July 22nd, 2006
11:51 am - BURN Chapter 101 
First, thanks to Jen for noticing my expiration date was up. I had no idea. I didn't see 
a notification from LJ. Second, I was overwhelmed to find I've now been renewed 
through 2010! I wish you hadn't done it. I am so grateful to those who care enough to 
contribute to the continuation of the journal, but I promise you I would have paid it 
myself. I feel very guilty as well as grateful for your kindness. Cael suggested that I 
donate a like amount to animal causes, which we both support, to assuage my guilt. I 
will do so. Thanks again to you generous donors, your kindness astounds me. The 
animals thank you, too. Love, Brian 
 
***** 
 
 
"Do you know this man?" the agent, one of a different combination of law enforcement 
types from those questioning Brian, thrust the Time Magazine at Boyd. Boyd took it 
from him, looked at the picture of Brian, bleeding and in agony, and the magazine fell 
from his hands to the bed.  
 
"Jesus Christ," he whispered as his face lost color. 
 
At that moment, Brian walked into Boyd's room. He glared at the cops, and then saw 
his partner's pale demeanor and the offending periodical bleeding all over his blankets. 
 
"Fuck!" Brian snatched it up and whirled on the offenders. "What the fuck are you 
doing? Do you know how seriously he was injured? How he had to fight just to survive 
and he's still fighting? Are you out of your fucking minds?" 
 
"Sir, you need to leave." 
 
"No, you need to leave! Both of you need to get the fuck out of here. Now!" 
 
"Brian, I didn't... I haven't even let myself think about what it was like for you," Boyd 
said with a pained and hollow voice. Brian rushed over to him, taking his hand 
between his own as he leaned over to kiss his forehead and whispered, 
 
"I'm fine, I'm here. That picture looks worse than it was." 
 
"We're here on official... " one of the men tried to interrupt and Brian looked over his 
shoulder to snarl, 
 
"Get the fuck out of here." 
 
"We'll be back." 
 
They left and Boyd's face tightened into a grimace. "I've been so selfish, so 
concentrated on my own pain and on Lisette that I just ignored what you went 
through. My God, Brian, that picture... " 
 
Brian pulled him into his arms, as best he could without disturbing the complicated 
apparatus that supported Boyd's legs. "I'm okay, I'm just fine." 
 
Boyd clung to him, drawing in his strength, trying to erase that image of Brian in 
agony from his brain. Every little scratch on Brian's face, the gash on his forehead, the 
scrapes on his hands took on new and dire meaning for Boyd. Brian had lived through 
it too. The terror, the pain, the shock and then the fear of losing the man he loved, on 
top of everything else he felt. They held the embrace as long as they could and then 
Brian made him lie back as he said, 
 
"It's over. We're both going to be fine." 
 
"It will never be over." 
 
"Yes, it will. We'll always miss Lisette, of course, but the rest of it, we'll have to 
forget." 
 
"I brought all this danger into your life. Take Gus and get the hell out of here." 
 
Brian smiled. "Right." 
 
"I mean it." 
 
"Shut up, Boyd. Too late for that now. I think I ruined your life, you think you ruined 
my life, the truth is, we saved each other. This shit is all external to us." 
 
"You reached that conclusion with just one therapy session, huh?" Boyd managed to 
tease. Brian shrugged. 
 
"It sounds right." 
 
"Let me see the magazine." 
 
"No." 
 
"I mean it, Brian." 
 
"I mean it too. No." 
 
"Don't treat me like a child," Boyd reached for it but Brian easily eluded him. 
 
"Come and get it," Brian took a step back and Boyd shook his head. 
 
"You really can be an evil bastard." 
 
"I know." 
 
"Why can't I see it?" 
 
"Because it won't improve your life at this moment, Boyd. Maybe later." 
 
"Don't treat me like a child." 
 
"I'm not. I'm protecting you." 
 
"Don't." 
 
"It's what I do. Only not too well, obviously." 
 
"Give it to me, Brian." 
 
Brian sighed and tossed him the magazine. "I warned you." He pulled a chair up 
beside Boyd's bed, watching him stare at the cover photo.  
 
"Even like this, you're beautiful." 
 
"Okay, shut up." 
 
"It's true." 
 
"They refer to me as 'unidentified victim'. That's rich. I make the cover of Time and 
they can't even find out my name." 
 
"They will. And then they'll come out of the woodwork." 
 
"There's no story with me." 
 
Boyd flipped over to the feature inside the magazine. He gasped when he saw the 
photos of the High Museum before and after the bombing. An entire section of the 
structure had collapsed. It was teeming with rescue workers in the shot, and the 
scene looked like something out of Baghdad. "How in the hell did anyone survive 
that?" 
 
"Grace of God, I guess." 
 
A list of the dead was on another page. There were small pictures of some of them, 
including a smiling, beautiful shot of Lisette. Boyd winced, and then paused when he 
saw his own picture in a bottom corner, taken when he was giving the speech at the 
High. Beneath the picture was the caption, "Boyd Coulter III, moments before the 
bombs went off". The article described him as being in critical condition following a 
dramatic rescue just as the sector of the building where he was trapped began to 
collapse.  
 
"Enough," Brian pried the magazine out of his hands. "It's ghoulish. You can read it 
later, after you're out of here." 
 
Boyd didn't argue. Seeing Lisette, listed among the dead, seeing the devastation, 
seeing Brian bleeding, it was all too much to absorb. "I think I may throw up." 
 
"You aren't going to throw up." 
 
"Seriously... " 
 
"Don't throw up. You need those calories." 
 
Boyd had to smile. The nausea passed. "Come over here." 
 
Brian leaned in. Boyd held his face in both hands, letting his thumbs smooth over the 
scratches left by the glass shards. "They can't separate us, even with bombs." 
 
"Nope. Not even." 
 
"I guess we're stuck with each other." 
 
Brian slipped Boyd's ring off his finger and onto Boyd's empty digit. "I guess we are." 
 
They kissed, really kissed, for the first time since the tragedy and Brian was reluctant 
to end it. "Damn, don't promise what you can't deliver." 
 
"I want to go home." 
 
"Soon." 
 
"You'll have to step out while we examine him, Mr. Kinney," the doctor arrived with a 
small contingency of nurses and interns or residents or whatever medical personnel 
they might be.  
 
"I'll be right outside, having a smoke," Brian said to Boyd, taking the magazines with 
him. He dropped them in the trash in the hallway and went down to the ground floor, 
to the garden of smoke and cigarette butts.  
 
"How are you?" A pleasant enough fellow in a crisp white oxford cloth shirt, chinos, 
and expensive shades sat next to him. 
 
"Peachy," Brian erected a shield. Not interested in patter, not interested in being 
cruised, not interested.  
 
"Are you Brian Kinney?" 
 
Now his shield waffled. "Who are you?" 
 
The man thrust a hand in his direction and gave him a name that Brian barely caught 
and didn't care to know. He allowed him the perfunctory handshake and then the man 
explained, "I'm with Associated Press. I'd like to interview you about the bombing." 
 
Shield went back up. "Fuck off." 
 
"Was that you on the cover of Time?" 
 
"Fuck off." 
 
"Mr. Kinney, you're news. I'd like to hear your side of the story." 
 
"My side? Like there's more than one side? No, I'm not talking to you. Fuck off." 
 
"What are you afraid of?" 
 
Brian stared straight ahead, smoking. The reporter said, "Sir? Are you afraid of 
something? Are you hiding something?" 
 
Brian exhaled, refusing to look at him. The reporter tried again. "Why were you there 
that night?" 
 
"I'm counting to five and then I'm going to kick your ass," Brian said softly. The 
reporter frowned. 
 
"Mr. Kinney... " 
 
"One... " 
 
"I just want a statement." 
 
"Two... " 
 
"I'm just trying to do my job." 
 
"Three... " Brian ground out his cigarette, pushed up his sleeves. The man observed 
his tall, strong physique and hesitated. 
 
"Look, it's news. You're going to have to talk about it sometime. If it's a question of 
money... " 
 
Brian blazed over that remark. "Four, five!" He stood. He grabbed the reporter's shirt 
in his fist and hauled him up to his feet.  
 
"Let him go," a firm hand on Brian's shoulder combined with Homer's calming voice. 
"Let go, Brian." 
 
He did so with a shove and the man escaped, as Homer held onto Brian's arm as if he 
might follow. When they were alone, the older man chuckled. "You can't go beating up 
on the press, Brian. There's more of them than you." 
 
"They're ghouls. He suggested I might want to sell him my story." 
 
"He's making a living like the rest of you working folk." 
 
Homer sat down and pulled a cigar case out of his pocket, offering one to Brian. He 
took it, sitting beside him. Homer lit both cigars with a Bic. "How's Boyd doing?" 
 
"Doctors are with him now. He saw the magazine. Have you seen the magazine?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"Why can't they just leave us alone?" 
 
"It's news." 
 
"What did you mean by 'you working folk'? You suddenly are counting yourself out of 
the work force?" 
 
"I done retired." 
 
"Retired," Brian repeated, squinting at Homer's solemn face. "Since when?" 
 
"Musta been yesterday." 
 
"Kind of sudden, isn't it?" 
 
"Long overdue." 
 
"Did the plantation give you a nice pension?" 
 
Homer exhaled and shrugged. "Might say so. In a manner of speaking. The Coulter 
family took care of us. Generation back and Boyd's generation, anyways." 
 
"So what are your plans? You and Madam going to go on a world cruise or 
something?" 
 
"Nope. Gonna stay right where we're needed, with you boys." 
 
Brian smiled, touched. "Our house isn't that big." 
 
"Don't you worry about that." 
 
"Homer, we'll be okay." 
 
"I know you will. But for now, you could use a little help and so could them kids." 
 
"I can't argue with that. I'm just not sure how safe it is around us." 
 
"Not worried." 
 
They smoked in silence and then Brian said, "Thanks." 
 
"No need for that." 
 
"We'll pay you both, of course." 
 
"Nope. We're retired. This is purely family. Don't need your money." 
 
Brian nodded, too touched by that to immediately respond. They did have a strange 
little patchwork family, now, but it worked. They smoked and sat together quietly, 
momentarily content. 
 
*** 
 
"I've never been in love like that," Claire admitted to Petra as they sat in the suite, 
sipping wine and relaxing together, allowing Petra to talk about Lisette and cry a little. 
"I was married, yes, but he was the first guy to ask me and I thought no one would, 
so I jumped at it." 
 
"I did a bit of the same with Oleg," Petra admitted. "Where we come from, it's not on 
to be gay. Very much not on. Oleg was always there, exciting, not like the other boys 
I knew, and mad about me. So even though I knew there was something off with me, 
even though I even told him as much, we were married. I got pregnant once, and I 
think if I hadn't lost the baby, who knows if we would have stayed together? I'd like to 
believe we wouldn't, because it was the man Oleg became, as much as the woman I 
was, that caused me to leave." 
 
"He seems very charming. I don't know the word for it. Attractive and interesting." 
 
Petra smiled. "He is. A bit too much so, rather like your brother, overwhelming at 
times. But Oleg took the easy path, in my view, and a hurtful path at that." 
 
"Why have you never divorced him?" 
 
"At first, it was necessary for me to be his wife in order for him to emigrate. Later, it 
was a promise I gave him if he would leave me and those I love alone." 
 
"But what's in it for him? Why doesn't he want the chance to remarry?" 
 
"He has his reasons. Pride, for one. But also, a man like Oleg, marries because for a 
Russian man, not being married is a little bit of a failure. This way, he is married and 
can use that as a shield, but still have the beautiful women he wants, without any 
repercussions, because in the end he can always say, 'But darling, I'm married'." 
 
They both smiled at that male excuse. "I used to watch Brian live this hedonistic life 
and while I didn't condone it, a part of me envied not only his freedom but the fact he 
was so highly prized among his kind of men. I've never had that power with men. 
Brian was always the pretty one in our family, even as a child. But then, when he 
settled down, it was with someone like Boyd. Rich, beautiful, smart, sweet, and 
devoted. How fair is that?" She sighed and shook her head. "He finds the perfect man 
when it's time to stop being a wild child." 
 
"Brian and Boyd, they share a destiny. You can feel it when they're together. It's very 
powerful. Doesn't come along often." 
 
"But you had it with Lisette?" 
 
"I don't know how others saw it, but as far as I was concerned, she was the one for 
me. The problem with that appears to be that if you lose the one, you become lost. I 
feel half alive. I see no future for me, nothing to look forward to, no reason for being. 
Finding the one may be lovely while it lasts, but now I know the dark side of that kind 
of love." 
 
"Get through the grief, Petra. I just know you'll find the rest of your life at the other 
side of that terrible tunnel." 
 
She reached over to squeeze Claire's hand. "You're a lovely woman. Thank you." 
 
The telephone interrupted them. The front desk announced police officers were there 
to meet with Petra. She asked that they send them up.  
"I'll go out for a little while," Claire offered. "Maybe they'll let me peek in at Boyd." 
 
"Please stay." 
 
"Are you sure?" 
 
"I am. Please." 
 
"Of course," Claire said, some small part of her curious to see what happens in this 
kind of inquiry. Petra was less curious than cautious. She grew up with a very different 
impression of police than did Claire. In her childhood, the police were a dark force in 
the government. Everyone feared them. Their powers seemed absolute. It wasn't easy 
to let go of those deeply ingrained fears, and even now she felt targeted and uneasy. 
When the bell rang, Petra jumped, startled, and Claire smiled as she stood up. 
 
"I'll let them in. Relax. It will be fine." 
 
Petra nodded, glad that she was there, but uncertain if she were right. 
Current Mood: nervous




July 27th, 2006
04:44 am - BURN Chapter 102 
 
 
It was late when Brian returned to his hotel. He ate dinner off of a tray with Boyd, 
and then they talked until exhaustion and a nurse's little pill sent Boyd to that quiet 
place where he could heal and rebuild his strength. Brian stayed until he was sure his 
partner was sleeping soundly, and then he kissed Boyd's forehead and caught a cab 
back to midtown.  
 
Traffic never really ceased in Atlanta, but at this hour, it was sure as hell easier to 
travel the congested streets of the city than it was during the day and early evening. 
Brian realized he never looked to his left when they approached the hotel, because 
left meant the museum, or what was left of it, and he wasn't ready to sear that visual 
into his mind. He over-tipped the driver, too tired to wait for change, and entered the 
stark, marble lobby of the Four Seasons. The heels of his Prada shoes beat a natural 
rhythm against the polished stone as he crossed the foyer. Suddenly, 
 
"Excuse me, Mr. Kinney?" 
 
Brian stopped, already annoyed, as he focused on the man who called his name. 
Recognizing him didn't soften his irritation at being bothered on his way to bed. 
"I'm... " the man started to introduce himself, but Brian interrupted him. 
 
"I know who you are. I watch the national news. Aren't you a little too famous to be 
lurking in hotel lobbies at this hour, like some stringer?" 
 
The newsman smiled. He had a nice smile, dimples. "I'm staying in this hotel. I just 
arrived from New York and saw you there. Serendipity." 
 
"I'm going to bed." 
 
"Mr. Kinney, will you talk to me? Off the record? No cameras, no recorders? If you 
decide you don't want me to use anything you say, I won't." 

"Yeah, and the check's in the mail and I won't come in your mouth." 
 
"Unless you want me to." The newsman gave him a wicked smile, almost a flirt, and 
Brian had to laugh, it was so unexpected. He had heard rumors that this guy batted 
for Brian's team. On meeting him, Brian was convinced of it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 
that was rude. I have a sick sense of humor, and I know this isn't the time to display 
it." 
 
"Tell me something, Anchorman. Why should I talk to anyone in the press? How does 
that help me or the people I care about in any way?" 
 
"It's news, Mr. Kinney. Whether you like it or not, it's news. It's going to get reported. 
Your name and that of your partner will be mentioned. Sometimes, when there is a 
vacuum of information, news will turn on itself and start writing its own version of the 
facts, for better or worse, usually worse. This part of my job is difficult, but I never 
wanted to be a newsreader who was a talking head before the camera, but who never 
went to the field. I go to the field. It's what I do. I try to get the real facts. Not 
salacious, not embellished, just what happened. And the impact of what happened. If 
you watch my news hour, as you say you do, I hope you'll agree with that." 
 
"I suppose you're one of the better ones out there." 
 
The anchorman smiled. "Is that like ranking the members of a wolf pack on their 
killing ability?" 
 
"Not far off." 
 
"I respect your relationship with Mr. Coulter. This isn't about exploiting the gay angle. 
This isn't about judging you two for what you share. There's no wrath of God here, 
Mr. Kinney. This was an act by an extremist or maybe just a murderer. It's a tragedy. 
And nothing you or anyone else did deserved that response. Your face was captured 
on the cover of TIME to forever represent this horror. It just happens that way, 
sometimes. I feel that your story, yours and Mr. Coulter's, can give this terror more 
than a face. It can give this story a heart." 
 
"Why should I believe that you have any empathy for Boyd and me?" 
 
"Because I have a Boyd in my life, too. I get it." 
 
Their eyes met in treaty. Brian nodded. "It's late and I'm exhausted. I'll be up early to 
go to the hospital. If you want to meet me for breakfast in the café at seven, we can 
continue this conversation. I'm not saying there's a story in it for you, but right now, 
I can't think at all." 
 
"More than fair. Sleep well, Mr. Kinney." 
 
"Yeah. You too." 
 
Brian walked away, unsure what he would do in the morning, but for now, he just 
wanted to sleep. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen right away. His sister 
and Petra had both left urgent messages and he reluctantly went to Petra's suite to 
inquire. He was invited in and he glanced at his sister's floral robe that a slight quilted 
effect, and a lace-trimmed collar. He winced. "Claire, you're not sixty-five. Get rid of 
that thing." 
 
She smiled. "If you can criticize my robe, that must mean Boyd is better. He's freed 
your inner fashion policeman." 
 
"You're a repeat violator," he said as he slumped onto the couch. Petra was like a 
coiled cobra as she bundled herself up on a chair. She ignored their playful patter. 
Brian fixed his gaze on her. "What's wrong?" 
 
"The police." 
 
"Oh yeah. What a bunch of assholes they put on this case." 
 
"They suspect me." 
 
Brian had to laugh. "What the fuck?" 
 
His sister, out of Petra's view, gave him the big eyes indicating Petra was way out of 
control. He wondered what transpired before he arrived at the suite. 
 
"It's true, Brian!" 
 
"Of course they don't suspect you, Petra. Why would they? What possible grounds do 
you have to bomb a fucking museum?" 
 
"I'm Russian, I'm married to Oleg Dubrov, so I'm an easy target." 
 
Exhaustion, grief, stress had obviously played too hard on Petra's mind. She just 
wasn't tracking. Nothing she said made sense. He got up and walked over to her 
chair, crouching in front of it as he pried a hand free of her self-embrace and held it 
tightly. "Petra, you were there. You were in the midst of the bombing. What are you 
supposed to be? A suicide bomber who missed her mark? Look, they were rude and 
demeaning to me, too, and even to Boyd, for fuck's sake. I think that's just the way 
cops are, universally." 
 
"They seemed to think I had a motive to get my hands on Lisette's money! I don't 
want Lisette's money, Brian! I don't want a dime of it. I just want her. Do they think I 
would prefer money over the love of my life? What kind of people think that way?" 
 
"Cops. They hinted at the same motive for me with Boyd, Petra. I, too, reacted 
negatively, as you might guess. I've since decided this is just part of what they do. 
Maybe they look for the easiest solution first. Let's go with that. But no one suspects 
you. My God, you were a hero out there!" 
 
She shook her head and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I just did what I am trained to 
do. It was a mistake to call Oleg." 
 
"Maybe, but don't beat yourself up over it. He lives in Atlanta. It's not so strange that 
he would be here to comfort you. And of course they would have uncovered your link 
to him no matter what." 
 
"What if they deport me?" 
 
Brian was astonished by that fear. "You're a citizen, right?" 
 
"Naturalized. But don't kid yourself. That can be revoked. Has been, in past history 
with others. I can't go back to Russia. I have no life there." 
 
She had a whole set of fears that he knew nothing about. He supposed that made him 
lucky. "Girl, they aren't going to deport you. You're not Al Capone. You're a healer, 
and what you did in that disaster is worthy of a Congressional Medal of Honor or 
something like that. Put all those fears out of your head. Go to bed and sleep. Sleep a 
long time. You can't do this to yourself." 
 
She leaned forward to hug him tightly. "I feel so alone without Lisette, so unprotected 
from life. She was always so strong. Now I have no one." 
 
"You have us," Brian said, returning the hug. "And you're strong, too. Go to bed, and 
don't think about this shit anymore. Nothing will come of it. Nothing affecting you." 
 
She reluctantly stood and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. 
Brian settled back on the couch as Claire sat beside him. "That was nice," she told 
him. "You handled that well. I was having a terrible time convincing her of the same 
things you said. She was very defensive with the police." 
 
"She's just stressed out. We all are. Thanks for trying." 
 
"You look dead, Brian. You need to follow your own advice." 
 
"I know. I'm right down the hall if she needs me. I'll always be here for Petra, always. 
Without her, I wouldn't have Boyd in my life right now, and don't think I don't know 
that." 
 
"Can I visit him?" 
 
He shrugged. "Tomorrow maybe. It's up to the doctors, I guess. But he's so much 
better, thank God." 
 
"Really? God?" She looked hopeful that her black sheep brother may have found 
religion in the stress of this tragedy.  
 
He glared at her. "Manner of speaking. God being Petra and Bellamy and all those 
people at the hospital, and Boyd's own incredible will to survive." 
 
"And your love for him?" 
 
"For what that was worth," he stood up and stretched, after yawning. "I have to 
crash. Talk with you tomorrow." 
 
She watched him go, impressed by the man her little brother had become, even 
without a religious rekindling. 
 
*** 
 
Boyd was restless. He awoke to pain, not only in his legs, but from having to remain 
immobile. His back hurt, his hips hurt, his head ached. He wanted Brian, but he also 
wanted Brian to sleep. He thought about calling for the nurse, when he realized he 
wasn't alone. A man was standing by his bed, wearing the white lab coat of a doctor. 
But he wasn't familiar to Boyd, and the flat, black obsidian look in his eyes held no 
compassion. 
 
The man pulled a syringe out of his pocket. He inserted the needle in a plastic lead 
that fed into Boyd's veins. "What are you doing?" Boyd asked as a strange, hot, thick 
sensation began to spread through his circulatory system, slamming into his heart 
and making it difficult to breathe.  
 
"Shhh!" the man said, holding a finger up to his lips. "Just die this time." 
 
Boyd sat up with a gasp, as upright as his situation allowed him to be.  
 
"Shhh," a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back gently. "Lie back now, Boyd, 
relax." 
 
Homer.  
 
The heat in his veins was gone. His heart was hammering, but from the nightmare, 
not from a lethal drug. He grabbed Homer's hand and held it tightly in his. Sweat 
poured down his temples and Homer reached over with his free hand to mop it off, 
using tissues from a box by the bed. "Was there a man in here with a syringe?" Boyd 
asked. 
 
"No, son. You was dreaming." 
 
Boyd inhaled soothing, cool air as he felt the back of his head hit the pillow. His eyes 
closed, but he still held to Homer's hand. "Please don't leave me," he pleaded. Homer 
pulled a chair up to his bed and sat down, holding onto his hand as he did so.  
 
"Going nowhere." 
 
With that reassurance, Boyd could sleep without a double feature of horror creeping 
into his rest. 
 
 
 
"Well, it if isn't Jimmy Olsen," Brian quipped as the anchorman sat down at his table 
in the buzzing breakfast café.  
 
"Why Jimmy Olsen?" 
 
"Clark Kent's cub reporter." 
 
"To keep your insults straight, Jimmy was a cub photographer." 
 
"So does that make you Lois Lane?" 
 
"Are you casting yourself as Superman?" 
 
"No, Boyd's earned that honor." 
 
"Then I guess you should play Lois, right?" 
 
Brian had to smile. A waitress filled their coffee cups and said she would return for 
their order. "This is on me. I don't want to owe you anything," Brian said. 
 
"Fine, but rarely have I found a man who can be bought for the price of an omelet." 
 
"I guess that depends on how hungry he is. This is off the record, right?" 
 
"If you want it to be, yes." 
 
"I do." 
 
"Then it is. May I call you Brian?" 
 
Brian nodded. They paused to order. When they were alone, Brian said, "What are 
you looking for from me? I don't know who did this." 
 
"Your picture is on the cover of TIME Magazine, Brian. Do you know how many people 
will see that?" 
 
"No. Do you?" 
 
The anchorman smiled. "A lot. And they all want to know who is Brian Kinney?" 
 
"No one of any importance. I don't mean that in a self-deprecating way, it's just the 
truth. I'm not famous, I'm not a hero, I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at 
the wrong time." 
 
"Let me disagree with you, Brian. This is what I know. Brian Kinney was born in 
Pittsburgh thirty-something years ago to a union steelworker and a stay-at-home 
mom. Both of your parents are now deceased. You have an older sister named Claire 
and two nephews. You fathered a child out of wedlock with a woman named Lindsay. 
She was injured in the blast, but not seriously. You went to Penn State and graduated 
with honors. You worked for two advertising firms in Pittsburgh before going out on 
your own. You sold your business for many millions. Somehow, you ended up in 
Canard Rouge, Louisiana where your life changed. You were charged with murdering 
a local hustler and were cleared of those charges. Boyd Coulter III was your attorney. 
How am I doing?" 
 
Brian shrugged, fascinated by how his life was suddenly so accessible. "Go on." 
 
"Boyd's brother-in-law was later convicted of his participation in that murder. The 
Coulter family is very rich and very powerful, both in Louisiana and in Washington, 
because they control a significant portion of the domestic sugar production. Boyd is 
currently running that business while his father recuperates from heart surgery. Boyd 
is a divorced father of two, whose ex wife was killed by Arthur Hall, Jared Hall's older 
brother. Arthur was involved in some scheme to get Jared's valuable art away from 
Boyd. He shot you and might have killed you if not for an ex-cop from New Orleans, 
who was Jared's former lover. That former cop shot Hall dead in Boyd's home in 
Canard Rouge after he assaulted you. The former cop is now in your employ." 
 
"Fascinating little dossier there, Anchorman. Anything more?" 
 
"Oh yeah. You and Boyd Coulter are life partners, out and proud. You're converting a 
church in the French Quarter into a gay venue called 'Burn'. You two have acquired an 
old mansion in the Marigny. Boyd decided to donate Jared's art to the High Museum. 
This is why you were gathered here in Atlanta. And here is where things go dark." 
 
Brian stirred a packet of Splenda into his coffee and smiled at the anchorman. It was 
not a welcoming smile. "Who the fuck are you to poke around in my life that way?" 
 
"Brian, I'm a newsman. It's what I do. I gather the news. And you're news. This is a 
big story. Is it terrorism? Is it a strike against gays or African Americans? Or is it 
something smaller but equally sinister? Who burned Boyd's house in Canard Rouge to 
the ground and why? Why is Bellamy Beaufort Boyd's friend? Is there truth to the 
rumor that Boyd is sending out signals that Bellamy would make a good Senator from 
Louisiana, replacing the man who has been so true to the cause of sugar for so many 
decades? Why? Why has Oleg Dubrov, a reputed Russian mafia kingpin, been seen at 
the hospital? And who stands to gain from this tragedy?" 
 
Brian leaned back as their meals arrived, but he didn't reach for his fork. "This is what 
I know. I nearly lost the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with. He's still on a 
long road to recovery. We don't yet know the extent of his damage. His sister, whom 
we both adored and who was a prominent attorney in New Orleans, was killed, along 
with a lot of people we don't know, but who also matter. This isn't news to us. This is 
personal. This hurts." 
 
"News often hurts someone, Brian. It's the nature of the beast and I'm so sorry. This 
time it's you and people you care about. The story will get reported. I'd like to report 
it accurately." 
 
"I can't answer any of your questions, because I don't know the answer. Boyd and I 
have been harassed by fag bashers ever since we met and fell. Some worse than 
others. We've had threats, we had a fire, we have the Holy Rollers in New Orleans on 
our necks, and his family... well, they make me appreciate my own, and that's saying 
something. Let me tell you one story that came out of this, and you can use it and 
attribute it. I want to tell you about someone who's a true hero. Someone who lost 
the love of her life in the blast, but still risked her own life to save Boyd. She did save 
Boyd. He would be dead today if not for her. I want to tell you about Petra Dubrova, 
and I want you to make sure this story hits the air." 
 
The anchorman nodded, and sat back, letting Brian talk. 
Current Mood: tired






July 30th, 2006
06:53 pm - BURN Chapter 103 
Sorry, Burniacs, have had a summer cold and sore throat which slowed me down. But 
here's the latest and enjoy Gale on Deadwood tonight! 
 
**** 
 
 
 
Homer, Claire and Boyd all watched from Boyd's hospital room. 
 
Oleg watched alone in his penthouse at the top of a high rise overlooking Peachtree 
Street and Highway 400.  
 
Bellamy and Daphne watched with Ted and Frank in Bellamy's house in New Orleans. 
 
Lady Pearl watched from the hotel on Chartre Street in the Quarter. 
 
Charles and Moody watched from Savannah. 
 
Bo and Charlene watched from her place, surrounded by dogs. 
 
Lindsay, Jane and Madam Dhue watched from the house in Marigny after making sure 
the kids were settled in front of a Disney movie in another room. 
 
The Pittsburgh gang gathered at Debbie's to watch. 
 
And in Canard Rouge, at the plantation, the Coulters and their daughter, Luann, 
watched the screen in a downstairs drawing room. 
 
Across America, and even the world, others who didn't know anyone connected with 
the program watched, drawn by the drama.  
 
The program was broadcast from the network's studios in Atlanta. It took some work 
for Brian to convince Petra to do the interview and she agreed only if he would go on 
with her. Now he felt like an idiot. He wasn't what he would call "camera ready", 
feeling pale, sleep deprived, thin and nervous. His face was still scratched up, 
especially the gash on his forehead. Petra wore a simple black dress and, to Brian, she 
looked lovely. The Anchorman introduced them by flashing a screen-sized close up of 
the TIME Magazine cover as he said, 
 
"You may have seen him as the unnamed victim on the cover of TIME Magazine, 
representing the horror of the bombing of the High Museum in Atlanta, Georgia. 
Tonight, we put a name with that face. With us in our Atlanta studios is Brian Kinney, 
the man on the cover of TIME, and Dr. Petra Dubrova, one of the heroes of this 
disaster. Welcome, Mr. Kinney and Dr. Dubrova." 
 
They nodded, neither of them speaking. The Anchorman said, 
 
"Mr. Kinney, the cuts on your face witness the ordeal. Were you seriously injured?" 
 
"No, superficial. I was lucky. Shattered glass cut me up a little, but nothing serious." 
 
"He had a concussion," Petra interrupted. "He was knocked out for a period of time. 
Head injuries are never completely minor." 
 
"It was nothing," Brian countered. The Anchorman said, 
 
"What do you remember before the blast?" 
 
"Walking, waving to my partner, and then I recall waking up in the grass. That's it. No 
boom, no flash, nothing." 
 
"And you, Doctor?" 
 
"I remember a flash, but the noise was confused. I'm not sure if it was the sound of 
the explosion or of the building crumbling, it all flows together in my mind." 
 
"You two were there together, is that right?" 
 
"We were there with a group of friends," Brian corrected him.  
 
"But all of your friends were not so lucky, isn't that true?" 
 
Brian reached over and squeezed Petra's hand. "My partner, Boyd, was nearly killed, 
only Petra's medical assistance and the bravery of the rescue team saved him. His 
sister, Lisette, who was Petra's partner, didn't survive." 
 
"By the time I was able to reach Lisette, she was already gone," Petra said softly. 
"Boyd was crushed from the thighs down by a fallen section of the building. They cut a 
small opening so I could go in and help him. In a crush syndrome accident, prompt 
medical assistance can save a life. I knew that, any doctor knows that." 
 
Brian glanced at her, still holding her hand. "It wasn't quite that simple. The wall 
crushing Boyd, the same cave in that killed Lisette, was unstable. The experts knew it 
could collapse completely at any moment, and Petra knew that too. When she went 
down there, to help Boyd, she was risking her life." 
 
"Can you describe the scene for us, Doctor?" The Anchorman asked. As she spoke, the 
camera switched from showing Petra speaking to showing scenes of the devastation. 
 
"It was quite dark and very dusty, difficult to see and to breathe. I went to Lisette, 
first, but it was obvious that I was too late. She had been conscious for a little while, 
able to talk to her brother, but not for long. When I reached her, she had passed." 
 
"How long had you two been together?" 
 
Petra looked solemn as she said, "A lifetime. Boyd was alert, and in critical condition. 
The more muscles that are compressed and the longer they remain under 
compression, the more dangerous the condition. That was enhanced by the fact the 
wall was so unstable. There were no other survivors within reach." 
 
"What were you able to do?" 
 
"I treated his pain and gave him preventive measures against the natural reaction of 
the body when the compression is removed, which can cause heart or renal failure. I 
replaced fluids and tried to combat shock." 
 
"More than once they wanted her to get out of there, but she refused to leave him," 
Brian added. She smiled at him. 
 
"They wouldn't allow Brian to join us or he would have." 
 
"How long were you there?" 
 
"Over an hour. Maybe longer. The orderly plan to remove Boyd from the rubble went 
awry when the instability of the building began to increase. Some very brave rescue 
workers came down quickly and we just pulled him from the wreckage as soon as they 
could cut through a section of cement. It wasn't ideal with his injuries, but we had no 
choice." 
 
"They told Petra to go topside before they began to cut the cement because they knew 
the whole thing could collapse, but she refused," Brian said. 
 
"Because the moment that he was extracted was a critical time for him, for any crush 
victim. The pain and bleeding that is mitigated by the pressure comes soaring back 
when the crushing mechanism is removed. I had to be there. If he was going to face a 
life and death crisis, this was the most likely time." 
 
"Can you describe what happened?" 
 
"It was a bit confusing. The rescue workers were very agitated. When they cut the 
wall, it began to shift. They pulled Boyd out, and just in time. He was strapped to a 
stretcher and we all hurried towards the entrance they had opened. It required a climb 
and handing the stretcher up to people waiting on the surface. It was very difficult and 
these rescue workers were so strong and determined, even as the building began to 
collapse." 
 
The graphic illustration showed a red arrow where the rescue team found Boyd and 
pulled him out before the collapse. The building was completely collapsed in the 
picture being shown. By now, much of that wreckage had been moved so the bodies 
could be located and extracted. 
 
"Did the entire rescue team make it out?" 
 
"Yes. One man was injured, but he's recovering well." 
 
"Where were you at this time, Mr. Kinney?" 
 
"I was standing as close to that portal as they would let me go. I heard the building 
give and saw it begin to cave in, and I just knew they were lost. And then I saw a 
rescue worker's helmet pop out of that hole, and he was dragging a stretcher. They 
were all covered in white dust, from the cement. Like ghosts. I couldn't recognize 
anyone except Boyd, mainly because he was the one on the stretcher. The injured 
rescue team person was on the ground and Petra was assisting him as the doctors 
took over with Boyd. But I didn't see her, I didn't know she made it, because by now 
the entire section of the structure had collapsed." 
 
"Were you able to speak with your partner?" 
 
"For one second. Then they put him in the ambulance and I followed in a car. He was 
barely conscious by then." 
 
"I want to compliment the staff at Emory Hospital for their superior treatment of the 
trauma patients," Petra said. "The hyperbaric chamber that Emory has on premise 
probably saved Boyd from having at least one limb amputated. It's an excellent 
facility." 
 
"I just want to emphasize that the doctors at Emory are all in agreement, if Petra 
hadn't been there, even if they got Boyd out, he would have more than likely died 
from the extent of his injuries. He had a very rough first few days, we almost lost him 
more than once." 
 
"And now?" 
 
Brian smiled. "He'll make it. He's strong and he's brave. He's a fighter." 
 
"We wish him well, and thank you both for coming here tonight, and thank you, Dr. 
Dubrova, for your courage and your healing. Please accept all of our sympathies for 
your loss." 
 
She nodded and they were able to leave as the Anchorman moved on to other aspects 
of the bombing. Freed of his microphone and the lights, Brian called Boyd's room. 
 
"Well?" he requested a review. 
 
Boyd chuckled. "Tell Petra I'm only too happy to give her the opportunity to be a hero 
on national television." 
 
"I think I might pass on that. Still raw nerves around here. How did I look?" 
 
"Kind of scrawny, but cute." 
 
"Scrawny? Look who's talking, gimp!" 
 
"How does it feel to be a movie star?" 
 
"I'm sure you're going to find out when they start pecking at you." 
 
"Are you coming over here?" 
 
"I'm on my way. We both are." 
 
"Brian, I'm sorry." 
 
"For?" 
 
"For what I put you both through." 
 
"Yeah, it was pretty inconsiderate of you, you attention grabbing whore." 
 
"What if I promise to never do it again?" 
 
"That sounds like a plan." 
 
"I love you." 
 
"Yeah, yeah, sure you do. Who else would put up with a man half covered in plaster?" 
 
"Not until tomorrow. Brian?" 
 
"What?" he slipped into the back of the limo provided by the network, following Petra 
inside.  
 
"Don't get cute with that hot anchorman. I heard he's gay." 
 
Brian smiled. "No, I wouldn't want him to use my body to get the story." 
 
"The hell you wouldn't." 
 
"He's got a Boyd at home. He told me that." 
 
"So?" 
 
"So those of us lucky enough to have Boyd's at home don't get cute with each other." 
 
"That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." 
 
"How pathetic is that?" 
 
"Pretty. Hurry. I miss you." 
 
"On my way." He hung up and rested a hand on Petra's knee. "How are you holding 
up?" 
 
She was staring out the opposite window as Atlanta sped by, as if hearing nothing, 
seeing nothing. "It's so final, Brian. We talk about it as if it were all part of history, 
and I suppose it is. But just as every historical tragedy leaves behind broken hearts, 
so did this one. And mine is one." 
 
"I know," he slipped his arm around her and squeezed her shoulders gently. "I know." 
She let her head dip to his shoulder and he held to her as they drove in somber 
silence. 
 
*** 
 
In Canard Rouge, a chorus of bull frogs began to harmonize in the swamp. A crane 
whooped for its mate. Insects droned in the increasing darkness, confirming their 
community. Inside the walls of the plantation, it was very quiet as Boyd's mother 
muted the sound on the television. 
 
Her husband dabbed at his eyes. "What a way for Lisette to be remembered. Spoken 
of by that foreign woman, the whole world and by that I mean the whole god damned 
world, hearing the truth about two of our children. The humiliation. I can just hear the 
buzz on the phone lines right now. All of our so-called friends calling each other to 
crow about the queer Coulter offspring and what did those folks do to raise two of 
them? I wonder that myself. What did we do wrong?" 
 
"Do shut up, Daddy," his wife insisted. "We have much bigger issues to consider than 
whether the riff raff at the country club is gossiping about who our children choose to 
sleep with." 
 
Luann snuffled at that, wondering what they would think of her little tryst with 
Bellamy. Yes, girls and boys, there were more scandalous pairings than boys with 
boys and girls with girls. There was a blonde from a deeply Southern family tumbling 
with a black voodoo king from New Orleans. If only they knew. They viewed Bellamy 
as a political threat. It wouldn't enter their minds that Luann might view him slightly 
differently. 
 
"Slept with," Luann corrected her. "Lisette is sleeping with the fishes now, as they 
say." 
 
"Don't be coarse." 
 
"What's coarse about that? It's true." 
 
"Well, we certainly heard that Boyd isn't sharing her fate, now didn't we? It sounds 
like he's well on the road to recovery." The mother gave the daughter a withering 
glare. 
 
"At least we have that, praise God," her husband said in a voice thick with emotion. 
"And here I am, too useless to even be able to see the boy. Thank goodness Homer is 
with him." His wife hadn't yet told him of Homer's defection, still believing she could 
lure the Dhues back where they belonged. 
 
"You say that like Boyd hasn't tried to destroy this family, Daddy. What's wrong with 
you?" His wife insisted. "Those happy pills have made you soft. Don't become maudlin 
over your dear son. He's the same one trying to make a patsy of you to the entire 
industry, and beyond. He's the same one who is trying to ruin us financially." 
 
He glared at her. "Yes, I didn't want Boyd to run the company into the ground, 
woman. That's true. And it's obvious he doesn't have the sense God gave a goose 
about his relationships or his business acumen. But didn't losing Lisette and almost 
losing Boyd cause you to look at that shit related to the mills in a different light?" 
 
"What it made me realize is if that Russian sow hadn't interfered, all of our troubles 
would be behind us. And we'd have Boyd's children here where they belong, not in a 
house with two men living in sin. And don't you dare look at me that way. The only 
difference between you and me, is that I'm willing to speak the truth while you're 
hiding being some false sentimentality." 
 
Boyd's father leaned back against the pillow fluffed behind his head on the sofa where 
he reclined. He stared at his wife as if trying to identify her. "I always knew you were 
made of ice, but my God, woman, that's your only son you're talking about." 
 
"I'm too old and too accustomed to this life to suddenly live in shame and poverty, 
and I'm not hypocritical enough to act otherwise." 
 
"Shame and poverty? What poverty? Even if the mills bellied up, we have enough 
money to live out your dried up remaining years like kings and queens, you crazy old 
bitch." 
 
"You are more naïve than I feared, if you believe that." 
 
"What do you think Boyd would do? Steal our money from us?" 
 
"Of course he would. He and that fortune hunter piece of trash he's let into his life and 
the lives of his children." 
 
"You know, woman, maybe the mistake we made is when we cut those children out of 
our lives when they disappointed us with the way they are. I mean the fact they're, 
well, not normal. Maybe we should have been more modern in how we look at those 
things. The world has changed since we were young." 
 
"Is this what happens to you when you face your own mortality? You get weepy and 
sentimental and liberal? Not me. I want those children out of that environment and I 
want that man from Pennsylvania out of our lives completely. With or without Boyd." 
 
She looked past him at her daughter, who met her mother's stare with one that was 
equally serpentine. Outside, an alligator grunted. The still water of the bayou splashed 
beneath his weight as he pulled a wandering raccoon into a death spiral, living out the 
cruel beauty of the swamp. 
 
***  
 
After everyone else left, Boyd and Brian were alone. Boyd motioned for him to sit on 
the side of his bed. Brian did so, mindful of Boyd's legs, his arm spread across his 
pillow. Boyd smiled as he began to unbuckle Brian's belt.  
 
"What are you doing?" Brian asked, covering his hand with his own. Boyd shook it off. 
The belt fell open and he unhooked the button on his fly and started lowering his 
zipper. Brian stared at him with a shocked expression. "You can't be serious." 
 
"I want to see it." 
 
"It hasn't changed." 
 
"I want to play with it." 
 
"That's just cruel." 
 
"I'll get you off." 
 
"You're going to stroke me off with Nurse Ratchett due with your knockout pill any 
minute?" 
 
"We have fifteen minutes. It takes you, maybe, three." 
 
"Bitch, it can take me an hour if I want it too," he moaned as Boyd's hand made 
contact with his flesh. His traitorous flesh refused to be bound by Brian's moral 
outrage. Boyd smiled.  
 
"Yeah, I missed touching this." 
 
"Boyd, this is crazy. You could get me banned." 
 
"After they put the casts on me, I'm going home anyway." 
 
"But... " Brian leaned his head back as the sensation spread. Feeling Boyd's familiar 
hand stroke him in a familiar way was too irresistible to stop. "Oh yeah, like that." 
 
Within two minutes, not three, it was over, and Brian mopped up the evidence with a 
wad of Kleenex from the table. Boyd's satisfied smirk drew a head shake from his 
lover as he refastened his clothing. "You're one sick puppy." 
 
"Was sick, better now. Do me." 
 
"Do you?" 
 
"Yeah. You don't want me anymore?" 
 
"No, I mean yes, but what about... ." 
 
"The catheter's out, you don't have to touch my legs, look. It's made it easy for you to 
find." His hard cock tented the sheet. Brian smiled. 
 
"You are feeling better." 
 
"Come on, Brian. Do it." 
 
Careful to keep his stroking upward and away from Boyd's thighs, Brian grasped him 
and began to pull. Boyd closed his eyes, enjoying the first completely pleasurable 
sensation he'd felt since the bombing. Brian leaned down to kiss him, plunging his 
tongue between his lips. Just as Boyd let go, the door opened. They looked at the 
nurse, she looked at them. She said, "I'll come back." 
 
She closed the door and the two men dissolved into laughter, finding the whole thing 
funny as this small part of their intimate history reached out to reassure them that 
some emotions were impervious to bombs. 
Current Mood: hopeful




August 13th, 2006
02:21 pm - BURN Chapter 104 
Thanks again for your patience. 
 

 
Brian lost track of time since the blast.  
 
Days, weeks, so much time without sleep, worrying, bargaining with fate, fearing. It 
all ran together. And yet it all seemed compressed, too. The bomb went off yesterday, 
the bomb went off a year ago, it all seemed the same to him. His sister had gone 
home at his request. He appreciated her help, not only with him but with Petra, and 
she promised to stay in touch with Petra even from Pittsburgh. The Anchorman went 
back to New York without getting to interview Boyd. Brian wouldn't permit it. The only 
two remaining in Atlanta, besides Brian and Boyd, were Petra and Homer. Petra spoke 
with Oleg often, but he didn't come around, for obvious reasons. The police had 
interviewed him, too. He had nothing to say. 
 
Brian's superficial wounds healed and faded. The big, gaping, open wound inside of 
him would never heal completely. Losing Lisette, almost losing Boyd, watching him 
suffer, dealing with his remaining issues, the legacy of terror lived on.  
 
But today was a good day. Today Boyd was going home.  
 
Brian arrived early, after Homer took the night shift, because Boyd had developed a 
fear of being left alone. Petra was already there and Boyd looked chipper as he raised 
his face to receive Brian's kiss. He was in a wheel chair, the nifty, supersonic, electric 
model they purchased for him, in snazzy black leather. Brian loved seeing him sitting 
up, even in a chair, mobile, upbeat. For the first time, he wore real clothes today: 
khaki shorts, a teal blue Izod shirt and his lime green fiberglass casts on both of his 
lower legs.  
 
Brian learned that Boyd's femur fractures, mended with grafts, plates and bolts 
wouldn't require casts, but still couldn't bear his weight until healing was complete. 
The surgical scars and the slight depression from tissue damage and loss mapped both 
thighs, but Brian didn't even see that anymore. All he cared about was that the 
important healing, the life threatening part of it, was over, and now they were into the 
pain and tedium of shattered bones mending and learning how to do everything all 
over again with muscles that would atrophy.  
 
Petra repeated the doctor's lecture as they packed up the few things they were taking 
with them. The flowers had been distributed among other patients. The police took 
custody of the clothes he had worn on the night of the bombing. All they had to take 
with them were the get-well greeting cards, the kids' drawings, some books, his robe, 
and a few care items. "Just because the thighs aren't immobilized, they are still fragile 
and healing. No weight until the doctor agrees. And even though the fiberglass casts 
have a waterproof lining, they have to be carefully maintained. We need to watch for 
swelling, tightness, unusual pain or heat, and you have to follow the rules on moving 
your feet and toes and keeping the blood flowing, Boyd. Even if it hurts to do so," 
Petra commanded. 
 
"I've heard this lecture, Petra. From five people now, including Nurse Ratchett, I mean 
Brian." 
 
Brian held up his center finger in response as he folded a cotton blanket over Boyd's 
lap. "You're at my mercy now, Ironsides, so I suggest you be nice." 
 
"You hired a real nurse, though, right?" 
 
"She's ready and waiting in New Orleans. Three hundred pounds of no nonsense." 
 
Boyd laughed. "You really went all out in the nurse-fantasy aversion, didn't you?" 
 
"All the way to goal, babe." 
 
"Asshole." 
 
Petra picked up the plastic urinal and held it up before placing it in the bag as she 
said, "This will be your friend, Boyd. You have to keep the kidneys moving. You have 
to drink lots of fluids. While your bathroom in New Orleans has been fitted to help you 
get around, it won't be easy. You're not a paraplegic who can learn to haul your lower 
body where it needs to go. Your bones are mending and can't be jerked around. So 
modesty or pride or whatever you feel, forget it. Keep your body healthy. You don't 
have reserves to fight off infection after infection." 
 
"Sounds kinky to me," Brian said with a wry smile, causing Boyd to glare at him.  
 
"Yeah, it's a lot of fun being as helpless as a two year old." 
 
Their eyes met and Brian leaned over to kiss the top of his head to appease him. Petra 
went on. 
 
"Elevation is important. When resting, keep them elevated. You're off the major pain 
medication now, but Advil is probably best for the pain you will be experiencing." 
 
"What if they itch?" 
 
"Take a hair dryer and blow cold air down the cast. Don't stick anything down there. 
But the cold air can alleviate an itch." 
 
"How do I get onto our plane?" Boyd thought of the narrow steps leading to the cabin. 
Brian said, 
 
"I handled that. They have a small cherry picker, like the one guys use to work on 
telephone lines, you know that equipment? They roll your chair on that platform and 
then we line it up with the door and raise it. Bingo, you're on board." 
 
"The aisle on the plane isn't wide enough for this chair." 
 
"Right. So Homer and I carry your skinny ass to the seats and fold the chair up in 
front. It's all covered, Boyd, relax. And when we get there? Frank is meeting us with a 
van he picked up for us to use. It's completely accessible for a wheelchair. I figure 
when we're done with it, we'll donate it to some rehab center." 
 
Boyd smiled at him. "You really did think of everything, didn't you?" 
 
"I tried. Including ordering the same kind of van to meet us here and drive us to the 
airport." 
 
"I love you." 
 
"Yeah, I know," Brian beamed at him. "Can we go now?" 
 
"I should do something for the hospital staff, they've been so good to me." 
 
"Already done," Brian informed him. "I got gift certificates from Nordstrom's for 
everyone. They were thrilled. You're the man. Now let's get the hell out of this place, 
out of this city, out of here." 
 
What Brian failed to consider was the press. When they reached the lobby, they saw 
the reporters and photographers out front where the van waited. Microphones were 
shoved in Boyd's face, searching for a sound byte, as cameras captured his startled 
expression. More problematical for Brian was the way they jostled him to get closer. 
He began shoving them back with enough force to knock one man to the pavement 
and Homer intervened, asking for them to give Boyd room and not touch his chair. 
When they were finally safe inside the van, Boyd exhaled slowly.  
 
"What the fuck?" 
 
"They're vultures," Brian fumed, but Petra shook her head as she secured Boyd's chair 
for transport.  
 
"It's their job, Brian. And Boyd is news." 
 
"Why am I news?" 
 
"You survived, darling. And people like survivors, want to hear about their heroism." 
 
"I'm no hero. You're the hero. I was just lying there under the cement." 
 
"Can we just shut up about it?" Brian said through lips drawn into a bloodless dash 
and Boyd reached over to squeeze his hand. The transport and the awkward transfer 
to the plane proved difficult for Boyd. By the time he was strapped into the seat on 
the plane with his legs raised on the seat facing him, he was exhausted. He was in 
pain. The movement caused his legs to pound and Petra gave him something for it. 
Five minutes into the trip, he was asleep. 
 
Brian sat across the aisle from him, facing Petra, while Homer stretched out in the 
back, also sleeping. "You think he's okay? He's in pain." 
 
"He will be. Mending bone is painful at times, Brian. And his body has been through so 
much. All this activity just wore him out. Rest is restorative. He needs to rest as much 
as possible, eat that special diet he was given to spur bone growth, take the 
supplements religiously, and follow all instructions. Sadly, this is just the beginning. 
When he's able to begin physical therapy, then he will know pain. Two broken legs is 
so debilitating because of the complete immobilization. We have to be so careful of 
DVT, deep vein thrombosis, and other complications. His nurse will know how to help 
him. But you need to be constantly vigilant." 
 
"I will be." 
 
"I know you will, Brian. But also go on with your life. Don't make him feel like a 
complete invalid. It's good that you set up that virtual office for him. He needs to be 
challenged." 
 
"He's going to be okay, right?" 
 
She leaned over to squeeze his hand. "Yes, darling. With your help, he's going to be 
fine." 
 
Brian leaned back, staring at his lover's beautiful, peaceful face as emotion gripped 
him, making further conversation impossible. Petra looked at the window as Atlanta 
gave way to Alabama. Returning to New Orleans was dreadful for her. She wasn't 
traveling alone. Lisette's ashes, contained in a classic Grecian styled urn, were safely 
nestled in her bag. The medical examiners had done their work. Her remains were 
cremated and would reside with Petra, at least until the memorial service was 
planned. She came to Atlanta with a vivacious, dynamic partner seated beside her, a 
beautiful lioness of a woman with a cell phone pressed to one ear and a hand resting 
casually on Petra's arm.  
 
She returned to their home with a small jug of ashes and a life together they would 
never have. She didn't want to walk into that house they once shared. She didn't want 
to face the crushing silence of being alone. She didn't want her life without Lisette in 
it.  
 
She closed her eyes, feigning sleep, unable to comprehend what she was supposed to 
do next. 
 
*** 
 
Bellamy was having a busy day. The press had been hounding him with political 
rumors and asking whether he felt his unannounced ambitions had anything to do with 
the bombing. His political party was equally interested. City business had heated up. 
And he missed Daphne, and wanted to spend some time with her. He was expecting 
her call, to line up a dinner venue, when he answered the phone himself. His secretary 
was still out there, but this one came in on his private line.  
 
"Hi, girl. Pick a place?" 
 
Some white noise, and then, "I have a place in mind but I'm not there yet. What do 
you plan to do about that?" Lisette. 
 
He glanced at the number on the read out. No number registered. He knew if he tried 
to record this call, all he would get is white noise. "I've been thinking about it," he 
conversed with her as if that were not impossible. He knew better. He knew 
impossible for one wasn't impossible for the next. "I don't know what I can do." 
 
"Yes you do, Seven Man. You're just afraid to do it." 
 
"Alright, say that's true. Say I am. Then what?" 
 
"Then I guess I'll stay in touch until something changes your mind. It's not just for 
me, Bellamy. There are others." 
 
"How will this change anything, this retribution?" 
 
"I don't know. I only know that it will." 
 
"And if it doesn't? Or if I get it wrong and go after the wrong people?" 
 
"You can't." 
 
"Why can't I? I'm not infallible." 
 
"In this way you are. When it comes to who spilled the blood, you'll know." 
 
"I'm not sure about that." 
 
"I am." 
 
"Why can't you just tell me who it is?" 
 
"Because I don't know, Bellamy. I have no special gifts. No insight. No omniscience." 
 
"You can contact me from the other side. That's a gift." 
 
"Because I'm not at the other side, yet. Because we're all stranded here in between. 
Unfinished business." 
 
"I'm not hurting someone, Lisette. I'm not the instrument of your revenge. I don't 
work like that." 
 
"Don't hurt them then. Just reveal them." 
 
"To whom?" 
 
"To the authorities, for one. To me, for another." 
 
"And then what?" 
 
"And then your work is done." 
 
"The authorities aren't fucking likely to believe that I've found the perps based on my 
magical abilities." 
 
"Then find another way to make them believe." 
 
"How do I do that?" 
 
"You're a big man in town, Bellamy, you figure it out." 
 
"Hello, is anyone on this line?" His secretary's voice cut in. Bellamy frowned.  
 
"I am. What do you want, Janice?" 
 
"If you want to place a call, please hang up and try again," a mechanized voice 
instructed, followed by the beep-beep-beep of an off the line warning.  
 
"I—I'm sorry, Mr. Beaufort, but it was showing off hook. Do you need a number?" 
 
"Never mind." He hung up. The phone rang almost immediately. He picked up and 
said, "You have to stop bugging me!" 
 
"You told me to call you when I had a restaurant in mind," Daphne reminded him with 
a stern sound in her voice. He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed 
his eyes.  
 
"Sorry, I didn't mean you." 
 
"Who did you mean? Are you getting harassing phone calls? If so, we need to tell the 
police." 
 
"Nothing the police can do. Nothing like that." 
 
"Bell, are you okay? Do you want to skip tonight? We can bag it. Or I can come over 
to your place and cook us a little something." 
 
"No, I want to see you. I want noise. I want life. Let's go to Arnaud's." 
 
"Can we get a table on such short notice?" 
 
He smiled. "I can always get a table, Daphne." 
 
Perks of the game.  
 
Less than an hour later, Daphne's bubbly personality, hot pink dress and loving 
attention helped bring him out of his funk. She caught him up on the return of Brian 
and Boyd. "So they're in the big house?" He asked as they finished their starters of 
fresh cracked oysters on ice. The remoulade sauce and lemon wedge was just the 
right accompaniment.  
 
"Yes. Brian had called Sebastian and told him they had to get in the big house, even if 
it meant work might go on around them for a few more weeks. He said they needed 
the elevator. So Sebastian finished their suite and fitted it with things to make life 
easier for Boyd so long as he's in a wheelchair. And he also fixed up a great little 
virtual office for him. The kids and all may be in the guesthouse a little longer, but not 
much. I can't believe Boyd's coming home. I never thought he would." Her big brown 
eyes misted and Bellamy reached over to grasp her hand. 
 
"None of that. Enough tears, right?" 
 
She nodded, taking a calming sip of champagne. "Ted and I went out today and 
stocked the house with groceries and flowers and all kinds of things. But the best is 
what Brian did." 
 
"What did he do?" 
 
"Three of Jared's paintings survived the holocaust. He arranged to have one of them 
brought back. He put it up in their bedroom. It's slightly singed, there's a tear in one 
part of the canvas, but he said it's a symbol of survival. He said Boyd was so bothered 
by the destruction of the art, he thought it would help to have this painting here with 
him, at least until he recovered completely. The museum was happy to oblige." 
 
"He may try to be a tough son of a bitch, but Brian Kinney is really a big softie when it 
comes to Boyd, isn't he?" 
 
"He loves him," she said with a dreamy little smile. "More than anything." 
 
Bellamy nodded. She went on, "That's what I want someone to feel for me one day." 
 
His cool grey-green eyes met hers. "I'm not the type." 
 
"Neither was Brian." 
 
Silence, and then, "Well now, Councilman. Back from the conflagration?" 
 
Luann Coulter stood beside their table. Her fair beauty was wrapped in ice blue silk. 
Chunks of diamond and aquamarine stones gleamed from her earlobes, her throat, 
her wrist. He didn't stand up, as polite Southern convention would demand. Instead 
he just looked over at her without changing his expression.  
 
"What can I do for you?" He asked as Daphne watched, confused.  
 
"Nothing you haven't already done, Bellamy," Luann said, letting the double entendre 
drip. "Same place? Tonight? Shall we say ten?" 
 
"I have other plans." 
 
She smiled, but there was no warmth in that gesture. "Maybe you should change 
those plans. I think we need to talk, Councilman. I think we need to talk tonight. See 
you at ten." 
 
As she turned, Bellamy saw the back of her chic dress was covered in blood. Blood ran 
down her bare arms. Blood swung from her hair like crimson rain. Blood outlined 
narrow footprints on the black and white tiles of the floor. Blood was everywhere she 
went. Daphne touched his arm to bring him back.  
 
"Bellamy?" 
 
He felt the vision slip. He focused on Luann's retreat. She wasn't covered in gore after 
all. She was impeccable. "Bellamy, what was that all about?" Daphne pressed. "What 
did she mean same place, et cetera? How well do you know her?" 
 
Bellamy moved his stare to Daphne. Was what he was seeing real? Could a relative of 
Boyd's be that evil? Was he misreading the cues? "Maybe I don't know her at all." 
 
"Maybe you know her too well," Daphne said with a flare of jealousy and he smiled as 
he threaded his fingers between hers.  
 
"This is one you have nothing to fear from, at least not for my body," he wasn't sure 
about the rest. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. "I can't stay, Daph, I'm 
taking you home." 
 
"What about dinner?" 
 
"Sorry, some other time," he left more than enough cash on the table to pay the bill.  
 
"Are you going to meet her?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Then where are you going?" 
 
"Algiers," he said.  
 
"Algiers is in Africa," she said with a glare as he hailed a cab outside the restaurant. 
 
"Not this one." 
 
"I want to go." 
 
"No," there was no arguing with that tone of voice. She knew that. She shut up, but 
she wasn't happy. He looked over at her in the back seat of the cab. "I can come by 
later, but it will be late." 
 
"Suit yourself," she stared out the window opposite him, her arms crossed tightly over 
her chest in anger. He didn't try to defrost her. He had too much on his mind to deal 
with her now. 
Current Mood: frustrated





August 16th, 2006
06:09 am - BURN, Chapter 105 
Hi, Burniacs, posting for Big B. Enjoy, Ran 
 
 
 
Gus fell asleep across the foot of the king sized bed in Brian and Boyd's suite at the 
main house in Marigny. The reunion with all three kids had been as boisterous as it 
could be without endangering Boyd's precarious mending. No lap cuddling for them, 
no stretching out too close to deliver an unintended kick, no bouncing around and 
possibly falling over him. They knew the rules and for once they followed them 
precisely. They were that glad to be able to touch their dad, to see him back where he 
belonged, to know he wasn't leaving them forever.  
 
Gus was feeling a similar insecurity with Brian being away and preoccupied.  
He curled up on his father's lap throughout the reunion, refusing to relinquish his post. 
When he fell asleep, Brian transferred him to the foot of the bed to protect Boyd. Now 
he had to get Gus back to his room in the guesthouse, and yet he was reluctant to 
leave Boyd alone. Alma, their nurse, was only there during the day, when Brian was 
likely to be away. At night, it fell to him to be the caretaker. Homer was his backup, 
so the Dhues moved into the one guest room in the main house that Sebastian 
completed, assuming the two men may require some help. 
 
"I should take Gus back to his bed," Brian said, glancing at the beautiful, peaceful face 
of his child. "Will you be okay?" 
 
"Are you taking him to Pittsburgh?" 
 
"What does that mean?" 
 
Boyd settled a pillow behind his back. He was exhausted, but the thrill of being home, 
of being reunited with his kids, of seeing his life was still out there, waiting, displaced 
most of his fatigue. "I mean if you're taking him all the way to Pittsburgh, I may be a 
little anxious. If you're taking him down the path to the guesthouse, I reckon I can 
manage." 
 
Brian shook his head. "Don't get uppity with me, Mr. Coulter." 
 
"Don't treat me like a baby, Mr. Kinney." 
 
"When you can go potty all by yourself, we'll talk about that," Brian zinged as Boyd 
laughed. 
 
"That is such a low blow." 
 
"I got a million of them. Remember that. Here," he tossed him the panic button that 
Boyd was supposed to wear around his neck. It buzzed the guesthouse, Brian's pager 
and the main rooms of the big house, to summon help. Two depressions of the button 
in rapid succession rang 911. Boyd dropped it on the table beside the bed.  
 
"I'm not wearing the granny 'I've fallen and I can't get up' button." 
 
"We'll fight about this later," Brian hauled Gus up, noticing he was like lifting a thirty 
pound bag of sugar, he was so limp. His skeletal system apparently dissolved while he 
slept. "Come on, Sonny Boy," he said, supporting his frame against his chest. "Let's 
go to bed." 
 
Gus didn't rouse, didn't open an eye, snuggling his cheek against Brian as he carried 
him out. Boyd watched them go and then winced, running a palm up and down his 
aching thighs. He missed the good pain meds from the hospital. Advil hardly touched 
the pain. He wondered how the hell he was supposed to sleep, on his back, unmoving, 
with a constant ache throbbing in both legs. He focused on Jared's painting that was 
hung across from the bed. Slightly singed, ripped in one corner, the beauty and 
brilliance of it couldn't be diminished. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I wanted to keep 
your work safe and available for everyone to admire, but I managed to destroy it." 
 
"Art can never be destroyed," Jared's voice. Jared was in his painter's overalls, one 
shoulder left bare by a slipped strap, his dreads moving over his handsome face as he 
sat beside Boyd and offered him a smile. "The act of creating it is the completion. 
When the artist says it's done, then it's done. The art is finished. Now all you have is a 
canvas with color. The creativity is over. Don't you see? For me, the only important 
part was the creation." 
 
"But you wanted to have your work admired, sold, praised," Boyd felt nothing was out 
of place as he talked to his dead lover. Nothing was odd about it, because he knew it 
was a dream. Jared smiled. 
 
"That was my ego talking. That was my need to support myself. But it doesn't change 
the fact that the painting was dead to me once it was done. This one, I particularly 
liked. I'm glad it wasn't destroyed. It always represented freedom to me, the freedom 
to do what I wanted to do most. Create." 
 
"But you were always so tortured and I could never make that any better for you." 
 
"And now all of that pain is gone, Boyd, I'm at peace. And my time is spent in endless 
creativity with no pressure at all." 
 
"You mean you paint in heaven?" 
 
Jared smiled. "It's not what they tell you. It's not what you think it is." 
 
"Is my sister there? Is she happy?" 
 
Jared looked suddenly sad. "Your sister hasn't come home yet, Boyd. She hasn't found 
her way." 
 
"But... " 
 
"Boyd?" Brian's hand was on his arm, shaking him gently. Jared disappeared with the 
dream as Boyd opened his eyes. He looked at his lover and then past him, as if to find 
the artist. No one else was there.  
 
"I had the strangest dream," he said. Brian smiled and began the task of preparing 
Boyd for sleep.  
 
"No doubt. You've had a busy damned day." 
 
"Jared was here. It was so real." He cooperated with Brian as he arranged the pillows 
and support around his legs.  
 
"He didn't dive for your package, did he?" Brian teased, gently covering Boyd's 
protected legs with the duvet.  
 
"It wasn't that kind of dream." 
 
"Good thing," Brian stripped off his clothes and carefully climbed in beside Boyd.  
 
"It's fading now. Something about art and heaven not being what I thought it was and 
Lisette... something about Lisette. Why does a dream fade so fast?" 
 
Brian switched off the final light. "Let it go, Boyd. Let it go." He moved as close to him 
as he could without feeling nervous about his legs. He draped a long arm across 
Boyd's midsection and placed his face near Boyd's. "This is the first time we're 
sleeping in the same bed for how long?" 
 
"Too long," Boyd agreed with a smile, turning to kiss Brian's nose. "Way too long." 
 
Brian inhaled him, his scent, his warmth, the soft tickle of his hair against his skin. 
The fact of Boyd, the feel of Boyd, the wondrous truth that they were together again, 
intact, or mostly so, in their home, in their shared lives. "Are you asleep?" he 
whispered, as Boyd smiled. 
 
"Always." 
 
"Me too," Brian said, giving in to exhaustion while wrapped snugly in the warmth of 
their affection.  
 
*** 
 
Bellamy went on foot from the ferry landing at Algier's Point to the neighborhood. 
Teenage boys shooting hoops on the corner, paused in their game as he walked by. 
An old couple, rocking in matching chairs on the porch of their small house with the 
gingerbread trim that was common to the area, crossed themselves when he came 
into view.  
 
"Who dat man?" A little girl in pigtails asked her mother, who hustled her inside and 
shut the door. They all knew the Seven Man in this neighborhood, and tonight he 
didn't walk alone. 
 
"Why you bring them haints to my house, Sept-homme?" The old crone he called 
"Maman" chided him as he walked up the steps to the creaky boards of her porch. Her 
son left through the back door, unable to tolerate the heavy magic in the atmosphere. 
Bellamy felt the presence of the fourteen, but he saw nothing but shadow, heard 
nothing but the echoes of footsteps behind his own.  
 
"You've got to make them go away, Maman, you're the only one who can." 
 
"Come in, come in," she opened the screen door, admitting him to her home and then 
she shut it firmly as she said, "Just him. No one of you can enter. Stay out there." 
 
Her flat screen television was on mute, and he smiled as he saw Deadwood on the 
screen, finding a sweet irony in that choice. The ramshackle house with the top of the 
line appliances was a testament to the favors Maman received in exchange for her 
magic. She had no alarms to protect her goods in this place, where break-ins were a 
frequent problem. No one was stupid enough to steal from this Island woman.  
 
"Why me?" He asked, politely accepting an ice-cold Coke from her, drinking from the 
bottle. "Why are they pestering me?" 
 
"You was there, you was part of it." 
 
"I had nothing to do with it." 
 
"Maybe not the doing of it, Sept-homme, but you was there." 
 
"As were hundreds of others." 
 
"Not with your abilities, boy. Don't go wastin' my time wonderin' why. Question is, 
what you plan to do about it?" 
 
"What can I do about it?" 
 
"Depends on what you wanna do about it." 
 
Bellamy smiled. Talking to Island people was always a circular discussion, talking to 
Island people like Maman was even more tedious, but the route was one that couldn't 
be shortcut. "I don't want to be in the middle of it." 
 
"What you want, what you get, no connection. So what they want from you, these 
haints?" 
 
He leaned back, staring up at the intricately beaded Voodoo flag that hung above the 
mantle. This one showed a horned man emerging from a circle. Voodoo flags varied, 
depicting which guiding spirit was present in the home at the moment. This one didn't 
look promising. "As much as I despise what happened in Atlanta, I am not an 
instrument for revenge, nor will I ever be." 
 
The old woman raised a spidery hand to her wiry grey hair and smiled. "We all 
instruments of revenge in some ways, Sept-homme. What you saying, you won't bring 
down the hellfire on them dark souls who committed these crimes." 
 
"That's exactly what I'm saying." 
 
"Though you could." 
 
Their eyes met. Bellamy forced a small smile. "I could, but I won't." 
 
"Why not? You afraid?" 
 
"Bad begets bad. I'm not in that business, Maman." 
 
She smiled. "You got your mama's good sense and lack your daddy's drive for power." 
 
"What do you mean? What does my father have to do with anything?" 
 
"That man was all about the power, Bellamy. He made the things happen he wanted 
to happen when he wanted them to happen. Why you think Pearl couldn't live with 
that man? Why you think she let you go to him?" 
 
This was not the conversation Bellamy expected or wanted. But now it had started and 
he had to finish it. "She didn't live with him because he was gay. And she gave me up 
to him so she could live her wild little life as a voodoo queen celebrity without a kid 
around." 
 
She shook her head. "The foolishness we tell ourselves, the foolishness." 
 
"Where am I wrong?" 
 
"Every which way, Sept-homme. Your papa, he be a wizard and don't go looking at me 
like that, yes, they do still exist even in our time. His fame, his fortune, none of that 
was accidental. Lots of folks write nice poetry, but never get the kind of notice his did. 
He left nothing to chance or fate. And with him, men, women, it made no matter. He 
ended up with the one man who could give him the room he needed to live the way he 
had to live." 
 
"My father and Charles were deeply committed and in love until the day my father 
died." 
 
"Not arguing that. But with a wizard, labels like gay or straight, they have no 
meaning. They don't live by our rules. And he did love Pearl. But Pearl is a natural, 
and he was by the book, so their ways of lookin' at things outside the normal world 
weren't compatible." 
 
Bellamy leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers in front of him as he took in what 
she was saying. "And how do I figure in this?" 
 
"He wanted you, he wanted you in his home, and when she couldn't stay there, he 
made sure you did. Pearl knew how powerful he was. She wasn't going to start a war 
with you in the middle of it. She tried, but he wore her down. And she feared for you. 
He promised he wouldn't bring you into it if she let you live with him. And that he 
would see that you were always wealthy, always taken care of, always protected. He 
won." 
 
"He was a wonderful father," Bellamy insisted. "And Charles was a wonderful mother. 
Pearl's the one who was never there." 
 
"Which was his plan, Sept-homme, but he made one small mistake, this wizard." 
 
"Which is?" 
 
"It's in your blood, from her side, you're the seventh generation and you got the gift. 
Powered up by your father's old English wizardry, you've got it double hard. And 
sooner or later, you're gonna hear it callin' you." 
 
"I don't want it. I never did." 
 
"You maybe don't want them green eyes either, boy, but you got 'em. Maybe you 
don't wanna be six feet tall but you is. This is no different." 
 
"Spirits don't come to me because I have green eyes or I'm six feet tall." 
 
"What you gonna do to help?" 
 
"I saw a woman covered in blood, although she wasn't bleeding. The blood wasn't 
real. I think she was involved. I think the blood was a sign." 
 
"You think right." 
 
"What if I just tell the spirits? Let them handle her." 
 
"They have no power here, you know better." 
 
"I have no case, no proof, no clues to offer the authorities." 
 
"Then you have a dilemma, Sept-homme." 
 
"And how do I resolve that dilemma?" 
 
"Vengeance has many faces, Sept-homme. Not all of them are violent." 
 
"Meaning what?" 
 
"Think about it." 
 
"I'm not certain I'm reading it right." 
 
"Then get certain." 
 
"Or what?" 
 
"Or someone else is gonna die, and it's on your head." 
 
"My head? Why is this suddenly my responsibility?" 
 
"Because it is. Want it or not, it is. You don't have forever to ponder this, Sept-
homme. Get busy on it. Don't let your shadow army add another convert. Take care of 
you business." 
 
"Give me something to help me clarify." 
 
"Ain't nothing I can give you, boy, to clarify your vision. Don't you understand, 
Bellamy? You done passed me by when you was twelve years old. There ain't nothin' I 
can give you or teach you now. You done passed the courses. You got more power 
than any man or woman I ever have known. Use it. Understand it. And take action 
before its too late." 
 
He stood and took a small jeweler's box from his pocket, leaving it on her table. Cash 
was crass, but tokens were expected. He wasn't sure he believed what she said about 
his parents, but that wasn't important. All that mattered now was that he reached 
détente with his own demons and finished this link with the dead. 
Current Mood: awake




August 22nd, 2006
06:47 am - BURN Chapter 106 
Posting for the big b. Enjoy! Ran 
 
***** 
 
 
 
Luann leaned in the doorway of her hotel room, smiling seductively at Bellamy. The 
vision of blood he had seen earlier that evening was gone, now. What remained was a 
beautiful woman in a red silk dressing gown. She waved him in and closed the door 
behind him, engaging the privacy lock.  
 
"I knew you'd show up," she said, walking up to him and spreading her hands on his 
chest. Bellamy felt a chill at her touch. He gripped her wrists as he pushed her back 
and then sat down in a chair. The luxurious, air conditioned frigidity of the room was a 
sharp contrast to the rough life Maman lived in Algiers. Luann filled two flutes with 
champagne that had been chilled in a silver bucket. She offered him one. He declined. 
She put the stem beside him on the table and curled her bare legs under her as she 
reclined on the sofa and sipped the sparkly wine.  
 
"I'm not here for that," he said with contempt that brewed near the surface, visible 
enough to trigger her. 
 
"For what? Don't assume anything, Bellamy." 
 
He nodded. He wasn't. He knew he could have her if he wanted her, but right now that 
thought was nauseating to him. She was beautiful, yes, but in the way a very 
poisonous flower has an element of beauty wrapped in death. He didn't care what her 
agenda might be. He was there for one reason, to confirm in his own mind what he 
already knew to be true. Seeing her now, he was convinced. She was involved in the 
terror. She may not have detonated the bomb, but she was involved. The idea that 
she could hate her siblings that much, or be that greedy was foreign to him. He had 
no siblings, maybe that was why this was so difficult to understand, but he couldn't 
fathom that degree of hatred or callousness or cruelty. Not only was she endangering 
her own kin, but innocent strangers, and beyond the human element, a priceless 
collection of the master works of an artist who would never paint again. 
 
"What did you want to see me about, Luann?" 
 
"Your political ambitions." 
 
"I have nothing to say to you about any of that." 
 
"Then listen. You may have my brother enthralled, but after this last little episode in 
Atlanta, I think its safe to say Boyd won't be taking an active interest in your political 
pretensions, or the sugar business, or much of anything other than learning how to 
walk again. So before you do your long term plans any fatal damage, I think you 
should make a statement that the speculation about your senate race is just that, 
speculation, and you have no intention of running at this time." 
 
"Is that what you think?" 
 
"Yes, it is." 
 
"I think you underestimate your brother's courage and his ability to multi-task. I also 
think you underestimate me. I make my own decisions about my career and what the 
next step may be. I never do anything impulsively. That's not my style. If I decide to 
run for the senate when it comes open next year, it won't be a decision lightly made. 
Nor will it be a decision that has any root in any sound coming out of your mouth." 
 
She flashed anger, but quickly settled into a disinterested shrug. "Suit yourself. You'll 
make a fool of yourself, a laughing stock, you have everything against you, Bellamy. 
Your faggot of a father, your witch of a mother, your not-white, not-black racial blend, 
your reputation as a player, the overtones of that voodoo bullshit , nothing tracks. You 
think a bunch of white southerners are going to vote for you? And you're so outside 
their nasty little world, the blacks won't support an uppity Negro like you, either. 
Where is your constituency, Bellamy? Outside New Orleans, there aren't enough 
queers in Louisiana to elect you." 
 
He smiled as his long fingers stroked up his thighs, and down to his knees as if to 
keep his hands occupied so he wouldn't strangle her. "Do you think calling me a Negro 
and denigrating my family bothers me, Luann? Because it doesn't. Nothing you say 
can bother me because your opinion is completely without merit. I don't value 
anything about you, including your opinion. I'm on to you. And you aren't going to get 
away with it." He stood up, walking towards the door. She said, 
 
"What is that supposed to mean? On to what?" 
 
He paused at the door and turned to face her. "I know what you did. I don't know how 
you did it, yet, but I know what you did. And I'll find out the rest and I will see you 
pay." 
 
He noticed how her fine skin paled against the crimson silk of her robe. "What are you 
talking about?" 
 
"Atlanta, Luann. I know." 
 
A glimpse of panic and then she became utterly calm. "Oh do take that little 
defamation public, Bellamy. I'll have every dime you inherited from your faggot 
father. Every dime." 
 
"I don't need to take it public, Luann. You forget," he rubbed his fingertips together 
and blew across his palm in her direction. She recoiled as if that gesture carried 
cyanide with it. "I've got that voodoo bullshit going for me. I can make my own 
justice." 
 
She sat up straight, the hand holding the flute causing the champagne to quiver when 
it trembled. "Are you threatening me?" 
 
"I guess that depends on what you believe, white girl. You don't believe in voudon? 
What you have to fear. You do believe in voudon? Maybe you better watch your back. 
Even if you don't believe, maybe you better watch your back, because voudon 
believes in you. And I know what you did and I know how to make your life a living 
hell on earth in ten thousand ways. I can make you fat, I can make you sick, I can 
make you crazy, I can make you poor, I can make you dance on my dime. You don't 
believe me? The first sign, in the morning. Watch for it. More to come." 
 
"You don't scare me, you stupid swamp nigger." 
 
"That's good. Makes my job all that much easier. Sleep well, Luann. This may be your 
last night for that luxury." 
 
"Did you leave something in this room?" She sprang up and tore the cushions off the 
chair where he had been sitting, continuing her frantic search as Bellamy laughed and 
left the room, quietly closing the door on her panic.  
 
*** 
 
Daphne stumbled to the door of her home, awakened from a deep sleep by a 
persistent knock. Wearing an oversized Pittsburgh Steelers t-shirt, her hair pulled up 
in a knot, she wasn't looking her sexy best as Bellamy leaned in the frame and asked, 
"Can I come in?" 
 
She answered by turning away and going back to her bed where she fell face first onto 
the mattress and grumbled, "What time is it?" 
 
"Late." He locked the door and walked over to her, admiring her small form in the 
moonlight as he began to undress. She turned on her side to squint up at him. 
 
"Taking it for granted that you can just hop in bed with me?" 
 
"Are you telling me I can't?" 
 
"You might ask." 
 
"Why do you have to make everything so hard, Daphne?" 
 
She smiled at that. "Everything or just some things?" 
 
He smiled back. "Quit teasing me, girl. I'm not in the mood." 
 
"What did you do on Algiers, anyway?" 
 
"Got my head on straight." 
 
"How did that happen?" 
 
Stripped to his skivvies, he climbed in beside her and pulled her into his arms. She 
rested her face against his broad chest as he said, "Ways you wouldn't understand." 
 
"Try me." 
 
"No." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"Parts of my life you don't need to go poking your nose into, Daphne. This is one. You 
don't have a grounding in it and I'm not up to explaining hundreds of years of history 
and magic. It's just too fucking late in the day for that." 
 
"You smell like L'Air du Temps." 
 
"What the fuck is that?" 
 
"Perfume. Expensive perfume." 
 
"Anyone ever tell you that you have a nose like a bloodhound?" 
 
"Yes. And I do. I can smell white girl on you. Only a rich white girl wears L'Air du 
Temps. And she's not living on Algiers." 
 
"That was my other stop." 
 
"You went to bang some rich white girl and then you show up over here to late date 
me?" 
 
He pulled her down before she could go far and held to her until she stopped 
struggling. "It had nothing to do with sex. It was business." 
 
"What kind of business?" 
 
"My business." 
 
She pulled free of him and moved back a little, bracing herself on her elbow as she 
said, "No. It doesn't work that way. You have to tell me more or get the fuck out of 
here. Either we have a relationship or we don't." 
 
He stared up at her. Having a relationship was not something he wanted or expected 
but all of a sudden he seemed to find himself in something he had never been in 
before. Was this a relationship? If so, it was as bad as he expected it would be, but 
also strangely wonderful. "I went to confront Luann Coulter, Daphne. She's 
challenging my right to run for the senate, threatening me, you might say. The two of 
us have unfinished business." 
 
"Boyd's sister? What's it to her if you run?" 
 
"It changes the power structure for sugar, substantially. She's not alone in fearing a 
change." 
 
"You had to go meet her in the middle of the night to talk about the senate race?" 
 
"And other things." 
 
"Like?" 
 
"Like other things." 
 
"Do you have something going on with this woman, Bellamy?" She pictured the 
beautiful blonde and he smiled at her question. 
 
"I fucked her once. Her invitation. Never again." 
 
"You fucked her." 
 
"Yes." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Why?" He was surprised by her question. "Because... damn. I don't know why. She 
was beautiful and she wanted it. That was enough. But I regretted it almost 
immediately." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Again with the why? Because she has some serious pieces missing in her, Daphne. 
Because she bothers me. And now because I know so much about her, it could never 
happen again." 
 
"Is this ancient history or since I've known you?" 
 
He stared at her, but said nothing. 
 
"Nice!" She threw off the bedcovers and stomped into the kitchen, opening the 
refrigerator to throw a pie slice of light into the dark room. She stared at the contents, 
not really wanting anything, but needing to be away from him. He came up behind 
her, spreading his hands on the span of her waist. She tensed under his touch.  
 
"We don't put rules on each other, Daphne, am I right?" 
 
She spun around to glare at him. "No, we don't. And we don't have a relationship and 
you don't mean anything to me and I don't mean anything to you and you are free to 
go play Mandingo with all the rich white girls you want! So fuck you, Bellamy! Just put 
on your clothes and get out!" As much as she resisted it, she felt the tears well, and 
he sighed as he pulled her close and refused to let her squirm free. 
 
"I'm going nowhere," he whispered against her soft cloud of hair as her tears warmed 
the bare skin of his chest. "You hear me? Nowhere." 
 
She let her arms encircle him as the tears continued to fall and yet something told her 
the source for them was not exactly what it began as. Something between them had 
changed and she just knew it was for the better.  
 
*** 
Boyd watched Brian change his shirt for the third time. The wheelchair, while padded, 
and as good as wheelchairs get, was already uncomfortable. He wanted to be up, 
however, and this was "up" for him. As much as he enjoyed watching Brian dress and 
undress, he was picking up on an undercurrent.  
 
"You're stalling," he said. The remains of the breakfast they shared on the small 
terrace outside the French doors of their suite were stacked on a tray that Brian would 
take down when he left. Brian overcooked the eggs and the toast was cold, but Boyd 
so appreciated his gesture that it was the best meal he had ever eaten. 
 
"What does that mean?" Brian grumbled as he buttoned the final contender in the 
shirt war.  
 
"You don't want to leave. Alma arrives in a half hour and Homer and Madam are down 
the hall. You have nothing to worry about, Brian. And taking my kids to school is far 
more important than babysitting me." 
 
"Jane can take them." 
 
"No, it's important that you do it today. It will mean a lot to them." 
 
As if on cue, the children tumbled in, dressed in their school uniforms, grabbing Brian 
in bear hugs but approaching Boyd with tentative caution. He smiled and waved them 
over. They stood on either side of his chair and he wrapped an arm around each of 
them. "You guys look all crisp and ready to learn." 
 
"I hate the new school, Daddy." Mac spoke up. 
 
"Why?" 
 
"There's no boudin in the lunch room! No gumbo. No bread pudding." 
 
"Madam made you gumbo and put it in the thermos, you dweeb," his sister chided 
him. "Don't be a swamp rat." 
 
Boyd smiled. "We're all swamp rats and proud of it, girlfriend." 
 
"Brian isn't," Belle reminded him. Brian laughed as he threaded a belt through the 
loops of his trousers.  
 
"We can't all be born lucky. Can't I be an honorary swamp rat? Come on, my kid has 
an alligator sanctuary named for him, what could be swampier than that?" 
 
Belle giggled. "I'm trying out for the girl's basketball team, and I'm gonna make it." 
 
"Good for you," her father said. "I'll come watch you play." 
 
"Is Brian taking us to school?" 
 
Brian nodded. "If you'd get a move on so I can get ready. Tell your dad goodbye and 
meet me downstairs. Hey, take that tray when you go." 
 
"Can we use the elevator?" 
 
"Yeah, but no horsing around in it." 
 
"Who burned the eggs?" Belle's nose wrinkled in judgment at the fare on the plates 
and Boyd winced as they left. Brian glanced his way. 
 
"I never said I could cook." 
 
"I didn't marry you for your kitchen skills." 
 
"Yeah? What room did I perfect to earn your undying dedication?" 
 
"Let me see, the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room, the dining room table, the 
patio, the deck, the hallway that once, the garage, yeah, even the kitchen a couple 
times. It's not the room, it's the skill." 
 
Brian smiled and went over to crouch beside the chair, resting his hands on Boyd's 
pelvis. He leaned in for a kiss, deepened it, let his hand drift across his lover's lap. His 
grey sweat pants were soft, but his dick wasn't. Brian smiled at Boyd as he squeezed 
him in his fist. "What's that for?" 
 
"Watching you dress and undress and dress and undress and then kiss me like that." 
 
"You are feeling better." 
 
"Lock the door." 
 
Brian did so and then came back to him. It was awkward, but he was able to position 
himself over Boyd so that he could fellate him with ease. Boyd leaned back, thanking 
the powers that the wall didn't fall any higher up his body. Losing the ability to feel 
this way with Brian would be a loss he couldn't bear. He buried a hand in Brian's thick, 
dark auburn hair and let the silk slip between his fingers as he felt the motion of his 
head while his mouth did the work. His hips lifted slightly as he shot and Brian stood, 
smiling down at him after rubbing the back of his hand across his lips. 
 
"Now you," Boyd said. Brian looked skeptical.  
 
"How?" 
 
"Just straddle the chair. Put one leg on either side of my legs, carefully. Hold my 
shoulders for balance." 
 
Brian was cautious as he swung one long leg over Boyd's casts, not even wanting to 
brush against them. Boyd leaned forward to lower his fly and Brian kept his hands on 
his lover's shoulders as his hard cock slid into the warm comfort of his mouth. It didn't 
last as long as Brian would've liked, because he was too tense, too ready. But the 
orgasm was intense and satisfying. As he re-dressed, Boyd smiled.  
 
"That was better than coffee." 
 
"Perv," Brian chuckled.  
 
"I've been trying to figure out how we can fuck, but it isn't becoming clear to me. I 
can't lie on my stomach or my side, I can't support any weight on my legs, even if I 
sat on your lap, my legs would be compromised. And if we flipped it, I couldn't 
support your weight on my lap." 
 
Brian leaned over to kiss him once more and then he slid his sunglasses into place. "It 
will give us something to look forward to. Don't worry about that shit, Boyd. We have 
our ways." 
 
"You could fuck someone else. I'd understand." 
 
Brian lowered his lenses to glare at him. "You would, huh?" 
 
Boyd nodded, unconvincingly. 
 
"Anyone in mind? Or do I just call 1-800-RENTBOY?" 
 
Boyd smiled at that. "I'm trying to be realistic." 
 
"Then give me some credit. It's not like I'm not getting off. Jesus, you annoy me 
sometimes." 
 
"Good, that means I'm doing my job." 
 
"Where's your emergency alert?" 
 
Boyd patted his pocket. "I told you I'd carry the damn 'I've fallen and I can't get up' 
button. I didn't say I'd wear it." 
 
"Whatever. I'll see you at lunch and I'll call you later." 
 
"Brian? Thanks." 
 
"For what?" 
 
"For everything. I wouldn't have made it if not for you." 
 
"You must be confusing me with Petra." 
 
"No, I mean it. Knowing you were there, loving me, that got me through the darkest 
moments, both when I was trapped and later." 
 
"You're welcome, now shut up about it." 
 
"You're such an ass," Boyd said with a grin. 
 
"Love you, too," Brian responded, and reluctantly left him there, because he knew that 
was what he had to do to make Boyd believe they were on their way back to 
normalcy. 
Current Mood: hopeful




August 27th, 2006
05:30 pm - BURN Chapter 107 
 
 
As Brian drove the children to school, Bellamy left Daphne's apartment, walking out 
into a damp drizzle. He wanted to turn back and climb in bed with her, feel her wrap 
around him and hold him so tight he couldn't leave, but he had things to do and 
people to see. The first person he saw was unexpected. Petra sat in the courtyard of 
her house, her navy silk robe clinging to her thin frame because of the damp, her hair 
flattened against her head with moisture. She was curled up on a wrought iron chair, 
with only a mug of coffee that had long since lost its heat. If she was aware of the 
inclement weather, she showed no sign.  
 
He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her flinch as she emerged from her stupor. He 
crouched down beside her chair and asked, "What are you doing out here in this 
drizzle, Petra?" 
 
She wiped a hand across her face as if suddenly noticing the rain for the first time. "It 
wasn't raining when I came out." 
 
"When was that?" 
 
"I don't know," her eyes looked vacant and she was thinner than he remembered. She 
had no weight to lose. He wondered when last she ate. "It was still dark. I may have 
heard you go upstairs, I'm not certain." 
 
Hours had passed. He helped her stand. "Let's go inside. It's chilly out here." 
 
"My coffee... " 
 
"I'll get it." 
 
He escorted her into her home, where it was warm and dry and welcoming. And 
empty. The coffee on the warmer smelled scorched and he poured the contents into 
the sink as he said, "Petra, go upstairs and put on some dry clothes. I'll be up there 
shortly." 
 
She obeyed without protest and he put water on to boil, finding some chamomile tea 
in the pantry. He prepared a cup of hot tea and carried the fragrant brew upstairs. He 
found her seated on the edge of her unmade bed. She had changed into a fleecy white 
robe and her hair was wrapped in a white towel. She had the look of a nun, full of 
unfulfilled longing. He sat beside her and handed her the cup. She took a few sips and 
then set it beside the bed. He said, 
 
"You can't go on this way, you know." 
 
"How do I stop?" She met his eyes with a plaintive appeal. "How does the pain 
recede?" 
 
"First, you finish it. You close it. You have the memorial service for her so that her 
family and friends can celebrate her life." 
 
"And then?" 
 
"You go on. With the help of those who love you, you continue your life." 
 
"What if I have no interest in continuing my life without Lisette?" 
 
"Then you dishonor the joy that the two of you shared when she was here. Do you 
think she'd want this tragedy for you, Petra? This half-life? No. It's bad enough that 
her life was taken in that bombing. Don't sacrifice yours as well." 
 
"I don't want to die, Bellamy, I just can't seem to find a way to thrive. I think of her 
there, in that horrible place, the life crushed out of her, dying in pain and terror, while 
I'm above the ground. When I took her hand in that chamber of death, it was so still, 
so cold, as if she waited for me to warm it. And then I left her there to be crushed like 
an insect beneath the rubble." 
 
"So you could save her brother, which you did. There was nothing anyone could do to 
bring Lisette back to the living. But if you let Boyd die in a futile attempt to move her 
body, what good would that do? You did what had to be done, Petra. It was too late 
for her." 
 
"I just want to know she's at peace. I can't rest until I know." 
 
Bellamy thought of his conversations with Lisette since she left this side of the veil, 
but he shared none of that with her lover. "Do you believe that I have a way that 
other men lack, Petra?" 
 
She nodded. "I've seen your magic at work." 
 
"Then do this for me, " he handed her a picture of a smiling Lisette that was framed 
and placed near the bed. "Stare at her face. Remember her features, the things you 
loved about her. Do that for me." 
 
While she did so, he walked over to the mirror above the antique dresser and lit a 
candle that was on a silver dish, sprinkling the flame with flakes of gris-gris he 
removed from a small red flannel bag in his pocket. "Work with me here, girl," he 
whispered to the unseen. He took a pink chiffon scarf from where it was draped over 
the lampshade and used it to veil the mirror. He then retrieved Petra and walked her 
over to the mirror, the photograph still clutched in her hand, her face streaked with 
tears. He turned her back to the mirror and said, 
 
"If you see Lisette in the veiled mirror, then you know she's at peace on the other 
side, you hear what I'm saying? And you have to let go and live your life. Only once 
can this happen." 
 
"And if I don't see her?" 
 
"Then I failed to connect you." 
 
"Lisette," he said in his most commanding voice. "Show your woman that you are at 
peace. Release her from her pain. Let her know you will always be here in her heart 
even as you travel a different path." 
 
He took the photograph from Petra's hand and turned her slowly towards the mirror. 
Petra stared as a dim image, shielded by pink chiffon, became visible in the soft glow 
of the candle. Blonde, smiling, momentarily vivid. She gasped and reached towards 
what she could never touch. Bellamy held to her as she felt suddenly limp, and half 
carried her to her bed. He stretched her out and pulled the duvet over her as he said, 
"Now you have to sleep." 
 
She nodded, her eyes closing as exhaustion took over. He went back to the mirror. 
The image began to change. Blood began to run from the corner of Lisette's mouth, 
her features began to shift and twist and he pulled the chiffon down and blew out the 
candle before he could see the face that she wanted to show him, the face of her true 
death. He took a deep breath and returned the picture to her bedside table. He then 
reached for the phone and called Daphne. 
 
"I'm with Petra. She's asleep now, but I don't want to leave her alone. Can you come 
stay with her for a bit? I'll wait here until you arrive." 
 
Daphne finally appeared in soft pink sweats and sneakers, not bothering to do her hair 
or makeup. "What happened?" 
 
He gave her the short version. "I have to run. I have appointments." 
 
"I have a meeting with Brian at ten. I'll have to go before then." 
 
"See if Madam will come stay with her when you go." 
 
"Okay," she kissed him goodbye and then said, "You're a good man." 
 
"For a witchdoctor." 
 
"My mother always wanted me to marry a doctor." 
 
He grinned at that and shook his head as he left the house and took Lisette's restless 
spirit with him. 
 
*** 
 
Luann found herself facing a formidable wall of woman when she rang the bell at the 
house in Marigny. The massive lady crossed hefty arms over her ample chest that was 
dressed in a lavender and pink print uniform top to blend with lavender scrub pants.  
 
"Who are you?" She demanded and Luann raised a brow in the face of this African-
American imperialism and declared, 
 
"I'm here to see my brother." 
 
"Next time, you call. Your brother is with his physical therapist right now. You wanna 
wait or come back?" 
 
"Neither. He can talk to me while he works with a therapist." 
 
"No m'am," she said with a tone that implied that was not going to happen. "He can't. 
But you are welcome to wait, I'm sure." 
 
Disgusted, Luann noticed workmen were busy in the main drawing room and there 
was no furniture there anyway. In the kitchen, the bay window was being glazed, and 
so she went down the path to the pool, since the sun had replaced the morning rain. 
Gus was paddling in the shallow end of the azure lagoon, his body stretched out on an 
alligator shaped float. His mother and Jane watched him from chaises pulled near the 
edge.  
 
She had seen them all in Atlanta, and she was none too pleased with how comfortable 
Brian's illegitimate brat and his rented womb were in Boyd's mansion. They had truly 
fallen into a honeypot of her naïve brother's making. She slipped on her dark glasses 
as she said, 
 
"Can someone call for some chilled Evian?" She sat in a chair in the shade as Lindsay 
glanced at Jane and then said, 
 
"No. Why are you here?" 
 
"To see my brother, of course. Why are you?" 
 
Lindsay didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, Gus said, 
 
"Mommy! Watch me!" He had climbed out of the pool and performed a perfect cannon 
ball, splashing Luann with a mini-tsunami of chlorinated water.  
 
"You nasty little brat!" She grabbed a towel, blotting her hair and her Dolce and 
Gabbana skirt. "Can't you control your child?" 
 
Lindsay applauded Gus's accomplishment as he paddled over to mount his alligator 
again. She then responded, "It's called playtime. No one asked you out here. But if 
you come uninvited, then you'd better watch out for his line of fire. He's all boy." 
 
"Well that's a change from his father." 
 
"You think so? That just shows what you know." 
 
"What's that on your face?" Jane interrupted, addressing her remark to Luann. "Right 
here." She touched her own cheek and Luann reached up to lightly find the raised red 
welt under her right eye. She woke up with it. It itched like mad, and was swollen and 
unsightly. A hive. Benedryl cream took away the itch. She often had issues with hives 
when she was stressed and her meeting with Bellamy had been very stressful.  
 
"It's nothing." Her perfectly manicured nails scraped at her forearm where two new 
welts had appeared. She opened her lizard bag to fetch the cream and apply it to 
these new hives. 
 
"Better watch it," Jane said in a voice that oozed mock concern. "Hives can swell up 
and distort your features and lead to shingles and all kinds of problems." 
 
"It's absolutely nothing," by saying so it was. "Who is that giant black woman in the 
house?" 
 
"Do you mean Alma? She's Boyd's nurse. She's fabulous." 
 
"She's a behemoth." 
 
"You wanna see something?" Gus had waded out of the water and stood dangerously 
close to Luann as he spoke to her. She shrank back from him as if he were 
radioactive. 
 
"No." 
 
Unfazed he opened his clenched fist to reveal a large black water bug. When Luann 
shrieked, Gus reacted by flinching and the bug went sailing to land on her damp skirt. 
She stood to shake it off and Gus ran to his mother, crying from Luann's extreme 
reaction. Lindsay grabbed his towel to wrap him and soothed him as Luann stalked 
into the house. Alma glanced at her and said, 
 
"That chlorine done turned your bleached hair green." 
 
"My hair is not bleached!" Luann opened a mirror she pulled from her purse to see the 
splotches of green where the water had dampened her hair. She thought the welt 
under her eye looked bigger. "I want to see my brother." 
 
"You can go on up. His therapist left already." 
 
"Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
"Looked like you was having a good time with the girls and I had to help get Mr. Boyd 
settled again." 
 
Luann stalked up the stairs. Boyd looked up as she entered his room and was 
surprised by how happy he was to see her. They had their issues but he hadn't heard 
from anyone in his family, and that hurt. Seeing Luann made him smile.  
"They told me you came to Atlanta. I'm sorry we didn't get to visit. What happened to 
your face and why is your hair green?" 
 
"Shut up, Boyd," she sat down in a chair facing his wheelchair. The painting across 
from the bed caught her eye. "I suppose that's worth something now." 
 
"His work has always been worth something, Luann." 
 
"Can't see it myself." 
 
"That's why you're not an art critic. So how is Daddy? How is Mother taking Lisette's 
death? It was so horrible... " 
 
"Let's not go down that road, Boyd, I don't have much time and I have papers for you 
to sign." 
 
"What kind of papers?" 
 
"The business. Someone has to run the business while you recuperate. Standard 
issue. Temporary voting authority, that kind of thing." 
 
She opened her valise as Boyd laughed. "You're kidding, right?" 
 
"About what?" 
 
"You think I'm relinquishing control of Coulter Mills?" 
 
"What choice do you have? You're incapable." 
 
"I might agree if part of my duties included running track, but last time I looked it was 
more of a head game than a physical challenge to run that business. My head is fine." 
 
"That's debatable." Her tone shifted. "Listen to me, Boyd. You need to concentrate 
on... that... " she motioned to his casts. "You don't need all the hassle of the company 
on top of everything else. You know, that handsome boyfriend of yours isn't going to 
wait around if you can't get back on your feet and at least be a whole human." 
 
He shook his head slowly. His pleasure over seeing his sister was short lived. "Brian's 
going nowhere." 
 
"Right. And you say your head is fine. I'm not here to talk about him or how he's using 
you or any of that. I just want you to sign these papers so we can ensure the Mill 
keeps operating and people get a paycheck and you get dividends to support your 
Romeo." 
 
He gestured towards the desk where his laptop, printer, and telephones were set up. 
"I've already been on two conference calls with the Mill today, Luann. I have another 
set this afternoon. I paid bills online and approved a sale. I appreciate your deep 
concern," he paused to let his sarcasm sink in, "But the Mill is under control." 
 
"I will file a formal challenge to your competency to run a business when you are so 
incapacitated and drugged up, Boyd." 
 
"I'm off pain meds and given the amount of publicity that we've received as survivors 
of this horror, you may be viewed unfavorably if you try that. Either way, you'd lose 
because I am perfectly competent." 
 
"And cute, too." Brian's voice. They both looked at him as he walked past her and 
leaned over to kiss Boyd on top of the head. He then stood behind his chair, glowering 
at his lover's sister. "What the fuck are you doing here?" 
 
"Visiting my brother." 
 
"I see." 
 
"Don't you have a job?" 
 
"Not really. I own a business. Is that the same thing? I had a meeting with Daph and 
Ted," Brian said to Boyd. "I thought I'd stop by and see if you felt up to going out to 
lunch." 
 
"I'm not exactly dressed. Nor am I exactly mobile." 
 
"We have an elevator and a van. You look fine. But are you up to it?" 
 
"Am I invisible?" Luann cut in. Brian glared at her. 
 
"Sadly, no." 
 
"Boyd, don't make this a fight. Just sign the fucking papers. I'll leave them here, you 
can take the day to read them and we'll talk tomorrow." 
 
She placed them on the desk as Brian asked, "What's that thing on your face?" 
 
"Fuck you. And your demon seed is the most vile child I have met in a long while." 
 
"My 'demon seed'?" He repeated with a laugh. "Good name for him! I'm using that 
one." 
 
She left them there and Boyd groaned as Brian fell back on the bed as if shot. "And I 
was actually happy she came by. I thought she might genuinely care about how I was 
doing." 
 
"Yeah, like Germany genuinely cared about Poland," he sat up, and then reached over 
to rest his forehead on Boyd's arm. Boyd let his fingers drift through Brian's hair. "I'm 
sorry, Boyd. I know she's your sister. But let's face it, bud. Your family is poison, 
except for you and Lis and your kids. Maybe your niece, I don't know her." 
 
"I know, but one can hope." 
 
"Are you going to sign those papers?" 
 
"Are you kidding me?" 
 
"If it's temporary, that might not be such a bad thing, Boyd. You wouldn't have all the 
stress of the business while you're healing, and then when you're better... ." 
 
Boyd reached over to pinch his arm. "Did you leave your business instincts at the 
door? I give it up, how long before they make irrevocable changes to secure Dr. Sugar 
and erode my hard work to turn this thing around?" 
 
"How badly do you want that, Boyd? More to the point, how badly do they want to 
stop you?" 
 
Boyd met his eyes. "This is my family, Brian. They may be rank, but even they aren't 
going to blow up a museum to stop me." 
 
"Yep," Brian said, leaning back on his elbows. "Who would think such a thing, right? 
No one. It's not the kind of thing rich, entitled people do. So they're clear." 
 
"What's wrong with you? You don't really think... " 
 
Brian cut him off by taking his face in both hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. 
"No, don't worry about it. You want to run the business, you run the business, 
whatever you want. You need legs, I'll be your runner." 
 
Boyd smiled at him. "Don't patronize me." 
 
"Shut up." 
 
"You shut up." 
 
"I'm hungry, lets go out, Ironsides. Just think of all the sympathy you'll get once 
people see those lime green legs of yours." 
 
"Just what I want. Sympathy." 
 
As they started out of the room, Boyd said, "Pick up those papers." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"I want to drop them off at Lisette's law firm. I want lawyers not so close to it as I am 
to tell me what she's up to." 
 
"In other words, you want your legs to run them up there." 
 
"Isn't that what I said?" 
 
Brian laughed and propelled the chair into the small elevator, squeezing in behind 
him. "What was that thing on her face?" 
 
"I don't know," Boyd said with a shrug. "But did it seem like it was getting bigger?"




September 2nd, 2006
09:55 am - BURN Chapter 108 
 
 
Brian and Boyd invited Petra to join them at their home for dinner. The home-cooked 
meal prepared by Madam, combined with the energy of the children and the 
camaraderie of family, seemed to perk her up. She ate a full meal, and later, she 
relaxed with them by the pool. The evening was clear, almost cool, promising that 
autumn was arriving for real. The pool lights cast them in azure, and Belle stood 
behind Petra's chair and hugged her tightly when she was told it was time for bed.  
 
"I'm so sorry about Lisette," she said to her. "It makes me so sad, but you're still our 
aunt, aren't you, Petra?" 
 
Petra smiled and rested her hand over the child's folded arms. "Of course I am, if 
you'll have me, Belle." 
 
"You have to be." 
 
"That's settled, then," Boyd interrupted. "School tomorrow, up to bed, Belle." 
 
She gave her father and Brian another hug and left the adults alone. Lindsay and Jane 
had already gone up to the house with the boys. Madam and Homer were in for the 
evening. Petra said, 
 
"I want to talk to you about her memorial service, Boyd." 
 
"Are you ready?" 
 
"If you are." 
 
"I'll do whatever you want, Petra." 
 
Brian reached over to squeeze his lover's hand and Boyd smiled faintly at him. Petra 
nodded. "What I would like is nothing religious or formal. As you know, Lisette had 
given up on organized religion, perhaps because organized religion has given up on 
us. Rather I want a celebration of the things she loved most. I'd like to do a jazz 
brunch at one of her favorite restaurants. I'd take the whole place and invite all of her 
friends. Music, good food, champagne, laughter, that's what I envision. I'll fill the 
place with white tulips, her favorite. I'd like to see a few photos of her with various 
friends and family and with your permission, I'd like to make some gifts of some of 
her things to friends as a remembrance." 
 
"Everything Lis had belongs to you as far as I'm concerned, Petra." 
 
"Technically untrue, Boyd. The house, yes, we bought it together, and some personal 
items she specifically wanted me to have, and her insurance, and that sort of thing. 
But the stock in your company goes to you and your children, with you as their trustee 
until they reach majority. And there are trusts set up for your children, and for Gus." 
 
"Gus?" Brian sounded surprised. "What do you mean?" 
 
"Lisette viewed Gus as a nephew too, Brian. She loved him." 
 
Brian sucked in his lower lip, pondering that development. He was touched, but at the 
same time, he felt uneasy, as if he were accepting charity on behalf of his son. Boyd 
squeezed his hand and said, "This was her wish, Brian. Don't even think about pulling 
the pride card. It isn't a handout. You think my kids need her money? This is what she 
wanted to do." 
 
"You read my mind now?" 
 
"What do you mean, 'now'? I've been reading your mind forever." 
 
Brian smiled. True enough. "Go on, Petra." 
 
"She left money to her dearest charities as well. All of that aside, let's get back to the 
memorial service. I don't want a formal eulogy, Boyd, unless you feel it necessary. I'd 
rather invite people to share a memory of Lisette. What do you think?" 
 
"I like it." 
 
"Can I make a suggestion?" Brian interrupted. They both nodded. 
 
"How about a big screen television that shows a loop of photos gathered from all of 
her friends showing her at various stages of her life, with various people. It could just 
play quietly in the background, over and over, while the party partied. What do you 
think? It kind of puts her there with us." 
 
Boyd reached over to kiss his cheek. "Still the adman with creative ideas. I like it, 
but... it's work." 
 
"I volunteer to gather the photos and put the tape together. Just give me a contact 
list, one of you." 
 
"Thank you, Brian," Petra said with a smile. 
 
"My pleasure." 
 
"One more thing. I want everyone to wear white. You know Lisette loved white and I 
don't want to see a crowd of crows dressed in black. Is that alright to ask?" 
 
"It's after Labor Day, but the fashion police may make an exception this one time," 
Brian quipped.  
 
"I want to call and invite people, could you enlist some help with that if we came up 
with a list?" They agreed. She said, "Now, the family. I feel they must be invited, 
Boyd." 
 
Brian looked steadily at the pool, refusing to broadcast a reaction. Boyd sighed. 
 
"I know. That's fine. Maybe they come, maybe they don't. But ask them, yes." 
 
"Very good. I'll check with the café, and see if we can't reserve it two Sundays from 
now. How is that?" 
 
"Whatever works for you." 
 
"Now for her ashes. I don't want to inter them in your family's vault, Boyd." 
 
"I understand." 
 
"I don't want to keep them in a jug at all. Lisette was a free spirit. She shouldn't be 
kept in a jug like a genie waiting to be freed. What I want to do is wait until you're on 
your feet again, and then the three of us will fly to Venice and spread her ashes on the 
Grand Canal. You know how she loved Venice. Would you do that with me?" 
 
Boyd nodded, too choked to talk. Brian reached over to kiss his cheek and then went 
to Petra and knelt by her chair as he embraced her in a tight hug. No one said 
anything. Finally, she spoke. "It's getting late and you're tired, Boyd. I should go 
home." 
 
"Let me get Boyd inside and situated and then I'll come back down and see you home, 
Petra," Brian said. 
 
"No, I can get there on my own." 
 
"Absolutely not," Boyd protested. "I won't have you going through the Quarter on your 
own at night. Come give me a hug." 
 
She did so and then agreed to wait as Brian took Boyd upstairs. When he returned, 
Petra asked, "Can we walk? I know it's a long way, but the evening is so beautiful and 
I need the distraction. You can cab back." 
 
"Sure, let's walk. I need the exercise after that meal." 
 
She looped her arm through his as they left. They were passed by the street car that 
would carry them into the heart of the Quarter, walking past the open doors of many 
of the jazz clubs that populated the Marigny, past the ornate shotgun styled homes 
that decorated the maze of streets.  
 
"It's taken me forever to get oriented with this neighborhood," Brian lit a cigarette as 
they went, ignoring her glare. "The French may do a lot of things right, but they suck 
when it comes to the grid of a town." 
 
"Promise me something, Brian. When we get our next hurricane here, and we will, you 
will take your family and evacuate your home immediately. Unlike the true French 
Quarter, the Marigny is low land, and floods more easily. Please don't let Boyd tell you 
it's fine to ride it out. He's a Louisiana man and they think they're impervious to 
hurricanes. Don't let him do that. Leave at the first warning." 
 
"That house has been here for over a century, Petra." 
 
"The house? Yes. But people are not always so sturdy. Promise me." 
 
"If you'll come with us." 
 
"That would depend on whether I'm needed at the hospital." 
 
"There are other doctors. It's a package deal, Petra." 
 
"Alright. If that's the only way to make you leave." 
 
"I'm a Pennsylvania kind of guy. Are the hurricanes that bad here?" 
 
"Off and on and sometimes unpredictable. People here are much too cavalier about 
the threat. Don't be." 
 
"Don't worry about that. I'm no hero." 
 
She glanced at his handsome profile. "Yes, you are." 
 
He chuckled as he shook his head. He made her pause at a closed up shop on Royal. 
"This is Boyd's gallery. He was so excited about it. This is what he really wants to do. 
So now he's mired in that fucking sugar company and politics and all the machinations 
that go with it. It's not fair. This is what he should be doing." 
 
"He feels a responsibility to the workers and to his family, Brian." 
 
"I know that. But he almost died, Petra. Wake up call. Life is short. Do what you love. 
The family has more than enough money to fund a few generations. The workers, 
well, I guess that's tough, but he can't take on the world to raise. I want to see him 
have his dream. I hate that fucking sugar company." 
 
"Why not have both?" 
 
"What do you mean?" 
 
"Isn't your Lindsay adept at running a gallery? Why not have her get this place 
underway? She seems happy enough here and your son would be nearby. That's a 
good thing. Why not suggest it to Boyd?" 
 
"He and Lindsay have had their moments, but maybe that's history, now. You could be 
on to something, Petra." They began walking again. "Would it be more stress for 
Boyd, do you think?" 
 
"I think he'd be up to the challenge as it is something he loves." 
 
"That's true." 
 
Brian turned the possibilities over in his head as they walked. When they reached her 
home, he saw her to the door, where she kissed both of his cheeks and then offered 
to call a cab for him. He declined. "I'll walk to the street car stop and take it home." 
 
"Be careful," she warned. The Quarter, at night, was not as safe as the tourist board 
liked to promote. 
 
"I'll be fine. Get me that list when you can." 
 
He left her there, but when he reached the corner, a sleek black Mercedes blocked his 
crossing and a tinted window was lowered in back. "Get in," a masculine voice 
intoned. 
 
Brian leaned over to peer inside the car and then hesitated as he identified the 
occupant. "Get in," Oleg Dubrov repeated. Brian did so, sitting close to the door as 
Oleg instructed his driver in Russian.  
 
"Where are we going?" Brian asked. 
 
"Somewhere quiet where we can talk," Oleg responded.  
 
"Were you on your way to see Petra?" 
 
"No. I was looking for the chance to get you alone. And here it is." 
 
Brian smiled slightly at that. "Why Oleg, I never knew you walked my side of the 
street. I'm flattered, but... " 
 
"Don't pull your queer shit on me, Kinney," he grumbled. "Not amusing." 
 
"What does that mean? You don't want to fuck me?" Brian wouldn't be told to back off. 
Oleg glared in the flame of his cigarette lighter as he lit the tip.  
 
"Not on a desert island. You're not my type. Too tall." 
 
Brian laughed. "You have a boy type, do you?" 
 
"Yeah. I would choose a boy who looks like a girl." 
 
"Funny thing, that. If I had to choose a girl to be stranded with, I'd choose Petra." 
 
"What the fuck does that mean?" 
 
"I like her, she's smart, she's a doctor, we could have an intelligent conversation, and 
she wouldn't put any demands on me." 
 
Dubrov laughed at that. "She can be frigid, this is true." 
 
"Not frigid, Oleg. Gay. There is a difference." 
 
"I'm not here to discuss Petra's perversion." 
 
"Perversion?" Brian shook his head. "It's fine and manly to do what you do, but Petra, 
one of the great people of the world, is perverse because she loved Lisette? Fuck you." 
 
"Fuck you, too." 
 
"Fine. Do we really have anything to talk about?" 
 
"Yeah, we do." The driver parked at a bar on the other side of Rampart Street, across 
from the Quarter. The crowd was mostly African American, and the two white men 
drew some less than welcome looks as they occupied a back table. After taking in the 
two hefty bodyguards who stood vigil over Oleg, no one pursued any hostility. A 
wizened, frail guitar man played the blues on a three- legged stool under a white light 
on a small raised stage. They ordered beer from a pretty waitress. Brian accepted 
Oleg's offer of a fine Cuban cigar.  
 
"What's on your mind?" Brian pressed.  
 
"Murder," Oleg responded as he exhaled a cloud of fragrant, blue smoke. Brian 
nodded. 
 
"That sounds about right. Not mine, I hope." 
 
"Why you?" 
 
"Joking." 
 
"Not funny. Murder, Lisette, those others, almost Boyd. Those murders." 
 
"Yes, what about them?" 
 
"Petra asked me to check into the circumstances." 
 
"Let me guess. You trumped the FBI and all those lawmen looking for the answer?" 
 
"I had an advantage." 
 
"What's that?" 
 
"Someone on the inside of the investigation. Someone I pay very well. The lawmen 
are swamped with leads and tips and rabbit trails. I can sit back and be more 
deliberate. A name came up. A name I recognize. They discount him as he doesn't fit 
their profile." 
 
"Who is he?" 
 
"He's a man with a lot of experience in explosives and an equal amount of access." 
 
"Then why isn't he on their list?" 
 
"Because he's one of their own, Brian. You know how cops are about their own? They 
play blind." 
 
"A cop?" 
 
"Not just a cop. Bomb squad." 
 
"Why would a member of the bomb squad be involved?" 
 
"It's usually one of two reasons. Personal grudge or money. I'm betting money. That's 
the quickest way to any cop." 
 
"I don't necessarily ascribe to the view that all cops are dirty, Oleg." 
 
"Nor do I, more's the pity, but there are those who can be had and perhaps he is 
one." 
 
"Seems a longshot." 
 
"Yes, well, perhaps I know cops better than do you." 
 
"Perhaps." 
 
"So I did a little ground work." 
 
"And?" 
 
"This is a man with issues. Men with issues interest me. It's usually men with issues 
who make it easy for men like me to operate. They're the ones to touch." 
 
"What kind of issues?" 
 
"He was in trouble five years ago when he lost two of his men defusing a bomb left by 
a freak in an abortion clinic. He was advising from a safe distance on a particularly 
difficult construction. It involved liquid explosive, his specialty. Some say he made a 
bad call, and the two men died. Others suggest he did it on purpose since he's a very 
adamant anti-abortion activist." 
 
Brian shook his head. "Why would he kill two of his own people? I'm sure the clinic 
had been evacuated, right?" 
 
"True. But it was rubble after the blast." 
 
"So what happened?" 
 
"The usual whitewash of a so-called police investigation. He was knocked down in 
rank. He's very close to retirement and that had an impact on his pension from a 
money perspective, plus the loss of face." 
 
"Okay, and?" 
 
"And he was recently told he's being offered early retirement. That sounds better than 
it is. He will get even less money on his pension. He has some gambling debts, he's 
separated from his family, he drinks, he has issues." 
 
"And let me guess, he hates queers." 
 
"And black people, yes." 
 
"I'm listening." 
 
"He had a reason to be there, they sniffed the place with dogs before the event. But if 
the man doing the scan is dirty, what good is that? You smell something? Good 
doggie, here's a treat, now move on." 
 
"So you're suggesting he didn't do this out of a grudge but because he was paid?" 
 
"I'm saying it was his last official act to work that bombing. He took retirement. He 
was interviewed by the task force, asked how he could miss the explosives with the 
dogs, and he suggested they would discover the explosives were not of a type that a 
dog would be able to identify. Interesting, no? And then he left the country. He's 
retired to a sunny beach on the Mexican Riviera. Seems to be living rather well for a 
cop with a reduced pension." 
 
"That doesn't set off alarms with the task force?" 
 
"Too many non-cop leads to hold their interest." 
 
"So now what?" 
 
"Let me ask you a question, Brian." 
 
"Okay." 
 
"How much do you really want to know?" 
 
"What does that mean?" 
 
"It means someone paid this man to blow up that building. Who would that be?" 
 
"I don't know. Do you?" 
 
"No, but what if it's someone you'd rather not know about? Someone who by doing 
such an act would only create more pain for you boyfriend, for Petra?" 
 
Brian leaned back and took a long draw on his cigar. He met Oleg's cold gray eyes and 
then blew out the smoke as the bell went off in his brain. "No fucking way." 
 
Oleg shrugged. "Just a thought. I don't know. Yet." 
 
"Look, they may be the Addams family, but they aren't that broken." 
 
"Whatever you say." 
 
They were silent for a long while and then Brian finally spoke. "How do we get to this 
cop?" 
 
"We don't. I do." 
 
"Right. Can you get to him?" 
 
Oleg smiled. "Of course. I can get to anyone." 
 
"Why would he talk?" 
 
"I can make anyone talk. My methods are perhaps more direct than are those of the 
police. Your police, anyway." 
 
Brian winced. He didn't even want to think about what that meant. "Okay, Oleg. Make 
him talk. But whatever he says, cover it with me before you say anything to anyone 
else, will you do that?" 
 
"Understand this, Brian," he rested a strong hand on Brian's forearm. "This isn't for 
you. This isn't even for Boyd. This is for Petra. Whatever I do it will be for Petra and 
with her feelings in mind." 
 
"I understand." 
 
"One more thing, Brian. Your sister, Claire. I think I would like to call on her. How do 
you feel about that?" 
 
Brian swallowed hard on that one. "I'd rather you didn't. Claire had a bad experience 
with her husband, but otherwise she's pretty innocent of men. She's not in your 
league. She's vulnerable. She could never begin to understand your world." 
 
Oleg smiled. "If she were my sister and a man like me wanted to call on her, I would 
have a similar response. Or perhaps a bit more forcefully negative. But I like her. 
She's a plain woman. I like a plain woman, and by that I don't mean the way she 
looks. I mean the way she is. No frills as you people say. I've had it up to here with 
frilly women. Petra is no frills, too. She's the only woman I ever cared about beyond 
fucking." 
 
"So... what are you telling me? Are you going to leave her alone?" 
 
Oleg shrugged. "We can talk of it another time. Right now, I need to make plans to 
get a tan on the Mexican Riviera." 
 
"I need to get home to Boyd. He's going to be worried." 
 
"My treat," Oleg left money on the table and they returned to the car. As they rode 
towards his home, Brian grew silent, staring at the night landscape, but seeing 
nothing. He wasn't sure what bothered him more. The possibility that someone close 
to Boyd had ordered his destruction, or the possibility that this scary man might call 
on his poor sister. Both outcomes seemed aimed at rocking the core of his family life. 
What surprised him the most was just how much that disruption mattered to him. He 
had become another man over his time with Boyd and he leaned back as he 
considered whether or not that was a good thing.




September 14th, 2006
06:34 am - BURN, Chapter 109 
Posting for Sleeping Beauty. Enjoy, Ran 
 
 
 
Boyd looked up at Brian as he entered their room. His expression was tense. "Is she 
okay? What took so long? I thought you got mugged." 
 
"I'm capable to being out on my own, Boyd. Don't Mother Hen me to death." 
 
"Zing. Just expressing concern. What's wrong?" 
 
"Nothing's wrong," Brian began to undress, tossing his shed clothes on the chair. He 
was naked when he walked to the bed and carefully climbed in, minimizing the 
movement so he wouldn't disturb Boyd's propped-up legs. Boyd stared at him, even 
after he turned off the light. He let him seethe, feeling his tension like an uninvited 
guest in their bed. Finally, Brian turned over on his side, facing his lover. 
 
"I ran into Oleg." 
 
"You ran into Petra's Oleg? Here?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"He was at her place?" 
 
"No, he was waiting for me in a car. He picked me up and took me to some dive where 
we talked." 
 
"About?" 
 
"Bombs and things." 
 
"Why did Petra get him involved in this?" 
 
"I don't know, Boyd, but she did. And he's been busy." 
 
"What does he know?" 
 
"More than the cops, it would seem." 
 
"Such as?" 
 
"He thinks a dirty cop planted the explosives." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"I don't know all the whys and wherefores yet, Boyd." 
 
"Okay. On his own? Some grudge against the High?" 
 
"No. For money." 
 
"Paid by whom?" 
 
"Not sure." 
 
"What's he doing about it?" 
 
"He's going to Mexico where this cop lives now to interrogate him." 
 
"For real or movie mobster version of interrogation?" 
 
"I'm not sure." 
 
Boyd stared at Brian's shadowy form. "Yes, you are. You have an opinion anyway." 
 
"I think mob style." 
 
"Do we want that?" 
 
"We don't control Oleg Dubrov, Boyd. I'm not sure Petra does, either." 
 
"She never should have involved him." 
 
"Did you know about Petra and Oleg?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"Why did you never tell me?" 
 
"Why would I? How relevant is it? She broke it off with him ages ago. Why mention it 
at all?" 
 
"I don't know. Full disclosure, I guess." 
 
"Her disclosure, not mine." 
 
Brian reached over and smoothed Boyd's hair off his forehead. "That's true." 
 
"You're worried about this, aren't you?" 
 
"Full disclosure?" 
 
"That's the way it is with us, isn't it? I don't want it any other way. Do you?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Then what's wrong?" 
 
Brian moved closer to him and spread his arm across his chest. "I don't have any 
special insight into this and Oleg hasn't closed the loops yet, but someone paid this 
cop off, Boyd. Someone paid big money. Why? To blow up a museum? To blow up 
Jared's art? Terrorism? Or to kill a certain target and make it look political or 
whatever." 
 
"Kill me or Lis or you or Bellamy or whom?" 
 
"Yeah, maybe. All of the above." 
 
"Like those Christian fanatics who hate your club?" 
 
"This doesn't seem like their style, do you think? Why not just shoot me on the 
street." 
 
"Why not just shoot me on the street if I'm the target?" 
 
"Because, maybe, you were only one target. Maybe they wanted Lis dead and me 
dead and maybe even Bellamy." 
 
Boyd tensed, not relaxing when he felt Brian's hand stroke his skin as if to soothe him. 
"My family may be less than perfect, Brian, okay, they are less than perfect, but 
they're not a bunch of homicidal maniacs. That is your implication, right?" 
 
"I'm just trying to figure out who has the most to gain. Lisette's shares in the business 
fall to you. Then you die, it all goes to the kids. Their parents are both gone, the 
family gets control of the kids and the business. Assuming I die too, there's no 
domestic partner around to challenge things, and that also includes Petra. Maybe 
Bellamy is just a bystander casualty, or maybe he's an elimination due to his political 
pretensions." 
 
"You need to stop that, Brian. You need to go somewhere else with this." 
 
"Boyd, I'm not going anywhere with anything. I'm just thinking logical conclusions, 
that's all." 
 
Boyd moved his arm off of him. He said, "I'm really tired. I need to sleep." 
 
"But..." 
 
"I don't want to talk anymore." 
 
Brian leaned over to kiss his cheek, feeling him tense beneath his touch. That hurt. 
But he understood. This was a horrible possibility he laid at Boyd's battered feet. He 
couldn't expect him to be joyfully receptive. They lay there in silence, neither sleeping, 
but neither knowing what to say. 
 
*** 
 
The tension bled through to morning. After Brian left for work, Boyd called Homer to 
his room.  
 
"I want to go to Canard Rouge. Will you drive me in the van?" 
 
Homer looked skeptical. "That's quite a drive, Boyd. Why you want to do that?" 
 
"I need to go there, Homer. Please. Help me get dressed and drive me home." 
 
Against his better instincts, Homer nodded. Boyd added, "And don't tell Brian." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"Because he's not my keeper." 
 
Boyd's stern expression convinced Homer not to argue with him. "Alright, Boyd. I'll 
help you dress and I'll drive you home but I'm on record that it's a mistake." 
 
"Noted." 
 
"You gonna call them first?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"Why should I? They're family, aren't they?" Boyd's icy expression caused Homer to 
frown. 
 
"I wish you weren't doing this, Boyd." 
 
"I realize that, Homer. But I am. So deal." 
 
"You got your grandfather's stubbornness." 
 
"So I've been told." 
 
"That's not always a good thing." 
 
Boyd smiled slightly. "Not always a bad thing either, is it?" 
 
"Not always," Homer said as he helped him into a shirt and then fetched some khaki 
shorts. "But this time, it is." He threaded the shorts carefully over the casts and 
together moved them up his hips. 
 
Boyd took the time to brush his teeth and comb his hair, deciding not to shave. Once 
he was situated in the van and they were on the road leading out of the city, he 
retreated into his own thoughts, unsure of what he would say when he got there, but 
knowing he had to go. 
 
"Where are you?" Brian's voice on his cell phone. Boyd tensed. 
 
"In the van with Homer, why?" 
 
"I came home and you were gone." 
 
"Why'd you come home?" 
 
"I didn't like where we left it." 
 
"I don't either, Brian. I don't like the tension. I'm sorry." 
 
"Don't be. It was me. I should have kept my big mouth shut. Where are you two 
headed?" 
 
"Home." 
 
"How long? I'll wait." 
 
"Not our home. My parents' home." 
 
"No way." 
 
"Yes." 
 
"Boyd, no. Let me talk to Homer." 
 
"No, Brian. I'm fine, quit worrying so much." 
 
"I mean it, let me talk to him!" 
 
"I'll call you when we're on our way back." 
 
"Boyd, don't you dare go there!" 
 
"I love you. Calm down. I'll see you in time for lunch. Go back to work, I'll call when 
we're on our way." 
 
"Boyd please, for me." 
 
"This is for you. For us. I need to know. Later, Brian." 
 
He hung up and switched off his phone. When Homer's cell rang, Boyd warned, "If 
that's Brian, don't pick up." 
 
Homer glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "I decide who to talk to on my own 
phone, Boyd." He punched in. "Hello, Brian," he said calmly as Boyd frowned and 
stared out the window at the retreating city. 
Current Mood: uncomfortable




September 23rd, 2006
09:19 am - BURN, Chapter 110 
Okay, Burniacs, here's a sick little chapter to light up your weekend, so to say. Also, 
look for a little surprise later today or tomorrow as promised. Enjoy your Saturday. By 
the way, they changed up LJ while I was away and I can no longer add pictures to my 
LJ or anything useful, I was going to post a different picture, but it won't add like it 
used to. Any help that anyone can offer me would be appreciated. Why can't they just 
leave LJ alone unless you opt for their stupid changes? Brian 
 
 
 
Daphne jumped as Brian tossed his cell phone across the room, watching it bang on 
the opposite wall and slither to the floor. She stared at her boss. "That was mature." 
 
"I'm tired of being the grown up. Give me your phone." 
 
"Why should I give you my phone?" 
 
"Because I just broke mine." He wiggled his fingers at her and then glared at the 
sparkly pink case her phone resided in. He slipped it out, tossing the case back at her. 
"I'm on my way to the old plantation. Get me a new phone, will you? Keep the number 
the same." 
 
"Brian, what the hell is going on?" 
 
"I don't know. But whatever it is, Boyd's not going there alone." 
 
"How can he go anywhere alone? He can't drive." 
 
He ignored her, stalking out of the office to his car. He was just entering Canal Street 
when the cell rang. "Hi, babe," Bellamy's voice. "Before you say anything, I want to 
tell you that last night... " 
 
"Before you say another word, I want to tell you this is Brian and only in your dreams 
was last night anything with me." 
 
Bellamy laughed. "Why are you answering her phone?" 
 
"I borrowed it." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Long story. Is the only way to Canard Rouge the usual route we all know?" 
 
"Except by boat." 
 
"Is boat faster?" 
 
"Doubt it. Why are you heading to Canard Rouge?" 
 
"To hold Boyd's hand or if I get there in time to divert his seeing his family at all." 
 
Bellamy paused. "Swing by and pick me up." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"We need to talk." 
 
"Not now." 
 
"It's on your way. The muni building. I'll be out front." 
 
Brian welcomed the thought of company on this trip, needing someone to calm him 
down. Maybe he needed Bellamy's voodoo to throw water on the old witch and her 
clan of flying monkeys. He swept by the municipal building and Bellamy was true to 
his word. He got into the car and was fastening his seatbelt when Brian took off. 
"Boyd doesn't need to be going out there," he said. 
 
"You think? I tried to stop him but he can be so fucking stubborn and Homer is driving 
him. At least Homer's there." 
 
"Brian, I can't explain how I know in a way that would make sense to you. But I know 
Boyd's sister, Luann, is involved in this disaster. Not sure what she did, but I know 
she was involved." 
 
"The kind of proof you can give the cops or voodoo stuff?" 
 
"Voodoo stuff." 
 
"I knew it. The woman is a cunt." 
 
"Yeah, with a capital c," Bellamy's cell phone played a couple bars of "When the Saints 
Come Marching In" and he answered it. "Hi, Daph. Too late, I already called it. In fact, 
I'm here with Brian now. Long story, tell you later. Yeah, I know. It's fine. Later." He 
hung up and Brian glanced at him. 
 
"Are you playing her?" 
 
"Are you her father now?" 
 
"Apparently. I seem to be the only grown up in the group." 
 
Bellamy chuckled. "That is a very scary thought." 
 
"I feel protective of Daphne. She's a nice kid." 
 
"She's no kid, papa." 
 
Brian winced. "Don't put those pictures in my head. And compared to you, she is a 
kid. It's not the chronological difference, it's the experience level." 
 
"Don't worry about Daphne. She's fine. I care about her, Brian. I have no intention of 
hurting her." 
 
"Funny the pain we cause when our intentions are pure." 
 
Bellamy shrugged. "You worry about your partner. He's the one with the wild hair. 
What is he trying to accomplish?" 
 
"The truth is, I think he wants reassurance, Bell. I think he wants to face these people 
who share his genes and have them make him believe they wouldn't do anything 
heinous." 
 
"And what do you think?" 
 
"I think they paid someone to kill him, to kill Lisette and to throw in their partners for 
good measure. All in the name of greed." 
 
"What kind of people do that?" 
 
"Twisted people who would rather see their reputation and money in tact than see 
their family whole. They'd get the money and Boyd's kids. Everything they want." 
 
Bellamy shook his head. "I can't think that way. It's not rational." 
 
"I know. And how will this be to the good for Boyd? Either they deny it and are tipped 
to the fact he's closing in, or... well, they'd never come clean. No way. It's craziness 
on his part. But ever since the bombing, he hasn't been himself, and how could he be 
after what he went through? He wants answers and the answers are not the ones he 
really wants." 
 
"If you speed, maybe we can beat them there. Homer is the type to follow the law." 
 
"And I'm not?" 
 
They looked at each other and laughed as Brian applied more pressure to the gas 
pedal.  
 
*** 
 
Luann parked her car short of the muddied road leading to the ramshackle cabin by 
the bayou. She wore boots and jeans and picked her way around the slimier puddles 
as she finally reached the listing porch and rapped on the door with a single knuckle. 
The smell of gasoline and scorch permeated this place as if it were a powder keg just 
waiting to be lit. She could hear the television inside and she rapped again, louder this 
time. Finally the misshapen man threw open the door and glared through the screen 
at his intruder. When he saw who it was, his melted face creased in a macabre grin. 
 
"You showed up." 
 
"I told you I would, didn't I?" 
 
"Come inside." 
 
She glanced over her shoulder, and then reluctantly went into the beastly hovel, 
deciding it was better to conclude this transaction out of view. The interior was as bad 
as the exterior, if not worse. The furnishings were either scorched from the fire he 
pulled them from when his mother's house burned, or were filthy from his personal 
habits and refusal to bathe. The scent that hovered in the atmosphere was difficult for 
Luann to describe, it was so foul. Filth, carbon, body odor and something worse, like 
rotten food. She refused to sit down as he turned off the old television on a metal 
stand. The tubes were so worn, the aspect of color was almost lost on the screen. 
 
"You want a drink?" he offered and her eyes grew wide. 
 
"Of course not." 
 
"Well then," his tongue crossed over his lips like the sensate organ of a reptile, sniffing 
the air with that pass. "Let's get to it." 
 
She nodded and opened her purse, removing an envelope, heavy with its enclosed 
burden. "Here. Take this," she rested it on top of the television, not wanting to cross 
hands with him. "This is all you're getting. It's enough to get you out of here, to make 
a new start somewhere." 
 
"Money? You brung me money?" 
 
"Yes. Money. More than you earned, given that you failed miserably." 
 
"I didn't fail at nuthin'. I did what you said with them queers. You said not to burn up 
them kids. I was waitin' for the time you had the kids visitin' at your place, like you 
said. And then they up and moved to town and it got harder. Last thing I know, you 
said to make it happen in New Orleans, and I was figurin' out the layout when you 
called me off." 
 
"I'm not going to argue with you about it, Minus. You burned up an empty house is all 
you did. Yes, it may have scared them, but so what? It only succeeded in making 
them leave Canard Rouge. You were never going to make it happen." 
 
"I woulda, you give me time. I did my part. Now you owe me what you promised." 
 
"Minus, with that money, you can buy all the blondes you want. Just buy them 
somewhere else. You need to get the hell out of here. You have no life here. I don't 
want you around if the FBI starts poking into things in Canard Rouge." 
 
"You mean the fire marshal?" 
 
"No, I mean the FBI. You do know there was a bombing in Atlanta, don't you?" 
 
"I had nuthin' to do wi' dat. I don't know nuthin' about bombs. Fire is my game." 
 
"I know you didn't, Minus. But I don't want them talking to you. Take that money and 
go." 
 
"Go where? Where you think a man like me can have a life? There ain't that much 
money in the world to erase this shit," he motioned to his face and she sighed.  
 
"Maybe you can get plastic surgery in Europe or somewhere, I don't know. They can 
work miracles with plastic surgery." 
 
"You think I ain't asked about it? I asked. You get burned, you ain't got the skin left to 
move around and fix. And I don't need your damned money if I want to get out of 
here. Look here," he pulled a check book in a plastic cover out of a drawer and she 
carefully took it from him. She opened it and glanced at the balance that was in six 
figures. She knew anyone could write anything in a checkbook, but somehow she 
knew this was real. The bank was in Lafayette, not the local branch.  
 
"Where did you get this kind of money?" 
 
"None of your business. But the fact is, money ain't what you promised me and now I 
want to see you without them clothes." 
 
Luann smiled. "It's not happening, Minus. You didn't do the deed, so you don't get the 
prize. Here," she unbuttoned her shirt, feeling his eyes crawl over her as she exposed 
a pale pink lacy bra to his eager stare. "This is all you earned. This glimpse." She 
buttoned it back up, not missing the bulge she created in his filthy work pants and 
trying not to even think about what was in there.  
 
"I want to lick your titties," he said, displaying that tongue again and she shuddered, 
as she shoved in her shirttail and reached into her purse. She withdrew an automatic 
that she pointed at him.  
 
"Back off, Minus. I'm not afraid to use this and my Daddy taught us all to be crack 
shots." 
 
He stopped and his expression turned to one of wonder. "You got a gun?" 
 
"You think I'm stupid enough to come here without a weapon?" 
 
"You promised me you'd fuck me if I did what you asked with them queers. You said 
your brother broke your daddy's heart turning queer the way he did. You said you'd 
let me touch you all over." 
 
"The fact is you didn't kill the queers, Minus, now did you? So I owe you nothing. I'm 
giving you that money out of the goodness of my heart. Combined with this 
mysterious money you already have, you could buy yourself a life away from here. Go 
do it." 
 
"This is my home." 
 
"This condemned shack? How can you live like this? What's here for you? Your 
mother's dead, everyone thinks you're a fucking freak, you scare people to death with 
your Freddy Krueger looks and actions. Go somewhere else and tell people you're a 
fireman hero and let them feel sorry for you instead of crossing the street to get away 
from you. And take a bath occasionally. You throw off a scent from a mile away. 
You're disgusting." 
 
He narrowed his eyes as he hissed, "You think your shit don't stink, missy?" 
 
"At least I don't wear it around," she tossed her golden hair behind her shoulders and 
said, "Leave by the end of the week, Minus. Get the hell out of here." 
 
He tossed her envelope at her. She didn't reach for it, didn't waver in holding the 
weapon, and it split when it hit the floor, spilling hundred dollar bills. "I don't want 
your fucking money and I'm goin' nowhere. This is my home. I have my family." 
 
"Your family? What family? The flies that infest this dump? The alligators in the 
swamp? You have no family, Minus. You burned your family up and everyone knows it 
and you maybe got away with it, but you did it. You burned up your own mother." 
 
"That's a damned lie!" 
 
She backed towards the door. "You're fired, Minus. You have no job at the mill, I'll see 
to that. Nothing to hold you here." 
 
"You can't fire me." 
 
"The hell I can't. You may forget my family owns those mills." 
 
"I ain't forgettin' nuthin'. But your daddy runs that mill, not you. Only your daddy can 
fire me." 
 
"Boyd runs the mills now, you freak. That's the problem. Daddy is an invalid. He may 
never make a full recovery and even if he does, it will be too late. You tried to kill 
Boyd, you burned down his house. You think he's going to keep you on?" 
 
"He can't fire me." 
 
"Of course he can. He can do anything he wants." 
 
"Your daddy won't let him." 
 
"Why does my father give a shit what happens to you, Minus? He can find anyone to 
burn the fucking sugar stalks!" 
 
"Where do you think my money come from, you bitch? The job? What do you suppose 
they pay me? Not enough." 
 
"What are you saying?" 
 
"I'm saying my money come from your daddy, Mizz Coulter. Your daddy give me that 
money over the years and I put all of it in the bank." 
 
"Why would he do that?" 
 
"Because he loved my Mama. Because he felt bad for her passing. Because he felt bad 
for what happened to me. Because he's my daddy too." 
 
Luann felt as if he struck her. "What are you saying?" 
 
"Just what I said. He knew my Mama when they were young. She weren't his social 
class, being a Cajun, being poor, but he loved her. He married your skinny old bitch 
mother, but he loved my Mama. And they had me together. And she never told no 
one, never asked for nuthin' from him." 
 
"That's obviously not true. He gave you large sums of money." 
 
"After Mama was killed. After I got burned. He felt bad for me. He's always been kind 
to me. He paid my medical bills. He's tried to make me move somewhere that people 
will look out for me. But this is my home. I ain't leavin' here." 
 
"You're lying." 
 
He picked up a dusty, faded photograph from a table. It was framed in a dime store 
wooden frame and he held it out so she could see a younger version of her father, a 
darkly pretty version of Minus's mother and a toddler standing between them, a 
normal looking child with blond hair and a familiar nose. Luann shook her head. 
 
"If this is true, then that makes me your sister, you pervert. You wanted to fuck your 
own sister?" 
 
"It's not like we was raised together." 
 
Luann felt her stomach lurch. She thought about throwing up on his floor, but realized 
that wouldn't make the place any less hospitable than it already was. She didn't think 
her empty promise to have sex with him could get any sicker, but it just did. She was 
strangely grateful to Minus, however. Now she had something on her father that gave 
her leverage she previously lacked. An idea occurred to her. "Minus, other than 
money, did Daddy ever give you anything else? Like documents, shares in the mills?" 
 
"Why should I tell you anything?" He sulked. 
 
"If you answer my question, I'll show you my tits. You can't touch me, but I'll let you 
look at them. And if you have those documents, and you give them to me, I'll show 
you both tits and let you jerk off over there, away from me, while you look." 
 
She saw the light in his eyes and she smiled inwardly at the rather kinky idea of 
watching a monstrous man, better yet her half brother, masturbate at the sight of her 
tits, while she held a gun aimed squarely at his head. 
Current Mood: devious




September 30th, 2006
12:04 pm - BURN, Chapter 111 
Posting for Big B. Enjoy! Ran 
 
*** 
 
 
As they neared Canard Rouge, Brian began to feel anxious. This town may have 
brought him the greatest happiness in his life in the form of Boyd Coulter, but it also 
brought him fear, misery and anxiety. Leaving Canard Rouge had been a big relief. 
Whenever he came back, he felt a little sick. They hadn't passed Homer on the road 
and he didn't want to keep calling Homer and set Boyd off. He made one "slow down, 
I'm on my way" call, and then let Homer take over.  
 
"I hate coming here," he said to Bellamy, who laughed. 
 
"Really? For me, visiting one of the lovely and gracious plantation houses that grace 
the bayou always gives me such a warm and joyous connection to my roots." 
 
Brian smirked at him. "Hard to connect a rich, powerful and successful man like you to 
slave roots, Bell." 
 
"Maybe for you, white Yankee boy. For me, it's not so hard at all." 
 
"You didn't have to come." 
 
"No, actually I did have to come." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"Because I feel a responsibility to the dead." 
 
"That's weird. You know that, right?" 
 
"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I know. But you weren't raised in my house, Brian." 
 
"I'll trade." 
 
Bellamy laughed. "Then you wouldn't be the person you are today. Whatever each of 
us goes through coming up, it makes us what we are now." 
 
Brian's mobile rang and he answered using his Bluetooth headpiece. "Yeah?" 
 
There was a little interference, and then, "Brian, this is your friend Oleg, calling from 
Mexico." 
 
Brian tensed. Every time he heard Oleg's voice, his insides shrank a little. He was a 
scary man. "How's the weather?" 
 
"Quite warm. Beautiful, in fact. I found some property on the beach. I think I'll build 
myself a little getaway." 
 
Brian figured he used that term "getaway" literally. "Nice." 
 
"I met with our mutual friend." 
 
The dirty policeman. Brian sighed. "How did it go?" 
 
"He was a very stubborn man." 
 
"Was?" Brian seized on that word. Oleg laughed. 
 
"He's still on this side of the dirt, my friend. Don't worry. Just not feeling his best right 
now." 
 
"Okay," he had to admit to a sense of relief. He had no love lost for the cop who let 
the explosion occur, but he wasn't into murder for revenge either. "Did you learn 
anything?" 
 
"He was paid to overlook the explosives." 
 
"By whom?" 
 
"There's an intermediary trail I'll have to follow, but I have a start on it." 
 
"Are you saying he didn't set the explosives?" Brian felt Bellamy's gaze settle on him.  
 
"That's what I believe. I believe his role was to ensure the explosives were not 
exposed. And he was paid very well for that act. I need something from you." 
 
"From me? What?" 
 
"I'd like to find out what we can about the type of explosives used. It may help lead 
me to the dynamite man." 
 
"How can I do that?" 
 
"I don't know, Brian. But I've exhausted my contacts with the local police. Use yours. 
Use your politician." 
 
Brian met Bellamy's intense gaze. "Uh, okay. When will you be back?" 
 
"Tomorrow. I'm closing on my property today." 
 
"Thanks." 
 
Brian shared what he knew with Bellamy and then said, "Can you find anything out?" 
 
Bellamy shrugged. "Georgia isn't my sphere of influence, but I can try." 
 
"Maybe the U.S. would be better off if they relied on the Russian Mafia to combat 
terrorism instead of the Army and the FBI and CIA." 
 
Bellamy laughed. "Use a thief to catch a thief." 
 
They drove through the town. Brian spied their specially equipped van at the local 
Texaco where Brian's problems in Canard Rouge began. Homer was pumping gas and 
he smiled and tipped his hat as Brian and Bellamy drove by. Brian just hoped Boyd, 
who had to be in the back of the van, didn't see them. He guessed not, or his cell 
phone would be ringing.  
 
"So what do we do when we get there first? Why not just circle back and talk turkey to 
Boyd at the Texaco?" Bellamy asked. Brian shook his head. 
 
"You don't know Boyd like I do. It's in his head that he's going to the plantation, so 
he's going. He's as stubborn as a fucking mule. Better that we just be there when he 
arrives to help manage the situation." 
 
"So we park there and wait?" 
 
"Bell, relax. There's no armed overseer with a pack of fucking dogs. Those days are 
done." 
 
"Easy for you to say." 
 
"Are you kidding me? If they met us with guns, your head wouldn't be their first 
target, or their second. It's not going down that way." 
 
Bellamy nodded, not sure what he should expect. When they reached the plantation, 
Brian parked across the long drive that was lined with towering oaks. When the van 
pulled up and stopped, they both got out and he walked back to the van. Bellamy and 
Homer stood by the hood, talking, giving the other two men time alone. Brian climbed 
in to sit on the seat next to Boyd. "So. Beautiful day on the bayou." 
 
Boyd glared at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?" 
 
"Nice. I love you, too." 
 
"I mean it, Brian." 
 
"So do I." 
 
"You don't need to be here." 
 
"I think I do. What the fuck are you doing here, Boyd? You plan to roll in there and 
say 'Hey, Ma, Pa, did you try to kill me in Atlanta?' What do you think their response 
to that may be?" 
 
"I hope it will be 'of course not'." 
 
"And it will be and then where are you?" 
 
"I need to hear it, Brian. I need to see their faces when they deny it. Can you 
understand that?" 
 
Brian reached over and held Boyd's hand between his. "Of course I do, Boyd. But it 
won't change anything." 
 
"It may. Did it occur to you that they might be telling me the truth?" 
 
"I got a call from Oleg. He's in Mexico. He tracked down the former Atlanta police 
bomb squad guy who led the pre-event sniffer dog team at the High. He's retired now 
and living very, very well on a cop's pension on some beach in Mexico. He admitted to 
Oleg that someone paid him off to ignore the bomb." 
 
"Why would he admit that?" 
 
"I guess Oleg is a very persuasive guy." 
 
Boyd sighed. "Who paid him?" 
 
"We don't know yet. Intermediaries, I guess." 
 
"Okay, so anyone could have done that." 
 
"Who would, Boyd? Follow the money. Who would blow up Jared's work? Some 
nutcase wouldn't have the sophistication or the bankroll to pay off the cops. It was a 
planned action." 
 
"Maybe." 
 
"Boyd, let's keep breaking it down before you confront your family. Let's have more 
information." 
 
"I'm here and I'm talking to them, Brian. You don't need to be here, in fact it's 
probably better if you're not." 
 
"I can't talk you out of it, can I?" 
 
Boyd shook his head. 
 
"Then I'm going with you." 
 
Boyd knew he couldn't convince him otherwise, so after a brief kiss, Brian got out and 
informed the others of the plan. As they neared the graceful, columned home, they 
saw Boyd's father seated on a wicker chaise, his legs covered with an afghan as he 
sipped lemonade and absorbed the cool day. A slender black woman dressed in 
raspberry scrubs was nearby, reading a book, keeping an eye on her patient. They 
both looked up as the two vehicles pulled up and parked in the circular drive. The old 
man smiled when he saw Homer and then that smile turned teary as Boyd's 
wheelchair was lowered to the bricks. The old man used a cane and the arm of his 
nurse to get up, standing on rickety legs as his son and the others approached.  
 
"Oh god, boy, look what they've done to you!" His father greeted him, staring at the 
casts on both of Boyd's legs and the chair he was confined to. He didn't even seem to 
see the others. Boyd was equally shocked by his father's appearance. The old man 
had lost so much weight, which was good, but instead of complimenting his 
appearance, he looked older and haggard. Tears formed in his eyes and broke along 
the grooves of his cheek. He hobbled over to Boyd and leaned down to give him an 
awkward hug. Boyd accepted it with surprise and then the nurse and Homer helped 
the old man back to the chaise, because this much activity had drained him of his 
energy. Boyd rolled his chair closer to his father and said, 
 
"You've lost so much weight, Daddy." 
 
"They told me to," he glared at his nurse. "Said it was bad for my heart to carry that 
weight. I said I've always been a big man." 
 
"That's what give you that heart attack," his nurse scolded and then moved away to 
sit at the far end of the porch so they could have more privacy. Bellamy joined her 
there as Homer said, 
 
"You look much better than last time I saw you, Mr. Coulter." 
 
"You taking care of my boy, Homer?" 
 
"Yes sir. Along with Brian, I am." 
 
Brian tensed as Coulter stared up at him. "I know you. You're Boyd's... what is it you 
call each other?" 
 
"He's my partner, Daddy. My life partner. We live together. He's the love of my life." 
 
Brian squeezed Boyd's shoulder and Boyd reached back to cover his hand with his. 
They both braced for his father's venom but the old man just sighed. "Boyd, you find a 
person who can truly make your life happy and love you for who you are, then you 
better hold on to that person with both hands and never let go. I had that once and I 
lost it and my life has never been the same." 
 
Brian sat down in a chair near Boyd as Homer drifted over to the others. Boyd reached 
for Brian's hand and he took it, holding tightly to his fingers. "Do you mean that, 
Daddy? About Brian and me?" Boyd didn't quiz him on this lost love of his. He figured 
he had no right to know.  
 
"When you stare death in the face and then see it snatch your own little girl from your 
life, you start to wonder what the hell you've been doing all these years? What's 
important?" 
 
"Daddy, do you really feel that way?" 
 
"I can't say I understand about you and Lisette and how you both found your lives 
outside the bounds of normal, but maybe it's not for me to understand. Maybe my job 
was just to see that people are different, even in my own family. Now it's too late with 
Lisette and it was almost too late with you, Boyd. Do you know what it's like to watch 
on the television and see your own child being pulled out of that disaster, half dead? 
And later you learn that another of your children didn't make it out of there at all? I 
watched Brian on that news show, along with Lisette's woman. I thought they were 
amazing, the way they talked about it." 
 
Boyd looked at Brian, who seemed confused. He couldn't disbelieve this man, his 
sincerity was so deep, even the most accomplished actor couldn't sell such a 
performance. And yet so many arrows were pointing towards this house. "Did your 
wife have a similar awakening, Mr. Coulter?" Brian asked and watched the man's 
expression change. 
 
"My wife is a hard woman." 
 
"Meaning no." 
 
He sighed. "She has her view of what is right and what is wrong. And she doesn't 
mind telling you, either. I can't say whether it did have an effect on how she feels 
about things, Brian. She loves Boyd, of course, but she doesn't agree with how he's 
running the business and she doesn't accept how he's running his life." 
 
"What about you, Daddy? You agree with how I'm running the business?" 
 
"So you know about Dr. Sugar." 
 
"I do." 
 
"It's not just our mills, Boyd. You're trying to shift the power base of the industry, at 
least the industry in this state. People aren't going to lie down for that." 
 
"It's wrong and you know it. You'll put these people, who have worked for this family 
business for generations, out of work. With nothing to fall back on. While we go 
offshore and get even richer." 
 
"Son, it's inevitable. Sugar isn't going to keep its subsidies and tariffs in place 
indefinitely. The government view is shifting, under a lot of international trade 
pressure. Now the word is out that you want to put your own man in the Senate. What 
favors does he have to put pressure on people? Where is the sense of that?" 
 
"Daddy, I know it's shifting. All your senators can do is hold it off for eight years or so. 
Let us get a little running room. I want someone up there with a brain who doesn't 
owe sugar for everything he has, who can make the right calls and still do what he can 
to legitimately protect the interests of this state. I want the people who devoted their 
lives to Coulter Mills to share in the profits of Dr. Sugar, so that even if we lose our 
tariffs here and the business shifts offshore, they have some money coming in while 
they find other ways to make a living. " 
 
"Less for us." 
 
"Yes. But how much more do you really need to feel comfortable? Isn't it past that and 
into greed now?" 
 
"You don't have the hard soul of a businessman, Boyd. You have the brains and the 
vision, but you're too soft." 
 
"Maybe so. But I'm looking at the last gasps of a dinosaur. One way or another this 
business is changing, and not for the good of people who have gouged sugar prices for 
years and years. I'm trying to find a painless conversion path for all of us. You were 
brilliant to buy Dr. Sugar, even if I don't agree with how you did it. By doing so, you 
hedged your bet with the domestic market. But you left out the humanity factor, 
Daddy, and I won't. I won't do it." 
 
His father smiled and reached over to spread a frail hand on his son's face. "You 
gonna stay on at the business as we see this thing through?" 
 
"No, only on the board as the controlling shareholder. I don't want to run this business 
forever. I want to do something else with my life, and I intend to do just that. I 
suggest you undertake a CEO search and hire a true business professional with a 
background in running a company to take over after you." 
 
"Always been a family business." 
 
"We'll still control it. We don't have to run it." 
 
"What about your sister?" 
 
"Luann? You think she has the experience to run a huge business?" 
 
They communicated silently and his father said, "Lisette could have done it." 
 
"Yes, and very well. But Luann is no Lisette." 
 
"What are you doing here?" His mother's greeting was less than warm as she walked 
out on the verandah and looked from one uninvited guest to the next. "Your father 
doesn't need this provocation, Boyd! Go, and take these people with you." 
 
"That's what you say to me when this is the first you've seen me since all that 
happened?" Boyd challenged her and she drew up, her arms crossed tightly over her 
chest.  
 
"I have to consider your father first. You've upset him. You need to leave." 
 
"Woman, the only thing upsetting me is you. LaTisha," he called to the nurse. "You go 
upstairs and you throw all that medicine of mine in a bag with some of my clothes. 
Pack up your stuff, too." 
 
"Where do you think you are going, old man?" His wife insisted. "You're not well 
enough to go anywhere!" 
 
"You keep telling me that, but I think it's this damned house and the people in it who 
are making me sick. Homer, go help LaTisha with the packing, would you do that for 
me?" 
 
"Yes sir, I will." 
 
"Don't you dare go into my house, Homer Dhue," Boyd's mother warned. "You are not 
welcome here anymore." 
 
"Ignore her, Homer," her husband said. "She's forgetting just who owns this house 
and it isn't her. I inherited it from my own father, free and clear of any of her marital 
rights, and she's here at my grace. Go on now." 
 
Homer and the nurse went inside as Boyd's mother glared at her husband. "Where do 
you plan to go, you old fool?" 
 
"To my house in the Garden District. Doctors are better in New Orleans and I'm closer 
to my son and my grandchildren. Maybe I'll get some life back in me." 
 
"Who's going to take care of you? That nurse of yours works shifts, and she can't cook 
worth a damn!" 
 
"We can find staff, Mother," Boyd said. "Until then, Madam will see that Daddy gets 
fed." 
 
"She doesn't work for us anymore." 
 
"She's still a friend," Boyd responded. "And friends help friends. Right?" 
 
"Boyd, if you think you can get to your father by isolating him from me... " 
 
"Mother, what is there to get? I already have control of the business. What more do I 
need from him? So let me ask you a question. Did you have anything to do with the 
bombing in Atlanta?" 
 
"Son!" His father said. "Don't even say a thing like that. She's still your mother." 
 
But Boyd didn't retreat and his mother gave him a cold look as she turned and walked 
back into the house. "I take that as a maybe," he said to Brian, who winced. After 
loading the old man's gear into the van, they situated him with his nurse and Boyd, 
while Bellamy and Brian led in the Rover.  
 
Brian called Madam to ask her to prepare the house in the Garden District for Boyd's 
father. When he hung up, Bellamy said, "That was weird." 
 
"It was, wasn't it? I'd call it a draw. His father seems to have turned semi-human 
while his mother is even icier than before. How do you read her non-answer?" 
 
"The same way you do. But I think Boyd isn't ready to admit it." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"Brian, don't force him to. Don't make this your issue." 
 
"You're right." 
 
His cell phone rang. It was Boyd. "We're taking a detour at Daddy's request." 
 
"Where?" 
 
"To Minus's place." 
 
"Minus? That burned ember of a guy? Why?" 
 
"Brian, I just don't know. But he's adamant about it. We're not getting out, only 
Daddy, and Homer's going to help him. He said he has to talk to Minus. Just drive on 
to the city and I'll see you there." 
 
"Like hell. You think I'm not going to be there in case anything happens?" 
 
"What's going to happen?" 
 
"This is Louisiana, Boyd. Who the fuck knows?" 
 
Boyd laughed. "Good point. You'd better let us pass you then so you can follow. 
Homer knows where it is but he said you'd never be able to find it on your own." 
 
Brian did so, waving as they drove by. "We're going down the rabbit hole again, Bell," 
he said as he hit end. Bellamy drew his lips into a scowl and nodded. He didn't like 
this, not at all. But he agreed with Brian that they should be there, just in case. In 
case of what, he wasn't sure. He leaned back and stared straight ahead, ready for 
anything. 
Current Mood: weird




October 8th, 2006
09:34 am - BURN, Chapter 112 
Posting for Big B, have fun. Ran 
 
*** 
 
 
 
As they approached Minus's house, Boyd thought he saw Luann's pepper red Cayenne 
pass them on the road. How many pepper red Cayenne's could there be in Canard 
Rouge? But he said nothing, as he looked at his father. 
 
"Why in the hell are we going to see Minus?" 
 
"We aren't. I am. You stay right here in the van." 
 
"Ok, Daddy. Why are you?" 
 
"Because I want to tell him I'll be staying in my house in New Orleans for awhile." 
 
"And this is his business because?" 
 
"Because I take care of Minus. He worries if he doesn't hear from me or know where 
to find me." 
 
"I'm sorry, Daddy, but why do you feel a certain responsibility for Minus? It's not your 
fault he got burned. You give him employment. What the hell?" 
 
His father gave him a long stare and said, "Minus is my son." 
 
"Very funny." 
 
"Not so funny." 
 
"I have a mutant brother?" 
 
His father frowned. "That's not worthy of you, Boyd. Minus wasn't always like that. 
The fact is he was born a little slow, a little off, but he was a happy child." 
 
"Step back. You had an affair with his mother?" 
 
"I was in love with his mother. You never knew her as a girl, she was a beautiful Cajun 
woman with a wild heart and she loved me." 
 
"And Mom was where in all this?" 
 
"It was before your mother. Back then, boys from families liked the Coulters didn't 
marry Cajun girls from the bayou. I was sent off to college and I married someone the 
world deemed suitable. You aren't the only one who was forced to live a life you didn't 
want due to convention." 
 
Boyd shook his head as he absorbed this page of his family's history. "I guess I never 
knew how old Minus is. He's older than Luann?" 
 
"No. I can't say your mother and I had the happiest of marriages. Not her fault, really. 
After all, I was in love with another woman. I took up seeing her again, Minus's 
mother, and then he came along. I wanted a divorce but your mother was having 
none of it. We already had Luann and Lisette was on the way." 
 
"You were a busy boy," Boyd said with a shake of his head. His father went on.  
 
"I'm not proud of it. I promised your mother I'd stay away from Minus's mother if she 
didn't make a scandal out of it. I had my father to please and it was about that time I 
was being groomed to take over the business. I gave in to convention and 
responsibility. I didn't see her for a long while, but I did support them. They didn't 
have to live the way they did, but there was a madness in that woman that became 
more apparent with each passing year. Minus inherited some of it. What she did with 
the money I gave them, I don't know, because they lived like swamp rats. I saw the 
boy from time to time. And then you were born, and your grandfather finally retired, 
and I had too much going on to worry about Minus or much of anything. I continued 
to send money." 
 
"And mother?" 
 
"She never forgave me, of course. I asked her about taking Minus into our home, out 
of that crazy environment he lived in. She said no, and that in time they'd end up 
killing each other and that would be the end of that." 
 
"And is that true? Did Minus burn down his own house? Kill his own mother, like the 
story goes?" 
 
"We'll never know for sure. I say no. I think the death of his mother drove him crazy." 
 
Boyd shook his head. "Growing up with two sisters, I always wished for an older 
brother. I didn't expect he might be Freddy Krueger." 
 
"Be more charitable, Boyd. When I go, it's up to you to see that Minus continues to 
get his checks. You have to promise me that." 
 
Boyd just sighed and grew quiet as they pulled up to the shack on the bayou. Homer 
went with the old man to the door of the shack while Brian left the Rover to join Boyd 
in the van. Bellamy talked on his cell phone to his office, safely ensconced in the 
vehicle when Brian left. 
 
Boyd caught his partner up on the latest chapter of the Coulter family saga and Brian 
stared at him in silence before he said, "Did Faulkner write your family's history?" 
 
"Too cheesy for him. More like Harrold Robbins." 
 
Brian laughed. "Funny, I see very little family resemblance." 
 
Boyd cut him a glare. "I can't get my arms around it. Lisette always hinted that Daddy 
had a woman on the side, but I never wanted to know. It was too nauseating to 
comprehend." 
 
"That may explain some of your mother's nastiness, or is it the other way around? 
Cause and effect." 
 
"I don't know. I'm still reeling." 
 
Brian leaned over and kissed him. "Thanks." 
 
"For what?" 
 
"For making me realize how lucky I got with my own fucked up family." 
 
Boyd laughed. "Glad to be of service." 
 
"You know who I feel sorry for? Your niece, the pouty bitch." 
 
"She's not there. Luann shipped her to Catholic boarding school in the city." 
 
"Canard Rouge?" 
 
"No, the real city. New Orleans." 
 
"How do you know?" 
 
"She put me down as a local emergency number." 
 
"Christ, what nerve!" 
 
"I think Luann wanted to be free of her teenaged nastiness while she plotted her plots 
about the company and... whatever else." 
 
Brian squeezed his hand. "Who knew Catholic boarding school could be preferable to a 
home, although I used to pray they would make good on their threat to send me to 
military school. Can you imagine all those hot, lonely boys?" 
 
Boyd smiled at that and then said, "Do you think we should check and make sure 
Daddy is okay in there?" 
 
"What do you mean by 'we'?" Brian teased. "Oh sure, send the Pennsylvanian guy into 
the firebug's shack." 
 
Boyd glared. "Roll me out, then." 
 
"Homer's with him. He's fine." 
 
"You really don't want to go in there, do you?" 
 
"No. I really don't," Brian paused. "But I will." 
 
"Never mind, here they come." 
 
Homer kept a grip on the old man's elbow as they made their way back to the 
vehicles. Minus was only a shadowy figure hovering in the doorway. Just that glimpse 
of him made Brian shudder. He got out of the van so the old man could resume his 
seat. He looked pale, exhausted by this activity.  
 
"Are you okay?" Boyd asked him, suddenly worried, and his father nodded. 
 
"Let's just go." 
 
"I'll see you in town," Boyd called out to Brian, who nodded and returned to the Rover, 
anxious to leave this town behind. In the van, Boyd's father finally broke the silence 
as the small back roads gave way to the interstate.  
 
"That boy is very agitated about something and it has nothing to do with my leaving." 
 
"Why do you say that?" 
 
"I know him. I can tell." 
 
"I thought I saw Luann's car when we were heading out there. Does she know about 
Minus?" 
 
"No, and even if she did, do you think your sister would dare go to that place of his?" 
 
"I can't imagine why." 
 
"She wouldn't. But something crawled up his nose and he doesn't much like it. I get 
worried when Minus gets agitated. His self control isn't all it could be." 
 
"You think he could blow up a building?" 
 
His father glared at him. "Minus had nothing to do with that. First of all, he's not the 
kind of man who can pass unnoticed in society. Second, he has no access to or 
knowledge of explosives. He may know how to set a fire, but he can't wire a place to 
explode and last of all, why would he?" 
 
"I think he may have burned my house in Canard Rouge. He seems to have a thing 
about gays and maybe he's jealous of my being your son out in the open." 
 
"I wondered about your house, Boyd. In fact, I had a long talk with him after that 
happened. He admitted nothing, but I let it be known if anything happened to you or 
to your kids, I'd never have another thing to do with him. He seemed to understand." 
 
Boyd was strangely touched by that gesture from his father. He patted the old man's 
frail hand and leaned back, trying to clear his mind of all the intrigue that seemed to 
infect their lives.  
 
*** 
 
 
That evening, after dinner, after the kids were in bed, Boyd and Brian sat on the 
terrace outside their bedroom amid the bougainvilleas and jasmine, as they drank 
brandy and listened to jazz drift over from a distant club. "You have to be on your feet 
by Halloween, Boyd." 
 
"Or?" 
 
"You have to. Burn will open and I want the first dance to be with you." 
 
"I think I'd prefer the last dance." 
 
Brian smiled. "That too." 
 
"If everything goes as planned I should be up by then, and in physical therapy. But 
I'm not sure how much dancing I can do." 
 
"I'll haul you around. You can stand on my feet. You pretty much do anyway." 
 
Boyd laughed. "It's the other way, Brian. You dance as good as you cook." 
 
"Bitch, I can dance if I want to, I just don't like to put a lot of effort into it." 
 
"Or rhythm for that matter." 
 
He laughed. "When you look as good as I do, your dancing queen skills don't matter." 
 
Boyd leaned a shoulder into him. "I can't argue with that. You know what I want?" 
 
"What do you want?" 
 
"I want to unbutton those jeans you're wearing and reach in there and take out that 
heavy meat and suck you until you scream." 
 
Brian blinked. "Slut." 
 
"I know. You made me what I am." 
 
"You know how to get there, right? Go for it." 
 
"Come stand in front of me." 
 
Brian did so, straddling his chair, his legs wide apart. That brought his crotch in line 
with Boyd's face. Boyd unbuttoned his fly and reached in. Brian smiled as he felt his 
hand make contact with his flesh. By the time Boyd freed it, Brian was already semi-
erect. 
 
"You get hard so fast." 
 
"Is that a bad thing?" 
 
"I want to put the whole squishy thing in my mouth and feel it grow." 
 
"Then you'd better hurry because the squishiness factor is fading fast." 
 
Brian leaned his head back and buried both of his hands in Boyd's hair as he began to 
suck. The pleasure built quickly, Boyd knew every trick that made Brian happy and 
Brian was eager to respond. It was wet, gooey, perfect, the slopping sound adding to 
the thrill as his cock slid against the confines of Boyd's tightly encircled lips. When he 
withdrew after his orgasm, a shiny string of semen and saliva still connected his cock 
to Boyd's lip and Boyd sliced it with his tongue and sucked it back into his mouth. 
Brian leaned down to kiss him, tasting himself on his lips. He then braced his hands on 
Boyd's chair and said, 
 
"Take it out. I want to give it back." 
 
Brian leaned over, keeping himself braced on his hands as Boyd held his own erection 
and kept it positioned for Brian's mouth. As soon as Brian's lips hit Boyd's flesh, a 
voice said, 
 
"Whatcha doin', Daddy?" 
 
Brian stood, Boyd covered up, and Gus stared at both of them, twisting a strand of 
hair as he habitually did when he was tired. Hs cotton print pajamas were a happy 
collection of red fire trucks and black and white Dalmatians, adding a little comedy to 
the moment.  
 
*** 
 
When Brian returned to their suite after tucking Gus in bed, Boyd was ready for the 
same service and Brian helped him onto the bed and climbed in with him after 
shedding his clothes.  
 
"So what did Daddy tell Gus he was doing?" Boyd teased as Brian let out a groan. 
 
"I explained I was washing your cock with my tongue. Because you broke your legs, it 
was hard for you to get in the tub." 
 
Boyd's eyes grew wide as Brian laughed. "Psyche. It was dark, he couldn't see 
anything other than the fact I was leaning over you. He didn't see your dick. I told him 
I was helping you get comfortable in the chair. And then I told him about not leaving 
the guesthouse alone and about not coming into our room unannounced. He's fine." 
 
"That must mean the alarms are off." 
 
"I set them when I came back. I would have set them before we went to sleep, Boyd. 
Don't nag." 
 
"I'm not nagging." 
 
"Are you afraid of something? Someone?" 
 
"I'm afraid of everyone and everything until this all gets unraveled. It doesn't thrill me 
to think Minus is upset. I don't know, Brian. Every day seems to bring a new 
revelation of horror." 
 
Brian pulled him into his arms, as far as his legs would permit. "I won't let anything 
happen to you. I failed once, but never again." 
 
"You didn't fail, Brian. What could you have done? And it's not me I'm worried about. 
It's you. And the kids." 
 
"Don't be. We'll all get through this intact," he glanced at Boyd's casts. "Well, mostly." 
 
"Lisette didn't," Boyd reminded him, causing Brian to frown. He was right. It wasn't a 
sure thing, it wasn't even unlikely that they would escape further violence. That 
possibility made his stomach hurt. He wanted this house finished soon. He wanted 
everyone he cared about under one roof. He wanted to draw in the herd. He couldn't 
protect them as well when they were spread out, if he could protect them at all. 
 
*** 
 
On the private jet Oleg used to fly from Mexico, he listened to a tape with his 
earphones. The conversation recorded was punctuated with cries of pain and pleas for 
mercy that went unheeded. The person pleading used to be a cop in Atlanta. Now he 
was a retiree in Mexico in search of the good life that suddenly went bad. Oleg 
rewound the tape and listened again to what he thought he heard. He was right. Oleg 
smiled.  
 
He loved it when they caved. 
Current Mood: shocked





October 15th, 2006
08:16 am - BURN, Chapter 113 
Sorry it took me a little longer, but the chapter is a little longer, too. Big B 
 
 
 
The morning of Lisette's memorial service dawned rainy and gray. Boyd managed to 
hoist himself from the bed to his chair without waking Brian. He wheeled over to the 
French doors and pulled back the sheers, staring out at the dismal sky.  
 
"We have until eleven-thirty for it to clear up," Brian's voice from behind him. Boyd 
looked over his shoulder at his lover, who was supporting his bare torso on his arm as 
he rested his cheek in his palm. He had that bed hair, heavy lidded look that Boyd so 
appreciated.  
 
"I know. Maybe it should be gray and miserable for a day like this." 
 
"Wrong." 
 
"How am I wrong?" 
 
"This is to celebrate her life, remember? Not to mourn. That's what Petra wanted and 
that's what she's going to get. My team put a lot of time into that video loop and I 
think it will make all of you smile." 
 
"I appreciate all the effort you put into it, Brian. I really do." 
 
Brian threw a pillow at him. "I loved her too. Shut up." 
 
"I still can't believe she's gone." 
 
"I know." 
 
"It was sweet of Claire to fly down for the celebration. She's been good to Petra." 
 
"Yes, Claire turned out okay after all, didn't she?" 
 
"She has good genes." 
 
Brian smiled and threw the covers off, stalking over to Boyd and leaning his naked 
body over him for a kiss. "We overcame our genes, just as you did. And Lisette did." 
 
"As our kids will overcome our lousy genes?" 
 
"Our kids should get down on their knees and praise Allah for the gift of our genes," 
Brian teased as he ruffled Boyd's hair and padded barefoot into the bath. Boyd sighed. 
How right was Brian? What genetic gift did he pass to his son and daughter? A crazy 
mother, a gay father, and a Southern Gothic extended family. The most normal 
members of his clan were Homer and Madam and they didn't share a genetic link.  
 
"Daddy, are you nekkid? Can I come in?" Mac asked from the doorway. Boyd smiled. 
 
"Come in, son." 
 
He walked over to Boyd who put an arm out to scoop him as close as he could with his 
limitations. Mac handed him a large sheet of manila paper. "I drew our family so we 
could put it up at Lisette's party today." 
 
"Let's see," Boyd took it from him, spreading it out on his lap. The page was crowded 
with figures, that the boy was happy to identify. "This is you, Daddy. See, you have 
your green casts on your legs but you're standing up because Brian said you won't be 
in that chair much longer." Boyd smiled at the brush of yellow hair Mac drew on his 
head. 
 
"This must be Brian next to me, right? But what's that on his head?" It looked as if 
Brian had grown a third ear. Brian joined them, leaning over the back of Boyd's chair 
to see the drawing, his terry robe still damp from his shower.  
 
"It's my Bluetooth headpiece, right, Mac?" 
 
"Yeah, for your cell phone. See the blue dot?" 
 
"And idiot can see that. And this is you and your sister and Gus," Brian didn't 
comment that Mac had made Gus far smaller in proportion to Mac than he really was. 
He understood about dominance and jealousy and it made him smile. "Who's this?" 
 
"Petra. See her long black hair?" 
 
"Of course, yeah." 
 
Homer and Madam were easy to identify since their skin was brown. "That's Grandpa 
with the cane, but I maybe made him too fat because he's not as fat as he used to 
be." Since moving to the city, Boyd's father had spent more time with his 
grandchildren. In two weeks, more gaps had been closed between Boyd and his father 
than in the last thirty years.  
 
"He won't mind. Who is the blonde lady? Is that your aunt Luann?" 
 
"No, I forgot her. That's Lindsay and Jane is there next to her." 
 
Boyd and Brian exchanged a look. "Where's your Grandma?" Boyd asked. Mac looked 
sheepish. 
 
"I forgot her too. Sorry, Daddy." 
 
"That's fine. What's this big bird in the clouds?" 
 
"That's not a bird, Daddy! That's Lisette. She's an angel." 
 
Brian took a gnaw on his inner jaw deciding this would be the one time today he 
allowed himself to get choked up. But even this lapse wasn't going to be shared with 
anyone. Boyd gave his son a long hug. "It's beautiful." 
 
"Will Petra like it?" 
 
"She'll love it." 
 
"Lindsay and Jane are making pancakes in the kitchen downstairs. Can I drive you in 
the elevator, Daddy?" 
 
"Why not? See you down there, Brian?" 
 
Brian leaned over to kiss his cheek as they went. He sat down on the edge of the bed, 
taking a moment to himself before he faced the rest with his snark intact. That 
drawing meant more to him than he could say. He and Boyd were at the center of this 
family portrait, surrounded by people they loved and who loved them back. He was 
part of something solid now, as solid as the uncertainties of time and events 
permitted.  
 
He remembered standing in a stall at Babylon, snorting party drugs with Michael and 
thinking that he would never be younger or more beautiful than he was at that 
moment. He had peaked. He was right. He was never younger or more beautiful than 
he was at that moment. But he was also wrong. He hadn't peaked any way but 
physically and in the big calculator in the sky, that was pretty minor. He hadn't yet 
become the man he wanted to be someday, but he was getting there. He was a lot 
closer than he had been two years ago, even six months ago, maybe even yesterday. 
He might always be a work in progress, but the progression had taken a turn for the 
better. 
 
"Daddy!" Gus burst into the room, his face smeared with syrup, his pajamas bearing 
the brunt of his breakfast. "If you don't come down in a minute there won't be any 
pamcakes left!" 
 
"Pamcakes? Is that like a Pam Grier recipe?" 
 
"It's Mrs. Butter-somebody, Daddy!" Gus corrected him, waving Brian up. 
 
"I'll come down if you promise not to touch me with those sticky hands." 
 
Gus grinned as an evil game took root. "I'm gonna get you!" 
 
"No, I just had a shower." Brian avoided Gus's lunges with a laugh and finally picked 
him up and carried him at arm's length to avoid his hands, causing Gus to giggle all 
the way down the stairs. The kitchen was chaos. Maple syrup was a cloying overhang 
in the air. Lindsay plopped Gus into a chair and handed Brian a plate of perfectly 
browned pancakes.  
 
"Eat them while they're hot," she said and he smiled.  
 
"That's always been my credo." 
 
She gave him a glare as Boyd laughed and Brian sat beside him, leaving his weightier 
thoughts behind as he joined in the fun of breakfast. 
 
*** 
 
By the time the celebration for Lisette was underway, the dreary weather had lifted 
and the sun glistened on the damp leaves of the white flowers that decorated the 
courtyard. There were white mylar balloons with silver ribbons. All the guests, the 
musicians playing jazz, even the wait staff were dressed in white. Boyd's green casts 
provided the most color in the room. 
 
Silver buckets of chilled champagne were ready to fill glasses and add sparkle and bite 
to mimosas. Lisette's former boss looked like a pint-sized Mississippi river boat 
gambler with his white suit, panama and string tie. A large portrait of a smiling and 
beautiful Lisette was framed in silver and prominently decorated a table strewn with 
flowers, and an open book inviting friends and families to record a moment they had 
enjoyed with her.  
 
In the midst of the joy, a wide screen television played a video loop that showed 
Lisette from baby to adulthood, a beautiful tribute to a woman who was as beautiful 
inside as she was striking to look at. Brian saw Bellamy and Daphne, Ted and Frank, 
Boyd's father, the Dhue's, even his old friend from the swamp, Bo, and his lady friend, 
Charlotte, who owned all the dogs. Lady Pearl arrived with Charles and Moody, who 
had flown in for the occasion. His sister Claire was looking rather pretty in white silk, 
and there were many people there whom he didn't know. He said hello to Dora, his 
project manager at the club, and her son, Scott. But there was one person missing. 
He couldn't find Petra.  
 
He wound his way through the many who loved Lisette, after making sure Boyd was 
comfortable and had a glass of champagne to sip. Behind the courtyard, in a small 
cove where the only decoration was the natural beauty of a dwarf lime tree, a small 
figure sat on a stone bench like a faded photograph from another era. Her long, 
flowing dark hair, layered, white gauze dress and sad eyes were those of a melancholy 
Victorian girl, not a sophisticated Russian doctor. 
 
Brian sat beside her and silently covered her hand with his. She rested her temple 
against his shoulder. For a long time, they didn't talk. They just sat there, in 
communal silence. Finally, she sighed. "I tried to be upbeat and happy, but I just can't 
seem to do it, Brian. So much Lisette all around me, and yet, no Lisette beside me." 
 
"You have the right to feel and act any way you want, Petra." 
 
"I don't want to bring people down." 
 
"We're here for you. We want to help." 
 
"I have a little speech prepared and yet I'm not at all sure I can say anything." 
 
"You don't have to if you'd rather not." 
 
"No, I must. But I can't remember anything I wrote down." 
 
Brian looked at her notes that were written in Russian. "If you say all that, no one will 
know what you're saying anyway." 
 
She smiled. "I would say it in English." 
 
"Made you smile." 
 
"You always do, darling." 
 
"Word of advice, Petra? Just speak from the heart. Ten words or ten thousand words, 
just say what you want to say. There's no right or wrong behavior here." 
 
"Thank you for the beautiful video, Brian. It's something I'll watch again and again." 
 
"I'm glad you like it." 
 
"You and Boyd will say a few words, won't you?" 
 
"If you'd like." 
 
"I want everyone who wants to share a memory of Lisette to do so." 
 
He squeezed her hand. "Will you come with me? People miss you. They're asking for 
you." 
 
"Will you stay close by, my brother?" 
 
"As close as you want." 
 
She slipped her arm around him as they walked back to the party and others rushed 
up to hug her, share their love with her, share their sympathy. Brian stepped back, 
smiling across the piazza at Boyd who smiled back. His surviving sister and mother 
chose that moment to arrive and he watched Boyd's smile vanish.  
 
The buffet styled spread was varied and delicious, incorporating many of Lisette's 
favorite dishes. When people began to share their memories of Lisette, the mood 
turned bittersweet. Most tried to summon a happy memory, but it was difficult to keep 
from shedding a tear or two at the finality. When it was Boyd's turn, Brian stood 
beside his chair, his hand resting on his lover's shoulder in support.  
 
"My sister used to call me Sissy Boy, even when I was over six feet tall and a triple 
letterman in football, basketball and track. She was right." Nervous chuckles as Boyd 
reached up to cover Brian's hand with his own. "But she always said it with great 
affection and to take away the sting in case I happened to hear it from anyone else. 
She was my hero. She stood up to the rejection of my family," he let his gaze sweep 
his mother and sister, who were unmoved, and then land on his father, who dabbed at 
his eyes. "So that she could live the life she knew was right for her. And she lived that 
life so well and with such vigor and love and passion. For everything she did, she was 
passionate. She had a partner who was perfect for her and who will always be my 
sister, my savior, my other hero. I love you, Petra." 
 
She wept softly as Claire rested an arm at her waist. Boyd continued, "Lisette wouldn't 
let me run in fear from my feelings for Brian. She knew he was my one, just as Petra 
was hers. She gave me courage to take the most important step in my life and I've 
never regretted it." Brian leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Lis, thank you, 
bless you, I miss you, I love you, rest easy." 
 
Brian gave him a long hug but when he tried to push Boyd's chair out of the limelight, 
Boyd grabbed his hand. His expression said it all. As hard as it was, Brian had to 
speak. Brian sighed, steadying his voice. 
 
"I'm not one of you," he said. "At least I wasn't. I come from the north, I had no idea 
what a grit was or that civilized people eat alligators. I never knew about anything 
about voodoo or Spanish moss or the kind of wet heat that leaves you limp. I've now 
been alligator hunting with a crazy old coot who uses raw chickens as bait, and this is 
a souvenir of that past time," he thumbed his belt as he glanced at Bo, who laughed. 
"I've been shot, I've been burned out of my house, I've been bombed, and I've never 
been happier or felt more included in something in all of my life. Lisette was one 
beautiful lady. I don't often think about –cover the ears of the children—having sex 
with ladies, but when I met Lisette, I thought to myself, yeah. I could see that 
happening if not for the fact her brother and her lover would feed me to the reptiles." 
 
Most laughed, but he didn't miss the pinched expression on Boyd's mother's face. "But 
like her brother, she wasn't just another pretty face and hot body. She was brilliant 
and strong and funny and ethical. I loved Lisette. There I said it. I still do. I always 
will. I miss her. And that's all I have to say." 
 
The celebration continued, the champagne flowed and the music played on. Brian was 
more than a little drunk, he noticed, too late. So was his lover. Petra's little speech 
about Lisette had everyone in tears and alcohol seemed the right antidote to the pain. 
Boyd's mother and sister left early, after exchanging a few pointed words with his 
father, but most of the crew remained. It was if no one wanted to leave, because by 
doing so, they would lose Lisette forever.  
 
"Can I have a word with you, Brian?" Oleg Dubrov arrived unexpectedly, a stark black 
slash among all the white, in his charcoal suit and dark tie. Boyd zeroed in on him and 
said,  
 
"Not without me. I may be in this fucking chair, but I'm not an invalid and I'm not 
mentally incompetent. I'm tired of you two having this little conspiracy that Boyd just 
doesn't need to know about. It sucks and I'm over it." 
 
Brian tried to quiet him. "Don't raise your voice. You're drunk and people are staring." 
 
"You're drunk too, big boy." 
 
"Big boy?" Brian laughed. "Should we discuss my equipment at an event like this?" 
 
"I'm not fucking around, Brian. I mean it." 
 
"Okay, okay, come on, let's go inside."  
 
The three of them retreated to the restaurant's quiet, cool interior. They sat at an 
empty table and Boyd observed, "You have a nice tan." 
 
"Yes, Mexico is still warm and sunny. Lovely place. I acquired some beachfront down 
there." 
 
Brian wondered if it was previously owned by a corrupt cop, but he didn't ask. 
 
"What's so important?" Brian lit a cigarette. "This is the kind of celebration where talk 
of this sort isn't all that welcome." 
 
"I won't take long. What do you know about explosives?" 
 
Boyd frowned. "I know they kill. I know they hurt." 
 
"Yes, yes, but what do you know about them?" 
 
"Suffice it to say, we don't know jack about them," Brian admitted. 
 
"I suppose you think it's easy to get explosives, the way one can always acquire 
weapons." 
 
"To tell you the truth, Oleg, I never fucking thought about it. The fucking Arabs seems 
to find them easy enough when they blow themselves up across the world." 
 
"In a war zone, in a terrorist cell, but most bombs used here are made of materials 
easily obtained and lethally mixed. Like the fertilizer used in Oklahoma City." 
 
"What's your point?" 
 
"My point is, the cop I visited said something interesting. He said something about C-
4." 
 
"What the fuck?" 
 
"It's an explosive, Brian," Boyd groused. "Don't you ever watch television?" 
 
"Not much." 
 
"They used C-4?" Boyd asked. 
 
"He indicated that. So I had my boys on the inside do some checking. The forensics 
boys, they take forever, go over every little fragment, it's a circle jerk with those 
guys. I don't need all that detail. Give me the big picture." 
 
"And?" 
 
"Yes, C-4." 
 
"Who has C-4 in their basement?" Brian asked. Oleg shrugged.  
 
"Military, demolition companies, is regulated. But... " 
 
"Oil companies," another voice joined the party. Oleg frowned as Bo walked over to 
them.  
 
"Who is he?" 
 
"He's okay," Brian reassured him as Bo sat down at their table. "Bo, this is... " 
 
"I know who he is. I just don't know why he's here." 
 
"He's Petra's ex." 
 
"I know that too." 
 
"Seems you know too much, old man," Oleg glared, but Bo just smiled. 
 
"I know enough and have lived long enough that cheap hoods like you don't intimidate 
me." 
 
Oleg tensed and Brian called for order. "Stop. Look, Bo, Oleg's been helping us on the 
sly, trying to figure out this disaster. Give him a break." 
 
"That's not the way to get things done, but what you were saying before, in these 
parts, oil companies are the biggest consumers of C-4." 
 
"Why?" Boyd asked. Even though he grew up with oil rig workers all around, he never 
studied the technology. 
 
"They blow rock when drilling, they use shaped charges filled with C-4 to perforate 
casings, they use other shaped charges to blow a well head." 
 
"You mean those crazy Cajuns on those oil rigs are armed with explosives?" 
 
Bo laughed. "No oil company is that stupid. They contract out for that job. They don't 
keep explosives on a rig. The contractor is brought in on a helicopter, brings the goods 
with him, blows the well, and is flown home on a chopper." 
 
"There's a helicopter who better have a smooth landing," Brian joked. 
 
"Those charges are stable," Bo said. "That's why C-4 is favored. You have to trick it to 
ignite it. Just dropping it or stepping on it or throwing it against a wall won't do shit to 
it. It has to be ignited with a detonating device." 
 
"How do you know so much, old man?" Oleg insisted and Bo smiled. 
 
"Like most old boys on the coast, I've worked a rig or two in my youth. But the 
contractors are very careful with their inventory due to tight regulation. At least that's 
the rule." 
 
"Why haven't the feds closed in on this?" Boyd asked. Bo shrugged.  
 
"There are a lot of official sources to check on C-4 supplies, and then there are the 
crazies. Men like this one make these kind of weapons available to the crazies." 
 
Oleg narrowed his killer's eyes at Bo. "You watch your accusations." 
 
"You telling me you don't trade in weapons?" 
 
"Jesus," Boyd said softly, interrupting their face-off.  
 
"What?" Brian reached over to grab his hand. The sudden pallor that bleached his 
lover's face concerned him. "Are you in pain?" 
 
"My former father-in-law worked for a company that contracted to the offshore rigs in 
Louisiana and Texas. He blew wells. When his daughter and I were first married, he 
called himself a 'mad bomber' when asked what he did. He got canned from there for 
drinking, I guess they don't like drunk bombers for some unknown reason. After that, 
he pulled whatever gigs he could get on the rigs, lower level crap, just to make a 
living. But he didn't have access to the explosives anymore." 
 
Brian looked from Bo to Boyd. "Getting rid of you would do what for him? Other than 
revenge. And if he wanted revenge, why not just kill you in a less obvious way?" 
 
"I don't know, Brian." 
 
"Your kids would go to Lisette, according to your will as it used to be written, and later 
to me. Even if we were all gone, he had to know your parents would prevail in a 
custody battle." 
 
"He loves your kids that much?" Oleg asked and Boyd shrugged. 
 
"He loves their fortune that much." 
 
"Brian's right," Bo agreed. "Even that crazy old Cajun knows any court would give the 
kids to the Coutlers." 
 
"Unless they cut a deal," Brian said. "With some portion of the Coulters. Maybe not for 
custody, but for money. And access. Get the kids out of the clutches of the queers and 
free up the money. Double win." 
 
"Not to mention the fact he despises me and blames me for ruining his daughter's life 
and setting her up to be murdered. But could he get his hands on the explosives?" 
 
"You give the police all of this information and you let them handle it," Bo insisted. 
"You boys are not the fucking cavalry." 
 
"How come I can't go with Mac and Belle?" Gus walked up to his father, tears in his 
eyes, and Brian pulled him up on his lap.  
 
"Go where?" 
 
"With their grandpa." 
 
"Did they leave with their grandpa?" 
 
Gus nodded. Boyd shrugged. "You've been over to Grandpa's house, Gus. Maybe he 
just wanted to spend a little time with the bigger kids. They'll be home soon enough." 
 
"He loves those miniature trains your dad collects," Brian reminded him and Gus 
looked up at his father's face.  
 
"No, Daddy. Not that Grandpa with the trains. Their other grandpa. I don't know him, 
but Belle said he was their grandpa, too, and to tell Boyd they were going to get ice 
cream with him and then come back. I want ice cream too, Daddy!" 
 
"Brian!" Lindsay ran in, her frantic expression easing only slightly when she saw Gus. 
"Oh thank god! I couldn't find Jane or the children. Someone said they saw the kids 
getting in a car, but Jane wasn't with them." 
 
"Call the police," Bo said, but Oleg shook his head and flipped open his cell phone.  
 
"Let me handle this." 
 
Bo reached over to slam his phone shut. "Fuck off. This isn't a game and it isn't about 
your tactics, Dubrov. Call the police, Boyd. And let's go, Brian. You too, tough guy. I 
want to keep an eye on you." 
 
"What about me?" Boyd insisted. 
 
"Son, with your wheelchair, you're just going to slow us down," Bo reminded him.  
 
"These are my children. I'm going, if I have to crawl." 
 
"Jane's been injured," Petra joined them. She saw by their expressions that they knew 
the worst of it. "She was hit in the head with a blunt object. Concussion, maybe, but 
she'll be fine. I've called the police." 
 
Brian handed Gus to his mother and said, "I'll get the van." 
 
Bo took the keys from him. "You're too drunk to drive and I know the way. Let's go. 
You have a gun, Russkie?" 
 
Oleg glared at him. "What do you think?" 
 
"Good, then we don't have to stop for mine. Tell Charlotte," he said to the women, 
and with that, they were gone.





October 19th, 2006
04:44 am - BURN, Chapter 114 
Burniacs, here is the latest from Big B. Enjoy, Ran 
 
*** 
 
 
The police were summoned because Bo insisted. When they reached the home of 
Boyd's former father in law, the place was already surrounded by police vehicles. 
Unfortunately, no one was inside the house. Boyd suggested they try the shack on the 
bayou that the man used to store fishing gear along with his small boat. When the 
cops left, Boyd said to his companions, 
 
"Let's go to my parents' home." 
 
"Why there?" Brian asked. 
 
"A hunch. He didn't take my children to spit in my eye or to hold me up for ransom. I 
don't think he'd harm them, either. He took them to bargain with. And I think his 
objects for extortion are at the plantation." 
 
"I think you're right," Oleg agreed. Brian frowned, realizing the puzzle pieces were 
falling into place for Boyd and he could guess how hard that had to be for him to 
accept. They drove to the plantation, and when they saw the shabby vehicle driven by 
the man they were seeking parked in the driveway, Boyd sighed.  
 
"I don't want to scare him into doing something stupid. Oleg, you and Bo wait out 
here. If he starts to leave with my kids, stop him. Brian, I need your help." 
 
"I'm your man. Let's go." 
 
Not knowing what to expect, Brian's adrenaline had dissipated his inebriation. He was 
feeling alert by the time he wheeled Boyd's chair up the ramp that was built for his 
father's needs as an invalid. They were drawn to the main parlor by raised voices. The 
man was drunk, angry, and waving a gun around as he confronted Boyd's mother and 
sister. The children were not in sight. That fact both comforted and concerned Boyd.  
 
"You fucking owe me!" he was ranting. "You want to see those kids again... " 
 
Luann was standing behind the ornate desk. Her mother was seated on the silk divan, 
her ankles primly crossed and expression bland. "Put that gun down, you silly old 
man. Stop making empty threats." 
 
"Empty? You want to know empty?" He fired the gun, deliberately aiming to the left of 
her, exploding a satin covered pillow in a burst of feathers. She hardly flinched, but 
then a second shot rang out, and a third. They all turned towards Luann, who had 
taken their father's .38 out of the drawer and pumped two rounds into the intruder. 
He turned towards her, his expression more stunned than threatening, and her next 
shot blew through his head. He crumpled to the floor. Brian and Boyd stared at her in 
shock as she lowered her gun to the desk. At that moment Oleg and Bo burst into the 
room, and Boyd's cell phone rang, penetrating the sudden silence.  
 
Oleg spotted the gun and motioned to Bo, who took control of Luann's weapon. Boyd 
answered the call. "Are they okay? Can someone take them to the B&B in town? I 
have friends there who will stay with them. You need to come out here to the Coulter 
plantation. There's been a shooting. No, no danger now. But someone's dead." 
 
Luann sat down behind the desk, calmly crossing her legs as she stared at the men. 
"My father taught all of us how to use a gun, even the girls." 
 
"You can shoot like that?" Brian asked Boyd, deliberately avoiding looking at the body 
on the floor and the spreading pool of crimson that fanned out from his head, ruining 
the Aubusson rug beneath him. Boyd shrugged as Brian winced. "You might have 
warned me." 
 
"Why? You scared now?" 
 
They shared a smile and Oleg frowned at them. "Enough with the love talk. Dead man 
on the carpet, this woman sitting there like nothing happened, the other one as cold 
as a winter morning in Moscow. What the fuck?" 
 
"You didn't have to kill him, Luann," Boyd said and she tossed her hair behind her 
shoulders as she said, 
 
"He was trying to kill mother. Someone had to protect her." 
 
"Thank you, dear," her mother said as Luann smiled.  
 
"He was an old drunk. He didn't aim that anywhere near mother. He was just trying to 
scare you," Boyd argued. 
 
"And so he did. After kidnapping your children, he then comes here to extort money. 
Why weren't you watching your kids, Boyd? What about that?" 
 
"He said you owed him. Why did he say that?" 
 
"As you observed, he was drunk. He wasn't making any sense." 
 
"Wasn't he? Did he do a job for you?" 
 
"What kind of job would that be, brother?" His mother asked and Boyd turned to her. 
 
"Blowing up the High Museum in Atlanta, perhaps?" 
 
His mother's chilly smile taunted him. "Don't be a fool. What reason would I have to 
do a thing like that?" 
 
"Millions, Mother. Millions and millions of reasons." 
 
"If it weren't for the shock of today, and all you've been through, I'd be very 
disappointed in you, brother. But I'll write it off to your miseries," her expression 
became icy. "But I strongly suggest you don't repeat those fantasies of yours to 
others. We wouldn't want to walk down a tangled legal path, now would we?" 
 
The police arrived and began securing the scene and getting information. Finally Brian 
said to the officer in charge, "Can we go? We really need to get to our kids." 
 
"Your kids?" Boyd's mother suddenly spoke up. "There's nothing about those children 
that makes them yours." 
 
"Brian's my partner, and he's going to adopt my children so if anything happens to 
me, he'll be their parent," Boyd informed her.  
 
"Not in this state he won't," his mother said with a glare. "This is still Louisiana and we 
don't believe in that sort of thing here." 
 
"We'll see about that," Brian said and then he helped Boyd to the van. Bo drove, and 
they were all silent as they headed towards town. Boyd looked back at the house, as if 
knowing he would never see it again as long as his mother was alive. Brian squeezed 
his hand. 
 
"You okay?" 
 
He shrugged. Bo said, "One of those old boys said they found a stockpile of C-4 and 
shaped charge shelling in the old man's house. Looks like these local cops are about to 
become national heroes." 
 
"He didn't do it on his own." 
 
"Of course not," Oleg said with a laugh. "The old woman and that cold blonde were in 
on it. Is obvious. They had the connections and the money. Maybe they refused to pay 
because he failed to finish the job. Who knows? A double cross, perhaps? Or maybe he 
was always to be the fall guy." 
 
"Now that he's dead, we'll never be able to prove anything," Brian realized. "Luann 
took out the weak link and she had a perfect reason for doing so. No jury would 
convict her, under these circumstances, for murdering him." 
 
"Jury is bullshit," Oleg observed. "There are many ways of bringing retribution on the 
guilty." 
 
"You better be talking about God's wrath, Russkie," Bo warned. "Not one of your own 
making. Because we're having none of that here." 
 
"I don't work for you, old man." 
 
"I don't give a shit who you work for. If you're threatening those women, I'll give the 
police a rap on you that they have been waiting on for years." 
 
"Why are you taking their side, Bo?" Brian insisted. "They could be responsible for 
killing Lisette, among others, and almost killing Boyd." 
 
"It's not about sides, Brian. It's about what is right and what is wrong. And we don't 
believe in vigilante justice in these parts. Not anymore. If those women are somehow 
involved, that noose will tighten until the proof is inviolate. The feds will keep 
following the fuse of that bomb, and that doesn't mean just the one who lit it. It may 
take them awhile, but they'll get there." 
 
"My own mother?" Boyd said softly. "My own mother could hate me that much?" 
 
"Not you, Boyd," Brian leaned over to give him a one-armed hug. "It's all about 
greed." 
 
"How can they be that greedy when we already have so much?" 
 
Brian shook his head, and held on to Boyd as the rest became quiet.  
 
By the time they gathered the children and drove back to New Orleans, the news had 
begun to break. Reporters were swarming the walls of the house in the Marigny. Bo 
drove past their house, and then parked near the streetcar line. "You should go," Bo 
said to Oleg. "No reason for you to be seen around here." 
 
"That's true, old man. Later, boys." 
 
"Are you staying with us, Bo?" Mac asked, not yet aware of his grandfather's fate. 
 
"No, just dropping you guys off and seeing that you're set, and then my friend 
Charlotte is going to pick me up and drive me home." 
 
"Nuts," Mac groused. "Grandpa said he was gonna take me fishing and now I guess he 
isn't. I thought you might." 
 
"Tell you what. You get Brian here to drive you out to my place on the bayou this 
weekend and we'll get some fishing in. How's that? I'd invite your dad, but I think 
those green casts would scare 'em off." 
 
Boyd smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks, Bo. Will you do that, Brian?" 
 
"Sure, you know how I love the swamp with the gators and the flesh eating insects 
and the frogs as big as my head. I love to fish. It's my new thing. I'll round up Homer 
too, so I can hear Bo and Homer tell the same stories ten more times." 
 
Belle giggled. "Or you can take me to the mall, Brian." 
 
"I knew I loved you." 
 
They slapped a high five and Mac glared at him. "Are you fishing with us?" 
 
"Okay, okay, we're going fishing. Drive around the alley, Bo. Up the back." 
 
"Why are all these people here, Daddy?" Belle was scared as the reporters approached 
the van.  
 
"I'll tell you when we get inside. We're all going to stay in the big house tonight. How's 
that? You can camp out in sleeping bags with Gus, while Lindsay and Jane can have 
the guest room, since it's almost finished." 
 
The kids brightened at that adventure as the heavy automatic door swung shut behind 
the van, blocking access of the reporters.  
 
*** 
 
After they got word that the children were safe, and of the unexpected events at the 
plantation house, Bellamy, Daphne, Moody, Charles and Lady Pearl went to dinner at 
Arnaud's. They asked Petra and Claire to join them, but they declined. Petra took Jane 
to her house to look after her, accompanied by Claire and Charlotte.  
 
Over bananas foster, Lady Pearl said, "I feel a disruption that isn't resolved by today's 
events. Do you, Bell?" 
 
He nodded, the dead still his restless companions. Moody looked from her to him. "I 
feel like Darren Stevens around you guys. You know, Samantha the witch's mortal 
husband? All of her crazy witchy friends would visit and poor old Darren never knew 
what the fuck was going on." 
 
"Isn't that show a little before your time?" Daphne teased. 
 
"TV Land," he responded. "Make it your friend." 
 
"I thought you were introducing him to culture, Mom," Bellamy said to Charles, who 
heaved a dramatic sigh.  
 
"Alas, a man can only do so much force feeding in the space of a few months. He's 
taking college level courses now, catching up on things. By next semester, he'll be a 
regularly enrolled student at SCAD, the Savannah School of Art and Design. They 
were quite taken with his art." 
 
"What art is that?" Bellamy demanded, having seen no signs of art with Moody. 
 
"Performance art," Moody said with a glare. "It's not all about paint and canvas. My 
canvas is the world. My music and drama is my palette." 
 
Daphne blinked. "Wait. Charles is turning you into Andy Warhol? Without the soup 
can?" 
 
"Darling," Charles assured her. "The world is sadly missing Andy!" 
 
"Let them have their fun," Pearl urged her. "Fun is in itself a goal worth achieving. 
Maybe you've taught a bit of that to my oh-so-serious son, Daphne?" 
 
Bellamy shook his head at that gentle reproach. "I've had my fun. Just because I'm an 
overachiever, that doesn't mean I haven't had my fun. And in that vein, let you be the 
first to know, that with Boyd's backing, and the support of many others, I decided to 
run for the Senate in the next election." 
 
"The first step to the White House!" Charles said, leaping up to hurry over and hug his 
son tightly. Bellamy pretended to be bothered by the fuss. 
 
"Mom, when they decide to elect a mixed race man who was raised by two queers and 
a voodoo queen president of the United States, we have truly overcome." 
 
They laughed as Pearl added, "Not to mention a single man and something of a 
rounder." She saw him exchange a look with Daphne. Pearl reached over to squeeze 
Daphne's hand. "What are you not telling me?" 
 
"Nothing!" Daphne said with such wide-eyed innocence that Bellamy had to laugh.  
 
"We didn't want to say anything with this being Lisette's day, but... " 
 
"But?" Charles prodded him. 
 
Bellamy slipped an arm around Daphne and smiled. "Daphne is willing to take me on 
as her husband." 
 
After the squeals and hugs and tears, champagne was ordered and uncorked. Daphne 
asked, "Are you really happy? Do you approve?" 
 
"I don't," Moody teased. "Marriage is for losers. Scary stuff." 
 
"Where's the rock?" Charles insisted. "That's what I want to know!" 
 
"We picked out an antique setting that Daphne loved and now we're looking for the 
right stone. Paul is having some flown in for us to shop," Bellamy explained. Paul ran 
the most exclusive fine jewelry store in the south. Charles nodded.  
 
"I'll go along, of course. No one can read a diamond the way I can, and I don't even 
need a loop. See that rock on that woman's hand over there? It looks big, but honey 
it's flawed in two places and one of them is a big flaw. Three and a half carats, but the 
clarity is poor." 
 
Daphne giggled. "Charles is definitely going!" 
 
"How romantic," Bellamy deadpanned, and then leaned over to kiss her and said, "A 
toast to love and pain and the whole damned thing." 
 
"Amen!" They touched crystal and sipped champagne, the evening closing with joy. 
Even the spirits receded, allowing Bellamy his moment of celebration. 
 
*** 
 
Brian could feel the fact that Boyd was awake beside him in the dark. The press had 
given up and left the environs of their home. The kids were asleep on the floor in the 
guest room with Lindsay and Jane. Superficially, all was well. Or was it? 
 
"Are you in pain?" Brian asked as he spread a hand over Boyd's belly. 
 
"Nothing the pills can touch." 
 
Brian nodded. There were no words to ease Boyd's misery. Instead, he massaged a 
slow circle into his midsection as a soothing gesture. "Can I get you something?" 
 
"Just put your arms around me." 
 
Brian obliged. Today, Boyd said goodbye to his sister, who was also his best friend, 
and to his mother and remaining sibling. One ceremony was beautiful and bittersweet, 
the other was just bitter. He tightened his grip on Brian, taking comfort from the 
warm embrace of his lover. "I couldn't do this without you, Brian," he whispered into 
his hair. "You know that, don't you? You're my rock." 
 
Brian smiled and rested his cheek on Boyd's pectorals, the bulk of his body beside him 
to avoid his legs. "Sandstone, maybe. Whatever I am is yours, Boyd. We're stuck with 
each other." 
 
"I know. Thank God." 
 
"We're going to be okay. Soon, you'll be getting those casts off and the real physical 
therapy will start. My club will open. You have all those plans you're winding up at the 
mills, and Bellamy's campaign will launch. So much to look forward to, that we can't 
look back." 
 
"You're right, of course." 
 
"You and your father have reached a tentative peace. That's good." 
 
"I guess so. Thanks for agreeing to take Mac fishing." 
 
"No big deal." 
 
"I know you hate the swamp." 
 
"I don't hate the swamp. The swamp brought me you, didn't it? Out of the primordial 
ooze?" 
 
"I thought it was a blow job at the Texaco with another man that brought us 
together." 
 
"Some kind of ooze, then," Brian said with a laugh. "Spending time with the boys and 
with Homer and Bo makes up for the bad things about fishing. Almost." 
 
"How's our home gym progressing? I'll be ready for it when the casts come off. I have 
a physical therapist lined up to begin my torture." 
 
"It's as good as done. Some equipment has to be delivered and the mirrors set in the 
wall. The sauna's finished. It's going to be perfect. We'll be so fit we won't be able to 
keep our hands off of each other." 
 
"How is that different?" 
 
Brian smiled. "I guess it isn't, really." 
 
"Is Sebastian saying when the whole house will be done?" 
 
"Before the Burn launch for sure, maybe two weeks." 
 
"Good. I want the kids under our roof." 
 
"So do I." 
 
"What about Lindsay and Gus?" 
 
"I think the plan is that Lindsay and Jane will stay in the guest house for now. Gus has 
his room here." 
 
"Is she staying? In New Orleans?" 
 
"She's very caught up in your gallery conversion, Boyd. She's doing a good job, too. I 
haven't seen her this happy in quite awhile. And I guess she and Jane are making it 
work. You know how it is with nannies. They always have to seduce someone in the 
family according to television. Since you and I are off limits, what's a girl going to do?" 
 
Boyd laughed. "It's great to have Gus around on a more permanent basis and Lindsay 
has been a big help to me at the gallery. It would still be collecting dust if she hadn't 
gotten things going." 
 
"I know it's your dream and I want you to have that dream as soon as possible." 
 
"It will take me awhile to settle this Dr. Sugar issue." 
 
"I know. Hey, I remembered that's the translation of the lobotomist's name in 
'Suddenly Last Summer'. Monty Clift played him. Ever see that movie?" 
 
"Yes, and even better, I've seen the play. It was Dr. Sugar in Polish, you're right. 
That's fitting. Southern gothic by Tennessee Williams. Perfect. My whole life is 
southern gothic." 
 
"No, it would be if you were married to your second cousin while secretly torching 
after me, your former roommate in college who was deeply closeted until you brought 
him out." 
 
They both laughed. "I love you, Brian." 
 
"Duh." 
 
Boyd drifted his fingers through Brian's hair. "I never get enough of you. I still want 
you as much as the first day we met. The fire just never goes out." 
 
"Burn, baby, burn," Brian whispered and reached up to kiss Boyd on the lips as the 
flames rekindled. 
Current Mood: calm





October 26th, 2006
05:17 am - BURN, Chapter 115 
Posting for Big B. Enjoy. Ran 
 
*** 
 
 
 
"Justin!" Daphne was waiting for him at the luggage claim area outside security at the 
airport. She ran into his arms, nearly knocking him over as she engulfed him in an 
embrace. He laughed, dropping his duffle bag to return her hug. People around them 
smiled at the reunited, attractive young couple, misreading the cues. "I've missed you 
so much!" She exclaimed as she gripped the front of his puffy blue jacket in both 
hands. "You won't need all this down-filled crap in New Orleans!" 
 
"It's the only winter coat I have," he said and then grabbed her left hand, pretending 
to be blinded by the light from her ring. "Your arm must get tired, carrying this thing 
around." 
 
She giggled. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" 
 
"I'd say three carats," Emmett finally materialized in Daphne's eyes and she greeted 
him with a hug.  
 
"Three and a half, to be exact. Isn't it yummy?" 
 
"Honey, if you're going to take the plunge, always make sure you have a life preserver 
and that rock will preserve life for a long time. Oh, the luggage is coming out! Be right 
back." 
 
"He checked?" Daphne asked.  
 
Justin laughed. "It's Emmett, Daph. He can't pack light for an overnight trip, let alone 
three days. And it's Halloween, so he had to pack his real clothes and his costumes." 
 
"Costumes, plural?" 
 
"He couldn't decide so he brought choices," he air quoted the last word. 
 
They both laughed. "You look wonderful!" She said, drifting her fingers through his 
blond hair. "How's the art going?" 
 
"I had a small show with some other new artists. Sold a couple things. No complaints. 
Are you sure you want to do this marriage thing? Aren't you a little young for that step 
?" 
 
"It's not until the spring, and no, I'm not too young. I can't wait for you to meet 
Bellamy. He's wonderful. I'm so glad you and Em came down for the opening of Burn." 
 
Emmett walked up, dragging a heavy bag on wheels behind him. "Brian sends the 
plane tickets, how can we refuse? Party! I've always wanted to come to New Orleans 
for Halloween. People think Mardi Gras is the big holiday here, but fags know the true 
day is Halloween!" 
 
"We hope so," she said, leading them towards the doors. "The success of our launch 
depends on it. We're hoping people go to the parade that winds through the Quarter, 
that's a tradition now, and then hop right on over to the club." 
 
"Is Brian nervous?" Justin asked, causing Emmett to laugh.  
 
"Brian was born without that nervous gene." 
 
Justin and Daphne looked at each other, knowing better. "He's calming down a little. 
But he's been making everyone nuts for the last couple of weeks. He's so intense." 
 
"Tell us what to expect with Boyd," Justin said. "We don't want to say or do the wrong 
thing." 
 
They loaded their luggage in Brian's Rover, that she borrowed for the trip to the 
airport. Slipping in behind the wheel, Daphne announced, "He's doing really well. He's 
walking on his own, no cane, no crutches, and while he does have a limp, he thinks 
that will go away in time. The doctors are really pleased by his progress, but he's 
worked so hard on his physical therapy that I'm not surprised by how well he's done." 
 
"What a tragedy," Emmett said, leaning over the seat divider to talk to them. "But at 
least it's behind them now." 
 
"What do you mean?" 
 
"I mean since they found out who did it and everything." 
 
"Oh. It will never be behind them completely, Emmett. Boyd's sister and many others 
died in that horror. Boyd almost died himself. You can't just forget that kind of thing 
happened." 
 
"Of course not, but... at least he's on his feet again. Literally." 
 
"Are they still... ?" Justin asked. Daphne smiled at him. 
 
"Madly in love? Yes." 
 
He nodded, shifting his gaze out the side window of the car. Emmett and Daphne 
shared a silent communication. Some things died hard and Justin's feelings for Brian 
were an example of that truism. They had both moved on with their lives, but neither 
of them would ever get completely past what once was, even as what is now took 
center stage. 
 
"Are you?" She asked and he laughed. 
 
"Madly in love? With whom?" 
 
"Anyone!" 
 
Emmett said, "Our little Justin has taken up the studly mantle of a certain legend who 
moved to the south." 
 
Justin looked over his shoulder to glare at him. "By that, he means I'm a slut." 
 
Emmett laughed. "Honey, you are playing your options. I commend you for that. 
You're young, single, beautiful, why the fuck not?" 
 
Daphne smiled at her friend as they left the airport for the drive through Metairie to 
New Orleans. "Someday you'll call and tell me all about this fabulous man you've 
met." 
 
"Only if he gives me a three carat diamond." 
 
"Three and a half," she corrected him and all three laughed together.  
 
 
Brian was walking through Burn, talking to Frank about security and watching as 
contractors put the finishing touches on the Halloween decorations. No cardboard 
skeletons and fake cobwebs here. Huge pumpkins, mostly orange but a few white, had 
been carved like small stained glass windows, so when the candles inside were lit, 
they would reflect the flaming windows of the club. The go-go boys would be dressed 
as pale and sexy ghouls in shredded white loin cloths and nothing else. Realistic 
skeletons were posed in unexpected places, one seated at the bar, legs crossed, 
another leaning against the wall, as if to watch the dancers, a third descending the 
stairs to the crypt. In the crypt, the video monitors were set to loop erotic horror films 
with all male casts.  
 
Large nets suspended above the floor would reign down orange and black confetti 
shaped like pumpkins and black cats, showering the dancers when signaled. The club 
was spectacular looking. Brian was feeling sick, he was so tense. "What about those 
torches outside? Are they a fire hazard?" 
 
"They're tiki torches, Brian. Very stable. The guys at the gate and the door know 
where the fire extinguishers are stashed in case something odd happens." 
 
"And we're sure we have enough valet parkers for those who drive?" 
 
"More than enough." 
 
"If trouble breaks out, do you have enough people to stop it?" 
 
"Yes and they're all well trained and well equipped. Most of us will be wearing the 
black t-shirts with the Burn logo, the lit match, on the front, and the word "Security" 
on the back in orange letters. But a few will be in regular clothes so they can circulate 
and see what's going on without alerting anyone." 
 
"Remember, we don't want to be Nazis about casual drug use, but if they're dealing, 
they're out. I don't want to get shut down my first week." 
 
"Understood." 
 
"And sex is for the crypt level, not the upstairs." 
 
"I know." 
 
"I want everyone to have a hell of a time, but I don't want utter chaos." 
 
"I've been doing club security for a long time, Brian. I got it." 
 
Brian smiled at him. "I know you do. Is that incredibly expensive big name band we 
hired bringing their own security?" 
 
"Yeah, but I've met with them on conference call to make sure they understand the 
rules about being unobtrusive. It's a great band, they're on their way to being huge. 
You were really lucky to get them for this venue." 
 
Brian smirked at him. "Let's just say the lead singer and I have a couple fond 
memories." 
 
"Oh yeah? Does that mean he was promised a repeat?" 
 
"You know I'm a married man," Brian said with a wink. "But if he happens to think 
something could happen, well, I can't control his fantasies." 
 
"Cock teaser," Frank joked as Brian squeezed his shoulder. 
 
"Always leave them wanting more. I have to meet with our spinner. Later. Tomorrow 
night is the night, Frank. I can feel it in the air." 
 
"Me too. It's going to be great." 
 
Brian nodded and went to his small office in the back and up a flight of stairs. He was 
going over the provisioning orders for the bar when the door opened. What he 
expected to see was his edgy, dread-locked imported spinner from L.A. What he didn't 
expect, was the rotund Reverend Flynn. Only then did Brian realize for the first time 
since he launched this project, there was no barrage of protesting Christians at the 
black wrought iron fence surrounding the club. He was so used to them being part of 
his landscape, that he no longer gave them a thought.  
 
"Aren't you afraid you might turn to cinders by walking in here?" Brian said. The flight 
of stairs had tired the fat man, who was flushed and sweaty. He sat down heavily in a 
chair facing Brian's desk.  
 
"You spent a bundle converting a house of God into a house of sin, Mr. Kinney." 
 
"I sure did. It looks great, doesn't it?" 
 
"It's an abomination. I will never believe otherwise." 
 
"If you're here to threaten me, forget it. I've been through conflagrations even you 
people can't imagine. You can't bother me anymore." 
 
"That's not why I'm here." 
 
"The club isn't for sale. See me in a few days if we have a soft opening, but right now 
it's not on the block." 
 
"I don't want to buy it." 
 
"Then what do you want?" 
 
"My son is in the hospital, near death." 
 
Brian was startled by that declaration. "I-I'm sorry. But what... ?" 
 
"He attempted suicide by cutting his wrists with a razor and soaking in a tub of hot 
water to keep the blood flowing." 
 
Brian winced. "Damn." 
 
"My wife happened in before it was too late, but he lost a lot of blood and it's still 
touch and go." 
 
"How old is he?" 
 
"Seventeen." 
 
"I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I don't see why... " 
 
"He left a note." 
 
Brian was struggling to see the connection as Flynn pulled a folded sheet of lined 
notebook paper from his pocket. He extended it to Brian, who smoothed it out and 
read, 
 
"Dear Mom and Dad, 
 
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this will hurt you and that you believe I will burn in hell for 
taking my own life and for my sins. But hell is better than what my life has been like 
on earth. It has to be. You see, as much as I've resisted it, I know I'm gay and I can't 
live with the shame any longer. I go to the old Catholic church and carry the signs but 
in my heart I want to go to that club when it opens and dance. I want to meet that 
handsome man who owns the place. I want to be around people who feel the same 
way I do. I'm a hypocrite. I prayed and prayed for God to change me, but He didn't. I 
failed. I'm a sinner. I've had sex with guys and it's what I want, what I am. I can't live 
this way, as a lost soul and a sinner. So it's easier to save you the humiliation of 
having a son who is a pervert and just end it now.  
 
I love you both and may you and God forgive me, 
 
Peter " 
 
Brian folded it up and handed it back. Nothing he could say could make the old man 
feel worse, so he said nothing. The reverend spoke. "My son decided he would rather 
be dead than gay." 
 
"No, your son decided he would rather be dead than live as a hypocrite under your 
condemnation and shame." 
 
"Yes," Flynn nodded. "I see your distinction. Mr. Kinney, I love my boy," his voice 
cracked. "Losing Peter would kill my wife, kill me. We have prayer circles going for 
him now, but that's not why I'm here." 
 
"What do you want from me? I feel terrible for your kid, for any kid who thinks death 
is preferable to being gay. I despise the fact that people like you create an 
atmosphere of hate and shame that causes these frightened kids to feel like such 
failures over something nature made them and that can't be changed." 
 
"Did you or someone around this place seduce my son?"
 
"Are you looking for someone other than yourself to blame? Fuck that. I'm in a 
monogamous, committed relationship. We have three kids between us; two boys and 
a girl. We teach our kids to accept life in all of its flavors. Religious differences, racial 
differences, sexual orientation differences, they're all part of the fabric. You teach 
hatred of everything that differs from your narrow beliefs. I'm sorry for your pain, 
Reverend. I'm even more sorry for your son's pain, but don't try to deflect any of your 
misery onto me, or anyone here. You're responsible. Reap what you sow." 
 
Flynn's flushed face seemed to collapse and for a moment, Brian thought he might 
start crying. But he got control of himself and said, "Why are you people the way you 
are?" 
 
"The same reason you people are the way you are. We were born that way." 
 
"Then he can't be saved." 
 
"There is nothing to save him from, other than people like you. Your hatred." 
 
He shook his head. "I could never hate my own son." 
 
Brian leaned his elbows on his desk. "We're all someone's son, Reverend." 
 
"I suppose that's true. What do I do to help him?" 
 
"You accept him as is, and you let him know it." 
 
"I don't see how I can accept something I know to be sinful and damned." 
 
Brian shook his head. "Then get the hell out of his life, because if he makes it through 
this one, he won't make it through the next attempt. He'll see to that. I guess you 
have to decide what matters most. Your fucked up views on sin and homosexuality, 
that have no grounding in reality, or your kid." 
 
Flynn stood up and stared down at Brian. "We won't be darkening your door again, Mr. 
Kinney. We're changing our focus to other matters." 
 
Brian shrugged. "I was just getting used to the morning blessing. What a shame." 
 
Flynn turned to go, but Brian stopped him by saying, "I hope he makes it and I hope 
you pull your head out of your ass and become the father he needs." 
 
"You're very confident in who you are, Mr. Kinney. How did you do that? How did you 
go through your youth and the derision you had to have faced to become the person 
you are now? Did you have supportive parents?" 
 
Brian chuckled. "My parents make you look good. I let go of the shame. I decided this 
is who I am, and it's okay. I never looked back." 
 
"Peter obviously finds you an object of desire and admiration. Would you consider 
talking to him?" 
 
"I'm no shrink, no gay counselor." 
 
"Just think about it. He's so lost." 
 
Brian gave him a non-committal shrug and after Flynn left, he leaned back in his chair, 
pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. He hadn't expected this, 
not today of all days.  
 
"Headache?" Justin's voice. He opened his eyes and smiled, leaving his chair to 
embrace his visitor, and then he turned and hugged Emmett.  
 
"It's fabulous!" Emmett squealed. Brian smiled and waved them into chairs. 
 
"We try. It's surprisingly good to see you guys." 
 
"Surprisingly?" Justin said with a laugh.  
 
Brian shrugged as he suddenly remembered how it was the night he met Justin. The 
kid was seventeen, the same age as the Reverend's son. Lost, like the Reverend's son. 
But brave, so brave. He didn't let his memory travel to the bashing. "Why are you 
staring at me?" Justin asked. "Did I grow a third eye?" 
 
"Come on, I'll show you guys around, and then I have to make a stop after I drop you 
off at the guest house." 
 
They stood and Brian clamped his hand on the back of Justin's neck in a familiar 
gesture as they walked down the stairs. Ted met them at the bottom. He had already 
greeted Justin and Emmett when they arrived. He looked worried as he said to Brian, 
"Problem." 
 
"I don't need problems from you, Theodore. I need solutions." 
 
"I can't fix this one. Our spinner is a no show. He got busted at the airport in L.A. 
Drugs in his bag." 
 
Brian groaned. "Who is he? Paul fucking McCartney? Now what?" 
 
"I have a list, I'll start calling, but this is a big night for spinners. All the clubs and 
parties in the area will make it hard to find someone." 
 
"Call Moody. He's at Bellamy's, or either they're on their way. Tell him he's on 
tonight." 
 
"Moody?" 
 
"He always wanted to spin at Burn. Now he can. He came of age on his birthday, 
right? Call him." 
 
Ted nodded. "Moody?" Justin asked. Brian shrugged.  
 
"Long story, one of my stray lambs who has found a home. Kind of like you." 
 
Justin raised a brow. "Oh yeah? Like me how?" 
 
"Not like you that way," Brian said with a laugh as he started the tour. 
Current Mood: restless





October 29th, 2006
05:13 pm - BURN Chapter 116 
 
 
Brian walked alone. 
 
The quarter was tricked out for the holiday, New Orleans style. Voodoo regalia, 
zombies, vampires mixed with pumpkins, witches and black cats with arched backs. 
There was a hint of chill in the damp air, the weather neither hot nor cold, but just 
right. Cops were already blocking off streets in the Quarter with barriers to mark the 
route of the Halloween Parade, and sniffer dogs were working the route, making sure 
no nasty surprises were left along the way. 
 
Many people were already in costume, red devils waiting tables, jazz musicians made 
up as zombies, vampires on every corner. In New Orleans, there were no adults 
during Halloween. Everyone became a child again. He loved this place. He really did. 
He never knew he could feel at home in such an alien environment, but he was a 
native now. There was no avoiding that fact.  
 
He turned down Royal and used a key to enter the gallery that was lit, but not open. 
Lindsay, in jeans and a pink sweater, was instructing workmen on the placement of 
lights above a long white wall. The place smelled of fresh paint and sawdust as Brian 
kissed her cheek and asked, "Where's... " 
 
She nodded towards the back. He avoided sawhorses, power tools and paint as his 
footsteps crunched against a path of plastic that protected the floor. Boyd was in his 
temporary office that consisted of a makeshift desk, a computer, printer, fax, and a 
phone. His chair had a recliner function so he could put his feet up several times a day 
as his doctor ordered. He hung up as Brian entered the space, greeting him with a 
smile.  
 
"Don't get up," Brian walked over to him, leaning down to receive his kiss. "I knew 
you'd be here. Your eight hours are up, bro. Time to go home." 
 
"I just have a few things to do." 
 
"No," Brian picked up Boyd's alligator hide briefcase and then extended his hand to 
him. "I'm here to walk you home." 
 
"Long walk." 
 
"Just what the doctor ordered." 
 
Boyd's recovery had been miraculous, but his problems were not completely behind 
him. Blood had a tendency to pool in his lower extremities, his vascular system still 
struggling to recirculate the fluids back to his heart. He wore snug, elasticized 
stockings to help urge that function, but his ankles tended to swell and there was still 
pain. Walking helped jump-start his circulation, so Brian made sure they walked every 
day. He always metered his normal fast pace so Boyd wouldn't have to struggle to 
keep up. Brian valued those quiet walks through the Quarter, so they could talk, 
deconstruct their day, just be together. That was enough. 
 
Brian carried Boyd's briefcase for him, like a little boy carrying the books of a girl he 
admired, an analogy that caused Boyd to punch his arm when he shared it. Boyd 
would hold onto the crook of Brian's arm not so much because he needed the support, 
but just to link them together physically. They told Lindsay they would see her at 
dinner as they left the gallery.  
 
"It's coming along," Brian observed. 
 
"Yeah. Lindsay's made it possible. She's great." 
 
"Glad. Hey, Justin and Emmett arrived." 
 
"I figured," Boyd let his gaze wander to a display in a storefront that showed a 
complex Halloween village, complete with a yellow moon suspended over it, the black 
silhouette of a witch on a broom crossing that lunar surface. Brian sensed his distance. 
 
"Please tell me you aren't jealous." 
 
"Can't I be a little jealous, Brian? Can't I be human? I like Justin, you know that. I 
really do. But it's human nature to be a little jealous of your partner's former lover, 
who is younger than you are and very attractive." 
 
"Justin? I thought you were jealous of Em being a bigger queen than you are, because 
this is just queenly behavior," Brian teased. Boyd leaned a shoulder into him.  
 
"Shut up, asshole." 
 
"You shut up." 
 
"No you." 
 
Brian pulled him into a bar, one of many, and they took a table near the door and 
ordered drinks. A quiet cocktail alone seemed a nice diversion before they faced their 
house full of kids and guests. "Hold out your hand," Brian invited and Boyd did so, 
although his expression was cautious. Brian put two spheres on his palm. They were 
wrapped in foil decorated to appear as if he had handed him two eyeballs, complete 
with blood shot veins and bright green irises. Beneath the wrappers, was Belgium 
chocolate. Boyd gave him a look and Brian explained, "I only have eyes for you." 
 
They both laughed as Boyd slipped the spheres into a pocket. "Mac and Gus will love 
these." 
 
"We'll have bowls of them sitting around as favors at Burn." 
 
"Trick or treat." 
 
"I'm calling it Trick and Treat." 
 
Boyd laughed. "Is all well over there? I wouldn't know since my jerk partner won't let 
me see it until the great unveiling." 
 
"What a prick he must be. All is... coming along." Brian hesitated then said, "I had a 
strange visitor today." He shared the reverend's story and when he stopped talking, 
Boyd reached over and took his hand.  
 
"You know what you have to do, right?" 
 
"What do I have to do?" 
 
"First, we need to get some reference materials to give the kid on where he can go to 
get help dealing with the gay issues, assuming he survives. You need to give him a 
little hope since he seems to have noticed how hot you are." 
 
"Hope in scoring me? Not going to happen." 
 
Boyd laughed. "Just hope, Brian. And don't give me the cynical act. You know you're 
going to do it and you know you were always going to do it." 
 
He frowned. "Will you come with me?" 
 
"Of course I will." 
 
"The old rev may not let us see him." 
 
"He will. He came to you for help, not to accuse you." 
 
"Pretty scary to think I'm viewed as some kind of gay icon. But I heard myself 
proclaiming I was in a committed monogamous relationship and the devil in me 
whispered, 'who the hell you talking about'?" 
 
Boyd smiled. "It's a terrible thing, your fate, isn't it?" 
 
"What have I done to deserve this?" 
 
"Just got lucky, I suppose." 
 
"You call this luck? A jealous partner, kids, business obligations, monogamy? This isn't 
the way I saw my life going." 
 
"It can change in the blink of an eye, Brian," Boyd reminded him, weaving his fingers 
among his lover's. "A bomb goes off and suddenly the world is no longer the way it 
was. Right?" 
 
Brian winced. "I thought we were joking around. Nice way to bring back reality." 
 
"I'm sorry, but some things... some things are beyond joking. We can't risk jinxing it." 
 
Brian raised their clasped hands to his lips to kiss Boyd's fingers. "I get it. I agree. I 
don't ever want to stand on that brink again." 
 
"You boys are evil," a pretty girl dressed as a black cat seated at the next table said. 
Her companion, a leopard, giggled as Boyd asked, 
 
"What did we do to bring on the feline wrath?" 
 
"You're gay and you're gorgeous. That sucks. Maybe you like both ends of the 
spectrum?" 
 
Brian laughed. "Only if you're hiding familiar equipment under those costumes." 
 
"Familiar to some... " she teased. Boyd laughed.  
 
"I have a vague memory, but I'm afraid I crossed over." 
 
"For him? No shit!" 
 
Brian pulled two business cards from his pocket. They were black with a lit match logo 
and the word "Burn" along with his name and the address of the club. "Party 
tomorrow night. This will get you past the gate. Come on over. We don't shut the 
doors on women, but you may go home unlucky." 
 
They gratefully accepted them and Boyd reminded Brian they had a house full of 
visitors and they should go home.  
 
At Bellamy's house in the Quarter, a voodoo flag was tacked to the door. Pumpkins, 
uncut, were stacked in a corner inside the gate that was draped with cobwebs. Seated 
upstairs in his office, he looked down at the merry decorations that brightened his 
house as he heard her say, 
 
"When?" 
 
He didn't turn around. He didn't want to see Lisette's shadowy form. "Halloween." 
 
"Are you certain?" 
 
"Yes, of course I'm certain." 
 
"What have you done?" 
 
"I set things in motion. What happens, happens. All I could do was clarify things that 
are already known. People must decide for themselves what to do. This is the end of 
it, for me, Lisette. I've done all I am willing to do. You need to move on, with the 
others. You need to release yourself from this need for revenge. They got the man 
who placed the bomb. Enough is enough." 
 
"Never enough until all of it is ended, Bellamy. And until it is, I'm going nowhere." 
 
"Please!" He said and when he turned around, he saw Charles standing in the 
doorway.  
 
"Who were you talking to, son?" 
 
"Doesn't matter." 
 
"Are you being tormented? Have you protected yourself?" 
 
"I'm under no threat other than annoyance and intrusion." 
 
"Don't get involved with matters between those on both sides of the veil. Remember 
what your father always said, 'the living can't play judge and jury for the dead'." 
 
"How do we get the dead to leave us alone?" 
 
"You give them no witness." 
 
Bellamy smiled at the diminutive man. "Mom, I love you, but you can't understand 
what it's like because you're not cursed." 
 
"You were right in the choices you made, Bell. The choices your father wanted you to 
follow. Into the mainstream and out of the secrecy." 
 
"You mean be the senator, maybe even more one day? Marry Daphne? Raise children? 
Pretend I'm not a freak?" 
 
"Yes," Charles walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Precisely." 
 
"But I am a freak, Mom. As much as I try to hide it, I'm a freak. They find me. Things 
happen. I react. Tell me how to make it go away. I'm very interested in that path." 
 
"I wish I could." 
 
Bellamy patted his hand. "I wish you could, too. We should get going. I have to pick 
up Daphne on the way to Brian and Boyd's." 
 
"I'll round up Moody. He's been tearing through playlists since he got the call from 
Brian's team. He's so happy about this disc jockey thing." 
 
"Spinning," Bellamy said as he led him out of the room. "It's called spinning, Mom." 
 
"Don't forget," Lisette's voice followed him out. "Halloween." 
 
Bellamy said nothing as he followed Charles downstairs.  
 
The dinner party was unstructured, centered around Cajun cooking and friends. The 
big house in the Marigny was full of noise, pungent scents and laughter. Sebastian 
came with his partner, a man almost as tall as Brian. Brian and Boyd made a silent 
pact to save their observations about that pairing until they were alone. Petra was 
there, her mood lifted by the joy. Bo and Charlotte drove in, and Boyd's father had 
come from his home in the Garden District. Madam Dhue was the chef in charge and 
everyone else did her bidding. Lady Pearl came alone, but Bellamy, Daphne, Charles 
and Moody were a foursome. Emmett entertained them with dramatic modeling of his 
costume choices, calling for votes. The winner was the mermaid costume. A gap-
toothed mermaid who stood over six feet tall was too enticing to pass up. 
 
Lindsay and Jane tried to keep the children corralled while Moody zeroed in on Justin, 
who wasn't completely disinterested in his attention. Brian watched them with a 
bemused eye, deciding this was a match that might be momentarily fun, but that 
wasn't one of the enduring romances of the ages. He remembered well when that was 
all he ever wanted or needed.  
 
After dinner and dessert, brandy and chicory coffee were served. Boyd went to find 
Brian who was standing on the back terrace overlooking the pool. No one was in the 
water, it was a little chilly for a swim. The sound of the party continued behind him as 
Boyd wrapped his arms around Brian's waist and rested his cheek between his 
shoulder blades. Brian leaned into his embrace.  
 
"Shouldn't you be playing hostess with the mostest?" Brian teased as Boyd squeezed 
him harder.  
 
"I don't see you in there, Truman Capote." 
 
"Truman?" 
 
"He was a notorious partygiver." 
 
"I needed a break." 
 
"Moody and Justin have also disappeared." 
 
"They're in the pool house." 
 
"How do you know?" 
 
"I saw them go in." 
 
Boyd grew quiet. He released Brian, who turned to look at him. "I wasn't spying on 
them. I just came out here to smoke and I saw them go in." 
 
"I believe you." 
 
"What's wrong?" 
 
"Is it bothering you? The two of them down there together?" 
 
"Not the way you mean." 
 
"What way, then?" 
 
"Just the freedom to hook up and go for it, that's all. It's not a genuine envy, Boyd. 
I'm where I want to be." 
 
"You want a little wildness? I'll give you a little wildness," he spread a hand on Brian's 
crotch, causing his lover to smile.  
 
"What do you plan to do with that?" 
 
"I could suck you raw or I could stick it up my ass, or maybe I'll just rub it until the 
magic genie come out." 
 
"Or all three?" 
 
"Or all three." 
 
Brian leaned down to kiss him. "With everyone a room away?" 
 
"It's dark out here." 
 
"With your father in the next room?" 
 
Boyd shrugged. "Live and learn." 
 
He had opened Brian's jeans and plunged his hand inside, groping his cock, urging it 
into an erection. The heat began as it always did, with a flash and a slow burn. It 
would end as it always ended, in the soft smoky after pleasure of their lust. 
Current Mood: amused





October 31st, 2006
06:07 am - BURN, Chapter 117 (FINALE) 
Well, Burniacs, all things must end whether good or not. This is my ending of the 
swamp tales. I have so much enjoyed getting to know each of you and to know Boyd 
and all of the Swamp rats, good and bad. I have learned a lot about writing technique, 
pacing, characterization and plotting, whether it shows or not. I know I have and each 
of you were part of that. I consider you friends. Thank you so much for following the 
adventure. I promised to revisit the gang for a Christmas story, and I will. I can't 
thank you enough for all of your encouragement and praise and constructive remarks. 
I guess I'll just say HAPPY HALLOWEEN and leave it at that for our little world here.  
 
My real name is Brian Hennessey.  
 
I hope you see it on a book cover one day. 
 
I know there has been a lot of talk about trying to publish GONE. I made a promise to 
you that I would post GONE here. I am leaning in that direction. It will be my first all 
original character novel and I am interested to see if I can hold the interest of my 
friends. So watch this space. In the mean time, enjoy the party. Thank you, most 
graciously, thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
 
Brian 
 
*** 
 
 
 
Halloween broke with a dawn that suited the occasion. The sky was melon orange at 
daybreak, edged in the fading black of night. Brian was awake for it, having slept a 
grand total of maybe five minutes the night before. He lay there in the dark, listening 
to Boyd breathe, careful that he not wake him. Misery loves company, but he wasn't 
that cruel. Boyd needed his rest. When the light intruded through the open terrace 
doors, Brian allowed himself to get up. He took a shower, wrapped in a robe, and went 
downstairs. The house was the opposite of how it had been the night before. 
 
No chaos in the kitchen, everything washed and put away. No laughter, kids, noise 
and disorder. A grinning jack o' lantern, the centerpiece on the table, children's crayon 
drawings of Halloween themes on the refrigerator, and a huge bowl full of bite sized 
candy were the only evidence of the holiday. The house, in its final form, was perfect. 
Just what Brian envisioned when he told Sebastian how he saw the raw space. He 
brewed some coffee and nuked a bowl of leftover jambalaya. Seated by the bay 
window, he looked up as motion drew his attention to the trail leading to the 
guesthouse. Moody was coming out of that house, with Justin close behind. They 
paused at the top of the trail and kissed. Moody waved and left through the side gate. 
Justin started to go back in, but then he spied Brian at the window, and walked up the 
path to the big house. Brian unlocked the kitchen door so he could get in and returned 
to his breakfast.  
 
Justin, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, pulled on so quickly that he 
hadn't noticed it was inside out, poured himself a mug of hot coffee and joined Brian 
at the table. His hair was sticking out in spears, and Brian had to smile at memories of 
other beds, other bed hair. "Having fun in New Orleans, are we?" 
 
Justin shrugged. "Why are you up so early?" 
 
"Couldn't sleep." 
 
"Nerves?" 
 
Brian glared. "Worked a long time and put up with a bunch of shit to get to this night. 
I want it to go well." 
 
"You know it will." 
 
"I hope it will." 
 
"Moody's pumped about spinning." 
 
"You should know," Brian said with a wry smile. 
 
Justin laughed. "It wasn't forever love, Brian. Just a tumble." 
 
"I figured. Moody's still in the tumbling stage, for sure. Suppose you are, too." 
 
"Is it just a stage? Maybe some of us are meant to live life that way." 
 
"Yeah but life has a funny way of changing things up on you. You think you have it all 
figured out and then you meet this blond kid under a lamppost. Shuffle the deck. Just 
when you think you have a new course plotted, some fiddler comes along. Shuffle the 
deck again. Then you go back to your original route only it no longer feels the same as 
it did before you met the kid at the lamppost. You think things are never going to 
work out for you, but then you meet the guy you're supposed to spend your life with. 
Never saw it coming. Making plans, they say, is what makes God laugh." 
 
"Was I the practice run for you?" 
 
"No more than I was the practice run for you, Justin. What we had was unique to us 
and unique to the time. You were too young and so was I, emotionally. But that 
doesn't make it any less important than it was." 
 
"I watched you two, last night." 
 
"You watched us what?" Brian recalled their hot sex on the terrace. 
 
"I watched you live. I saw your life. I watched how you look at him and how he looks 
at you. I listened to your silly, macho humor as you guys go back and forth at each 
other. I saw you guide him into a chair with a subtle motion when you knew his legs 
must be bothering him, and how you brought him his food so he wouldn't have to get 
up. I saw him follow you with his eyes as you squatted down to talk to Gus. I watched 
you on the sofa beside him, when you always had some link between you, your hand 
on his, his hand on your thigh, your shoulder touching his, your feet crossing. Some 
contact." 
 
"Sounds like you were watching us a lot." 
 
"I was." 
 
"Why?" 
 
"I wanted to see for myself if you were truly happy." 
 
"And?" 
 
"It's clear to me that you love him and he loves you and that it works. Who'd have 
believed it? Brian Kinney, Domestic Goddess." 
 
Brian laughed. "That's God to you. I don't run from that kind of thing anymore, Justin. 
It's not an insult to me. I found out you have to be a lot braver and a lot more 
engaged to keep a real relationship going than to play the outlaw every night. You 
have to be tough. It's worth it, but it's not easy." 
 
"You know what, Brian? I'm happy for you. I really am. Yeah, a part of me is jealous, 
but this seems to be just what you need. I've never seen you happier." 
 
"Thanks. So tell me what you think of Bellamy?" 
 
"He's hot." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"Kind of scary in that big straight guy way." 
 
"He's very gay friendly, obviously." 
 
"Does he... ?" 
 
"No, I think he's on the Pussy Highway and there are no exits or detours for him." 
 
Justin laughed. "She's obviously crazy about him." 
 
"Why not? Rich, handsome, ambitious and straight. Dream man." 
 
"Do you think he's equally crazy about Daph?" 
 
"He's marrying her, isn't he?" 
 
"That's no answer." 
 
"I'm not in the middle of their thing, Justin, but yeah. I think he loves her." 
 
"I feel like the perpetual bridesmaid here. All my gang is settling down." 
 
"Lucky for you that you look so good in taffeta." 
 
He laughed, then said, "I'm moving to London." Brian raised an inquisitive brow. 
Justin went on. "I have a gig there." 
 
"A gig?" 
 
"A mural. It's six months of work." 
 
"What are you decorating?" 
 
"Don't laugh." 
 
"Cross my heart." 
 
"A church. The chapel of a newly constructed church." 
 
"Oh god. You're da Vinci! You'll have the Sistine chapel of the future!" 
 
"I knew you'd laugh. It's good money, some notoriety, and I get to live in London for 
six months." 
 
"I'm not laughing. How did it come about?" 
 
"I submitted drawings in a competition. It's all very contemporary, not the realistic 
masterpiece of the Sistine. No angels and devils. Just color and light and the bringing 
of peace." 
 
"When do you go?" 
 
"Next month." 
 
Brian got up and walked over to hug him. "I'm proud of you." 
 
"Morning, guys," Boyd interrupted their embrace.  
 
"Cheese it, it's the wife," Brian said in a stage whisper to Justin before going over to 
hug Boyd and kiss him on the lips. "Our little Justin is moving to London." 
 
Boyd poured himself coffee and then joined them at the table. Justin explained his 
purpose and Boyd looked impressed. "Good for you! You'll get a lot of publicity over 
this, whether they hate it or love it, and that's good for an artist's career. Controversy 
sells." 
 
Brian was at the refrigerator. "Anyone want food? We have a little more jambalaya, 
red beans and rice, some etoufee, bread pudding, it looks like a Cajun kitchen 
exploded in here." 
 
Justin asked for the pudding, and Boyd declined. Brian brought Justin his pudding and 
put a croissant, butter and jam in front of Boyd. "Eat." 
 
"I'm not that hungry." 
 
"Eat," Brian repeated and he nodded, deciding it was easier to give in than to argue. 
"Did you sleep at all?" He asked his lover, who shrugged. 
 
"Not so much." 
 
"You're going to be dead tonight." 
 
"It's Halloween. That fact will add atmosphere. I'm going over to the club in a few. I'll 
be back in time for dinner and then go back and supervise while you guys watch the 
parade." 
 
"You aren't going to the parade at all?" 
 
"No, I really need to be there at the club." 
 
"Are you wearing a costume?" Justin asked, causing Brian to smile. 
 
"Yeah, the latest from Zegna. Maybe I'll throw on a mask." 
 
"And cover up that pretty face?" Boyd teased.  
 
"What are you disguising yourself as, big shot?" 
 
"I thought I'd wear a white suit, slick my hair back and go as Dr. Sugar." 
 
Brian choked on a bite of jambalaya at that inside joke, washing it down with coffee 
before he allowed himself a good laugh. The exchange went over Justin's head 
completely. A tap at the door drew their attention and they looked through the glass 
at Petra. She came in and handed Brian a container that held a selection of Russian 
pastries. "I made these for you and your guests. To celebrate your big day. I have to 
go to the hospital, but I'll be at the opening tonight. Can't wait!" 
 
She hugged them both, waved at Justin and left. "She sure is tiny to be a hero," Justin 
observed.  
 
"Mighty Mouse," Boyd observed. "She's incredible. I'm hoping that Carnivale will be 
the beginning for her, or even just a suitable finale." 
 
"Carnivale?" Justin asked. 
 
"We're going to Venice for Carnivale this year, in a few months," Brian explained. "She 
wants to spread Lisette's ashes over the Grand Canal." 
 
"Why there?" 
 
"Because my sister always loved Venice," Boyd said, reaching over to squeeze Brian's 
hand as silence settled over their morning.  
 
*** 
 
Brian got the call in his office at the club just before ten in the morning. A woman he 
didn't know asked, "Is this Brian Kinney?" 
 
"Yeah." 
 
"I'm calling about your son, Gus." 
 
Brian tensed. "Who the hell are you?" 
 
"My name is Heather Diamond. I'm principal at your son's school." 
 
"Is there a problem?" Brian thought they planned for everything. Jane and Lindsay, 
accompanied by Homer, were taking the kids trick or treating that evening. It was 
Friday, so there would be plenty of children hitting the streets to beg for sweets. They 
would take in part of the parade after gathering their loot. Later, Homer and Madam 
agreed to watch the kids so Lindsay and Jane could attend the opening. Everything 
planned. Was God already laughing? 
 
"Sherrie Arness, his teacher, was approached by Jennifer and Beth, two of the little 
girls in his class. They showed her cards that Gus had given them. The cards are 
business cards with your name and the logo of your club. He said he was inviting them 
to a Halloween party there tonight. I thought perhaps you could help me understand." 
 
Brian winced. "Obviously my son overheard our many discussions about the big party 
I have planned to open my club tonight. I have a box of new business cards sitting on 
my desk at home. I guess Gus helped himself to a few. We card for ID, so I'm afraid 
his classmates will be stopped at the gate." 
 
"Hold on, Mr. Kinney. I've just been handed more cards he distributed. Cindy, Anita, 
Deb, Lauren, Wendy, Ann Marie, Madelyn, Jeannie, he seems to be singling out the 
girls." 
 
"Shows you what he knows," Brian said with a chuckle. 
 
"He even gave one to Lois, our librarian." 
 
"Look, he's just a little kid. He doesn't understand. He hears the words 'Halloween' 
and 'party' and he's ready to roll. Just gather up the cards and toss them." 
 
"I've seen the publicity about Burn. It's a gay club, right?" 
 
"That's right, my target clientele is the gay community." 
 
"I see." 
 
Brian became defensive. He began to fear he had opened a wound at the school, and 
since Belle and Mac were students in the same private system, the impact could be 
widespread. "Problem?" 
 
"Is your club exclusively male?" 
 
That gave him pause. What the hell did that matter? "Primary audience is male, yeah. 
But I want to be inclusive unless the dykes or the straights start to dominate the 
scene." 
 
"If I kept these cards and brought a small group of my lesbian friends, would we be 
welcome?" 
 
He exhaled with a smile. "You can bring every sister of sappho you know for all I care, 
Heather. My card will get you past the line at the gate. Hopefully there will be a line. If 
you need more, let me know." 
 
"No, Gus was very generous with your cards. Good luck with your venture and we 
think Gus, for that matter all three of your children, are wonderful kids. You and your 
partner are doing a great job with them." 
 
"Thanks," as he hung up, Brian smiled. His pleasure was short lived as Frank 
Blackberry'ed him: Can you come down to the crypt? Problem. 
 
Brian paged back, "on my way", leaving off the "oh shit". 
 
At the entrance to the crypt, Frank met him and unhitched the black velvet rope that 
blocked off the stairs leading down. "What is it?" Brian asked. "Tell me it's not another 
water leak." 
 
"You'd better go see for yourself, boss." 
 
Brian took the stairs at a fast pace while Frank remained at the top and replaced the 
rope across the stairs. The special lighting for the crypt was on, throwing him into a 
blue twilight. He saw a figure on one of the benches, partially illuminated by 
candlelight from a silver candelabra that wasn't part of the décor. There was also a 
silver champagne bucket and two crystal flutes. Brian smiled at his lover, who popped 
the cork on the bottle.  
 
"You weren't supposed to be here. It was supposed to be a surprise," Brian said.  
 
Boyd shrugged as he filled the two flutes with the bubbly Cristal. "So I decided to 
surprise you. I wanted a private toast between us before everything gets crazy," He 
handed Brian a flute. "Congratulations, Brian. It's beautiful. You did it." 
 
"We'll see if the receipts bear that out." 
 
"I'm not even worried about that." 
 
They tapped glasses and drank a sip and then Brian took the glass from Boyd and sat 
it beside him on the bench. He pulled Boyd up to his body and held tightly to him. "We 
did it, Boyd. Not just me. We." 
 
They kissed and Boyd ran his hands under Brian's shirt to feel his strong flesh. 
Tongues touched, probed, dicks swelled. The heat that marked their relationship 
torched. "So let's christen the back room properly," Brian invited, unbuttoning Boyd's 
shirt as he did so. Boyd did the same for him and soon they were naked, their bodies 
glued together as their hands sought skin and the blood began to boil. Brian sat down 
on the bench, his erect cock standing out like a drawn sword, waiting to impale. Boyd 
lowered himself onto it, guiding it into his body as Brian reached down to stroke 
Boyd's erection in his fist, slamming it against his own abdomen.  
 
"Fuck me," Boyd pleaded, his eyes closing as the familiar ache began to morph into 
pleasure. He grabbed two handfuls of Brian's thick hair, anchoring himself as he 
rocked against his lap. Brian threw his head back, looking up to receive Boyd's kiss. 
They became lost in the motion of two bodies becoming one, finding perfect symmetry 
and bliss. When they gave in to the excruciating need for release, it took a few 
minutes for the trembling to stop. Boyd rested his chin on top of Brian's head, smiling 
as he said, 
 
"Beats breaking a bottle of perfectly good champagne across the bow." 
 
"Hands down." They separated, toweled off with the linen that they used with the 
champagne bottle and then dressed. Brian refilled their glasses and smoothed his hair. 
"Thanks for stopping by. You're forgiven." 
 
Boyd laughed. "I thought you might relent." 
 
Brian sipped the dry wine and asked, "Are you doing better with your anger at your 
mother and sister? The fact that we pretty well know what happened but they got 
away with it?" 
 
Boyd was surprised by the question. "Why bring that up now?" 
 
"Because it's becoming the issue that dare not speak its name between us and I don't 
want that. I want you to be able to talk to me about it." 
 
"So my father in law was the fall guy. So they promised him money, I suppose, we'll 
never know. The fact is, he's not being unfairly vilified in the press or with the cops. 
He did it. He's the bomber. The cops had an apparent motive and that was enough for 
them. My sister made sure he couldn't implicate anyone, and she got away clean. Why 
not? He shot at my mother. Her self-defense claim was golden. They were incredibly 
clever, in their own clumsy evil way. They got away with it. They just didn't get their 
goals achieved and now I can live the rest of my life wondering if they'll try again. But 
once I complete this transaction to take Coulter Mills to the employees as 
shareholders, give them a slice of the Dominican Republic business, and some hope 
for the future, the damage is done as far as my mother and sister are concerned." 
 
Brian reached out to touch his lover's clenched jaw. "Babe, revenge is not your style. 
Even if part of you wants to unleash the wrath of Oleg or his type on them, you could 
never live with that. It would destroy who you are. So that leaves you one choice, let 
it go. I don't fear those witches, Macbeth. I think they'd be crazy to do anything more. 
They wouldn't get lucky twice. We just have to move on. You've built a bridge with 
your father. He's even working with you on the employee ownership plan, now. Soon 
you may be able to leave all of that to him and go full bore on your gallery, which is 
what you want to do." 
 
"Yeah, he's really come around. I don't know if it was his life-threatening surgery or 
the loss of his daughter or what, but he's changed." Boyd stood, stretched, offered his 
hand to Brian, who took it and stood up. "I should let you get back at it." 
 
"I'll see you this evening. I don't think I'll be home before then. I have so much to do 
here." 
 
"I wasn't expecting you. But I am sending dinner over and you need to eat." 
 
"Yes, Dad," they walked up the stairs with arms around each other, mindful of Boyd's 
legs. At the top, Frank smirked at them and Brian said, "There's half a bottle of really 
good champagne down there. Offer it around, but toss the towel." 
 
Boyd laughed and then kissed Brian. "Later, Entrepreneur." 
 
"Hey, are you asleep?" 
 
Boyd grinned at him. "As sound as ever." 
 
"Me too."
 
*** 

The Halloween parade through the Quarter was peopled with gays and garish floats 
and candies and goodies being tossed to the crowd who lined the route. The cheering 
masses were almost as colorful as the parade itself. Impromptu parties sprang up on 
every corner, and the old section of the city glowed with pumpkins and candles and 
shadowy figures in gruesome or sexy costumes.  
 
Burn was opening promptly at nine. There were news vans that came and went after 
getting a sound byte from Brian. Orange flood lights threw a hot glow against the 
edifice of the old church. The flaming windows seemed to burn hot while black 
luminarias weighted with sand and lit with candles that glowed from the cut outs that 
turned each sack into a witch or a cat or a jack o' lantern marked the path from gate 
to door.  
 
Handsome young staffers wore the black t-shirt with the burn logo, those who worked 
the gate wore black leather biker's jackets over them with the burn logo on the back 
and flames shooting up the front in orange and red. They were all wirelessly 
connected with earpieces and Frank ran the show from his control area. Inside the 
club, Brian stood with Ted and Dora and Daphne as he gave the place a final survey 
before the gates were opened to the crowd that had already begun to gather. The 
music, overseen by Moody in a cat in the hat cap, was pumping. Dry ice machines 
provided some spooky atmosphere behind the bar and in the upstairs balconies.  
 
The black and orange balloons were netted at the ceiling eaves to be released at 
midnight along with a flood of Halloween inspired confetti. The name band would take 
the stage at ten. The studly bartenders wore orange tank tops with the burn logo in 
black and the cage dancers wore very little at all. Videos were cued, the gleaming 
dance floor would never look this good again, this pristine. Brian turned his attention 
to his team. 
 
"You guys did a phenomenal job. All of you. Dora, the place is perfect. Ted and 
Daphne, the opening has been orchestrated as well as I could ever hope. You made 
this possible. Thanks."  
 
"Group hug," Ted suggested. Brian gave his Beetlejuice costume a look and shook his 
head.  
 
"Pass." He spoke into his earpiece, "That goes for you, too, up there in control central, 
Frank. Thanks. And now, let's open the doors." 
 
Boyd let him have that time alone with his staff but as the order was given, he walked 
up to Brian and looped his arm through his. "Buy you a drink at the bar?" 
 
"There's good scotch waiting to be sucked down. Let's go." 
 
Bellamy, who had been nearby with Boyd, found Daphne and scooped her into his 
arms before he lost her in the crowd. He nodded at the first vampire to make his 
entrance. He knew this vampire. He called upon this vampire to scare the shit out of 
Noel, and now he and some of his pale, handsome friends arrived to lend a little 
authenticity to the event. Emmett and Justin arrived together. Justin decided against a 
costume, but the mermaid was definitely in the running for the prize to be awarded 
later. Brian presented Boyd with his own "Burn" leather jacket and draped it over his 
shoulders as they shared a kiss at the bar.  
 
The party had begun. 
 
Near midnight, the men at the gate had to turn away those who begged for admission, 
because they had reached capacity. Very few were leaving once they got in, so the 
turn around was slow. Above the Quarter, the moon was ivory, but tinged with harvest 
gold. Spirits of past revelers moved soundlessly among the living, seen by few, and 
those who saw them understood. This was their night to share in the fun, the 
creepiness, the boo factor. Tomorrow, All Saints Day, they would return to their 
shadow world, but tonight they moved among the living.  
 
That same moon threw a silver shadow across the bayou, miles from New Orleans. 
There was a chill lacing the humidity. That chill crept under clothing meant to keep it 
at bay and clawed at comfort with damp, grasping fingers. One man was working too 
hard to be cold. He had a mission, and it was his own. It was the one thing he could 
do to make his father proud of him, to free his father of the women who ran him out 
of his own house, out of the bayou, out of the tortured life of his son.  
 
Minus cut the alarms, first. Disabled the wireless backup. Moved silently through the 
lower floor of the plantation house unobserved. The television upstairs had been quiet 
for some time. The women were asleep in their lairs. He left a little charge here, a 
little flammable material there, liberally salting the interior of the house with things 
that would make it burn fast.  
 
Once his work was done on the inside, he secured the blockage he put before every 
exit. There were always the windows, but the burglar bars would slow them down and 
he had it timed so that as soon as they woke up, it would already be a conflagration. 
He knew Luann could use her cell phone to call out, but by then, no fire fighter on 
earth could save her or her mother.  
 
He knew what he had to do. Some distant, disembodied voice had been telling him for 
days what he had to do. He went around to his flashpoints set up on the perimeter 
and lit them, one after the other, mesmerized by the flames. Within minutes, the 
ancient cypress that was used to construct this mansion was torched and flaming. Fire 
crawled up the Doric columns to spread on the roof and burn down into the attic. The 
glass bubbled and shattered as the downstairs hot points ignited. Minus thought it was 
his best fire, ever, except for the fact that it was burning so fast, it would all be over 
before he could thoroughly enjoy it.  
 
Inside the house, the oxygen was consumed by the fire in greedy gulps. Heat was 
unbearable as the paint on the walls baked and ran, the ancient paneling in the library 
singed and flamed, the silk rugs and hand made draperies went up in smoke. Crystal 
chandeliers popped and fell. Paintings blackened and burned. Minus heard a distant 
siren. They were already on the way.  
 
He stood there, under a towering oak, watching, not going anywhere. He thought he 
saw a momentary image of a pale blonde figure, her face twisted with fear and agony, 
appear at an upstairs window, but then she was gone. The house was an inferno. No 
one could survive, or would survive, that beautiful cleansing fire.  
 
"You did well," the lovely lady in black appeared beside him, her perfect face lit by the 
glow of the flames even though he knew he could put a hand through her if he 
reached in her direction. "And now I can go home. And so can you, Minus. Find your 
peace." 
 
She left him there, alone again, as the fire trucks and cop cars began to roll up the 
long drive leading to the blazing mansion. He turned back to the house and then 
smiled and walked into the flames. He felt them envelop him in their hot, welcoming 
arms. Fire licked the ruined skin off his bones with blazing tongues, pushing him to 
the floor with cleansing strength, boiling the marrow in his bones and the liquid in his 
eyes, consuming him with the voracious hunger of a tiger turning on its trainer. Within 
minutes, Minus was char, part of the cypress cinders, part of the fabric of the home he 
could never live in, the home that could never be his, burned into its eternity. 
 
*** 
 
Back at the club, Bellamy gasped. "What's wrong?" Daphne asked, grabbing his arm 
as his mother, who was a beautiful voodoo queen in costume, was equally concerned. 
 
"It's done, it's over," he said, and Daphne went pale.  
 
"You mean us?" 
 
He smiled and leaned over to kiss her gently. "No, never us, Daph. The pain. Lisette," 
he looked at his mother. "It's over." 
 
She nodded. "I feel it too." 
 
"What do you feel?" Daphne was confused. 
 
"Freedom," Lady Pearl said with a smile, glancing at Brian and Boyd as they moved in 
a slow, careful dance as the blizzard of balloons and confetti were loosed on the 
crowd, a few minutes late, as if held up by fate. "The bright burning light of freedom," 
she squeezed her son's hand and he kissed her cheek and pulled Daphne onto the 
dance floor. 
 
"Burn, Baby, Burn!" The video screens threw out the phrase in flaming letters, as the 
old standard Disco Inferno hit Moody's turntable, scratched into a hip hop version with 
his skill.  
 
Brian leaned forward and used the tip of his tongue to remove a slick pumpkin confetti 
from Boyd's lip, flicking it off before he kissed him. "I'm hot," Boyd said in his ear to 
be heard above the music.  
 
"Take off your jacket." 
 
"Not that kind of hot." 
 
Brian grinned and took his hand, leading him towards the crypt. Boyd hesitated. "I 
can't go down there." 
 
"We'll take it slow, the steps are lit." 
 
"No, Brian. I can't show my legs with other people around. I'll blow you, but... " 
 
Brian stopped and took Boyd's face in his hands as he said, "I love your scars. I love 
every single stitch of your scars, Boyd. Those scars saved your life. You earned those 
scars. Those scars were your battle. Be proud of them. I am." 
 
Boyd leaned forward to rest his head on Brian's shoulder. "You always know just what 
to say." 
 
"Of course I do. I was an ad man for years, remember?" 
 
"So you were just selling me, is that it?" 
 
"I'm always selling, always selling," he said with a wink. "And right now I'm burning, 
so let's go work on the fire." 
 
Boyd took his hand and let himself be led into the crypt. Anywhere this man went, he 
would follow. This was his life. This Hurricane Brian, this conflagration in a man suit, 
this hunka hunka burning love was what he was all about. "I think I'm drunk," Boyd 
announced as they descended and Brian laughed as he replied, 
 
"Of course you are. It's a party! Celebrate the life, man. We're here, we're queer, get 
hot for me." 
 
"Always," Boyd stopped him on the stairs by pulling his hand. "Always, Brian." 
 
"For as long as it burns," Brian added and then pulled him into the darkness.  
 
 
THE END 
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