“I am hardly a girl.”

She stood there shaking with rage, watching this old man gurgle for breath and scribbling madly in his notebook. He held it up to her again.

“But you are still as foolish as you ever were.”

“What do you mean?”

Scritch, scratch. She winced with the labored sounds of his choked inhalations.

“Why else would you come here?”

“I came for your help.”

“I cannot help you.”

She walked forward even closer. Close enough to see the silvery trickle of spittle at the corner of his pale, bloodless lips.

“Can’t or won’t?”

She was right in his face. He met her eyes calmly with his own rheumy, clouded ones. Then he bent over his paper again to write.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes. I would not have come but for a good reason.”

“What is your reason?”

“Him. Do you remember him? That boy you all forgot and left there to wither in that house?” “Did you ever think that perhaps we all make our own prisons?”

She reeled back. “What are you saying?”

He smiled slightly and gestured towards the oxygen tank with one papery hand like a dead leaf drifting off its branch. She fidgeted in anger.

“He never chose to live like that.”

“Living is just waiting for death.”

She wanted to shake his frail and stooping shoulders. Wanted to yell ‘tell me you hateful old man. Tell me everything you know.’

“I don’t want your morbid riddles.”

“You sought me out. You are the one asking me for help.”

She slumped into a nearby armchair.

“I apologize. Please, I just need you to tell me everything you remember about that night. I need to know.”

Scritch, scratch.

“Haven’t you heard curiosity killed the cat?”

“Please.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“But you must! You were one of the first people on the scene. You examined the…the body. You examined him.”

“Violence writes itself on the body but it rarely gives us answers.”

She grabbed the arms of the chair in frustration.

“Then tell me. Tell me what was written on their bodies.”

His eyes went distant and she realized for the first time the cloudiness in them was due to the onset of cataracts.

“The man was shot in the head. So was the boy.”

“Yes. I know this.”

“There was so much blood. You would be surprised at how much people can bleed.”

She said nothing.

“The man was shot in the leg too. Did you know that?”

She shook her head numbly.

He nodded, satisfied.

“His leg was shattered by the impact. Even if he had lived, he would surely be in a wheelchair.”

“And?”

“And what? There is no AND.”

“I know you believe Warren Meers didn’t do it. Who did? You must have some idea, some suspicion.”

“I am an old man. And you are asking all the wrong questions.”

“What questions should I be asking?”

“Ask yourself this, do you really think you can save those that do not look for salvation?”

He squinted at her face, his eyes two black coals in his white face. His birdlike head tilted to the side as he scribbled on his paper without looking down.

“Ask yourself this, perhaps YOU are the one who needs saving?”

Oh God.

She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out his inquisitive, probing gaze. Fell back against the armchair and clutched it to keep from fainting. The blood pounding through her head. She could almost feel the vein in her forehead pulsing with her black thoughts.

*********************************************

She saw him one bitterly icy day in January. She was driving home from grocery shopping and decided to take a shortcut back to the Inner Harbor area through Baltimore’s seedy Block. There was barely any gas in the car and she cursed Riley for taking it while his was getting new tires and then forgetting to fill up the tank. She drove anxiously through the area, praying no shots would ring out. Then she saw him. Leaning against an abandoned brick warehouse, smoking a cigarette, ripped black jean jacket flapping in the frostbitten wind. She almost doubled up at the wheel, the memory of the Other making her stomach drop. She did not understand what possessed her to slow the car at the curb in front of him. It wasn't the way the harsh winter sun gleamed off his bleached hair and pierced her to the core. Punk was still enticing to young men and they all seemed to have the same improbable hair. Perhaps it was that shatteringly familiar look in his eyes. Distant yet hungry. Perhaps it was all the cold dark starving years. She stopped the car and rolled down her window to the chill, beckoning to him. He sauntered to her car and leaned his arm against the edge of her window. It was obvious what he was.

“How much?”

He eyed her warily. Undoubtedly noting her cashmere coat and the glint of her gold watch.

“Fuck off narc-bitch.”

“I’m not a cop.”

He stared at her, dark eyes burning her own.

“One hundred. Up front.”

“Get in.”

She drove to a motel with him slumped in the passenger seat, her head pounding with echoes. He pulled out a cigarette.

“No smoking in the car.”

He smirked and put the cigarette back in his coat pocket.

When she pulled up to the desolate motel, he jumped out of the car before she could turn off the engine. She got out slowly, her legs weak, her mind screaming that she was going insane. Her mind screaming with the Other’s words. ‘Do you want me?/I can’t love you/Put this on. You look like a whore/Not bad Summers. Not bad/I think you’ve seen plenty. Get out.’

“Stay here.”

She went inside the motel office and rented a room. They charged by the hour and the greasy man at the counter handed her the key with his fat, pink paws. Leering.

When she walked back out, he was standing by her car, smoking. He nodded at her.

“Lead the way.”

She did.

Unlocked the grimy door with its peeling white paint and led him into the dark room. The dark room of her mind. He flicked on the lamp and it flickered feebly, bathing the room with its dim glow. She turned to look at him. He didn’t really look the same. His eyes were steely grey not summer blue. And the hair was obviously shocked white blonde by harsh chemicals rather than sunlight and nature. But there was something there. Something that reminded her of the Other. That made her stop the car and lose her mind. The liquid languid drape of flesh over bone. The look of him. Both intense and careless.

He held out a pale, long-fingered hand.

“I said up front.”

She fumbled through her purse, her own hands shaky. Passed him five crisp twenty dollar bills and watched him stuff them in his back pocket.

He shucked off his jacket and the torn black tee shirt he wore underneath. She sucked in a breath as he revealed his white torso and the fading violet track marks on his arms. His eyes turned dark as midnight as he unbuttoned his jeans and slowly drew the zipper down. The rasping sound of metal teeth chomping down on her senses. He was nearly hairless except for the dark trail leading down to the thatch between his legs.

She grabbed his discarded clothing and went through them, looking for a knife, a gun, anything she could find to make this not happen. There was nothing. Nothing but a roll of condoms. He laughed.

“Those will come in handy. Classy lady like yourself…wouldn’t want any nastiness…”

“Please be quiet.”

He raised his dark eyebrows but did as she asked.

She fumbled with the buttons of her coat, fingers icy. He shook his head and pushed her hands away. Undressed her quickly and impersonally. Like a nurse with a particularly useless patient. When she was down to her bra and panties, she covered herself with her arms.

“I…I don’t…”

He drew down the straps of her bra, his fingers brushing her shoulders, and then her arms, making the hair stand up.

“You already paid.”

She backed away, sitting down on the bed hard when her legs hit its edge. He was standing in front of her, completely unconcerned in his nudity. She watched as he stroked himself to hardness and rolled a condom on. She turned her head away. Stared at the fake wood grain of the night table until it blurred, feeling sick to her stomach.

“Do you do this often?”

His voice was low and slightly amused.

“When I have to.”

“Do you have many customers?”

“Don’t usually get pretty ladies in fancy cars like yourself.”

“Then…”

His voice hardened, the sharp edges cutting into her.

“Usually men looking for something their wives can’t give them. Look, are we gonna fuck or what?”

She flinched and wrapped her arms around herself again.

He sighed.

“What do you want?”

“Could…could you just hold me?”

Before she could cringe at her own pathetic request, he was on the bed at her side. His thin arms around her.

“Like this?”

“Th-thank you.”

He unclasped her bra while she stiffened in his arms. Removed it and she squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation.

“Hey. Just relax.”

He stroked her nipple slowly with the barest brush of the pads of his fingers. She trembled and bit her lip.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Can you…kiss me?”

He kissed her breasts and the hollow of her throat.

“On…on my lips?”

“Sorry. I don’t do that.”

She could feel her face flaming in embarrassment.

“Oh.”

He ran his hands up and down her ribcage. She felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Before she could make a sound, his face swam in front of hers and he dipped his head to capture her lips with his own. Parted her lips and slipped his soft tongue in her mouth. Stroked her tongue with his until she allowed herself to relax, to tangle up in his embrace. He drew back with a pant.

“You…you kiss like you’re drowning.”

She choked back a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

“I am drowning.”

He stared at her in confusion and then kissed her again hard, crushing her in his arms. His skinny arms like taut steel cables holding up her falling bridge. When they broke apart, she stared into his fathomless eyes with wonder. He avoided her gaze, dropping his eyes to her chest.

“Why…why did you kiss me?”

He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking and gently rolling it between his teeth. She gasped and flung her head back. Stared at the cracked and water stained ceiling. He mumbled around her nipple.

“You looked like you needed it.”

“Thank you.”

He licked the curve of her collarbone in reply. She fell back on the bed and let him part her legs and settle between them. He mouthed a trail down her chest, to her stomach, darting his tongue in her bellybutton. She writhed and he chuckled.

“The lovely lady is ticklish.”

She brought a fist to her mouth to keep back the sobs. Remembering the Other saying something so achingly similar.

He licked down her lower belly, to the edge of her pubic hair. Rubbed his face in the softness. Then his mouth descended on her and she bit down on her knuckles. It was the same. It was completely different. This boy…this lost boy who was too gentle and thoughtful for his trade. The rushing of her blood buzzed in her ears, drowning out her judgment. She turned them over and rose above him. He lay beneath her, staring at her face in confusion. She rolled off the condom and leaned down.

“What are you doing?”

He pushed her away. She reeled back.

“I…I’m sorry…I just wanted…”

“I don’t do that. You can’t…it’s too risky.”

“I just…I just wanted to make this…”

“Make it what?”

“I don’t want this to be…sordid.”

He laughed.

“You want me to make love to you?”

She turned her face away from his smiling one.

“Hey, hey. I…I’m not laughing at you.”

She said nothing and he blew out a breath. Grasped her chin in his hand and turned her face back to his.

“Okay. How do you want to do this?”

“Can we just pretend? Just for tonight.”

He nodded and fell back on the bed, bringing her body down with his. She bent down and kissed his sharp hipbone. He bucked up slightly. She rubbed her cheek against his tip and took him in her mouth. He put his hand on the back of her head. Ran his fingers through her hair as she ran her lips up and down his length. Making him groan and shudder. He jerked, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat. She gasped around him while he gasped above her. It was the same. It was completely different. She was better at this now. And he…he was not her summer boy. But he was just as lost.

“Oh fuck. I’m…I’m gonna…move away…”

She didn’t and he came with a warm salty rush in her mouth. She swallowed before she realized what she had done. He stared at her in shock.

“You’re…you’re crazy.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”

He touched a finger to her sweaty brow.

“I think it’s okay. I-I’m usually more careful than this.”

She shivered.

“Even with the needles?” He covered a particularly ugly looking track mark on the underside of his arm with his hand.

“Most of the time.”

She flinched and he crossed his arms defensively.

“I could ask you the same. I don’t know what you have…how often you’ve done this.”

She whispered because suddenly there was too much white noise in her head.

“I’ve never done this before.”

He shook his head.

“Then you really are crazy.”

They lay on the lumpy bed in silence. Finally he turned to her after looking at the wall clock.

“You still have another hour.”

“What’s your name?”

He ran a steady hand up her thigh, between her legs. Smiled at her lazily.

“What do you want it to be?”

She looked away and stared at the wall.

“Could I…could I call you Will?”

Turned back to see his grin.

“You can call me anything you want.”

He kissed her breast and she arched against his lips.

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“Not my business.”

“You can call me Buffy.”

He laughed against her skin.

“Now I know that can’t be your real name.”

She said nothing, fingering a strand of his hair. He turned and grabbed another condom. Tore open the wrapper and took her hand placing it on his cock. She stroked him timidly while he nibbled at the cords of her neck. When he was hard again, she slipped the condom on him and rolled him over her. He braced himself above her, his muscles tightening and flexing with effort. She gasped as he slid into her and bit her shoulder. He moved like a summer storm, rippling inside her like the ebbing tide. Crashing his waves against her craggy rocks. Her spine arched and bowed as she rose to meet him. She closed her eyes, tears running down.

“Okay Buffy?”

“Don’t stop Will. Please don’t stop.”

He moved faster. Breaking the waves, breaking her open. ‘How many times do I have to say it? I. Don’t. Love. You. Not now. Not ever.’

She opened her eyes to see this lost boy staring down at her. She touched the side of his face with the back of her fingers. Wiped the sweat from his temple. His brows knit in uncertainty. He looked so unbearably young, her heart clenched.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You feel really good.”

He smiled and bit her lip softly. She opened her mouth and let him in. Let the past in.

“Fuck. It’s been awhile since I’ve done it like this. With…”

She kissed his neck and he groaned.

“I know, I know. Does it feel…”

He gasped and slammed into her harder.

“God, yes.”

When he reached a hand between their lower bodies and touched her achingly, she couldn’t bite back her cry. She jerked and shook apart around him. He moved deeper, harder, faster, gasping with her. Letting her drag him into her undertow.

He slumped onto her, still moving. Buried his head between her breasts and trembled out his completion in her arms. His sweaty limbs tangled with hers. She ran her hands over his slight shoulders, his heaving back.

“How old are you?”

He rubbed his face against her breasts. She could tell he was sleepy.

“Old enough, Buffy.”

They lay there entwined, the only sound in the room the ticking of the clock and the thudding of their hearts.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Last one.”

“Sure. It’s your time.”

“Have you…have you ever been in love?”

He laughed softly.

“It’s bad for business.”

“I’m not talking about what you do.”

“No…have you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“All my life.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm.

“Your husband.”

She stared at the gold ring on her finger silently. She was such a failure.

“Ah. Not your husband.”

She shook her head.

“Must be this Will.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For…for…”

He shrugged.

“No big deal. Been used a lot worse.”

Oh God.

She kissed him.

“Does he love you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

He was silent, sliding down her body to nestle his head between her legs. Kissing her. Made the past and present collide with four broken words. Making her give off spark and flame.

“You taste like summer.”

She put her hands over her face and sobbed out her orgasm.

When she awoke he was already dressed and sitting at the lopsided table, smoking a cigarette. He stubbed it out.

“I have to go.”

She nodded and watched him move towards the door.

“Wait. How are you getting back?”

He shrugged carelessly.

“I’ll find a way.”

She quickly got out of the rumpled bed and pulled on her clothes.

“I’ll drive you back.”

“You don’t…”

“I know.”

He followed her out of the room and back into her car.

They were silent during the drive. His fingers tapped restlessly against the dashboard, his eyes averted and staring out of the window at the darkness, the stars rushing by overhead.

“Bet your husband missed you at dinner.”

“He’s out of town on a business trip.”

“Oh.”

When they reached the desperate part of town, he motioned her to stop.

“I’ll get out here.”

“But we’re still a few blocks away…”

“Doesn’t matter. This is good enough.”

Before she could protest further, he grabbed the door handle tightly. She braked suddenly, afraid he was going to leap out of the moving car. He was out in a blur. She rolled down her window and called out to him.

“Wait…”

He moved cautiously to her open window. Braced a hand on the edge. She fumbled through her purse and took out all the money in it. Pressed it into his hand.

“You already paid me.” “I know. Please take it.”

He stared at her hard. His face taut. Then he stuffed it into his back pocket. Leaned closer, his eyes holding hers.

“It’s Jamie. My name.”

She nodded. He pulled out a crushed pack of Marlboros and lit one. But didn’t take a drag.

“Look…don’t come back okay? It’s too dangerous.”

“I know.”

He turned and walked away. She sat in her car and watched him moving further and further into the distance. Watching the glowing tip of his cigarette until that too was swallowed up in the darkness. She drove away, heading home, her lips still swollen. Her body aching.

When she found out her test came back negative for all diseases, she locked herself in the bathroom while Riley was snoring in their bed. Just sat there in the darkness. Shaking.

*****************************************************

She jerked when she smelled something sickening and sweet. Opened her eyes to see Dr. Travers’ butler hovering over her, his gaze concerned, waving something in a little bottle underneath her nose. How had she ended up on the floor? The butler helped her back up into the armchair. She looked over at Dr. Travers who was writing. He held up his notebook.

YOU FAINTED

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

The butler leaned over her.

“Perhaps you should eat something?”

The mere thought of food made her stomach roil.

“NO. I’m fine now. Just a bit of dizziness.”

The butler nodded and left discreetly.

Dr. Travers stared at her, hawk-like and penetrating. He motioned her forward. She walked unsteadily to him. His mouth worked frantically, spit forming at the corners. He grasped her arm with his desiccated, claw-like hand. She bent down closer, her ear practically at his lips. She could hear the rattling guh-guh of his throat. She almost stumbled back in shock when he spoke, his voice a scratchy, painful rasp.

“The answers are within you.”

He closed his eyes and fell back against the settee. There was nothing more to be said. It was at once a dismissal and a warning.

She backed away.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and she left the room.

The butler was waiting in the hall and showed her out of the house.

“Goodbye Ms. Summers.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed quietly behind her and she made her way shakily to the Buick. She pointed the car back to her mother’s house. The more she searched the more lost she became. Her search for him, her search for herself. It had become one and the same.

You are gone. I heard the car leaving earlier. Perhaps you are leaving for good. Perhaps that would be for the best. But that would not be you. I cannot see your eyes but I know them. You will stay and see this through to the very end. I fear it will really be the End. I sit here, in this house of dead leaves. You are the wind blowing through. But the wind always tears down the dead leaves and bends the bough. I am so afraid. For you. You know not what you do.

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