brightly lit store sold everything a student might need in a hurry and was open 24 hours.  Remir made his way to the newspaper stand and was reaching for the Globe when something made him turn his head, a breeze from nowhere that raised the hairs on his arms, uncurled some power in his belly.  Someone was disappearing down the next aisle but not before Remir glimpsed dark eyes.  Impossible to say what the person wore or to be certain about anything else about him. There were only those eyes that fastened onto Remir for a second and it was enough time for a shift in the space between them, enough time for Remir to wonder and remember his newspaper almost as an afterthought.

He hurried after the phantom but it had disappeared.  Remir carefully retraced his steps and looked down each nearly empty aisle.  The only patrons of the shop were students like himself and as he came in sight of the till, he realised that the young woman behind it was eyeing him suspiciously.  He smiled his most winning smile and stepped up to pay for his paper.  She thawed immediately and a little bit of that confidence left in Caroline's room was regained. Remir tucked his paper under his arm and turned for the door.

Geoff's, the sandwich shop, was pleasantly buzzing. Michael sat in a corner, a half cup of coffee before him.  He acknowledged Remir with a raise of his eyebrows and Remir smiled.  Five minutes later, having secured sandwiches and more coffee for them both, he joined his friend.

They'd make a stunning couple, Remir thought not for the first time, if only Michael would relax and let it happen.  The hastily stolen glances of young women and men had not escaped his notice -- both sported stylishly haircuts, Michael's blue eyes and skin nearly the colour of milk; himself more the colour of cinnamon. Those staring wistfully would have to be content, like himself, with dreams and daydreams.  Michael held himself in some place unreachable and Remir wondered just what it was his friend waited for.

"How's Caroline?"

"Jealous?" Remir teased.

Michael only laughed.  He said, "Not likely.  Just looking after your butt, my friend.  The only reason why you haven't been kicked out of here is because of your connections..."

"Give me a break.  I'm working hard at my courses..."

"Hardly working, you mean,"  Michael scoffed.  "Old joke but apropos in your case.  You'd fly through here if you weren't so busy screwing around -- literally and figuratively."

Remir chuckled.  "Yes.  Well, I'm managing to do both, pass my courses and screw around. I kinda like it that way."

Michael swallowed his retort with his coffee and Remir could see the effort that was being made not to launch, one more time, into the familiar nagging.  Any other time, he would have passed comment on it, teasing his friend just to see his exasperated response.  This time, however, Remir was grateful for the reprieve.  While Michael ate, seemingly completely absorbed in his food, Remir sipped his sweet coffee and watched night fall over the east side of Providence.

"Who is he or she?"  Michael finally asked.

Remir started.  "Who?"

"Com'on.  I'm not fooled.  You must be plotting another conquest.  You haven't said a word in... oh, ten minutes or so."

"No one," Remir sighed and remembered brown eyes, a hint of something haunted and something dangerous.

Perhaps it had been a dream.  Maybe, for that moment, he'd seen someone else's  life and that sight, the feeling of standing on a threshold was meant for someone else.  Not for him, with a tidy life laid out before him, meeting the expectations of his wealthy family, with the surety of being accepted at the medical school of his choice; with the enticing and very real Michael sitting beside him, his concern making him even more desirable.

"No one,"  Michael repeated in just the tone of voice that said he was unconvinced.

"Okay," Remir purred and leaned closer. "How 'bout it, Michael? Going to give in tonight?"

"You're too much, y'know?!"  He took Remir's arm and gave his friend a small push. His hand lingered, the heat travelling straight to Remir's cock.

"And you're a tease, but I love you anyway," Remir sighed.  "You'll ask me one day.  I just hope it isn't too late when you do."

Michael shook his head and bit into his sandwich. Remir couldn't say what it was he saw in his eyes.

They said good bye in front of the shop, Michael heading off to his studies and Remir professing to do the same.  After a quick embrace, they went separate ways.

Night had swiftly settled over the town, reminding him more of autumn falling into winter.  But the blooming cherry trees, the magnolias glorious in the lamplight, assured him of summer's approach.  The evening was too alluring for study.  Michael, as usual, had given him a rush and perhaps a walk was what was needed right now. It would be worth the risk of negotiating the empty streets to take in the view of Providence the old mansion provided.

It was far from the leisurely walk he expected. Something hurried him along the way. At another time, Remir might have taken his time along these back streets, usually feeling relatively safe in the shadow of the university.  The Victorian houses had enjoyed a resurgence years ago, rescued by the new class of young professionals than pleased to have a zip code placing them in the shadow of an Ivy League university.  Lately these old houses had fallen victim to a creeping malady that swallowed everything, regardless of wealth or standing, in its path. Too many of them stood dark and empty, making the nearby campus a patch of light in a darkness that settled nearly unnoticed over Providence.  But Remir gave no thought to striking out to an isolated part of it as night fell.

The low-key activity of Thayer Street had long disappeared and the few inhabited houses along these streets were quiet. Whatever activity they contained was shielded behind drawn drapes and blinds.  Remir pressed on, uncertain whether it was the view of the town or the bursting magnolias that called him.  Not one for much introspection, he didn't think it was the promise of solitude, nor the opportunity to examine the various relationships in his life.

As he expected, the grounds were quiet. The old mansion was used by the university for special events.  Predictably, this evening, it's tall, bare windows were dark.  Remir felt perhaps the old place waited too, though for what he was unsure.  He made his way to a stone seat that overlooked a steep drop.  Below him was Providence, capital city of Rhode Island. Some city, he mused.  More like a sprawling, dying beast.  It was a creature of centuries past and as life marched on, perhaps it would have died long ago if it weren't for the few universities located here.  Feeling untouchable, as if on sacred ground, he had a sense of time rippling, of having certain knowledge of strange things to come, the least of which was the fate of this small city.  At another time this experience might have touched some vulnerable part of him. Instead, Remir filled his lungs with the cooling night air and turned his gaze to the blossoming trees that stood at one end of the large garden.  A large full moon, yellow from the last light of the setting sun, was just visible above them and the spectre of brown eyes came to him then, mysterious like this moon, something disappearing from his thoughts even as he struggled to hang on to them.

There was movement on the edge of his vision. Remir was suddenly, acutely aware of his solitude and the possibility of danger.  His attention focused on that dark patch of garden where he thought he had seen something, he held himself very still and listened carefully.  He could hear nothing but once again, something moved, silver and grey in the moonlight.  Remir was as still as stone as the ghost moved along the edges of the shadows, caught up in a dance only it knew.  When the apparition halted and turned towards Remir, the realisation that it was being watched came to it slowly, as if it were waking from a trance. The moon's light was strong and the rags and the dirt that seemed to be a second skin couldn't hide his beauty. A demiurge, out of favour with the Gods; or perhaps a fallen angel, stripped of his powers and cast from Heaven.

Remir swallowed, was shocked at the rapid pace of his heart.  He stood, wanting to know what would happen next.  Would the man approach?  Should he approach him?  Who he was, what he was doing in this place at this time, dressed like that, were questions that couldn't be answered, much less asked, at the moment.  As Remir watched, trapped in his uncertainty, it was as if the ragged man abruptly sensed danger.  With a swiftness Remir could hardly believe, he fled, long hair, white in the lunar glow, escaping the tatters protecting his neck.

Remir could suddenly breath again.  Without a doubt he knew without seeing: the angel's eyes were brown.
++++

If she were honest, Caroline would admit that she didn't like talking to Remir's other love interests.  Their relationship, however, was what it was and no matter how much she wished it were something else, it was best not to go down that path of illusion.  She therefore made it a point of honour to know who else the dear boy was fucking.

It seemed, he wasn't screwing anyone right now.

This gave her pause.  Completely unlike Remir to be celibate for any length of time. It was enough to make her seek out Michael and demand a breakfast meeting to discuss the situation.

The little coffee shop was at the quiet end of Thayer Street in the direction of Fox Point, the Portuguese community close to Providence Bay.  Upper clansmen and graduate students were its usual patrons.  Michael had been waiting for Caroline when she finally arrived and had watched with what she had decided was amusement while she got settled. After a typical coffee shop breakfast and inconsequential chat, Caroline was ready to tackle the subject foremost on her mind.

"Seen Remir?"

Michael shrugged and her anger rose instantly.

"What's he been telling you, Michael?"

"Haven't said I've seen him,"  Michael hedged.

"You didn't have to," Caroline grumbled. "So who's the latest obsession?"

Michael grinned.  "Caroline, he's besotted with you.  He'll never give you up..."

"Don't fuck with me," she sighed. "I'm not in the mood. Look.  I really don't give a damn if he makes his way through the entire campus. But I happen to know he hasn't been seeing any of his usual ... playmates.  Have you finally snagged him?  Has he finally figured out what it would take to have you?"

"Not likely," Michael chuckled.  But it wasn't amusement Caroline heard.

She shook her head.  "What makes you think you're so different from the rest of us?"

Michael smiled.  "Nothing.  I just know that I am."

Caroline chose to ignore the remark.  She stared at Michael, willing him to reveal what he knew. 

"Remir's not talking to me," he finally said. The remark was carefully neutral. "We meet, have lunch or whatever and it's as if he's in a completely different universe.  He can barely finish a sentence.  His attention is everywhere and nowhere..."

"And no longer completely centred on you," Caroline finished.

Michael didn't rise to the bait.  "I think he needs help.  Something is definitely not right.  God knows if he's getting any work done.  Can you imagine what'll happen if he gets thrown out of here?"

Caroline thought she might scream.  "They'll never throw his ass out of here.  He'll get warnings up the waazoo but nothing will happen to him.  Anyway, he'll pull himself together long before that happens."  She gave a frustrated sigh.  "Poor little Remir," she muttered.  "Okay.  Sounds like he needs someone to smack him around a bit.  I'll volunteer for the job and I'd like to say it will hurt me more than it'll hurt him but you'd know I was lying."

Michael laughed and Caroline was dismayed to see the relief flood him.  He said, "You're great, Caroline."

She only wished Remir realised it as well.
++++

Who are you?  Remir wanted to ask the shadow that followed him everywhere.  He would have a glimpse of blonde hair amongst the throng on the green during class changes. Emerging from the library late at night, he sometimes caught sight of a slim figure fading into the dark.  The man seemed to evaporate at the very second Remir noticed him.  Then, everything seemed unclear, unimportant and trite.  There were two people in one body:  a sensible personality that urged him towards the safe, familiar path and one whose entire being vibrated in sympathy to the elusive stranger.

And there was the problem.  The man was a stranger, an unknown quantity that should be treated with caution.  How was it possible that one look could unravel years of careful preparation and training?  That the teasing glimpses could so distract and unnerve him?  Remir couldn't believe he could be so easily swayed from a course he'd decided upon years ago.  Everything was planned, carefully laid out through increasingly uncertain times.  If he could step back from the brink, his goals would still be attainable.  Master the situation: during what he considered his lucid moments, this thought was his mantra.

Last class of the day found Remir standing on the steps of Sayles Hall, the site of his token humanities class for the semester. Poetry.  It would be pathetic if it weren't so ludicrous -- his life slipping out of control, as if he were some lovesick poet.  Laughable as it seemed, Remir did feel as if he could write poems at this very moment, reams of them to stuff his pockets and notebooks, all of them incredibly bad and adolescent and true.  He shook his head.  Instead of dwelling on such nonsense, he thought he should figure out what to do about dinner.

The green surged gently with students ending their day.  Remir started down the steps, wondering if Michael could be persuaded to grab a cheap meal somewhere. He didn't see Caroline until she was practically on top of him.

"Hi!" he said, hoping the cheerfulness of the greeting disguised his discomfort.

"Hi yourself," Caroline replied and Remir knew she wasn't fooled.  "What are you doing for dinner?"

"Hadn't gotten that far," he lied.  He let his gaze wander out to the swiftly emptying green.  He felt her gaze on him, her ice close to his heart.

"Have dinner with me tonight.  I want to talk to you about things."

"What things?" he bluffed, suddenly knowing how he should play this.  He flashed a flirtatious smile.  "Missing me, my dear?"

Caroline grimaced.  "Cut the crap.  You know just how much I worry about *that*.  I'm just concerned.  You seem ... distant these days.  We've all noticed."

She fell silent, and Remir was surprised, then moved, as he realised that Caroline was suddenly lost for words.  Somehow, despite everything, he had slipped inside. It was a place he thought he might want to be, with someone who really knew him and saw him clearly and loved him all the same.  Made no impossible demands and kept things straight in her head.  Instantly, he also knew, he could not be there now, but couldn't think how he would explain it to Caroline.

"I'm okay," he said.  "You can tell everybody," said with just enough stress to let Caroline know he knew exactly who 'everybody' was, "that I'm okay.  I just need a little time alone right now, Caroline.  You know how it is..."

"Actually, I don't.  Look.  Normally, I'd have to undergo medieval torture to reveal this to you, but I'm telling you now.  It's not like you sneak around.  I know who your other 'interests' are and I know you haven't been with any of them. So, what gives?"

"I'm a changed man?" he laughed. "And I never knew you cared so much.  You know

them all?"

To soften the jibe, he embraced her, felt her moment of anger and kissed her hair to say the things he couldn't.  When he felt her laugh, he sighed with amusement and relief.

"You're an asshole," she chuckled.  "I do want to talk to you, Remir.  How about coming by later tonight?  Late tonight?"

"Hmm.  Not subtle. But I'll think about it, okay?"

"You do that. I'll be up late studying but don't come by too late, will ya?"

She tightened her embrace, found his mouth and kissed him deeply. Unexpected heat engulfed them: an urgency neither could explain seared them both.  Remir backed away from Caroline, a slight movement but the distance was suddenly light years.  He still felt her in his arms as she turned and walked away.  He knew that he should call her back but instead, he turned in the opposite direction, not certain yet where he was heading.

Large brown eyes caught his gaze.  The young man was decently dressed this time, clear in Remir's line of sight and definitely staring.  His hair had been cut to his collar, washed so that it's corn colour was now discernible.  Every hesitation Remir ever had about him, every reason he ever listed why this preoccupation was insanity, vanished.  His body was moving forward before he registered the fact and the distance between them, to his shock, was decreasing. 

Remir was close enough to shout, did so when a large group of underclassmen came between him and his quarry.  At his shout, the man looked over his shoulder, invitation in his eyes and slow smile. Then he turned and ran, Remir in futile pursuit.

The green which only a short time ago had seemed empty, now seemed much too crowded.  He knew he should be able to catch his tormentor.  Though no athlete, he was far from being unfit.  Also, desperation drove him on; to have the man this close, teasing him by remaining just out of reach.  Remir was at the Van Wickle Gates, the ceremonial entrance to the university, when he abandoned his pursuit and consoled himself with the certainty that he had not seen the last of the infuriating bastard.  Slowly, he became aware of a thundering throughout his body which gradually subsided.  In its place was a sense of awe that the man could disappear so completely -- like rainwater sucked into dry, parched earth.

All thoughts of dinner gone, Remir turned towards the direction of home.  If he didn't distract himself somehow, the futility rising in his blood would strangle his heart.
++++

 The Met Café was the sort of place that viewed from the street, was not particularly inviting.  Those unfamiliar with the little bar often mistook it for a rough joint, a notion reinforced by its location in a deserted, ill-lit section of downtown.  Consequently, it was not a place many of the students from College Hill frequented. However if one were brave enough to run the gauntlet of deserted office buildings and warehouses, a friendly, relaxed atmosphere could be found at the Met. Remir often thought about his first trip to the bar, Michael at his side, the two of them slightly apprehensive as they watched the shadows between the buildings waver.  When they stepped into the Met, Remir decided that it was the archetype for every dive in the country: the drinks were a price that the poorest student could afford and the rag-tag blues bands that played there nightly were surprisingly toe-tapping, body swaying good.  Also, because Michael had introduced him to this grungy bar, it held a special place in his heart.

He had spent as long as he could in the grip of genetics and the subject provided only temporary respite from his preoccupation. It was a kind of lunacy, Remir decided, a feeling that made him reckless and uncaring and he struggled with himself, telling himself that getting drunk this evening was not on the agenda. There was little chance that Michael would show up, not rash enough to brave the downtown streets on his own, and that was both a blessing and a curse.  Michael would have nagged him about too much drink even though Remir was not in the mood to listen to any voice of reason.  While the sounds of bee-bop filled the small, grungy space, the cheap bourbon and sevens went down remarkably well. Pick-up attempts were ignored or laughed at and soon, though the bar was crowded, a noticeable space had been created around Remir.  In a place full of people, all responding to the lively music, he was solitary and untouchable.

Would the ghost go away, would Remir have his life back, if he refused to play the game?  What would happen if next time the mysterious blond appeared, Remir simply refused to give chase? A shudder ran through him, as if what he contemplated was an irrevocable end to something he longed for all his life.  He took another swallow of his drink to give shaking hands something to do.  The apprehension growing in his belly only convinced him that something drastic had to be done soon. 

It was a dream, an alluring one, but a dream nonetheless.  In his mind's eye, Remir saw the two of them as they had been on the green today, from opposite sides, a look held between them.  But instead of pursuing the man, Remir willed himself to walk away, not daring even to glance over his shoulder to see if the man followed.  He wanted to believe that he would, that he would feel that sense of panicked urgency that Remir himself felt at their every encounter.  He wanted to believe that raw, unnameable emotion would erase every other and compel the man to run after him, catch him and...

Bee-bop became slow, sensual blues -- music by which to dream of the perfect, accomplished lover, one who would know everything you wanted and everything you thought you didn't.  There was danger around the man, danger and seduction and something Remir was sure he couldn't even imagine.  For the first time ever, he saw that he was prepared to give up control and place himself completely in the hands of fate.  Just more proof, he laughed softly and bitterly, of his insanity.

No one marked his departure.  The little dive was so busy, the bartender couldn't spare a nod.  Remir left a generous tip all the same, threw the flimsy door aside and stepped into the night.

There was a closeness in the darkness that had nothing to do with heat or humidity.  Remir floated towards where he'd parked the car, thankful that the drive wouldn't be a long one.  An uneasiness threatened to overwhelm him but he battled it down, trying to let the night air steady him now that music wasn't throbbing through his body nor cigarette smoke clouding his vision.  The alcohol gave him something to hold onto.  He spotted his old sports car just as he became aware of footsteps behind him.

Remir was aware of the fact that he'd had too much to drink, aware of the steps closing on him and the erratic thud of his heart.  Hope and fear warring within him, he didn't notice that he'd quickened his pace, fumbled for his keys as if a part of him recognised a speedy escape would be needed.

Rough hands grabbed him before he could unlock his car.  The sensation of touch lasted for a blink of an eye before the punching and kicking began.  Instinct took over, aided by the fact that higher brain function was already seriously impaired. Remir found his feet, struck out with a fury nurtured by weeks of frustration.  His attackers were indistinct, shadows that moved with deadly speed and surety while his own motions seemed bogged down, pitifully slow and inadequate.  After his sudden, unexpected burst of defiance, Remir knew all too well that he was no match, even had he been sober, for these thugs.  His resistance became desperation as he looked for an opening for escape.

There was none.  The realisation that he was going to be seriously hurt, killed if he were unlucky, came to him as cold fact and the pain was penetrating the alcoholic haze.  One of his attackers doubled over and though he wasn't sure how he managed to connect with the man, Remir had a rush of grim, final satisfaction.  Their grunts of exertion were fading, the blackness of Providence night closing in; the pavement suddenly closer than it was a second ago.

From somewhere came a shout.  Triumph or surprise, it didn't matter.  Remir was then aware of someone at his back, aware that the attention of the thugs was no longer focused solely on him.  He didn't dare wonder about it but went after the man in front of him with all the ferocity his fading strength and senses could manage.

It seemed hours later, though it could have been seconds, that strong hands grabbed him and pulled him upright. Remir lashed out.  Cursing penetrated the adrenaline-induced fog in his brain, cursing and laughter that could have come from hell itself.  A pounding disappeared into the distance, punctuated by muffled shouts and howls.  Whether the sounds were defiance or threats, Remir didn't know.  His attention gradually came back to whomever held him, effortlessly, and it finally penetrated that this was no violent embrace.  A  silence fell around him, the stillness that accompanies a predator.

He knew he was bleeding but he also knew not all the blood was his.  His heart slowed, his breathing became more normal and Remir reflected that he had escaped more intact than he had any right to hope.  He could not locate the source of his bleeding and it vaguely worried him.  That worry was replaced with astonishment when he finally could see who it was that held him.

"You," he exhaled and found he could say no more. Exhaustion ground his bones to dust.

"Me," the blond said, his dark eyes crackling with a power Remir could almost touch.

Looking in the direction in which Remir's attackers had fled, the grin on his face sent chills up Remir's spine.  Despite the fact he didn't think he could really move, Remir found himself stepping back.

"Two-bit fucking *assholes* who wouldn't last a minute in the neighbourhood."

Remir shook his head, not wanting to hear that laughter again.  He vaguely wiped at the blood, wondered about a hospital and then wondered at his detachment.  The blond was watching him, not a thought betrayed in a face that was suddenly smooth and unrevealing.

"You're Remir."

At the words, Remir's heart threatened to explode.  How the hell had he known that? The question was on the tip of his tongue yet what came out was, "And you are?"  He was tempted to supply the answer:  you are my stalker.

"You can call me Greythorn.  You shouldn't be surprised that I know your name.  I've been watching you for awhile now."

"I kinda noticed," Remir grimaced. "Look, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to my room and get my bruises seen to."

Greythorn was eying the sports car with a look Remir did not like at all.  However, he realised he was in no condition to drive.  Greythorn turned towards him, hand outstretched and Remir couldn't quite understand how easy it was to drop the keys into that pale, deceptively delicate looking hand.
++++

Perhaps he's too far gone to realise just how long it should take to get up College Hill and to the campus.  His rooms are just, what, ten minutes away?  He's in no condition to measure time, however -- slumped against the passenger door and I can see him fading in and out of consciousness.  Wonder if it's the booze or his injuries?

The car is old, but responsive under my hands. Always did like fast cars.  The rush of acceleration, performing on the edge, pitting death against my abilities.  Daredevil.

Wonder if I dare tell him or try to explain?

"Hey! Remir!  You with me?"  I nudge him and those liquid eyes are upon me, focusing with difficulty. 

"Where the hell are we?  We should be on campus by now."

 I laugh.  "We're taking a little detour."

The "Oh fuck" expression on his face, worn out as he is, speaks volumes.  I don't care.  A sudden impulse and my foot is to the floor.  If I was trying to scare him, I'm disappointed.  He retreats into stupor, closes his eyes against the accelerating street lamps. 

"You'll live," I tell him and pause for a heartbeat.  "Don't you even want to know?"

His eyes squeeze together as if in pain but I think maybe it's denial.  There's a flutter in the pit of my gut and I know it's because I'm wondering if I can stand to tell it.  Let it out of the dark place I've had it holed up in for longer than I care to think about.  Maybe Remir won't care, stalked, kidnapped, hurting and completely at my mercy. Just where he wants to be.

"Ever been to Moonstone Beach?"  I ask him.

"Fuck yes!  But I don't want to fucking go there now."

I laugh at his vehemence but I don't tell him that there's no way I'd harm a single hair on his head.  My attention returns to the road.  It doesn't take us long to leave Providence behind -- along with whatever residual heat the day has left.  It'll be cold on the beach.

It's my favourite beach, I want to tell him and suddenly, I'm unsure about whether I have had the thought or the words have actually left my mouth.  No matter. I want him to know how the rocks intrigue me, the shapes, colours and patterns, formed by sand and pressure and left there for me -- or anyone -- to admire.  Used to be a rocky beach...

"I know," he mutters but I continue.

"...until the hurricane.  Shit.  Can't even remember what year that was..."

"Seventy something," he supplies again.

Seventy something.  A decade to choose from.  I laugh.

We will be there too soon at this rate and I pull into the slow lane to gather my thoughts and start the tale.

"Went to RISD for a while, you know."

"Rhode Island School of Design," his brain processes out loud.  "What the hell happened?"

I spare him a look.  His drowsiness has disappeared and he seems to have forgotten his bruises for the moment.  There's a light in his eyes that's hard to describe -- hopeful, an anticipation that now, finally, the mystery would be solved.  I laugh.

"Families happened.  Families and a love that my father forbade.  You see, Dad has connections and plans.  *Everything* is secondary to these things.  I made the mistake of thinking I was my own person -- especially since I'd made it out of the neighbourhood and out of his house. Knew I was smart, knew I was talented; fine arts degree from RISD was nothing to sneeze at.  Maybe everything would have gone the way I expected if I hadn't fallen in love."

Remir is looking at me and I wonder if he's even breathing, he's so still.  A conviction of rightness settles over me, the certainty that he has moved beyond the easy position of judge and jury.

"Familiar story," he whispers.  "Family obligations..."

"Are all well and good for a bunch of blue blooded cretins whose inbreeding stretches back centuries but 'family obligations' could be considered a little *much* in the twenty-first century... Unless your dad has ambitions and you mean nothing more to him than a tool to be used to realise these ambitions and the one precious thing in your life is Cape Verdian and from the wrong end of Providence."

He winces.  "I get the picture."

These back roads are unlit.  I drive them flawlessly all the same, convinced in my bones that I could do this journey wearing a blindfold.  I sense Remir processing what I've told him so far and wait for the inevitable question.  Once again, he surprises me.  He's silent, relaxed now, his entire body encouraging me to continue.  I slow the car even more.  Even having made a beginning, I feel the threads of my story threatening to unravel and disintegrate.

"Joachim liked to fuck.  Sound familiar?" I ask him.  When he doesn't rise to the bait, I continue.  "I don't know when it became something more.  He never told me outright, but I knew.  Knew he'd given up all the others, the clubs, the spur of the moment one night stands.  It would've been more like me to tease him about it but I didn't.  I pretended it didn't matter to me and he pretended it never happened."

"How'd you meet him?"  Remir's eyes are closed but I know I've got his complete attention.

"Had a job in the kitchens.  He sits down one day when I'm having lunch before my shift and starts talking to me as if he'd known me all his life.  A definite come-on, I think, and try to give him the cold shoulder.  Might as well have saved my breath.  The guy is bold -- so fucking sure of himself, I have to listen to him and before I know it, I'm laughing and talking to him as if we're buddies from way back. I'll never forget that about him. Still can't decide if he was just an arrogant asshole or . . . really naïve."

"Or really smitten."

Even in the dark, there's no mistaking Remir's expression.  My hands tighten on the wheel and I force the fear away from me.  I have been this way before but haven't learned a thing from the journey. Was I insane to go after Remir so relentlessly?

I don't let him see my panic.  I smile at him.  A moment's hesitation and he returns the smile.

"Greythorn, what happened to Joachim?"

Nothing happened to him, I want to tell him.  We outgrew each other and he's around, some place.  But that isn't exactly how the story goes, is it, Grey?!

So, I tell him he must be patient and let me get to that part of the story in my own good time.  A sigh of frustration escapes him.  He wiggles against the car door, seeking elusive comfort.  I know we're close to the sea now and roll the window down, sniffing for that first waft of salt-water air.

When it comes, it's like a door opening on another world and I realise I've been away from the sea too long.  The car is parked in no time.  I help Remir climb out and we head towards the water, lonely figures on the deserted, eerie beach.  The water ripples grey in the darkness, an undulating monster in occasional light from the stars.  Remir trembles slightly against me and I'm not sure whether it's from the cold or from the power of a world much older than our own.  I have a sudden, irrational desire to throw us both in, to be pulled down into the frigid waves, the conviction growing in my chest that we would only be returning home.  Instead, ignoring the cold, I start up the beach, facing into the wind from the sea.

Remir leans on me.  I whisper as we walk and he hears without difficulty. Understanding flashes: Remir is in my head, seeing my thoughts before I think them, seeing my emotions before I feel them.  The physical contact between us is only a bridge to something deep and intangible.

"We set up house.  It wasn't a conscious thing.  There were no promises of eternal love.  He just gradually took up more of my space, like some uncontrollable creeping vine. . ."  I laugh, shake hair, now damp from sea mist, from my face.

"He didn't have anything like a decent education and some of my more pretentious friends couldn't stand the sight of him. But Joachim was no one's fool.  I watched people be really condescending to him and he'd just be pleasant back to them, like he could see immediately what assholes they were -- not worth the effort."

The memory makes me warm against the relentless chill of the wind and I'm not sure that the moisture on my face isn't the tears I have suppressed for too long.  I try to laugh and the sound is somewhere between genuine amusement and a sob.

"The people who mattered to me loved him too and I set about the business of finishing my degree and he set about getting himself out of the kitchens and into a better job.  Between Brown and RISD, he figured he could find something he wanted to do.  Loved animals and of course, Brown has its lab animals.  I encouraged him."

I pause.  It had seemed so simple.  No one thought about forever.  There were no projections about years down the road and maybe Joachim and I knew eventually, it would not work.  But we had Now, every morning waking up to daylight across our bed; every evening falling hungrily into each other's arms.

A strong shudder coursing through Remir's body brings me back to the present and I turn us back towards the car.  He's quiet against me, compliant, and I have a moment of panic thinking perhaps I'd underestimated the extent of his injuries. But he squeezes me gently and the pounding of my heart eases a little.

"So your dad finds out you're living with another man," Remir guesses.

"He always seems to know everything about everybody.  Funny how I never reckoned that his resources would be used against me . . .  and I *knew* what he was."

I couldn't stop now.  So close, so close to finally letting it pass my lips, words I never thought I would say breaking through my teeth.

"I think the worst of it is," I continue, "I never thought to tell Joachim anything about my family.  It's the one thing anyone close to me really needs to know and I just never thought to do it.  It's all illusion, this cosy academic little world.  All of us waltzing around as if we can't be seriously hurt.

"My father told me I was a sick fuck and if I didn't throw Joachim out and come to my senses, there'd be hell to pay.  Or something like that.  He never pulled his punches with me and I knew he wasn't bluffing.  But I was here, in a prestigious school, living openly with Joachim.  *Out in public.*  What the hell could he do?  We fought constantly and then one day, he drops the bomb.  His 'business partner' has a daughter and Dad wants me to meet her. Time I stopped this shit and thought about the future.  And suddenly, he was on a completely different track with me -- talking about how I just hadn't met the right girl.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.  He went on about how I'm really more like him than either of us wanna admit; that my mother was a woman in a million and he thought maybe this girl was too.  Wouldn't I just meet her? Come home for the weekend, he said."

"Greythorn," Remir says and I feel it rumbling in his chest, "sometimes it's easier to be seen to give in.  Ever hear of picking your battles?"

But compromise, or even a hint of it, was the furthest thing from my mind and Remir knows it.  Joachim was right for me at that moment and the consequences be damned. Defiance was easy because I really couldn't believe I wouldn't have my way.

"After dancing around Joachim, I finally told him what was happening.  In retrospect, I suppose it didn't take a genius to figure it out.  He just shrugged and told me see the girl or don't. It's nothing to do with us. Marry her or don't.  It would still have nothing to do with us.  Fucking unbelievable how he could just put his life into compartments. . ."

"But useful," Remir tells me and the certainty in the words makes me unsteady on my feet.

We are at the car again and climb in, shielded for the moment from the sea's strong pull.  I wonder if there'll be a moon this evening and suddenly want to see it, low and yellow over the water, completing this feeling of being outside time.

"Maybe," I concede.

We are both glad to be out of the wind.  I feel invigorated, even if damp.  I look at Remir.  His face is smeared with blood and a grimace contorts his features now and then.  I feel his rib cage, none too gently and am relieved when there is no cry of pain. I begin to worry about internal injuries but comfort myself with the thought that he wouldn't have managed the walk on the beach had he been seriously wounded.  Still, a small voice urges me back to Providence and Brown's Infirmary.

"Did you go home that weekend?" he asks me.

I laugh.  "Shit.  My father and I fought like cat and dog all week.  I told him what he could do with his idea.  Told him there was no way I was meeting this woman.  Even if I wanted a woman, would I accept one hand picked by *him*?

"Finally he tells me not to be hasty.  Tells me there are ways to make me see reason. Think about the ones I love . . . Well, the threat to Joachim couldn't have been made any clearer.  I let him know just what I think of him and make plans to go home for the weekend."

There are tissues in his car.  Remir lets me wipe the worst of the blood from his face and suddenly, he doesn't seem so badly hurt at all. His dark eyes are serious, never leaving my face and I wonder if he's guessed how my story ends. 

"And was she the girl of your dreams?" he asks.  I hear the amusement in the question and chuckle quietly.

"She could have been.  But by this time I was so pissed off she could've been a goddess or an angel and I still wouldn't have given a damn."

"Was she interested in you?"

I throw myself back into the car seat and for a minute, I think perhaps the seat would swallow me up, hide me from his expectant eyes and question.

"She was prepared to do whatever her father told her to do," I tell him.

Suddenly, she is in my mind, as if no time had passed at all since that day we stood in my father's well-kept garden. Elise.  Not a particularly good looking woman.  She looked at me and knew me with a glance.  The recognition didn't do a thing to improve my mood. Our fathers had actually left us alone in the garden.  I felt like I was in one of those really bad b-movies and I could tell she felt the same.

"I began to think the two of us could face our fathers down.  I mean, if we both just said no, what the hell could they do?"

Remir smiles slowly at me and I realise that in such a short time, he can see what I, in my arrogance, couldn't. 

"Elise tells me she understands.  She tells me that when we are married, she'll expect nothing from me except discretion -- for my sake as much as hers."

"Very astute of her," Remir says. "It was the perfect, logical solution to your problem."

"It was shit!  It was a death sentence!  How long would it have been before we hated the sight of each other and just wanted to rip out each other's throats?  And if that didn't happen, how happy could either of us have been living such a lie?"

"Compartments, Greythorn," he sighs.  "You might have become fond of each other; even had children."

I shake my head.  "Yeah.  The sure path to hell.  What of Joachim?  What of the times when I'd know the thing to do would be to leave his bed and return to hers?  How to stop resentment from consuming me?"

I look at him and see disappointment in my inability to see the sense of his argument.

"You know, Remir," I slowly begin, "I can't help thinking that no matter what I had done, the outcome would have been the same.  I was destined to live this street life and I was destined to meet you."

I am not surprised to see a flash of fear in his dark eyes.  I know his thought before he expresses it.

"Hmm.  Before I decide just how I feel about that, I think I want to know what happened to Joachim."

I pretend to ignore his remark.

"Well, all weekend, Elise goes on and on, trying to get me to change my mind.  I try to make her see that we don't have to do this if we don't want to.

"I'm finally looking forward to the whole fucking horrible weekend being over.  We finish Sunday dinner and I'm counting down to when I can get the fuck out of there when Elise takes me by surprise.  Come for a drive, she says and since our fathers are right there, pretending to ignoring us, I agree."

Remir is laughing.  "She pulls out all the stops and tries to fuck you in her car."

"Of course.  The woman is desperate and I finally understand the depth of her fear. He'll put me in a convent, she tells me and I have to do a reality check to make sure I'm still in this century and hadn't stepped through some goddamn time tunnel to Medieval times. . .

"I try to argue with her that he can't do that. She isn't his property.  She laughs at me and tells me in no uncertain terms, just what she thinks of my stupidity and if I didn't think that we'd do *exactly* what those two old *bastards* wanted us to do -- one way or another -- I was out of my mind.  Did I think her ending up in some remote convent was the least of my worries? Did I really thing that while I was busy digging in my heels, my father was not acting to destroy whatever it was that kept me happy and defiant in Providence?"

I swallow.  My blood is running cold and that moment in Elise's car is as immediate as the reality of Remir beside me, the crashing waves before us.  I look at him.  His eyes are wide, the truth in them, and I wonder that he could be so shocked, that the ending hadn't been so obvious from the start.  But he says nothing.  Doesn't dare make this final leap that would answer his question about Joachim.

"Tell them what you have to, I tell her and then, I tell her to get me back to my father's house.  I don't say shit to him, grab my things, jump into my car and bolt back to Providence.  But of course, I'm too late.  There's no sign of Joachim.  Every trace of him is gone.  I'm meant to think he left me but . . ."

"It isn't true.  You never saw him again," Remir whispers.  "What about all the people who knew him? Someone can't just disappear."

"I did.  Then and there.  Walked out of my apartment, locked the door behind me and disappeared.  I've been . . . everywhere, Remir, feeling as if I'm only one step ahead of my father's thugs.  Only recently came back here.  Probably a stupid thing to do and even more stupid to stay."

I look at him.  Can he see?  Does he know?  Of course he does.  I wouldn't be drawn to him otherwise.  I can feel that thread between our souls and when he slowly lowers his eyes, so many different emotions shaking him at once, I know he feels it too.

"Sometimes, I get tired of running," I tell him. It's a truth I haven't let myself think about, much less allow the words to escape.  "But then, I think of Joachim.  I think of Elise and I just can't do anything else.  To give in to my father -- well, it would just validate everything he's done."

"But you don't *really* know what happened to either of them," Remir protests.

I pierce him with my look, with my utter lack of doubt.

"I know."
++++

 "I'm going to New York.  Been here too long.  Follow me.  Find me. I'll be somewhere in Manhattan."

But Manhattan's a big place, Remir thought groggily, and bigger still when looking for someone who doesn't want to be found.

His eyes fluttered and opened.  He recognised the Infirmary, though he'd visited it only once or twice during his undergraduate career.  What worried him were the vague memories of how he'd gotten here, like fragments of dreams that defied any attempt to fit them coherently together.

"You're just badly bruised," a woman's voice said. 

The doctor moved into his line of sight. Her hands trailed over him briefly as if to confirm her statement.

"I've given you a pain killer and I think you should stay the night here."

"How'd I get here?"

"A friend.  He didn't hang around.  Said you'd been in a fight that the guys who beat you up ran off after he joined the fight. Do you want to notify the police?"

"Whatever for?" Remir sighed.  "The fight happened hours ago.  Downtown.  The cops'll only laugh and say this happens all the time.  Can't imagine they'd be at all interested. . ."

The doctor watched him as he fell asleep.
++++

"Well, I hope he's at least talking to you . . ."

Caroline felt her heart stop as Michael slowly shook his head.

"No.  If I didn't stop by his room now and then, I'd never see him.  Books everywhere, like he's trying to do all his subjects at once. . .  Shit.  I think I preferred the old Remir," Michael glumly said.

"I see him in class sometimes.  He waves but puts off any attempt to talk," she sighed.  "I think I agree. The old Remir was . . . exasperating. But at least he was *real.*  This is a ghost we're seeing.  What the fuck is going on?"

"He does his work, eats, sleeps and goes away every weekend.  Every damn weekend."

Caroline couldn't hide her shock.  She had never seen Michael so emotional.  She turned away from him and murmured, "Well, perhaps it's just a phase.  We'll have the old Remir back in a while.  He's just . . . in a strange place right now."

"You don't believe a word of that."

"No."
++++

How far he could take advantage of the goodwill of acquaintances was not a question foremost in Remir's mind.  He had lost track of the number of weekends he spent walking the streets of Manhattan, jostled by the crowds.  No stranger to the city, Remir often thought of it as another home.  Now, however, the press of the people, the eternal pounding of city noises and the futility of his task all pressed upon him, squeezing his heart until there was only pulp in his chest. Sometimes, he took refuge in one of the city's many no-name bars, tucked away on some dreary Midtown street.  The refrigerator cold of the air conditioned space would numb him, the lack of feeling creeping into his soul.  Hard men, harder women watched him covertly, wondering what hurt emptied this one's eyes.

Sleep, when it came was deep and dreamless.  Sometimes he couldn't sleep at all, so aware of the weekend's approaching end.  Why return to Providence?  The constant internal argument wore him down as the answers he knew he should give himself made less and less sense.  Two people, in one body and the sensible one grew weaker by the day. Not so weak, however, that he didn't struggle to gather together the strands of a disintegrating life. 

And what was that life now? asked the other half, the one whose soul was incomplete unless in Greythorn's presence.  It frightened him, to realise how meaningless everything had become.  Suppose Grey was not in New York?  Suppose his father's thugs had caught up with him?  Suppose he'd found someone else to haunt, his attention and affection as ephemeral as himself? 

Sunday evening found him paralysed with indecision. He knew he should be on the road back to Providence in time to prepare for Monday's classes.  This time, however, he simply could not leave the city. The point of no return had been reached but he told himself that he could travel north Monday morning and arrive in Rhode Island in time for his afternoon classes.  He packed his car, said goodbye to his friends and wondered just where he could start, once again, to look for Greythorn.

There was a lull in Manhattan's bustle as preparations for Monday morning were made.  The character of the streets and avenues changed noticeably as the denizens of New Jersey and the boroughs wrapped up their weekend fun.  Cafés and bars were only half full as city dwellers prepared to slip quietly into the work week but Remir barely noticed these things as the old sports car slowly cruised the streets.

He would probably be least conspicuous amongst the young and trendy student crowd of downtown.  Yet something told Remir that this would be the first place anyone looking for him would go and Greythorn would realise this too.  Amongst the stylish young men of the west Village, he'd be most conspicuous, scruffy and poorly dressed as he was certain to be. But perhaps the West Village was just the place where he would be most likely to find shelter, if only for a few nights.

Maddening thoughts of how he had been stalked, of how it had been impossible *not* to see Greythorn everywhere, haunted Remir. Now, it was as if Greythorn never existed.  Perhaps the entire episode had been some fever dream and sometimes, riddled with doubt and fear, he wished he could dismiss everything that was happening as such.  He parked his car on the west side of town, by the Hudson, locked it and started walking along the river bank, heading south.

There was a time when the riverfront was dark, unlit and unsafe.  Now, piers dotted the banks and there were walkways stretching from the island's tip to midtown.  During the daytime these were busy places, shared by joggers, dog owners, rollerbladers and those who just wanted to enjoy the river.  As night deepened, the piers emptied swiftly, perhaps an indication that there was still a disinclination to be in these areas after dark.  The wind from the water was brisk and Remir turned his face into it, wishing that his troubles could be blown into the darkness gathering at his back.  He followed his feet downtown,  his mind empty of thought.  Eventually, he would be able to go no farther, standing at Manhattan's tip and gazing over the dark mirror reflecting a grey sky.  Perhaps if Greythorn were with him, he'd contemplate walking upon the water, the journey continuing until Atlantic waves rose before them like mountains.

But you are not here, he thought, suddenly stopping and moving to the path's edge.  He was completely alone.  The noise of the evening traffic was distant and the river's black waters flowed silently before him.  Remir closed his eyes and wondered if anyone would hear or heed his silent offering.

When he opened his eyes again, he was damp and chilled to the bone.  His movements were awkward, seconds ticking by before muscles obeyed signals from his brain.  The Westside Highway was mostly silent, the occasional headlight like some lost beast on the broad, empty road. Remir ignored his discomfort, ignored a small voice that said he shouldn't be here at this hour and walked on.

He could almost touch the stillness of the early morning.  The sleeping city hid itself behind an invisible veil.  The hairs on his arms rose and a warning tingle danced over his body.  In the best of circumstances he judged himself to be a mediocre fighter but in his current state of mind he presented no challenge at all.  For only a second did he think his sixth sense warn him of Greythorn's nearness. Something in the bottom of his belly told him a deadly power gathered around him.

A quick glance around revealed nothing and a calm part of him began to weigh up his options.  Though there was nowhere to run, Remir quickened his pace and was appalled when seconds later, he'd broken into a trot.  Whatever it was that he felt, he knew for certain that running was no solution.  The danger was like an autumn fog, everywhere and inescapable.  When a figure materialised before him, Remir nearly lost his footing at the suddenness of his body's reaction.  He thought he might scream in terror but was frozen as the shadow hurried forward.

"Com'on," it hissed, grabbing his arm and running down the path.

He was scruffy: Remir was astounded that he even noticed.  Greythorn's hand was grey on his arm in the not-quite-night of the city.  He could only wonder what Greythorn saw when he looked at him -- when he'd have the time or opportunity.  The joy of finding his love was quickly replaced by the certainty that they were in mortal danger and if it were enough to make Greythorn run, Remir could only think that finally, Greythorn's father's assassins had caught up with him. 

"Two of them," Greythorn was muttering. "Only two.  Why the fuck don't they show themselves?"

As suddenly as he'd pulled Remir into flight, Greythorn stopped, turned and pushed Remir behind him.

"Not my father.  Not their way of doing things.  Shit."

"What the hell is it then?"  Remir didn't bother to try to control the panic in his voice.

"Don't know.  But we find out now."

Remir found his hand on Greythorn's shoulder, as if the body before him was his only link to this reality.  The street was empty: nevertheless, Remir peered into the darkness, distrusting what his eyes told him.  He heard the dull roar of traffic some distance away.  The shoulder he touched was tight, like some wild thing under incomprehensible attack.  The man was ready to erupt and memories of that night in downtown Providence came back to him.  If he had to be here at this moment, threatened by an unknown power, Remir couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have with him.

He was unprepared for the strength with which Greythorn suddenly pulled him, jumping off the river walkway and dragging him along deserted streets into the heart of downtown Manhattan.  Just when Remir was certain his lungs would burst, Greythorn shunted to the left, into a narrow alley Remir had not even noticed. Finally, they stopped, backs straight against a hard wall, both trying not to breathe too loudly.

"Are we safe?"

"For now," Greythorn replied.  He didn't quite meet Remir's eyes.

Remir's heart was still pounding double time. Until this moment, it had been inconceivable that anything could shake Greythorn.  The blond turned to him, his breathing suddenly stilled, the wild terror gone from his eyes.  Something else was in them now, something that made Remir stop breathing too. When Greythorn covered his body with his own, it was not an unexpected move.  When the slow kiss deepened, as if nothing else existed for the moment, Remir felt his body respond instantly and was quite prepared to be taken against the unyielding wall.

But Greythorn stopped suddenly, his gaze lingering on Remir's wet mouth.  He pressed against Remir's groin a few times, as if to verify their mutual need then sighed.

"Let's go.  We've got to get out of here.  I know a place."

In something of a daze, Remir kept close to Greythorn as he trotted through the maze that was the Wall Street area.  The stillness was both a blessing and a curse as they slipped from shadow to shadow, Greythorn like something quick and feral and Remir trying to emulate him as best he could.  All the time, he listened for sounds of pursuit but hearing none, Remir began to relax and concentrate on the path and pace that Greythorn set.  His lover led him through tiny streets and allies he never would have found alone and a part of him was alarmed that Greythorn knew these dark dangerous places so well.

Remir vaguely recognised where they were when Greythorn slipped out of an alley into soft lamplight.  The scene jolted his memory of another time and place when Greythorn, unaware of his audience, had been captured in moonlight.  The lunar light had seemed to embrace and protect them both but this light stripped them, leaving them vulnerable to whatever waited in the night and there would be none to witness their destruction.  The dark grime smeared windows of the abandoned lofts would never reveal the secret.  West Broadway was dark and derelict, a far cry from its height, the days when this part of town had been the place to live and play.  Litter fluttered in the slight breeze, wrapping itself around lampposts and old trash left uncollected as humanity retreated.  Despite the heat of their lust, Remir shivered.  This place was disquieting, an undercurrent here even he could feel and it confused him when Greythorn lead them further up the street, closer to the heart of the throbbing blackness that didn't take one's sight but froze blood and stopped breath.

He wanted to escape.  He thought about his car parked somewhere along the river. He ought to easily remember where but he had lost those early hours and did not know how to find them again. The connection between Greythorn and him brought  the old cliché about thread to mind.  But Remir thought perhaps it was a rope around his neck and the only way to postpone the inevitable was to stay as close as possible to him.

No one who did not know of its existence would have found Greythorn's lair.  From the street, there was no sign that anyone occupied the top floor.  Remir followed Greythorn down an unlit corridor to a doorway that was only slightly ajar.  Greythorn did not touch the door but slipped into the black stairwell like a shadow.  Remir followed suit and panicked when the absolute darkness swallowed him.  A slim hand was soon in his and stairs somehow under his feet. The darkness was eventually alleviated by an old skylight covered by leaves or garbage, given the weak light that leaked in.  Remir bumped into Greythorn when the later stopped suddenly.  Greythorn put his shoulder to a solid door to his right and to Remir's shock, the door opened without a sound.  Greythorn grinned at the expression on his lover's face and then disappeared inside.  Remir followed quickly, the door was firmly, quietly shut behind them and when Remir looked again, Greythorn had disappeared.

"Through here!" he heard and crouched down, following the other's voice.

The hole in the wall was barely wide enough for him to squeeze through.  They were actually going into the space on the other side of the stairwell, Remir realised.  By the time he had wiggled through, Greythorn had candles lit, barely illuminating the large loft space. Remir licked suddenly dry lips as he watched Greythorn light candle after candle.  A quick check revealed heavy material at all the windows. Sunlight would never penetrate here but neither would Greythorn's presence be betrayed.  From the rear of the huge loft space, a steady drip of a faucet could be heard.

"We used the only way into here," Greythorn said.  "No more than one at a time can come through that hole."

Dark eyes hard and flat, his gaze fell upon something just beside Remir.  Two lengths of piping, long enough to be deadly in the right hands but short enough to wield quickly and accurately, lay near Remir's feet.

"Hold the fort.  I'm going for a wash."

Greythorn did not wait for a reply and as he slipped from the light towards the sound of the water, Remir lifted one of the pipes, tested its weight and balance.  He tried to think just how it was that he stood here in a place where night was held at bay by candlelight.  The material at the tall windows looked like old velvet, dusty, ready to mould, and covered in more cobweb than Remir cared to think about.  There was no furniture to speak of, a few crates in strategic positions and what looked like tauplin tossed in a corner where darkness began. The space contained a carefully crafted feel of being unkept but a certain order could be discerned by looking at the room indirectly, like trying to see spirits out of the corner of his eye.

Remir was aware of the length of pipe in his hand, the sound of water running as Greythorn washed himself, of the candle light that transformed the place and effectively sealed him in this reality. There was only this room and this moment, an instant of calm and safety.  There was also the terrible knowledge that a threshold had been crossed, a door closed and he had neither the strength nor the desire to look back with regret.  Or alarm.

"When I found this place, it really looked like the owners had bolted.  You wouldn't believe the stuff that was left behind."

Greythorn's voice was soft, like the glow that lit the place where Remir stood.

"I believe it," Remir answered. "When we came in . . . Didn't you feel it?"

"Of course I did," the reply was short. "Why do you think I choose to stay here?  It keeps others away and I make myself small.  Whatever it is, it doesn't notice me and it's damn good protection."

Remir thought perhaps something like that darkness could not be used, that perhaps it only waited and would snatch Greythorn -- snatch them both -- when they least expected.

Greythorn stepped into the light.  His chest was bare and smooth.  He wore sweat pants low on slender hips.  Perhaps at one time the sweats may have been white but were now the grey of never being quite clean.  Greythorn himself was in much the same condition:  cleaner than the phantom that had accosted Remir on the street but by no means scrubbed spotless.  His thick blond hair had grown, tumbling to his shoulders. Remir's heart turned over when he recognised the look in the dark eyes.  He swallowed.

"How do you make yourself small?" he asked. At the moment, Greythorn was as large as life.  He felt their desire filling the entire space, flood waters swift and strong and threatening the confines of the space around them.

Greythorn shrugged and stepped closer.

"It's a knack you learn," he said. "Convince yourself that you are no bigger than a mouse; that there's no reason in the world for anyone or anything to notice you at all."

"The power in this neighbourhood.  Grey, it's the same as we felt near the river... "

The statement did not produce a response from Greythorn, leaving Remir to wonder just what the man was thinking. Greythorn moved closer.  He was so close now Remir could feel his breath upon his cheek.  He had been stalked, Greythorn's approach like that of a cat -- careful, calculated and intense.  He reached for Remir's hand and took the length of pipe.  His free arm went around Remir's waist and when he brought them together, the kiss consumed them immediately.  When he felt Greythorn against him, moving with intent, Remir thought he would explode right then.  Greythorn laughed softly and stepped back.  He led a docile Remir to the tauplin in the corner of the room, removing it to reveal what functioned as his bed.  He spread himself below Remir, legs apart, arms reaching up.  Remir dropped to his knees, laid himself with a sigh along the length of the spare but strong body, closing his eyes in utter contentment when arms and legs locked firmly around him.
++++

If he would let me, I'd stay here forever. Completely sated, warm and dry. Listening to far off sounds of the city carrying on without me.  I've stepped off the wheel, stepped out of time as I hold him close and wonder if we can go again.  He laughs, understanding immediately what I'm thinking.  Or at least he thinks he understands.  Has he counted the sunsets?  Does he know how long I've held him here?

"We don't have to live like this," I hear him mutter against me.  "I've got funds.  I could get a job."

All of it would only help my father find me faster.  Besides, since I dropped out of life, I have no desire to return to it.  Not until I'm ready.  But I don't know how to tell him and am a little disappointed that I would have to.

"When I'm ready, I'll buy you the biggest house in Manhattan," I tell him.

He laughs.  "Sure.  Okay. But in the meantime?  This place is going to be too hot for summer."

"We'll have to get a place in the Hamptons," I shrug.

He laughs a little but it sounds forced.

"Don't worry.  The nights are still cool," is all I tell him.  There's no point in revealing all my secrets at once.

He doesn't reply, holds himself completely still for two beats of his heart.  It seems an eternity to me.  I know he's weighing things, trying to give himself reasons why he should continue to lie here beside me.  Maybe he's got a list of reasons why he shouldn't.

Whatever I think is stopped completely when Remir rolls towards me and wraps himself around me.  His kisses are slow and dissolve my worry.  I begin to understand why his many lovers tolerate the things they do.  I also know that I can and will demand of him what the others cannot.  I breathe deeply, my scent, his, and there's a little flutter in my chest.  Rising towards our climax, that something escapes and flies above these downtown rooftops.

We'll eventually leave this world we've created; walk the streets looking for what we'll never say, though I'll always know when we find it.  I won't let him take the easy way out.  He'll stop talking to me about money and his car; will take the crisp bills I give him without asking where they come from.  He'll learn and the harshness of the lesson squeezes my insides.  But this is my world for now and I want him here. When his dark eyes are upon me and a little smile plays around his mouth, all my doubt vanishes.

He wants to be here too. 
 

Like what you've read? Have suggestions or constructive criticism? Email me! tlyr (at) tlyr.co.uk